We're having our Christmas dinner/ lunch at work today. It starts at noon and then starts again at 5:00 so everyone (on every shift) can have dinner. Last year it was great, they cooked 5 turkeys. Sometimes it's nice working for a department store, especially one with it's own restaurant.

So that's what I'll be doing today. First lunch at the store then Farida and I are going to do our Christmas cards. Mine are mostly ready cause I realized most of my addresses are on the computer and since I don't have a functional printer I wouldn't be able to take them with me. Likely we'll be chatting more than working anyway. After that I wanted to do something with Zack. But, as usual, he has some activity after school and all I can really do is chauffeur him there and back. Not much fun for me but it's something. Funny how life/ fate likes to take you at your word sometimes.

Lastly, the plan is to chat at BackWash. I'm not working till 3:00 in the afternoon on Saturday so I can stay up a little late. Not too late cause I'm working till 11:00 at night most of the week at the store. Really long nights! But it will be over after Christmas, well Boxing Day too. Maybe New Years... but then it will be done with for another year, literally.

I like the little things. Like when he held my hand as we walked to wherever we were going. I liked when he offered (insisted) on carrying the watermelon in from the car. I liked lying in bed together. That time between conversation, reading or playing was sometimes better than doing anything else in bed.

I'm not sure if I'll ever have that again. When I think about having a relationship I just don't know if I could be that trusting again. Not in someone else but my own judgment of someone else. I picked wrong when I was so sure I was picking right. I picked wrong. All the nice little things drained away. I was left like the dregs, the clog in the drain.

What I feel doesn't really matter, it doesn't matter about finding a word to label it. I do want to try again, with someone else. It's a matter of picking again.

I think about the little things. I think if I just pay attention to the little things I'll know him. But, all the little things were misleading last time. They lead me into a hole I don't want to have to claw my way out of again.

So, logically, you move onto the big things. I ignored the big things last time cause all the little things were lined up in a row so nicely. But, the big things do matter. Next time I won't make excuses for them, under rate them or over ride them. Next time, if I can get that far, I won't wear blinders or act soft hearted. Next time, I won't walk into a brick wall at the end of the rainbow, right?

Comment

agingyoungrebel

I wish I could say "right", but you never know what the future will bring. (It would be boring if you knew, IMO.) Trust is always a risk, but sometimes you HAVE to take that risk.

This morning I woke up early, got out of bed, had a shower, made coffee, washed a few dishes and now I'm sitting here comfortable in a nightgown, thick socks and housecoat while my hair dries. Barbie can't do most of that. Why, you may wonder. We all know about her figure problems. But, have you considered her feet?

I wrote this for the Feminist's in Make up community at BackWash. I'm not sure if anyone read it. So I'm sticking it here, cause I kind of liked it. Nothing fancy, just one of those ideas you get as you're doing something else.

My old Barbie clone, the Barbie's I see at the stores and the really old Barbie I used to have, spend their lives on tip toes. The feet are made to fit high heels. How does the woman ever feel comfortable in snuggly socks? How does she ever play sports?

I know they make a horse for her to ride, how does she do that in heels? Driving in heels isn't as easy as driving in flat shoes either. Is it ok for Barbie to be a dangerous driver just for fashion or whatever reason women wear shoes that wreck their feet?

Mostly though, Barbie can't just get out of bed and walk around barefoot until she finds her comfy socks. She can't wander around her home, half awake, in the dark. You try doing that on tip toes! Stub a toe and you won't get too far. She can't enjoy feeling comfortable. It's not fair. The poor girl will never get to first base if she can't wear the right shoes for running around the bases.

I feel like Yuck. I'm cold too. Wasn't this worth clicking for? sigh I don't feel like being entertaining. Tomorrow I have to be nice to Christmas shoppers for nine hours. At work tonight they asked if I could even come in an extra hour early tomorrow. What sane person could really handle ten hours of being nice to vandalizing, grumpy, often dense, Christmas shoppers? Not me, but I never claimed to have a great deal of sanity anyway.

Current mood: touched. lol Not in that sentimental sappy way. Touched as in a little bit dense. Not a lot, just a little. Knock on wood and you might get an echo.

Now, are you entertained? Please go away so I can bitch and moan in peace. Hug someone you kind of like.

Soon I'll be 39. How does stuff like this keep happening to a nice girl like me? Isn't 38 old enough? Someone should really put their foot down and stop this whole getting old thing. It's a really bad habit.

Ok, back to reality. Thought I couldn't find it, eh? Fooled you.

It still hurts to laugh. Have you ever puked so hard and so deeply that your rib area is sore two days later? I was not drinking and having a hangover. I woke up with what I've been calling asthma headaches and soon after I was puking over the bathroom sink. Couldn't even keep the Tylenol I'd taken for the headache. After trying to distract myself with mindless cartoons on television I finally went back to bed. Donating the last of my stomach lining to the kitchen sink first. I'm sparing you more details but I had a shower to clean myself up after the first round. Aren't you so glad you're reading this now? Doesn't this sound like some old lady talking about her hairy toes, her gout and her arthritis?

I don't want to be old. People still say I look like I'm in my 20's. I laugh. Then I laugh some more. Well, not today cause it hurts too much to laugh.

On December 19th, 2003, I'll become 39. I'm trying to let it sink in a bit at a time now. Like getting tiny amounts of whatever you're allergic to in order to become immune to it. Like poison. I'm not ready to be old. I'm not ready to be looking 40 in the eyeballs. How can I be this close to 40 already?!! I haven't done even half the things a woman my age is supposed to have done. Instead I was lolly gagging around. I wasted time being afraid and intimidated, roiling in self doubt. I'm still roiling in self doubt, it keeps me imprisoned inside myself. Everything comes out in the words as I type them. Nothing comes from my eyes, my hands, or my mouth. People see me everyday and know nothing about me. People think they know me when they read what I write but they only know the bare minimalist details. How could they know more? I don't even know it all yet. I never will, there's just too much inside to sort it all out and find out where it came from, how it works and what the heck it wants from me.

Do you ever think there are aliens directing you? When I'm writing I sometimes feel like it's someone else's brain dictating to my fingers. My fingers just keep typing without caring what my eyes think as they see it all appear on the page in front of me. Kind of like a horror story where you lost all control and can only watch while strange and sometimes dreadful things happen.

Is that bloggish enough? Blogs are so full of dramatic poetry. It's one of their attractions. To see someone else spin away on some tangent and maybe never quite make sense or even really care to.

So, I'm still here. Still going to turn 39 in just mere weeks. Life isn't fair. I'm not ready to be one of those older women I used to watch when I was 16.