2015/11/10 § 2 Comments
Last night when I pulled into my apartment complex after work, a woman was standing by her car parked in the middle of the driveway. She had her flashers on so I asked her if everything was okay. She said, “you know how it is when you are so tired, you just want to cry?” I said, “yes, I do.” I chatted with her for a couple minutes. She was okay, she was just waiting for someone. But she had just finished a long drive after a long day at work. She wasn’t home yet, but she wanted so badly to be.
This morning, I am tired. Maybe not so tired I want to cry, but tired enough that the venti iced coffee I just downed in 10 minutes doesn’t begin to touch it. Tired enough that I could pull a George Costanza and curl up under my desk right now.
I have not posted very consistently this week for #NaBloPoMo, but I have been writing. I posted an entry on another website that I don’t have the courage to share here. I wrote until after midnight last night, working on another one that is not yet finished, but I like the direction it’s going.
This writing challenge has been very good for me. I feel alive when I am writing. And the energy of it is keeping me up way past my bedtime. So this morning I am sleepy, but happy.
2015/11/07 § Leave a comment
Flats of various colors and designs
Tank tops with cardigans
Coffee – no sugar, no sweetener, no flavoring
The Jam, English Beat, Violent Femmes
A good cry
Two sizes too big
2015/11/03 § Leave a comment
I woke up 15 minutes early this morning in an attempt to not be late, because for the last few weeks, it seems that every day we (my teenage son and I) leave later and later. And so I thought today, I will not get on my phone right out of the shower. Because I love to lay back down in bed right out of the shower and grab my phone. But that always makes me late. Because if I get on my phone, somehow like one minute turns into 15 mintues. And then I get dressed, and then I make the lunches, and then I put my makeup on, and then I’m late. So today I thought I would make our lunches before I got dressed for work. And not get on my phone.
I started to bring my lunch to work recently in an effort to eat less crap (carbs and processed foods). So now I make a lettuce wrap, apple slices, a bag of nuts and a bag of veggies for myself and I make a sandwich and a bag of apple slices for my son. But this is like 6 baggies of food and what used to take just a couple of minutes now takes like 10 minutes. And then there’s the thing about starting the day with a little protein, so I usually peel two hard boiled eggs, one for each of us, with some salt and pepper, to eat before we go. And then I usually try to make myself a quick cup of coffee. So I have to add a couple of minutes for that as well. And I’m moving fast here, but this is a lot to do in the morning.
I have a problem with always thinking I can fit one more task into a limited period of time. This is why I am always late. If you know me, you know I am pretty much always late. I once texted my friend who was waiting for me at the nail salon and I was late, because I had left the house late, but I still thought I would have time to grab an Iced Latte at Starbucks before our manicures, so I texted her from the drive-thru when I realized I was really quite late, and I accidentally texted, “I’m going to be a little latte,” which was funny, but it was really just a mistype.
Late people are sometimes accused of being disrespectful. And perhaps it is disrespectful to leave someone waiting, but I swear we mean no disrespect. We just want to get one more thing done. Slide one more accomplishment into that last little sliver of time. Push ourselves just a little bit more to get it all finished. Because if we do it all, we will feel so good and proud. We are do-ers. We need to keep do-ing. So that no one is let down and everything is done and nothing is left undone, by us.
2015/11/01 § 7 Comments
Over the course of the last two years, my life has been in flux. I moved 1600 miles away from my home, my oldest son and my best friend. I left a 25-year marriage. I gave up a 10-year career. I have ceased to be a presence in a number of people’s lives, and they have ceased to be a presence in mine.
To some who love me, or used to love me, some friends, some relatives, quite a few colleagues and coworkers, and a handful of neighbors, in a way, I have disappeared. I no longer live next door. I no longer work with you. I no longer see you in the coffee shop each morning. You no longer read my words. You no longer stop in my office on your way down the hall. You no longer consider me your sister-in-law or your wife. We are no longer Facebook friends. I am no longer your lunch buddy or your team member. You no longer wave hello. You don’t see me at church. You don’t see me walking my dog down the street.
I don’t want to be overly dramatic, but it’s kind of weird.
I have a deep sense that I don’t know who I am anymore, and I’m starting to wonder if I ever really did.
I am in transition. I didn’t anticipate that this phase would last as long as it has or reach into as many areas of my life as it has reached. I had no idea when I started this journey two years ago that I would be where I am today.
This is the most important time of my life. I can feel it. Yet sometimes I am gripped by fear that I might let this moment slip through my fingers. But I have a sense that I won’t, that I’m not. I have a sense that something is happening within me that is momentous, even if it is only of consequence to me.