It is effortlessly quiet this afternoon: the barest of breezes is blowing, a few birds are chirping and in the distance i can hear the revving of a motorcycle. I have not quite started baking inside my little abode yet, thank goodness today seems to be slightly overcast. A dreary winter, full of darkness finally ends and i get excited for a respite from the sun. Go figure.
Today started off fine enough, but has given way to a jumble of mixed emotions. Does anyone ever know what they want to do? And, how do they know how to go about doing it? I'm unable to wrap my head around how to make it work for me. I'm perfectly content to return to what i was doing. I'm good at it, it's never boring, and although it sucks my will to live at times, I am looking forward to doing something fulfilling again. Being completely underutilized and unproductive for the last year has at least given me an idea of what i don't want to do. And isn't that half the battle?
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Doing Things
I think it's safe to say that i have no idea what I'm doing, only that what was doing is not what i want to be doing so I'm going to do what i want to do and start doing that instead. Get that?
Since I quit my job back in May, I've had a lot of time to do nothing. And, as it happens, I'm very good at doing nothing, since I've had the last 10 months at said prior job, to practice the art. I am either very stupid for wanting to actually work while at work and be fulfilled and have a general sense of purpose, or I'm very stupid for quitting a job that pays me to do nothing. I don't accept either. I am not a stupid woman. I struggled with myself for days leading up to my final decision, and every day thereafter, having given notice of my intent to leave. So struggled did i, that it took me an entire day, the second Monday of my two week notice, to decide not to come back, that i simply could not endure it anymore. I am a bit surprised, and yet not at the following: I was not compensated for that very terrible Monday that i made myself sit and find something to do. Not paid. NOT PAID! Any ounce of guilt or remorse that i felt has since been assuaged. I completely made the right decision, completely.
Having said that, I have been enjoying my days of doing nothing. I've never quite experienced not having to go to work, and while its temporary, and self induced, I can say now, that i might not mind being a "house-wife" in the future. I've been reading, shopping, and enjoying the "nothingness" of my days. Some days, I'd be hard pressed to tell exactly what i accomplished, if anything. But the days have been passing by, quite nicely and i have trim, perfectly painted nails, a nice tan going, a spiffy clean house and a bevy of books just waiting to be read.
Since I quit my job back in May, I've had a lot of time to do nothing. And, as it happens, I'm very good at doing nothing, since I've had the last 10 months at said prior job, to practice the art. I am either very stupid for wanting to actually work while at work and be fulfilled and have a general sense of purpose, or I'm very stupid for quitting a job that pays me to do nothing. I don't accept either. I am not a stupid woman. I struggled with myself for days leading up to my final decision, and every day thereafter, having given notice of my intent to leave. So struggled did i, that it took me an entire day, the second Monday of my two week notice, to decide not to come back, that i simply could not endure it anymore. I am a bit surprised, and yet not at the following: I was not compensated for that very terrible Monday that i made myself sit and find something to do. Not paid. NOT PAID! Any ounce of guilt or remorse that i felt has since been assuaged. I completely made the right decision, completely.
Having said that, I have been enjoying my days of doing nothing. I've never quite experienced not having to go to work, and while its temporary, and self induced, I can say now, that i might not mind being a "house-wife" in the future. I've been reading, shopping, and enjoying the "nothingness" of my days. Some days, I'd be hard pressed to tell exactly what i accomplished, if anything. But the days have been passing by, quite nicely and i have trim, perfectly painted nails, a nice tan going, a spiffy clean house and a bevy of books just waiting to be read.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The Life of Leisure
Goodness! It seems to be that I've been remiss in my blogging duties. Truth be told, I am unable to write if i am in an "average" state of mind. Its been like that for as long as I've known me. Extreme pain, heartbreak...that yields the best poetry. Unbound joy, excitement and general sense of well-being? that yields short stories, blogs and funny posts. SO: That being said; i am in the throes of pulling myself up by my fashionable and very high heels and fixing my mood.
Fixing said mood began yesterday with a shoe shopping expedition...Before you gasp in disapproval and expound on the fact that i already have quite the collection, QUITE the collection, let me preface this novella by stating that i was on a mission for a bronze/goldish metallic sandal to wear with my bridesmaid dress. (Note to readers: it might be too early for goldish/metallic sandals, as currently white is all the rage) But don't worry, i did not leave empty handed. Rare is the day when i leave a shoe store with a frown.
I began my quest, as i always do, in the clearance room, size 7.5's. Put down the raised eyebrow! Shoe designers, like clothing ones, use mass manufacturing to make their product. Consequently, where-ever that shoe 'was' in the process, will determine its actual "size": earlier in the queue, will get you a smaller size, about mid-run will get you the truest fit, and later in the cycle will get you the largest. Hence, i look in the 7.5's because there could be a shoe there that fits like an 8. Then i methodically look from left to right, row by row, as if reading the shoe racks, for anything that appeals to me. If it appeals, i take it out of the box and put it on. If it further appeals, i then figure out what the price will be. I always, ALWAYS put the shoe in my tote bag. Decisions are meant to be made at the end of the preview period, where cuts can then be made based on budget.
I finished my preview at the end of the 8.5's, and surveyed my tote bag: 6 pair. Doing math in my head (i know, dangerous territory) i decided 6 was too many, as my average sales price was a little higher this trip, than in trips past. I put a champagne colored ankle strap heel back on the shelf. 5, although an odd number, would be acceptable this trip, as i had with me the revered discount reward coupon! The clerk managed to get all 5, in their boxes, into a very large brown shopping bag and off i went, wide smile and all.
Fixing said mood began yesterday with a shoe shopping expedition...Before you gasp in disapproval and expound on the fact that i already have quite the collection, QUITE the collection, let me preface this novella by stating that i was on a mission for a bronze/goldish metallic sandal to wear with my bridesmaid dress. (Note to readers: it might be too early for goldish/metallic sandals, as currently white is all the rage) But don't worry, i did not leave empty handed. Rare is the day when i leave a shoe store with a frown.
I began my quest, as i always do, in the clearance room, size 7.5's. Put down the raised eyebrow! Shoe designers, like clothing ones, use mass manufacturing to make their product. Consequently, where-ever that shoe 'was' in the process, will determine its actual "size": earlier in the queue, will get you a smaller size, about mid-run will get you the truest fit, and later in the cycle will get you the largest. Hence, i look in the 7.5's because there could be a shoe there that fits like an 8. Then i methodically look from left to right, row by row, as if reading the shoe racks, for anything that appeals to me. If it appeals, i take it out of the box and put it on. If it further appeals, i then figure out what the price will be. I always, ALWAYS put the shoe in my tote bag. Decisions are meant to be made at the end of the preview period, where cuts can then be made based on budget.
I finished my preview at the end of the 8.5's, and surveyed my tote bag: 6 pair. Doing math in my head (i know, dangerous territory) i decided 6 was too many, as my average sales price was a little higher this trip, than in trips past. I put a champagne colored ankle strap heel back on the shelf. 5, although an odd number, would be acceptable this trip, as i had with me the revered discount reward coupon! The clerk managed to get all 5, in their boxes, into a very large brown shopping bag and off i went, wide smile and all.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Dunkin, I'm leaving you for Tim
Dunkin donuts, so prevalent in the South, had become my go-to source of fat pills (fat pills = doughnuts) And oh boy, oh boy! do i love doughnuts. Yes, yes i do. However, since my return to the great white North, my love affair with another has begun. And so, Dunkin, I'm leaving you for Tim. Tim Hortons. Mmmmm. I just enjoyed my second fat pill of the day, a puffy, chewy morsel slathered with chocolate frosting. I don't particularly like chocolate, but at this moment i was faced with what was leftover from the morning. And, believe you me, i had one this morning too. A fresh, delicious, glaze laden sour cream fried cake. And, at this very instant, i think i can feel my thighs expanding, testing the stitches of my oh so cute BCBG generation striped slacks. Timmy Ho's, the affectionate moniker that i've adopted from the general public, has become my drive thru of choice. Many open 24 hours, one can enjoy a diet breaking fat pill on a whim, perhaps with a steaming, frothing hot chocolate. (I did just eat lunch btw, and yet...) I must confess, that i am a big fan BIG fan of their everything bagels. Toasted, with cream cheese. Aaaah yes. That is frequently my lunch. I won't lie, there are times, probably several at that, where a box of timbits finds its way onto the lunch menu. My little loves. Those tiny timbits, 10 to a small box, are a perfect afternoon pick-me up. And sometimes, okay rarely, they make it into the afternoon and become my before workout snack. Don't gasp, i exercise better with a little snack ahead of time. And so i shall wrap up my little confession about my poor eating habits; which are like my poor choices in men: I've left one man, who feeds me crap for another who does the same. (curtsies)
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Ditherings
This afternoon after yet another group of doom and gloom clouds rolled in, I found myself seated with one foot resting on the very cool exterior of my computer (which happens to be on the floor under my desk) my other leg folded under me, my shirt sleeves rolled up, my window open and i was warm. For the last 6 months i have been frozen solid, and today, for some reason, it is warm out. Still dark mind you, but warm. Perfect for growing mushrooms. Were the sun to actually show itself, i might, for an instant be happy...Okay, who am I kidding? I would still be cantankerous and frustrated with everything. But it would feel less so, were the sun to come out. Yes, yes it would.
I am now, at this moment, wearing an ill fitting pair of jeans and a cozy top, typing out this blog wishing, very fervently, that i: 1) spoke Spanish 2) possessed a penis 3) had a handgun; because i would go next door, shut off the rabble rousing music that is blaring, announce that i've had enough of the noise making and threaten all of them with deadly force if it continues one minute more. *Sighs* Sadly, all of the complaining i've done about living in the South, imports have followed me here. Night after night, evening after evening, i am accosted with loud, incoherent Hispanic rap, or in this case, tonight it seems to be hip hop. They are, as i write this, playing basketball, and whooping and hollering. The basketball itself has more than once now, hit the side of my house, and also smash banged into the front of the garage door that the hoop is hung on. I am not a happy camper.
I am not the only member of this household suffering discontent. My furry ones, Fred Frank and Carminski the Russian Spy are not impressed with our current living conditions either. One day last week, i arrived home and my welcoming committee was not waiting at the door. Concerned, i began searching through the house, including the basement, fearing that they'd somehow either gotten out or worse. The last place i looked was the bathroom, which they shouldn't have been able to get into, because i had left the door shut. *Shouldn't have been able to get in* I discovered the door not latched, and inside: my two felines. I've taken to keeping its door shut because Fred has decided to express her displeasure by leaving #2 presents in the bathtub. Yes, that is disgusting, i wholeheartedly agree. The funny part is, that when i chastised her for the doodie, she looked at Carminski, as if to say, "it wasn't me, it was him" to which i promptly responded: "nice try dummy, he's tiny and makes little poops"
I am now, at this moment, wearing an ill fitting pair of jeans and a cozy top, typing out this blog wishing, very fervently, that i: 1) spoke Spanish 2) possessed a penis 3) had a handgun; because i would go next door, shut off the rabble rousing music that is blaring, announce that i've had enough of the noise making and threaten all of them with deadly force if it continues one minute more. *Sighs* Sadly, all of the complaining i've done about living in the South, imports have followed me here. Night after night, evening after evening, i am accosted with loud, incoherent Hispanic rap, or in this case, tonight it seems to be hip hop. They are, as i write this, playing basketball, and whooping and hollering. The basketball itself has more than once now, hit the side of my house, and also smash banged into the front of the garage door that the hoop is hung on. I am not a happy camper.
I am not the only member of this household suffering discontent. My furry ones, Fred Frank and Carminski the Russian Spy are not impressed with our current living conditions either. One day last week, i arrived home and my welcoming committee was not waiting at the door. Concerned, i began searching through the house, including the basement, fearing that they'd somehow either gotten out or worse. The last place i looked was the bathroom, which they shouldn't have been able to get into, because i had left the door shut. *Shouldn't have been able to get in* I discovered the door not latched, and inside: my two felines. I've taken to keeping its door shut because Fred has decided to express her displeasure by leaving #2 presents in the bathtub. Yes, that is disgusting, i wholeheartedly agree. The funny part is, that when i chastised her for the doodie, she looked at Carminski, as if to say, "it wasn't me, it was him" to which i promptly responded: "nice try dummy, he's tiny and makes little poops"
Monday, April 25, 2011
Legend of My Falls
Get it? Ha! Legend of the Fall (famous movie) Legend of My Falls (history of me falling down) Ok, so sometimes I'm funnier to me than i am to others. I laughed, and that's usually all that matters. As I struggle not to drift into a carb induced coma from my very unhealthy lunch of a bagel with cream cheese, chased by a small portion of macaroni and cheese from my one true love, Tim Horton, I shall entertain you with my unfortunate lack of grace:
I have taken two rather nasty falls in the space of 3 months, that both involved stairs. I have never liked steps, stairs or escalators for that matter. I also avoid elevators, unless they're necessary, since, unless i sprout wings, i'll not get there otherwise. I digress. Falls. Stairs. Okay, back on track. I fell down a flight (in this case, 10 steps) of stairs in early February which sent me to urgent care, that ended me up at an orthopedist's in a cast, followed by a brace, an MRI that continues the use of said brace as i have an incredible, horrible, terrible sprain. Somehow, altho i went down on my ample, (yet shapely), rear, i managed to damage my right wrist. (I am right handed, err, or was, until this. I am now quite ambidextrous) Every tiny tendon and ligament in said dainty wrist is in a state of distress, but healing. The brace is unsightly, not all together uncomfortable and has become, for lack of anything else in my focus at the moment: the bain of my existence. I have taken to leaving it off for extended periods of time at home, and do, generally always wear it when outside the safe confines of my abode. (i find that statement humorous, as said safe abode is the site of the first fall!) It is with relief that i share the following; as it's a gee golly good thing i was wearing the aforementioned brace: My high heel got wedged between the heel and the under-arch on the edge of a step as i was alighting toward the landing, and i walked out of my shoe, went down on my right knee and shin (ugly, horrid green and yellow bruise has sprouted) held on to the railing quite unsuccessfully with my left hand and fell forward down 4 steps, and thwacked the right side of my skull flat against the cement (yes, cement) block wall. *Sighs* I have self-diagnosed a slight concussion, as I now sport cooked egg yolk colored under eye's and a soft spot on my cranium.
Were I anyone other than myself, I might use my noggin knocking as an excuse for my, erm, erratic and whackadoodle behavior. I do, blame a fall as a child, for my personality however...
As a small child, i disobeyed (shocker!) my mother and climbed to the top of a 12' slide and proceeded to lose my footing, much to her chagrin, and fall backwards, onto a waiting pad of broken concrete (hhrrrmmm, concrete appears again) and punctured the top of my head. She tells me that i ruined her favorite white sweater, because i was spurting blood like a tiny water fountain. I still have the scar, and my hair has never quite grown in.
And that concludes this episode my loyal followers. As my dear City commented recently, my 'blog will never be lonely' as i get hurt far too many times, and in a variety of ways to lack conversant material.
I have taken two rather nasty falls in the space of 3 months, that both involved stairs. I have never liked steps, stairs or escalators for that matter. I also avoid elevators, unless they're necessary, since, unless i sprout wings, i'll not get there otherwise. I digress. Falls. Stairs. Okay, back on track. I fell down a flight (in this case, 10 steps) of stairs in early February which sent me to urgent care, that ended me up at an orthopedist's in a cast, followed by a brace, an MRI that continues the use of said brace as i have an incredible, horrible, terrible sprain. Somehow, altho i went down on my ample, (yet shapely), rear, i managed to damage my right wrist. (I am right handed, err, or was, until this. I am now quite ambidextrous) Every tiny tendon and ligament in said dainty wrist is in a state of distress, but healing. The brace is unsightly, not all together uncomfortable and has become, for lack of anything else in my focus at the moment: the bain of my existence. I have taken to leaving it off for extended periods of time at home, and do, generally always wear it when outside the safe confines of my abode. (i find that statement humorous, as said safe abode is the site of the first fall!) It is with relief that i share the following; as it's a gee golly good thing i was wearing the aforementioned brace: My high heel got wedged between the heel and the under-arch on the edge of a step as i was alighting toward the landing, and i walked out of my shoe, went down on my right knee and shin (ugly, horrid green and yellow bruise has sprouted) held on to the railing quite unsuccessfully with my left hand and fell forward down 4 steps, and thwacked the right side of my skull flat against the cement (yes, cement) block wall. *Sighs* I have self-diagnosed a slight concussion, as I now sport cooked egg yolk colored under eye's and a soft spot on my cranium.
Were I anyone other than myself, I might use my noggin knocking as an excuse for my, erm, erratic and whackadoodle behavior. I do, blame a fall as a child, for my personality however...
As a small child, i disobeyed (shocker!) my mother and climbed to the top of a 12' slide and proceeded to lose my footing, much to her chagrin, and fall backwards, onto a waiting pad of broken concrete (hhrrrmmm, concrete appears again) and punctured the top of my head. She tells me that i ruined her favorite white sweater, because i was spurting blood like a tiny water fountain. I still have the scar, and my hair has never quite grown in.
And that concludes this episode my loyal followers. As my dear City commented recently, my 'blog will never be lonely' as i get hurt far too many times, and in a variety of ways to lack conversant material.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Match.com
Hello Angels (and i do sound exactly like Charlie today, perhaps a mix of him and Edith Ann - terrible cold, i thank thee) Last night as i was trying to fall asleep and not suffocate from the congestion, i had several ideas for posts and narrowly beat down the urge to grab the laptop and type-type away.
One of the very first of what would eventually turn out to be many, dud-dates, i shall call Smelly Guy. I can't recall his real name, but, he did make an impression. Online, via messaging, we seemed to hit if off. I was filled with hope (im often filled with hope, sometimes for good, sometimes for bad. You'll see.) He explained that he finished Senior year at school with me, and that he recalled me being Winterfest Queen and how i probably didn't remember him because i was popular. Now, this is strike 1 and a compliment all at the same time. Strike 1: we went to school together and i can't remember you. Compliment: I was popular. Oh, my prospective love, no, i was far from popular. But, i am so flattered that you think i was popular, i believe my ego has grown a smidge. I agree to go on a date with Smelly Guy after a week of intense messaging, and afterall, how bad can he be if we went to school together? (couldn't find ANYONE on facebook who remembered the guy, hrrrrmmm) I am a very sensory perceptive person. So, the fact that the first sniff i got of him made me want to vomit, well, lets just say i should have just told him i wasn't interested. Ever the eternal optimist, i went anyway. Who knows, maybe he'd change what he wears for me. HEY! I said change what he wears for me, not change for me. He took me to dinner and proceded to very nearly whisper the few sentences he formed. It probably looked to him as though I was interested, i was leaning so far across the table to try to hear him. He had nothing of merit to say, and struggled to make conversation. Which was never a problem during our messaging sessions. Who was i out with? A little over an hour and a half later, i pronounced the date over, and thanked him for dinner, and declined to see him again. Days later, i'm bombarded with messages, friend requested on facebook, instant messenger requests from an account he hadn't spoken to me on...and voicemails: 'he's so into me and had such a great time' 'im obviously not interested in him, but if i'd give him a second chance, he's sure i'd fall for him because he's so awesome'. Can you hear my sigh of frustration? I finally cave and accept his messenger request, and attempt to be friends. And i'm eventually asked if i am at all attracted to him. Men can never just be friends. So, me being me, I'm brutally honest and say "no" or maybe i said "nope"?, anyway, that singular response promptly ceased all communication from every angle and even earned me a nastygram on match, stating that i'm 'going to need a lot of luck in my search.' Oh smelly guy, you have no idea.
Yesterday, I had news that someone (who shall remain nameless) that i used to work with, since my having been gone, has expressed dislike for my personality. Generally, these types of things do not bother me: however; I will admit i was surprised at the "who". Ultimately, I must give a small golf clap in his direction, because, bravo! sir, you had me fooled. (And by the way, imagine how uncomfortable I'm about to make him, since i'm somewhat baaaaaaaccccckkk) Which leads me to my rant of the day: Be who you say you are, and do not pretend to be otherwise:
I've had a silly little fling with match.com, during which, not only did i not find love, a friend, or even have, in general, a good time- but... 1) Why would it surprise you that i have red hair, when, in fact, all of the photo's i posted, save one, shows me with bright, vibrant, red hair? 2) Did you bother to read my profile at all, in which i clearly state that i am a born again christian and do not drink? (almost every opening line requesting a date with moi, began with (and i kid you not): 'I just finished reading your profile and you sound fantastic- can i buy you a drink?' 3) I can't believe you don't want to go out with me again, i've been looking for a girl just like you, you're perfect (Yes, yes, i am. Right words, wrong man) 4) It's exhausting just reading all the emails, returning winks, and reviewing pedigree, and still i attract the wrong ones. ONLINE! The crazy inside "me" somehow manages to attract the exact sort of man that i am supposed to avoid like the plague. Speaking of the plague, let me introduce SS: -Super Stupid. This man drives me nuts. Which is, of course, the main reason i just can't quit him. But, back to match.com (don't worry, SS is so ingrained in my everyday life, we'll speak of him again, so much so that, trust me, you'll ask me to stop. Really.)One of the very first of what would eventually turn out to be many, dud-dates, i shall call Smelly Guy. I can't recall his real name, but, he did make an impression. Online, via messaging, we seemed to hit if off. I was filled with hope (im often filled with hope, sometimes for good, sometimes for bad. You'll see.) He explained that he finished Senior year at school with me, and that he recalled me being Winterfest Queen and how i probably didn't remember him because i was popular. Now, this is strike 1 and a compliment all at the same time. Strike 1: we went to school together and i can't remember you. Compliment: I was popular. Oh, my prospective love, no, i was far from popular. But, i am so flattered that you think i was popular, i believe my ego has grown a smidge. I agree to go on a date with Smelly Guy after a week of intense messaging, and afterall, how bad can he be if we went to school together? (couldn't find ANYONE on facebook who remembered the guy, hrrrrmmm) I am a very sensory perceptive person. So, the fact that the first sniff i got of him made me want to vomit, well, lets just say i should have just told him i wasn't interested. Ever the eternal optimist, i went anyway. Who knows, maybe he'd change what he wears for me. HEY! I said change what he wears for me, not change for me. He took me to dinner and proceded to very nearly whisper the few sentences he formed. It probably looked to him as though I was interested, i was leaning so far across the table to try to hear him. He had nothing of merit to say, and struggled to make conversation. Which was never a problem during our messaging sessions. Who was i out with? A little over an hour and a half later, i pronounced the date over, and thanked him for dinner, and declined to see him again. Days later, i'm bombarded with messages, friend requested on facebook, instant messenger requests from an account he hadn't spoken to me on...and voicemails: 'he's so into me and had such a great time' 'im obviously not interested in him, but if i'd give him a second chance, he's sure i'd fall for him because he's so awesome'. Can you hear my sigh of frustration? I finally cave and accept his messenger request, and attempt to be friends. And i'm eventually asked if i am at all attracted to him. Men can never just be friends. So, me being me, I'm brutally honest and say "no" or maybe i said "nope"?, anyway, that singular response promptly ceased all communication from every angle and even earned me a nastygram on match, stating that i'm 'going to need a lot of luck in my search.' Oh smelly guy, you have no idea.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Intro
Welcome!
When reading this blog, I can't guarantee I won't offend you, or someone you know. I can tell you that everything stated in this blog is 100% factual as I see it; and has happened to me or someone I know, and it has affected me in some way, if not minor. I am an equal opportunity nicknamer. I give them out freely, and generally on a whim and they tend to stick.
Now that that's out of the way...I've started this blog because I - (total loss of thought) Well. I really don't know, other than I was bored at lunchtime, was reading someone else's and thought, geez: I can do this. So. I. Am.
I'll start in the present, and probably digress a half dozen times. Recently, I was informed that i operate in a constant state of crisis (thanks for the blog title, City!) and so, let me regale you with my current crisises (is that a word?) I've recently moved what seems like thousands upon thousands of miles away from a life i didn't know i had. (that's not the crisis...this is) And now that i'm here, i've realized that i did have quite the life, in fact, and here is exactly where i do not have one. (It should be mentioned that i've done exaclty zilch to establish said life here) And so I find myself wondering should i stay, should i go, what should i do? Day in, day out, same thing. I was told once that if I'm praying for something, and not getting an answer, to quit asking the same thing; He heard me the first time. Well. I've never been known to be patient.
When reading this blog, I can't guarantee I won't offend you, or someone you know. I can tell you that everything stated in this blog is 100% factual as I see it; and has happened to me or someone I know, and it has affected me in some way, if not minor. I am an equal opportunity nicknamer. I give them out freely, and generally on a whim and they tend to stick.
Now that that's out of the way...I've started this blog because I - (total loss of thought) Well. I really don't know, other than I was bored at lunchtime, was reading someone else's and thought, geez: I can do this. So. I. Am.
I'll start in the present, and probably digress a half dozen times. Recently, I was informed that i operate in a constant state of crisis (thanks for the blog title, City!) and so, let me regale you with my current crisises (is that a word?) I've recently moved what seems like thousands upon thousands of miles away from a life i didn't know i had. (that's not the crisis...this is) And now that i'm here, i've realized that i did have quite the life, in fact, and here is exactly where i do not have one. (It should be mentioned that i've done exaclty zilch to establish said life here) And so I find myself wondering should i stay, should i go, what should i do? Day in, day out, same thing. I was told once that if I'm praying for something, and not getting an answer, to quit asking the same thing; He heard me the first time. Well. I've never been known to be patient.
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