Downsides and Daffodils

I’ve been a little bummed about my life lately. Things just seem to be plodding along and not necessarily going as planned—not that there is a master plan, anyway. There seem to be more downsides than anything to all my past plans, hopes, goals, and dreams. This is a “blah” way to feel.

It’s no secret that physical pain heightens your senses and dulls others. For example, I sometimes have a crick (is that a real word?) in my left shoulder, often from wearing my purse on one side. I have hardly noticed it. Why? Wellllll, I comically fell down the steps in the rain a few days ago.

Yes. It was comical. It’s been monsoon-weather here in the ATL and it was pouring. Like movie-level, garden hose pouring. (Incidentally, I just saw “Beautiful Creatures” and there’s a line where the Girl Witch is having an emotional break down with her Mortal Boyfriend and she commands nature—it’s dumping buckets of rain JUST on him. He, in true Southern gentleman form pleas, “I’m agreein’ with you! Bein’ human is feelin’ bad, and I care about you…Now would you please stop RAININ’ on me?!”) That’s what this rain was. Buckets.

I have about 6 steps from my front porch and a concrete landing. I slid on my heels and hit the right side of my back, below my shoulder blade and above my hip, on every step down. I landed with a thud on my left bum cheek…this is the side where I’ve had problems with sciatica for several years. (Yes, I’m 29, and I have sciatica nerve pain. It’s awesome.)

I actually wish I’d seen this fall—it was probably hilarious to watch. However, turns out that landing on my left side jostled and jolted my left sacroiliac joint, which is generally inflamed (it’s been that way since I was about 10, weird). Due to possibly adrenalin or whatever, I didn’t really feel bad, just more comically embarrassed for about 24 hours. Then my hip started hurting. And my lower back. And my upper back. And my leg would get pins and needles. Then go numb.

I suffered through with some old muscle relaxers at night and ibuprofen during the day. I went to work the next 2 days; sitting in the car puts pressure on my SI joint in a way that was basically misery-inducing. It feels like there is sandpaper neatly wrapped around each bone and part of my joint in my hip…rubbing against any squishy muscle and tissue that are down there. Ouch.

I went to the chiropractor and she said my body is self-correcting and my left leg was about two inches shorter than my right. Hah! Are you kidding? Hey Bones, you’re not a slinky! Stop and do what you’re told! Long story short, it’s been almost a week and I’m a lot better. I do yoga anyway, so those stretches help, but sitting feels worse than walking and standing, by a lot. Sleeping is hard because sometimes I wake up with this stabbing pain, but then again, who needs restful sleep for a body to heal?

Wow, I meant to write less about that, but I just edited in a lot more. Oh well. Another side effect of pain making other parts of your life strangely in-focus, is that I haven’t been able to exercise in the last week (due to torrential rain and pain-in-my-butt).  Running about a mile daily was doing wonders for my mood, self-esteem, waist-line, and general well-being. I missed it terribly! I never thought I’d be one of those people who loved exercise, but I’ll say it. I –love- running. I like the air in my face, my dog on the leash beside me, the feeling of the concrete under my feet.

Speaking of that concrete under my feet, I managed a walk/jog yesterday with my dog and that’s where this post formulated itself in my head. I was walking on a side street in Grant Park which is not particularly kept up. It’s mainly because they are majority rental houses and so there’s not a lot of motivation for landlords or tenants to invest in their groundskeeping. There’s big gorgeous houses a street over, but this one is a little dilapidated.

As the brown, grey, loamy rotting leaves litter the un-mowed winter lawns, there are occasional patches of color. This one in particular caught my eye because it was a happy patch of yellow daffodils in a row of largely untended rental houses. It was so happy and daffodils don’t just come from nowhere! Someone had to have planted those bulbs one fall or winter at some point.

It made me think…I have lived in, decorated, and grown gardens in a half dozen houses since the time I finished Oxford College a decade ago. I plant vegetables, seeds, annuals, perennials, some shrubs, some small seedlings…and do my best to make things grow. When I’ve planned to stay in one place for a while, I’ve planted crocuses, daffodils, hyacinths, lilies, and poinsettias. Crocuses bring the promise of spring and daffodils have shown up in my life at times when I needed a natural, physical reminder of the Creator among us.  I harvest rain water and shower water; I compost and grow fat worms; I fertilize and tend. Gardening is so healing to me…the words of a Mumford and Sons song started ringing in my ears.

(Before you think I’m crazy, it was a particularly serendipitous mix on the ipod and the song “Below My Feet” happened to come on as I was gazing at these little yellow Narcissus flowers. This actually happens to me quite frequently—I credit the radio gods with these nuggets of aural pleasure.)

…Keep the earth below my feet
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak
Let me learn from where I have been
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn…

Seeing these little tender blossoms waving in the wind on bright green stems, given life at a crappy rental house, from a tenant long since moved on, reminded me that my light and life…even if I’m not actively seeing the result, might be spreading before and behind me. I’m disappointed in the downsides of my life right now, but I have planted bulbs of bright happiness and color in places around Atlanta…and those dark bulbs, planted in cold soil, with roots pushing down, leaves, stems, and petals flourishing upward…might just be nourishing someone’s soul too.

Here’s a clip of Mumford and Sons on SNL… it's a pretty song.

P.S. The lyrics are very poetic and have some poignant Christian overtones to them, if that seems to float your proverbial boat. I recommend to keep the ground below your feet, it’s been a bad week for boats (lookin’ at you Carnival Cruise).

Putting the attitude in gratitude

I jotted down some notes about this—which should be a great way of starting the pre-writing process, except for me, I’m a bit of a (as my friend Christy would say) one-draft-wonder. I write to have catharsis—I write to release—I write to share—I write to maybe enlighten, and very possibly entertain. If I write it down in my journal or notebook, I basically have released it. It’s a different sort of release than typing and/or blogging, but it’s been set free from the dizzying confines of my mind and is therefore somehow laid to rest. When I draft an outline, that’s usually as far as it goes.

I think I was kicking around ideas for this as a pro-con list. I like to make my pro-con lists when I’m in a euphoric mood—that way, when I look back over them later, if I should happen to be in a bad mood, it still makes me happy that I have so many darn pros in my life! Who can argue with that?

Lemme start with the bad…but I didn’t write it in this order. It was hard to think of the bad stuff.

The cons:

HOME: My home is a shitty townhome. I have a roommate and I’m almost 30. That is stupid. Then again, when you have a roommate, it’s kind of like having a sister who’s always there—we talk, cook, walk, and hang out a good amount of time. Eh, move it to the pro side.

WORK: I have a crappy job that I 80% loathe. Despite the colleagues I like, there are a couple of MCB (see my teaching blog for more explanation), disappointing administrators, a colleague who should have been fired outright for all her actions (in other words, someone who leads by negative example), and piles of kids who seriously need some rules in their lives. It sucks to be demoralized, treated misogynistically, and overworked on a daily basis; working for this paycheck has some serious drawbacks.

PET: My Sweetie Petey-Bella Boo is quite the leash aggressor. She pulls really hard when there’s another dog around and I haven’t tried a dog park in years with her. That’s tough, because I’d like her to be more social, but then again, she started life in a really rough way, so I’m more than happy with how awesome she is.

LOVE LIFE: Hah. No such thing.

Pros:

HOME: I live in a home surrounded by my comfy bed, cute clothes, fancy-smelling candles, interesting books, pretty art, fancy cooking appliances and dishes, and my clutter. Yes, the clutter is still a pro. It’s my clutter and I like it. It's in a good neighborhood that I enjoy being near places.

WORK: I go to a job that is honestly AWFUL, but I have made many, many shiny spots in the blackened and dreary kettle over the proverbial fire I work in. I have a really good work buddy (I’m ALWAYS friends with the art teacher!), a funny neighbor down the hall whom I admire, a curmudgeonly-young colleague, a grandfatherly-department chair, sister vegans, a sassy librarian, etc. My attitude about my shit-ass job has made it more than survivable for the past 7 months. Go me. The point is, I have a job, where others in the world do not. I’m grateful. 

I also do teach a ton of amazing, creative, kind, deep, unique, and intellectual kids who I feel incredibly blessed to see on a daily basis. What a weird society we live in—we send our children off to hang out with strangers for 8 hours a day. I feel fortunate to be that stranger to drop some knowledge on some of these kids. 

The art chick and I have a rather elaborate note-passing game going on.

PETEY-BELLA: I have a rescue American bulldog. She's 8 and had a tumor removed this summer, and she seems to be doing just fine. She’s my child with 4 legs and man, she is the bomb-diggity. She sleeps most of the time, she follows me around when I’m home, she never gets sick, she is insanely happy to eat her dog food and boring treats,  she barks at noisy bad things, and she snores when she’s doing all that sleeping. Honestly, she’s a cuddler. When I’m in bed working on things, she stays at the foot, but not underfoot (You catch what I did there?), but when it’s time for the human to do the sleeping, she repositions herself accordingly. How cool is that? She’s also learned (I could say I’ve taught her, but it’s more like conditioning) to pee and poop on command. I tell her “Go potty Petey,” and she squats where she is. It’s great. “Go poopy, Petey,” and “Go baffroom, Bella,” take a little more time, but generally the result is there. I’ve been jogging/running lately and she’s totally been game. She has about a mile to 1.5 in her before she’s totally a Petey puddle of pup on the ground and I have to drag her home, but still, that’s pretty good for a really lazy dog.

It's a rather difficult life sleeping on mounds of pillows and a duvet.

EXERCISE: Speaking of the 1.5 miles, I’ve been walk-jog-running nearly every day since Christmas break. It has been awesome for me. My stamina grows each day and my emotional well-being is, well- being awesome! I know doctors recommend exercise and stuff, but it’s hard to make happen with a busy schedule. I’m turning over a leaf towards daily movement and it feels good…like there are little fizzy muscle cheerleaders in my cells being like, “you’re awesome, work us out some more!” I enjoy seeing my neighborhood from the perspective of a walker and knowing which houses have which gardens, pets, and recycling. I'm mainly just nosy. Hah.

FOOD: I’ve also been doing pretty well about prepping food for going to work and cooking at night. I follow some food blogs and I’ve been applying what I’ve picked up from those venues. Don’t get me wrong, if I could afford to eat out every night of the week, I most certainly would. I like my dishes and all, but I like it better if someone else washes. I’ve started adding flax or sesame seeds to salad…sneaking in bits of protein and fiber where I can. I was doing a calorie counter app on my phone, and I haven’t kept up with it that much, but the idea of it keeps portion sizes in my head. It feels good to eat well.

MUSIC: I auditioned for and began singing with Emory U Chorus again this semester for the Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony—the Ode to Joy. It’s so cool to be in a room with 215 people, all watching the same skinny dude wave his arms around, while we read dots and dashes on a page in German, and make simultaneous noise pop out of our mouths at the same time. When the orchestra’s there, it’s going to be straight musical magic. Hellz yeah.

FRIENDSHIPS: I also started up a lady book club—not one I run for my students. That has its own place, but I wanted a chance to fellowship (femme-ship?) with ladies I didn’t work with and have a reason to read and talk about books—or a reason to get together and drink wine and not just talk about banal stuff. We had our first meeting, and there were only a few of us…but I felt good about it anyway. The euphoria of being with a group of women—that kinship—is strong and beautiful.

Checking out the Beltline art installation near Memorial Drive.

I’ve been spending some good times with good friends—ones I can count on my friend list (an actual one, not a list populated on facebook) for 5-10 years. Wow. It was pointed out to me how marvelous it is to have people in your life for that length of time—I hadn’t thought about it until I started taking stock. Good chats, good laughter, good food…good people in my life: I'm grateful for you.

Myself and one of aforementioned friends (Dan) at the High. The Klein Blue painting is particularly scary. If that Klein guy can get a color named after him, what else is he capable of??

LOVE LIFE: I have no boyfriend, but damn, I have got a lot of love in my life. Lately I’ve been noticing a lot of validation about my friends and how loyal, fun, and kind they are. My friends and family people know me, support me, and believe in me, even when I don’t have the courage to believe in myself. The right love in my life will come along when it’s supposed to, right now, the love I have is all the love I need.

BANGIN’ ASS BOD: Did I mention the working out and the eating more healthy thing? It has resulted in my body being AWESOME!!!! I have a scale that I left at my mom’s house, so I don’t really have any idea how much poundage I’ve retained/lost, but it doesn’t really matter. I look soooooo good naked!! I mean, I’m only getting naked for me and the shower (see love life, above), but still. It’s good to prance around in front of the mirror and be like, whoa, I look HAWT!

CONCLUSION: Bottom line, my attitude towards my life and body is pretty fiercely awesome. All that good attitude makes me have some pretty serious gratitude to nature, the universe, God, and all the other things that make it possible to have happiness, love, health, joy, and music in my world. That's worth singin' about.

Happy! Now go have a gratitude-attitude yourself. :)

Texts will get you no where.

For those of you keeping score at home...let me tell you about my evening!!

I posted a rather flattering picture of me doing the Mckayla Maroney "Unimpressed" face on facebook with the caption, "The boy from my blog and I are going to dinner. Ima go get groceries after. So whether or not he kisses me, ima be the cutest thang in trader joes tonight."

this one is much cuter than the "unimpressed" version

My date went well...actually, it went a little bumpy, as dates are oft wont to go-- he was frazzled, had the wrong address for the restaurant, and was running late (apparently punctuality is a thing people get excited about)-- but the meal was delicious (Thai food-- Mali's in the Highlands)-- incidentally, we both picked Massaman curry. Conversation was great, laughs were exchanged, plans were made for another date...perhaps even a Shakespearey one. I chided him a bit about the not calling bit-- part of me felt like I was nagging and being clingy, but the "Oh-hell-no-you-go-girl-get-em" loud persona inhabiting my brain was more encouraging on the gentle nudge toward regular-freakin-communication.

Well, let's just mention communication. He's not a big texter and I am. It's also important when one is dating to seed the questions and comments from ones friends before and after said date. I do this with SEVERAL of my friends-- we text outfit pics back and forth before the date, we fwd. messages and ask for interpretation, we text before dates and check in during to make sure the other party isn't getting murdered or something. I think it's girl-bonding shit that Carrie would recommend (from SATC) if she could work a smartphone. 

Not being one to kiss and tell.....

                                                                                                                          HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I was texting my girls as soon as I hit it up out that parking lot. So, um, I meant to text one of my friends the straightforward, "yay, kisses!" And I texted it to him. 

And he responded.

Bella is WISHING she could disappear right now.

So, um, yeah. That happened. And in Emily's words from a few years ago, "Y'ALL! I AM positively MORTIFIED!" He wrote back something congenial and self-effacing. I wrote back that I maaaaaaaybe intended that for someone else. Both parties were amused. (Not including me.)

I'm assuming since he doesn't do the smartphone--big-time texting thing, he's probably not getting the sheer volume of texts that come flying out of a simple brush of my finger's caress across that screen. Hopefully he doesn't overthink it... just thinking about it, I'm giggling and clapping my hand to my forehead, squinching  my eyes closed in shame. There's no one here to see me but the sleeping dog, and I'm still embarrassed.

So, the boy did kiss me. I liked it and had butterflies in my tummy. I don't think he has wings. I think I'm kind of an idiot for texting him about the kiss we just had.

And damn, I did look good buying cheese and greens at Trader Joe's. 

For a little taste of random, here's a cartoon one of my students drew: 

(So adorable. I bet that octopus never wrong number texts. Octopi in jaunty hats never do stuff like that.)

Waffle brunch and waffling boys

Since it’s a delightfully out-of-season 67 degrees here, I’m sitting on my little shitty back porch (it overlooks my neighbor’s rotting privacy fence—where they ignore their dog 20 hours a day-- and has mildew spots where the gutters dump rain water all the time) blogging with my dog. She’s not adding so much to the blog per se, but she is adding to my iTunes soundtrack by barking in time at the squirrels. That poor little thing, I just went inside and got a little mat for her to sit on because I didn’t want to have to pick splinters out of her little paws or belly from the awful porch. It’s a rough (ruff) life for her.
 

And back to me. I’m a Taurus. This is important or it’s not. Making major life decisions based on dead particles of matter bazillions of light years away and how they appear to be formatted in the shapes of pictures of animals, according to our ancestors—well if that roll of the dice appeals to you, good stuff.  Taureans are supposed to be patient to a fault (think Ferdinand the bull smelling the flowers in the meadow), loyal, and reliable. Like many French people, once we trust you, we trust you forever. If you break that trust, well, we’re done with you. Snort, snort, paw the ground, horns blazing.

I put a certain amount of stock in astrology because it’s interesting. Sometimes it’s accurate, sometimes it isn’t. I also find birth order and seasonal coincidences (babies born 9 months after blizzards, etc.) about human behavior fascinating.  I’ve also had the fortune of working with anywhere in the neighborhood of 200-700 people in a calendar year for the past five years—meaning I’ve had some time to hone my observation skills about the nature of human interaction. I continue on this pseudo-science on a daily basis, and it’s great.

Per my last blog, I was waiting on a dumb boy to call. Based on market research (meaning I bugged my friends on Facebook and talked to anyone who I felt like sharing with), boys are dumb and dense. Loveable, handy, enjoyable, etc…but dumb and dense. So my poor little Taurus bull in my head has been getting a little frustrated with this boy and his slowness to call. I’m patient, but gawwwwwwd!

Upon further advice of a very trusted source and bestest friend, I was informed that smart, sexy, funny women are intimidating and I’m intimidating as hell. He told me to be down-to-earth and shoot a text.  Being that I’m a persistent Taurus, but also a pragmatic Feminist, I went ahead and sent the text. Oh, Technology, you make my life both endlessly complicated and amusingly frustrating. All is well, and I can go back to being a patient Fernandina, sniffing my winter pansies in my container gardens.

Oh, that, and I can cook food, between all that time being patient.

Maybe you have this problem too, but when you’re having a lazy weekend day, isn’t it impossible to choose what sort of breakfast items to have?? At restaurants, it’s pretty cost-prohibitive to have the coffee-orange juice-coke-water-apple juice-hot chocolate-sprite-sweet tea-hot tea-Chai latte-Cranberry juice all at the same time. Maybe water and one of those beverages, but not all of them. At home, I have whatever I want!

I also have difficulty picking between sweet and savory when I’m out. So dammit, I used my waffle maker and had waffles with walnuts and blueberries, with real butter, whipped cream, and a honey drizzle. Sha-blam, I also had scrambled eggs with tomatoes, truffle salt, cheddar, and sunflower sprouts I grew in the window sill. This breakfast was DA BOMB! Boom! In my belly!

And I mentioned my spoiled dog? Yeah, she got brunch too.

Oh, damn. But then there’s all the dishes.

Let’s be clear, this wonderful weather is WONDERFUL. I’m thrilled it’s January and I’m outside in shorts and a tank top. Global warming, you are real and I like it (today only). Let’s also be clear that I’m so grateful to the universe and my circumstances that I have the good fortune to make money for what I do and have a roof over my head and a suspect porch under my feet. (I'm devastated that there's another news story out of India about women being unable to safely ride public buses.)  My dog is happy her mom is sitting outside on a laptop and encouraging her to bark at long-tailed tree vermin.  No waffling allowed, life is, quite good.

ok, cupid's fish in the sea...whatchoo got?!

I think, since I haven't posted here in over a year (thanks, facebook, your set up makes it easier for me just to post long status-updates than actual entries)...it's okay for me to go a little off-grid and talk about my personal life, instead of my professional one. I also have been reading some humorist blogs where the authors swear quite a bit. I swear ALL THE TIME in real life (but not at church or around old people) and it seems weird to type it. I'm want to give it a go here.

Incidentally, I'm starting a different blog for my teaching/school quips, so that will be around at some point. I've got content, but I haven't thought of a good name. Clearly...the name of this one is too much of a mouthful.

But I digress.

 To bring you (if you know me in the real life, or not) up to speed, I'm 29 and single. I've lived with some boyfriends, thought about/talked about marrying some boyfriends, dated long-distance (across states and even countries), changed life plans for boyfriends, and been more than broken-hearted by boyfriends. If you'd asked me a few years ago, "will you be single at 29?" I'd probably have tentatively said, hopefully not. The jaded part of me says, whatever...FOREVER ALOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNE, all emo-like. However, I've had some major growth in my emotional life and I'm really comfortable with my single-ness, lack-of-being-a-parent-ness, my hot-ness, my wrinkled-and-and-lived-in-skin-ness...you see where I'm going with this. I like me. I like me whether I have a boyfriend, significant other, roll of fat, perfect hair day, terrible hair day, or whatever.

This is important. There's so much research and evidence about teens (boys and girls, but since I'm a chick, I'll stick with that) and depression and low self-esteem and how that leads to dangerous decisions (self-loathing, self-injury, binge-drinking, bad sex choices, etc.) in the future. Basically, your self-image is more or less cemented from childhood on. The fact that I haven't let the media totally pervade my brain and tell me I'm AWFUL for not being super skinny, not having a husband, not being "perfect"...it's a big deal. I've worked toward my happy relationship with my body in the mirror.

Now my relationship with my head and my heart? Those are every day struggles.

So I've been doing the online dating thing. Incidentally, I started it because I have a good friend who met her husband through a particular site, and they are a-dor-a-buuullllll. I also know of many other success stories. I met my 2 more recent relationships via online dating and those guys turned out to be stand-up gents who I'm very happy to have spent significant time with. I'm glad we split up too...because these experiences have led to me being more, well, me.

I've gone out on some pity dates lately and man, they are SAD. This one guy has had a crazy amount of loss in his world and I thought I'd been pretty clear that I wasn't necessarily looking for something physical/romantic...but that guy has called or texted me every day for 2 weeks. I don't want to let him down, and the Suzy Sunshine part of me wants to cheer him up, but dang. That's a lot of work for a therapist to do, and I ain't even got time for my shit.

 I went out with this one dude-- nothing awful about him-- just kinda BORING. I will call him Mr. Boring. Had an MBA, a decent job, a good volunteer thing going on, but that mumfucker wanted to go split-zies on everything. It was pointed out to me that it was a "transactional" view point of dating to insist that the guy pay for stuff before anything physical happened...and I'm not going to start making a menu or anything... (one kiss= 2 dates, making out= fancy dinner and flowers) LOL, but REALLY? I'm smart, I'm hot, I'm funny, I'm entertaining and I suggested fun things for us to do. The least you can do is buy my damn drink. I'm good arm candy, and you, Mr. Boring, are not. Plus, you're boring.

I guess, if we'd gone to THAT restaurant and seen bongo-boobs,  we coulda totally made out, whether or not he'd picked up the check.

I've been messaging and speaking with another guy who we will call Mr. Demanding. He's not bad, again, but just a little on the, oh, let's see, how to put this gently, DEMANDING side. I hadn't met him yet in person and he more-or-less started an argument via text message with me. Derrrp, hold the phones! I don't know you, bruh, don't know if you're worth my time, and you want to tell me what to do with my tone of voice? Nope, you're talking to the wrong muthatruckin' feminist. He had the nerve to say that, "he wasn't expecting that I wouldn't go on dates with other guys or anything..." and I'm assuming that meant-- for the time being-- until I meet you and sweep you off your feet or some shit.

Nope, I do what I want. For realz. I'm a damn grown-ass woman who pays her own bills, owns her own car, has a responsible job, and is a kick-ass doggie-mommy. Of course I'm going to go out with who I want, jack-hole! I don't know you!!

Now, onto a different one...and I'm gonna have to stop because this entry is getting stupid long. My roomate calls him Cutie Patootie, so we shall call him Mr. Cutie-Patootie. We've been on a coffee date, a day-date (it was active and included dinner) and an evening date where we met at one restaurant and drove together to a separate activity. He's been delightful, interesting, interested in conversation, intelligent, handsome, and funny.

No problem, right? Call off the search, send the hounds home! Except...communication doesn't seem to be his thing, though and so it seems that every interaction we've had...I've instigated (that's not the word, but fuck it) with an initial text, call, or email. We also have had NO KISSING. Boo to that. If we go back to the transactional view of dating, what gives? I want to kiss you and I'm the girl. If the boy wants to kiss the girl and she's not ready, it's not cool. If the girl wants to kiss the boy and the boy balks...I don't understand. I haven't been in that position before in my extensive 14 years of dating.

So, Mr. Patootie.

Cutie, If I can call you that...the fish in the sea led me with cupid's stupid arrow to you. Call me and then kiss me, okay??

 Ermagod, if you do get it together and call me, please don't have wings.