Disaster

Tomorrow I have tickets to the symphony. It should be wonderful.

I forgot to make reservations at Ocean Club.  This makes tomorrow a disaster.

Term starts Monday.  I’m quite excited.

I haven’t worked in two weeks, and I’m not due to return in any manner for another two weeks. Disaster again.

And my house is a disaster, too, so imagine what I feel like, mmm?

Poof!

I’ve lost fifteen pounds in two weeks. More on that later…

In Your Shadows

I’ll post soon…

Introducing Azalais

Yesterday I finally got a kitten. The adoption process took over a week, and I lost my patience early on. Somehow, though, I made it, and now I have Azalais. (It’s pronounced AS-a-lay. She is absolutely gorgeous, a delicate blue and silver marble, and gives Chaucer a run for his money. Granted, she is often less than thrilled with his whining and barking. If he is going to play with her, it’s going to be on her terms.

Sexy Incentives

In addition to not posting, I did very little Friday. I did, however, speak with two of my ex-boyfriends, D and H. This post has nothing to do with them but what they said to me. D admires me for my ability to walk away, to speak and feel honestly. He cherishes my attitude- I do as I please. (For the most part. For me, it’s just a matter of mental and emotional self-preservation.) And H also shared with me his admiration. H praised my kindness and silent strength, my desire to find my place and to define it on my own terms. Sometimes, I wonder where that young woman went, but I suppose I am the same one.

I learned a great deal about myself while I was with each of them. I learned about passion. Passion became my banner, the only real gratification. Do not be mistaken: Love is not passion. And is that not one of the problems so many Americans face? The idea of happiness? The very ideal?

So here I am now, sitting on the couch with my laptop (gasp!) in my lap. X is beside me. His fingers race along at a pace to match my own. The dogs are sprawling, sleeping. It is bedtime, but I am up reading articles on French women. Why? Well, I need inspiration, and French women are my idea of sexiness, of the femme. There are several articles of interest, but I just wanted to share a portion of one.

“Only in America could you get away with this type of lunacy. There is so much pressure on American women to be happy. To sweep away all traces of loneliness, to forget who you are in your search for a lover or a spouse. In France young girls learn that happiness is elusive; we learn that happiness is less important than passion.” … “As girls we Americans sit in our field of daisies and pull off petals with, “He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not.” Meanwhile French girls sit in their meadows with their marguerites and pull off petals with: “He loves me a little. A lot. Passionately. Madly. Not at all.” Why does the little French girl innately think in nuances and increasing levels of passion while we’re mired in the black-and-white of total love or utter rejection?”

For all of my miserable friends out there, there is some food for thought. Ah! But food! That was what I was originally researching.

Originally the title for my blog was ‘Preparing for Market Releaes.’ You might have read below where I talk about marketing the self. Well, appearance sells. Seventy-five percent of what we perceive as taste depends on our sense of smell, but have you noticed that people almost always identify with their vision first rather than the other and, dare I say, better senses? But I am no fool. I want to be beautiful. More importantly, I want to feel beautiful. I know that when I walk into a meeting, the first presentation, the most important presentation is my own physical appearance. Packing on the pounds is not the answer. And if there is one flaw in my physical appearance, it’s the weight I’ve amassed since first entering college.

And, man, I used to make so many folks jealous! But I digress.

Some of these articles are right on the money. Americans ingest so much… well, let’s face it- CRAP! And snacks? Most countries where obesity is close to non-existent when compared to our own do not consume snacks. And our portion sizes? Puh-leaz! A small is twice what is necessary for a meal. The problem is, however, that I know this already, but I do not follow it. So what do I do? How do I fix this?

This is not a matter of love but one of passion, which is precisely, I think, where my solution lies. Back when I was dressing to the nines, I ate less and dropped a considerable amount of weight. I was not happy, but I felt fiery, ready to go, sexy and in charge. Oh, those were the days of D, Tavi, H, and a slew of men who soon followed, smitten, watchful. I experienced things that only Hollywood could attempt to depict. Again I digress. This isn’t about men. I have X, but I don’t have confidence. I’ve lost all of my personal passions and even most of my personal pleasures, like buying sexy lingerie. I think I would find buying a new lacy something-or-another far more gratifying than a bowl of ice cream. It would be far more deserving, and I’d likely save money, too, in the long run.

So let’s see if I can put everything I know to the test and give myself a hellah sexy incentive. I think it just might be enough, for me and for X. But just in case, I’m posting some nasty notes on my fridge. Ciao!

Snoozing, Not Losing

I’ll post tomorrow.

Renovation Continuation

Today did not go nearly as well as I had hoped, but then again, today was a good day. I did not have any bad dreams, and my worst fear is no longer something that concerns me.

The last few weeks I have been plagued by dreams about babies. I have tossed and turned and kicked and talked in my sleep, and when I would wake in the morning, I was still exhausted. Understand, I think babies are cute, but they are not for me. At least, pregnancy is not my idea of a good time. I have so much to do, and after being pregnant before, after the anxiety and sickness, it is not something I ever want to experience again, not as a young twenty-something. If I were through with school, were safely in the driver’s seat of my career, I might not find the whole experience so frightening. But it is what it is, and I am not pregnant.

I did not have any reason to think I was pregnant, but the dreams renewed my fear and also showed me something about myself. Perhaps I experience a twinge of jealousy when I see a happy mother with a little one, both of them full of such potential. Now I can admit that, but that does not change anything for me, not now. Children are absolutely, undeniably out of the question.

So what about the rest of my concerns? Most of those have to do with time, money, work. Basically, I am between jobs right now, and I really need to find something else to do. I was offered a job in Atlanta and promised them I would stay until January, but before I could leave, before we could agree on my pay, things changed. They are telling me to wait until the end of the month now. Money? I have a little after paying off my bills, but what about next month’s bills? And time? I tried to sit down today to write, but I was too tired. So I sat, but at least I came up with a game-plan instead. I know what I need to do. Now I just need to put it all in action. This might start with a good night’s rest.

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Renovation

So what is it bloggers blog about? Themselves? Their blogs?

C’est dangereux. I am terribly out of practice. Since starting this blog (see the previous pitiful post), I have moments that would equate to blogging brilliance; but for whatever reason, I resist or simply fail to relocate to my laptop in time. Instead, I have been cleaning house and checking out and up on folks I have not spoken to or seen in years. It seems a few kids I knew have died, many of the girls have had babies, a few have gotten married, and some couples are either still together or are just getting engaged. Sehr interessant.

More importantly, I have been plotting. Plotting what? Why, my return to college and my future career(s)! It goes without saying, pages will be filled, books will be written. But I honestly cannot imagine myself going to school and studying creative writing then continuing on to… what? And I have quite the imagination, or so I have been told. I would not mind being an industrial engineer, an interior/industrial designer, a baker/chef, or a perfumer. Perfumer? I have no idea where to start. Industrial engineer? I hate all engineering classes. Baker? I am not okay with being at work at 4AM. Chef? I know better than that. But interior design… I would love to do that, and there is an art and design college nearby.

So I have been putting together a plan, a to-do list. On this list there is a requirement that has given me some thoughts over the last six month: the marketing of the self. Never mind marketing ethics just yet. This is a concept that I was never really aware of before I joined Vz Wireless’ marketing department. Sure, I knew something like it but only as a writer. (I dare to scratch the surface of this particular topic.) Basically, what this means is that I have to put myself back together, make myself marketable. This seems, or, hell, is superficial. But it appeals to me, and I think it just might work, all of it, this.

While I am very excited and anxious to get started, I have some concerns, but that’s a different post. I have had too much port, and it is past my bedtime.