This is a Stick:

 

Courtesy of boggletheowl.tumblr.com

Boggle the Owl

 

I have *always* hated the term “a cry for help”.
It’s demeaning, dismissive, and in the end? Utterly UNhelpful.
This comic is right on the money.

Quiet:

 

Sorry I’ve been all neglect-y for a bit.
There’s been a lot going on,
while simultaneously having nothing going on.

Amazing, that.

The wedding plans are still on for February.

I’m moving.

I haven’t been able to make Good Art (sorry, Mr. Gaiman).

Planning for LauraJane’s baby shower.

Mostly holding together.

 

One of the things that I find confusing
is that for someone who has never really been ambitious,
career-wise,
losing my job (four times now)
makes me feel more pointless, worthless, and stupid
than any other disaster that has wandered my way.

I’m just afraid that I’ll be under or unemployed
until I hit my 40s,
at which point no one will ever want to hire me
because I will be Too Damn Old,
and there will be approximately 1.5 billion 20-year-olds
willing to work longer hours for less pay for any job I may be interested in.

 

Does anyone else feel like this?

 

ps (We are still doing Crossfit–I’ve just been losing my little post-it notes that have our WODs written on them…)

The Problem with Carrots:

 

Everyone knows that you’re eating them.

Along with Puffins cereal and celery,
carrots are some of The Loudest Food Known to Man.

Maybe that’s why I like bread so much–
it’s stealthy.

You’d never see a ninja eating carrots.

Everything That Rises Must Converge:

 

My extended family is converging on Southern California
for my grandfather’s memorial.

Among the ridiculous things I have done to prepare for this onslaught:

1) Situps and pushups every night because my family is a family of skinny asses, except for me and my mom (thanks for the thighs, MOM)
2) Squats in the shower (see above)
3) White strips for my genetically murky teeth (DAD)
4) Frenetic face washing in the hopes that those pores will shrink (MOM!)
5) Spanx dance
6) Trying on every. single. piece. of. clothing. in my closet because showing your collarbones in my family is immodest
7) Realizing that I own ONE boat-neck blouse, and it is probably “informal”, according to the Boyo
8) Panicking about the correct date to get a manicure, since I will be making floral arrangements for the services
9) Putting a tablespoon of coconut oil on my morning toast, because
Someone Said it will make my skin prettier
10) Dropped almost $300 on a haircut and color so at least
my head looks presentable
11) Started counting calories again

12) Cried.

13) A lot.

 

And if all of this sounds like just so much sturm und drang
You haven’t interacted with my family.

Because what I should be thinking about are the
memories I have of my grandfather.
What I should be thinking about is how much I’m looking forward
to seeing my cousins again.
What I should be thinking about is how to help my grandmother.

 

I am not.

Because I am not good enough for my parents.
Never have been.
Never will be.
Nor am I good enough for my grandmother.
I was never defended from her acerbic tongue by either of my parents,
not as a child,
certainly not as an adult.

I could show up at the memorial,
dressed to the homeschooled nines
(because we’re not legalists like those Mennonites!)
in an ankle-length jumper,
crewneck blouse,
tights,
and flats,
with my hair hidden under a long-ass wig,
and my family would still find something to criticize.

Your ELBOWS are showing! HUSSY.

 

That’s just what they do.

Thirty years of this,
and I am still voiceless.

 

So I will do what I have always done:

Go.
Wear something reasonable.
Smile.
Say very little.
Find a corner to hole away into every couple of hours.

 

I wish my sister was coming.

 

Update: Sister was able to get a ticket after all!
I am so, so grateful that she will be there.

Yesternight’s Workout:

 

x5
200m run
10 pushups
10 squats
1 min plank

Nothing really to say about this one,
except that it was good to be with LauraJane.

 

I often miss what my home was like, two years ago.

With Jessie, Lexi, Laura, me.
Deniece next door.
People over every Sunday night.
Mary still in Santa Clarita.
And later,
Tam and her wonderful clarinet practicing.
Katie and the scent of her paints.

I miss Disneyland with Lex.
I miss getting ready in the morning with Jess.
I miss giggling with Laura.
I miss girl days with Mary.
I miss Project Runway with Tam.
I miss the *hours* of talking with Katie.

 

It’s not like friendship is so much harder
when your friends aren’t living with you…
and yet…it is.

It’s still worthwhile.
It’s still there.

It’s just that I no longer fall asleep,
knowing that the women who love me are in the room next to mine.
And that hurts a little bit.

Eventually:

 

I will learn to not listen to sad, quiet music
when I’m home alone, sick, and sewing.

 

That said,
I’m going to have such a pretty costume for Faire this year:

 

These are the trims for my Faire skirt this year. Pretty, oui?

 

Room with a View. Forster would be so proud.

Yes:

 

“Maybe we visited a place so dark that we couldn’t see anything but the trauma or our loved one’s absence and maybe when we came back, part of that place stuck to us like a layer of soot across our eyes. Or an iron weight in our throat. A shadow that filters how we feel and think about the world, tinging everything with shades of gray.”

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