Archives

7 of 52

In which we have no pictures, because we haven’t finished any projects or books. Work has not been any “busier” but it has required more of my non-working time brain power, and I’ve been doing more things with the family. All good stuff, but it does cut into crafting time.

But. Let me tell you. I started learning a new skill this weekend. And finding out I’m good at something I’ve never tried before makes me happy. That’s all you get. Muhahaha!

5 of 52

In which we confess the things we aren’t giving a fuck about, but later

Does this look vaguely familiar? It should. This is a mini Fourth Doctor scarf, suitably sized for my five foot frame. It is going a bit quicker than the last one, being approximately half the size. I’m a hair over half way done with it.

Guys. I am bored with garter stitch. And these are not even colors I particularly like. But I am fangirling hard, and I NEED this scarf in my life, because reasons. Therefore, I am knitting on. There’s one more left after mine, and I am just gonna grit my teeth and plow through.

Here are the books I am reading. I broke my unannounced reading rule of one book at a time, because February got here before I finished Anansi Boys, and so I needed to start Sarah’s Cousins Book Club selection in a timely manner. I’m two chapters into both, and you can see from the post’s tag line that I am taking the material to heart already.

Now then, a discussion of things I now find worthy and unworthy of my personal fucks. I know you can’t wait to read this part. HA!

So, near the end of December, I decided that I wanted to do the following things on a daily basis in 2018:

  • Create things
  • Express appreciation to others
  • Haiku
  • Make music
  • Read
  • Write stories from my days

I even made myself a handy-dandy year long tracker for each item in my bullet journal.

Here’s what I notice I give a fuck about, because I do them at least five of seven days: Create, Express appreciation, Haiku, Read. I do not make music or write prose. I want to be a writer and musician, but I am not willing to consistently put my energy into these things. Perhaps because they aren’t concrete goals like knit 12 items and read 12 books. Perhaps because I have limited resources of time and find other things more enjoyable. Perhaps because I could do these things, but it would require running through my evenings with a timer in my hand and not interacting with my family and this is unacceptable to me. Maybe after my tangible creativity goals for the year are met. Maybe not. Maybe what I am getting around to on a regular basis is an accurate representation of what is actually important to me. And that’s okay. I can practice giving and not giving fucks any way that increases my personal life satisfaction.

I might be a narcissist if

I won’t write in my paper and ink journal because it’s too much effort, even though I carry it everywhere I go except the bathroom, but I will journal at the computer where all my friends and family and seven billion strangers have access to it. Nonetheless, I noticed the other day that I haven’t posted since the fourth day of February, and this blog needs to earn it’s keep, so here we are.

I read not long ago that if you devote an hour a day to reading about a certain topic, you’ll be an expert in that field within seven years. And I wondered what fields I would explore if I decided to do that. I haven’t, you know. Decided, I mean. I just wondered. But I’d like to be an expert in social work. And I would like to be able to render a picture in my mind into recognizable form. Not using words, that is–just lines, color, shading. And I would like to be able to differentiate one classical composer from another without needing to look at the cd label. I need to choose wisely. At forty-eight, I have time to become an expert in only five areas assuming I do them one at a time (and die at the expected time with my mind intact–a pretty rash assumption). I won’t do it singularly, if I do it at all, because that’s how I roll, but still. That’s the maximum amount of time I have.

Then, I read that if you write three hundred words per day, you’ll have a book at the end of the year. Just three hundred. Man, that’s kinder and gentler than the one thousand six hundred and sixty-seven that NaNoWriMo requires, isn’t it? I think I could do three hundred. You’ll notice that all the numbers are spelled out here, and THIS is the three hundred and twelfth word. So I am there. Not that this is novel material, but it took less than fifteen minutes from deciding to blog to get to three hundred and twelve words.

I’m once again confronted with the difference between what I say I want and what I actually do.

Want. Do.

I’ve been presented recently with the opportunity to pursue a thirty-five year old dream, with minor alterations in details. And by minor I mean less than 500 miles. It’s a thing I can’t not do. Because thirty-five years. Offered at a time I am financially, mentally, emotionally prepared to do it. To not do the thing would be stupid. Even if I am terrified.

Remember this?
fearless tat

People ask folks with back tats what the point is. Why would you get a tattoo where you can never see it? I do see it. I can look in the mirror. Or at photos. But more importantly than being able to SEE it, is knowing it’s there. Every day. This is a useful thing for me. Every time I have an opportunity that scares me, I remind myself I am fearless. I am so fearless that I paid good money to have it painfully etched into my skin.

Do you remember when I got it? I do. Three years ago. One year away from my BSW. After four years of single parenting. After putting more demons to rest than I care to re-visit today. I’m fearless. And so I’m moving.

12. Tired. Cranky. Fat.

image

So. I’m tired. I don’t know whether I am tired physically, or because of this series of rapid changes, but I am tired. I am sure part of it is that I still haven’t regulated my schedule. I just can’t make myself see the point of getting out of my bed at 3:30 if I have nowhere to go, and I just want to sleep.

In other news, I have reached the serious part of the non-smoker plan. Three cigarettes yesterday. Two so far today. I’m having to do some fast talking with myself. I don’t want to quit smoking. I do want to be a non-smoker. Which dog will I feed? And also, those cookies…..GIVE THEM TO ME!

Speaking of cookies, I had a discussion with several pairs of jeans today. Basically, the discussion consisted of me saying “buh bye.” For those of you wondering why I dress mostly in skirts and tops, let me tell you. My waist is about a size 12/14. Hips, 10/12. Ass, 6/8. The jeans that make my butt look good are impossible to button. Unless they are low rise, and then I can button them, but the band rolls down and my belly hangs out for all the world to see, which is gross because tiger stripes, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t have a closet full of tunics.

I am not even thinking about diet and exercise at this point. Too much else already going on. I’m going to stick with fixing my sleep and fixating on cigarettes.

This picture is all I want in life right now. Nicotine, cookies, and that Otter IN my bed. But I’m going to settle for some Earl Grey Raspberry and Game of Thrones.

11. I Am Rarely

image

10. Not Distracted

image

Alternate Title: Sometimes I Get a Glimpse

This has been a good weekend. And I don’t mean a weekend full of frivolity. I mean this has been a weekend that fed my soul. Friday night, there was conversation and Game of Thrones. Saturday, I introduced my companion and my children to the Bookthing. I dropped off upwards of 100 books and left with only four. Yay, me. Then brunch. An afternoon spent napping. Excellent dinner, classic Dr. Who, more GoT. Gotta get ready for the new season by re-watching the old ones. This morning I cooked breakfast. I can’t even remember the last time I did that. Sitting at the table, surrounded by dear faces, just talking. I’ll be cooking breakfast more often, because the result is worth it. Afterward, more conversation over extended coffee while watching my children do their children things.

Apparently I looked distracted. I was not. I was fully present and fully focused in the moment– realizing how peaceful and solid I felt.

Now, I’m no fool. I don’t think. Maybe I am. But sometimes, I have to hear myself say a thing out loud before I allow myself to admit a deeper truth. Truth: I purge my house every January. Another truth: This year’s purge is wider and deeper than it has been since my divorce. Another truth: my physical environment is a close reflection of my mental and emotional self. Implied truth: If I am clearing out old things that no longer serve me, I am clearing out old emotions and ideas that no longer serve me. Conclusion: I am clearing physical space and mental/emotional space at the same time. I knew this, but I didn’t see what was happening until I said it out loud yesterday.

Sometimes, the universe conspires to give me a glimpse, and if I am paying attention, I am compelled to acknowledge the true state of things. And today’s true state of things with me is: I want more weekends like this. Weekends where nothing and everything happens. Weekends that are about loving the moments.

7. This Year’s Mission

image

For years, plenty of them, my younger girls have been asking when I was going to make their scrapbooks. And my older kids have been asking when was I going to finish their scrapbooks. I finally have an answer: 2016.

This pile (plus two more bins tucked into a closet) is roughly 30 years worth of memorabilia, minus the 5-6 years in the middle which I’ve completed. Oh, and I quit developing pictures when digital got big, so there will be more.

Here’s the rub: I haven’t had a dedicated scrapping space since I left Topeka in 2000. I made one today. I’m not sure the children will be entirely happy with me, because I claimed the dining room table to make this happen. And I have to be able to leave things on it. Scrapping isn’t something I can do in 10 minutes and clean up and take back out for 10 minutes again later. I need the pictures, the papers, the books, the mats, the tape runner, the page protectors, the pens, the, the, the literally at my fingertips.

So. We’ll be eating our meals Japanese style, seated on the floor around a coffee table in front of the glass wall to the balcony for the duration. Not a great solution, but a solution. I want to get these stories down before I get dementia. My memory is sketchy enough as it is.

In other news, I cleaned the living room today. I have a guest coming this weekend. I’ve promised to spend next Tuesday with my daughter. I can tackle the bathrooms and kitchen next Thursday. Then Marscon the next weekend. That means I can start scrapping on the 18th (if I’m off for the holiday and I am pretty sure I am) or the 19th. The first thing I have to do is look at all this stuff and see what I actually have. It’s been moved and removed so many times that all I have now is a great big jumbled up mess of memories.

6. Mix and Match

image

I felt a bit…what’s the word…rebellious?? Maybe. What I didn’t feel was like I had to wear all solids with the striped skirt. So I didn’t. As my children love to say, “I’m grown, I do what I want.”

Do you ever have one of those periods of time where you are experiencing positive emotions, but are somewhat weirded out by them? That’s me right now. I think I am uncomfortable because there could be change. Change is hard. Change is not usually fun. It stretches me in funny ways. Also, there’s the possibility that I still find happiness a bizarre personal condition.

Speaking of stretching, I didn’t think I had overdone it yesterday, but I’ve got some twinges in my hips and thighs today. I’d say I was out of shape, but I don’t want to hurt round’s feelings.

I’ve come across this quote several times in the past few days: “Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” Antoine De Saint-Exupery I’m thinking hard on this one, so I thought I would leave it right here for a minute.

Oh, you thought mix and match referred to my clothes, didn’t you? Oops. I was talking about my head.