Monday, June 18, 2012

Things I'm afraid to tell you

1. I hate my job. I know. I've said it before. I live with it. I don't complain (because the complaining must lead to change, it must, and I'm just not there yet. Yet. Yet.)  Driving to work, I just don't want to arrive. It's complicated, it's insane, it's my livelihood, it's my deadweight.

2. I want to write a book, my book, the one that dances around in my head every night before I fall asleep, and my fear is this will not happen. Actually, that's not the real fear. I have no doubt this book, whatever form it takes, will manifest itself, one way or another.  I'm just worried about the  "Now what?".  Okay, I'm not even worried about that. I'm worried number one on this list is sucking the lifeblood out of me.

3. When I read other blog entries about this topic, I was kind of relieved.  Alot of bloggers talked about being strapped financially (see number one on this list again) and I felt grateful. One of them talked about a proliferation of negative posts driving traffic away. Er...fuck it, is what I say to that. My home (condo/loft/apartment whatever the hell you want to call it) does not remotely look like an interior designer did her magic in here. And I am an interior designer. But it only helps me to realize how stupid it is to make your home a museum, one where you are scared to touch/dirty/sully anything. As a former boss of my sister always said (I've developed it into a personal motto):  "It's. Just. STUFF". Amen.
Okay so maybe I wasn't afraid to tell you that. But you needed to hear it.

4. The immigration paperwork is like a monkey on my back. I know. I need to get a lawyer to do this, pay him/her, get it done. I'm getting there. Like climbing a mountain with no gear.

5.  When I do my long running on the weekend, I love pretty much every second.  Then, after a while, when I can't fucking move, when I'm icing yet another part of my body that hurts, and my times suck, and I can't get under a ten-minute-mile, I ask myself, Why do the hell do I run?
I have no answer.

6.  I dream about work WAY too often. Oh god.

7.  I read alot about bloggers on this topic and their 'jealousies' of other people on line.  I heard a radio interview with a musician who talked about Eric Clapton wanting to go home and smash his guitar after hearing Jimi Hendrix play, and this musician (I missed the beginning, I'm sorry...) said that hearing a better player made him want to play more... 'Nuff said.  I read bloggers who are real talents at age twenty-six and I they will be able to be when they take their ego/vanity/neuroses out of the equation.

8. Despite my disappointment of how my aunt handled my father's death, I'd give anything to hear her steady voice again. It's a great sadness in my life.

9.  I worry about my health. More than I should. When I'm done with that, I worry about Mike's health. Because if anything happened along that vein I don't know if I'd be able to keep going.

10.  I wish I were a better Catholic, but this is the best I can right now--sporadic church visits, throwing bills in the collection basket, giving the kids coins for the candle-lighting, as if I can bribe God. I can't. I don't want to, but I feel...clean...when I give the church money.

That's it for now. I don't hide much on this rudimentary, photo-less, 'just-me' blog.
I'm here, I'm alive, I'm living the best life I can with the cards in my hand.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

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