Tired

I had a really nice blog post all written out in my head. In it, I was unbelievable funny. Stunningly clever words dripped from the ends of my fingers as I imagined myself typing out the most thought-provoking post for you lot.

But then I got on a plane and listened to babies crying, and people babbling; then I fought my way through a crush of sweaty bodies in Minneapolis before walking 42 miles in one direction to eat barely decent overpriced airport food, only to turn around and walk 42 miles in the other direction to board my plane; then I held my bladder for three hours before standing around waiting for my luggage to plop magically in front of me. And I waited. And waited. And waited.

When I arrived at the hotel I fought with the internet and drank some coffee and wrote a letter to my hubs, and now that sexy blog post I had perched at the front of my brain? Buried under layers of waiting and no longer accessible.

Sorry.

I'm in Rock Hill, South Carolina. It's deliciously humid and I'm sweating behind my ears, just like I like it.

Well, damn

You know you're not 20 years old anymore when you're doing a sexy striptease to Aqua's Lollipop while puttin' on your pretty face, and stuff's jiggling and wobbling that used to be all tight and firm.

And all those parts that used to jiggle in an enticing way? It's just flopping around.

I'm so going to the gym every day for the rest of my life (yah. right.)

So long

Today I am:

Excited
Nervous
Sad
Crazy
Anxious

I'm leaving this morning for a business trip, and my brain is buzzing with crazy. I am nervous about the trip because I really, really, really want to be successful (which essentially means showing off a product my company can do for a client and convincing them to pay for it).

And I'm excited. I like to travel, even if it's for work, but I've got this silly hang-up about it too.

I am sad to leave Mr. J. In eight years we've been apart twice: once about six months after we started dating, for about three weeks. And late last year for a week.

I think I might go throw up now.

Ouch

Shaving in a hurry is a bad idea. Minuscule cuts on one's private bits are un-good.

Just sayin.

I fear travel

Actually, I don't fear travel so much as I fear what happens after the traveling is done.

Colin died shortly after arriving home from a several-weeks-long business trip, and it sticks in my mind. He'd been gone for two weeks, only coming home on the weekends.

I was gone for a week on a business trip several months ago, and despite being thoroughly distracted with the business, I worried about my husband. I worried that I'd come home to find him dead in a big, puddly mess.

I'm preparing to go on another trip next week (thankfully for just three days), but I'm facing that same anxiety.

I know the situations are not the same at all; I know that I have no reason to worry about this. I get that it's illogical. I understand that it's just nervous, unfounded, ridiculous fear on my part.

But it sits inside me, like a growth on my heart: a small, sharp, constant fear.

Sometimes, much as I love Colin, I really hate him too.

It's a funny sort of thing.

I look like my mother

I have a picture of my parents from their late teens or early twenties, and I looked a lot like my mom did when I became that same age. I always knew I would like very much like my mom someday, and today it happened. I looked in the mirror this morning, and saw my mom staring back at me.

It was twenty-years-ago Mom, and I remember being a little girl and thinking my mom was beautiful and perfect. I was certain she could see me even when she wasn't in the same room with me. I thought she could read minds and walk through walls and hear for miles. She was young and hip and smart, and she knew everything; she was sophisticated, with her long, skinny cigarettes and she just had a way about her. She was clever and funny and she made people love her.

I didn't get that part, but I do rather fancy myself as young and hip when I'm not being a complete dork. It was startling to see my mom in the mirror, and I felt a momentary disconnect from my existence. As though I wasn't looking at myself, but that I was my mom looking out of the mirror, and marveling at how much time had gone by.

As I looked at my own reflection, I felt it staring back and assessing the young woman standing there. Has she done enough? Is she someone to be proud of? She looks like maybe she has more learning to do.

Oh, hi there

I just noticed today (I'm terrible at noticing) that I have a couple "followers" that I don't actually know yet in the blog-realm.

Welcome, to those of you I haven't had the pleasure of communicating with directly ... thank you for following my blog. I look forward to getting to know you a little better.

Unstable

One of my employees confided in me today: she's bought a gun, and she was going to kill herself.

I don't know what to do with this information.

I suggested counseling. She's already pursuing that.

I suggested the suicide hotline. She's got them on speed-dial, but says they keep putting her on hold (what's up with that?).

I'm not good at this part. Of course she can call me, if she just needs someone to tell her that she is valuable and worthy of life; or someone to listen to her to talk her away from raggedy edge.

But how useful can I be in that capacity? My own husband, who knew how much I loved and valued him, couldn't turn to me; how can I help this woman?

I don't have the gene that tells me the right things to say to a person who wants to die. I don't have any desire for compassion or nurturing; and I feel that a person who confides in suicidal feelings is looking for compassion and nurturing.

Honestly, I feel like I don't have the emotional energy to help a person work through this, and I'm so not qualified for it. I don't want to know, and I have nothing to give her.

I don't want to be the boss anymore. I would like to let someone else take over now, please.

Lacking

Today I am reaching for:

acceptance
gratitude
kindness
patience
follow-through
compassion
brevity
understanding
calm
clarity
focus

What I have attained so far:

irritability
impatience
frustration
tiredness
impatience
lack of clarity
un-focus
bitchiness

I want the perfection ... do I really need to wait for the progress?

Twitting

I figure I am probably the last person on the planet to join Twitter, but now I'm a twitterer.

And I found easy push-buttony stuff to show you lot my twits, right here at my very own blog! Check it out, I'm on the real internet now.

Hmmm

I've made my blog all ugly, and now I can't quite get the old settings right.

Blech.

Reaching for normal

I woke up wanting to smoke cigarettes, so I chewed on a cloud instead. For lunch I ate a rainbow and vomited up some sunshine.

I laid on the floor of my apartment yesterday afternoon for the briefest of moments, and daydreamed about making love with a leprechaun.

At work I use little rubber fingertips; they slide over the ends of your fingers and make you all grip-y so you can page through papers fast. They're like non-skid flooring, only for your fingers. I stick them in my pockets and forget them there.

When I find them, I line them up on my dresser and pretend they are extra fingers that can reach out and grab everything I want but don't have.

I was reaching for normal, but I think I missed the mark.

Tattoo

I've got this idea for a series of tattoos that's been floating around in my head. It plagues my every thought, distracts me at all hours of the day. It is there when I lay down to sleep, and it bounces awake and pokes my brain alive at first light each day.

I only have the basic idea so far, a series of kanji symbols above and around my current tattoo that would tell a story.

Because I'm not an artist I cannot draw it. I wish I was a painter. I took a book from the library today to help me learn more Kanji.

Suspended

I am:

Taking a page out of Cat's blog

Tired

Not still so sick I want to die

Ready for more

Impatient

Frustrated

Almost ready to return to yoga

Thankful

Infinitely pleased with my husband

Weirding words

I don't know if it's any good, but I can't stop doing it. It sounds more melancholy than I feel, but isn't that sort of the point?

I am filled with words and punctuation. If you cut me open, I'd bleed commas and clauses and ellipses.

It drives into me, one great big throbbing, pulsing sentence, bringing me to the edge of a sparkling, sparking orgasm of words.

Blank pages, empty soul

I turn the pages of a half-filled journal. I know what's written on those pages, and what is un-written. I write it, and re-read it, obsessively.

Even the blank pages say something. They have impressions on them, from when I pressed too hard on previous pages and left indentations several pages down.

My heavy pain, scrawled on blank pages. You'd only see it if you looked closely enough.

Heart throbs

A staccato beat drums in my mind. Like rain, pelting on a window, fierce and relentless.

The thoughts, streaking the glass of my mind, are just as cold. Just as wet.

Happy anniversary

One year ago today, Mr. J and I woke up early, stuffed ourselves full of breakfast, and picked up the keys to our new apartment.

Then we drove to IKEA and bought new furniture. That day was a very happy day for me, and even now, one year later, I can recall that happiness ... feel the anticipation of adventure and excitement building. I was moving, finally, on purpose.

Not the random moves of my childhood; not the natural-progression moves of moving in with a boyfriend. But moving because I wanted to move. Moving because it was time, and it was my choice. And I was leaving town. Granted, I didn't move far. Not far enough to have different weather, and barely far enough to have a built-in excuse reason to skip Christmas, but still. I was in a different county, in a different state, and I felt all grown up.

Have I done everything I promised myself I would do in the last year? No.

I've gotten a little better. I no longer save everything.
I still have a problem throwing bags away. Thanks a million, Ma.
I'm still lazy, and have the most difficult time remembering my promises to cook and clean.

I have enjoyed this apartment immensely though. It feels like a haven, like my own little bubble where I hide from the world and pretend to be normal.

Domesticating

I felt the need to do domestic stuff today. It doesn't happen often, but lately it's becoming more and more frequent. Usually I cook (I still need to post my fabulous chili experience) but today I thought I'd do something a little more type-A.

So I organized my cupboards.

I have a small kitchen (really the whole apartment is rather on the small side), and things really do need to be organized or it gets cramped fast. Our kitchen and dining areas are beyond cramped.

Partly I can blame my mom, who gives us ... stuff. Baskets and boxes full of treats, and bags of goodies and just stuff.

I love my mom. I really do. It's just ... I don't want anymore stuff. Please understand.

Partly I can blame myself, because I save everything and I'm terribly lazy. I made a zillion resolutions about things I'd change when we moved, and I have kept very few of them.

Today I went through the cupboards, one by one, taking stock of what's what. I threw out the old stuff, re-arranged the new stuff, and made a list.

Then I put the list into an Excel spreadsheet and grouped like items by worksheet. And maybe I made some subcategories, with column headings and alphabetized lists. Then I shared it with my husband via Google docs (because how cool is that?!) in the hopes that he'll be as dorky as I am and ooh and aah over my list.

I know, I know. I can't help it. I really do feel better though.

Deepest fear

I keep dreaming about being incapable of lifting my arms or legs. Last night I dreamt I was walking about the city, searching or questing for ... something. I never really did figure it out, but I was hunting for something. Maybe treasure.

I stopped and got a strawberry lemonade at a walk-up restaurant; my purse was slung over my shoulder, across my chest. I tried to lift it over my head so I could reach my wallet, and I couldn't lift my own arm above shoulder-height.

It was maddening to me, this inability to lift my arms. It made me feel weak and helpless, which is intolerable to me.

I think I've found a new deepest fear.

Miles by train

When you looked at me, my heart stopped a little bit. Did you know you could that?

We were separated by miles of glass and cold iron and a long, dark train, and still you made me melt.

Your eyes asked questions I have no answers to.
Your smile held the answers to a thousand problems I didn't know I had.

And your outstretched hand, reaching ... offering.

What? I am uncertain, but I suspect it will be delicious, before it burns us both to cinders.

Dirty little soul

I stand under a scalding hot shower until my skin turns pink. All the hair on my body has softened in the heat and my fingers resemble Grandma's before she died: small and wrinkly and pale.

If I weren't already wet, I'd be sweating in places I didn't know I had and couldn't reach even with extra hands. I should leave, save some hot water for my husband and carry on with my day, but I'm rooted to the shower floor.

The water washes away my tears and snot, all my sins and fears. The water washes the dirt from my soul, and I'm not ready to leave this safety just yet.

Fear and helplessness

I dreamt that I was helpless last night. Full of fear and radiating with the need to crawl into a small, dark place and hide.

There was a man with a gun on a bus. He was not angry, or stoned, or crazy. He was just looking for some fun.

My throat closed and my eyes burned with tears. My brain froze, all thought suspended, and I was terrified into inaction. I did the thing that I would never do, that thing that embodies my greatest fear: I sat, and waited to die.

Another dream. Another man. Another fear.

I had a portable vacuum cleaner in my hands, and a mission for cleanliness in my brain.

The man, horrible and bright and blond, didn't share my need for tidy carpets. With the power of his mind he reached out his hand and froze me in place.

As I struggled to free myself the muscles in my right leg popped. Coiled useless inside me, my desire dried up and died, but I defiantly pressed on.

I desperately want to work out today. I want to burn calories and fat and fear away on the treadmill. I need to feel that delicious ache-pain of torn muscle fibre. I want to lift weights, and build up lactic acid and an immunity against helplessness.

If only I could stop coughing.

Morbis and contigo

This cough rattles around in my chest, tearing at my lungs and suffocating my breath.

My forehead burns with sweat and beads of worry drip off my chin. How can I work when I want to die? How can I be productive when I can't even catch my own breath?

I cough germs and moist disease onto my palms. Everything I touch drips with illness. It follows me around, like a big cloud of gross.

Someone please disinfect me.

My not-sisters

I always wanted a sister. Big or little, I didn't care. Brothers too, but pretend brothers are easier to come by.

If I had a sister we'd go shopping together, and maybe stop for tea and cookies.

I would tell her my worries, and make her confide her fears in me.
We would trade recipes and share clothes. I would share everything I learned about life with her, and we'd make each other wise.

I'd have her over for movie night, and we'd eat popcorn and paint each other's toenails. I would always let her cry on my shoulder, and I'd never tell her just what she wanted to hear.

I'd never out her to our parents, or tell her children her secrets. I would keep all her private stuff private, and I'd let her call me at four AM when her boyfriend dumped her over the answering machine.

Since I have no sisters of my own, I secretly pretend that my girlfriends are my sisters. Pretend sisters are better than none at all.

Pennyroyal and catella

My thoughts chase their tails in my head.

Small dog, big feet, pounding in circles around my head. When they slow down long enough for to me catch one it's just a ball of fur. I search for the meaning, answers to my questions, but it's just an animal. A matted blur, words and phrases that aren't related; like the fleas swarming on a mutt, the words are there, squirming and massive.

But they're all disconnected.

I bought a chain for my eye-glasses.
It's metallic and blue and cold. In the mornings I sit at my computer, naked, with nothing on but my eye-glasses and the cold, cold chain against my bare shoulders.

It makes me feel like a naughty librarian.

Loose change

I found a soft spot on my heart today, so I poked it just to see what it would feel like.

Like a fresh bruise, it hurts and feels good at the same time. The pain is dull and delicious like a loose tooth wobbling in my gums.

It's like a pill that got stuck in my throat, big and lumpy and hard to swallow around. I can't throw it up and I can't swallow it down.

I can barely breathe around it, the pill and the soft spot on my heart, but it doesn't affect my smile.

Dirty, stray thoughts

When you said "thanks", I said "uh-huh".
What I meant to say was, "you're welcome", "that was wonderful", and "don't go".

It came out sounding casual but I wanted to grab your hand and press it to my breast.

I wanted to smell your hair and that part of your shirt where the collar presses against your neck.

I wanted to hold you against your will and make you tell me that you love me, and then maybe tell me your name.

I wanted to bite your ear and claw your back and meet your wife. I wanted to take you home to play Cribbage and put you in a bubble bath.

But I just said, "uh-huh" and licked the salt off my fingers, and adjusted my panties as you walked away.