Girls. Or How I Wasted My Weekend.

I totally did waste my weekend.  *Totally* 
Ha!
I wasted time all weekend.  It felt wonderful.  I watched tv. I watched so much tv. Oh, gawd. It was good. Today, I actually had a nap.

I did not know if I liked or really hated GIRLS. I caught up on the episodes. And I liked them.

I really needed to work and work and work. I've been running in circles trying to accomplish - what exactly?  Success!  That's what I've been trying to accomplish.  Does one accomplish success?  One attains it.  I, for one, have not attained success.

How is it, when I reached a certain age, I figured something out. But not really.  I mean, I figured out that I wanted to work hard and attain something for myself.  And that something is a bit of business success.  Not much, really.  Just to be profitable and be able to pay myself a living wage.  And maybe more than that. Someday.
Yet, I haven't figured out how to do that.
And frack! I'm about to have ANOTHER birthday.  Seriously.  Another one.
And I'm trying to be amenable and take on a business partner.  That's fun. That'll work out well.  Well, truly I hope it will.

And so.  So, I've been running around trying to do my work, trying to do her work, trying to go to school to create a new life.
Yeah.
That's going to work out.

Again. New and Hope.

Ok. I don't know what this blog is supposed to be about. Other than it is about me. And my thoughts. I guess that it's ultimately about my struggles. My struggle to be the best me I can be.

I've finally figured out that is what I want. I want to be the best me possible. Perhaps, that way I can be happy. That way--I can find purpose in my life. Maybe. Maybe.

Hopefully.

Of course, there are some less lofty goals that I have. Like wanting to be able to pay my bills. Wanting a new car, wanting to travel, wanting a hot boyfriend with a crazy, hard body. Eh, I wouldn't mind a sick, hard body for myself either.

With my craziness, how do I trust the new path I'm on now?  Well, I don't know.  But I can tell you, I feel more like myself, more me than I have in a long time, maybe more than I ever have.  I know it's the fancy cocktail of designer drugs and I know that I have to continually adjust and check in with myself to make sure I don't lose myself.  There is fear involved.

So I'll try to be honest. I'll try to follow-through. And follow-up. And I have a lot of work to do - studying and traveling and working and schmoozing and exercising.  This is what I have to do.

So this is what I'll do.

Victory, sort of.

I've been feeling very sad. And that is such an understatement that I don't even have words to describe how lacking they are to tell you how sad I've been.

It's like all the joy in the world has been murdered.

And this week at work . . . well, it's a deadline week. So much needed to be done - including my parents' tax return.

I started the day on a roll and quickly got many things accomplished and felt pretty darn pleased with myself. I knew pain would come - and I let it. I sat alone in my office and cried and did my parents' tax return. After the first few waves of grief, I calmed down for a good portion of the day and was able to work the data in front of me. I skipped over the rental and the business and just went through the rest of the information. When it was time, I had to swing back to the business and enter the information there. It started new, fresh pain. And I cried.

I cried for a good portion of the evening but finished the return. Maybe it was cleansing, maybe not - but it was necessary. I did what was needed and finished the tax return. Good for me.

P.S.
Also: I had pleasant dreams last night. A welcome relief.
Also: they starred a handsome man whose picture I've posted before. Heeeee. I was a dork in my dreams, just as I'd be in real life. So much for fantasy.

It's true, I'm UP!

So I start work in a little less than 5 hours. At least that's when I need to be there. I need to leave in 3 hours 45 minutes. Ugh! And I've been awake for 2 hours, 15. In the interest of saving time, I've actually taken my shower and done my hair. (Hair: only so much that I don't really have to mess with it tomorrow.. I can sleep on it.) (( Did I write "tomorrow" - It is actually TOday! ))

Went out today and looked at condos and houses again. G and Mc came with. (BTW-Mc and I made up, again.) I got very excited about a house or two. Mom really wants a condo. I mean in so much as that the little house I was excited about she has already pooh-poohed. Oh, well. She wants a condo and it is her money. Long story.

WHY am I awake? This, I fear, is going to be disaster. I mean, it's always hard to sleep the night before you start a new job. . . but this is ridiculous!! Seriously!! I'm totally going to get tired and then not be able to concentrate and if I could just grab a couple of more hours, I think I might be safe. But as it stands now: I'm going to need coffee and sugar.. which, of course, means that I will be all hyper and freak-like and then crash and be all yawny. AND I'll probably need it at least twice. FCUK! (typo on purpose-sorta)

Anybody out there? Anybody have ideas, other than to lie in bed until I make myself crazy? The other school of thought is that you are supposed to lie there xx minutes (what is it, like, 20?) and then get up and do something else for xx minutes (this time I have no idea). But I've tried lying there and then getting up and anwering emails and playing computer solitare. Then back to bed. Then reading a chapter in my book while lying in bed and then lights out. Then getting up and taking a shower and doing my hair. And then back to bed. (this time I didn't stay the required xx minutes - I basically just popped back up.) Have played more solitare (I'M ADDICTED TO SPIDER SOLITARE and I currently suck at it.). Then decided to go back to bed but before I made it, I decided I could blog.

Another aside - someone once mentioned that bloging came from somewhere - where exactly? I'll have to look it up. According to Wikipedia - A blog is a contraction of the term "Web log." Just wondering. Wondering concluded.

I'm going to try the bed again. Wish me luck.

Mid Morning.

Haven’t even made my morning break, yet. Maybe I’m not more special than this. Who’s to say? A fleeting feeling that I have sometimes? Pshaw. Maybe I need to accept that this is my life. That it’s a decent life (even though I can’t make my bills).

I don’t feel like working. I feel like reading something interesting. Hello? Is there anything out there that I can read that will fill some time? No, I don’t think so. A quick glance of MSN will just waste valuable Internet time, now that I want to be the internet/worker secret agent. Need to keep my net time low. Make it seem like I’m working, even though my productivity has fallen off a cliff.

Ah ha! I’ve stumbled upon no less than 3 slate articles that I will consume like a starving man eating a ritz cracker. Ok, interesting read over, now back to work. And so I stare out my window at the passing cars, and the people parking in the lot across the street as they head off into school. I work across the street from the Bryman School. Ya know, it’s odd to me how these people (who I assume want to be nurses, but could be any number of possible jobs in the medical field) wear scrubs—even during school. I mean they aren’t going to be cutting up bloody messes, are they? Eeew! Perhaps they clean teeth, but that can’t be that messy, can it? Why, why, why do they have to wear uniforms?

I guess this is a bigger question. I absolutely loathe the idea of uniforms. I mean I get that police wear them and firefighters and military wo/men must wear them (there is a certain psychological response and respect that follows not the person but the Uniform). But school kids? And I know that parents love them, because with the price of clothing, etc. gone so crazy that this way they all wear the same thing, saving money. Except then the kids want $250 sneakers, but I digress. I once mentioned that I didn’t like the idea, and AB said to me, “Why? School is not about being individual. School is training on conformity.” This struck me as very true, and I dropped it. Because I couldn’t argue. School, at least grammar and high, was training for a life of ordinariness. It was like a giant rock tumbler for young people, take the rough edges off so you don’t stick out, go with the flow so you can fit in so you don’t get crushed. In high school, I remember feeling that I should just stop fighting and go along . . . work around the system and fit in as best as I could. But I was very individual, and I did just slip along. There was nothing remarkable about my grades or performance. I did not belong to any groups or clubs, but I was an unremarkable reporter for the school newspaper. As a matter of fact, I completely dropped out of high school my senior year, suffering from a deep depression that my parents never knew about.

If everyone wore a uniform we’d have no Breakfast Club. No Molly Ringwald in her little boots and long skirt, no Ally Sheedy in her all black and certainly no Judd Nelson looking like a boy I used to date. That is a portrait of high school. It isn’t always accurate of who we are going to be, but it is a snap shot of us, trying to find our place, trying to locate who we want to become.

I didn’t wear a uniform. And look where I am now. I never became the person I wanted to be, but maybe someday I will. I gave up cheap shoes (my personal passion) for more expensive (and ugly) Birkenstocks.
And I look out the window and wonder why those adults choose to wear a uniform--before their life has really dictated who they are going to be. Are the scrubs just scrubs or are they those students way of smoothing off their rough edges so they don’t stick out, going with the flow and fitting in?

Goooooood Morning!!

Morning.

Why is it that the morning is so nummy? I want to lay in bed and pet the boobas. And they stretch and snuggle-and put up with each other to be closer to me. And then I jump up and decide I cannot stand the kitchen any longer. Because, in the evening I just don’t have the energy to look at the kitchen. Or walk into it. Or think about it. But in the morning- it seems ok. But ugh! RM gets up early lately. And not necessarily spoils the reverie, but interrupts it. I like my private time: when the boobas stare up at me and wonder what I’m doing, and wonder whether they are going to get a treat, and the kitchen gets cleaner inch-by-inch.

And did I mention that I am half naked? Because no one is supposed to see me, and I don’t care what I look like—it’s not as if I have full length mirrors lining the walls, or even mirrors at all, for that matter.

When you are large, heavy, you don’t have many mirrors. And I have perfected the mirror trick, I look into a small mirror, that I can only see about 3 inches of my face at a time. You get a very distorted vision of yourself that way: putting together an image – overlapping every two inches or so. But most people have a distorted self-image, I would say. Thin ones want to be-oh, I don’t know, thinner- or less hairy or bigger breasts or nicer thighs, lighter hair, straighter hair. Big ones just want to be acceptable—whatever that entails. So: thinner, taller, longer, leaner, prettier, smarter, neater, more fashionable, better paid.

Uncomfortable.

So: half naked, bending and moving and showing only heaven fears what and interrupted reverie. Oh, ok--time to take a shower, running late, anyway. Ooooh, way late!!!

Heavy morning. NO! Have nutritionist tonight! Ugh! A day early, too. Not fair! Not Fair!! Drink lots of water. Prepare water bottles. Make shake for breakfast, put in extra for lunch.

AHHH! Get to work ahead of boss! Hooray. Get stopped by do-gooder. What’s with the voice? Trying to scare me stupid with story of strep throat and kidney damage and eventual death. Long, long story. Certain it’s just allergies. Learn that her mother passed when she was 12. Very sad story. And uncomfortable. Learning stuff about someone you barely know—a certain religious person, who doesn’t necessarily seem the religious type. The hypocritical type, more like. Later, after finally done—see her talking in back of office to someone else, must note that she is boss’s pet. Come back and she announces she got in trouble because of me. Because she was talking. Uh huh, whatever.

And now, writing this for my blog. And I realize, not for the first time, that I get up happy, ready for something—more than this. And yet I come here and know… what exactly is it that I know? That I was meant for more? Yes. That I wasn’t mean to be a grunt? Yes. That I am smarter and funnier and more extraordinary than this place will ever allow me to be? Yes, yes, yes!!
But I cannot work with such disquiet; I cannot pay my bills with out a job. So I will put it away. Cover it up, bury it, until I can focus, not on my life, but on the stacks I have piled up next to me. My goal: to get my desk cleared, so I can begin again tomorrow. And tomorrow.