boo

Nearly a year. And why now? Because tonight, I experienced the famous straw as never before. Tonight, my favorite lamp was the straw, and I was the camel's back: We broke nearly simultaneously.

There was no reason for me to react the way I did. As disappointed as I was that the lamp broke, and as frustrated as I was about the circumstances that led it to break, and as panicked as I was about all the broken glass, none of those things -- even in concert with each other -- was enough to prompt the full-on tantrum/meltdown that ensued.

Ted was bewildered, concerned... a bit scared. The wife he's known for so many years usually maintains a freakishly even keel. And tonight, she suddenly hit rough seas and near-about capsized!

He tried to calm me down, but was unsuccessful. The cats rapidly made themselves scarce, which was good because they avoided the millions of shards. And in the middle of this wildly disproportionate fit, I found myself wondering why I was pitching it, why there was no OFF button. And so I, too, was something of a witness to the whole episode.

Didn't last long -- a couple minutes, after which, I regained my composure and set about to vacuuming up the bits too small to pick up by hand (Ted got all the big pieces while I was morphing into a crazed puddle). It was an arduous task to be sure. The lamp had truly shattered.

It's done now, and I've since found several places online where I can get replacement shades. So now life goes on. Right? I've folded laundry, chatted about my day with my husband, checked email, read the news, and written a blog entry. Is it necessary for me to analyze all the pieces of straw in my life? Is that the only way to keep my back from breaking again the next time a fly buzzes by and inadvertently adds a speck of straw dust? There are many pieces of straw these days. And my back hurts enough that it's tempting to openly list and/or complain about them (though I might contend that the list itself would be a complaint). This strays way outside my usual optimism, and although it may explain tonight, I know better than to go there. It's time to climb up the slope, not slide down it.

So, let's talk about something more upbeat. Holidays! Here's a great Thanksgiving poem:

"Yam" by Bruce Guernsey

The potato that ate all its carrots,
can see in the dark like a mole,

its eyes the scars

from centuries of shovels, tines.

May spelled backwards

because it hates the light,

pawing its way, paddling along,

there in the catacombs.

Love it. And then there's Christmas.



I'm not ready for Christmas in any way. Some gifts have been procured. But when my hard drive crashed, it ate my list. That means I have to start from scratch as to who gets what and how much budget is left for everyone, and therefore how much more shopping needs to be done. I'm braving Black Friday with my sister and my Christmas Club money. But I'm not appropriately prepared for it. At a time in the process when I'm typically done or close to it. And I'm still trying to imagine Christmas without my own personal Santa -- Dad.

Oops. Just slipped down a bit. I should call it a night, an entry, a year, and get some sleep. Maybe I'll blog again next August.

it's slipping away...

The muses are gone. Even the part-time one, who inspires meek anecdotes and easy YouTube embeddings. I'd hoped that this lovely lady sketched by Deeleigh over at Well Rounded might be enough to stir the lazy muses from their slumber. Alas, not. Or not yet -- not that I have it in me to wait around for it.

It's easy to say that available free time has decreased now that I'm well into a real, full-time job again. Especially given the depth to which my subconscious is submerged in my new industry (I have dreams about huge kettles full of cooking fruit, tiny jars packed with delectable condiments, and Excel spreadsheets brimming with pricing formulas. Every day. No, really... every day. Without exception. For coming-up-on half a year.) But I managed to shake the muses loose with reasonable frequency when previously employed in a real, full-time job. What's different this time?

There's no answer to that question, because the muses, well, they've taken leave. Even the second shift one whose sole responsibility is making excuses.

It's not for lack of topics.

* Family... ah, family
* Friends (present, past, former [different from 'past'], and maybe even future)
* A new president
* The wild (and barely tolerable) winter weather
* My rapidly growing dissatisfaction with our living quarters
* The single song I play repeatedly despite having a library of over 20,000 songs
* Poems that make me ache
* Cute cats
* Messy storage units
* A highly successful venture into making meatloaf
* Problems whose aching manifests as bouts of hives
* The sweetness in the world
* The overload of everything in the world
* The year of the landmark high school reunion
* A thick skull that remembers less and seems to only grudgingly adapt
* The imminent demise of one of my favorite size acceptance blogs
* Newly updated lists
* File boxes that look organized from the outside
* Unread books gathering dust
* The burden of truths that can never be shared

This could go on forever. Not actually writing anything interesting or insightful. Just listing the general topics. I've got this one song on repeat on my iPod so as not to wake up Ted. It's 58 degrees in here, and despite my fluffy slippers and layers of long fleece, my toes are cold. And once again, I've escaped the potential for a full night's sleep by rambling about nothing until the calendar turns.

What's the point?

And so with that, I suspect that sanguinary blue will likely come to an end. Not following Paul's suit. I've floated the idea before. Now I just need the overly pert motivation muse to kick me in the ass so I'll actually take the site down.

I'm elsewhere in the ether. One way or another, I can be reached if need be. Good night.