I’m so sad 1970s movie Jesus’ blue eyes staring at them calmly yet piercingly aren’t going to be the first thing a visitor sees when they come here to the home page now. I literally could stare at Robert Powell’s 1970s Jesus eyes for days on end. I like blue eyes THAT much.
So I’m going to really focus on being humorous and positive here (I know, I know…I say that, and then some kind of bizarro psychocrap pops into my life and I come here and vent…historically, this is how I do, at least). Something happened at work the other day that sent me reeling…can’t say what it is, because I need to stay very very focused and quiet right now. But I spent a lot of time crying about it, and then I went to my people. My tribe. My loves. And I’m stronger now and know what to do, how to handle it. I am acutely, deeply, astonishingly aware of the people I have been blessed with, the human beings who are willing to rush in, in whatever capacity they are able, and pull me up from the well. I am gobsmacked by the enormity of the Universe’s generosity in crossing my path with these people, whether they’re family or friends. Completely and humbly awed and grateful. I am surrounded by lights.
Yet. Still. Listen it’s quarter to 10 PM as I’m starting to write this and I’m bleary-eyed. For the past THREE days I’ve been working on this…stinking Snapfish book C had the bright idea of putting together – he wants to make a yearbook for every year Miss M is in school, a collection of pictures from that year. I was supposed to do it over the summer, but I had issues. And then at the beginning of the school year, I had issues. I have never ending issues. So now I’m finally pulling all the pictures together and placing them in the book. We take a lotta pictures, y’all. Especially Miss M and me. I literally had to wade through what felt like 100+ selfies. I’m thinking back to 1979-1980, when I was 7 and 8. I think there were roughly 40 pictures of me that year? And I bet half were Polaroids. It used to be work to take a picture: snap the photo, drive to the photo store, give them your film, wait 7 days, drive back, look through them, say okay, pay, drive home, and then carefully add them to a hands-on photo album no one but your own family and some bored visitors would ever look at.
Now we take thousands of pictures every year, upload them to Flickr, Instagram, Snapfish, our laptops, flashdrives…and then we post them all over social media and blogs. We are a species in love with itself. And devoted to sifting images into annoying online photo albums. With cutesy, pithy captions. Weird. (And yet I’m all about it.)
At any rate, the website crashed and I lost everything. EVERYTHING. I gotta start over at square one tomorrow, and it is NOT making me happy. So I’m going to write this and then go to bed.
Here’s what’s happening in my world:
1-I got Miss M a kitten. She doesn’t have it yet; it’s still with Roger up in Clarkesville, who’s giving us the kitten for free. She’s a grey/black Manx kitten, meaning she has no tail. The Manx breed was started on the Isle of Man over in the UK awhile back, and now we’ve got these tailless felines. Kind of like Ernest Hemingway’s six-toed cats, but cuter because their heads are rounder. I’ve named her for M, because when I asked M what name she would give a girl kitten IF Santa brought her one, her response was, “Princess.” I mean. Y’all. For real?? “Princess.” From the kid who makes up 20 minute-long stories about boys named Rafael who want to marry her but she caught Rafael kissing Jessica and now Jessica and M are going to beat him up. Princess. And when I asked what she’d name a boy cat if Santa gave her that, she said: “Prince.” And I’m sorry, no. This is a creative family, we think OUTSIDE the box.
So I went and named her Harley Quinn, and we’re calling her Quinn. But don’t tell M that…on record, Santa did that. Quinn the Manx kitten is one of Santa’s most precious babies up in the North Pole, and he knew little Miss M was desperate for a brother or sister but will never get one of those unless somebody remarries and there are stepsiblings. So here you go, ho ho ho little gal…a kitten sister. Don’t forget to feed her and clean her litter box out every day! (Bet I’ll be doing the latter :/) (HA! Get it? GET IT?? Latter…litter…latter, litter……..ahem. anyway. moving on):
(Hey, wait…can I tell you a really quick side story/confession? I feel guilty naming this cat before I meet her. When I met my cat Tasha in Arizona back in 1995, I had no idea what to name her when I brought her home. I was sitting on the floor watching her do kitten things, and then a voice inside of me – NOOO, not a schizo voice, just a voice…like a KNOWING – said: Natasha. And then I knew: this animal’s name was Natasha. Which quickly became just Tasha. And Tasha is still deeply missed and loved – she saw me through my 20s, my 30s, breakups and cries, a marriage, a baby, moved to Georgia with me, helped comfort me through my dad’s death…goodness, she went through tons with me. And now this new sweet cat will come into our lives to comfort both Miss M and me through who knows what. I kind of feel like I should give her spirit a chance to let me know her true name…but then, maybe she actually is a Harley Quinn. We’ll see.)
2-I’ve been spending money I don’t have, and not via credit card. I did budget for Christmas, but I – per usual – I’ve gone over. Hope I can pay all my bills at the end of the month.
3-I’m gettin’ nuthin’ for Christmas…except a book and a new wallet and whatever else people decide to give me. If no one gives me anything, Melissa gets all the presents. Which is how it should be anyway. (But you know what I would REALLY like for Christmas instead of stuff? Someone to come to my apartment to drink wine with me – or other harder stuff, watch Netflix and chill. But literally chill, not that other “chill.” I just want to lay my head on a nice man’s chest for a really long time with his arms around me. That would be a nice Christmas present.) (I mean, a girl can come over too if she’d like and I’ll sit real close to her, but laying my head on a girl’s chest vs. a man’s chest just doesn’t feel as safe or comforting for some reason.) (hashtag-cultural-programming.)
If no one’s coming over but they want to feel sorry for me and get me a gift, people can choose from the following:
Something I want: a man. (HA! I’M JOKING. I’m done with men these days, except for about 7 of you, and of those 7 I’m related to about 4.)
I want to take a trip somewhere. I’m not sure where, but I think the mountains. Or Italy. I’m not real picky.
Something I need: a life. (HA! AGAIN! You’re so easy to mess with.)
A wireless printer for my crappy Chromebook. (Actually I just need a new laptop that will work with any kind of wireless printer – Chromebooks don’t sync up to just any old wireless printer, you have to search.)
Something to wear: Workout clothes. And cute pajamas. You can never have enough of either of those things, I say. And new running shoes.
Something to read: I’ve already bought myself my own something to read, but I happily accept all kinds of books. I’d really like to read Amanda Palmer’s The Art of Asking.
Something from Santa: $20,000 to pay off my credit card. Seriously, if I could get that cleared up, my life would unravel in marvelous ways, I just know it. (I keep bringing this up, by the way, not to look like I’m asking for hand outs, but because I believe the Universe conspires to bring you what you ask for, if you have the guts to ask for it. So I put it out there, over and over, daring the Universe to bring it to me.) (I hope the Universe doesn’t bring it to me in the form of a drug dealer boyfriend or something…the Universe does seem to enjoy playing dirty little tricks like that and then shrugs and goes, “What? WHAT?? You said you needed some fast, easy cash…he’s loaded. Learn a lesson while you’re at it.” *shaking my fist at your constant trickery, Universe*
I actually started an Amazon wish list for birthdays and Christmas gifts because (1) sometimes people ask: what can I get you for xyz, and I can never think of anything…I have a lot of stuff, lots more than other people have…and (2) boredom. Sometimes when I’m very bored, I hop on amazon.com and start Big Dreaming.
I’ve been doing a lot of Big Dreaming lately, by the way. I find it’s a more calming, happier thing to do than get ticked off at life and the world around me. Which I did for most of 2016, and got absolutely no where.
Here’s what a random generator on the Internet told me was in store for me for 2017, and if they’re wrong I’m going to find that random Internet generator maker and punch them in the nose.