It seems weeks fly by and I barely notice. I’m numb and exhausted from not doing anything of substance.

This weekend was a rare opportunity to do anything. Other than an appointment for a little chop-chop on Saturday morning, The Mc and I had no where we had to be and nothing we had to do…it should have been a perfect opportunity to take pictures, to knit, to catch up on reading, to go for a long walk or a hike.

Instead, we both found ourselves feeling puny, a little icky and a lot unmotivated and spent the better part of our two days lumped on the couch, snaking and starting at the flickering lights on the boob tube.

I’m not sure what’s gotten into me – or rather – fallen out of me.

Gwen would say it’s the weather. That’s probably the foundation for me, but there’s more to it.

Maybe it’s the paralysis that comes from having so many things you should be doing that you can’t start any of them. Someone once said “even joy can become a burden if you laugh too much.” Was it me? Did I say that? Even my ability to recollect is blurred.

Maybe it’s the disappointment from the promise of something falling flat and the struggle to find motivation again.

Maybe it’s the burning to do something more, something real with my hands (see also: cabin).

Maybe it’s my always present lack of patience and need for immediate gratification.

Maybe it’s the feeling that life has become predictable and normalized. I loathe both.

Even the illogical is creeping in: last night I was half way to sleep when I said something about wanting to go to Disneyland. Mc indicated he didn’t want to go, he’d already been there. I know better, but I probed “with your family?” Yeah…um…no. Why does that even bother me? It was a lifetime ago and I’m not without my history. See? Illogical. I’m fine intellectually, but the emotional is disconnected. Ironic, since my therapist and I just decided we could start easing up on the frequency of our appointments.

I’m numb and gray and find myself both over stimulated and bored out of my mind at the same time. I don’t want to write about anything, knit anything, go on walks, or take pictures of anything.

I flash forward. I think about being in the house we build: sitting and listening to birds and trees and drinking a little tea…and not showering for days on end. Planted in front of an entire wall of windows that are open wide, and a nip in the air I don’t fight.

I want to be where I’m not thinking about the taxes I finished a few weeks ago or my recent (second) bout of card fraud. I want to be where I don’t have to make the bed every morning or do any other chores (because the dang house is up for sale), what my calendar looks like or any other spoken or unspoken requirements that bind and confine me…including doing this.

*sigh*

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

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Pulled out of my drafts, not sure what I intended to do with it. You know. Other than live it.

Moral Injunctions of Gestalt Therapy

Live now, stay in the present.
Live here, be with the present.
Stop imagining, experience reality.
Stop unnecessary thinking.
Express, rather than manipulating, explaining, justifing, or judging.
Give in to unpleasantness do not restrict your awareness.
‘Accept no “should” or “ought”, other than your own.
Take full responsibility for your own actions, feelings and thoughts.
Surrender to being who you are right now.

This is a terribly half baked post, but something I wanted to puke out so bear with me and throw in your $.02.

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A handful of weeks ago I was at lunch with Kelly, talking about how we (women/friends) need to play a bigger role in helping each other achieve our dreams. If you’re the corporate ladder type, you may not *get* any of this, but maybe it’ll spark a thought about a part of your life you’ve been neglecting. Who knows. Read on.

What I’m talking about is the following your bliss kind of dreams. The get out of debt and build a cabin dreams, the being a writer dreams, the making the world a better place dreams, the having a job that involves doing or working with what you love dreams.

I was telling Kel that we all need to be able to identify what those dreams are so we can help each other along the way by being outstanding cheerleaders or smack you on the ass as you hit the field team mates. We need to identify them so we can manifest them. We need to figure out what they are so we know where the hell we’re going.

It strikes me there are several things that prevent us from doing this though – either on the giving or the receiving end.

One is the BS brainwashing we go through from infancy to middle adulthood. We’re taught to be strong, not vulnerable. But admitting your dreams involves a great deal of being vulnerable. Even trying to find the start line can be anxiety inducing to a point of paralysis, let alone talking about it? Risking failure and exposing ourselves to others knowing about the failure? The horror!

Another self sabotaging move is that we fail to recognize our friends for what they are. People to share these dreams with, who want to help us succeed. Yes, we all have friends that’ll just stand on the sidelines and heckle and mutter under their breath about what we *should* have done, but we also have amazing communities of true, good people who are loving and constructive and will bounce onto the field if we trip and help us get back up. Eventually they might have to help us off the field but would you stop trying to see into the future? You haven’t even suited up yet!

Oh I’m getting lost in my analogy.

The week before last I met up with a group of women I’m in the early stages of getting to know, and somewhere early in our evening I admitted one of my dreams. And you know what? I was instantly less alone. Less scared by it. Still overwhelmed, but I’d taken a step. Not only did I have three new brilliant, charming and enthusiastic cheerleaders, but something unexpected happened: I had an opportunity to be a cheerleader for them and their dreams.

Can I get a hallelujah and an amen?!

So while I’m riding the high of these magnificent women and their energy, I’m also saddened and curious about the women on the other side of the playing field. The women who won’t celebrate or embrace or lift each other up – the ones who take your news into a the big gnarled black hole where their heart and spirit used to be. Is it because they’re jealous? That they have dreams they’re not ready to admit or chase? Am I a bad person for wanting to walk away from them, or is it somehow my duty to lift them up to join me? Are they absently producing passive discouragement or is it intentional?

Sure, I may not realize half my dreams. I’m not anxious to admit that or absorb that reality yet, but it’s looming…and it’s okay. At least I’ll have tried and done and learned and lived.

Like I said, this is a pile of still warm regurgitated thoughts – bits that probably shouldn’t have been mixed but somehow were and while delicious, not all of it is settling exactly right.

Any thoughts resonate with you? Anything you’d argue for or against? Any dreams you want to come out of the closet and share so we can get a full squad formed (don’t worry, I won’t make you wear the skirt and spankies unless you want to)?

Dear Past Your Prime Hoochies,

I realize you may not have known that Gordon Lightfoot would be a sit-down-and-be-quiet kind of concert. I say this because when you walked in during his first song and thought you were cute with your loud and feeble attempt at cuteness with your “excuuuuuuuuuseeee meeeee” you looked surprised when I glared at you. I say this because when you finally sat down your quieter companion was still pounding her remarkably over-sized cocktail. I say this because when he did play the songs everyone knew and came to hear, you would not SHUT UP. I say this because your gal-pal nodded off (helped, no doubt by her rapidly consumed cranberry looking beverage) halfway through the first set. I say this because you slumped down and passed out during intermission while your hounds tooth coat wearing cohort dropped an airbiscuit while attempting to escape your companionship.

For the love of all things good and calorie laden, please stay home next time. Not only did you annoy me to within an inch of your life (you can thank The Mc later for trading seats with me), you were an embarrassment to women everywhere.

Thank you.

-Me

Like Kayron, I’ve spent many a Feb 14 alone and enjoying my solitude. I’ve spent it with friends. I’ve spent it with The Mc at a local pizza place, bucking tradition.

This year, because he’s such an amazing cook and keeps talkingtalkingtalking (but never doing, you understand) about taking some class somewhere to learn more – like how to make a reduction sauce – I took him to The Cooks Warehouse for a hands-on dinner. There were cocktails. There was a red wine reduction sauce. There were puff pastries with andouille sausage. There were skrimps (*shudder*). There was duck. There were fudge tartlets which are apparently a tongue twister for me because when I said it to him before we went in it came out “fartlet”. He instantly wanted to call my brother.

Tonight it’s his turn, and he’s taking me to the Gordon Lightfoot concert at the Cobb Energy Center. Oh sure, snicker all you want.

Me? I’ll be sitting there having flashbacks to the six of us jammed in the family (really Dad’s company issued) Oldsmobile, and sitting perched between my folks on the front bench seat because I was the littlest. I’ll be remembering the mushy blue-gray velor seats and the 8 track playing “If you could read my mind…” which, btw, still gives me glassy eyes.

My point – if I had one – was to find out what your favorite VD gift was (given or received), because it’s never too early to start planning for next year.

I feel guilty because I haven’t had any time to do my trip justice by writing about it, and by the time I finally do have time, I fear it will all have fallen out of my head only to be replaced by the dinner I’m taking The Mc to tonight, the concert he’s taking me to tomorrow, our weekend at the farm and more epic woes of drooling cats on my head at 4am.

Some thoughts jotted down to help rouse the memories later for your bedtime put you to sleep reading:

Yes I finished my taxes before I left town
Yes I took a unintentional scenic route via Birmingham
Yes I can confirm there’s not a *bucks in the entire state of Alabama
Yes I saw devastation on the outskirts of New Orleans
Yes it took a million years to cross that bridge over the lake
Yes the street signs aren’t in the color or place I expected them and I missed a turn or five
Yes I had a hurricane @ Pat O’s in the piano bar, yes I requested Copacabana
Yes I ate an oyster and a po’boy at ACME and did not vomit (much to my surprise) but also did not enjoy it
Yes I had some remoulade with skrimps in it (I hates me the skrimps)
Yes I had a beignet and coffee from Cafe Du Monde
Yes I rode the street car to The Garden District
Yes I got one really crappy picture of beads in trees
Yes I had yummy food at The Camellia Grill
Yes my seester scratched her eye with floating NO funk and Louise and I visited two Walgreens (and almost a third, but we couldn’t find it) and dealt with two concierges (is that a word?) in attempt to heal what ailed her
Yes she was drugged on Benadryl and slept her way through Saturday afternoon and after a brief attempt at walking/light, she did the same for the evening hours
Yes she was a sport and sent me out to have fun anyway
Yes I walked the streets with a cocktail in hand and felt liberated by it
Yes I had my bones read on Jackson Square
Yes I bought something for The Mc at The French Market
Yes I hung out on a balcony and watched the pedestrian traffic below
Yes I stumbled through The French Quarter using Lousie to keep me upright after having a number of “3 for 1″ beverages and singing karaoke very, very badly for a crowd that should have thrown rotten food or dirty diapers at me
Yes I went to a place I can’t remember the name of with live music (and a crowd!) and boogied, and yes I yelled a few too many times for more cowbell (they really had one, and the keyboardist was really playing it)
Yes when we got back to the room my seester had already (very thoughtfully!) made our beds for us
Yes I initially declined fast food but eventually inhaled half a quarter pounder with cheese and half of Louise’s fries
Yes I was ashamed
Yes I apparently fit several key things I missed during my early 20′s and fit them into one night
Yes Louise was a supreme and tolerant travel guide and adventure companion
Yes I had to leave the room and go to the lobby to finish sobering up b/c my ears were still ringing
Yes Louise and I sat in the lobby and giggled with no shoes on at the drunkards wandering about (hippocrickets)
Yes I woke up hoarse
Yes her eye was much better by morning (feeling only, still looked like hell)
Yes I ate a delicious breakfast with Louise and my seester at B….something or another, and ate my breakfast as well as half of her flaming crepe desert which was stupid delicious
Yes I spent too much money on food I couldn’t taste
Yes it was a damn long drive home for a girl with PMS that requires a predicable 14+ hr sleeping binge
Yes I forgot to clean the bugs off my windshield every. time. I stopped.

In short: yes. I got all the “musts” out of the way so the next time I visit I can just wander quietly and relax.