As sick and twisted as it is, I'm still at work. Today was an absolute day from hell. No time to explain now. (Perhaps later?)
It is however, almost over … Another five minutes and I am out of here …
Oh well, so much for living the good life.
If Only It Were Friday
Top 5 Things That Annoy Me At Work
- 5. Invisible hands turning on the heat when it's (almost) flipping July! My advice … Buy a sweater!
- 4. Voice mail messages, where the person leaves neither their name, or their phone number, but holds tight to the belief that you'll acquire psychic powers and call them back within an hours time.
- 3. Anyone who utilizes the "not my job" attitude to the fullest extreme. (But persists on telling you exactly how you should do your job … Two words, bite me.)
- 2. People who get all uppity and in your face with a problem, only to find out they were wrong and they've just given you hell for no reason.
- 1. Having to work through lunch every day just to clock out on time. Ugh!
And in other news …
Have random plans tonight, unsure of what they are as of yet. But do know they don't involve going straight home after work. Maybe out to dinner with friends and a few drinks after. At least it sounds like a good start to me. Freedom is a nice thing, but it's just not the same without KC at home.
Ahhh … 40 minutes left to finish up this last stack of proofing.
Absolutely Wonderful
I had an absolutely brilliant time tonight. (I just got home.)
It felt so good to get out of the house and feel like me again. Me, as in not a Mom, not an employee, not anything but Stacey in her truest form.
I've come to realize that I need to do this more often. Taking time to myself to just relax, have a good time, and not worry about everything all at once like I normally do.
Since KC's at her Dad's until Friday, I've decided to really live it up this week and do things I've been wanting to do but haven't made time for. So as for posting, things may get a little light around here for the next few days, unless I can sneak in posts from work.
All in all, don't expect too much. I'm going to take this having fun thing seriously.
Besides I want to tell you all about the most impressive thing I saw today, which luckily was not Mike's underwear or his (cough) ring - although I had to use excessive foce to kick him out of my office to keep him from sharing ... (It's so nice to have friends that are touched in the head.)
But that can wait til tomorrow. I've a night to get back to.
It felt so good to get out of the house and feel like me again. Me, as in not a Mom, not an employee, not anything but Stacey in her truest form.
I've come to realize that I need to do this more often. Taking time to myself to just relax, have a good time, and not worry about everything all at once like I normally do.
Since KC's at her Dad's until Friday, I've decided to really live it up this week and do things I've been wanting to do but haven't made time for. So as for posting, things may get a little light around here for the next few days, unless I can sneak in posts from work.
All in all, don't expect too much. I'm going to take this having fun thing seriously.
Besides I want to tell you all about the most impressive thing I saw today, which luckily was not Mike's underwear or his (cough) ring - although I had to use excessive foce to kick him out of my office to keep him from sharing ... (It's so nice to have friends that are touched in the head.)
But that can wait til tomorrow. I've a night to get back to.
Email Envy
Too busy to even try to breathe today. Had to work through my entire lunch period just to make a dent and am still running far behind. (I'm supposed to go to the movies tonight and at this point it's looking a little shady on whether or not I'll be able to make it ...)
Mike is sending me lewd emails. He's timing them perfectly for when my phone rings, and I can't stop laughing as I try to say hello.
I think he may be hooked on phonics, as witnessed by his latest email.
From: Mike
To: Stacey
Sent: 06-28-04 03:41 pm
"word jumble starts with N end in pull"
And I thought I had problems ...
One Last Comment
Starting off with a new day, and a new week, I'm going to half take the advice of someone and move on a bit, in order not to seem too stuck in the past.
Said advice - although not exactly stellar in my way of thinking - at least opened my mind to the fact that I am presenting this whole break up situation as if I haven't gotten past it. (Note: I'm not glued to my Kleenex.) While it would seem that I'm not on the mend, truth is I am - although I have a hefty dose of anger that occasionally gets ignited when things get stirred up.
And yesterday things did indeed get stirred up. I'm not going to start on that topic again other than to say that someone who thought a post was about him was wrong, however yesterday's post definitely was. End explanation and story. Like I said new day, new week, clean slate and all that.
Just another reason you've got to love a Monday morning. And all this before I've managed to shower or grab a cup of cocoa. Perhaps more from work later, depending on how the day goes there.
Said advice - although not exactly stellar in my way of thinking - at least opened my mind to the fact that I am presenting this whole break up situation as if I haven't gotten past it. (Note: I'm not glued to my Kleenex.) While it would seem that I'm not on the mend, truth is I am - although I have a hefty dose of anger that occasionally gets ignited when things get stirred up.
And yesterday things did indeed get stirred up. I'm not going to start on that topic again other than to say that someone who thought a post was about him was wrong, however yesterday's post definitely was. End explanation and story. Like I said new day, new week, clean slate and all that.
Just another reason you've got to love a Monday morning. And all this before I've managed to shower or grab a cup of cocoa. Perhaps more from work later, depending on how the day goes there.
Love Doesn't Always Win
Perhaps you're angry now, thinking I have gone too far and said too much. Maybe now, salt in the wound begins to sting. Out there in the world, there is a story about you, that doesn't present you in its kindest light. And maybe it has hurt you in the same way you've been hurting me. And maybe it was I who wanted to hurt you.
What did you expect me to do? Limit myself to saying only nice things, when in reality it felt like I had let you walk all over me. The last time I saw you, did you really think that I thought it would be the last time? You bit me on the nose and sent me off to work, letting me believe we had a tomorrow.
And my sin, all I ever wanted from you, was time. Time that we could spend together. But all you gave me were excuses of why you were too tired, too busy, too in need of your own personal space. And I waited, honestly I waited as long as I could, always giving you the benefit of the doubt, thinking that if I waited long enough I'd get the prize in the end. You were the prize I wanted.
And so that weekend. That weekend when it could have been just you and I, together and alone, the weekend that I'd spent the entire week looking forward to, with the thought of having you all to myself, that was the weekend you broke me down. You cancelled on me without so much of a hint of an apology in your voice.
Friday night I cried myself to sleep, you would have known, if you'd been there.
Saturday morning, I still had hope. And I called you, and you were so cold, almost mean and once again your time was spoken for, though not by me.
Did you think I wanted to break up with you? Did you think that was the reason that I had called?
And yet, your attitude left me little choice and then your words cut through me like a hot knife pulled from the fire.
"I don't have the same feelings for you as I think you have for me."
Not really any other way a girl can interpret such words said by the man in her life. And despite the feelings I had for you, you left me little choice. Remember that last thing I said, "I'll miss you." Does that sound like someone who wanted to let you go?
So in answer to your question, that you were kind enough to leave in comment. No ... You didn't do what I wanted you to do. If you had, I could call you up right now and you'd be happy to hear the sound of my voice. I took a gamble, and I lost. But maybe now, I'm realizing that you're really the one who lost. You could have had my heart, you could have had my soul, you could have had me ...
But that is the way of the world.
You can try to give someone the very best of you, but you can't make them take it, and you can't make them give the very best of themselves back.
What did you expect me to do? Limit myself to saying only nice things, when in reality it felt like I had let you walk all over me. The last time I saw you, did you really think that I thought it would be the last time? You bit me on the nose and sent me off to work, letting me believe we had a tomorrow.
And my sin, all I ever wanted from you, was time. Time that we could spend together. But all you gave me were excuses of why you were too tired, too busy, too in need of your own personal space. And I waited, honestly I waited as long as I could, always giving you the benefit of the doubt, thinking that if I waited long enough I'd get the prize in the end. You were the prize I wanted.
And so that weekend. That weekend when it could have been just you and I, together and alone, the weekend that I'd spent the entire week looking forward to, with the thought of having you all to myself, that was the weekend you broke me down. You cancelled on me without so much of a hint of an apology in your voice.
Friday night I cried myself to sleep, you would have known, if you'd been there.
Saturday morning, I still had hope. And I called you, and you were so cold, almost mean and once again your time was spoken for, though not by me.
Did you think I wanted to break up with you? Did you think that was the reason that I had called?
And yet, your attitude left me little choice and then your words cut through me like a hot knife pulled from the fire.
"I don't have the same feelings for you as I think you have for me."
Not really any other way a girl can interpret such words said by the man in her life. And despite the feelings I had for you, you left me little choice. Remember that last thing I said, "I'll miss you." Does that sound like someone who wanted to let you go?
So in answer to your question, that you were kind enough to leave in comment. No ... You didn't do what I wanted you to do. If you had, I could call you up right now and you'd be happy to hear the sound of my voice. I took a gamble, and I lost. But maybe now, I'm realizing that you're really the one who lost. You could have had my heart, you could have had my soul, you could have had me ...
But that is the way of the world.
You can try to give someone the very best of you, but you can't make them take it, and you can't make them give the very best of themselves back.
Something to Say Against Saying Too Much
Writing before bedtime, is like eating before bedtime. Something you shouldn't do unless you want an upset stomach. It's even worse when you're sleeping alone. What better way to make you realize just how big your bed is, when all you can think about is who's not in it anymore or who you wish still was.
Moments like these I should just shut the computer off, throw the blankets over my head and press my face into a pillow until I am quite over missing every single guy whose ever let me down or let me go, much to their own mistake.
And it would be just my luck, that I'm damn good at depressing the hell out of myself. One of those skills that ranks high at the top of my list, between independent and stubborn, a soft unprotected underside, somewhere just below layers of complete bitch when provoked. Ain't it good to be me ...
Moments like these I should just shut the computer off, throw the blankets over my head and press my face into a pillow until I am quite over missing every single guy whose ever let me down or let me go, much to their own mistake.
And it would be just my luck, that I'm damn good at depressing the hell out of myself. One of those skills that ranks high at the top of my list, between independent and stubborn, a soft unprotected underside, somewhere just below layers of complete bitch when provoked. Ain't it good to be me ...
Saying Hello to an Old Friend
There are moments in ones life, when it would simply be easier to move on and forget, rather than linger and dwell. And yet I wouldn't trade any of my memories for the world.
You used to laugh and call me a cynical harlot, I used to hang on to your every word. And there were nights when we stayed on the phone forever, just listening to the sound of each other breathing as we fell asleep, phones like pillows against our cheeks.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," you used to say, and I would say sleepily, that tomorrow was already here and being that it was, wouldn't it be nice if we didn't have to say goodbye.
I remember the sound of your laugh, and how you once said that something about me made you feel good about yourself, like no one had ever made you feel before. And I wanted to be the something special in your life. I wanted that in ways that couldn't be measured.
You were my one great friendship and maybe even my greatest love that got away. And even though I look back on the past with a small amount of sadness, my heart will always be glad for having known you.
You used to laugh and call me a cynical harlot, I used to hang on to your every word. And there were nights when we stayed on the phone forever, just listening to the sound of each other breathing as we fell asleep, phones like pillows against our cheeks.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," you used to say, and I would say sleepily, that tomorrow was already here and being that it was, wouldn't it be nice if we didn't have to say goodbye.
I remember the sound of your laugh, and how you once said that something about me made you feel good about yourself, like no one had ever made you feel before. And I wanted to be the something special in your life. I wanted that in ways that couldn't be measured.
You were my one great friendship and maybe even my greatest love that got away. And even though I look back on the past with a small amount of sadness, my heart will always be glad for having known you.
Thoughts from Work
I want to go home.
I want to go home.
I want to go home.
I want to go home.
I really want to go home and go to bed.
Isn't It Past Your Bedtime?
At this late hour, I am happy to report that not only did I manage to get my hands on Book 5 today, but I've just a little more to go before I'll have it done.
Most likely a good thing, since I will be able to return to the world of blog with something a little more interesting to say, as a nose out of a book is a nose more aware of what is going on around them.
My bed she calls, and the floating head of Orpheus above me begs my return.
Most likely a good thing, since I will be able to return to the world of blog with something a little more interesting to say, as a nose out of a book is a nose more aware of what is going on around them.
My bed she calls, and the floating head of Orpheus above me begs my return.
The Woes Of Being Muggle Born
About to search Amazon and see whether or not book 5 is out on the shelves. Have nervous, twitchy feeling that I may be disappointed to find its not been to press yet. Have yet to decide how I might cope should this be the case.
I am, as I feared the newest member to the Harry Potter addiction fan club. I may even be the President. (I am reasonably bossy enough to be anyway.)
I don't know what to do now that I've completed Book 4. Oh please, oh please let Amazon tell me Book 5 is sitting on a shelf somewhere I can reach it. (Regardless of the fact that I may need a stool, or at least a good set of tongs to reach it ...)
I am, as I feared the newest member to the Harry Potter addiction fan club. I may even be the President. (I am reasonably bossy enough to be anyway.)
I don't know what to do now that I've completed Book 4. Oh please, oh please let Amazon tell me Book 5 is sitting on a shelf somewhere I can reach it. (Regardless of the fact that I may need a stool, or at least a good set of tongs to reach it ...)
Chinese Fortune Cookies
It's time for you to explore all those new interests.
Lucky Numbers 8, 12, 14, 17, 36, 43
Braving a torrential downpour yesterday, I ran to the local # 1 Chinese Restaurant in town and grabbed myself a pint of chicken fried rice to go with a complimentary fortune cookie for dessert. The little guy behind the counter - always very pleasant to me whenever I'm there - smiled his big toothy grin, and wished me luck as I headed back out into the monsoon, which almost made me feel bad about not leaving a tip in the giant gold piggy bank sitting next to the side of the register.
Keys poised and ready, I dashed out onto the sidewalk and quickly made my way to my car, intent on opening the door before I (a.) melted, (b.) suffered from severe rain/wind/hair damage, or (c.) got hit by a passing car, making the morning headlines of "Local Girl Loses Life in Bizarre Lunch Time Accident", witnesses said to have heard last words … "I should have paid extra for delivery …"
Needless to say, I made it back in one piece and locked myself in my office to spend the rest of my lunch hour, switching between bites of rice and turning pages of Harry Potter book # 3, of which I am now quite addicted.
But it was the fortune cookie that really got me.
I've been dreading work lately, like the way you dread the end of a Sunday night, knowing that the next day is Monday and there's a whole work week ahead of you. Every night is like a Monday night for me. And I know I've got the almost 5 year itch. The time during which I'm fast approaching my earned three weeks of vacation, and suddenly and for no apparent reason I'm ready to move on in another direction and try something else on for size, having bored myself beyond comprehension in the mundane tasks of daily strife around the water cooler, with the thought - both quite crystal and clear - that I want out.
I may have said this a billion and one times before, but around here there is no room for creativity. A fact I just can't seem to get over as I sit here stuck in my little windowless cube of a room, wondering what the weather must be like outside. (And now I'm wondering, what is the weather like outside? Though I have to admit, stuck here as I am, I always assume it's rainy and cloudy. Although I think that is just a clever foil to trick myself into not minding the fact that I spend 8 hours a day trapped inside a cave … Then again, upstate New York (not the City people) and I do mean Upstate, has more than it's fair amount of miserable, gloomy, no the sun in not going to shine today day's.)
I am digressing. The cat on my workstation is swatting at computer butterflies and my phone - as usual - is ringing. The sound of duty calls, and I - unfortunately - must answer it.
Book Worm
A quick post, and a tall glass of something cold, before heading back upstairs to continue reading ...
I've managed to get quite caught up in the world of J.K. Rowling. So caught up, I am about to start book 4 of the Harry Potter series, after only 3 days of reading.
Anyhoo, since my day was quite normal and boring in every way imaginable, I'm back to the book.
Toodles until tomorrow.
I've managed to get quite caught up in the world of J.K. Rowling. So caught up, I am about to start book 4 of the Harry Potter series, after only 3 days of reading.
Anyhoo, since my day was quite normal and boring in every way imaginable, I'm back to the book.
Toodles until tomorrow.
Cromagnum Man
Doug the Slug. As in the Doug I work with, and not the Doug I previously created life with over 8 years ago while sleeping - okay so not sleeping - in a tent in the back yard ...
Doug the Slimy Slug. Mr. Slick, Mr. Invades your personal body space, Mr. Stands directly behind you at the fax, Mr. Whatcha doing this weekend, Mr. Talks to your chest while drooling ... Or as I've come to favor, Mr. No chance in this lifetime or the next - cause I've yet to reach that milestone of completely desperate - and you really need to stop singing the Stacey's our girl song as people are starting to talk and I'm having a hard time dispelling the rumors if you favor your nuts much longer Doug ... That Doug. The harmless though frequently annoying Doug.
Today he came into my office - to stare at my boobs - and noticed I was reading Harry Potter. (And yes, I was at lunch for those of you who care about such things.)
"Oh. Are you reading this?"
"Absolutely not. I'm just holding it and turning the pages for something to do," I quipped. "I'm very bored."
Though he has not been invited, he pulls the chair out in front of my desk and takes a seat.
"Is it good?" he questions me, leaning back in the chair.
"I don't know. I'm not done," I drone out, ignoring him as I flick another page over.
"Is it better than the movie?"
"Considering most books are, I'd have to say yes," I said, marking my page with an orange index card, shutting it and laying it down upon my desk. Having come to the conclusion that he's not going to go away, I offer up, "Actually I'm reading it to KC. We're doing a chapter a night together before bedtime and I wanted to get a peek of tonight's."
He smiles a devilish grin and I can see the little wheels in his mind turning.
"You're such a good Mom," he says, as I wait for the tagline, instinctively knowing that there unfortunately is more. "I wish you were my Mommy, so I could snuggle up to you in bed while you read me a story." He pauses, licks his lips and locks his eyes once more on my chest before continuing. "How nice would that be? And to think, I wouldn't even have to run downstairs for a drink if I got thirsty."
One and one equals two. How sad I was to realize the way his mind was going. I groaned.
"God you're such a perv," I yell at him, shaking my head. But even though I am quite disgusted by the mental image that pops into my mind - for the merest of seconds - my sense of humor manages a chuckle. "There's the door, now get out," I say pointing towards the hall and waving him away. He laughs as he leaves, closing the door behind him, leaving me alone to resume my reading of Chapter Two, page 23.
Doug the Slimy Slug. Mr. Slick, Mr. Invades your personal body space, Mr. Stands directly behind you at the fax, Mr. Whatcha doing this weekend, Mr. Talks to your chest while drooling ... Or as I've come to favor, Mr. No chance in this lifetime or the next - cause I've yet to reach that milestone of completely desperate - and you really need to stop singing the Stacey's our girl song as people are starting to talk and I'm having a hard time dispelling the rumors if you favor your nuts much longer Doug ... That Doug. The harmless though frequently annoying Doug.
Today he came into my office - to stare at my boobs - and noticed I was reading Harry Potter. (And yes, I was at lunch for those of you who care about such things.)
"Oh. Are you reading this?"
"Absolutely not. I'm just holding it and turning the pages for something to do," I quipped. "I'm very bored."
Though he has not been invited, he pulls the chair out in front of my desk and takes a seat.
"Is it good?" he questions me, leaning back in the chair.
"I don't know. I'm not done," I drone out, ignoring him as I flick another page over.
"Is it better than the movie?"
"Considering most books are, I'd have to say yes," I said, marking my page with an orange index card, shutting it and laying it down upon my desk. Having come to the conclusion that he's not going to go away, I offer up, "Actually I'm reading it to KC. We're doing a chapter a night together before bedtime and I wanted to get a peek of tonight's."
He smiles a devilish grin and I can see the little wheels in his mind turning.
"You're such a good Mom," he says, as I wait for the tagline, instinctively knowing that there unfortunately is more. "I wish you were my Mommy, so I could snuggle up to you in bed while you read me a story." He pauses, licks his lips and locks his eyes once more on my chest before continuing. "How nice would that be? And to think, I wouldn't even have to run downstairs for a drink if I got thirsty."
One and one equals two. How sad I was to realize the way his mind was going. I groaned.
"God you're such a perv," I yell at him, shaking my head. But even though I am quite disgusted by the mental image that pops into my mind - for the merest of seconds - my sense of humor manages a chuckle. "There's the door, now get out," I say pointing towards the hall and waving him away. He laughs as he leaves, closing the door behind him, leaving me alone to resume my reading of Chapter Two, page 23.
Lubed Up
Little to report in my world of excitement and intrigue today, other than I finally did manage to take my car in for an oil change, 9000 miles or so after the fact. I wasn't even really planning on doing that today, my main objective just to clean the car, but Amy - and the fact that the oil light has been on for three days - convinced me not to waste any more time. And so woohoo and bully for me, one less thing to worry about tomorrow. Although now the guy at the oil store has put a new dilemma in my mind ... Evidently my tires are getting a wee bit worn out. (Perhaps I should stop taking corners the way I do ... Nah.) Oh well, brakes first, tires later.
Transitioning
Woke up early this morning to make KC her brownies to take to school. They didn't come out too bad considering I fell asleep on the couch while they were cooking and didn't hear the buzzer the first time it went off. Though they were a little crispy around the edge, I didn't feel too bad about packing them off to go.
KC's at her Dad's tonight and I've got my whole weekend free. Amy and I had been planning on going to see Grandma this weekend, but the hospital has decided to keep her around a tad bit longer. And since we can be more help to her when she is home, we have decided to wait on the visiting.
Meanwhile I had considered taking myself off for the weekend to places unknown, just to get away. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a place I wanted to go that was close enough as well as far enough away from home. Truth be told, I would love to ask my Uncle Mark about going up to his camp for a weekend. There's no place I like better than a secluded Adirondack Mountain retreat, with a gently flowing creek beside it. Ahh ... Sounds like heaven.
In the meantime, I'll have to settle for my comfy bed and call it a night. Toodles all until tomorrow.
KC's at her Dad's tonight and I've got my whole weekend free. Amy and I had been planning on going to see Grandma this weekend, but the hospital has decided to keep her around a tad bit longer. And since we can be more help to her when she is home, we have decided to wait on the visiting.
Meanwhile I had considered taking myself off for the weekend to places unknown, just to get away. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a place I wanted to go that was close enough as well as far enough away from home. Truth be told, I would love to ask my Uncle Mark about going up to his camp for a weekend. There's no place I like better than a secluded Adirondack Mountain retreat, with a gently flowing creek beside it. Ahh ... Sounds like heaven.
In the meantime, I'll have to settle for my comfy bed and call it a night. Toodles all until tomorrow.
Somewhere Down a Deep Dark Well
Luciano sings my heart and comforts me when days go bad. And today has been bad. Bad enough to break out the Italian arias and sing with them full blast to relieve my soul of its irritation.
It's just a job. Just a job.
And yet today I lost my cool. Lost it to the point where I had to walk away from my phone, walk down the hall, past the reception desk, through the vestibule and outside, to take a breath of fresh air. Because I'd had enough. Just enough. Really quite more than enough.
Enough of the customers yelling and screaming at me for things I don't and can't control. Enough of lower level office staff pushing their egos a bit too far and way past my level of toleration. Enough of my boss who talks the big talk, but never seems to walk the big walk. Enough of a place where ethics are often misplaced. Enough of a job, which quite frankly if it didn't pay so well, I would have left a long time ago.
But it's the way of the world. Haven't we all learned that instead of sugar and honey, a little vinegar is what really helps you get your way? What is that other saying, some things are better in theory than they are in practice? Case in point. Game. Match.
But I wish that for just one moment, before someone lets something slip through their mouth, they'd take a moment to think before spewing their filth.
Words are dangerous creatures, unable to be called back once said. And even though you think, well she knows not to take it personally, this girl does, does take it personally. The girl who always does her best to get you what you need, the girl who is always pleasant and nice, the girl who you just ripped a new asshole. I bet you didn't think that when she went home she'd be carrying her anger with her. I bet you didn't think past the words once they made it off your tongue. But good God, am I still seething!
Enough. Enough. Enough. Home and job don't mix. I am off to bake brownies for KC's class picnic tomorrow. Damn if she refuses to heed my request to be the Mom who supplies the paper goods ...
It's just a job. Just a job.
And yet today I lost my cool. Lost it to the point where I had to walk away from my phone, walk down the hall, past the reception desk, through the vestibule and outside, to take a breath of fresh air. Because I'd had enough. Just enough. Really quite more than enough.
Enough of the customers yelling and screaming at me for things I don't and can't control. Enough of lower level office staff pushing their egos a bit too far and way past my level of toleration. Enough of my boss who talks the big talk, but never seems to walk the big walk. Enough of a place where ethics are often misplaced. Enough of a job, which quite frankly if it didn't pay so well, I would have left a long time ago.
Violence does not work
except for the man
who pays your salary
Who knows
if you could still weep
you would not take the job.
~ Alice Walker
But it's the way of the world. Haven't we all learned that instead of sugar and honey, a little vinegar is what really helps you get your way? What is that other saying, some things are better in theory than they are in practice? Case in point. Game. Match.
But I wish that for just one moment, before someone lets something slip through their mouth, they'd take a moment to think before spewing their filth.
Words are dangerous creatures, unable to be called back once said. And even though you think, well she knows not to take it personally, this girl does, does take it personally. The girl who always does her best to get you what you need, the girl who is always pleasant and nice, the girl who you just ripped a new asshole. I bet you didn't think that when she went home she'd be carrying her anger with her. I bet you didn't think past the words once they made it off your tongue. But good God, am I still seething!
Enough. Enough. Enough. Home and job don't mix. I am off to bake brownies for KC's class picnic tomorrow. Damn if she refuses to heed my request to be the Mom who supplies the paper goods ...
Light Reading
Thanks to all, for your well wishes and your prayers. Grandma is doing well, and just like her can't have any down time self, already planning on what she's going to do the minute she's released from the hospital. Far be it that everyone in her family is practically falling over themselves begging for her to slow it down a bit and relax just long enough to recuperate fully. Luckily stubbornness is a family trait, which means Amy and I will be heading North this weekend to help Gram around the house, mowing the lawn, and all sorts of other good stuff, whether help is wanted or not. Or course, we'll do most of it on the sly … It is after all just a visit to visit.
On another note, I wanted to quote a passage from a book I've just finished. It really reminded me of how things were in my relationship with Sean and - thank God - now I know it wasn't me just thinking everything was quite fucked up. It really was quite fucked up.
You Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs by Laurie Graff
There it was again. Nothing that said this is great and nothing that said that this is over. We walked south on Central Park West toward my apartment on 78th Street. We walked in the relationship silence. Not the good kind where you know you can't wait to get each other home and into bed, but the ambivalent kind. The kind where one person has more power because they know they're the one who's holding back. But they're not telling you their holding back, and since you don't really know this for sure, and you certainly don't want to make a big deal out of nothing and create a problem that may not even exist, you decide you're overly sensitive, paranoid, insecure. All of the above. You have no choice but to smile sweetly, keep your unspoken agreement in the relationship silence, and hope the other person will break it. That any second it will be broken by him seductively pushing you up against the bricks of the next building, off to the side of the burgundy awning, gently moving his hands across your cheeks, pulling back your hair and tenderly, deeply, passionately kissing you and kissing you and whispering in your ear, "Let's get out of here. Let's go home." On the other hand, you could suddenly find yourself on 78th Street turning right to Amsterdam Avenue and wonder how you got there.
She was writing about me, I swear to God. How many times had I plastered a smile on my face, all the while gritting my teeth as I told him again and again, "Sure. Fine. It's no problem," whenever he decided that he was too tired to keep our plans - even the plans that involved my daughter. And it was frustrating, wanting to spend time with him and knowing that 9 times out of 10 he'd only end up disappointing me, leaving me with a countless numbers of tears cried into my pillow as I tried to smother the sound of my sobs.
But then there were the nights when I was there - granted most of the time, I popped up on his doorstep before he had a chance to think of a reasonable excuse as to why I shouldn't come over - when we sat together in silence, television tuned in to the History Channel, until undoubtedly he fell asleep or pretended to be asleep - whichever came first. And I sat there watching some show about who knows what, trying to consider my options and coming up with none.
The strong Stacey wanted to give him the what for, and itched to tell him what she really thought. But the weak Stacey - the I'd really like to be in a relationship for longer than 30 seconds Stacey - didn't want to mess things up, and convinced the strong Stacey that things would eventually get better. Of course no one was really buying that ...
Still you can only bend so far before you break and by May even I was about done with the romper room act boy blunder was intent on seeing through. It killed me however to admit defeat. It still kills me, if only for the very reason that I put up with it as long as I did when I could have stopped the bleeding the first time he pulled a temper tantrum. But nope, I had to ride it out to the end, putting my faith in an ex-marine who hadn't done anything to earn it. And I ask you, if you can't count on a marine, who can you count on?
So here I am writing this entry, my phone ringing off the hook beside me no matter how I might try to block out its sound, as the receptionist howls over the intercom for me to pick up such and such an extension. But I'm taking a moment to pull myself back together from a recent fit of giggles from yet another conversation with Rick - my most disturbed and yet favorite customer who promised to show up under my Christmas tree last year with nothing on but edible underwear. Unlike some men I know, Rick has never managed to disappoint me … Even if it's just over the phone, the man has a gift for making me laugh and smile. Then again, I don't expect much.
Out of Sorts
When my phone rang earlier, I knew just by the sound of my Mother's voice that something somewhere was very wrong.
"You're Grandmother's had a heart attack," her voice whispered. And I sat there numb, pressing the phone against my ear, unable to comprehend what I was hearing.
"Is she ..."
"She's okay," said Mom. "She's in the hospital. Your Uncle Danny is with her. She's had surgery, but she's doing well," she trailed off.
I wanted to be right there with my Mother, to offer her comfort. She sounded so tired, worried ...
"She's going to be okay Mom. She's going to be okay," I said trying to be supportive, "We C*lv*r women, we come from strong stock. Grandma wouldn't let something as little as this bring her down."
And I believe that. Because my Grandmother has already lived through some of the worst this world has to offer. And she's made it. Strong, independent, honest and true ... And they don't come much better.
So if you're out there in the world tonight and reading this, toss up a little prayer to the Lord that Evelyn's doing well.
"You're Grandmother's had a heart attack," her voice whispered. And I sat there numb, pressing the phone against my ear, unable to comprehend what I was hearing.
"Is she ..."
"She's okay," said Mom. "She's in the hospital. Your Uncle Danny is with her. She's had surgery, but she's doing well," she trailed off.
I wanted to be right there with my Mother, to offer her comfort. She sounded so tired, worried ...
"She's going to be okay Mom. She's going to be okay," I said trying to be supportive, "We C*lv*r women, we come from strong stock. Grandma wouldn't let something as little as this bring her down."
And I believe that. Because my Grandmother has already lived through some of the worst this world has to offer. And she's made it. Strong, independent, honest and true ... And they don't come much better.
So if you're out there in the world tonight and reading this, toss up a little prayer to the Lord that Evelyn's doing well.
Field Days
When you're tired, you simply want the noise to stop.
From far across the field, the celebrations are slowly easing to a close, the few remaining pops and whistles filtering through the air, skimming low above trees and houses dimly lit. In my mind, I can see the last few rows of cars filing out, the men with their orange light sticks directing cars northward to the road, pointing one this a way and then another that a way in the direction of home, as lights along the perimeter sputter out, leaving only an abandoned lot left lonely in the moonlight.
From far across the field, the celebrations are slowly easing to a close, the few remaining pops and whistles filtering through the air, skimming low above trees and houses dimly lit. In my mind, I can see the last few rows of cars filing out, the men with their orange light sticks directing cars northward to the road, pointing one this a way and then another that a way in the direction of home, as lights along the perimeter sputter out, leaving only an abandoned lot left lonely in the moonlight.
Liquid Volcano's
I did my damnedest to sleep in this morning, but KC decided to sneak into my room and scare me half to death in order to pull me from my bed.
There I was mid-dream, flirting with a Vince Vaughn look alike, when suddenly a loud voice booms before me, "Wake up!" and I open my eyes and I scream. I can't help but scream, because there is KC with her face right in my face imploring me to wake up, and it's not even close to 8 am. And she's breathing in my face, morning breath and all, wanting to get cuddly and snuggle and all I want is to be left alone, curtains drawn against the sun, with just my pillow, my blanket and an empty room.
In other words, my warm and fuzzy doesn't kick in all that early, and there are some days when it doesn't kick in at all. Like this morning for example, KC is determined to make this a rough patch day. Being that my daughter has been always of an age going on another age light-years away from where she actually is, life with her is often times difficult. Like me, she can be mule ass stubborn with a tendency to run her mouth prior to thinking before she speaks.
KC would like to think I am clueless but I know how it works. I remember getting so angry and upset, that words would form in the pit of my stomach, until suddenly there I was blurting them out. Spitting them out like mini balls of fire at anyone and everyone because I hadn't yet learned the fine art of controlling my anger.
I hurt best the ones I loved, learning quickly the things I shouldn't say. And much like an archer with an arrow, I could hit a bulls-eye every time, so deadly was my aim. I ruined Christmas for my Mother once, a fact I still feel quilt for today, though I apologized for it a long time ago.
It was the year my Mother and I moved into a sleepy little bedroom village, tucked away in a small house the color of mustard. Christmas was exceedingly hard that year. My Mother having come to the conclusion that her twelve year marriage to my stepfather was over, despite the fact that they still both loved each other. But what he couldn't or wouldn't give up, was the one thing nobody could live with anymore. And so, when it came down to a choice, choose your family or choose your poison, he chose his beer and let his family walk away.
It was a time of great hurt and I didn't make it any easier for my Mother. Inside I raged, hating the house we lived in, hating how far we were away from home, hating my stepfather for being a bastard drunk. We both lived in circles of hating and loving, loving and hating, each one of us dealing with it in our own way.
Mom was working crazy hours, doing everything she could do to keep the money coming in to pay the rent, fill the fridge and keep up from looking like beggars on the street. But it wasn't good enough for me, not the spoiled child used to getting everything and anything. It all came to a head the night she brought the Christmas tree home.
It reminded me of a Charlie Brown tree, small limp branches barely able to hold themselves up, let alone any ornaments and short, almost the same height as me, a very not impressing 5'0 tall. I wanted to cry when I saw it, and I did ... Despite the fact that my Mother was holding it there proud in the living room like it was the best tree ever, a smile plastered bright across her face.
And I ruined it. I took one look and I opened my mouth, because I was used to trees that touched the ceiling, trees that had wonderful thick branches where flocks of birds could hide and never be seen. Because I wanted to go home for Christmas and this was, and never would be home to me. And I said all of that out loud, watching as the smile on my mother's face faded and disappeared, the sad little tree dropping down into the corner as she ran past me in tears into her bedroom closing the door behind her. And for one small second I was glad, thinking to myself, Hah ... Now she'll understand how much I've been hurting. And in that moment, I didn't care enough to realize that I had caused her pain.
Eventually Mom came out of her room, I made my apologies and Christmas that year passed without further incident. Much like KC, I was 13 going on another age altogether, with my mouth, my pride and my temper as selfish as it was. It is this I try to remember while I am disciplining my daughter. Remembering how hard it was for me to get control over the liquid volcano that made up my insides. But it is a hard road, and one not so easily traveled. Still in selfish mode, my daughter has much more to learn about life, even though she thinks she knows it all right now at the tender age of eight. But I know it's all about patience and time, and patience and time.
There I was mid-dream, flirting with a Vince Vaughn look alike, when suddenly a loud voice booms before me, "Wake up!" and I open my eyes and I scream. I can't help but scream, because there is KC with her face right in my face imploring me to wake up, and it's not even close to 8 am. And she's breathing in my face, morning breath and all, wanting to get cuddly and snuggle and all I want is to be left alone, curtains drawn against the sun, with just my pillow, my blanket and an empty room.
In other words, my warm and fuzzy doesn't kick in all that early, and there are some days when it doesn't kick in at all. Like this morning for example, KC is determined to make this a rough patch day. Being that my daughter has been always of an age going on another age light-years away from where she actually is, life with her is often times difficult. Like me, she can be mule ass stubborn with a tendency to run her mouth prior to thinking before she speaks.
KC would like to think I am clueless but I know how it works. I remember getting so angry and upset, that words would form in the pit of my stomach, until suddenly there I was blurting them out. Spitting them out like mini balls of fire at anyone and everyone because I hadn't yet learned the fine art of controlling my anger.
I hurt best the ones I loved, learning quickly the things I shouldn't say. And much like an archer with an arrow, I could hit a bulls-eye every time, so deadly was my aim. I ruined Christmas for my Mother once, a fact I still feel quilt for today, though I apologized for it a long time ago.
It was the year my Mother and I moved into a sleepy little bedroom village, tucked away in a small house the color of mustard. Christmas was exceedingly hard that year. My Mother having come to the conclusion that her twelve year marriage to my stepfather was over, despite the fact that they still both loved each other. But what he couldn't or wouldn't give up, was the one thing nobody could live with anymore. And so, when it came down to a choice, choose your family or choose your poison, he chose his beer and let his family walk away.
It was a time of great hurt and I didn't make it any easier for my Mother. Inside I raged, hating the house we lived in, hating how far we were away from home, hating my stepfather for being a bastard drunk. We both lived in circles of hating and loving, loving and hating, each one of us dealing with it in our own way.
Mom was working crazy hours, doing everything she could do to keep the money coming in to pay the rent, fill the fridge and keep up from looking like beggars on the street. But it wasn't good enough for me, not the spoiled child used to getting everything and anything. It all came to a head the night she brought the Christmas tree home.
It reminded me of a Charlie Brown tree, small limp branches barely able to hold themselves up, let alone any ornaments and short, almost the same height as me, a very not impressing 5'0 tall. I wanted to cry when I saw it, and I did ... Despite the fact that my Mother was holding it there proud in the living room like it was the best tree ever, a smile plastered bright across her face.
And I ruined it. I took one look and I opened my mouth, because I was used to trees that touched the ceiling, trees that had wonderful thick branches where flocks of birds could hide and never be seen. Because I wanted to go home for Christmas and this was, and never would be home to me. And I said all of that out loud, watching as the smile on my mother's face faded and disappeared, the sad little tree dropping down into the corner as she ran past me in tears into her bedroom closing the door behind her. And for one small second I was glad, thinking to myself, Hah ... Now she'll understand how much I've been hurting. And in that moment, I didn't care enough to realize that I had caused her pain.
Eventually Mom came out of her room, I made my apologies and Christmas that year passed without further incident. Much like KC, I was 13 going on another age altogether, with my mouth, my pride and my temper as selfish as it was. It is this I try to remember while I am disciplining my daughter. Remembering how hard it was for me to get control over the liquid volcano that made up my insides. But it is a hard road, and one not so easily traveled. Still in selfish mode, my daughter has much more to learn about life, even though she thinks she knows it all right now at the tender age of eight. But I know it's all about patience and time, and patience and time.
Book Smart
Went out and bought another parakeet today. I swear, I am such a nerd sometimes. KC and I went to Barnes and Noble earlier this afternoon, to buy a book about raising parakeets and learned that - according to the author's opinion - it's considered cruel to keep just one.
Parakeets thrive on companionship, said the book, suggesting that where's there is room for one, there should be enough room for two. So Lizzie now has herself a friend, coincidentally named Fitzwilliam. And the relationship seems to be blooming ... Bully for them.
I spoke with an old friend this morning out of blue. Haven't talked to him in almost forever, when suddenly an IM popped up on my screen and there he was. It felt like it had only been a few days since last we spoke, so easily the conversation sailed along. So we chatted away the morning catching up on each other's lives, before I told him I had to bail in order to get my day started. Perhaps we'll speak again ... One never knows.
Parakeets thrive on companionship, said the book, suggesting that where's there is room for one, there should be enough room for two. So Lizzie now has herself a friend, coincidentally named Fitzwilliam. And the relationship seems to be blooming ... Bully for them.
I spoke with an old friend this morning out of blue. Haven't talked to him in almost forever, when suddenly an IM popped up on my screen and there he was. It felt like it had only been a few days since last we spoke, so easily the conversation sailed along. So we chatted away the morning catching up on each other's lives, before I told him I had to bail in order to get my day started. Perhaps we'll speak again ... One never knows.
Cleanliness is next to ...
My house is a shambles. And I am dreading the thought of wasting a lovely weekend having to stay inside to clean it all up. But since no one else is volunteering, it looks like the bulk of the work will fall on me. (Sigh.)
Moments like this, I wish I had money enough to hire a once a week maid. Someone who would come in and tidy, running the occasional load of wash, while taking the time to move each and every knick knack from its perch in order to dust.
And yet the idea of letting someone in my home with free access to all there is to be found and seen turns my blood cold. After all, my penchant for writing extremely bad poetry and stuffing it into hidey holes about the house, would make this place a virtual gold mine for anyone who wanted to see inside my head. And lord knows at times that can be a truly dark and scary place indeed.
So I'm on my own and even though I know the best time to start is now, morning is just a mere few hours away.
Moments like this, I wish I had money enough to hire a once a week maid. Someone who would come in and tidy, running the occasional load of wash, while taking the time to move each and every knick knack from its perch in order to dust.
And yet the idea of letting someone in my home with free access to all there is to be found and seen turns my blood cold. After all, my penchant for writing extremely bad poetry and stuffing it into hidey holes about the house, would make this place a virtual gold mine for anyone who wanted to see inside my head. And lord knows at times that can be a truly dark and scary place indeed.
So I'm on my own and even though I know the best time to start is now, morning is just a mere few hours away.
Bird Brain
Female problems ... A lame excuse for calling into work, but one no smart man would dare to question. It worked like a total charm, although almost everybody was smart enough to put two and two together and to get, well 4. The only thing Stacey was sick of, was working.
I brought home a new addition to my small little family last night. KC has been begging like you wouldn't believe for a rodent - of some small and furry sort - for the longest time and although I have nothing against beady eyes and twitching whiskers, I couldn't bring myself to bring one home.
After all, I am quite knowledgeable in the keeping of long - and short - tailed creatures. Way back in middle school, eighth grade to be exact, I persuaded my Mother to let me have a cute little gray and white mouse, one rescued right from the very jaws of a pet snake owned by the couple I used to baby-sit for. I named her Adisa, and for a while, she lived alone in her little glass cage propped up on a shelf in my room.
Adisa however was lonely, as lonely as only a mouse could be, desperate for companionship. Claiming it was my civil duty to protect yet another mouse from the carnal appetite of a boa constrictor oddly named Harold, I brought Chase home.
Chase was a solid gray mouse with giant ears, dumbo-ish in their exposure, and for all intents and purposes, a girl. Now nothing could have been farther from the truth, but I couldn't tell my Mother that. At least not right away ... Not with the greatest live science experiment known to man was about to go off with nary a hitch.
About this time, I was actually finding the world of science quite interesting, an abnormal departure for me as science and I rarely traveled the same road. (That may have had something to do with my demonstration of a mud slide disaster, which unfortunately had nothing to do with alcoholic beverages, though enough of a disaster that my teacher could have really used a drink ...) Anyhoo, we were learning about the wonders of the hybrid chart. (If memory serves me correctly.) Which basically compares two individuals and the likely outcome of their propagation based on their dominant and recessive qualities AKA their genes. Or in other words, mice heaven.
Well, we all know what happens when you mix boys and girls, sooner or later the lights go off, you pop a tent in the back yard and your daughter comes home 4 months pregnant ... Woops, I mean the mice, well you know what I mean.
Mice had incredibly short gestation periods, so it took some serious work to gather all my data prior to the big live birth. Chart in hand, I scribbled down what I knew based on distinguishing characteristics such as eye color, coat color and whether or not the coat was solid or spotted. Knowledge in hand, I predicted how many of their offspring would follow suit for each trait exhibited by the parent.
Now don't get all excited and think I actually remember if I was wrong or not, because truth be told after getting busted with the little eraser head babies, I was more concerned about getting out of hot water with my Momma than I was with the furthering of my education. Needless to say, with a total of 8 mice later, Mom was not too impressed and this time around, 8 was truly enough. (Does anyone get that joke, or am I just being incredibly lame?)
But I learned a very valuable lesson and one that has aided me right to this very day. When your daughter comes home asking, "Please, Mommy please," don't hesitate to act. Go right to your local pet store and ...
Buy a parakeet.
I brought home a new addition to my small little family last night. KC has been begging like you wouldn't believe for a rodent - of some small and furry sort - for the longest time and although I have nothing against beady eyes and twitching whiskers, I couldn't bring myself to bring one home.
After all, I am quite knowledgeable in the keeping of long - and short - tailed creatures. Way back in middle school, eighth grade to be exact, I persuaded my Mother to let me have a cute little gray and white mouse, one rescued right from the very jaws of a pet snake owned by the couple I used to baby-sit for. I named her Adisa, and for a while, she lived alone in her little glass cage propped up on a shelf in my room.
Adisa however was lonely, as lonely as only a mouse could be, desperate for companionship. Claiming it was my civil duty to protect yet another mouse from the carnal appetite of a boa constrictor oddly named Harold, I brought Chase home.
Chase was a solid gray mouse with giant ears, dumbo-ish in their exposure, and for all intents and purposes, a girl. Now nothing could have been farther from the truth, but I couldn't tell my Mother that. At least not right away ... Not with the greatest live science experiment known to man was about to go off with nary a hitch.
About this time, I was actually finding the world of science quite interesting, an abnormal departure for me as science and I rarely traveled the same road. (That may have had something to do with my demonstration of a mud slide disaster, which unfortunately had nothing to do with alcoholic beverages, though enough of a disaster that my teacher could have really used a drink ...) Anyhoo, we were learning about the wonders of the hybrid chart. (If memory serves me correctly.) Which basically compares two individuals and the likely outcome of their propagation based on their dominant and recessive qualities AKA their genes. Or in other words, mice heaven.
Well, we all know what happens when you mix boys and girls, sooner or later the lights go off, you pop a tent in the back yard and your daughter comes home 4 months pregnant ... Woops, I mean the mice, well you know what I mean.
Mice had incredibly short gestation periods, so it took some serious work to gather all my data prior to the big live birth. Chart in hand, I scribbled down what I knew based on distinguishing characteristics such as eye color, coat color and whether or not the coat was solid or spotted. Knowledge in hand, I predicted how many of their offspring would follow suit for each trait exhibited by the parent.
Now don't get all excited and think I actually remember if I was wrong or not, because truth be told after getting busted with the little eraser head babies, I was more concerned about getting out of hot water with my Momma than I was with the furthering of my education. Needless to say, with a total of 8 mice later, Mom was not too impressed and this time around, 8 was truly enough. (Does anyone get that joke, or am I just being incredibly lame?)
But I learned a very valuable lesson and one that has aided me right to this very day. When your daughter comes home asking, "Please, Mommy please," don't hesitate to act. Go right to your local pet store and ...
Buy a parakeet.
Shame On Me
Another late night, of two late nights right in a row. Funny how you can fall asleep in the strangest most uncomfortable position when you are dead on your feet tired like I was last night. Hence no blog last night ...
When my alarm went off this morning, I wanted to cry. For some reason 6 a.m. always seems to come so damn early lately, that it feels like I've hardly had a wink of sleep at all.
But get up I did, went downstairs grabbed a towel, shuffled back up the stairs and turned the hot water on for my shower, barely adjusting the knobs for cold because my hot water doesn't last that long anyway. Normally a shower perks me right up getting me to get up and go, but today despite copious amounts of early morning caffeine my get up and go had got up and gone. And I for one wasn't looking forward to a day spent at work, falling asleep at my desk between calls.
So I pulled my trump card, grabbed the phone and called into work, putting on my best I don't feel very well at all voice.
"What's wrong with you?" said the voice on the other end of the line.
Not one who happens to excel in the lying department, I decided to go with the simple truth. "It's been a rough morning," I offered up as my excuse, figuring they could come to their own conclusions as to the possible variables for such a statement.
So here I am, playing hookey and not feeling the slightest little bit bad about it. A mental health day, every now and then, is a perfectly logical excuse to take a day off in the middle of the week.
And since it just so happens that KC's bed has arrived, it also makes it a good day to get the last little bit of her room done as a surprise before she comes home from school. After that, I'd say chances are good that there is a nap in my future.
When my alarm went off this morning, I wanted to cry. For some reason 6 a.m. always seems to come so damn early lately, that it feels like I've hardly had a wink of sleep at all.
But get up I did, went downstairs grabbed a towel, shuffled back up the stairs and turned the hot water on for my shower, barely adjusting the knobs for cold because my hot water doesn't last that long anyway. Normally a shower perks me right up getting me to get up and go, but today despite copious amounts of early morning caffeine my get up and go had got up and gone. And I for one wasn't looking forward to a day spent at work, falling asleep at my desk between calls.
So I pulled my trump card, grabbed the phone and called into work, putting on my best I don't feel very well at all voice.
"What's wrong with you?" said the voice on the other end of the line.
Not one who happens to excel in the lying department, I decided to go with the simple truth. "It's been a rough morning," I offered up as my excuse, figuring they could come to their own conclusions as to the possible variables for such a statement.
So here I am, playing hookey and not feeling the slightest little bit bad about it. A mental health day, every now and then, is a perfectly logical excuse to take a day off in the middle of the week.
And since it just so happens that KC's bed has arrived, it also makes it a good day to get the last little bit of her room done as a surprise before she comes home from school. After that, I'd say chances are good that there is a nap in my future.
Time Tunnel
I almost fell asleep at my desk this morning, so little sleep I actually got last night. I remember waking at 4 am, the sound of my own voice jarring me awake, though I can't remember now what I was saying.
We were back in college, the five of us girls. Carrie, Tracy, Robin, Brenda and me, carrying on like ninnies, dancing on beds and singing songs into our hairbrush microphones.
We were silly like that. Never caring what other people said or thought. We were our own exclusive little club and no one else was ever allowed to enter.
Someday - though not tonight - I'm going to write the memoirs for the girls of Penfield Hall ... Because each of us still has a story needing to be told.
We were back in college, the five of us girls. Carrie, Tracy, Robin, Brenda and me, carrying on like ninnies, dancing on beds and singing songs into our hairbrush microphones.
We were silly like that. Never caring what other people said or thought. We were our own exclusive little club and no one else was ever allowed to enter.
Someday - though not tonight - I'm going to write the memoirs for the girls of Penfield Hall ... Because each of us still has a story needing to be told.
Sleepyhead
Another weekend quickly coming to a close. A new work week waiting patiently at the helm. And here I sit, eyes almost closed fighting sleep, longing for my bed ... My eyes tired from having just read 383 pages in the short time span of 3 hours.
I am too tired to think let alone write. So with that I am off to reclaim my bed and slumber in peace until the radio alarm startles me awake.
I am too tired to think let alone write. So with that I am off to reclaim my bed and slumber in peace until the radio alarm startles me awake.
A Job Well Done
A little teamwork, a little elbow grease and everything is coming up roses ... or should I say watermelons, as that is the new color of KC's room.
We didn't just stop at painting however. We steam cleaned the carpet, assembled a new computer desk and then managed to drag all of the computer components upstairs, in the time span of a few (well spent) short hours.
Thanks Amy, Jodi, Jamie and even Jordan ...
Now into the shower and off to spend the rest of the day shopping ...
(Sigh)
A girls got to do what a girls got to do.
We didn't just stop at painting however. We steam cleaned the carpet, assembled a new computer desk and then managed to drag all of the computer components upstairs, in the time span of a few (well spent) short hours.
Thanks Amy, Jodi, Jamie and even Jordan ...
Now into the shower and off to spend the rest of the day shopping ...
(Sigh)
A girls got to do what a girls got to do.
After Thoughts
Sitting here in my pajamas this morning, having just rallied the troops with promises that they will be over soon in order for the painting to commence, I am enjoying my last few minutes of rest and relaxation. At this point, and considering my attire, I have yet to motivate this morning past the still wishing I was in bed and sleeping stage.
Which brings me to the odd dream I had last night. I dreamed that Sean had wrote me a letter and was very angry with me for things I had said about him in my blog. And while I was very sorry, I couldn't seem to bring myself to apologize for the truth about how shitty he made me feel while we were dating.
In hindsight I am beginning to understand that Sean was more of a stepping stone for me rather than a real love connection. Which is not saying I didn't have feelings for him, because I did ... But they weren't the kind of feelings that would have ever led to marriage or something just as committed.
The heart knows what it wants. And the mind knows what it needs. And if you can't get either from the person you're with, you're pretty much wasting your time.
Still I remember all the sweet and wonderful things he said. And for that I am grateful, despite our outcome.
But I really didn't want to get on this topic this morning. It's a beautiful day out, sun shining and the wind just right and not a speck of gloom or doom to be seen for miles.
Which brings me to the odd dream I had last night. I dreamed that Sean had wrote me a letter and was very angry with me for things I had said about him in my blog. And while I was very sorry, I couldn't seem to bring myself to apologize for the truth about how shitty he made me feel while we were dating.
In hindsight I am beginning to understand that Sean was more of a stepping stone for me rather than a real love connection. Which is not saying I didn't have feelings for him, because I did ... But they weren't the kind of feelings that would have ever led to marriage or something just as committed.
The heart knows what it wants. And the mind knows what it needs. And if you can't get either from the person you're with, you're pretty much wasting your time.
Still I remember all the sweet and wonderful things he said. And for that I am grateful, despite our outcome.
But I really didn't want to get on this topic this morning. It's a beautiful day out, sun shining and the wind just right and not a speck of gloom or doom to be seen for miles.
All In A Day
Another day, another trip to Home Depot ...
Ran during my lunch break to buy paint for KC's room despite the fact that I tried to convince myself that painting wasn't necessary. Unfortunately the pencil marks on the wall where the border used to be, tells a much different story. Meanwhile, I am totally dreading the idea of slapping that first spot of color on the wall. Once started, there is no other choice but to finish it.
Had a call from one of my customers today who was calling to say thank you. An interesting thank you call it turned out to be, as he was "thankful" - and yes I did just use silly quotation marks - for my help in "breaking the cherry" of one of his new guys ... I don't think anyone has ever described my order taking skills in quite the same way. But I suppose when you work in a male dominated business you take the compliments no matter how colorful they come with a sense of humor. I wonder if this can qualify as a dream come true ...
After work, I stopped over to Amy's, picked up my nephew and went to see the new Harry Potter. Not only was the movie good, but I saw Dan D. a guy I lusted over in 5th grade right on through high school graduation. As I told Brenda earlier on the phone - because I had to call her and share such vital information - he has an ass you can bounce a quarter off of. Oh yeah, I was impressed. Once I managed to get my salivating under control, I was better able to follow along with the movie ...
But as it's late, I am to bed. I have a full day of painting tomorrow. Still looking for volunteers if anyone is interested ...
Ran during my lunch break to buy paint for KC's room despite the fact that I tried to convince myself that painting wasn't necessary. Unfortunately the pencil marks on the wall where the border used to be, tells a much different story. Meanwhile, I am totally dreading the idea of slapping that first spot of color on the wall. Once started, there is no other choice but to finish it.
Had a call from one of my customers today who was calling to say thank you. An interesting thank you call it turned out to be, as he was "thankful" - and yes I did just use silly quotation marks - for my help in "breaking the cherry" of one of his new guys ... I don't think anyone has ever described my order taking skills in quite the same way. But I suppose when you work in a male dominated business you take the compliments no matter how colorful they come with a sense of humor. I wonder if this can qualify as a dream come true ...
After work, I stopped over to Amy's, picked up my nephew and went to see the new Harry Potter. Not only was the movie good, but I saw Dan D. a guy I lusted over in 5th grade right on through high school graduation. As I told Brenda earlier on the phone - because I had to call her and share such vital information - he has an ass you can bounce a quarter off of. Oh yeah, I was impressed. Once I managed to get my salivating under control, I was better able to follow along with the movie ...
But as it's late, I am to bed. I have a full day of painting tomorrow. Still looking for volunteers if anyone is interested ...
When Someone Else Can Say It Better
I am bombarded yet I stand
I have been standing all my life in the
direct path of a battery of signals
the most accurately transmitted most
untranslatable language in the universe
I am a galactic cloud so deep so invo-
luted that a light wave could take 15
years to travel through me And has
taken I am an instrument in the shape
of a woman trying to translate pulsations
into images for the relief of the body
and the reconstruction of the mind.
- Excerpt from Planetarium by Adrienne Rich (1968)
Cross My Line
Nothing has changed but something is different.
Sitting here tonight, house grown dark and minor child upstairs in bed, listening. Sounds from a piano played on CD, water running from the filter in the fish tank, and this little voice inside my head that talks and talks and talks.
Tonight she's berating me for being so weak. For not listening to her months ago when she said, "You know Stacey, you're not happy. You don't laugh anymore. You're positively miserable."
"But I know," she says. "You'd take him back right now if he called, if he had one kind word to say." And I can't say that she is wrong, because I know she's right.
And I can't help but wonder why I changed, why I would still risk myself for a change in me I didn't like. What about a man can make me so weak that I take less than what should be offered. Why am I a chameleon to the colors he tells me I should want to be.
I know I'm beating a dead horse. But it scares me that I give myself up so easily. Because I think that maybe the next time, I won't get myself back ... Maybe I just got lucky this time.
Sitting here tonight, house grown dark and minor child upstairs in bed, listening. Sounds from a piano played on CD, water running from the filter in the fish tank, and this little voice inside my head that talks and talks and talks.
Tonight she's berating me for being so weak. For not listening to her months ago when she said, "You know Stacey, you're not happy. You don't laugh anymore. You're positively miserable."
"But I know," she says. "You'd take him back right now if he called, if he had one kind word to say." And I can't say that she is wrong, because I know she's right.
And I can't help but wonder why I changed, why I would still risk myself for a change in me I didn't like. What about a man can make me so weak that I take less than what should be offered. Why am I a chameleon to the colors he tells me I should want to be.
I know I'm beating a dead horse. But it scares me that I give myself up so easily. Because I think that maybe the next time, I won't get myself back ... Maybe I just got lucky this time.
Electronic Tremors
My screen is shaking like there's a little elf fucking with the vertical hold.
It's rather nauseating. And I'm thinking that the longer I sit here, there is indeed a good chance (100%) that getting incredibly and violently sick, is the only outcome of subjecting myself to these strange electronic tremors. It's all very 3D reminding me of something much akin to one Blue Hawaiian too many ... (Need I really say it went down blue and came back much the same way?)
TMI Stacey ... TMI.
Oooh starting to feel queasy ... This is so not good.
But before I go, I just want to say ...
Happy 500th Post on NWTLO!
It's rather nauseating. And I'm thinking that the longer I sit here, there is indeed a good chance (100%) that getting incredibly and violently sick, is the only outcome of subjecting myself to these strange electronic tremors. It's all very 3D reminding me of something much akin to one Blue Hawaiian too many ... (Need I really say it went down blue and came back much the same way?)
TMI Stacey ... TMI.
Oooh starting to feel queasy ... This is so not good.
But before I go, I just want to say ...
Happy 500th Post on NWTLO!
Tuesday ... Feels More Like a Monday
Hello nervous breakdown ... (Heh ... Fun with colors.)
Greetings and salutations from my glorious workplace, where according to the clock, I have exactly 39 minutes left of cave inspired bliss. Today has been tedious, phones ringing off the hook, leaving my desk looking as if a class 3 tornado ripped through the joint. Of course, it didn't help that I opted to go out to lunch with my friend Chris, rather than closet myself behind closed doors and catch up on the chaos. This of course set my voicemail to blinking like a mad hatter by the time I returned ...
Lunch however was nice, though somewhat damaging to my ego since sitting in a booth with my feet dangling 5 inches above the floor made me feel more like a 7 year old than someone quickly approaching thirty. (I'm still in denial about that ... So don't expect me to exactly be spouting that off like it's today's good news ... Ugh.)
Anyhoo ... time to get things picked up for the night and get to going while the going is still good.
