I can understand no comments on the shoes. It is pretty vain of me to expect everyone else to be as absorbed with my cute shoes as I am, or even to think they are as cute as I do.
But what about my story? My story that I spent longer working on than I care to admit? My story that I'm still not satisfied with, but don't know what to do with?
I know not to expect the number of comments that Trista gets, because I don't have anywhere near the number of readers she has, but c'mon, somebody, comment!!!!!!
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Shoes Week Winter 2007, Part 3
These are my brown grannie boots. I have a thing for grannie boots, and, in fact, own three pair. Two are identical in everything but color. I found these in a catalog about 5 or 6 years ago, and lusted after them so deeply that I had to buy them. So I did. I think I may have gotten the brown ones first, and liked them so much that I immediately bought the black ones that are just like them.
I'm wearing them with a pair of khaki jeans and a pumpkin tee decorated with vaguely Indian-looking swirls of color, sequins, and beadwork. I'm also wearing cheap earrings with huge genuine faux diamonds and amber colored gems.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
About Abigail
Note: My latest for the Scheherazade Project. As always, comments/criticism are welcomed!
"Her father was always over in them furrin' parts, digging in the sand. That's where he got that thing she was allus wearin' around her neck."
"Her father was always over in them furrin' parts, digging in the sand. That's where he got that thing she was allus wearin' around her neck."
The woman leaned forward so emphatically that her rocking chair creaked in protest. "He actually wanted to name her Circe, after some heathen witch woman, can you imagine it? Accourse her mother wouldn't allow that, and gave her a good God fearin' name. No sir, Abigail Grace she was christened and blessed, and Abigail Grace was the name she was buried under. Her tombstone's out there, but you won't find it, no sir, because it crumbled to bits years ago. Iffen you ask me, she shouldn't have been buried in consecrated ground. No sir, the one she served took her to himself, and I'll warrant she's going to be burning forever." She leaned back and smiled smugly.
"Do I have a picture of her? Now why on earth would I have a picture of her? Accourse, I might have one on account of how her mother was my kin and she allus was a good God-fearin' woman. Hand me that album--no, not that one, the one next to it. Yes, that one there. Now lessee, no, no, yes! That's her, right there."
Abigail was still a baby in this photograph, still unshortened, her long gown hanging to the floor as her mother held her, unsmiling. The shapeless baby's face still revealed the beginnings of the strength of character that would become fiercely evident in later photographs.
"Even then she was wearin' that ridikilus thing her father give her," the woman pointed out. "You can just see it there, her mother tried to cover it up with the blanket, but it's just peekin' out of the folds."
And it was, and it was dimly glowing even then.
"What was she like as a child? Well, she weren't like no child I ever saw before, and that's for sure and sartin. No sir, she never smiled unless it were time for her to be sober, and she weren't never sober unless it were a time that most children would be smilin'. She never played with other children neither. No sir, she just played with an old black cat. Her and that cat went everywhere together. She called him Disyus or sommat like that. That cat warn't like no ordinary cat, no sir. He were a devil cat, I tell you. The way he'd look at you! And he'd whisper in her ear, and tell her things, and she'd look at you like she knew things that you never told no one. No sir, she weren't like no child I ever saw before. Not one!"
The woman stopped talking and took a few sips of iced tea as she gazed across her wide porch into the distant past. She shook her head and clucked her tongue pityingly.
"Mind, I don't cotton to what happened to her. No sir. That weren't right. Well, as she got older, she kept to herself just as she allus did. She weren't pretty, not at all, no sir. But she had character. And sometimes when she smiled or laughed, even if it weren't the right time for her to be smilin', she looked better than pretty, she did, and there were always people lookin' for trouble, sir, there were. And she caught their eye. They didn't understand about her. They thought she was just like the other girls, the silly ones who were just gigglin' all the time to get attention. And so when they tried to flirt with her, and she didn't flirt back, they got mad.
"Well, sir, somehow, and I don't say this lightly now, but sir, all hell broke loose. That thing she was wearin' around her neck, well, it always glowed and we was used to it, but it got so bright that it hurt yer eyes to look at it, and the light was shinin' and it almost looked as if it were comin' out of her not that thing, and it got windy, and she got all big and scary and loud-soundin'. And those boys, well, those boys weren't never the same again."
She paused, trying to find the words. Giving up, she said only, "No sir, they weren't never the same again. And neither was Abigail. Whatever that power was that came out of her that day, well, sir, it just took over her. And she sorta shriveled up and gave way to it. I don't reckon she lived another six months after that."
She took another few sips of tea.
"I can show you her grave if you'd like, sir, 'cause like I said, you'd never find her tombstone, 'cause on account of how it's all crumbled. But now that I'm tellin' you the story, maybe I was wrong when I said about who she served. Maybe she was just bein' protected by someone. I dunno."
We wandered through the old graveyard, with the woman pointing out various graves to me.
"That there's Abigail's father's grave. He died over in Greece. I dunno's why they brought him back home. He was never here long enough to do much more'n get his wife with child once every two or three years," she said contemptuously.
"And there's Abigail's mother's grave. Bless her heart, she did the best she could. All her children died young. Abigail's the only one who lived to grow up, and she didn't live past the age of 19. Thank God she didn't live to see what happened to her only darter."
She pointed finally to a crumbled tombstone covered with lovely snowdrops. "There's Abigail's grave."
The two of us stood there silently for a few moments.
Then the woman turned to look at me. "How'd you know about Abigail, anyhow?"
I showed her the tattered old photograph that I'd found in an old book I purchased in a second-hand bookstore.
I showed her the tattered old photograph that I'd found in an old book I purchased in a second-hand bookstore.
She held it in her hand, and tears filled her eyes. "That was taken just before all the trouble happened," she whispered. "I'd forgotten."
She then did something that I didn't understand: she ripped the photograph into tiny pieces. As she did so, tears began to stream down her cheeks and a warm glow emanated from behind her shawl. She lifted her head to look at me, and I saw--wondered, in fact, how I'd missed it before--the strong features, the crooked smile, the pronounced cheekbones.
I stared at her, mouth agape. "Abigail?"
She sighed wearily. "Come with me," she beckoned imperiously. The folksy old woman persona was gone.
I obediently followed her. Indeed, I had no choice. I knew that I must follow her wherever she commanded me.
I obediently followed her. Indeed, I had no choice. I knew that I must follow her wherever she commanded me.
She led me beyond the graveyard into a forested area, and we walked in silence until we reached a clearing.
It was encircled with more snowdrops, and a giant black cat was waiting there. It gazed at me imperiously, as if it were uncertain whether I was to be allowed in.
She inclined her head graciously. "Odysseus, this is our guest."
The cat gave a rusty purr of greeting.
"Are you -- Abigail?" The name didn't suit her at all, and I felt ridiculous using it in connection with her.
"No. I am Circe." She removed the shawl that covered the large amulet that hung over her breast, and it gleamed with power.
"I don't understand."
"Obviously." She removed the hairpins, and as she shook her hair loose, the wispy white hairs turned into a silken waterfall of coppery brown hair that fell to the middle of her back, and her wrinkled face smoothed out.
"My father was a fool," she said contemptuously. "He played with things of power, like they were toys, and thought that he could control them. He brought this amulet to his wife, to make sure that my incarnation would fill the body of his child. And I did, because it was better to have a body than to be without one. But what a tiresome existence it was!"
"I still don't understand," I protested. "Why did you stay here, in this podunk little backwater town for all this time?"
"When I told you about the trouble, perhaps I was a little deceptive," she purred, "about what happened. Perhaps what really happened was that someone recognized me, someone with the power to stop me. And perhaps now that you have come, you have loosened my bonds."
"But--the boys--and, you said they were never the same again!" I stammered.
“They weren't," she said shortly. "I took care of those pathetic fools before I was bound. Now the only remaining question is how to reward you for freeing me."
"I don't want a reward," I said hastily.
She picked up the cat and held it close to her breast, and looked at me narrowly. "You have done me a great service," she said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should allow you to keep your present form." Then, with a cruel smile, she added, "besides, I can always find you again, if you betray me."
Winter Shoe Week Day Two
These are my bitch boots. I wear them with attitude. And, today, with fishnet stockings, long black skirt, my NYC tribute shirt (that shows the Twin Towers still standing [over my left boob, no less]), and a black blazer. I'm also wearing the warped diamond hoop earrings that Joe gave me for Christmas this year.I bought the bitch boots at Payless for about $15 this year, so they are definitely on the cheap side. I'm very fond of them, though, and will probably wear them until they fall apart. I wear them with almost everything, because they go with everything, as long as you have the most important ingredient: attitude.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Shoe Week Winter 2007
Trista inspired me to join in the madcap merriment that is Shoe Week Winter 2007. So here, without any further ado, are is my Day One photo.
As you can see, they are completely utilitarian, non-glamourous, plain-jane black pumps. I got them at DSW Shoe Wearhouse. I do not recall how much I paid for them, but it was probably between $30 and $50. They're extremely comfortable, even if they are completely utilitarian, non-glamourous, plain-jane black pumps.
With them I am wearing a pair of black cuffed cropped pants, black nylons, a black tank, and a black and white striped cardigan (it's mostly white near the top, then graduates to mostly black at the bottom--very cool). I chose to wear the plain pumps because they ended up looking the best with this particular outfit. But now that I get to take pictures of my awesome shoes, I will wear way cooler shoes the rest of the week, she says, rubbing her hands together gleefully.
Want to join in? It's easy! Take a picture of your shoes (a different pair each day), post it on your blog, and tell us about them.
As you can see, they are completely utilitarian, non-glamourous, plain-jane black pumps. I got them at DSW Shoe Wearhouse. I do not recall how much I paid for them, but it was probably between $30 and $50. They're extremely comfortable, even if they are completely utilitarian, non-glamourous, plain-jane black pumps.
With them I am wearing a pair of black cuffed cropped pants, black nylons, a black tank, and a black and white striped cardigan (it's mostly white near the top, then graduates to mostly black at the bottom--very cool). I chose to wear the plain pumps because they ended up looking the best with this particular outfit. But now that I get to take pictures of my awesome shoes, I will wear way cooler shoes the rest of the week, she says, rubbing her hands together gleefully.
Want to join in? It's easy! Take a picture of your shoes (a different pair each day), post it on your blog, and tell us about them.
Blathering on about nothing
I was really gonna post this weekend, honest!
I was really gonna go to the gym after work on Saturday, honest!
Wanna know what happened?
Well, I'm gonna tell you anyway! :>
Work on Saturday whupped my butt as much as a strenuous workout. So I said, "Screw the gym," and didn't go. I cleaned out two sets of cabinets/cupboards; cleaned out the storage closet; went through all the unused desks and got all the crap that had been left behind; and began sorting through said crap and deciding if it needed to be shredded, junked, or put away. I could easily have put in a full 8 hours, but they only let me work 4 hours.
Then after work I went and took a batch of stuff from home to Goodwill (decluttering the office, decluttering the house--anyone seeing a pattern here). Then I went to the other thrift store, Thrift Town, and found a nice pair of black pants for work, along with three tops (one from Ann Taylor Loft, for only 99 cents!, and one from Casual Corner). This is one of the fun things about losing weight: getting to find cute and cheap clothes, second-hand, for next to nothing.
And then I went home and wanted to take a nap because I was tired and had a headache. But I had too much energy. So I helped Joe clean up the debris from the master bedroom. And then we went to the store to buy Propel, Flatout Light wraps, and nylons. The only extra things we got were a bottle of nail polish in a yummy reddish-blackish color and a bottle of OJ. So how's that for sticking to the list? Oh, and for the record, buying nylons is less expensive now that I don't have to buy the plus-size brand. I still have to buy kind of fatso sizes, but not so fatso that I have to buy the plus-size brand, so it's cheaper. Yay!
And then we went to visit Clover and Chase. Some of the other kids were home, but they were upstairs hanging with friends, and the others weren't home. Chase is doing beautifully since his surgery. His stomach is smaller than it's been in quite some time, and he looks healthier than I can recall seeing him in a long time. We had a very enjoyable visit, and talked about everything from my farts to my boobs. With Clover, not with Chase. I'm not sure where Chase was during that part of the conversation. Anyway, the consensus was that my farts smell dreadful (as do everyone's) and that my boobs are much better post reduction than they were in the unpleasant years pre reduction. I'm not sure how we got onto those topics, and I had to specifically request a change of topic, but it was still a fun visit. I was still so energetic that for about half an hour I was standing up practically dancing because I was unable to sit still.
And then we went home. I managed to get tired enough on the way home that I was able to lie down, read a book, and fall asleep.
Sunday was a lazy day for me. I slept in a bit, read scriptures, went to church, took a nap, read some more, and went to sleep. Lazy day. I liked it.
This morning when the alarm went off at 4:40, it jolted me out of my dreams so abruptly that I didn't get time to remember them, which was frustrating because it seemed that they were interesting and I wanted to remember them. For about half a second I thought about not getting up, and just going to the gym after work, but of course I got up and went and had fun. I did half an hour on the elliptical today, and loved it way better than the recumbent bike. I still haven't taken the time to go experiment on the weight machines. That is still going to have to be something I do in the afternoons, because there's just not time in the mornings. I'm thinking that if I just extend my cardio in the mornings from 30 minutes to 50 minutes, and then do weights 3 or 4 days a week in the afternoons, I'll get great workouts without being so rushed in the mornings.
I got the rehearsal schedule from M.A. today. We start rehearsals on 2/19, and opening night is 3/23. I took that day off work, as I feel quite sure I'll have pterodactyl-sized butterflies and won't feel like doing a damn thing that day. Izzybella, who is also in the play, said she'll take off that day as well. We'll get to Addison early and have a late lunch early enough that I won't be puking before the show, and keep each other amused until our 6:00 call. So I'll begin researching Gertrude Stein.
One of my really nice co-workers took me to lunch today, and 4 others joined us there. It was very enjoyable. I splurged a little, eating a handful of chips with some salsa, and two corn tortillas with butter. It was the first time I had any butter since Christmas. And for my meal I got spinach quesadillas light (the menu said they were light on the cheese, and they were)--the quesadillas had fresh spinach, poblano chiles, and fresh mushrooms. Very tasty. I ate two wedges of the quesadillas, and have 4 wedges left.
Sam asked if the dreams that he popped up in were nightmares. No, Sam, they were not nightmares. In the dreams I was at the 2007 World Fantasy Convention in Saratoga Springs, New York. (That would be in my dreams, because right now I don't see my way clear to affording to attend the convention.) And you were there, and I recognized you from the photo you had on your poetry blog. And I said, "Sam?" And you denied being Sam. But I knew it was you. And then later on you came up to mine and Clover's hotel room, and admitted it was you, and you explained why you were pretending not to be you, and it was this long weird dreamlike rigamarole that only makes sense in dreams and that I no longer remember. I dreamed that a few times. I think part of the reason I was dreaming about you is that I was concerned about you. And I think the other part of the reason is because Izzybella and I were talking one day about what we thought you looked like, and then when we saw your photo, we were both wrong, and were very amused by the fact. Anyway, very interesting dreams about a very interesting person I hope to meet someday.
You may notice I have now posted a small snapshot of myself finally. I don't really like it, but there it is. It's the photo from my badge at work. I personally think that I'm much better looking than that photo makes me appear, but at least it gives you a little idea of what I look like.
And now that I've blathered on about nothing important, I'll stop blathering and go see if any of y'all have blathered ona bout anything important.
I was really gonna go to the gym after work on Saturday, honest!
Wanna know what happened?
Well, I'm gonna tell you anyway! :>
Work on Saturday whupped my butt as much as a strenuous workout. So I said, "Screw the gym," and didn't go. I cleaned out two sets of cabinets/cupboards; cleaned out the storage closet; went through all the unused desks and got all the crap that had been left behind; and began sorting through said crap and deciding if it needed to be shredded, junked, or put away. I could easily have put in a full 8 hours, but they only let me work 4 hours.
Then after work I went and took a batch of stuff from home to Goodwill (decluttering the office, decluttering the house--anyone seeing a pattern here). Then I went to the other thrift store, Thrift Town, and found a nice pair of black pants for work, along with three tops (one from Ann Taylor Loft, for only 99 cents!, and one from Casual Corner). This is one of the fun things about losing weight: getting to find cute and cheap clothes, second-hand, for next to nothing.
And then I went home and wanted to take a nap because I was tired and had a headache. But I had too much energy. So I helped Joe clean up the debris from the master bedroom. And then we went to the store to buy Propel, Flatout Light wraps, and nylons. The only extra things we got were a bottle of nail polish in a yummy reddish-blackish color and a bottle of OJ. So how's that for sticking to the list? Oh, and for the record, buying nylons is less expensive now that I don't have to buy the plus-size brand. I still have to buy kind of fatso sizes, but not so fatso that I have to buy the plus-size brand, so it's cheaper. Yay!
And then we went to visit Clover and Chase. Some of the other kids were home, but they were upstairs hanging with friends, and the others weren't home. Chase is doing beautifully since his surgery. His stomach is smaller than it's been in quite some time, and he looks healthier than I can recall seeing him in a long time. We had a very enjoyable visit, and talked about everything from my farts to my boobs. With Clover, not with Chase. I'm not sure where Chase was during that part of the conversation. Anyway, the consensus was that my farts smell dreadful (as do everyone's) and that my boobs are much better post reduction than they were in the unpleasant years pre reduction. I'm not sure how we got onto those topics, and I had to specifically request a change of topic, but it was still a fun visit. I was still so energetic that for about half an hour I was standing up practically dancing because I was unable to sit still.
And then we went home. I managed to get tired enough on the way home that I was able to lie down, read a book, and fall asleep.
Sunday was a lazy day for me. I slept in a bit, read scriptures, went to church, took a nap, read some more, and went to sleep. Lazy day. I liked it.
This morning when the alarm went off at 4:40, it jolted me out of my dreams so abruptly that I didn't get time to remember them, which was frustrating because it seemed that they were interesting and I wanted to remember them. For about half a second I thought about not getting up, and just going to the gym after work, but of course I got up and went and had fun. I did half an hour on the elliptical today, and loved it way better than the recumbent bike. I still haven't taken the time to go experiment on the weight machines. That is still going to have to be something I do in the afternoons, because there's just not time in the mornings. I'm thinking that if I just extend my cardio in the mornings from 30 minutes to 50 minutes, and then do weights 3 or 4 days a week in the afternoons, I'll get great workouts without being so rushed in the mornings.
I got the rehearsal schedule from M.A. today. We start rehearsals on 2/19, and opening night is 3/23. I took that day off work, as I feel quite sure I'll have pterodactyl-sized butterflies and won't feel like doing a damn thing that day. Izzybella, who is also in the play, said she'll take off that day as well. We'll get to Addison early and have a late lunch early enough that I won't be puking before the show, and keep each other amused until our 6:00 call. So I'll begin researching Gertrude Stein.
One of my really nice co-workers took me to lunch today, and 4 others joined us there. It was very enjoyable. I splurged a little, eating a handful of chips with some salsa, and two corn tortillas with butter. It was the first time I had any butter since Christmas. And for my meal I got spinach quesadillas light (the menu said they were light on the cheese, and they were)--the quesadillas had fresh spinach, poblano chiles, and fresh mushrooms. Very tasty. I ate two wedges of the quesadillas, and have 4 wedges left.
Sam asked if the dreams that he popped up in were nightmares. No, Sam, they were not nightmares. In the dreams I was at the 2007 World Fantasy Convention in Saratoga Springs, New York. (That would be in my dreams, because right now I don't see my way clear to affording to attend the convention.) And you were there, and I recognized you from the photo you had on your poetry blog. And I said, "Sam?" And you denied being Sam. But I knew it was you. And then later on you came up to mine and Clover's hotel room, and admitted it was you, and you explained why you were pretending not to be you, and it was this long weird dreamlike rigamarole that only makes sense in dreams and that I no longer remember. I dreamed that a few times. I think part of the reason I was dreaming about you is that I was concerned about you. And I think the other part of the reason is because Izzybella and I were talking one day about what we thought you looked like, and then when we saw your photo, we were both wrong, and were very amused by the fact. Anyway, very interesting dreams about a very interesting person I hope to meet someday.
You may notice I have now posted a small snapshot of myself finally. I don't really like it, but there it is. It's the photo from my badge at work. I personally think that I'm much better looking than that photo makes me appear, but at least it gives you a little idea of what I look like.
And now that I've blathered on about nothing important, I'll stop blathering and go see if any of y'all have blathered ona bout anything important.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Movin' On Again
Okay. I let myself wallow in sorrow and misery and guilt for about 24 hours altogether, perhaps 30 hours, and now it's time to get going again.
I heard my mind say, "It's what she would have wanted," and I laughed. It really is what she would want. Of all people, A. would NOT want us to sit around and wallow in sorrow and misery and guilt. She would want us to live our lives, be happy, be productive, and not make the mistakes she made or even the mistakes we had been making. She believed in living life to the fullest, even if she didn't know how to do it in a positive fashion.
I went to the gym this morning. Getting up at 4:40 was much easier today than it was on Wednesday. I did a 30-minute ride on the recumbent bicycle. I chose a hill workout pattern, level 3. I know, that's such a wussy level. But I got a good workout still. I was definitely sweating by the end. Tomorrow when I get off work I'll go to the gym and experiment on the different machines when I'm not in such a rush, and maybe I'll do it again on Sunday after church. I'm thinking that I'll alternate upper- and lower-body workouts every day after my cardio work. I can afford to spend 50 minutes every morning before I have to get home and shower and dress and dry my hair and get to work. So if I do 30 minutes on the bike or elliptical glider (which I'd love to try out, but they're all taken before I get there at 5--which means that even though the gym allegedly opens at 5, it must open a little earlier) and then spend 20 minutes on the machines, I can get a good workout in every day.
I got my Newport News bathing suit catalog in the mail yesterday. I was drooling over the bathing suits. They have a nice selection of halter bathing suits this year, and I look really good in halters. They play up my shoulders and bust beautifully. Normally I would be burying the bathing suit catalog in the bottom of the recycle bin, but this time it was fun to look at it. Of course, no matter how hard I'm working out between now and then and no matter how much weight I lose, bikinis are probably forever out of the question, between stretch marks and the possibility (probability?) of loose skin. But the one-pieces are still beautiful, and knowing that I'll be smaller than I've been even since I was a senior in high school by this summer makes thinking about bathing suits a positive pleasure.
I haven't written poetry in years, and I apologize for subjecting you to poetry over the last two days. I know I'm a horrible poet, which is why I don't write poetry anymore. But the feelings I had to get out had no other way to express themselves. I'll get a little more upbeat again; just give me a little more time.
I heard my mind say, "It's what she would have wanted," and I laughed. It really is what she would want. Of all people, A. would NOT want us to sit around and wallow in sorrow and misery and guilt. She would want us to live our lives, be happy, be productive, and not make the mistakes she made or even the mistakes we had been making. She believed in living life to the fullest, even if she didn't know how to do it in a positive fashion.
I went to the gym this morning. Getting up at 4:40 was much easier today than it was on Wednesday. I did a 30-minute ride on the recumbent bicycle. I chose a hill workout pattern, level 3. I know, that's such a wussy level. But I got a good workout still. I was definitely sweating by the end. Tomorrow when I get off work I'll go to the gym and experiment on the different machines when I'm not in such a rush, and maybe I'll do it again on Sunday after church. I'm thinking that I'll alternate upper- and lower-body workouts every day after my cardio work. I can afford to spend 50 minutes every morning before I have to get home and shower and dress and dry my hair and get to work. So if I do 30 minutes on the bike or elliptical glider (which I'd love to try out, but they're all taken before I get there at 5--which means that even though the gym allegedly opens at 5, it must open a little earlier) and then spend 20 minutes on the machines, I can get a good workout in every day.
I got my Newport News bathing suit catalog in the mail yesterday. I was drooling over the bathing suits. They have a nice selection of halter bathing suits this year, and I look really good in halters. They play up my shoulders and bust beautifully. Normally I would be burying the bathing suit catalog in the bottom of the recycle bin, but this time it was fun to look at it. Of course, no matter how hard I'm working out between now and then and no matter how much weight I lose, bikinis are probably forever out of the question, between stretch marks and the possibility (probability?) of loose skin. But the one-pieces are still beautiful, and knowing that I'll be smaller than I've been even since I was a senior in high school by this summer makes thinking about bathing suits a positive pleasure.
I haven't written poetry in years, and I apologize for subjecting you to poetry over the last two days. I know I'm a horrible poet, which is why I don't write poetry anymore. But the feelings I had to get out had no other way to express themselves. I'll get a little more upbeat again; just give me a little more time.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
For My Sister
"I forbid you to weep," he proclaims in a stentorian voice,
And I protest.
"You don't understand," I tell him,
and I see your pale face peeping out from behind his shoulder.
You shake your head at me.
"No," you indicate, "You are the one who does not understand."
"I still love her, no matter what she did or didn't do."
My protests fall on deaf ears.
"But thinking of her brings you down, just like she always brought you down,
And I won't have it, and you are to keep going. You've been doing so well,
And I won't have it. You are my wife."
His voice is stone cold.
"You don't understand," I say again,
and again your pale face peeks out from behind his shoulder
and again you shake your head at me.
"No," you say. "You don't understand."
We argue and I tell him I don't want to talk about it and
I hang up the phone and
He calls me back twenty minutes later to tell me
He got me a treat and
He loves me and
I'm his wife and
I've been doing so well
No tears
No depression
So well
he loves me
he loves me
Please no tears for someone who doesn't deserve them
And he doesn't understand
And there you are again, shaking your head at me.
"You don't understand. He does. You do not."
So he came home from the store with warm dinner
and hugs and caresses
and chocolate
and I didn't talk about you because he doesn't understand
and you say it is I who do not understand
and then I went to sleep because I had a long painful day
and I slept and dreamed not of you but of everything else
but really of you
And I woke up and I understood.
You lied to everyone, I never quite knew why,
perhaps you never quite knew why.
You knew I'd forgive you anything.
You knew she would forgive you anything.
You knew they would forgive you anything.
But you knew he would be sternly just, not merciful.
I don't know if you lied to him.
I don't know if you told him the truth.
I don't have to know.
I do know that what you told him was so different
from anything you told to anyone else.
You let him be your judge jury
So in a sense you are right that I did not understand
But in a sense you are wrong because
He does not understand
The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show like God's
When mercy seasons justice.
And you were almost wrong not quite but almost
thinking that I would forgive anything
Because you hurt me so deeply
And it took me so long to forgive
That I didn't get to tell you one more time
That I love you
And now I can't forgive myself for that
And I look at the moment of you and your daughter
frozen in time
sitting on my desk
I watch you forever kissing her freckled face
And I know that I was coming around
just before you died
And I'm mad at you for dying
Before I could tell you that I forgave you
And he's wrong.
You were wrong.
But you're not wrong now.
That pale face of yours that peered from behind his shoulder,
That was just a shadow of you. You're not that pale face anymore
because you are somewhere else now.
I see you bathed in light
glints of gold shimmering off your red hair
warmth and light and life in your eyes and your face
because now you know what you couldn't know before
and you couldn't see before
and you couldn't believe before
you are loved
you are loved
you are loved
And I protest.
"You don't understand," I tell him,
and I see your pale face peeping out from behind his shoulder.
You shake your head at me.
"No," you indicate, "You are the one who does not understand."
"I still love her, no matter what she did or didn't do."
My protests fall on deaf ears.
"But thinking of her brings you down, just like she always brought you down,
And I won't have it, and you are to keep going. You've been doing so well,
And I won't have it. You are my wife."
His voice is stone cold.
"You don't understand," I say again,
and again your pale face peeks out from behind his shoulder
and again you shake your head at me.
"No," you say. "You don't understand."
We argue and I tell him I don't want to talk about it and
I hang up the phone and
He calls me back twenty minutes later to tell me
He got me a treat and
He loves me and
I'm his wife and
I've been doing so well
No tears
No depression
So well
he loves me
he loves me
Please no tears for someone who doesn't deserve them
And he doesn't understand
And there you are again, shaking your head at me.
"You don't understand. He does. You do not."
So he came home from the store with warm dinner
and hugs and caresses
and chocolate
and I didn't talk about you because he doesn't understand
and you say it is I who do not understand
and then I went to sleep because I had a long painful day
and I slept and dreamed not of you but of everything else
but really of you
And I woke up and I understood.
You lied to everyone, I never quite knew why,
perhaps you never quite knew why.
You knew I'd forgive you anything.
You knew she would forgive you anything.
You knew they would forgive you anything.
But you knew he would be sternly just, not merciful.
I don't know if you lied to him.
I don't know if you told him the truth.
I don't have to know.
I do know that what you told him was so different
from anything you told to anyone else.
You let him be your judge jury
So in a sense you are right that I did not understand
But in a sense you are wrong because
He does not understand
The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show like God's
When mercy seasons justice.
And you were almost wrong not quite but almost
thinking that I would forgive anything
Because you hurt me so deeply
And it took me so long to forgive
That I didn't get to tell you one more time
That I love you
And now I can't forgive myself for that
And I look at the moment of you and your daughter
frozen in time
sitting on my desk
I watch you forever kissing her freckled face
And I know that I was coming around
just before you died
And I'm mad at you for dying
Before I could tell you that I forgave you
And he's wrong.
You were wrong.
But you're not wrong now.
That pale face of yours that peered from behind his shoulder,
That was just a shadow of you. You're not that pale face anymore
because you are somewhere else now.
I see you bathed in light
glints of gold shimmering off your red hair
warmth and light and life in your eyes and your face
because now you know what you couldn't know before
and you couldn't see before
and you couldn't believe before
you are loved
you are loved
you are loved
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Grieving for a life unlived
my grief cannot be stuffed behind mountains of cookies that leave their sweet crumbs guiltily clinging to the bedsheets
it cannot be hidden behind the smooth porcelain veneer of benefit and clinique cosmetics on my face and the thriftstore clothing finds that finally fit my smaller body
no
it slides down my cheeks leaving trails in my powder and smearing my mascara
it makes my face crumple in violent paroxysms of silent sobs
as i remember a life unlived
oh sure in the first days and weeks i ate the chocolate frosting and laughed and cried
and remembered
the easy-bake oven and felt guilty for being angry
and remembered
the slut shoes and felt guilty for being angry
and remembered
sitting on the front porch with our arms around each other
and felt guilty
for being angry
and remembered
giving the afghan to your son no longer your son
and felt guilty for being angry
and remembered
holding your son no longer your son
and felt guilty
for being angry
and remembered
weeping for the man i never met who now is gone
and felt guilty
for hurting more for you than for him
and wondered why you were there
and if you did it
and felt guilty
because i knew you did not
and felt guilty
because some people did
and felt guilty
because i wouldn't talk to you
the last time you called
and felt guilty
because you'll never call me again
and felt guilty
because i love you and you're gone
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and i still feel guilty as now i think of you
and i wish i could talk to you and tell you how much i love you
and i wish we could sit on my front porch one more time
and put our arms around each other
and lean our heads on each others shoulders
and say i love you
i love you
i love you
and i'd un-throw away your slut shoes
and i'd un-give away the easy-bake oven
and i'd buy you the damn can of chocolate frosting and watch you eat it with your child's glee and joy and watch you savor every bite and i'd smear chocolate frosting on your face and i'd hug you and maybe things would be different
and maybe they wouldn't
but you'd know
you'd know
you'd know
you'd know how much i love you
and i always have
and i always will
because you're my sister
and that's what sisters do
they love each other
like i love you
and i'd still cry when you had to leave but it would be different because we'd know
i hope you know now
it cannot be hidden behind the smooth porcelain veneer of benefit and clinique cosmetics on my face and the thriftstore clothing finds that finally fit my smaller body
no
it slides down my cheeks leaving trails in my powder and smearing my mascara
it makes my face crumple in violent paroxysms of silent sobs
as i remember a life unlived
oh sure in the first days and weeks i ate the chocolate frosting and laughed and cried
and remembered
the easy-bake oven and felt guilty for being angry
and remembered
the slut shoes and felt guilty for being angry
and remembered
sitting on the front porch with our arms around each other
and felt guilty
for being angry
and remembered
giving the afghan to your son no longer your son
and felt guilty for being angry
and remembered
holding your son no longer your son
and felt guilty
for being angry
and remembered
weeping for the man i never met who now is gone
and felt guilty
for hurting more for you than for him
and wondered why you were there
and if you did it
and felt guilty
because i knew you did not
and felt guilty
because some people did
and felt guilty
because i wouldn't talk to you
the last time you called
and felt guilty
because you'll never call me again
and felt guilty
because i love you and you're gone
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and i still feel guilty as now i think of you
and i wish i could talk to you and tell you how much i love you
and i wish we could sit on my front porch one more time
and put our arms around each other
and lean our heads on each others shoulders
and say i love you
i love you
i love you
and i'd un-throw away your slut shoes
and i'd un-give away the easy-bake oven
and i'd buy you the damn can of chocolate frosting and watch you eat it with your child's glee and joy and watch you savor every bite and i'd smear chocolate frosting on your face and i'd hug you and maybe things would be different
and maybe they wouldn't
but you'd know
you'd know
you'd know
you'd know how much i love you
and i always have
and i always will
because you're my sister
and that's what sisters do
they love each other
like i love you
and i'd still cry when you had to leave but it would be different because we'd know
i hope you know now
Workin' Hard!
Every tiny little bit of flesh in my body is quivering. I can sit perfectly still and feel it trembling. Is that a good thing?
Perhaps I should back up.
Yesterday after work I went home and changed clothes, and then went to the gym. I immediately got the presentation, and the deal was so good that I went ahead and signed up. I had an 8-week pass from the Discovery National Health Challenge. If I signed up, Discovery paid the initiation fee; I got a reduced monthly rate for two years; and Discovery paid the third year. At least, according to the guy who signed me up. Perhaps it's a deal Bally and Discovery worked out. Either way, I get a good rate, didn't have to pay an initiation fee, and don't have to pay anything during the third year. So I signed up, got a quick tour of the facility, met with a trainer, and signed up for my free training session. We made the appointment for 5 a.m. today.
Yes, you read that correctly. A.M., ante meridian. 5. That meant I would have to crawl out of bed at 4:40, get dressed, put my hair in a pony-tail so I wouldn't whip beads of sweat all over the place, make sure I had my lock and key and membership card handy, drive to the gym, and be there at 5 a.m. I was there at 4:57 a.m., and people were already inside exercising. Mental note: apparently they open before 5 a.m., even though they say they open at 5. That's good.
So I went in, swiped my membership card the wrong way. Swiped it the right way. It still didn't take. Shrugged, went into the locker room and locked up my purse. Tied my key to my shoelace, and found the trainer. She whipped my butt! Not literally, of course, but it might as well have been. She worked me hard for 50 minutes. Then I crawled (again, not literally) to the locker room, got my stuff out of the locker, gave her my membership card, she swiped it the right way--it took when she swiped it--, signed the book indicating that I had received my free personal training session, got home, stripped before I had gotten down the hall to the bathroom, took a shower in the unheated bathroom and didn't even care that it was unheated because I was still so hot, got out of the shower to find that my face was still beet red from the workout, went naked as a jaybird down the hall to the bedroom to get my undies on, and then whined until Joe got up and dried my hair for me.
About the red face: since I changed my diet, my rosacea has cleared up. Apparently my facial skin doesn't like processed food. That's okay, because my body doesn't like it. Well, it does, in the sense that it holds on to it. But when I quit eating processed food, my body lets go of it and I lose weight. Anyway, I don't have to use green primer under my makeup anymore, which is nice. But I do still have the problem about my face turning beet red as soon as I do any physical exertion. Which means that my face probably turned beet red within 5 minutes of starting my workout, and it stayed beet red until my husband finished blow-drying my hair. That's two hours of having a horribly red face. It's not a pretty sight. I'm not talking about a delicate rose blush on a porcelain face. I'm talking about a normally porcelain face that turns a hideous shade of red ALL OVER. I'm not dying, may not even be physically uncomfortable (although I was this morning). I just turn red. On my face.
Anyway, it felt good. But I noticed as I sat down that my entire body, every muscle, is quivering. Not in a "wow that was great sex!" way. In a "wow what the hell did you do to me and are you going to keep doing this because I'm not sure I'm up for it" way.
And the answer is yes, I'm going to keep doing this, because I enjoyed it and I like getting smaller and feeling good about how I look and feel and being healthy. So you'd damn well better be up for it!
Perhaps I should back up.
Yesterday after work I went home and changed clothes, and then went to the gym. I immediately got the presentation, and the deal was so good that I went ahead and signed up. I had an 8-week pass from the Discovery National Health Challenge. If I signed up, Discovery paid the initiation fee; I got a reduced monthly rate for two years; and Discovery paid the third year. At least, according to the guy who signed me up. Perhaps it's a deal Bally and Discovery worked out. Either way, I get a good rate, didn't have to pay an initiation fee, and don't have to pay anything during the third year. So I signed up, got a quick tour of the facility, met with a trainer, and signed up for my free training session. We made the appointment for 5 a.m. today.
Yes, you read that correctly. A.M., ante meridian. 5. That meant I would have to crawl out of bed at 4:40, get dressed, put my hair in a pony-tail so I wouldn't whip beads of sweat all over the place, make sure I had my lock and key and membership card handy, drive to the gym, and be there at 5 a.m. I was there at 4:57 a.m., and people were already inside exercising. Mental note: apparently they open before 5 a.m., even though they say they open at 5. That's good.
So I went in, swiped my membership card the wrong way. Swiped it the right way. It still didn't take. Shrugged, went into the locker room and locked up my purse. Tied my key to my shoelace, and found the trainer. She whipped my butt! Not literally, of course, but it might as well have been. She worked me hard for 50 minutes. Then I crawled (again, not literally) to the locker room, got my stuff out of the locker, gave her my membership card, she swiped it the right way--it took when she swiped it--, signed the book indicating that I had received my free personal training session, got home, stripped before I had gotten down the hall to the bathroom, took a shower in the unheated bathroom and didn't even care that it was unheated because I was still so hot, got out of the shower to find that my face was still beet red from the workout, went naked as a jaybird down the hall to the bedroom to get my undies on, and then whined until Joe got up and dried my hair for me.
About the red face: since I changed my diet, my rosacea has cleared up. Apparently my facial skin doesn't like processed food. That's okay, because my body doesn't like it. Well, it does, in the sense that it holds on to it. But when I quit eating processed food, my body lets go of it and I lose weight. Anyway, I don't have to use green primer under my makeup anymore, which is nice. But I do still have the problem about my face turning beet red as soon as I do any physical exertion. Which means that my face probably turned beet red within 5 minutes of starting my workout, and it stayed beet red until my husband finished blow-drying my hair. That's two hours of having a horribly red face. It's not a pretty sight. I'm not talking about a delicate rose blush on a porcelain face. I'm talking about a normally porcelain face that turns a hideous shade of red ALL OVER. I'm not dying, may not even be physically uncomfortable (although I was this morning). I just turn red. On my face.
Anyway, it felt good. But I noticed as I sat down that my entire body, every muscle, is quivering. Not in a "wow that was great sex!" way. In a "wow what the hell did you do to me and are you going to keep doing this because I'm not sure I'm up for it" way.
And the answer is yes, I'm going to keep doing this, because I enjoyed it and I like getting smaller and feeling good about how I look and feel and being healthy. So you'd damn well better be up for it!
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
First things first: There's a new theme up at the Sheherazade Project. So go check it out and write on it if you feel so inclined.
Okay, last night's audition was fun. There's no other way to describe it. The play? It's just odd. Bizarre. I've not read much by Gertrude Stein, so I'm not familiar with her work. It didn't make any sense to me, although there were flashes of beauty in some of the images. It's a 5-act play, and the whole script is 5 pages. It's not a typical play with roles and characters and meaning that hits one over the head with a sledgehammer. It's going to be fun to help this unfold and see what comes of it. Assuming, of course, that I do get to help this unfold.
I'm finally going to Bally tonight to redeem my 8-week pass from the Discovery Health Challenge. I can't afford to buy a membership to Bally right now, but free, well, hey, the price is right! A 1-year membership to my city's fitness center is only $70, so I figure I'll take advantage of the free 8-week pass to Bally's, learn how to use everything, and then go to my city gym and continue what I'll learn at Bally's.
Today I'm wearing my tribute to NYC shirt. I bought it shortly after 9/11--it's black and white and silvery and still shows the Twin Towers standing proudly erect. I'm not sure it's quite the thing to wear to my office, as they have a kind of strange dress code, but I am wearing it anyway, with black pants and a black blazer. No one's said anything, so I'm assuming it's kosher. That's one thing that losing 41.4 pounds (thank you very much!) is doing for me--helping me to find the confidence to wear whatever the hell I feel like wearing without worrying more than just a wee titch if I'll get in trouble for it!
Okay, last night's audition was fun. There's no other way to describe it. The play? It's just odd. Bizarre. I've not read much by Gertrude Stein, so I'm not familiar with her work. It didn't make any sense to me, although there were flashes of beauty in some of the images. It's a 5-act play, and the whole script is 5 pages. It's not a typical play with roles and characters and meaning that hits one over the head with a sledgehammer. It's going to be fun to help this unfold and see what comes of it. Assuming, of course, that I do get to help this unfold.
I'm finally going to Bally tonight to redeem my 8-week pass from the Discovery Health Challenge. I can't afford to buy a membership to Bally right now, but free, well, hey, the price is right! A 1-year membership to my city's fitness center is only $70, so I figure I'll take advantage of the free 8-week pass to Bally's, learn how to use everything, and then go to my city gym and continue what I'll learn at Bally's.
Today I'm wearing my tribute to NYC shirt. I bought it shortly after 9/11--it's black and white and silvery and still shows the Twin Towers standing proudly erect. I'm not sure it's quite the thing to wear to my office, as they have a kind of strange dress code, but I am wearing it anyway, with black pants and a black blazer. No one's said anything, so I'm assuming it's kosher. That's one thing that losing 41.4 pounds (thank you very much!) is doing for me--helping me to find the confidence to wear whatever the hell I feel like wearing without worrying more than just a wee titch if I'll get in trouble for it!
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Truck
(Note: This is my latest for the Scheherazade Project. And yes, it's fictional.)
I don't know why I became so obsessed with that truck. It was just an old pick-up truck. Not a cool shiny, loved, well-cared-for antique, although in years it probably qualified as an antique. I couldn't even tell what color it had originally been. It was coated in rust, and had multiple holes where the rust had eaten through the metal. The tailgate hung askew, missing some of the bolts that once held it securely to the pick-up bed.
The truck sat on the side of a private road next to a barbed-wire fence. It had been there for so long that a sapling had sprung up through a hole in the floorboard and was growing out one window. The springs were visible through the seats, and flowering weeds decorated the interior of the cab from one season to another.
I passed the truck every day as I took the back roads to college. I didn't like getting onto the freeway and inhaling the carbon monoxide and the asbestos from the semis. The back way took the same amount of time, and the cow shit had its own stink, but at least it was an honest organic stink, and once I was past the dairy farms, I didn't have to keep inhaling it. The view was more pleasing as well--to quote Anne Shirley, there was more "scope for imagination."
Something about that truck piqued my fancy. I wondered what the man was like who just got out of that truck one day. He just stopped that thing, kicked it in the door, left a big dent, and said, "Damn you to hell anyway, you son of a bitch," and walked off and left it there. Although that act told me that he was a stubborn man, a man who could be pushed just so far before he would dig in his heels and go no further.
The fields on the other side of that barbed wire fence were lush and fruitful. The barns were neatly painted, and the sweet cream butter that I bought from the smiling woman at the house was delicious. Every time I bought a pound of butter, I wondered if she was his daughter, or his granddaughter. I wanted to ask, but decided against it. I liked the man I had created in my fancy, and didn't want to find the real man, no matter what he was like. In my imagination, I knew him well already. He was a hard man, but a good man, a poet in his own way.
And then one cold wintery day the truck was gone. The weeds were gone, even the sapling had been uprooted. The side of the road had been neatly mowed, and no trace of my muleheaded man had been left. I slammed on my brakes, leaving a patch of black down the center of the road. I stared for a few minutes, not quite believing the sight.
Then, for auld lang syne, I got out of my little red Toyota. I went over to where the rusty old pickup had once rested. I kicked the fenceposts next to the truck's old graveyard, and damned them to hell. I cursed up a blue streak that would have made my sailor-daddy proud (or ashamed, depending).
Then I got back into the car and drove away. Never went back, either. Didn't seem quite right, somehow.
I don't know why I became so obsessed with that truck. It was just an old pick-up truck. Not a cool shiny, loved, well-cared-for antique, although in years it probably qualified as an antique. I couldn't even tell what color it had originally been. It was coated in rust, and had multiple holes where the rust had eaten through the metal. The tailgate hung askew, missing some of the bolts that once held it securely to the pick-up bed.
The truck sat on the side of a private road next to a barbed-wire fence. It had been there for so long that a sapling had sprung up through a hole in the floorboard and was growing out one window. The springs were visible through the seats, and flowering weeds decorated the interior of the cab from one season to another.
I passed the truck every day as I took the back roads to college. I didn't like getting onto the freeway and inhaling the carbon monoxide and the asbestos from the semis. The back way took the same amount of time, and the cow shit had its own stink, but at least it was an honest organic stink, and once I was past the dairy farms, I didn't have to keep inhaling it. The view was more pleasing as well--to quote Anne Shirley, there was more "scope for imagination."
Something about that truck piqued my fancy. I wondered what the man was like who just got out of that truck one day. He just stopped that thing, kicked it in the door, left a big dent, and said, "Damn you to hell anyway, you son of a bitch," and walked off and left it there. Although that act told me that he was a stubborn man, a man who could be pushed just so far before he would dig in his heels and go no further.
The fields on the other side of that barbed wire fence were lush and fruitful. The barns were neatly painted, and the sweet cream butter that I bought from the smiling woman at the house was delicious. Every time I bought a pound of butter, I wondered if she was his daughter, or his granddaughter. I wanted to ask, but decided against it. I liked the man I had created in my fancy, and didn't want to find the real man, no matter what he was like. In my imagination, I knew him well already. He was a hard man, but a good man, a poet in his own way.
And then one cold wintery day the truck was gone. The weeds were gone, even the sapling had been uprooted. The side of the road had been neatly mowed, and no trace of my muleheaded man had been left. I slammed on my brakes, leaving a patch of black down the center of the road. I stared for a few minutes, not quite believing the sight.
Then, for auld lang syne, I got out of my little red Toyota. I went over to where the rusty old pickup had once rested. I kicked the fenceposts next to the truck's old graveyard, and damned them to hell. I cursed up a blue streak that would have made my sailor-daddy proud (or ashamed, depending).
Then I got back into the car and drove away. Never went back, either. Didn't seem quite right, somehow.
Taking A Leap
I'm going to audition for a play tonight. For someone like Izzybella, that's no big deal. She's been in dozens of plays. She's a fantastic actor (and I'm honestly not saying that just because she's my sister).
No, I've only auditioned for one play before, and that was at the University of Texas at Arlington. I was hoping to be cast as Mrs. Webb in "Our Town," although honestly I'd have been happy to be playing Dead Woman #4. In the audition my vocal cords got some kind of glop on them, and I could hardly talk. It was hardly an auspicious audition, and needless to say, I did not get the opportunity to even play Dead Woman #4.
I have taken one acting class, and another class called "Fundamentals of Voice and Movement," both at UTA. They were FUN. I learned a lot and had a great time. I had actually planned to minor in theatre until the a$$hole dean at the college where I worked decreed that since some secretaries were unable to flex their time, none of us could. Most of the English courses I needed for my major were only offered in the evenings. Theatre classes, for obvious reasons, are not offered during the evenings. I had to give up my dreams of minoring in theatre, and went for a more prosaic, but still enjoyable, history minor.
Yet here I am, at the ripe age of--oh, yeah, I'm 19, aren't I?--going out to audition tonight. It's a small theatre company, doing very avant-garde type plays. All their proceeds go to different charitable organizations. I like that. Izzybella is one of the founding members of the company. I like that. I know two of the other founding members, and like them very much. They're really cool people. And I'm learning how to be fearless.
See, I've wasted so much of my life worrying about what people might be thinking that I didn't do so many things I wanted to do. And I missed out on so much. So regardless of whether I get cast in this play, I'm excited about taking the time to audition. I know that M. and V. won't laugh at me. They like me. They respect me, and they'll respect my efforts, even if what I bring to the mix isn't what they want. And that's cool
So look out, everybody, I'm about to take a leap of Faith!
No, I've only auditioned for one play before, and that was at the University of Texas at Arlington. I was hoping to be cast as Mrs. Webb in "Our Town," although honestly I'd have been happy to be playing Dead Woman #4. In the audition my vocal cords got some kind of glop on them, and I could hardly talk. It was hardly an auspicious audition, and needless to say, I did not get the opportunity to even play Dead Woman #4.
I have taken one acting class, and another class called "Fundamentals of Voice and Movement," both at UTA. They were FUN. I learned a lot and had a great time. I had actually planned to minor in theatre until the a$$hole dean at the college where I worked decreed that since some secretaries were unable to flex their time, none of us could. Most of the English courses I needed for my major were only offered in the evenings. Theatre classes, for obvious reasons, are not offered during the evenings. I had to give up my dreams of minoring in theatre, and went for a more prosaic, but still enjoyable, history minor.
Yet here I am, at the ripe age of--oh, yeah, I'm 19, aren't I?--going out to audition tonight. It's a small theatre company, doing very avant-garde type plays. All their proceeds go to different charitable organizations. I like that. Izzybella is one of the founding members of the company. I like that. I know two of the other founding members, and like them very much. They're really cool people. And I'm learning how to be fearless.
See, I've wasted so much of my life worrying about what people might be thinking that I didn't do so many things I wanted to do. And I missed out on so much. So regardless of whether I get cast in this play, I'm excited about taking the time to audition. I know that M. and V. won't laugh at me. They like me. They respect me, and they'll respect my efforts, even if what I bring to the mix isn't what they want. And that's cool
So look out, everybody, I'm about to take a leap of Faith!
Friday, January 12, 2007
I'm just sayin'
Work: Very dang busy. Unless it's icy tomorrow, I'll be working tomorrow. Gotta come in on Saturday because I need to clean the junk out of the unused desks and clean out the supply room where people dump the crap they find in the unused desks to which they move. It's a messy job, which is why I don't want to do it on a regular workday. Not to mention the whole, I don't have time thing.
Home: Very dang busy. Izzybella doesn't have time to come over tomorrow, which is totally cool, because hey, she's doing me huge favors. But when I said that's cool, she insisted I bring her some laundry that she can do for me. Oh, please, twist my arm. Like I'm going to turn down someone who wants to wash, dry, and fold my dirty clothes?
Fun: Tonight Izzybella is taking me to Jason's Deli for dinner (spinach-veggie wrap, hold the pico, sub fat-free swiss for the asiago [not that I don't love asiago], with steamed veggies) and then to see a hilarious play with her comps at Theatre Arlington. I'll report back about the play tomorrow.
Other stuff: I look damn good today. I'm wearing a black form-fitting sweater with a cowl neck and a wide patent leopard-print belt, with Eddie Bauer denim capris and black pointy-toed low-heeled pumps with a kitten heel.
Other other stuff: The Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex is included in the winter storm watch. It's definitely getting cold tonight, and we may possibly see some freezing rain. And it's supposed to be cold for a whole week. Wow! (You can't see me, but I just did the eye roll to express extreme sarcasm.)
Home: Very dang busy. Izzybella doesn't have time to come over tomorrow, which is totally cool, because hey, she's doing me huge favors. But when I said that's cool, she insisted I bring her some laundry that she can do for me. Oh, please, twist my arm. Like I'm going to turn down someone who wants to wash, dry, and fold my dirty clothes?
Fun: Tonight Izzybella is taking me to Jason's Deli for dinner (spinach-veggie wrap, hold the pico, sub fat-free swiss for the asiago [not that I don't love asiago], with steamed veggies) and then to see a hilarious play with her comps at Theatre Arlington. I'll report back about the play tomorrow.
Other stuff: I look damn good today. I'm wearing a black form-fitting sweater with a cowl neck and a wide patent leopard-print belt, with Eddie Bauer denim capris and black pointy-toed low-heeled pumps with a kitten heel.
Other other stuff: The Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex is included in the winter storm watch. It's definitely getting cold tonight, and we may possibly see some freezing rain. And it's supposed to be cold for a whole week. Wow! (You can't see me, but I just did the eye roll to express extreme sarcasm.)
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Mysterious, Maybe Prophetic Meme
Trista tagged me with a fun meme, so here we go!
- Find the nearest book.
- Name the author & title.
- Turn to page 123.
- Post sentences 6-8.
- Tag three more people.
Since my computer is in my Egyptian room, the nearest book is Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, translated by Raymond O. Faulkner.
Sentence 6 is the last sentence of the spell For Knowing the Souls of the Easterners and sentences 7 and 8 are the first sentences of the spells The Field of Offerings.
I know the Souls of the Easterners; they are Horkhty, the sun-calf, and the Morning Star.
N worships the Ennead which is in the Field of Offerings, and he says: Hail to you, you owners of kas! I have come in peace to your fields in order to receive the provisions which you give; I have come to the Great God in order that I may receive the provisions which his goodwill grants of bread and beer, oxen and fowl.
And tagging three people is a little more difficult, since few people read my blog. I'll go for Izzybella, Sam, and Clover. Any takers?
Tightening the Belt!
Budgetarily, I mean. Joe and I sat down last night and worked out our budget. For at least the next year, we're going to have to really trim the fat so we can get rid of the credit cards. They really suck the life out of you, don't they? So good-bye to Netflix, good-bye to eating out two or more times a week, good-bye to my cell phone (which I actually won't miss all that much), good-bye to my wasteful ways. Good-bye to my plans of going to Salt Lake in the autumn.
Don't take that as a complaint. Because, hello--good-bye to Direct Merchant's Bank, good-bye to Capitol One, good-bye to high interest rates, good-bye to interest that keeps accruing 24/7/365! And once those cards are gone, hello to the good life! :)
Okay, I also got to tighten the belt literally as well. This morning I tried on a pair of pants that I bought in late November and they were too small. And they fit. I did the Snoopy dance before I took them off because even though they fit, they only fit when I was standing up. When I sat down, too much tummy smooshed out over the top and looked really ugly. But the free 8-week pass to Bally's starts on Saturday, and I will be going every day except Sunday to exercise, so I'm feeling confident of getting rid of some of that tummy (and butt and thighs and arms).
Don't take that as a complaint. Because, hello--good-bye to Direct Merchant's Bank, good-bye to Capitol One, good-bye to high interest rates, good-bye to interest that keeps accruing 24/7/365! And once those cards are gone, hello to the good life! :)
Okay, I also got to tighten the belt literally as well. This morning I tried on a pair of pants that I bought in late November and they were too small. And they fit. I did the Snoopy dance before I took them off because even though they fit, they only fit when I was standing up. When I sat down, too much tummy smooshed out over the top and looked really ugly. But the free 8-week pass to Bally's starts on Saturday, and I will be going every day except Sunday to exercise, so I'm feeling confident of getting rid of some of that tummy (and butt and thighs and arms).
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Panic at the Dentist's Office!
I'm terrified of going to the dentist. It's nothing against dentists themselves, just fear of needles in my mouth, fear of pain, fear of drills in my mouth, fear of needles in my mouth (did I mention that one already), fear of being flat on my back at the mercy of someone with needles and drills and drills and needles in my mouth. You know. Owieful stuff. So yesterday I went to the dentist's office to get one filling and two temporary crowns. I was brave and bold!
The dental assistant put the numbing gel on my gums. All too soon (I really think it may have been a bit too soon), the dentist came in with his needle and started with the injections. "This may pinch," he said. Ha! I laugh in the face of pinches! But it didn't pinch. It hurt like hell. And he did it again, and again, and again, and again. I think there were five. Or six. I lost count, because I was kind of grunting or groaning or something, because it hurt so damn bad, and then he asked me to try not to make any noise, which is when I barely managed to hang on to the about-to-burst-forth-in-full-panic-attack-mode panick attack until he was finished. When he did finally finish with the bloody shots and left me for a few minutes so the numbing process could complete, I was shaking and crying--it was horrible. NOT what brave and bold women do in the dentist's office. Fortunately the crying was silent, not loud gasping sobbing, and I managed to get control of myself relatively quickly. But I've never experienced something like that before, and it completely freaked me out.
So he did the prep work for the first crown. Unpleasant, but not bad. Then he started drilling for the filling. Um, I don't think I'm supposed to be feeling any actual pain here. I politely raised a finger, and he immediately stopped. "Are you feeling this?" he asked, and I nodded. So of course I got four or five more shots. Damnit! And once again he promised pinches--which I laugh in the face of--and delivered pain. But I didn't have a panic attack that time, and I didn't grunt or groan. No, I bore it stoically, only weeping on the inside. And I didn't complain vocally when he kept telling me to open my mouth wider, even though I tell you all that I have a small mouth, and it can only open so wide, and I didn't whine when they were all finished with me and I discovered a crusty chapped painful spot on the right corner of my lips where the latex and everything irritated my skin.
But I've been whiningly complaining today because my damn mouth still hurts. A lot. Yes, I've taken Advil, and yes, I know I'm being a baby. I'm still on soft foods, because it's still so tender on this side. I didn't get to have the yummy roast last night that Joe so thoughtfully cooked in the Crock Pot. I had sugar-free Jell-O and part of an Odwalla smoothie for dinner.
Anyway, it's all a process. I'm glad to be getting my teeth fixed, even if I am horribly embarrassed about yesterday's panic attack and even if the teeth on the right side of my mouth do hurt today. I'm getting the shakes just thinking about my February 12th appointment, so I'm not really sure how to handle it. On the 12th I get my permanent crowns, and have to get another filling and another temporary crown. Oh joy! More shots! More needles. More drilling. If I'm shaking just thinking about going, what's going to happen when he gets that needle in my mouth? Am I going to fall apart completely?
The dental assistant put the numbing gel on my gums. All too soon (I really think it may have been a bit too soon), the dentist came in with his needle and started with the injections. "This may pinch," he said. Ha! I laugh in the face of pinches! But it didn't pinch. It hurt like hell. And he did it again, and again, and again, and again. I think there were five. Or six. I lost count, because I was kind of grunting or groaning or something, because it hurt so damn bad, and then he asked me to try not to make any noise, which is when I barely managed to hang on to the about-to-burst-forth-in-full-panic-attack-mode panick attack until he was finished. When he did finally finish with the bloody shots and left me for a few minutes so the numbing process could complete, I was shaking and crying--it was horrible. NOT what brave and bold women do in the dentist's office. Fortunately the crying was silent, not loud gasping sobbing, and I managed to get control of myself relatively quickly. But I've never experienced something like that before, and it completely freaked me out.
So he did the prep work for the first crown. Unpleasant, but not bad. Then he started drilling for the filling. Um, I don't think I'm supposed to be feeling any actual pain here. I politely raised a finger, and he immediately stopped. "Are you feeling this?" he asked, and I nodded. So of course I got four or five more shots. Damnit! And once again he promised pinches--which I laugh in the face of--and delivered pain. But I didn't have a panic attack that time, and I didn't grunt or groan. No, I bore it stoically, only weeping on the inside. And I didn't complain vocally when he kept telling me to open my mouth wider, even though I tell you all that I have a small mouth, and it can only open so wide, and I didn't whine when they were all finished with me and I discovered a crusty chapped painful spot on the right corner of my lips where the latex and everything irritated my skin.
But I've been whiningly complaining today because my damn mouth still hurts. A lot. Yes, I've taken Advil, and yes, I know I'm being a baby. I'm still on soft foods, because it's still so tender on this side. I didn't get to have the yummy roast last night that Joe so thoughtfully cooked in the Crock Pot. I had sugar-free Jell-O and part of an Odwalla smoothie for dinner.
Anyway, it's all a process. I'm glad to be getting my teeth fixed, even if I am horribly embarrassed about yesterday's panic attack and even if the teeth on the right side of my mouth do hurt today. I'm getting the shakes just thinking about my February 12th appointment, so I'm not really sure how to handle it. On the 12th I get my permanent crowns, and have to get another filling and another temporary crown. Oh joy! More shots! More needles. More drilling. If I'm shaking just thinking about going, what's going to happen when he gets that needle in my mouth? Am I going to fall apart completely?
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Me and My Muse
My muse has a wicked sense of humor. As I write this, I'm sure she is perched on my shoulder, laughing hysterically.
I was sitting here, mindlessly doing my work, and she whispered the BEST idea for a book into my ear. I froze, feeling my mind race with possibilities. I swore, because I'm really busy today and will have no time whatsoever to do any writing. And then I have a dentist appointment where I will get two temporary crowns. I'm not sure if I'll feel like doing any writing this evening or not. Depends a lot on how sore my jaw is. So I very carefully wrote three words on my calendar, hoping it will be enough to keep the idea fresh in my mind, and kept pulling credit bureau reports.
She laughed wickedly.
I typed into the computer. A few details came to mind. I can't lose them. I scribbled seven more words onto my calendar.
I pulled a few more credit bureau reports, while my muse rubbed her hands together with glee. More ideas came. I scribbled 16 more words onto my calendar, and told my muse to shut the fuck up. I've got a lot of work to do today, and while I'm incredibly grateful for her gifts, her timing sucks to hell and back.
Okay, so the fall is a really busy time for my business, and we had major queue changes this month. But things should start slowing down for me at work, and I should really start having time to write. So I'm going to start writing on this at home, and hope like mad that I get time to start writing at work again. Because, really, that's the only reason I took this job.
Oh, and I'm not going to talk much about my new idea, other than to tell you that it's brilliant. Because the more I talk about the ideas, the less I write them. I will tell you only that it relates to my passion, my obsession. Chaucer. And it's brilliant, and it will become a best-seller, and I will make lots of nice, wonderful money, and I won't have to slave as a poor administrative assistant.
Hey! Stop sniggering! I can dream if I want to!
I was sitting here, mindlessly doing my work, and she whispered the BEST idea for a book into my ear. I froze, feeling my mind race with possibilities. I swore, because I'm really busy today and will have no time whatsoever to do any writing. And then I have a dentist appointment where I will get two temporary crowns. I'm not sure if I'll feel like doing any writing this evening or not. Depends a lot on how sore my jaw is. So I very carefully wrote three words on my calendar, hoping it will be enough to keep the idea fresh in my mind, and kept pulling credit bureau reports.
She laughed wickedly.
I typed into the computer. A few details came to mind. I can't lose them. I scribbled seven more words onto my calendar.
I pulled a few more credit bureau reports, while my muse rubbed her hands together with glee. More ideas came. I scribbled 16 more words onto my calendar, and told my muse to shut the fuck up. I've got a lot of work to do today, and while I'm incredibly grateful for her gifts, her timing sucks to hell and back.
Okay, so the fall is a really busy time for my business, and we had major queue changes this month. But things should start slowing down for me at work, and I should really start having time to write. So I'm going to start writing on this at home, and hope like mad that I get time to start writing at work again. Because, really, that's the only reason I took this job.
Oh, and I'm not going to talk much about my new idea, other than to tell you that it's brilliant. Because the more I talk about the ideas, the less I write them. I will tell you only that it relates to my passion, my obsession. Chaucer. And it's brilliant, and it will become a best-seller, and I will make lots of nice, wonderful money, and I won't have to slave as a poor administrative assistant.
Hey! Stop sniggering! I can dream if I want to!
Monday, January 08, 2007
My awesome sister Izzybella gave up her Saturday to come over and help me. The plan was to help me tear my kitchen apart. I wanted to tear the birdhouses, trellis, and ivy off the walls. Unfortunately, the kitchen was in such a mess that it had to be scrubbed down before I could even think about tearing down the birdhouses, trellis, and ivy. So we cleaned. We washed dishes, scrubbed counters, scrubbed my ancient stove, and cleaned the grody refrigerator. By the time she left, we were both utterly exhausted. She promised to come back next week so we can attack the dining room (it's not a separate room, just the other half of the kitchen area). Maybe next Saturday we can rip down the blasted birdhouses. I'm planning to paint soon as well. I'd hoped to paint the walls a nice cream color, but my husband isn't going to go for that. So I've got to find a color that we can both live with that isn't sky blue!!!!
What else--I'm down another 2.4 pounds as of Saturday's weigh-in. That takes me to 38.2 pounds total, I think. You can see it in my face; I now have cheekbones. I like my cheekbones. And I was a little startled to realize, when I went to buy some nylons on Saturday night, that I had no idea what size nylons I wear. (For the record, I've gone from 3X nylons down to 1X.) I feel great, and have a lot more self-confidence. I got a new Newport News catalog today, and I'm going to really enjoy going through it tonight, because I'm a lot closer to fitting into these awesome clothes than I have been. I'm also a lot more confident that I'm going to achieve my goal. I plugged in all my weigh-in data into a spreadsheet, and it's currently projecting my reaching my goal of 150 pounds in October. That seems a little freaky to me. Just getting below 200 pounds will be a huge, huge milestone.
I went to church yesterday, for the first time in almost a year. It was very difficult getting myself out the door of my house and into the door at church. However, once there it was really nice. The people that I was most reluctant about the potential of seeing weren't there. What was even nicer was that I learned today that they've moved out of our ward. Lest that sound really bitchy and unkind of me, I should say that there are some really unusual and uncomfortable circumstances around the whole situation with them. I've blogged about it in the past, and don't feel like going into it again. I wish them well, but I'm really glad I don't have to worry about seeing them every Sunday. However, I'm also really glad that I decided to start going back to church before I knew they had moved.
What else--I'm down another 2.4 pounds as of Saturday's weigh-in. That takes me to 38.2 pounds total, I think. You can see it in my face; I now have cheekbones. I like my cheekbones. And I was a little startled to realize, when I went to buy some nylons on Saturday night, that I had no idea what size nylons I wear. (For the record, I've gone from 3X nylons down to 1X.) I feel great, and have a lot more self-confidence. I got a new Newport News catalog today, and I'm going to really enjoy going through it tonight, because I'm a lot closer to fitting into these awesome clothes than I have been. I'm also a lot more confident that I'm going to achieve my goal. I plugged in all my weigh-in data into a spreadsheet, and it's currently projecting my reaching my goal of 150 pounds in October. That seems a little freaky to me. Just getting below 200 pounds will be a huge, huge milestone.
I went to church yesterday, for the first time in almost a year. It was very difficult getting myself out the door of my house and into the door at church. However, once there it was really nice. The people that I was most reluctant about the potential of seeing weren't there. What was even nicer was that I learned today that they've moved out of our ward. Lest that sound really bitchy and unkind of me, I should say that there are some really unusual and uncomfortable circumstances around the whole situation with them. I've blogged about it in the past, and don't feel like going into it again. I wish them well, but I'm really glad I don't have to worry about seeing them every Sunday. However, I'm also really glad that I decided to start going back to church before I knew they had moved.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
I don't have much to say today. I'm tired. Tired of being strong, tired of being a shoulder. I want to be weak, I want to stay home today and hide from the world. But I'm doing the right thing. I'm at work, working hard, showing a presentable face to the world. And I'll get through this just like I get through everything else. It doesn't make the exhaustion go away, but the world doesn't stop spinning just for my wanting it to sometimes, now does it?
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Clover
Clover's son C. is going to be having his spleenectomy any day now--possibly today, but probably tomorrow or the next day. Please keep him in your thoughts. He's terrified, remembering how much pain he had after his appendectomy. His spleen is so distended that it's pushing everything else out of place; the doctors at Cook Children's Medical Center believe that's why his lung function is so much poorer than usual. Joe spent the evening at the hospital yesterday, and I've been praying for him and his family and the doctors and nurses whenever I'm not actively thinking of something else. He is such a dear boy, and I want to see him be healthy and have a long life. Cystic fibrosis is such a horrible disease, and I've seen him struggle with it since he was diagnosed as a baby. I love him so much. Clover has already lost one child. I don't want her to lose any more children. I want her to see them all grow up and blossom into beautiful adulthood.
If you're so minded, please visit Clover and leave her some good will. Thanks.
If you're so minded, please visit Clover and leave her some good will. Thanks.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
This, That, and t'Other
When I was a kid, my parents would take us with them when they were running errands. If we asked where we were going, my mother would inevitably and maddeningly respond, "hither, thither, and yon." Trust me on this: hither, thither, and yon was normally the most boring combination of destinations in the world. It was the grocery store, the liquor store, the bank, the post office, and other assorted places where we kids were forced to sit in the car and wait while the adults were inside doing all sorts of fun things. They were eating, drinking, and partying while we just sat there and waited. We knew they were doing fun stuff, even though when they returned to the car and we asked what they'd done, my mother said, "this, that, and the other."
I have a headache, and it's lunchtime, so I'm going to go to hither, thither and yon to do this, that, and t'other. But I don't have kids, so I can't force them to sit in the car while I do it.
You know, being a grownup isn't nearly as fun as my childhood self thought it would be. Well, sometimes it is, but not often. At least when I was a kid and my parents took us through the drive-through at the bank, the tellers sent candy back for us. Now the teller tells me that she appreciates my business and wishes me a pleasant day, but she doesn't send me candy.
I have a headache, and it's lunchtime, so I'm going to go to hither, thither and yon to do this, that, and t'other. But I don't have kids, so I can't force them to sit in the car while I do it.
You know, being a grownup isn't nearly as fun as my childhood self thought it would be. Well, sometimes it is, but not often. At least when I was a kid and my parents took us through the drive-through at the bank, the tellers sent candy back for us. Now the teller tells me that she appreciates my business and wishes me a pleasant day, but she doesn't send me candy.
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