dis-affected

I think I may suffer (mildly) from Seasonal Affective Disorder

Grey days sap my energy.

I find myself thinking how it might be nice to be one of those "tea and cozy" people with a good book and a warm blanket. The people from the movies and the commercials. The people that I've read about. You know the people... I don't need to go on.

I like that grey weather has this romantic notion of tea and cozy, and even that I'd like to be ones of those people, but it doesn't really work for me.

I guess it's a lot like a lot of romantic cliches, it's pleasant to think about, and easy to imagine that someone must be doing it, but it doesn't really happen all that much in "real life."

so...

I usually end up doing at least one "something" on a grey day - - something up and about, being a part of the world. Perhaps because I'm just too willful to give in and surrender to the grey, or perhaps because I keep believing that if I just get up and DO something often enough, eventually the grey won't be able to seep into my mood, soul, spirit, whatever, and I'll be cured.

I've been doing this for YEARS, and still, more often than not I'm only about half as bright and bumblesome when the weather is dismal.

I suppose I could go make tea and grab a book. I suppose that like so many romantic cliches I could "make it happen for ME" if only I fought the inertia a little and got up and did something about it.

But I'm not.

I'm not making tea and grabbing a blankie and book.
I'm not giving in to romance and cozying.

Instead, I'm gearing up to head out and see if I can't find something to do that will kindle some sense of inner sunshine.

Call me a clicheoclast.

I'm not satisfied with "what works in romantic notions."
Not me.

I'm making my own Romance.

Rhapsody

no.
not the music thing.

a sleep-resistent night last night; i was overcome by the beauty of night. it was cold but not bitter, dazzled with brilliant stars in a deep black sky, quiet except for the small motion of night-things, and still - so very still - - but deeply stirred in my soul.

after i came in from the outside, echoes and cadence and creaking floor boards and the soft soft bed waltzed me into a "write the poetry" frame of mind, and i was up a bit longer crafting a draft of a thought of a dream of a someday maybe poem.

- - it's not the one i've been working on for weeks... that one is my taciturn piece and STILL will only speak when it has something important to SAY.

i am happy to have irons in the fire, poetically speaking. it's nice to be able to bumble about with a few, or even several, different thought-works at any given time on any given day in any given mood.

this is happening because i'm spending more time on what i write now. even when i think that i'm getting complete thoughts and phrases, i want to hold on to them, roll them over in my hands for a bit - - feeling all the edges for rough spots, holding them to the light to make sure that they not only shine but SPARKLE (but only where they should sparkle... sparkling where one should shine, or maybe even glow is as distracting as a dull spot in the middle of a rhapsody), and waiting for that weepy/giddy/giggling/jaw-dropped/can't-breathe self to say:

"Oh My God, did that REALLY just come out of my OWN mind? It can't possibly have, I don't have that kind of skill... but look there it is and it's in my book in my own writing so I must have. How Wonderful!"

then i know it's ready to move over to the next page where the finished thoughts live. that's where it waits to be partnered with the other good thoughts, and arranged and rearranged
(and then revised again)
before they're all finally lined up in perfect formation for a final read, as a full poem
at which point i usually tear it down and start editing all over again.

but last night - -
last night was beautiful
and so was this morning
and i have a lot of new thoughts in my little book of pencil scrawls and i'm happy

Ejector Seat

On Monday night (or Tuesday morning) 'round about midnight, the aliens took over my guts.
I spent all day Tuesday feeling very much like a battleground... a sloggy, swampy battleground.
Yesterday was better... until later.
So this morning, at 4, the baby was up and hugging the toilet.
It's been a craptastic time for tummies Chez-Nif.
Sigh.

In other news:

Had a great afternoon in the park yesterday. Lots of walking and laughing and time away from the normal hum-drum. We talked about science (-ivores) and used our imaginations (The Great Northern Gator: A Herbivore) and expressed our impatience over the onset of spring (wishing the redbuds into bloom). We had a picnic and quality time. It's so freakin' awesome being a mom.

Found a fun restaurant in Belleville (Bayou Grill) that has some pretty good food (ultra tender ribs) and really fun staff. Had a nice dinner.

And then the puke. And whatnot.
Her belly is rebelling again.
Nif out...

Glass House

Today's thought is not an easy one for me... it borders on political, and that's a tough pill for me to swallow.
I suspect I'm likely to offend a few folks with it, as well. It's not my intent...

Here's the thing.
It's called Judge not...
It's called love your neighbor...
It's called, do unto others...

I have no respect for the comments of the radical right wing (or the radical left wing, or the radical anyone for that matter)... and in many cases, I not only disagree with what they say and do, but much of it sickens me.

A school principle telling her gay students that they're going to hell...
A politician saying that unmarried parenthood fosters child abuse...
A FLOCK of politicians making long strides backward in terms of womens' rights.

The whole lot of it makes me want to puke, and scream, and raise my fist in the air and call down the lightning...

And then I have to stop.

Because the minute I want to call down the powers of heaven, or the universe, or God, or whatever else it is that's going to smite them with thousands of volts of "righteous fury," I've crossed the line and become just as bad as I think they are.

If they want to be what *I* consider sick, or wrong, or cruel, or stupid, or... - fine. That's their gig. They have as much right to it as people have to be gay, or women, or followers of Islam, or....

Do I want them running my country? No. I vote against them.
Do I want them running my schools? No. I appeal to the Superintendent.
Do I want them in my life in any way? No... not at all...
But as much as they are in my life, I follow the channels to remove them from it.
Is it time for new rules? Sure... maybe... I don't know.

But I'm not judging people.
I live in a glass house.

Back in the Saddle

It's been more than two years since I've thought I had anything worth writing.

A lot has changed in my life:

I lost my job.

This is nothing like losing ones keys. While it's not quite as bad as losing ones mind (I'm guessing) it felt a lot like it. While I never thought (and still don't believe) I identified myself with my job, I definitely identified myself with "working." There were a lot of times during that 10 month period (I'm back to work - tho in a completely different (if not new) capacity) that I thought "who the fuck AM I if I'm not working?" and "how do I identify my worth, now that it's not monetized for me?" and "OOOhhhhh - I can drive my ass all over the state - and COUNTRY - now that I'm not tied to a desk all freakin' day!!!" But that last bit is a whole different take on it, and I don't really want to get into that right now. The thing is - - I realised, very profoundly, that I'm very much the kind of person who needs an occupation. I managed a while just taking my (generous) severance package and whiling away time with Foo.

Then I filed for unemployment, and all of a sudden, things changed. A lot. I felt useless and worthless. So I grabbed a part time gig where I learned a lot about what I don't really want to do - no matter HOW good it smells in the workplace (it was a local florist; they needed some marketing help). And even if I wasn't using my skills and talents to their potential, it felt INCREDIBLY GOOD to be contributing again.

Yep. I'm a worker bee.

I'm back at work now - temping for my old company - and doing stuff that most people just flat-out don't understand, and at which I happen to be VERY good. I feel the power of pulling in my own income again. I feel the thrill of accomplisment - from time to time - with big projects and little ideas. It's a wonderful thing.



My divorce is final.

There's not a lot I'm going to say about this. Blog or otherwise it's private business.

It is - however - a major change in my life and it affects the person I am and the way I live, so it bears mentioning.

The two biggest external changes are the amount of time I get to spend with Foo and the amount of $ in my bank account. Both qualify for the "not enough" category. But I'm working through each of them in my own way, and it will all work out. I'm committed.



My Foo is in 2nd grade.

OMG I can't believe I've slipped for so long that the last round of posts were about her getting ready for Kindergarten. Did I mention that I so suck?

Anywho - - she's smart as a fucking whip. It makes me proud and drives me nuts. Yep - I'm a typical parent. She's doing great. She's awesome. She's abjectly miserable with homework. She doesn't like to take the time to write neatly and most of what she writes is significantly more beautiful contextually than it is legible. Math is her favorite subject (ROCKS!!!!) and she's honing her skills at drawing cats. She likes cats. So sue me.

This is a big year for her, tho, because of a couple of things that don't exactly relate to classwork.

She's embarked on the world of girl-scouting. She's a brownie. She likes the social time after school every other monday. She makes some funky fun craft stuff. She laughs with her friends. She sucks at selling cookies. I imagine she'll suck even worse at delivering them. But she likes it, and that's enough for me.

AND

She's getting ready to make her First Communion. She's in a Catholic school (at least through the end of the year) and it's a 2nd grade EVENT. We have her dress - - she loves it... and truth be told, I do to. It's pretty. We have her gloves. We have her veil (tho I might be altering the bejeesus out of it). We have her tights. We do NOT have her shoes... but that's ok. The white patent leather shoes will be coming out for Easter soon (or are they already? I have foregone actually shopping at Target for the past couple months (see above comment about $) and have no idea what's in the markets these days) and we'll get her feet covered. (te he - - see what I did there???)

Honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about this. I've been a lapsed Catholic for a long time now... or maybe a "buffet Catholic" ??? I like some traditions. I like some songs. I don't like dogma. I don't like waking up on Sunday for Church, IN LARGE part because I don't like a lot of the messages that fill the Sunday Mass. I know that she's pretty deeply steeped in the messages she's hearing... and while I don't like all of them, I do like the relationship she's building with her Maker. Hers is not a lot like mine - - not at this point - - but that's exactly as it should be. But the whole Communion thing. Eh... it's a thing. I'll support it because I love her and it's important to her. I may even wait until after she's done it before I explain that she's just taken her first indelible step over the line of Taboo and has become a cannibal.

Next year we're probably switching to homeschooling. It will be a big step, but one that I think she'll benefit from. Not sure how I'm going to sell my mom on it... I have a lot of research to do, and share... but the truth of the matter is that I don't really like the programming she's receiving right now, and I'm ready to flip the switch.



I've been writing again.

Most of what I've pulled together has been poetry.

Ok - fucking all of anything I've done worth looking at is poetry. Fine. Whatever. Fuck you.
(I say it with love, you know that, right?)

But I'm writing. And you get to read some of it. Aren't you lucky?

I have NO IDEA how often I'm going to update... clearly we've seen what a miserable failure I am at keeping up with a "program". But I want to... and that's pretty damned important, I think.

so - -
yeah...

W A T C H T H I S S P A C E

can't count for crap

see how I suck?
ok - so i have 5 days left

today we are going to talk about all the things that get in the way of blogging a countdown

there's work, and there's life.

sigh...

it's been a nutty October... filled with fun and not so fun and nowhere near enough time. I am COUNTING on November to be less busy, at least a bit.

If it's not, I desperately fear the utter failure of the NANOWRIMO...

sigh.

tickety

So - in preparation for participating in NANOWRIMO (yes, i've FINALLY signed up) I'm pre-participating by counting down to halloween.

Don't blame me - the good folks at Skull-a-Day sucked me in, and really, being me, how could i refuse?

I'm still undecided as to what I'm going to count. (it's possible it will be meltdowns, breakdowns, and other various downs while trying to work, be mom, be wife, be social, and make costumes, decorations, and other mind-numbing activities).

Of course, i could just destroy myself and do a "bake down" to halloween??? eek! now THAT'S scary.

Any suggestions???

broad side

I'm researching barn door hardware.

The garden shed / barn out back needs an update. It's an awesome little barn that up until a gardening makeover I had been taking for granted. Now that the weed-bed behind it has been turned into a very pretty little garden, I'm all about giving some much needed love to the shed.

It wants a coat or two of red paint and white trim.
It NEEDS a new set of doors.
The current doors are (apart from falling apart) hinged and beat the crap out of the pretty flowers I plant on either side of them.
So I'm investigating sliding doors and hardware. The doors should be pretty easy - we'll make them out of 2-by and strap them together - good old-fashioned barn doors. The hardware, I'm sort of struggling with. I think I have the entire list together, but I'm not sure. And then, whatever we get track wise, I'm thinking I'm going to paint - because galvanized is just ugly. I'm thinking I'm going to paint it black... so that it stands out.

And I want a window... but that's likely a later project.

We're also toying with the notion of building new porch steps (out of trex) for the front porch.

And we need a new roof.
And windows.
and plumbing.
and electrical.
and a new laundry room floor.
and a new bathroom.

sigh.

choose

what's more fun:
virtual school shopping for your daughter's first day of kindergarten
or
a brand new lime green moleskine?


what's more daunting:
cleaning the house for a gathering on Saturday night
or
another baby shower on Sunday afternoon?


what's more rewarding:
doing an awesome job on a project about which you are passionate and hearing nothing from your boss
or
slapping some crap together on a project about which you don't care, and having your boss call it great work?

Some of life's questions make me smile today.

in other news

Our daughter - Miss FooFoo - is registered for Kindergarten.
MT took all of the paperwork in yesterday before he started his work day. It feels good to know that it's all handled and that this portion of her school stuff is all tucked away.

I still need to get her some elements of her uniform. Fortunately the school is much more generous with their uniform policy than when I was there, and navy blue is as suitable as the ultra expensive plaid uniform bits that my mom had to buy for me. Yes, my daughter is attending the same elementary school I did - I think it's weird, and sweet. I have most of what she'll need that way.

It's been very difficult for me to avoid getting her school supplies already. That's an outing that we'll share with her dad who is as much a stationery-whore as I. I think she may end up with enough paper, markers, crayons, pencils, and whatever else to supply her entire class. We just can't help ourselves.

The most daunting preparation, however, is the baby herself. Oh - don't get me wrong, she's completely geeked to be going to school. What she's not getting is that going to school means going to bed at a bedtime, and waking up early in the morning. (This 'early' makes me laugh, as I'm usually out the door to start my workday before she'll even be getting out of bed.) We've decided to start grooming her for the new schedule by shifting her to it after her 5th birthday (very soon approaching). I'm not looking forward, at all, to those first few weeks. Our Miss Foo is a night owl (like mama) and NOT a morning person (like her dad). She's going to be a Princess p.i.t.a... I can tell.

Still - I'm so proud of who she is, and so eager for her to experience all the fun that school means. She'll have new friends at her own age, she'll be learning things in new ways (mom and I teach her - a lot, and often - but we have our way, and this will be a new way... it's exciting). She'll have gym class, and computer class, and Spanish class. She'll have "pizza days" and "Christmas break" and all those wonderful, awful, terrible things that come with school.

I'm so excited.

trying

I am NOT a patient woman.
I never have been, and likely never will be.
I try - oh heaven knows I try.

but land's sakes - - when I show you something 4 times. when I WALK. YOU. THROUGH. IT. every time you've done it, I expect you to freakin' learn. eventually.

four quarters in a row now (this is a WHOLE YEAR, my friends) i've shown the same guy the same steps and three quarters in a row he's done it wrong exactly the same way each time. three quarters in a row he's called me saying "i think i've done it wrong, but i'm not sure, can you please look over this with me?"
oh sure, he's apologetic, and thankful, and whatever... but good LORD man, freakin WRITE IT DOWN.

ok.
whew.

that's better.
thanks.

and by the way - i haven't written ONE blog post on my shared blog with my husband. ultimate fail.
I HAVE however, managed to completely avoid McDonald's for nearly four full months. I stopped in, once, to get lunch for my daughter and mother, but didn't get so much as a diet coke for myself. (not that any of this avoidance has helped me with the weight loss at all... i'm maintaining steadily at the number I started the year at).

slacks

blogger... facebook... ymail

i prefer trousers, but most often find myself in "pants" - mock-dockers (daren't call them chino's as they're not) or cords. except at home, where my fat ass is ALWAYS cloaked in "lounge pants" which is code for pajama bottoms.

i suspect i may be experiencing some form of depression (you know, that "form" that is technically classified as denial, because depression sounds so serious, and really, i'm mostly only just lazy). i'm fairly certain my husband will read this, shake his head at me, and wonder when my next "hermitage" will set in.

on accounta i'm fat and wholly lacking in motivation. oh sure, i want to be slenderer. but i'm apparently hungry for everything BUT being healthy and lean and firm. (in my mind, appetite, beef, and ripe followed each of the adjectives).

i have 2 resolutions this year... only two. one is a shared blog with my husband, the other is to avoid McDonalds. I should be able to manage to stick to them. I have broken a good deal of bad habits by adopting the persona... as an example, I chose to be a non-smoker, and haven't had a single puff since. While I was pregnant and for the year and half afterwards, I didn't drink. It was part of the person I was. When I was in college I was the girl who didn't wear jeans... not "wouldn't" but "didn't". There's something DEFINITE in the statement that I "don't" that helps me get through it. I'm not sure how to be the girl who "doesn't" over-eat, or eat crap, or drink soda (i was almost her in college too - - i didn't drink any brown soda's back then).

I'm so VERY looking for the way to be the girl who likes to work out (like i used to like situps). I desperately want to be the girl who doesn't eat stupidly. because resolutions for stuff like this don't work for me unless they're personality shifts.

maybe having sassy black hair and a wii fit and being the girl who doesn't patronize the golden arches will work for me.

meanwhile - for the rest of the workday - i have to be the girl who doesn't slack at work.

fin out.

Zom-Pire

I'm not sure if I'm a zombie or a vampire but I'm definitely dealing with "back from the dead."

I've been miserable sick for the better part of 5 weeks - in varying degrees. My darling husband and I are of the opinion that I've contracted an alien virus.
Halloween was fun - heck Niftober was fun. We had a LOT of stuff planned, did all of it, and it broke me.
By the time November rolled around (the 9th, to be exact) the bottom fell out. Made me miss the Sisters of Mercy concert... the one that I bought the tickets a month in advance for. OH so pissed off over that one.
Thanksgiving was a rough go too - - feeling very poorly and surrounded by a LOT of loud family.
I'm hoping that Christmas will go better... I mean, after nearly 5 weeks I HAVE to be on the mend, right? As I write this, there are Christmas decorations downstairs calling out to me (from boxes stacked in the middle of other stacks of boxes...), a tree that still hasn't been brought up, ONE MEASELY string of lights up on the window (and nothing on any - - ANY - - of the others) and 3 - no 4 - strings of lights on the porch (none on the edges of the house... that's too much like danger).
Don't even get me started on the number of gifts that I don't have wrapped.

OK friends... I will endeavour (because I hate saying "try") to be here more often.

faceless

the weekend was a blur. a pleasant blur, but a blur nonetheless.

in the process of all the doings and goings on over the weekend I have misplaced my makeup bag. granted, I didn't start looking for it until some ridiculous hour this morning, while half asleep, but the bottom line is that I ended up facing the first day of work, after a long weekend, without a stitch of makeup on my face.

needless to say, all of my meetings have been brief.

touche

mama: baby, if you EVER willingly do anything that you KNOW could put your life at risk, you will be GROUNDED
baby: from what?
mama: from EVERYTHING
baby: even eating?

resurgent

i've been reminded lately that i'm a romantic dreamer. certainly there are people in the world who would belly-laugh to think that i needed to be reminded of this, but i have spent so very much time putting that girl away in cupboards, that i have - or i should say, HAD - effectively erased her from my own consiousness.

well over a decade ago my heart was broken. compound fracture. shattered.

i spent a long time denying myself any real feelings. being a scientist. being anaesthetic. letting moments come, and pass. keeping my heart sequestered from my head... and body. in short i did everything in my power to keep from having my heart broken again. i made a lot of decisions in an emotional vacuum - focusing on the pragmatic - coming up with reasons to turn (run) away from any circumstance that could possibly involve a true, real, romantic attachment on my side.

i spent a short time after that coming close. playing with fire... or warming my hands - you choose. i got close to really loving people. testing the ice-wall i had built around myself and finding cracks... terrified by the implications of them.

within the past 5 years i started REALLY letting the walls down, feeling - and hurting by the bye - and allowing the feelings to flow through me (instead of shoving them off and away).

but within the last year, i've come to recognize that long forgotten poet in me. it's been a wicked rude awakening... i've caught myself realising how many opportunities i've lost, what beauty i've turned away from, what truths i've missed. i'm glad though, to have me back... in spite of how horrible it is to realise what i've left in my wake.

if i've ever broken your heart, or hurt you, i'm sorry.

mortal uh tea

it's a tea with milk afternoon. if Kiernan still haunts me this will probably make him laugh at the old woman i've become, but really... its blasted cold in the office and i'm feeling pensive. if i had a lap cat and some knitting to do, i'd be all set.

i'm not sure if today's tea really counts as old woman tea though... in spite of the milk, it's not any boring old tea, but some highly spiced chai, to which i've added hazelnut sweetener and milk. so really, i believe i've crossed over from tea to some other starbuckian beverage altogether.

it dawned on me recently (in the middle of an email to a friend) to suspect that one of the driving forces behind my new-found desperation to contact old friends is the recent loss of a dear (and young) one. all this time i had been blaming it on approaching middle age (which may very well have some part in it), but i am leaning, more and more, toward this difficulty i have with saying good-bye - especially as regards the last good-bye.

it's compounded when I regard the parting that often happened with these friends from my youth... these friends who shared my invincibility... who, like me, were too vibrant for the seriousness of saying "I love you, and wherever you go, you are a part of me, and I want to thank you for the part of yourself that you've given to me, and please take care of the part of me that I have given you in return." there's so much more weight these days.

youth is NOT wasted on the young, i think. i'm not sure if - weighted by the depths of 'maturity'- any of those soft sweet moments that comprise so many of these fond memories could have happened with my mind as it is now. certainly, the things i do now have more meaning, and are probably more strongly rooted in "things i WILL remember" but these things lack the airy lightness - the very innocence - of those carefree (truthfully, mostly careless) moments. nougat, or maybe even lighter - cotton candy - sweet because of the ephemeral. squish it all up, make it dense, and it's too much.

pondersome day, today...

found... nearly

photo used with the kind permission of the photographer, Mark Moore

girlier or sillier

something.

the story?

this past weekend a memory hit me clear as blazes.

i'm me, but younger (of course, it's a memory, hell0...) in bloomers and a chemise. my corset, underskirt, hoop, bumroll, overskirt, bodice - all balled up somwhere, maybe in a pile next to me, maybe not. i know that i have my hat (my gloves are in it, it is not on my head) and probably some other bits with me. the sun is setting - or possibly has set - the sky is darkening and the air is cooling - considerably. i sit in the dampening grass on the top of a hill - there are earthy smells all around me. across from me is a friend, a girl, an angel of a girl complete with golden hair and glowing rosy cheeks. her name is Kim, but to me she is Soya, and will always be.. she makes me laugh and we half giggle with each other throughout the conversation. i can feel the distinct difference, now, between the cool earth beneath me and the heat of my skin (i spent the day walking in the hot sun, carting probably 40 pounds of costume and accessory, making people happy, feeding them the fodder of thoughts like I am having right now). beside me, a boy. a young man. burgeoning. at the onset of the ripeness of his manlihood. for now, though, he is a young man, a gentleman. his name is Patrick - i'm almost certain of it, but memory is wicked deceptive... i could be wrong. he is full of whispers and caresses. in my memory i know his hand on my shoulder, or, perhaps, his arm around my waist. i know he wants to kiss me - - the pity is that I don't remember if he did.

it's a movie - moment, this memory. it's the kind of thing that helps me remember the prettiness of my history. it's the kind of thing I want to share with my daughter when she tells me about hers.

silly girl

i watched Becoming Jane last night.
alone. while my husband was at work. during girl week.
WHAT kind of foolish am I...

i'm not usually prone to swooning, now that I'm a wife and mother and corporate monkey.
i'm not usually given to flights of fancy...
and yet, i find myself still heart-broken at the practical good-bye
OF COURSE i know it was the smartest thing she could do - - for EACH of them.
OF COURSE i know she was right
but it's cold comfort.

i want her happy endings.
i crave happy endings... justice... love.

what?! what do you expect from me?
i'm a wishing star
or a guardian angel
or
a silly girl...