11.2 ~ The Suite Life

Today's writing prompt, courtesy of BlogHer: If you could live anywhere, where would it be?

Psh. That's easy.

I would live in a hotel. Seriously. I could say I'd live in Hawaii or on a vineyard Napa Valley or in one of those cute huts with a glass floor that sits on the end of a long pier over clear blue water in Fiji - all of which would be incredibly lovely. I would still choose a hotel.

I love hotels! C'mon ~ welcomed warmly upon my arrival, a cute boy holds the door and helps me with my bags/luggage/stuff, there's a bar, there's a restaurant, there's a king-size bed. I like all of these things! I'd live in a modern and beautiful hotel, of course ~ overstuffed chairs in the lobby, flat-screen TVs, gorgeous fresh flowers in huge vases, black and white photos and abstract art work on the walls, free wifi, private cabanas with bar service around the rooftop pool. Ahh, ain't this the life?

If I'm being honest, what I love most about hotel living is no responsibility. Need something? Make a phone call - BOOM! - it comes to you. Dirty dishes? Leave 'em outside the room - BOOM! - gone. Someone to clean up after me. Make my bed, leaving extra pillows. Tidy up where I've left a messy trail.

Whoa! Wait a minute. This almost sounds like I want to live at home with my parents. Uh, no thanks. Don't get me wrong - I love my parents! It's funny how when I show up my mom all of a sudden needs something/anything/everything off the top shelves or out of the highest cupboards. At 6'2", I am my 5'5" mom's living step-stool :)

So, I'll take the suite life, thankyouverymuch!

If you could live anywhere, where would it be?

Enter Sandman

I've taken to sleeping with lights on again. I wouldn't be so bothered if I wasn't already sleeping with the television on. The TV is a pacifier, a companion. The lights? Well, I just don't know.

I've become very close with Insomnia. We were inseparable for quite a while. I'd have fleeting dalliances with Sleep. But, Sleep is so elusive. Just like cookies for Santa, leaving the television on brought Sleep back to me. Aww yeah. Reunited and it feels so good! It was the 3 of us every night.

Leaving a light on started a couple of weeks ago. I don't recall anything of great significance happening, any sort of 'trigger' or what have you. THAT is as puzzling as why I get such comfort from sleeping with a light on.

First, I sought comfort in the lamp on my nightstand. The lowest setting of the 3-way bulb didn't cut it. The brightest setting was too much - it was hot and quite bright and I slept horribly. The middle setting was almost perfect. I tossed and turned that night, waking every hour or so to check the light, check myself.

The second night of the second setting of the 3-way bulb and I felt this was going to be okay. It was going to have to be okay. I woke up, restless and sweating. Oh, those summer nights! A cold washcloth outta do the trick. So, it's back to bed with coolness on my neck. I slept, unmoved, until my alarm went off at 6:30a. That's it! A cold compress on my neck solved my sleep problem. Huzzah!

Until I noticed the dressing room light was on.

That night, I slept with the two lights on and no cold compress. Again, I slept, unmoved, until my alarm went off the next morning. And I've been sleeping like that ever since.

I might try sleeping without my glasses on next.

But, one step at a time, folks. One step at a time.

random sad thoughts and questions today

Special work presentation today of all the movies slated to be released this year. One of the trailers we watched was for Cloud Atlas. It looks beautiful and intriguing and confusing and trippy. And, a particular scene had tears welling in my eyes.

Not because it was sad or particularly emotional...Halle Berry was reading someone else's letters, reading someone else's story - very 'killing me softly'...and as I watched, I wondered who will tell my story? Who will speak of me? Who will share my stories? Who will I share my stories with? This made me incredibly sad and pained.

I thought about Father's Day, all of us sitting at my sister's house that afternoon. My dad asked us to share our memories of him. So, we did. My sister told some of her favorite Dad stories - busting her when she was on phone restriction; the one with all the report cards under the mattress; the one where she lost me in Sears. Then, my nephew chimed in with 'Mom, tell the one about your watch!' We all laughed - my niece and nephew have heard all of these stories over and over and over again. Enough to obviously have a favorite one to hear.

Who will tell my espadrille story? Who will remember the songs from the pageants? Who will know that Grandma made lemon meringue pie without meringue for my birthday every year? Who will I tell? Who will tell for me?

A is for Anything

I've done several NaBoPoMo's. I've done Instagram's Post a Picture Every Day in February. I've even done 30 Days of Music. Now, thanks to Kelly over at Southern Fried Children, I'm all about the A to Z blog post Challenge.

In the name of motivation, I'm pretty much down with anything.

DIY Hair Color

This morning, I found a stray eyebrow hair. So, I put on a headband and I was mortified! Tons of gray. TONS! I was going out of my house looking like this?! And no one told me?! Gee, thanks, "friends" - appreciate it.

Suddenly, I felt old. My shoulders rolled forward, my back hunched over, I was cold, and my arthritis was acting up.

When I got to my office, I closed my door, laid out my tools, propped up a mirror and did what any self-respecting roots-showing girl would do - colored my hair.

I'm feeling much better, thank you.

Girl of 100 Lists - 2011.

family

two weeks in Hawaii

shark dive

third row for Duran Duran

a weekend of the Fixx

an 80s weekend with my favorite 80s bands

44

featured post at the3six5.com

cleared clutter in six weeks

people in my place for the first time

relapsed in six weeks

first piece of furniture in my place

writing - judged, defeated, pencils down

writing - fuck that, I'm good, resumed

friends - fun, laughs, love, bonds strengthened

Adele, Florence, GirlTalk, Mayer Hawthorne, G Love, Belle Brigade, ABC, Tony Hadley, Truth & Salvage Co

weddings

funerals

English Beat to close my year

this here blog

At the beginning of November, I was over my blog design. That orange swirly thing, while pretty and quite appealing at the time, was now annoying. I left it alone since the focus of the month was to be on content.

This morning, with the Santa Ana winds howling, I embarked on a new blog design adventure. Good grief! SO MANY blogger designs. SO MANY blogger color options. SO MANY choices! I just want simple, appealing, easy-to-look-at. Pfft.

I tweaked several different templates, but the 'live' look was icky. So, I ended up with this. It's not exactly what I want. It'll just have to do for the time being.

If you know anyone who does blog design or a site with blogger templates or have any suggestions for blogger design help, lemme know, willya?

Happy December :)

NaBloPoMo 11.30 - The End

I made it! Woo hoooo!

I made it through National Blog Posting Month - and I posted every day! Yay me.

What have I learned?

• there are some awesome bloggers out there
• there are some awesome blogs to be read out there
• there are a lot of 'mommy bloggers'
• there are really truly good people in this world - and I know some of 'em
• I need to get into a writing groove, a regular routine of 15-20 min a day of free writing
• my blog is so random!

Well, that was fun :) Thanks BlogHer and NaBloPoMo!

NaBloPoMo 11.29 - Is Your Toilet Running?

It was a lovely Sunday afternoon. The windows were open, the music was loud and I sat at my desk, happily typing away.

tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap...tap tap tap tap snap thud flush whoosh

Can't be me - I'm sitting here.

No one else came in...geez! Did Jerry upstairs fall asleep in the bathtub again and crash through the bathroom ceiling?

Nope. It's just the toilet, running. Finally! I can put my plumbing skills to work. Oh, wait.

I remove the lid and stare inside the tank for an indeterminate amount of time. How does this thing even work? And, why is it not working now? Turns out, the right side of the tank thingy inside the big tank broke. No water was rushing out or gushing up, so that was a good sign. I couldn't turn the water off from below, slippery hands and all. I lifted up that arm thing and stopped the water. Whew! I just needed to find some sort of stop-gap thing because I certainly wasn't going to stand in the bathroom in my Mayer Hawthorne t-shirt and boy shorts holding that toilet tank arm thingy so water wouldn't run. Within reach were two things - a wooden incense burner and my Anthropologie 'mandle' (manly-scented candle) in a can. Bingo! Grabbed that can sans lid, stuck it under that toilet tank arm thingy. Sweet relief.

Now, this whole time, I am fucking panicking. My heart is racing, thumping in my throat. Broken toilet means tell the apartment manager. Broken toilet means said apartment manager will have to tell fix-it guy. Broken toilet means fix-it guy will have to come into my apartment. Come into my apartment. Fuck. Talk about needing a stop-gap. I did what could be done. The rest would just be.

Luckily, I catch the apartment manager a) in and b) clothed. I tell my tale. "Oh, yeah. That's happened to me. It happened to another tenant last week." Great. "The work order will go in now, but we won't be able to do anything about it until the morning." Uh...what if I, y'know, gotta go? "Do you have a bucket? You can fill the tank with water, tilt the inner tank and it flushes! Or, you can use one of the vacant apartments upstairs." Good grief!

I didn't have anything to eat or drink after 5:45 p.m. Sunday night. Of course, with every move of my body, I felt the urge, the need to pee. I closed the bathroom door. Out of sight, out of mind.

Monday morning, my apartment manager called with news of my newly installed toilet. Huzzah! Can't wait to get home.

Ugh. The toilet is small. And, low. Great, just great. It's LOW! You know how I feel about that.

Good-bye broken toilet.

Hello, water-saving-back-breaking-knees-will-be-aching new toilet.

NaBloPoMo 11.27 - Twitter

I love me some Twitter!

Twitter is active 24/7. It's perfect for those nights I'm waiting for Sleep to arrive. I can scroll through messages from news organizations, movie stars, musicians and random people from around the world. How cool is that?!

I joined Twitter a couple of years ago because, well, everyone was doing it. Twitter was the new 'thing' and I just had to be there. Of course, I had no idea WTH I was doing. Realizing that this was no place for the mundane Facebook status updates, I asked a lot of questions. People were cool, helping me learn the lingo and rules. Finding people to follow was easy - I followed people because I liked a tweet (message) or the person lived nearby or because other people were following (read: lemming) or they're people I know in real life (IRL). Recently, I looked at my following list and thought "Why am I following this person?"

As much as I love Twitter, I am utterly bothered by RT requests. RT is Twitter 'speak' for "retweet" (read: re-post). Suppose someone you follow posts a news story, funny comment or a piece of advice you really like. By retweeting, you then share that post with all of the people who follow you. That is all fine and dandy. What bugs the crap outta me are the people who request a RT - "Hey ! Can I get a RT ?" Why does this bother me so much?

One person I follow has had quite an impact on me. His name is @BlackCanseco. I've followed hiim for quite some time and I've learned quite a bit. His posts tend to deal with race issues. And, that was part of the draw to follow him as I struggle with race and identity. I started to get into a whole thing...but I deleted it...perhaps this will be a future blog post...moving on...

Again, I've lost my train of thought - ACK!

Let's see...ok...I love Twitter :)

NaBloPoMo 11.22 - Crush

One of the NaBloPoMo prompts said to make a list of everyone you've had a crush on (!) then choose one and describe him in great detail. I made a mental list, because an actual writing-it-down list would take a lot of time.

I recall elementary school crushes on Eric Pyle and Tony Caruso. Eric was a tall, lanky blonde kid who broke my heart in the 4th grade on Valentine's Day when he knocked Valentines for my class out of my hand and they scattered across the playground in the wind. Tony was the captain of my 3rd grade class kickball team. All of the girls at Mt. View had a crush on him. Later that year, the city did a re-zoning of schools in the district. Tony was one of the kids being sent to Adams Elementary School the next year. I was sad, for sure. But, I was also jealous because it was the only 2-story school in town. I wanted to go there for that reason alone! Tony and I ended up at the same junior high, graduated from the same high school and remain friends in our middle age. In fact, a few years ago, we randomly ran into each other while in Hawaii. We had drinks one night after his conference and played catch-up on our lives as well as our classmates.

Eight grade had me crushing on a redhead named Dean. Boy oh boy did I have it bad for that kid! I was awkward, introverted and almost 6 feet tall. The 2 of us reconnected a few years ago on Myspace (I know, right?!) but have since lost contact. Now, I know where my affinity for the gingers came from :)

High school had me crushing something fierce on John Lyons, one of the most popular guys ever to walk across a campus. He was a football star and handsome and popular and dated all the cute little cheerleaders. By this time, I was 6'2" - hardly cute and hardly little.

The summer after high school graduation, I discovered a show called Dancin' On Air. The teen dance show was taped in Philadelphia and broadcast on KDOC Channel 56, a small Southern California station. My friend Kathy and I watched the show while working on philosophy homework. One song played caught my ear - O'Chi Brown Whenever You Need Somebody. One guy in white pants and a red shirt caught my eye. I became a huge fan of the show - and its subsequent cable spin-off Dance Party USA. I watched and recorded shows and, like a silly fan girl with a huge crush, wrote letters to that guy, Eddie O'Neil. Eventually, Eddie and I would meet; and my crush turned into a like. After 26 years, Ed and I remain in each others lives as very good friends.

Today, I'm crushing on a ridiculously smart man. I'm talking smart! He's clever and witty and intelligent and completely charming. And, he's British. Good grief, am I a smitten kitten! We'll see where this thing goes...but, I gotta tell ya, having a crush at the age of 44 is so much better than it was when I was 18 or 16 or 13 or 8...I can actually SAY something to him and know, if the crush is unrequited, life will not end!

Please enjoy a few 'crush' videos :)

NaBloPoMo 11.21 - Dreamin'

Ever since high school, I have tended to have recurring dreams. Back then, it was my wedding and everything was visible, vividly - flowers, decorations, people, clothes, all the details. Then, when my veil was lifted, the groom's face was blank. Weird.

In college, the dreams were more like visitations from a friend who was murdered a couple of years after high school. The last time Craig appeared to me, was the first time he spoke. It was creepy and comforting. I started keeping a journal after that.

My current recurring dream involves another faceless man. Each time, I am laying on a sofa, legs up on the arm of it. I'm wearing sweats (Weird because I don't wear sweats. At all.), reading a book, my head is in the lap of the faceless man and he's lovingly stroking my hair. It's not my home, yet it's comfortable and I'm comfortable in it. There's music and food and sunshine and some unease. Bizarre.

This morning, "Dreamin'" by Cliff Richard shuffled onto my iPod. These lyrics caught my attention:

I'm dreamin'
Dreamin' of me and you.
I'm dreamin'
Dreamin' will see me through.
Never letting chances pass me by
I'm gonna dream you right into my life.

Is that what I'm doing? Am I dreaming him right into my life? Hmm...I hope he's not wearing a green satin jumpsuit...

NaBloPoMo 11.19 - Brows

I've been slightly obsessed with my eyebrows since I was 15 years old. That was when the girl behind the Sav-On ice cream counter told me if I tweezed my brows, people would think I was 21. THAT'S all it would take?!

My mom tweezed her eyebrows in the family room by the light of a huge lamp. She'd have her stand-up mirror set on the arm of the recliner and pluck away during family TV time. Pluck pluck wipe. Pluck pluck wipe. Mom would stop, examine her brows, then resume until she had the desired result.

One day, while home alone, I snuck Mom's tweezers, settled into the recliner, set up her stand-up mirror and started plucking. YEOW! Tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn't possibly be doing this right! Mom didn't scream when she tweezed. I did it again. YEOW!! Tears spilled over. Forget it. I put everything back.

Since then, I've done everything to keep my brows tame - tweezing, waxing, Nair. I read Seventeen and Glamour and every other magazine that had eyebrow tips to shape and maintain. I even went so far as to ask a co-worker to give a tutorial on how she kept her brows looking so fantastic. I bought all the tools - slant-tip tweezers by TweezerMan, small scissors, brow wax, brow pencils, brow powders, brow gels - all to get and keep my brows looking good. The only thing I hadn't tried? Threading.

Last weekend, I happened upon a threading studio. An alternative to waxing, threading is an East Indian method of removing hair. The day's special was eyebrow shaping and threading for $11. Done.

It was a clean, bright and sleek salon. Anita, the threader, was young and very soft-spoken. I asked her if threading hurt. I did not hear what she said, but she shook her head. OK. I leaned back and smiled as my mentee stood over me, enthralled. Anita is moving along, threading nicely. A pinch here, a pinch there. Nothing too bad; definitely less of a sting than waxing. I start to say "This isn't so..." but a YEOW! escapes instead. The salon owner comes rushing over "Are you okay? What's wrong?" I told her that pain was unexpected. "Oh, the longer the hair, the more it hurts." Well, I asked Anita if it hurt and she shook her head. "Oh, well, it doesn't hurt her." Good grief.

Anita did a great job. My brows looked fantastic when I walked out of the salon. And, they still look great - even my hair stylist noticed this morning when she was washing my hair! Now there's a compliment :)

Think I'll stick with the threading for my brows. Would love to find a place closer to me instead of trekking down to Long Beach. Any recommendations for threading places in the Valley?

NaBloPoMo 11.18 - Rant: Carpool Lane

I fell into the middle of a conversation between two co-workers about riding in the carpool lane. She was raving about how great it is to speed along the 134 in the morning and at night - "Everyone else is stopped and I cruise right on by!" I asked if she carpools with her husband or with people from work. "No! It's me and the kids!" I shook my head. My other co-worker asked why I was shaking my head. I told him I think carpool lanes should be for 2 or more licensed drivers. "Carpool lanes are for two or more people! Me plus my kids. Yay!" I was a driving school instructor for four years, I'm well aware of the law. I just disagree with it.

The carpool lanes are designed to lessen traffic. If Soccer Mom zooms by with a van-full of kids, how does that help alleviate LA's gridlock? The kids are not licensed drivers. My co-worker says sometimes she sends the nanny to pick-up the kids, so that helps. Huh? How does that help - you just put another driver on the road. There was no real debate, just me stating my position and my co-working chanting "Well, the law says 2 or more...the law says 2 or more..." So, I fell out of the conversation just as quickly as I fell into it since my mindset wasn't too popular.

What are you thoughts about the carpool lane? Should pregnant women be allowed to use the carpool lane?

NaBloPoMo 11.14 - 3 Wishes

1 ~ I wish for discipline.

Setting aside time to write is not easy. And I don't even have kids! I need to be able to sit and write without feeling guilty. Once I do sit down to write, my thoughts scamper to all things undone - laundry, house clearing, dishes, whatever. You should really get that done first, then write. What if I don't feel like doing the dishes? I typically won't do 'em; but I won't write either. I'm weird. I know. And, geez, let's not even talk about Something Shiny Syndrome. Those little things that distract me ~ Twitter, G+, Words with Friends, BlogHer, etc. What if I'm missing something? What if John Taylor tweets he's broken down in the Valley and needs a lift? What if the 37th retweet wins an awesome meet n greet with Nikki Sixx or Kurt Sutter or Donna Brazile or Matthew Perry or even Matthew Lewis?! I could miss it!

2 ~ I wish to be open.

Open to love, specifically. I believe myself to be. Somehow, though, I'm wrong. And, that's distressing enough as it is.

3 ~ I wish to believe.

Believe in myself. I am confident, but I don't believe in myself much. I recently found myself in a group which included one of my most favorite people on the planet. This person is intuitive and forthright and brilliant and funny and an immense pleasure to be around. As talk turned to politics and such, I walked away from the discussion because I didn't think I was smart enough to understand the conversation. I denied myself the joy of people and lively debate because I did not believe myself to be able to contribute to a conversation. How sad for me.

NaBloPoMo 11.6 - Ramble On

woke up feeling totally yucky...just took my last Coricidin cold capsule, bundled up and slid back into bed. I decided to ramble for today's NaBlahBlah so there's a post for today.

Dinner w/the fam last night. Wow, we are a big, loud group. I'd want to kick us out! November Birthdays - it's a tradition. Amazing how huge our family is - my sister, her husband and kids and, now, my nephew's fiancee and baby-on-the-way; my brother, his wife and their kids...four of 'em under the age of 7. Our waitress was a trooper, though. She smiled and handled us - even the little ones liked her (well, she did bring them pizza, chicken nuggets and french fries, so what's not to like?).

I have homework to do.

I have 5 Words with Friends games to get to.

I'm currently down by 25+ points in my Fantasy Football game with 3 players left to play. Really hope I don't regret benching Jay Cutler. And, how the heck can my defense only produce 7 points?! They start out with 20, for goodness sake! 7 points. Pfft.

Pay Matt Forte!

I've got a crush. I feel giddy. And silly. 44 with a crush. Pfft.

I'm going to be 45?! Oh, I feel sick.

Did you see Maroon 5 on SNL?! "Take me by the tongue and I'll know you" - mmkay. "I got the moooooooooooves like Jagger" - mmm hmmm.

OK. I need to sleep now.

NaBloPoMo 11.2 - 13 Years in Number 3

Last night, I ran into my building manager and a prospective tenant. The guy had seen the three vacant apartments – all of which had been upgraded and are gorgeous. Building manager was doing the big push when I walked by.

"Darling girl, come meet Tom! He likes number 16."

We exchange the usual pleasantries ~ Hi…Hi…nice to meet you…you, too…should I move-in? Uh, yes, move into this building please – you’re adorable. I told him what I liked about the building, living there, etc. Then he asked how long I’ve lived in the complex. Er…uh…carry the one…13 years, I answer. Whoa, he said, with furrowed brow.

Yeah, I’ve been in my apartment for 13 years.

It was the summer of 1998. I had just returned from vacation to find my roommate had bought a place and I had to be out in a month. At the time, I was a Sign Language Interpreter out in Santa Clarita making about $28K. I needed to find a decent, cheap place ASAP. I drove around the area, writing down numbers. I collected newspapers, those rental books at grocery stores and Penny Savers. I found this in the Penny Saver - Lrg studio in NH, quiet bldg. $485/mo. Call Allan. It was more than my current rent, but I figured with some penny-pinching, the amount was doable.

I stared at the building from my parked car. Charming, pretty blue color…let’s take a look. As we walked to number 3, Allan gave me the history of the building and its tenants. The person who had lived there for the shortest amount of time had been there for eight years. Allan had been there for twenty. The longevity of the tenants appealed to me. The previous tenant of number 3 had moved to a one-bedroom upstairs. When Allan opened the door, I was in love. Who knew a spacious single apartment could come with a full-size kitchen, not a hot plate, and a full-size bathroom with a shower and tub?! What truly sold me was the dressing room with its built-in dresser, full-size closets and tons of storage space. TONS OF STORAGE SPACE IN A STUDIO APARTMENT? Unheard of. Let alone full-size kitchen, bathroom and closet.

Back in the manager’s office, I filled out the application. Allan looked it over. “Oh, you work in the schools? I’ll knock $25 off your rent.” Done. For $460/month, I got my own apartment.

It’s 13 years later and I’m in the same place, paying a little over $600/month in rent. Every single day I think about moving. I dream about a one- or two-bedroom place or a little house with space and such. But, seriously. My rent is $600. If I moved, rent would easily double or even triple. I'd rather spend my money on living! I wouldn’t be able to do a lot of the extra-curricular activities I love – concerts, dining out, get-aways, vacations. And those are things I am just not ready to give up. Yet.

Until then, I’ll sit here in number 3 and wait for new neighbors.

I'd much rather listen to my iPod

In one week, I have heard the phrase 'listen to your heart' a dozen times from half a dozen people. This morning, I heard the Roxette song of the same name while driving the 405, returning home after a trip to LAX. Sign, sign, every where a sign! So, I decided to sit and listen to my heart.

The buildings, the pool are deserted. Strange for a Saturday. Is it a holiday? I wondered. It is almost back-to-school time, but there are no kids to go back to school in the building. Enjoy, don't question, the silence.

I drop my feet into the pool, brief shock of cold ripples through my body as the water ripples from my movement. Be still. Listen to your heart. I fidget instead. I flutter my feet in the water. Anything but still. So, I sit and listen to the sounds...

window slides open...motorcycle starts...car revs, tires screech out of a driveway...a telephone rings...MY telephone rings...Burbank Blvd traffic...dishes in a kitchen...yelling...kids laughing...a gate clanks closed...

And then, silence.

I wait. And, I wait. Red rover, red rover send Rissa's thoughts right over! These thoughts and feelings come up. Afraid, I push them back. I don't want to do this...I know what the answers are...and I know I will have to do something about them when (if) they are out.

I sit still again. Ten minutes of fidget. Ten minutes of stop and start. Ten minutes of silently wishing my phone would ring or for a friendly neighbor to stop and say hello. No such luck.

Again, I sit still. These thoughts and feelings come up. Afraid, I let them out. Oh, how I want to chase after them, like bubbles and dandelions, pop them or blow them far, far away. Oh, how I want to chase after them, gather them up and put them back. I don't. I let them tumble out and let myself look at them.

2 very distinct thoughts return to me, circle around then return to my head, my heart. I am very aware of these thoughts, they are nothing new. They are, however, quite surprising. They are much clearer, more defined to me now. And, I'm not so afraid to pursue them.

OK, that's a lie. I'm terrified! Ha!

"Hi Rissa! Isn't the water cold?"

The still. It's over.

August and everything

Yesterday, I was blue. Leaving Napa, driving home while the others stretched their journey one more night, was incredibly heavy. There was definite sadness knowing I had short-changed myself. How shortsighted I was to think missing the last show of the tour wouldn't matter! For that, I am sad.

Yet on the drive home, I was anything but sad. All of the memories tripped over each other, fighting to tumble out first and wrap me up in happy. I laughed out loud. I sang even louder. I smiled at the little things, fully appreciating them - a joke, a comment, a move, a song, a look. These feelings, this collection of bits and pieces of sights and sounds, will keep me wrapped up in happy for a long, long time.

So, imagine me going back to work today. Yeah. Good times. I was there, I was in it...I was working. And all the good of the past two weeks slowly chip chip chipped away. I was losing the Me of the past two weeks to other people. WTF?! What's up with *that*?! The Me of the past two weeks was IS Me. It's the true Me. It's the Me I allowed myself to become. And, I needed to get that back.

I sat there, door closed, music on, phone ringing. And, once again, let those memories trip over each other, let them fight to tumble out first and wrap me in happy. THAT'S the feeling I need to remember ('member? You 'member!). I kept it, sometimes fighting to keep it, and carried on. It's a slow process, this vacation transition

Writing did not take a backseat during vacation. On my day off at home, I wrote 3 short stories. Three! I know! I tossed one, edited the other and one is just sitting there. I blogged. I journaled. I wrote a lot. The Flash Fiction contest starts in a couple of weeks. Prepare...looking forward to the challenge - one story, one thousand words. EEK!

I did something bold today. Something out of character. And, it paid off. Just one more thing to tuck away...until it tumbles out to wrap me in happy.

Using this feeling to shove me forward when it comes to my living situation. This is possible. I have always been able to see the end, how it's supposed to be. I know how it's supposed to feel...I KNOW it, I can feel it. It's not the same feeling of hopeless under a mask of so-called hope I've spoke of in the past. I see all of this stuff in a completely different light. My life inside and outside these four walls will soon be on the same level.

Going to channel this restlessness toward something good, something new, something improved. Not quite sure why...but August - and everything - is going to be most excellent.

(This rambling writing style is just not me. It just seems unfulfilling and incomplete. But, it's something I told myself to try - just write, put it down, get it out. And I have. It's just not for me.)

uh-oh...

looks like the beast that is Restlessness has been shaken and is currently stirring...just what I need. I can't go through this again. The wanting, the needing, the feeling, the knowing there's something else and/or something more for me beyond the four walls of my office. The uncertainty of what that something is or may be is what keeps me beating Restless back into submission again and again. I'm fearless a lot of the time. I'm fearful all of the time.

So many things are swirling right above my head, all within reach. I just can't decide what to pluck or what to shuck. I don't want to wait for everything to fall down on me, around me...

On another note...someone has returned to my life. It's peripheral, strictly words on a computer or cell phone screen. Talk about stirring. As much as I love the attention, this may very well be a huge mistake. Again.

On yet another note...longing to contact someone. I'm not sure how to do so, how to approach or if I should even bother. But this strange feeling, connection or chemistry or something is drawing me this way. Part of it is this whole caregiver thing I have...

Stopping.