My boss and I frequently sit in our cubes and say, "REALLY?!" Yes, like that. All bold and caps and italicized. Sometimes, it's underlined, too. You can just tell by the way we say it. The eye rolling helps, too.
But, seriously, this is my reaction to my life right now. In less than one week, I was pulled over (although did not get the ticket), came within inches of being run over in a cross walk, came within inches of being broad-sided in a parking lot, had brake lights illuminated on my dashboard that shouldn't've been there (and then paid $89 to find out that nothing was wrong, have the sensor cleaned and reset, and then have the lights come on again before I even got home), and I got stuck in an elevator. No, really.
So, I wasn't stuck in the elevator that long -- maybe five minutes? Still, it was incredibly spooky. (Thankfully, I was not thinking about that scene in Inception where Arthur uses the elevator to drop everyone. That would have made the big lurching thing the elevator did even more scary.)
My cats are driving me cuckoo banana crackers -- suddenly Mazzy isn't yowling in the night and waking me up (which is nice), but she's doing it during waking hours instead (which sucks). Emmett who, in his almost 6 years of life, has never spent a full night sleeping on my bed has been doing so for just over a week (ever since Mazzy stopped the yowling). This morning at 5 a.m., he decided he wanted some recognition for that, I suppose, because he smacked me in the face with his paw. Then he repeated that little gesture every half an hour, gradually extending his claws each time. What do my cats have against me sleeping anyway?
And, not only that, but Mazzy has picked up Emmett's habit of trying to stick her head in my water glasses. EVERY time I set a glass down now, I have to defend it from her.
REALLY?!
Monday, July 26, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
DesMoines
Never been there. Never been to Iowa. (It is in Iowa, right? I always get Idaho and Iowa confused, being that I've never been to either of them, they're both short words that start with I, and they're both way the hell out west somewhere. Have I mentioned my geography is terrible? My geography is HORRIBLE.)
DesMoines is important in the Graceless lexicon because it was code between my old boss and me. He and I worked together for nine years. Sometimes, he said, he'd feel like we were having a normal conversation and then all of a sudden he found himself in DesMoines and he didn't know how he got there. (Usually, I would back up and trace my thoughts for him -- "Well, we were talking about X which made me think of Y and then you said Z which brought me to G in my head and that's why I said H just now." Most times, things would make more sense then. Sometimes, not so much. My brain is a strange and scary place, even for me.)
So, anytime I lost him, he'd say, "We're in DesMoines."
Here's the thing: I am all about context.
This same former boss used to get a little annoyed with me, because any time he would mention a year, I would say, "I was X years-old." He thought this was me rubbing in the fact that he was basically old enough to be my father. It wasn't. Really, not even a little. It's just how my brain works.
For example, my mom died just over nine months ago. What do I keep thinking? If I had gotten myself pregnant right around the time she died, I'd be having a baby right around now. Does this mean my biological clock is ticking out of control? No. It's just that that's the most obvious thing to link to that amount of time.
Here's how I translate other blocks of time:
8 hours = a work day
6.5-7.5 hours = about how long it takes to drive home to NY
3 hours = a derby practice
2 hours = a movie
1 hour = an episode of most tv shows, or the time it takes to get to Portland
1/2 an hour to 45 minutes = time to travel to various places (depending on the amount of time)
7 minutes = the time it takes to microwave a Stouffer's macaroni and cheese dinner
Two years is how long I spent in grad school, or how long I played roller derby -- depends on the situation which one I think about. Two and a half years is the amount of time my mom was really sick. Four years is the span of college (or high school, but since college was more recent, it usually wins).
As my old boss figured out, I do it with years, too. Anything from 1943-1953, I think about how old my dad would've been. Anything from 1953-1975, I think about how old my mom was. Anything from 1975-1979, I think how old my sister was, or how many years it was before I was born. Anything after 1979, I calculate my own age at the time or what grade I was in. If it's around 1982, I might think about how old my little sister was. With some years, I think about significant things that happened then (graduations, deaths, major world events, etc.).
I'm kind of random, I admit that, but not as much as you might think. Inside the creepy, dark recesses of my brain, there are all these fine little webs that tie things together.
And maybe that's what happened to my grandpa in those last years before he died: The webs got untied. He couldn't link things together anymore, and that's why he forgot. For that last little bit, he pretty much lived in DesMoines.
DesMoines is important in the Graceless lexicon because it was code between my old boss and me. He and I worked together for nine years. Sometimes, he said, he'd feel like we were having a normal conversation and then all of a sudden he found himself in DesMoines and he didn't know how he got there. (Usually, I would back up and trace my thoughts for him -- "Well, we were talking about X which made me think of Y and then you said Z which brought me to G in my head and that's why I said H just now." Most times, things would make more sense then. Sometimes, not so much. My brain is a strange and scary place, even for me.)
So, anytime I lost him, he'd say, "We're in DesMoines."
Here's the thing: I am all about context.
This same former boss used to get a little annoyed with me, because any time he would mention a year, I would say, "I was X years-old." He thought this was me rubbing in the fact that he was basically old enough to be my father. It wasn't. Really, not even a little. It's just how my brain works.
For example, my mom died just over nine months ago. What do I keep thinking? If I had gotten myself pregnant right around the time she died, I'd be having a baby right around now. Does this mean my biological clock is ticking out of control? No. It's just that that's the most obvious thing to link to that amount of time.
Here's how I translate other blocks of time:
8 hours = a work day
6.5-7.5 hours = about how long it takes to drive home to NY
3 hours = a derby practice
2 hours = a movie
1 hour = an episode of most tv shows, or the time it takes to get to Portland
1/2 an hour to 45 minutes = time to travel to various places (depending on the amount of time)
7 minutes = the time it takes to microwave a Stouffer's macaroni and cheese dinner
Two years is how long I spent in grad school, or how long I played roller derby -- depends on the situation which one I think about. Two and a half years is the amount of time my mom was really sick. Four years is the span of college (or high school, but since college was more recent, it usually wins).
As my old boss figured out, I do it with years, too. Anything from 1943-1953, I think about how old my dad would've been. Anything from 1953-1975, I think about how old my mom was. Anything from 1975-1979, I think how old my sister was, or how many years it was before I was born. Anything after 1979, I calculate my own age at the time or what grade I was in. If it's around 1982, I might think about how old my little sister was. With some years, I think about significant things that happened then (graduations, deaths, major world events, etc.).
I'm kind of random, I admit that, but not as much as you might think. Inside the creepy, dark recesses of my brain, there are all these fine little webs that tie things together.
And maybe that's what happened to my grandpa in those last years before he died: The webs got untied. He couldn't link things together anymore, and that's why he forgot. For that last little bit, he pretty much lived in DesMoines.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Nemesisisisis
Remember that crappy season of Buffy (two words for you: "Doublemeat Palace")? To be fair, two of my three favorite episodes (the musical and the one where they all get amnesia) were in that season. And Willow turning out to be The Big Bad -- that was GENIUS. But, the season as a whole, kinda sucky. You know it's true. The one thing that always makes me chuckle, though, is the way the group of dweebs could never seem to pronounce "nemeses."
Thursday = my nemesis.
I've been saying this for a while. In fact, I was looking at some old blogs a couple weeks ago and I realized that Thursdays were sucking for me even before my mom died. Stupid effing Thursday.
I'm sitting here right now feeling like I could burst into tears any second...and kind of hoping I just would. It would be a relief to just have done with it. Y'know?
I've had a fairly ridiculous week. Monday morning, I was about to pull into the parking lot at work, and there was a cop car blocking the way. I went around the block, came back, and got about as far as the parking lot when I noticed the blue lights in my rearview. "Pausing isn't stopping," the cop said. At least I got off with a warning.
Last night, I missed being run over by an old lady (and you wonder why I hate old people?!) by inches - literally. If I had not moved out of the way, she would have grazed me. It's not like I wasn't standing there holding a very bright umbrella over my head. It wasn't like I wasn't in the crosswalk long before she approached me. A couple of guys in a car on the street perpendicular shouted, "Whoa!" through their open windows. THAT is how close.
And even as I sit here sighing heavily with my eyes aching from all the weight, I still see the obvious silver linings here: no ticket for running the stop sign by my office, not ACTUALLY getting run over by the oblivious old lady.
When, oh when, did I become an optimist?
I don't like it....
Thursday = my nemesis.
I've been saying this for a while. In fact, I was looking at some old blogs a couple weeks ago and I realized that Thursdays were sucking for me even before my mom died. Stupid effing Thursday.
I'm sitting here right now feeling like I could burst into tears any second...and kind of hoping I just would. It would be a relief to just have done with it. Y'know?
I've had a fairly ridiculous week. Monday morning, I was about to pull into the parking lot at work, and there was a cop car blocking the way. I went around the block, came back, and got about as far as the parking lot when I noticed the blue lights in my rearview. "Pausing isn't stopping," the cop said. At least I got off with a warning.
Last night, I missed being run over by an old lady (and you wonder why I hate old people?!) by inches - literally. If I had not moved out of the way, she would have grazed me. It's not like I wasn't standing there holding a very bright umbrella over my head. It wasn't like I wasn't in the crosswalk long before she approached me. A couple of guys in a car on the street perpendicular shouted, "Whoa!" through their open windows. THAT is how close.
And even as I sit here sighing heavily with my eyes aching from all the weight, I still see the obvious silver linings here: no ticket for running the stop sign by my office, not ACTUALLY getting run over by the oblivious old lady.
When, oh when, did I become an optimist?
I don't like it....
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Lovely
Here's how I know I'm a total emotional basket case right now: I can't even collage.
Not being able to write is one thing (a sad thing, but not an unusual thing), not being able to read is a little more rare (but it has happened before), but not being able to make a collage is new for me. I usually just sit down with quotes I've been collecting (I'm always collecting them) and pictures I like (I usually collect those, too) and I just randomly put them together. Sometimes, it even comes out looking pretty.
The last several days, I haven't been focused enough to even write a coherent e-mail. I haven't been focused enough to read much (which kind of kills me -- I love to read, always have). And tonight I discovered I just couldn't collage.
I know why I'm so distracted (Saturday was my mom's birthday). I know that these feelings of discombobulation will eventually pass. But, it doesn't make being in a funk any easier.
Here's what has:
I'd planned another event modeled on the Beckoning of Lovely for Saturday and although the turnout was quite small, it was pretty lovely and it distracted me for a couple of hours. It was very hot, and I made an offhand comment about going to the movies (airconditioning!) and so my friend Kate suggested we go to see Inception.
The movie blew my mind for all the reasons it's been blowing other people's minds.
But, it was more than that.
Instead of being a real grownup and doing my laundry on Sunday, I went to see it again. Things made more sense the second time. Both times, I was struck by the character Arthur. It's not just that I liked the character (although he was my favorite in the movie). It's not just that the character was well-written (although he was). It's the way the actor (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) delivers one very simple line about midway through the movie.
When Ellen Page's character asks him about the lead character's dead wife, he says, "She was lovely."
(It's not the coincidence of the word choice that gets me, although I do find that interesting, too....)
Something about the way he looks when he says it, the way he says it, just reaches right into my chest and stops my heart for a second.
Before Kate and I saw the movie Saturday night, we wandered around the bookstore. In true Graceless fashion, I had planned to not spend any money and ended up charging $73 worth of books before I left. One of the books was Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan.
I finished reading the book tonight (when I say I can't read, I don't mean it literally -- I mean that I can't sit and read for hours and hours and hours on end like I normally could). About midway through the book, Levithan writes about a community's reaction to the death of a football player: "I vowed then and there that I would never hesitate to speak up to the people I loved. They deserved to know they gave meaning to my life. They deserved to know I thought the world of them."
And then it hit me.
I went to the pile of materials I'd amassed for my next collage and I selected a handful of quotes (most from Libba Bray or the To Write Love on Her Arms blogs) and several origami butterflies I'd made. (I am not particularly skilled with origami butterflies specifically or origami in general.) I wrote the selected quotes on the butterflies. I made copies of the passage from Boy Meets Boy. I put these things together in an envelope and tomorrow I will be mailing them to five friends. (There would be more, but I ran out of butterflies. Mayhaps more will go out soon....)
The five butterflies are headed to a somewhat haphazardly selected group of people, but they are all people who mean a lot to me and people I wanted to make sure knew that I love them, that I think they're lovely.
It's not a magic cure-all by any means. But, I can feel the funk starting to shrink away just a bit. The lesson in this? When all else fails, share a bit of your heart with the people who matter to you. It might just make a difference.
Not being able to write is one thing (a sad thing, but not an unusual thing), not being able to read is a little more rare (but it has happened before), but not being able to make a collage is new for me. I usually just sit down with quotes I've been collecting (I'm always collecting them) and pictures I like (I usually collect those, too) and I just randomly put them together. Sometimes, it even comes out looking pretty.
The last several days, I haven't been focused enough to even write a coherent e-mail. I haven't been focused enough to read much (which kind of kills me -- I love to read, always have). And tonight I discovered I just couldn't collage.
I know why I'm so distracted (Saturday was my mom's birthday). I know that these feelings of discombobulation will eventually pass. But, it doesn't make being in a funk any easier.
Here's what has:
I'd planned another event modeled on the Beckoning of Lovely for Saturday and although the turnout was quite small, it was pretty lovely and it distracted me for a couple of hours. It was very hot, and I made an offhand comment about going to the movies (airconditioning!) and so my friend Kate suggested we go to see Inception.
The movie blew my mind for all the reasons it's been blowing other people's minds.
But, it was more than that.
Instead of being a real grownup and doing my laundry on Sunday, I went to see it again. Things made more sense the second time. Both times, I was struck by the character Arthur. It's not just that I liked the character (although he was my favorite in the movie). It's not just that the character was well-written (although he was). It's the way the actor (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) delivers one very simple line about midway through the movie.
When Ellen Page's character asks him about the lead character's dead wife, he says, "She was lovely."
(It's not the coincidence of the word choice that gets me, although I do find that interesting, too....)
Something about the way he looks when he says it, the way he says it, just reaches right into my chest and stops my heart for a second.
Before Kate and I saw the movie Saturday night, we wandered around the bookstore. In true Graceless fashion, I had planned to not spend any money and ended up charging $73 worth of books before I left. One of the books was Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan.
I finished reading the book tonight (when I say I can't read, I don't mean it literally -- I mean that I can't sit and read for hours and hours and hours on end like I normally could). About midway through the book, Levithan writes about a community's reaction to the death of a football player: "I vowed then and there that I would never hesitate to speak up to the people I loved. They deserved to know they gave meaning to my life. They deserved to know I thought the world of them."
And then it hit me.
I went to the pile of materials I'd amassed for my next collage and I selected a handful of quotes (most from Libba Bray or the To Write Love on Her Arms blogs) and several origami butterflies I'd made. (I am not particularly skilled with origami butterflies specifically or origami in general.) I wrote the selected quotes on the butterflies. I made copies of the passage from Boy Meets Boy. I put these things together in an envelope and tomorrow I will be mailing them to five friends. (There would be more, but I ran out of butterflies. Mayhaps more will go out soon....)
The five butterflies are headed to a somewhat haphazardly selected group of people, but they are all people who mean a lot to me and people I wanted to make sure knew that I love them, that I think they're lovely.
It's not a magic cure-all by any means. But, I can feel the funk starting to shrink away just a bit. The lesson in this? When all else fails, share a bit of your heart with the people who matter to you. It might just make a difference.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Do you make a lot of jewelry?
That's what this guy asked me as I stood in the aisle at Michael's trying to pick out a chain for one of my mom's unmatched earrings. He then proceeded to talk to me for several minutes, all the while I was standing there thinking, "Wow, he's hitting on me. I can't believe he's hitting on me. In a craft store. And, he's not obviously creepy. Awkward, but not creepy. Or obviously deranged. Or old. Definitely not old. And he doesn't seem to be homeless. Wow. How weird is that? Oh, hey, he's STILL talking to me."
It must've been the dress. I purposely wore my blue ruffled undies today because my sundress is a bit on the short side. I know I should probably give it to Goodwill, but I love this dress.
Anyway, the fact that this awkward guy came on to me is remarkable because stuff like that never happens -- unless the guy IS creepy or deranged or old or homeless. Or a combination of any of those things. Really.
And now I'm going to recycle a blog I wrote in December in a super secret location:
I finally went to the Laundromat and this creepy (and I mean CREEPY) guy was sitting a few feet away (did I mention he was reading Stephen King?).
It must've been the dress. I purposely wore my blue ruffled undies today because my sundress is a bit on the short side. I know I should probably give it to Goodwill, but I love this dress.
Anyway, the fact that this awkward guy came on to me is remarkable because stuff like that never happens -- unless the guy IS creepy or deranged or old or homeless. Or a combination of any of those things. Really.
And now I'm going to recycle a blog I wrote in December in a super secret location:
I finally went to the Laundromat and this creepy (and I mean CREEPY) guy was sitting a few feet away (did I mention he was reading Stephen King?).
I’m settling down with my book, and out of nowhere, he asks me my name. Had I been thinking, I would have given him a fake name.
MINOR TANGENT:
There was this time in high school that I was at the mall with Stacey and several others (although I don’t remember who else) and these boys on the second level called down to me to stay where I was, they were coming down.
(I called it a game of “Let’s laugh at the ugly girl.” Now, I don’t think I’m exactly ugly. I have very pretty eyes with long eyelashes, which is supposed to be a good thing, or so I’m told. I’m not hideous, but I’m not a knockout, either. I turn heads in a “wow, that girl is odd” kind of way, rather than a “I want to nail her” kind of way. And that’s fine. As Ani DiFranco says, “Too pretty is also your doom, ‘cause everyone harbors a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room.”)
My other friends scattered, but I grabbed Stacey’s arm and made her stay with me. When the boys arrived and asked our names, we both gave aliases. I don’t remember hers. Mine was, I believe, Monique. I don’t really remember anything else about the incident, except that it made me feel like I was being laughed at, and I didn’t like it.
So, this guy asks my name and because I can’t think that fast on my feet anymore, I tell him my real name. And repeat it, because he can’t hear me.
I go back to reading.
He then tells me he thinks my bookmark is really cool. Okay. The bookmark I was using? My business card. I have tons of bookmarks at home (people think these are good gifts for some strange reason) but I almost never use one. I usually dogear. But this was a borrowed book. Sometimes I use a sticky note or a paperclip, but I didn’t have any of those around. So, I used my business card. And he thought it was cool. Really? Really?
This reminds me of high school, too, when Kim and Anthony used to have this game where they’d try to come up with the worst pickup line ever. (My favorite is still one of Anthony’s: God must be crying…because he lost an angel. Most of it had to do with how Anthony delivered it.)
When I tell him my bookmark is just my business card, he asks where I work. I tell him I work for the state. He asks where. I say, “the health department.” But he doesn’t hear me. I repeat myself several times, finally kind of yelling, “Maine CDC, the Center for Disease Control.” That finally seemed to shut him up.
It’s not nearly as bad as when I got semi-stalked by the insanely creepy guy at Bubba’s two Lucky Lass Throwdowns ago, but it was pretty icky. If there is a creepy/deranged/homeless/old man within 10 feet who is the least bit emotionally unstable, he will hit on me. (No one else hits on me, BTW. Unless you count when Thighs Queen used to call me “Beautiful Graceless” — which actually did make me feel sorta beautiful — but I’m absolutely certain she wasn’t actually hitting on me, that’s just her way.)
DO I GIVE OFF A VIBE? Really, I want to know. What is it about me that draws in these creepy/pervy/CRAZY men? (this reminds me of the scene in Garden State when Mark asks why it’s never a hot chick who wants to talk your ear off about some stupid pyramid scam….)
Because, if some stranger wants to flirt with me, I really won’t mind in the slightest if it’s a hot chick with red hair (although I suppose that last part is optional) or a very funny, geeky boy. Why doesn’t THAT ever happen?
Thursday, June 24, 2010
And the world spins madly on
It's Nemesis Day, and I know that not only because I can read a calendar, but because the excellent mood I was in completely vanished late last night for no obvious reason.
Today at work, I kept reading updates about this horrific triple homicide a couple hours north of here. Turns out, one of the victims was my derby wife's cousin. I would comment on what a strangely small world it is, except my mind was blown many years ago when we found out my ex-fiance ate lunch with the serial killer who murdered my brother-in-law's cousin. It is a small, and often brutal, world.
Before my derby wife discovered this news, we had dinner with two other derby friends. I'm not sure how it came up, but there was talk of bigamy. Cruella said to me, "You'd be an excellent sister wife, Graceless. You could make the schedule!" That may go down in history as one of the oddest compliments I've ever received.
And, keeping with the odd theme, a friend just posted this as his Facebook status: "Did I really just sing 'Let's Get it On' in public? Yes. Yes, I did."
A bizarre, brutal, and incredibly small world indeed.
Sending lots of love to dear friends who lost loved ones this week....
Today at work, I kept reading updates about this horrific triple homicide a couple hours north of here. Turns out, one of the victims was my derby wife's cousin. I would comment on what a strangely small world it is, except my mind was blown many years ago when we found out my ex-fiance ate lunch with the serial killer who murdered my brother-in-law's cousin. It is a small, and often brutal, world.
Before my derby wife discovered this news, we had dinner with two other derby friends. I'm not sure how it came up, but there was talk of bigamy. Cruella said to me, "You'd be an excellent sister wife, Graceless. You could make the schedule!" That may go down in history as one of the oddest compliments I've ever received.
And, keeping with the odd theme, a friend just posted this as his Facebook status: "Did I really just sing 'Let's Get it On' in public? Yes. Yes, I did."
A bizarre, brutal, and incredibly small world indeed.
Sending lots of love to dear friends who lost loved ones this week....
Monday, June 21, 2010
"Very occasionally, if you really pay attention, life doesn't suck"
- Joss Whedon
I've been having a lot of epiphanies again, which always makes my head hurt. Don't let anyone fool you: Epiphanies suck. Or, having them does. Once you've worked it all out, it's not so bad. Usually you're better off. But having the epiphany, that is no fun at all.
I was re-reading something I wrote back at the end of December about holding my breath: "Holding it all in like I have been helps me keep Mom close. And I’m afraid to let it out/let go, because I’m scared to really feel the loss. It’s starting to come — the numbness is wearing thin at the edges — and I don’t know that I can do this. And even if I can, I don’t want to. I don’t want to let her go…."
The other day, a friend of mine sent me an email where she said that I sounded really happy. And, I guess I have been sort of happy for about a week now. I'm mostly moved into my new apartment and I've started writing a bit about Mom's death (or, at least, my grieving process). It's like I'm starting to exhale a little. Albeit very slowly.
One of the reasons I'm glad I moved is that I know my mom was disappointed that she never saw my last apartment. It bothered her a lot. And that bothered me. I know she'll never see this one either, but at least it's not like she KNEW about this one. I can't explain it any better than that. Plus, this isn't the place where I lived when we found out the cancer had spread or that things were going downhill so fast, or where I had to come back and live after she'd died. This is a new place. A place where I can start over. I like that.
I sent an email to a mentor of mine last week. I told him that I've been focused on telling people what I think of them since Mom got sick. I likened it to someone in a 12-step program making amends. In a way, that's what it feels like.
When my sister convinced me to join Facebook shortly after I moved into the old apartment, I did so reluctantly. At the time, I decided I wasn't going to send many friend-requests. If people wanted to be my friend, they'd find me. That was my rationale. (That, and I always assume that people just sort of tolerate my presence and I didn't want anyone to accept my request out of some sense of obligation.)
That was dumb.
Today, I sent a bunch of requests to a bunch of people from derby -- some of whom I've known for years -- because I realized a couple of things. 1. I wanted to tag them in pictures I had; 2. If they didn't want to be my friend, they could ignore me; 3. It's important to let people know you think about them. (I really do have to learn things about 16 times before it sinks in. Geez.)
The day I got home after Mom died, I made her favorite cookies for my co-workers -- to thank them for their kindness, for their understanding, for their support, for covering for me for the three weeks I'd been out. I was only able to do it because I was in a completely shutdown state. Total zombie.
At Christmastime, I'd intended to bake like I always do. Got all the stuff. And I couldn't do it. I just couldn't face baking, as ridiculous as that sounds. My mom taught me to bake when I was in second grade. It was always my way of relieving stress and showing people my appreciation (traits I inherited from my mother). Baking always, always, always makes me think of my mom. And, it's been too hard to even think much about doing it.
Until tonight. I just baked her chocolate chip cookies. I was very distracted, and I had to consult the recipe (I've been baking them from memory for half my life). But I made them. And I didn't completely freak out, either.
I posted on Facebook that I was going to bake and was worried about how it would be. My friend Jed, who used to work with me, posted that he remembered my cookies. Makes me want to send him some, two states away.
Because, memory is an incredible thing. I have gone through much of my life feeling pretty invisible. It always amazes me when someone a. notices me or something I've done and b. remembers it. It's like they're saying, "Hey, you're important." It's an incredible gift. (Maybe this is why I focus so much on details -- and on remembering them. It's my way of saying, "Hey, you're important. You matter to me." Kind of like giving someone a plate of cookies I've baked. Or monkeys from a quarter machine. Or random missions to seek out joy/bring joy to others.)
I was talking to my friend Shawna about sending her cookies, and she said, "You don't have to do that." I told her that of course I didn't HAVE to, but that I'm my own girl and I'll do what I want.
I said it without thinking.
But the phrase "my own girl" is incredibly important.
Years ago, when I broke my engagement, I wrote this poem (the only good poem I've EVER written) about said broken engagement. It starts out, "There once was a girl, a plain girl, / who lived in a kingdom / rich with berries, corn, and cows." It ends, "...she rode away / on her broken dream / and was her own girl once more."
Only, when I wrote it, I wrote, "and was a plain girl once more." One of my thesis advisors didn't like the repetition and didn't like the message of the girl being plain. She wanted the girl to be strong. So, she advised that I rework it. I changed it to the line above, but I never totally felt it.
Until now.
I AM my own girl, and I'm not sure when it happened or how it happened, but it's true. I am my own girl who stumbles blindly through so many things. Many people wouldn't understand the choices I've made, or agree with them. But they all add up to me being who I am. Sometimes, I take the long way around. Ultimately, I end up where I need to be. And it's not easy, but what in this life is? (It's like saying, "Hey, you're important. You matter to me." They're easy words to say -- even to mean -- and yet how often does any of us take the time to remember to say them?)
I guess I am kind of happy this week. It doesn't mean I won't be miserable next week. Or next month. Or even five minutes from now. But I'm learning to take things as they come to me and to remember to appreciate the beautiful people and experiences in my life as often as possible.
The noticing is important, but the remembering is key.
I've been having a lot of epiphanies again, which always makes my head hurt. Don't let anyone fool you: Epiphanies suck. Or, having them does. Once you've worked it all out, it's not so bad. Usually you're better off. But having the epiphany, that is no fun at all.
I was re-reading something I wrote back at the end of December about holding my breath: "Holding it all in like I have been helps me keep Mom close. And I’m afraid to let it out/let go, because I’m scared to really feel the loss. It’s starting to come — the numbness is wearing thin at the edges — and I don’t know that I can do this. And even if I can, I don’t want to. I don’t want to let her go…."
The other day, a friend of mine sent me an email where she said that I sounded really happy. And, I guess I have been sort of happy for about a week now. I'm mostly moved into my new apartment and I've started writing a bit about Mom's death (or, at least, my grieving process). It's like I'm starting to exhale a little. Albeit very slowly.
One of the reasons I'm glad I moved is that I know my mom was disappointed that she never saw my last apartment. It bothered her a lot. And that bothered me. I know she'll never see this one either, but at least it's not like she KNEW about this one. I can't explain it any better than that. Plus, this isn't the place where I lived when we found out the cancer had spread or that things were going downhill so fast, or where I had to come back and live after she'd died. This is a new place. A place where I can start over. I like that.
I sent an email to a mentor of mine last week. I told him that I've been focused on telling people what I think of them since Mom got sick. I likened it to someone in a 12-step program making amends. In a way, that's what it feels like.
When my sister convinced me to join Facebook shortly after I moved into the old apartment, I did so reluctantly. At the time, I decided I wasn't going to send many friend-requests. If people wanted to be my friend, they'd find me. That was my rationale. (That, and I always assume that people just sort of tolerate my presence and I didn't want anyone to accept my request out of some sense of obligation.)
That was dumb.
Today, I sent a bunch of requests to a bunch of people from derby -- some of whom I've known for years -- because I realized a couple of things. 1. I wanted to tag them in pictures I had; 2. If they didn't want to be my friend, they could ignore me; 3. It's important to let people know you think about them. (I really do have to learn things about 16 times before it sinks in. Geez.)
The day I got home after Mom died, I made her favorite cookies for my co-workers -- to thank them for their kindness, for their understanding, for their support, for covering for me for the three weeks I'd been out. I was only able to do it because I was in a completely shutdown state. Total zombie.
At Christmastime, I'd intended to bake like I always do. Got all the stuff. And I couldn't do it. I just couldn't face baking, as ridiculous as that sounds. My mom taught me to bake when I was in second grade. It was always my way of relieving stress and showing people my appreciation (traits I inherited from my mother). Baking always, always, always makes me think of my mom. And, it's been too hard to even think much about doing it.
Until tonight. I just baked her chocolate chip cookies. I was very distracted, and I had to consult the recipe (I've been baking them from memory for half my life). But I made them. And I didn't completely freak out, either.
I posted on Facebook that I was going to bake and was worried about how it would be. My friend Jed, who used to work with me, posted that he remembered my cookies. Makes me want to send him some, two states away.
Because, memory is an incredible thing. I have gone through much of my life feeling pretty invisible. It always amazes me when someone a. notices me or something I've done and b. remembers it. It's like they're saying, "Hey, you're important." It's an incredible gift. (Maybe this is why I focus so much on details -- and on remembering them. It's my way of saying, "Hey, you're important. You matter to me." Kind of like giving someone a plate of cookies I've baked. Or monkeys from a quarter machine. Or random missions to seek out joy/bring joy to others.)
I was talking to my friend Shawna about sending her cookies, and she said, "You don't have to do that." I told her that of course I didn't HAVE to, but that I'm my own girl and I'll do what I want.
I said it without thinking.
But the phrase "my own girl" is incredibly important.
Years ago, when I broke my engagement, I wrote this poem (the only good poem I've EVER written) about said broken engagement. It starts out, "There once was a girl, a plain girl, / who lived in a kingdom / rich with berries, corn, and cows." It ends, "...she rode away / on her broken dream / and was her own girl once more."
Only, when I wrote it, I wrote, "and was a plain girl once more." One of my thesis advisors didn't like the repetition and didn't like the message of the girl being plain. She wanted the girl to be strong. So, she advised that I rework it. I changed it to the line above, but I never totally felt it.
Until now.
I AM my own girl, and I'm not sure when it happened or how it happened, but it's true. I am my own girl who stumbles blindly through so many things. Many people wouldn't understand the choices I've made, or agree with them. But they all add up to me being who I am. Sometimes, I take the long way around. Ultimately, I end up where I need to be. And it's not easy, but what in this life is? (It's like saying, "Hey, you're important. You matter to me." They're easy words to say -- even to mean -- and yet how often does any of us take the time to remember to say them?)
I guess I am kind of happy this week. It doesn't mean I won't be miserable next week. Or next month. Or even five minutes from now. But I'm learning to take things as they come to me and to remember to appreciate the beautiful people and experiences in my life as often as possible.
The noticing is important, but the remembering is key.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Words matter
Six or seven years ago, I sent these emails to a bunch of people with the five words I'd use to describe them. Some of those people emailed me back, and I kept the lists. I was thinking about those lists recently, and wondering if they'd changed. And, it occurred to me that it was time to send five words to people who are important to me again.
So, last week while I was waiting for scrimmage to start, I sat in the expo and I made a list of the five words that came to mind when I thought of about a dozen of my friends. Several of them wrote back, "What a way to start the day" (because I'd sent my emails very late last Thursday night). A few wrote me lists in return.
The original words given to me 6ish years ago:
intelligent
kind
quirky
responsible
beautiful
child-wise
imaginative
sweet
independent
quirky
genuine
kind
bubbly
smart
super-organized
intelligent
wry
talented
pure-hearted
independent
The new words:
intelligent
creative
unique
thoughtful
extraordinary
(and, because Jackie couldn't stop herself, she added precious, beautiful, stargirl, imaginative, daring, courageous, wonderful, special)
creative
responsible
just
ethical
loving
warm
accessible
shiny (bright)
creative
tender
witty
wise
open-minded
nonjudgmental
eloquent
considerate
inspiring
smart
kind
individual
perceptive
honest
supportive
altruistic
sprightly
These are incredible words. If I could, I'd sew them into a patchwork dress and I'd wear it all the time. It's important to let people know that you think of them; it's important to let people know what you think of them. It is important to make sure that people know that they matter.
I discovered the organization To Write Love on Her Arms almost two years ago, I think. Today, I was browsing through the blog on the web site, and I came across this quote:
And, it really is true, isn't it? And, that kind of makes me sad. Why don't we let people know we love them more? Why don't we take every, every opportunity to tell the people in our world that we're glad they're in it and that they make it better? Why don't we open our hearts more?
I'm just as guilty as everyone else. I try to remember to be awesome. I try to show kindness, to tell people that I'm thinking of them, to choose wonder, to inspire love and happiness. I try. Sometimes, I'm really good at remembering. Other times, I totally suck at it. Sometimes, I feel incredibly sad and so, so very alone. Sometimes, I don't want to crawl out of my bed and deal with the world. Sometimes, I hate people. I hate all the noise and the brightness and the chaos. Sometimes, I get distracted by deadlines and work and feeling disgruntled and unappreciated. Sometimes, it just takes all the strength I have to make it through the damn day.
But, I want there to be more days filled with love.
Today, I also came across this Mental Floss blog. Why aren't we all a little kinder? Just look at the impact it has. It doesn't have to be a big, huge thing. The blog reminded me of a time when I was visiting my ex-fiance in New York City. We were on an escalator or stairs in or near Grand Central Station. A woman was ahead of us, struggling with a baby carriage. I was annoyed at being stuck behind her. My ex, who was not always the most observant guy on the planet, reached right out and helped her. The look on this woman's face -- you'd have thought an angel just crossed her path. She thanked him up and down for his help (and, really, he didn't do all that much), and I just stood there with my mouth open realizing that THAT is exactly the reaction I SHOULD have had -- I should have been moved to help her rather than be annoyed that she was blocking my way. Especially because she needed the help. Because she appreciated it.
Because kindness matters, dammit.
We are all loved more than we'll ever know. It's like that scene in V for Vendetta, when Evie is reading the letter from Valerie, who wrote: "Even though I've never met you, I love you." Human beings are capable of such profound acts of love and compassion. Unfortunately, it often needs something to trigger it into action. (Maybe that's because none of us could sustain it all the time -- it would burn us out like the sun if we tried.) I guess I just wish there were more triggers.
And, maybe that's part of Working on Love -- finding the triggers.
And, maybe that's what the five-word experiment was all about. And the pink letters. And the misadventures. And so many of the other things I've been doing the last year-ish.
So, last week while I was waiting for scrimmage to start, I sat in the expo and I made a list of the five words that came to mind when I thought of about a dozen of my friends. Several of them wrote back, "What a way to start the day" (because I'd sent my emails very late last Thursday night). A few wrote me lists in return.
The original words given to me 6ish years ago:
intelligent
kind
quirky
responsible
beautiful
child-wise
imaginative
sweet
independent
quirky
genuine
kind
bubbly
smart
super-organized
intelligent
wry
talented
pure-hearted
independent
The new words:
intelligent
creative
unique
thoughtful
extraordinary
(and, because Jackie couldn't stop herself, she added precious, beautiful, stargirl, imaginative, daring, courageous, wonderful, special)
creative
responsible
just
ethical
loving
warm
accessible
shiny (bright)
creative
tender
witty
wise
open-minded
nonjudgmental
eloquent
considerate
inspiring
smart
kind
individual
perceptive
honest
supportive
altruistic
sprightly
These are incredible words. If I could, I'd sew them into a patchwork dress and I'd wear it all the time. It's important to let people know that you think of them; it's important to let people know what you think of them. It is important to make sure that people know that they matter.
I discovered the organization To Write Love on Her Arms almost two years ago, I think. Today, I was browsing through the blog on the web site, and I came across this quote:
"I just have to believe that we are all more loved than we'll ever know. And we're all in this together."
And, it really is true, isn't it? And, that kind of makes me sad. Why don't we let people know we love them more? Why don't we take every, every opportunity to tell the people in our world that we're glad they're in it and that they make it better? Why don't we open our hearts more?
I'm just as guilty as everyone else. I try to remember to be awesome. I try to show kindness, to tell people that I'm thinking of them, to choose wonder, to inspire love and happiness. I try. Sometimes, I'm really good at remembering. Other times, I totally suck at it. Sometimes, I feel incredibly sad and so, so very alone. Sometimes, I don't want to crawl out of my bed and deal with the world. Sometimes, I hate people. I hate all the noise and the brightness and the chaos. Sometimes, I get distracted by deadlines and work and feeling disgruntled and unappreciated. Sometimes, it just takes all the strength I have to make it through the damn day.
But, I want there to be more days filled with love.
Today, I also came across this Mental Floss blog. Why aren't we all a little kinder? Just look at the impact it has. It doesn't have to be a big, huge thing. The blog reminded me of a time when I was visiting my ex-fiance in New York City. We were on an escalator or stairs in or near Grand Central Station. A woman was ahead of us, struggling with a baby carriage. I was annoyed at being stuck behind her. My ex, who was not always the most observant guy on the planet, reached right out and helped her. The look on this woman's face -- you'd have thought an angel just crossed her path. She thanked him up and down for his help (and, really, he didn't do all that much), and I just stood there with my mouth open realizing that THAT is exactly the reaction I SHOULD have had -- I should have been moved to help her rather than be annoyed that she was blocking my way. Especially because she needed the help. Because she appreciated it.
Because kindness matters, dammit.
We are all loved more than we'll ever know. It's like that scene in V for Vendetta, when Evie is reading the letter from Valerie, who wrote: "Even though I've never met you, I love you." Human beings are capable of such profound acts of love and compassion. Unfortunately, it often needs something to trigger it into action. (Maybe that's because none of us could sustain it all the time -- it would burn us out like the sun if we tried.) I guess I just wish there were more triggers.
And, maybe that's part of Working on Love -- finding the triggers.
And, maybe that's what the five-word experiment was all about. And the pink letters. And the misadventures. And so many of the other things I've been doing the last year-ish.
Monday, June 14, 2010
I feel like I'm living in the middle of a tornado
Allow me to explain my melodramatic analogy -- I feel very spun around and dizzy and like I'm in the middle of something noisy and unrelenting.
I am shrinking again. As of Saturday, I was back down to 125 pounds again. And that was before all the physical activity of moving on Sunday, so I think it's possible I'm even smaller now. This is not good. I am aware of that. I am working on it. (So, please keep comments to yourselves.)
I'm still trying to process A LOT of stuff from the last several days.
Thursday night, I spoke to my friend Daniel. I always describe Daniel as my biggest cheerleader. He is. He's also one of the most gentle and loving people I've ever met. I use these five words to describe him: beautiful, creative, inspiring, supportive, radiant.
We were talking on Thursday, because we are trying to help each other overcome some of our fears so that they will no longer stand in the way of each of us writing. He'd said he was going to make a list of all the things he was afraid of in preparation for our call. I did the same. While I was thinking about all the things that scare me -- and it's an insanely long list -- the Sarah McLachlan song "Fear" was playing in my head. The chorus: "But I fear / I have nothing to give / I have so much to lose."
And I started thinking, "What do I have to lose?"
The truth: Nothing.
I risk rejection. Potentially some loss of stability, but that's REALLY pushing it. Rejection is the biggest thing. (And, I've survived rejection before. I survive it all the time, in fact.)
I have nothing to lose.
Daniel talked about having a "concrete hat" -- this helmet that just weighs you down with all the insecurities and voices saying you're not good enough and ruminations on failure. I could totally relate to that.
The more he talked about how much he could weigh himself down, the more astounded I was. Here is this guy who is my hero because he's so full of kindness and light and seemingly so unafraid of throwing himself out into the big, scary world in order to pursue the things that bring him joy and all the while his inner voices are telling him he doesn't measure up. And, his voices are identical to mine.
Screw the voices.
I have nothing to lose.
I'm going to at least try to get this concrete hat off my head for good.
Goethe said, “Whatever you do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius and power and magic in it.”
And I realize, that's the key. It's about doing it. Just doing it. You can't expect life to come to you. You can't just sit on the sidelines hoping and wishing and trying to be a good person and believing that that's enough to make good things happen for you. Oh, be a good person, but also go out there and CHASE DOWN JOY. (How many times do I have to learn the same lessons?)
Friday night, I met some friends for dinner and then we went to see Dennis Lehane read. Dennis was my mentor for one semester during my MFA, and he led many of my workshops. The man is a brilliant teacher. Really -- I think he taught me more than any other instructor I've ever had. Just being in a room listening to him talk about writing made my brain start to explode. (Maybe because it was already near exploding because of the conversation with Daniel the night before, but maybe because it would have exploded just listening to Dennis.) Turned out, almost my entire old writing group was at the reading. Afterward, we went out for drinks. Just being in that company again made me itch to write.
By Saturday, my two-week-long-cold-from-hell had finally subsided. This was good, because we had a bout. In the downtime waiting for things to start, Evil handed me a program. She said there were some new pages this time around. As I flipped through, I saw the letters "DFTBA." Then I looked up and saw that the message was to "GK." It was a message commemorating the second anniversary of Rehab asking me to be her derby wife. (And, as unlike me as it is, it's also the second time I've forgotten our anniversary....) I may forget our anniversary, but I will try very hard to remember to be awesome.
Sunday was moving day. It looked like it was going to rain any second. Thundershowers had been predicted. Jamie, Kate, and I wrestled my insanely (and I mean that) heavy double rocker/recliner down the stairs of my old apartment, into Jamie's sister's truck, and then up the stairs in the new apartment. Magic happened. There is not other explanation for how that couch made it into the new living room. Jamie, Kate, Penny, and I moved all the big, heavy stuff. I still have a few trips to make to the old apartment before I'm completely moved out and ready to clean it all. I have so many bruises all over my body, it looks like I survived some kind of horrible accident. But it didn't even rain until today.
Here I sit in the new apartment, in the almost fully set up "office" where I will be writing. Being in a new space surrounded by the things that inspire me most feels good. Sitting down and doing the writing is still incredibly intimidating.
But, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
I am shrinking again. As of Saturday, I was back down to 125 pounds again. And that was before all the physical activity of moving on Sunday, so I think it's possible I'm even smaller now. This is not good. I am aware of that. I am working on it. (So, please keep comments to yourselves.)
I'm still trying to process A LOT of stuff from the last several days.
Thursday night, I spoke to my friend Daniel. I always describe Daniel as my biggest cheerleader. He is. He's also one of the most gentle and loving people I've ever met. I use these five words to describe him: beautiful, creative, inspiring, supportive, radiant.
We were talking on Thursday, because we are trying to help each other overcome some of our fears so that they will no longer stand in the way of each of us writing. He'd said he was going to make a list of all the things he was afraid of in preparation for our call. I did the same. While I was thinking about all the things that scare me -- and it's an insanely long list -- the Sarah McLachlan song "Fear" was playing in my head. The chorus: "But I fear / I have nothing to give / I have so much to lose."
And I started thinking, "What do I have to lose?"
The truth: Nothing.
I risk rejection. Potentially some loss of stability, but that's REALLY pushing it. Rejection is the biggest thing. (And, I've survived rejection before. I survive it all the time, in fact.)
I have nothing to lose.
Daniel talked about having a "concrete hat" -- this helmet that just weighs you down with all the insecurities and voices saying you're not good enough and ruminations on failure. I could totally relate to that.
The more he talked about how much he could weigh himself down, the more astounded I was. Here is this guy who is my hero because he's so full of kindness and light and seemingly so unafraid of throwing himself out into the big, scary world in order to pursue the things that bring him joy and all the while his inner voices are telling him he doesn't measure up. And, his voices are identical to mine.
Screw the voices.
I have nothing to lose.
I'm going to at least try to get this concrete hat off my head for good.
Goethe said, “Whatever you do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius and power and magic in it.”
And I realize, that's the key. It's about doing it. Just doing it. You can't expect life to come to you. You can't just sit on the sidelines hoping and wishing and trying to be a good person and believing that that's enough to make good things happen for you. Oh, be a good person, but also go out there and CHASE DOWN JOY. (How many times do I have to learn the same lessons?)
Friday night, I met some friends for dinner and then we went to see Dennis Lehane read. Dennis was my mentor for one semester during my MFA, and he led many of my workshops. The man is a brilliant teacher. Really -- I think he taught me more than any other instructor I've ever had. Just being in a room listening to him talk about writing made my brain start to explode. (Maybe because it was already near exploding because of the conversation with Daniel the night before, but maybe because it would have exploded just listening to Dennis.) Turned out, almost my entire old writing group was at the reading. Afterward, we went out for drinks. Just being in that company again made me itch to write.
By Saturday, my two-week-long-cold-from-hell had finally subsided. This was good, because we had a bout. In the downtime waiting for things to start, Evil handed me a program. She said there were some new pages this time around. As I flipped through, I saw the letters "DFTBA." Then I looked up and saw that the message was to "GK." It was a message commemorating the second anniversary of Rehab asking me to be her derby wife. (And, as unlike me as it is, it's also the second time I've forgotten our anniversary....) I may forget our anniversary, but I will try very hard to remember to be awesome.
Sunday was moving day. It looked like it was going to rain any second. Thundershowers had been predicted. Jamie, Kate, and I wrestled my insanely (and I mean that) heavy double rocker/recliner down the stairs of my old apartment, into Jamie's sister's truck, and then up the stairs in the new apartment. Magic happened. There is not other explanation for how that couch made it into the new living room. Jamie, Kate, Penny, and I moved all the big, heavy stuff. I still have a few trips to make to the old apartment before I'm completely moved out and ready to clean it all. I have so many bruises all over my body, it looks like I survived some kind of horrible accident. But it didn't even rain until today.
Here I sit in the new apartment, in the almost fully set up "office" where I will be writing. Being in a new space surrounded by the things that inspire me most feels good. Sitting down and doing the writing is still incredibly intimidating.
But, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
My life is killing me
That's what I said to George, the guy who cuts my hair, when he asked how I was when I came in for my cut a couple weeks ago.
He said, "That's a new one. Usually people say, 'My back's killing me' or 'My leg's killing me.'"
I said, "Nope. It's my life."
And, that's how it's been feeling. More than overwhelmed -- like my life is actually trying to do me in. Toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuch all at once.
I'm in the middle of moving. I love (love love love) the new apartment (except for the ridiculous lack of closet space). But I hate moving. It takes a lot out of you. And it makes you feel scattered.
Plus, I've been trying to move in the rain, with a cold. Not remotely fun, let me tell you.
And there's that -- I'm finally starting to feel like I MIGHT be getting rid of this nasty cold I've had since last Sunday but, per usual, it has totally worn me out. This is the third or fourth nasty cold I've had this year (which is only six months-old). I know I'm getting sick a lot because I'm letting myself get rundown a lot. I should take better care of myself, but it's hard. Hard to take the time to slow down. Hard to remember to eat when I'm not hungry. Hard to remember to take vitamins. Hard to sleep, even though I never get enough....
And then there's the writing. I was hanging out with my friend Daniel last week and he reminded me how much I NEED to write. (He even offered to prod me on a regular basis, to get me to FINALLY finish my damn novel.) A lot of my not-writing is about fear, and I don't want to let fear rule my life anymore. But, a lot of my not-writing is about my life getting in the way. It's hard to focus on things like writing when most of my stuff is packed in boxes (and the rest NEEDS to be packed in boxes), when I'm making lists of things I have to do (call the cable company; fill out a forwarding card at the Post Office; change my address in 8 bajillion places....) and forgetting to eat or being too tired to eat and then not sleeping anyway.
And this is just one small part of what's been stressing me out lately.
And, as much as I've been saying my life is killing me, I was mostly handling it okay. Until today. Today, it rained. I let myself sleep until noon (although not well, because my little old, senile cat kept waking me up by howling at the top of her lungs for no apparent reason). The only productive thing I managed to do between noon and 7 p.m. was shower. Then, I finally put a bunch of stuff in my car and headed to the new apartment. I finished taping the bedroom, so I can paint some night this week after work. There's so much more I could have/should have done. But I didn't. I just couldn't get myself going.
The point of this blog was supposed to be my mission to Keep Working on Love -- seeing the bright side of things, chasing down joy, choosing wonder, etc etc etc. I believe in all of that, and I'm still trying. But, sometimes there are days like this, too. Days where my life is killing me and I feel like I can't get anything accomplished and and and and and....
He said, "That's a new one. Usually people say, 'My back's killing me' or 'My leg's killing me.'"
I said, "Nope. It's my life."
And, that's how it's been feeling. More than overwhelmed -- like my life is actually trying to do me in. Toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuch all at once.
I'm in the middle of moving. I love (love love love) the new apartment (except for the ridiculous lack of closet space). But I hate moving. It takes a lot out of you. And it makes you feel scattered.
Plus, I've been trying to move in the rain, with a cold. Not remotely fun, let me tell you.
And there's that -- I'm finally starting to feel like I MIGHT be getting rid of this nasty cold I've had since last Sunday but, per usual, it has totally worn me out. This is the third or fourth nasty cold I've had this year (which is only six months-old). I know I'm getting sick a lot because I'm letting myself get rundown a lot. I should take better care of myself, but it's hard. Hard to take the time to slow down. Hard to remember to eat when I'm not hungry. Hard to remember to take vitamins. Hard to sleep, even though I never get enough....
And then there's the writing. I was hanging out with my friend Daniel last week and he reminded me how much I NEED to write. (He even offered to prod me on a regular basis, to get me to FINALLY finish my damn novel.) A lot of my not-writing is about fear, and I don't want to let fear rule my life anymore. But, a lot of my not-writing is about my life getting in the way. It's hard to focus on things like writing when most of my stuff is packed in boxes (and the rest NEEDS to be packed in boxes), when I'm making lists of things I have to do (call the cable company; fill out a forwarding card at the Post Office; change my address in 8 bajillion places....) and forgetting to eat or being too tired to eat and then not sleeping anyway.
And this is just one small part of what's been stressing me out lately.
And, as much as I've been saying my life is killing me, I was mostly handling it okay. Until today. Today, it rained. I let myself sleep until noon (although not well, because my little old, senile cat kept waking me up by howling at the top of her lungs for no apparent reason). The only productive thing I managed to do between noon and 7 p.m. was shower. Then, I finally put a bunch of stuff in my car and headed to the new apartment. I finished taping the bedroom, so I can paint some night this week after work. There's so much more I could have/should have done. But I didn't. I just couldn't get myself going.
The point of this blog was supposed to be my mission to Keep Working on Love -- seeing the bright side of things, chasing down joy, choosing wonder, etc etc etc. I believe in all of that, and I'm still trying. But, sometimes there are days like this, too. Days where my life is killing me and I feel like I can't get anything accomplished and and and and and....
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