A Long-winded summary of the last few months/past year??

This was last updated 3 years ago, but I wanted to start journaling again (more on this later) so I'm writing here.

It's 2am and officially time for an episode of Hey girl, I know it's the weekend, but you really need to get the fuck to sleep. But first...

I've been a bit of a troglodyte this year. Part of it is balancing health stuff, and I've been going to great lengths to avoid being sick/missing work (I only work PT so not missing it is key since it's hard to extend my hours) and trying to take care of some personal stuff, so here's my attempt at reaching out. The larger world has some pretty chaotic shit going down and being bombarded with it constantly when I'm struggling to stay healthy/self-care really fucks with my depression and anxiety. For those who don't know, I'm on two anti-depressants and in therapy. So when I say I spend most of my time trying to care for self & house, it's true.

I've posted in a more Doogie Howser-esque diary in the past and also I have a more writer-y blog, but this is just my attempts at memory keeping and taking a break from current projects while keeping my friends updated. Most posts will NOT be this long.

In March, I got really into classical music, because it soothes my head during headache flares and keeps me calmer while I'm driving. My headaches have been bad this year. I've looked up why they occur in general and causes include changes in weather, caffeine imbalances, hormones, dehydration, allergies, hunger, stress, aaand the list goes on. They get really bad when the weather gets stormy and when temperature shifts drastically, my body loudly voices its displeasure. So multiple times a week (apparently this is going to get worse with climate change so suuuuper excited for that...NOT!)! To combat it, I go to acupuncture to avoid extra medication and to help with pain and sleep. I've increased how often I go since last year, and it's been a godsend.

April was spent moving in. We're still getting settled and changing over address. When I feel good on the weekends, I want to do chores around the house, go see my family/help them, and go see friends. But doing all this without overextending/exhausting myself to where I'm too sick to work is hard to do. When I make plans to see friends, I feel bad about not doing stuff around the house. When I do things around the house, I feel anti-social. When I see family, I miss my friends. I basically always feel like I'm missing out on something. But usually, I try to balance chores/errands with rest/dog cuddles, and that takes up lots of time.

I've also been working on a few projects like trying to write more (and following through on editing/critiquing self which is its own challenge) and genealogy. Patrick and I have a movie jar we've been picking from which includes new-to-us movies with a few exceptions. I miss seeing friends, but it takes a lot out of me, and since I don't like to see them when I'm moody/painful/feeling sick that cuts out most times.

I'm still keeping TWB, and if you think of things I should review or topics I should discuss let me know! The Inquisitive Loon writers have gone on to focus on their own writing projects, so I may post a review or two every now and then. I definitely need to post my 3am rambling I did last summer when I stayed awake and watched that movie where Zac Efron plays baseball with his ghost brother...I think that's on my old phone though, so I guess that can be its own project.

Okay, that's enough for now. Next post will be more interesting and brief!!

Weekend Silliness and Shameless Plugging

 I've been to tons of the Trader Joe's in the area, but my favorite is the one by our house now.

Tonight, Husband wanted to get something to drink, and so we made a vow that we'd go together since neither of us wanted to go at all, but both of us wanted to have a good time. He initially wanted to go to this sketchy convenient store nearby.

(A month or two ago)P: Have you been to that convenient store by our house?

Me: Uh, yeah. A long time ago.

P: When?

Me: Well, about 6 years ago, I was on lunch, but I didn't bring anything to eat. I wanted something fast and cheap. So I bought a Hot Pocket there. I had indigestion the rest of the day.

P: You did buy a Hot Pocket.

Me: This was worse than most, and I haven't had a hot pocket OR been to that convenient store since. I still get stomach cramps when I think about it.

P: I went in yesterday for the first time after dark, and it's CREEPY. Like, Twilight Zone creepy. I'm pretty sure that it only exists so that people who are too drunk or high to drive to the store can walk there.

Me: What I'm gathering is that it looks the same as it did the last time I was there.

P: I don't think anyone ever cleans it, and the frozen food may have been there for years. I tried to get out as soon as possible.

Me: There in lies the other reason I haven't returned. Other than the fact that we moved many states away and then moved back.

The other night when we had to leave to get one thing (is it EVER one thing?), Parker lobbied for us to go there since it was close. "You won't have to dress up," he said. "Well, I'm definitely not going to if that's where we're going," was my response.

Then Parker decided he'd see if Trader Joe's was still open. It was, so we went in and ran into one of my friends, because most people from my elementary to high school years have not moved more than 30 miles in any direction from the center of town. We discussed Game of Thrones and House of Cards and how I had once promised said friend cookies, but not just any cookies, specifically burnt ones. This went on until the conversation got awkward, then we talked about it being awkward, and then we moved onto opposite sides of the store where we continued to run into each other so we said hello and goodbye about three more times. Because it's rude to ignore people you still see, and I might be incapable of doing so.

We get up to the check out line. The clerk starts loading and gets to the third bag.

P: You can just put it all together.

Clerk: All in two bags? Okay. (Starts pulling out the bread and lighter foods and fitting in the bottles.)

Me (concerned): Hon, I don't think that's a good idea. What if the bag breaks? What if the alcohol breaks? I might cry. (I remember someone else is in our presence.) Okay, I wouldn't cry, but I'd be pretty upset. It's WHY we left the house.

P: Yeah, for one thing!

Me: We have about 30 items in our bag, so yeah, it's pretty on par with any grocery run.

Clerk (noticing my rainbow patterned pants): Are you guys in your PAJAMAS?

[This is the shirt my mother-in-law bought us when we lived in Houston. I still wear it all the time, because that's what transplants who move home do...or maybe it's just me.]

Me: Oh! (I take note of my pajamas and Parker's which may or may not include slippers.) ...yes. We were going to go--uh, somewhere else, and that place is crappy. So there was no reason to change. But we decided to see if Trader Joe's was open, it was, and I forgot we were wearing pajamas until just now.

Clerk: Here, you guys get my last chocolate.

Me: Oh yay, thank you!

P: Hon, will you take a bag?

Me: I'm busy holding onto this chocolate. Ooooh! It's mint. (I crumple my sample cup from the coffee and put it in the bag.)

P: What are you doing?

Me: What? I'm putting it in the bag!

P: That's where the groceries are!

Me: I'm not just going to GIVE her our garbage. That's rude. I can throw it away when we get home. (I'm told this is a super Portlandly concept, like the fact that my co-worker got angry because I threw away ANY piece of paper in the garbage as opposed to recycling even though I KNOW they don't take certain pieces of paper depending on the size/color/etc. Sorry, Pdx recycling, I now recycle unrecyclable things to avoid work conflicts.)

Clerk: You guys are HILARIOUS!

Me: Thanks! Have a great night!

Clerk: You too.

Trader Joe's is open until 9pm, and their staff is SPECTACULAR.

The very next day, I learned that one of my old co-workers had gone there for the first time! She went to the location where I once had a discussion with one of the help desk people who looked like Cypher from The Matrix. He tried to explain to me where the post office was. I drove around and learned he was RIGHT, and I didn't actually know the street name so when I said I knew where it was, I was in fact lying. I called to tell him that he was right, but when someone else answered the phone, I couldn't describe him, and figured she'd think I was insane if I said, "You know Cypher from The Matrix? Imagine he aged a few years, and THAT'S THE GUY I'M TALKING ABOUT."

Source: Popscreen.com Can't you just see this guy at Trader Joe's?

Since I never saw him at Trader Joe's ever again, he never learned that he was right about the post office from a customer, and if you've EVER worked with customers you know how rare this is and how pertinent it is that he know this. If you go to the Shepherd Street Trader Joe's in Houston, you tell him I said he was right about the post office.

Intentions and Expectations

I am reading an article from Psychology Today entitled "The Perils of Intentions and Expectations." This sums up every day off for me, every diet, every career goal, every everything.

Part of it is that the author references the fact that she wrote a novel then uses that throughout to illustrate terms. It's weird to feel guilty before you even read something, so I'm going to play the Blame Game. I blame the fact that I drank coffee and that I did it so late in the day. It's totally not helping me accomplish my goals, mainly because it's a hot beverage and not a personal trainer. Of course, if I HAD a personal trainer here yelling at me, first, I'd wonder and probably say aloud, "Whyyyyy are you in my house?" Then, I'd say, "GET OUT AND STOP YELLING AT ME!"

To quote Tardy the Turtle, "You are doing lots of things!" which is what I told myself when I realized around 1pm that I don't want to leave the house without pajamas, I don't want to go out IN my pajamas, and I don't really want to go anywhere at all. I made a ton of phone calls to acquire information and make plans that I should've done last week, last month, and a few years ago. Yet, that still leaves me with the guilt that I haven't done any of the errands and chores I needed to do today. Now, this wouldn't bother me, except it means that I have to do EVERYTHING I didn't do tomorrow. If I were single, I'd be like, "Sweet, another day to relax. Inside. On the couch. In my comfort zone."

Being married means several things, but one thing it especially means is that if you don't complete tasks, you let down the person you love (hopefully, or at least top 2?) most in the world. When I got married, it's like someone plunked down next to me and handed me a package.

"What's this?" I asked, turning over the cleverly disguised, brown paper wrapped package. It looked like a giant, cool ball was inside.
"Oh that!" the Emotional Postal Delivery Service replied, lightly. "This is your guilt."
"I...I don't want this. I won't sign for it," I said, holding it back up.
EPDS shook its head. "You can't refuse it. It's your inheritance. It's not all about you anymore. Now you have someone else you have to consider in all this. Soooo congratulations, and have fun with this!"

It occurs to me instead of writing about all this, I could just go out and get things done. Uhhhh goodbye!

Update: My husband thought I was doing laundry tomorrow. Score! He didn't care that I didn't do it today. Although, now there are a bunch of things I have to tackle tomorrow instead of today, plus we ran errands when he came home. Silver lining (and it's raining so that saying is more amusing), I don't have to do laundry.

"You and me could write a bad romance"

Chuck Klosterman once said, "Do you know people who insist they like 'all kinds of music'? That actually means they like no kinds of music." I read this line one summer in between college, and even though I like him, I felt personally affronted by this statement. My ex-boyfriend read it, laughed, and said, "Yeup, that's you."

Up until that point, I'd emphatically insisted I liked "all kinds of music." I didn't, but I didn't know that. College taught me several things and combined with dating, I learned that I could care less about, even downright despise, most music. It took twenty-something years to figure this out, but I realized it. Something I'd feared all along.

I liked sappy, foot tapping pop music with occasional interruptions by bands cool people would actually pay to see.

"Bad Romance" has all sorts of interpretations, but to me, it's my cd collection. When I watched an episode of The League where André listens to music that no one can stand, I thought, "Oh no, I am André!" When Taco referred to André's car as a "musical armageddon," I nodded, sadly and knowingly. I have some redemption among my collection, but I will still always be the girl sitting in my car when I heard "See You Again," for the first time, and I thought, "I LOVE this song. Shit, this is probably that Miley Cyrus song everyone hates so much!" After that, I could pretty much guarantee that if someone was making fun of it, I was going to end up falling in love with it. I wouldn't see every artist I like in concert, but that doesn't mean I won't screech along to one of their songs at a moderate volume in my car (yeah, I'm particular about it not being too loud, you see where I'm going with this?).

My husband and my's first concert was Presidents of the United States of America, a concert my friends refused to join me at in the past. He's the first person I've ever dated where I actually love most of his music collection. We don't usually ride in my car, and when we do, he gets a little confused. The bulk of my cds aren't one band, but compilations, so passengers are forced to take a chance. Abba or Weezer? Amy Winehouse or "Call Me Maybe?" I am still the only person I know who likes James Blunt, or possibly the only one who will admit it. No, I'm definitely the only one who likes him, because I bought a copy at the Dollar Store. True story. Pretty sure someone hid or chucked it out my window, because I haven't been able to find it in years. And you know what? I miss it!

My ex co-workers used to love to quiz me on music, because I'd like half of a band or some songs of a certain musical artist but hate others. When I expressed a hate for James Taylor, my co-worker put up a picture of him at my desk which prompted ALL of our customers to inquire into my love of James Taylor which never ceased to amuse us all. Yet, these days, I feel sentimentality towards James Taylor. It could be that my mom made me watch a special on him or because too many older women were reliving the best moments of their lives when his concert rolled into town, and somewhere along the lines I realized someday I'd become a version of this.

I went to a Train concert, and my friends just shook their heads. Some of the bolder ones outright made fun of me. One of them said, "You can like them, you don't have to live with them," since he hates their flaunting of San Francisco, his hometown. However, when I told my co-worker who got us the Train tickets in the car that I'd been to bands like Everclear, Barenaked Ladies, and Eve 6, she said, "I wish I'd been a teenager in the '90's. I would've seen some really awesome bands."

And that made me feel old, albeit cool. I didn't tell her I'd also seen Shania Twain.

Inside Out

There are a lot of decorations and furniture in this world. A lot of it isn't inherently fancy or impressive, but people have projects for that. Many of those projects take something boring and make it look downright awful. Which is like shopping at a thrift store and going out of your way to pick out clothing that looks worn, old, and like you bought it at a thrift store. Or worse, going to a resale shop that specializes in "retro" clothing and buying something used AND horrific looking for too much money. There's nothing wrong with buying inexpensive clothes (thrift stores, sales, outlet stores) or decorating boring furniture, but it baffles me how people think these things look good.

I used to want to be an interior decorator. The way I saw it, I had what I needed--artistic sense of style, ideas for budgeting, I could work for myself, and I had been walking into rooms thinking about making them fancy my whole life.

I realized that this career move would be a mistake. The main reason was that I began to realize that everyone's taste is different. Everyone thinks their taste is best, and sucking up my opinions to somehow meet the needs of my clients made me feel like I was compromising a code of ethics. I was something holy, and I refused the idea of letting complete strangers make a mockery of their homes. Also the reason I generally hate the show Trading Spaces.

The house I grew up in was beautiful, but it was that way because my mom kept its charm and transformed each room. She also spent a lot of time at the hardware store where I'd stand in the paint sample section and stare at all the gorgeous colors. I don't know what my mom saw when she walked into an open house with a "for sale" sign, but I saw curtains, pictures, furniture, and the works. I loved our house though, so it took a long time for us to really pull up our roots.

What made me truly comprehend this was my mom.

She's an eclectic decorator, but not in the same way I am. Years of putting up drywall, finding stained glass, and texturizing the ceiling took its toll on her. When we moved into the house she currently lives in, the previous owners had gone about making it homey. To me, homey, is another term for homely or dorky. The kitchen had hokey tiles. The den was the color of dying dandelions. I ended up with the baby room, which meant that I had sponge painted fish on my wall. Not overtaking the room, just on one or two walls. Enough to get under my skin.

My mom hates painting, so when I begged her to let me paint the room, I was told I wouldn't get any help and that I'd have to move out all my furniture. Where!? We'd just moved so there was no place to put anything. My room was my sanctuary. I didn't have any out of the ordinary ideas to change it without paint. I had to hide the fish, so as a teenager, I covered the majority of the fish with whatever looked cool--magazine ads (I also wanted to do that), comics, calendar pictures, mirrors, stickers, and free posters (I used to get a LOT of those). Now everything is pretty much taken down. The fish are still in mid-swim.

Meanwhile, my mom decided that anything she liked could go in the backyard. When we went to Mexico, we acquired a metal, turquoise sun. It looks FANTASTIC. She put it on the wall in the backyard. Then she added a bust of Ceasar to conquer the other side of the yard, metal drink holders, an angel bird bath, a wooden carved plant holder that looks like Gandalf the Gray, and cement stepping stones.

My biggest complaint was that Ceasar and the Mexican sun existed in the same backyard universe. "This does NOT go together!" I exclaimed. "Especially with the lattice right next to it!" However, my mom is not keen on being told how to do things, so her response was that when I moved out, I could decorate however I wanted.

It didn't matter to her that the house looked hodge podge. She wanted cool things, but she wanted them to live in chaos like a Picasso, Van Gogh, M.C. Escher, Frieda Kahlo, and Keith Harring pictures all in one. While all these artists are interesting individually, I think they would riot if they knew they all had to live in the same space without some sort of interesting/artsy way to keep the peace.

My husband will vouch that incongruent decorating sends me into freak out mode. I wish there was a better word for my style, because I feel like eclectic has a bad connotation connected to what I mentioned above.

I troll the architecture, design websites, and magazines. It's just something I love to do. Some people read, but I look up homes and decorating ideas. Occasionally, I yell at the internet, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THAT LOOKS TERRIBLE! YOUR WALLS ARE GRAY, PROBABLY LIKE YOUR SOUL!" Or "Really?? Frame upon frame with NOTHING inside? Yeah, that looks awesome. Because frames were made to be stripped or glued in a weird collage!" But the web didn't make it. It's merely a messenger. Thus, it's adept at being in zen neutral and ignoring your request. Don Draper is right, the universe is indifferent.

Someday, I will have the house of my dreams and probably a child that has an aversion to my taste. At which point, I will tell them to go live with Grandma.

Is it too Late for a Mission Statement? Naaaah!

While everyone with a blog has at least some hubris, I've checked out blogs on the internet, and I feel there is an abundance of this showy, dazzling, holier-than-thou attitude. There isn't anything wrong with this on the surface. People are attracted to fine, expensive things. However, I'm talking about snobs. In addition to blogs that hold themselves in high self-esteem, I find that Pinterest greatly contributes to this problem. Don't misunderstand, I LOVE Pinterest and it had something for everyone. That's what makes it great. 'Merica! The fantastic houses, the simple home projects, all the beautiful pictures. I am addicted to it, most likely because I'm not middle/upper-class (I say both, because upper class think they're middle class more often than not). In order to keep up with the obsessive qualities that are my legacy, I have to, as one pin so accurately assessed, internet hoard. You won't see me on any reality shows, but the characteristics are there. If I had the funds, I would probably wake up with giant shopping bags flooding my gloriously decorated and exalted living room and realize that I'd blacked out while shopping. I've never done this, but I could foresee it going down in an alternate universe.

Although I love nice things, I am primarily a window shopper. My co-workers and friends go shopping, to concerts, wine tastings, and jet set around the U.S...and I can't relate to that. It has nothing to do with cutting back on what I DO spend money on, because there is no opportunity at this point in time for me to save. That's just fact.

The point of this blog is to not only relate my thoughts to the public, but also to provide a balance to the blogs where the bloggers "make it rain," and then encourage you to do the same. Don't worry, this isn't a "financial" blog, nor will I try to provide helpful tips to the poor like "Take a walk!" or "hold hands with a loved one" or weird shit like that. I'm here to say that I'm not better than you, cooler than you, or more important than you. I am fun, interesting, and a complete weirdo--hence the current blog title. I'll try to convey that as much as possible.

Okay, now that's out of the way, we can move on to more pressing topics.

Another Brick in the Novel Wall

I wanted to say something awe-inspiring the other day, but I was consumed with medication and mind fog from the double plague. Hence, I ditched any attempt at explaining myself so I could produce substantial thought later.

Writing.

Currently, I have a couple of projects in utero. They're top secret, although I will tell you that neither of them is a human baby. However, because I'm working on two things at the same time, and they're lengthy, mind you, I keep running into walls of segueing my outlined ideas into stories. I want to keep both projects separate in their paths and goals. In case I were ever to go the extra mile of publishing them, interviewers could compare and contrast my works without glomping them into one big long story. Or I could do it alone with my single copy that I paid for and bought :-P). Dissecting my own work can be fun in an educating, masochistic, time machine manner.

Now that I'm coming back out of the pain and torture that is winter sinus infection time, I'm focusing in on being creative.

I'm watching my favorite shows with commentary, but I've found that the BEST shows are the ones that talk about the process of writing while continuing to be witty onscreen. I understand why and how commentary becomes dull and lax, but I wish that weren't the case.

Goals for writing

Watch favorite films/tv show, and use the commentary if necessary for tools
Read (I have problems with this due to my short attention span--it's not ADD, I just...don't enjoy reading due to my finicky feelings on how novels SHOULD be)
Think character based
Take stock of writing tips/prompts

Verbosity has its Setbacks

I'm posting here, because my normal web journal is broken. Really, my "webjournal" is more of a diary. These posts are more fitting for a blog, mainly because they involve my musings and observations, whereas my other one has friends who actually read it and personal information.

I guess anything I write is personal.

Today, I read an interview with Chuck Klosterman. I became obsessed with Klosterman in college after obtaining Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. He drew me in with his first sentence, "No woman will ever satisfy me." My 7th grade English teacher used to moonlight as an editor, and she said that the MAIN thing editors look for in a piece is a good first line. The hook. From that point on, I have always judged a book by its hook, which just sounds like some weird way of saying my favorite character is the villain from Peter Pan.

Klosterman is a good writer, a keen observer, and makes points in such an objective manner that even if I disagree with him, I still like him. He always makes me want to write.

Which brings me to the reason for this post. Last night, I was going through one of my stories, one where I have to do a search to find where I want to write and pick up at a certain juncture. However, I realized that what I thought I'd written in the story was actually something I'd written in one of...at least 5 different notebooks. Meaning I'd have to not only scour each notebook to find THAT part, but I would have to transfer that part over before I got to the addition I wanted to make to add on another Jenga piece to my writing.

That was frustrating, but I should take heart that I've done so much writing that I can't find the writing I want. I would rewrite what I wanted to say, but what I said at the time seemed so perfect that I wanted to see it, improve it, and then contribute more. I was also really tired, cranky, and had taken Benedryl for an allergic reaction. Excuses.

I have a lot of craft goals and such for Christmas, but as I am stinking broke/poor (I guess poor, since there isn't a big opportunity to save money, that being a distinction, right?), I think this is an excellent opportunity to go through said notebooks and just transfer everything over. It will be challenging, but it will be essentially free. I already paid the electric bill, so I might as well take advantage of it.

Excuses

It's raining outside.

Which leads to my question: why do I always find an excuse NOT to do chores/errands? To be fair, there are certain physical setbacks that happen. Ex: I have a headache right now.

I feel so good after accomplishing something! Whereas wasting time on the computer = boring, guilty, feeling bad about not being productive. Also, my mom likes to remind me I'm turning into my dad.

Then I get into the "I would if _________" or "I could if I had _________." It's not that I need more time, because all I do is waste it. What is keeping me from making incredible discoveries/crafts/etc? I blame the internet. I'm going to pretend I was more productive when I had dial up. Which is probably true.

This is turning into a serious and depressing post. I meant to prove a point, and instead I just got down on myself.

Screw it, you know what? I'm going to go do all those things (except laundry, because I can't carry ALL those clothes back and forth from the car and that IS a genuine concern).

I like griping to basically no one.

Empire Records

Good night, REO Speedwagon

A long, long time ago when I was in high school (which feels like another planet a lifetime ago), I went through an REO Speedwagon phase. I still have a soft spot for some of their songs. One I totally got over was "I Can't Fight This Feeling."

Tonight though, I am sick, completely exhausted from playing Goldmine on H's computer, and it's time to go to bed. So instead of someone finding the courage to take love into his own hands, I'm going to pretend this song is about sleeping.

"And I can't fight this feeling anymore

I've forgotten what I started fighting for

And if I have to crawl upon the floor

Come crashing through your door

Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore."

Zzzzzzzzzzzz!

My Own Private Island

Living in the NW, I spent a lot of the changing seasons inside, because it was cold. Ironically, I live in the South now, and I still spend most of my time inside but instead because the outside world is on fire. Living here is sometimes like opposite day for me. Since I spent the majority of my days inside (although I did spend a lot of time outside whenever the weather was permitting), I would make up games or take Sesame Street's suggestion and "use my imagination" to pretend I was outside.

When my mom bought her first house, it looked like a 1960's or 1970's sitcom except worse. The whole house was pale yellow, puke/lime green with formica countertops in a fading nausea, sponge paint everywhere, and shag carpeting. She spent the first fifteen years of my life remodeling the house to make it ours. The last thing to go were the carpets which were in green and orange.

My Barbies tanned on our couches that resembled white beaches. When the Polly Pockets went on treks through the forest or had a picnic outside, they hiked across grass (curtesy of our puke green carpeting). The orange carpet in my bedroom was just carpet--try as we might, my bffs and I couldn't make it anything other than lava--but kids do that anyway. My mom even had a long blanket across her bed that was peach colored. Whenever she was doing laundry and her bed was bare, save for the peach blanket, I would sit on the bed and watch tv. During the commercials, I pretended I was in a desert. I always made sure to have a beverage on her side table as being in the desert and crawling from one side of her bed to the other was tiring. Pepsi was usually my first choice, but occasionally it was milk or water. Then I'd pretend the rest of the room was a mirage, and when I'd army crawl to the water, I'd finally found the drinking hole at the edge of the desert. Just in time, because the vultures were circling.

Now that I'm an adult, there's a similar game that happens, only it's slightly more lazy. Whenever my husband or I go out of town, the one that remains spends the majority of time apart in the bed. Likewise, when I'm sick (I say me, because my husband has an immune system, and I don't), I spread out in the bed and am surrounded by all things comforting. It's like creating a desert island. "What's on the bed" is sort of an inventory taken after the napping, the sipping of beverages and the watching or reading of television takes place. Also, high temperature outside and fever inside makes me hyper-amused by objects.

My husband always marks my absence with books everywhere. He'll even fall asleep cradling a book. He's joked about my return to the nest meaning the eviction of his beloved friends, the literature. If the cops busted in on me though, they'd for all the world think I'm agoraphobic. There would be plates, pillows, technology strewn across the bed and the room. Hey! I do leave the room to go to the bath room, I'm not that gross. I usually begin the journey to the bed with my laptop and several seasons of my favorite television series. I then get thirsty and hungry so eventually I become annoyed at the amount of hand towels and hot plates and microwaved leftovers.

By the time evening has come, I'm lying against pillows, counting things on the bed. How many dvds lie around binged upon, the number of glasses of beverages (water + soda or juice + tea or some wacky combo), and if I have books and my intentions on reading them. When we got married, we both considered whether or not we should get a king bed, but we were penniless (we're still pretty much hobos) and king bed equals danger. My husband was quick to remind me that if we got a bigger bed, I would be elbowing books on his side and he'd be jousting collector editions and popcorn kernels on my side, so we decided to just get end tables instead of declaring ourselves kings of Slob City.

When we're both sick we do surround ourselves with entertainment and the stronger of the two ends up making an emergency sick run. Every time I go, the pharmacists start high fiving each other and greet me by name. There's always a sale on the 'quils or vitamins or cough drops. I stock my drawers high, although last time H was disappointed, because I had forgotten to get the decongestant. I know I'm better when I'm truly, fully disturbed by the high level of mess in the room. Before the house is condemned or Husband divorces me, I try to will myself into good health and shuffle items around like a hamster rearranging its dwelling.

Letters to the Loon

Sean Bean looks eerily like Bon Jovi here...

(My friend is the writer and head of Inquisitive Loon, and I emailed him a response to his recent email referencing his blog and new tv challenge for Game of Thrones)
"______...none of your picture links work. I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that they are supposed to work...in fact, I'm pretty sure that's their only job.
Oh hey, I'm sick right now. Just like we thought might happen. Didn't help that this one chick at work came down with the flu and gave it to me! it's not even like she was hot 'n foxy and we made out or anything! This isn't me being sarcastic either, she's not hot and we didn't make out.

On the bright side, I'm going to lay in bed for the rest of the day and a half and don't have to do the crazy ride back and forth to Mordor, yes Oklahoma 6 hours from here, since it is 6 hours which roughly equals 2 LotR movies is basically mordor. man i love sean bean. and being loopy.

I tried to fold clothes today on the bed and was so exhausted from staying alive that i just let them lie on top of me all hot from the dryer. And we live in the South so it was already like 80 or 90 degrees in the room. but i had chills all morning and have been suffering on and off with chills/fever and headaches and stomachaches. But by this point it was just too hot and i was too tired to move them.

By my opening statement, I hope I've conveyed my pleasure in you watching the show Game of Thrones. I finished the 1st book like a week ago, and I have to say i like the tv show more. not surprising. I like the book, but I don't like to hear about all war stuff. I am scarlett o'hara, and I'm all "boring, fuck guys, i just wanna dance!" (I should teach kids and be a role model, right!??) I started on the second book last night when my stomach pains and headache were too awful to sleep...

Okay, i'm tired again and need to eat soup and drink iced tea and lay here and watch Lost s2, and now you think i'm REALLY sick b/c i'm watching s2. damn, what would make me watch s6??"

"And in the beginning, man created the social network which became a blessing and a plague"

I am a social network slut. Every once in awhile, some strange compulsion comes over me. It's almost like I wake up and think, "You know, I haven't established a new social networking way to release the unique entity that is me into the world in some time." In Pirates of the Caribbean, someone yells, "RELEASE THE CRACKEN!" and I am beginning to realize that I do the same thing, except with my personality through internet databases. I can't stop. "I apply my personality in a paste."


The earliest I can trace this back to in lineal terms of internet was deciding in the days of AOL, that sharing a screen name with my mom just wasn't cool enough of me and just used a simple formula (favorite letter, number, and color K17blue, bitches!!). I mean, I had reached double digits in age (13!)! From there, I would write out name possibilities. My opendiary became freeopendiary, and then livejournal became another livejournal (although this was due to malfunction more than style), and then I added a myspace. Then I spent hours of dial-up pimping out my page and web stalking while my mom screamed from the other room that she needed the phone (this saddens me, as it was the 21st century by that point). Then I got accepted to Facebook, back when it was "exclusive." Now I have a few other social network accounts, but I don't know how I feel about those. Right now, we're just acquaintances.


Actually, technically, I used to elaborately decorate my name tag in junior high. On one occasion, our seventh grade or eighth grade teacher needed funds from me to go on a field trip. I promised her I would bring the money, Lebowski, but she came to the conclusion that she needed collateral from me (I guess because you can't send teenagers to collection, although detention is sort of like that, and I went there fairly often).


Somehow, someone figured out that since I spent long stretches of time doodling on my desk tag instead of listening to lectures on geography and history (and math and science and basically anything other than English and Art), that she could take my tag while waiting for the fund transfer. Another kid in my class objected that I could always make another, but the distraught look on my face proved that no, this shit just didn't develop overnight, this was a PROCESS! I don't even know if I wanted to go on the field trip as much as I wanted my name tag returned. I may or may not have eventually gotten it laminated (my mom did, actually) to preserve my creative efforts.


So, here we go again.