Getting on the Stick

It's Friday morning and I have an evil virus. I have a feeling it will be a chicken soup and chamomile tea weekend.

Will this winter ever end? Seriously...longest damn winter I can remember in eons.

I am lagging behind in my transformation. No, haven't been doing bad, habit forming things...no wine, no cigars, no narcissistic sociopaths....but I haven't been doing my good things, either. I need to paint my studio but it's still winter. I need to practice my henna art but I need some essential oils to add to the "mud" which means I need money (short on that right now). I need to get on the stick with the community garden thing and get THAT committee organized. I want to start a literary group and an artists group but I still have to get Second Sundays up to speed. And Lord knows my yoga is lagging. New mat and all.

So much to do - and it's not like I don't have the time. Ha! Four more months of sabbatical to get things done. On the Summer Solstice everything changes.

Diet Miracle!

This is my new portrait. It's the new me. Snaps to my cousin Bo (Alvis) Harding for making me look so fine.

WAKE THE DEAD!

My editor and I were talking about ghosts today...and paranormal "experiences". For the record, I believe in ghosts. I also believe in playing "WAKE THE DEAD!" in the cemetery, and Emily and I plan to give it a go some night.

It's been a busy day in the newsroom. I did a story on Olympic withdrawals and a review of last nights "Dallas Black Dance Theatre" performance at the college. I also interviewed a young interior designer (just graduated) for a story. I feel bad for her trying to be taken seriously as an educated professional in Weatherford...I ran into that when I moved here. I love my town, but people here don't realize the difference between a "decorator" and an accredited interior designer. But that's a whole 'nuther story. Anyway, I've decided to do anything I can to help the new designer out.

I have a new nickname from Emily: "St. Jules of the Opulent Boobs". Don't ask.

I'm not ready to share.

So I think the sun makes me silly. Seems we haven't seen it enough lately. I've noticed a direct correlation between the shining of the sun and my mood. No sun = cranky and surly. Sun = silly and good humored. I must have been a real bitch in Seattle. It seems so long ago....

Actually, looking back, I think I was just lost without the sun. Lost and sad. But I still miss Seattle. I miss being able to go to the Pike Place Market and I miss fresh seafood. I miss the coffee and wine bars. I miss the salty smell of Puget Sound. I miss "Hammering Man" and Fremont and Whole Foods. Mostly though, I miss my friends...and my babies.

But here I can have the sun. My roots go deep into the earth here, too. That makes me stronger. I needed to come here to get strong. And I needed to find everything I lost after a bitter divorce. Some things didn't work out - things I had planned on when moving here - but that's only because my angels were watching out for me. They know I'm a dunderhead when it comes to matters of the heart. And right now they enjoy, I think, watching me be alone.

I'm not such a big fan though. At least not some days. I'm about 50/50 right now. Heh. Come to think of it (and I had to pause to think for a few minutes)... it's actually not such a bad thing. I like it for now, but I don't think I would like it for the long run. I'm avoiding a relationship like the plague now - but I think when my sabbatical ends in June I will be ready to start opening up to the thought of sharing again. No alcoholics though. Seriously. I mean that. They are NO FUN.

Cold Monday

Michael just threw away my tape ball. He - who is constantly hucking stuff at me - actually threw away one of my most brilliant inventions in the history of my newsroom career.

He's just mad because he threw plain old paper wads. I, on the other hand, thought to wrap my paper wads in tape so they carried more impact when they slam into the side of the head.

Today is a typical Monday. I did a weather story because the people I need to interview for stories have not called back today. Emily saw a hot old guy come into the reception area and she's determined to hook me up with him if she can figure out who he is. Jeff comes and goes. Josh just got here. We're all cranky and tired of the weather. Will this winter ever end?

Little Running Brain Guy.

I'm not having any luck with stories today. I have a million things to write about, but nothing good for tomorrow's paper.

I have no weekend plans, either. It's Lent. The girls invited me out tonight, but since I gave up alcohol for six weeks and am fasting I don't think hitting the bars would be a good idea.

Something big is fixing to happen. I know it is. Something life-changing. My little subconscious guy that runs from the back of my brain to my prefrontal cortex to bring me messages that fire my instincts has been extremely busy lately. Running his butt off. Too bad his messages are written in invisible ink and as soon as they reach the cognitive part of my brain they fade to the point I can make out writing but can't read the words. And then they are gone altogether.

(See what happens when I'm deprived of alcohol?)

I shall now start wearing a robe.

Holy Wankers I have a half dozen followers now! How did THAT happen??? Thank you. Can I call you my minions? Please? I'll PAY you!