July 2011


I was a grown up today.  I stayed an hour or so late at work to finish a project (I’m support staff, so a project pretty much just means copious scanning) and finished it.  Now, I knew I was going to do this yesterday, and I warned Nikolai last night and again this morning that I would be home later than usual.  I asked him to pack extra snacks in my lunch bag. (shut up my husband packs my lunch if he didn’t I’d be late every dang day and he’d sleep until ten and I would resent him)

I did my thang.  I got my daily tasks done.  I planned ahead, started the project, ate my snacks, stayed on task.   I completed that betch.  I scanned the crap out of those documents.  And then before driving home I asked Nikolai to greet me with an adult beverage because if I have to be grown up, then dang it I get to have a grown up drink.  While he mixed my madness, I folded my clean clothes you guys I’m a total grown up.  Now if only being grown up was as much fun as being a kid. . . . oh well, the drinks have more kick.  And NOT in the shins, which is crucial, in my book.

 

Some days, I am very opinionated.  I admire those people that say what they think, not to be cruel, but to remain honest and true to their characters.  I am not one of those people.  Not yet, anyway.  I still quail from telling my complete opinion, it its hardest, most brutal form.   However, I believe honesty must be brutal to be itself, so every time I say something and gentle it, I feel that I am lying in some way.  I can not be as brutal as I want to be.  There are so many people in my life that can and are.  I do not mean to say that they are heartless, on the contrary they are some of the more heartful people I know.  They are simply unashamed to think what they think, and to believe what they believe, no matter if it clashes with someone else.

I envy that strength.  I want it.  However, I struggle to find that strength to speak when I am so afraid of hurting someone, or of lacking compassion, or offending someone and causing severe, unpleasant repercussions for years to come.

Today was a day where I was opinionated.  My father in-law came over like he does on Mondays, and caught us up on family drama.  I didn’t like how he and his wife had handled part of the drama, and I proceeded to say so, in no uncertain terms.  I think I was brutal.  I think I was honest.  I think I did it.

Why do I never learn?  Why do I not recall previous experiences, and think that if I repeat them, the same results won’t occur?  It hurts, and for so much longer than it was good.

 

Stupid fatty meats.

 

Ow, my tummy hurts.

**warning:  this post will be composed primarily of whining, and ought to be read with a high-pitched tone, extra syllables in words, and exaggerated sighs and sobs **

 

Mostly I’m proud of Nikolai for running a game online.  He’s learning things that can be applied to a job, he’s having fun, and he’s getting some small notoriety for it.  I do not like it when this hobby cuts into my attention time.  Like today, I got home from work and bantered with him and his buddy over skype as I changed and got some food.  I did all the things I wanted to do on my computer, and then realized that I had been home for an hour and Nick hadn’t so much as hugged me, or stood up, or kissed me or anything.  I marched over to demand my rightfully-owed attention which got me a seat on his lap for a minute and a half.  And then he dislodged me and turned back to his screens.  Hmmmm. . . .

 

Fists clenched? Check.

 

Lips pursed?  Check.

 

Eyebrows pinched together?  Check and check.

 

I had my angry face on.  He glanced back and noticed, then proceeded to whine at ME that they’re doing a big thing today and he needs to focus, good grief!  Because clearly, this is universal news.  You guys knew, right?  Who didn’t know that they were working a big thing today?  Gosh, what is my problem?  I need to calm my business down.  Oh, wait a second – yeah, I was never informed of this.

I totally did the polite and mature thing, though.  I quietly and calmly informed him that I will need advance notice for days that he will be unable to shower me with attention, as is my due.  Otherwise, I get hurt, and I get disappointed, and I roll those vulnerable emotions into something powerful, like anger, and then I tend to sneak up behind him and smack him in the head with no warning.  Because he didn’t warn me about the game.  It’s called poetic justice, babe.

Yesterday was day two of a huge mailing project at work. I had to (accurately) type addresses for every client, and then print them, then type return labels for them to . . .return things. And those had to be accurate, too.
I didn’t figure out that I could save the addresses, making a few minutes of typing into a three click situation until halfway through today, which was roughly three-quarters of the way through the entire project.
My whole work day was off balance, and that bugs me because I love creating patterns and structure in my work life but I couldn’t sort the mail until I was done with the mailing and then after the mailing were the stragglers that decided they needed to be mailed after all, and then when I did sort the mail I had to figure out who needed to be called and alerted to our new business and some people don’t put any phone numbers on their correspondence.

Today was spent calling those people, or emailing, or faxing them.

I want my pattern back.

I went for a nice hike with my friend the other weekend.  We set out in the early afternoon on Saturday with snacks, water, and loads of energy because we both like hiking so much.  It wasn’t difficult hiking, because the trail was a good eight feet wide, but it was hillish so I felt it deserved being called a hike.  We went down and around, enjoying the air and the sun and the trees and flowers, making space for cyclists and joggers.  We followed the map we had in her book of hikes in our area, until we got to an access road that confused us.  According to my interpretation of the map, the little deer trail across the road and behind that gate was the path we ought to take.  We tried out my path, stepping over viney things and logs, and then had to decide if we ought to go straight up the hillside in the meadow and the shoulder-high grass or to the left and off into the woods.  We took the meadow.  I got smacked in the face by grass, which made my grass allergies flare.  I had forgotten I was grass-allergic, you see, and so my nose began to run and my eyes to water.  We found the path veering off into the woods, and followed it, stepping gingerly over what I believed to be stinging nettles.  I’d rather have been paranoid and unstung than otherwise.  Also my eyes were watering so it was hard to see defining characteristics of fuzzy plants.  The trail petered out in the woods so we turned around, and I battled the grasses once more, this time remembering a friend’s story of checking for ticks after being in the tall grass.  By the time we got back to the road and trailhead, I was sneezing, gasping, rubbing the tears from my eyes, and swiping my arms and legs to get all the millions of ticks off of me.  My companion looked at me like I was insane, and I probably did look it.  We tried to read the map again, and set off down the road as it appeared that the road and trail merged for a short while.  It appeared wrong.  Back we hiked, up and up and up, with me sneezing about every two minutes.  My sneezes slowed to every five minutes, and my tick searches to every fifteen.  We finally reached the car again, and I deliriously chastised him (the car) for flirting with the pickup from Montana that had parked nose to nose.

After stretching and having a snack and some water, we looked at the map again and the trailheads within twenty feet of us.  We made an amazing discovery – we had taken the wrong one from the very beginning and instead of walking four miles, we did closer to seven.

They That Cannot Read Maps

this is an image of what we did.  I don’t think I should be allowed in Nature anymore.  Also, I am still checking for ticks a week later.  You just never know.