Life is happening.

I am going for an interview in Illinois on Monday. They are flying me into the depth of the snow for two days to “discuss the position we spoke about.” I do not want to move to Illinois, but I do want the best opportunity out there, and if they offer me the job…this just may be it.

I am working on so many projects at work that I can’t keep them straight and the contract grant writing I’m working on for my non-profits is rolling into a bubbly mess in my head.

I decided to simplify this year and it seems that the runoff from 2010 is slowing that process down.

This year, I will choose to be happy.

I will run into fearful situations, not from them.

I will say no, not always, but more often.

I will apologize sufficiently and sincerely.

I will tell myself continually to slow down, relax and that nothing in life worth having, is easy.

I will not be judgmental or condescending.

And for the very first time in my life, I will commit to myself more than others.

It is definitely NOT Tuesday. It is Monday again.

I woke up an hour late to find a super sexy fever blister on my face. I arrived to work to a computer that was locked and all of our IT people were out for the morning. I realized that I still have 13 people to shop for on my Christmas list and only one night to complete the task. I sat on hold with the pharmacy for 41 minutes to be hung up on and then 30 min later be told that my prescription cannot be filled. The meeting I have been preparing for for days, was canceled 30 minutes before I was scheduled to leave. I just confirmed attending a Christmas party tomorrow night that I forgot about until the call came in for the head count. Ahhhh!!!

What I want...

I want to work from an office and from home.

I want to sing in musicals and write childrens books.

I want to listen to music everyday, except when it is raining.

I want to read my children books I have written and have them eat their favorite dessert in my resturant.

I want to teach them to not be scared to live.

Downtown Red Stick

Drinking month old green beer at happy's, running 3 miles in 115 degree (or 20 degree) weather only to end at the "Free Beer and Pizza" sign, and showing the "ghetto photographer" a little love all make sense on third street.

It has been months...and then, today

Today I woke up with a dull headache. The kind I have gotten every day for the past two years and three months.
I thought about the wreck in the shower, and was thankful that I am a changed person because of it.
That my headaches, short term memory loss and ever aching injuries serve as a reminder that my life is mine to live and it can end at any moment.

Today someone told me that they loved me in purple, that Wednesday I looked amazing. On the drive to work, I couldn’t imagine what purple shirt I owned, much less what I wore Wednesday and wished I could go home for lunch to look through my closet to remember.

Today, someone asked about my scars.
I was shocked because no one has noticed them in months.
I told the story of my wreck, the one everyone seems to remember, but me.
I know what the police report says; “flew in the air, flipped about seven times”
The memories are increasing slowly but still, just the three stand out vividly.
Praying while flying in the air, lying broken in the mud, and a man whispering “this is a helicopter baby.”

Today I thanked God for the eight hundred and eleventh time.

Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Man

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZEKiuo_C2s&feature=related

Another way of thinking

Yesterday I had to run home to grab a department laptop for our press secretary. I was driving at my usual "get out of my way" speed and looking at the clock every few seconds as if to will it to tick slower.

I took the back way behind the hospital to cut straight into my neighborhood, when a car pulled out in front of me. I was just slightly startled and didn't even have to tap the brakes. The car had a bright orange license plate and stickers all over the back, but I couldn't tell you what any of them said, because somehow my eyes went straight to the tiny bumper sticker that I had to squint to read. I read it three times. It hit me harder each time and has had a pretty open minded person really thinking.

"It is a poverty to decide that a child must die so that you may live as you wish."
-- Mother Teresa

The second to last place I want to be...

I am sitting in a chair that smells of cheetos. The carpet has stains and hardened gum and the trash is overflowing with Subway bags and dirty diapers. The elevator music is almost unbearable; it has that annoying prodiminant flutist that plays a thirty minute solo that makes me Imagine I am at Morrison's or Ryans waiting for the overweight woman to finish being creative with her version of a taco salad when the buffet bins are filled to the brim with perfectly intact taco shells. The air is musty and coming out of a whistling vent on the wall that has been painted so many times you hardly notice the buried screws holding it up. A saleswoman is in the hall discussing her ploy to get free medical advice this afternoon when she drops off samples to the doctor. A woman is glaring at me with a "how dare you" or "you are too old to wear that" as she gives my polo dress the once over. I probably would glare at me too if I was at the end of my third trimester and wearing an entire bolt of fabric. Her husband looks happy, which I'm crediting to the cute young nurse just referred to his wife as "the patient" and him as "daddy." This is what I am surrounded by as I wait for my named to be called, already thirty minutes after my appoinent time, so I can head back to one of the too cold rooms with too rough paper sheets and gowns for an all too familiar procedure. This moment may fall right under my twelve hour Monday, but just above my four hour class tonight on my "shitty ways to start a week" scale.

Girls Gone...Fishing

A story is not needed-for this trip-quotes will suffice.

Christina: "Hand me the trout, I'll size him."
Chloe: "Okay, just make sure you measure it from the 1 and not the zero."

Lauren (opening the live well): "OH SHIT! The shrimp are ALIVE!!!"

Chloe: "The boat hurts my boobs!"

Christina: "No, I'm good we have snacks, beer and beef and cheese."
-four minutes down the road-"I want McDonalds fries!" (Truck U turns on Highway)

Lauren: "Can I have one more Peanut Butter and Jelly Uncrustable please?"

At this point, Christina is drunk, Chloe is hyper and Lauren is snoring. All signs of a perfect day.

The Saturday from Hell

We painted and tiled the addition to my house, set up a garage sale, hung 100 signs and made a 1,000 bucks in 24 hours...all while consuming 5 cases of beer and a fifth of crown. Now that friends...is talent.

Just the highlights

Countless people, well, I guess I could count them…have asked why I have not been writing. Well, I have been writing. Just nothing anyone would want to read. However, to everyone’s relief, after turning in a far too long paper on the problems associated with health care and my half ass answer for them..I am officially back.
So, what anyone concerned enough to read this is wondering…friend, foe or stalker-here is what’s new.

Surgery last Monday went well. Just like those “sent from mom” Tupperware containers in your freezer that you’re not “quite” sure about; my cervix was frozen, defrosted, frozen and thawed during the most painful procedure that I have had yet. I am most proud that I didn’t cry. I did however have 3 pain pills, a klonopin and the remainder of my week-old fingernails. I spent 3 days on my sofa/chaise bed I created in the living room watching 52 inches of estrogen filled movies with my girlfriends eating every comfort food available complete with sundaes, beef and cheese and lucky charms. What the pain pills and heating pad couldn’t handle, the Michelob and Crown did. On a positive note, I have felt what childbirth contractions feel like, actually experience my uterus contracting…and I am convinced that my pain threshold had stretched further than ever before and I could feasibly deliver a child with no epidural. On the same note, there is no way in hell I plan to.

My classes are taking a little more of my “free” time than I expected and I have had projects, papers and homework so I am feeling teen-ish again.

Bungy may or may not be a girl. I am crushed. I have googled, youtubed and even bought a book with a “how to sex a rabbit” chapter and I still cannot tell. When they say it is tricky-they are not exaggerating. I am taking her/him…it to the vet on the 28th for a checkup, aging test so I know when to spay/neuter the poor baby, and finally find out if I should be buying pearls or argyle sweaters for Christmas.

Work is not worth writing about. I apparently am taking on some new projects but I’m not sure of any details and have no concrete idea of what I will actually be doing. So I am not going to speculate just to clarify later.

I am animal sitting this weekend-One dog, one cat, a saltwater aquarium, a fresh water aquarium, two doves and a goldfish pond. I initially thought to myself that how ridiculous it is for one person to have such an extensive petting zoo and then I realized this guy only has two more exhibits than I do. I don’t think it would be too much of a stretch to find me knitting on the front porch before Halloween…I’m just saying.

I plan a girl’s blowout every Halloween, parties and costumes but this year, I want to sit at home and pass out candy to the little hellions in the neighborhood. I’m feeling old.

The wing of the airplane on my Tiffany’s bracelet is bent and that pisses me off. How can you charge hundreds for tiny charms that bend and break? On second thought, obsessed women as myself are how they charge that much-scratch the “pisses me off.”

I saw Sorority Row last night, save your money, time and energy required to see this movie. I can never get that hour and fifteen minutes back.

I am buying a powerball ticket today. I don’t know how to, where to go or even how much they are, but I am willing to learn for a chance at 120 million dollars.

Finally, I would like to hit pause on life for a few days. If someone has that figured out-sell me the secret.

An ommission of the truth...is a lie.

Is it because they love me? Is it because I’m tough, weak…or intimidating? Lately the scales have fallen from my eyes, the wool is at my feet and I can see a little clearer.

I am easy to lie to.

I pride myself in my intuition and it takes a great deal of “follow through” for me to really trust someone. Yet lately I have found myself surrounded by little white lies.

I’ll never do it again. I will help you. I will call. We are just friends. I was just working. I forgot. I am listening. I do care; I just didn’t think you wanted to talk about it. I never meant to hurt you. I am done sowing my wild oats. I will pay you back soon. Rent…is it the first? Just call, sure I’m down for whatever. I would love to have a girl’s night out. I was asleep. You are over qualified and should find something else. I didn’t drive drunk-he did. No, I’m really happy. It was only because I was working. Everything will be fine. I will start to communicate. That dress looks great on you, don’t change. We will bring the family and come visit. I will never lie to you again.

I am surrounded with people who love me. Overwhelmed with requests to hang out, have lunch, just talk…and yet I still hang on to the ones that hurt me.

Really? Unfortunately my filter has worn down and I can take it no longer. I cannot physically handle one more lie whether it be “white,” accidental or blatant. Today was the last time that I will allow myself to be lied to.

Two Ants dancing on a blade of grass

Today I added Grumps to the tank. He is a pretty active little hermit crab who has been filtering the sand like he is on speed. I ate half of a pint of Blackberries, an oatmeal cream pie and drank two cokes after my six inch sub...and I'm wondering why I have gained weight-shocker.

Today has been laughably mundane. I delivered mail, ordered supplies, looked over the office budget, and entered time. The excitement was only interrupted once by my trip back to the Dr.’s office where I sat for over an hour waiting for my appointment. This time, it was NOT my fault. They called my name at 12:15-my appointment was at 11:30. To the dreaded scale…no change since Monday, not even an ounce.

I sat in the tiny exam room on the crisp paper and stared at the stacks of latex gloves that could so easily be my demise. I glanced at “Phoebe,” my new fever blister and almost gagged at how gross it looks. I have not had one in 9 months, but something about huge, stressful changes and lack of sleep just brings them out. I glanced down at my super white knees peeping out from my Polo dress and wished I had had the extra five minutes to slather on some Jergens Express tanning lotion-but I willingly accepted mediocrity today. Escada and Versace couldn’t make me feel cute on a day with a fever blister.

My Dr. strolled in like she was an hour early rather than late and invited me to the more comfortable room across the hall-this is never “good” news. She sighs as she sits and I immediately break a sweat and remember how great of a deal I got on deodorant at Albertson’s ten for $10 sale. As she asked question after question that amounted to nothing I quickly saw that there was a bomb brewing just as soon as this fuse burned down. And then she came out with it. She gave me diagnosis in a way that made me imagine her in front of her bathroom mirror repeating her tactful soliloquy until she had each perfected and ready to place neatly in her mental file.

As she pressed on, she dug deeper into me with questions that left me more than vulnerable. I humbly answered all of her questions, while simultaneously wondering what problems she had dealt with to bring her to a profession that would force her to deal with everyone else’s. You have to wonder who reciprocates on her behalf; who hacks away at her emotions and helps her embrace positive thinking? I glanced at her rather impressive emerald cut diamond and imagined tiny ice skaters circling atop and being charged admission.

I left relieved and yet questioning, but loved how communicative she was and allowed me to be. I stepped outside and the cool air reminded me of James Taylor-September Grass. I can’t wait for football.

Happy?...Tuesday

Yesterday began with a few laughs as I attempted to wake up one of my shacking girlfriends for work (think Frankenstein)-no I’m not exaggerating...she is as bad as me in the morning. I took an hour bath and even a longer shower listening to The Soloist on my waterproof shower cd player. I took my time getting ready. I shaved my legs twice and used microderm abrasion on my face in an attempt to dissolve the stress induced grease factory that has become my face. I exfoliated and used my new Daisy by Marc Jacobs body wash.

All the time and care I was putting into getting ready was an attempt to divert from the appointment I would barely make at 11:30. I threw on a fitted tee and rejoiced at my success of not “looking pregnant” as I did the last time I went to Woman’s’ Hospital. I wore this really pretty orange long maxi dress that everyone loved…and seemed to be the uniform style of every expecting mother in the entire building. I grabbed a denim mini skirt, realizing that I am about 6 years too old to wear anything like this, and pulled my bangs back in my usual school girl style.

I had thirty minutes left. Somehow my attempt to waste time left me with some to spare. I began cleaning bathrooms and threw my new sheets in the washer so they would be fresh for my recovery movie marathon that afternoon. The Parking lot was the usual, deadlocked at a quarter till my appointment, guaranteeing I would be late. Five pregnant women stood in line for the elevator in front of me and one had a head full of grey hair and a little toddler jumping around. It was quite a questionable scene, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I would find myself in a mid life pregnancy.

I arrived at the receptionist desk on the fifth floor where I had to sign verification papers because I somehow forgot my insurance card. So I sit in the waiting room for about 3 seconds before I get called to the scale. When I saw that the six pounds that I gained miraculously turned into ten, I instantly thought of the new yoga DVD that I grabbed off of the impulse isle at Marshall’s and vowed to try it…this week.

I answered the usual questions and my blood pressure was higher than usual-shocker-I dropped the tweener teenage skirt and reached for the rough paper sheet as I took my place sitting Indian style on the exam table. My doctor, whose name is ironically Sunshine, stepped in with her predictable chipper banter and went over the last test results and the current procedure options.

After tears, gritting teeth and a few apologies from her, it was over. I lay sweating on the table waiting for the room to stop spinning and for my stomach to descend from my throat. As I checked out and make my next appointment I realized that this is just the beginning and I had better decide to toughen up now or I was really going to fall later.

At home I embraced my rehab plans with The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 1 and 2; both of which are movies I would NEVER watch on a regular basis. I ate ice cream and drank coke from glass bottles in my favorite super soft purple night gown.

The rest of the night was a pretty rapid descent where I cried, debated whether or not to take pain meds or drink whiskey and ignored 8 calls and 3 text because I couldn’t bear to have one more person ask me how I felt or if it was “that bad.”

After two hours of reading Grimm’s Fairytales from my iphone, I eventually surrendered to the Hydrocodone.

Today, will be much better.