keep calm and carry on

i was about six or seven when why my avi died. we were living in the united arab emirates at the time, and i remember seeing my mum take that phone call- all of it. we flew back to england for the funeral, it was cold, everyone was crying, i didn't want to be part of any of that.

my amma passed away when i was 17, i was at boarding school, i got the phone call from my mum, she was so upset, i couldn't say anything to make it go away, i knew she was overwhelmed by it all, i couldn't and wouldn't try and empathize with her, because then i had to deal with the concept that one day it would be her, and she would be me. so instead of going home that weekend, i went to my friend's birthday party- my mum told me i should go. then we had her funeral, i was there, we were all there, i felt the same way i did when i was six.

i am 36, today my dziadza passed away. he was old, he had been struggling with cancer, but he was one of those people who was just invincible. he got caught up in the chaos of world war two as a young boy; sent by train to siberia from poland, separated from his family. he fought for his country and for freedom for europe, he came to england with my babcia and married her at 16. he had some made for movie type stories.

i have a friend who's family get together for dinner twice a year- well, more than twice a year- but twice a year as the 'original five'; mum, dad and three girls. no spouses, no kids, just them; before all the major life stuff happened. she knows that some day there will be a place setting missing at the table. now that my dziadz is gone, i know this means everyone moves up a place. and i move back to my place of 'not thinking about it'.

committed to underachieving *

learning how to play bohemian rhapsody on the cello and singing the lyrics in mandarin seems rather a silly idea when you can just sit on the couch for 9 hours and read the complete works of bill bryson.

as such, i found myself pedaling with the 'bunco' group on wednesday night's road ride, quite comfortable in the diverse ecto/endo/meso demographic. not one to strive for excellence, it was reassurance enough to see an abundance of cotton athletic wear, bike helmets that belonged in "free styrofoam cooler with a 12 pack of bud light", in the beer cave at the local petrol station-- and even a kick stand or two.

not unlike my performance on tuesday night 'cardio crack at the track', i am more comfortable hanging back with my new buddy "kickstand", dodging potholes (road cellulite being more hazardous to the long term appearance of skin than a gallon of haagen dazs), and not overtaxing the pulmonary artery, it's associated ventricles, or the city to finance an ambulance plus crew.

predictably (in much the same way, that drawing and labeling the different types of triangles in lower level maths class finally had me gagging for sines and cosines the next group up), i started drifting ahead towards the next set of pedaling bottoms. this in itself presents a new learning moment as i appeared to miss the "i'm going to move to the left, so now you ride up front and shield me from the bugs/take a pull" cue.

i have officially upgraded from 'bunco' to 'canasta'.



* "sandbagger"** being the more technical term.

** given the presence of spandex, ergo "saddlebagger".

if you're not careful, you'll go blind

i don't have to see my final result to know that i failed the exam. on the brighter side, at least it was neither a "first response" nor a "congratulations, you're not pregnant, but here's the real reason why you're feeling a bit off down there" type of test. the overwhelming sense of failure at not being able to read the "easy" letter is worse than letting the bank teller see you are unable to identify which cluster of digits on your cheque is your bank account number. fortunately, much like a chlamydia-free diagnosis, the silver lining is that i am not yet destined for old lady bi-focals.

as far as my traumatic childhood experiences can be stretched to excuse the chronic avoidance, visits to the optician are staggered on much the same schedule as pelvic exams and equally pointier and scrapier dental probes.

after a series of puffs of air, flashes of traffic lights, and photos taken of the back of my ocular cavity that looked like red water balloons, the final diagnosis was that i had almost reached the glass ceiling of visual deterioration. the prescription had gone up to: "you are like a bat in the daylight that has had vaseline smeared across it's corneas". followed by an equally miserable treatment plan: "please walk this way to consult with our frame expert who will then set you up with a super cute, and super over priced pair of glasses (with anti-reflective, UV protectants that the people at NASA use), and for an additional $149.99 we can shrink the thick as watermelon skin lenses into svelte little onion peels".

he did mention that due to my level of myopia, annual visits would be reccomended as i was at a higher risk for something with far too many syllables for me to remember later and obsessivley google.

at least i already have the yellow dog, which will be great if i'm ever trying to hunt down a tampon under the ottoman.

no fear

fight or flight does not appear to exist as an option for me, more like "deer in headlights". avoiding based on fear doesn't seem to get much more accomplished than freezing life and frustrating self and others. i had originally decided that 2008 would be my year of "comittments" (resolutions are futile) and this will be my year of the marathon. however, perhaps more appropo is letting go of fear. the trite bumper sticker for "life is..." phrases regarding risk taking and chances are billboard size at the moment.

sometimes, for some people, there are the 'einstein in a bathtub lightswitch eureka moments', for others, at other times, it is a more subtle 'dimmer switch oh wow i just noticed i got pubic hair' moment. as a fanatic planner, who has historically (note the past tense) used planning to avoid, the present and future, not having a defined set of criteria to cross off in the process of letting go can be somewhat anxiety provoking. if all else fails...there must be a book somewhere that can tell this idiot "how to".

this past christmas i did not get to go "home" to "family" (of origin), i had always wondered how this would affect any future marriage partnership/family, but perhaps it was less about the spouse sucking it up and more about re-prioritizing for the appropriate (worthy) spouse. i spent christmas without my parents- we all survived. granted i do not intend to repeat 07 as my new annual tradition. but it is time for new traditions.

i no longer have a valid passport. i am trapped. rather i was unable to leave, but had a chance for a new beginning.

knickers that homeless people and tramps would be ashamed to wear have now been banished from my wardrobe. whether others get to see them in the dryer/machine/on the floor is irrelevant. nice undies are like the shampoo advert; "i'm worth it".

i spent over $100 on make up (not at walgreens). i have not replaced my make-up since my roomate from grad school moved back to florida aeons ago. make up is "supposed" to be replaced every 6 months; mine was no doubt a breeding ground for all kinds of fungus. with that, the holly-hobbie-dress-up-purse-posing-as-a-make-up-bag-with perfume-stains-and-disintegrating-sponge-because-i've-had-it-since-i-was-small(er)-and-lived-in-south-africa was thrown out.

i no longer have the need to hold onto objects, whether symbolic or actual. i have been hanging onto a couch, a kitchen table, an annual holiday, a place, a name. however, holding onto too many things means there are no hands available to hold onto anything new; or another hand.

the dimmer switch is fully set to light. and it is such a relief to be able to see clearly.

"this is why you (should) have a husband"

i tend to manage my money the way i do my health; ignore it and everything will be fine. my checking account is overdrawn, i have been charged a tonne in overdaft fees. this is not how cancerians are supposed to function. according to the "star sign in 4 sentences or less" bible, we are a financially conservative breed who snuggle nightly with their piggy banks. although i only take vitamins when i am starting to get a cold/remember/have the urge to.

i am a moocher, just not in the orange county housewife "buy me a fur coat with LV branded into the cuffs" way. rather, the "take care of my basic needs/problems that i could probably figure out after about 3 hours of head scratching and fuming" kind of way. last week i was sitting-in-traffic-to-work, when another motorist pointed out that my front tyre was very low on air. once at work, i confirmed the diagnosis, however my "go to for anything vaguely related to stuff guys are supposed to fix" co-worker, was away at a training. so i drove rather slowly to a whole building of men who were "trained to fix". female deprivation and/or working at an auto shop with only ted/bill/bob/rick for company, had a rather helpful chap named "shaun" (his embroidered shirt said so), impersonating nascar pit crew for me.

crappy financial planning/management aside, i need to write down what the psi should be on my tyres, buy a pressure gauge and learn how to use it (again). because if i do not do something frequently and repeatedly (multiplying fractions would be a prime example; aren't they the ones you flip and then just add, or is that when you divide?); i forget. however, this behaviour never held true in my decision to keep trying to live with yet another (drug/religion/sex addicted) roomate.

"shaun" gave me his tyre gauge, and told me i could come back monthly and he would check them for me. i wonder how good he is at doing taxes.

try these shoes on for size

it is not until you walk in someone elses shoes can you truly know what the corny, smelly stench of discomfort is that they go through; denial and super strong odour eaters do not mask this. in the past week i have been on both ends of this, and i am starting to feel someone else's sweaty feet. it is easy to run around with a friend and enjoy your time, but there are other people connected and those people have size 6's or size 11's too. it is easy to blank things out when you have set boundaries with others and know that nothing untoward will happen. it is easy to run around doing random errands in your own shoes.

i generally prefer not to wear shoes, and when i do, they are usually mine (unless i borrow my mothers, a tangent not to be addressed at this point), however, as a child i did play dress up try on big grown up shoes, and they were uncomfortable. something to keep in mind.

not all picket fences are created equal

i once broke up with a boyfriend because i pictured us getting married, moving into a McMansion (he was a banker), in the Mc'Burbs, where i would drive a mini van, pop out a few kids, drive them to school, get my french manicure touched up weekly, meet friends for lunch, get depressed, go on prozac and have an affair. he is now living the dream (my nightmare) with someone else. at the time i was not ready for settling down, therefore my worst case scenario was inevitable.

in the past two weeks i have been to the aforementioned neighborhood and was once again, royally turned off by the prospect of these neat and orderly picket fences. i have also been on a rather cool arts and crafts lined street in the highlands. i was painting a garage and sneaking peeks next door at 2 little girls playing on the back deck, golden dog running amok. the house was hard wood floors, fireplaces and built in window seats.

i am not a McFence girl, but this would also involve being with a McBoy to build said fence.

name, address & emergency contact information

in the past week i have filled out numerous forms for a variety of medical and employment related things. i am pig sick of listing my job history, dates, duties, supervisor's contact info and blood type, but i can do this by rote. today i stumbled and stared at the paper for several minutes when i got to the permanent address; i dont know.

my address book is filled with scratched out addresses of peripatetic friends i cant keep up with, i have become that person, except i am not able to keep up with myself either. unfortunately, i don't think my emergency contacts are able to, its rather nice being able to name who will be called to find out that you've been in a car wreck.

abstinence

addictions are a new and exciting way to add a little drama to both your, and your loved one's lives. irrespective of the form, booze, relationships, star wars action figure collectibles, they are as difficult to eradicate as a fresh outbreak of gonnorhea (so i've heard). there is a multi pronged approach for treating addictions, one of which is abstinence; the first darth vadar leads to a moving parts jabba on the toilet.

i am mildly uncomfortable with the concept of abstinence (isn't that just "avoiding", and shouldn't i be working on my avoiding issues?!). abstinence means not re-exposing yourself to the source or the triggers- where do i sign up for my lobotomy? abstaining feels like giving up a big chunk of the time you spent being a certain entity and identity, which is fine for the not so healthy stuff, but it feels a waste to throw the baby out too. it is easy to perseverate on the negative to self, doing so to your addiction feels like a betrayal of loyalty, its not the whole truth, not all was bad, i wouldnt have been as addicted for as long if there wasn't some positive re-enforcement, right?

what just happened?

you can start the day off with no defined plan aside from the usual; brush teeth, do laundry, check email, and somewhere it morphs into a line of dominoes you had no idea would start toppling, but once they do, they just do. you dissociate and autopilot kicks in, and then everything is different. it feels different, and you cant think of it the way you did "before". the problem with things happening when they are not "part of the plan" is you were not prepared with how to deal with the problem. now what?

i (still) know how to take care of my oral hygiene.

waiting

i am a born "waiter" (not the kind that brings you an entree). i think it is a british cultural-behavioural throwback. the stereotype being that they will wait patiently in the queue to; buy a pint of milk while the mother with a set of hyperactive triplets is unable to locate her preferred customer card, or visa, finally having to dig out her chequebook, is then unable to locate a pen, or new cheque, while redirecting little timmy to not open the cereal just so he can play with the limited edition disney toy...

there are grants used to identify how much time the average person spends doing a variety of mundane and routine things from sitting on the toilet to trying to find the remote control. in an average day there is an awful lot of waiting that goes on; waiting for the coffee, waiting for your turn in the bathroom once you've had coffee, waiting for the shower water to go from polar to scalding. waiting for other people to do something is particularly popular with the passives; to hear back from prospective employers, for someone else to make a decision, call, a move. delaying gratification is a useful tool in a nice shade of grey, however when it becomes a lifestyle you have no business looking down on the non-delayers.

patience is a virtue (apparently). cinderella waited, and she got to exchange floor scrubbing for palace living. sleeping beauty at least got some rest, albeit 100 years, til her "reward" came along...i must find a non-fairy tale/happily ever after/prince charming as reward example.

hermit crab

hermit crabs scuttle around with their home on their back, until they outgrow and discard it for another one (or a 10 year old decides to "coax" them right out of their shell at the beach in saudi arabia).

last year i lived out of my suitcase. in may i flew from bahrain to louisville, packed up, drove to san diego, flew to louisville, drove to greenville (wedding), flew to london, drove to oxford (meeting), drove to cambridge (brother's house), drove to oxford (another wedding), drove to cambridge (back to brother's) drove to london, flew to san diego. i felt like a cheap hooker, i barely spent more than one night in the same bed, let alone the same city.

history appears to be repeating itself, except now my suitcases are in my car, which has transported them across country to louisville. now if i need a clean pair of knickers i open my trunk/wardrobe. friends are telling me that they are jealous that i can/did just pick up, pack up and left; they have mortgages, jobs, responsibilities. i am starting to wish that i did have a home with a front door to close (and not just to switch the interior light off).

i think perhaps it is time that i got a mortgage.

broken glass

there is plenty to look at on pacific beach between the "housewives of orange county" bimbettes with their pot-bellied sugar poppas, fat frat boys, retirees on cruisers, and 4 year olds who had insisted on wearing their super hero halloween costume complete with muscles. i was walking in the sand enjoying the ferocity of the waves crashing from my dry and safe distance until i saw a piece of broken beer bottle (which i tsk! tsked! and picked up). i continued walking for about 10 minutes when i realized i was now engrossed in scouring the sand for more glass that might puncture other peoples' feet.

ouch.

anthropomorphization

chameleons change their colours to blend in with the surrounding environment. crabs scuttle sideways to get to/avoid something in their path. puffer fish swell up to volleyball size proportions.

contrary to popular belief, ostriches do not bury their heads in the sand. the closest they get is to lay their long necks flat on the ground so that they become less visible, i would imagine the human version of this is the small child who rolls up into a ball in the corner and covers their face- if i cant see you, then you cant see me. ostriches also have those powerful legs; great to run away from any situation!

down the rabbit hole

chasing elusive white rabbits,
playing croquet with hedgehogs,
tea parties!

i must have been smoking something with the caterpillar on his toadstool...
i closed my eyes, i jumped.

"i'm late!"



(am i too late?)

happily ever after

picket fences
puppies

a big black hole, a blank
surprise!


safety & security


i want to be surprised, a big crackerjack box surprise.
until
you see his little clown face slowly bobbing
until
he stops

(please can i open another?)

how do you pick "happily ever after" when you want to be surprised? do you pick, then the surprise is the journey; connecting the dots along the way

thats no surprise

you know where youre going to end
up

pot: "youre black". kettle: "youre a procrastinator"

i am sick; stuffed up, dripping, raspy, throaty, sore, lightheaded, dizzy, disoriented. either a drunk, old homeless dude or a postmenopausal drag queen with several decades of nicotine addiction tucked under her belt. i went to rite aide this evening to pick up something that would knock both me and the germs i am trying to evict, out for the count. the seasonal shelves had been pillaged, it was a wasteland until the valentine card aisle, where it suddenly looked like the outdoor grilling section at home depot.

talk about leaving things up until the last possible moment. i am a hypocrite, i procrastinate on far too many things, case in point; i do not take vitamin c UNTIL i get sick. now i am sick i cant find the bloody bottle from last time because it's been so long.

we're off to see the wizard

the wizard of oz is chock full of symbols and archetypes, i personally covet
the magical transportation powers of the red shoes, a "must have" accessory.
how easy to click your heels and presto. the yellow brick road; it clearly
leads to oz, which ultimately leads to home. all the silly girl has to do is
follow it, and even if she were colour blind or directionally challenged she
has a posse of oddballs to help sort her out.

sometimes there is the obvious smoothly paved road to oz/home, so much
easier and less likely to twist your ankle than the dusty, pebbled dirt road
complete with tumbleweeds blowing across it. this road is invariably
accompanied by "cue scary movie music" as the silly heroine proceeds
forward, while you scream helplessly at the screen "you idiot, how could you
be so stupid, isn't it obvious?!" she then winds up enduring all manner of
"could have been avoided unpleasantness". however she reassuringly makes it
through to the final credits, hair mussed up and a "new", sexy ripped up
version of what she started off wearing.

31 flavours

whether it's ice-cream or the thai restaurant, i will invariably alternate between two things on the menu. as we all know too much choice is overwhelming and frought with indecision. being presented with just a single option is frustrating in a helpless and limiting sort of way. however, how frustrating it is to have to decide between the rock/hard place, or the chocolate fudge brownie and the mocha chip swirl. there is the recommendation by those around you who are trying to be helpful and supportive to "go with your gut", however if you have been cogitating too much, then you usually have a stronger feeling of indigestion. pros/cons, weigh all the options, follow your heart; these are other useless platitudes. no longer are we told what to do, as children, and particularly teenagers we can blame others for the decisions made for us. however, as adults we can take credit for the ones we make for ourselves. thank god for edy's slow churned french silk.

mlk

this is another american public holiday, or "excuse for a day off work" that i've never participated in the formal sense, aside from having a paid freebie. regardless, it has become something of a unique day in the sense that i have found myself making bookshelves from scratch to hiking in caves. tomorrow i will go to work as i have for the other public holidays, however i too will be thinking about things that i need to be said and done in order to be at peace with myself and others.