nuggets of wisdom

The dresser that wanted to live.

I (and by I, I mean my teenage son) pulled this pile o' trash out of my garage a couple of days ago. He has no faith in my vision. So he complained a lot.

Perhaps a small murder occurred in the drawer?
I have a lot of stuff that needs to be contained, and an elevation issue with my TV. So I figured I could use this homeless piece of oak and some odds and ends of stuff that was probably going to end up at the dump to contain my mess. Plus, I'd get the pleasure of making a really big mess in the process. That's always fun.

Ah, better. Yet still mildly disturbing somehow. Like it was kind of on purpose, but really doesn't go together. I love it this week. Maybe next week I'll send it to the dump. We'll see.

Highlander said he likes it. But I remember how much of a Virgo he is. He likes things organized. I think mostly, he likes that my crap-pola is contained and our floor is clean and wide open. That's OK. It's all good. I like that it's messed up on purpose.

As usual, I really love that it isn't from Furniture Row.

I love this picture.

If I could send myself a letter...back through time...and have it arrive in my mailbox in 2001, I'd just put this picture in an envelope instead.

Stupid, Stupid World. or maybe Stupid, Stupid Brain.

It's take-it-easy-Tuesday, and I've used that (plus my inability to face The Important Desk refinishing project) as an excuse to basically do nothing today.
If you are waiting for me to apologize, grab a beer and settle in.

Highlander and I took the little girls to Mad-town this weekend and we wandered up and down State Street like Zombies. Ha. After lunch at the Dane, I actually used the makeup in my purse (which, strangely, I don't wear, but rather carry with me as if I might have a makeup emergency) to put scars, scrapes, and fake stitches all over their beautiful little faces. Zombie children. Who knew that would prove so profoundly disturbing to the half drunk early birds at Freakfest? Hm. I'm awesome.

After saving dear sweet Victoria from headbanging her way into whiplash at the Freakfest midnight show sound check (it was at 4pm. I'm a good mom.) we went back to the hotel pool where Highlander and I dutifully filled our travel coffee mugs with liquor and snuggled into large plastic chairs to catch up on the gossip we hadn't had a chance to exchange in the past few weeks. With our faces turned towards the chorus of, "Look! Hey! Momma! Watch this! Ow! MoooooM! Mooooommy! Look!" we waited for the children to wear themselves out by trying to drown each other in four feet of water. They approached us at 9pm with the announcement that they were ready to go back to the room and sleep. So we took them out to an Irish Pub and fed them ten pounds of cheese covered bacon fries. Yeah. Hardcore. By 11pm Saturday night all was quiet, and I hit a wall. Highlander and Tori were snoring. Zoe was dreaming of something exciting, but sadly I couldn't decipher her whining panicked negotiations. She was doing OK. (I'm a good mom.) There was nothing on TV.

So I was forced to Think.
Ow. OW OW!

Here's a list of disturbing things that occurred to me:
1. I'm still using my dead ex-boyfriend's name as my password to EVERYTHING. (well, not like right this minute. I changed them all yesterday.)
2. Most of the time, there's a track from Purple Rain playing in the background of my mind.
3. I have a theology. I am a church of one. (how screwed up is that?)
4. I'm really a lot happier if I don't have to leave my house.
5. I don't like new people (sorry. I really do feel kinda bad about that. When people say, "Oh! I'm so glad to meet you!" I always think, "Why?"
6. Apathy is my favorite state of mind.
7. Some people probably think I'm a jerk. See number 6.
8. Herman Cain is an asshole who (ironic!) hates women.
9. The more I feel I should speak my mind, the stronger the urge becomes to stay home.
10. My kids are so awesome.

Which brings me to the last 20 days of 30 days till something. Yeah. It's been something alright. I thought I was going to figure out what I was good at. Well, I did. And the clarity is wonderful. But it's also kind of a pain in my left eye. The good news is I get paid to write, now.  The bad news is that all that introspection has made me really introspective.

Don't I know anyone in real life who knows enough to keep me from crawling into my own head looking for who-knows-what? I was blissfully ignorant of what's lodged up in there.

Sidenote: In the eleventh grade, I was nearly ejected from Sunday School because I suggested that by causing the Blind Man to See, Jesus Ruined the Blind Man's Life. I mean, the dude went from hanging out with his own ideas about how things are to having to actually see what everyone else sees. And then....he had to get a job. The Sunday School Teacher was Offended. He couldn't really do anything about it though. I was the preacher's kid. Sometime in my late teens I stopped thinking. Two decades later, I avoid sad music, all  poetry, documentary films, and books thicker than two inches.  Really.... the recesses of my mind are a trap.

Now, I remember why.

So, it is with great clarity (damn it) that I say, Thirty days till something has turned out five (one's for kids) new cooking classes, a handful of writing gigs, several pieces of refinished furniture, a new tolerance for my husband's drug flashbacks (the drugs were before the marriage. I'm a good mom.) and a mental exhaustion that I haven't felt since eleventh grade Sunday School. 

I'm officially blogging in spurts again, I just don't feel guilty about it.
I'm a right brained Pisces with frizzy hair and a dark sense of humor. I have to live with it. You can too.
30 days is over.
I still have stuff to post. Don't worry.....I take bad phone pictures of Everything.