Just as I was about to post the post of all posts ... Brenda emailed me and forced me to call her and stay on the phone for the past two hours ... And now, it's bedtime and there's no time for me to tell you all about ... Well, everything.
So on behalf on Brenda, I apologize for not posting anything of interest tonight. It's all her fault ... But she doesn't want to talk about it.
In other news, Bren's sister Jen gave birth to a gorgeous, healthy baby girl today ... Congrats to both Mommy and the new Aunty and of course the sweetest new arrival.
Welcome to the Nightly News
It's always a good start to a post when you nearly bash your head in prior to starting it. In this case the details are better left unknown unless one is really interested in queer explanations concerning laptops, folding tables and reclining ... Like I said, don't ask.
It's been an interesting two days. So much so that I'm about to do a highlight list rather than blather on into infinity ... (Since I haven't managed to get to bed at a decent hour since the whole time clock change thing (which I've done remarkably well at not mentioning my angst over up until now) I am determined to get to sleep long before the witching hour tonight.)
Onto the highlights ...
A certain body space invader has put in his two week notice at work ... Surely a good thing until one considers that it could be some time before a replacement is found which could mean (insert groan here) working overtime a little bit earlier in the season than any of us expected ...
Had dinner at Dad's last night as ALL of my sisters were actually around to have a family dinner. But it wasn't like the normal festivities that ensue when we're all together. There was no hysterical laughing, no making Jodi snort milk out of her nose, no outpouring of random silliness ... Even I could only muster a half hearted attempt to liven things up a bit with a everyone share something new game around the table. When it got to be my turn, I decided that life as of late was far too boring to tell the truth, so I lied and said I was planning on moving far away to another country because I had won the lottery. Needless to say, the only one who believed me was KC as she put in her country request for places she'd like to move to. Italy and Japan being her two top picks.
After spending an entire day at work being subsequently bored to pieces and wrongly accused of looking at a certain someone's ass every time he ventured into my office, which I might add is the biggest lie ever told because the only reason I would ever look at his ass would be to better gauge my aim at kicking it as hard as possible out of my room ... Anyhoo, from work I drove (the speed limit) to Dad's, stopping fist to fill the tank ($32.95 to be exact) and waited for him to get home with KC from dance class. When he came at me with the strange glint in his eyes asking me if I had any plans I should have known right then and there to tell KC to get in the car and buckle up so we could speed away ... As it is, I of course said that my only plans had been to go home, followed by the most horrible of horrible questions ... Why?
Five minutes later I found myself "fake towing" my father's convertible down to Mack the Mechanic's house with a rope tying the two cars together as my Dad "pretended" not to really be driving his car which has been off the road for the winter ... Needless to say, I felt the need to roll down my window and occasionally shout out a harassing remark about him following too closely with warnings to watch my paint job. Thank goodness is was a short ride. But still, I wouldn't let Mack near a vehicle of mine if you paid me. I swear, for as many times as he "fixed" my old car, something else always went wrong with it a short few days later. Coincidence? I think not. Sabotage? Highly likely ...
Anyhoo ... Judging from the time, my blog limit has been reached for the night and I must get myself to bed post haste.
April is NSAAP month. Make a difference.
It's been an interesting two days. So much so that I'm about to do a highlight list rather than blather on into infinity ... (Since I haven't managed to get to bed at a decent hour since the whole time clock change thing (which I've done remarkably well at not mentioning my angst over up until now) I am determined to get to sleep long before the witching hour tonight.)
Onto the highlights ...
A certain body space invader has put in his two week notice at work ... Surely a good thing until one considers that it could be some time before a replacement is found which could mean (insert groan here) working overtime a little bit earlier in the season than any of us expected ...
Had dinner at Dad's last night as ALL of my sisters were actually around to have a family dinner. But it wasn't like the normal festivities that ensue when we're all together. There was no hysterical laughing, no making Jodi snort milk out of her nose, no outpouring of random silliness ... Even I could only muster a half hearted attempt to liven things up a bit with a everyone share something new game around the table. When it got to be my turn, I decided that life as of late was far too boring to tell the truth, so I lied and said I was planning on moving far away to another country because I had won the lottery. Needless to say, the only one who believed me was KC as she put in her country request for places she'd like to move to. Italy and Japan being her two top picks.
After spending an entire day at work being subsequently bored to pieces and wrongly accused of looking at a certain someone's ass every time he ventured into my office, which I might add is the biggest lie ever told because the only reason I would ever look at his ass would be to better gauge my aim at kicking it as hard as possible out of my room ... Anyhoo, from work I drove (the speed limit) to Dad's, stopping fist to fill the tank ($32.95 to be exact) and waited for him to get home with KC from dance class. When he came at me with the strange glint in his eyes asking me if I had any plans I should have known right then and there to tell KC to get in the car and buckle up so we could speed away ... As it is, I of course said that my only plans had been to go home, followed by the most horrible of horrible questions ... Why?
Five minutes later I found myself "fake towing" my father's convertible down to Mack the Mechanic's house with a rope tying the two cars together as my Dad "pretended" not to really be driving his car which has been off the road for the winter ... Needless to say, I felt the need to roll down my window and occasionally shout out a harassing remark about him following too closely with warnings to watch my paint job. Thank goodness is was a short ride. But still, I wouldn't let Mack near a vehicle of mine if you paid me. I swear, for as many times as he "fixed" my old car, something else always went wrong with it a short few days later. Coincidence? I think not. Sabotage? Highly likely ...
Anyhoo ... Judging from the time, my blog limit has been reached for the night and I must get myself to bed post haste.
April is NSAAP month. Make a difference.
Something Louder Than Silence
If I were asked to name my fears one by one, I could tell them easily to an empty room with no need for any subterfuge at all. Everything inside my head would come tumbling out in a great big wash of words, like a river flowing from my mouth. And it would go on and on at great lengths until at last there was nothing left to say, no secrets to keep, no hurts too raw to mention, no one thing to put up its hands and stop me on my way.
And yet I have told this empty room more times that I have ever dared to count, adding this baggage to my house, where even the walls have been taught to keep their council ... They know me far better than I would have them know me, having tasted the salt from my tears and listened to them fall much like a lover unable to offer more than its own four walls.
And yet I have told this empty room more times that I have ever dared to count, adding this baggage to my house, where even the walls have been taught to keep their council ... They know me far better than I would have them know me, having tasted the salt from my tears and listened to them fall much like a lover unable to offer more than its own four walls.
But my needs do not reduce. If anything I find myself needing more. Much like the captain of my own small ship scanning the darkness hoping to find a beacons welcoming light and a safe harbor to sail into. But here I am adrift despite floating on a calm, cold sea and I can see for miles. But the everything of what I see is the everything of what I've already known, and my progress is impeded.
There is a distance behind me which can be measured, a sequence of events that brought me to this moment here. A woman alone save for her sleeping daughter upstairs in bed, the birds chattering away in the corner of the room and two black cats sitting patiently by my side waiting for the lights to die so they can follow me upstairs into the darkness.
My voice grows tired of saying nothing important, allowed only to offer up the small pleasantries of life. Fearful to make a fuss less someone stand as judge and jury on their own and accuse me of being - for lack of a better word - overly dramatic, one who seeks false attention for the purpose of rallying a group of supporters around her. This is not my intent.
I am rallying myself to do what needs to be done. To seek guidance from those much wiser than myself and my years of talking to walls with no hopes of being heard. I must kill this silence in me before this silence can do more to tear me apart. Bravely walking to a new future where ghosts of the past won't be allowed to continue their hauntings. And I must be uncomfortable, far outside my comfort zone to accomplish my task. For if I must trade one mask for another, I choose to put my brave face on.
There is a distance behind me which can be measured, a sequence of events that brought me to this moment here. A woman alone save for her sleeping daughter upstairs in bed, the birds chattering away in the corner of the room and two black cats sitting patiently by my side waiting for the lights to die so they can follow me upstairs into the darkness.
My voice grows tired of saying nothing important, allowed only to offer up the small pleasantries of life. Fearful to make a fuss less someone stand as judge and jury on their own and accuse me of being - for lack of a better word - overly dramatic, one who seeks false attention for the purpose of rallying a group of supporters around her. This is not my intent.
I am rallying myself to do what needs to be done. To seek guidance from those much wiser than myself and my years of talking to walls with no hopes of being heard. I must kill this silence in me before this silence can do more to tear me apart. Bravely walking to a new future where ghosts of the past won't be allowed to continue their hauntings. And I must be uncomfortable, far outside my comfort zone to accomplish my task. For if I must trade one mask for another, I choose to put my brave face on.
Stressing About the Time
I've been awake for ten minutes. My eyes still feel like they're half asleep. And on top of all this, I was thoroughly confused when I looked at the clock.
9:42 a.m.
My God, I thought as I clutched the pillow beneath my head while the internal conversation went on. Did the clocks change already? I thought that wasn't happening until Sunday ... Oh my God. What if it is Sunday and I've slept for two days? Just how tired was I anyway? What the heck's going on with the wind? It sounds like a flipping hurricane out there. What if that big tree next to the driveway fell on my car? I think I have collision. Does collision cover trees falling on your car? Maybe I should have read my insurance policy. I suppose I should get out of bed. So much for an early start in KC's room to get it done. I can't believe the cloc ... Wait a minute. The clock couldn't have changed. I'm such an idiot. I would have set the time ahead myself. It's actually 9:42 a.m. I'm a complete moron.
9:42 a.m.
My God, I thought as I clutched the pillow beneath my head while the internal conversation went on. Did the clocks change already? I thought that wasn't happening until Sunday ... Oh my God. What if it is Sunday and I've slept for two days? Just how tired was I anyway? What the heck's going on with the wind? It sounds like a flipping hurricane out there. What if that big tree next to the driveway fell on my car? I think I have collision. Does collision cover trees falling on your car? Maybe I should have read my insurance policy. I suppose I should get out of bed. So much for an early start in KC's room to get it done. I can't believe the cloc ... Wait a minute. The clock couldn't have changed. I'm such an idiot. I would have set the time ahead myself. It's actually 9:42 a.m. I'm a complete moron.
Oh No She Didn't ... Oh Yes, She Did
KC may never know just how lucky she is to not be home tonight. Spending almost three hours in her room before coming up for air, I can honestly say that had she been home she would have known of my displeasure in a big and major way. As it is I'm quite positive that by the time Sunday rolls around, I will be calm enough to approach her, with an "I can't believe you did that! What were you thinking?" conversation.
My daughter is guilty as charged with no trial needed, though I can promise you that my victim impact statement will be somewhat lengthy as I list out my grievances one by one. Like the 10 year old photo album she tore apart, the bubblegum stuck to certain areas of the floor, the good copy paper that I use only for special projects scattered about the room and under the bed and filled with crayon drawn flowers, and to top it all off, the writing on the wall. Literally ...
And I can't believe my daughter, my precious little someone else must have done it cause I can't believe she doesn't know any better child that I gave birth to some 9 years ago have the temerity to write on her wall in NON-WASHABLE PEN!!!
I think I'm hyperventilating!
Her gorgeous, pretty watermelon pink bedroom with white country bed and princess canopy, marred by writing on the wall. Writing she tried to hide with a well placed shelf and her calendar stuck in with a tack as if I wasn't going to catch on ... Eventually.
Three garbage bags in and I had to stop. Had to get out of that room and had to walk away before I completely lost my cool. She wrote on the wall for goodness sake! She disfigured her room! And what's worse is now I'm going to have to break out the paint (smart girls always keep extra for touch up) and attempt to cover it all up with hopes that the ink won't bleed through.
In ten years I'm going to laugh about this. In ten years I'm really going to find this funny. In ten years I may even joke "Hey KC ... Remember when you?" But not now. Right now I'm one irritated Momma ...
Does anyone out there want to fund my get away from it all spa weekend? I could really use a break.
My daughter is guilty as charged with no trial needed, though I can promise you that my victim impact statement will be somewhat lengthy as I list out my grievances one by one. Like the 10 year old photo album she tore apart, the bubblegum stuck to certain areas of the floor, the good copy paper that I use only for special projects scattered about the room and under the bed and filled with crayon drawn flowers, and to top it all off, the writing on the wall. Literally ...
And I can't believe my daughter, my precious little someone else must have done it cause I can't believe she doesn't know any better child that I gave birth to some 9 years ago have the temerity to write on her wall in NON-WASHABLE PEN!!!
I think I'm hyperventilating!
Her gorgeous, pretty watermelon pink bedroom with white country bed and princess canopy, marred by writing on the wall. Writing she tried to hide with a well placed shelf and her calendar stuck in with a tack as if I wasn't going to catch on ... Eventually.
Three garbage bags in and I had to stop. Had to get out of that room and had to walk away before I completely lost my cool. She wrote on the wall for goodness sake! She disfigured her room! And what's worse is now I'm going to have to break out the paint (smart girls always keep extra for touch up) and attempt to cover it all up with hopes that the ink won't bleed through.
In ten years I'm going to laugh about this. In ten years I'm really going to find this funny. In ten years I may even joke "Hey KC ... Remember when you?" But not now. Right now I'm one irritated Momma ...
Does anyone out there want to fund my get away from it all spa weekend? I could really use a break.
I'm Going In
KC's room can no longer be ignored. The mess behind the door calls my name and says, "Clean me before the kid comes home on Sunday. I won't tell if you throw some things out ..."
So I'm pulling on my gloves, arming myself with trash bags, turning on some music and going in with a brave face.
If you don't hear from me again before this evening is out, all I ask is that you call out the dogs and send a search party.
So I'm pulling on my gloves, arming myself with trash bags, turning on some music and going in with a brave face.
If you don't hear from me again before this evening is out, all I ask is that you call out the dogs and send a search party.
The Sky Is Falling
For the first time in 25 years, New York State lawmakers have finally passed the state budget on time!
I think I'm in shock. Somebody pinch me!
Oh wait ... It is April Fool's Day. Maybe this is some sort of practical joke?
Must have faith, must have faith, must have a shower and get ready for work.
I think I'm in shock. Somebody pinch me!
Oh wait ... It is April Fool's Day. Maybe this is some sort of practical joke?
Must have faith, must have faith, must have a shower and get ready for work.
One cup of Wasabi was all that stood between my sister Jo and two free concert tickets to go see Good Charlotte, Simple Plan and Reliant K ... Needless to say she more than gave the DJ at the radio station a run for his money. In fact, she completely chumped him out. (And I couldn't be prouder, though judging from the look on her face the stuff was pretty nasty.)
Raise Your Voices
Received an email from my Mom this morning informing me that my grandfather is in the hospital having been diagnosed with testicular cancer. As I'm a firm believer in the power of positive thought, I'd be forever indebted to any of you who could find time to cast a wish (or a prayer) up into the night sky for strength to fight this disease.
On another note, my stepmother could also use a few friendly wishes for a speedy recuperation. She had her gall bladder removed today and I'm sure she's not feeling her best at the present time.
More from me later if I can wrap my mind around the art of blogging.
On another note, my stepmother could also use a few friendly wishes for a speedy recuperation. She had her gall bladder removed today and I'm sure she's not feeling her best at the present time.
More from me later if I can wrap my mind around the art of blogging.
Stupid Moments of Clarity
I hate to admit this, but I'm a little geeked up over the new brand of laundry detergent I picked up earlier tonight on my Wednesday night grocery trip. Two one hundred fluid ounce containers on sale for five bucks was all the try me, buy me propaganda I needed to see to pluck two of them off the shelf and add them to my already half full cart. (Though I did try not to set them on top of the chicken or anything else smushable for that matter.) And as I wheeled about the store, much like a Nascar driver at the Indy 500, it occurred to me that I really ought to shop off a list. Though to be perfectly honest with you, when it comes to lists, I'm great at making them and equally worse about following them. List or no list, I always forget something I need no matter what. Today's I can't believe I forgot that moment was brought to you by the letter "H" as in hairspray. As in reminded myself I had to get some hairspray, made my way down that very aisle and walked out of it with only hair dye in my hand. And yes, you heard me right. I said hair dye.
Whoever said going gray gracefully was the way to go was someone who was well past the age of thirty. At thirty (God, I still can't believe I'm that old) I absolutely refuse to do anything gracefully! (Did I mention I called Brenda on the phone the other day from work to tell her two very stupid things, the first being that I had this uncontrollable urge to crawl under my desk and hide there and the second to whine about being thirty when I swear to God I'm still holding fast to 29.) Anyhoo, I did manage to crawl under my desk and ... Woops. I wasn't supposed to admit to giving into that temptation ... Damn! My cool factor just dropped down faster than a barometer signaling rain. Must remember that this is a bit more readable than my handwritten diary ... And wouldn't you all just like a peek at that. (Not that there's anything overly interesting to be found there as I have written in that one for longer than I care to mention. Why write when one can blog I say.)
Uh oh. I've just realized I've left the hair dye on longer than I was supposed to. Ten extra minutes to be exact. I want my hair to be its original dark color without risking it falling out and looking like Mr. Clean.
I feel the need to lather, rinse, repeat and condition. Wish me luck and oh, leave me some comments. I'm getting lonely. (Don't make me beg. I'm begging here ...)
Whoever said going gray gracefully was the way to go was someone who was well past the age of thirty. At thirty (God, I still can't believe I'm that old) I absolutely refuse to do anything gracefully! (Did I mention I called Brenda on the phone the other day from work to tell her two very stupid things, the first being that I had this uncontrollable urge to crawl under my desk and hide there and the second to whine about being thirty when I swear to God I'm still holding fast to 29.) Anyhoo, I did manage to crawl under my desk and ... Woops. I wasn't supposed to admit to giving into that temptation ... Damn! My cool factor just dropped down faster than a barometer signaling rain. Must remember that this is a bit more readable than my handwritten diary ... And wouldn't you all just like a peek at that. (Not that there's anything overly interesting to be found there as I have written in that one for longer than I care to mention. Why write when one can blog I say.)
Uh oh. I've just realized I've left the hair dye on longer than I was supposed to. Ten extra minutes to be exact. I want my hair to be its original dark color without risking it falling out and looking like Mr. Clean.
I feel the need to lather, rinse, repeat and condition. Wish me luck and oh, leave me some comments. I'm getting lonely. (Don't make me beg. I'm begging here ...)
The Terrible Tooth
When it comes to pain, I'm not exactly a big fan of it. I may not faint at the sight of blood, and I may be used to a phlebotomist tearing up my arm in order to hit a vein, and I may be the proud wearer of a tattoo which took over 2-1/2 hours the first time, and then another hour the second, but when it comes to tooth pain, someone needs to hand me a sledgehammer and clear the room.
I've come to the conclusion that I can understand why people go absolutely crazy from something as simple sounding as a toothache. Because it's not just a toothache. It's a full blown war inside your mouth that throbs and jabs and shoots all sorts of horrible pain to every part of your body, particularly your ears.
I was in such agony last night I ransacked my cupboards looking for any sort of medication I thought might dull the pain, crying like a schoolgirl pushed off the high end of a teeter totter as I did. The worse part however was the lateness of the hour and the complete exhaustion I felt after having tidied up the house all day, refereed countless arguments between KC and her cousin Jay - who take sheer joy in tormenting each other for no other reason than to drive me insane, albeit not slowly - and making a nice riggie dinner to celebrate Easter at my house with only the kids, my Dad and myself in attendance since everyone else was either away or working. All I wanted was to close my eyes and fall asleep, losing myself in that blissful moment of head hitting the pillow, eyes closing slowly and that soft, gentle glide into slumber.
Tooth pain however doesn't take naps and instead of enjoying the relaxation that normally is my love affair with sleep, the pain wrapped its ribbons around me. Climbing from my bed, I tried an excessively hot shower, perhaps thinking that a good scald would take my mind off my teeth, only to exit with bright pink skin, soggy hair, and pretty much the same pain as before. Damn! Didn't work, I thought. Depressing.
Long story short, I eventually managed to medicate to the point where sleep grudgingly decided to grace me with a little peace, though it was half sitting up on my couch with barely a blanket to keep me warm and the promise of a neck crink come morning. (Sigh.)
I've come to the conclusion that I can understand why people go absolutely crazy from something as simple sounding as a toothache. Because it's not just a toothache. It's a full blown war inside your mouth that throbs and jabs and shoots all sorts of horrible pain to every part of your body, particularly your ears.
I was in such agony last night I ransacked my cupboards looking for any sort of medication I thought might dull the pain, crying like a schoolgirl pushed off the high end of a teeter totter as I did. The worse part however was the lateness of the hour and the complete exhaustion I felt after having tidied up the house all day, refereed countless arguments between KC and her cousin Jay - who take sheer joy in tormenting each other for no other reason than to drive me insane, albeit not slowly - and making a nice riggie dinner to celebrate Easter at my house with only the kids, my Dad and myself in attendance since everyone else was either away or working. All I wanted was to close my eyes and fall asleep, losing myself in that blissful moment of head hitting the pillow, eyes closing slowly and that soft, gentle glide into slumber.
Tooth pain however doesn't take naps and instead of enjoying the relaxation that normally is my love affair with sleep, the pain wrapped its ribbons around me. Climbing from my bed, I tried an excessively hot shower, perhaps thinking that a good scald would take my mind off my teeth, only to exit with bright pink skin, soggy hair, and pretty much the same pain as before. Damn! Didn't work, I thought. Depressing.
Long story short, I eventually managed to medicate to the point where sleep grudgingly decided to grace me with a little peace, though it was half sitting up on my couch with barely a blanket to keep me warm and the promise of a neck crink come morning. (Sigh.)
When The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree
My daughter is under the impression that life must be filled with little battles. Battles for control. Battles for the last word. Battles to eat candy at the crack of dawn and battles to prove that her Mother couldn't possibly know what she's talking about. And there are times when I'm quite convinced that my middle name should have been frustration and hers should have been stubborn to the core.
God forbid there should be a holiday that one could actually enjoy without garnering a headache long before noon instead of having to deal with the grumble and groans of a child who sometimes loses focus of the things she should be thankful for as she issues her complaints of "why isn't there more?"
When explanation fails to work, this Mother throws her hands up in the air and sends the child to her room, possibly under the misguided impression that time away from the situation just might bring clarity to light. And she reasons that it is far easier than trying to talk to a child whose hands clamp over her ears and whose chin is raised in oh so stubborn defiance. And yet there are moments when this Mom has to pinch herself to keep from laughing at the stupidity of it all and the daughter who finds herself knee deep in trouble over the silliest little bits of nonsense possible.
Stubbornness can be a good quality in moderation and one my daughter has yet to master in her quest to wield her power with something more than sheer determination, regardless of right and wrong. Lucky for her, her Mom is an old pro ... I only occasionally get in a snit fit over things that aren't worth it.
God forbid there should be a holiday that one could actually enjoy without garnering a headache long before noon instead of having to deal with the grumble and groans of a child who sometimes loses focus of the things she should be thankful for as she issues her complaints of "why isn't there more?"
When explanation fails to work, this Mother throws her hands up in the air and sends the child to her room, possibly under the misguided impression that time away from the situation just might bring clarity to light. And she reasons that it is far easier than trying to talk to a child whose hands clamp over her ears and whose chin is raised in oh so stubborn defiance. And yet there are moments when this Mom has to pinch herself to keep from laughing at the stupidity of it all and the daughter who finds herself knee deep in trouble over the silliest little bits of nonsense possible.
Stubbornness can be a good quality in moderation and one my daughter has yet to master in her quest to wield her power with something more than sheer determination, regardless of right and wrong. Lucky for her, her Mom is an old pro ... I only occasionally get in a snit fit over things that aren't worth it.
In My Room
Since it seems I mention my penchant for the art of sleeping on a somewhat daily basis, what better way to sign off for the night than giving you all a glimpse of the one room in my house that is my absolute favorite ...
I love you double pillow top mattress.
I love you double pillow top mattress.
How many girls get to go to sleep and dream with the floating head of Orpheus above their beds? I must be one of the lucky few ...
Tender Things That Grow
I should still be sleeping. Instead I'm curled up on the couch in a semi-reclined position with pillow at my head and blanket wrapped around me. If I had to go to work and forgot to set my alarm clock, I would still be sound asleep in bed, but because I have today off, I am supplying my own particular brand of irony by being wide awake.
And I think I have my dreams to blame because they are surely what woke me up this morning. Reaching a high level of irritation while in REM will do that to you as I have been known to continually prove. Yay, me!
So here I am, running down the clock and waiting for the time to go upstairs and pull KC from her bed to start the day. Though truth be told, she's very unhappy with going to school today. With Mommy off from work, she had her heart set on a Mommy/Daughter date day. But school is school and she must go, though I've already told her that we will have a special M&D night once she's home with plans to go out to dinner and catch a movie.
Meanwhile I'm planning on visiting my local garden center later on this morning with cash in hand and seed packets on my mind. With the scent of spring lingering closely - despite yesterday's infiltration of yet more snow - it can only be time to start the germinating process indoors.
My mind is filled with visions of California poppies, crisp white daisies, black eyed Susans, morning glories, clemantis, lavender, and all other sorts of blooms that I am giddy with the thought of tiny little shoots reaching for the sun.
And of course, maybe a few more seed packets to broadcast over and around my thinking spot while letting nature handle the rest ... Someday there will be wildflowers everywhere and all who wander by will wonder how they got there, as if it is some mystery, as they stop to appreciate the sea of colors brought forth by tender blooms.
Surely it will be a small slice of heaven on earth.
And I think I have my dreams to blame because they are surely what woke me up this morning. Reaching a high level of irritation while in REM will do that to you as I have been known to continually prove. Yay, me!
So here I am, running down the clock and waiting for the time to go upstairs and pull KC from her bed to start the day. Though truth be told, she's very unhappy with going to school today. With Mommy off from work, she had her heart set on a Mommy/Daughter date day. But school is school and she must go, though I've already told her that we will have a special M&D night once she's home with plans to go out to dinner and catch a movie.
Meanwhile I'm planning on visiting my local garden center later on this morning with cash in hand and seed packets on my mind. With the scent of spring lingering closely - despite yesterday's infiltration of yet more snow - it can only be time to start the germinating process indoors.
My mind is filled with visions of California poppies, crisp white daisies, black eyed Susans, morning glories, clemantis, lavender, and all other sorts of blooms that I am giddy with the thought of tiny little shoots reaching for the sun.
And of course, maybe a few more seed packets to broadcast over and around my thinking spot while letting nature handle the rest ... Someday there will be wildflowers everywhere and all who wander by will wonder how they got there, as if it is some mystery, as they stop to appreciate the sea of colors brought forth by tender blooms.
Surely it will be a small slice of heaven on earth.
A Rush to Disaster
7:27 a.m.
Five minutes away from work, three minutes to get there on time. I can make it I thought. No problem. Just a little more gas and I'll have this engine purring like a kitten. Burning up, I reached for the controls, adjusting the level of heat from hot to cold, flicking another button to roll my window down a crack. I turned the music up a little louder, singing along as the scenery blurred before me.
7:28 a.m.
Dust clouds spitting up behind me, I let my foot off the gas and began to brake for the stop sign in front of me, noting as I did another truck quickly approaching from the left of the intersection. I was prepared to stop. And yet all of a sudden I wasn't, pulling hard to the right instead as my wheels spun out of control. Instinct guided my hands to turn the steering wheels away from the direction of the slide and the immediate response of the antilock brakes jerked me in my seat as my belt tightened around me.
All in the space of a few seconds, I could see how dangerously close I was to the intersection and the other driver who was probably praying I would stop in time as well.
7:29 a.m.
Rolling to a stop on the other side of the road, twisted at an odd angle to the direction I had been going in, I sat there quiet, hands gone white on the steering wheel, my face drained of color, simply glad to be in one piece. Black ice, I thought to myself. Fourteen years worth of driving experience, and I'd never come across such a patch before. This one had my name on it.
And though I could have sat there all day, trying to pull myself together from way too close a call, the car approaching from behind me was all the incentive I needed to right myself and continue on down the road, albeit at a much slower pace than before.
Five minutes away from work, three minutes to get there on time. I can make it I thought. No problem. Just a little more gas and I'll have this engine purring like a kitten. Burning up, I reached for the controls, adjusting the level of heat from hot to cold, flicking another button to roll my window down a crack. I turned the music up a little louder, singing along as the scenery blurred before me.
7:28 a.m.
Dust clouds spitting up behind me, I let my foot off the gas and began to brake for the stop sign in front of me, noting as I did another truck quickly approaching from the left of the intersection. I was prepared to stop. And yet all of a sudden I wasn't, pulling hard to the right instead as my wheels spun out of control. Instinct guided my hands to turn the steering wheels away from the direction of the slide and the immediate response of the antilock brakes jerked me in my seat as my belt tightened around me.
All in the space of a few seconds, I could see how dangerously close I was to the intersection and the other driver who was probably praying I would stop in time as well.
7:29 a.m.
Rolling to a stop on the other side of the road, twisted at an odd angle to the direction I had been going in, I sat there quiet, hands gone white on the steering wheel, my face drained of color, simply glad to be in one piece. Black ice, I thought to myself. Fourteen years worth of driving experience, and I'd never come across such a patch before. This one had my name on it.
And though I could have sat there all day, trying to pull myself together from way too close a call, the car approaching from behind me was all the incentive I needed to right myself and continue on down the road, albeit at a much slower pace than before.
Oh Headache ...
I think a bit of last nights absolutions have finally caught up with me. Out of the blue my head is pounding, my eyes feel like they're on fire and all I want to do is find my bed and climb in. And this is really starting to sound like a good idea. And not just because I'm starting to recall bits and pieces of yesterdays conversations that bordered on the bright side of brilliant and the dark side of stupid, amazing really when you consider they all were pretty much said in the same breath ...
And I think Bren and I covered every subject known to mankind last night, and doing our fair share of laughing while we were at it. Now if I could just figure out how she managed to talk me out of something without saying a word, I swear I'll be just fine.
No. I'm quite sure nothing makes any sense.
And I think Bren and I covered every subject known to mankind last night, and doing our fair share of laughing while we were at it. Now if I could just figure out how she managed to talk me out of something without saying a word, I swear I'll be just fine.
No. I'm quite sure nothing makes any sense.
Slow Sunday
I suppose I should do what I'm supposed to be doing today and finish spring cleaning the downstairs despite my lack of interest in doing so. And yet, there's not that much more to do other than clean up a bit of the clutter that hides the top of my computer desk and the entertainment center alike.
I was thinking however of running down to my Dad's and picking up my niece for a little while. She called me last night on the phone, right after Brenda got here and asked me if she could come over and spend the night. I on the other hand did something unusual and said no. Aunt Stacey who normally comes through in a pinch opted to enforce the no kids weekend. At least for last night that is.
So I think I will sign off - over and out - and give a call to my sister and then a call down to Dad's and retrieve the little monster before KC comes home tonight. Maybe I'll even open the pack rat chest and find something crafty we can do since baking cookies is out ...
Sha Sha Shopping Trip
"KC, what do girls like to do?"
"Goooooo SHOPPING!"
I went to Target and I said to Brenda - prior to entering the store, that is - "Please by all that is good and holy, do not let me buy anything other than towels and an Easter present for KC." One hundred nine dollars and eighteen cents later, I not only had my new towels (the color of musk melon) but I also had - and this is in no particular order - 4 pairs of summer shorts, one pair of clamdiggers, one matching top to go with the clamdiggers (all for KC's Easter basket, of course) along with Easter candy, one Easter egg dye kit, a set of 4 glass tumblers to replace all of mine that have never matched since I've lived here, 2 bottles of hamster food, one bottle of parakeet food, hamster litter stuff, one Rubbermaid tote to keep the hamster litter stuff in and last but not least, and the last item for the Easter basket, the newly released movie "The Incredibles" ...
And as if I didn't spend enough money there, I then drove back towards home leaving Brenda to go her own way - well at least for a few hours until she comes here tonight, and she better not even think about canceling out on me, less she want to suffer my wrath - and decided I better get my grocery shopping done while the weather was nice.
I might add that it was a little over forty degrees here and absolutely beautiful. I had the sunroof open, the driver side window down, my tunes cranked to the max (Tori Amos, Mary J Blige, Jason Mraz, and a little 50 Cent ... Eclectic mix, I know.) and my shades on. I was the girl.
Anyhoo, back to the grocery shopping story ... I spent money there too. The end. Not really the end, but there's not a lot of details I can give you about picking out which new mud mask I want to give a try to tonight. (God! I really need to get a (night) life!)
Meanwhile back at the ranch, aka home, I've a slew of things to put away and hide and clean, or stuff in some closet somewhere ... Heh, heh, heh ... Maybe I can persuade Brenda to help me with a little spring cleaning. Or course, it would help if she brings along the proper motivation with her. (And she damn well better.)
So I'm out until later. Peace out yo ...
"Goooooo SHOPPING!"
I went to Target and I said to Brenda - prior to entering the store, that is - "Please by all that is good and holy, do not let me buy anything other than towels and an Easter present for KC." One hundred nine dollars and eighteen cents later, I not only had my new towels (the color of musk melon) but I also had - and this is in no particular order - 4 pairs of summer shorts, one pair of clamdiggers, one matching top to go with the clamdiggers (all for KC's Easter basket, of course) along with Easter candy, one Easter egg dye kit, a set of 4 glass tumblers to replace all of mine that have never matched since I've lived here, 2 bottles of hamster food, one bottle of parakeet food, hamster litter stuff, one Rubbermaid tote to keep the hamster litter stuff in and last but not least, and the last item for the Easter basket, the newly released movie "The Incredibles" ...
And as if I didn't spend enough money there, I then drove back towards home leaving Brenda to go her own way - well at least for a few hours until she comes here tonight, and she better not even think about canceling out on me, less she want to suffer my wrath - and decided I better get my grocery shopping done while the weather was nice.
I might add that it was a little over forty degrees here and absolutely beautiful. I had the sunroof open, the driver side window down, my tunes cranked to the max (Tori Amos, Mary J Blige, Jason Mraz, and a little 50 Cent ... Eclectic mix, I know.) and my shades on. I was the girl.
Anyhoo, back to the grocery shopping story ... I spent money there too. The end. Not really the end, but there's not a lot of details I can give you about picking out which new mud mask I want to give a try to tonight. (God! I really need to get a (night) life!)
Meanwhile back at the ranch, aka home, I've a slew of things to put away and hide and clean, or stuff in some closet somewhere ... Heh, heh, heh ... Maybe I can persuade Brenda to help me with a little spring cleaning. Or course, it would help if she brings along the proper motivation with her. (And she damn well better.)
So I'm out until later. Peace out yo ...
Yawning is Contagious
And a Happy Saint Patty's day to all the lads and lassies out there. I raise you a pint and see you double ...
All right ... So it's obvious I'm not Irish and after having a taste of soda bread, I can't say I'm too disappointed about that much at all. I am a wee bit irritated however that I missed out on getting a shamrock shake this year. There's something about that odd tasting concoction that I actually like. Can't really figure it out but there it is.
KC was feeling much better this morning and didn't even ask to stay home from school. It seems what she needed most was just a little more sleep. I wish I could say the same for myself. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, unable to get more than a few winks in. Which meant that I spent most of today walking around like a zombie with puffy eyes and a bad case of don't bother me growls proclaiming to one and all - or anyone who would listen for that matter - that I didn't get enough sleep.
Sigh.
Much to do. No energy to get it done. But tomorrow is Friday!
Tired Sprite
My poor babe is unwell tonight, curled up beside me on the couch sleeping off whatever is making her feel unwell. She didn't even get around to having dinner, falling asleep while I was in the kitchen making her soup. One moment she was yelling at Octavia for stepping on her head and the next she was out like a little light, the kitten curled up on her pillow.
And this is one of those moments when I wish I had a magic wand I could wave over her and make her feel better. But for now, I'm just content to let her sleep. Though I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to manage getting her up the stairs in a little bit. It's been a while since I've had to pick her up and carry her, but I can't think of any other way ...
There's no time like the present I suppose. I just hope that I don't go tumbling down the stairs in the attempt.
And this is one of those moments when I wish I had a magic wand I could wave over her and make her feel better. But for now, I'm just content to let her sleep. Though I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to manage getting her up the stairs in a little bit. It's been a while since I've had to pick her up and carry her, but I can't think of any other way ...
There's no time like the present I suppose. I just hope that I don't go tumbling down the stairs in the attempt.
For Tonight, The Words of Someone Else
Coming Home
You are coming home at night:
you pass from light to light,
walking around the block,
and your shadow swings to the right
the way a second hand
goes round a modern clock,
and other shadows, bound
to your footsteps, climb the walls,
or jerk along the pavement,
and some contrast and darken,
others lengthen and fade.
The lights are various loves
by whom you find your way,
by whom you see and move:
they lend you guidance, they
enable you to find
not only house and door,
and wall and window-blind,
but something less and more,
your image, multiplied,
cast for your gaze, and thrown
distorted, but your own.
And what you need the most,
O walker in the night,
is to continue, sure
the self is always right,
and neither caricature,
nor unavailing ghost.
And if a light is broken,
if one of them goes out,
as well they may, of course,
and substance takes from shadow
its absolute divorce,
be reassured, in darkness,
the self is never lost.
Rolfe Humphries
So often, we believe that we have come to a place that is void of hope and void of possibilities, only to find that it is the very hopelessness that allows us to hit bottom, give up our illusion of control, turn it over, and ask for help. Out of the ashes of our hopelessness comes the fire of our hope. - Anne Wilson Schaef
Resurrection of the Phoenix
Already this morning I have done two loads on laundry, made breakfast and loaded the dishwasher. This might feel like an accomplishment if the rest of my house didn't look like a bonafide disaster. Or worse yet, if I didn't look and feel like a bonafide disaster. Sad, but oh so true.
I wish I could throw everything away and start all over again. Every room a blank slate, a pristine canvas to carefully accessorize with the thought process of less is more. But I'm a holder-on-er. One of those people who can find an emotional attachment to a dishcloth. "Oh dishcloth ..."
This could possibly be why I spend so much time looking at the ceiling. Looking anywhere else usually makes me drop my jaw and pound my head against a wooden table wondering where and how I should start. I remember reading somewhere once that the state of a persons house was usually a good indicator on the state of their life. It wouldn't take a trained eye to see my house - and perhaps myself as well - are desperately crying out for help.
What would a stranger think if they were allowed access to my home? Would they wonder about the woman who allows the dust to pile up on a bookshelf overflowing with books? Would they notice the pictures hanging on the wall or the way the curtains just seem to hang from the windows limp and lifeless? Would they see the half finished painting peeking out from beneath the entertainment center or the collections of faceless angels that seem to be overlook the room with a sense of detachment? Would they notice the warmth is really a cold, deep freeze pretending to be something other than what it was? A room stuck in eternal winter, emptier for being full.
So many things here are here because I simply didn't choose. I didn't choose to say, "No. This really isn't my style." I didn't say, "I'm sorry. I really don't have the room." Instead I spoke with my heart in my mouth and said, "Let me make your personal attachment mine. I promise to keep it forever."
As silly as it sounds, this is sort of the downfall of my personality. My hang up for hanging on. There's no running away from it. And God knows, I've tried, failed, tried again, failed again and tried some more all to no avail. And really, it's too bad that this tenacity of mine picks and chooses what it will fight for and what it won't.
And that my friends is the crux of the problem. My warriors heart that refuses to pick up the sword and battle for my truths, finding it easier to say, "Not now. Not tonight. Let things be the way they are. This is good enough. This is as good as its going to get. You want too much. You can't have the world."
But I do. I want the world. I want everything. I want open doors, open minds, the power to take a chance and not be afraid of failing. The power to risk it all and come out on top in the end. The power to get in my car, to board a plane, to see the world without fearing the journey itself. To forget the dangers, the darkness, the wolves that lurk just beyond the path and to see only the sun, the moon and those brilliant blazing stars above me. This is what I want. Not to be held down by convention, invention, or intentions that always seem to be saying "No. You can't."
My wants are needs. I need more than I want. I need to do this to know I'm living and not just watching from the sidelines wishing I could be out there doing something more. I need me not to give up on myself. Not to give in to the pain of holding on to the too muchness of the things I remember. To fight for the woman who is today, the girl who still has dreams in her eyes, the woman who isn't afraid to wield the power of herself.
I wish I could throw everything away and start all over again. Every room a blank slate, a pristine canvas to carefully accessorize with the thought process of less is more. But I'm a holder-on-er. One of those people who can find an emotional attachment to a dishcloth. "Oh dishcloth ..."
This could possibly be why I spend so much time looking at the ceiling. Looking anywhere else usually makes me drop my jaw and pound my head against a wooden table wondering where and how I should start. I remember reading somewhere once that the state of a persons house was usually a good indicator on the state of their life. It wouldn't take a trained eye to see my house - and perhaps myself as well - are desperately crying out for help.
What would a stranger think if they were allowed access to my home? Would they wonder about the woman who allows the dust to pile up on a bookshelf overflowing with books? Would they notice the pictures hanging on the wall or the way the curtains just seem to hang from the windows limp and lifeless? Would they see the half finished painting peeking out from beneath the entertainment center or the collections of faceless angels that seem to be overlook the room with a sense of detachment? Would they notice the warmth is really a cold, deep freeze pretending to be something other than what it was? A room stuck in eternal winter, emptier for being full.
So many things here are here because I simply didn't choose. I didn't choose to say, "No. This really isn't my style." I didn't say, "I'm sorry. I really don't have the room." Instead I spoke with my heart in my mouth and said, "Let me make your personal attachment mine. I promise to keep it forever."
As silly as it sounds, this is sort of the downfall of my personality. My hang up for hanging on. There's no running away from it. And God knows, I've tried, failed, tried again, failed again and tried some more all to no avail. And really, it's too bad that this tenacity of mine picks and chooses what it will fight for and what it won't.
And that my friends is the crux of the problem. My warriors heart that refuses to pick up the sword and battle for my truths, finding it easier to say, "Not now. Not tonight. Let things be the way they are. This is good enough. This is as good as its going to get. You want too much. You can't have the world."
But I do. I want the world. I want everything. I want open doors, open minds, the power to take a chance and not be afraid of failing. The power to risk it all and come out on top in the end. The power to get in my car, to board a plane, to see the world without fearing the journey itself. To forget the dangers, the darkness, the wolves that lurk just beyond the path and to see only the sun, the moon and those brilliant blazing stars above me. This is what I want. Not to be held down by convention, invention, or intentions that always seem to be saying "No. You can't."
My wants are needs. I need more than I want. I need to do this to know I'm living and not just watching from the sidelines wishing I could be out there doing something more. I need me not to give up on myself. Not to give in to the pain of holding on to the too muchness of the things I remember. To fight for the woman who is today, the girl who still has dreams in her eyes, the woman who isn't afraid to wield the power of herself.
All Out of Blog
Chalk up the recent silence to me having absolutely nothing to talk about. I fear I may be blogged out ... Or self censoring to the point of no return. Either way I've been staring at the screen for over twenty minutes now wondering what to write. Should I write about doing absolutely nothing constructive today, or do I write about finally having that we're both sorry moment with my older sister last night? Do I talk about ignoring the fact that today was my stepfather's birthday and that I meant to call, told myself I was going to call and ended up not calling? Or do I just tell you the mundane stuff like how I cleaned the bird cage, and how the hamster almost took a turn for the worse when Octavia knocked her cage off the dresser?
This reminds me of a time back in high school when Brenda and I would get frustrated to the point of no return and just scream ourselves silly with the excuse, "Tension breaker. Had to be done."
Perhaps I should take myself outside and scream at the top of my lungs. Then again, my neighbors might come out and look at me funny.
***** Addendum *****
I did one better than simply picking up a phone. Instead I opted to deliver the birthday greeting in person while KC was at a birthday party. Belated is far better than never.
This reminds me of a time back in high school when Brenda and I would get frustrated to the point of no return and just scream ourselves silly with the excuse, "Tension breaker. Had to be done."
Perhaps I should take myself outside and scream at the top of my lungs. Then again, my neighbors might come out and look at me funny.
***** Addendum *****
I did one better than simply picking up a phone. Instead I opted to deliver the birthday greeting in person while KC was at a birthday party. Belated is far better than never.
La La Looney
I've spent the better part of the last 12 hours working on a special top secret project ... To say that I am thoroughly exhausted would be an understatement of actual fact. And yet, I've got a corny ass grin on my face just from the thrill of accomplishment. Sort of like the cat who swallowed the canary or in this case, the hamster. Not that the hamster is in any danger yet ... Though I did have to shoo Octavia off the cage more times than I can count already. So much for thinking I had another week before my newest arrival would get here. Oy.
But for now kiddies, I'm off to la la land for some la la sleep.
Until we meet again ...
But for now kiddies, I'm off to la la land for some la la sleep.
Until we meet again ...
Recycled News
Subject: hey...Question
Date: 3/9/2005 12:21:44 PM Eastern Standard Time
From: Jo
To: Stacey
Hey ...
how are things going for you?? Question: my RA found out about MIA HAMM STER, and basically he didn't yell at me, but told me I could no longer have her, and that after break, he would be checking to make sure that she was actually gone. With that said, I was wondering if you would legally adopt her? If you would, that would be great, if not, I'll ask the other sister ... But let me know, also, I doubt dad will allow me to keep her at our house over break, so if you would adopt her, could you also house her earlier over later? I can still come and do the cage and what not. Just let me know, please, and lo siento. Why did the word have to get out?? Thanks
Jo
Shit ... I think I'm the proud NEW owner of a hamster!!! Damn, damn, and double damn.
To Bed Without Dinner
In bed without dinner. Without distraction. With plenty of time to think about her choices, the way she handles a situation, her reactions to simple requests.
I can't see my living room floor and yet I know it's there. I saw it yesterday, right before KC came home from her Dad's. It was definitely there. But now it's gone, lost beneath a pile of papers and a pile of laundry that just suddenly appeared as if it were conjured from thin air. I raise my eyes to the ceiling to get my bearings. It would be nice to have a floor as clean as the ceiling, a large expanse of white, wonderful white, clean white.
Could you just pick up your papers please? A simple request. Could you please lend a hand, help out a bit, tidy up after yourself, realize that the floor is not a giant garbage can? Anything really. Can you do anything to clear the clutter?
I get a cross look and a heavy sigh, an I can't believe she's bugging me now when my favorite cartoon is on sort of look. You've had a long day at school. I should realize you're tired. And where is dinner? Why isn't it ready yet?
My reverie is interrupted. A note down the stairs. The patter of little feet, a noisy give away that someone is out of her room. I should be angry you've broken the rules, I should go upstairs an explain that time out means time out and not time to sneak down the stairs and flutter down a note. And yet I smile. My daughter is sending me a love letter.
It's my turn to roll my eyes. Starving is not a granola bar which you ate in the car on the way home from Grandpa's; the glass of milk you had after school.
Baked chicken, sweet peas, shoe string fries and applesauce - far from a four star meal but edible on a Monday night.
In a moment I will call you down from exile and invite you to the table. Already I am picturing the generous amount of peas on your plate. A mother's revenge. Albeit a small one since you happen to like the little green dots. Still it makes me feel as if I'm getting even. I'm not supposed to feel that way, but I do. Sometimes you drive me crazy.
I can't see my living room floor and yet I know it's there. I saw it yesterday, right before KC came home from her Dad's. It was definitely there. But now it's gone, lost beneath a pile of papers and a pile of laundry that just suddenly appeared as if it were conjured from thin air. I raise my eyes to the ceiling to get my bearings. It would be nice to have a floor as clean as the ceiling, a large expanse of white, wonderful white, clean white.
Could you just pick up your papers please? A simple request. Could you please lend a hand, help out a bit, tidy up after yourself, realize that the floor is not a giant garbage can? Anything really. Can you do anything to clear the clutter?
I get a cross look and a heavy sigh, an I can't believe she's bugging me now when my favorite cartoon is on sort of look. You've had a long day at school. I should realize you're tired. And where is dinner? Why isn't it ready yet?
My reverie is interrupted. A note down the stairs. The patter of little feet, a noisy give away that someone is out of her room. I should be angry you've broken the rules, I should go upstairs an explain that time out means time out and not time to sneak down the stairs and flutter down a note. And yet I smile. My daughter is sending me a love letter.
Are you seriously going to starve your child? That's the worst thing a Mom could do. I'm sorry for my attitude. Please change your mind.
KC
It's my turn to roll my eyes. Starving is not a granola bar which you ate in the car on the way home from Grandpa's; the glass of milk you had after school.
Baked chicken, sweet peas, shoe string fries and applesauce - far from a four star meal but edible on a Monday night.
In a moment I will call you down from exile and invite you to the table. Already I am picturing the generous amount of peas on your plate. A mother's revenge. Albeit a small one since you happen to like the little green dots. Still it makes me feel as if I'm getting even. I'm not supposed to feel that way, but I do. Sometimes you drive me crazy.
Sleep-Over
Thank goodness for coffee. A beverage I don't usually drink but one I am finding to be extremely useful at the moment considering that I fell asleep on Brenda's couch in what could be best described as a little cat nap. That in itself amazing since her three tater tots have been blowing on toy whistles and playing all sorts of games requring loud vocaL skills.
Talk about being a downer at a slumber party ... One is not actually supposed to sleep.
Hmmm ... Dinner is ready, movies are waiting. More to come sometime soon.
Talk about being a downer at a slumber party ... One is not actually supposed to sleep.
Hmmm ... Dinner is ready, movies are waiting. More to come sometime soon.
Woes of Motherhood
"When I'm sixteen, I'm moving out!"
"I hope you find a really nice place then," I said, throwing my jacket over my arm as I scanned the stairs for my car keys. Bundled in her jacket, my daughter stood by the door, her face set in an angry pout while her boot clad feet scuffed back and forth on the carpet.
"I want to go now," she huffed.
"We'll leave when you apologize."
"Sorry," she snapped. "Now can we go?"
I held my breath and counted to ten. A slow count even though I was already running late for work.
"When you say sorry like that, it doesn't count. You have to mean it."
"Well I don't know why you have to ask me all those stupid questions anyway. I'm not a baby you know!"
"As shown by your current behavior?" I asked blandly, watching her hands reaching for the door. I leaned against it.
"Mom! I'm going to be late for school!"
"And I'm going to be late for work. But it seems we need to have a conversation." She attempted to speak. "Let me rephrase that. I'm going to talk, you're going to listen."
She clapped her hands over her ears.
"Well, that's going to make it difficult but not impossible," I said, "I've got all day you know. I don't have to go to work. I could call in and we could stand here all day until you decide you'd like to listen."
I could see the look of horror flash across her face. Stubborness recognizing stubborness. Two mules ramming their heads together could not have been a clearer picture of her and I.
"The reason Mommy asks you all those questions in the morning is because I want to make sure you have everything you need and you haven't forgotten anything. It's what Mom's do. Mom's ask questions to get answers. To make sure you've packed your sneakers in your bag, to make sure you've remembered to put your homework in the folder, to remind you to pack your lunch money. It's my job. It's what I live to do. It's my lifelong mission. It's my reason for breathing. It's ..."
"Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"How long are you going to be asking me this stuff?"
"As long as I'm your Mother ..."
"I hope you find a really nice place then," I said, throwing my jacket over my arm as I scanned the stairs for my car keys. Bundled in her jacket, my daughter stood by the door, her face set in an angry pout while her boot clad feet scuffed back and forth on the carpet.
"I want to go now," she huffed.
"We'll leave when you apologize."
"Sorry," she snapped. "Now can we go?"
I held my breath and counted to ten. A slow count even though I was already running late for work.
"When you say sorry like that, it doesn't count. You have to mean it."
"Well I don't know why you have to ask me all those stupid questions anyway. I'm not a baby you know!"
"As shown by your current behavior?" I asked blandly, watching her hands reaching for the door. I leaned against it.
"Mom! I'm going to be late for school!"
"And I'm going to be late for work. But it seems we need to have a conversation." She attempted to speak. "Let me rephrase that. I'm going to talk, you're going to listen."
She clapped her hands over her ears.
"Well, that's going to make it difficult but not impossible," I said, "I've got all day you know. I don't have to go to work. I could call in and we could stand here all day until you decide you'd like to listen."
I could see the look of horror flash across her face. Stubborness recognizing stubborness. Two mules ramming their heads together could not have been a clearer picture of her and I.
"The reason Mommy asks you all those questions in the morning is because I want to make sure you have everything you need and you haven't forgotten anything. It's what Mom's do. Mom's ask questions to get answers. To make sure you've packed your sneakers in your bag, to make sure you've remembered to put your homework in the folder, to remind you to pack your lunch money. It's my job. It's what I live to do. It's my lifelong mission. It's my reason for breathing. It's ..."
"Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"How long are you going to be asking me this stuff?"
"As long as I'm your Mother ..."
Temper, Temper
I am an evil neighbor magnet. Evil neighbors flock to me. And it's grossly unfair dammit!
Evilness is apartment four and her penchant for visitors each and every single day of the week. Now I'm not against having company over - as long as they call ahead and give me time to throw shit in the closet - but I'm considerate enough to ask my company to do one major thing when visiting. I ask them to park in the outer spaces of the driveway so that they don't take a spot of someone who lives here.
I like to think of it as a common courtesy. The nice neighbor thing you do when you're sharing space with other people. I don't need a memo from the landlord to remind me to be respectful and considerate, I simply am.
And yet, the mad hatter in number four is completely clueless. Tonight I came home with a car load full of groceries, an exhausted danced out daughter and feet as cold and as wet as an iceberg in the Artic, only to find that not one but two cars of non-townhouse dwelling people were parked in my spot and Bob's spot, the two closets spots to the house and our doors.
To say I was mad would be downplaying things. I was pissed like you wouldn't believe. And mostly because we have repeatedly asked and spoken with Cruella to inform her guests about not parking in our spots. Now it may seem a bit trivial, but trust me, when the snow is knee deep and you've got over twenty bags of groceries, only two arms to carry them with and two inch heels on, you get a wee bit upset when some idiot is parked in your space.
Therefore my driveway rage could not be helped.
And so I did the only thing I could think of to do. (Keeping in mind that my daughter is impressionable didn't help much with holding back the tantrum.) Coming into the driveway at a slow crawl, I aimed my vehicle and my bright lights directly at the offending woman's front window, followed by a held down honk of the horn meant as a get off your ass and move your car hint. (A hint she didn't take.) Realizing she wasn't going to correct things, I pulled into Sheila's designated space, unloaded KC and the first set of groceries from the car and struggled my way inside.
"Kace," I said to my daughter as I set the bags inside the front door, "I want you to take these bags to the kitchen while I go back out to get the rest."
"Are you going to go knock on her door, Mom?" she asked.
"Not tonight. I don't think that would be a very good idea right now. Now stand back from the door, Mommy has a point to make and it's going to be loud." And with that, I slammed my door shut hard enough to make the house shake.
Yet even that didn't draw the evil woman out of her hole. And so I stomped back and forth through the snow, one bag after another schelpping my way as quickly as possible before going back out one final time to move my car. I couldn't after all steal Sheila's space just because someone had stolen mine.
But I couldn't quite shake the feeling that a lesson needed to be learned somehow. For a moment, I considered parking my vehicle in front of the offending cars, thereby making their leaving impossible without knocking on my door and asking me to move. And though this was the option I really wanted to choose, I decided against it, more worried that someone would back up into my car to make their own point. I wasn't going to risk it.
So I did the next best thing ...
This is the part where I should probably explain that I do have a penchant to be a major bitch when I feel like I'm in the right on something. In fact, speaking astrologically as we have been, it's exactly what any Scorpio would do. Revenge first, questions later.
In my case, possessed with the power of 4 wheel drive and the balls to back it up - figuratively and not literally - I backed my vehicle up over the unplowed area of snow and squeezed myself beside one of the cars, leaving no room for the driver of the other car to be able to shimmy inside without entering from the passenger side.
How many of you out there are completely shocked?
I was completely immature and I loved it. Loved it to the point that when I heard her company leave, I opened up my front door and took in the fiasco without any shame.
(Sorry this isn't fine tuned for corrections tonight, I'm a bit done it from the day.)
Evilness is apartment four and her penchant for visitors each and every single day of the week. Now I'm not against having company over - as long as they call ahead and give me time to throw shit in the closet - but I'm considerate enough to ask my company to do one major thing when visiting. I ask them to park in the outer spaces of the driveway so that they don't take a spot of someone who lives here.
I like to think of it as a common courtesy. The nice neighbor thing you do when you're sharing space with other people. I don't need a memo from the landlord to remind me to be respectful and considerate, I simply am.
And yet, the mad hatter in number four is completely clueless. Tonight I came home with a car load full of groceries, an exhausted danced out daughter and feet as cold and as wet as an iceberg in the Artic, only to find that not one but two cars of non-townhouse dwelling people were parked in my spot and Bob's spot, the two closets spots to the house and our doors.
To say I was mad would be downplaying things. I was pissed like you wouldn't believe. And mostly because we have repeatedly asked and spoken with Cruella to inform her guests about not parking in our spots. Now it may seem a bit trivial, but trust me, when the snow is knee deep and you've got over twenty bags of groceries, only two arms to carry them with and two inch heels on, you get a wee bit upset when some idiot is parked in your space.
Therefore my driveway rage could not be helped.
And so I did the only thing I could think of to do. (Keeping in mind that my daughter is impressionable didn't help much with holding back the tantrum.) Coming into the driveway at a slow crawl, I aimed my vehicle and my bright lights directly at the offending woman's front window, followed by a held down honk of the horn meant as a get off your ass and move your car hint. (A hint she didn't take.) Realizing she wasn't going to correct things, I pulled into Sheila's designated space, unloaded KC and the first set of groceries from the car and struggled my way inside.
"Kace," I said to my daughter as I set the bags inside the front door, "I want you to take these bags to the kitchen while I go back out to get the rest."
"Are you going to go knock on her door, Mom?" she asked.
"Not tonight. I don't think that would be a very good idea right now. Now stand back from the door, Mommy has a point to make and it's going to be loud." And with that, I slammed my door shut hard enough to make the house shake.
Yet even that didn't draw the evil woman out of her hole. And so I stomped back and forth through the snow, one bag after another schelpping my way as quickly as possible before going back out one final time to move my car. I couldn't after all steal Sheila's space just because someone had stolen mine.
But I couldn't quite shake the feeling that a lesson needed to be learned somehow. For a moment, I considered parking my vehicle in front of the offending cars, thereby making their leaving impossible without knocking on my door and asking me to move. And though this was the option I really wanted to choose, I decided against it, more worried that someone would back up into my car to make their own point. I wasn't going to risk it.
So I did the next best thing ...
This is the part where I should probably explain that I do have a penchant to be a major bitch when I feel like I'm in the right on something. In fact, speaking astrologically as we have been, it's exactly what any Scorpio would do. Revenge first, questions later.
In my case, possessed with the power of 4 wheel drive and the balls to back it up - figuratively and not literally - I backed my vehicle up over the unplowed area of snow and squeezed myself beside one of the cars, leaving no room for the driver of the other car to be able to shimmy inside without entering from the passenger side.
How many of you out there are completely shocked?
I was completely immature and I loved it. Loved it to the point that when I heard her company leave, I opened up my front door and took in the fiasco without any shame.
(Sorry this isn't fine tuned for corrections tonight, I'm a bit done it from the day.)
Dumb Questions, Easy Answers
I'm taking an insane informal poll on bloggers and astrological signs ... So if you happen to be reading this short little excuse for a blog entry because I don't feel the least big bloggy tonight, feel free to drop by in comments and share your sign with me.
Until then peeps, I am over and out of my mind.
Until then peeps, I am over and out of my mind.
Friends and Family
My beloved Mommsy sent me this email today and it made me chuckle ... Hence why I feel the need to share it all with you ... (well at least I didn't forward it!)
When you are sad -- I will help get you drunk and plot revenge against the sorry bastard who made you sad.
When you are blue -- I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you.
When you smile -- I will know you finally had sex.
When you are scared -- I will rag on you about it every chance I get.
When you are worried -- I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be and tell you to quit whining.
When you are confused -- I will use little words.
When you are sick -- Stay the hell away from me until you are well again.; I don't want whatever you have.
When you fall -- I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.
This is my oath...I pledge it till the end. Why? You may ask? Because you are my friend!
Remember: A good friend will help you move. A really good friend will help you move a body.
In other news I received the following email this evening ...
Guess I'm hitting the books ... More from me later if my head doesn't explode after reading her civic paper. (She could at least take more interesting classes for me to read up on!)
When you are sad -- I will help get you drunk and plot revenge against the sorry bastard who made you sad.
When you are blue -- I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you.
When you smile -- I will know you finally had sex.
When you are scared -- I will rag on you about it every chance I get.
When you are worried -- I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be and tell you to quit whining.
When you are confused -- I will use little words.
When you are sick -- Stay the hell away from me until you are well again.; I don't want whatever you have.
When you fall -- I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.
This is my oath...I pledge it till the end. Why? You may ask? Because you are my friend!
Remember: A good friend will help you move. A really good friend will help you move a body.
In other news I received the following email this evening ...
here is my paper, I will send it to your home address also. Thanks a bunch. I will also be reading it over, so suggestions are greatly welcomed but I know, that there are most likely some definite fine tunings, I just figured I would send the paper to you sooner over later. Thanks again.
the youngest most annoyingest, but the one you love most,
Jo
Guess I'm hitting the books ... More from me later if my head doesn't explode after reading her civic paper. (She could at least take more interesting classes for me to read up on!)
Watching the Talkies
Somebody get me some toothpicks, I can barely keep my eyes open!
No seriously. I'm exhausted. Just got home a bit ago from Ren's house, and I might add that I made it there sans getting lost. (As in hopelessly.) Although I did get a bit nervous on the way home since I decided to try an alternate route. (What the hell was I thinking? I'm no Marco Polo!) And considering my sense of direction (nil really) this was a big "can do" moment for me. As in can actually do it and figure out where I am despite the darkness. So a big huzzah to me. Yay me!
KC had a great time playing with Ren's daughter (same age) while we (being the "grown ups") watched movies or rather talked all the way through them. Being the annoying movie watcher that I am (hence the reason people run from the mere thought of watching them with me) I spent 2 hours trying to figure out the odd plot of The Forgotten and another 2 (seemed more like 4) hours groaning my way through Something's Gotta Give.
Of which I've come to a few conclusions on ...
1. Alternate endings are pointless because they never end the way you would have them really end. (Like with something that makes some sort of freaking sense!)
2. It was completely unnecessary to have a gratuitous ass shot of Jack Nicholson! And much more to the point where was my parental warning? My eyes nearly fell out of my head!
3. Diane Keaton's gratuitous boob shot ... Nope, didn't need to see that either. Although I give them both mad props for dropping trow the way they did.
4. The only time we actually liked SGG was when Diane Keaton's character was balling her eyes out over Jack. Ren and I decided we could more than relate.
5. However the best line out of the entire movie was the scene when Jack believes he has lost any chance he has of living happily ever after with Diane and says, "Now look who gets to be the girl." (Okay ... That may not be exactly how he said it, it's not like I have the movie in front of me cued to that exact moment, but it's pretty damn close!)
I told Ren I thought it was a very profound moment in the movie ... (And anyone who has read this blog is going to know exactly what I'm getting at here.)
"Hah!" I said to Ren, "If only every man could have that little a ha moment. I mean, seriously ... It's so unfair being the girl! Do you know how long it takes some of us (understood as me) to get over these things? I mean do they have any idea what they do to our psyche? There should be laws for God's sake!"
"Absolutely," she said. "But you have to take it into account though that some of the guys have gotten just as burned by their ex's as we have, which is why they do it to us before we can do it to them."
"But you see that's exactly the problem! Why can't everyone just be honest about the whole damn thing? Relationships don't have to be nearly as hard as people make them out to be, you just have to know how to be an adult in one. None of this saying what people want to hear shit but telling it like it is rather than prolonging the drama. Say for instance you're dating a guy and you think everything is just hunkey dorey and then WHAM - from left field he says I don't feel the same way about you as I think you feel about me. Wouldn't it have been a hell of a lot easier for him to figure this out prior to wasting almost six months of your time?"
"Getting a bit biographical there Yecats?" She asked raising her eyebrow.
"Shut up. I can't hear the movie ..."
No seriously. I'm exhausted. Just got home a bit ago from Ren's house, and I might add that I made it there sans getting lost. (As in hopelessly.) Although I did get a bit nervous on the way home since I decided to try an alternate route. (What the hell was I thinking? I'm no Marco Polo!) And considering my sense of direction (nil really) this was a big "can do" moment for me. As in can actually do it and figure out where I am despite the darkness. So a big huzzah to me. Yay me!
KC had a great time playing with Ren's daughter (same age) while we (being the "grown ups") watched movies or rather talked all the way through them. Being the annoying movie watcher that I am (hence the reason people run from the mere thought of watching them with me) I spent 2 hours trying to figure out the odd plot of The Forgotten and another 2 (seemed more like 4) hours groaning my way through Something's Gotta Give.
Of which I've come to a few conclusions on ...
1. Alternate endings are pointless because they never end the way you would have them really end. (Like with something that makes some sort of freaking sense!)
2. It was completely unnecessary to have a gratuitous ass shot of Jack Nicholson! And much more to the point where was my parental warning? My eyes nearly fell out of my head!
3. Diane Keaton's gratuitous boob shot ... Nope, didn't need to see that either. Although I give them both mad props for dropping trow the way they did.
4. The only time we actually liked SGG was when Diane Keaton's character was balling her eyes out over Jack. Ren and I decided we could more than relate.
5. However the best line out of the entire movie was the scene when Jack believes he has lost any chance he has of living happily ever after with Diane and says, "Now look who gets to be the girl." (Okay ... That may not be exactly how he said it, it's not like I have the movie in front of me cued to that exact moment, but it's pretty damn close!)
I told Ren I thought it was a very profound moment in the movie ... (And anyone who has read this blog is going to know exactly what I'm getting at here.)
"Hah!" I said to Ren, "If only every man could have that little a ha moment. I mean, seriously ... It's so unfair being the girl! Do you know how long it takes some of us (understood as me) to get over these things? I mean do they have any idea what they do to our psyche? There should be laws for God's sake!"
"Absolutely," she said. "But you have to take it into account though that some of the guys have gotten just as burned by their ex's as we have, which is why they do it to us before we can do it to them."
"But you see that's exactly the problem! Why can't everyone just be honest about the whole damn thing? Relationships don't have to be nearly as hard as people make them out to be, you just have to know how to be an adult in one. None of this saying what people want to hear shit but telling it like it is rather than prolonging the drama. Say for instance you're dating a guy and you think everything is just hunkey dorey and then WHAM - from left field he says I don't feel the same way about you as I think you feel about me. Wouldn't it have been a hell of a lot easier for him to figure this out prior to wasting almost six months of your time?"
"Getting a bit biographical there Yecats?" She asked raising her eyebrow.
"Shut up. I can't hear the movie ..."
Musical Motivation
I should be cleaning the living room.
I should be doing a load of laundry.
I should be taking a shower ... Anything really to prepare for the day ahead.
I should not be sitting on the couch clad in my red and white pajama pants and top sucking on a lozenge, earphones strapped to my head as I sing along with Tori's new album that I've already memorized word for word since obtaining my copy on Wednesday.
I just can't seem to help myself. I've been starved for so long waiting for new Tori music that I'm like an addict who can't put the CD down. And that's not even it, then I've got to find someone - much like Jake who is a fan of her himself - and discuss song after song. The tempo, the style, the key, the lyrics, the slight connections to songs on albums that came before. Slowly dissecting each one down to bare bones until I find that "A ha" moment when it all just clicks and I'm satisfied with what each one means to me.
And always there become quick favorites. The ones I will back track and listen to repeatedly to the point of knowing where each breath break occurs and the way she dips her voice on a particular note or word so that when I sing along I become seamless with the song.
I appreciate however that Tori is an acquired taste. Despite my best efforts, I have been unable to convince any of my sisters to give her an honest listen. Instead they humor me with one song, before prompting me to change out the CD or turn the radio back on. My older sister has even likened it to torture. Though I respond it may just be the sweetest kind. 19 current tracks worth.
Anyhoo motivation time is at hand. I have to (gulp) bake chocolate chip cookies with KC today and prepare ourselves for an afternoon outing with Ren and her own daughter. It should be a fun time ... That is, if I don't get lost on my way there. Ahh ... Have cell phone, will travel.
I should be doing a load of laundry.
I should be taking a shower ... Anything really to prepare for the day ahead.
I should not be sitting on the couch clad in my red and white pajama pants and top sucking on a lozenge, earphones strapped to my head as I sing along with Tori's new album that I've already memorized word for word since obtaining my copy on Wednesday.
I just can't seem to help myself. I've been starved for so long waiting for new Tori music that I'm like an addict who can't put the CD down. And that's not even it, then I've got to find someone - much like Jake who is a fan of her himself - and discuss song after song. The tempo, the style, the key, the lyrics, the slight connections to songs on albums that came before. Slowly dissecting each one down to bare bones until I find that "A ha" moment when it all just clicks and I'm satisfied with what each one means to me.
And always there become quick favorites. The ones I will back track and listen to repeatedly to the point of knowing where each breath break occurs and the way she dips her voice on a particular note or word so that when I sing along I become seamless with the song.
I appreciate however that Tori is an acquired taste. Despite my best efforts, I have been unable to convince any of my sisters to give her an honest listen. Instead they humor me with one song, before prompting me to change out the CD or turn the radio back on. My older sister has even likened it to torture. Though I respond it may just be the sweetest kind. 19 current tracks worth.
Parasol
Sweet the Sting
The Power of Orange Knickers
Jamaica Inn
Barons of Suburbia
Sleeps with Butterflies
General Joy
Mother Revolution
Ribbons Undone
Cars and Guitars
Witness
Original Sinsuality
Ireland
The Beekeeper
Martha's Foolish Ginger
Hoochie Woman
Goodbye Pisces
Marys of the Sea
Toast
Garlands
Anyhoo motivation time is at hand. I have to (gulp) bake chocolate chip cookies with KC today and prepare ourselves for an afternoon outing with Ren and her own daughter. It should be a fun time ... That is, if I don't get lost on my way there. Ahh ... Have cell phone, will travel.
Scattered Reflections
To: Stacey
Sent: Friday, February 25, 2005 12:20 PM
From: Jake
Subject: ---
So when you winked (or didn't as you say) the switch went off in me to do it back. I saw you (or thought I did)loosen up a little, which you usually don't do in that respect with me. And it was nice. You are guarded at times about your sensitivity, but being friends with you, I know that beneath the surface - more than you say at times - you are much more sensitive about things than you let on.
From: Stacey
Sent: Friday, February 25, 2005 12:31 PM
To: Jake
Subject: RE ---
You’re ruining my theory you know … I’ve worked long and hard to make it downright difficult, if not near impossible for people to see beneath the surface. Although I didn’t realize you were aware of all that, as much as I now see that you are. Kind of scary really. It’s like shutting the window and being left to wonder what it is other people see when they look inside. Damn …
Sensitive hearts are broken easily. The child who tries to please and fails. The woman who believes and is betrayed.
Sent: Friday, February 25, 2005 12:20 PM
From: Jake
Subject: ---
So when you winked (or didn't as you say) the switch went off in me to do it back. I saw you (or thought I did)loosen up a little, which you usually don't do in that respect with me. And it was nice. You are guarded at times about your sensitivity, but being friends with you, I know that beneath the surface - more than you say at times - you are much more sensitive about things than you let on.
From: Stacey
Sent: Friday, February 25, 2005 12:31 PM
To: Jake
Subject: RE ---
You’re ruining my theory you know … I’ve worked long and hard to make it downright difficult, if not near impossible for people to see beneath the surface. Although I didn’t realize you were aware of all that, as much as I now see that you are. Kind of scary really. It’s like shutting the window and being left to wonder what it is other people see when they look inside. Damn …
I don’t I don’t know why In your Boys life you become like a bull like a bull in a china shop Smash it up into smithereens
There you there you go again Breaking Breaking porcelain Is that all I am just a Doll you got used to We've done We've done this before as Mars sauntered through his door Don't say it's time to say Goodbye to Pisces Goodbye to Pisces
I cried and I washed my tears that turned into diamond Ice into ice and if it could freeze My heart wouldn't float away
There we There we go again Breaking Breaking porcelain Is that all we are just Dolls we've got used to We've done We've done this before as Mars sauntered through his door Don't say it's time to say Goodbye to Pisces Goodbye to Pisces
So how how will I go Back on Back on the shelf with a smile with a smile to the customer and say on sale by the owner Here I Here I go again Breaking Breaking porcelain Is that all I am just a Doll you got used to We've done We've down this before as Mars sauntered through his door Don't say it's time to say Goodbye to Pisces Goodbye to Pisces Goodbye my Pisces
- Tori Amos, Goodbye Pisces track 17 on The Beekeeper
Sensitive hearts are broken easily. The child who tries to please and fails. The woman who believes and is betrayed.
You Spin Me Right Round
I am contemplating puking ... Again.
I've done it so often in these past few days that I am proud to boast that were their awards for tossing ones cookies, I would surely win.
Just this morning I lost it in the shower. Midway between the shampoo and the conditioner, the feeling came upon my like a punch in the stomach. So sudden and quick that I couldn't even manage a quick hop out to barf in the toilet bowl. Instead I pressed my hands against the wall for support, hunched over in a mad imitation of that notorious bell ringer and went all Quasimodo in the tub. It was not pretty to say the least.
And I feel like shit despite compliments on my new viridian complexion. So much so that the thought of blogging much more has me convinced that I'm taking unnecessary chances or further irritating my tender sensibilities with the whiteness of the screen.
I promise as soon as I can keep solid food down and my mind has been restored to cognitive thoughts, I will be back ... Bloggier than ever.
I've done it so often in these past few days that I am proud to boast that were their awards for tossing ones cookies, I would surely win.
Just this morning I lost it in the shower. Midway between the shampoo and the conditioner, the feeling came upon my like a punch in the stomach. So sudden and quick that I couldn't even manage a quick hop out to barf in the toilet bowl. Instead I pressed my hands against the wall for support, hunched over in a mad imitation of that notorious bell ringer and went all Quasimodo in the tub. It was not pretty to say the least.
And I feel like shit despite compliments on my new viridian complexion. So much so that the thought of blogging much more has me convinced that I'm taking unnecessary chances or further irritating my tender sensibilities with the whiteness of the screen.
I promise as soon as I can keep solid food down and my mind has been restored to cognitive thoughts, I will be back ... Bloggier than ever.
From the Couch
Stayed home from work today in favor of hanging out on my couch with a remote control and a throw blanket. I probably could have gone into work, but I decided one more day of rest was much needed considering how many times I woke up during the night and the dark black circles smudged beneath my eyes.
Daytime TV however is a nightmare. I spent most of the day channel hopping in hopes of finding something of interest to watch, only to give up and grab a nap after encountering more than one station airing Jerry Springer. (Am I the only one surprised to learn that horrid show is still on the air?)
Anyhoo I'm only dropping by long enough to type this little bit before heading back upstairs to bed. Tomorrow is back to work day whether I like it or not. It's much too early in the year to be using sick days already.
I promise more interesting things to capture your attention later on this week. Until then feel free to amuse yourselves in the archives.
Daytime TV however is a nightmare. I spent most of the day channel hopping in hopes of finding something of interest to watch, only to give up and grab a nap after encountering more than one station airing Jerry Springer. (Am I the only one surprised to learn that horrid show is still on the air?)
Anyhoo I'm only dropping by long enough to type this little bit before heading back upstairs to bed. Tomorrow is back to work day whether I like it or not. It's much too early in the year to be using sick days already.
I promise more interesting things to capture your attention later on this week. Until then feel free to amuse yourselves in the archives.
Living With the Lights On
Sometimes you Scorpios love the darkness, for the shadows can nurture the most powerful magic. Now you are presented with an opportunity to turn out the lights and explore these hidden realms. Remember that darkness is not evil; it's just more complicated than the visible realms. Bring the light of your consciousness into the most intense emotional shadows and let your awareness dissipate the fear.
And just last night I slept with the lights on, convinced that I was hearing all sorts of ominous noises. When I was KC's age, I used to smother myself under the blankets, leaving only the smallest amount of space open for fresh air and a way to peak out into the darkness of my room. My blankets had to be tucked securely under my feet and it was an unspoken rule that neither my legs or my arms were ever allowed outside the safety of the blanket. Bad things could happen if they did. Bad things like monsters in the closets, goblins under my bed, and giants with blood red eyeballs peering into my bedroom window late at night hungry for a snack.
I lived in fear. But as long as I was allowed my light on in the closet or the light on in the hall, I always felt more secure.
And then I discovered locks. Locks on doors were my best friends. And when I didn't have locks, I had dressers. Dressers I would push in front of the door each and every night before I could go to sleep. I often wonder if my Mother ever noticed the scraping noises ... Then again, I remember one particular night where my Mother decided to make brain slurping noises outside my door after we had finished watching some B level horror movie. I think I slept that night with the door locked, dresser in front of the door and the lights on.
The thing is I always thought that I would grow out of it at some point. The truth is, I haven't.
Stacey Status Report
Stacey is currently feeling all sorts of queasy sick, you know the just may have to spend the night on the bathroom floor kind of ill. She kindly asks you to forgive her for not posting anything of interest, as well as to referring to herself in the third person.
On a slightly better note, at least she visited her favorite store today and brought home a new book to add to her vast collection.
More tomorrow unless vomiting gets the better of her ...
(Yeah, I know. That was WAY too much information.)
On a slightly better note, at least she visited her favorite store today and brought home a new book to add to her vast collection.
More tomorrow unless vomiting gets the better of her ...
(Yeah, I know. That was WAY too much information.)
Little Bits of ...
It's appearing that KC is going to have a snow day today considering the amount of snow we've been getting hit with through the night and the more expected to come this morning. Her school however is still hanging on to a sign of delay, though I'm guessing that will change soon enough despite the unusual sound of plows going down our road this morning.
And I'm a bit jealous really. I have no desire to go to work or brave the cold long enough to get there. Well other than to show everyone my better late than never vacation pictures and change the photos out in my office. But work? No, not really. No thanks. I can think of something much better to do today.
Heck. I almost called in yesterday. But then again when Brenda called and said she wasn't going in and I should come over to play hookey right along with her, I almost made it a done deal. Until I remembered some of the work I'd left on my desk and had to get done, and my stupidity from the night before when I left without my purse. Do you have any idea what a woman goes through when she realizes she's left her purse somewhere? It's like being separated from yourself. I kid you not. Thank goodness I had time that night to call the office and ask one of my friends to retrieve it and lock it up. I don't think I would have been able to sleep if it had been left out in the open.
Anyhoo, I'm supposed to be getting ready and not typing away on this thing. I've actually been on time all week to work, and I'm not about to break my longest record ever now.
As for the comment feature, there's still a few bugs. For those of you who have attempted to leave a comment to no avail, please try again and let me know if you're still experiencing technical difficulties. I may not be able to fix them, but at least I've a gift for complaining ...
And I'm a bit jealous really. I have no desire to go to work or brave the cold long enough to get there. Well other than to show everyone my better late than never vacation pictures and change the photos out in my office. But work? No, not really. No thanks. I can think of something much better to do today.
Heck. I almost called in yesterday. But then again when Brenda called and said she wasn't going in and I should come over to play hookey right along with her, I almost made it a done deal. Until I remembered some of the work I'd left on my desk and had to get done, and my stupidity from the night before when I left without my purse. Do you have any idea what a woman goes through when she realizes she's left her purse somewhere? It's like being separated from yourself. I kid you not. Thank goodness I had time that night to call the office and ask one of my friends to retrieve it and lock it up. I don't think I would have been able to sleep if it had been left out in the open.
Anyhoo, I'm supposed to be getting ready and not typing away on this thing. I've actually been on time all week to work, and I'm not about to break my longest record ever now.
As for the comment feature, there's still a few bugs. For those of you who have attempted to leave a comment to no avail, please try again and let me know if you're still experiencing technical difficulties. I may not be able to fix them, but at least I've a gift for complaining ...
Photo Opps
Considering that it's only been a little over three months since we went on our vacation to NC to see Mom, I'm pretty impressed that I've finally managed to get my pictures developed. (Save for two rolls that still need to be processed.)
The wild creature shots were taken at The North Carolina Zoo - one the of the VERY BEST zoo's I've ever been to - while the remainder were either taken at Mom's or back in NY.
I'd write more tonight but I'm off to proof read my little sister Jo's philosophy paper that's due in tomorrow.
The wild creature shots were taken at The North Carolina Zoo - one the of the VERY BEST zoo's I've ever been to - while the remainder were either taken at Mom's or back in NY.
I'd write more tonight but I'm off to proof read my little sister Jo's philosophy paper that's due in tomorrow.
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Comments
I think the whole comment problem should be resolved. Go ahead, give it a try. You know you want to leave a comment.
Field Trips and Long Conversations
Don't expect this to make any sense. Yawning as I am every other second and seriously considering turning in sometime very soon, I sometimes wonder why I try to write anything down when I'm tired beyond the point of rational thought.
And yet, I want to tell you all about my day today and the unexpected field trip Terri and I got to go on, complete with a company sponsored lunch with BM and Jake on our way there. It was total hands on training - which I've been begging to do for the past 2-1/2 years - although now that I think of it, I never was able to get my hands on any of the power tools ... Much to my chagrin I might add since I've got a can do complex.
Getting in and out of BM's super duper truck however was a challenge. For one thing it about six feet off the ground and void of running boards. A fact that I was well aware of even as I contemplated hoisting myself up and in without breaking my neck or my heels. Heels that make me tower over people at a whopping 5'2, two inches being all heel. So go ahead and imagine the comical scene that it was, because it was funny. Funnier yet was trying to figure out a way down when we got to the restaurant. Grabbing the oh shit handles, I finally came to the conclusion that sliding down slowly until my feet finally hit pavement was the only way to go. And despite the very loud laughing by my fellow coworkers followed by a nasty little look from me that promised future retribution, lunch was fun thank to BM's insightful commentary on the best and worst of public bathrooms. (Don't ask. We try not to.)
On the way back to work, late enough in the day to ensure that we wouldn't be back until just before it was time for me to clock out and go home, I opted to ride with Jake in order to pick his brain for a bit. Instead the boys decided a little drag racing was a good idea on a back country road which lasted all about 5 seconds until Jake decided his new tires were worth more than his manhood. (This is another one of those don't ask things.)
Anyhoo, Jake's been hinting for the last week that he was on to one of the secrets I've been keeping, trying to wear me down every day on the phone in order to get me to spill the beans. And while I could have continued playing stupid (sometimes it's not an act) I decided I might as well just get things out in the open.
But as fate would have it, he already knew. It seemed the moral majority that I spoke of in an earlier post decided to clue him in on my personal life as if she was the national inquirer. As if I'm really that newsworthy!
He did however make me promise on everything I hold dear that there would be no retaliation on my part ... Like I'd actually waste my time as if to bother, but still!
But it does quite burn me that she thought going behind my back to tell Jake of who she saw me with two Saturdays ago would somehow, I don't know, bust up our friendship or something. I have no idea what her point was and frankly, I couldn't really care. When it comes right down to it, I'm the one who has to be happy with the decisions I make and regardless of my other friends, I'm not going to be put in a position where I have to pick and choose between them (again).
So in the immortal words of someone who said it first, "It's all uphill from here baby."
And yet, I want to tell you all about my day today and the unexpected field trip Terri and I got to go on, complete with a company sponsored lunch with BM and Jake on our way there. It was total hands on training - which I've been begging to do for the past 2-1/2 years - although now that I think of it, I never was able to get my hands on any of the power tools ... Much to my chagrin I might add since I've got a can do complex.
Getting in and out of BM's super duper truck however was a challenge. For one thing it about six feet off the ground and void of running boards. A fact that I was well aware of even as I contemplated hoisting myself up and in without breaking my neck or my heels. Heels that make me tower over people at a whopping 5'2, two inches being all heel. So go ahead and imagine the comical scene that it was, because it was funny. Funnier yet was trying to figure out a way down when we got to the restaurant. Grabbing the oh shit handles, I finally came to the conclusion that sliding down slowly until my feet finally hit pavement was the only way to go. And despite the very loud laughing by my fellow coworkers followed by a nasty little look from me that promised future retribution, lunch was fun thank to BM's insightful commentary on the best and worst of public bathrooms. (Don't ask. We try not to.)
On the way back to work, late enough in the day to ensure that we wouldn't be back until just before it was time for me to clock out and go home, I opted to ride with Jake in order to pick his brain for a bit. Instead the boys decided a little drag racing was a good idea on a back country road which lasted all about 5 seconds until Jake decided his new tires were worth more than his manhood. (This is another one of those don't ask things.)
Anyhoo, Jake's been hinting for the last week that he was on to one of the secrets I've been keeping, trying to wear me down every day on the phone in order to get me to spill the beans. And while I could have continued playing stupid (sometimes it's not an act) I decided I might as well just get things out in the open.
But as fate would have it, he already knew. It seemed the moral majority that I spoke of in an earlier post decided to clue him in on my personal life as if she was the national inquirer. As if I'm really that newsworthy!
He did however make me promise on everything I hold dear that there would be no retaliation on my part ... Like I'd actually waste my time as if to bother, but still!
But it does quite burn me that she thought going behind my back to tell Jake of who she saw me with two Saturdays ago would somehow, I don't know, bust up our friendship or something. I have no idea what her point was and frankly, I couldn't really care. When it comes right down to it, I'm the one who has to be happy with the decisions I make and regardless of my other friends, I'm not going to be put in a position where I have to pick and choose between them (again).
So in the immortal words of someone who said it first, "It's all uphill from here baby."
VD: Fun With Acronyms
My Mom is the shiznet!
Not only did my Mom make KC's day by sending a goody package for Valentine's Day -that actually got here on Valentine's Day - but she was extra kind to include a surprise for me as well. And I have to be honest with you all here, when it comes to surprises I am never one to say you shouldn't have. In fact, my turn of phrase around my office is, "Oh. Are you going somewhere?" followed by a dramatic pause and my staple saying, "Don't forget to bring me back a surprise!"
And so I'm happily typing away in my new pajamas. Turquoise blue tank top and lime green bottoms. Feeling all sorts of warm, fuzzy and happy as I prepare to think about making our favorite - pastina - soup for dinner tonight. Oh to wish someone else could serve the time in the kitchen and just bring me out a steaming bowl ...
Yeah right.
But seriously I had a WONDERFUL day today. And it's amazing that I had a much better time with V's Day than I did last year when I was with "he who shall no longer be named" ... It was a refreshing relief.
I did however have an honorary Valentine ... Thanks Orb for volunteering!
To all of you out there who know I love you more than lima beans, take care of yourselves, think happy thoughts and for goodness sake send me an email every once in a while so I know you're alright.
Not only did my Mom make KC's day by sending a goody package for Valentine's Day -that actually got here on Valentine's Day - but she was extra kind to include a surprise for me as well. And I have to be honest with you all here, when it comes to surprises I am never one to say you shouldn't have. In fact, my turn of phrase around my office is, "Oh. Are you going somewhere?" followed by a dramatic pause and my staple saying, "Don't forget to bring me back a surprise!"
And so I'm happily typing away in my new pajamas. Turquoise blue tank top and lime green bottoms. Feeling all sorts of warm, fuzzy and happy as I prepare to think about making our favorite - pastina - soup for dinner tonight. Oh to wish someone else could serve the time in the kitchen and just bring me out a steaming bowl ...
Yeah right.
But seriously I had a WONDERFUL day today. And it's amazing that I had a much better time with V's Day than I did last year when I was with "he who shall no longer be named" ... It was a refreshing relief.
I did however have an honorary Valentine ... Thanks Orb for volunteering!
To all of you out there who know I love you more than lima beans, take care of yourselves, think happy thoughts and for goodness sake send me an email every once in a while so I know you're alright.
Past Lives
I'm in a mood tonight. A weird mood. The kind of mood that normally gets me into trouble. (Especially if Brenda happens to be around at the same time.) I've learned a few interesting things today. Nothing earth shattering mind you, but interesting nonetheless.
On our way into town, Dad told me the little bit he knew about his grandparents. I learned that my great grandfather Pasquale used to play the piccolo. That neither he nor my great grandmother Carmela spoke any English. And that my great grandmother's best friend was a Polish woman who didn't speak any English, or Italian for that matter.
I can't help but wonder about the little things that get passed down from generation to generation without really realizing it at all.
For instance, I play the flute and the piccolo. My best friend is Polish (left-handed and stood by microwaves as a child) though her command of the English language is quite remarkable. (Heh, heh, heh.)
It's downright strange...
On our way into town, Dad told me the little bit he knew about his grandparents. I learned that my great grandfather Pasquale used to play the piccolo. That neither he nor my great grandmother Carmela spoke any English. And that my great grandmother's best friend was a Polish woman who didn't speak any English, or Italian for that matter.
I can't help but wonder about the little things that get passed down from generation to generation without really realizing it at all.
For instance, I play the flute and the piccolo. My best friend is Polish (left-handed and stood by microwaves as a child) though her command of the English language is quite remarkable. (Heh, heh, heh.)
It's downright strange...
Sunday Madness
Strenuous email writing this morning which means I have nothing left to say for the blog despite my unbloggyness of the past few days which should have me turning out something to dazzle you all with my brilliance.
I however am working with a 40 watt bulb and a dimmer switch at the moment so it's not going to happen. At least not in the next 5 minutes I plan on being here to blog about it.
You see, I have to go to the dreaded - I shall not name for fear of insulting at least one of my friends - store in search of an oven roasting pan, pot holders, and plastic spoons for KC's Valentine's Day Party at school tomorrow. And a big yeah to my girl who (FINALLY) volunteered me for a non-perishable item rather than something that requires baking and additional transport.
Anyhoo, I can hear my neighbors on their porch shoveling the snow and Bob on the other side strumming his guitar which means I'm the last one to motivate around here as usual.
I'm off to discover!
I however am working with a 40 watt bulb and a dimmer switch at the moment so it's not going to happen. At least not in the next 5 minutes I plan on being here to blog about it.
You see, I have to go to the dreaded - I shall not name for fear of insulting at least one of my friends - store in search of an oven roasting pan, pot holders, and plastic spoons for KC's Valentine's Day Party at school tomorrow. And a big yeah to my girl who (FINALLY) volunteered me for a non-perishable item rather than something that requires baking and additional transport.
Anyhoo, I can hear my neighbors on their porch shoveling the snow and Bob on the other side strumming his guitar which means I'm the last one to motivate around here as usual.
I'm off to discover!
Happy Birthday Mom!
Happy Birthday Mom. Wish I could be there to make you a cake ... Er well, maybe it's a good thing I can't be there to make you a cake considering my less then impressive baking skills. But still, wish I could be there for the celebration, the singing, the candles, the fire company ... (Do your daughter a favor and give the cute ones my number. Wink. Wink.)
Talk to you later tonight. Love YD.
PS ... Happy Bday to Chloe too!
Talk to you later tonight. Love YD.
PS ... Happy Bday to Chloe too!
Damn (Cute) Kitten
For all those times I've almost tripped on you coming down the stairs. Or been mauled by your tiny sharp claws as I tried to pass you by. Or schooled you on your propensity to dip your paws into the fish tank in your daily attempts to eat Squiggy the killer goldfish. Or yelled at you to stop chasing, jumping, attacking, and biting Emma every time she comes out of her self imposed witness protection program. Or told you to stop staring at the birds with blood lust in your eyes ...
For waking me up at 3:30 this morning, and for every other middle of the night nocturnal urge to give kitty kisses until I wake up long enough to throw you out of my room and close the door or just nudge you off the side of the bed depending on how tired I am. And for all the pictures you've knocked off their shelves, repeatedly. And for all my angels you've knocked off their shelves, repeatedly. And for all the times I've told you that cats do not belong on counters, or in my shower, or in the washing machine, or in the dryer, or in the sink. (Which is not to forget that I know you were on top of the kitchen cupboards again, since you've knocked yet another plant over and out of place, despite our last conversation regarding the positive side of self control.)
And even though I've enough claw marks on me to make people wonder, including the one on top of my head when I was playing peek a boo with you on the stairs last night and you felt the need to swat me before settling yourself down to stare at the television like you were some sort of idiot box junkie. And for all the times you've chewed holes in my socks and KC's socks because we didn't get them into the hamper quick enough. And for the five dollars you absconded with that we haven't yet been able to find. And for the ribbons you managed to find last night and trail around the house. And for sliding down the banister again this morning - yes, I heard you crash at the bottom ...
I still love you and would adopt your dumb ass all over again even knowing what I know now. That for all that random cuteness, those strange amber eyes fringed by cobalt blue edging ... You're really a tiny terror kitten from hell bent on destroying the universe as we know it!
For waking me up at 3:30 this morning, and for every other middle of the night nocturnal urge to give kitty kisses until I wake up long enough to throw you out of my room and close the door or just nudge you off the side of the bed depending on how tired I am. And for all the pictures you've knocked off their shelves, repeatedly. And for all my angels you've knocked off their shelves, repeatedly. And for all the times I've told you that cats do not belong on counters, or in my shower, or in the washing machine, or in the dryer, or in the sink. (Which is not to forget that I know you were on top of the kitchen cupboards again, since you've knocked yet another plant over and out of place, despite our last conversation regarding the positive side of self control.)
And even though I've enough claw marks on me to make people wonder, including the one on top of my head when I was playing peek a boo with you on the stairs last night and you felt the need to swat me before settling yourself down to stare at the television like you were some sort of idiot box junkie. And for all the times you've chewed holes in my socks and KC's socks because we didn't get them into the hamper quick enough. And for the five dollars you absconded with that we haven't yet been able to find. And for the ribbons you managed to find last night and trail around the house. And for sliding down the banister again this morning - yes, I heard you crash at the bottom ...
I still love you and would adopt your dumb ass all over again even knowing what I know now. That for all that random cuteness, those strange amber eyes fringed by cobalt blue edging ... You're really a tiny terror kitten from hell bent on destroying the universe as we know it!
Before You Knew Me
How long have you been you?
I'm not sure it is an easy question to answer. And yet a friend wonders tonight how someone he thought he knew so well, could be someone he can hardly recognize these days. She's changed, he said. A polar opposite of the girl he knew. And he wonders why?
Why the change? Why have the ideals they once shared been lost? And who can this girl possibly be that's taken her place? And how can he still be exactly who he is?
How did the change occur?
Did it happen all at one time or was it so gradual he didn't have a chance to notice it? When did she cease to care about the important things that really mattered? When was we replaced with I? When was I replaced with someone else?
How would I answer that question?
I am who I am when I am me without pretentiousness, without false pride, without walls, without a mask to conceal what I choose to hide. I can be defined by adjectives and in turn I define each one. But I am more than words. More than mere ideals. More than a painting to be observed hanging on a wall.
And we are all like that. Though from time to time, those adjectives can change, those ideals can be replaced and the picture on the wall becomes a photographic memory of what was, rather than what is. All in constant motion subject to growth and change.
And so we choose for a while to represent different ideals, finding our foothold and ascending further with the choice we've made. But around us we watch as other fall, pulling back down to go in a new direction. A direction that maybe we ourselves would not be one to choose.
And so we look around wearing shocked expressions on our faces as if we cannot comprehend this new bump in the road, this change in plans that stops us cold on our climb up the mountain.
How long we rest is determined by each one of us. Do we wait to see if our partner changes their mind? Do we go on alone? Do we question our own journey if someone else decides to pursue another path? What do we do when the decision has been made for us?
Knowing who you are is a gift. You've found your place, you know your nitch. You can say this is who you are and this is what you believe in. And you can live your life by those beliefs.
And maybe she's not as lucky as you. Maybe she just doesn't know who she is. Maybe she tried you on for size, stayed a while and made a home, and then decided that no, it wasn't really for her. Maybe she's made a bad choice, maybe she'll come to find that those ideals she's lost are the ones she wished she held on to. But maybe she'll find a whole new way of life that's all her own. And maybe this is a lesson you've both been meant to learn for the longest time.
I cannot tell you why people change, they simply do. But we too must change with them, even if it means being on a different page in a different book in different parts of the world.
(I hope this helps at least a little.)
I'm not sure it is an easy question to answer. And yet a friend wonders tonight how someone he thought he knew so well, could be someone he can hardly recognize these days. She's changed, he said. A polar opposite of the girl he knew. And he wonders why?
Why the change? Why have the ideals they once shared been lost? And who can this girl possibly be that's taken her place? And how can he still be exactly who he is?
How did the change occur?
Did it happen all at one time or was it so gradual he didn't have a chance to notice it? When did she cease to care about the important things that really mattered? When was we replaced with I? When was I replaced with someone else?
How would I answer that question?
I am who I am when I am me without pretentiousness, without false pride, without walls, without a mask to conceal what I choose to hide. I can be defined by adjectives and in turn I define each one. But I am more than words. More than mere ideals. More than a painting to be observed hanging on a wall.
And we are all like that. Though from time to time, those adjectives can change, those ideals can be replaced and the picture on the wall becomes a photographic memory of what was, rather than what is. All in constant motion subject to growth and change.
And so we choose for a while to represent different ideals, finding our foothold and ascending further with the choice we've made. But around us we watch as other fall, pulling back down to go in a new direction. A direction that maybe we ourselves would not be one to choose.
And so we look around wearing shocked expressions on our faces as if we cannot comprehend this new bump in the road, this change in plans that stops us cold on our climb up the mountain.
How long we rest is determined by each one of us. Do we wait to see if our partner changes their mind? Do we go on alone? Do we question our own journey if someone else decides to pursue another path? What do we do when the decision has been made for us?
Knowing who you are is a gift. You've found your place, you know your nitch. You can say this is who you are and this is what you believe in. And you can live your life by those beliefs.
And maybe she's not as lucky as you. Maybe she just doesn't know who she is. Maybe she tried you on for size, stayed a while and made a home, and then decided that no, it wasn't really for her. Maybe she's made a bad choice, maybe she'll come to find that those ideals she's lost are the ones she wished she held on to. But maybe she'll find a whole new way of life that's all her own. And maybe this is a lesson you've both been meant to learn for the longest time.
I cannot tell you why people change, they simply do. But we too must change with them, even if it means being on a different page in a different book in different parts of the world.
(I hope this helps at least a little.)
Fifty and Me
Finally got to sleep around four something this morning and was well rewarded with some instant REM and a dream where 50 Cent made ALL my dreams come true, leaving me with only one thing to say.
Damn the alarm clock! Damn the alarm clock!
(We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog. More from the front lines later.)
Damn the alarm clock! Damn the alarm clock!
(We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog. More from the front lines later.)
Passing Ill
Normal is not sleeping through the night. At least not anymore. But tonight is different. Tonight I feel unsettled, clutching my stomach as it heaves and rolls, leaving me only seconds before I follow swiftly behind it into the bathroom, holding myself up with the palms of my two hands shoved hard against two walls as I sink slowly to the floor in a heap of rapid expulsion.
I wait for the moment to pass, noting the plush burgundy rug beneath my bottom separating me from the ice cold floor. And I think to myself - worst case scenario, that is - that sleeping here might not be too bad of an idea. It beats the going back to bed, lying still for a moment, only to find myself running again to heave myself ill over the toilet bowl.
And now I realize what I've caught. The same thing that KC suffered from last week, yet my forehead for now seems cool despite the storm that rises and swells within me. Tired I lay my head back on the couch, coming in contact with a soft body of fur purring contentedly away and I cannot help but smile at the way Emma stays near when she knows I'm not feeling well.
I begin to think about bed. Twenty minutes at least since the last episode I consider returning to my soft pillow, my warm duvet. My eyes flutter closed and I have a hard time fighting with them to reopen long enough to finish this sentence. Yes, perhaps it is safe now to think about sleep. I'm sleeping as I type this.
I wait for the moment to pass, noting the plush burgundy rug beneath my bottom separating me from the ice cold floor. And I think to myself - worst case scenario, that is - that sleeping here might not be too bad of an idea. It beats the going back to bed, lying still for a moment, only to find myself running again to heave myself ill over the toilet bowl.
And now I realize what I've caught. The same thing that KC suffered from last week, yet my forehead for now seems cool despite the storm that rises and swells within me. Tired I lay my head back on the couch, coming in contact with a soft body of fur purring contentedly away and I cannot help but smile at the way Emma stays near when she knows I'm not feeling well.
I begin to think about bed. Twenty minutes at least since the last episode I consider returning to my soft pillow, my warm duvet. My eyes flutter closed and I have a hard time fighting with them to reopen long enough to finish this sentence. Yes, perhaps it is safe now to think about sleep. I'm sleeping as I type this.
Never Too Late
I did something today (technically yesterday now) that I should have done a long time ago, much like I was righting an ancient wrong.
I have the tendency to make decisions, snap judgments, often times quick and final and without a chance for the second party involved to state their case. And much like Mr. Darcy in Pride & Prejudice, I've prescribed myself to the theory that my good opinion once lost is lost forever. How presumptuous of me ...
The truth of the matter is I threw a perfectly good friendship under the bus, rather than stick the problem out and work for a resolution. I hid my own blame and placed it all on my friend and stood by and watched as the gossip mill made her their sacrificial lamb, because I was hurt and because I thought that I had been betrayed in an et tu Brutus sort of way.
But I was wrong. And when I should have been there sticking up for my friend, I was as silent as a coward intent on hiding their own guilt, proving myself the worst friend imaginable. Ashamed of my own behavior.
Next to Brenda, Ren had been one of my closest friends. We were like sisters. I was the cringing wall flower, she was the crazy live on the edge party girl. I was sensible, she acted first and thought later. I was living like a hermit, and she forced me from my comfort zone. I had bad ideas, she often times had much worse. But together we were hilarious, downright silly, much like school girls.
But a boy completely fucked that up. A boy and a mean crazy bitch with her own agenda that I bought into. Hook ... Line ... And sinker. And I sunk my friend with my silence, when even the merest hint of my support might have been able to balance out the situation and change it from the ugliness that it was.
But then I got the call at work telling me that my gramma was in the hospital and all other thoughts were pushed to the back of my mind as I packed my car and drove all night to get to Tennessee where my father waited for my sister and I to arrive, only to tell us that we were too late.
My world stopped, leaving me in deep despair. And I was angry. Raging at God as I screamed at the heavens. Unable to think of anything other than my loss. Unable to come to terms with my grief. And unwillingly to listen to anyone at all.
If I were Ren, I wouldn't want to have anything to do with me. I'd write myself off so fast, that my own head would spin. But even back then, she forgave me. Even when I turned my back on her and hurt her by withholding my friendship. She maintained hope that I'd change my mind, or at least come to my senses. But I can be one stubborn bitch sometimes. And of all the words in my vocabulary, and in the words of Elton John, "Sorry seems to be the hardest word."
Ren ended up leaving her job, practically shoved out the door by the moral majority to tell you the truth. She didn't deserve it. But the few friends she did leave behind would often tell me when they had seen her in passing, or had heard some sort of word from her, that the first question out of her mouth was always, "How's Stacey doing?"
I honestly can't imagine what kept her holding out for so long. But she did, and with the go ahead signal from "T" - who has been urging me to mend the breach for more months than I can count - I received a testing the water email Friday at work. I sat there at my desk somewhat stupefied, unsure of what to do. On one hand, the moral majority still reigns the roost and any contact implied or otherwise would assumably put me on their radar once more, something I can do without. But on the other hand, with the knowledge that only time can teach, I recognized an olive branch when I saw one.
And so I reached out, sending back a simple email of my own.
You? Me? Coffee? Saturday? When? Where?
Have you ever been away from someone for a really long time and then met up with them again only to feel as if you were never separated at all? That's exactly how it felt today. Just like two friends getting together for a casual lunch as if it had only been a few minutes since the last time we'd talked.
If I had known, if I had only known how much I missed having her around, I would have come to my senses much sooner and not wasted so much time holding on to an anger that didn't have to bear fruit. And I told her that, told her I was so sorry and asked if she could forgive me. And she laughed when I said that, the sort of laugh Christopher Robin reserved for his friend when he said, "Oh Pooh. You silly old bear."
I have the tendency to make decisions, snap judgments, often times quick and final and without a chance for the second party involved to state their case. And much like Mr. Darcy in Pride & Prejudice, I've prescribed myself to the theory that my good opinion once lost is lost forever. How presumptuous of me ...
The truth of the matter is I threw a perfectly good friendship under the bus, rather than stick the problem out and work for a resolution. I hid my own blame and placed it all on my friend and stood by and watched as the gossip mill made her their sacrificial lamb, because I was hurt and because I thought that I had been betrayed in an et tu Brutus sort of way.
But I was wrong. And when I should have been there sticking up for my friend, I was as silent as a coward intent on hiding their own guilt, proving myself the worst friend imaginable. Ashamed of my own behavior.
Next to Brenda, Ren had been one of my closest friends. We were like sisters. I was the cringing wall flower, she was the crazy live on the edge party girl. I was sensible, she acted first and thought later. I was living like a hermit, and she forced me from my comfort zone. I had bad ideas, she often times had much worse. But together we were hilarious, downright silly, much like school girls.
But a boy completely fucked that up. A boy and a mean crazy bitch with her own agenda that I bought into. Hook ... Line ... And sinker. And I sunk my friend with my silence, when even the merest hint of my support might have been able to balance out the situation and change it from the ugliness that it was.
But then I got the call at work telling me that my gramma was in the hospital and all other thoughts were pushed to the back of my mind as I packed my car and drove all night to get to Tennessee where my father waited for my sister and I to arrive, only to tell us that we were too late.
My world stopped, leaving me in deep despair. And I was angry. Raging at God as I screamed at the heavens. Unable to think of anything other than my loss. Unable to come to terms with my grief. And unwillingly to listen to anyone at all.
If I were Ren, I wouldn't want to have anything to do with me. I'd write myself off so fast, that my own head would spin. But even back then, she forgave me. Even when I turned my back on her and hurt her by withholding my friendship. She maintained hope that I'd change my mind, or at least come to my senses. But I can be one stubborn bitch sometimes. And of all the words in my vocabulary, and in the words of Elton John, "Sorry seems to be the hardest word."
Ren ended up leaving her job, practically shoved out the door by the moral majority to tell you the truth. She didn't deserve it. But the few friends she did leave behind would often tell me when they had seen her in passing, or had heard some sort of word from her, that the first question out of her mouth was always, "How's Stacey doing?"
I honestly can't imagine what kept her holding out for so long. But she did, and with the go ahead signal from "T" - who has been urging me to mend the breach for more months than I can count - I received a testing the water email Friday at work. I sat there at my desk somewhat stupefied, unsure of what to do. On one hand, the moral majority still reigns the roost and any contact implied or otherwise would assumably put me on their radar once more, something I can do without. But on the other hand, with the knowledge that only time can teach, I recognized an olive branch when I saw one.
And so I reached out, sending back a simple email of my own.
You? Me? Coffee? Saturday? When? Where?
Have you ever been away from someone for a really long time and then met up with them again only to feel as if you were never separated at all? That's exactly how it felt today. Just like two friends getting together for a casual lunch as if it had only been a few minutes since the last time we'd talked.
If I had known, if I had only known how much I missed having her around, I would have come to my senses much sooner and not wasted so much time holding on to an anger that didn't have to bear fruit. And I told her that, told her I was so sorry and asked if she could forgive me. And she laughed when I said that, the sort of laugh Christopher Robin reserved for his friend when he said, "Oh Pooh. You silly old bear."
Cup of Yup, All Foam No Content
As much as I love Barnes & Nobles and love the thought of spending my entire paycheck on a stack of towering books, rationality sometimes wins out and instead I opt to find an empty arm chair where I can sit down and thumb through the pages of a book without being forced to buy it.
Now there's nothing I like better than walking into my favorite bookstore as I greedily inhale the scent of fresh ink on paper combined with the lingering smells of every kind of coffee known to man at the in-house Starbucks, though it should be said that I don't even attempt to show my ignorance by ordering anything there. Grande mocha chocolata ya ya, if you get my drift here. How about just giving me a damn coffee without all the yuppie drama? It's all too much for me.
But the problem with having something so decidedly trendy encapsulated in my favorite place, is that it attracts the wrong crowd, packing the place with expensive coffee lovers rather than those that are there for the purpose of reading the written word. Which makes finding an empty arm chair extremely difficult at times.
After circling the store like a pacing tiger for thirty minutes - if not longer - I finally found an empty spot to cuddle up and call home, setting my plethora of books on the small circular table before me as I leaned back into the chair, tucking my legs up beneath me as if I were sitting in my own living room.
And it was like heaven. Mere minutes into the first few pages of the book I was completely absorbed, no longer hearing the music playing in the background, ignoring the smell of coffee wafting across the room, and completely oblivious to all around me. It was perfect bliss for exactly ten minutes.
With a brief flash of my eyes upward, I took silent note of a tall guy with shaggy brown hair eyeing one of the empty chairs that surrounded mine, all the while hoping he wasn't planning on sitting down.
Have you ever smelled anything that if you had to guess what it was made from, the answers might be something along the lines of dead tree, rotting plant, mushroom fungus or sickly fern? It's called Patchouli and from one who once wore it frequently in college, I can attest to the fact that the slightest little dab will more than do you for days. Something that Shaggy had evidently not been clued in on.
Unable to return to reading my book, I simply sat there trying my best not to breathe - well, at least not as often as my lungs would have preferred. Meanwhile my brain was silently shouting insults at the guy beside me. "It's perfume, not deodorant you idiot!" it raged, wishing there was a tub of soapy water it could douse him in before sending him on his way.
The good Lord however was looking over me, presenting me with his equally Patchouli loving girlfriend who in the loudest voice possible informed the entire store that she was feeling like a fish fry. Feeling? Try smelling, I thought. You smell like a dead fish left in the back-seat of a car for nine days. I coughed to hide my chuckle, and quickly made like I was scanning the pages of my book rather than listening in on their conversation.
With the worst fake French accent I have ever heard - and trust me, it was fake - she continued to whine for a solid ten minutes, as she went on and on about how hungry she was and how fish taste better if you eat it in house rather than take it home. I for one did not care where the hell she ate it, as long as she was leaving to do it. By this time, my nostrils felt like they were on fire and were sending direct commentary to my brain attempting to trigger my flight or fight response.
Checking my cell phone for the time, I was actually relieved to see that the checkout was in my immediate future and immediately set about gathering my books, both the ones I wanted and the ones I had decided to put back, as Cruella continued to rail on Shaggy, making me almost feel bad ... For a really short moment, until my nostrils took one last whiff good-bye. Forget that.
But I'm back to the city this morning with a lunch date at noon with an old friend that I haven't seen in over two years. I'm still trying to figure out if this is a good idea, but I am uncertain enough water has passed under that particular bridge to make it possible. I will leave however with an open mind.
Now there's nothing I like better than walking into my favorite bookstore as I greedily inhale the scent of fresh ink on paper combined with the lingering smells of every kind of coffee known to man at the in-house Starbucks, though it should be said that I don't even attempt to show my ignorance by ordering anything there. Grande mocha chocolata ya ya, if you get my drift here. How about just giving me a damn coffee without all the yuppie drama? It's all too much for me.
But the problem with having something so decidedly trendy encapsulated in my favorite place, is that it attracts the wrong crowd, packing the place with expensive coffee lovers rather than those that are there for the purpose of reading the written word. Which makes finding an empty arm chair extremely difficult at times.
After circling the store like a pacing tiger for thirty minutes - if not longer - I finally found an empty spot to cuddle up and call home, setting my plethora of books on the small circular table before me as I leaned back into the chair, tucking my legs up beneath me as if I were sitting in my own living room.
And it was like heaven. Mere minutes into the first few pages of the book I was completely absorbed, no longer hearing the music playing in the background, ignoring the smell of coffee wafting across the room, and completely oblivious to all around me. It was perfect bliss for exactly ten minutes.
With a brief flash of my eyes upward, I took silent note of a tall guy with shaggy brown hair eyeing one of the empty chairs that surrounded mine, all the while hoping he wasn't planning on sitting down.
Have you ever smelled anything that if you had to guess what it was made from, the answers might be something along the lines of dead tree, rotting plant, mushroom fungus or sickly fern? It's called Patchouli and from one who once wore it frequently in college, I can attest to the fact that the slightest little dab will more than do you for days. Something that Shaggy had evidently not been clued in on.
Unable to return to reading my book, I simply sat there trying my best not to breathe - well, at least not as often as my lungs would have preferred. Meanwhile my brain was silently shouting insults at the guy beside me. "It's perfume, not deodorant you idiot!" it raged, wishing there was a tub of soapy water it could douse him in before sending him on his way.
The good Lord however was looking over me, presenting me with his equally Patchouli loving girlfriend who in the loudest voice possible informed the entire store that she was feeling like a fish fry. Feeling? Try smelling, I thought. You smell like a dead fish left in the back-seat of a car for nine days. I coughed to hide my chuckle, and quickly made like I was scanning the pages of my book rather than listening in on their conversation.
With the worst fake French accent I have ever heard - and trust me, it was fake - she continued to whine for a solid ten minutes, as she went on and on about how hungry she was and how fish taste better if you eat it in house rather than take it home. I for one did not care where the hell she ate it, as long as she was leaving to do it. By this time, my nostrils felt like they were on fire and were sending direct commentary to my brain attempting to trigger my flight or fight response.
Checking my cell phone for the time, I was actually relieved to see that the checkout was in my immediate future and immediately set about gathering my books, both the ones I wanted and the ones I had decided to put back, as Cruella continued to rail on Shaggy, making me almost feel bad ... For a really short moment, until my nostrils took one last whiff good-bye. Forget that.
But I'm back to the city this morning with a lunch date at noon with an old friend that I haven't seen in over two years. I'm still trying to figure out if this is a good idea, but I am uncertain enough water has passed under that particular bridge to make it possible. I will leave however with an open mind.
Do Not Disturb
I'm too damn tired to blog tonight but I told Brenda I would blog something when I got home so that she would know that I got home safely.
So this is it. I'm home and about to crawl my way upstairs to bed where I am going to sleep for the next 10 hours or so, come hell or high water.
If anyone needs me, may I suggest you call sometime way after 10 AM. Anything before that and I swear I will hunt you down and flog you with a wet noodle.
Hugs & Kisses,
Stacey
So this is it. I'm home and about to crawl my way upstairs to bed where I am going to sleep for the next 10 hours or so, come hell or high water.
If anyone needs me, may I suggest you call sometime way after 10 AM. Anything before that and I swear I will hunt you down and flog you with a wet noodle.
Hugs & Kisses,
Stacey
On the Short Side
For those of you who may have witnessed a car cleaning spectacle tonight, please let me remind you that laughing at a short girl in heels attempting to aim jet propelled water at the top half of her car while standing on tiptoe, should not be fodder for jokes around the office water cooler tomorrow. Despite the fact that said short girl mentioned above should have had advance thought prior to purchasing her taller than average vehicle in regards to its outer care. (Especially when one lives in snow country. As in need a stepladder to brush the snow off.)
Said short girl of the excessively tall vehicle is now signing off for the night to attempt getting to bed at a decent hour. The true trick however will be staying asleep for the duration of the night.
So in other words ... I've got nothing here. This is all really just filler.
NWTLO signing off.
Said short girl of the excessively tall vehicle is now signing off for the night to attempt getting to bed at a decent hour. The true trick however will be staying asleep for the duration of the night.
So in other words ... I've got nothing here. This is all really just filler.
NWTLO signing off.
White Wedding?
We are so going to have a field day later tonight when I get home and can post last nights sleep deprived dream in its entirety.
Just to tide you over, let's imagine a couple key factors together.
Donald Trump ... As my Dad.
Casino.
Indoor Palm Trees.
Brenda in a RiverDance Costume.
A whole line of bridal procession doing the River Dance.
Brothers and sisters I didn't know I had - but liked!
T-Shirts on the groomsmen that had catchy little phrases only I would get on them.
My real parents ... All 3 sets of them to be exact.
My old boss from my retail management days.
A husband to be, that I never say.
Another child I didn't realize I had.
And of course, KC the cutest bridesmaid possible.
Wow ... I think all of your stories (and then some) managed to make their way into my dreams. Yikes! For now I'm to work, but later I'm coming back to piece it altogether for you.
Just to tide you over, let's imagine a couple key factors together.
Donald Trump ... As my Dad.
Casino.
Indoor Palm Trees.
Brenda in a RiverDance Costume.
A whole line of bridal procession doing the River Dance.
Brothers and sisters I didn't know I had - but liked!
T-Shirts on the groomsmen that had catchy little phrases only I would get on them.
My real parents ... All 3 sets of them to be exact.
My old boss from my retail management days.
A husband to be, that I never say.
Another child I didn't realize I had.
And of course, KC the cutest bridesmaid possible.
Wow ... I think all of your stories (and then some) managed to make their way into my dreams. Yikes! For now I'm to work, but later I'm coming back to piece it altogether for you.
Insomniac
Sleep eludes me.
So I am awake, running a load of wash, traipsing through the blogosphere, commenting randomly where I will and wondering just how tired I'm going to be come morning.
So I am awake, running a load of wash, traipsing through the blogosphere, commenting randomly where I will and wondering just how tired I'm going to be come morning.
Magic Moods
I'm not sad, though the little icon in the sidebar may give you pause to wonder. Truth is, I've lost my password to the damn thing, and haven't been able to choose the mood for days. At this point, I'm letting it have its say and determine my mood for me.
Sorry the blog entries sucks tonight. But after last nights novel, I'm all wiped out and unable to care that both entries make no sense and have mondo bad writing in need of reworking.
Forgive me if you will. Screw you if you won't.
I'm outta here before I can offend anyone else.
Sorry the blog entries sucks tonight. But after last nights novel, I'm all wiped out and unable to care that both entries make no sense and have mondo bad writing in need of reworking.
Forgive me if you will. Screw you if you won't.
I'm outta here before I can offend anyone else.
