Oh, yeah, this thing...

It's been a while. Quite a while, as a matter of fact, since I've sat down and written on this blog. I'd like to blame it all on my wedding and the preparations. But the truth of the matter is, I'm lazy.

That's not an easy thing to admit to as a personal failing. I'd rather say that I procrastinate. But that seems a little too PC for what is actually going on. Hell, we're 3 solid months, rolling up on 4 and I haven't sent out my thank you cards for the wedding gifts. See...lazy.

There are so many tasks that need to be taken care of around the house and yet I seem to fritter away what little time I have on sleeping, reading, and doing the minimal tasks needed to survive such as laundry and food shopping. And now, it's not just me feeling the brunt of my sloth and indifference. There's now a husband in the mix and it makes me feel like a bad wife. Not bad enough to actually DO anything about it. Just bad enough for me to mentally beat myself up several times a week.

I'll console myself with the fact that the laundry is done. It's about 7:30 in the morning. And I can use the time to start really working on those thank you cards. I'll get to it right after I read my book and maybe take a little nap.

Feeling Small

The third load of laundry is rattling away in the washer downstairs as The Simpsons prattle away on the television. I have no lesson plans set up for tomorrow. I've corrected nothing over the weekend. And I cried, for absolutely no reason, while eating a giant Caesar salad about an hour ago.

I feel depressed and I can't quite put my finger on it. I know that some of it is stress and some because of the time of year. My job is becoming less engaging as policies change drastically and I don't feel like I'm making a difference anymore.

And to top off the week, was the unbelievably horrific news about the deranged shooter in Connecticut. It just makes me sick. Especially the idiotic comments from people on Facebook who want to politicize this tragedy. Children, and the adults protecting those children, have died. Their families are in agony right now and people want to point fingers in all directions.

Jeff, my fiance, shared a thought, a quote, yesterday and I wish I could remember who originally said it. But it explains how I feel. Here it is, as best as I recall him saying it:
"An adult who loses a spouse is called a widow or a widower. A child who loses his or her parents is called an orphan. There is no name, no term to call a parent who loses his or her child."

I gave him an answer, a term. The term is destroyed.

With this in mind, I need to start practicing being more thankful. My concerns are trivial and I have no right to be depressed. I've never been asked to suffer like this and I pray that I never will.

Trapped by food

All my life, I've been trapped by food. I like to eat and for the most part, it has shown. I've never been skinny and clothes can sometimes be a hassle. Especially if I'm at the tipping point on the scales. Currently, I've been working my way back down in an attempt to look decent for my upcoming wedding. Today, however, was not a good day. At least as far as the scale is concerned. My brain, stomach, and taste buds, however, thought today ROCKED! Real food was coming in and they were having a blast. Because we all knew that it was quickly coming to an end. That I'd be back on the wagon first thing Monday morning and processed protein products were coming back. So, imagine my surprise, when I literally became trapped by food this evening. On top of the marriage, the house is getting a redo and the construction crew is planning on demolishing the existing kitchen tomorrow morning. I cleaned everything out, except the refrigerator, and made the profoundly stupid move of trying to "slide" it out of my galley kitchen. It didn't work. And I got stuck behind the damned thing in the tiny space behind it. Yes, I panicked. And yes, I did call upon my inner David Banner-Hulk strength to get the thing finally out of the way. I also smashed off the knob to my dishwasher in the process. So, once again, food has attempted to block my path in life. And once again, I've mustered up the power to get past it. That is, until the sneaky bastard tries his next move...

What will the neighbors think?!

So, if you were standing around and felt a disturbance in the force, a Cameron-scream-heard-round-the-world a la Ferris Bueller's Day Off, that would've been me. I don't normally characterize myself as "girlie", but today definitely fit that description. I found a mouse. A dead one. In MY house. And I freaked.
Now, this disgusting bit of vermin rubbish was not in my actual living space, but STILL, it was in my home. I feel like I need to scrub every part of it down with bleach and rat poison. And even though I'm posting this where the whole world can read it, my mind still reels with the hideous thought, "What will the neighbors think?!"

Proper Ladies Don't Make Waves

Why do I feel guilty about insisting I get what I paid for in the first place? We were supposed to have vinyl siding on the front of the house. It's in the contract. And they put shingles up. So, I complained. And I feel like I'm being an annoying bitch. Why? No guy I know would even hesitate to demand things be built the way it was defined in a contract. And I feel like I'm the one doing something wrong.
I guess the cigarette ads were wrong, we have not come a long way, baby.

America's Next Top Model

Okay. I'll admit it. My tasteless choice for a television show was, at one time, America's Next Top Model. Why? Schadenfreuder. Loosely translated as "shameful pleasure", it's a wonderful German term about deriving pleasure from others' misfortunes. Nothing made me laugh harder than to watch the human stick insects on this show fall down or have a hissy fit over bad pictures, lighting, or nasty behavior from the other contestants. Having always been one of the faceless, plump, brunettes that society shuns, I got a sick, twisted pleasure in watching "the beautiful girls" cry. Plus, the vast majority of these young ladies had an IQ of about 70 and couldn't find their way out of a paper bag with a flashlight and a GPS.
So, why bring up a show that I've finally managed to ween myself off of viewing?
Engagement pictures. Yes, you read that correctly, engagement pictures. My fiance and I dressed up and went to the site where we're going to get hitched to have a series of photos taken and hopefully used in a wedding sign in album. [Sidebar...very cool idea where the guest sign in book actually has photos of us on each page!]
Anyway, the only photos I've ever had taken "professionally" of me have been seated on a stool in the school gym. Even my senior class pictures for the yearbook were taken at school, in an office above the auditorium. I still hate that picture...but I digress. I have never been on the other end of a camera with a lens the size of a cannon and a photographer running around me trying to get "natural" shots. And the constant noise of the camera going sounded like an extended version of "Girls On Film" by Duran Duran. [Yeah, I'm totally aware of how much that comment just dated me. I don't care!]
Basically, after an hour of giggling my ass off, feeling stupid, and trying to act natural, all the while feeling like a bug under a giant microscope, I started to understand why some of those girls cracked under the pressure. I was stressing out just trying to get some nice engagement pictures. I wasn't some inexperienced twenty-year old who'd pinned all my hopes and dreams on winning a contest, only to be mocked and ridiculed on national television by the show's judges and the world. That part had never really occurred to me before.
My experience with the camera is over, at least until April, when we go through all of this again for the wedding. Until then, I can go on my merry way and only hope that a couple of my photos capture the moment and not the mediocre.

Sweet Baby J!

I just got word that one of my stories is actually going to get published! I must sadly admit to boogying around the room like a lunatic! I'll be more specific as to which story and where once it has been announced officially by the editors.

This is huge! The piece is being published by a recognized, reputable company. It is going into paper print, I get paid, the editors are quality people [heard a horror story about an editor at Anthocon], the introduction to the book is by a fabulous author, and I GET STREET CRED, BABY! First story out and I luck out on the names I'm going to be attached to in this book.

Plus....I'M GETTING PUBLISHED!!!! Yeah, let's not forget THAT minor detail......