thoughts on siblings

My little brother called me night before last. I have two, an older and a younger, although most of the time I only claim the younger one. 

It's amazed me since I was 14 or so, old enough to understand, that my brothers and I, despite being so closely related and it being so possible for us to have turned out the same, we all ended up in our own little Punnett square,  each one with some characteristics opposite to the other, some personality traits completely foreign to the other, some ideas and thoughts and ways of being unknown to those so close. 

I am: the kind one, the crybaby, the thinker, the smart one, the peacemaker, the tattletale, the goody-two-shoes, the advice-giver, the rager, and the truth-teller.

Little brother is: the wild one, the outgoing one, the easily-befriended one, the carer, the feeler, the talker, the goofball, the jack of all trades, and the one-of-a-kind.

Older brother is: the black sheep, the screw-up, the disappointment, the shy one, the panicker, the lost soul, the manipulative, put-upon, misunderstood one, and the... 

I never realized how much I dislike my older brother until I made that list. I couldn't think of anything positive to say. And I love him-- how can I not think of something positive about someone I love? I dislike him because I miss him. He never became what he was supposed to become for me-- he was my big brother, he was supposed to take care of me and protect me. Instead he made my life hell. What is it, what makes people the way they are? Genetics? Can't be, look at us, all from the same mom and dad. Experience? Can't be, we were all raised the same. Has to be a combination of those two, somehow that combination soured in my older brother. 

Not that I'm perfect. I am a tattletale and a goody-goody, I know. But I don't trick my dad into giving me money for a car or school that I then spend on a trip to Vegas and a flat-screen tv. And I didn't get so involved with drugs as a teen that I forgot what it was like to be human, and still can't remember.

Little brother is definitely his own person. He'll never be normal, he'll never have an office job, and he'll never "settle down." Always on the go, go, go, but he takes care of himself. He has friends everywhere, real friends who care about him because he cares so much for them. He told me his purpose in life is to spread the love that he feels from Dad, Mom, and me, the love that he's always had, around to those who need it. Dad said his purpose is to watch his children soar, which is sad since only two of us are. I feel that love from them too, I know how much they appreciate and respect me, and it's a big part of who I am. Why does older brother not feel it? What is it in him that makes him impervious and oblivious to the good life he could have? 

I feel like I've answered my own question here, that maybe he is what he is because we all think of him now in terms of the list I made. There's no other way now, though-- he has become that list, whether it was self-assigned or prescribed for him by us, it doesn't matter. I could still change my mind though. If he went to school, if he got a job and kept it, if he called once and a while for something other than to complain to me about how hard life is, I'd feel differently. I know I would, because I'm also a forgiver. 

I am so sleepy this morning. It must have snowed overnight so quietly that none of us noticed. The roofs are white in their valleys this morning, and my deck was iced over. The sky is bright white and grey and so low, like a thickly quilted blanket laying over the town, keeping us all snuggled up in bed, at least in our minds. It's not raining anymore, but if you close your eyes and listen, the ice and snow melting and running off the roofs sounds like rain, and rain always puts me to sleep.

My office is empty today, other than me and my space heater. Everyone's out of town. I've got my xm radio playing on my computer. I really like the Sinatra channel. Growing up I spent a lot of time at my maternal grandparents house, and they both loved old movies. My grandmother would put on a Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin flick and we'd laugh and sing along. Or we'd marvel at Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers floating across the dance floor. As I got older, she'd let me watch Audrey Hepburn movies, like Funny Face, and my absolute favorite, My Fair Lady. I married a man who loves old movies too, especially Cary Grant movies, so on lazy Sundays we end up watching AMC and Turner Classic more often than not. 

We got into a discussion one day about our five dessert island movies, i.e. you're stranded (ala Lost, which comes on tonight, yay) but for some reason there's a tv and you get to take five movies with you. This is not a favorite movie list, although it's close. But these movies have to be something you could watch over and over, and you want to pick from different genres so you don't get bored. This was a Very Serious Discussion we had. Mine were, in no particular order:

1) Amelie

2) My Fair Lady

3) The Princess Bride

4) Love Actually

5) all seasons of Lost... which promptly started an argument over whether that counted as just one, and if tv shows counted anyway. We settled that it was ok, as my husband likes Lost too, plus I gave in and let him count The Lord of the Rings trilogy as one movie, even though I can't stand the idea of watching that the rest of my life. His others included North by Northwest, Fight Club, Boondock Saints, and the Godfather I believe. 

Music would be easier to pick. I love Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Otherwise, just a subscription to xm radio and the Sinatra channel would suit me quite well. We could pretend to be Fred and Ginger and go gliding across the sand. That sounds like a really nice way to spend forever.

new day

I'm feeling inspired today. I have several things conspiring against me-- I didn't sleep well last night for one. My husband drank too much wine at dinner (we went out with friends to a fairly fancy place), and he snored in my ear. I tried several times to wake him up and turn him over. I'd get a "yes, babe, I'll turn over, I'm sorry" followed by him not turning over and in two seconds snoring again. I physically pushed him onto his back and he stopped. And in two seconds I was finally, gratefully, asleep. He says I snore but I don't believe him, I've never heard myself. Besides, if I DO snore, it's just because of my allergies. Therefore, it's not my fault.

And the weather is terrible and going to get worse. Gray, gray, gray today, tomorrow rain, rain, rain. Cold rain.

And my grandfather's birthday would have been this week. Happy Birthday Granddad. I should have had seven more years with you, but those damn cigarettes took that away. You didn't know. If you had you would have stopped, I know.

But life is good. I have a wonderful husband who even when's asleep loves me enough to dream he's turning over and making me happy. My dog makes funny grunting noises when he kisses me good morning, and my cat is so much like me that she covers her face from the sun in the morning too, before trying to jump in the shower with me. Work is going good, this company is really going places and I got in on the ground floor.

And I've got a diet Dr. Pepper. I swear that will fix any problem.

humanity showing humanity

I get so angry sometimes. 

Driving to lunch, there were two little birds in the road, so I slowed down to give them time to fly away. They flitted to the other side of the road, where the guy coming in that direction, who definitely had enough time to see them, promptly ran over one of them.

Granted, birds aren't the smartest, but then again, I have no idea what it's like to be that small. I mean to them, they may never see the car, like we never feel the earth moving beneath us. It's so big and they're so small. I'm not perfect. I hit a baby rabbit one time. It came out of no where, and I wasn't going that fast, but lord how I cried. There's really no helping it sometimes. 

But it makes me so angry to see something like that, to know what we do to this earth and its inhabitants as humans, that if we weren't here everything would have just carried on naturally and peacefully (don't think that I think animals are all cute and fuzzy, I mean peacefully as in only kill to eat). I want to explain this to people, to make them see the world as I do, that all these concrete slabs and technologies and clear-cut suburbs don't do this earth any good, and it's the only one we have. I try to explain to people why I don't eat meat, that we're killing this earth with all our factory farms and that it's just not natural what we do to them. But people DON'T CARE. All they want is to continue doing what they've been doing because it's comfortable and they feel like they deserve it. I hear all the time "I couldn't live without meat." Yes you COULD, you just don't want to TRY because you're LAZY and WILLFULLY IGNORANT. Meanwhile farmers are tearing down the rainforest to make room for more cows, and we eat billions of cheeseburgers every day while children all over the world are starving and can't even get their hands on a little bit of grain because all the grain is being fed to these beef cows.

I'd like to say I don't have that ability-- that I can't be willfully ignorant, ignoring what I know about the way this world treats animals and going about my carnivorous business, la de da. But I eat fish, all the while knowing that we're over-fishing the oceans, and species like the dolphins are suffering and dying at the hands of these fishers. But I eat it anyway because I don't want to piss off my friends anymore than I already have by refusing certain restaurants or making them make special arrangements for me when we cook. I have no easy answer there, and honestly sometimes I feel like I've given up enough and deserve at least a little bit of comfort.

Some days I just feel like I'm at my wits end, that if I see one more cruel act, human to human or human to animal, I may just lose it altogether. I can't watch the news, for sure. It's always in my brain, even when I'm buying shampoo. It's too much but it's in there now and I can't be any more willfully ignorant than I already am without losing my sense of peace and wholeness with this world. I just wish more people knew what that felt like and strove for it the way I have.

Today is one of those days. So I had another cupcake. It was vegetarian, but I still feel sick to my stomach.

If you want more info on where your food comes from (no terrible pictures on these pages, I promise, unless you click on a link within the website-- then, no promises, but you should know):

http://www.idausa.org/facts/factoryfarmfacts.html

http://www.farmsanctuary.org/issues/factoryfarming/

I'm a bird.

This is what I have eaten/am going to eat today:

Breakfast:

Lunch:

Dinner:

Is that really enough? It equals... about... (doing math here)... 1500-1600 calories. This is about what I usually eat. I don't go hungry. I LOVE food, good food. But my hands get shaky if I don't eat on time. I definitely can't miss a meal, unless you want me to be a Bitch. Other than my lunch smoothie all I drink is water, or occasionally cranberry juice. Hmm, I never realized how little I ate until someone mentioned it today, when I actually took a cupcake for a change.

Can you tell that I'm a bit of a minimalist?

answered prayers

Today is such a surreal day. I wish you could see outside my window. It's a blizzard. Do you know how long it's been since I've seen those white flakes, as big as soap bubbles, tumble from my little bit of southern sky? On his way to work, my husband texted me that it was snowing. Obviously not believing, or rather thinking, "sure, three little flakes equals snow around here," I ran, a little childishly, to the front window and gasped at the amount of white falling from above. Three hours later and it's still falling, starting to really stick in the grass and around the bushes and on roofs now. It's beautiful to watch. I feel light and quiet and peaceful, like somehow this snow and the events of the day could wash away all the sins of our region. Such a perfect notion on such a surreal day.

Barack Obama is now our President. I've been exploring my emotions about this historic moment lately. I voted for him, and I'm so proud of that, that I was able to vote for the first black president and watch him take the oath of office today. Watching him speak today, I remembered the passion I felt back in 2004 at the DNC when he first spoke, how I knew that if some day he could lead us, we would become a peaceful and inclusive society, one like I'd always hoped for. I thought then that was a distant possibility, not likely, not worth further thought. I drank the Obama kool-aid again sometime last year. I have been less enthused lately, but now I understand that that was simply nerves-- nervous that he'll be assassinated, nervous that he won't live up to the country's expectations, the world's expectations, my expectations. But he will. I hate faith and hope in him and in the way he inspires people. I haven't seen so many American flags in one place since 9/11 as there were in DC today, and I have never seen so many Americans inspired to act and volunteer like they did yesterday. That's what's so special about him-- the way he inspires people to be better, to want more, and to act on those feelings. 

Today I feel at peace. I want that feeling to last longer than I know the snow will. It will have melted away by this time tomorrow. Will this peaceful, hopeful, determined feeling endure in our country? I hope so.

political

I'm not really awake yet this morning. I am at work, however, despite it being a holiday. I'm not bitter though because my boss is working a lot harder than me today. He always does. 

Someone asked me the other day, "What's so great about Obama?" I couldn't really answer. I voted for him, and I'm currently reading The Audacity of Hope, slowly but surely. But what's so great about him?

I don't think it's actually just him everyone is so excited about. Sure, he's a big part of it, and it's important that we're now going to have our first non-white president. But it's more that we're not going to have Bush anymore, that we're moving on with our lives and can finally put these horrible past 8 years behind us. Obama is young, like me. I think it's time that the younger generations take charge of our country-- I'm so tired of old, white men telling us what's best for us.

All that said, I can't get excited. I'm worried he'll get assassinated. You think things are bad now-- that would cut this whole country off at the knees and I'm afraid we'd never find our way back up. I'm worried that he can't live up to the high expectations everyone has placed on him. Who could? He will fail at some things, and it will get blown out of proportion. It's absolutely critical that he not Fail like Bush Failed. If he does, it will be another 200 years before we see another non-white president.

Although I'm happy for the fact that he is a minority, I wish he was a woman. There, I said it. I never liked Hilary Clinton all that much. To me, if she had been elected, I feel like our first female president would have only ridden her husband's coattails into office, at least a little bit. But I want a female president, I want to be led by a woman for a change. 

I'm a political person, in the sense that I care deeply about controlling my own body and my own choices, and I care about the direction this country takes in terms of foreign relations and the environment. I used to pay a lot more attention than I do now, but as I've gotten older I've realized that acting close to home creates a lot more results than grand theatrical actions. Like protesting at Supreme Court Justice Scalia's speech on campus with pro-choice signs. Nothing good came of that. The self-defense classes we held though, who knows, maybe we helped someone save themselves. And now, giving time and donations to those who need it most in my area-- the abandoned animals at the shelter-- I know that makes a difference. Both of my pets were abandoned before we took them in, and they bless my life every day. 

In that sense I agree that the personal is political. The smallest choice can have political and social ramifications, like whether to buy or adopt a dog. (Hey, there's a reason Obama is "so great"-- he's adopting from a shelter.) It just gets tiring to think about all those ramifications all the time. I guess you have to pick and choose.

cold toes

My extremities are always cold. My husband sits there on his couch at night under a blanket-- we do keep the heater set quite low, 71-- snug as a bug in a t-shirt and jeans. I put on a wool sweater and undershirt, sweatpants, socks, and wrap myself up in one of the beautiful and warm quilts my great-grandmother handmade years ago, and I'm still freezing. My toes are always like ice, my nose gets so cold it runs, my fingernails are slightly purple, and if you grabbed my hand you'd think I was a corpse. I don't know if this is something I should worry about or not.

I wore what my husband calls "real shoes" to work today, meaning they cover my whole foot and either lace or buckle up, thinking that on this bitterly cold day in my multi-window office they and my purple polka-dot socks would keep my toes toasty. But nonetheless, I'm sitting here with my feet underneath me, "Indian-style" in this leather office chair, trying to tuck my real-shoed feet into the crook of my knees to infuse some body heat back into my frozen toes, with my wool coat wrapped around my shoulders and my cashmere turtleneck pulled up high around my chin.

My husband thinks I'm crazy. But he thinks I'm crazy for a lot of things other than this. It's a good thing he loves crazy.

It's been a pretty boring day at work. The cat is away but the mice are not playing. I sat in on a software training this morning-- I may eventually become a trainer. But it wasn't very interesting and I'm not sure that's the direction I want to take. The good thing is that because this is an up and coming company I can decide my own role in it as we grow. The bad thing is that I'm not very good at making decisions. But I'm happy that they think me worthy to be a part of it as everyone else that works here is very smart and talented.

Too bad they aren't all cold-natured too, then I could turn up the heat past 73. I'm thinking 76 or so. Global warming be damned. I'm cold.

Cold toes mean a warm heart right? Sometimes.

grieving

I grieve more than most people, I think. I'm still grieving my grandfather who passed two and a half years ago. There are days it catches me so off guard-- I'll be doing something as simple as washing my face, and a random thought or memory sweeps over the top of my brain and I feel this ache, a deep, gnawing ache, trapped behind my rib cage above my stomach, like a scream I swallowed a long time ago that's now begging to be released. It hurts so completely I double over and being to sob. I miss him so much sometimes. I'd give anything just to hear his voice again. 

Does everyone do this? Two and a half years later? It doesn't happen often, maybe once every couple of months. Right after his death it was once every couple hours, then every couple days, so I guess it is fading.

Part of me doesn't want it to fade. Maybe that's what's wrong-- I think if I stop grieving, all that I have remaining of him will be gone. 

I wasn't done with him yet, I wasn't done learning from him and loving him and being in his presence. When my great-grandmother died at 98, it was hard. She was a very important person in my life and influenced who I am greatly. But she was so old and I felt so blessed to have had her that long. She was ready to go. Maybe that makes the difference. Granddad fought the dying of the light to his last breath, fought the cancer with everything he had. I don't have anyone else in my life that was like him-- so strong and masculine and yet caring and joyful and loving. 

I just realized that describes my husband perfectly as well. Huh. And I've taken parts of my grandfather and internalized them; I do things that he would appreciate, like digging in the dirt with my bare hands, using a hammer and screwdriver with confidence, telling people the whole honest truth. So obviously if I stopped grieving him I wouldn't lose him completely. It just feels that way.

I guess this is just a part of my personality. I grieve dead animals on the side of the road, I grieve days lost to migraines, I grieve every soldier and civilian killed in the mid-east, I grieve every argument and harsh word I've had and spoken. I'm not a sad person. I'm actually very happy in my life. Content. I just feel things so deeply, and I don't think other people understand this. I know they don't. Because I don't either, at least not completely.

weekend musings

A collection of my thoughts from this weekend here for you.

Saturday I had to go to the bank to deposit a check. Sitting in the drive through, thinking about how the otherwise pretty girl behind the glass had to get up early enough on a Saturday morning to not only get to work on time but also to apply the masses of eyeliner and shadow she was wearing, I caught a glimpse of my make-up-less reflection on the glass, and I thought for a second my mother was in the car with me.

My mother is a pretty woman, especially for 56-- you'd probably guess upper 40s, low 50s if you had just met her, and she has good bone structure. So this isn't a disappointing realization in that sense. But I myself am aging, quicker than I had realized. I have "wrinkles," really more faint lines, if I'm being nice to myself, forming around the corners of my mouth. I tell myself this is good-- it just means that I smile and laugh a lot, that I live a good life and am blessed. But there's that nagging thought in the back of my mind that I'm not as fresh-faced as I was, that when we go out now people look at me as aged, not young and cute like the little college girls running around town. I'm jumping the gun on this, I know. Good grief, I want to be seen as an intelligent woman, not as some inexperienced little girl, so what's my problem anyway? 

On Sunday the most intellectually stimulating activity I did was order pizza and play the Wii, so we'll count that as one of my rare thoughtless days.

This morning on the way to work I was considering the idea that life is really just a series of small tragedies and small victories. The rivet front button above the zipper on my new jeans popped off this morning (and despite it simply being poor construction, led me to feel fat and disappointed that I am now out a new pair of jeans), but my boss said of me that I am overqualified for my position and is considering a new and better one for me. The printer refused to cooperate with me this morning, but someone left me a caramel chocolate covered apple on my desk as a present. Up and down, up and down. Caramel chocolate apples are a pretty big up though.

remember

I live in the moment. I don't mean that I'm spontaneous or that I make wild, rash decisions. No, I mean that I forget what yesterday felt like, what last week looked like, what 2008 even vaguely resembled. It all becomes faded and jumbled into one dream-like sequence, the only constant being this little flame inside of me that burns life and says "I'm here, this is real, you're ok but don't forget."

I've known since I was little that I am like this. I forced myself to remember things, remember memories-- I'd repeat them over and over, ask myself, "what are you supposed to remember?" and then I'd play the scene in my head like a movie. I did this so that one day, far in the distant future, when my parents and loved ones are gone, I can hold onto these real, true memories and know that at one point they existed, at one point they loved me, and at one point in time we were together. That above all else will make me know I exist and existed. 

My mother and I were in the front yard. I was about 10. It was a beautiful spring day, bright blue sky with puffy white clouds, yellow daffodils blooming, bees buzzing and birds singing-- the kind of day you can't even imagine unless you live down here. Mom was squatting in the flower bed, ripping out weeds and humming. It was one of her favorite things to do, she thinks it's cleansing. She said "Oh. Here, honey," and reached out her hand to me. I skipped over and in her hand was a penny. "It's warm from the earth," she said, and I felt that warmth, can still feel that warmth, in my hand, and I put it in my pocket.

My dad and I were in the kitchen. I was about 11 or 12. We had just gotten home from one of my softball games, and we had lost. I was upset, and not just because of the loss-- a girl on the other team had made fun of my name and called me a terrible word. I cried and my dad, a large bear of a man, held me to his chest and told me that I was beautiful and perfect and said "it's my fault for picking out your name, but none of it matters because I love you now and I always will." I told him, begged him to know that I loved my name because he picked it for me. His heart was beating and I could hear it while he hugged me. I focused on that sound and knew that my life and his are always going to be intertwined, even after we are both gone.

I wish I had done this more, forced myself into keeping more of these memories. I know they're real because I can still see them in my head, but there are no pictures of these moments in an album anywhere, nothing that could have corrupted them other than time and sloshing around in my mixed up brain, but I kept these locked away so that they were impervious to that sloshing. 

So many memories are gone now. My grandfather passed two years ago. He was more like a father to me; they lived down the street from us and I would spend just as much time at their house as I would my own. I can't remember his voice, I can barely remember his face. I remember what he looked like out in his yard on his riding lawnmower. I remember that he loved me, mostly because I still feel that love reaching out to me from somewhere. I remember my last hug. I knew that it would be my last one, so I took two and cried for hours afterwards. But I don't have one of my real memories for him, one of my little movies. I need to crawl up in his attic and find the old VHSs of Christmas's and birthdays. Maybe that will help me remember.

Shadows of thoughts

My contacts are so dry today. It's finally pretty outside, at least from inside looking out. Another day of rain and I was going to start to forget how pretty the shadows of the trees look stretched across the gray asphalt of the parking lot outside. No leaves on those trees, so the shadows look like long skinny fingers, elegant like my mother's, stretching for something just beyond their reach and waving at the wind. The wind is making everything dry though, even after all that rain, and it's reaching into my eyes behind my contacts and wiping away all natural moisture. I have to blink over and over to keep my vision from blurring. 

Snow would be nice. Yesterday was cold enough for snow but all we get is very cold rain. There's always a warm pocket of air somewhere just above those naked tree tops that melts the rain as it falls. I've seen real snow probably 5 times in my life here. Of course I've visited other places and have seen it there. Kansas City gets real snow. Munich, Germany... visited there in the depth of winter two years ago, and the sight of 4 foot snow drifts chilled me for months afterwards. I don't think I want to see that again. I'm not comfortable with it.

I'm comfortable with cold rain and dry winds in the winter and hot, humid, sticky summers. Neither is good weather for smokers. I watch the people at the office building across from mine go out back and brave the freezing rain or harsh wind (not to mention the dust from the construction nearby) all for that cigarette. Two boys in blue stock-room style uniform are leaning against the tan brick right now, so nonchalantly, squinting in the sun, each with one foot propped up against the wall, like they don't notice the dusty wind trying to knock them down. I've never been so in love with a habit that I would put up with that kind of adversity in order to participate. 

The shadow fingers get longer as the day goes on, reminding me there's only 30 minutes left to work. They almost point the way home. I'm glad it's Thursday, only one day left this week. It's been hard, this first week back after vacation, to get back into things. I feel confused a lot with this new job, not sure if I'm doing the right thing. But I'll figure it out.

I am Miss America

Or, at least, I should be.

I'm pretty. Maybe it's more a self-confidence thing, maybe I'm actually not pretty, but I believe I'm pretty, and that's all that really matters. And I used to not believe, so this is a good thing. And I'm smart, book smart, I keep up with current events, and have a good amount of common sense. Back when I didn't think I was so pretty, my brain was the guard rail that kept me from leaping of the cliff of self-hate. So it's a good thing too. Talent... I can sing pretty well. I don't dance or play an instrument. I can sing well enough to pass for a "talent," and I'd wow them all with my interview session so much that my slightly faltering voice wouldn't matter.

Have you ever actually listened to the Miss America contestants talk? This is what gets me-- posed the answer-on-the-spot question of "do aliens exist," they give rambling answers somewhere around "yes, because one followed my sister's car home once" and "yes, there is an afterlife." What?? I can't believe that these are it, these women are supposed to be the best of the young US female population. The judges, hemming and hawing over (most of, not even they got the afterlife thing) these supposed great answers, are doing nothing but lowering the expectations of women's intelligence in general. "Aww, look, how cute, the pretty girl said something halfway intelligent and sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow with feeling. Let's give her a scholarship."

Meanwhile, our country is being run by idiots. Senators spend their time arguing over ridiculous issues like stem cell research (oh my god they are just cells) to Terri Shiavo's right to life (since when is that an issue the Senate should debate) to whether or not the Illinois governor should step down and whether his appointment to Obama's seat should seated. There are children starving in this country, children going completely uneducated, not even graduating, leaving school with barely a 2nd grade reading level. There are women being raped and beaten by men who are supposed to love them, rapists who actually get caught only getting 6-8 years on average. Murderers, drug dealers, kidnappers, and pimps walking the crumbling streets. And I'm supposed to believe the most important issue at hand is whether or not some frozen cell in a lab somewhere has the possibility of life, and if it does, is it happy being frozen?? 

Doesn't anyone else feel like screaming all the time? It's outrageous, it makes me furious the direction the government of our country has taken. If we could elect good, smart, decent, down-to-earth people, like my husband for example, people who would stand up and say "What the hell are you talking about?" and get down to the real issues, we'd be so much better off. 

Yes, there are a few intelligent Miss America contestants who deserve a scholarship, and there are a few good Senators who know the real issues are being ignored and are working towards solving real problems. But the majority of these people are just self-absorbed idiots. It sometimes leads me to believe the majority of Americans and of the human race are idiots, and that is not a pleasant thought. 

continuation

Have you ever gotten yourself involved in something about which you were uncertain? I'm in a new job. Well, I've been here over a month, but with all the holidays we've had it still feels brand new. Plus one of the main people I'm going to be working with was on leave until today. She's nice and I think we'll get along, but it's another person to get to know. I still don't know my boss very well since he travels so much.

It's weird because they're friends, like chit chat with the door closed, call each other drunk, one almost married the other's brother-in-law friends. And it's just the three of us in the office most of the time, so I'm left out. But I know that's just because I'm new. I know for a fact they're appreciating the work I'm doing and that we'll probably get along great eventually, it's just... awkward right now.

In other news, I'm cold. I'm so sick of being cold. The South is not warm, oh no, people it is not. Come here in August and stand outside, and yes you will sweat like they do in all the movies set in the South (think Morgan Freeman in A Time to Kill. Hollywood believes we're too backwards for air conditioning... or shoes for that matter, with which my husband is perfectly fine because he thinks it keeps the snowbirds out) but December through March it's just plain cold. It's 40 today and raining, that misty kind of rain that gets into your clothes and your pores and makes you feel like you'll never be dry again. Funny thing is in the summer, the humidity does the same thing to you. 

We do have a nice week of spring in April and a wonderful week of fall in October. I suggest you visit then and only then.

uncertainties

I hate not knowing. I hate uncertainties.

Let me rephrase that a little. I don't mind theoretical uncertainties, as in whether or not there is a god, whether aliens exist, whether the chicken or the egg came first, whether it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved before. These are all things I have accepted that I will most likely never answer in my lifetime, and I am perfectly and agnostically okay with that.

What I don't like are real life questions with no answers, or at least difficult to obtain answers. Like why the fax machine isn't working. Or why we haven't started the project at work we were supposed to start this morning, and if we'll ever start it, and when that will be so I can come prepared again. Or when I get to go to lunch because I can't sit here and wait forever for us to start. Get off the phone already.

I'm very good at reading emotions and moods, but they don't tell you the basic information you need to plan your day. I'm a planner. I know when I'm doing everything throughout the day, from which project before lunch to which after, when dinner needs to be on the stove, when I need to be in bed. Some people say there's no fun, no spontaneity in this, but I say spontaneity is over-rated. Besides, those people don't live in my head-- if they did, they'd know the slight panic I feel when my plan goes awry is no fun at all. We can't help the way we're wired.

I guess that means I can't help that other people are wired for looseness and fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pantsness either. It's something I need to learn to accept like I've accepted my theoretical uncertainties. It's just that these grand uncertainties, these universal questions, big as they are don't actually affect my life. Whereas my lunchtime... that most certainly does.

train of thought

Does anyone else lay in bed at night, thinking random thoughts, only to wonder how you ended up at the current thought, so you lay there for another 20 minutes circling back to the original idea?

Last night, all in the space of about an hour while trying to fall asleep, listening to my husband snore 2 minutes after he hit the pillow: What am I doing tomorrow? I should use that gift certificate tomorrow. I need a new dress. Something shiny to wear to that charity benefit in February. Then I could wear it to that wedding in April. So it needs to be appropriate for both. Surely it's a dress-up wedding. It's at the country club. I wonder how many people are invited. I wonder if my old friend X will be there. I haven't seen him in a while. I think he lives in DC now so he probably won't come. My cousin lives in DC now too. I wonder if they know each other. Wouldn't that be funny. She just got a new job. I wonder what she does exactly. I wonder what the weather is like there. Wait, why am I thinking about DC weather?... DC... cousin... friend... wedding... benefit... shiny dress... oh yeah, gift certificate. What am I doing tomorrow?

And then for another thirty minutes I laid there making a list in my head of the several errands I must run today, so many since I haven't had a free day since Halloween.

What I should have been thinking about: Why is it so long since I've seen my old friend? We're facebook friends but we hardly talk there. We were best friends in high school, the inseparable kind, knew each other's thoughts before they were thought, a real heart to heart, soul to soul connection. I have very few of those-- just my husband, my friend Karen, and my friend Betsy. I wonder why I let his friendship go all those years ago. Young then, only 18, leaving for college, dating someone who I thought at the time was SO important. That's when things started to fall apart, when I started dating someone. My friend and I were never like that, but I guess he just felt a little replaced.

Come to think of it, I'm not friends with anyone I knew in high school, so I don't really know why I'm going to this wedding in April. The bride and I were close then, but I haven't spoken to her in years. Why am I even invited?? We don't know each other. She wasn't invited to mine.

My wedding was small, only about 100 people invited, 80 attended, mostly family, and very close friends. The best complements I got were
A) thank you for having a short and sweet ceremony that happened to also be pretty (no problem)
B) it was like something from an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, a Great Gatsby jazz age Deco ball come to life, but without being costumey or themey (that was the point, so glad you noticed).
We really enjoyed our wedding, except for the part where my grandmother fell down the stairs, but that's another story altogether. And we did it pretty cheaply too, which was great in a town where the average wedding costs 30 grand. Who has that kind of money to spend? I can see easily how it's done, though, with one venue wanting to charge $2000 just for chairs.

Why am I thinking about the cost of wedding chairs? weddings... Fitzgerald... that wedding... not friends anymore... my old friend in DC... train of thought. Oh yeah.

liquid diet

I feel like I've been eating and traveling non-stop for months. My husband's grandmother passed away between Thanksgiving and Christmas, so we didn't even get a couple-week break then. What is it about food and the holidays? Why do they have to go hand-in-hand? And food and funerals too. 

Starting the 25th of November: dressing, sweet potatoes, broccoli casserole, pumpkin pie... food on the road for 5 hours to and from his Grandmom's... casseroles galore while staying there... more dressing, sweet potatoes, potato salad, green beans, rolls, fudge,  

brownies, red velvet cake... my grandmother's house for corn casserole, cranberry sauce, carrots, mac and cheese, chocolate cake... then cabbage, black eyed peas, rotel dip, cole slaw, cheese plates, ice cream. Not to mention we've traveled so much that the few nights we have been home in between there's nothing in the fridge, so we eat out... veggie khorma and naan, cheese and mushroom quesadillas, chinese buffets. 

I want to never eat again.

So today for lunch I had a smoothie, which was yummy. My hands shake and I get migraines when my food cycle gets messed up, so needless to say lately I've been not so good. And today of course I got another migraine while sitting at my desk at work. I have an aura before a migraine (flashing lights and blind spots). 

Luckily I have a sweet husband who left his work to get me a Dr. Pepper and drive it over here to me since with my blind spots I can't drive. So that's what I've had to "eat" today, a mango smoothie and a Dr. Pepper. And even with a migraine, I feel better. 

What's the most unoriginal, bland, and yet filling food we can have for dinner? I'm thinking spaghetti from a jar. Or lasagna from a box. Or mashed potatoes and broccoli. Ugh, it all sounds terrible. Maybe I'll just have another smoothie. Strawberry this time.

Happy New Year

My resolutions:

1) chill out and have more fun-- I don't always have to be in control

2) love every day in 2009 as much as and more than I did in 2008