I just posted a tweet: "Can I have the after-holiday blues when I wasn't even looking forward to xmas? I'm crabby there's nothing to look forward to being over."
I need more room to elaborate because I still don't feel better after getting that out. I don't want to do anything and nothing sounds good. I have chores that I don't want to do, even when most of the time I can tolerate them. This time it's even things I enjoy - painting the walls, picking up fallen apples, organizing the closet, making the bed. I know if I don't do them I'll feel even worse tomorrow when I'm back to work after 4 days off. I'll be wishing I could be home doing house work.
Maybe I'm upset about life getting back to normal, even though I've hated this past month. Work will slow down and I'll get caught up again, and that's good right? But it's the same thing as always. The week of snow we had is over and that means no more working from home, away from the ringing phone and whiny customers. Life is going back to just plain ol' life. There are no more distractions keeping me from focusing on the things I don't like and need to change.
I got a Christmas card from a family whose little girl I took care of as a nanny. I watched her until she was 6 months old and now she's 7. I did that job so I could get away from the office and figure out what I wanted to do. Now I'm back in the office, still trying to figure out what I want to do and now that it's 7 years later I still have nothing to show for it. Personally, I'm where I want to be. I've found and married my best match and feel like I won the lottery. My personal life is the most important thing in keeping me happy and I know it's not the only thing I need. Where am I professionally? Creatively? Seven years later, I'm working in customer service. I have a college degree and editing skills that I would love to put to good use. Customer Service. Nothing like writing that out for an ego boost. I never wanted to be the 30-something lady with no direction, working in a job meant for college students, with a younger, more driven boss. That's why he's the boss.
There are parts of the job I like, yet there are more parts I don't like. Where can I find the job where I can write instructions, do research, find answers, put two and two together to fill in the missing information, be an expert in my field, be respected, and never be yelled at by the general public? And General Public, it's ok to be frustrated and upset, however never take that out on someone trying to do their job, probably not liking it, and wishing they could tell you exactly what they think of you. I don't have much faith in you, General Public.
So here I sit with a shortening day and that same long list of chores and bigger things looming. Can I sleep a long restful sleep to wake up and find it's all been taken care of? Why do you only get three impossible wishes in fairy tales and not in real life?
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Bloggy Bloggerings
Now I have a blog and I don’t know what to say. A weblog. Captain’s Log. I shall join the ranks of captains all over with my blog. I’ve kept a diary since I was about 7. Rather, I started my first diary at 7ish. I would write every day but then I could only keep that up for a few months and after I’d skip a day, then a week I would just give it up because catching up with everything that happened since the last entry was too big a chore. Chores equals no fun, and who wants writing to be a chore? Not someone who enjoys it.
So here’s my blog. Do I just write and never correct grammar and spelling? Just let it out sounding the same as I speak? Being the grammar nerd I am, you KNOW I have to go back and fix it. Sometimes even before the sentence is over, I can’t go on without fixing that THING! That GLARING thing that’s wrong.
Interesting that I say “you know” as if I’m writing to someone. Who is this you? This invisible audience. Look at me assuming someone might stumble upon this and be interested in what I have to say. Isn’t that part of my secret dream? Other people do it – why can’t I? This may very well be something to use to keep in touch with family scattered all over the US. Hi Everybody! I miss you, hugs and kisses! It’s odd that I would even want my words out there in the internets for all to see, because I’ve always hated it when people read my words. I get embarrassed and squirmy and expect a critique I don’t want to hear although they might be right. Even writing in my childhood diaries and then adolescent journals, I would wonder if anyone would stumble upon them and turn my life into a book or a movie, like Anne Frank. It’s just an example, of course. Settle down.
So what am I doing with a blog? A world wide screen into my thoughts? Here’s where I get squirmy. It’s a need to write as expression and art. Maybe it’s practice for something I can do for a living. Maybe it’s because I’ve been told since I was in grade school that I’m weird and I’ve always taken it as a compliment. I do think some odd thoughts, and sometimes there’s just no one around to say them to. I would hate to waste it! And because I call this art I feel like I’m not good enough, I don’t express myself very well, I don’t have anything to say, there’s nothing creative about it. Suddenly that cripples me and I don’t even start since I’m scared I’ll fail. I can’t be an artist in theory so here’s where I’ll practice and grow and make note of my observations. Here’s where I shake my fist at those who say I can’t, even if all those people are versions of my own voices. This is me right now listening to my future self who said I had to start somewhere. I’m not yet there creatively and professionally and I know just doing something will start the chain of events that get me somewhere. Here’s where I start. Hello, internet.
So here’s my blog. Do I just write and never correct grammar and spelling? Just let it out sounding the same as I speak? Being the grammar nerd I am, you KNOW I have to go back and fix it. Sometimes even before the sentence is over, I can’t go on without fixing that THING! That GLARING thing that’s wrong.
Interesting that I say “you know” as if I’m writing to someone. Who is this you? This invisible audience. Look at me assuming someone might stumble upon this and be interested in what I have to say. Isn’t that part of my secret dream? Other people do it – why can’t I? This may very well be something to use to keep in touch with family scattered all over the US. Hi Everybody! I miss you, hugs and kisses! It’s odd that I would even want my words out there in the internets for all to see, because I’ve always hated it when people read my words. I get embarrassed and squirmy and expect a critique I don’t want to hear although they might be right. Even writing in my childhood diaries and then adolescent journals, I would wonder if anyone would stumble upon them and turn my life into a book or a movie, like Anne Frank. It’s just an example, of course. Settle down.
So what am I doing with a blog? A world wide screen into my thoughts? Here’s where I get squirmy. It’s a need to write as expression and art. Maybe it’s practice for something I can do for a living. Maybe it’s because I’ve been told since I was in grade school that I’m weird and I’ve always taken it as a compliment. I do think some odd thoughts, and sometimes there’s just no one around to say them to. I would hate to waste it! And because I call this art I feel like I’m not good enough, I don’t express myself very well, I don’t have anything to say, there’s nothing creative about it. Suddenly that cripples me and I don’t even start since I’m scared I’ll fail. I can’t be an artist in theory so here’s where I’ll practice and grow and make note of my observations. Here’s where I shake my fist at those who say I can’t, even if all those people are versions of my own voices. This is me right now listening to my future self who said I had to start somewhere. I’m not yet there creatively and professionally and I know just doing something will start the chain of events that get me somewhere. Here’s where I start. Hello, internet.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
The big black noisy oyster bled blue buggy bumpers!
What better way to start this page than a tongue twister that inspired the title!
What noise annoys a noisy oyster?
A noisy noise annoys a noisy oyster!
It's not really hard to say but I find it fun saying it over and over. I think it's funny that the more times I say it the louder I get and the more my face stretches with each "OY!" It's very similar to the mascara face women get, full round eyes and all!
My other two favorite tongue twisters are from childhood. As much as I practiced them I could never master saying them three times fast. It was the ultimate childhood goal, those kids in the school yard would have you believe.
Rubber baby buggy bumpers!
Rubber baby buggy bumpers
Rubber baygee buggy bumpers
Rubber baby bumby bunkers
The big black bug bled blue blood
The big back bug bled blue blub
The blig back bug bled blue blug
Your favorites? What do you end up saying instead?
What noise annoys a noisy oyster?
A noisy noise annoys a noisy oyster!
It's not really hard to say but I find it fun saying it over and over. I think it's funny that the more times I say it the louder I get and the more my face stretches with each "OY!" It's very similar to the mascara face women get, full round eyes and all!
My other two favorite tongue twisters are from childhood. As much as I practiced them I could never master saying them three times fast. It was the ultimate childhood goal, those kids in the school yard would have you believe.
Rubber baby buggy bumpers!
Rubber baby buggy bumpers
Rubber baygee buggy bumpers
Rubber baby bumby bunkers
The big black bug bled blue blood
The big back bug bled blue blub
The blig back bug bled blue blug
Your favorites? What do you end up saying instead?
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