It's a Blog's Life

It must be the heat.

Last summer, I was a blogging fool. I had actually built up a following! Of two people, mind you, one of whom was an Indiana-based stalker, but that's beside the point. She needed someone to aspire to be, and I like to think that I gave her a good example. By-and-by, however, in typical Gemini fashion, I wandered away from the blogosphere.

But now it's summer again, and the punishing sun here in the desert is exacting its terrible price that we pay to live here. On the first day of summer, we maxed out at about 115 degrees. In the face of such terrible weather, I unfailingly retreat to the comfort of our condo. Once inside, I turn the air down (now that I think about it, our electricity bill is the terrible price we pay to live here), draw the blinds, and keep the home as dimly-lit as possible.

And then my fingers get a metaphorical itch. I want to revive my blog, I want to develop an online presence, blah blah blah. It should be as simple as type, edit, post...and maybe it is that simple. But at this moment in time, it's not. I think I am just overthinking it. Do my posts have to follow orderly themes; do I have to limit my posts to one time a day; should I restrain from making the occasional political commentary?

Does it fucking matter? Aside from using correct punctuation and grammar, shouldn't my only goal simply be to get it out there? Since when did I give a frickety-frack if people liked me or noticed me? (Well, I'm sure I've always cared; I am certain we all want to be liked or well-regarded. If you say no, I say "liar!") But that's beside the point. It's my space. Without all the perverts and lousy bands. So, I suppose this is my blog's kingdom. My blog's domain. It's a blog's life. It's my blog's life.

Coming Up For Air

Once again, the Prodigal Blogger returns.

No particular reason for my absence, other than the normal laziness and business that seems to occupy my days in equal measure. My work hours are long and filled with lots of tasks, and that means I spend my off-hours engaged in pointless frivolity, resenting and avoiding any tasks that are expected of me on a habitual basis. Laundry, phone calls to family and friends, blogging, dishes--if it is expected of me, it pisses me off.

Still and all, I always come back. Maybe I am a hopeless Gemini, or maybe I have not yet found my groove in the blogosphere. When I put some thought into it, it occurred that there were many things I wanted to write about--my work and profession, my California life, my wishes and dreams for my "ideal life", various creative projects, my willy-nilly attempts at housekeeping, all the little things that make my life so damned lucky...little by little, I am trying to formulate a plan and see how my blog can bear fruit. Or at least be a reflection of my life. I'm not giving up.

Stay tuned for more details!

I hear voices

Not literally, thank god. 'Cause that would suck, royally. But there's been this voice in my head, for a very long time. Back during my Indiana years, my heaven-sent talk therapist helped me to identify it as my "fear voice." I am pretty sure that everyone has a fear voice. And it is not only part of their life, it is part of them.

My fear voice is one of the many things that compose my identity. It's the voice that is always there, at the back of my mind, positively (or, perhaps I should say, negatively) screaming whenever I undertake...well, anything. It's the voice that screams "what's the point? You'll never be good enough/creative enough/attractive enough/driven enough/patient enough." Whenever I want to do something, that voice is there, nay-saying me. It was there tonight, when I was trying to play around with some of my art supplies.

"What's the point? You can't even coordinate these colored papers and cardstocks! Forget layering them in an attractive and original way!"

"What's the point? You can't even successfully lift a design from someone else, let alone come up with an original sketch all your own!"

"What's the point? You can't even master techniques with tutorials, let alone come up with your own variations on the same! Let alone think up an entirely new technique with different mediums!"

"What's the point? You can't even teach yourself or learn the technical skills of drawing, of shading, or color blending! Forget trying to render an original work!"

Hello, world. Welcome to my head, where it's a veritable feast of ugliness day after day. Is it merely a subconscious, self-inflicted cop-out, to keep myself from trying or doing anything new?

My sisters and I have this quirk--we have this thing, where we don't like to try or do anything new without being GREAT at it immediately. We don't want to make the mistakes, smudge the paper, muddle the paints, miss the pitch. We just want to be perfect at it, without even trying. Practice makes perfect, but we'll be damned if we do that. Only, it does not work like that. (Damn the logic, anyway). But...what if you practice and still don't get perfect? Or what if you are perfect at the technique but still don't have the originality to do your own thing with it

But...maybe it should not matter if it is any good, either immediately or after three years of trying. Maybe it should just matter that I did it at all. That I tried. That I kept on keepin' on. But is that enough to shut that voice up?

Auld Lang Syne, My Ass

So, two days into the new year, and what do you think I've been doing? Conducting the approximately 8 years of research on my novel? Washing the 20 articles of hand-wash only clothing (dear god, why do I have such high-maintenance taste in clothing? It's KOHLS, for chrissakes)? Throwing myself with massive dedication into Operation Get Skinnier than Jim? At the very least, reading something in the condescendingly self-help genre?

Oh-ho. One can only wish.

The fact of it is, my ass is fused to my mattress. And my recently-dyed red mop of hair is leaking and ruining my Pottery Barn Euro Sham. (Turns out I don't care much for my duvet set, so I don't complain too much.) I'm into, like, Day 15 of Epic Sinus Infection of 2011, and I am perilously close to losing the will to live. So forget trying to keep any of my resolutions. Instead, I've been almost a complete layabout, watching Eat Pray Love and reading the Julie/Julia Project and Pioneer Woman blogs.

Shit. 2011 is going to be the Year of Vicarious Living, darn it.

All is not completely lost. I did cuddle my cat Austen a fair amount, stowed away a lot of the Christmas stuff, vacuumed, swept, did dishes, and folded laundry. I even bathed. That's a LOT to ask of a sick girl! And I'm not done, either. I shall do more laundry, and paint my nails, and maybe file some papers. And then I am going to fix a vodka tonic and the last of the gumbo and get ambitious and fuse my ass to the couch.

Whatever 2011 will be, I fear that 2011 is not be the Year of Ambitious Living.

All is Quiet on New Year's Day

They say to be careful of what you're doing at New Year's, because you'll do it all year...

If that's the case, I will be spending the entire year laying on the couch, sick with a sinus infection...but I will also be spending it pleasantly buzzed, chatting it up with my new friend Missi (nickname: Missile) while Himself watches movies blasting on the surround sound.

There are worse ways to bring in the New Year, indeed.

After staying up far too late, talking far too long, and drinking far too much champagne and wine (but damn, that Manina Cabernet, Vintage 2009--can 2009 be vintage, or am I being pretentious?--was good!), I tumbled into bed and passed out. This morning I woke up to a legendarily gorgeous desert morning and set to work; I was expecting friends over for a Vision Board Party, and there was precious little time to prepare the house...

...Yes, that's right, a vision board party, you read that right. It's a combination of an idea ganked from Rhonda Byrne's The Secret, and my friend, Sailor-Lovin' Shauna. She had a vision board party once, the idea stuck with me, and now lo and behold, I now actually have enough friends that were game for it.

So we laughed, we drank more champagne, we cut and paste and encouraged each other and eventually, the first day of the new year passed and four of us ended up having poster
boards with representations of our desires and goals for the year. And the entire time, as I was snorting and snotting and sniffing and blowing my nose, I was also secretly reveling in this lovely way to spend New Year's Day.

My boss made a remark to me last week, something along the lines of, "You're putting down roots here, like it or not." And she's right. As evidenced by the fact that I finally got one of my sisters out here to visit me, as evidenced by the fact that I have all of these people in my life, as evidenced by the fact that I consider my colleagues my family, as evidenced by the fact that I am going into my third year living in the same city (that has not happened since I was in my early 20s), I am indeed settling down. I think that's what 2011 is going to be for me, the year of Roots. They are going to grow deeper.

And I am going to grow happier.

New year and new day

You'd think I would learn.

After all of the new planners, new purses, new notebooks, new organizers, new lists, new plans, new projects, new "leaves", you think I would learn, a leopard doesn't change its spots...

Does it?

A very wise friend of mine once said, "We reinvent ourselves every day." I like the optimism in that; I like the possibilities that are inherent in that statement. To that end, one should embrace not "New Years resolutions" but "New Day Resolutions."

But still, New Year's IS all about the hope, the changes, the possibilities. So while I'm not going to say "I resolve to do these things", I am going to say "This is what I'd like to make happen in the year ahead." And then maybe, day by day, I will reinvent myself.

(Although, I have to say, I do rather like myself and my life. I'd like to think I don't suck too much.)

And so, let's crack open a bottle of champagne and contemplate our navels, our lives, our new days, our new years!
______________________________________________________________

Health and Beauty:

• "Get skinnier than Jim" (in other words, my eldest sister and I have to see our biological father this summer. The man is a scrawny--and boringly healthy-- little...fellow...and both of us weigh more than he does. He already views himself as superior; we don't wish to give him any more ammo.)
• Establish a solid, consistent beauty routine.
• Vitamins, medications, and water. 'Nuff said.
• Look into getting serious work done on my sinuses. It might be time for surgery.

Creativity

• Do the Artist's Way, goddammit
• Blog at least three times a week
• Finish "Home Front"
• Write a piece on Indiana
• Finish the Indiana and wedding scrapbooks
• Take an acrylics class
  

Finances

• Stick to the budget
  
• Pay off that (thankfully wee) bit of credit card debt
• Have enough money set aside to pay off the car in March 2o12
• Do the "envelope system" for indulgent purchases
  

Family and Friends

• Say less, more
• Cultivate friendship with Missi
• Call grandparents at least twice a week
• Solidify Indiana relationships
• Be mindful of my position as a wife to Himself (basically, he's becoming much more of a public figure, which means I am along for the ride. And it's a very small town.)
  
• Be more supportive and patient with Himself

Professional

• Again, say less, more
• Keep the desk nice and tidy
• Cultivate more patience and tact
• Seize moments of leadership as they arise

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Well, I'm about to be on to my second glass of champagne e. And I lift it up to all of us--may 2011 be the year of re-invention!

Thankful Thursdays, Part 2

There are some moments that you just want to be seared onto your brain, to be stowed away, safely, in your memory, untouched by time or forgetting. Tonight offered me one of those moments.

Through my entire worklife, I have been blessed with a number of jobs that I enjoyed, that provided me with a swarm of caring colleagues, tolerant supervisors, and helpful mentors. Time and time again, I've landed on my feet and gone to work happy, looking forward to the day. My current job has followed the same pattern. I jokingly call one of my bosses "mom" from time to time, the guy that sits across from my cubicle is my "little brother" (he's a week younger than me), and my team of reference librarians (all of whom are at least 30 years older than me) I view as a host of amused, kind aunts and uncles. They've nurtured me, taught me, encouraged me, held me in check, I daresay from time to time protected me. We're a team.

Once a month, we have a meeting at work, and go out for dinner afterward. Tonight, we went to a local Mexican restaurant, where we knocked back some margaritas, swapped gossip about libraries in the region, ate, and listened to a rather loud mariachi band. The music and singing were a little annoying at first (especially when you're trying to hear your former boss tell your current boss who just got a major position elsewhere in the county), but once the margaritas cast their spell, the music brought in its own magic.

At one point, the band moved over to us and began leading a bawdy song with a chorus that
went :

Guacamole!
Guacamole!
We were making guac-a-mole all night long!

I looked around at my "mom" and my aunties, all of them smiling, singing, warm in the low light of the restaurant, their faces so beloved and familiar to me, and I thought my heart would break of happiness. The moment was priceless, beautiful--fleeting.

But it's imprinted here, and in my brain, and it will be one that I shall not let go.