Under construction
Under a spell
Under the weather
In a daze
In a haze
Waiting
Waiting on health
On time for the dust to settle
Waiting for the ducks to fall in a row
Any day now the haze will lift
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Monday, April 1, 2013
Eating Bon Bons
I can't write today. I mean, I get this is technically writing, but it's not a solid story. It's my excuse. I am typing letters to form words to explain away why I can't write something compelling today.
I am addicted to The Young and the Restless.
There, it's out for the world to judge me based on my daytime tv guilty pleasure. I have been watching Y&R for as long as I can remember. I recall at daycare listening to the show when I was supposed to be napping. I learned all I need to know about life from the Newman's and Abbott's. I remember when Nicholas was just a baby and Victoria was sent away to boarding school, Christine was Cricket and Don Diamont was Brad Carlton not "Dollar Bill" Spencer.
But the thing is, I suppose I am not a true addict. Sadly, I function on a regular basis without my Y&R fix. I do not have TiVo or DVR or some other technological advancement in tv recording. So, if I'm not home with kids already napping between the hours of 12:30-1:30 I'm screwed. Occasionally I catch the last fifteen minutes, but most of the time I'm left with the shakes because I don't know if Adam is out of the comma yet. To combat the twitchiness I seek out episodes online. I will not admit how many hours of my life I have wasted searching YouTube for Young and the Restless videos. For awhile, it was easy. I could go to my usual YouTube subscription and watch grainy full length episodes. Then Sony started effing with us. From the chatter, I gathered they didn't want users posting their content on YouTube for addicts like myself to watch for free. Son of a bitch, they made me getting my dose ridiculously hard. I had to search and search and follow users because they followed an account that posted an episode yesterday which Sony removed within an hour all in hopes of being led to the next dealer, I mean poster. Then, I started settling for clips of episodes, just enough of a high to get me by. I suppose the day I watched clips of six year old episodes was the day I staged an intervention for myself. It had gone too far and I knew it. Without cable or DVR or a working PC, I was not going to be able to watch my soap opera. I quit cold turkey and never looked back. Until I heard the promotion on CBS for a brand new IPad App.
Now I can watch day old episodes anytime I want. Any. Time. I. Want. Which brings me back to my point. I can't write today because I have to watch Young and the Restless. I am many months behind and I must catch up. I'm like an addict who just moved in with their dealer. I'll resurface in a few days, don't worry.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Not So Truthful Tuesday
I had all intentions today to tell the story of my one secret I carry around every where I go. It's with me when I wake in the morning and right by my side when my head hits the pillow every night. My one truth that only the closest to me know. The one thing I don't speak of, because it's just that painful. The truth that haunts me and my future.
But I can't.
I suppose I don't have the courage, yet, to put it out there for the world to read. To be that vulnerable. If I put it in print it will be too real. I hope to be brave enough soon, for I do think it will be helpful. There's something therapeutic about seeing it in letters.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Challenge Myself
There are things that I've allowed myself to stray from. And I keep telling myself to get my shit together, I am in control, I can make the changes.
Except I don't.
I continue on doing less of the things that I value, less of the things that make me happy, less of the things that I enjoy. "Why?" you ask. I don't know, and I know too much. There are a lot of reasons why I am not doing. The reason doesn't matter to me.
I challenge myself.
Every week, for a week, I will challenge myself to do something specific every single day. No excuses. Not even legitimate ones. There are wasted minutes in everyone's life every day. No matter how busy you claim to be, everyone wastes a minute here or there. Everyone.
This week I'm a day behind, but I will forgive myself this one time. This week I get a pass, a one day pass. I created my first blog after months and months of reading other writer's blogs. I would read every single day for my own personal enjoyment. Somehow I've lost that. Case in point, and the inspiration for this post. Shit, I can credit this twitter exchange for the entire challenge. Please excuse the typos.
So that's it. For seven six days, I will read and comment on my favorite writers's blogs for fifteen minutes a day. According to Fly Lady, anyone can do something for fifteen minutes. If I don't get to them all, I will not worry about it. I will read and remember why I liked the darkside so much. The best writers read other writer's work. Not because they have to, rather they love it. They crave it.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Busy, Busy
Life has been busy. Granted, life is always busy, but recently it's been the kind of busy I can't set aside for a later day. Life has been requiring my complete attention. Today I will post a few snapshots to help serve as reminders to myself of posts I have floating in my head, In case they get lost up there. Also proof to you fine readers, I haven't been neglecting my blog because I've been slacking off.
Oops, how'd that one get in there? I'm ordinarily not the kind of girl to post a pic like that.
New stories are coming. Soon....I hope.
Monday, January 28, 2013
The D Word
I haven't written in a week. I haven't read a book in months. I haven't been to the gym in an equal number of months. I've cooked a handful of "real" dinners in many more months. I haven't finished any of the projects I've started in a very long time. Hearing all of this, I have a sister that would be whispering the dreaded D word, suggesting maybe I seek help.
depression
I don't know if she's right. Maybe she is. Maybe she's not. Personally, I don't even know if it matters. I know I have the power to fix all of this laziness. See, that's the thing, I see all of the above as a laziness rut. I was successfully blogging, reading, exercising, and laughing not so long ago. Things weren't great then and things aren't great now. The only difference, I stopped holding myself accountable. I stopped demanding more of myself. I allowed the holidays to be one great big excuse.
I thought 2013 would be a swift kick in the ass. I'm afraid I was wrong. Even though my actions haven't changed much, I have felt a mental shift trying to take hold. I've used my crockpot a few times recently. I've been baking. I've renewed my gym membership. And today I start reading again. I'm taking a class at Alice's school on promoting social emotional competence in children and my friends I'm required to read a book. Slowly but surely I'm taking control of my actions. I don't know if I'll be able to shed the D word from some people's perception of me. Like I said, maybe they are right. But, with every post I write, every mile I run, every chapter I read I feel better.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Not the Most Popular Post
It was the Spring of 1993. I was at a small horse show in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Being just a one judge, two day show it was not overly competitive and mostly for fun. I had finished showing for the day, untacked my horse, hung up my show clothes, and parked myself in a camping chair at the top of the hill with my friends to watch the remainder of the show. When not in boots, I usually wore flip flops regardless of the lectures I received from my father and my trainer, horses can crush toes, yada yada yada. Being a beach girl at heart, I ignored their pleas. But, that sunny day I had to wear sneakers. It had rained the day before and the ground was saturated and muddy. I sat there chatting with my friends, watching the barrel racing event, wearing socks and sneakers. Little did I know the repercussions of this simple moment.
Kinda like yesterday when I tweeted a link to the day's post.
The late spring sun had strengthened and unbeknownst to me, my legs were frying. That day I received my first sunburn of the season. Wearing socks and sneakers. This brought new meaning to the term farmer's tan. My feet and ankles were pasty white while my calves were a golden tan. I was 12 years old and my friends did not go easy on me. To top it off, I had to stand on stage in a frilly dress and strappy sandals at the honors tea, sock tan-lines and all. Numerous people even noted my freakish tan in the autograph section of my yearbook. I will never forget standing in the mirror and seeing the stark contrast between my ankle and my shin, and it never went away. No matter how tan my legs got that summer, you could still see the line.
I'm asking for your help, dear readers. I'm pleading with you, begging almost. Yesterday evening, in pain, I soothed myself with letters. I wrote until I had relieved the troubles of my heart. And then I hit publish. I needed the support of others who know what it's like to cathartically bear their soul for all to read. I needed you.
Ask and you shall receive.
You gave me love and compassion and support. By the boatload. One loyal reader and friend, Kelly at DeBie Hive, went above and beyond. In an attempt to show her nurturing encouragement, she posted a link to my post on her Facebook page.
And the hits just keep on coming.
My small blog is not capable of handling Kelly and her followers. Within moments, yesterday's post was launched to my most popular post. Within minutes, my post where I lamented my pain had outlandishly more page views than any other post.
And this is where you, my dear readers, come in. I don't want that painful moment in time to be at the top of my popular list. It doesn't deserve to be there. Regardless of the quality (or lack of, whichever it may be) of the post, I don't want to see it in the side bar reminding me how I felt in that moment. It hurt and I don't want a daily reminder. It's like the sock tan, I had to walk around like that for months. I was constantly ridiculed and it hurt. I would have loved to wear pants daily for the rest of the summer.
I want to put pants on yesterday's post. I want to disguise it beneath all the other posts. I don't want it at the top. So I beg you, please read another post. Pass it on, suggest your favorite silly Alice story to your friends. Tweet a link to any other post but yesterday's. Facebook users, do your thing. I need help getting a yucky moment out of my mind.
Thank you. And, if you ever need a favor, I'm your girl.
Kinda like yesterday when I tweeted a link to the day's post.
The late spring sun had strengthened and unbeknownst to me, my legs were frying. That day I received my first sunburn of the season. Wearing socks and sneakers. This brought new meaning to the term farmer's tan. My feet and ankles were pasty white while my calves were a golden tan. I was 12 years old and my friends did not go easy on me. To top it off, I had to stand on stage in a frilly dress and strappy sandals at the honors tea, sock tan-lines and all. Numerous people even noted my freakish tan in the autograph section of my yearbook. I will never forget standing in the mirror and seeing the stark contrast between my ankle and my shin, and it never went away. No matter how tan my legs got that summer, you could still see the line.
I'm asking for your help, dear readers. I'm pleading with you, begging almost. Yesterday evening, in pain, I soothed myself with letters. I wrote until I had relieved the troubles of my heart. And then I hit publish. I needed the support of others who know what it's like to cathartically bear their soul for all to read. I needed you.
Ask and you shall receive.
You gave me love and compassion and support. By the boatload. One loyal reader and friend, Kelly at DeBie Hive, went above and beyond. In an attempt to show her nurturing encouragement, she posted a link to my post on her Facebook page.
And the hits just keep on coming.
My small blog is not capable of handling Kelly and her followers. Within moments, yesterday's post was launched to my most popular post. Within minutes, my post where I lamented my pain had outlandishly more page views than any other post.
And this is where you, my dear readers, come in. I don't want that painful moment in time to be at the top of my popular list. It doesn't deserve to be there. Regardless of the quality (or lack of, whichever it may be) of the post, I don't want to see it in the side bar reminding me how I felt in that moment. It hurt and I don't want a daily reminder. It's like the sock tan, I had to walk around like that for months. I was constantly ridiculed and it hurt. I would have loved to wear pants daily for the rest of the summer.
I want to put pants on yesterday's post. I want to disguise it beneath all the other posts. I don't want it at the top. So I beg you, please read another post. Pass it on, suggest your favorite silly Alice story to your friends. Tweet a link to any other post but yesterday's. Facebook users, do your thing. I need help getting a yucky moment out of my mind.
Thank you. And, if you ever need a favor, I'm your girl.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Spew Venom
This will be a very cryptic post and for that I give you a million apologies. If you find yourself lost and struggling to make sense, I will not be offended if you take a pass and come back tomorrow. But, dear readers, sometimes I write for cathartic purposes. Maybe the letters that make up today's post are better suited for a journal. Forgive me, publishing to this blog is all I know...
My heart struggled to keep beating. For that moment, reading those words, it wanted to stop. I felt it. So deep in my chest it physically hurt. A pain like no other pain. With those six simple words the reality of the situation came flooding back. I stared at my phone, unable to move, the letters staring back at me. I wanted to run as fast as I could, escape the pain and the heartache. I wanted to be somebody else.
I read the words again, trying to find different meaning in them. My heart wanted to rip the sender to shreds for the pain. The phone on the other end of the letters had to have known the agony those simple words would cause within me. I wanted to lash out. I wanted the suffering to be felt by others. Misery doesn't just love company, it needs it. It thrives on it.
But, I couldn't do it. I couldn't spew venom, as much as my heart was begging me to. My heart needed the release. Just as two wrongs don't make a right, causing pain to others never makes me feel better. Over the years I have learned the pain my words can cause. The rage within me comes out so eloquently. The venomous words flow like water from my mouth. Within a heartbeat, the damage of my diatribe is done.
I couldn't do it. Ultimately, I cared. I felt pain because the situation had betrayed me. Not the person. I composed myself. Let out two pounds of a sigh and acknowledged those six words. I didn't run. I didn't bitterly attack. I suppose I'm still a work in progress, but I am making improvements.
My heart struggled to keep beating. For that moment, reading those words, it wanted to stop. I felt it. So deep in my chest it physically hurt. A pain like no other pain. With those six simple words the reality of the situation came flooding back. I stared at my phone, unable to move, the letters staring back at me. I wanted to run as fast as I could, escape the pain and the heartache. I wanted to be somebody else.
I read the words again, trying to find different meaning in them. My heart wanted to rip the sender to shreds for the pain. The phone on the other end of the letters had to have known the agony those simple words would cause within me. I wanted to lash out. I wanted the suffering to be felt by others. Misery doesn't just love company, it needs it. It thrives on it.
But, I couldn't do it. I couldn't spew venom, as much as my heart was begging me to. My heart needed the release. Just as two wrongs don't make a right, causing pain to others never makes me feel better. Over the years I have learned the pain my words can cause. The rage within me comes out so eloquently. The venomous words flow like water from my mouth. Within a heartbeat, the damage of my diatribe is done.
I couldn't do it. Ultimately, I cared. I felt pain because the situation had betrayed me. Not the person. I composed myself. Let out two pounds of a sigh and acknowledged those six words. I didn't run. I didn't bitterly attack. I suppose I'm still a work in progress, but I am making improvements.
Friday, January 4, 2013
The Story I Don't Get to Tell...Yet
Driving on the beltway my brain was writing a post. Selecting choice words and metaphors to tell the story I just knew I was going to be able to write after I left the doctor's office. With great confidence my story went something like this...
Girl takes a test. Doctor calls. Girl retakes test. Doctor calls. Girl's worried. Girl has to have a more invasive test. Doctor tells girl everything looks fine. Doctor and girl smile in relief. Girl gets ice cream to celebrate results.
Unfortunately, I don't get to tell that story. I didn't celebrate with ice cream after yesterday's doctor visit. Instead, I get to wait and worry six more months. For six months I get to stew about the cells in my body, anxious abut what they are doing, wondering if the abnormal cells have been eliminated yet. For six more months I will tell myself the same as the past three, odds are in my favor and everything is going to be just fine. Except it isn't always.
Girl takes a test. Doctor calls. Girl retakes test. Doctor calls. Girl's worried. Girl has to have a more invasive test. Doctor tells girl everything looks fine. Doctor and girl smile in relief. Girl gets ice cream to celebrate results.
Unfortunately, I don't get to tell that story. I didn't celebrate with ice cream after yesterday's doctor visit. Instead, I get to wait and worry six more months. For six months I get to stew about the cells in my body, anxious abut what they are doing, wondering if the abnormal cells have been eliminated yet. For six more months I will tell myself the same as the past three, odds are in my favor and everything is going to be just fine. Except it isn't always.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
All Good Things Must Come to an End
Today's the day. January 2nd. The day I have been waiting for with equal parts of fear and loathing mixed in.
2012 was not a horrible year. Sure, I have written a handful of posts that would like to convince you otherwise. But, truly, in the grand scheme of life it wasn't horrible. I have a nice warm house to play in, I never go to bed starving, and Alice was fortunate enough to have a very good Christmas. I will not complain.
With the start of a brand new year, it's natural to reflect on the previous one. As far as personal achievements, I did good. I made reading a priority. I committed myself to exercising on a regular schedule, and in doing so rediscovered the old Nelly. I made having adult fun a crucial part of my life. I no longer believe I am just a mom. I did all this for the better part of 2012...then I started slacking. A little slacking here and there turned into a shit ton of slacking with a large heaping of laziness on the side, and before I knew it I was no longer going to the gym at all. I wasn't reading or writing. I was enjoying the holidays with reckless abandon. I had a very good and somewhat legitimate excuse to eat and drink all I cared to and then some. By Decemeber my "damn your ass looks good in those" jeans no longer fit. I had resigned myself to leggings, yoga pants, and two pairs of fat jeans.
Life was good. Until today.
Today I begin 2013 with determination to fix what I broke. Here goes, hold me accountable blogosphere.
2012 was not a horrible year. Sure, I have written a handful of posts that would like to convince you otherwise. But, truly, in the grand scheme of life it wasn't horrible. I have a nice warm house to play in, I never go to bed starving, and Alice was fortunate enough to have a very good Christmas. I will not complain.
With the start of a brand new year, it's natural to reflect on the previous one. As far as personal achievements, I did good. I made reading a priority. I committed myself to exercising on a regular schedule, and in doing so rediscovered the old Nelly. I made having adult fun a crucial part of my life. I no longer believe I am just a mom. I did all this for the better part of 2012...then I started slacking. A little slacking here and there turned into a shit ton of slacking with a large heaping of laziness on the side, and before I knew it I was no longer going to the gym at all. I wasn't reading or writing. I was enjoying the holidays with reckless abandon. I had a very good and somewhat legitimate excuse to eat and drink all I cared to and then some. By Decemeber my "damn your ass looks good in those" jeans no longer fit. I had resigned myself to leggings, yoga pants, and two pairs of fat jeans.
Life was good. Until today.
Today I begin 2013 with determination to fix what I broke. Here goes, hold me accountable blogosphere.
- I will not bite my nails. I will not use the excuse "I'm just biting the skin." I will take the time necessary to have pretty fingers.
- I will blog. I will stop making excuses. If I have time to search YouTube for Y&R episodes, I have time to write.
- I will exercise. Regulary. All year long.
- I will organize my finances. This does not mean straighten the money in my wallet. I probably don't even have any money in my wallet.
- I will organize my house. Again, no more excuses...see above, regarding Y&R episodes.
- I will read books. Not only glorified porn. There has to be more than smut on my iPad.
- I will do what's necessary to take care of myself in as many ways as necessary. Seems vague, but I do it for Alice. If her skin is dry, I take the time to lotion. If her socks are getting too small, I make it a priority to buy new socks. I will wax because smooth makes me feel better. I will paint my toes because a pop of color can brighten a dreary day. I will take care of my skin because its the only skin I will ever have. I will spend money on new bras because they make me feel pretty. I will buy makeup when needed, doing so does not make me a lifetime member of the Sephora Club kind of girl.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Stranded at the Airport
It was a cold night many, many years ago. Our flight had just landed. We claimed our bags and waited inside the airport for our ride to pick us up. She was a good friend. Hatta and I had been there for her when she needed it and along the way we grew closer. However, there was always an unreliable undercurrent with her. She had disappointed us before and we had managed to overlook it. Every time, every letdown was met with an excuse. Every time, every excuse allowed us to put it in the past and stay friends. Until that snowy night when Hatta and I were left stranded at the airport. With no word from her and far too late in the evening to call anyone else, we took a $75 cab ride home. From that moment on, I recognized the type of person she was and vowed to never allow myself to be disappointed by her again.
"The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them." - Maya Angelou
It's important in life to recognize who a person is. You don't have to like it. You don't have to even be a part of it. But you need to believe it. For me, problems arise when a person shows who they are and I believe it's a rare instance, a one time occurrence, not examples of their true self. I want to see the good, and I convince myself anything less than is not real. I overlook the bad and allow myself to be hurt, disappointed, frustrated, all because I want to believe it will change.
As I grow and learn, it's become easier for me to acknowledge. Take my sisters for example. I love them dearly and they are both extremely unique and different from one another. In the past, I have struggled to maintain a consistent relationship with either. It's been hot and cold for the better part of my life. One minute we are best friends, the next not even speaking. Until I acknowledged who they are, I found myself a victim of disappointment again and again. Now, without surprise and minimal hurt I can say, "that's just her." And I'm quite sure they both say the same about me.
There is, however, a fine line between accepting what a person shows you and allowing yourself to be a doormat, to be taken advantage of, to be hurt with a promise of change. How do you know when to break ties and cut your loses like I did with my friend all those years ago? When is enough enough? When does a person's character become more damaging than, "Ha ha...that's John for ya!" When does the emotional cost of maintaining a friendship become too great? What does it ultimately take for you to believe what a person has been showing you all along?
These are the questions I find myself lying in bed at night thinking about. Wishing I had the ultimate answer.
"The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them." - Maya Angelou
It's important in life to recognize who a person is. You don't have to like it. You don't have to even be a part of it. But you need to believe it. For me, problems arise when a person shows who they are and I believe it's a rare instance, a one time occurrence, not examples of their true self. I want to see the good, and I convince myself anything less than is not real. I overlook the bad and allow myself to be hurt, disappointed, frustrated, all because I want to believe it will change.
As I grow and learn, it's become easier for me to acknowledge. Take my sisters for example. I love them dearly and they are both extremely unique and different from one another. In the past, I have struggled to maintain a consistent relationship with either. It's been hot and cold for the better part of my life. One minute we are best friends, the next not even speaking. Until I acknowledged who they are, I found myself a victim of disappointment again and again. Now, without surprise and minimal hurt I can say, "that's just her." And I'm quite sure they both say the same about me.
There is, however, a fine line between accepting what a person shows you and allowing yourself to be a doormat, to be taken advantage of, to be hurt with a promise of change. How do you know when to break ties and cut your loses like I did with my friend all those years ago? When is enough enough? When does a person's character become more damaging than, "Ha ha...that's John for ya!" When does the emotional cost of maintaining a friendship become too great? What does it ultimately take for you to believe what a person has been showing you all along?
These are the questions I find myself lying in bed at night thinking about. Wishing I had the ultimate answer.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Letter to Myself
Dearest Nelly,
I'm not sure how to begin, the nicest way to tell you this. So I'll come right out...you have to write more. You have a million excuses. Frankly, non of them are that good. Life is hard. Yep. Got it. So what?
Write.
I know you have ideas swirling around in your head. I'm there at night when you lie awake thinking of them. I'm there when you write bits and pieces of posts in your mind and never manage to let them out. I see the pictures in your photo stream of posts not written.
Just write.
I know somedays you struggle finding the humor. That's okay. Remember, you write for you. Always have. You don't have to force yourself to write funny stories. Remember your post, if you have nothing nice to say, say it brilliantly? Write what you want. But don't forget your purpose, the reason you delved into the dark side, to cathartically chronicle your life with Alice. Write about Alice. The good and the bad. Maybe the battles don't seem as funny as they used to. She's getting smarter, the battles are much more than sharpie on your furniture. Try telling the story anyway.
Allow yourself to grow as a writer. Yes. You are a writer. You type letters to make words and words to make sentences and sentences to tell a story. That makes you a writer. You can't not write just because the material isn't what it used to be. Things change, people change. You have to accept it and embrace where you are now. You have to find a way to write it down. You enjoy writing. It's not work. It's a release. If you need to, use writing prompts or write fiction. Anything. Just start writing again.
Lylas,
Me
I'm not sure how to begin, the nicest way to tell you this. So I'll come right out...you have to write more. You have a million excuses. Frankly, non of them are that good. Life is hard. Yep. Got it. So what?
Write.
I know you have ideas swirling around in your head. I'm there at night when you lie awake thinking of them. I'm there when you write bits and pieces of posts in your mind and never manage to let them out. I see the pictures in your photo stream of posts not written.
Just write.
I know somedays you struggle finding the humor. That's okay. Remember, you write for you. Always have. You don't have to force yourself to write funny stories. Remember your post, if you have nothing nice to say, say it brilliantly? Write what you want. But don't forget your purpose, the reason you delved into the dark side, to cathartically chronicle your life with Alice. Write about Alice. The good and the bad. Maybe the battles don't seem as funny as they used to. She's getting smarter, the battles are much more than sharpie on your furniture. Try telling the story anyway.
Allow yourself to grow as a writer. Yes. You are a writer. You type letters to make words and words to make sentences and sentences to tell a story. That makes you a writer. You can't not write just because the material isn't what it used to be. Things change, people change. You have to accept it and embrace where you are now. You have to find a way to write it down. You enjoy writing. It's not work. It's a release. If you need to, use writing prompts or write fiction. Anything. Just start writing again.
Lylas,
Me
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Fiction
Greetings Friend!
Tonight is my last night here at this gorgeous resort and spa. I really can't believe I have to go home, but sadly my flight leaves in the morning and my bags are packed. It has been the best week of my life!
If you have never vacationed alone, I highly recommend it. No one waking you before your ready. No one begging to be fed. No one else's itinerary to follow. It's just me and it's been divine.
I've never seen a town quite like this one. It's breathtaking really, with its view of the beach on one side and the picturesque mountain on the other. And the weather has been perfect, 80 degrees with a slight breeze during the day and an ideal 69 at night, just enough nip in the air to need a sweater. I'm afraid I can't tell you where I'm staying. If word gets out it will be trendy and overcrowded and no longer the peaceful retreat it is today.
I've spent the week doing nothing and I've loved every minute of it. I've had no agenda. No schedule to follow. No rules. I've done what I wanted every minute of every day. I didn't manage to see any sunrises, since my body was allowed to sleep until it was good and ready to wake. But I saw seven beautiful sunsets, every one better than the night before. The reds and oranges and pinks and purples splashed on the deep blue sky were beyond breathtaking. The images will forever be etched in my mind.
The resort staff has been nothing but exceptional during my stay. I've not heard a single sigh or humph yet. No matter what I request for room service breakfast they deliver it promptly with a smile every time. Even the day I took a vow of silence they were nothing but accommodating.
The beach was a perfect paradise. Comfy lounge chairs and towels ready for me when I meandered down. As soon as my bare feet touched the sand, I knew I was home. There's something about the warm sand between my toes that makes me breath a sigh of relief as a weight is instantly lifted from my shoulders. There's something about it that makes me feel at ease, settled. Some days I'd spend hours lying there doing absolutely nothing. The sun too bright to enjoy reading, I'd lie there and listen to the rhythmic roar of the ocean and feel the heat on my back. Those moments on the beach were probably the closest I've ever come to successful meditation, the sounds and smells blocking out all thought. It's just that peaceful. Add to it the wait staff at my constant beck and call with cucumber margaritas and ice cold coronas and the beach was heaven.
I usually went for a mountain side hike in the late afternoon. Almost as appealing as the beach, equally as peaceful. What can I say, I'll always be a beach girl at heart. I'd walk along, the crunching of the autumn leaves beneath my feet, the sun flickering through the trees as it made its descent. There was a stream that flowed close to the trail. I'd find myself memorized with the rushing water much like a pyromaniac would with a flame. Hiking along, if I didn't have sense, I could have allowed myself to become lost. There's just something about following a trail and seeing it through until an unspoken force pulls you in another direction.
The spa. Oh! Em! Gee! The spa! Truth be told, like an addiction, I could have spent all 8 days at the spa. Every treatment I had was the best I've ever had in my entire life. Every spa hand that touched my skin felt better than any other spa hand had in my entire life. They had the power with every touch to melt my skin like butter. I was an instant puddle there for them to mold and reshape into a better, looser, happier me. And the spa amenities were to die for! I've never seen more beautiful spa water! Spring water infused with perfect blends of fruits and flowers, herbs and vegetables. It was just as much art as it was a beverage. I really can not say enough in this short letter about the spa. The dressing room had the most organic feel and the showers where so clean one day I debated forgoing lunch just to spend another uninterrupted thirty minutes bathing. The raving review goes on, steam room, sauna, outdoor women's only whirlpools...the tiniest details not overlooked in every aspect of the spa.
I have eaten well during my week vacation. I'm not entirely sure what the native cuisine is in this town, but whatever I've craved I've eaten. From simple deli sandwhiches to steamed little neck clams, gourmet soups to spicy fish tacos, if I desired it, it was on the menu. It was like everyone in this town knew my favorite foods and exactly how they should be prepared. It was the best.
The vacation on a whole was the best. It was exactly what I needed. Every mother needs a break from the never ending job that is "mom." A night out here, a trip alone to the grocery store there gets you by. But eventually a mother needs more. Eventually it all adds up, the constant "on-call" of it all weighs you down. Until the moment when you snap free and say enough is enough, I need a break. This vacation was the best break I could have ever asked for. I will go back tomorrow, refreshed with a spring in my step. I will go back a better, more patient mom. But, mostly I will go back remembering I am not just a mom.
My lofty dream, but unfortunately just fiction.
Tonight is my last night here at this gorgeous resort and spa. I really can't believe I have to go home, but sadly my flight leaves in the morning and my bags are packed. It has been the best week of my life!
If you have never vacationed alone, I highly recommend it. No one waking you before your ready. No one begging to be fed. No one else's itinerary to follow. It's just me and it's been divine.
I've never seen a town quite like this one. It's breathtaking really, with its view of the beach on one side and the picturesque mountain on the other. And the weather has been perfect, 80 degrees with a slight breeze during the day and an ideal 69 at night, just enough nip in the air to need a sweater. I'm afraid I can't tell you where I'm staying. If word gets out it will be trendy and overcrowded and no longer the peaceful retreat it is today.
I've spent the week doing nothing and I've loved every minute of it. I've had no agenda. No schedule to follow. No rules. I've done what I wanted every minute of every day. I didn't manage to see any sunrises, since my body was allowed to sleep until it was good and ready to wake. But I saw seven beautiful sunsets, every one better than the night before. The reds and oranges and pinks and purples splashed on the deep blue sky were beyond breathtaking. The images will forever be etched in my mind.
The resort staff has been nothing but exceptional during my stay. I've not heard a single sigh or humph yet. No matter what I request for room service breakfast they deliver it promptly with a smile every time. Even the day I took a vow of silence they were nothing but accommodating.
The beach was a perfect paradise. Comfy lounge chairs and towels ready for me when I meandered down. As soon as my bare feet touched the sand, I knew I was home. There's something about the warm sand between my toes that makes me breath a sigh of relief as a weight is instantly lifted from my shoulders. There's something about it that makes me feel at ease, settled. Some days I'd spend hours lying there doing absolutely nothing. The sun too bright to enjoy reading, I'd lie there and listen to the rhythmic roar of the ocean and feel the heat on my back. Those moments on the beach were probably the closest I've ever come to successful meditation, the sounds and smells blocking out all thought. It's just that peaceful. Add to it the wait staff at my constant beck and call with cucumber margaritas and ice cold coronas and the beach was heaven.
I usually went for a mountain side hike in the late afternoon. Almost as appealing as the beach, equally as peaceful. What can I say, I'll always be a beach girl at heart. I'd walk along, the crunching of the autumn leaves beneath my feet, the sun flickering through the trees as it made its descent. There was a stream that flowed close to the trail. I'd find myself memorized with the rushing water much like a pyromaniac would with a flame. Hiking along, if I didn't have sense, I could have allowed myself to become lost. There's just something about following a trail and seeing it through until an unspoken force pulls you in another direction.
The spa. Oh! Em! Gee! The spa! Truth be told, like an addiction, I could have spent all 8 days at the spa. Every treatment I had was the best I've ever had in my entire life. Every spa hand that touched my skin felt better than any other spa hand had in my entire life. They had the power with every touch to melt my skin like butter. I was an instant puddle there for them to mold and reshape into a better, looser, happier me. And the spa amenities were to die for! I've never seen more beautiful spa water! Spring water infused with perfect blends of fruits and flowers, herbs and vegetables. It was just as much art as it was a beverage. I really can not say enough in this short letter about the spa. The dressing room had the most organic feel and the showers where so clean one day I debated forgoing lunch just to spend another uninterrupted thirty minutes bathing. The raving review goes on, steam room, sauna, outdoor women's only whirlpools...the tiniest details not overlooked in every aspect of the spa.
I have eaten well during my week vacation. I'm not entirely sure what the native cuisine is in this town, but whatever I've craved I've eaten. From simple deli sandwhiches to steamed little neck clams, gourmet soups to spicy fish tacos, if I desired it, it was on the menu. It was like everyone in this town knew my favorite foods and exactly how they should be prepared. It was the best.
The vacation on a whole was the best. It was exactly what I needed. Every mother needs a break from the never ending job that is "mom." A night out here, a trip alone to the grocery store there gets you by. But eventually a mother needs more. Eventually it all adds up, the constant "on-call" of it all weighs you down. Until the moment when you snap free and say enough is enough, I need a break. This vacation was the best break I could have ever asked for. I will go back tomorrow, refreshed with a spring in my step. I will go back a better, more patient mom. But, mostly I will go back remembering I am not just a mom.
My lofty dream, but unfortunately just fiction.
Friday, October 26, 2012
The Post of Links
I wrote my first post on December 18th, 2011. Of course, not at A Tea-Tray in the Sky. That first step into the darkside of blogging was somewhere else. I debate linking to old posts all the time. Even though it was only four months, Alice was excellent blog fodder, and I wrote a shit ton of stories about the trials and tribulations of raising her. But ultimately, I decide against it. I don't need my cover to be blown. So, to you fine readers that were fortunate enough to follow along back when Alice wasn't Alice and to the rest of you that have joined in along the way, I say thanks for coming on this journey with me. We've cried. We've laughed. We've drank a lot.
You know when you're watching Young and the Restless and the day's episode is like a wedding or a funeral. You know you're going to spend the whole hour watching a montage of memories. Nothing new is going to happen. You debate not even watching it, why waste an hour of your day, only you do watch it and it sucks. Just like you predicted. It's definitely not a Friday episode where they leave you with a cliffhanger of a car accident, a murder, someone falling through the ice at the lake, and an affair being consummated.
Today's post is kinda like that, a wedding episode. Nothing new, just a bunch of updates.
I love my car. Keyless entry kicks ass. It was everything I'd hoped it would be. And more. You know you've really made it in the world when you can push a button and your car doors unlock. If you happen to be one of those people that can start your car with a push of a button, please just shush. Let me bask in the glory for a little longer. Did I tell you I have heated seats? I warm my ass every chance I get. The hierarchy in my car is quite obvious. Check your ass, if it's cold on the ride to school your ranking in the family is not quite as high as mine.
Remember how I was struggling to get into my book and I wanted to quit but you guys convinced me that giving up was the wrong thing to do? You encouraged me to keep reading and I finally got hooked on Bossypants. Well. I downloaded a book to my iPad the other day. Hangs head in shame. I'm still only 111 pages into Tina Fey's book and I temporarily gave up. I bought Reflected in You by Sylvia Day. Apparently I truly am addicted to trashy novels. I heard the faintest Crossfire chatter on twitter and I was logged into my Amazon account within minutes. Just like that I succumbed to the glorified porn temptation.
As preschool room mom, I'm in charge of the Halloween party. I can't for the life of me understand how I signed up to be room mom, how I agreed to plan parties. I detest planning parties. What was I thinking?! But here I am, planning the hell out of what will be forever known as the best Halloween party the Sprout class ever had. And the Rainbow Potluck Dinner? The Sprout families will be bringing the most purple-est purple food* the school has ever seen. We will put the rest of the classes to shame!
Remember my moss? It's still a sad plot of dirt with random patches of lush green moss. People are not impressed. Oh, but mark my word, they will be. Give it time. Maybe in 2015 people will be impressed. But now, they are all laughing at me. "Crazy Nelly, weeding the dirt again." I'll update you with a new pic so you can have a good laugh as soon as I weed the dirt.
In the northeast we are heading into cold weather. Not there yet, and I'm not rushing it along. But I know with every leaf that falls we are getting a degree closer to cold and snow and ice. He still can't find his coat. And he better not think his absentmindedness gives him the excuse to buy a new one. He's going to have to grin and bear it with lots of layers. Natural consequences of life.
Today marks the fourth day since Alice has had a bath. That's right. She had a bath after swimming class on Monday and she hasn't had one since. Today's Friday. I've noticed paint and yogurt in her hair and it hasn't bothered me one bit. This morning I was finally forced to brush it, the mats were making parts for pigtails impossible. She isn't stinky, yet. I'm sure by tomorrow she will be. You see, it's not a school night so I have no pressing reason to bathe her tonight. It can wait till tomorrow. I guess it's fairly obvious the regular baths I boasted about were just a fad, a novelty to make myself feel like a stellar mom. Really, I'm just average. I still cry there's not enough time in the day.
So there you have it. The wedding episode. A glorious montage of A Tea-Tray in the Sky memories.
*Not me. I'm bringing wine. I'm too lazy to cook.
You know when you're watching Young and the Restless and the day's episode is like a wedding or a funeral. You know you're going to spend the whole hour watching a montage of memories. Nothing new is going to happen. You debate not even watching it, why waste an hour of your day, only you do watch it and it sucks. Just like you predicted. It's definitely not a Friday episode where they leave you with a cliffhanger of a car accident, a murder, someone falling through the ice at the lake, and an affair being consummated.
Today's post is kinda like that, a wedding episode. Nothing new, just a bunch of updates.
I love my car. Keyless entry kicks ass. It was everything I'd hoped it would be. And more. You know you've really made it in the world when you can push a button and your car doors unlock. If you happen to be one of those people that can start your car with a push of a button, please just shush. Let me bask in the glory for a little longer. Did I tell you I have heated seats? I warm my ass every chance I get. The hierarchy in my car is quite obvious. Check your ass, if it's cold on the ride to school your ranking in the family is not quite as high as mine.
Remember how I was struggling to get into my book and I wanted to quit but you guys convinced me that giving up was the wrong thing to do? You encouraged me to keep reading and I finally got hooked on Bossypants. Well. I downloaded a book to my iPad the other day. Hangs head in shame. I'm still only 111 pages into Tina Fey's book and I temporarily gave up. I bought Reflected in You by Sylvia Day. Apparently I truly am addicted to trashy novels. I heard the faintest Crossfire chatter on twitter and I was logged into my Amazon account within minutes. Just like that I succumbed to the glorified porn temptation.
As preschool room mom, I'm in charge of the Halloween party. I can't for the life of me understand how I signed up to be room mom, how I agreed to plan parties. I detest planning parties. What was I thinking?! But here I am, planning the hell out of what will be forever known as the best Halloween party the Sprout class ever had. And the Rainbow Potluck Dinner? The Sprout families will be bringing the most purple-est purple food* the school has ever seen. We will put the rest of the classes to shame!
Remember my moss? It's still a sad plot of dirt with random patches of lush green moss. People are not impressed. Oh, but mark my word, they will be. Give it time. Maybe in 2015 people will be impressed. But now, they are all laughing at me. "Crazy Nelly, weeding the dirt again." I'll update you with a new pic so you can have a good laugh as soon as I weed the dirt.
In the northeast we are heading into cold weather. Not there yet, and I'm not rushing it along. But I know with every leaf that falls we are getting a degree closer to cold and snow and ice. He still can't find his coat. And he better not think his absentmindedness gives him the excuse to buy a new one. He's going to have to grin and bear it with lots of layers. Natural consequences of life.
Today marks the fourth day since Alice has had a bath. That's right. She had a bath after swimming class on Monday and she hasn't had one since. Today's Friday. I've noticed paint and yogurt in her hair and it hasn't bothered me one bit. This morning I was finally forced to brush it, the mats were making parts for pigtails impossible. She isn't stinky, yet. I'm sure by tomorrow she will be. You see, it's not a school night so I have no pressing reason to bathe her tonight. It can wait till tomorrow. I guess it's fairly obvious the regular baths I boasted about were just a fad, a novelty to make myself feel like a stellar mom. Really, I'm just average. I still cry there's not enough time in the day.
So there you have it. The wedding episode. A glorious montage of A Tea-Tray in the Sky memories.
*Not me. I'm bringing wine. I'm too lazy to cook.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
For the Love of a Good Book
I always thought I had fantastic followers. I've even bragged a time or two.
Then I go and ask you guys for a favor, a simple request. I needed YouTube help. But did you come to my rescue? No. Write about Alice and her love of bacon and you folks come running out of the woodwork to comment. I guess YouTube is just asking too much. I blame you, and you, but not you cause you did suggest that one video.
I received several responses to the affect of I don't really watch YouTube, don't have the time for it. Well my friends, let me share some facts straight from YouTube's site that make your claim a little shakey.
My loyal readers you've left me no choice. You put me in a place I didn't want to be. I have been forced to read my book. It topped the New York Times Best Seller list 5 weeks in a row. It's sold over 1 million copies in the US alone. And yet, I am struggling to get into it. It's not one of those books that finds me in bed at one in the morning fully engrossed, still reading. I can't blame the mound of laundry on my good book. But I think it's on the upswing, page 96 and I'm hearing more mentions of Amy Poehler and Saturday Night Live.
Yes, my book is Tina Fey's, Bossypants. It was on my Christmas list in 2011 and I was quite pleased when my Mother In-law bought it for me. It's sat on the book shelf for, jeesh, 9 whole months begging me to read it. I always hadfancied up porn other books that were on my must read list. Finally with the end of 2012 creeping up on me and my faithful followers being of no help in my efforts to procrastinate, I'm going to finish my book.
Want a chance to redeem yourself? I'll need a new book soon enough. This time I want something good. Something so good it's obvious when you walk in my house and see the mayhem, I've been at the mercy of an enthralling read. I'm open to anything, kids hunting down kids, glorified porn, or maybe even something vampirey...it seems to be all the rage and I am in the dark.
I received several responses to the affect of I don't really watch YouTube, don't have the time for it. Well my friends, let me share some facts straight from YouTube's site that make your claim a little shakey.
- Each minute over 700 YouTube videos are shared on twitter
- 500 years of YouTube videos are watched every day on Facebook
- 72 hours of video are uploaded to YouTube every minute
- In 2011, YouTube had more than 1 trillion views or around 140 views from every person on Earth
My loyal readers you've left me no choice. You put me in a place I didn't want to be. I have been forced to read my book. It topped the New York Times Best Seller list 5 weeks in a row. It's sold over 1 million copies in the US alone. And yet, I am struggling to get into it. It's not one of those books that finds me in bed at one in the morning fully engrossed, still reading. I can't blame the mound of laundry on my good book. But I think it's on the upswing, page 96 and I'm hearing more mentions of Amy Poehler and Saturday Night Live.
Yes, my book is Tina Fey's, Bossypants. It was on my Christmas list in 2011 and I was quite pleased when my Mother In-law bought it for me. It's sat on the book shelf for, jeesh, 9 whole months begging me to read it. I always had
Want a chance to redeem yourself? I'll need a new book soon enough. This time I want something good. Something so good it's obvious when you walk in my house and see the mayhem, I've been at the mercy of an enthralling read. I'm open to anything, kids hunting down kids, glorified porn, or maybe even something vampirey...it seems to be all the rage and I am in the dark.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Colliding Thoughts
Today is a thinking day. I'm not entirely sure why, but my brain refuses to do, only to think. I really wanted to write, help steer my thoughts into a focused direction...but sadly that doesn't appear to be happening. Instead, I find myself staring out the window thinking. I can hear Alice upstairs singing and playing, not napping like she should be. It's just background noise for my rambling thoughts.
Nothing monumental has happened to cause the obscure mood. My mind is like Alice's favorite DVD, "The Milkshake Band." It's scratched and will continuously play and replay certain clips until someone forces the DVD player to skip over the section. It will resume playing breifly until it hits another scratch, again it will loop around and around. The DVD is really useless at this point, but every now and again I give into Alice's insistent pleas and play it, knowing it won't be long until I'm forced to fast forward and skip the fickle disc. That's my thoughts today, worthless and continuously stuck on repeat.
I'm not getting anything accomplished. Before me sits three packages. Normally I love packages...it's like adult Christmas! But today the packages sit on the coffee table and I haven't even cared to open them. Amazon goodies and fall clothes for Alice. In time, I'll get to them.
My thoughts center around the usual pickle of a life I call my own, an email I received from a friend, and an uncalled for comment I made to someone who doesn't deserve it. Each sector running around my brain bumping into each other vying for the forefront. Meanwhile, these thoughts are competing with the standard operating thoughts...dinner, laundry, afternoon arts and crafts, dishes, etc. I need to lighten my brain's workload, cut the dead weight. It's clear to me now, I need to let the contents of the email lie. I do not need to analyze and process everything right now. Doing so will not change a thing, it will not set anything in motion, and honestly, nothing will be clearer. Second, I need to make right a wrong. I don't know what my intentions were in making the spiteful comment, but I know I was at fault. It didn't need to be said, and regardless of whether the person was offended, I need to apologize.
Phew...I already feel better. I do believe, now that I have that sorted, there will be more room for my thoughts to rotate in an orderly fashion. Look at that, writing did help me focus my thoughts after all. I didn't tell you a funny tale or talk about poop and pee, but, hey...everyday can't be a good story.
Nothing monumental has happened to cause the obscure mood. My mind is like Alice's favorite DVD, "The Milkshake Band." It's scratched and will continuously play and replay certain clips until someone forces the DVD player to skip over the section. It will resume playing breifly until it hits another scratch, again it will loop around and around. The DVD is really useless at this point, but every now and again I give into Alice's insistent pleas and play it, knowing it won't be long until I'm forced to fast forward and skip the fickle disc. That's my thoughts today, worthless and continuously stuck on repeat.
I'm not getting anything accomplished. Before me sits three packages. Normally I love packages...it's like adult Christmas! But today the packages sit on the coffee table and I haven't even cared to open them. Amazon goodies and fall clothes for Alice. In time, I'll get to them.
My thoughts center around the usual pickle of a life I call my own, an email I received from a friend, and an uncalled for comment I made to someone who doesn't deserve it. Each sector running around my brain bumping into each other vying for the forefront. Meanwhile, these thoughts are competing with the standard operating thoughts...dinner, laundry, afternoon arts and crafts, dishes, etc. I need to lighten my brain's workload, cut the dead weight. It's clear to me now, I need to let the contents of the email lie. I do not need to analyze and process everything right now. Doing so will not change a thing, it will not set anything in motion, and honestly, nothing will be clearer. Second, I need to make right a wrong. I don't know what my intentions were in making the spiteful comment, but I know I was at fault. It didn't need to be said, and regardless of whether the person was offended, I need to apologize.
Phew...I already feel better. I do believe, now that I have that sorted, there will be more room for my thoughts to rotate in an orderly fashion. Look at that, writing did help me focus my thoughts after all. I didn't tell you a funny tale or talk about poop and pee, but, hey...everyday can't be a good story.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Interlude
Ever have the kind of experience that makes your head spin in so many ways you can't distinguish which direction is up?
That's the best description I can give for the past few days. We attempted a nice four day beach vacation to my hometown. It was absolutely, hands down, without a doubt anything but nice. So much not niceness happened I can not delve into it in this post. My head is still swimming, literally...from what the doctor described as a rip-roaring inner ear infection. I need to take a day or two, try to process the illnesses that proved insurmountable, the doctor and pharmacy visits, the insistent refusal to consume medicines, the power struggle between grandparent and parent, the hurt feelings, and mostly, the disappointment. If I were to write now, I would blubber on in a whiney, sobbing fashion surely telling the wrong story in entirely the wrong way.
I will take a deep breath, sleep on it and...in the word's of my husband, "revisit it when cooler heads prevail." Trust me, with all the fever up in here we could certainly use cooler heads.
That's the best description I can give for the past few days. We attempted a nice four day beach vacation to my hometown. It was absolutely, hands down, without a doubt anything but nice. So much not niceness happened I can not delve into it in this post. My head is still swimming, literally...from what the doctor described as a rip-roaring inner ear infection. I need to take a day or two, try to process the illnesses that proved insurmountable, the doctor and pharmacy visits, the insistent refusal to consume medicines, the power struggle between grandparent and parent, the hurt feelings, and mostly, the disappointment. If I were to write now, I would blubber on in a whiney, sobbing fashion surely telling the wrong story in entirely the wrong way.
I will take a deep breath, sleep on it and...in the word's of my husband, "revisit it when cooler heads prevail." Trust me, with all the fever up in here we could certainly use cooler heads.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Kanceling the Kardashians
You may remember a few months back, I gave up television for Lent. No tv. At all. I felt compelled to end the addiction when I found myself caring about the Kardashians and Abby Lee and her dance moms. I was no longer just watching the few shows I was invested in, I was watching junk. Worse yet, I was watching said junk On Demand. I was seeking it out.
The weeks without tv were awesome! Seriously. Since I knew it wasn't an option, I replaced my post Alice bedtime addiction withporn reading and writing. It was nice.
After Easter, I slowly resumed watching tv. Weird at first, I didn't know what to do. How I imagine inmates feel when they're released from prison and are expected to reintegrate themselves into society. At first they avoid their old friends, like I did with Whitney, the Broke Girls, and my friends in Genoa City. But it doesn't take long before the old crew comes knocking at your door at 2am with a dime bag in hand.
My friends, I do believe I'm right back where I was. I'm addicted again. To worthless mindless junk. Now let me be clear, if you love watching Snooki that's awesome. She is captivating. It's just not a show I care to be invested in. Nor is Hoarders, Teen Mom, or Jerseylicious. I. Just. Can't. Stop. Watching.
I'm done. I'm throwing in the towel on my addiction. I hope to be transferred to some swanky rehab joint in Southern California where I can spend my days recovering. If that fails to happen, a call will be made to Comcast. It's the only logical decision. I've been left no choice. I must go to my dealer and cut off my supply. I'm canceling cable.
Hi. My name is Nelly and I'm a cable tv addict. It's been 12 minutes since I last used.
The weeks without tv were awesome! Seriously. Since I knew it wasn't an option, I replaced my post Alice bedtime addiction with
After Easter, I slowly resumed watching tv. Weird at first, I didn't know what to do. How I imagine inmates feel when they're released from prison and are expected to reintegrate themselves into society. At first they avoid their old friends, like I did with Whitney, the Broke Girls, and my friends in Genoa City. But it doesn't take long before the old crew comes knocking at your door at 2am with a dime bag in hand.
My friends, I do believe I'm right back where I was. I'm addicted again. To worthless mindless junk. Now let me be clear, if you love watching Snooki that's awesome. She is captivating. It's just not a show I care to be invested in. Nor is Hoarders, Teen Mom, or Jerseylicious. I. Just. Can't. Stop. Watching.
I'm done. I'm throwing in the towel on my addiction. I hope to be transferred to some swanky rehab joint in Southern California where I can spend my days recovering. If that fails to happen, a call will be made to Comcast. It's the only logical decision. I've been left no choice. I must go to my dealer and cut off my supply. I'm canceling cable.
Hi. My name is Nelly and I'm a cable tv addict. It's been 12 minutes since I last used.
Posted with BlogsyThursday, June 28, 2012
Foggy Rather Groggy
I've been up since 6:13am. For no damn good reason. Husband's away for the week. It wasn't his snoring or coming to bed at odd hours of the morning that effed up my sleep. Daughters away at her aunt's for a sleepover. It wasn't her waking with the birds, in need of a cuddle that caused my problem. Animals were still asleep at 6:13am. I can't blame it on them. I have no one to blame but myself.
Hangs head in sorrow.
I have become, and I shudder to even say it...a morning person. An early riser. Normally, no biggie. But after a night out, it would have been delightful to sleep past 8 o'clock this morning. Instead, I'm left awake but foggy-brained. Let me tell you, it sucks. Not as bad as hungover and awake, but still not preferable.
I had hoped to write a bit before I retrieve Alice from her sleepover. I rarely get to write in the morning, coffee in hand, cool morning breeze blowing in the windows. My foggy rather groggy mind is not in love with the idea. So, while I wait for the caffeine to kick in, I present to you the topics my brain formulated and, for very good reason, rejected on this fine morning.
I think there was merit in stoning. Aside from the physical trauma of actually being stoned. I think there should be Internet stoning. That way I get the satisfaction of publicly punishing someone for their wrong doings, and no one is physically hurt. A stoning site. I suppose I could do the same via my blog, but then I may just come off as a bitter, vindictive lady.
Words acceptable in the Words With Friends dictionary severely limits my chances at winning. I understand the logic that my opponent is playing with the same rules as I am. Somehow it doesn't matter. I want to be able to play words like Nazi and zygote. I would win on a triple score with the word zygote.
I think Alice said shit the other day. If in fact she did, it would have been the first curse word she's uttered and used correctly. She was tossing a beach ball around in the house and one toss hit the tv. I swear I heard shit come out of her mouth. But she was mumbling andchanting singing so I couldn't be sure. I asked her to repeat, she refused.
Purple is not a flavor.
Why do Legos not come with a warning, "Beware! From this purchase forward, small microscopic plastic pieces will scatter your house. Try your best to contain them." If there was a warning like that on the box, right below it would be a button. When you pushed it, you would hear sadistic laughter.
Kids produce a lot of artwork. I use the term art loosely.
My oven has a self cleaning feature, why not my toaster oven? Not wanting to turn the oven on and heat the kitchen, I cooked bacon wrapped scallops in the toaster oven Tuesday night. Damn, that produced a shit ton of grease on the ceiling of the appliance! How am I supposed to clean that?
I need to make a dentist appointment. I was a no-show for my last. They sent me a letter in the mail expressing their disappointment in me. From the tone of the letter, they seemed to be more hurt than when I told them I wasn't a regular flosser. I don't want to call and face the wrath of the receptionist, so I keep putting it of. I don't think I'm up for the challenge today either.
Alright. I hate to end my oh, so successful list of nothingness, but from the texts I'm receiving it seems my time here is up. My daughter has over stayed her welcome. I must go fetch her. Sigh. On the bright side, I've drank enough iced coffee and feel clearheadedish. Coffee, my wonder drug of choice.
Hangs head in sorrow.
I have become, and I shudder to even say it...a morning person. An early riser. Normally, no biggie. But after a night out, it would have been delightful to sleep past 8 o'clock this morning. Instead, I'm left awake but foggy-brained. Let me tell you, it sucks. Not as bad as hungover and awake, but still not preferable.
I had hoped to write a bit before I retrieve Alice from her sleepover. I rarely get to write in the morning, coffee in hand, cool morning breeze blowing in the windows. My foggy rather groggy mind is not in love with the idea. So, while I wait for the caffeine to kick in, I present to you the topics my brain formulated and, for very good reason, rejected on this fine morning.
I think there was merit in stoning. Aside from the physical trauma of actually being stoned. I think there should be Internet stoning. That way I get the satisfaction of publicly punishing someone for their wrong doings, and no one is physically hurt. A stoning site. I suppose I could do the same via my blog, but then I may just come off as a bitter, vindictive lady.
Words acceptable in the Words With Friends dictionary severely limits my chances at winning. I understand the logic that my opponent is playing with the same rules as I am. Somehow it doesn't matter. I want to be able to play words like Nazi and zygote. I would win on a triple score with the word zygote.
I think Alice said shit the other day. If in fact she did, it would have been the first curse word she's uttered and used correctly. She was tossing a beach ball around in the house and one toss hit the tv. I swear I heard shit come out of her mouth. But she was mumbling and
Purple is not a flavor.
Why do Legos not come with a warning, "Beware! From this purchase forward, small microscopic plastic pieces will scatter your house. Try your best to contain them." If there was a warning like that on the box, right below it would be a button. When you pushed it, you would hear sadistic laughter.
Kids produce a lot of artwork. I use the term art loosely.
My oven has a self cleaning feature, why not my toaster oven? Not wanting to turn the oven on and heat the kitchen, I cooked bacon wrapped scallops in the toaster oven Tuesday night. Damn, that produced a shit ton of grease on the ceiling of the appliance! How am I supposed to clean that?
I need to make a dentist appointment. I was a no-show for my last. They sent me a letter in the mail expressing their disappointment in me. From the tone of the letter, they seemed to be more hurt than when I told them I wasn't a regular flosser. I don't want to call and face the wrath of the receptionist, so I keep putting it of. I don't think I'm up for the challenge today either.
Alright. I hate to end my oh, so successful list of nothingness, but from the texts I'm receiving it seems my time here is up. My daughter has over stayed her welcome. I must go fetch her. Sigh. On the bright side, I've drank enough iced coffee and feel clearheadedish. Coffee, my wonder drug of choice.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Dear Ole Dad In-law
Happy to report, I might just have a stalker. Relax, no need to be jealous quite yet. No one is hiding in the bushes with high tech photographic equipment taking pictures of me undressing. I haven't even received any cool hate mail, constructed entirely of hand cut magazine letters and blood.
I believe it's just my in-laws.
Pray tell, you ask, why are your in-laws tracking you down?
Easy. My old blog was crack to them. A highly addictive fix that got them through the day. I was their dealer, yet, I had no idea until their supply was cut off. I always suspected they were using, but never could be certain. They lurked in the shadows, enjoying my words, reading my thoughts aloud, never commenting, never saying a thing.
Until their son heavily tread on my free speech and I ended it all. Then, out of deranged withdrawal, they came forward. But not to me, mind you. Just to my husband. Wanting my intoxicating tales of their granddaughter.
A few days ago, my husband warned me, "My dad may or may not have a twitter account now."
"Okay. So? What's that even mean...he may or may not?"
"He does. My dad's on twitter. And he asked about your blog, if you were still blogging."
"Okay. Whatever."
Here's the thing. I'm easily found. I may be hiding out here as Nelly, but it wouldn't take long if someone really wanted to locate me. My old blog is still online. Many of the same people that commented then, comment now. And I like to return the favor to my few readers. My old twitter account is still in use, with many of the same followers. Connecting the dots is just a few clicks away. I'm okay with that. I don't need the anonymity. What I do need is for my cover not to be blown. I enjoy blogging. It's like therapy, only free and I don't have to cordinate appointments around sitter availability.
Dear dad-in-law...if you're reading this, please play by my rules. If you blow my cover, I'll have no choice but to blog privately. This time, don't let it be known that you lurk, certainly not to my husband. Don't quote directly from my posts in normal conversation. Read my blog secretly, just you and mom. Remember, inebriated family members tend to talk with loose lips. If you follow the code, things with be just fine. So, please, just try and be cool.
I believe it's just my in-laws.
Pray tell, you ask, why are your in-laws tracking you down?
Easy. My old blog was crack to them. A highly addictive fix that got them through the day. I was their dealer, yet, I had no idea until their supply was cut off. I always suspected they were using, but never could be certain. They lurked in the shadows, enjoying my words, reading my thoughts aloud, never commenting, never saying a thing.
Until their son heavily tread on my free speech and I ended it all. Then, out of deranged withdrawal, they came forward. But not to me, mind you. Just to my husband. Wanting my intoxicating tales of their granddaughter.
A few days ago, my husband warned me, "My dad may or may not have a twitter account now."
"Okay. So? What's that even mean...he may or may not?"
"He does. My dad's on twitter. And he asked about your blog, if you were still blogging."
"Okay. Whatever."
Here's the thing. I'm easily found. I may be hiding out here as Nelly, but it wouldn't take long if someone really wanted to locate me. My old blog is still online. Many of the same people that commented then, comment now. And I like to return the favor to my few readers. My old twitter account is still in use, with many of the same followers. Connecting the dots is just a few clicks away. I'm okay with that. I don't need the anonymity. What I do need is for my cover not to be blown. I enjoy blogging. It's like therapy, only free and I don't have to cordinate appointments around sitter availability.
Dear dad-in-law...if you're reading this, please play by my rules. If you blow my cover, I'll have no choice but to blog privately. This time, don't let it be known that you lurk, certainly not to my husband. Don't quote directly from my posts in normal conversation. Read my blog secretly, just you and mom. Remember, inebriated family members tend to talk with loose lips. If you follow the code, things with be just fine. So, please, just try and be cool.
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