Thankful

I know, I'm late to the Annual Thanksgiving Blessing Count. It's taken some considerable pondering and navel-gazing, but I realized that, believe it or not, I am most thankful for each and every Fucking Growth Opportunity that has come my way, as miserable as they have been.

Sounds crazy, no? But since I am still (relatively) sane, I can only assume I am stronger. As I stand here (well, sit here on the couch) staring down my 52nd birthday in a few weeks, I feel like I am doing OK. Damned OK, in fact. Probably better than I can ever remember... doing. Or being. Or whatever.

Now, that being said, I want to make it perfectly clear, Universe, that as grateful as I am for the opportunities I've had to grow and evolve and all that shit, I am NOT volunteering for any more missions in the near future. I'd really like to take 2012 off. Maybe give someone else the opportunity to buff up their karma. My Angel of Death and Mercy outfit is packed away in the bottom of the storage unit and I really don't want to have to go dig it out.

If there's a form or something I need to fill out to make that official, send me a link, OK? You obviously know how to reach me.
 

Just say no

Not buying what they're selling: What a concept, especially this time of year.

WTF am I talking about? I am talking about not blowing all the money we don't have in the next thirty days.

Confused? Leo sums up (much better than I ever could) the perfectly logical reasons for doing so... or, would that be not doing so?

Click below to read the rest of this radical and (hopefully) sanity-inducing post.



I'm in. And you? What do you think? Deep inside, is shopping your true "reason for the season?"

Hmmm?
 

This is the week that was

I do love someecards.com. Somehow they always know exactly what's on my mind.
 

Three bucks the hard way

Today, Lovely Daughter and I visited a large national financial institution I will call BoA to close a joint account we had opened a decade prior when she left for college. Since then, I have come to hate BoA, mostly because of the user-hostile policies that have netted them obscene amounts of dollars from this modest account through overdraft fees alone.

As we waited outside for the branch to open (at TEN O'CLOCK!) we joked that they will probably have to lay off several people once they realize this account is closed.

The door finally opened and we walked over to the counter to state our request. That simple act launched the most blatant and fascinating display of ass-kissing I have ever seen. Not only did the customer service rep act like everything LD said was the most fascinating thing he had ever heard (maybe it was?) but before he would hand her the magic slip that would allow her to withdraw her meager funds, he called over his supervisor to grill her, in a most friendly and concerned manner, about her hopes and dreams and goals.

Really?

Suddenly, after ten years of indifferent treatment and can't-win policies, BoA was now her Best Friend Ever! They Cared About Her and Her Life! It was a frightening yet wondrous thing to witness.

Those folks worked their asses off in a desperate attempt to keep her two-dollar-and-ninety-two-cent account. And they made sure we sat through their entire spiel, waiting for us to relent to shut them the fuck up.

But they lost. Eat shit and die, BoA. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.
 

Vogue

I could take a photo of her every day and they would all be hilarious.

What's going on in that brain, as she lays there and stares (and drools) for hours? Crickets chirping in the dark? The sound of howling winds racing across the empty plains?

Yeah. Gotta be something like that.
 

Diversions

How did I spend last night? Why, creating a WinXP virtual machine on my Macbook, watching Eureka, eating Kit Kats, and knitting, of course. Wasn't everyone?

No wonder I'm single. It's just easier that way.
 

Home again

In early September I moved the blog to Tumblr. I was certain the new and exciting Tumblr format would magically dissolve all my blogging blocks, much like each new and exciting Swiffer product will magically make me want to clean my house.

Yeah. It worked just about as well. Surprised?

So I'm back in my old, familiar Blogger home. I've moved most of the Tumblr posts (9/2 - 10/13) over here so you don't have to worry for a moment that you might have missed something, uh, interesting. I also turned comments back on. (I'm hoping the Mumbai escort services have forgotten about me.)

Unfortunately, my last Tumblr post still holds true, so here it is, slightly modified to fit the current venue:

I was afraid this would happen. I’ve hit the wall. I knew I had wa-a-ay too much energy after I got back from Boston, and I knew I would have to pay for that. And paying, I am.

I’m going to crawl into my burrow for awhile and, um, groom myself or something. Forecasts say it’ll be awhile before I am able to cough up anything new… aside from a random Facebook status update.

So keep the tender bits down and I’ll catch ya... eventually. I always do come back, eventually.

p.s. Oh, and you can breathe now. The rumbling from my Oct. 3rd post turned out to be just gas. I do still like the connection between blogging and IBS, though.
 

Star Trek Universe

Watching the first episode of Star Trek: Deep Space 9 from 1993. Just realized that the computer pads everyone is carrying look suspiciously like color Kindles.

Hmm…
 

She's gonna blow

I've decided that blogging is like having irritable bowel syndrome. Some posts are like explosive diarrhea: the pressure builds quickly until the moment you realize the shit is going to come out, ready or not, and it’s gonna have to go somewhere, regardless of quality.

Other posts start off normally enough, but something happens and the process s-l-o-w-s w-a-a-a-y d-o-w-n, causing it to gain mass and lose momentum until it culminates in a catastrophic event where the hard, dry, dense-as-a-collapsed-star turd must be birthed, even though you know it’s too big and will tear you asunder, or you will die.

We’ve known each other long enough that I feel comfortable sharing that there is blog post with the mass of a cantaloupe working its way through the pipes. No idea when it’s going to arrive, but you might want to don some protective gear.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
 

You may feel some discomfort

You’re going to want to eat as soon as possible, before it gets too sore.

— The orthodontist tech, after outfitting me with new wires approximately the diameter and flexibility of pencil lead.

The crypt-keeper

Lovely Daughter and I saw Freaky Friday the other day. As I watched the teen cavort and whine and snarl and generally act out in the mother’s body, I was somewhat mortified to realize that I act like that all the time. Being reminded that I resemble Jamie Lee Curtis didn’t exactly help my attempts at denial.

Who knew that anything featuring LiLo could be the source of such self-doubt?
 

Corn

Corn scares me. I like it to eat, but not to hang around in.

— Lovely Daughter, watching Harry and Ginny battle Helena Bonham Carter outside the Weasley mansion.

Today, I learned...

...that if you’re not looking, a chocolate glazed stick donut tastes just like its paler cousin. Comes in handy if they’re out of glazed stick donuts at 10pm. Which they usually are.
 

Lovely Daughter's big evening

With Bob the IV pole as chaperone, we casually strolled to the end of the ward, through the double doors, and over to the elevators. We scanned to be sure no one was watching, then punched the down button. When the door opened, we scooted inside, dragging Bob behind us. Rode down to the lobby, peeked out the door, then rode back up and strolled nonchalantly back to her room. We felt very wicked! Bob best keep his big yap shut, the snitch.
 

Reality bites

Is there anything sadder than sticking your hand in the bag only to find you’ve already eaten the last glazed munchkin?

I think not.

Tomato, tomato...

I say chili-mac, hospital cafeteria says American chop suey. I’m sure it will make an adequate turd either way.

Hard lessons learned the hard way from the School of Hard Knocks

This is a toughie. I reallyreallyreeeeally want to write about what’s been going on around here, and a couple of years ago I would have freely laid the whole thing out, whether you wanted to read about it or not, but I’ve got this notion bumping around in my skull that it might not be my story to tell.

That sucks because things to write about are hard to come by, you know?

But I do think that I can at least share my experiences, if I can find a way to do it without crossing some invisible boundary and violating privacy, blah, blah, blah.

So for the past five days I have been spending most of my time in a hospital room 2500 miles from home with my sick girl. There are actually two illnesses going on simultaneously, and progress has been see-sawing between the two. She’s been here over a week now, and still can’t have ANYTHING by mouth, not even ice chips. She was having ice chips last week and even graduated to the broth-and-jello diet for a couple of days until her body pitched a fit. So now it’s back to bag after bag of saline, and in between medication naps, begging me for "just one little ice chip..."

It really blows, but at least she’s no longer demanding to go outside for a cigarette. And she no longer believes she’s been kidnapped for medical experiments.

On another topic that may or may not be related in any way to what’s going on out here, I bought a bookto keep me from chewing the armrests of the plane seats on my trip out. It has turned out to be extremely educational and I firmly believe that anyone who drinks alcohol, might drink alcohol, or finds themselves furrowing their brows over someone’s relationship to alcohol (incl. their own) should read this book immediately. It’s that important. Especially if there’s a chance people with whom you share genetic material have/had issues in that general area.

Also, on another topic that may or may not be related in any way to previous topics in this post, did you know that what killed Amy Winehouse might have been alcohol withdrawal? Yes, stopping cold turkey without medical supervision can KILL your ass. Seizures, tachycardia, severe low blood pressure, hallucinations… it is terrifying stuff. Trust me on this one.

And, with alcohol consumption, can come other diseases to complicate things, like say, as a random example, acute pancreatitis. Another thing you do NOT want to fuck with. And you do not have to be a falling-in-the-gutter wino for decades to get these sorts diseases. The twenty-ton anvil can smear you to the pavement at any time. All it takes is for your body to get sick and tired of your shit, and that is unique to each individual.

So get educated and be safe out there, kids-of all-ages. Better to know the facts and not need them, than to worry for years, rationalize things based on severely outdated biases and data, expect people to exert control over behaviors they stand no chance of controlling, then get that phone call out of the blue.
 

Travel Essentials

The perfect travel evening. BTW, donut calories don’t count if you eat them in your jammies in a hotel bed. If you’re watching Miss Congeniality, you actually burn calories.

(I’m saving Hancock for later)
;)

Overheard

Scene: Watching original Star Trek episodes with Young Son

Capt. James T. Kirk: "Captain’s log, stardate blah blah blah..."

Young Son (shouting at the screen): "This is no time for a blog entry, Captain Kirk!"

Confessions

My name is Liz, and I’m a recovering yarnaholic. It’s been eight years since I de-stashed.

Today I walked into a yarn store and bought yarn. At full price.

I know I said I had quit for good, but I can handle it this time, I swear.

I can stop anytime I want.

The Sisterhood of The Ring

Hi, y'all! Sorry I've not been around. I've been spending way too much time on Facebook. If you get lonely, come on over! I post something there most days, mostly silly stuff.

Anyhooze, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I've written tons of blog posts in my brain but never seem to be able to get them to come out on the keyboard for public consumption. Which, for the most part, is probably a Good Thing.

But I'm stuck here at work today, my last day before an extremely rare WEEK-LONG vacation, made even more rare by the fact that I will be spending it with Evil Twin and her family. I'm so excited I could almost weep. However, I still have 7.5 hours to go at work... so here I am.

Been getting ready for the move. Admittedly, most (OK 99%) of my energy has been going into the new/old place -- a little remodeling and painting and garden rehab -- and I have fallen way behind on, um, packing. As in, I haven't even started yet. But I still have a month to go. Plenty of time, right?

A few months back, though, I had made some good progress in unearthing the floor of The Purple Room, the spare bedroom in the basement where Mr. B and I threw all the boxes of crap we didn't know what to do with. It was quite a fascinating project, since most of the stuff was his and I had never seen it before. What struck me the most was how most of the things we hang on to and drag around for decades lose all value the moment we pass, kinda like a new car becomes a used car the moment you drive it off the lot. I said "kinda"!

(But that's another blog post. Or maybe another blog?)

It was exceptionally difficult to play the stay-or-go game with items I knew nothing about. Why had he kept this? Where did it come from? Is there someone else to whom it might mean something? No idea. At the end of a long two days of sorting, I finally reached the last box. It looked like the upended contents of a dresser drawer. And at the very bottom, among the shirt buttons and pennies, was a ring.

You may remember (if I even told you) that I had lost Mr. B's wedding ring just a couple of weeks after he died. It sucked, but what could I do? Just had to get over it. But here was this ring, obviously sized for him. I knew right away what it was: the wedding ring from his first marriage. When we were ring shopping, I had asked him what his other one looked like and he had described it to me. And there it sat, in the very bottom of the very last box of his crap. Conveniently, it fit securely on my right thumb, so there it went. For some reason it made me very happy. I was convinced he had left it for me to find.

Now, Evil Twin and I had been fascinated by Mr. B's first marriage since the day we heard about it back in the early 90s. So he married this woman, at MIDNIGHT on a WEEKNIGHT because she said it was a good time based on their HOROSCOPES?? And he had only known her a couple of months?? That didn't sound like Mr. B at all. We were writhing with curiosity, but Mr. B was his usual circumspect self and we didn't learn anything more. Not even a photo.

Evil Twin didn't hear much from him after that, and by the time we all met for dinner in 2000, he was divorced. It was already history.

When he and I started dating, seven years later, I felt it was time to do a little probing on the subject. After all, Mr. B knew ALL about my first marriage -- he'd known The Ex almost as long as he'd known me. But once again, details were not forthcoming. I did get an idea of how the relationship went, and learned that he married her because he "thought it was about time" (he was in his late 30s) and she "seemed interesting". Also, she was "very acquisitive," implying that marriage was her decision and he just went along to be polite. (This was a recurring theme in his real-life interactions, BTW.) At one point he told me she was shorter than me, but that's the closest thing to a description I ever got.

I got a few relationship stories from him over time, particularly about how things wound down toward the end. As time went on, I gained insight into why, perhaps, she had reacted the way she had over certain things. There are two sides to everything, of course, and by that time I had realized that Mr. B had some, um, emotional deficits that made an intimate relationship... challenging.

Which is a lot like "interesting."

I thought about how he had described his reasons for marrying her. And I thought about how, in the early enchantment phase of our relationship, I did a little feminine-type fishing, hoping to hear how he felt about our relationship. You know, "you complete me" or some shit like that.

What I got was a long pause, a couple of eye-blinks, a furrowed brow, and finally he proclaimed, "It makes sense." No, not quite what I was hoping for.

This was in bed, mind you, not sitting at the kitchen table.

As I put these things together, I felt the blossoming of a kinship with the mysterious First Mrs. B. She had been in my shoes, poking around in that ginormous brain of his to see what was going on, what he was feeling. She, too, probably had come up with something other than what she had expected.

Oh, I feel ya, sister-wife.

Mr. B and FMB had parted on more-or-less amiable terms. He told me, a few months before he died, that he had seen her. She was working security at an office building where he had an appointment. They spoke briefly. I greedily pressed for details, but he didn't seem to think there was anything worth relaying. He just didn't get gossip, dammit!

So, then, everything else happened. And after all that, I still didn't know what FMB looked like. He did not have a single photo of her lying around. Not one, in any of the boxes I dug through. Hundreds of computer game disks, yes, but none of his first wife.

Which, I suppose, isn't surprising. I was fascinated by him and photographed him constantly, but that fascination did not appear to be mutual. I tried HARD not to take it personally. Yes, he was a photographer, but people simply didn't hold his interest. At one point I practically shamed him into taking some pics of me. Not proud of that, but my Inner Brat was stung, you know?

The last huge Mr. B-related task was dealing with all his slides and negatives. Thousands of them! He was, as they say in photography terms, a bracketer, and had been one back in Ye Oldyn Dayes of Fylm as well. Evil Twin, bless her little heart, volunteered to sort them and scan in the ones worth saving, if I could pack them up and ship them to her. It took awhile to pull it all together, but I finally shipped her THIRTY-FIVE POUNDS of slides and negatives.

An incredibly short time later, she started uploading scans. One of the first was Mr. B standing in front of some sort of scenic wilderness vista with a cute, petite, blond woman. Sent the pic to Nephew Dr. J for verification, but I already knew it was her, the FMB. The woman I had an awful lot in common with but will never meet. The woman whose wedding ring I am wearing on my right thumb.

I wonder if she even knows he died? She lives in The Big City. I published his obit there -- partially for that reason -- but did she see it?

Their relationship lasted maybe five years. Ours was three and a half. How would our relationship have gone if he was still here? Would I have been able to be OK with us "making sense"? Really, really be OK, knowing that what I felt and what he felt were two very different things? Not that there's anything wrong with that, I guess.

Well, we'll never have to find that out, will we? And, in a twisted, self-serving way, I'm thinking maybe that's a Good Thing.
 

Moving on back

So long story way short, I'm moving back into my previous house, the one I bought at the HEIGHT of the housing market and rented out when I moved in with Mr. B. It's too bad, really; Mr. B's house is a darling 1930s-era brick house but it's just too damned much work (and money) for me to deal with by myself. So it's back to my mid-90s cookie-cutter place. Where the home owners association cuts the grass. Oh yeah.

It's going to be a bittersweet farewell. Feels like the close of the last chapter in our relationship. I'll be right back where I was when we were just starting out -- we'd only been together about six months when I bought the place.

The tenants will be out in less than two weeks. I'm anxious to get in there, measure, and change things up a bit to mark this as a fresh start. There's really no rush, other than at some point the bank is going to want the keys to Mr. B's house back. I figure I have the summer to paint, move, and get settled.

As I am fond of telling everyone (repeatedly) this will be my fifth move in just under five years. I want my pin, dammit!
 

Break out the thongs!

Oh relax, I mean flip flops. Please.

It's Room Temperature Day, the first day of the year we hit 70 degrees. It's about effing time!

I didn't mark it last year, but RTD 2009 was April 5, and the year before it was April 12. Here we are at May 19th -- how wrong is that? Could be worse, but not by much. Someone on the teevee said that the latest date Sea-Tac Airport hit 70 was May 23, 2003. Cutting it awfully close, aren't we?

I'm not exactly encouraged by what this implies. Could be a green tomato summer around here.

Trust me, that's not nearly as much fun as it sounds.
 

Party On!

I've been feeling kind of bad for keeping comments turned off. Not feeling bad enough to turn them back on -- I could easily go the rest of my life without reading another comment from an escort service in Mumbai -- but I do miss hearing what you think, etc.

Also, I usually have a couple of completely inappropriate ideas each day that just don't quite qualify as blogfodder. I feel guilty for not taking the time to germinate them into full-fledged posts, but by the time I get around to it, the Shiny Bus has driven past again and I'm already on to The Next Thing.

I've been stewing over it and I think I have at least a partial solution.

Over on the left there you'll see a tiny pic of Little Lizzie. If you are on Facebook, and click the "Like" button, you'll see updates from my new Anyway, I Was Just Thinking page in your Facebook news feed. You can also visit the page, comment, sass me back, or whatever you like. If you're already one of my Facebook friends, be sure to "Like" the page as well 'cause you won't want to miss any of the ***Exclusive Content!!!***

Sorry, got a little carried away there. Anyway, I will be posting stuff there that you won't see here or on my personal Facebook profile. I suppose that means my personal profile is about to get a whole lot more boring.

How's that for a sales pitch?

If you're not currently on Facebook but don't want to miss the fun, you could set up a Facebook account with minimal information. You could go as far as to set up a spare email account on Yahoo or Gmail or Hotmail or whatever so you don't have to use your real email. We won't tell a soul. No one would ever know!

So join us! I've already acquired my first dozen "Likes", which means I'm well on my way to gathering my twelves of readers around me in Facebook Land.

What do you think? Come on over and tell me all about it.
 

Weird Shit That Has Happened To Me #2137: The Voice

For the last week or two, most mornings as I turned on the monitors, computer, desk lamp, etc., on my desk, I'd been catching the faintest sound of a snippet of a garbled voice.

I tried to pin it down, but as I eliminated possibilities my theories got more and more ridiculous. Were my speakers picking up a snatch of CB talk, even though they were powered off? My second monitor also has a built-in speaker, but it's not connected to anything. Could it be that? Is that even possible? Does my computer have some kind of weird virus that produces sound upon boot-up? Did someone hide a prank electronic toy in my office that somehow talks when I turn on my computer? Or maybe do I need to get my meds checked again?

But yesterday, as I turned on my desk lamp -- the one with the fancy full-color halogen (fluorescent?) bulb -- I heard The Voice. I happened to be looking in the exact right place at the right time and there it was: Sid, the talking fast-food toy.

I turned the lamp off, then on, then off, then on. Each time the lamp fired up, Sid obliged me with one of his snappy, unintelligible catchphrases.

I picked up Sid and rotated his left arm. He told me "everyone loves Sid." I smiled. No one was going to believe this. I needed to shoot some video! I set Sid back on the lamp base and pulled out my camera. Turned off the light, hit record, and turned the light back on.

Nothing.

I spent the next ten minutes trying to replicate the exact conditions. No joy. Sid just stood there. The moment of magic was gone forever; my opportunity for a once-in-a-lifetime video of an apparently unreproducible phenomenon shot all to hell on the whim of a plastic sloth.

Fuck you, Sid.
 

Dear Diary...

Dear Diary,

Braces, Day 2: I've made it through the whole morning without chomping through my cheek once! I guess that means it's going to be a good day. I wonder, is it bad to stick wax on every single bracket? Does wax stay in your stomach for seven years like gum?

Love,
Lizzie

Oh, how I wish I could say I wrote this thirty-eight years ago... but no. I confess that I have joined the legions of fifty-something-year-old women with braces. All I need is a Mini Cooper and a purse that cost more than my first car and the stereotype will be complete.

It kinda sucks, but I am thankful I don't have to wear a headgear this time. I am also thankful I am now old enough to drink, and for my small stash of (probably expired) prescription pain meds. Just in case, you know.

Another advantage this time around: Instead of metal bands around each tooth, I only have metal bands on the molars. Brackets are glued on the front of the other teeth. The ones on the top are even white! Disadvantage: The brackets are whiter than my teeth. Yeah, it's a good look. How good? Let's just say I won't need to worry about spending time on the dating sites any time soon.

As bad as it looks, it's still an improvement over last weekend. Thursday I had a bottom front tooth extracted to make room for the fun to come. Oh my. The first time I saw the result in the mirror I almost peed myself. It was horrifying. A school kid missing a front tooth is cute. Someone with an AARP card? Not so much. Longest weekend ever, waiting for my appointment to get wired. As bad as the braces look, at least they somewhat obscure the ginormous canyon behind my lower lip.

Yeah, it's self-imposed, and yeah, I'm lucky to be able to do it. But do you think for one moment that I'm going to pay all that money and not enjoy the opportunity to whine about it in public?

Buckle your seat belt, baby. Two years.
 

And the number of the counting shall be four...

(Yeah, that's a misquote from a Monty Python skit. That shit never gets old.)

So, are you sick of me saying "x years ago" yet? You're in luck, this might be the last time. But first we have to get through the last time, so bear with me. I'll talk fast and get through it as quickly as possible.

Four years ago today, Mr. B and I realized we were dating. The roller coaster took off and the wild ride began.

Not sure why, but today feels like the natural endpoint of that ride. Sure, next February anniversary season will begin again, but I think I'm done counting... at least out loud. At least maybe I will finally stop linking to those "Year Ago" posts.

(It's OK. I know you were thinking it.)

I've been practicing looking forward, and I'm starting to kinda like it. Maybe, eventually, I can even figure out how to get the funny back.

(I know you're really looking forward to that now, aren't you?)

(Don't answer that.)
:)
 

If at first (and second) you don't succeed...

Yep, I'm back on the dating sites. No, I don't know why.

Take that back, I know exactly why.

Nephew Dr. J and Br. B (Mr. B's brother) were up a couple of weekends ago to take care of some of Sr. B's stuff. I got to hang out with two fun guys all weekend.

Made me realize how much I miss guys. I always had guy friends when I was younger. I've always liked to hang out with guys. Being married to a sailor for decades had its upside in that regard.

It pretty much comes down to that: I miss guys.

Last time I tried, I realized I was trying to fill the Mr. B-shaped void. This time, somehow, I know it's different. I know it's just for me. I have no need to frantically search for love or jump right into an LTR. I simply want to go out and meet guys that I like. Let things go as they may.

Girls, even old ones, sometimes just wanna have fun, you know?

What a difference from four years ago, when the thought of even leaving my couch was overwhelming.

It's been a revelation, stepping into this from a much more, well, normal place.

Uh oh... do you think I'm finally becoming an adult?!?
 

So it begins

Four years ago last week I sent the email that started it all.

Five months ago last week it ended.

Four years. Seems like 100 years ago. Almost feels like it didn't happen to me. In a way it didn't, I suppose, since I am not the same person I was four years ago.

Believe me, that's a good thing.

On a completely separate topic, my chiropractor's been doing Graston Technique treatments on me, hoping to get rid of some low-level chronic back pain. The goal is to gently break up small adhesions, scar tissue, etc. that have formed in the muscles over the last half century years. It's a little uncomfortable and there's some soreness, and sometimes bruising, but the body heals up these small traumas and the muscles are supposed to regain more normal mobility.

(Yes, there's a point to that last bit. Wait for it...)

Four years ago it began. Five months ago it ended. It was traumatic. Got me some new scar tissue, on top of even older scar tissue. My emotional mobility is somewhat restricted right now, and there's some chronic, low-level pain. I could medicate, and while that's always fun, it wouldn't make it better.

What a ridiculously accurate metaphor, eh? Seriously, I couldn't fabricate anything better than that.

Speaking of fabrication, I tried to write a short bio the other day for a photo blog I'll be participating in. I realized if I tried to recount the events of the last four and a half years, no one would believe me. It sounds completely over the top, like a bad Lifetime movie.

I'm looking forward to a time when I can stop playing that bad movie over and over in my head, and maybe focus on what's ahead. Or even the present, but I'm not even sure I know how to do that.
 

Take two

Today's question: Something's shifted. The tone has changed. Do I start over with a new blog, or keep on with this one, even though, as far as I can tell, the funny (such as it was) has fallen out?

One reason to keep this blog is that it's been around for over three years, which is like 30 in internet years. Long enough for me to have become the target of spammers --guess that's some measure of, uh, success. I actually got pissed enough to turn off comments. Since I seem to be a bit of an attention-whore, that's a big deal.

I love knowing there's a teeny little audience out there. Will I post if there's no chance of getting virtual pats on the head in return? Tough one.

One reason to close this blog is the archives. Documentation of three insanely beautiful, agonizing, frustrating, exhilarating years of my life. It's an exquisitely painful reminder of getting what I always wanted, discovering reality rarely follows the scripts of our wildest dreams, watching it all slip away. Also, the realization that lightening won't strike twice. That was it-- that's all I get.

Sucks.

Do I stay or do I go? The answer? No clue. Can't wait to see how it all works out.
 

The Grand Experiment

Believe me, I tried, but I couldn't find a good enough excuse to get out of it.

I've set up some rules of engagement so I'm not just dangling in the breeze. No Facebook, although I do get email notifications when someone posts on my wall or sends a message. It would be rude not to read those, right? Personal email twice a day, morning and evening. Blog feeds in the morning, and the newspaper online. Videos and music are allowed, but no (gulp!) games. Also, I've decided blogging is allowed, since it's the closest thing I have to journaling. And everyone says journaling is good, right?

Sounds harsh, but it's not that far off from the way things were 15 years ago. Well, except for the blogs and newspapers and music and video...

OK, not really, but you get my point.

Yeah, I'm kinda scared. I'm not going cold turkey or anything, but the thought of all that TIME opening up has me feeling a bit agoraphobic. And we all know how much I love changes in my routine. Heh.

Three, two, one....
 

What would happen if...

...If I did not check email and Facebook 57 times a day? If I didn't spend more time than I care to admit banging out logic puzzles (aka bookkeeping exercises) on brainbashers.com?

I have a short attention span; we all know that. I'm the first to admit the interwebs is a wonderful toy for those of us who enjoy self-soothing with an infinite and constantly changing source of entertainment. But does being wonderful make it the right thing to do?

Time for baby to step away from the pacifier and see what happens.

I'm not talking about legitimate computer tasks. Hell, my entire work day is spent in front of a computer. I bank online. I still need to check email once or twice a day. Since I don't get a newspaper, I could probably even rationalize clearing my Google Reader feeds and checking the weather over my morning coffee.

It's the random, brain-sucking "gosh I'm bored... let's poke at the interwebs and see what falls out" kind of shit that's gotta cease, at least for awhile. In fact, instead of having four computers on 24/7 at home, I might even consider turning them off when I'm not actively using them. The temperature in my house would probably drop three degrees.

How does no Facebook, email only first thing in the morning and last thing at night (seriously, I only get about 5 emails a day) and (gulp) no computer games or blogging sound?

Sounds like it's going to suck, actually. But I am intrigued enough by what might happen when my brain doesn't have that digital sugar tit to latch on to to give it a go.

Obviously I'm not talking about a complete digital withdrawal here. I'm just wondering what would happen if I throttled my addiction to the interwebs back down to a more reasonable, 56K modem level. What kind of mental energy would that free up, and how would I choose to spend it, once I've gnawed the erasers off all my pencils?

February's short, and it's still far enough off to give me two weeks to invent reasons why I can't do it. Sounds like a plan!
 

Resolved!

Pal P, an avid and talented quilter, posted on FB that she is making a 'resolution quilt' of her goals for the new year. She listed a few of her resolutions,all very life- and health-affirming, and certainly suitable for quilting.

That got me to thinking, of course, about my own resolutions. I didn't make up a list this New Year's Eve but I do have a few life-tweaks I've been working on that I can lay down for you.

• No more deathbeds. 'Nuff said.


• Master the bass line of Llama by Phish (on medium, not expert!) in Rock Band 3. Have you heard that song?? Again, 'nuff said.


• Do poop patrol once a week. My lackadaisical attitude toward back yard sanitation is no big deal when it's cold, but that, ahem, shit gets problematic in the warmer weather.


• Do not tailgate. Yeah, I'm one of those, at least on 'my' stretch of highway between home and work. Historically, if you were driving one mph slower than I wanted to go in the fast lane, I would be all up in your ish, gar-on-teed. Sorry 'bout that. I'm working on it.


• Make my daily Diet Cokes mediums vs. larges. Gotta start with baby steps. I figure it will also aid in increasing the time between afternoon bathroom visits to something more than 15 minutes.


• Pare down to three computers at home (plus the iPad, of course.) Eventually I hope to get down to two, but again, baby steps.


• Clean out the purple room. This is the room in the basement where Mr. B and I threw all the stuff we didn't know what to do with when we combined households. I think there are enough office supplies alone in there to open a shop. Golly, we both loved us some office supplies... wonder what that means? Probably don't want to know.


• Reduce my max speed on the highway to 65 mph. I read/heard somewhere that reducing one's speed by 5 mph is equivalent to a price cut of thirty-seven-gobillionty dollars per gallon of gas. Or something like that. It also would keep me within ten percent of the speed limit, which seems prudent.


• Have fun once in awhile. Buying Rock Band (2, 3, and Beatles) for Chillaxmas this year was a start -- we had a blast playing it. Made me realize fun is something I could use more of.

Now wouldn't those make an awesomely-illustrated quilt?