People are gluttons for punishment and I'm like a waitress, ready to dish it out on a bleak Saturday morning.
So I'm on my NWTLO screen name, browsing around the web, when an Instant Message pops up in front on me, from out of nowhere.
Who it is, I have no idea, other than he's yet another randy male looking for love on this high tech information highway. My blood began to tingle.
"Hello." said the moth to the flame.
So I'm feeling that a little sport this morning, might be just the thing to get my creative juices a flowing. Trust me when I tell you, that there's nothing better than messing around with the mind of someone you don't even know.
When trouble comes looking for me, my sarcasm is quick to come to the rescue.
Since the first guy bailed on me, after I told him I was a 99 year old woman with 13 cats, who once almost ran for President, but decided to back out of the election since I couldn't say that I had never inhaled, I couldn't help but tone it down just a bit for the next sucker, whoops, I mean guy that IM'ed me.
Rather than try to give you the play by play of how the conversation went, a little cutting and pasting will work wonders for getting the story told.
** Some names may have been changed to protect the innocent. **
ONCE ON A SATURDAY MORNING (a conversation)
Random IM'er: hello how ru today
Stay247: I am just wonderful. How about yourself?
Random IM'er: good here ty u wanna chat
Stay247: I might have a few minutes
Random IM'er: ok 30/m syr here and u
Stay247: 28/Information Withheld
Random IM'er: any pics
Stay247: Just one of my cat.
big typing delay ... I think he began to realize he should be scared.
Random IM'er: ok
Stay247: I should warn you, that the last guy I had a conversation with, thought I was a 99 year old grandmother who once opted for public office ...
Random IM'er: why did he think that
Stay247: Probably cause I told him that.
Random IM'er: lol nice
Stay247: you'd think he would have been a bit smarter to figure out I was lying through my teeth ... But nope.
Could I have just given this guy a bigger clue about what he was in for??
Random IM'er: lol ok. So what are you doin
Stay247: I'm at my sisters place taking care of her dog
Random IM'er: ok
Stay247: I can hardly stand all the excitement
RandomIM'er: so do u live in (deleted town name) urself
Stay247: Near there but not in the city
Random IM'er: ok (This guy says OK a lot!)
i have a pic in my profile if u care to see
Stay247: Depends ... Are you fully dressed? Cause once this guy sent me a pic and didn't warn me, and I almost fell right out of my chair in surprise! It was not a good surprise! (True story!)
Random IM'er: lol yes im dressed
Stay247: Whew ... Thank goodness. That sort of thing is a bit unhealthy.
2 minute delay of action pause ...
Stay247: Have you lost consciousness?
Random IM'er: i thought my pic scared u away
Stay247: Not unless it was invisible ... I didn't see a thing.
Random IM'er: did u click on the link at the bottom of my profile
Stay247: Oh ... sorry. I'm still a little bit computer illiterate this early on a Saturday morning.
Random IM'er: lol its ok
Stay247: hold on one second while I check you out
Random IM'er: ok
Stay247: How do you like that ... you can get ogled on a computer
Random IM'er: dont get to turned on now ok
Stay247: Of course, ogling is much more fun in person ... Not to worry, I'll keep the drooling to a minimum
Random IM'er: ok lol (OK ... He says OK just way too damn much!)
Stay247: a little blurry but clothed and not bad
Random IM'er: so tell me what u look like
Stay247: Well, let's see ... A whopping 5 foot 0 inches high, thanks to Mom, brown hair and brown eyes, thanks to Dad, blank (censored information) pounds, Thanks to Jenny Craig and weight watchers ... and mostly Italian.
Random IM'er: eeeeew Italian
Stay247: What do you mean by Eeeew?
Random IM'er: im kidding
Stay247: I was about to get my kick boxing gloves on
and go all samurai on you.
Random IM'er: oh cool i would like a good beating lol
Stay247: you and every other man on the face of the planet. You get zero for originality.
Random IM'er: lol so what r u doing today
Stay247: So far, wreaking havoc on western civilization and I'll probably move on to breakfast at some point.
Random IM'er: oic sounds fun
Stay247: Not really
Random IM'er: so ur 28 u said right
Stay247: I'll have to feed the dog too and he has this uncontrollable drooling thing.
Stay247: 28 almost 29
Random IM'er: any kids
Stay247: One, but I'm not sure he's mine
Random IM'er: lol
Random IM'er: so what r you gonna do tonight when we meet lol
Stay247: Hit you over the head and steal all your money.
Random IM'er: dont have any, im on welfare
Stay247: You too?
Random IM'er: yeah
Stay247: Isn't it nice they've hooked up all the shelters with computers?
(Yeah ... I know this is really politically incorrect. It's just the harmful side effects of sarcasm ... Take it with a couple grains of salt.)
Random IM'er: i dont have any legs either
Stay247: I've got 3, I could let you have one ... Course it might be too girlish for you, with the painted toe nails and all.
Random IM'er: i use to paint mine to lol
Stay247: I love a man whose not afraid to admit that!
Random IM'er: i let my daughters do that to me one time and i forgot about it and i had a date that night. it was funnier than hell, lol, but embarrassing lol
Stay247: Actually I think that would have been a very good ice breaker, although if you showed up in a dress, I probably would have been concerned ...
Random IM'er: well it was kinda, but i wasnt gonna go there lol
im not afraid to say i let my kids dress me up once in awhile, they like to do it
(At this point I was starting to get a little concerned.)
Random IM'er: would u like to dress me up or undress me ?
Stay247: Never on the first IM, I'm not that sort of girl!!!!
Random IM'er: lol. well u can wait till we meet tonight ok
Stay247: How do you know I don't already have a date
Random IM'er: because u dont
Stay247: are you psychic or something??
Random IM'er: yes i am
Stay247: And here I thought mediums were really smalls in disquise.
Random IM'er: so where r we going tonight
Stay247: Aruba, Jamaica (Oooh I want to take you ... Isn't it funny that a Beach Boys song started singing in my hear.) maybe somewhere off the Florida keys
Random IM'er: ok but u will have to push me around in my chair ok
Stay247: Not a problem, although I should tell you I have two left feet
Random IM'er: better than no feet
Stay247: I suppose you may have a point there, but I can't dance (and I can't sing ... I started humming out loud, trying to remember whether that had been Genesis or just Phil Collins, who sang that tune.)
Random IM'er: u think i can
Stay247: Well, you can roll around ...
Random IM'er: i can hop around on my little guy
(OK, that was a mental picture that no one, including me, wanted to see. I started wondering how I could end the conversation.)
Stay247: You know a dwarf? You really shouldn't step on him, it's not very nice!
(Right now, I'd like to take a time out to apologize to all the little people for my political incorrectness. It was wrong of me, but considering the other direction in which this guy was trying to get the conversation to go, I felt I had no choice!)
Random IM'er: i have a dwarf
Stay247: Is he one of seven? (OK, I was chuckling here, I have to admit it.)
Random IM'er: no he is by himself but he hangs with these two nuts that r always getting him into trouble
(Have I said Eeeww yet ... Cause if I didn't, now would be a good time. Eeeewww ... Way too much information there buddy!)
Stay247: I think you should get rid of him. That kind of person will always bring you down!
Random IM'er: well i already gave him a snip (I was so not going to ask what he meant by this.)
Stay247: That's it? He needs a full bobbit !!!
Random IM'er: well trust me it felt like a bobbittt lol
(This seemed like a good time to bring the dialog to a close.)
Stay247: Well, speaking of bobbits. I have got to go to take this little emaciated dog out for a poop run, before he takes advantage of the carpet .
(Don't you just love imaginary dogs? I know I do.)
Random IM'er: aww r u coming back to play
Stay247: I guess that depends on the dog ... (and I think he's in the mood for a very long bowel movement.) GTG, bye!
*finis
I should be ashamed, I should be very ashamed ... But, I can't really blame myself. It was him, after all, who IM'ed me ... I was just sitting at my computer innocently beginning to blog.
I'm sitting here, tears running down my face, thanking myself for just finishing the book I bought today.
It was exactly what I needed to wake me up, to make me think.
Read it! I promise you won't be disappointed.
A Window Across the River
It was exactly what I needed to wake me up, to make me think.
Read it! I promise you won't be disappointed.
A Window Across the River
Tree down in the backyard ... Hmmm, sounds like something you would say in passing.
Hi there. How are ya? There's a tree down in the backyard. Good to see you. We'll do lunch ...
Or then again, maybe not.
But there is ... a tree down in the backyard. A big old pine tree toppled over, its top half lying on the ground and down the road, there's another tree blocking the road, pulling down the power wires.
I have power for now. I didn't earlier. In fact, that's the very reason I am able to be blogging right now. KC's school got cancelled this morning, and although she could have spent the afternoon at the sitters, I decided to come home. Heck, I'll be honest, it was Friday and I didn't feel like working anyway.
So I picked her up and we went to lunch, and spent the time talking about what happened at school today when the lights went out. KC told me she bravely stood up and told the class not to worry, because it was only your standard blackout.
I guess I should be proud that my child is up on her current events. Ah, my child the drama queen. (Like Grandmother, like mother, like daughter ...)
So anyhoo, after lunch we opted for shopping and went to my most favorite store in the whole world, Barnes and Noble. Fifty dollars later, it was time to leave for home. I got a new Dar Williams CD (Out There LIVE), a new book which I might add after reading 3 pages looks like it is going to be absolutely wonderful entitled, A Window Across the River by Brian Morton, and for KC, a recorder with songbook.
Now that she's been upstairs for the last half hour honking on it, I have to ask myself what the hell was I thinking! Was it a moment of insanity, or is insanity a much slower process? Either way, the one thing I am getting now, is a headache. My daughter did not inherit my musically inclinced genes.
Oh well, I'll have to finish this later ... There's another thunderstorm rolling in, time to duck and cover.
Hi there. How are ya? There's a tree down in the backyard. Good to see you. We'll do lunch ...
Or then again, maybe not.
But there is ... a tree down in the backyard. A big old pine tree toppled over, its top half lying on the ground and down the road, there's another tree blocking the road, pulling down the power wires.
I have power for now. I didn't earlier. In fact, that's the very reason I am able to be blogging right now. KC's school got cancelled this morning, and although she could have spent the afternoon at the sitters, I decided to come home. Heck, I'll be honest, it was Friday and I didn't feel like working anyway.
So I picked her up and we went to lunch, and spent the time talking about what happened at school today when the lights went out. KC told me she bravely stood up and told the class not to worry, because it was only your standard blackout.
I guess I should be proud that my child is up on her current events. Ah, my child the drama queen. (Like Grandmother, like mother, like daughter ...)
So anyhoo, after lunch we opted for shopping and went to my most favorite store in the whole world, Barnes and Noble. Fifty dollars later, it was time to leave for home. I got a new Dar Williams CD (Out There LIVE), a new book which I might add after reading 3 pages looks like it is going to be absolutely wonderful entitled, A Window Across the River by Brian Morton, and for KC, a recorder with songbook.
Now that she's been upstairs for the last half hour honking on it, I have to ask myself what the hell was I thinking! Was it a moment of insanity, or is insanity a much slower process? Either way, the one thing I am getting now, is a headache. My daughter did not inherit my musically inclinced genes.
Oh well, I'll have to finish this later ... There's another thunderstorm rolling in, time to duck and cover.
And the winds are howling outside my door ...
It's a little eerie. When the wind hits my front door just right, it makes this high pitched wooing sound like a wailing ghost. Not exactly the best thing to hear in the middle of the night, when you are curled up in your bed all alone.
You'd think I'd be a little used to it by now, but it still makes my teeth chatter.
More strange dreams last night, Unfortunately, there's not time for details so a quick synopsis this morning will have to do. Hmmm ... Maybe I'll just type the keywords.
A lost love, Sean Connery, at a party, bicycles (not me riding this time and not magical), phone calls, confessions and finally happily ever after.
Absolutely no doubt when I woke up this morning, that it was all a dream. (sigh)
Oh hello-well ... (snicker) I must be off for a day of fun filled excitement abounding with happiness and good thoughts.
It's a little eerie. When the wind hits my front door just right, it makes this high pitched wooing sound like a wailing ghost. Not exactly the best thing to hear in the middle of the night, when you are curled up in your bed all alone.
You'd think I'd be a little used to it by now, but it still makes my teeth chatter.
More strange dreams last night, Unfortunately, there's not time for details so a quick synopsis this morning will have to do. Hmmm ... Maybe I'll just type the keywords.
A lost love, Sean Connery, at a party, bicycles (not me riding this time and not magical), phone calls, confessions and finally happily ever after.
Absolutely no doubt when I woke up this morning, that it was all a dream. (sigh)
Oh hello-well ... (snicker) I must be off for a day of fun filled excitement abounding with happiness and good thoughts.
Well, I made my debut as an amateur photographer today, taking pictures of my friend and her bandmates.
It was definitely an interesting group of people. Though first impressions can sometimes be deceiving, their personalities seemed easy to discern.
Both her husband and his brother, were more of your average mild mannered professionals. The kind who liked to entertain the notion of living out their rock god fantasies, while making a little extra money on the side.
The drummer was another story. The type of guy who bathed himself in masculinity, in order to attract girls with his jet black hair and his smarmy come hither attitude. From the way he seemed intent on making sure I was noticing him, it was obvious that he was more interested in making conquests, than making music.
But it was the last guy that intrigued me. He had the sort of face, that seemed as if it had a story to tell. Shy and reserved, I watched him purposely keep himself to the fringes of the group. The kind of behavior you see, when someone doesn't really think they belong there. I could tell that I made him nervous, an unknown factor in his usual sphere of being, that he didn't quite know how to act around. I automatically wanted to make him feel comfortable, ensuring him with a smile, that I wasn't a threat.
I would have loved to have taken pictures of just him alone, tracing with my camera every line on his face and the slope of his nose that seemed out of proportion. His was a face in which a camera could fall in love. Not handsome, and not of the manor born, but a hard, weathered face, that looked like it had spent too many days in the sun and too many nights in stormy weather.
He was a man in black, standing tall with cowboy hat partially shading his eyes from view. The kind of man who preferred to see himself out of focus and out of the picture whenever possible. The kind of man who wasn't used to someone attempting a peek at his soul.
But when he smiled, you could tell that it reached up all the way into his eyes. The same kind of smile you'd get from a toothy seven year old. It was genuine and honest.
It was clear to me, that the picture needed to revolve around this man. He was, what the others were not. Maybe it was his deep reserve that accentuated the stoic-ness of his posture, manipulating the light around his form to shine on him like a beacon. I focused my camera on his face, and let the others provide the backdrop to the scene, imagining in my mind what the picture would look like in black and white.
"He needs to be in the back." said one of the groupies as she hovered behind me scoffing, "He's not much to look at."
I wanted to turn around and call her out and tell her all of the reasons of why she couldn't have been more wrong. I wanted to explain to her the difference of looking and really seeing someone. But I knew she wouldn't get it. Still I felt the need to defend him.
"Actually, out of all of them here," I said, "he's the one who'll look the best. His face has character. Putting him in the back would be the biggest mistake."
She seemed startled by my input, pausing long enough to give me the evil eye and the you sure don't know what you're talking about kind of look. But it made me feel good to defend the honor of a man I didn't even know.
There was just something about him, the way he reminded me of a kindred spirit. Someone who was lost and still struggled to be found. Someone who thought they weren't worth as much as the people surrounding them. Maybe it was just that I recognized a little bit of myself in this man, and wanted to honor him in the only way I could. Making him feel, as if he really belonged.
I kept finding myself wishing there was some way, I could have singled him out for a shot alone, with the barren landscape jutting sharply behind him. But they wouldn't have understood, and he would have been too embarrassed to let me.
It was definitely an interesting group of people. Though first impressions can sometimes be deceiving, their personalities seemed easy to discern.
Both her husband and his brother, were more of your average mild mannered professionals. The kind who liked to entertain the notion of living out their rock god fantasies, while making a little extra money on the side.
The drummer was another story. The type of guy who bathed himself in masculinity, in order to attract girls with his jet black hair and his smarmy come hither attitude. From the way he seemed intent on making sure I was noticing him, it was obvious that he was more interested in making conquests, than making music.
But it was the last guy that intrigued me. He had the sort of face, that seemed as if it had a story to tell. Shy and reserved, I watched him purposely keep himself to the fringes of the group. The kind of behavior you see, when someone doesn't really think they belong there. I could tell that I made him nervous, an unknown factor in his usual sphere of being, that he didn't quite know how to act around. I automatically wanted to make him feel comfortable, ensuring him with a smile, that I wasn't a threat.
I would have loved to have taken pictures of just him alone, tracing with my camera every line on his face and the slope of his nose that seemed out of proportion. His was a face in which a camera could fall in love. Not handsome, and not of the manor born, but a hard, weathered face, that looked like it had spent too many days in the sun and too many nights in stormy weather.
He was a man in black, standing tall with cowboy hat partially shading his eyes from view. The kind of man who preferred to see himself out of focus and out of the picture whenever possible. The kind of man who wasn't used to someone attempting a peek at his soul.
But when he smiled, you could tell that it reached up all the way into his eyes. The same kind of smile you'd get from a toothy seven year old. It was genuine and honest.
It was clear to me, that the picture needed to revolve around this man. He was, what the others were not. Maybe it was his deep reserve that accentuated the stoic-ness of his posture, manipulating the light around his form to shine on him like a beacon. I focused my camera on his face, and let the others provide the backdrop to the scene, imagining in my mind what the picture would look like in black and white.
"He needs to be in the back." said one of the groupies as she hovered behind me scoffing, "He's not much to look at."
I wanted to turn around and call her out and tell her all of the reasons of why she couldn't have been more wrong. I wanted to explain to her the difference of looking and really seeing someone. But I knew she wouldn't get it. Still I felt the need to defend him.
"Actually, out of all of them here," I said, "he's the one who'll look the best. His face has character. Putting him in the back would be the biggest mistake."
She seemed startled by my input, pausing long enough to give me the evil eye and the you sure don't know what you're talking about kind of look. But it made me feel good to defend the honor of a man I didn't even know.
There was just something about him, the way he reminded me of a kindred spirit. Someone who was lost and still struggled to be found. Someone who thought they weren't worth as much as the people surrounding them. Maybe it was just that I recognized a little bit of myself in this man, and wanted to honor him in the only way I could. Making him feel, as if he really belonged.
I kept finding myself wishing there was some way, I could have singled him out for a shot alone, with the barren landscape jutting sharply behind him. But they wouldn't have understood, and he would have been too embarrassed to let me.
And the dreams were even weirder last night ...
I met my alter ego, a slightly younger version of my present self, named Azee, who could travel through time by riding a magic bicycle and had a penchant for going through giant mud holes.
She also played a mean game of table tennis, at an exclusive country club which let just about anyone in, including visitors from the future and her friends.
She even met a boy last night. Well, a man actually, and he was much older than she was. But it was love, despite the fact that he held some sort of political position and was trying to kill her.
I'm quite sure the dream could have kept going, but she settled down in a very nice house in Virginia, dumped the psycho boyfriend and for all intents and purposes lived happily ever after, just as my alarm clock gave the ring to wake me up.
As for me, I am going to stop watching television at least an hour before I go to bed. It's interrupting my beauty sleep!
Here's to a much better day at work today ... It's payday, so it can't be all that bad.
I met my alter ego, a slightly younger version of my present self, named Azee, who could travel through time by riding a magic bicycle and had a penchant for going through giant mud holes.
She also played a mean game of table tennis, at an exclusive country club which let just about anyone in, including visitors from the future and her friends.
She even met a boy last night. Well, a man actually, and he was much older than she was. But it was love, despite the fact that he held some sort of political position and was trying to kill her.
I'm quite sure the dream could have kept going, but she settled down in a very nice house in Virginia, dumped the psycho boyfriend and for all intents and purposes lived happily ever after, just as my alarm clock gave the ring to wake me up.
As for me, I am going to stop watching television at least an hour before I go to bed. It's interrupting my beauty sleep!
Here's to a much better day at work today ... It's payday, so it can't be all that bad.
If you could hear me now, you'd be hearing me screaming. I am so damn frustrated today, it's a wonder that I haven't pulled my hair out yet.
Men, in general, can be irritating ... Working with them, hazardous to your health!
This is the conclusion that I've come to, after my day was seriously ruined, by those with attitudes bigger than their heads.
What absolutely kills me, is that I was on top of the world this morning, even despite the weird light bulb dream. I was ready to have a fantastic, middle of the week, no one can bring me down hump day. That was until the guys out in shipping and other surrounding offices, decided to rain on my parade.
I am so sick of hearing the same old standby whine, that sales is the root of all evils around my workplace.
Everybody blames sales. Why this is, I have no idea. I guess the ignorant morons I work with just don't get it. Without sales, they wouldn't even have jobs. The way they act, you'd almost think we were the spawn of the guy with the pitchfork and pointy ears.
Walking out into the plant when you are a member of the sales team, is the same as wearing antlers on your head in the middle of hunting season. You're just asking for trouble.
But it seems to me, that anyone who can get overtime in the manufacturing industry, ought to be thanking their lucky stars. Manufacturing jobs all across our area, are shutting down, leaving their employees to stand in line at the local unemployment office. With so many people looking for work, it's hard to believe that there are so many chumps at mine, complaining about over time.
OVERTIME, as in they get paid time and a half, whenever they've been there longer than 8 hours. Give me a second and I just might not break out the Kleenex here. Ever since I went salary, overtime for me is a thing of the past, and it's not that I don't work it, cause I do, it's just that I don't get paid for it anymore. In fact, as far as perks go for being salary, I've yet to see any of them.
So this is how it goes ...
Shipping can screw up, forget to load an item on a truck, and manufacturing can screw up and send a customer ivy-green when he ordered royal blue, but sales isn't supposed to complain. We're just supposed to take the verbal tongue bath from our customer, you know, the guy at the other end of the phone that nobody else but sales has to speak with, and try our best to smooth it out and make nice. It seems to me, when it comes to accountability, nobody but sales is bending over to take the spanking.
And trust me, when I make a boo boo, I claim it and take my lumps when I have to. At least I do when I'm at work, that is. But the notion that I am going to sit around there, and let everyone use me as their personal doormat is absolutely ridiculous!
Not in this lifetime, baby! I don't do that martyr thing for anyone.
But people must have gotten me confused with someone else who is willing to deal with mass amounts of bullshit, cause they keep trying to pile it up outside my door.
Mr. Dailey himself, tried throwing a little attitude at me today, only to find out the hard way, that I wasn't having it. No matter how many times I've tried to explain it to people, they just don't get it. I've said it before and I'll say it again, the minute you think you can fly your attitude at me, you better be damn well prepared when I start flinging it back.
But I'm supposed to grow a thick skin.
That's the advice my boss, in his infinite wisdom, has given me. Forgive me, if I think it's time he starts rethinking his position.
Since when did common courtesy become an option? I think that a little peace, love and understanding would get us a lot further than this in-house bickering, where we all stand like a room full of children throwing tantrums, because we all want to play with the same toy.
And just because I'm female, don't treat me like your good little Christian wife at home and think you can get away with saying whatever you want to me. Just because you happen to have balls, and the dick to go with it, doesn't mean that I am going to let anyone talk to down to me, in any fashion they so choose. Talk about the wrong answer!
I just want to growl and throw today away, so I can start again, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart and end the night on a happy note. There's nothing that makes me feel worse, than somebody who lives to bring me down!
Men, in general, can be irritating ... Working with them, hazardous to your health!
This is the conclusion that I've come to, after my day was seriously ruined, by those with attitudes bigger than their heads.
What absolutely kills me, is that I was on top of the world this morning, even despite the weird light bulb dream. I was ready to have a fantastic, middle of the week, no one can bring me down hump day. That was until the guys out in shipping and other surrounding offices, decided to rain on my parade.
I am so sick of hearing the same old standby whine, that sales is the root of all evils around my workplace.
Everybody blames sales. Why this is, I have no idea. I guess the ignorant morons I work with just don't get it. Without sales, they wouldn't even have jobs. The way they act, you'd almost think we were the spawn of the guy with the pitchfork and pointy ears.
Walking out into the plant when you are a member of the sales team, is the same as wearing antlers on your head in the middle of hunting season. You're just asking for trouble.
But it seems to me, that anyone who can get overtime in the manufacturing industry, ought to be thanking their lucky stars. Manufacturing jobs all across our area, are shutting down, leaving their employees to stand in line at the local unemployment office. With so many people looking for work, it's hard to believe that there are so many chumps at mine, complaining about over time.
OVERTIME, as in they get paid time and a half, whenever they've been there longer than 8 hours. Give me a second and I just might not break out the Kleenex here. Ever since I went salary, overtime for me is a thing of the past, and it's not that I don't work it, cause I do, it's just that I don't get paid for it anymore. In fact, as far as perks go for being salary, I've yet to see any of them.
So this is how it goes ...
Shipping can screw up, forget to load an item on a truck, and manufacturing can screw up and send a customer ivy-green when he ordered royal blue, but sales isn't supposed to complain. We're just supposed to take the verbal tongue bath from our customer, you know, the guy at the other end of the phone that nobody else but sales has to speak with, and try our best to smooth it out and make nice. It seems to me, when it comes to accountability, nobody but sales is bending over to take the spanking.
And trust me, when I make a boo boo, I claim it and take my lumps when I have to. At least I do when I'm at work, that is. But the notion that I am going to sit around there, and let everyone use me as their personal doormat is absolutely ridiculous!
Not in this lifetime, baby! I don't do that martyr thing for anyone.
But people must have gotten me confused with someone else who is willing to deal with mass amounts of bullshit, cause they keep trying to pile it up outside my door.
Mr. Dailey himself, tried throwing a little attitude at me today, only to find out the hard way, that I wasn't having it. No matter how many times I've tried to explain it to people, they just don't get it. I've said it before and I'll say it again, the minute you think you can fly your attitude at me, you better be damn well prepared when I start flinging it back.
But I'm supposed to grow a thick skin.
That's the advice my boss, in his infinite wisdom, has given me. Forgive me, if I think it's time he starts rethinking his position.
Since when did common courtesy become an option? I think that a little peace, love and understanding would get us a lot further than this in-house bickering, where we all stand like a room full of children throwing tantrums, because we all want to play with the same toy.
And just because I'm female, don't treat me like your good little Christian wife at home and think you can get away with saying whatever you want to me. Just because you happen to have balls, and the dick to go with it, doesn't mean that I am going to let anyone talk to down to me, in any fashion they so choose. Talk about the wrong answer!
I just want to growl and throw today away, so I can start again, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart and end the night on a happy note. There's nothing that makes me feel worse, than somebody who lives to bring me down!
I smashed light bulbs in my dreams last night. Strange, but true.
Normally, if my subconscious has something to say, she skips the euphemisms and goes straight to the gusto. Of course now that I've finally gotten a handle on how to read her, she opted for a possibly prophetic overtone this time around, and is leaving it up to me to figure out the cryptic meaning behind the message.
Now if I can only figure out why the light bulbs were square ...
Normally, if my subconscious has something to say, she skips the euphemisms and goes straight to the gusto. Of course now that I've finally gotten a handle on how to read her, she opted for a possibly prophetic overtone this time around, and is leaving it up to me to figure out the cryptic meaning behind the message.
Now if I can only figure out why the light bulbs were square ...
I'm not holding my breath, but hopefully in the next few weeks, NWTLO, will be getting a much needed face lift.
Utilizing the talents of my sister Audrey, the resident artist of our clan, and her friends at the Maryland Institute of Art, majoring in graphic design, my plans should be moving full steam ahead, transferring NWTLO into a more personal sphere of existence from its current cookie cutter image.
More later. As witnessed by the email I just received from Brenda, she needs to talk to me and she needs to talk to me now.
How the f**k am I supposed to call you the f**k back if your f**king phone is going to be f**king busy all f**king night.....F**K!
(Oh my ... Such language!)
Night y'all!
By the way ... Tuesday's have now been nominated as the official step on a scale day. Today's results ... Down 5 lbs. Who's the girl?
Utilizing the talents of my sister Audrey, the resident artist of our clan, and her friends at the Maryland Institute of Art, majoring in graphic design, my plans should be moving full steam ahead, transferring NWTLO into a more personal sphere of existence from its current cookie cutter image.
More later. As witnessed by the email I just received from Brenda, she needs to talk to me and she needs to talk to me now.
How the f**k am I supposed to call you the f**k back if your f**king phone is going to be f**king busy all f**king night.....F**K!
(Oh my ... Such language!)
Night y'all!
By the way ... Tuesday's have now been nominated as the official step on a scale day. Today's results ... Down 5 lbs. Who's the girl?
Another day, another dollar.
If I were working early shift this week, I'd be pretty much screwed this morning, since I am running a little bit behind. But since I'm not, working the early shift that is, I figured I'd make some time to blog.
I'm supposed to help a friend out after work today, taking some black and white photos of her band to be printed in a local crier, but it doesn't look good.
According to the local weather report, it's clear skies this morning and nothing but rain and thunderstorms for the remainder of the afternoon. Not exactly advantageous picture taking weather, though it may just work out in my favor ...
Dad, Becky and Jen are going to see Ronnie Milsap in concert this afternoon, meaning that Dad won't be able to get KC off the bus.
I couldn't really remember who the guy was, until Dad supplied me with a little background information. At least now I know who to credit, whenever someone makes me wait, forcing me to sing Any Day Now at the top of my lungs. But anyhoo, since he's not going to be home, it will be up to me to fly to the sitters immediately following work to pick my little princess up.
Well, no sense worrying about it now. None of it is going to happen today, if I don't finish getting ready for work and get both KC and I out the door in the next 30 minutes.
Ugh ... It's MONDAY!
If I were working early shift this week, I'd be pretty much screwed this morning, since I am running a little bit behind. But since I'm not, working the early shift that is, I figured I'd make some time to blog.
I'm supposed to help a friend out after work today, taking some black and white photos of her band to be printed in a local crier, but it doesn't look good.
According to the local weather report, it's clear skies this morning and nothing but rain and thunderstorms for the remainder of the afternoon. Not exactly advantageous picture taking weather, though it may just work out in my favor ...
Dad, Becky and Jen are going to see Ronnie Milsap in concert this afternoon, meaning that Dad won't be able to get KC off the bus.
I couldn't really remember who the guy was, until Dad supplied me with a little background information. At least now I know who to credit, whenever someone makes me wait, forcing me to sing Any Day Now at the top of my lungs. But anyhoo, since he's not going to be home, it will be up to me to fly to the sitters immediately following work to pick my little princess up.
Well, no sense worrying about it now. None of it is going to happen today, if I don't finish getting ready for work and get both KC and I out the door in the next 30 minutes.
Ugh ... It's MONDAY!
I am making muffins! Apple cinnamon to be exact, and low fat, so I don't blow my latest excursion into my "I'm on a diet" world.
Losing 6 pounds in the last three weeks, has been like seeing a small light in the darkness. I have to keep reminding myself, that no one is setting the scale back, in the attempt to just trick me into thinking I am doing well.
Still, it's hard to escape the mental programming that has existed in my mind for the past 28 years. I better than anyone, know how I have used my weight as both a weapon and a shield.
"I open my mouth and I am empty."
I said this to myself one night, as I was alone, lying on my living room floor looking up at the ceiling. Whatever hurt I was still carrying inside, could not be appeased by an appetite that consumed calories in order to eradicate the pain, the disappointment and my fears long unspoken.
Curled up on my stomach, pen in hand, I wrote my thoughts down on paper. A brutally honest poem I entitled "Dissecting the Dinner Table", the place I felt sure, my dependency on food began.
I've been riding that roller coaster ever since, making excuses up for it as I went. Still I was haunted by my own words.
I open my mouth and I am empty.
I could lie to myself but the proof was always there. No amount of food could fill the hollow of my soul. I wasn't a car running on fumes, to be filled at the service station and ready to go.
I was a woman, a little girl, still fighting invisible demons by making myself as undesirable as I could be. If I could look into a mirror, and not recognize myself, I secretly thought that I had won. No one will hurt me ever again. No one will ever get close enough to try.
I made my own prison. I fed it well.
Losing 6 pounds in the last three weeks, has been like seeing a small light in the darkness. I have to keep reminding myself, that no one is setting the scale back, in the attempt to just trick me into thinking I am doing well.
Still, it's hard to escape the mental programming that has existed in my mind for the past 28 years. I better than anyone, know how I have used my weight as both a weapon and a shield.
"I open my mouth and I am empty."
I said this to myself one night, as I was alone, lying on my living room floor looking up at the ceiling. Whatever hurt I was still carrying inside, could not be appeased by an appetite that consumed calories in order to eradicate the pain, the disappointment and my fears long unspoken.
Curled up on my stomach, pen in hand, I wrote my thoughts down on paper. A brutally honest poem I entitled "Dissecting the Dinner Table", the place I felt sure, my dependency on food began.
I've been riding that roller coaster ever since, making excuses up for it as I went. Still I was haunted by my own words.
I open my mouth and I am empty.
I could lie to myself but the proof was always there. No amount of food could fill the hollow of my soul. I wasn't a car running on fumes, to be filled at the service station and ready to go.
I was a woman, a little girl, still fighting invisible demons by making myself as undesirable as I could be. If I could look into a mirror, and not recognize myself, I secretly thought that I had won. No one will hurt me ever again. No one will ever get close enough to try.
I made my own prison. I fed it well.
I didn't meet the man of my dreams today.
In fact, I didn't even come close ... Unless you can count almost senselessly being run down by a quick driving man in a camaro, whom I might add, was sporting a hot pair of shades despite a day of dismal weather.
It was a sad day indeed.
A trip to Walmart emptied my pockets of the last little bit of change I had left, leaving me destitute enough to spend most of the day with my sister, just happy to be around someone for company.
Not that I don't love my older sister, but most of the time, we have very little in common, except for the fact that we share the same DNA and our middle names are both Lynn. (Ask my parents why they couldn't think of something different during the two years that separated our births!)
But it was an interesting experience.
I dragged Amy into the craft section, eagerly looking to see if they had straw angel bodies back in stock, but it was to no avail. There were none to be found.
It was a definite blow to my angel money making plan, to provide extra cash for Christmas presents this year. (Last year, after gussying them up with ribbons, flowers and bows ... I was making a whopping 75% profit on each angel by selling them to the friends, of a friend, of a friend.)
Still, I'm not one to leave empty handed, and much to my surprise, Amy didn't either.
We both decided to try our hands at cross stitching, despite the fact that she'd never done one and the last time I did, I was under the age of thirteen. We may have bitten off more than we can chew, because rather than opting for the easier patterns, both of us chose count stitch patterns from hell with a thousand colors each.
If anyone is willing to wager on whether or not we actually get these done in time for Christmas, let me know. I'd like to bet against myself too.
Of course, I'd like to blame my sister for my choice, because I selected my design based on what one she liked the best. Should I actually complete it, it will be part of the Christmas present I give her. (Don't worry people, I didn't ruin the surprise, the only sister who may occasionally read my ramblings, isn't the one who the present is for.)
Anyhoo, I suppose I have stalled long enough and should get back upstairs, where the project is eagerly awaiting my clumsy, not very good with a needle hands.
Night all.
In fact, I didn't even come close ... Unless you can count almost senselessly being run down by a quick driving man in a camaro, whom I might add, was sporting a hot pair of shades despite a day of dismal weather.
It was a sad day indeed.
A trip to Walmart emptied my pockets of the last little bit of change I had left, leaving me destitute enough to spend most of the day with my sister, just happy to be around someone for company.
Not that I don't love my older sister, but most of the time, we have very little in common, except for the fact that we share the same DNA and our middle names are both Lynn. (Ask my parents why they couldn't think of something different during the two years that separated our births!)
But it was an interesting experience.
I dragged Amy into the craft section, eagerly looking to see if they had straw angel bodies back in stock, but it was to no avail. There were none to be found.
It was a definite blow to my angel money making plan, to provide extra cash for Christmas presents this year. (Last year, after gussying them up with ribbons, flowers and bows ... I was making a whopping 75% profit on each angel by selling them to the friends, of a friend, of a friend.)
Still, I'm not one to leave empty handed, and much to my surprise, Amy didn't either.
We both decided to try our hands at cross stitching, despite the fact that she'd never done one and the last time I did, I was under the age of thirteen. We may have bitten off more than we can chew, because rather than opting for the easier patterns, both of us chose count stitch patterns from hell with a thousand colors each.
If anyone is willing to wager on whether or not we actually get these done in time for Christmas, let me know. I'd like to bet against myself too.
Of course, I'd like to blame my sister for my choice, because I selected my design based on what one she liked the best. Should I actually complete it, it will be part of the Christmas present I give her. (Don't worry people, I didn't ruin the surprise, the only sister who may occasionally read my ramblings, isn't the one who the present is for.)
Anyhoo, I suppose I have stalled long enough and should get back upstairs, where the project is eagerly awaiting my clumsy, not very good with a needle hands.
Night all.
Another Saturday morning, another search for things to do. I suppose I could do work around the house. The laundry is practically begging to be done, and the good Lord knows, that a quick swipe with the vacuum cleaner wouldn't be amiss. However, I have bigger and better plans for today, despite the fact that I still haven't figured out exactly what they are quite yet.
Last night, I went to Brenda's after work, getting caught up in the late, all I want to do is get home traffic, on a Friday night. At one point, I was caught on the downside of a hill for about 15 minutes and spent the whole time stressing that my brakes wouldn't be able to hold out. I kept picturing my car coasting down the incline and into the cars in front of me. Not a pretty picture, when I was sure that it was my breaks that were screeching from the strain of being made to stop.
Brenda seems to think that I need to get out more, and I for one, believe she may be right. Sometimes the me I see, is the same lady I can picture when she is 80 years old, bending over to feed her 9 cats and complaining that she never found Mr. Right. Of course, that is the same lady who believed he should be the one to find her and come knocking on the door, bearing flowers and a ring.
At 28, and approaching 29 with speed, I am beginning to know better. Prince Charming, Mr. Right or Mr This Is Going To Have To Be It, is not waiting for an engraved invitation to come and search me out. He expects me to do a little bit of the searching myself.
I think I may be the only person on earth, who is already mad at her future husband, because he's already taken too damn long to appear. It certainly seems to be a sad way to start off a relationship that has yet to evolve.
So I am out of here, maybe to spend today hanging out in Barnes and Noble, so as to catch me an intelligent man. Or maybe I'll simply go wherever the road takes me, like a dream that one was.
Last night, I went to Brenda's after work, getting caught up in the late, all I want to do is get home traffic, on a Friday night. At one point, I was caught on the downside of a hill for about 15 minutes and spent the whole time stressing that my brakes wouldn't be able to hold out. I kept picturing my car coasting down the incline and into the cars in front of me. Not a pretty picture, when I was sure that it was my breaks that were screeching from the strain of being made to stop.
Brenda seems to think that I need to get out more, and I for one, believe she may be right. Sometimes the me I see, is the same lady I can picture when she is 80 years old, bending over to feed her 9 cats and complaining that she never found Mr. Right. Of course, that is the same lady who believed he should be the one to find her and come knocking on the door, bearing flowers and a ring.
At 28, and approaching 29 with speed, I am beginning to know better. Prince Charming, Mr. Right or Mr This Is Going To Have To Be It, is not waiting for an engraved invitation to come and search me out. He expects me to do a little bit of the searching myself.
I think I may be the only person on earth, who is already mad at her future husband, because he's already taken too damn long to appear. It certainly seems to be a sad way to start off a relationship that has yet to evolve.
So I am out of here, maybe to spend today hanging out in Barnes and Noble, so as to catch me an intelligent man. Or maybe I'll simply go wherever the road takes me, like a dream that one was.
Jack Tripper was my hero. When I was a kid, I always imagined that I'd grow up and live in an apartment, with two zany roommates and an obnoxious landlord underfoot.
I grew up with him.
Jack Tripper was as much a part of my life as waking up every morning and going to school. Each night after dinner, I'd rush through my chores, so as not to miss a single episode.
I guess I was a little bit in love.
John Ritter's passing, unexpected and sudden as it was, tinged today with sorrow. For a man struck down in his prime and the family that wasn't ready to let him go, my prayers are with them. May they find comfort, in knowing that he touched all our lives with laughter, and he will never be forgotten.
I grew up with him.
Jack Tripper was as much a part of my life as waking up every morning and going to school. Each night after dinner, I'd rush through my chores, so as not to miss a single episode.
I guess I was a little bit in love.
John Ritter's passing, unexpected and sudden as it was, tinged today with sorrow. For a man struck down in his prime and the family that wasn't ready to let him go, my prayers are with them. May they find comfort, in knowing that he touched all our lives with laughter, and he will never be forgotten.
You know you're tired when ...
You spend the entire ride home from the grocery store sniffling back tears of frustration, because you're sweet, charming seven year old has just driven you to the brink of insanity.
You put the shampoo and the conditioner away in the fridge.
You call you're sister to tell her that you're too tired to talk.
You know you need to go to bed when ...
You can't keep your eyes open long enough to finish this senten ...
You spend the entire ride home from the grocery store sniffling back tears of frustration, because you're sweet, charming seven year old has just driven you to the brink of insanity.
You put the shampoo and the conditioner away in the fridge.
You call you're sister to tell her that you're too tired to talk.
You know you need to go to bed when ...
You can't keep your eyes open long enough to finish this senten ...
Oooh ... I'm so excited! We have spell checker now! Well, that alone might just make my day today.
And here I was just about to post that I was too tired to post, since I've spent the last hour and a half working on my sister's Jodi's first turn in college English paper.
I tweaked it just a little. Alright, maybe just a little bit more than a lot. But I couldn't help myself. I am a word addict and when I hear a sentence that is said all wrong, I feel like it is my civic duty to change it.
Hopefully, Jodi won't be too put out by all the revisions. My advice, Go on take the money and run ... Who sings that anyway ... The Steve Miller Band? I can't recall and I'm not going to look it up tonight. If anyone knows, feel free to email me if I'm wrong. Or just email me in general, since all I've gotten lately are forwarded spam messages.
Woops, I almost forgot to use the spell checker!
Stay247@aol.com ... Come on and drop a line.
(Spell check complete ... It looks like this post is a go!) Hiya Mom!
And here I was just about to post that I was too tired to post, since I've spent the last hour and a half working on my sister's Jodi's first turn in college English paper.
I tweaked it just a little. Alright, maybe just a little bit more than a lot. But I couldn't help myself. I am a word addict and when I hear a sentence that is said all wrong, I feel like it is my civic duty to change it.
Hopefully, Jodi won't be too put out by all the revisions. My advice, Go on take the money and run ... Who sings that anyway ... The Steve Miller Band? I can't recall and I'm not going to look it up tonight. If anyone knows, feel free to email me if I'm wrong. Or just email me in general, since all I've gotten lately are forwarded spam messages.
Woops, I almost forgot to use the spell checker!
Stay247@aol.com ... Come on and drop a line.
(Spell check complete ... It looks like this post is a go!) Hiya Mom!
KC starts ballet tomorrow.
A fact, which I found out this afternoon at about 2 ish. It seems the intro letter with dates and times, never managed to find its way to my mailbox, despite my frequent jaunts to the curb.
With such short notice, I had to beg my boss to leave a half hour early today, in order to make it into town, before the dance supply store could close. What an experience that was.
Almost a hundred dollars out of my pocket and all we came home with, was a black leotard, a black skirt type thing, nylons that supposedly will never run, and the required tap and ballet shoes.
As I handed over the cash, the first thought that crossed my mind was so much for paying the electric bill this week ... Oh well, it can be my silent protest post black out.
I'm currently listening to Fear Factor in the background, since it's just too disgusting to watch anymore. How hard up do you have to be for money, to do the stunts these people are asked to do?
I'm quite sure that nothing, and I do mean nothing, would ever entice me to eat one slimy slug let alone five or let someone dump a gallon of writhing, wiggly snakes over the top of my head. It's simply not on my to do list, not to mention I have a very weak constitution. I can feel the vomit pooling in my stomach, as I speak.
Speaking of which I did that earlier.
The vomiting thing that is ...(How's that for up close and personal?) It was all quite by accident though, I was walking and talking and then BAM, out of the blue, I swallowed a bug. I shudder to remember. Just the thought of how it tickled my throat on the way down has me feeling queasy all over again!
OK! New subject ...
Let me tell you about the psycho woman I encountered yesterday while driving to the craft store. This may be hard to do considering that there are a lot of adjectives I'd like to use while telling this story.
So there I was, all buckled in, Alanis Morissette crooning in the background, while KC belted out her own made up lyrics from the back-seat, as we approached a 4 way stop. Please note that 4 way stop is highlighted in bold, to indicate that it was indeed a 4 way stop.
Unfortunately, the psycho woman somehow managed to miss the glaring red sign with the big, bold letters that spelled STOP. I, having followed all the proper rules applying to a 4 way stop, was just inching out into the intersection, when I noticed this big beast of a white car, plowing recklessly in my direction.
I slammed the car into reverse.
For those of you, in need of a G rating, please do not read any further ...
"What the f*ck!" I yelled out my window, as the white car squealed to a halt. "That's a f*cking stop sign you idiot!"
To which the stupid wench replied angrily, "I have a child in my car!"
"All the more reason to STOP your damn car when you see a STOP sign you moron!" I screamed back, road rage taking over. It was all I could do, to stay sitting in my car and not get out, to take her to task in person.
Of course, the psycho woman refused to admit that she was in any way wrong, opting to call me a really nasty name instead, as if she was justified.
Steam coming out of my ears, I did the only thing there was left to do.
"Hey Bitch, have a great day." I yelled, a sense of satisfaction welling in my heart, as I watched her lip curl up in a snarl, as she realized I was flipping her the bird.
I'd bet my bottom dollar that my Mother will be shaking her head when she reads this. I can hear her now ...
"Stacey." Deep sigh. "I'm disappointed in you. You should know. reacting like that isn't going to get you anywhere. Road rage is not the answer, besides you shouldn't be talking like that with KC in the car, little pitchers have big ears you know."
(This of course followed by a moment of PARENTAL SILENCE ... so that you may take such sage advice to heart and realize the error of your ways.)
See Mom, even though you're all the way in North Carolina, I can still hear you yelling in my head. If that's not effective parenting, I don't know what is ... That, or I really have to do something about all these voices in my head ...
A fact, which I found out this afternoon at about 2 ish. It seems the intro letter with dates and times, never managed to find its way to my mailbox, despite my frequent jaunts to the curb.
With such short notice, I had to beg my boss to leave a half hour early today, in order to make it into town, before the dance supply store could close. What an experience that was.
Almost a hundred dollars out of my pocket and all we came home with, was a black leotard, a black skirt type thing, nylons that supposedly will never run, and the required tap and ballet shoes.
As I handed over the cash, the first thought that crossed my mind was so much for paying the electric bill this week ... Oh well, it can be my silent protest post black out.
I'm currently listening to Fear Factor in the background, since it's just too disgusting to watch anymore. How hard up do you have to be for money, to do the stunts these people are asked to do?
I'm quite sure that nothing, and I do mean nothing, would ever entice me to eat one slimy slug let alone five or let someone dump a gallon of writhing, wiggly snakes over the top of my head. It's simply not on my to do list, not to mention I have a very weak constitution. I can feel the vomit pooling in my stomach, as I speak.
Speaking of which I did that earlier.
The vomiting thing that is ...(How's that for up close and personal?) It was all quite by accident though, I was walking and talking and then BAM, out of the blue, I swallowed a bug. I shudder to remember. Just the thought of how it tickled my throat on the way down has me feeling queasy all over again!
OK! New subject ...
Let me tell you about the psycho woman I encountered yesterday while driving to the craft store. This may be hard to do considering that there are a lot of adjectives I'd like to use while telling this story.
So there I was, all buckled in, Alanis Morissette crooning in the background, while KC belted out her own made up lyrics from the back-seat, as we approached a 4 way stop. Please note that 4 way stop is highlighted in bold, to indicate that it was indeed a 4 way stop.
Unfortunately, the psycho woman somehow managed to miss the glaring red sign with the big, bold letters that spelled STOP. I, having followed all the proper rules applying to a 4 way stop, was just inching out into the intersection, when I noticed this big beast of a white car, plowing recklessly in my direction.
I slammed the car into reverse.
For those of you, in need of a G rating, please do not read any further ...
"What the f*ck!" I yelled out my window, as the white car squealed to a halt. "That's a f*cking stop sign you idiot!"
To which the stupid wench replied angrily, "I have a child in my car!"
"All the more reason to STOP your damn car when you see a STOP sign you moron!" I screamed back, road rage taking over. It was all I could do, to stay sitting in my car and not get out, to take her to task in person.
Of course, the psycho woman refused to admit that she was in any way wrong, opting to call me a really nasty name instead, as if she was justified.
Steam coming out of my ears, I did the only thing there was left to do.
"Hey Bitch, have a great day." I yelled, a sense of satisfaction welling in my heart, as I watched her lip curl up in a snarl, as she realized I was flipping her the bird.
I'd bet my bottom dollar that my Mother will be shaking her head when she reads this. I can hear her now ...
"Stacey." Deep sigh. "I'm disappointed in you. You should know. reacting like that isn't going to get you anywhere. Road rage is not the answer, besides you shouldn't be talking like that with KC in the car, little pitchers have big ears you know."
(This of course followed by a moment of PARENTAL SILENCE ... so that you may take such sage advice to heart and realize the error of your ways.)
See Mom, even though you're all the way in North Carolina, I can still hear you yelling in my head. If that's not effective parenting, I don't know what is ... That, or I really have to do something about all these voices in my head ...
Good morning, Sunday morning and a Happy French Toast Day to everyone, everywhere!
I just finished making KC breakfast, and figured I'd get an early start on my posting, before using the remainder of the day to do a little winterizing around the house.
Not that I really want to do it, but unfortunately, it needs to be done, especially since waking up with the cold in your bones, is hardly the greatest way to start your morning.
Today, all the windows are getting shut, once and for all, until next spring. Outside, it will be time to tip the flower pots, clean up the back deck and then sadly trim the garden down, so that a thick layer of mulch can be applied.
Inside, there will be the typical Sunday dusting and vacuuming, accompanied by a load or two of laundry and maybe, if the floors are lucky, I just might break out the mop and a little lysol, to keep the house smelling fresh and clean.
Emma needs a bath too. But I'm not too sure if I really want to do that again today. Last time around, she took issue with me and attempted to claw me into pieces. Now that I'm fully healed, I'm a bit loathe to deal with the hellion again.
Of course, I am still of the mindset that a clean cat, is a happy cat. So more than likely, I'll be breaking out the kitty shampoo and doing it anyway, despite the impending scars.
As I mentioned in a prior post, yesterday was my nephew's birthday. My Mother will be happy to know, that I gifted the boy with the full original cast recordings of both Les Miserables and Into the Woods. Presents, my nephew was more than excited to receive. Much to my sisters chagrin, the boy has been bitten by the same Broadway bug, that got me, his grandmother and his grandmother before that.
I suppose she thought, that after she got out on her own, she would be in the clear, never having to hear a Broadway musical ever again in her entire life. In her mind, listening to that sort of thing, is the equivalent to being tortured. Of course, I didn't know that, when I bought Jamie two disks, instead of one. Yeah ... right.
But the fun will really begin, once he's learned the words and is able to sing along. I'll have to make a mental note to schedule myself over for coffee that day.
I just finished making KC breakfast, and figured I'd get an early start on my posting, before using the remainder of the day to do a little winterizing around the house.
Not that I really want to do it, but unfortunately, it needs to be done, especially since waking up with the cold in your bones, is hardly the greatest way to start your morning.
Today, all the windows are getting shut, once and for all, until next spring. Outside, it will be time to tip the flower pots, clean up the back deck and then sadly trim the garden down, so that a thick layer of mulch can be applied.
Inside, there will be the typical Sunday dusting and vacuuming, accompanied by a load or two of laundry and maybe, if the floors are lucky, I just might break out the mop and a little lysol, to keep the house smelling fresh and clean.
Emma needs a bath too. But I'm not too sure if I really want to do that again today. Last time around, she took issue with me and attempted to claw me into pieces. Now that I'm fully healed, I'm a bit loathe to deal with the hellion again.
Of course, I am still of the mindset that a clean cat, is a happy cat. So more than likely, I'll be breaking out the kitty shampoo and doing it anyway, despite the impending scars.
As I mentioned in a prior post, yesterday was my nephew's birthday. My Mother will be happy to know, that I gifted the boy with the full original cast recordings of both Les Miserables and Into the Woods. Presents, my nephew was more than excited to receive. Much to my sisters chagrin, the boy has been bitten by the same Broadway bug, that got me, his grandmother and his grandmother before that.
I suppose she thought, that after she got out on her own, she would be in the clear, never having to hear a Broadway musical ever again in her entire life. In her mind, listening to that sort of thing, is the equivalent to being tortured. Of course, I didn't know that, when I bought Jamie two disks, instead of one. Yeah ... right.
But the fun will really begin, once he's learned the words and is able to sing along. I'll have to make a mental note to schedule myself over for coffee that day.
I had a horrible day today, despite the fact that I took a two mile walk during my lunch hour, just to get out of the office to clear my head.
Nothing, and I do mean nothing, was going right. The more work there was to do on my desk, the more my phone rang ... Still, it wouldn't have been so bad, had the calls been of the easy garden variety, but every Tom, Dick and Joe Homeowner, seemed to crawl out from the woodwork demanding detailed tech instructions of which, I was only able to honestly answer half.
Still, I was never so happy to call it a day when 4:30 came around. I quickly straightened up my office, poured the remainder of my bottled water into the base of one of my nearby plants and grabbed my keys off their post hanging by the door, quietly switching off my light before heading down the hall.
It was simply time to call it quits and I was more than happy to get to the going. It was obvious to me, if not obvious to everyone else, that my patience was completely nonexistant and that going home for some seriuos R & R, was the only sensible solution for my situation.
So here I am, about to turn in early on a Friday night, in hopes that my Saturday will offer up something much better than today turned out to be and if not ... Well, I guess I don't know what I'll do.
Until tomorrow ... Here's hoping your day was much better than mine.
(End whine.)
Nothing, and I do mean nothing, was going right. The more work there was to do on my desk, the more my phone rang ... Still, it wouldn't have been so bad, had the calls been of the easy garden variety, but every Tom, Dick and Joe Homeowner, seemed to crawl out from the woodwork demanding detailed tech instructions of which, I was only able to honestly answer half.
Still, I was never so happy to call it a day when 4:30 came around. I quickly straightened up my office, poured the remainder of my bottled water into the base of one of my nearby plants and grabbed my keys off their post hanging by the door, quietly switching off my light before heading down the hall.
It was simply time to call it quits and I was more than happy to get to the going. It was obvious to me, if not obvious to everyone else, that my patience was completely nonexistant and that going home for some seriuos R & R, was the only sensible solution for my situation.
So here I am, about to turn in early on a Friday night, in hopes that my Saturday will offer up something much better than today turned out to be and if not ... Well, I guess I don't know what I'll do.
Until tomorrow ... Here's hoping your day was much better than mine.
(End whine.)
KC and I went shopping tonight and managed to come home with a little money still left in our pockets. An unusual experience, considering that we normally get attacked by the impulse buying bug.
But, we did good tonight and just said no, even when a particularly appealing outfit shouted our name, while dancing a jig on the rack.
We stopped, felt the fabric, admired the color and then quickly moved on, before the item attempted to leap into our awaiting hands.
I think this was the first time, I've actually managed to go into a store, with a set shopping list and only come out with those actual items.
But then again, mmmmmm ... maybe not.
OK! So the plan had actually been to only get KC new sneakers (On SALE) and I ended up getting a pair myself. But since my last pair of treads were worn to the bottom, I felt that I was justified in buying myself a new pair ... and considering they were On SALE, it was a bonus buy!
Of course, I'll say just about anything to convince myself, that I really don't have a shopping addiction. I am, after all, just used to the finer things ... (Yeah, I know ... I'm laughing too.)
On another note, the weatherman just said something about lake effect ... I must have heard wrong, cause the only lake effect I know about, is of the white, flaky, snowy kind and damn it, it's September! This better be someones idea of a really bad joke!
But, we did good tonight and just said no, even when a particularly appealing outfit shouted our name, while dancing a jig on the rack.
We stopped, felt the fabric, admired the color and then quickly moved on, before the item attempted to leap into our awaiting hands.
I think this was the first time, I've actually managed to go into a store, with a set shopping list and only come out with those actual items.
But then again, mmmmmm ... maybe not.
OK! So the plan had actually been to only get KC new sneakers (On SALE) and I ended up getting a pair myself. But since my last pair of treads were worn to the bottom, I felt that I was justified in buying myself a new pair ... and considering they were On SALE, it was a bonus buy!
Of course, I'll say just about anything to convince myself, that I really don't have a shopping addiction. I am, after all, just used to the finer things ... (Yeah, I know ... I'm laughing too.)
On another note, the weatherman just said something about lake effect ... I must have heard wrong, cause the only lake effect I know about, is of the white, flaky, snowy kind and damn it, it's September! This better be someones idea of a really bad joke!
It was a rough day on the phones today. No sooner would I attempt to hang up my phone, then it would be off and ringing again, two calls coming in at one time.
I am convinced, that too many people knowing your name, can be a bad thing. Popularity, after all, can be a bitch.
At first you think it's great that so many people prefer to talk to you, and only you. It hypes you up.
You begin to see yourself as a supersalesperson, clowning around striking your superhero pose, as you proclaim to your office that another crisis was averted thanks to, (ta tum tee da dum trumpet fanfare) Super Salesgirl! That is, until you realize that every positive has its own negative.
Suddenly, you spend your days trapped to your phone, because customers will wait as long as it takes, to get you on the line and stoutly refuse to speak to anyone else.
You begin to define the word "team" as an army of one, because your compatriots in the sales department, decide that leaving their own phones off the hook, is the new wave of customer service. So you do your best, giving even better customer service to the call that's been on hold for half an eternity, to prove that there is someone still in the office that cares.
So you put that smile in your voice and handle call, after call, after call, with as much enthusiam as you can muster. All the while secretly planning a duct tape attack, on your office mate next door. Visions of them strapped into their chairs, with their headphones surgically attached to their head get you through the day.
Order after order, comes flying into your office, via phone and via fax, and it's all you can do, to keep up with the jobs needing to be done for that day.
With nose to the grindstone, you meticulously proof each and every order, inbetween calls and calculations, correcting errors when they arise, until you're finally faxing off the finished order confirmation, taking an extra kind moment of consideration to scrawl, "Attention: Joe Order" , so the right guy gets it at the other end.
When problems occur, you handle it, becoming the go to girl when shit goes wrong. You contact your outside reps, providing a brief play by play of the situation, always the customers advocate, until you find the resolution that works.
You believe that excellent customer service, should not be an option, even if it means having to eat a little crow once in a while and take one for the team. Fixing the problem and righting the wrong, makes you an angel in the customer's eyes, and if he didn't think so before, you've reached wonderful by the time the call comes to its close.
Wonderful however, is not wonderful ... It means you've just made a conquest of yet another customer, and soon your name, will be the only one he'll remember.
You realize you're screwed.
Getting out on time becomes a thing of the past. Although you said it wouldn't happen again, flashbacks of this time last year, come back to haunt you. You shake your head, trying to clear the memory of early mornings that lasted late until evening, as you were always the first one in and the very last to go home.
Your personal life took a nose dive, your job becoming like a husband you felt forced to please. You didn't know how to do it any other way. Once accustomed, customers had expectations, you felt forced to meet.
So you gave up your lunch hour, in order to keep up with the workload. Convincing yourself that you could be proud of your job without having to become the job, and the sacrifices you made would pay off in the end.
Still, there were days when gaving 100% didn't seem like much at all. Not with the little seed of supersalesperson still wanting to sprout inside.
Until today.
4:32 and my phone was still ringing despite the time. It didn't seem to matter to anyone, that my shift was offically over at 4:30, and I was already two minutes late, to getting the hell out of there.
It irked me, because the receptionist kept slinging calls into my room and paging me over the intercom, when she was more than well aware, that both Toni and I, were working early shift.
I looked at my phone, watching the green lights flashing furiously, in the attempt to alert me to the two calls ringing into my room. I stood there, weighing my choices, but knew that if I picked up the phone, it was sure to be a problem on the other end and one that would keep me there way past the time I was meant to go.
I hemmed for a moment, and the I hawwed. But what I did, still amazes me.
"No! Not today!" said the little voice in my head, "Not on KC's first day of school, is there any way, I am going to stay over and miss all the details of how her first day went! I'm going home, and I'm going home now!"
So I packed up my things, grabbed my purse and keys and made my way to the time clock, walking by a shocked receptionist holding a phone in her hand saying, "But Stacey, it's for you ..."
I suppose I could have stopped and reminded her that had I left on time, I would have already been half way home, but it seemed a moot point.
Instead, I gave her a bit of friendly advice, even as I was walking out the door not bothering to look back.
"Put it in my voicemail ... or give them someone else. I'm going home."
I am convinced, that too many people knowing your name, can be a bad thing. Popularity, after all, can be a bitch.
At first you think it's great that so many people prefer to talk to you, and only you. It hypes you up.
You begin to see yourself as a supersalesperson, clowning around striking your superhero pose, as you proclaim to your office that another crisis was averted thanks to, (ta tum tee da dum trumpet fanfare) Super Salesgirl! That is, until you realize that every positive has its own negative.
Suddenly, you spend your days trapped to your phone, because customers will wait as long as it takes, to get you on the line and stoutly refuse to speak to anyone else.
You begin to define the word "team" as an army of one, because your compatriots in the sales department, decide that leaving their own phones off the hook, is the new wave of customer service. So you do your best, giving even better customer service to the call that's been on hold for half an eternity, to prove that there is someone still in the office that cares.
So you put that smile in your voice and handle call, after call, after call, with as much enthusiam as you can muster. All the while secretly planning a duct tape attack, on your office mate next door. Visions of them strapped into their chairs, with their headphones surgically attached to their head get you through the day.
Order after order, comes flying into your office, via phone and via fax, and it's all you can do, to keep up with the jobs needing to be done for that day.
With nose to the grindstone, you meticulously proof each and every order, inbetween calls and calculations, correcting errors when they arise, until you're finally faxing off the finished order confirmation, taking an extra kind moment of consideration to scrawl, "Attention: Joe Order" , so the right guy gets it at the other end.
When problems occur, you handle it, becoming the go to girl when shit goes wrong. You contact your outside reps, providing a brief play by play of the situation, always the customers advocate, until you find the resolution that works.
You believe that excellent customer service, should not be an option, even if it means having to eat a little crow once in a while and take one for the team. Fixing the problem and righting the wrong, makes you an angel in the customer's eyes, and if he didn't think so before, you've reached wonderful by the time the call comes to its close.
Wonderful however, is not wonderful ... It means you've just made a conquest of yet another customer, and soon your name, will be the only one he'll remember.
You realize you're screwed.
Getting out on time becomes a thing of the past. Although you said it wouldn't happen again, flashbacks of this time last year, come back to haunt you. You shake your head, trying to clear the memory of early mornings that lasted late until evening, as you were always the first one in and the very last to go home.
Your personal life took a nose dive, your job becoming like a husband you felt forced to please. You didn't know how to do it any other way. Once accustomed, customers had expectations, you felt forced to meet.
So you gave up your lunch hour, in order to keep up with the workload. Convincing yourself that you could be proud of your job without having to become the job, and the sacrifices you made would pay off in the end.
Still, there were days when gaving 100% didn't seem like much at all. Not with the little seed of supersalesperson still wanting to sprout inside.
Until today.
4:32 and my phone was still ringing despite the time. It didn't seem to matter to anyone, that my shift was offically over at 4:30, and I was already two minutes late, to getting the hell out of there.
It irked me, because the receptionist kept slinging calls into my room and paging me over the intercom, when she was more than well aware, that both Toni and I, were working early shift.
I looked at my phone, watching the green lights flashing furiously, in the attempt to alert me to the two calls ringing into my room. I stood there, weighing my choices, but knew that if I picked up the phone, it was sure to be a problem on the other end and one that would keep me there way past the time I was meant to go.
I hemmed for a moment, and the I hawwed. But what I did, still amazes me.
"No! Not today!" said the little voice in my head, "Not on KC's first day of school, is there any way, I am going to stay over and miss all the details of how her first day went! I'm going home, and I'm going home now!"
So I packed up my things, grabbed my purse and keys and made my way to the time clock, walking by a shocked receptionist holding a phone in her hand saying, "But Stacey, it's for you ..."
I suppose I could have stopped and reminded her that had I left on time, I would have already been half way home, but it seemed a moot point.
Instead, I gave her a bit of friendly advice, even as I was walking out the door not bothering to look back.
"Put it in my voicemail ... or give them someone else. I'm going home."
Did I ever tell you, that I do a mean Dr. Ruth impersonation?
For real, it's absolutely true. People around the fax machine were most impressed with my "sexually speaking" skills.
But, I can't take all the credit. If it weren't for a certain local radio station who aired her show every Sunday night at 10, then I never would have learned as much as I did, when I was still a naive youngster.
Joe, who happened to be in the fax room, around the time this little chit chat was taking place today, had only one question to ask.
"Is this the sort of conversation you two really need to be having when I'm in the room?" (I was thinking YES!)
What a prude! (Besides I'm quite sure he doth protests too much ...)
Alright people, I am to bed. I've blogged more than my share today and I need some sleep! And you can bet for damn sure, I am triple checking that alarm of mine before I hop into bed tonight!
For real, it's absolutely true. People around the fax machine were most impressed with my "sexually speaking" skills.
But, I can't take all the credit. If it weren't for a certain local radio station who aired her show every Sunday night at 10, then I never would have learned as much as I did, when I was still a naive youngster.
Joe, who happened to be in the fax room, around the time this little chit chat was taking place today, had only one question to ask.
"Is this the sort of conversation you two really need to be having when I'm in the room?" (I was thinking YES!)
What a prude! (Besides I'm quite sure he doth protests too much ...)
Alright people, I am to bed. I've blogged more than my share today and I need some sleep! And you can bet for damn sure, I am triple checking that alarm of mine before I hop into bed tonight!
If there was ever a scarier question a Mom could overhear her daughter ask, it surely would be this, "Chris. Do you have a hockey puck?"
I'm tempted. But no, I am not going to ask, and since he doesn't have one anyway, I don't need to worry either.
So now the kids are playing upstairs and hopefully not trashing KC's room, anymore than it already is. As usual, I've given Chris the Barbie reminder, and he has promised that he will try to refrain from disconnecting the heads from their bodies and using them as small projectiles.
I can almost hear the Barbies from here, sighing in relief.
So tonight is a school night, and I am VERY excited about that. There's something about getting back into the old routine that makes me a happy girl. Of course, it's also nice that the babysitting fees of summer are about to see a drastic reduction.
Hello money, I'd like you to meet my wallet ...
Well, off to prepare dinner (Chicken Parm), pick clothes out for tomorrow (unless KC decides to pipe in), and get the minor child fed and to bed.
Ahhhh ... Music to my ears.
I'm tempted. But no, I am not going to ask, and since he doesn't have one anyway, I don't need to worry either.
So now the kids are playing upstairs and hopefully not trashing KC's room, anymore than it already is. As usual, I've given Chris the Barbie reminder, and he has promised that he will try to refrain from disconnecting the heads from their bodies and using them as small projectiles.
I can almost hear the Barbies from here, sighing in relief.
So tonight is a school night, and I am VERY excited about that. There's something about getting back into the old routine that makes me a happy girl. Of course, it's also nice that the babysitting fees of summer are about to see a drastic reduction.
Hello money, I'd like you to meet my wallet ...
Well, off to prepare dinner (Chicken Parm), pick clothes out for tomorrow (unless KC decides to pipe in), and get the minor child fed and to bed.
Ahhhh ... Music to my ears.
A slight miscalculation on my part, has me up and about early this morning, to start the return week to work.
I should have realized last night, as I was setting my alarm, that something looked a little off kilter. Glancing at the clock, I felt a small twinge on the nerve of my consciousness, but decided since I was already comfortable and warm beneath the blankets, that getting out of bed to check the time would be a fruitless endeavor.
As the law of fruitless endeavors go, when you get up to check, nothing at all is wrong, but of course the reverse is also true. When you don't get up to check, you can bet your booty that your small twinge of whatever, was right on the money.
So imagine, if you will, my surprise when coming downstairs this morning and switching on the tele to watch my morning news and being greeted by a face I didn't recognize.
Now I'm not talking about a stalker in the middle of my living room, before you all get excited, I'm talking about the face of the news and the length of time it took me to realize, that I was watching the news before my news.
It was a very slow click of realization as it finally occurred to me, that for once, my twinge had been right on. Was it any surprise that the very first thought that crossed my mind was, "Damn! I could have slept for another hour!"
So here I am, wide awake and blogging, and making the most out of this morning time, before finishing off the a.m. preparations and heading out to the job. As usual, I really would prefer not having to go, but since my latest scratch off ticket, only resulted in my winning my two dollars back, I guess I'll have to earn my keep this week.
On the bright side, at least I'll get to flirt with my favorite customer today. He's sick, he's funny, he's my kind of man ...
It's also obvious when I'm talking to him on the phone. Last week, Joe came into my office after I had hung up the phone, and told me (as he was turning completely red in the face) that my conversation sounded a lot more like phone sex than business.
Which makes me wonder if Joe has ever heard real phone sex, cause last time I checked, laughing and giggling wasn't the preferred method of moaning that most guys who pay for that kind of thing, would like to hear. Still we're talking about a man who blushes when someone flashes him a cucumber, so you can't expect much.
I should have realized last night, as I was setting my alarm, that something looked a little off kilter. Glancing at the clock, I felt a small twinge on the nerve of my consciousness, but decided since I was already comfortable and warm beneath the blankets, that getting out of bed to check the time would be a fruitless endeavor.
As the law of fruitless endeavors go, when you get up to check, nothing at all is wrong, but of course the reverse is also true. When you don't get up to check, you can bet your booty that your small twinge of whatever, was right on the money.
So imagine, if you will, my surprise when coming downstairs this morning and switching on the tele to watch my morning news and being greeted by a face I didn't recognize.
Now I'm not talking about a stalker in the middle of my living room, before you all get excited, I'm talking about the face of the news and the length of time it took me to realize, that I was watching the news before my news.
It was a very slow click of realization as it finally occurred to me, that for once, my twinge had been right on. Was it any surprise that the very first thought that crossed my mind was, "Damn! I could have slept for another hour!"
So here I am, wide awake and blogging, and making the most out of this morning time, before finishing off the a.m. preparations and heading out to the job. As usual, I really would prefer not having to go, but since my latest scratch off ticket, only resulted in my winning my two dollars back, I guess I'll have to earn my keep this week.
On the bright side, at least I'll get to flirt with my favorite customer today. He's sick, he's funny, he's my kind of man ...
It's also obvious when I'm talking to him on the phone. Last week, Joe came into my office after I had hung up the phone, and told me (as he was turning completely red in the face) that my conversation sounded a lot more like phone sex than business.
Which makes me wonder if Joe has ever heard real phone sex, cause last time I checked, laughing and giggling wasn't the preferred method of moaning that most guys who pay for that kind of thing, would like to hear. Still we're talking about a man who blushes when someone flashes him a cucumber, so you can't expect much.
Here in Upstate New York, summer is officially over. A proven fact, given that I've closed the living room windows and pulled down the storms as well.
KC, while excited, has yet to come to the realization, that after tomorrow, school will be back in session. Summer days of riding bikes, running about the yard and jumping in the pool, will be traded for warm jackets, crisp leaves and snow laden clouds lingering overhead.
The last blooms of summer will slowly fade in the backyard garden, awaiting the deep freeze that promises soon to come, as the air fills with the sound of geese, returning to their winter homes away from home.
Inside the house is cozy warm, filled with the sweet fragrance of homemade apple pies baking in the oven, while upstairs we trade out our closets to hang our winter wear in place of summers gear.
Outside, neighbors will be tending to their last minute chores, racing against the clock to finish long before the first snow has a chance to fall. Inside, mothers will be telling their children the story of the grasshopper and the ant, so that they too will understand the sense of urgency that permeates throughout the air.
Old man winter whistles overhead to remind Mother Nature, that the season has come for the time of change, and so with some reluctance, summer gives way to fall and then the fall to the winter, that comes after.
KC, while excited, has yet to come to the realization, that after tomorrow, school will be back in session. Summer days of riding bikes, running about the yard and jumping in the pool, will be traded for warm jackets, crisp leaves and snow laden clouds lingering overhead.
The last blooms of summer will slowly fade in the backyard garden, awaiting the deep freeze that promises soon to come, as the air fills with the sound of geese, returning to their winter homes away from home.
Inside the house is cozy warm, filled with the sweet fragrance of homemade apple pies baking in the oven, while upstairs we trade out our closets to hang our winter wear in place of summers gear.
Outside, neighbors will be tending to their last minute chores, racing against the clock to finish long before the first snow has a chance to fall. Inside, mothers will be telling their children the story of the grasshopper and the ant, so that they too will understand the sense of urgency that permeates throughout the air.
Old man winter whistles overhead to remind Mother Nature, that the season has come for the time of change, and so with some reluctance, summer gives way to fall and then the fall to the winter, that comes after.
Last nights rain storm brought with it troubling dreams. Mine was so horrible, that I woke myself up, calling out in my darkened room, for my Mother not to go.
"Don't leave me!" I remember screaming, as I stood on a crumbling wall overlooking a vast mountain range, my heart filled with rage. But the air around me refused to listen, curling up into a dense fog, obscuring me in its mist.
I closed my eyes, tired with grief and frustration and wallowed in my anger, not caring that sitting on the precipice was fraught with danger.
"You must let go, child." Said a wisened voice from behind me. "You're mother didn't leave you because she had to go. She just knew it was her time ... as you will know someday."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I asked, "She didn't even say goodbye." I paused, trying to control my emotions. "I didn't even know ... Well, how was I supposed to know? No one ever told me. She didn't tell me. I was left to live in the dark and now I am alone."
"You are never alone, child. The Lord walks with you and keeps you safe. He sends his angels to comfort you when you are sad, so that you can listen and understand the sorrow that you feel inside your heart."
Soundless tears streamed down my face, as I sat motionless on the wall.
"How am I supposed to let go my pain?" I whispered. "There's not a single space inside of me, that doesn't feel, as if I have broken in two."
A hand reached out to touch my shoulder.
"Time Stacey ... All it takes is time and keeping your heart open to the Lord, even when you are angry at him."
I sat there for a moment in silence, absorbing her words carefully.
Thoughts were alive inside my head. How could I forgive him? How could I believe that he knew what was best for me? How could I have faith in the very thing that was causing me so much pain?
"Forgiveness is still a lesson you need to learn, child. Only when you allow yourself to forgive, will you be able to live the life that was intended for you."
She spoke softly, her voice barely louder than the wind whistling in the valley below.
"Why is it child, that you've never thought to forgive yourself? Your past is not your future. It was never meant to be ... and yet I've watched you cling to it, tighter than any vine that wraps itself around a tree in endless circles. Too scared to venture into the future because you've never left your past long enough to make it so."
"You don't know what I need!" I shouted angrily, unable to free her hand from my shoulder. "I wasn't ready! Not to say goodbye, not to be alone, not to feel as if a giant hole was left in the place where my heart used to be!"
"Can you fix that?" I screamed, "Can you fix me? Can you tell me tomorrow will feel better than today? Can you tell me anything other than what I already know? That everything has changed, and I'm the only one standing here to see what's been done!"
"Oh child, let go this anger before it destroys your heart." Said the voice. "I've seen what anger can do, when bitterness is allowed to grow. Anger in small doses can be healthy, but it was never meant for you to live with, from year to year."
"It stops your heart, keeps it from beating, keeps it from knowing love and how to be loved. It destroys everything, creating for you, the very thing you fear the most, a barren landscape looking out over nothing."
Beneath me the wall began to move, at first with a gentle trembling and then growing louder, like a rumble of thunder.
"Take my hand." said the voice. "There's nothing left for you here that you haven't seen before. Come away, from the world you have created and come back to the world that holds you dear."
Slowly I turned around, grasping the hand within my own, feeling its warmth move from my hand and into my arm, until my whole body felt infused with light.
"Your daughter can be difficult, Nancy." Said the voice lovingly.
"Surely not as difficult as her grandmothers." My mother said, her eyes crinkled up in mirth, as she looked from side to side.
I raised my eyes, to see the trio standing before me, as the last wall of my heart came crumbling down.
"Grandma Pearl ... Grandma Angie ... Mother!" I exclaimed, wrapping my arms around them in a giant hug. "I have missed you so!"
"Of course you did, it's the reason why we're here ..."
*******
(As far as dreams go, this one was a doozy and one, I think, Freud woudl have a field day with. Be that as it may, I think I'll call my Mom and tell her that I love her.)
"Don't leave me!" I remember screaming, as I stood on a crumbling wall overlooking a vast mountain range, my heart filled with rage. But the air around me refused to listen, curling up into a dense fog, obscuring me in its mist.
I closed my eyes, tired with grief and frustration and wallowed in my anger, not caring that sitting on the precipice was fraught with danger.
"You must let go, child." Said a wisened voice from behind me. "You're mother didn't leave you because she had to go. She just knew it was her time ... as you will know someday."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I asked, "She didn't even say goodbye." I paused, trying to control my emotions. "I didn't even know ... Well, how was I supposed to know? No one ever told me. She didn't tell me. I was left to live in the dark and now I am alone."
"You are never alone, child. The Lord walks with you and keeps you safe. He sends his angels to comfort you when you are sad, so that you can listen and understand the sorrow that you feel inside your heart."
Soundless tears streamed down my face, as I sat motionless on the wall.
"How am I supposed to let go my pain?" I whispered. "There's not a single space inside of me, that doesn't feel, as if I have broken in two."
A hand reached out to touch my shoulder.
"Time Stacey ... All it takes is time and keeping your heart open to the Lord, even when you are angry at him."
I sat there for a moment in silence, absorbing her words carefully.
Thoughts were alive inside my head. How could I forgive him? How could I believe that he knew what was best for me? How could I have faith in the very thing that was causing me so much pain?
"Forgiveness is still a lesson you need to learn, child. Only when you allow yourself to forgive, will you be able to live the life that was intended for you."
She spoke softly, her voice barely louder than the wind whistling in the valley below.
"Why is it child, that you've never thought to forgive yourself? Your past is not your future. It was never meant to be ... and yet I've watched you cling to it, tighter than any vine that wraps itself around a tree in endless circles. Too scared to venture into the future because you've never left your past long enough to make it so."
"You don't know what I need!" I shouted angrily, unable to free her hand from my shoulder. "I wasn't ready! Not to say goodbye, not to be alone, not to feel as if a giant hole was left in the place where my heart used to be!"
"Can you fix that?" I screamed, "Can you fix me? Can you tell me tomorrow will feel better than today? Can you tell me anything other than what I already know? That everything has changed, and I'm the only one standing here to see what's been done!"
"Oh child, let go this anger before it destroys your heart." Said the voice. "I've seen what anger can do, when bitterness is allowed to grow. Anger in small doses can be healthy, but it was never meant for you to live with, from year to year."
"It stops your heart, keeps it from beating, keeps it from knowing love and how to be loved. It destroys everything, creating for you, the very thing you fear the most, a barren landscape looking out over nothing."
Beneath me the wall began to move, at first with a gentle trembling and then growing louder, like a rumble of thunder.
"Take my hand." said the voice. "There's nothing left for you here that you haven't seen before. Come away, from the world you have created and come back to the world that holds you dear."
Slowly I turned around, grasping the hand within my own, feeling its warmth move from my hand and into my arm, until my whole body felt infused with light.
"Your daughter can be difficult, Nancy." Said the voice lovingly.
"Surely not as difficult as her grandmothers." My mother said, her eyes crinkled up in mirth, as she looked from side to side.
I raised my eyes, to see the trio standing before me, as the last wall of my heart came crumbling down.
"Grandma Pearl ... Grandma Angie ... Mother!" I exclaimed, wrapping my arms around them in a giant hug. "I have missed you so!"
"Of course you did, it's the reason why we're here ..."
*******
(As far as dreams go, this one was a doozy and one, I think, Freud woudl have a field day with. Be that as it may, I think I'll call my Mom and tell her that I love her.)
I am Girl Accomplishment!
Despite the bitter chill in the air and a thick coat of frost covering the grass this morning, I left my cozy, warm bed and was out on the highway, before the first rays of sun, had even begun to flicker across the eastern horizon.
Wide awake and feeling the need to get something done, I set out, a solitary car on a quiet road, while the rest of the world slumbered softly in their beds.
There's something about being the only car on the road, the pink rays of dawn streaking across the skyline, that makes you feel as if everything could start from scratch and be a new beginning.
I'd like to call it hope.
These few small moments when the world feels, as if it just might be your oyster and you the bright shiny pearl that lives inside. That one moment, when you believe there's nothing on this earth you cannot do, that your dreams are closer than you think, and for the first time, in a long time, you can see the destination that lies ahead.
Sometimes other people come in to cloud your vision. They tell you all about the things you cannot do, all the things you cannot be. They tell you not to hope. Not to dream. They tell you must accept things as they are, that one person cannot change the world.
You wonder how it is they could be so wrong.
When all it takes is faith and the belief, that as sure as the sun comes back to chase the night away, with a little hope and imagination, just about anything can be done.
Stacey's Done List (not bad for a Sunday morning)
1. Clean fish tank.
2. Clean cat litter.
3. Take garbage out.
4. Do dishes.
5. Do laundry.
6. Grocery shopping.
7. Random cleaning.
8. Blog ...
Despite the bitter chill in the air and a thick coat of frost covering the grass this morning, I left my cozy, warm bed and was out on the highway, before the first rays of sun, had even begun to flicker across the eastern horizon.
Wide awake and feeling the need to get something done, I set out, a solitary car on a quiet road, while the rest of the world slumbered softly in their beds.
There's something about being the only car on the road, the pink rays of dawn streaking across the skyline, that makes you feel as if everything could start from scratch and be a new beginning.
I'd like to call it hope.
These few small moments when the world feels, as if it just might be your oyster and you the bright shiny pearl that lives inside. That one moment, when you believe there's nothing on this earth you cannot do, that your dreams are closer than you think, and for the first time, in a long time, you can see the destination that lies ahead.
Sometimes other people come in to cloud your vision. They tell you all about the things you cannot do, all the things you cannot be. They tell you not to hope. Not to dream. They tell you must accept things as they are, that one person cannot change the world.
You wonder how it is they could be so wrong.
When all it takes is faith and the belief, that as sure as the sun comes back to chase the night away, with a little hope and imagination, just about anything can be done.
Stacey's Done List (not bad for a Sunday morning)
1. Clean fish tank.
2. Clean cat litter.
3. Take garbage out.
4. Do dishes.
5. Do laundry.
6. Grocery shopping.
7. Random cleaning.
8. Blog ...
Something is up with my computer and it's driving me nuts!
There is absolutely nothing worse than getting an error message, repeatedly, and then having no clue as to what the hell any of it means, other than the fact that the computer is having an emotional moment!
So now I'm frustrated, and ready to toss the damn PC right out the window. And you can be damn sure, if tossing it doesn't work, I'll finish it off with a couple good whacks from a baseball bat!
And another thing! Who the hell came up with error messages that read like Greek in the first place!
Who gives a flying rats ass over some general protection fault, blah, blah, dee blah sort of thing! Nobody understands what that means anyway!
So why not just be up straight and honest with it all, and skip the whole computer error lingo for something like this ...
"You bought a piece of shit computer, you don't have enough memory."
or
"You've completely screwed up your computer by messing around with your utilities."
or
"You had better call a technician, cause this one goes way over your head."
So drop the computer mumbo jumbo jargon and tell it like it is dammit! I've already had more than my share of stress today.
There is absolutely nothing worse than getting an error message, repeatedly, and then having no clue as to what the hell any of it means, other than the fact that the computer is having an emotional moment!
So now I'm frustrated, and ready to toss the damn PC right out the window. And you can be damn sure, if tossing it doesn't work, I'll finish it off with a couple good whacks from a baseball bat!
And another thing! Who the hell came up with error messages that read like Greek in the first place!
Who gives a flying rats ass over some general protection fault, blah, blah, dee blah sort of thing! Nobody understands what that means anyway!
So why not just be up straight and honest with it all, and skip the whole computer error lingo for something like this ...
"You bought a piece of shit computer, you don't have enough memory."
or
"You've completely screwed up your computer by messing around with your utilities."
or
"You had better call a technician, cause this one goes way over your head."
So drop the computer mumbo jumbo jargon and tell it like it is dammit! I've already had more than my share of stress today.
I'm thinking about taking my counter down, though it's not because I don't want to know how few hits I actually get to this page. Actually, it's because the random hits to this page make me sick to my stomach.
There are some real sickos out there trolling about the web. The kind of people who input rape and domination fantasies into their browsers hoping to get a fix off the net. It's disgusting.
But even more disgusting, is one of yesterdays hits hoping to find more of the same above, but this time with children. There are no words I can even begin to say that could possibly define my opinion of people like this. Violence against women is monstrous enough, violence against children, the very personification of evil.
I know I've said it before. Wanting to change this sites name because of such random hits and the keyword: "NAKED" ranking among the top reasons why people accidentally trip over this site.
But everytime something like this happens, I remember why I wanted to name NWTLO like I did, because when I am here, writing away, that is what I am. My thoughts, my ideas and my beliefs naked to a world that can stop and read a while or pass me by without so much of a glance.
It is, in one word, a conundrum.
There are some real sickos out there trolling about the web. The kind of people who input rape and domination fantasies into their browsers hoping to get a fix off the net. It's disgusting.
But even more disgusting, is one of yesterdays hits hoping to find more of the same above, but this time with children. There are no words I can even begin to say that could possibly define my opinion of people like this. Violence against women is monstrous enough, violence against children, the very personification of evil.
I know I've said it before. Wanting to change this sites name because of such random hits and the keyword: "NAKED" ranking among the top reasons why people accidentally trip over this site.
But everytime something like this happens, I remember why I wanted to name NWTLO like I did, because when I am here, writing away, that is what I am. My thoughts, my ideas and my beliefs naked to a world that can stop and read a while or pass me by without so much of a glance.
It is, in one word, a conundrum.
I wish I could ...
Call work and tell them that I am sick (and tired) and won't be coming in for the remainder of the week.
I wish I could ...
Get paid for staying home.
I'd rather be ...
Rich, looking for an occupation to fill my time, rather than depending on one to make a living.
If I could I'd be ...
Somewhere on a secluded mountain overlooking a serene lake, cup of cocoa in hand, tapping away on a keyboard, writing a novel.
What I'm doing now ...
Giving up on the wish list and getting my disheartened butt to work.
Call work and tell them that I am sick (and tired) and won't be coming in for the remainder of the week.
I wish I could ...
Get paid for staying home.
I'd rather be ...
Rich, looking for an occupation to fill my time, rather than depending on one to make a living.
If I could I'd be ...
Somewhere on a secluded mountain overlooking a serene lake, cup of cocoa in hand, tapping away on a keyboard, writing a novel.
What I'm doing now ...
Giving up on the wish list and getting my disheartened butt to work.
I want my underoos and I want them now!
When I was 10, I could run around half naked in a thunderstorm, wearing nothing but yellow terry cloth bottoms and an Indian Chief headdress, and nobody would have glanced twice. (Other than my mother who always managed to capture that kind of Kodak moment on film. And let me assure you, that there is indeed, a picture of the aforementioned, somewhere in some treasure box buried away.)
But nothing ever compared to my underoos.
They were all the rage back then. You weren't somebody, unless you had them and for me, my Wonder Woman roos said it all.
Beneath my clothes, I was a superhero waiting for danger to strike, complete with magic lasso and invisible plane. A card carrying member for the forces of good, I was always willing to fight the good fight.
Unfortunately for me, the evil foe I usually fought, turned out to be my older sister.
Not such a good thing, considering she wasn't inclined to be of the loving and adoring persuasion of older sisterhood. A personality defect that was apparent by her choice of Darth Vader underoos, that pledged her alliance to the dark side.
And what is one to do, when your sister turns out to be Darth Vador? Invite her over for tea and cakes?
Nah ... It was much smarter to opt for the magic lasso, the light saber or whatever other sort of handy object happened to be lying around. In the right hands, even a simple little smurf mug could easily become a weapon.
Of course, when your mug ended up being among the casualties of such an episode, things could get a little depressing. So could the fact that you'd been grounded for an indefinite amount of time for breaking your sisters wrist.
However, despite the grounding and the very small twinge of guilt that nestled in-between the smallest of your two toes, you were secretly proud.
Standing up on your bed, sheet wrapped around your neck like a cape, you puffed out your chest, proclaiming your victory to the world.
But like everything else, it was a short lived moment. Especially when a rock solid cast flying in your direction, had made other plans for you.
When I was 10, I could run around half naked in a thunderstorm, wearing nothing but yellow terry cloth bottoms and an Indian Chief headdress, and nobody would have glanced twice. (Other than my mother who always managed to capture that kind of Kodak moment on film. And let me assure you, that there is indeed, a picture of the aforementioned, somewhere in some treasure box buried away.)
But nothing ever compared to my underoos.
They were all the rage back then. You weren't somebody, unless you had them and for me, my Wonder Woman roos said it all.
Beneath my clothes, I was a superhero waiting for danger to strike, complete with magic lasso and invisible plane. A card carrying member for the forces of good, I was always willing to fight the good fight.
Unfortunately for me, the evil foe I usually fought, turned out to be my older sister.
Not such a good thing, considering she wasn't inclined to be of the loving and adoring persuasion of older sisterhood. A personality defect that was apparent by her choice of Darth Vader underoos, that pledged her alliance to the dark side.
And what is one to do, when your sister turns out to be Darth Vador? Invite her over for tea and cakes?
Nah ... It was much smarter to opt for the magic lasso, the light saber or whatever other sort of handy object happened to be lying around. In the right hands, even a simple little smurf mug could easily become a weapon.
Of course, when your mug ended up being among the casualties of such an episode, things could get a little depressing. So could the fact that you'd been grounded for an indefinite amount of time for breaking your sisters wrist.
However, despite the grounding and the very small twinge of guilt that nestled in-between the smallest of your two toes, you were secretly proud.
Standing up on your bed, sheet wrapped around your neck like a cape, you puffed out your chest, proclaiming your victory to the world.
But like everything else, it was a short lived moment. Especially when a rock solid cast flying in your direction, had made other plans for you.
What is it with me and Sunday mornings? Just a few weeks ago, I was able to sleep until noon, if I had so choosed. Now I am up at the crack of dawn, awake with the birds and reveling in the silent moments when everything is still.
Still, I'd rather be sleeping.
This morning however, I was glad for the sun shining into my window, waking me up from a dream I'd not want to repeat. I'm not sure what it was that set this one in motion but the gist of it was I was trying to save these kids from being blown into smithereens.
Enter Dream Mode
We'd been caught stealing. Sure, we were just trying to survive. But, we should have known that we could never have gotten away with the snowblower. It was big, shiny and red. Not a small thing you could tuck back inside your bookbag without looking extremely obvious.
We lived in a hovel. A small run down apartment where even the fleas had fleas and rats were considered pets. Still, it was a place to call home, Ikea furnishings and all.
The day was hot, so we decided to go down to the river for a swim. How refreshing it was to ride the gentle waves on a big black inner tube, in water that was both cool, clean and free of fish, frogs, snakes and any other nasty creature known to hang out in water.
We were having a good time, when out of the blue we heard them. The deep voices of men hidden in the forest along the banks, hatching their sinister plan. My ears perked to attention, recognizing the names of their intended victims. I turned to look at my water raft partner, a good looking man whose name I did not know, but one I evidently knew.
"We've got to do something!" I said, paddling as quickly and as quietly as I could back to shore.
"But how?" he asked, looking at me as if I were certifiable. "They have bombs. They have guns. We're dripping wet holding an inner tube."
"We've got to get to those kids. We've got to get there first. Get them out of that house without alerting the bad guys, so they'll think there nefarious plan succeeded."
We scrambled out of the water, running down the bank at full speed back to the house.
"Get the keys to the truck!" I yelled, climbing inside the big, black cab.
"Here you go!" He shouted back, throwing the keys in a perfect arc, as I reached out to grab them with my hands.
I fired the engine up, waiting long enough for him to get one foot in the door, before taking off and sending a spray of gravel up as the tires took a mad spin to the end of the driveway.
In a few brief moments we were there.
"Park the truck in the garage. I'll go get the kids." I told him, sprinting up the stairs and into the house.
I found them in their bedroom. A boy and a girl, both redheaded with freckles.
"Come with me." I told them. "I've got to get you out now."
"But where are we going?" they cried together in unison.
"Bad people are on their way here, I don't have time to explain. Just come on."
I took a quick glance outside the window, watching in terror as an unfamiliar vehicle slowed down in front of the house, two men grinning shark like smiles in the front seat.
"Hurry. We've got to get out of here. Leave everything else behind, there's no time! Get down to the garage!"
I hustled the children back down the stairs, taking care so that no one tripped over the other.
He stood there waiting by the open door of the truck.
"Get inside." he said to the kids, taking their hands to help them up.
Through the frosted windows, I could see the men moving closer to the garage, a liquid filled bottle held carefully in their hands. I knew in a moment, it was some sort of explosive, meant to take out the house and whatever was in it.
"We don't have time," I whispered, "to make it out of the front of the house. We'll have to go through the back."
I knew we would only have mere seconds of an advantage as I fired up the old truck engine was more.
"Everyone hang onto your hats!" I cried, pressing my foot down on the accelerator. Watching as the back wall of the garage crumbled under the force of our impact, giving way to safety on the other side.
"Everything's going to be fine." I said, watching as the house behind me blew up in flames. My timing perfect with the explosion, so the bag guys weren't aware that they had failed.
I breathed a sigh of relief and then ...
I awoke.
End dream sequence.
I have the oddest dreams, I know. And the silly thing is, I remember most of them.
Which leaves me with one question.
Where is good old Freud, when you need him?
Still, I'd rather be sleeping.
This morning however, I was glad for the sun shining into my window, waking me up from a dream I'd not want to repeat. I'm not sure what it was that set this one in motion but the gist of it was I was trying to save these kids from being blown into smithereens.
Enter Dream Mode
We'd been caught stealing. Sure, we were just trying to survive. But, we should have known that we could never have gotten away with the snowblower. It was big, shiny and red. Not a small thing you could tuck back inside your bookbag without looking extremely obvious.
We lived in a hovel. A small run down apartment where even the fleas had fleas and rats were considered pets. Still, it was a place to call home, Ikea furnishings and all.
The day was hot, so we decided to go down to the river for a swim. How refreshing it was to ride the gentle waves on a big black inner tube, in water that was both cool, clean and free of fish, frogs, snakes and any other nasty creature known to hang out in water.
We were having a good time, when out of the blue we heard them. The deep voices of men hidden in the forest along the banks, hatching their sinister plan. My ears perked to attention, recognizing the names of their intended victims. I turned to look at my water raft partner, a good looking man whose name I did not know, but one I evidently knew.
"We've got to do something!" I said, paddling as quickly and as quietly as I could back to shore.
"But how?" he asked, looking at me as if I were certifiable. "They have bombs. They have guns. We're dripping wet holding an inner tube."
"We've got to get to those kids. We've got to get there first. Get them out of that house without alerting the bad guys, so they'll think there nefarious plan succeeded."
We scrambled out of the water, running down the bank at full speed back to the house.
"Get the keys to the truck!" I yelled, climbing inside the big, black cab.
"Here you go!" He shouted back, throwing the keys in a perfect arc, as I reached out to grab them with my hands.
I fired the engine up, waiting long enough for him to get one foot in the door, before taking off and sending a spray of gravel up as the tires took a mad spin to the end of the driveway.
In a few brief moments we were there.
"Park the truck in the garage. I'll go get the kids." I told him, sprinting up the stairs and into the house.
I found them in their bedroom. A boy and a girl, both redheaded with freckles.
"Come with me." I told them. "I've got to get you out now."
"But where are we going?" they cried together in unison.
"Bad people are on their way here, I don't have time to explain. Just come on."
I took a quick glance outside the window, watching in terror as an unfamiliar vehicle slowed down in front of the house, two men grinning shark like smiles in the front seat.
"Hurry. We've got to get out of here. Leave everything else behind, there's no time! Get down to the garage!"
I hustled the children back down the stairs, taking care so that no one tripped over the other.
He stood there waiting by the open door of the truck.
"Get inside." he said to the kids, taking their hands to help them up.
Through the frosted windows, I could see the men moving closer to the garage, a liquid filled bottle held carefully in their hands. I knew in a moment, it was some sort of explosive, meant to take out the house and whatever was in it.
"We don't have time," I whispered, "to make it out of the front of the house. We'll have to go through the back."
I knew we would only have mere seconds of an advantage as I fired up the old truck engine was more.
"Everyone hang onto your hats!" I cried, pressing my foot down on the accelerator. Watching as the back wall of the garage crumbled under the force of our impact, giving way to safety on the other side.
"Everything's going to be fine." I said, watching as the house behind me blew up in flames. My timing perfect with the explosion, so the bag guys weren't aware that they had failed.
I breathed a sigh of relief and then ...
I awoke.
End dream sequence.
I have the oddest dreams, I know. And the silly thing is, I remember most of them.
Which leaves me with one question.
Where is good old Freud, when you need him?
Brenda is none too pleased with me (once again) and I, for one, can't blame her a bit.
I wonder why it is, that maintaining a friendship, now that I'm an adult, seems such a difficult thing to do?
High school was easy.
Other than the occasional disagreement, being friends never demanded more than you could give. You never had to slot out specific time on a calendar, to find time together.
It was spontaneous and in the moment.
Back then, there wasn't much that stood in your way of being best friends. Sure there were boys and moments of utter stupidity, but you always stuck it out together like two peas in a pod.
Expectations were easier to live up to, certain things like talking on the phone each night were taken for granted, as well as spending time away from each other, when family duties required you to be gone.
But growing up, changed the way those expectations could be met. Duties away from friendship, now required more from you, than they had ever had before and inside you were torn.
Torn.
Because you weren't ready to let a day go by, without a single phone call to your friend, to find out, all about the nothing special she did that day, or just share the common bond from being from the same place, time and understanding of having grown up together.
Soon, even the smallest distance can feel like 10,000 miles.
You don't realize it at first, the day when you start losing touch. The day when something other than your friend becomes more important in your life. You trade off outings with your new family, over your friend of old, as boyfriends become husbands and bundles of joy the focus of your attention.
You begin to promise each other tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I will call her to see is she is alright, to make sure everything is well, to talk to her and see what news she has to share. Tomorrow we will make a date, spend time together, talk like we did when we were kids sharing secrets in the dark.
Tomorrow we will promise that we'll pick up that phone, make that call, drive ourselves over to that house only a small distance away, to spend time with our friend. We make the promise expecting to keep it to ourselves, but always fall victim to constraints and obligations, that make our friend seem far less important than breaking the routine of our daily lives.
So you stop calling.
Stop making plans.
Guilt festering, over having dodged her just the week before. Feeling bad because deep down you miss your time together, but aren't as certain that you can ever get it back, the way it used to be. Realizing that it can never be, just you and her against the world, because children never disappear, though sometimes husbands do.
You forget what is was like to be irresponsible friends going out for a night on the town, for a drive to the middle of nowhere.
You forget what is was like to talk on the phone for hours about absoutely nothing and everything all at once.
You forget how much that one person reminds you of everywhere you've been, everything you've done and everything you still have left to do.
You forget how much she knows about you and how much you know about her. Forget the promise that you made to grow old together, to be the two nosey gray haired neighbor women, rocking in their chairs, watching all the young people go by.
You forget who you are, because there is no one there to remind you of how you used to be.
And so you're sorry.
Because no day without your friend, ever seems complete.
I wonder why it is, that maintaining a friendship, now that I'm an adult, seems such a difficult thing to do?
High school was easy.
Other than the occasional disagreement, being friends never demanded more than you could give. You never had to slot out specific time on a calendar, to find time together.
It was spontaneous and in the moment.
Back then, there wasn't much that stood in your way of being best friends. Sure there were boys and moments of utter stupidity, but you always stuck it out together like two peas in a pod.
Expectations were easier to live up to, certain things like talking on the phone each night were taken for granted, as well as spending time away from each other, when family duties required you to be gone.
But growing up, changed the way those expectations could be met. Duties away from friendship, now required more from you, than they had ever had before and inside you were torn.
Torn.
Because you weren't ready to let a day go by, without a single phone call to your friend, to find out, all about the nothing special she did that day, or just share the common bond from being from the same place, time and understanding of having grown up together.
Soon, even the smallest distance can feel like 10,000 miles.
You don't realize it at first, the day when you start losing touch. The day when something other than your friend becomes more important in your life. You trade off outings with your new family, over your friend of old, as boyfriends become husbands and bundles of joy the focus of your attention.
You begin to promise each other tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I will call her to see is she is alright, to make sure everything is well, to talk to her and see what news she has to share. Tomorrow we will make a date, spend time together, talk like we did when we were kids sharing secrets in the dark.
Tomorrow we will promise that we'll pick up that phone, make that call, drive ourselves over to that house only a small distance away, to spend time with our friend. We make the promise expecting to keep it to ourselves, but always fall victim to constraints and obligations, that make our friend seem far less important than breaking the routine of our daily lives.
So you stop calling.
Stop making plans.
Guilt festering, over having dodged her just the week before. Feeling bad because deep down you miss your time together, but aren't as certain that you can ever get it back, the way it used to be. Realizing that it can never be, just you and her against the world, because children never disappear, though sometimes husbands do.
You forget what is was like to be irresponsible friends going out for a night on the town, for a drive to the middle of nowhere.
You forget what is was like to talk on the phone for hours about absoutely nothing and everything all at once.
You forget how much that one person reminds you of everywhere you've been, everything you've done and everything you still have left to do.
You forget how much she knows about you and how much you know about her. Forget the promise that you made to grow old together, to be the two nosey gray haired neighbor women, rocking in their chairs, watching all the young people go by.
You forget who you are, because there is no one there to remind you of how you used to be.
And so you're sorry.
Because no day without your friend, ever seems complete.
The howling of the coyotes last night, kept me from getting a good nights sleep. They were so close to the house, I was neurotic and tired enough to believe, that somehow they would sense me shutting my window and take the opportunity to attack. Being so late or early, depending on how you look at it, it never occurred to me that I was on the second floor and therefore the likelihood of attack was severely limited.
Still, neither Emma, nor I could get back to sleep right away, watching the clock tick time slowly away.
3:01 ... 3:03 .... 3:07 ...
Outside the howls got louder followed by quick short barks. As I peered out into the darkness, I imagined that they had made their kill and were celebrating their victory by calling to the moon, sending shivers down my spine.
Emma, meanwhile, sat still as a stone, never moving, though her eyes cut through the night and into the fields. Emiting a slow, low growl, the hair standing straight up on her back, I was sure she could see everything, as my own eyes struggled to distinquish objects in the dark.
Sleep finally came, the last of my fears giving way to restless dreams, haunting me until dawn. Awake again, my eyes sought to see in the daylight, any signs of disturbance left behind. But there was nothing, save for a damp rolling fog spreading out over the fields.
Still, neither Emma, nor I could get back to sleep right away, watching the clock tick time slowly away.
3:01 ... 3:03 .... 3:07 ...
Outside the howls got louder followed by quick short barks. As I peered out into the darkness, I imagined that they had made their kill and were celebrating their victory by calling to the moon, sending shivers down my spine.
Emma, meanwhile, sat still as a stone, never moving, though her eyes cut through the night and into the fields. Emiting a slow, low growl, the hair standing straight up on her back, I was sure she could see everything, as my own eyes struggled to distinquish objects in the dark.
Sleep finally came, the last of my fears giving way to restless dreams, haunting me until dawn. Awake again, my eyes sought to see in the daylight, any signs of disturbance left behind. But there was nothing, save for a damp rolling fog spreading out over the fields.
Just got back from signing KC up for dance class. I fear what harm those feet will do ...
I should have been a dance instructor, it's clear from the tuition fees, those people make oodles of cash from parents willing to pay the money to turn their girls into prissy prima donnas.
I'm guessing it's become apparent that the whole dance class thing wasn't my idea. I was more inclined to sign the girl up for karate and teach her a little kung fu kick ass. A skill that could come in useful, rather than its toe point, pretty frills opposite.
I mean, how often do you ever hear a story about some ballet dancer saving the day ... Uh, never ...
But if ballet is what she really wants, I am willing to concede. Concede to the fact, that my daughter isn't as much of a tomboy as I always hoped she'd be. Where, oh where, did I go wrong?
Something to think about much later, since now I am off to market.
I should have been a dance instructor, it's clear from the tuition fees, those people make oodles of cash from parents willing to pay the money to turn their girls into prissy prima donnas.
I'm guessing it's become apparent that the whole dance class thing wasn't my idea. I was more inclined to sign the girl up for karate and teach her a little kung fu kick ass. A skill that could come in useful, rather than its toe point, pretty frills opposite.
I mean, how often do you ever hear a story about some ballet dancer saving the day ... Uh, never ...
But if ballet is what she really wants, I am willing to concede. Concede to the fact, that my daughter isn't as much of a tomboy as I always hoped she'd be. Where, oh where, did I go wrong?
Something to think about much later, since now I am off to market.
Why do people have to clip their toe nails right outside my doorstep. To me, that is the sort of thing someone should be doing in the privacy of their own home, preferably over a garbage can in their bathroom.
I mean the last thing, the absolute last thing, I want to do, is walk outside and step on someone's abandoned toe clippings. It's just too gross for words and yet I can still hear them clip, clip, clipping away.
I wonder how rude it would be for me to shout "Get a room!"
Since we're yapping about the things that irritate me, let me add mosquitos to my list. The nasty little buggers tried to have me for dinner last night, as I was outside commiserating with Sheila about the current situation involving a certain townhouse neighbor and an adorably cute, warm and fuzzy, little yellow kitten.
Simba, who in this case is the kitten and not the neighbor, has been left like a baby on a church step in the middle of winter. Sure, I know I may be exaggerating a tad bit but according to reliable sources and my very own ears, the owner/neighbor in question is adamant that the little furball of happiness is and will continue to be, an outside cat.
I, of course, completely disagree.
Sure, I know that there are millions of cats who live their entire lives outside and are none worse off for it. But, I guess I just don't understand how someone could bring a kitten home, and then not care enough about it, to keep it inside where it will be safe from all the evils of the world.
It's a known fact, that our road, is not exactly reputed to be an animal haven and the giant German Shepherd next door certainly isn't open to the idea of a new, much smaller playmate when his stomach is growling for lunch. It's more like "Feed me Seymour" from the Little Shop of Horrors
and this dog is just drooling for a snack.
And what about kittens. Not Simba the kitten now, but Simba the wandering tom out on the prowl for a little ... well you know what I mean. What if this neighbor of mine doesn't get him fixed? What if, rather than one small kitten out on his own in the world, it multiplies into many and then more, and them even more, until our small village becomes completely overrun with homeless cats!
I don't have the room to take them all in and lord knows, I am a sensitive soul. Last night, I had to talk myself out of bringing the baby inside, mostly because I know I should respect my neighbors decision, but also because Emma has an extremely jealous nature, and I didn't want the poor kitten to be caught in the crossfire.
So I don't know what to do, other than peer out the window every few minutes, hoping to spot a fast moving yellow ball of fluff, to know that at least for another day, he's safe.
I mean the last thing, the absolute last thing, I want to do, is walk outside and step on someone's abandoned toe clippings. It's just too gross for words and yet I can still hear them clip, clip, clipping away.
I wonder how rude it would be for me to shout "Get a room!"
Since we're yapping about the things that irritate me, let me add mosquitos to my list. The nasty little buggers tried to have me for dinner last night, as I was outside commiserating with Sheila about the current situation involving a certain townhouse neighbor and an adorably cute, warm and fuzzy, little yellow kitten.
Simba, who in this case is the kitten and not the neighbor, has been left like a baby on a church step in the middle of winter. Sure, I know I may be exaggerating a tad bit but according to reliable sources and my very own ears, the owner/neighbor in question is adamant that the little furball of happiness is and will continue to be, an outside cat.
I, of course, completely disagree.
Sure, I know that there are millions of cats who live their entire lives outside and are none worse off for it. But, I guess I just don't understand how someone could bring a kitten home, and then not care enough about it, to keep it inside where it will be safe from all the evils of the world.
It's a known fact, that our road, is not exactly reputed to be an animal haven and the giant German Shepherd next door certainly isn't open to the idea of a new, much smaller playmate when his stomach is growling for lunch. It's more like "Feed me Seymour" from the Little Shop of Horrors
and this dog is just drooling for a snack.
And what about kittens. Not Simba the kitten now, but Simba the wandering tom out on the prowl for a little ... well you know what I mean. What if this neighbor of mine doesn't get him fixed? What if, rather than one small kitten out on his own in the world, it multiplies into many and then more, and them even more, until our small village becomes completely overrun with homeless cats!
I don't have the room to take them all in and lord knows, I am a sensitive soul. Last night, I had to talk myself out of bringing the baby inside, mostly because I know I should respect my neighbors decision, but also because Emma has an extremely jealous nature, and I didn't want the poor kitten to be caught in the crossfire.
So I don't know what to do, other than peer out the window every few minutes, hoping to spot a fast moving yellow ball of fluff, to know that at least for another day, he's safe.
Growling at the door, Emma woke me up this morning, before the sun had even begun to crest the sky. Half asleep, I glanced at the clock.
Odd, I thought. Since when did I start setting my alarm to wake me up on a Sunday morning?
Nearly falling out of my bed, I stretched my arm across the great divide, switching off the alarm, with plans to sleep undisturbed at least until noon.
I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Morning sun streaming in through my open windows unfortunately, had made other plans for me.
Wake up sleepy head it seemed to say. Don't be lazy, rise and shine.
Go away I mumbled into my pillow, drawing the blankets over my head, yawning once for good measure. Can't you see I'm tired?
Get up, get up, get up, said the sun, you must not delay.
I promise, I'll get up in just a little while, I groaned. Let me sleep these last few minutes in peace.
No, no, no, yelled the sun. There's no more time to waste! It's not Sunday you foolish girl! It's Monday and you have places you need to go!
Monday? I thought, letting the sound of it sink into my brain, realizing all at once my mistake.
Monday! Well, why didn't you say so, I exclaimed, accusingly to the sun, jumping up from my bed.
He simply shook his head and said not a word.
Odd, I thought. Since when did I start setting my alarm to wake me up on a Sunday morning?
Nearly falling out of my bed, I stretched my arm across the great divide, switching off the alarm, with plans to sleep undisturbed at least until noon.
I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Morning sun streaming in through my open windows unfortunately, had made other plans for me.
Wake up sleepy head it seemed to say. Don't be lazy, rise and shine.
Go away I mumbled into my pillow, drawing the blankets over my head, yawning once for good measure. Can't you see I'm tired?
Get up, get up, get up, said the sun, you must not delay.
I promise, I'll get up in just a little while, I groaned. Let me sleep these last few minutes in peace.
No, no, no, yelled the sun. There's no more time to waste! It's not Sunday you foolish girl! It's Monday and you have places you need to go!
Monday? I thought, letting the sound of it sink into my brain, realizing all at once my mistake.
Monday! Well, why didn't you say so, I exclaimed, accusingly to the sun, jumping up from my bed.
He simply shook his head and said not a word.
As far as long car rides go, yesterday's wasn't so bad. I spent a lot of time thinking in between short conversations.
It all came down to a single conclusion.
You've just got to grow where you're planted. There's no sense in wasting your time with the could of, should have beens, if you're not living in the moment as it comes.
Sure, I thought to myself, I would have done a lot of things differently, if I could have seen the results prior to the decision. Maybe I wouldn't have been so naive to the arrogance of youth. Maybe I would have thought more of my future.
Sometimes though, it's hard to keep yourself from living in the past. In your head, you can change the things you said, open the door you shouldn't have shut, or leave the place you never should have been.
It's easy to trick yourself, that you can change things, just by wishing them so. Recreating your steps, making your life a shadow image of what it was before, just to convince yourself that nothing has changed, when everything has changed.
You hold yourself accountable for all the disappointments you've met up with in your life. Failing to forgive yourself, because you cannot forgive others who have let you down.
On the outside you're a rational thinking person, but on the inside your all messed up, an emotional cripple, scared of letting your guard down for a single second. Scared that the people you've been pushing away, will finally realize how much you've really needed them all along.
You dream that one hug could undo it all, one I'm sorry and the world would change. You wish that that is all it would take to be forgiven.
You wish that life could be as easy for you, as it is for the tree, growing precariously on an outcropping of rocks, roots penetrating deep into the soil, growing upwards and on, because it doesn't know, that it should fall.
It all came down to a single conclusion.
You've just got to grow where you're planted. There's no sense in wasting your time with the could of, should have beens, if you're not living in the moment as it comes.
Sure, I thought to myself, I would have done a lot of things differently, if I could have seen the results prior to the decision. Maybe I wouldn't have been so naive to the arrogance of youth. Maybe I would have thought more of my future.
Sometimes though, it's hard to keep yourself from living in the past. In your head, you can change the things you said, open the door you shouldn't have shut, or leave the place you never should have been.
It's easy to trick yourself, that you can change things, just by wishing them so. Recreating your steps, making your life a shadow image of what it was before, just to convince yourself that nothing has changed, when everything has changed.
You hold yourself accountable for all the disappointments you've met up with in your life. Failing to forgive yourself, because you cannot forgive others who have let you down.
On the outside you're a rational thinking person, but on the inside your all messed up, an emotional cripple, scared of letting your guard down for a single second. Scared that the people you've been pushing away, will finally realize how much you've really needed them all along.
You dream that one hug could undo it all, one I'm sorry and the world would change. You wish that that is all it would take to be forgiven.
You wish that life could be as easy for you, as it is for the tree, growing precariously on an outcropping of rocks, roots penetrating deep into the soil, growing upwards and on, because it doesn't know, that it should fall.
I am off to New Jersey ... Well, just as soon as my clothes come out of the dryer. Yes, you heard me right. I said dryer. I don't do that line dry thing, black out or no black out. You can call me selfish, call me greedy but don't even try to call me stiff jean girl, cause that's the one thing I just won't do.
So many stories to tell, so little time. I have to run into town and grab some quick cash from my account, bottled water and sun screen, so I can be ready to leave at 8.
Maybe I'll actually get a little tan on our road trip, since we are taking the convertable. Two birds, one stone.
I'll have to fill in all the details upon my return.
Until then, I am girl on the run.
So many stories to tell, so little time. I have to run into town and grab some quick cash from my account, bottled water and sun screen, so I can be ready to leave at 8.
Maybe I'll actually get a little tan on our road trip, since we are taking the convertable. Two birds, one stone.
I'll have to fill in all the details upon my return.
Until then, I am girl on the run.
Well, it's a done deal.
My living room is bare. The furniture I've hated for the past 7 years, gone ... And I couldn't be any happier.
KC will be surprised when she comes home. I can already see her standing there with hands on hips, a shocked expression.
"Mom! Where is our furniture?", she will shout, looking frantically about the room.
"Gone." I'll say. "I gave it away."
For a moment she will be mute, until the realization hits her.
"Gave it away! How could you give all our furniture away?"
Laughing and smiling, I'll grab her hands in mine and twirl her about the empty living room, until we're both breathless and about to fall down.
I've never liked it, I'll tell her without explaining my real reason why.
She doesn't need to know, that it was the very last object left in our house that reminded me of her father. The couch and love seat he couldn't wait to have, the one he picked out himself, the one I ended up paying for when he walked out.
She doesn't need to know, how happy it makes me feel to have seen the last of that green and tan albatross, or that I would gladly sit on the floor for a million years to be rid of it.
I'll tell her that we've done a good deed, giving our furniture away to someone who really needed a helping hand and the look of joy on their faces as they drove off, furniture secured snugly to the back of their pick up truck. I'll tell her how good it felt to know that they really appreciated the gift, as much as I did the giving.
She's probably too young to understand. She'll think she has a crazy person for a mother, one who gives furniture away at random without having an immediate replacement for it. Maybe she'll be right, I can barely explain it myself.
I feel free and at home, for the first time, in a long time.
My living room is bare. The furniture I've hated for the past 7 years, gone ... And I couldn't be any happier.
KC will be surprised when she comes home. I can already see her standing there with hands on hips, a shocked expression.
"Mom! Where is our furniture?", she will shout, looking frantically about the room.
"Gone." I'll say. "I gave it away."
For a moment she will be mute, until the realization hits her.
"Gave it away! How could you give all our furniture away?"
Laughing and smiling, I'll grab her hands in mine and twirl her about the empty living room, until we're both breathless and about to fall down.
I've never liked it, I'll tell her without explaining my real reason why.
She doesn't need to know, that it was the very last object left in our house that reminded me of her father. The couch and love seat he couldn't wait to have, the one he picked out himself, the one I ended up paying for when he walked out.
She doesn't need to know, how happy it makes me feel to have seen the last of that green and tan albatross, or that I would gladly sit on the floor for a million years to be rid of it.
I'll tell her that we've done a good deed, giving our furniture away to someone who really needed a helping hand and the look of joy on their faces as they drove off, furniture secured snugly to the back of their pick up truck. I'll tell her how good it felt to know that they really appreciated the gift, as much as I did the giving.
She's probably too young to understand. She'll think she has a crazy person for a mother, one who gives furniture away at random without having an immediate replacement for it. Maybe she'll be right, I can barely explain it myself.
I feel free and at home, for the first time, in a long time.
"You'll never be on a magazine cover." He says, his voice dry with truth.
I shake my head in agreement, "I know." I reply, "I never claimed it was a possibility."
He begins to speak. I press my fingers to his lips.
"Shhhh ... Not yet. I need to tell you something. Now, before I lose my nerve and never have a chance to tell you again ... I just wanted you to know, I'll always love you."
His eyes leave mine to stare at the floor. Uncomfortable with the words he's being made to hear. He doesn't feel the same, I know this, still he doesn't wish me pain.
"It's not enough, is it?" I ask.
"No." he says. "I don't ..."
I try to smile through my tears. "I know." I say, cutting him off before he can explain.
Between us there is only silence. A quiet end to a story with no beginning.
"I've missed you," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
"I've missed you too."
He pulls me in for a last embrace, I can feel the stubble of his beard against my cheek. I can feel my heart breaking.
He walks me out to my car and closes the door once I am safely inside. Hands trembling, I put the key into the ignition, and wait for the motor to come to life.
I take one last peek in the side view mirror.
Objects may appear closer then they are. Is the caption that reads above your image.
I half laugh at the absurdity of it all.
You've never been farther away.
I shake my head in agreement, "I know." I reply, "I never claimed it was a possibility."
He begins to speak. I press my fingers to his lips.
"Shhhh ... Not yet. I need to tell you something. Now, before I lose my nerve and never have a chance to tell you again ... I just wanted you to know, I'll always love you."
His eyes leave mine to stare at the floor. Uncomfortable with the words he's being made to hear. He doesn't feel the same, I know this, still he doesn't wish me pain.
"It's not enough, is it?" I ask.
"No." he says. "I don't ..."
I try to smile through my tears. "I know." I say, cutting him off before he can explain.
Between us there is only silence. A quiet end to a story with no beginning.
"I've missed you," he whispers, his voice barely audible.
"I've missed you too."
He pulls me in for a last embrace, I can feel the stubble of his beard against my cheek. I can feel my heart breaking.
He walks me out to my car and closes the door once I am safely inside. Hands trembling, I put the key into the ignition, and wait for the motor to come to life.
I take one last peek in the side view mirror.
Objects may appear closer then they are. Is the caption that reads above your image.
I half laugh at the absurdity of it all.
You've never been farther away.
Ugh. I should be a whole lot more motivated than I am at this moment, but I'd rather just sit here and ignore the ticking of the clock. It's like a mosquito in my ear, pronouncing that it's almost time to get to work.
Buzz, buzz, buzz ...
Work. A place I really do not want to go today. Attitudes yesterday were flying and I was so not in the mood to put up with any of them, least of all my own. Yet today, I get to go back for more.
Oh happy, oh joy.
Someday when I win the lottery, I am going to be so out of there, sending my notice in via postcard from Tahiti, crossing out the wish you were here part and changing it to don't bother waiting for me to come back.
That would be nice. Sipping ice cold beverages on sandy beaches with a well built, handsome cabana boy to wait on me hand and foot.
A girl has got to have dreams to survive out there in the real world. It's the only way I get through each day ...
Buzz, buzz, buzz ...
Work. A place I really do not want to go today. Attitudes yesterday were flying and I was so not in the mood to put up with any of them, least of all my own. Yet today, I get to go back for more.
Oh happy, oh joy.
Someday when I win the lottery, I am going to be so out of there, sending my notice in via postcard from Tahiti, crossing out the wish you were here part and changing it to don't bother waiting for me to come back.
That would be nice. Sipping ice cold beverages on sandy beaches with a well built, handsome cabana boy to wait on me hand and foot.
A girl has got to have dreams to survive out there in the real world. It's the only way I get through each day ...
I felt like the paparazzi tonight, skulking behind the back of my couch, as I aimed my camera towards the field across the road, attempting to get on film, my neighbors, herding their cows back into pasture.
It was a full blown prison escape, with brave bovines scattered in every direction. KC was first to catch on to the excitement.
"Mom ... The cows are loose again!" she yelled. "I think Bradley's Dad is chasing them."
Sure enough, the kid was right. Outside in the field I could make out two male forms, beating their hats against their legs as they whistled and yahhed the cows in the direction of the fence.
I stifled a laugh and grabbed my always nearby camera, to capture the kodak moment. Although, as moments go, cows on the lamb are a familiar sight in our neighborhood.
"Fencing ... it's not just for children anymore ..." I whispered to myself, as the wrangling proceeded. "Get on little doggies ..."
*Pictures to come if Blogger ever finishes retooling Blogger Pro! I'm not bitching or anything (ok so I am) but the little note about checking back next week has been up for a straight 3 weeks now. My patience can't hold out much longer!!!
It was a full blown prison escape, with brave bovines scattered in every direction. KC was first to catch on to the excitement.
"Mom ... The cows are loose again!" she yelled. "I think Bradley's Dad is chasing them."
Sure enough, the kid was right. Outside in the field I could make out two male forms, beating their hats against their legs as they whistled and yahhed the cows in the direction of the fence.
I stifled a laugh and grabbed my always nearby camera, to capture the kodak moment. Although, as moments go, cows on the lamb are a familiar sight in our neighborhood.
"Fencing ... it's not just for children anymore ..." I whispered to myself, as the wrangling proceeded. "Get on little doggies ..."
*Pictures to come if Blogger ever finishes retooling Blogger Pro! I'm not bitching or anything (ok so I am) but the little note about checking back next week has been up for a straight 3 weeks now. My patience can't hold out much longer!!!
It's nice to have the morning to myself. KC is still upstairs sleeping, her small body hidden beneath the covers, while Emma has made her perch in the front window, watching delicious little birds sing back and forth.
As for me, I am barely awake, taking moments to sip my hot chocolate and wrap my hands around its warm mug.
Summer is almost over. A definite chill in the air this morning, I can feel it coming to an end. Leaves outside are beginning to change to rustic golds and crimson reds, the first showing of the hibernation to come.
Soon brittle stalks of corn will stand in the fields as the pumpkin patches burst to life. The sweet smell of hot apple cider that rides the wind will speak of fall and the big yellow school bus that finds itself lumbering down our road once again, will be filled with the eager faces of little children, excited to see the friends that summer had tucked away.
Autumn has always seemed to me, more of a beginning than an end. A time when wheelbarrows were filled with wood to bring inside and the garden plucked of its hidden treasures. A time when the slow, lazy days of summer were left behind, as each family prepared for the coming of the first snowflake to fall.
In the hills and in the valley, Autumn calls to me, like the voice of home.
Welcome back.
As for me, I am barely awake, taking moments to sip my hot chocolate and wrap my hands around its warm mug.
Summer is almost over. A definite chill in the air this morning, I can feel it coming to an end. Leaves outside are beginning to change to rustic golds and crimson reds, the first showing of the hibernation to come.
Soon brittle stalks of corn will stand in the fields as the pumpkin patches burst to life. The sweet smell of hot apple cider that rides the wind will speak of fall and the big yellow school bus that finds itself lumbering down our road once again, will be filled with the eager faces of little children, excited to see the friends that summer had tucked away.
Autumn has always seemed to me, more of a beginning than an end. A time when wheelbarrows were filled with wood to bring inside and the garden plucked of its hidden treasures. A time when the slow, lazy days of summer were left behind, as each family prepared for the coming of the first snowflake to fall.
In the hills and in the valley, Autumn calls to me, like the voice of home.
Welcome back.
When it comes to shopping, I shouldn't be allowed in any store. Money runs like water through my hands and before I know it, it's whoops, I've spent more than I planned to spend.
Where, oh where was Nancy Reagan with her Just Say No spiel when I needed her the most?
Regrettably absent I'm afraid, which would explain why I came home tonight with the new bed ensemble that I've been drooling over, even though my current coverlet is less than 3 months old.
I just couldn't say NO!
Yes, yes, yes were the only words running through my mind as I handed over the cash to make my purchase. The lady behind the counter simply smiled at me, complimenting me on my expensive tastes.
"This is beautiful." she said, stroking the bag, "and such a good price."
I nodded eagerly, happy to have someone agree with me that two hundred dollars was convenient chump change to throw around when desperate decorator fashion was needed.
Oh, I am so sad ...
But I am so happy too. I think I'll go upstairs and make my bed.
Where, oh where was Nancy Reagan with her Just Say No spiel when I needed her the most?
Regrettably absent I'm afraid, which would explain why I came home tonight with the new bed ensemble that I've been drooling over, even though my current coverlet is less than 3 months old.
I just couldn't say NO!
Yes, yes, yes were the only words running through my mind as I handed over the cash to make my purchase. The lady behind the counter simply smiled at me, complimenting me on my expensive tastes.
"This is beautiful." she said, stroking the bag, "and such a good price."
I nodded eagerly, happy to have someone agree with me that two hundred dollars was convenient chump change to throw around when desperate decorator fashion was needed.
Oh, I am so sad ...
But I am so happy too. I think I'll go upstairs and make my bed.
You represent... hope.
You're quite a daydreamer and can be a hopeless
romantic. You enjoy being creative and don't
mind being alone at times. You have goals, and
know what you want in life... even if they are
a little far fetched.
What feeling do you represent?
brought to you by Quizilla
OK ... Enough with the quiz thing, I know.
Useless Stacey fact:
Flute player since 4th grade.
Once sat second chair, first row during my "hs" career. Drum major of the marching band senior year. (Can we say nice ictus?)
Currently (extremely) out of practice. Flute now being used as decoration on table top.
And how you thought you had problems ...
Bad me didn't post yesterday. I wanted to, I meant to ... But when it came to turning the computer on, sitting down and thinking of some sort of relevant thought to blather on about, I just didn't have it in me.
Tonight is random cleaning night, so further posting will have to wait until later. For now, I am off to chase dust bunnies.
Tonight is random cleaning night, so further posting will have to wait until later. For now, I am off to chase dust bunnies.
I'm trying to write, but I'm thinking about everyone else. Trying to place my commas in the appropriate spots, trying to find the words that fit, trying to make sense when all I want to do is go to sleep.
I have to blog. I have to have an entry. I have to make you feel something. I don't care if you laugh or if you cry, as long as you feel something.
But I've got nothing. I keep backspacing myself, deleting myself, silencing words before they're even spoken.
Editing.
I'm not supposed to do that. I'm just supposed to write, to let the thoughts come to me one by one, or in a rush. But I can't let go, can't relax. I want this to be something special.
But it's not.
It's just a story of why I can't write anything profound. A way to blame the editor in my head for my lack of originality.
A way to post without having to think too hard.
"My thought are like waffles - the first few don't look too good." ~ Marilyn von Savant, in Parade (1992)
I have to blog. I have to have an entry. I have to make you feel something. I don't care if you laugh or if you cry, as long as you feel something.
But I've got nothing. I keep backspacing myself, deleting myself, silencing words before they're even spoken.
Editing.
I'm not supposed to do that. I'm just supposed to write, to let the thoughts come to me one by one, or in a rush. But I can't let go, can't relax. I want this to be something special.
But it's not.
It's just a story of why I can't write anything profound. A way to blame the editor in my head for my lack of originality.
A way to post without having to think too hard.
"My thought are like waffles - the first few don't look too good." ~ Marilyn von Savant, in Parade (1992)
How does it happen, that somehow, when you weren't looking, 25 turned to 29 and then WHAM, you're only a year shy of the big three oh my God I can't really be almost thirty!!!
Your thoughts start turning to marriage, commitment, children, mini-vans and 401K retirement plans. You start saving for your daughter's college tuition fund, investing your money into sure things that will grow slow and steady.
You stop taking chances.
Friends who have yet to reach the same maturity level as you, are considered irresponsible and immature. You find you don't call them anymore. There's nothing you have in common except the fact, that once, you were friends.
You think fondly back to the days when all you had to be was you.
When laser tag after dark seemed a good idea and twisting your ankle was the least of your concerns. When going to a party meant getting drunk off your ass and singing We Are the World at the top of your lungs in front of everyone at the bonfire or going for a swim in the creek because someone dared you to.
It was waking at the crack of dawn, to sneak out of the boy's dorm, so as not to advertise where or with whom you'd spent the night. Yet getting caught was inevitable. Shoes in hand and face beat red, trying to maintain some sort of dignity as you padded your way to the exit amid catcalls.
A rite of passage.
But it was with pride, that you walked the few steps back to your own dorm room, savoring the quiet taste of victory to yourself, as your roommates welcomed you back with sleepy high five's.
It was living in the moment, deciding whether or not you'd go to government class or stay home to watch an episode of Jeopardy with your friends.
It was movie nights with half the dorm packed like sardines inside your room and trying to remain silent when the quiet hours were in full effect. It was knowing the rules and every way around them to break them, never fearful of the consequences.
It was both good times and bad times, sad times and happy times, a time to live, a time to learn and a time to leave behind, as we journeyed onward towards a greater purpose.
To the girls of Penfield Hall, floor 1.
Brenda, Tracy, Robin, Carrie and me ...
Your thoughts start turning to marriage, commitment, children, mini-vans and 401K retirement plans. You start saving for your daughter's college tuition fund, investing your money into sure things that will grow slow and steady.
You stop taking chances.
Friends who have yet to reach the same maturity level as you, are considered irresponsible and immature. You find you don't call them anymore. There's nothing you have in common except the fact, that once, you were friends.
You think fondly back to the days when all you had to be was you.
When laser tag after dark seemed a good idea and twisting your ankle was the least of your concerns. When going to a party meant getting drunk off your ass and singing We Are the World at the top of your lungs in front of everyone at the bonfire or going for a swim in the creek because someone dared you to.
It was waking at the crack of dawn, to sneak out of the boy's dorm, so as not to advertise where or with whom you'd spent the night. Yet getting caught was inevitable. Shoes in hand and face beat red, trying to maintain some sort of dignity as you padded your way to the exit amid catcalls.
A rite of passage.
But it was with pride, that you walked the few steps back to your own dorm room, savoring the quiet taste of victory to yourself, as your roommates welcomed you back with sleepy high five's.
It was living in the moment, deciding whether or not you'd go to government class or stay home to watch an episode of Jeopardy with your friends.
It was movie nights with half the dorm packed like sardines inside your room and trying to remain silent when the quiet hours were in full effect. It was knowing the rules and every way around them to break them, never fearful of the consequences.
It was both good times and bad times, sad times and happy times, a time to live, a time to learn and a time to leave behind, as we journeyed onward towards a greater purpose.
To the girls of Penfield Hall, floor 1.
Brenda, Tracy, Robin, Carrie and me ...
To Blog or Not to Blog (As if that could be a question ...)
Everything I do lately revolves around my blog, it doesn't matter where I am or who I'm with. Everything I do, every event in my day, is now broken down into two categories.
Blogworthy and Blognot.
Some days, everything seems to be blogworthy. Stories fight to the finish to see which one, is most worthy to find itself posted on NWTLO. Other days, I am a girl without words, ashamed when nothing of interest pops out from the ordinary, to claim blogworthy status.
Breaking out into a cold sweat, I stare at my computer screen, praying to the muse of original thoughts to guide my hands over the keyboard.
Sometimes work becomes another obstacle, stealing away 8 hours, every day, that could be better spent out there, walking among the people, as an unobtrusive observer.
Cataloging the way a woman looks when her child is wreaking havoc in the grocery store, or how the little old men stoop over their coffees with their crisp Sunday hats, discussing the weather. Detailing the way a young boy looks racing across the playground, towards a squirrel scurrying up and into the safety of a tree. Or how the light of a streetlight reminds me of a warm embrace, standing there beneath its golden glow.
These are the things that are important to me. To the little girl who didn't go to sleep at night, too busy sneaking into the mystical realms of other worlds, with help from her flashlight and the sweet smell of words in print. The child who was quite convinced with each turning of the page that one day, no matter how far away, she was going to be a writer.
And so I am ...
Everything I do lately revolves around my blog, it doesn't matter where I am or who I'm with. Everything I do, every event in my day, is now broken down into two categories.
Blogworthy and Blognot.
Some days, everything seems to be blogworthy. Stories fight to the finish to see which one, is most worthy to find itself posted on NWTLO. Other days, I am a girl without words, ashamed when nothing of interest pops out from the ordinary, to claim blogworthy status.
Breaking out into a cold sweat, I stare at my computer screen, praying to the muse of original thoughts to guide my hands over the keyboard.
Sometimes work becomes another obstacle, stealing away 8 hours, every day, that could be better spent out there, walking among the people, as an unobtrusive observer.
Cataloging the way a woman looks when her child is wreaking havoc in the grocery store, or how the little old men stoop over their coffees with their crisp Sunday hats, discussing the weather. Detailing the way a young boy looks racing across the playground, towards a squirrel scurrying up and into the safety of a tree. Or how the light of a streetlight reminds me of a warm embrace, standing there beneath its golden glow.
These are the things that are important to me. To the little girl who didn't go to sleep at night, too busy sneaking into the mystical realms of other worlds, with help from her flashlight and the sweet smell of words in print. The child who was quite convinced with each turning of the page that one day, no matter how far away, she was going to be a writer.
And so I am ...
Too tired to blog tonight, I leave you with the following statement I made at work today, captured in a moment of unbridled anger.
I whipped around, hand on hips, my nostrils flaring and my eyes burning with anger, as rage overwhelmed me. I'm so sick of this, sick, sick, sick!
You walk away from me, away from the problem in my hands, leaving me standing there speaking to nothing but an empty wall. My blood boils, hot pipes of steam come whistling from my ears.
Arrrgh! I am so done!
It is a full blown temper tantrum in the hallway. The F's start flying. Candy reminds me it is not after 5, but I could care less. I stoop my shoulders, my eyes darkening like the coming of a storm.
"Want to see me turn into Super Bitch?" I say, my voice laced with sarcasm. "LOOK, just did."
Send in the salt and chocolate boys, this girls out of control!
I whipped around, hand on hips, my nostrils flaring and my eyes burning with anger, as rage overwhelmed me. I'm so sick of this, sick, sick, sick!
You walk away from me, away from the problem in my hands, leaving me standing there speaking to nothing but an empty wall. My blood boils, hot pipes of steam come whistling from my ears.
Arrrgh! I am so done!
It is a full blown temper tantrum in the hallway. The F's start flying. Candy reminds me it is not after 5, but I could care less. I stoop my shoulders, my eyes darkening like the coming of a storm.
"Want to see me turn into Super Bitch?" I say, my voice laced with sarcasm. "LOOK, just did."
Send in the salt and chocolate boys, this girls out of control!
This week is taking forever to get to its culmination. The weekend still seems years away. I woke up this morning thinking, God it's only Wednesday, and promptly wanted to throw the blankets back over my head and go to sleep.
Amazingly, I was only tempted to sleep through 2 alarms before dragging myself from my bed and into the shower. Sometimes it helps, if I just imagine my morning routine is an ejoyable experience. But even I couldn't bring myself to believing that this morning, knowing what you're getting ready for, can do that to you.
Work is burning me out. The daily grind of repeating the same chore over and over again is starting to get to me. This is what happens when a creative person is made to do a non-creative job out of necessity. I'm the kind of person who would be much better suited to the Bohemian lifestyle. Sitting around collaberating with a group of unique individuals, discussing our ideals and how we could change the world.
But there are bills to be paid and school clothes to be bought, so like it or not, I'm pretty much stuck in the 9 to 5. Or in my case, 8 to 5, which means it's time for me to get to the going.
Amazingly, I was only tempted to sleep through 2 alarms before dragging myself from my bed and into the shower. Sometimes it helps, if I just imagine my morning routine is an ejoyable experience. But even I couldn't bring myself to believing that this morning, knowing what you're getting ready for, can do that to you.
Work is burning me out. The daily grind of repeating the same chore over and over again is starting to get to me. This is what happens when a creative person is made to do a non-creative job out of necessity. I'm the kind of person who would be much better suited to the Bohemian lifestyle. Sitting around collaberating with a group of unique individuals, discussing our ideals and how we could change the world.
But there are bills to be paid and school clothes to be bought, so like it or not, I'm pretty much stuck in the 9 to 5. Or in my case, 8 to 5, which means it's time for me to get to the going.
Liquid fertilizer should be illegal.
The smell of "farm fresh" is wafting across the fields tonight, like hot garbage in the sun. Proving my point, that even though I love the wide open spaces of country life, it can also have its drawbacks too.
The word ripe doesn't even come close to describing just how foul the air can smell after a good crop dusting. But, living in the country, it's something you unfortunately come to terms with. After all, there's not a lot of choices. You can either deal with the stench or keep your house locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
Around dinner time, Fort Knox seems like the better option of the two. It's really hard to enjoy your meal when everything smells like cowshit. "Pass the bread ma and the manure too.", is not something you hear around most tables and yet the smell is so repugnant, you almost feel like you're staring at a heaping plate of cow pie.
It's so powerful, it can even wake you from a sound sleep at two in the morning. Take my advice, leaving a fan on, when you are directly down wind of a foul odor, is not exactly in your best interest, unless you've got it on exhaust.
Not the case with me however, KC turned on the fan in the middle of the night and I nearly woke up choking. Confused, I looked around the room trying to figure out how the smell had gone stereo. The familiar purr of the fan along with the accompanying snores from a small body camped out on the bedroom floor, provided the answer.
At 2 in the morning, it was beyond me why KC would have bothered with a fan, when she was covered from head to toe, with not one, but two fleece blankets. It made absolutely no sense, but then nothing rarely does in the wee hours of the morning.
Tonight, I'm taking no chances.
I've already hid the fan.
The smell of "farm fresh" is wafting across the fields tonight, like hot garbage in the sun. Proving my point, that even though I love the wide open spaces of country life, it can also have its drawbacks too.
The word ripe doesn't even come close to describing just how foul the air can smell after a good crop dusting. But, living in the country, it's something you unfortunately come to terms with. After all, there's not a lot of choices. You can either deal with the stench or keep your house locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
Around dinner time, Fort Knox seems like the better option of the two. It's really hard to enjoy your meal when everything smells like cowshit. "Pass the bread ma and the manure too.", is not something you hear around most tables and yet the smell is so repugnant, you almost feel like you're staring at a heaping plate of cow pie.
It's so powerful, it can even wake you from a sound sleep at two in the morning. Take my advice, leaving a fan on, when you are directly down wind of a foul odor, is not exactly in your best interest, unless you've got it on exhaust.
Not the case with me however, KC turned on the fan in the middle of the night and I nearly woke up choking. Confused, I looked around the room trying to figure out how the smell had gone stereo. The familiar purr of the fan along with the accompanying snores from a small body camped out on the bedroom floor, provided the answer.
At 2 in the morning, it was beyond me why KC would have bothered with a fan, when she was covered from head to toe, with not one, but two fleece blankets. It made absolutely no sense, but then nothing rarely does in the wee hours of the morning.
Tonight, I'm taking no chances.
I've already hid the fan.
Can't call.
Can't write.
Can't just say hello ...
The BOY irritates me.
Irritates me because he doesn't seem to know I'm gone. Doesn't seem to miss emails of random silliness, with crazy messed up subject lines, that never actually pertained to anything.
Doesn't seem to miss the fact that I could make him laugh and smile, even when he'd be in the foulest mood. Or the way I used to purposely set out to annoy him, just so he could enjoy a good argument.
I swear it used to make his night if he got me to type "Humph!" To him it was like the sound of victory. Of course, immediately following, he'd be made to suffer the consequences of the silent treatment.
But that didn't mean he'd limit himself to silence. He'd start flinging comments of why men were better than women. A completely groundless theory, but one he pursued nonetheless, as it was always a surefire way to put an end to the silence.
It wasn't as if I could have held out on my own for too long anyway. Silence isn't exactly second nature to me. But ending it before it had barely begun, seemed to inflate his ego to seismic proportions. I'm sure if he had been a gorilla, he would have danced around his living room while beating his chest like a drum.
But, like it or not, he just doesn't seem to miss me.
I have to say that the BOY is a complete idiot. Normally, I might feel bad for saying this. But, in this case it happens to be absolutely true. The Boy IS a moron. There is no other possible reason for why he just doesn't get it! I am a completely missable person! In fact, there are plenty of people out there missing me right now! I just can't seem to figure out why he's not one of them.
The BOY must be out of his mind!
So my dear Mr. B, hiding in the great big blue somewhere out there, even though you don't miss me the tiniest little bit, this girl still misses you ... a smidgen.
Can't write.
Can't just say hello ...
The BOY irritates me.
Irritates me because he doesn't seem to know I'm gone. Doesn't seem to miss emails of random silliness, with crazy messed up subject lines, that never actually pertained to anything.
Doesn't seem to miss the fact that I could make him laugh and smile, even when he'd be in the foulest mood. Or the way I used to purposely set out to annoy him, just so he could enjoy a good argument.
I swear it used to make his night if he got me to type "Humph!" To him it was like the sound of victory. Of course, immediately following, he'd be made to suffer the consequences of the silent treatment.
But that didn't mean he'd limit himself to silence. He'd start flinging comments of why men were better than women. A completely groundless theory, but one he pursued nonetheless, as it was always a surefire way to put an end to the silence.
It wasn't as if I could have held out on my own for too long anyway. Silence isn't exactly second nature to me. But ending it before it had barely begun, seemed to inflate his ego to seismic proportions. I'm sure if he had been a gorilla, he would have danced around his living room while beating his chest like a drum.
But, like it or not, he just doesn't seem to miss me.
I have to say that the BOY is a complete idiot. Normally, I might feel bad for saying this. But, in this case it happens to be absolutely true. The Boy IS a moron. There is no other possible reason for why he just doesn't get it! I am a completely missable person! In fact, there are plenty of people out there missing me right now! I just can't seem to figure out why he's not one of them.
The BOY must be out of his mind!
So my dear Mr. B, hiding in the great big blue somewhere out there, even though you don't miss me the tiniest little bit, this girl still misses you ... a smidgen.
