Category Archives: Wishful Thinking

Still Without Him

Marking another year without him, but every day is another day without him. I can acknowledge with grief both that things are easier on a day-to-day basis for me and that I never will be over it. I would never want to be truly over it. To be truly over him.

Even while selfishly admitting that my life does not have the constant, crippling worries about him that it once did, the past 6 years have been really, really hard without him. This year I have not been sick with the usual winter plague. I am (mostly) well-rested and played hermit delightfully all through January with a companion who understands when I need to play homebody. I have made reasonable plans this month to keep busy and occupy my mind with things to look forward to. I felt ready to face the gloom of February without wanting to crawl into a hole. I was caught off guard. This year holds the same calendar pattern as the year his accident happened and it has been a struggle to get through this week. So many reminders of the last times we spent together and the last time I spoke to him. Of taking my parents to the airport at the ass-crack of dawn on a Friday and calling at lunch to remind Randy he was on stupid dog-watching duty at their house after work. To hear his disappointed reaction that I wasn’t coming over the following night because I had plans and his disapproval to know they were with a guy that doesn’t love me in the way I want to be loved. How I would give anything for a do-over of that weekend. To have been there. To not completely melt down anytime my doorbell rings unexpectedly because of that early morning the police came and rang it.

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Filed under All In The Family, Misty Watercolor Memories, Sad Times, Wishful Thinking

There’s Hair Everywhere

I have no idea what to do with my hair. As someone else in my life seems to have very vocal opinions on its length, I have taken that under consideration over the past year partly under an effort to be nice and partly under pure laziness and inability to actually do something about it. He complains often about hair shedding, but I refuse to listen to such things. I shed like crazy and if long twisty hair on every surface is so bothersome, I am more than happy to buzz cut it. (I dream of a world devoid of hair style options, despite knowing I would look hideous showing off my lumpy head.)

I do not have a great track record with hair stylists. For most of my life my hair stylist was my former Sunday school teacher, Mindy. (Also visited by my mother and grandmother, now her daughters work in the salon too – legacy, sunrise/sunset and all that…) She is overpriced, but her willingness and talent at perming my hair gave her lots of leeway. Mindy threatened to never perm my hair again after one in 1997, though I begged for one before a backpacking trip in 2003 and she obliged complete with major eye roll over the un-trendiness that defines my existence. Then in 2006 she contacted me about a free perm if I would sit for longer (beyond the 3+ hrs it normally takes to roll my hair) while she demonstrated on me to other junior stylists in her salon (many of whom had not done a perm since graduation). I was excited for the freebie and to sit for her and be fawned over. The entire salon was disinterested and downright rude, plus Mindy still charged me her insane rate for the pre-perm haircut, which felt like a bait and switch after I took a half-day of vacation to sit for hours. The real breaking point came a few years later when guilt-ed into giving her another chance (via gift certificate from my mom) Mindy cut my hair in the once fashionable wedge shape with it shorter in the back  (ear length) and longer in the front (chin length), despite my insisting that is an un-maintainable style for me (who must have hair off of my face). That wedge only looks good when doused with product, blown out, flat-ironed, and not pinned back – all things I rarely manage. After a couple weeks of stringy, chunky hair tucked behind my ears, I went to a walk-in chain to have it evened out.

A few things about my hair and lazy lifestyle:

  • although I have a lot of hair, it is super fine in texture with minimal volume
  • my hair is neither straight nor curly, more like frizz that turns stringy if you look at it wrong
  • my hair will slip out of braids, buns, and non-friction clips or ties
  • my hair has never been colored or highlighted
  • hair product (#YesAllProduct) makes it immediately look greasy
  • showering at night only works for when I need greasy hair for a formal updo
  • I have never personally blow-dried, curled, or flat-ironed my hair successfully
  • I do not have a standard side or middle part and fail at keeping a part intact for the day
  • I cannot stand hair in my face – it must be pinned back.
  • Ponytails give me headaches

My established looks are to perm my hair – a basic coating of mousse and air dry (lazy person’s dream – just spritz to refresh), french braid my hair (doable but slips out under any sort of exertion), or put half up in a barrette. The last of which has been my standard for 25 years  though I’ve endured constant mother criticism for grade school appearance for it. Last winter I started taking the front forehead section and pinning back with a bobby pin which seemed to fit my requirement for no hair in my eyes while appeasing her with a deviation in style.

Since the breakup with Mindy, I have had my hair cut either from salon gift certificates won somewhere or walk-in chain stores. I had one promising stylist that was convenient, reasonable, and agreeable, so of course she moved away. I aim for getting a haircut 4 times in a year, but it seems to be closer to 2 or 3 lately.  I have no idea how to style hair – I fail at mimicking a blow out at home and this same lack of coordination carries over to curling irons and flat irons as well. Plus I cannot even pretend to not care as I can’t stand it pulled back into a ponytail for more than 20-30 minutes.

I feel hopeless and defeated, but got some inspiration from twitter this afternoon and I may try some new products and velcro rollers. Surely it has to go better than last winter’s experiment with eyeliner that caused a persistent sty for 10 months. Well at least better than my chances of some day winning the lottery and finding someone who can be my personal assistant for vacuuming and blowdrying.

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Filed under Of Course This Is About Me This Is My Blog, Uncategorized, Wishful Thinking

Chaos (Muppet) Theory

I still want to do a write-up on my fun weekend in Baltimore, but that will continue to wait. (Most laziness surrounding this delay stems from having to go steal other people’s photos.) Today my mind has instead been filled with this article courtesy of Stef. Why yes, I will click on anything Muppet related. You should too. The main message is that it’s important (VITAL) to strike a balanced ratio of Order vs Chaos types. The most troubling concept for me is not being able to cleanly fit into one of the categories. Wait, does being troubled by that automatically make me an Order Muppet? My defining qualities are so heavily dependent on my relation to those around me. My boyfriend would hands-down define me as Chaos, but I think only in the sense that he is no-questions-asked an Order Muppet. (I am totally the Miss Piggy to his Kermit.) On the other side, my mother is under no uncertainty Chaos and would definitely claim that I am Order (because EVERYONE is Order in comparison.)

On the Chaos side of life:

  • I leave a Tazmanian devil level of destruction in my path – open drawers/cabinets, flung clothes, piled dishes, dirty car. I will (eventually) clean up after myself, but probably not without a judgmental scowl in my direction.
  • I don’t even need rationalization to have ice cream for dinner. It is simply one of the options available.
  • Crumbs in the bed. Yes, I will change the sheets for you.
  • The abundance of intense emotion. On any given day I am a roller coaster of crocodile tears and stabby rage. I do not hide it well. At all.
  • Grover is the coolest.

On the Order side:

  • My spice rack is not alphabetized, but my Penzey’s hoard can be found in a drawer with all of their tops labeled and half-assed organized by usage (generally baking to the left, savory to the right). My DVDs are alphabetized and I cannot comprehend a reason for them not to be. (I will do yours for you as well.)
  • Clothing items in drawers should be folded and organized. Those people who can dump clean underwear or socks into a drawer willy-nilly (oh you guys know who you are) and just grab and go? Not cool. My panties are folded and my socks are paired. As they should be.
  • Some hoarding tendencies. Should this be on the Chaos side? No. My hoarding is logical and reasoned and intended to be prepared for any scenario. Also falls under Order because my hoard(s) are carefully tucked away in a labeled and organized manner.
  • I do not transition well. I try to pretend I am breezy and carefree, but I would like things to be planned and to have awareness of the next step. I am not comfortable living on the fly.

The article addresses the way to determine your Muppet labeling is to look at the one you are paired up with. Uhhh, I have dated both and not really succeeded at either. Is this why my dating life is doomed? Is this one of those life lessons about nothing being black and white and there are levels and exceptions to everything? If so, I object. Muppet Theory should be easy. It’s MUPPETS.

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Filed under Hoarder Life, Of Course This Is About Me This Is My Blog, Wishful Thinking

Sorting Out My Head

I have opened new posts and saved drafts about a dozen times in the last couple weeks. They get closed and set aside, dismissed as something nonbloggable. I think sometimes that perhaps I should have made my blog anonymous, but that was never the point for me. Plus if I spilled without inhibition, I would have double the anxiety of some day being found out, than I’d have of keeping it all bottled up in the first place. I want to write vignettes and describe things that are going on right now on several fronts, but the reality is that people I love read this. People who know me, who call me out on my shit regularly, who could be hurt by my words.

I was joking on Twitter recently about blogging being cheaper than therapy, but it wasn’t all joking. This is carrying on longer than a funk and my struggles with anxiety and depression are scary. Maybe I do need to sit down and talk all these things through with a professional (no offense to my book club ladies that have acted like an advisory panel recently on some of my life choices.) I’ve been to enough sessions to know when I start that I want to have an end goal and not pay thousands simply for an ongoing confidential whine fest. I thought maybe pre-sorting through all these intersecting anxieties roaming my head will help me frame what my issues are and what I hope to accomplish when I make the call for an appointment. So I opened yet another document and I wrote some more. It’s not easy to read those words or acknowledge destructive behaviors that are going on.

It’s no secret that alcoholism runs rampant in every direction in my genes. If I can embrace that it is a disease that explains but does not excuse behavior in others, why can’t I hold myself to the same standard? Hiding behind past trauma or my fate as a child of alcoholics does not excuse my own co-dependent behavior or coping mechanisms in everyday life. Dwelling on being let down by friends/family/lovers, and not having love reciprocated the way I want blocks the path for healthy growth. At some point I need to quit stomping my feet and blaming others. I need to quit wanting to get from someone what I know I can’t have. I’ve paid my dues in disappointment and therapy bills. I want it to stop.

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Filed under Of Course This Is About Me This Is My Blog, Wishful Thinking

Somebody That I Used To Know

I thought I would marry a farmer and live in the country.

Of all my childhood dreams and visions (there is still family teasing about that one time I said when I grew up I wanted to be a coffee cup. I was TWO.) this one still manages to haunt me every once in awhile. There is no real basis for this to have ever come to fruition. I am overwhelmingly suburban in my upbringing and current lifestyle. Beyond some friendly discussions at farmer’s markets I have no idea how I even imagined meeting a farmer. I don’t think there was an agricultural department at my college, so I certainly wasn’t stalking the halls trying for a meet-cute.

Yet the vision persisted well into my 20s. I assumed I would have a bunch of kids and run a neighborhood homeschool arrangement. Who was this girl? I so strongly believe in public education and outside instruction I cannot mesh this idea with any sense of who I am today.  There are so many struggles and risks to farming life, from weather dependence to upfront awareness of where food comes from to all the manure and insects, that present many doubts about this being a successful lifestyle for me. Today looking at it, I know I could handle the anxiety and hard work (hell, I’d even ADORE the excuse to be a hermit and stay on the farm for weeks on end) but the aspect that bothers me most? Well water.

It is time to let the dream perish. I am too old produce a litter of farm hands and I am far too in love with city water put directly into my household pipes by the big, bad government.

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Filed under A Whole MONTH, Misty Watercolor Memories, Wishful Thinking

In Need Of A Day

Well 18 days in and I hit my wall. Not that I have run out of things to write about by any means. Hell I have a whole list of ideas sitting right next to me. I am just not feeling any of them. A whole run of crazy work deadlines back-to-back and feeling like ass for more than a week have drained me. I want the weekend and I want it now. I took an ill-advised dinnertime nap yesterday for almost 2 hours and still had no problem falling right asleep at 10. Not good.

This morning I realized I did not have a single deadline in front of me today and there was no motivation to get up whatsoever. I managed to still get to work on time. Mostly. Now sitting in my cubicle and all I can do is fantasize about a vacation day.

My mouth is watering just thinking about that tasty beer.

My mouth is watering just thinking about that tasty beer.

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Filed under A Whole MONTH, Wishful Thinking