Hi! Welcome back. It’s been quite the summer. I’m having quinoa right now. Would you like some?
So, the summer of 2012. June was spent getting ready for three family members to get surgery. July was spent sitting through said surgeries, driving to visiting hours, shopping on behalf of people who couldn’t, etc. All in the name of family. It was the right thing to do, and I would do it again.
Then August came. I mentioned before that my family broke up with me on August 1. At the time, I thought it would be temporary and that things would get better. I spent a good amount of time sobbing, wondering if I really was “a loser” and “a disappointment”. My conclusion? No. I’m not I was exhausted all the time, yet I couldn’t sleep. Depression, personified.
Once September started, I was ecstatic that the worst summer I can remember was coming to an end. Things couldn’t get worse, right? That is right. September has been SPECTACULAR so far.
I passed a certification exam that will help me in my job on September 1. I took the week off and goofed off. Then, I went to NJ to celebrate the successful launch of a project I had been working on for more than a year. It was a lovely celebration, and I won an iPad. Right after, I was taken out to a very fancy dinner in Philadelphia. It was amazing. And I saw the Liberty Bell (driving by at about 30mph, but still).
So here we are. September 10. And this month has rocked my face off so far. I still haven’t spoken with my family, but I’m getting used to it. I’m still sad about it.
Anyhoo. That’s been my summer. September is the start of the way things will be for me. I’m happy.
Hello! Come in and have lunch. Just sandwiches but help yourself.
The ringing phone roused her from what could not honestly be called sleep. More accurately, it was a night full of tossing and turning while her mind played out every possible negative scenario. She had tried to sneak in a few possible positive thoughts, but they didn’t get far.
A quick glance at the clock told her that it was 4:05am, and it was time to get ready for the daunting task ahead.
She showered and dressed quickly, all the while avoiding thinking what could be coming. She fed the cats, taking time she didn’t have to sweep up around their bowls. She knew she was delaying the inevitable. It was time to go.
The drive to her first destination, normally a trip that took 10-15 minutes, seemed to take hours. The torrent of thoughts flooding her brain continued to prevent coherent thought.
Finally, she arrived to pick up her passenger. He was pacing. Nervous. Anxious. His partner was equally nervous – talking too much. The needed to leave. She hugged the partner, and ushered her passenger out the door.
The Passenger did his best to keep up a normal conversation, commenting on such mundane things as a trip to the local big-box store, and how hungry he was. She tried to keep present so that he would not notice her unease. She laughed when appropriate and commented on things about which she thought he would be interested. She wanted to keep his mind off things, as well.
When they were almost at their final destination, they were stopped by a train. The building was visible over the trees and surrounding buildings, but the train cars continued to pass. Slowly. In all actuality, they were only stopped for about 3 minutes, but for the Passenger? It was just one more delay. Finally, the train passed completely and they made their way up the hill to the parking lot, and into the building where the Passenger would be staying.
She and the Passenger walked in together – she didn’t want to leave his side until she absolutely had to. They looked around uncertainly until they saw where they would check in. They sat in the waiting area in silence.
The Passenger was taken into a separate room and questioned. It wasn’t long until their escort came to take them into another area, for further questions and preparation. He was weighed and measured, his blood pressure taken, and blood sugar tested. She was taken out of the room when someone came in to do some more personal preparations. As she waited in the room down the hall, the nurse came by to see if she was okay. She was barely holding back the tears or the nerves, but wanted to appear strong for the Passenger. The nurse had an Ativan to give to the Passenger. She wanted the nurse to provide her with one as well. The nurse wouldn’t agree. Understandably.
Finally, it was time. The Passenger was completely prepped, and the gurney was waiting. She waited in the doorway until he was lying down and covered.
The group of four – the nurse, the orderly, the Passenger, and She – made their way to the elevator, where she and the Passenger would separate. The elevator car stopped one floor down, and she was told that she needed to get off there. She hugged the Passenger one more time and told him she loved him. Then she and the nurse exited the elevator car, while the Passenger and the orderly continued their decent.
As soon as the elevator doors shut behind her, the ugly cry started. All the anxiety she had felt for the past few weeks erupted. The nurse waited patiently for her to collect herself again. Then they walked to where the Passenger would be after the operation. The nurse kindly talked her through what would happen, what she could expect, and gave her numbers for checking in. Then, the nurse said the nicest thing – “Take care of yourself. The Passenger needs you.”
And with that, she walked from the building.
Once in the car, she allowed herself one more cry. As she drove toward coffee, she noticed the sky. It was blue – a kind of angry, grey blue that happens before a storm – and pink – a mottled, bright pink that promised hope. The coffee tasted rich and soothing.
She got home, and tried to sleep. It was no good. She got back in her car and drove to the Partner’s house. They could wait together.
The call came. The wait was over.
“Dead man walking” stopped going through her head. Things were going to be fine.
Hello! Come on in. I have some lovely Sancerre and cheese for you.
(I was told that people were sad that I stopped offering snacks. I’ll do better.)
It’s June 1st. A whole new month of possibility opening before us. What do you have planned? Have you set your intentions?
I started a writing class today. It’s for a few weeks. We will get prompts and are encouraged to free write on the topic. Then, there is a site where we can post our writing for critique or just sharing.
I checked into the group today and I am immediately intimidated. There are people who have been writing for years, or who write every day, or have at least one novel in the drawer, or do NaNoWriMo every year.
My first instinct is to hide in a corner. Possibly chewing my hair. Possibly rocking back and forth. Turn tail and run.
I also signed up for a self-love workshop. So I will be taking what I learn in the self-love class and will not chicken out. I will continue with this class. I will see it through to completion. My writing will still be “new” and stumbling. But I will learn with each prompt. And I will learn from what others post. And from the critiques. And who knows? By the end of this, I might even screw up enough courage to post an entry into the group.
Now, before you say anything, I know what you might be thinking. I post stuff here. What’s the difference? The difference is that based on the first prompt? Things could get kinda personal. And weepy. Maybe I’ll do all my posts on here. And then you’ll be sorry! *snort*
Either way, I will keep you posted.
I hope June will be good to you.
Mag and Moo have a special comment for their grand-people: Happy 50th Wedding Anniversary! We love when you take care of us. Love and furry kisses, your grand-kittens.
Or as your friends know you: “Target”,
It’s over. We’re through. I cannot do this anymore. It’s time we go our separate ways. We are breaking up.
Don’t tell me you are surprised. You had to have seen this coming. Over the 14 or so years we were together, you continued to get bigger and more influential. I relied on you.
You, Target, were my happy place. If I had a bad day at work, I knew I could visit and wander your halls and somehow, you would lead me to that certain something that made me feel better. I don’t know if it was your bright lights or the clear hallways or the bright red symbol, but you comforted me when I needed you.
Remember when I was in graduate school? I would visit you for a highlighter, and come out with $150 of stuff I *had* to have. You did that for me. You were there for me. You comforted me.
But then? Gradually, you started to change. It was just the small things at first. Your parking lot was full. Or the size I needed was not available. Or the items offered in my size were dated and unstylish. I ignored the fact that you stuffed “my” section in, between maternity and the fitting rooms, all the way in the back as if you were ashamed of how I looked. As if I were to be hidden away.
Then it was bigger things – you decided to contribute to political campaigns that went against everything I believed in. I *still* defended you. Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs, right? I didn’t like it, but you were still my happy place.
But this weekend? This weekend was the last straw. The camel’s back is broken. This weekend convinced me that I need to make a clean break with you.
I can accept that you want to remodel. I can! I encourage it, in fact. Brighter lights! YES! Shinier stuff! ABSOLUTELY!
And then I walked in.
Your shelves are now lined with higher priced items. Items that, in my opinion, don’t warrant the higher price tag given the fact that you are *Target*.
You have made “my” section even smaller – the 4 racks and wall display of unattractive options has now been reduced to 1 rack in amongst the Maternity section and Boys section. I can take the hint. I am not welcome there.
You have put the Pet section up front, in the Frozen Food section. You heard me. Frozen Food.
You have put *some* of your Health and Beauty items in a random display between Girls and Greeting Cards. The rest are over near paper towels.
Your aisles are now wide enough for a single cart. There is no wiggle room. Another person in the aisle? No problem, as long as they back out of the aisle. Perhaps that is your way of giving people some privacy; that “alone time” that some people need.
At the checkout, your clerk was complaining about computers. I might even say whining about them. But she rang up my items and then…..
The computer froze. The clerk’s response? “I wish this was mine so I could take a hammer to it!” Followed by “WHY ME!?!?” No sign of “I’m sorry for the delay. Let me get the manager.” The manager wandered over at the sound of the whining and said she had to reboot and it would take a while so I had to go to another register. No sign of “I apologize for the inconvenience. Let me help you move your purchases.” It was just “You should go to that one. She’s not doing anything.”
So, my friend. You are no longer my happy place. You are dead to me. I will find my items elsewhere. You aren’t the only big box store on the block. I will no longer go in for a birthday card and come out with a cart full of stuff.
It’s not just that you let me down. It’s that you let me down, and had your people brush me aside like “I” was the problem. I deserve to be treated better. I deserve respect.
As I said before. It’s not me. It’s you. It was fun while it lasted, but it’s over.
PHOTO CREDIT: http://livingalimitlesslife.wordpress.com/2011/11/29/its-over/
In no particular order:
1. Smiling is more fun than frowning.
2. Having a good loud laugh usually makes other people smile too.
3. Only say about others that which you would say to their face.
4. Own your mistakes.
5. Don’t try to hide your mistakes; they will ALWAYS be found and you will look 100% worse for not taking responsibility.
6. Life is too short to read bad books.
7. Treat yourself to some good wine (if you partake). It will make things so much more lovely.
8. Use your good china/cutlery/glasses, etc. What are you waiting for?
9. If you don’t LOVE it, get it out of your house.
10. If you haven’t used/worn/looked at it in 6 months, get rid of it. (12 if you live in seasonal climates and swap things out).
11. Wear your good jewelry.
12. Who cares about the number on the size tag. Wear what is comfortable.
13. Dress for your age.
14. Cats are fantastic companions.
15. Don’t dwell on *how* you ended up where you are. Focus on the you, you want to become.*
16. Don’t berate yourself for not being great at something. You are great at something else.
17. Dogs? Also fantastic companions.
18. Friends *can* be made through social media.
20. Popcorn for supper is acceptable.
21. Eat more green things.
22. Brussels Sprouts are not green balls of hell. They are quite delicious.
23. Chia seeds *can* be eaten.
24. Ask for help.
25. Approach stressful situations from a position of love. It will change your outlook completely.
26. Approach ALL situations from a position of love. See above.
27. Sports are better when seen live.
28. 9 pounds of cat can feel like 90, when you have to pee.
29. Candles make things lovely.
30. Foreign films tend to have better plots.
31. A movie made from a book will more than likely disappoint.
32. Some things should just not get remade.
33. It seems that there are few truly NEW ideas.
34. Celebrities are really not that interesting.
35. Taking the time to learn about a foreign co-worker’s country of origin benefits the relationship immensely.
36. There IS life after cable TV.
37. Kindness really *does* go a long way.
38. So does patience.
39. You are so much more than the work you do.
40. Wait at least an hour before responding to an infuriating email/phone call, etc. Longer than that, if you can.
41. Taking care of YOU is a gift, not a sin.
42. Fewer people than you imagine are paying attention to you right now.
43. A song – a single song – can change your mood completely.
44. One really can have too many wallets.
45. I’m pretty great.
*Someone recently said this to me. The more time I spend thinking about it, the more sense it makes.
I was originally going to write about earworms today. You know, those songs you just can’t get out of your head. Because lately, I have been waking up with Alanis Morissette’s “All I Really Want” in my brain. More specifically the lyrics:
Why are you so petrified of silence
Here can you handle this?
Did you think about your bills, your ex, your deadlines
Or when you think you’re gonna die
Or did you long for the next distraction
I love AM. And I can’t wait to hear something new from her. But as often as I wake up lately with that in my head, I have to wonder if it’s my subconscious mind trying to tell me something. (Subconscious? Unconscious? I’ve heard it both ways, but to me these words mean tremendously different things.) (Whatevs.) (You know what I mean.)
Along those lines, is it “preventive” or “preventative”? Yes, I could go look it up, but I’m tired. *snort*
So, the reason that ear-worms aren’t getting a full post is that I was checking out my blog dashboard – for no apparent reason – and it seems there are now ten (10) of you who have subscribed to Mag and Moo’s blog.
Oh. Mah. Gah.
First of all, THANK YOU!
Secondly, WTH is wrong with you people??
Thirdly, WELCOME! *waves*
That distracted me for a while, what with the giggling and all.
I haven’t updated my 2 million steps in a while. Let me go look at my spreadsheet. (You heard me.)
Through week 17, I have walked 471,105 steps. 1,528,895 to go.
It seems that giving up cable is finally starting to take hold. I canceled it in January, and I don’t have local channels. But I have Netflix and Hulu so if there is *really* something I want to watch, I can usually find it. But over the last week and a half – starting with Monday last on my vacation – I think I have seen maybe 2 hours total of anything.
I have become quite fond of the quiet at night. The Wonder Twins are still adjusting but they’ll manage.
That’s what I have for you tonight. There was something else, but I can’t remember what it is. Next time…
Apparently, I am supposed to be a writer, will be published in the next year, and will become a motivational speaker.
Where did that come from?
I have over-documented love-mostly hate position I currently hold at the Gas ‘n Sip. So I won’t rehash that here. Again. For the billionth time. Last week, I was finally on vacation – first one since the end of 2011. Coworkers were literally begging me to go. True story.
I was done on Friday. Saturday, I went to get my hair did. (It’s lovely, BTW). After that, I wandered around the Port and headed to one of my favorite shops – Leaping Lizards. It is a cute little boutique-y type store that sells crystals and incense and metaphysical books…stuff like that. Even if I don’t buy anything, I feel better going in and playing with stuff.
Anyhoo, I went in, and yadda yadda yadda, I had a reading done with an Angel Reader. I’ve never had an Angel reading before. It’s sort of like Tarot, but she reads your ArchAngels and Goddesses. It was kind of cool. I don’t know how deeply I believe in all that, but I do think there is something to it. She said that I need to find a more creative job (true) and that I need to find something that I love to do that is creative in nature. Okay. I can do that. I asked her if she meant painting or knitting or writing. She said the goddesses were telling her writing – I should take my laptop, go to the beach, and just write.
(Side note: Um… no. If I’m going to write at the beach, it’s going to be with a pen and paper. I don’t need sand all through my laptop. Sure, I know people do it all the time, but with my short-attention span, I would put the computer down, pick it up, put it down, etc. So, no.)
Right before Lois was done, she pulled out her “Ascended Masters” cards. She felt there was one last thing she was being led to tell me. She shuffled, I set the intention, and she drew a card. The card was “WRITE”.
Oh Em Gee, right??
Fast forward to this past weekend. It was my annual Girl Camp weekend. (More about that another time).
A psychic came in on Saturday and for giggles, I went to her too. Bonnie talks with her spirit guide, Henry. I didn’t tell Bonnie anything about my reading from the previous week. She told me that my grandmother is watching over me and is very proud of me. (This is my mother’s mother – whom I have never met because she died when my mom was 13). But that was cool to hear. She knew my mom has cancer, but said she was going to be okay.
Then Henry, out of the blue, said that I am going to be writing a book and that I will be showing it to Bonnie at next years Girl Camp. I told here I’d be charging her full retail.
(Side note: Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m betting that it takes longer than 12 months to write, edit, find a publisher, convince them your book rocks, then get it out to the shelves. But, hey, who am I to argue with Henry?)
I just found it interesting that 2 independent parties each told me that I need to write. I would like to think that I have a book in me, but here’s the thing…I don’t have a plot, characters, story line, outline… minor details, I know. And as self-absorbed as I can be, I don’t think I have a memoire-type book in me. There are a few stories, but not a book’s worth.
So, if anyone wants to help me out with ideas, or even get me started as a book reviewer, I will take the help. I have been trying to find book-reviewing gigs, but they are sparse in this area. And unless the Wonder Twins decide to start contributing to the household expenses, I cannot afford to move to a larger city without a stable job.
What say you, my Goddesses and Grandmother? Help a sister out?
“What other people think of you is none of your business.”*
“Do you really care what other people think?” *
“I can’t wear this; people will make fun of me!”*
We have all heard/used/said these statements at some point. Do you believe it to be true?
I do. I did before, but I really do now.
This past weekend, I got my hair cut. For the first time in more than 2 years. For me, this was a big deal.
About 3 months ago, I thought “UGH! My hair is getting too long.” So I pulled it back with a barette (down low) and cut 3″ off myself. (I don’t recommend it.)
Then, on Friday, I was combing my hair out, and I thought, “UGH! I can’t take this anymore. I’m too old to have hair this long.” (I’m not one of those who believes that once you turn 40, you need to cut your hair. It just seemed right for me.)
My friend recommended her salon, I called, and told them I had a hair-emergency. They fit me in on Saturday. Cut, color, highlights, the works.
I won’t bore you with the ridiculous amount of inane conversation I endured. I could feel my brain melting. It was scary, really.
Now, my hair is dark (dark chocolate-ish) and short. I estimate that she cut off about 8″. It is a big change. And I LOVE it!! It’s probably a shade or 2 darker than I’m happy with, but that’s okay. I will get used to that. But I love that it’s short, and light-feeling, and curly.
Of all the people I have seen today at work, and there are probably 600 people in this building, 3 have commented. 3.
And one of those knew I was getting it done.
Wear what you want. Do what you want. As long as you are not harming others, NO ONE CARES. No one. They are just as wrapped up in themselves as you are in yourself. Think about all the time you spend thinking about yourself.
Scary right? There’s no time to think of anyone else. So no one else has time to think about you either.
So get over it. If I can change my hair by 8″ and go from red-ish to dark chocolate-brown, and have NO ONE notice? No one cares.
Be you and be happy.
*I know these quotes are not mine, but I can’t find a good reference as to who actual is credited with them. My apologies to you if they are yours. Let me know and I will give you credit.
I know I’ve posted on here that I don’t watch the news. I find the “It bleeds, it leads” premise disgusting. There is very rarely anything positive reported. And I just can’t deal with it. I read headlines online, so I’m not completely oblivious to the world around me.
I’ve also posted that I have disconnected cable. I did it at the beginning of the year. If I want to watch something, I have Netflix or Hulu. And so far? I don’t miss it. I missed all the awards shows, which are gross displays of excess and self-congratulations, in my opinion. “Who are you wearing?” “How big is your diamond?” Really? Who cares? $5,000+ for a gown that you can only wear once? That’s disgusting. But, then again, I don’t know who most of the young actors are anymore, anyway. One of the benefits of not having cable is that I don’t see movie trailers, so I don’t know what’s playing or who’s acting in them.
My friend Debra beautifully wrote about giving up Twitter (which I proceeded to twist around to make it all about me.) (It’s a gift.) (Shut up.)
Then she wrote about giving up all social media. I’m not ready for that yet. Her comment that she doesn’t want a 140-character live makes sense to me, but I do like Twitter. I met Debra via Twitter. I’ve “met” a lot of amazing people and found blogs, blogging, stories, websites all because of Twitter.
For months though, I’ve been irritated and logging on to Twitter less and less. I was “muting” people rather than “unfollowing” them. Heaven forbid I unfollow someone and hurt their feelings. (Insert eye-roll, here). I felt like I was sifting through loads of noise to find the posts of people who matter to me.
So, this past weekend, I set up a new Twitter account. And deleted my old one. I am following 40 people (I think) and have 13 following me. And it’s lovely. When I pull up my timeline, I know there are going to be posts by people who I would love to meet. I will get my news. I can keep in touch with people, to a degree.
This is just one more way to turn down the noise.
About a week or so ago, a friend confided in the privacy of a chat, that she had slapped her daughter during an argument. Slapped her “a few times”. (Her words). Slapped. Her. Daughter.
No. I just wrote out what I know about Louise* and her story, but A) it isn’t my story to tell; B) I only know about her story that which she has shared; and C) this post is only about the slap and my reaction. So I deleted it.
Suffice it to say that Louise is making a huge change in several areas in her life. One of her daughters has been acting up – lying, promiscuity, possibly drugs – and this is all completely out of character for the daughter. So they have been fighting a lot.
Last week, Louise joined the chat and said “XXX and I has a HUGE fight last night. Everything came to a head. We were yelling at each other and I slapped her. A few times…. but the result was XXX”. Again, that’s the big part of what you need to know.
All the other women in our chat were “Oh, I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” “Teenagers are hard.” “You did the right thing – she needed a wake up call and you got her attention.”
I? Remained observant in stunned silence.
- I was never slapped by my parents, as a child. I was spanked, but rarely.
- I don’t have any children (that I know about), so I cannot put myself fairly in her shoes.
- The magnitude of the changes Louise is making would make anyone crazy, I would imagine.
I was going to write this post the day it happened, but I couldn’t. I wanted to marinate in her actions, and more importantly, my REACTION to her actions before I wrote anything.
My response to Louise at the time was something like: “I have to be honest. I’m struggling with the slapping portion of your story. I AM NOT JUDGING YOU, but I’m having a hard time with it. I’m glad you got XXX to open up and talk though.”
But who am I kidding. I did judge her. I think I still am. I haven’t been able to pinpoint exactly what it is about “the slap” that has affected me so profoundly. I’m not a mother. I don’t know how bad the argument was. I don’t know the degree to which XXX was acting up.
I mean, I know how frustrated I get with my cats. But really? They’re cats. I know it’s not the same thing, by any stretch of the imagination.
I reached out to my friends at The Band to get their perspectives. They seemed to be as shocked/horrified/disturbed about it as I was. Not that that makes my reaction right. (BTW, are you with The Band? You should be.)
So, your turn.
If someone told you this, how would you react? What do you say? Am I blowing this out of proportion because I don’t have the parental-perspective?