I get Wednesday off! The whole day! Just to myself! I want to go play and do things only I like to do. Maybe I'll drag Jenn along. Maybe I'll... uh... I have no idea what I'm going to do.
Maybe a big hodgepodge of stuff. Yeah.
The massage was wonderful. I am able to stand up straight again.
I'm doing little things to improve myself. One thing is to finally(!) treat my hair right. I'm following Curly Girl advice and using the special products that my hair has been sorely without all my life: $2 conditioner and $4 towel-turban thing.
I have naturally curly hair. It is like telephone cord. In humid parts of the world, I have woken up with little spirals of hair that bounce and sparkle and make me feel alive. It happened in Portland, Oregon; Ireland; England; and New York. I think during the 30+ years I've spent here in Texas I've had a spontaneous Good Hair Day, like, twice. It is like being the opposite of a werewolf: As soon as I leave Texas, I get prettier.
I'll be taking my extensions out soon. Maybe just for a while. Maybe forever. This may mean cutting my real hair short and looking like... ugh... okay, there's a reason short hair is called "Mommy Hair." BUT why should I let that bother me? I know that I have not excreted any tiny people, nor have I assumed care-taking of anyone else's excrescence. So, if I have short hair and someone makes an assumption about me, what's the worst that could happen? People already assume I have bred due to my advanced age. I don't get asked IF I have children so often as I get asked HOW MANY of them I have. And maybe the people who would ask this sort of thing are just being friendly and assuming I'm like them - which is a friendly thing to do.
In New York, we lived next door to the kindly widow of a famous one-legged sportscaster from the 1950's. Making polite conversation, she asked (quite suddenly) "When are you going to have your baby?" That sounds like a fat joke, but she wasn't making a fat joke. She had been telling me about her own kids and her friends' children, and the neighborhood children. It just occurred to me that she was probably giving me all sorts of chances to tell her about my plans for childbirth and rearing, but I remained oblivious to her hints.
Anyway, I'm also taking hair vitamins and wrapping my wet (non-shampooed, only conditionered and moussed) hair in a microfiber towel. It's true. It really does reduce frizz and when I take off the towel, I have spirally hair! Neato!
I like the current blondish color. I may go back to my natural mousy color for a while and just wear wigs. I might do a lot of things.
I got the house cleaned! My friend and her kiddo came out and scrubbed the accumulated filth of this hovel to within an inch of its cruddy life. They even steam-cleaned the carpet and got up 99% of the vomit that has been spewed forth time to time from my housepet over the last few months.
Animals are gross. Old animals are grosser than gross. My old cat is in a very cuddly, slow stage of his life. He loves lying on my chest and purring for all he's worth while I scratch his face and tell him things. He is a good listener at this stage. He is worth the hassle, expense, and nastiness because he is still happy and he still makes me happy. He has never once cared what my hair looks like.
In other news, TheTim and I went to art classes in Deep Ellum at an amazing fairyland of art and happiness called "ARTLOVEMAGIC" a.k.a Life in Deep Ellum.
I learned not only how to focus my talents, but also how to approach gallery owners about getting my work in there. There is so much I didn't know I didn't know!
I am all inspired to get my Web site revamped too.
There's more, but it's a big ol' secret.
I had a weird sadness yesterday morning. After watching the amazing mother-daughter team as they cleaned my place, I remembered what it was like with my own mother when we got along. We struggled together - making potatoes and ramen noodles last between her paychecks, shopping at thrift stores for every stitch of clothing (besides K-Mart undies) that I wore. A big special night out was chicken fried steak fingers from the Dairy Queen and watching Benny Hill together. I was crazy about Mom. She was my hero then. She worked all night and we lived in the converted upstairs of the house I grew up in. Some times, one or both of my brothers were there. Sometimes in winter the pipes froze solid and we didn't have water. Sometimes bad people came to the door and tried to open it late at night. Some nights I couldn't sleep at all and I'd stay awake until she came home just after sunrise. Some nights, late at night, I'd turn on the police radio and listen to her voice as she dispatched cars, answering calls of people who were worse off than us.
Sometimes weekends were on Tuesday and Wednesday and we would clean the house and then go out to dinner at Circle K. There were good times and bad. There were things I wanted and could not have, and things I had that I did not want. But when it was just us two, it was magic. The worst things that ever happened to us were when other people were involved in our lives later on.
Such is life.
I wonder, just know as I ruminate on this, if this history is why I am loath to bring home lots of friends or do more things outside the house with TheTim. Our time together is magic. Sometimes he has to work all night. I don't want to mess up our good life together by introducing random elements into it.
Maybe this time right now - sort of a struggle, but really not - is the best time? we are living here and trying to make the most of it. We have that unifying us.
Another perfect spring day - in November.
Windows open, cool breezes, sunshine... it's good to be alive.
Even if I do have a buttload of errands to do today.
My cat is just awesome - even if he did spring a tiny leak last night.
No leaks today, though. We're good.
I don't have a lot to say today. Art thing tonight - maybe. Art thing tomorrow - definitely.
Lately, I've been conking out around 7:00pm. It gets dark and my brain just says "Okay. Sleep now." And I do. I am the only one besides TheTim who has not gotten sick yet this flu season. Maybe it's the running. Maybe it's the abundance of sleep. I don't care.
After a long long long wait, I'm getting a massage today. I'm looking forward to it in a big way.
The second worst feeling in the world is waiting to hear the results of your friend's biopsy.
I consider it a badge of honor that I have only ever been called "idiot" by people who have never met me. And that's all I'm going to say.
That's the noise the squirrels make when they see Skeeter out and about. In the safety of the trees, the follow him, cussing and barking at him the whole time. I've used this excellent communication system with complete success to find the little fugitive when he climbs out of the yard. I've found him in the alley three houses down before. Just now I found him in the front yard, idly sitting in the shade and gnawing grass.
It is a ridiculously gorgeous spring day in November today. Perfect day. Lovely day.
Most excellent weekend. Halloween went well. Lots of kiddos - more than last year anyway. I was a hillbilly. At one point, Skeeter was next to me and he stood up. When he did, I started scritching the part of his tail that makes him insane. When I do that, his eyes get big and he starts licking the air and looking for something to chew. If my arm is handy, he nibbles and licks my skin until it is raw and the whole area smells hideous from his breath. On Halloween, I leaned my head down and put the brim of my cowboy hat within reach as I scritched. He bit onto the brim of my hat and chewed and pulled at it as hard as he could - wrinkling the brim, bending the wire inside it, almost pulling it off my head and embedding one of his upper fangs so hard I was afraid it would come out. (It didn't.) By the time Tim got a camera ready, it was over. Except for the persistent smell of Tabby Halitosis lingering around us.
Saturday morning (none of this post is in order, btw - deal with it) Tim and I went to the YMCA for a 90-minute "Fitness madness" class - or something like that. Again, I almost barfed from exertion. We were very sore afterwards.
I ran a 5K last night. We measured on Google maps a route from my house to 2.5K away. I ran it and back without stopping - pretty much.
There is another 5K sooner and closer than the big one on T-Giving, but the online registration page is such an immense pain the ass I refuse to participate.
I am thoroughly disgusted by places that will process a hand-written paper for free, but charge $3.25 for one done of the Internet! What the hell? Seriously?
And also, the website for the run is part of a snake oil, er, chiropractic office.
And then, at checkout, they try to sell you magazine subscriptions!
I am thoroughly unimpressed.
Oh, balls. I started the last post about how I was learning to connect with my women friends and it turned into a preachy-ass book report. Phooey.
Moving on...
The weather is cold and lovely and it makes me crave sitting in coffeeshops with hot cider and this laptop or a sketchbook or a book to read or, more likely, all of these thing precariously balanced in front of me while I stare into space ignoring them. I want to learn and create right now. I want to cram things into my little head - things like Dreamweaver and Flash. I want to make websites and animations and sketches.
When do I do my best stuff? When I'm stuck somewhere bored out of my mind. Or, more accurately, bored into my mind. I miss math classes and the really great doodlings I can get done when I'm supposed to be concentrating on integers.
What is it about me that the stuff I do best is the stuff I do when I'm supposed to be doing something else? Is everyone like this? Probably. that's why there's a dedicated word for 'procrastination.'
I am really quite cold right now and I don't like it. Also, the cat is stalking around yowling and yowling for ... something. What? WHAT, CAT? WHAT?
All he has to say is "arooooolllywowoooooollll."
That's no help at all.
Maybe I should have a yard sale this weekend...
I am only just now learning how to have girl friends. I grew up with boys, so I relate to boys. All of my real female friends relate better to boys than to girls. This is not an accident.
I am re-reading (for the 100th time, I think) one of the best advice books I've ever found - The Rules. If you roll your eyes at the name, then you've probably never actually read it and you're judging it by what you've heard from other people who have not read it either.
The Rules is a book that carefully outlines how to act towards people so that you don't scare them away. It is 99% written as a book of old-fashioned dating advice. It is very much like the sort of book a grandmother would have given her granddaughter on her 15th birthday if she were that sort of grandmother. But it is more than that. It's about slowing down, taking people at face value, and valuing yourself enough not to throw your time and energies into relationships that don't have any sort of reward for you. Reading it, I become more aware of how I am to people, not how I wish people would react to me. It has already helped me at work.
If you have a daughter, you should read this book all the way through and then give it to her as soon as possible. It will change her life for the better. There is also The Rules II which is updated and has even more great stuff in it.
I'm thinking about all this again because I'm sharing this book with one of my friends right now. After you learn The Rules it is hard to watch someone make mistakes and get hurt over and over again when you know exactly how (step by step!) to not get hurt by people who are - consciously or unconsciously - liable to hurt you. It's also uncomfortable to re-read it and see how I've backslid since the last time I read it.
In other news, I am still very sore from my aerobics classes this week. Ooochie. And I could not get a massage appointment with my favorite massaginist, as Tim calls them. He calls them that because we like to use funny words, not because he is mildly retarded.
I'm New But I'm Trying
The Month From Hell draws to a close. I'm not where I expected to be, but - all in all - I like where I am.
Going backwards, I took a step class and a core class at the YMCA last night and today I am sore. After a bit of healing, I am most assuredly going back for more. I kept up in the step class! and the other two people to keep up with were aerobics instructors (I found out later.) I almost threw up in Core, so I took it easy as I needed to. Paper plates. Holding a weight up as you get up and lie back down. These things can hurt.
Work is ok. Same as it ever was.
I went to Manchester, NH and discovered that I didn't like it. Phooey. I wanted to start Manchester ComedySportz US.
So, now we're thinking Portland. We're going there in January to scout it out during its less than perfect season.
My birthday was another one without a party, but TheTim was super nice to me with food and movie and love.
and before that I got deported and I'm finally getting to where I want to talk about it, but I find that when I tell someone about it, their brow furrows and they start asking questions starting with "Well did you..." and "How about it you..."
To be 100% honest, the case is closed. I don't want to do anything at this point. America is fine. I like America. I'm glad to be here.
I'm working on a coloring book about the experience.
I'm revamping Jillustrations.com. There are going to be loads more hand-drawn pictures and PhotoShop work. I like my regular job, but I would not mind being more creative.Even if that means I have nightmares like I had a little while ago.
In one of them, it was Halloween and Tim and I were talking about the CSz show I was going to be in and what he was going to do (sort records, probably) - then I realized that we had a kid! I asked Tim: "shouldn't we take our kid trick-or-treating?" and my heart sank when I realized that I would have to give up my CSz show to do that, and I didn't want to, but I felt so incredibly guilty about forgetting I had a child. Which is kind of exactly why I don't have children. People who don't know any better than to tell me things tell me that the sacrifice an hard work and blood sweat and tears and giving up the things and choking back my own needs and lifelong desires and wants and putting away the things I love most ... for some child - wanted or otherwise - will make me a better person. I don't want to be a better person. I like who I am now. I don't want to be a mother - especially one as neglectful and resentful of me as my own mother was. Having to balance the insane amounts of guilt involved in raising tiny people is not worth it to me. I have a hard enough time leaving Skeeter alone for a weekend. I can't imagine how bad I'd feel if I left some kid alone for three days with a big bowl of water and kibble.
the other dream I had was of Russian psychiatrists trying to inject me with stuff and take away my books and clothes. after they went away, I tried to pack my car - oddly enough, I chose to take some weird mutant vehicle of Tim's instead of my own car - but I could not get people to cooperate with me and the more I took out to the car, the more there was to take - and critical things were being misplaced - keys, wallet, phone.
In reality, I know that if I have to, I would grab keys, jump in the car, and trust to my own resourcefulness.
http://zenhabits.net/2008/07/the-beginners-guide-to-zen-habits-a-guided-tour/
I'm reading and doing a lot from here. One of the things suggested is to get up early and do something creative for myself. I miss blogging. I hope you've missed me too.
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