Hi, yes... I'm thirty and I'm wearing all my hair on top of my head in a ridiculously oversized bun. Why? Because I didn't want to wash it last night or this morning. Because I thought it would work. Because I live on the edge. It's two hours till close at work, and the thing is still up, mostly, stacked precariously and held loosely by a hair band and bobby pins, rolling over to one side a little. In my mind, it's just about to break loose, with enough stray hairs to tether a hot air balloon. My window is open to my right, breeze blowing, and even though my armpits are sweating, and I close it to a crack because I worry about defectors. Hairs that just give up the ghost, lose their will to stand upright.
The girls downstairs, and even the boss's son who stopped by to say hi to pa, have commented on my hair today and how good it looks. I sent a picture of an "I'm over it" me-with-bun to my boyfriend today, grumbling about how one side of my head hurt because the roots of my hair don't like being told what to do... basically to stand on their heads (or mine) when they're used to sloughing off.
I have restless body syndrome, and I can't stop swinging my crossed leg back and forth-- pumping, actually. My back doesn't hurt today, which came as a welcome surprise, and to celebrate, I'm wearing a tee shirt and tank top and sweater. Even though the day is warm for a NW summer. The sweater is white, and it's camouflage so I'm not wearing all black like a witch (yeah, charcoal gray long skirt and black t-shirt). Also, the board room is ridiculously cold in the summer, with AC blasting like a 90's boom box. Hence: sweater.
I'm still pumping my leg, sitting at my desk, going over the month's billing cycle.
Half an hour to go, and I'm swinging my foot moderately.
Ten minutes, and still going.
ADHD.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
Thursday, July 18, 2013
What have you been doing lately?
Oh! Hello there! How has your summer been?
Cool. Glad to hear it. Uh-huh. I know, right?
Mine? Let's see... what did I do this weekend?
And that's when my mind goes blank.
Well, he came over, and I forget after that.
I don't know what we do...
Probably the same things most people do.
Eat food, clean up, lounge around, watch movies,
take walks, hang out with friends, take hikes, drive...
water plants, hug a lot, buy groceries, play with phones,
go to church, write stories, read aloud, laugh and be funny,
plan on spending time with the other's family, buy plane tickets,
be lazy, make lists, help each other process life, let the other cry,
let yourself cry, "pass notes" all day when we're apart, write haiku,
misunderstand, make up, worry, pray, tell secrets, drink tea, thrift shop,
hold hands, learn each other, forgive, notice the seasons, watch the stars,
take pictures, look at water, trim moustaches, clean glasses, wash cars, and
talk on the phone, meet the other's friends, feel anxious, and talk it all over again,
share devotional readings, read cat bible, fairy tales, poetry, fantasy, news articles,
bring over dinner, do rodent and pest control, learn how to fix backs, learn how to kiss,
play games, encourage and affirm, plan dates, make a movie queue, talk about our pasts,
talk about the future (as in next week or next month), talk about what we're going to do now,
try to find motivation to do what we are going to do now, do the thing that we're going to do now,
later.
After a nap, or a hug, or silence, or conversation, or re-thinking, or a trip to the loo, or sunglasses,
or an outfit change, an additional sweater or jacket or scarf, some jeans, shoes vs. flip flops, does my hair need doing, did you bring water and snacks and are we taking my car or your jeep, because if it's open air, I've gotta tether down my hair to keep it from cutting my face for half an hour straight.
After a week of procrastinating on buying plants again because I am so nervous about starting my own garden. How much time do I spend on things that everyone spends time on, but not as much as I do? How do I factor in procrastination and not sound like Hamlet, suspicious, terrified, checking and double-checking, plotting and counter-plotting, all to simply show up and be ready and done in time to die?
I do what people do, what women do, what moms do, just by myself and often with a boy.
Cool. Glad to hear it. Uh-huh. I know, right?
Mine? Let's see... what did I do this weekend?
And that's when my mind goes blank.
Well, he came over, and I forget after that.
I don't know what we do...
Probably the same things most people do.
Eat food, clean up, lounge around, watch movies,
take walks, hang out with friends, take hikes, drive...
water plants, hug a lot, buy groceries, play with phones,
go to church, write stories, read aloud, laugh and be funny,
plan on spending time with the other's family, buy plane tickets,
be lazy, make lists, help each other process life, let the other cry,
let yourself cry, "pass notes" all day when we're apart, write haiku,
misunderstand, make up, worry, pray, tell secrets, drink tea, thrift shop,
hold hands, learn each other, forgive, notice the seasons, watch the stars,
take pictures, look at water, trim moustaches, clean glasses, wash cars, and
talk on the phone, meet the other's friends, feel anxious, and talk it all over again,
share devotional readings, read cat bible, fairy tales, poetry, fantasy, news articles,
bring over dinner, do rodent and pest control, learn how to fix backs, learn how to kiss,
play games, encourage and affirm, plan dates, make a movie queue, talk about our pasts,
talk about the future (as in next week or next month), talk about what we're going to do now,
try to find motivation to do what we are going to do now, do the thing that we're going to do now,
later.
After a nap, or a hug, or silence, or conversation, or re-thinking, or a trip to the loo, or sunglasses,
or an outfit change, an additional sweater or jacket or scarf, some jeans, shoes vs. flip flops, does my hair need doing, did you bring water and snacks and are we taking my car or your jeep, because if it's open air, I've gotta tether down my hair to keep it from cutting my face for half an hour straight.
After a week of procrastinating on buying plants again because I am so nervous about starting my own garden. How much time do I spend on things that everyone spends time on, but not as much as I do? How do I factor in procrastination and not sound like Hamlet, suspicious, terrified, checking and double-checking, plotting and counter-plotting, all to simply show up and be ready and done in time to die?
I do what people do, what women do, what moms do, just by myself and often with a boy.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
My favorite: Dog.
Last night at an open air concert in the city, I saw the frailest, oldest, quietest chihuahua of my life. It was so fragile, shaped like a whippet, my brother's dog. Those sensitive, bulbous eyes, protruding from delicately etched and scored temples, pitied the world while patiently accepting it. Black graying, such a thin coat, suitable only for summers. What a contrast to its owner, a ruddy, glowing girl with short, curly brown hair and a ready smile. A baby-friend of mine reached out her hand for a pat, and I was in baby-dog heaven.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
In the market for a muse
Oh, hai! I'm in the market for a muse. Can you help me? I have compiled a list of muses that simply will not do; please do not repeat the list in your suggestions.
I don't smoke, so I can't call up the genie in a pipe. I prefer not to drink to any point of excess, so that's right out. I'm not interested in passe form of chemical substance to alter my thinking, unless it's chocolate, which might also kill me.
Perhaps the spirit of some long-dead saint, or poet, or a fictional character from a fantasy novel. Maybe it could be a living poet. Or the pope. I'm not sure how amusing that would be.
Maybe my muse could be the dog of some little boy's dreams. Just so playful and unwieldy. A dirt-roller and a flower-puller.
It could be an overachieving sister, or a timid mother, or a bulldozing father, but those don't seem like very fluid or inspirational characters to me at this time. Plus, where would I find inspiration for them in the first place?
It could be a tall boy that smells like fabric softener and wears mottled orange t-shirts. It could be that this boy has a beard, a crazy family, a recently-deceased best friend of a dog, a recently deceased dead-beat dad, and an eye for the beautiful and the absurd. He could fool you into believing he is a semi-pro wrestler, a bodyguard, a bouncer. Perhaps this boy has a penchant for the three R's: reading, writing, and reconciliation. He may have the crazy idea that the whole world is a vast playground, and that he belongs to everything and everyone as much as they belong to him. Maybe his one dream is to be a family man, to be respectable, to work well and wisely, to live quietly, to do good and raise some chickens.
What if I am in love with my muse?
I don't smoke, so I can't call up the genie in a pipe. I prefer not to drink to any point of excess, so that's right out. I'm not interested in passe form of chemical substance to alter my thinking, unless it's chocolate, which might also kill me.
Perhaps the spirit of some long-dead saint, or poet, or a fictional character from a fantasy novel. Maybe it could be a living poet. Or the pope. I'm not sure how amusing that would be.
Maybe my muse could be the dog of some little boy's dreams. Just so playful and unwieldy. A dirt-roller and a flower-puller.
It could be an overachieving sister, or a timid mother, or a bulldozing father, but those don't seem like very fluid or inspirational characters to me at this time. Plus, where would I find inspiration for them in the first place?
It could be a tall boy that smells like fabric softener and wears mottled orange t-shirts. It could be that this boy has a beard, a crazy family, a recently-deceased best friend of a dog, a recently deceased dead-beat dad, and an eye for the beautiful and the absurd. He could fool you into believing he is a semi-pro wrestler, a bodyguard, a bouncer. Perhaps this boy has a penchant for the three R's: reading, writing, and reconciliation. He may have the crazy idea that the whole world is a vast playground, and that he belongs to everything and everyone as much as they belong to him. Maybe his one dream is to be a family man, to be respectable, to work well and wisely, to live quietly, to do good and raise some chickens.
What if I am in love with my muse?
Monday, July 8, 2013
The Story's Out
Once upon a time, I met a boy named Rob at Hogwarts. We were first years together, and I helped him overcome a twelve foot troll using a flying chandelier and a glass of warm milk. He would say it was mostly my doing, but that's because he is humble. If he would not have tripped the bloke, we never would have stood a chance.
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