Thursday, March 8, 2012

Journal 138 Another Idea

My God.
The ideas come, and the ideas go just as quickly.
As Mike and I were sitting down to dinner (late, like 9pm) I had a brilliant blog entry exploding in my head.
Dinner done, washing face, pajama'ed, and poof!--it's gone.
My nails are bare (bad before-bed polish, the move destroyed them, they are shot), my face is bare, my hair is up, it's close to 10pm (last night's bedtime) and American Horror Story is coming on in less than ten minutes.
So I'll make this quick.
I can't get the blog idea I had back (I tried re-tracing my steps, walked about the condo, it was a long title, it might return) so I'll just give you my randoms, as I sometimes do, my right-nows, the thoughts as they come...

I bought the Adele Vogue. I was reading her profile article while Mike cooked. I tore myself away from her lovely swearing-red-carpet-fearing interview to eat the amazing dinner Mike made, lobster pasta, some spinach, a bottle of Chablis. Truth be told I'm still thinking of the article, and all the delicious pages I flipped past to get to it. I read Vogue, when I buy it, which is when the person on the cover moves me or disturbs me, from cover to cover. Not for clothes (I don't care), not for make-up (I have my own formula) but for words, for interviews, for artful interiors, for photography, for book reviews. It's not trash, it really isn't. I know I want it to be, a bit, but it's not.

RE: Updates. I didn't 'distribute' Updates (my previous post) the way I normally do. There's a reason for this.  Sometimes I do a post just for me. This morning was just such a post.  When I mean 'just for me' I mean,  I write as a carthartic act, and the readers who want to read my sh*t can.  And sometimes, for me, healing involves ranting and being not-so-nice. I think that in Updates, it's easy to take the path of saying "ooohhh mean" but think of it this way: I didn't properly react at the time it all went down--very very uncharacteristic of me, as I am a person who doesn't lie down in front of the steamroller of life when it's coming down the road. At the time, it was like I had been lifted out of the life I was living, and placed in an alternate universe, one where I had to sort out my own home life (what was left of it), sift through the lies and deceit (and alot of the shame I felt. A sad sort of shame--that people knew, that kind of shame where you just know: You've been made a fool of, right and proper), and the eventual decision that I could no longer be at my restaurant job, despite the good relationships with people I had there, despite my high-standing as an employee with seniority, who got great customer feedback, and great reviews from management; and then the real kicker, the one that put all of those other things squarely on the back burner, and there they would stay: I had to face the fact that I had a gravely ill parent, something I hadn't counted on, and that was my focus, and it remained my focus, from the start, in May 2010, to the end, June 2011, and beyond. All else that happened was background noise, other than getting to know Mike, going to meet him in Maine, our New York and Boston trips, and our subsequent falling-in-love-ness. So I think, as this gossipy news continues to trickle out, I finally have thawed enough to feel it. And that rage remains, I have to say. So that's the grain of salt I offer for that--I believe people get what they deserve, and as the saying I kept taped on my fridge for most of my twenties was thus:
"Sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck".
It is something I knew, soul-deep, as life swirled around, at the time, out of control, and I was glad to have that solitary knowledge, that I could hold close to me, and take out from time to time as a reminder.

Anyway, I'm rambling.
It's now early early Thursday morning, I'm getting ready for work (my new wake-up times have me scooting to the laptop rather than tossing and turning, I might as well make use of this reverse-insomnia I've got going on, and truth be told I'm logging a good couple of hours in the morning before work with my writing, and that is all good--it's the practice Natalie Goldberg talks about, that habit that you need to get into with writing, just like running, until one day, you start to dream it {I have running dreams now} and then one day, you start to live it. It becomes as imperative as breathing.
The place I am in now is a good one, despite being in a LDM for which time living in our respective countries is enforced by our respective immigration laws, (thank you Canada and the U.S. for being so....ubiquitious...) and even though the rain is pouring down outside, the temps are in the double digits, and I know (I hope, I pray) that I am going to get to enjoy a calm spring, one where I run races, and spring-clean my condo, and re-organize closets and wall units, and write-write-write, and keep myself from the missing-missing-missing I do when Mike is away from me.
For now I'm coffee'ed (Tim Hortons makes a mean latte, yum, must be v. fattening!), I'm vitamin-ed, and despite the shortness of my sleeps, they're pretty solid. Dream-filled, active.
Moving forward.

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