The blue sports car and the snow plow

Sunday I cried. 

I didn’t mean to.  It kind of snuck up on me a little and surprised me.  All together, I am kind of upset about the whole episode…if I hadn’t cried again yesterday, I would have brushed it off and not thought about it and everything would have been fine.  Now it feels like a pattern and that means no brushing off…instead I have to deal with it.

I don’t know how to, but I am not sure when that has ever stopped me before.

I cried Sunday because suddenly I didn’t know how to keep everyone safe.  I think what tipped it off was the news that there was a shooting in a park that I have walked through several times, and more disturbingly, taken the boys to. 

The very news was upsetting, but also coincidentally important because I very recently got the chance to meet and shake hands with (read hug…dunno how to shake hands with someone but to say hug straight off just sounds creepy) someone who lived through one of the deadliest school shootings in American history.  I wish I could say more about this person and our meeting because they are/it was absolutely amazing.  They had the most brilliant attitude and grace and kindness despite the things they’ve seen and been through. 

Saturday was the 14^th anniversary of that shooting and once again, if all of this was a book, the coincidence would be too much to be believable.  I swear I don’t make these things up though.

I’m not making up either, that the next day (Monday morning) I was driving to work and passed a beautiful, shiny, expensive looking 3000GT ?? something or other in the ditch at the side of the road. 

It was sunny and light (but not too bright); there was no snow on the ground or ice.  There was no glare or a whole lot of traffic…but the car was in the ditch.

I thought how awful that person must have felt afterward.  I wondered if they had been texting or if they thought someone was getting too close to their beautiful car and over-reacted, swerving out of the way.  I thought about how they must have thought their life was going pretty well to afford a shiny, expensive car like that…and then they ended up in a ditch.

Thinking about it, I guess there are all sorts of things that could have happened.  It could have happened the night before or the car could have been stolen by joy riders or something…the driver could have had a heart attack or…been texting…regardless, a car like that doesn’t get out of a ditch like that without serious damage.

My car on the other hand? 

My rusty, falling apart, doors don’t work and neither do the windshield wipers? 

I think it would have to fall at altitude to damage it…I certainly haven’t stopped it yet with my incompetence…

Anyway, I thought about this all day…you could be driving a shiny blue sports car on a beautiful morning and still run off the road…maybe I will be ok?

Monday afternoon it started to snow.  Monday afternoon I had to go pick up the 6yo from school because he threw up.  No one understands that he throws up and then is fine…they freak out and make him go home and make him stay at home for twenty four hours.  I understand the reasoning behind it, but it is still a pain.

Anyway, I am driving the 9yo to school on Tuesday, which was a very surreal experience because it was almost quiet, and we see a car run into the back of a snow plow.  It was one of those big huge plows with the flashing lights and monster plow at the front. 

Then, I’m thinking, dude, I guess it doesn’t matter if you think you’re safe because you’re behind a snowplow…you can still run into the back of it!

So, I cried again last night…which is a major problem, but I’m working on it.  I am pretty sure I can’t keep everyone everywhere safe…the 6yo is going to throw up and everyone will think he has the plague, the 9yo will fall out of the car and as long as it is on the driveway this is ok, I will get to work safely and then turn around and slip on the ice in the carpark and slam my hand into the door…it could be sunny, it could be raining or icy…I could be following a snowplow or forget what I was doing.  I can’t stop gunfire in the park.  I wish I could.  I wish someone could.  Right now, I can only hope for the presence of mind to throw those I love out of danger and have the courage to stand up with grace.

 

Xb.

Common ground (black and white makes grey)

I am quiet.
I usually don’t have a lot to say (out loud). I don’t know if this is a product of my saying dumb things that come into my head and getting the ‘what planet are you from?’ look, or if it is more about my deep seeded insecurity. Either way, and it doesn’t matter why, I usually don’t say much.
I am quiet…except when it comes to my job.
OK, I’m not always ON…but part of my job is to distract, comfort and even amuse patients when they come into the office. It is something that (oddly) comes fairly easily (most of the time) despite the fact that I cannot hold a conversation about anything more important than the weather or any less important than say the role of various screening tests during pregnancy or how revisionist history merits or hinders our understanding of the past…you want to talk about the meaning of life and the inevitability of death (or zombies) and I am right there with you. It is easier for someone to be poked with needles when I am jabbering on about vacations and books and other nonsense. (At least I think it is. No one has told me otherwise, so I’m running with it’s a good thing.) I am not comfortable with the part of my brain that lets my mouth run while I am concentrating on drawing blood, but it serves a purpose. It happens when I am reading a particularly boring book to the boys as well…my mouth says the words, but I am thinking about vacations and books and other nonsense.
So, I’m quiet…most of the time and I don’t say much. (Even though I have very strong opinions about a lot of things.) Especially about taboo subjects like politics and religion…In my very humble opinion, they don’t have any place in healthcare. I don’t care who you are (and much to the chagrin of my billing ladies, if you can or can’t pay), if someone comes into the clinic and I can help, I will help.
Right?
Well usually. The devil’s advocate in my head says, ‘what if a serial killer came in, would you help them?’
…I’m not sure I would in the way that you are never sure what you will do until you get into a place you can’t get out of.
I faced this dilemma fairly recently. (Not that a serial killer came into the clinic…just someone who’s opinion differs SO widely from mine on a particular subject, that I wasn’t sure I would be able to give them as much care as I could…that I knew I should…that I ideally wanted to.)
Yeah, after spending three hours with this person it turns out we have as many (controversial) opinions in common as we do that differ.
Just wanted to say that it’s not all black and white…although I tend to make things more difficult than I need to on a regular basis…there is always common ground.
xb.

The question of connection (or The mouse supernatural investigator)

‘Mom, mom…come look at this!  I don’t know how it happened, but they moved google chrome!’ – The 6yo, knowing too much and not enough at the very same time.

I ask if they had any chance, my boys.

Some of the things they come out with are so totally off the wall and unbelievably intelligent.  Others…well, honestly, I wonder if they will ever find anyone else to understand.

I’ve been thinking about connecting with people lately.  Connecting in the not being a complete loner and actually interacting with the world around me kind of way.  I’ve been thinking about reaching out to people and accepting invitations…maybe even inviting people to do things.  (Which I might actually get around to doing if I could think of normal things to do.  I don’t think saying, ‘hey, wanna come over and watch Dr Who and crochet?’ or ‘hey, wanna cut out coupons and go grocery shopping with me?  or ‘hey, I’ve got this great game where you roll dice and complete tasks to try and keep Cthulhu from devouring the world and everything in it, wanna be a supernatural investigator with me?…I’m not sure that those are winners for the majority of the population.)

I had a conversation with my cousin the other day about how I’d been working on introspection and trying to obtain a view of how I am perceived so that I can better interact with people.  She let me talk about how I often think of myself as a mouse and how I feel insulated from those around me, in many instances invisible with no real impact.  She let me talk for a good while, then she made me mac and cheese.

‘Of course you have an impact on people,’ she said, ‘don’t you realize that?’

Well, no.

That is the issue.

So, until i can get over this feeling lonely phase, I’m seeking to create connections.  Unfortunately, I find myself stumped by the following:

1. Where do you find other crazy people to fit into the crazy world around you?

2. When you find these people, how do you stop yourself from saying stupid things and alienating possible friendships?

3. How do you stop yourself from pushing others away because the sun is shining on the other side of the earth right now?

4. Why does this conversation even have to take place, maybe I should go crochet something, destroy Azathoth and get back to introspection?

My cousin had me take a test which told me I was an ISTP.  Introvert?  Me?

The other day there was a girl (about my age, and therefore not really a girl) in the parent section of martial arts.  She was wearing glasses, crocheting and waxing lyric about the revamped Dr Who.  I tried not to eavesdrop more than was polite as I do try to engage in socially acceptable behavior at least some of the time.  I did catch her eye unintentionally at one point and she might have understood the ‘I get what you’re talking about’ look that I gave her, or she may have just thought I was a creep.  In any case, I was encouraged that there were others out there.  Needless to say, I did not start a conversation or further try to connect in any way.

I need to get myself back to work, five days of sleep and social word gaming is playing on my mind.

Aargh.

xb.

I had no rollerskates, basements or Neil Diamond and he couldn’t stop running crazy

‘I am going to be 5 until I’m 6.’ – The 5 year old stating the obvious.

I would like to tell you a story of woe.  Woe…is such a stupid sounding word.  It looks even stupider.  A three letter four letter word.  Sorrow, burden, quiet despair, etc…those are words you can sink your woe into.

Yet here I am…presenting a tale of woe.  Trying not to think that if you change one letter you get ‘toe’ and if you change that letter back and change it again you can have ‘soe’ and then if you cut and paste the woe at the blinking cursor and change another different letter you get ‘wot’.  This would give you ‘soe wot’.  (‘So what’ for my phonetically challenged or less child-minded readers.)

So what?

Well?  Here it is for what it is worth:

This last Wednesday, one week ago today, I woke up early.  It was a beautiful, unbelievably clear morning.  The dawn was breaking pink on a clear sky.  The crisp morning air was invigorating and somewhat lessened my foul mood.  There were bunnies hopping across the path…birds singing…  I did wake up in a foul mood but I didn’t once have to remind myself that I had eaten an entire bag of m&ms the night before.  I didn’t have to become the undead drill sergeant with naughty words and curses and insults enough to raise the dead.  I just got up and changed and got out.

It was so easy, I even wondered as I reached for the door if I’d forgotten anything because it was all to beautifully simple.  Perhaps I had forgotten my phone or my keys or my shoes…I have done all of these things before.

Easy…(slight echo)

Yeah, who knows what I was thinking.

I pumped my tires up like a responsible little cyclist and set off on my way despite the slight feeling of foreboding.

The ride started out unbelievably strong and smooth.  I thought to myself, ‘it is good this is just what I do.’   I enjoyed riding briefly with a flock (this is a slight exageration – it was more like five …does that count as a flock?) of birds as they took off before me.  I enjoyed the stregnth I felt in every pedal stroke, my shoulders never felt tense, my hands never got sore, my fingers never went numb.  It was a good ride.

When I got back to my house I actually circled around a bit so I could stay in the saddle a little bit longer.  When I finally stopped and pulled off my gloves, retrieved my keys and opened the car door to open the garage door (I don’t tend to make things easy for myself), I began to hear something strange:

a ssshhssssh…

I thought, ‘that doesn’t sound good.’

Being not very bright, I thought it might somehow be my car…what, with it having sat on the driveway all night and it not being currently running and none of the windows were open for a badger or snake to crawl in…I moved forward slightly to investigate and the sshing started sshing in capital letters.

I thought, ‘oh, that really doesn’t sound good.’

I moved my front tire forward and backward…the ssh got louder, it got quieter and then got louder again.  THEN it stopped all together because I put my thumb over the puncture hole in the tire.

So…if I can rewind slightly.  I will tell you that Monday (last week) I rode straight through some shattered glass.  I was possibly too busy marvelling in the red tailed hawk alighting on a branch or the mess of internal miasma in my head to notice it but I really can’t say anything in my defense.  There was no maneuvering through…the only way I could have avoided it was by dismounting and carying my bike over the wreckage of someone’s good night.

On the return journey I slowed and maneuvered more carefully.  I got maybe ten yards beyond the glass minefield before the voice screaming, ‘KARMA!!!’ in my head got too loud and I had to turn back to sweep the glass out of the way.

I think I got the majority of it…

Maybe I just got rid of all the big pieces that would have allerted someone to glass on the path until it was too late…but I was trying to make things better.  In any case, short of getting down on my hands and knees, fashioning a broom out of twigs and stiff grasses, discovering a source of chalk and drawing large warnings on the approaching path…I was at a loss and I had to get to work.

So, that was the Tuesday before last (I think).  After that ride I took my oldest to the dentist for his last two cavity fillings.  I was a very brave girl and also had a cleaning – or attempted to.  I settled the boy in his exam room and was instructed by the (very nice) Eastern European dental assistant to sit in a large, scary chair.  Then I stopped breathing.  (As you do.)  The boy then jumped out of his chair to yell at me from across the office (complete the picture with his paper bib and half a numbed mouth) that x-rays really hurt.

He was right.

Of course, the x-rays didn’t actually hurt, just the plates, which, aren’t plates of film anymore but some sort of electrical receptor.  Apart from the mouth pain and discomfort, all I can remember is thinking, ‘it’s really dumb to plug something in and bite down on it…isn’t it?’  Then the (lovely) Eastern European girl came back and said,’good news, the x-rays are done…but that’s the only good news you’re going to get this morning.’

Yeah, one hour later and with much blood and some tears and a flippant comment about how I’d just gotten a tattoo and it hurt less than the last hour I was unable to get my cleaning…I have the thing that those cleanings are supposed to prevent.

Duh.

Note to self and lesson for the less informed: brush your teeth and don’t wait six years in between going to see the dentist.

Anyway, that Tuesday morning I got home from my ride with no worries, no issues and the Wednesday that I described at the beginning of this post I didn’t even notice riding through the glass on the way out and because I am a paranoid girl I actually picked up my bike and walked over the patch on the way back.  I though, ‘oh, how nice, someone found a broom fashioned from twigs and/or stiff reeds.’

Nice obviously, until I got home.

It might be difficult to understand how devastating this was for me.  I’ve had this bike for 3 years and never had a flat.  I’ve been riding in earnest for 4 years and never had  a flat.  I don’t know how to change a flat.  I felt slightly hopeless even in my statement – the one from the more confident me to the me of lesser stature, diseased gums and scraggly hair – ‘Well, now’s a good time to learn how.’

My husband very nicely bought me a tube over the weekend and on Monday (this week) the boys and I went out to fix it.  The boys brought out first the drill, then the drill bits, then the screwdrivers and finally the wrenches.  By that time I’d read through steps one of ‘how to remove your front wheel’ and decided that the directions were inconceivably boring, that I could figure it out myself and had the wheel off.

As I held it in my hand trying to ignore the neighbor across the street who stands out to smoke because I figured I looked kinds dumb sitting on the driveway in a skirt with my bike in pieces.  Of course the boys have disappeared by now to play ‘Last Man Standing’ with two people so it looks like I’ve been trying to fix the tire with the drill, drill bits, screwdrivers and wrenches.

I managed to get the wheel and the tire off.  Then I removed the busted tube – too afraid to patch it, I just wanted to replace it.  It took me a good 30 minutes to remove all the small pieces of pebble and glass.  I marveled at how dumb the design was with all it’s divots and crevasses…I did read the directions bout removing the source of the puncture – or at least making sure that it wasn’t embedded in the rubber waiting to puncture my new tube.  The really funny thing about the process?  That it wasn’t glass I found in the end, but a thorn.

My husband came outside then and we finished the rest of the repair in about 5 minutes including reattaching the wheel, righting the bike and storing it for the next morning.  We also earned all the rules to ‘Last Man Standing’.

I tried to play with the boys in the back after that but the game really doesn’t make any sense as everyone is ‘it’.  So we played ‘Sharks vs. Sparrows’ or ‘Sharks & Minnows’…or something.  It was so unbelievably, ridiculously fun I am sorry it got dark and we had to go in.

The next morning when I rode, (I am really sorry about all these ‘and then…’s) I was terrified.  I was afraid of getting another flat further from home, of picking up all those pebbles and pieces of things in my tires, afraid of skidding, falling and finding myself taking a test with none of the answers.  I was afraid that I hadn’t aligned the brakes properly or that I would pick something up and not know about it until it was too late…maybe I wouldn’t get home this time.

Still I find myself thinking, ‘tomorrows ride (I know) will be better.’  I’ve brushed twice a day since the nice lady at the dentist’s office told me that I’d need to come back for 3 visits over the next 6 months.  2 to numb alternate sides of my mouth and do nasty things to my poor teeth.  I’ve even flossed.  I’ve also braved my first tornado warning in adult memory (no rollerskates, basements of Neil Diamond available) and after almost a year feel like my house really might be my house.  I think congratulations might be in order…

Oh, except that my 8 year old got his hand shut in the car door yesterday.  Luckily there was no physical harm to him, just the lasting mental trauma to his mother…he’s forgotten all about it.  So cancel the congratulations, I don’t want to mess any further with the balance of universal things.

And to add to it all, my 5 year old got an(other) incident report this week.  This time it was because he ‘couldn’t stop running crazy’ so he fell down and scraped this knee.  (His quote…his words…my future conferences with his teachers concerning his AD/HD.)

Oh!  Good news though…We just found out that my sister is going to have a little girl!  A baby girl with four big (boy) cousins/brothers to look after her…perhaps congratulations are in order after all.

Apparently the name River is a no-go though…perhaps Inara, Zoe or Kaylee…  All good names.  Any other suggestions?

xo.

 

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can – despite the fact that May may kill me

‘Mum, why does your card keep getting blocked?’ – Quote from the 8yo as he struggles to understand my take on financial responsibility.

When my boys were little, I used to think that they would suddenly (over night, inexplicably, when my back was turned) change.  They would spend weeks growing wider or getting a little chunky and then all of a sudden they would sprout two inches, as if they had been coiling energy for a great leap into the air.  They still do so occasionally.  I will look away for a moment and the next thing I know my 8yo has freckles and is shedding a single tear as the dentist drills into his molar and the 5yo is using his knife and fork to eat lasagna almost grown up like (he saved the best bite for last tonight, just like I like to do.)

Spring does the same thing to me.  Winter is just chunky and seems like it stays the same forever and then all of a sudden there are flowers everywhere, grass is green and not brown for a brief period of semi-arid climate joyfullness (unless you have allergies) and people are out on my path.

The financial situation sprang from trying to do good and fill up my husband’s car the day after I filled up mine…at least that is when the trouble seemed to start.  This came after a week – even two, I think I was aiming for two weeks of not spending needlessly – of equally good intentions.  The bank decided that my card was not where it should be and instead in the hands of a mad woman.  They didn’t, of course, realize that that mad woman actually has her name printed on it.  They didn’t bother to give me a call either.  Instead they made me wait in line to buy toilet paper, draino, coffee and three notebooks I really didn’t need (I admit there might be a problem there, it is an addiction for potential).  THEN when there were only five people waiting in line behind me, somewhat angrily, my card was denied.

‘Do you have another card, ma’am?’  Is one of the worst phrases that someone can say to you, really.  I mean, I know I am approaching 35 but I have big plans for an all year long party that will probably involve laser tag.  How does that sound for grown up?

At least this mad woman is not as feeble minded as those around her suspect and I sussed it out, called the recorded lady on the other end of the phone, pressed all the right buttons and can now continue to spend money that I don’t have until Friday.

Yeah me!

My worry is that all my good intentions are not what they are cracking up to be.

For example:

I got to work early, didn’t have any caffeine and got straight to work, took only fifteen minutes for lunch, and procured a FANTASTIC headache for my efforts before leaving early at three to pick up the 5 year old and then the 8 year old from their respective schools.  Then I raced to the dentist.  I didn’t tell either school that I was talking them out early and as a consequence of my lateness was in such a hurry, I am sure that they thought I might be doing a runner or escaping from terrorists or something.  (It is a good thing that I have made such an effort to portray myself as a respectable member of society and, you know, responsible.)  I did not wait patiently at any of the EVERY SINGLE lights that turned red, had the kids running like they were little soldiers and I was the drill sergeant, and we made it to the dentist with a few minutes to spare on the ‘you’ll have to reschedule if…’ timescale.  THEN, I freaked out when they were drilling into my children’s teeth.  (They were fine, brave little soldiers.)  I didn’t realize that I would have to be responsible for an estimated 200$ bill at time of service, paid on the HSA, which I thought was a good idea at the time, but then found out later that it was really stupid.  (Then found out again later, that it was ok.)  Then had my oldest wondering why my card kept getting blocked when I offered to get them a treat (non-candylike) for dealing with the dentist better than I did.

(If you are still reading, I am sorry.  This has clearly turned into more of a rant than anticipated.)

All the way driving home after the ordeal, I asked myself:

Is it ok to not think things through all the time, when I only mean well in everything I do?

The answer, of course, was no.  No, it is not ok to be blindly and innocently blundering through life with a good intention and a hug for people who need one…Then Pollyanna starts talking and she tells me that I am serving a good purpose while doing good and intending to do good.  So I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.  Also, I figured out that my card was blocked before the bank called me to say that they thought it was in the hands of a mad woman, didn’t I?  I’m not that blunderful, right?

I have so many things set for May that my calendar looks like I just sat there and scribbled a lot of numbers and letters in random order and then punctuated with arrows.  I don’t know if I will make it through.  I have all the best intentions…that matters right?

By the way, I am re-reading Pollyanna, the novel.  I will, of course, work on a structured, somewhat intelligent book review when I am finished but only after I write the other one that I was intending to write first.  I have a beautiful new writing tool that I am obsessing over because it might reign over the chaos that is the screenplay.  Oh my goodness, I am totally in love with a computer program!  I feel I have awakened a sleeping giant.  The screenplay has gotten so fat and chunky over this last year, I think it is about to spring up and leap away!  Again, the beauty of potential!

I think that Pollyanna had AD/HD though.  I am pretty sure of it.  I kind of enjoy the balanced feeling that that gives me.  It won’t pay the bills, but I do love symmetry.  Laser tag won’t pay the bills either, shamefully.  Who would have thought that I could enjoy it so much?  I came in third behind my husband and a fourteen year old boy.  What does that say about my life?  I am not sure that I want to know unless it is well intentioned.

xoxo.

Tourist for a day

I always thought that the word tourist was a dirty one.  I haven’t done as much travel as I would have liked up unto this point, there just isn’t any money.  I am not sure how, but the bills always seem to be due again, another month gone.

I would love to travel.  One part of myself might happily be a nomad given the chance.  I could live in a tent or a trailer or like a tortoise with my pack (I am in love with my rucksack) and move around wherever I fancied.  I would see the world at least twice before I wanted to see it all again.

Another, possibly more sensible, part of me has been extremely difficult and has set herself to thwarting my nomad dream by trying to burrow herself into the ground.  The burrower has won so far but I like to say things still remain at least a little bit transient.  I still have no substantial furniture that can’t be dismantled with an allen wrench and a carefully placed hammer blow.  I’ve seen people move out in the middle of the night, I know how it works.

When myself and my sisters were little it felt like we always had a permanent place to stay, a home, but it was one that could be picked up and transplanted fairly easily.  We moved every three years up until I was eight or nine, then we lived in the same spot for ten years but I changed schools every three.  Then we moved to the UK for three and then back…I want to say it was for three, but I think it was only two before I moved back to the UK for another six years.  From there I would like to pretend that I haven’t moved again or that multiples of three are not somehow ingrained in my psyche, but we did and they are.

I have always wanted to fit in.  It could be any person’s dream to be a part of something bigger than you are, or to have someone understand you so well that it feels like you are not alone in the universe.  I don’t think I ever quite hit the mark with either of those groups, but I did have good friends growing up.

If I didn’t quite fit in, I wanted to make sure that I didn’t stand out too much.  Being as shy and mouse-like as I was (and would still be if I wasn’t dragging around 180lbs of ‘Here I am!’).  Tourist feels like a dirty word to me because it has always equaled ignorant in my mind.  A dumb, oaf who doesn’t fit, is a target for pick pocketing and sob stories about how nanny has to have an operation or bus fair to the coast…’Sure!  I’ll carry that bag of white powder across the border!  No problem!  It’s sugar for your tea, right?’   A ‘tourist’ is someone who says the wrong things and offends people and doesn’t know where they were going and doesn’t know what to order off the menu.   All of these thing I have to admit I find somewhat distasteful.  All of these things scream tourist to me.

And I think I might be all of the things I just described.

This is not a proud moment for me.  Much like this afternoon when my five year old came out of the daycare and asked me when the last day of winter was.  I told him it was today.  He says, ‘Well, who am I supposed to trust then?  My mom or my friend because Miss Katie said that the first day of spring is tomorrow!’  I admit that I don’t know the whole mechanics around the change of the season.  I know that despite the fact that it is ‘spring’ soon, it will still be cold for several weeks if not months depending on jet streams and coke bottles and little oblong headed nymphs I call George…I told the boy all this and that he probably shouldn’t trust me.  I forgot to tell him that the last day of winter being today and the first day of spring being tomorrow are really kind of the same thing.

So, I am a tourist.  I am all about trying to embrace who I am lately instead of trying to be someone I want to be who is better, thinner and more likely to dye her hair blonde the right and expensive way and not the way out of a box so that she is still paying for it an entire year later.  It is ok to be a tourist.  Everyone is a tourist when they first start out…and I am always starting out.

Today I decided that I would pretend that this is not my normal life.  That I am just visiting for a while before I go back to baking cookies with June Cleaver and then jumping on the back Jim Stark’s motorcycle…which, I can’t even remember if he had.  I think I need a classic re-education soon.  (Someday I will discover the enigma machine, which will make it all make sense.  My husband only wishes that such a thing existed.)

Anyway…toady I wanted to look at things with fresh eyes, notice what is around me with wonder and scribble it all down without thinking about how I do the same things day in and day out and wake up constantly to find that it is three weeks from Tuesday, when I last thought I was in a rut.

This morning…

I woke up on the floor in my son’s room and my first thought was, ‘Oww.’  My second thought was that I was going to have to find another way to wake up because I’d missed both the five thirty and six o’clock yoga classes.  My third was that I would never voluntarily stay at a place that didn’t offer coffee in the morning.  Then I moved onto, ‘AAACH!  We have no coffee!’

Then I took a shower and thought that I really should complain about the cleanliness of the bathrooms, because the showers were icky.  Unfortunatlely, the management (who is me) didn’t take the criticism too kindly and I had to back off playing tourist before I pulled myself down a dark alley and found myself disappearing.

Just before I left, I grabbed my camera (the pointy clicky one) and pretended that I didn’t have to check all the doors three times and the oven twice before I got in the car.  I even took some pictures on the way to work before I remembered that it was not a good idea to drive and look through the viewfinder at the same time.  I had forgotten how good it is to see the mountains every morning.  This morning they were shrouded in misty patches and beautiful and majestic.  I also forgot that I drive past a lovely area of rolling hills, which are gold and brown this time of year.  I even sometimes see cows.

I got to work.  I was motivated, I was focused, I got some stuff done and it wasn’t until about 10:32 that I decided that this vacation wasn’t very relaxing.  Later, I had the most beautiful salad ever and went for a run (a very short one, as I am building up for my newest goal of a public 5k.)  The afternoon downgraded to a category 3 hurricane when I got the munchies and wanted to eat everything in site.  Then it was time to go home again.  I thought I would have more interesting stories, but the whole exercise wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.  I wonder if it would be easier if I pretended that I had an imaginary friend who was the tourist and I was telling them what my life is like.  That wouldn’t be weird would it?

I wrote a lot of interesting things down so I could blog tonight, but I seem to have misplaced my notes on the bright yellow post-it that was folded in half.  I hope that whoever finds it doesn’t think I’m crazy.  I can’t remember any of the interesting things I did write down;  however, I did come up with some broad themed things:

There is another thought that came out of my being a tourist today that I didn’t expect.  When you are on holiday, you usually demand a certain level of comfort.  This doesn’t apply if you are insane and enjoy walking long distances with your life on your back and sleeping on the ground where wild animals might eat you when you snore.  I fall into this category, so I can’t really comment but as a whole you are more inclined to treat yourself and expect a little more from your experiences when your are a tourist.  Even in the back woods.  I didn’t do this today.  I found myself accepting a lot of things that were just sub par.  E.g. sleeping on the floor, lack of a.m. coffee, dirty bathrooms and the general ick factor that goes with what I do, etc.

Also, it is important sometimes to relax and not worry about making EVERY moment count.  I try this and I just end up sitting on the couch at night like Goldie Hawn’s charecter in ‘Overboard’ unable of saying anything but ‘bubbbaabbabbba.’  I have always wanted to go on one of those working holidays where I visit some exotic location and do some good, maybe build a latrine or immunize a community or teach a group of young girls to crochet hats (I’ll let you know when I have learned how to do this myself).  I am stuck with the need to always be working in order to justify my self-worth.  I need to get around to the idea that I can relax for an hour or a day without the world falling apart around me.  I will one day do a medical mission…just watch me…but I need to be careful not to burn myself out before I get there.

And one last thing…I would be downright scared if I were someone else and living my life.  I really can’t drive very well, no one seems to recycle here, I am not sure about the custom of putting paper towels in the bin marked ‘sheets only’, there are no good ways to wear hair that is still somewhat box blonde fried, or any way to hide the cluster of zits on my chin, I talk like I’m using a different language and I didn’t remember to bring a coat on the last day of winter.

Picture me a tourist, just for a day.

I would pick a Monday.

xoxo.