I wrote those last two posts in a total woe-is me voice, which is not the one I intended. “Oh, poor me, we got land to build our little cabin in the woods on. Oh, my life sucks, I have more people I love than I know what to do with. Ohhhhhh the horror, I have a great job in an air conditioned building with a chair and a phone and everything. Oh someone deliver me from my misery, I have a reliable car, two adorable cats, an knitting habit and an amazing camera I get to capture life with. It’s wretched!”

One post is only an hour or so old and I already need to apologize for it. Deep seeded Catholic guilt trapped in my DNA? Mayhaps. Realizing what a shallow, whiny brat I sounded like? Definitely.

I’m a lucky, blessed, and thankful girl. I’ve worked damn hard more than half of my life. I’ve collected a lot of great friends who understand me (even when they don’t) and I have an amazing man to share my life with that understands me too (even when he can’t stand me).

I am thankful for APE and that they allow me to stick around and lend my ::snicker:: talents to their cause in my free time. I’m thankful that I get to take pictures of people and places I care about. I’m thankful that my body still works given that I’ve neglected and abused it over the years. I’m thankful that my brain still works and that I can afford hosting and a domain name to purge my thoughts.

And right now, having spent the last 30 minutes working in a damn spreadsheet, I’m thankful that I can say in approximately 9 months (provided I maintain the current trajectory, which I may increase/improve) I will be completely debt free.

Effe yeah, that feels gooooood.

Towards the end of 2009 I was burned out. Burned. Out. Work was kicking my butt and I had too many social irons in the fire. There was no one to blame but myself, which sucks because it’s so much more simple when you can blame others for your own problems. I’ve seen plenty of people do it (myself included) and we all make it look pretty easy.

I started backing out of things and trying to explain to friends that I just couldn’t do it anymore. I’m not sure they understood. If I was them, I’d have thought I was being dramatic.

In baby steps, I stopped writing for Atlanta MetBlogs and stepped down as city captain. After a year of successful Atlanta TweetUps, I stepped away from hosting them. I stopped making as many dinner play-dates during the week. I regained focus on my finances, my relationship and myself.

Last weekend the weather in Atlanta was perfect for errands and spring cleaning, it was one of those prefect early non-winter days that have everyone in the city out playing in parks and holding hands down the street. I did both and then some. I ran errands with The Mc which included us picking out new glasses frames for each other (be afraid) along with seventy other things and actually made for quality time. I paid off an old lingering debt with thanks to a nice tax refund and a baby bonus from [redacted]: LIBERATION! I cleaned the loft and consolidated my to-do lists. Even after a day of errands and chores, the list still a mile long…how is that possible?

What’s left that’s still filling my yellow sheet? Does it matter? There’s more, there’s always more.

I tell friends there will be crap in their inbox when they die, and there won’t be anything on their tombstone about how much they got done, or with what efficiency – what’s my problem?

Meh. I’m not trying to be a selfish a-hole, it’s just working out that way. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss you or I’m not thinking about you, because I am. You can probably feel it.

I’m working diligently to make it so that one day very very soon my to-do list will be shorter, and that I’ll be a better friend and blogger. Truth is: I miss you. I also miss me.

I wonder if you’ve ever been where I am, and how you got out of it. Backing out of commitments clearly isn’t enough, and not loving as many people as I do isn’t an option…and OMG can someone get me to stop COMPLAINING about this boring, boring crap?!

The usually alarmist posting style of WebMD let me down when trying to diagnose The Mc at 3am Sunday morning.

What their timid article about our friend FP should really say is: “Those suffering from food poisoning will frequently clutch their stomachs, beg for death and run unexpectedly towards any object that might serve as a receptacle for their projectile vomiting.”

It should continue on to say that people in the throes of poisoning can be quoted as saying “oh God…oh God… oh God… oh God…honey, it hurts … oh God… oh God…”

That would have made it much easier to diagnose, which is key in treatment. I mean, I could treat him for something else, like lice, but I’m not sure the desired effect would have been reached.

With regards to treatment, the article should list the following:

Things you should *not* do:
- Allow the barfer to consume liquids within 30 minutes of last explosive episode
- Give the barfer Emotrol, Pepto or Immodium

Things you should do:
- Call your health insurance nurse line after the second “episode”. Do not wait until five hours later when the sickling is finally ready to accept defeat against the unseen
- Take copious notes so you can mock the ill when they’re – un-ill.

Nothing says “love” and “healing” quite like getting a laugh out of your PFL’s misery…then sharing it on teh interwebz.

51.

51 posts. In 2009, I watched this blog crash and burn.

I started this damn thing nearly ten years ago. TEN YEARS. Back then I was writing up posts in Notepad (light coding, mind you) and FTPing up static files. I converted to Blogger. I later converted to WordPress, and spent hours in a bar with Dave and Paulie helping me fix things that broke during the move.

Somewhere in there I met The Mc, continued to heal in grueling, Kleenex abusing weekly therapy sessions, and subsequently found myself with less time to write and less things I needed to purge.

I counted a few weeks ago and found I’d only written/posted 51 times last year, as opposed to an average of 300+ in the years prior.

Unsure of what 2010 holds, I’m still thinking about the blog. I’m thinking about and missing writing, I’m thinking about and missing the things that used to make me write. I’m also thinking about all the effing self-censoring I’ve been doing that has stood in the way of writing. Oh, but the list of excuses goes on and on: the cats won’t let me sit without wanting to be petted, that I’d rather be with The Mc than write/run/walk/justaboutanythingconstructive. Twitter and Facebook which mean a shift in thinking complete coherent thoughts to thinking in 140 character summarizations. Then there’s the other mostly secret blog I’m keeping about the big thing in our life I’m still not allowed to talk about. There’s watering the plants. Doing laundry. Running errands.

Meh.

This year, despite being off to a contradictory start, I’m going to try to do better.

For me.

A friend of mine with a generous spirit recently donated to our local NPR station, WABE. The donation wasn’t enough to warrant receipt of a stainless steel coffee tumbler, but instead an evening with Lynne Rossetto Kasper.

For those who haven’t yet been properly introduced, Lynne is the host of NPR’s The Splendid Table, during which she speaks of food with such a passion, with such colorful words and such dreaminess in her voice that you find yourself in love with the items she’s describing.

Callers ring into the show with questions surrounding a surplus of an item or soliciting new ideas for an old favorite and Lynne greets each of them with a calm gusto I lack the words to describe.

After a lovely chat with WABE Sr. VP and General Manager John Weatherford and his lovely bride, and a ten minute (!!!) chat with Lynne herself, we were seated.

Lynne read the menu and improvised, causing my friend to lean in and whisper “I need to take her to lunch with me every day. Imagine what she could do to a Chik-fil-a menu…”

Indeed.

The meal was a fancy 5 courses number, delightfully and appropriately preceded by light delicious apps and free flowing wine. There was one that involved bleu cheese on a gingersnap but I was still so high from my conversation with Lynne I’d forgotten it almost instantly.

Course 1 – Classic Caesar Napoleon of brioche crouton, filet of romaine heart, aged parmesan frico, salt cured anchovy and quail egg.

It was fine right up until Kim double dog dared me to eat the anchovy. *shudder*

Course 2 – Chef’s choice seasonal fresh fruit sorbet intermezzo. It was so delightful, I don’t remember what the hell fruit it was.

Course 3 – Main entree: Thyme seared petit lamb chops and crab cake Napoleon severed with truffled asigo potatoes, grilled white asparagus tips and broccoli-rapini and finished with demi glace.

Good, not great. My lamb was over cooked, but there was a sweet spot on the potato that nearly sent me to the moon. Looking over my shoulder, I could see Lynne’s chop was cooked perfectly.

Course 4 – Cheese course: brie, 18 month aged gouda, manchego, aged white cheddar and gorgonzola blue. Present but not mentioned: strawberry, fig, and an unidentifiable brown object.

Course 5 – Desert: study in apple. Dried cranberry and apple crisp in micro hazelnut torte shell, vanilla bean crème brulee stuffed roasted apple cup, cinnamon apple fritter with bourbon crème anglaise.

Topping it off: the rest of my wine followed by French Italian (!?) dark roast decaf.

For me, it wasn’t about the food entirely: it was about Lynne and her contagious spirit and passion. It was about spending quality time with a friend sharing a perfectly imperfect cliché riddled once in a lifetime experience.

You can buy Lynne’s book The Splendid Table’s How to Eat Supper: Recipes, Stories, and Opinions from Public Radio’s Award-Winning Food Show
By Lynne Rossetto Kasper, Sally Swift via this nifty link.

As for scoring dinner with Lynne? Cough up some change during the next pledge drive, you never know what surprise fringe benefit you’ll get out of it.

Don’t know where I am or what I’m doing, but I’m not here and I wish I was.