My house is a mess and I just don't care ... And really, does it matter to me what the people who are doing the house inspections think of it when I'll be out of here within the month? Okay. So it does matter a bit to me but I've got to not let it. There's not enough time to get it all sparkly fresh so it has to be what it is. And what it is, is something that looks a lot like someone who is moving nine years worth of stuff. Really, the fact that this place is messy should be expected when considering all that ... Maybe I'll leave a note taped to the front door that reads,
"Please excuse the mess. I was too tired to care."
Oh well. I better get to starting my day before it starts without me.
A Mouth Full of Marbles
Your selfishness knows no bounds.
Words you say trip off your tongue to tangle with lies
and truths only told in halves.
Every other weekend you appear perfect.
The good Dad just up until the time she can be returned.
Then you are what you have always been,
someone who can leave his responsibilities behind.
Someone who can easily forget they exist.
Someone who points his fingers
and places blame on those who have done no wrong.
And I am amazed
at how much hurt you can spew from your venomous mouth.
And I am so angry
that I dare not trust myself to be in a room alone with you.
Or even on the other end of a phone.
For I would tell you what it seems you cannot figure out.
The barbs you think to send my way,
sting the child you say you love and would not harm.
Calling In the Calvary
My body feels like someone has trampled over it a thousand times and even though I always knew that they were there - though truth be told, I did have my doubts - my calf muscles are staging an early protest this morning against any and all movement. Like an army general with a riding crop in his hands barking orders, the sensory message from my legs is telling my brain to, "Sit on the damn couch girl and don't even think about moving!" And being that I'm not all that qualified to refute that command, I'm more than happy to oblige. Well, at least until I get hungry and need to commandeer something for breakfast or switch out the load of laundry from the washer to the dryer.
KC's room is on the agenda today. As in I'm going in and if no one hears from me in the next two days, someone really ought to send a search party. My girl is a bit of a walking disaster. Wherever she goes, a trail of destruction seems to be left in her path, all leading directly to her room of course. And if you could see her room, oh Lord, you'd cover your eyes and pretend you never saw it to begin with. Who says ignorance isn't bliss?
But for now, I'm content to quietly usher in the morning in relative peace and tranquility. Well, at least until the general in my head that's not attached to my legs decides to spout orders of her own. Then I'm toast ...
Perhaps what I really should be doing today is concentrating my efforts on calling in the Calvary. When one is about to move an entire household, it's time to start dialing the phone and calling in as many favors as you can from your family and your friends ...
KC's room is on the agenda today. As in I'm going in and if no one hears from me in the next two days, someone really ought to send a search party. My girl is a bit of a walking disaster. Wherever she goes, a trail of destruction seems to be left in her path, all leading directly to her room of course. And if you could see her room, oh Lord, you'd cover your eyes and pretend you never saw it to begin with. Who says ignorance isn't bliss?
But for now, I'm content to quietly usher in the morning in relative peace and tranquility. Well, at least until the general in my head that's not attached to my legs decides to spout orders of her own. Then I'm toast ...
Perhaps what I really should be doing today is concentrating my efforts on calling in the Calvary. When one is about to move an entire household, it's time to start dialing the phone and calling in as many favors as you can from your family and your friends ...
In the Checkout Line at the Grocery
"I don't want it."
"What do you mean you don't want it?"
"I don't want it as in put it back. Take it off the order. I'm leaving without it."
"You don't want any of it?"
"No," I said, giving the cashier an exasperated look.
"But it's on special."
"And according to the sign you have it's also buy one get one free and if you're telling me that the sign is incorrect and it's not buy one get one free, then I don't want either."
"So you're saying that you don't want them?"
"I believe I've been saying that for the last five minutes ..."
"What do you mean you don't want it?"
"I don't want it as in put it back. Take it off the order. I'm leaving without it."
"You don't want any of it?"
"No," I said, giving the cashier an exasperated look.
"But it's on special."
"And according to the sign you have it's also buy one get one free and if you're telling me that the sign is incorrect and it's not buy one get one free, then I don't want either."
"So you're saying that you don't want them?"
"I believe I've been saying that for the last five minutes ..."
Moving Towards Change
An Autumn storm howls on the wind this morning, bringing with it a cold September rain. And though I've said it a thousand times before, more than enough to know that all of you know without me saying it, this is my idea of the perfect day. The kind of day that involves a warm cup of cocoa, a soft fuzzy blanket, and a good book to get lost in.
Being that it's a Tuesday however, my day is more apt to involve a desk piled with work and the constant ringing of a phone in my ear and then a short ride home to collect my daughter from her day at school, time in the kitchen to prepare dinner, a little family time, and then back to work upstairs to my bedroom which has been pulled in a thousand different directions with the opening of yet another closet.
This one however is proving much easier. Instead of years of clothes and other assorted odds and ends, this one is packed full of books. Books that as of Friday will be up for sale at the garage sale Brenda and I are having. And though it will be difficult parting from a collection started more years ago than I can count, I have come to the conclusion that a book sitting dormant on a shelf in a closet has no purpose. Books are meant to be read and being that I have read all of them, at least once if not twice, it's time to let some of them go.
Packed already are four cases of books, not including the two cases of books already sitting in Brenda's basement waiting for Friday. And at the deep discount price of exactly one dollar a book, simple math says that if I were to sell all of them (as I hope to do) I will have more than two hundred dollars in my pocket by day's end. Although since I'm not exactly done going through the closet yet, that figure may go up just a bit more. (I really should have done this year's ago.)
By now some of you may be wondering what all this closet cleaning is for since most people are bitten by the cleaning bug in spring and not at the tail end of September. And the truth of the matter is, that after nine wonderful years of calling the place I live home, I'm getting ready to leave home.
And it's no wonder I've had no time to blog. What with so much on my mind, and so many things to do, there just hasn't been time to sit down and find the right words to say that everything I know is about to change.
Being that it's a Tuesday however, my day is more apt to involve a desk piled with work and the constant ringing of a phone in my ear and then a short ride home to collect my daughter from her day at school, time in the kitchen to prepare dinner, a little family time, and then back to work upstairs to my bedroom which has been pulled in a thousand different directions with the opening of yet another closet.
This one however is proving much easier. Instead of years of clothes and other assorted odds and ends, this one is packed full of books. Books that as of Friday will be up for sale at the garage sale Brenda and I are having. And though it will be difficult parting from a collection started more years ago than I can count, I have come to the conclusion that a book sitting dormant on a shelf in a closet has no purpose. Books are meant to be read and being that I have read all of them, at least once if not twice, it's time to let some of them go.
Packed already are four cases of books, not including the two cases of books already sitting in Brenda's basement waiting for Friday. And at the deep discount price of exactly one dollar a book, simple math says that if I were to sell all of them (as I hope to do) I will have more than two hundred dollars in my pocket by day's end. Although since I'm not exactly done going through the closet yet, that figure may go up just a bit more. (I really should have done this year's ago.)
By now some of you may be wondering what all this closet cleaning is for since most people are bitten by the cleaning bug in spring and not at the tail end of September. And the truth of the matter is, that after nine wonderful years of calling the place I live home, I'm getting ready to leave home.
And it's no wonder I've had no time to blog. What with so much on my mind, and so many things to do, there just hasn't been time to sit down and find the right words to say that everything I know is about to change.
Caught in the Crossfire
She should have caught the ball. Instead she caught it with her face. It was nothing more than an accident created by bad timing. A ball in motion just as her attention was focused on something else.
She held her hand to her cheek and absorbed the sting, ignoring all the voices around her. Sheila offered to go grab her an ice pack. Bob asked if she was okay. And poor KC, her small face flushed with guilt, was intent on grabbing onto any part of her Mother in her attempt to make amends.
But what she really wanted was for no one to make a fuss. For everyone to just back off and give her room. She didn't want to be touched. Or held. Or have to listen to any words of comfort. No. What she really wanted was just to sit there and feel the throbbing in her cheek, forcing her mind to focus on the sting and control the pain into submission. To detach herself from all of it. The feel of the ball's imprint on her face. And the conversation that had ended abruptly when she got hit.
She held her hand to her cheek and absorbed the sting, ignoring all the voices around her. Sheila offered to go grab her an ice pack. Bob asked if she was okay. And poor KC, her small face flushed with guilt, was intent on grabbing onto any part of her Mother in her attempt to make amends.
But what she really wanted was for no one to make a fuss. For everyone to just back off and give her room. She didn't want to be touched. Or held. Or have to listen to any words of comfort. No. What she really wanted was just to sit there and feel the throbbing in her cheek, forcing her mind to focus on the sting and control the pain into submission. To detach herself from all of it. The feel of the ball's imprint on her face. And the conversation that had ended abruptly when she got hit.
Cleaning Out My Closet: Part Two
So I was tempted last night to pull an Eminem joke with the whole cleaning out my closet thing, but somehow without the sound of me saying it, like I am at this very minute saying it again, my best guess is it would get lost in the translation and you wouldn't find it funny. It IS however funny ... So please, just to humor me this one little time (Though it should be said if you give in now, you'll probably give in again, and then I'll be doing more of this because I'll know you'll do these stupid things I'm bound to ask ...) say it with me.
Ready, set, go ...
(Sniffle)
That was beautiful. You are the best darn bloggers this side of the Hudson! I mean it! We'll do lunch ...
But for now, I'm off to do work ...
Ready, set, go ...
(Sniffle)
That was beautiful. You are the best darn bloggers this side of the Hudson! I mean it! We'll do lunch ...
But for now, I'm off to do work ...
Cleaning Out My Closet
I am sitting dead center in the middle of chaos, surrounded by ten years of I'm not even sure what all of this is or how it really got here. In the past two days alone, I've done six loads of laundry. Five of it from a closet I stopped opening years ago and for good reason. The reason of which I am now speaking.
And I am kicking myself for not having done this long ago. I mean seriously, how on earth did I manage to cram so much shit into one small closet anyway? I must have skills I didn't even know about ...
Although I suppose I do have a very checkered past with closets ... At least maybe my Mom would say so.
But enough stalling on my part. There's work to be done and it doesn't pay to hide out at your computer pretending it isn't there.
And I am kicking myself for not having done this long ago. I mean seriously, how on earth did I manage to cram so much shit into one small closet anyway? I must have skills I didn't even know about ...
Although I suppose I do have a very checkered past with closets ... At least maybe my Mom would say so.
But enough stalling on my part. There's work to be done and it doesn't pay to hide out at your computer pretending it isn't there.
Road Block for Writer's
If you're disappointed that there's nothing new to read ... Rest assured, this whole word embargo has me disappointed too.
Oh well ... Tomorrow is another day.
Oh well ... Tomorrow is another day.
Welcoming the Fall
There's silver frost on the grass this morning and outside it's unnaturally quiet, not even the birds sing from their perches in the trees. If summer has finally come to the conclusion that she can't keep fall at bay much longer, the cold itself will attest to that fact. This morning is the kind of morning where a warm, fuzzy sweatshirt and a pair of jeans seems more appropriate to wear than the business casual I'm currently sporting. And I think with some regret over the pair of sandals I threw out only yesterday, knowing that they were in no shape to continue on and the need for them had already expired.
Fall has come to stake it's claim. It's cold fingers reaching out over the land to touch the tops of trees to inspire a new bloom of color.
Fall has come to stake it's claim. It's cold fingers reaching out over the land to touch the tops of trees to inspire a new bloom of color.
Nocturnal Ramblings of the Seemingly Sane
It's hard to sleep when you're blogging and harder yet to blog when you want to go to sleep ... And yet (note the hour) I cannot fall asleep. I went upstairs and I tried. I really did. I snuggled up under the covers, listened to the cricket orchestra outside, adjusted my pillows to their perfect positions and laid there with my eyes wide open staring into the darkness, until the darkness started to move and I decided that lights were good things ... And then found myself coming back downstairs to pull my laptop out and take up residence on the couch where I currently still am. Just as uncomfortable as ever sitting on this horrid hand me down couch of mine.
I blame my brain on this night of wasted sleep. It just won't turn off. No. It wants to think and think and think. And I for one am wanting none of that. No. The only thing I want is the cold side of the pillow and sweet dreams to lull me to sleep until I gently awaken tomorrow morning ...
Not that I ever really gently awaken ... More or less some shrill device normally wakes me in form of alarm clock or screeching Mom doesn't need to sleep past seven on the weekend daughter.
But I suppose I need to give it one more try. My left eye has officially closed for business and my right eye is threatening to do the same. And pretty soon, if I think about it, I'm going to be doing really bad pirate impersonations to amuse myself while making jokes about peg legs. Not that I know any good jokes, but the things that come to my mind when I'm in this state of tired are usually of the oddest sort.
So I'm to bed ... Again.
Elvis has left the building.
I blame my brain on this night of wasted sleep. It just won't turn off. No. It wants to think and think and think. And I for one am wanting none of that. No. The only thing I want is the cold side of the pillow and sweet dreams to lull me to sleep until I gently awaken tomorrow morning ...
Not that I ever really gently awaken ... More or less some shrill device normally wakes me in form of alarm clock or screeching Mom doesn't need to sleep past seven on the weekend daughter.
But I suppose I need to give it one more try. My left eye has officially closed for business and my right eye is threatening to do the same. And pretty soon, if I think about it, I'm going to be doing really bad pirate impersonations to amuse myself while making jokes about peg legs. Not that I know any good jokes, but the things that come to my mind when I'm in this state of tired are usually of the oddest sort.
So I'm to bed ... Again.
Elvis has left the building.
