What to write, what to write... Brian is sitting across from me, type-type-typing away, and I, the writer of this fearless pair, am stuck. I'm debating. Shall I share a childhood memory with this (mostly) imaginary readership... or something more immediate? But what's happening immediately? Uuuuuuuuuum, I'm drinking some wine? And watching Brian type? Yes. Riveting. I'm aware.
I'm clicking the keys because I feel like something's there. More accurately, I feel like something SHOULD be there. But godammit - the dogs are making a lot of noise. I mean, honestly, does faux-battle require THAT much growling?!?!? And jumping!??!?!
I guess what I'm saying is: I'm fussy. Annoyed by the noise of the animals (human and otherwise) that I love. I'm fussy because I'm things, writing-type-things, are supposed to be flowing freely and they're just stuck with nary a day job in sight to assign the blame.
Grr. I thought this blog was about the funny. Not about the fussy.
Grr.
Showing posts with label Deep breaths. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Deep breaths. Show all posts
4.02.2007
3.29.2007
Disclaimer
There is no equilibrium in my mind lately. I feel like I should have a warning tattoed on the side of my head about its contents. I'm in a constant state of push and pull against myself. To be honest, I'm feeling a little like Gollum* right now.
For example my inner dialogue goes something like this:
"I'm doing a great job. Each day I accomplish at least something. Rome wasn't built in a day."
""Noooooo! We hates the something. We're useless. We don't do anything worthwhile."
A more concrete example: this morning I literally just stood in front of the mirror for a bit, weighing the pros (clean mouth, fresh breath) and cons (lots of gagging) of scraping my tongue. In the end, I scraped. Like every other morning.
Conflict is supposed to be the "thing" that fuels stories. Makes it interesting. But right now, it's really just making me feel like I live on the outskirts of Crazyville.
*How dorky IS this blog anyway? I'm not even *that* person, but already, in its short existence, this page has seen Harry Potter, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Lord of the Rings mentioned. And I've never even seen Star Wars.
For example my inner dialogue goes something like this:
"I'm doing a great job. Each day I accomplish at least something. Rome wasn't built in a day."
""Noooooo! We hates the something. We're useless. We don't do anything worthwhile."
A more concrete example: this morning I literally just stood in front of the mirror for a bit, weighing the pros (clean mouth, fresh breath) and cons (lots of gagging) of scraping my tongue. In the end, I scraped. Like every other morning.
Conflict is supposed to be the "thing" that fuels stories. Makes it interesting. But right now, it's really just making me feel like I live on the outskirts of Crazyville.
*How dorky IS this blog anyway? I'm not even *that* person, but already, in its short existence, this page has seen Harry Potter, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Lord of the Rings mentioned. And I've never even seen Star Wars.
2.13.2007
Rats!
Last week B and I trekked to the ever-so trendy Downtown Los Angeles for my sister-in-law's new office's open house. And while we were circling endlessly down one-way streets for a place to leave our vehicle, I noticed something: THERE ARE INTERESTING PEOPLE DOWN HERE. LOOK AT THEM ALL! STANDING AROUND! LOOKING AT ART!
I guess revitalization comes complete with fascinating art-lovers.
Art aside, I've always loved the idea of loft living and peering at all these people in their art gallery aquariums really amplified my romantic notions of gritty urban dwelling.
Suddenly, though, I'm not sure about it anymore. See below for the email I sent the following day:
Not sure if you guys know this but there are hideous giant rats on Hill St. I heard it squeak and saw it scurry. Thank God the bums were there to distract me or else I might have lost it.
MC
That night I awoke with a start: rats nightmares. Yeah. Not so sure about that.
I guess revitalization comes complete with fascinating art-lovers.
Art aside, I've always loved the idea of loft living and peering at all these people in their art gallery aquariums really amplified my romantic notions of gritty urban dwelling.
Suddenly, though, I'm not sure about it anymore. See below for the email I sent the following day:
Not sure if you guys know this but there are hideous giant rats on Hill St. I heard it squeak and saw it scurry. Thank God the bums were there to distract me or else I might have lost it.
MC
That night I awoke with a start: rats nightmares. Yeah. Not so sure about that.
1.31.2007
Worrywart
2011, Here I come. I have a plan. And for the first time in my life, it’s not just a to-do list of all the things I might-maybe-want-to-kind-of get done… someday. Nope. It’s actual plan. Like for grown-ups. Some of its features include action items, deadlines and objectives. Impressive, no?
My husband B and I made the plan over the last weekend when we holed up a nice, but otherwise nondescript hotel room and forced ourselves to stay away from the hooch, at least until dinner (On a Saturday? Preposterous!). We each made a list of 43 goals and compared notes. Who knew B wanted to host SNL? I mean, I guess we all do, but he put it on the list. I had things like walk the dogs more.
Quickly, you should know the dogs, Grandpaw and Dolly Parton, are fat. Ms. Parton more so than Gramps. But they really do need more exercise. So now I walk them with their backpacks on, loaded with canned goods so they can burn more calories. I think they want to kill me because of those backpacks.
But anyway folks, back to the matter at hand. The plan.
It’s a big thing to map out your life, years in advance. It’s wrought with all kinds of hazards. You could accidentally wind up too married to said plan and miss a really great opportunity because it’s “not in the plan.” You might also find yourself stressing about things that are literally a THOUSAND DAYS AWAY. Not healthy.
My personality type (completely insane) leaves me much more vulnerable to that latter pitfall. I,um, tend to be a bit of a worrier.
A brief example:
Yesterday B and I decided to go to the gym after he was done with work. So I thought it would be convenient to bring his gym clothes with me when I picked him up so we could just go straight to the elliptical epicenter. However, this plan probably shaved a good 7-8 months off my life in the long run because I spent a lot of time and energy worrying about WHAT I WOULD DO WHILE I WAITED FOR HIM TO CHANGE INTO HIS GYM CLOTHES. HOW EVER WOULD I FILL THOSE TWO MINUTES? I don’t like the gym at all. I just like to get on a machine and get the hell out of there. The place makes my skin crawl and I can only go there if the buddy-system is in full-effect.
So I thought of the following solutions to this quandary:
1. Stay behind in the car for a few minutes and meet him inside after he’s changed
2. Sit in the chairs in the lobby of the gym and try to look cool (yeah, right)
3. Mill about juice bar as if I’m pondering a purchase
4. Wash my hands somewhat slowly in the women’s locker room
5. Just start working out in advance of his costume change
Then I had a brilliant idea! Hurrah! This will save the day! B can just change in the car on the way there! And I won’t have to figure out what to do in those two horrible minutes left alone in the gym!
Whew. That was a close one.
This is going to be a long four years.
My husband B and I made the plan over the last weekend when we holed up a nice, but otherwise nondescript hotel room and forced ourselves to stay away from the hooch, at least until dinner (On a Saturday? Preposterous!). We each made a list of 43 goals and compared notes. Who knew B wanted to host SNL? I mean, I guess we all do, but he put it on the list. I had things like walk the dogs more.
Quickly, you should know the dogs, Grandpaw and Dolly Parton, are fat. Ms. Parton more so than Gramps. But they really do need more exercise. So now I walk them with their backpacks on, loaded with canned goods so they can burn more calories. I think they want to kill me because of those backpacks.
But anyway folks, back to the matter at hand. The plan.
It’s a big thing to map out your life, years in advance. It’s wrought with all kinds of hazards. You could accidentally wind up too married to said plan and miss a really great opportunity because it’s “not in the plan.” You might also find yourself stressing about things that are literally a THOUSAND DAYS AWAY. Not healthy.
My personality type (completely insane) leaves me much more vulnerable to that latter pitfall. I,um, tend to be a bit of a worrier.
A brief example:
Yesterday B and I decided to go to the gym after he was done with work. So I thought it would be convenient to bring his gym clothes with me when I picked him up so we could just go straight to the elliptical epicenter. However, this plan probably shaved a good 7-8 months off my life in the long run because I spent a lot of time and energy worrying about WHAT I WOULD DO WHILE I WAITED FOR HIM TO CHANGE INTO HIS GYM CLOTHES. HOW EVER WOULD I FILL THOSE TWO MINUTES? I don’t like the gym at all. I just like to get on a machine and get the hell out of there. The place makes my skin crawl and I can only go there if the buddy-system is in full-effect.
So I thought of the following solutions to this quandary:
1. Stay behind in the car for a few minutes and meet him inside after he’s changed
2. Sit in the chairs in the lobby of the gym and try to look cool (yeah, right)
3. Mill about juice bar as if I’m pondering a purchase
4. Wash my hands somewhat slowly in the women’s locker room
5. Just start working out in advance of his costume change
Then I had a brilliant idea! Hurrah! This will save the day! B can just change in the car on the way there! And I won’t have to figure out what to do in those two horrible minutes left alone in the gym!
Whew. That was a close one.
This is going to be a long four years.
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