Ralphie knew a thing or two

I don't have much for this right now.

I don't have much for me right now. I'm going to go take a bath with a glass of wine, and read a deliciously bad book. And then I'm going to write out this statement a hundred times, or at least until I memorize it:

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

A storytelling

John and I have started a new evening ritual of trying to take a walk, just as twilight is settling in. We've been pretty good about it for a week now, not every day but quite a few. Just time to clear our heads and talk about things that aren't work, bills, the band or the house.

It's been doing us a world of good.

Today, we also left work on time. ON TIME! Meaning BEFORE SIX! This is fantastic for us. With our drive home, we were home by 5:30 today. For the first time in years, when I haven't worked from home or left early, I am able to be at my house before six. It is now 6:14 and I am writing this blog, sitting on my couch, already having walked and dealt with the coming home ritual stuff (feed the cats, pick out some food for dinner). I'm finding this life, this new life here in St. Albans so incredibly easier to deal with than previous lives. So much healthier, for mind and body. Less time sitting in cars and more time walking in snow. More time drinking coffee at home and less time driving too fast to still be late to wherever I was going. Less time driving to the grocery store and trying to make do without ingredients that I forgot.

Also, we've noticed this bizarre phenomenon. Crows. Hundreds of crows. I'm not sure why they go for their evening flight right when we seem to be going for our walk, but there they are. Crowding the trees in the park, swooping over the church steeple, haunting the lamposts. There are so many of them. It is a murder of crows.

I just learned that. That a big group of crows is called a murder. It can also be called a muster or storytelling. I like that second one even better.

It is a mother effing storytelling of crows out there.



If the storytelling of crows were telling my story of St. Albans, it would end with, "And they lived happily ever after in the little yellow house with the big yellow cat, where they ate spaghetti and took baths and read books and laughed."

Amen.

Riches

It's funny, how just when you think you've got things figured out, the world can give you the finger and laugh in your face; and then just when things seem about as low as they can be, reality comes swooping in and bonks you on the head with a big ole, "this ain't so bad, sucka".

So the last few weeks have been tough ones (pay cut, house stuff, work stuff, you know...), and they haven't exactly gone the way I would have hoped. Money is tight. TIGHT. And that never seems to help any situation. It adds a heaping scoop of stress on to what might otherwise be normal stress, and then you've got a stress sundae that nobody wants.

But there have been a lot of really good things happening lately too.

For one, John's band has been playing out a lot. Getting noticed. People dance, and sing along. I'm so proud of him, and of them. It's the closest that he's gotten yet to living out his dream, and that is a thrilling thing to watch.

For another, as a result of John being so busy with the band, I've been pretty busy myself, hanging out with people I work with and generally being social. I've been trying new restaurants, attending new sports (ROLLER DERBY), and enjoying the shit out of things.

And one comment that keeps coming up, again and again lately, is how people are jealous of, inspired by, and wishful because of, my relationship with John. Now, I've long thought that we are some of the lucky ones, but it's something you can lost sight of in the midst of stress sundaes. We love each other. And not in the afterthought sort of, "yeah, of course we love each other" sort of way that I see out there in the world. We really adore each other. We respect each other. I have a crush on him. When I roll over and he is there, in the middle of the night, it's the best part of my life. I'm proud of him for his music and I want to kick his ass and tell him to do more. And he kicks mine. And he buys ice cream when I need it and rubs my feet without me asking him to, and he gives me hugs that feel like there's nowhere and noone else in the world. I think we're pretty awesomely lucky.

So in the middle of this stress sundae, this crazy roller coaster that the past few months have been... in the middle of having zero extra dollars... today I recognize that while I may have no money, I have riches. I have friends who want to hang out, places to go, and the best marriage I've seen in a while. I have a partner in crime who wants to get into trouble with me and also sit on the couch and have movie marathons with me. I have some asshole cats who love me. I have a lot.

And I'm thankful for all of it. Even the shitty parts. Because they make everything else sparkle.

10%

We have been given a 10% paycut at work. Because of the economy.

Because things are tough all around.

Because.

Because if we hadn't, they would have had to lay off four people.

Today, I am thinking about what that 10% means to me. To each of us.

It's not so much, really. Just over a hundred dollars per paycheck.

But that money? That was our "going out to dinner" money. Our "let's go see a movie".

Our "oh shit the car needs to be fixed."



Our Valentines Day.



Our dryer.

Our rainy day fund.

Our morning coffee.

And I'm happy to give it up, to make sure that the people around me have jobs, and so do I. I'm invested in this company. In making sure that we all keep going.

But I want to be sure the company is invested back in me. I'm busting my butt to get it back, and then some.

To them, it's just 10%. Just for a few months. But to me, it's a lot.

Good Natured

A couple weeks ago, spurred by the energy and enthusiasm of a new employee at work, we started a Thursday night ritual of going out for drinks. Because, let's face it, by Thursday, who doesn't need a cocktail or five?

Two Thursdays ago, we went to McKee's, a neighborhood hangout with cheap beer and cheaper clientele.

And this is where I interject into the story to explain a few things.

1. I am not totally happy with myself, the way I am right now.
2. I'm not sure what to do about it.

I'll come right out and say it. I'm heavier than I should be. I have been for a few years. It gets better, and then it gets worse, but I can't seem to really master this. I've tried diets, tried working out, tried hating myself, tried coming to peace with it. I've gotten mad at myself, forgiven myself, read books and cried. Nothing seems to help it. I can lose about 5 lbs, and then, just nothing. For weeks. And then I give up. And I know, I know, I could try harder, or get help, but its embarrassing. And I haven't. So, whatever.

Needless to say, I'm sensitive about it.

So on this particular night, at this particular bar, I was out with a couple beautiful women that I work with. Tall women. Thin women.

And this old crone weaved her way through the crowd, clutching her vodka and tonic and wearing a pink sweatsuit.

Let's just pause there. A PINK. SWEATSUIT.

Please understand, I have taken this information into account.

She was also missing teeth.

Nuff said.

Anyway she stumbled over to us, clutching her drink and her cane, and said to my raven haired co-worker, "You're good looking." We all sort of laughed, weird as it was.

She then turned to me.

"And you! You're good natured!!! Most fat girls are."

I felt like someone had punched me. Everyone kept laughing.

"You're not so fat, for a fat girl, because you've got big boobs to balance you out. My cousin is Dolly Parton, and she's got HUGE knockers. But she's not fat at all, like you."

Everyone laughed around me, and the bar became way too loud, and I couldn't breathe. I was so mortified.

I left, and got in the car and went home, crying quietly the whole way.
See, I know this shouldn't matter so much. This woman was ridiculous, and missing teeth. But why does this happen to me? Over and over again. I've been focused on the house, and my job, and surviving the last few months of living, under considerable stress. But.

I don't ever want this to happen to me again.
Ever.

Nuff said.

Where I am right now

Is projecting myself out to a late May evening, when it will be warm, still with that bite of chill in the air, and the sunset will come later than you expect and the new plants will just be pushing their way up into the world and I will sit on the porch with a drink and wonder why I ever thought winter was so bad, because it's over now.

That's where I am in my mind right now.

Primed and ready to go

Today, we primed the walls downstairs.

Did you hear that?

WALLS. DOWNSTAIRS.

Because there are walls in my house now (finally). And we put paint on them (sort of).

Tomorrow Nelson and Josel will finish with the last of the missing pieces and then we will be ready to go everywhere. Paint and paint and paintity (that word sounds dirty if you say it out loud), and then MOVE IN.

Here are five things that I am excited about in St. Albans

1. A house. With walls. With paint on them.

2. A movie theater within walking distance. Also a chinese food restaurant (CHINESE FOOD. I HAVE NOT HAD THIS SINCE WE LIVED IN MA BECAUSE IT DOES NOT EXIST IN VERMONT)

3. A grocery store that is less than twenty minutes away AND open 24 hours.

4. A much shorter drive.

5. And yes. Yes I will say it outloud and write it and sing it from the mountaintops. No offense to anyone, but there is no family in St. Albans that will be LIVING WITH US. No one on the other side of the wall. No one to pick up our dishes or move our laundry or call when we aren't home by 7:30.

Much love to all the family who has supported us through this crazy move and all the patience, generosity, and love you've shown us.

Now please leave us alone for a month and a half.

(at least)

The walls are primed and ready to go. And so am I.

This is my day

Manic Monday and Mud and Tape

Well, we finally gave in and hired some people to help us with our house. Admitted that perhaps, just maybe, we are not experts in everything and there are people who can do it better than us. That perhaps, allowing someone else to mud and tape the walls might be a good idea. That it will not make it any less our home.

And this incredible step forward has led to leaps and bounds forward.

So much so that it seems as though (shh) maybe (SHHHH) I think (DON'T SAY IT TOO LOUD YOU WILL JINX IT) that we just might (OH MY GOD JUST EVEN THINKING IT IS GOING TO FUCK EVERYTHING UP) move in.

This weekend.

OH NOW YOU'VE DONE IT. NOW YOU'VE SCREWED IT ALL UP AND YOU WOULD HAVE MOVED IN THIS WEEKEND BUT YOU HAD TO GO AND NOT ONLY THINK IT BUT WRITE IT, AND KNOWING YOU, YOU'RE PROBABLY READING THIS OUTLOUD TO YOURSELF TO MAKE SURE IT MAKES SENSE SO NOW YOU'VE SAID IT TOO. AND NOW YOU WON'T MOVE IN UNTIL FUCKING MARCH. OF 2011.

Ok, now that I've gotten that scary alter-ego voice thing out... we might move in!

This weekend.

(maybe). Ok probably. (or maybe not).

I am trying to be non-committal because if I committed and we didn't do it I might die. Like fall over dead and screaming.

Although I guess you can't keep screaming if you are dead, but if there was a way, I would figure it out.

Anyway. This rambling, nonsense-ical post is brought to you by Monday.

MONDAY!

Because it's 10:12p.m. and John and I have not been home before 8:30 p.m. since before vacation, and we are exhausted and ready to move in and I have had a couple glasses of wine and want nothing more than to go sleep for fifteen hours and then paint walls in my house and put things on those perfect walls and then get back into bed in my new bedroom.

But alas. Tomorrow I will go to work, and the next day, and the day after that and EVEN, the day after that. But the day after THAT? THE DAY AFTER ALL THOSE OTHER, SUCKY, VANILLA, MIDDLE-OF-THE-WEEK-IN-THE-MIDDLE-OF-JANUARY-DAYS? That is the day I will move in to my new house.

(probably)

And I couldn't be happier if I tried.

What's it all for, anyway?

Tonight I watched a movie about a blogger. Based off of her blog. Blog. Blog. Bloggity.

And it got me thinking, what's this all for, anyway? Is there an end-game to my ramblings here? A point at which I will say, "there! I got something out of this!". Am I doing anything that matters or simply writing for myself and my few friends who read this? Is it truly as narcissistic and pointless as it feels sometimes?

I feel like sometimes, women especially, feel like we need to give ourselves permission to have something that has no point in our lives. We give ourselves permission for all sorts of things.

It is ok to take a break from theater to focus on life. It does not mean I am a failure.

It is ok to eat this. It does not mean I am a failure.

It is ok to move back to Vermont.
To go to bed early.
To call in sick.
To be afraid.
To cry.
To read a romance novel.
It is ok to need a break from your husband.
To need a break from your life.

It doesn't mean I am a failure.

Perhaps the point is to not have an end-game in mind, to simply remember what I've done and where I've been and how it felt. To remember how hard some of these things were. To see how far I've come.

Everything, and I do mean EVERY. THING. in our lives is chaos right now, and this blog, for whatever else it has been, has been a way to keep track of my sanity. To vent. To commit to perpetuity the ridiculousness that has ensued. Maybe it's the one thing I can really count on, because no one but me controls this blog. It can't yell at me, it can't suddenly spring a leak or surprise me with a new roommate or get stuck in the snow or run out of money. It just is. And I guess I've needed that quite a bit over the past year.

This blog just is. And that is perfectly ok.