I am soo tired.
(Which is, naturally, why I'm blogging. Forget refreshing wit and upbeat memoirs, this blog is just about the leftovers!)
I feel like my brain space is overfilled. I lay down to sleep at night, and all the problems from Abraham to Ceaser start to flow through my brain like I've plugged myself in to some thinking machine with no off switch. Will I sleep tonight? That, my dear Watson, is the question.
I ate like a little piggy today. And I'd just like to say, "I HAD PANDA EXPRESS FOR DINNER!" (Can you see me doing the victory dance?) That's right, all the way from Boise to my kitchen counter. Oh, yum, yum, yum. I've fallen in love. People may think you can't love chow mein noodles and peppered black chicken, but I will prove them wrong; it is completely possible. Unfortunately, I'm still not feeling well or my stomach has shrunk (or both) becuase I was barely able to eat the kid-sized plate that I filled with food. My 6 year old son ate more than me! What's up with that? I'm losing my touch at being a big eater. Shame, shame, shame.
I can't beleive it's only 7:30 in the evening. It feels like it should be 11PM. I'm just counting down the minutes until I can (legally) put the children in bed, then crawl into my pre-warmed bed with that running magazine I have yet to finish devouring....Did you know that reading an article about running shoes could be fun? It can! I was surprised to find this out myself, but it is, indeed, true. It takes real talent to turn an assignment about running shoes into an I-simply-can't-put-this-magazine-down! article. Bravo to you, Mr. Whoever that wrote about the running shoes. Oh, I so enjoy good wit.
On a totally random note, you know those nasty pickles at the movie theatres that look like they're fermenting in formaldahyde and make you shudder and think, "Who in the WORLD would eat that pickle? IT must have been there for 203 years, sitting in that little platic bag, fermenting. Gorss!!!" Well, I've eaten two of them. And I enjoyed them. Yes, e n j o y e d them. I'm so ahamed. Please forigve me. I'll never do it again. (Boy, am I glad I got that off my chest!)
I started the laundrty at 7:45 this morning, and guess what? (Tell her what she's won, Ronnie!) That's right! I'm just finishing up my last load right now. Aren't you simply amazed? That's a full 12 hours of doing laundry. I know, I know, your jaw is agape and your mind is spinning with the question, "How, oh how, does she have the stamina to conquer such amazing feats?" Must I remind you that I am Domestic Goddess, queen of the wild frontier and lover of foreign chocolate? (Hey brother, bring me back some of that German chocolate!!!) That's right, a full 12 hours of laundry will not stop Domestic Goddess! She works out every day to keep up her stamina to tackle mountains of laundry, to run faster than the children she must chase; she works out her biceps to handle the load of two ton shopping bags, and broadens her shoulders for intimidation factors for when she has another slap-down at the local swimming pool. (Did I ever tell you about that? Let's suffice it to say that I was ready to bust a nail giving a smack-talking too-big-for-her-shoes mother a "cowgirl" education last July. She's just lucky she was pregnant...)
That's right. You mess with my kids, you get momma bear. I've been told that I naturally intimidate people, so to piss me off is a whole 'nother ball of wax! Good thing it doesn't happen too often. The wax thing, that is.
Oh look, here's my fortune from my fortune cookie (and upholding the holy tradition that my brother taught me many moons ago, I must say "in the bedroom" after the fortune is read). Here it goes: "You are a deep thinker (true) with a knack for problem solving (true) in the bedroom." You heard it here first, folks! No wonder I can't sleep at night...I'm too busy solving bedroom problems. Oh, I'm so glad I got this fortune cookie. Just think, all those sleepless nights summed up by the Panda Express. Amazing, truly amazing.
Yippee! It's bed time. Or, at least, I am using my incredible and much coveted parental powers to over rule any "but Mom's" and will delegate children to their beds. I've heard that a 5th of vodka puts kids out cold. Think it's worth a shot? No pun intended....wah ha ha ha haaa.
Goodnight, self.
Goodnight to you.
Goodnight.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Crossroads
Here I am. I'm standing in the eye of the storm; I'm at the crossroads. (And I'm not sure if that's "cross roads" or "crossroads.") I don't like the fact that I'm here, but here I am. It's time for black and white, no more gray. Usually I like things crisp and clean, but lately it's all been gray. All of it. White merging into black, black threatening to dirty the white; gray. And here I am, on the gray, knowing I must decide: black or white. Which will it be?
Black is so appealing. It's dark, mysterious, intoxicatingly beautiful. But that's only the surface. You can't quite see what's underneath. But something tells me it smolders with the stench of death, curses, and a vomit-filled pain.
White is so unappealing. It didn't used to be. Well, the truth is that it's quite beautiful on white, especially when you're smack dab in the center. But once you wander over to the edge, where you can see the smudges of gray and looker over to the blacker pastures, sometimes the white looses its appeal. Somehow amnesia sets in and you can't remember why you liked white in the first place. How curious sudden amnesia is.
And if you start to wade out into the gray, you think of how much fun it is to be out of the white, into something new which sparks your appetite for adventure. You splash and, yes, you even play in the gray, feeling a bit guilty for leaving the white, but easing the conscience in knowing that you're not going over there, to the dark side.
Sometimes you're closer to white. Sometimes you get pulled, by some incredibly strong force, over to the black, but you make sure you stay in the gray. And then, at some point, you come to the crossroads. You can't really see the sign from the white. Actually, you didn't know that it even existed. But now, as you've been rolling around and making yourself all gray, you see the sign, and it looms over you. Once very insignificant and far away, it is now akin to a monkey on your back. And now you know, your time is up; you're at the crossroads.
White or balck? Black or white? There really is no decision to be made...if you think logically. Logically, you know white is where you belong and it is where you'll stay. And once in a while you'll think of the black, but that will grow farther and fewer between until you are so fulfilled with white that you wonder why you every found the other color so appealing. That's logically speaking, of course. But, be it not for your grounding logic, your emotions would sweep you away on a magical ship right into the black sea. You'd frolick and play, play and frolick, and deny (since all logic is gone) that your blissful fantasy ship would every capsize...until it does. Then you'll suddenly be splashed with a tidalwave of reality and not only do you need to be dragged back to the white, you also streak it all up and make the biggest mess of your life.
People look. They whisper. Fingers point and tongues say, "Tisk, tisk." There is no hiding beneath your shame; your heart is as black as your face.
And then the phone rings...
Black is so appealing. It's dark, mysterious, intoxicatingly beautiful. But that's only the surface. You can't quite see what's underneath. But something tells me it smolders with the stench of death, curses, and a vomit-filled pain.
White is so unappealing. It didn't used to be. Well, the truth is that it's quite beautiful on white, especially when you're smack dab in the center. But once you wander over to the edge, where you can see the smudges of gray and looker over to the blacker pastures, sometimes the white looses its appeal. Somehow amnesia sets in and you can't remember why you liked white in the first place. How curious sudden amnesia is.
And if you start to wade out into the gray, you think of how much fun it is to be out of the white, into something new which sparks your appetite for adventure. You splash and, yes, you even play in the gray, feeling a bit guilty for leaving the white, but easing the conscience in knowing that you're not going over there, to the dark side.
Sometimes you're closer to white. Sometimes you get pulled, by some incredibly strong force, over to the black, but you make sure you stay in the gray. And then, at some point, you come to the crossroads. You can't really see the sign from the white. Actually, you didn't know that it even existed. But now, as you've been rolling around and making yourself all gray, you see the sign, and it looms over you. Once very insignificant and far away, it is now akin to a monkey on your back. And now you know, your time is up; you're at the crossroads.
White or balck? Black or white? There really is no decision to be made...if you think logically. Logically, you know white is where you belong and it is where you'll stay. And once in a while you'll think of the black, but that will grow farther and fewer between until you are so fulfilled with white that you wonder why you every found the other color so appealing. That's logically speaking, of course. But, be it not for your grounding logic, your emotions would sweep you away on a magical ship right into the black sea. You'd frolick and play, play and frolick, and deny (since all logic is gone) that your blissful fantasy ship would every capsize...until it does. Then you'll suddenly be splashed with a tidalwave of reality and not only do you need to be dragged back to the white, you also streak it all up and make the biggest mess of your life.
People look. They whisper. Fingers point and tongues say, "Tisk, tisk." There is no hiding beneath your shame; your heart is as black as your face.
And then the phone rings...
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Just Shoot Me
I'm tired.
Too much noise.
(Why do I only ever post when I'm tired and there's too much noise?)
I hit my finger with the hammer an hour ago. It's still throbbing.
Ouch.
I'm tired.
Too much noise.
So, like, when do I get a vacation? (And NO, going to the grocery store doesn't count!)
I made caramels today. Dunked some in chocolate. So yummy.
I steamed the downstairs bedroom today. That's so tedious. It'll be nice to have the upstairs domain all to myself again....ahhh....quiet.
This is how pathetic my life is at this moment: the only bright spot on the horizon is waiting for Biggest Loser to come on. Unless it's already over. Did I miss the season finale?
Oh no, a crying child! Hide me!
A crying child and blood. Welp, that's me. I'm up. Better go.
Oh, did I mention: JUST SHOOT ME?
Too much noise.
(Why do I only ever post when I'm tired and there's too much noise?)
I hit my finger with the hammer an hour ago. It's still throbbing.
Ouch.
I'm tired.
Too much noise.
So, like, when do I get a vacation? (And NO, going to the grocery store doesn't count!)
I made caramels today. Dunked some in chocolate. So yummy.
I steamed the downstairs bedroom today. That's so tedious. It'll be nice to have the upstairs domain all to myself again....ahhh....quiet.
This is how pathetic my life is at this moment: the only bright spot on the horizon is waiting for Biggest Loser to come on. Unless it's already over. Did I miss the season finale?
Oh no, a crying child! Hide me!
A crying child and blood. Welp, that's me. I'm up. Better go.
Oh, did I mention: JUST SHOOT ME?
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Swollen Lymphnodes
Who, I'd like to know, likes to say the word "lymphnode?" It's not a fun word like "Francisco" or "Supercalafrajelisticexpialadoshus."
Yes, these are the things I think about when I'm I'll, in bed, with painfully swollen lymphnodes.
Today I ran 6.3 miles. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I decided to check out the Saturday running group that runs every Saturday (shockingly) at the local gym. I'd been encouraged to come a time to two before. One invitee said, "We're only going to run 3 to 4 miles, you should come." That was a few weeks ago...
As I rolled out of bed this morning, not feeling well, I told myself, "I can handle a 3 to 4 mile run even though I feel like I have a cement block for a head." I didn't lay out my clothes the night before, so I had to fish around in the dark for them. This marathon in and of itself put me to the gym a frustrated 2 minutes late. Dressed in double layers on top and bottom, ears and fingers covered, I hang out with the other runners until it's time to go.
I don't know at what point I realized that the group was doing a 6.3 mile run, me with my bad head cold and a body that had pushed itself hard at the gym the night before. Perhaps it was when I got to mile four and decided I'd just throw myself in front of the next oncoming car if we had to run up another hill. I ended up dropping back from the lead (faster) group and walked until the second (slower) group caught up to me, then ran with them the last mile or two.
I was really frustrated with myself for not finishing with the lead group, but now that I see just how sick I am, maybe I didn't do as badly as I originally thought.
The group is training for a 26.2 mile marathon come May. I have entertained the idea of joining the marathon, but haven't decided what to do yet. The marathin is in Boise, so maybe I could get some shopping in before the marathon and visit my beloved Panda Express afterwards? I'm sure the group would let me hitch a ride for that!
Anyway....I just realized today that I have two blogs. I can hardly remember that I have one, so to have two was a complete surprise to me.
I've no wit left in me today, so I ought to say uh-do.
If you don't hear from me again, check the country roads for a carcass in running gear, near a hill, with tire marks on the forehead.
Yes, these are the things I think about when I'm I'll, in bed, with painfully swollen lymphnodes.
Today I ran 6.3 miles. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I decided to check out the Saturday running group that runs every Saturday (shockingly) at the local gym. I'd been encouraged to come a time to two before. One invitee said, "We're only going to run 3 to 4 miles, you should come." That was a few weeks ago...
As I rolled out of bed this morning, not feeling well, I told myself, "I can handle a 3 to 4 mile run even though I feel like I have a cement block for a head." I didn't lay out my clothes the night before, so I had to fish around in the dark for them. This marathon in and of itself put me to the gym a frustrated 2 minutes late. Dressed in double layers on top and bottom, ears and fingers covered, I hang out with the other runners until it's time to go.
I don't know at what point I realized that the group was doing a 6.3 mile run, me with my bad head cold and a body that had pushed itself hard at the gym the night before. Perhaps it was when I got to mile four and decided I'd just throw myself in front of the next oncoming car if we had to run up another hill. I ended up dropping back from the lead (faster) group and walked until the second (slower) group caught up to me, then ran with them the last mile or two.
I was really frustrated with myself for not finishing with the lead group, but now that I see just how sick I am, maybe I didn't do as badly as I originally thought.
The group is training for a 26.2 mile marathon come May. I have entertained the idea of joining the marathon, but haven't decided what to do yet. The marathin is in Boise, so maybe I could get some shopping in before the marathon and visit my beloved Panda Express afterwards? I'm sure the group would let me hitch a ride for that!
Anyway....I just realized today that I have two blogs. I can hardly remember that I have one, so to have two was a complete surprise to me.
I've no wit left in me today, so I ought to say uh-do.
If you don't hear from me again, check the country roads for a carcass in running gear, near a hill, with tire marks on the forehead.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Hello You
And so it happens again; I stumble across myself on the internet. It's much like bumping into someone who's bending over in the cat food isle of Wal-Mart; when you blush and say, "Oh excuse me," Then they, now vertically aligned, say, "No problem." And then you realize that you know that person, perhaps from high school, prison or daycare--you're not sure which. But, nontheless, you know them.
And so it happens again; I stumble across myself on the internet. I'd forgotten I had this blog, so it is a good thing I was out of cat food.
Today has been a blah day. Just not feeling myself, perhaps it has something to do with all the high fructose corn syrup and refined flour I had last night....but let's not dwell on that, as I'm not ready to get rid of my favorite friends just yet. Speaking of friends, I haven't had Ben and Jerry over for the longest of times; how I yearn for them. They were such a comfort to me. We'd sit in front of the fire together, losing all consciousness while zoning out before the big screen...ahhh, glory days. Back to the pressent, I'm so glad they decided to continue milking cows and not humans, as I was going to have to completely cut it off it they made the switch.
Which reminds me....while at an AG Field Trip last week, I did learn, scouts honor, that mice can be milked. Forget the speaker and his water conservation speech, forget the horse skeleton and the fact sheets, forget thinking how a cattle shoot is very much like a mamogram machine--did you know you can milk a mouse? A mouse! Truly amazing, isn't it? (Shhh, don't tell PETA.)
Anyway, back to me. Hi, how are you? Oh, feeling a bit odd today, how are you? Feeling about the same. Feeling like you're mentally turned to mush? Why yes! How did you know? Possibly because I am you, and you are me. Oh, why yes of course. I should have known that, but, as I stated, or perhaps you stated, my mental capacities are the consistency of quick oats. Cooked quick oats, that is, not dry. Perhaps overcooked. Ya know, like when you should only cook the packet of oatmeal for 1 minute, but you defy all logic and go for the extra 30 seconds, without adding more water. The microwave beeps and out comes, in your decorative white breakfast bowl, a peice of the Gobi dessert. You understand? Of course I do, I'm you, remember? Oh yes, how soon I've forgotten...
People. There are new people in my life. Some I look forward to seeing, some are like gange green. People. Some add to my existance and some suck the very life from me. Working with people is such hard work. But then again, it can be so very rewarding. I just can't handle whining. Children whining is one thing, adults whining is another. Children whining is acid reflux on the nerves, adults whining is projectile vomit from the man across you on the train flying into your agape mouth. Chunky, biley, whining. Perhaps my day as a hermit are not too far removed from me.
If I could leave my love affair with choclate, I might actually be making progress at the gym. Were it not for my antique adipose tissue, you might just be able to see all the muscle I've been accumulating. And for what? To bench press 20 text books?
As for people, I do enjoy the people at the gym. They are a sort of 6AM family that, quite honestly, I look forward to seeing at the beginning of my day. No whining there. Just people sweating, some of them stinking, most of them smiling. I got to thinking just what an odd place the gym is. Where else can you go where it is perfectly acceptable to hang out with a bunch of other shirt-wet-from-sweat strangers?
Did you know that dodgeball is fun? Why yes it is! Much more fun than one might first expect. I've actually got a booger of a floor burn on my right knee from last Thursday's game. It's over a week old and still not going away. My skin literally rubbed off onto the inside of my sweats--gross, aye? It is rather uncomfortable (and that's coming from the woman who gave birth without taking a single asprin).
Though this gange green, vomit, scabbed over floor burn has been quite stimulating conversation, I'm bored of talking to myself. I think I'll go read my posts and get reaquainted with my own thoughts.
A Zut de Toi,
Me
And so it happens again; I stumble across myself on the internet. I'd forgotten I had this blog, so it is a good thing I was out of cat food.
Today has been a blah day. Just not feeling myself, perhaps it has something to do with all the high fructose corn syrup and refined flour I had last night....but let's not dwell on that, as I'm not ready to get rid of my favorite friends just yet. Speaking of friends, I haven't had Ben and Jerry over for the longest of times; how I yearn for them. They were such a comfort to me. We'd sit in front of the fire together, losing all consciousness while zoning out before the big screen...ahhh, glory days. Back to the pressent, I'm so glad they decided to continue milking cows and not humans, as I was going to have to completely cut it off it they made the switch.
Which reminds me....while at an AG Field Trip last week, I did learn, scouts honor, that mice can be milked. Forget the speaker and his water conservation speech, forget the horse skeleton and the fact sheets, forget thinking how a cattle shoot is very much like a mamogram machine--did you know you can milk a mouse? A mouse! Truly amazing, isn't it? (Shhh, don't tell PETA.)
Anyway, back to me. Hi, how are you? Oh, feeling a bit odd today, how are you? Feeling about the same. Feeling like you're mentally turned to mush? Why yes! How did you know? Possibly because I am you, and you are me. Oh, why yes of course. I should have known that, but, as I stated, or perhaps you stated, my mental capacities are the consistency of quick oats. Cooked quick oats, that is, not dry. Perhaps overcooked. Ya know, like when you should only cook the packet of oatmeal for 1 minute, but you defy all logic and go for the extra 30 seconds, without adding more water. The microwave beeps and out comes, in your decorative white breakfast bowl, a peice of the Gobi dessert. You understand? Of course I do, I'm you, remember? Oh yes, how soon I've forgotten...
People. There are new people in my life. Some I look forward to seeing, some are like gange green. People. Some add to my existance and some suck the very life from me. Working with people is such hard work. But then again, it can be so very rewarding. I just can't handle whining. Children whining is one thing, adults whining is another. Children whining is acid reflux on the nerves, adults whining is projectile vomit from the man across you on the train flying into your agape mouth. Chunky, biley, whining. Perhaps my day as a hermit are not too far removed from me.
If I could leave my love affair with choclate, I might actually be making progress at the gym. Were it not for my antique adipose tissue, you might just be able to see all the muscle I've been accumulating. And for what? To bench press 20 text books?
As for people, I do enjoy the people at the gym. They are a sort of 6AM family that, quite honestly, I look forward to seeing at the beginning of my day. No whining there. Just people sweating, some of them stinking, most of them smiling. I got to thinking just what an odd place the gym is. Where else can you go where it is perfectly acceptable to hang out with a bunch of other shirt-wet-from-sweat strangers?
Did you know that dodgeball is fun? Why yes it is! Much more fun than one might first expect. I've actually got a booger of a floor burn on my right knee from last Thursday's game. It's over a week old and still not going away. My skin literally rubbed off onto the inside of my sweats--gross, aye? It is rather uncomfortable (and that's coming from the woman who gave birth without taking a single asprin).
Though this gange green, vomit, scabbed over floor burn has been quite stimulating conversation, I'm bored of talking to myself. I think I'll go read my posts and get reaquainted with my own thoughts.
A Zut de Toi,
Me
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