What Wrong Side?

That whole “wrong side of the bed” saying is catchy… I mean, really, it seems like a feasible explanation for being cranky and such. Sometimes I wonder if there’s an equally efficient description for the feeling that one went to sleep and woke up the next morning in a twilight zone. I’m sure there has to be. I mean, I know that I am not the only one who has decided halfway through the day that it would be a good idea to go back home, get back in bed and try the whole waking up thing again—hoping, nay praying for a different experience.

Nothing life shattering, earth shaking or absolutely tremendous happened today, I just figure that maybe everyone else woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, thus sending me into the twilight zone. As if residing in Southern Georgia is not odd enough—I already feel like I’m in another country, I awoke to a whole new set of different weirdness.

I’m currently looking for a new place to live, (not part of my complaining for the most part today), I’ll keep this explanation to a minimum… You ready? My landlord is an idiot and got swept up in that whole let’s buy fifty houses phase about two years ago and now he’s stuck. The best part is his fabulous solution: “I can’t charge my current tenants any more for rent because I’ve already royally screwed them over, so I’m going to kick them out and see if I can rent my dilapidated house out for three times what it’s worth.” Uh, yeah, more power to you Andy, good luck with that one. Bitter? Me? Nah, I have a month before my due date to find a new house, I’m all good, pffft.

So, house hunting for the past four days? Not so great when seven dogs are relying on a good find, I think it’s time to buy. I’ve resigned to the fact that things are not going to be easy for the next three months, so once again, this particular fact did not contribute to my feelings of being off upon awakening on this beautiful Tuesday. Instead, I awoke twenty minutes before my alarm went off to some fantastic squealing based in the back yard. Halea (the Pit), and Karma (the Rott) were having themselves a little squabble and being rather loud in the process, Chance, (the Dobie) was sounding his war cry (he’s still a little too young to do much else quite yet). I figured twenty minutes wasn’t so bad, so I dragged myself out of bed and proceeded to doll myself up (I expected a long day, so I figured I might as well look decent for it).

Upon my morning trek through the house, I happened to glance at the front door. A realization dawned on me, the key to the house was in John’s car, and John’s car was with John in Moultrie doing police stuff. This wouldn’t have been so bad if I could have opened the front door and just left it unlocked, no, I have a deadbolt key lock on both sides of the door, so using the front door to exit was out.

I sat down in the Captains Chair (A gift from my father to John, which I have since inhabited and reclaimed as my very own), with my cup of microwaved coffee, bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats and flipped on the “News.” Yeah, I’m not even going to begin to rant about the TV and that whole set of ridiculousness. I won my morning Online Spades Game and began scheming for the coming day… Planning my exits and entrances to the house which would now involve scaling a chain link fence into and out of the back yard, all while wearing absolutely adorable white sandals, a cute little sundress and freshly manicured nails. Again, not so bad—Factor in the being six months pregnant and the Great Dane who insisted on helping me over the fence every time by standing on his hind legs, looking me in the eye and blocking my path.

I can’t blame the dogs for being a little ornery, they didn’t get fed at normal feeding time today, we ran out of kibble last night, and second on my list of things to do today (after work of course) was hit up the Good ‘Ol Tractor Supply and replace my dwindled Eukanuba Supply. With seven hungry pairs of eyes tracking my progress, I made it out to the car to begin my day… The phone rang… My medical insurance won’t come in for another three months. Uh, uh, uh, panic! I lost it. It was just too much for me to handle today.

I called work, told my boss I needed to take a personal day, and focused my attention on not losing my mind—I should have stuck with a more reasonable task. My phone rang three more times, my boss asking me if I was sure that I couldn’t come into work, and if maybe I could just take a personal half day, and then finally, that he thought maybe it would be better if I came into work after all, I mean, how bad can it really be? Really bad dammit!

Off to find alternate means of health care…. Back to the house, back over the fence, back to staring at Ethiopian starving dogs, and hearing grumblings as they wasted away in the back yard from mal-nourishment (I was three hours late in feeding them at this point). On the computer and the phone for some insight… Yeah, I found out there’s no insight to be had, I’m kind of screwed. One choice for me, head down to DFCS and see if I qualify for some assistance until my insurance comes back in to play. So, pretty shoes, cute sundress, and primped hair headed back over the fence and to the bad part of town, you know the part where all the government buildings are? Not a place for a dolled up white girl to go all by her lonesome.

I had an altercation right outside the front door of said building with two hicks whose idea of a come one line was: “Damn, you sho’ is perty, you married?” To which I responding by waggling my diamond adorned ring finger at them and proceeding towards the entrance… “Well how’s ‘bout just fo’ one night den?” I brought some bad Karma my way by responding with a very civil and oh so ladylike, “How’s ‘bout you and your buddy suck each other off so you can shut your mouth before anything worse comes out of it and you can leave me the hell alone.” Sigh, I couldn’t help myself.
Left the building, dark cloud and all, back to the house to research more options and to let the little dogs out to use the bathroom. Hauled my pregnant butt back over the fence and was greeted with groans of disapproval since it was obvious I had no kibble in hand. I reassured my withering pups that I would indeed be back, although I was unsure of how I would get the kibble into their bowls for John has made me solemnly swear to not lift the bag by myself… (I’m fragile and I guess that bags of dog kibble vary greatly from weights at the gym).

Anyway, off to register at school for my final semester, thank goodness. I pulled into the parking lot at 12:30 and walked in the bright sun (new sandals shining in the light), to where I was supposed to be, only to be informed that I would have to return at 3:00, registration was closed for a TWO AND A HALF HOUR LUNCH BREAK. Huh, imagine that.

Super mom to the rescue, the time had definitely come to be the provider and bring the forbidden fruit, er, unmovable kibble home. I pulled into Tractor Supply rearing to go (Just sounds right when you’re referring to a store called TRACTOR SUPPLY). Anyway, I grabbed a cart and figured that I would cheat a little, John would never know that I pulled the kibble off the shelf and put it into the cart—I had it all figured out—After I checked out I would just smile really big and get one of them good ‘ol cowboys to load my newly acquired bag of doggy sustenance into the back of my truck, er, SUV and be good to go.

Cart squealing around the corner and my heart brimming with excitement at the joys of doing something which turned out right and good on this odd day, I turned the fateful corner to the Aisle of Eukanuba. What is this? Where is my brand? How can this be happening? I stared, willing the empty spot on the shelves to fill with the only thing that would stop my dogs from despising me when I walked through the door, I mean, when I scaled the fence.
After the shock faded, I wheeled my cart to the front register, and with the sweetest smile I could conjure asked “Debbie” if there was perhaps any Eukanuba Adult Large Breed Active Kibble lying around in the back? She looked at me from her perch behind the counter and proceeded to shake her head in disgust. She muttered in my general direction that she simply could not understand some people. Unsure of where this line of conversation was coming from, I scrunched my eyebrows together, frowned and said, “Pardon?” She proceeded to voice her opinion about tattooed folks and how she could not understand such people. More bad Karma was heaped upon my plate…. “Uh, well, to be honest, I don’t understand where a fat, middle aged, toothless, unkempt woman working in the TRACTOR SUPPLY gets off telling me that she does not understand my tattoos. Furthermore, I’m six months PREGNANT, what’s your excuse for looking like you’re about to give birth? Take care of yourself and when you’ve got a perfect body then you can worry about what I’m doing with mine.”

My poor cart wheels screeching a protest I headed back to the desolate Eukanuba Aisle, loaded up Eukanuba Medium Breed Weight Control and proceeded back to “Debbie’s” register to check out. Huffing, she scanned my compromise and spat out my total which happened to be twice the amount it was supposed to be. I informed her that there was only one bag of dog food in my cart and that if it now cost $80.00 I was going to have an ungodly fit in the middle of the store, new sandals, sundress, primped hair and all. She decided that she must have made a mistake, and in fact my purchase totaled somewhere a little over $45.00. Yeah, I decided it was probably not in my best interest to wait for a good ‘ol cowboy to carry my prize to the SUV for me after all.

I faced the wrath of John when he got home from work and questioned me about my Eukanuba strong woman lifting, and I told him that I had in fact had no choice in the matter as to whether or not I would hoist said bag all on my lonesome. I solemnly explained the circumstances surrounded my miraculous lifting feat and John decided that perhaps I was justified just this once in risking it and taking it upon myself to load my own bag of incorrect dog food into the back of my car.

I informed him that if I was healthy enough to vault over the chain link fence in spectacular shoes and a pretty dress that I could probably handle a bag or two of dog food… We decided to leave well enough alone and I made my way out to his truck, retrieving my house key. Tomorrow will be better, I will not have to hoist my pretty self over any fences and I plan on waking up on the right side of the bed and hope that everyone else does as well.

Home Again

I haven’t written one of these in a while. I just spent 10 glorious days on vacation, visiting family in both Washington and California, and I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect time. I was spoiled rotten, by my family once again (what else is new), and I managed to be the recipient of a giant, absolutely gorgeous baby shower thrown in my honor.

First, I must say, I don’t know how I lucked into such an incredible time in my life. Every time, I reflect on how things are going, the word charmed comes to mind. Don’t get me wrong, we have our struggles, (mainly financial struggles), but what young couple doesn’t? It just seems that every time we need help or some sort of assistance, someone is always there to catch us.

I got to spend a couple of days with my dad, which is always a highlight for me on my voyages to the homeland. We went out to dinner and spent time talking about what’s important in life, namely, teaching my daughter how to throw like a boy, and making sure that I read to her every night. My dad swears that this reading every night thing is the key to success, and believes whole heartedly that it can change the world, one introvert at a time.
Reading was and is still such an integral part of my life, one which is nurtured by my father and his presentation of books for me to read upon every meeting. Some people bring fruit cake, or a bottle of wine, my dad brings me Ray Bradbury, Ernest Hemingway and Isaac Asimov. We meet and talk of inventions; ones which I think are crazy and utterly outlandish; the same ones which my dad thinks are entirely possible, and needless to say, already in their preliminary stages of life.

I’ve always envied this outside the box thinking, for no matter how much knowledge I acquire through countless hours in classrooms and nights with my nose buried in books, the truth of the matter is that I need a pattern. A method in which to go about things, someone else who knows what they are talking about to tell me that whatever crazy idea I have is alright, and in fact has been pioneered before, and oh, just in case they might come in handy, here’s a full instruction manual and a detailed set of blue prints. Inventions, yeah right.
He scoffs at his genius, saying that it’s really not genius, but doesn’t offer any alternative… It’s just interesting work which he enjoys, something to play with. If only my toys could be that complex, if only I had the ability to look at all of life as one big puzzle which can be sorted out and made into a new picture whenever it best suited me. Nope, I’m stuck with my books, notes, and need for assurances that yes, this is the well lit, most traveled path, and that I will be safest if I just follow the arrows made out of the many moonraths running under foot. One day maybe I’ll stray a little, but for now, well, I guess coasting along works for me.

I spent the last week and a half coasting on a sea of hurried placidity. I had so many people to see and so many things to do, but I couldn’t deny the feeling of comfort and security I experienced even in my most hurried and rushed time. Things were important, but I had all the necessary players by my side. I left California feeling like I accomplished something. Friendships were reconciled and burdens were lifted off of those which should never have bared them to begin with.

Ocean’s Godmother Elizabeth should be in a circus with all of the juggling she was able to do… I’ll leave it at that, but suffice it to say that I couldn’t be happier with the time spent by her side, and I’m in awe of the gracious way she handled some not so graceful situations. The love she has for me and my family is apparent in the things she has willingly gone through just to make me comfortable. I want her to know that I realize that many sacrifices were made on her part for the ones she loves, yet she managed to not compromise a part of herself in the process. That takes tremendous inner strength, hopefully someday; I’ll have a piece of that too.

My mother and I, perpetually the best of friends (after I quit making her life a living hell), picked right up where we left off and were undeniably happy to share each other’s company. She’s such an incredible woman, one I am blessed to be able to call mom.
I cannot begin to even outline the gifts, both physical and emotional Lindy and Joe have bestowed upon me, so I will not attempt at this time. Perhaps in the next couple of days when I feel like crying from gratitude I will sit down and outline for all to see, their modern day sainthood. I’m not kidding, really, these people are unbelievable.

It’s kind of ironic, John has bouts of worry about losing the respect of my family because he’s not providing enough, or doing enough, or any other radical irrational thought which springs up in his mind, yet I have never felt more comfortable or well taken care of by any other person in my entire life. My father insists on telling me each and every time we are face to face, and other random times on the phone how lucky I am to have John and his family by my side. I don’t think that I’m capable of taking the gifts that I have received for granted, not because I’m such a gracious person, but because if I did, the sheer magnitude of them would probably rise up and knock me off my feet.

Time for Myself

I find myself putting off blog writing whenever I get excessively busy, which in all reality would be the perfect time for me to sit down and compose something. Probably not something that would be all that enlightening for others to read, but I’m sure it would be something that would help me to sort out some thoughts. I feel jumbled when I have too much going on, it’s almost like I’m constantly on the verge of forgetting to do something really important, something that would be absolutely awful if I forgot. Most of the time, I don’t have anything all that life or death happening in my life (thankfully), therefore, if I forget something, well then, I guess that I just forgot it.

I will spend a good portion of my time reminding myself that there are certain things that I have to do; writing those things down in a calendar is one of those things that I tell myself to set time aside for. For some reason, I just can’t bring myself to consistently maintain a planner, it’s almost as if my procrastination prohibits it. I tell myself that I will write that appointment down later, and of course I remind myself daily to not forget about the appointment that I should have written down, and it slowly evolves into one of the many things that I fret about forgetting. This is such a ridiculous, pathetic cycle, but one that I partake in with regularity.

Possibly one of the reasons I don’t like to write down deadlines and things that I have to do in a planner is my oppositional defiance tends to get the best of me. I find myself rebelling against things that I am supposed to do, even if they are things that I want to do, and putting them off until the last minute. Writing things down in a planner offers me the fuel for this rebellion.

I’ve come to liken my lack of planner planning to my strange issue with the mail; more specifically, my opening of the mail. I hate mail, all kinds, voice, email, and especially snail mail. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE hearing from people that I want to hear from, I just hate the gamble I take when I open that dreaded box just to be faced with bills that I cannot pay. I hate emails that have deadlines involved in them, or anything else that reminds me that I actually have to work at a certain time, doing a certain thing, for a certain someone. I don’t like listening to my voice mail unless I know who the missed call is from… It could be someone giving me bad news of an upcoming date I should be planning for that I don’t necessarily have the space in my overcrowded brain to note and fret about at the current moment.

I find myself overwhelmed by voicemails, namely because I will refuse to listen to them for days at a time, but I cannot bring myself to simply delete them… If someone wanted to talk to me bad enough that they were willing to have a conversation, albeit a short one with a recording, than I owe them my undivided attention to at least listen to their plight… Granted, this happens after I can’t take it anymore, and I have to listen to 20 something messages before I get to the one that I really want to hear, because I have been letting them pile up for far to long.

I don’t really have much of a purpose in writing this, maybe I just wanted to expose a little more of my oddness to the world, try to shed some light on it in hopes that it wouldn’t be so odd… Upon rereading of my paragraphs I find myself and my behaviors just as odd as I did, possibly more so than I did when I sat down to compose this nonsense.

Maybe writing blogs while I’m so scatterbrained isn’t such a hot idea after all. I could be onto something with my procrastination techniques. Although, this particular time spent composing this blog has offered me an opportunity to avoid switching loads of laundry and emptying the dishwasher. More importantly, I have managed to avoid yet another half an hour or so of studying for my Calculus final, now that in and of itself is worth sounding like a babbling idiot. So, I kind of apologize that you have had to sort through my mind junk, but it has served me well so far.