Lazy, rainy Sunday

There were so many good intentions gone awry today. I had planned to work for a good 3-4 hours... I lasted an hour. The rain put a damper on the gardening plans for the day and it all just went downhill from there.

I did manage to do some cooking; and in a last ditch effort to feel productive, I have gathered together the laundry, packed up a box of books and gathered together many of the items I will be donating to various organizations if I cannot find one to take it all.

Mostly, though, I'm just feeling run down and whiny. I did go to Bombadills this morning for a few hours and did get some writing done, and got several emails written I might not have otherwise. Today is the perfect day to kick back and watch a movie... and I would love to go see either Talk to Me or 10 Questions for the Dalai Lama... both of which are playing today, except that I know that the air conditioning would be more than I could handle. It's low 70s right now, and I'm already a bit chilled... can't image going into another establishment (a quick trip to Kroger for cilantro proved nearly fatal).

Decidedly, the best possible course of action is to sit on my ass in front of the TV the rest of the day and try to at least force liquids down, because aside from my three large cups of coffee at Bombadill's, I've managed to drink 2 whole glasses of water, and that was an effort that resulted in nausea. I guess, I'm afraid that if I sit down and stop moving around for more than 5 minutes and just relax, I will realize that I'm actually not feeling very good at all... and since I really don't like that, it is easier just to run around and find things to do. Though, admittedly, I don't think I can do that much longer either--one way or another, it finds a way to sneak up on you.

On that note, I'm certain a shower will be the corrective cure for what troubles me... indeed, why didn't I think of that earlier?! I'm sure if I had, typing would not have turned into such a painful event right about now.

Ciao...

Where time ends...

Looking back, it's hard to believe that it has been over a week now since I've posted. Surely, there have been many a thing happening worthy of mention... but I forget all the relevant items. Mom came into town on Wednesday, which really explains where I have been; there has not been a whole lot of time to really sit down and write anything... we went shopping, to the Art Fair, cooked, went out for dinner, went to Monroe, watched a movie, moved a loveseat and table out to the trash, visited my garden, Farmers Market and generally just visited. It was a nice time and since she left this morning, I've gardened, did 5K worth of speed walking and very little jogging, made my 500th trip to Target, baked and cleaned. Now, I'm tired.

In the last week, I also started physical therapy. Seems that strained hip from the Avon 2-Day walk has not gotten any better. And I am really beginning to question a form of medical intervention that causes more pain. Thursday was my third session, and I left in some amount of aggitation to the afflicted area. By 5 p.m. I was physically ill from pain. I downed a few Tylenol and did some stretching, then went out for a walk with mom. I was sleeping by 730 on the floor and in bed by 830.

PT also provides you with exercises to do daily. What they fail to understand, no matter how much I tell them, is that this isn't new to me. The name for it might not be the same as what I call it, but once I learned what they wanted me to do, it was a no brainer. Try to do 2 sets of 10 they said, and if you can, do 30 total. I did 50 and still had no difficulty, no tiring, nothing they said would be an indicator to stop. Thursday, she said, OK I want you to walk at a normal pace on the treadmill for 5-10 minutes... no incline. Do at least 5, but 10 if you can handle it. I truly do not think they understand that despite this injury, I am very active and I am very good at not letting myself feel the pain. I've explained this in a few different ways. I've explained that I have spent the last 2 years training for marathon distance walks plus and have had personal trainers at least once a year to consult with and that I work out sometimes hours at a time... and they just nod and say yeah, okay, so can you walk at least 10 minutes a day? Very frustrating.

Aside from that bit of aggravation that will continue for at least the next 3 weeks; I did manage to splurge and buy myself a very sweet Wonder Woman purse at the Art Fair. Basically it is a box with handles and has vintage images of Wonder Woman from comics, promos featuring Lynda Carter, and other paraphenilia. A bit pricey, but entirely worth it.

On that note, I shall return later... possibly even this evening. In the meantime, I have yet to eat lunch and it is coming on dinner time.

The Rise and Fall of Literature and Hope for the Future

Sometimes, I do my best of thinking while driving; that's to say, I'm not thinking about the act of driving, but everything else... which does explain why a few people prefer to not drive with me (among other reasons, including the lack of breaking ability in the passenger seating areas). That aside, I was on my way to someplace this week when I found my mind and car weilding around a large series of objects. Of far more interest, obviously were the non-steel and brick objects. Over the Memorial Day holiday, my Hemingway weekend produced a great deal of writing of which I was and remain very happy with--but since then, I've not done a whole lot. It isn't writers block so much as it is mental blockage and the two are distinctly different.

Writers block is the difficulty and/or absence of the ability to create an idea and put it to paper. I've heard others liken it to the "well being dry" or as I have always been found of "dead air." Mental block is more that the ideas are there, they are working in the head, but the mind is refusing to allow the body to sit down and allow them to leave... it is the writers Guantanemo (albeit temporary, unlike the real situation).

It was in this train of thought that it came to me: Anybody can come up with a plot idea, and anybody can put words down on a piece of paper, but not anybody can do them simultaneously and with alert interest or intrigue to others aside from the scriber. And perhaps, that fact alone is precisely why the mind works in the way that it does... the ideas are ready yet, they are still being flushed and the language tested?

And then I got to thinking about Virginia Woolf, and the idea of a room of one's own... and while I took some liberty with her intent, part of my mental backlog is that I don't want to sit at my drafting table and write these days... but I also don't want to bother with a change in scenery. I know I must... as a writer you have to find a place in which you can write and a space comfortable enough for the duration. To some extent, it is why my Hemingway weekend works; there is a defined sense of space and expectation and reckless abandon. Of course, that would lead one to think that it should then be done more often than yearly... and perhaps there is some logic in that, but the Hemingway weekend is one which is draining and then there is the sangria.

Writing is an interesting space; many writers need "things" when they write... and at one time I thought I was particularly weird (eh, no comments) when I would get up in mid sentence and grab a lei, a tiara, decide a different glass was necessary... they are distractions, but unique to the creative process for me... and I've learned since, to many others as well. Does it seem off that one might suddenly need to wear strappy stilletto shoes while writing? Perhaps, but I find that it makes just as much sense as a runner who needs to wear a certain token going into a race or hunters that need to have certain good luck charms on them.

It is the space of the writer... and our space is slowly being crowded out. Crowded out by noise, a lot of noise. When novelists write their books with the thoughts of who will do the screenplay later, we have failed. But I had some hope yesterday. I haven't picked up a new fiction release in some time and thought--I want to or NEED to read this... I've been going back to books published 10+ years ago, or reading non-fiction... but on the shelf at Borders between something stupid and something released with the movie cover sat what inspired me as hope toward the future... "Michael Tolliver Lives." Armistead Maupin spun off his Tales of the City character for a new novel, independent from Tales, but gives us a truly rich jewel. It has been the first time since perhaps the release of Thompson's The Rum Diary that I've been truly excited to read something new in the world of fiction.

Irreverent musings on a summer day

Earlier today, while driving, I had a brilliant diatribe for this space... it always happens when driving--I become absolutely a brilliant composer in my head, and by the time I park, take care of everything and have a few minutes... it is GONE. Well, not the fiction--not usually, just my thoughts on life, because they are oft fleeting and typically not worthy of notation; but I'm fairly certain that I probably had the key to something like the fountain of youth and it is forever lost in the dire need to stop off for vegetables and eggs. And if any of you try to tell me that a healthy diet is the key to that fountain... there might be an accident.

Of one thing I can assure you, cats are not the key to living a youthful existence sometimes. Bowie has spent the last several minutes crying like he's dying... and you know why? He is afraid of his reflection in the mirror. I remove him from the bathroom counter and he's back up there, screaming bloody murder. He is a fierce and mighty jungle beast instill fear into the hearts of those in his path, and that includes him.

To counter Bowie, I turned up the speakers on my iPod... yegods, if the neighbors don't already hate me they now have Bon Jovi at arena level decibels. At least I'm not nekkid... at least, not anymore, earlier on the patio might have been another story... and I wouldn't say nekkid as much as I would say topless... there is a subtle difference.

And now, the crisis of dinner... I have stuff to make, I even found some relatively exciting and new recipes; I did go grocery shopping last night and to farmers market this afternoon... but the crisis is not what to make, but IF to make... Lately, I don't want dinner; I'm hungry, but all I really want is copious amounts of Diet Coke or Diet Mountain Dew. I am willing to fore go food for this all driving want. I know it is bad, I know I should cook something healthy and eat and forget the soda, but I am thinking, I will be in the drive thru getting a soda, or at the 7-11 and not eating dinner again tonight. It makes me worry, one of the memories very strong for me is of my grandma--who rarely ate anything beyond a donut and the rest of her day was spent consuming coffee and cigarettes and a pace I've yet to see paralleled. I don't intend on taking up smoking, but I swear, there are some days I would just not eat and would drink coffee or soda all day so I wouldn't have to bother... that is, of course, if you threw in a few jelly candies or a cookie... I'm not a donut girl.

On that note, today is the kinda day that after sitting out on the patio reading a Shape magazine, one should go and wash one's car--and get a soda.

Mahalo.

A week in retro

Been a crazy-ass week and thank the schema of time that means tomorrow is Friday. And, as I see it, I desperately need a weekend. Today I finally made it to the gym, it's bad when even that release gets bypassed in lieu of meeting a deadline--or 10. I did learn today one of my benefits is research services, and they will actually help with apartment searching. The time slipped away to call today, but I am tomorrow for sure, just in case...

Tonight though, I made an effort to not stay absurdly late at work, and I came home after the gym and after a run to Fed Ex, and had some dinner, played with the cats and my new phone, made cookies, painted my nails, took a long shower, and now the Starter Wife is concluding for another week and I'm thinking about heading to bed... hoping that terrible and torrential night sweats pass me by tonight.

I'm also hoping that I can erase the conversation I overheard while prepping to get on the treadmill tonight... two women in their mid to late 60s were discussing their kidney stones. I could not turn my iPod on fast enough or loud enough... but when your gym is the county rec center, you get that from time to time--the same way men old enough to be my grandfather hit on me. The one today told me I didn't need to wipe down the treadmill cause "honey you look good enough, I don't mind." Ewww.

Then, there is the mulching police at the garden. SK beared witness to this phenom when she came by to help weed on Tuesday night. Cell phone guy from the plot nearby stopped by to again recommend mulching... and why I should. Moisture and all, you know. It's going to be a long summer if I don't mulch... but now I almost don't want to out of sheer contempt for the comments.

And on that note, it is nighty-night time.

Back, Baby!

I'm back from my trip to my mom and dad's for a long weekend. Mom's gardens are in fantastic blooms--my allergies are still also in fantastic bloom--I got a lot of pictures, and this is just one.

There were frogs in the pond this morning, too. Quite cute, just sitting there resting... the chickens (yes, the have chickens, turkeys and bunnies... I will have to share the saga of the bunny farm at another time) were also happy this morning clucking and eating watermelon rind. We got a nice boat ride in on Friday evening. My brother stopped in for a few hours also...

Saturday found us going to garage sales--it was, after all, Father's Day weekend as such, you subject yourself to the insanity of garage sales with my dad. There are rules and guidelines... first, there is ALMOST no point in going unless you get there early and on the FIRST day--otherwise, the "good stuff" will already be gone. Second, you have to drive for 20 minutes and then almost talk yourself out of going once there because of distance, the caliber of stuff that might be for sale, whether or not the sellers are "bums." Finally, and apparently, the last rule I had nearly forgotten, but was reminded of when dad veered into the opposite lane of the highway, turned around in someones yard and then sent me flying from one side of the backseat to the other is that the rules of driving are suspended when searching out garage sales.

Saturday wrapped up with my taking the folks to dinner to celebrate their 20th anniversary. They decided on the new "Greek" restuarant in Cheboygan. Actually, I have to say it was more "Greek fusion" that is, Greek fused with Cheboygan. Moussaka was good, and suspiciously more like eggplant parmesan than any moussaka I've tasted... Gyros from what I could see were served up on a ciabatta bun... the Greek salad description surprisingly did not include feta, rather, "Special Feta Greek Dressing." I had the veal, it was quite tasty, dad had the shish kabobs, which were also quite good. Mom and I veered away from the Spinach pie as it was described as having ricotta, parmesan and mozerella cheeses with Greek spices--it was concerning. Also concerning was that the waitress came to the table and informed us that they were out of baked potato... Er, baked potato? Well, okay... but I was a little surprised by their spicy feta hummus... which might have been good, but we passed. All in all, the food was good, but certainly not what I would really call Greek... perhaps Greek inspired. One bonus on the dining experience was that in the hallway to the dining room were a series of photographs of the building of the Machinaw Bridge. For those not aware, this is the 50th Anniversary of the Bridge... and in acknowledgement of that, Mike Fornes, a local writer and journalist I've admired for many, many years has a book on the Bridge coming out this August. Mr. Fornes was very supportive of me as a writer when in high school, and for that I will always be grateful. I look forward to his latest endeavor.

I did make it to Mackinaw over the weekend as well, and got myself some Oreo Popcorn from the Popcorn Factory... yeah, I know, how do you take a relatively healthy snack like popcorn and turn it into a snack worse than 3 Snickers? Glaze it with sugar and toss in crushed oreos... but it was yummy!

So, busy weekend... but I am back. The kitties have almost forgiven my absence--fresh catnip, lots of treats and even more air conditioning seems to have helped with that effort. And now, a little TV and then a little sleep before the craziness of a Monday sinks in.

A change of color

Blonde Energy comes to you a little less pink today--I let the nail tech choose my toe color yesterday, and she opted for silver. It is fabulous. And, in the spirit of some change, I picked up a bottle of Aruba Blue by Essie... not my usual OPI product, but I liked the name of the Essie color better. And isn't that the key to picking a nail polish? And so, now my fingers are blue tipped--and for a change, not because I'm cold.

I did make myself go to DSW after the pedicure, and while I purchased nothing, I realized that not wanting to shoe shop is more a reflection on the utter unoriginality with which the shoes produced en masse represent. It's almost like buying 3 prints for $40 when nothing is as satisfying as the $3.1 million dollar original. The shoes I envision in my head don't exist... and right now they would be the only satisfaction I would recieve... the rest are empty calories.

So a new week has begun, and I am without plans on this very gorgeous sunny day. I'd like to see Oceans 13, but why? It is too nice outside to have to freeze to death in a movie theatre. Same goes with shopping. I've love to go to the mall and find a flirty new sundress, but again, inside is not what I'm shooting for... so I think the day will find me picking up a few items to do some cooking and mostly sitting out on my patio, working on some writing. Perhaps I will venture out for a walk later or even a coffee... but mostly, it is a lazy Sunday with sunshine, and it just seems kinda nice.

Mahalo.

Blame it on endorphins

Much, much earlier on a Sunday morning than should ever be the case, I was up, out the door and on my way to the Dexter-Ann Arbor Run. I signed up a while ago for the 5K fully intending to run it. During the 2-Day, I strained my knee and hip. The knee has healed, the hip, as I reported last Tuesday, was reinflamed with Tuesday's jaunt on the treadmill. I anticipated I would not be running today... but as it turned out, I ran about half of the 5K route. The 2-Day prepped me well for the hills, and all I coulf think is that those doing the marathon or half marathan had to finish UPHILL... really, quite cruel. That said, I am in pain but not as bad as I thought it would be given how much it really did hurt to run--especially toward the end. I just could not help myself; adrenline and competition took hold and thankfully, so did a lot of endorphins (which apparently can make one stupid).

What suprised me though, was that I enjoyed the running. I hate it when I'm on a treadmill or in the park by myself, but in the atmosphere of a few thousand people doing the same, it was kind of fun. Yeah, that's right, it was humid as all hell, I was soaked through with sweat, but it was fun. I came across the finish line somewhere about 40 minutes.... not a great time, but I was happy with it. I'll have to wait for the official times to be posted, but it was just in time to miss running in the rain as it was just a few minutes after I came in and finished 2 bottles of water that it poured. It cleared up for a while and I got some coffee, and enjoyed the Taste of Ann Arbor--again leaving just before a torrential downpour.

Now, the laundry has been laundered, I worked on cleaning out my closet some more, the apartment vaccuumed, dishes put away, the canteloupe cut up for the week and now, it is time to curl up in the big chair in my jammies and read. I suspect, having been up at 5:45 this morning, an early bedtime is in store.

Mahalo.