Prepping for the Big Three-Oh

So. In just six short months, I will be (shhh) thirty. And I've been telling my husband and everyone: "OH! Thirty is SO YOUNG!" and "Age is nothing!" and telling myself that thirty won't effect me because I still look young (staying out of the sun and Asian genes have helped) and I'm healthy (thanks to vegetarianism) and I'm in a great place in my life (so happy, tra la la). I will have my MBA next year. My husband is still my best friend. I have a great job. I have awesome friends and family.

Whatthefuckever.

I can feel, deep in my gut, the ticklings of panic.

I

will

be

30

And now I'm telling myself that by thirty I should have done so much more with my life. I should already be published. I should already be making six figures. I should own a home. I should have a super fit fantastic body.

Obviously it's goal setting time. Here are four things I want to accomplish next year, not necessarily by the time I hit thirty, but before I'm thirty-one (i.e., absolutely ancient <--- I'm totally kidding. I think).

Goal 1:
Get a new job. I enjoy the job I have now. I love my coworkers and I feel valued in my workplace as someone who is reliable and competent. But I've been there since 2002 and it's time to move on. It's time to expand my knowledge and hopefully my paycheck.

Goal 2:
Get a new body. I enjoy the body I have now. It is cute and fun and gets me from A to B. But now, I need to have a rocking body because, let's face it, it may now begin the period of loosening and sagging that comes with my age. I don't want to have a young looking face and a crap body. So this means I've got to commit to controlling my portions and working out. A lot. I can do it.

Goal 3:
Get published. I always talk about blah-blah-be-a-writer and blah-blah-be-famous and guess what? That shit ain't gonna happen unless I a) write and b) submit it for publication. I'm not saying I want to have a fucking NOVEL done by next year, but I do need to heft up my portfolio and COMMIT to writing. Less TV, more reading and writing.

Goal 4:
Save more money. I don't want to buy a house necessarily but I do want to have gobs and gobs of money in savings that I can take lavish vacations, feel safe, and whenever I feel like it, buy a house.

Like all control freak, OCD, type A personalities, setting goals and making lists makes me feel as though I have a handle on my fate. I can make anything happen if I just work hard enough. And if there is one thing I know in life, it's how to work hard for things that I want.

Haiku Rant

Fingernails

of long length on men,

I hate.

And women,

keep them short to set

a good example.

Taking Off

Jumping for joy,

Meeting spring with

Healthy eating,

Happy living,

Hearty loveing.

... And extra verbs.

Sonnet One Hundred and Sixteen

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

--William Shakespeare

Quiet

I occasionally go through periods where I don't feel like writing. Usually these times come when I'm feeling quiet; when I have little to say. And when I have little to say it's because I'm reading a lot. I get so caught up in the beauty of an author's words, the way a sentence is pieced together so perfectly, how the meaning is conveyed to me as clear and concise, that my own words start to feel paltry and insignificant. I'll open up a piece I'm working on, fully intending to write, only to find that all of my words are silent. They splash themselves across the monitor and look limp and lifeless. Any storytelling becomes lost in a mumble and I start hitting the delete key. I hate these periods when my brain feels mute; I wonder, am I stressed? Sick? Tired? How can a writer have no words. How can a writer stop thinking or feeling or expressing. I can only hope that these quiet times are R&R for my inner creativity -- wherever that comes from, inside I suppose. And it does seem that after these lapses in quality production, comes clarity. I'll begin to pull from my word tree with ease, as though all the fruit were near the bottom and perfectly ripened. I've heard it said that good writers write every day. I'm still working towards that goal -- but I'm not sure if I should fight the quiet times too hard. Perhaps it's some essential part of my thought process. My brain has to digest all those thoughts and feelings to make them communicable. Here's hoping I don't just suck and am actually boring and dull and the moments of excited writing are the exception rather than the norm. But how could that be? I'm nearing my 300th post. I'm writing better and more than I have before. I'm reading more than I ever have. I listen more. Yes, that's it; the quiet times are when I'm listening.

Event

You are all invited to attend Folio Friday.

Every Friday I will be posting a piece of fiction.

Sometimes a single short story.

Sometimes a piece of something larger that will carry over into next week.

Bring cake for yourself to eat while you read.

Or have a glass of wine.

The best thing about this event is that you don't need to worry about RSVPing,

Or really, attending in general.

I will never know.

So you can save your good excuses for that annoying co-worker party,

Or the neighborhood kiddy birthday.

However, if you want to attend (meaning: read), I will be taking suggestions.

For example: write about divorce/family/mothers/giraffes.

Stuff like that.

I love having a jumping off point from which my mind can wander.

What Happened?

Life is strange.

I haven't written and haven't written. What have I been spending all my time on?!? Not much. Just a lot of dancing and eating. Work is good; busy and fulfilling. Life is good -- although I must admit that I have a total flaw: when transitions happen, I throw all my good habits out the window. If I held on to said habits (like daily writing and running and eating healthy) the stress levels in my life would probably be much much lower. But I'm human and destined to be flawed.

And a couple weeks ago I started receiving emails from my blog. From people commenting. And I mean people that I don't know in real life. Say what? Yes, strangers are reading this blog now. Of course, they've probably stopped because I haven't written word one for nearly two months. But get this: I have 15 followers. How exciting. And can I just say -- thank you, new readers. I don't know where you came from or how you found me but I think you're all lovely. And I hope you keep reading because you've encouraged me to keep writing. I've pulled myself from the new-house, new-job, new-everything slump (if you can even call that a slump ...) and I'm here; pouring out heart and soul again.

My mind is filled with all the things I haven't told you.
Allow me to regurgitate a bit:

• I am a tubby ballerina right now. I keep trying to lose weight -- well, half-ass trying. Must try harder.
• I have performances coming up at the end of next week. We're doing the Sleeping Beauty waltz (just beautiful) and Alice in Wonderland, in which I wear a pink dress and an anteater head. Don't ask, you must come and see for yourself.
• I love my new house. I just bought an as-is changing table @ Toys R Us for $30 smackers. We don't have a baby; it's for the kitchen. Lacking shelves, I needed a quick, cheap fix. Hooray for innovation.
• I need to read more. I've been meaning to buy "Ship of Brides" because I hear it's fantastic but no such luck yet. Also, my most favorite person in the world has sent me her latest installment in her novel and I haven't had a chance to read it to pieces.
• I need to finish up my mom's blanket. I believe this has been on my "to do" list every month for a couple years. Must try harder.
• I need to straighten out the following things: our change of address (which is still not processing), Tom's auto-payment for his student loan, the Comcast bill (those fuckers are trying to charge me WAY too much money), and I need to find out how to make a fabric strip shag rug for the kitchen. Anyone?
• I need more time. I rush home from work at 2:30 PM, take the puppy for a walk, if it's not too hot, then go to ballet, home by 7:00 and then I just veg out. I've got to max out my time-potential. Right now I'm spending far too much time in front of the television and not enough doing stuff. Although I must say, television is very good right now. Hell's Kitchen is on, as well as So You Think You Can Dance, Big Brother starting any day now, brand new season of Entourage ... well, when I say "good" I mean entertaining.
• Speaking of TV, I've been wanting to watch this HBO Documentary series called "The Alzheimer's Project" but haven't gotten around to it (story of my life). But I happened to catch a section of it today and it almost makes me glad for my laziness. It was incredibly sad. This particular piece covered the caretakers of Alzheimer's patients and it made me cry several times.
• Before I forget, does anyone know if it is bad for a dog to eat bamboo sticks? We have a large bamboo plant in the backyard and the puppy gnaws on them all the time! I'm afraid she'll ruin her teeth or block her digestive system. 

More to come. And thank you for reading.

Getting What You Want

Yeah, let's talk about being happy. Let's talk about what it means to "get what you want" and the struggle to get. Let's talk about materialism, in all its glory, and let's talk about the meaning of life.

I will open the discussion.

I ate expired soup today. Why was it expired? I have no idea -- apparently when you stuff your face with anything and everything for a two month period you skip over 100 calorie soup. Then it just sits in your pantry and goes bad. But I ate the soup, and I ate it with the looming date of November 29th 2009 heavy in my belly, and I started thinking about my life. I have so much food in my house that we literally NEVER run out. Even when we have "nothing to eat" there is PLENTY to eat. Plenty. This abundance of food makes me ponder the relevance of being on a diet, because to me, being on a diet is essentially waste. I eat smaller portions, true, but I also have to let rampant amounts of food go bad because I just didn't have the caloric allowance to eat that cantaloupe or eggplant or cheese pizza. And apparently, 100 calorie soup.

What is the point of dieting, anyway? I'm a small person. I look fairly decent clothed and not too scary naked. But to our current society "being on a diet" is like saying "I'm cool." Because it means you have self control and a life good enough that you can complain about eating TOO much. And in my mind dieting is synonymous with materialism. Even though you're doing the exact opposite (saying "no more" as opposed to gathering more and more objects) you are showing a certain lavishness, a certain type of fabulosity that only translates to being thin=more clothes=fashionable. It's a strange cycle that in a natural world could not exist but we live in a world with 9 year old twinkies and cheese from a can and diabolical corn breakdowns.

I'll tell you why I diet. Because I want to be thin and because I want to be healthy. Way healthier than is really necessary for my desk job, but nevertheless, I strive towards seeing a beautiful model-thin self in the mirror. This is not to say that I'm not happy with myself; I am. I'm truly thrilled with the way I turned out. I was a very insecure tween but somehow I blossomed and never looked back. I learned at a young age that mistakes were forgivable and that changes could be made and you could rise triumphant as whatever you wanted. I accept my flaws as challenges -- something to continuously strive to make better. And also, something to laugh about with my friends and commiserate with them. Flaws, after all, make us human and not divine. Who wants to be perfect? It's probably dreadfully boring. What do you DO each day if you can't work towards a better life and a better self? And it's fun to use your inner-eye and speculate on the future; the future can't be different or better if everything is already Utopian.

But when does the "fun" striving-for-change switch to "my life isn't good enough" and crushing waves of inadequacy? I'm not really sure. I'll be sure to let you all know when I get there. But I can see how it is easy to start thinking more about the getting and not about the here and now. Life, to me, is a two act play happening simultaneously. Act One is now, Act Two is the future. You can't enjoy the story, the journey, the plot, unless you watch Act One -- because otherwise you won't know what the fuck is going on. You won't know the characters, you won't understand their development, you won't, basically, like the show. And if the show is YOUR LIFE ... don't you want to like it? So in order to like it you've got to watch Act One.

My Act One consists of struggling with my weight and my puppy and my marriage and ballet and my career and my family and my mind and my writing and ... so many things. But. The point is -- I'm enjoying the NOW and looking forward to the future, the impossibly bright and hopeful future that will be everything it's supposed to be if I can just sit still through Act One. So I'm not going to become too bogged down by my inadequacies, and I'm not going to obsess too much about the sugar cookie I ate for breakfast yesterday, and I'm not going to worry about the job I don't have and the money I don't make, and I'm not going to stress about the people that don't like me.

Scarlett said it best: "I'll think about that tomorrow."

And today I'll think about all the good things in my life:

A family I love,

My husband and best friend rolled into one,

A puppy to cuddle,

Friends I can rely on,

New challenges,

And a full pantry.

Not-So-Busy Worker Bee

I've been busy doing too much thinking and not enough doing. And that means that I haven't been writing as much as I should because my head is too full of the ideas I should be putting into my application. (Yes, I'm going to apply for yet another job. I hope I get this one because I reeeeaaally want this one.)

What I hate most is that I'm not actually doing anything more; I just have more to think about. I'm back on my diet, that means lots of thinking about what to eat and what not to eat (exhausting). I've got to finish my application for this new position. IF I get this position I've got to decide if I'm going to apply for graduate school. I'm working on my novel -- so that's floating around in my wee head too. I have work crap to do and all the regular day to day stuff. This is one of my worst qualities. I become paralyzed by my own brain. My mind is thinking thinking thinking and it stops me from DOING. I try to organize my busy thoughts with lists and lists and lists. But it doesn't work. In order to combat the full head I try to empty it with constant entertainment; books on tape, tv, movies, music. And all the while what would really help the most is some goddamned silence but I won't give it to myself. I just keep half-assing everything, spilling out just enough from my over-crowded noggin to keep from exploding.

It took considerable effort to write this lame and scattered post. Help!

Week in Review

1. Found out I didn't get the promotion -- but that's okay.
2. Finished ALL the laundry.
3. Looked fabulous *almost* every day.
4. Ate too much -- must do better.
5. Wrote too little -- must do better.
6. Finished getting over my annoying cold.
7. Bought the cutest rice cooker.
8. Ran errands for my mom -- that made me feel young again.
9. Danced the night away.
10. Celebrated being in love.

Not "New Year's" Goals

I want to TRY and do some things this year. They are not goals. I refuse to call them a goal because then I will inevitably fail because I will place the "goals" on the shelf of "tomorrow" and never complete them. Like last year. Plus, I think when you make it a goal you make it a job. And I already have one of those. These are more like self-improvement, make-yourself-more-interesting-to-yourself things. I call them things, not goals.

So in order to prevent hate and loathing of self, here are the THINGS ...

Become a ballerina again
Find a suitable penpal
Write a lot
Cook more
Eat less
Go running
Get promoted
Get into graduate school
Learn to play the cello -- cellos are awfully sexy

Where is My Avis?

I wish I had a penpal.

When I was younger I was a TERRIBLE penpal. But now I'm grown and I think I would enjoy the old fashoned-ness of it. I have a typewriter that my husband has tried to throw away several times. But I continue to protest. I cite here my many uses:

Poetry comes out better on a typewriter

I enjoy the hum of the motor ... or whatever makes an electric typewriter run

I like the deliberate process of typing on the keys
I like the crooked letters

I like to press the shift key

If I had a penpal, I could write lovely letters and then sign my name at the bottom. In pen.

Typing on a computer is not the same. You can backspace, you can type nearly as fast as your thought process, you can delete entire sections and paste them somewhere else. When you type on a typewriter you think hard. You can't just spit out pages and pages of garbage because a: you're slow, garbage doesn't come out AS MUCH when you're typing slower and b: that would be a waste of trees. My granny had a typewriter and I would practice typing on it, playing secretary when I was stuck at her house for weeks at a time during my summers off of school. When Grandpa died and I found his old blue typewriter, I lunged for it. Old Blue comes in its own carrying case. It smells dusty and delicious, like thoughts and fingers and years of words. How could I ever throw it out?

But I should take advantage of it. I really just need to plug it in and start writing letters. Just boring stuff, the day to day of life. In Jane Austen's time letter writing was like an Olympic sport. It's time for me to participate. I'm going to pick a random address in some nice town in Anywhere, USA and mail a letter. I will describe myself and tell my new friend that I am searching for my own Avis. If they want to be my Avis, all they need do is respond. Avis was Julia Child's penpal. She accidentally mailed a letter to her and they started corresponding. They became such good friends; Avis was the one who helped Mastering the Art of French Cooking get published. The best thing about a penpal is the waiting. Waiting by the mailbox in hopes of a letter coming. And getting to know someone a little at a time. I tend to get so excited when I meet someone that I just go BLAH and tell them everything about me in two point eight seconds. Then I become the bore I really am and they don't want to talk to me ever again. With a penpal, you have to go slow and they probably won't find out what a snooze I am for at least a year. Wow. I am so excited. Now, I know that it will probably take several tries before I receive a response and actually GET a penpal. But this is as good a start as any.

Next, I'm going to work at bringing back formal dinner parties. Who's with me?

Adversity

Dear Friend:

Thank you for
making me strong,
making me interesting,
making me adventurous.

Because of you
I will have a life
full of sadness,
full of disappointment,
full of anger.

But because of you
I will have a life,
full of love,
full of triumph,
full of peace.

Again, thank you.

What Procrastination Means to Me

I am a procrastinator in my personal life. @ work -- never. But when it comes to my own goals, I am always late and running behind.

I have ample examples:

*My niece just turned three. I was supposed to make her a baby quilt.

*I have a half finished afghan for my mother ... that was supposed to be given to her 2 Christmases ago.

*A quilt for my bed, 3/4 finished, sits in the closet.

*The whites are still in the dryer waiting to be folded and put away.

*I paid $17 in late fees @ the library.

*My car receives an oil change every 5,000 miles.

*I still haven't bought Christmas presents for my friends.

*This blog. Only 36 posts last year. What a disappointment.

I suppose I delay things because I am a leisurely sort of person when not at work. I like naps and eating in bed and watching tv with my puppy and husband. And the nagging disappointment in myself? I can push that aside, too. However, it's a new year, and while I like to put-off self-assigned tasks, I also am a fan of self-betterment. So.

I will finish projects.

I will love my loved ones more than ever.

I will write and write and write

... and perfection be damned,

I will still procrastinate.

Use Your Words

I would rate my ability to speak and understand the English language as 'moderately high' to 'high.' And even then, I'm sometimes stunted by my vocabulary. Words are the best way to describe something, a feeling, a moment, but my words don't seem to do justice.

I've just finished reading 'The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.' Edgar is a young boy born mute. He is obsessed with the dictionary. He loves words and their sounds and meanings. He revels in naming the puppies on the farm, trying to find the exact and perfect word. He succeeds where I fail. And he is fictional. Of course, the author of Edgar's story is magical. He weaves a story of beauty and fascination unlike anything I have read in a long while. In particular, the words. Words fill my head all day; which is the most true description of a person, place, or thing? But most often I feel like a mute. Unable to express myself the way I want, constantly searching for the perfect word.

The other day my niece asked me "aren't 'plan' and 'idea' the same thing?" What an interesting question. Merriam-Webster says: idea - a plan for action; something imagined or pictured in the mind; a central meaning or purpose. plan - a drawing or diagram showing the parts or details of something; a method for accomplishing an objective. So it would seem from the definitions that an idea could be a plan and vice versa, but the subtle nuance of difference in the meaning of the two words is fascinating to me. And that's why finding the perfect words is a neverending quest. And why I keep writing.

A Note

Dear Blogger:

I hate your formatting. Sometimes I have to re-post and re-post in order to get the spacing exactly the way I want it. Is this, or is it not, MY BLOG? If I say I want a break after each paragraph, I fucking mean it. Shape up or ship out. Let's not let our friendship fall apart because you're an occasional piece of shit.

Turns Out...

...I'm alive after all.

After taking a break,

which came from nowhere,

I am back to here,

wherever here is.

Why the absence?

No idea.

Had love, had friends,

had happy.

Perhaps just preparing

for something new.

Stick around

for the plunge.

Changes

Well, Tom's job is changing and he will have different days off than me for a little while (hopefully) if not permanently (hopefully not). So, I've got to think of some fun hobbies for me to start up on my days off whilst he's away at work so that I don't a) eat the house; b) sleep away the day; or c) spend all our money. Because, you see, I get incredibly bored without anything to do or anyone to do things with. Here are some of the things I'm thinking about taking up in hopes of continually bettering myself and learning a new skill.

• a painting class
• cello lessons
• piano lessons - again
• a ballet class
• pottery

Here are some of the downsides to any of these options.

• I don't know how to paint and am a horrible artist
• I do not own a cello and I can't really see how this skill set would produce anything worthwhile for quite some time
• I already know how to play the piano and I don't think my teeny tiny hands are going to grow in the next litte while
• I am way out of 'dance' shape -- like WAY
• I can't think of any negatives, per se, of pottery, just that it was last on the list because it was the last thing I thought of, which must mean something...

Despite the potential shortcomings of any of these choices, I must choose one. Because I must prevent overeating, overspending, and oversleeping, as aforementioned. Of course, maybe it would be best to just lose myself somewhere and write all day. Hmm, I hate it when things change and the inevitability of choice enters the equation once again. Routine can be so comforting - but I guess I should just kick my own ass into gear.

Lacking Ambition

I often worry that I'm not doing enough with my person. Like, I should be getting ready to do something uber fantastic, and sometimes the fear that I am not doing -- or not even close to doing that something -- grabs me and renders me useless. I am a classic overachiever; I always take on too many projects, finish few, but do well on the ones I do finish. I worked a full-time job (40+ hours per week) while taking 17 credit hours each semester which made it possible for me to graduate with a BA in English after 2 years. As a teenager I did 2 hours of ballet 3 times a week, as well as play rehearsal, and choir - all while maintaining honor roll status. When my mom was sick my senior year of High School, I added the role of 'mother' to my repertoire to care for my brother. This included transferring him from one babysitter to another on my lunch, picking him up after school, dropping him off at 5am before I had drill team practice, and still keeping up my extracurricular activities like drill team, dance company, theatre, choir, and so on. I can take on a lot of responsibility. And it doesn't kill me -- it only makes me stronger.

I feel like I'm running to live up to the potential that was instilled in me at a young age. And it's not that I resent that feeling, rather, it pushes me. That feeling is what makes me ME. It makes me get out of bed after only 5 or 6 hours of sleep. It makes me work harder than other people. It makes me think faster. It makes me more creative. Most importantly, it makes me reach further and further for that invisible goal line. But I hate the feeling that I'm falling behind. I'm 25. Shouldn't greatness be coming my way already?

I guess all this blah blah blah is coming from a vague mid-twenties crisis. I like my job; it pays well and I love the people I work with. But it does not fulfill my need for "it" (whatever that may be) and I find myself longing for fame and fortune. This year I am supposed to write a novel. I have already started it, but I am scared to keep writing because completion will mean that potential (more like, inevitable) failure is just around the corner. Everyone says, "I want to write a book" but that doesn't mean they have anything interesting to say or that they can write worth a damn. Besides, writing a book seems so cliche, right? The chances of being the next "great" are so slim, models are envious.

BUT. The beginning of the year is the time to cast aside all doubt and plunge headfirst into bettering one's self. I intend to better my writing by writing writing writing and reading reading reading. If I want to be the next "great," I believe that I can will myself to become it. I can do anything, except open my own jars...

Resolved

Resolutions for 2009 -- in no particular order.

1. weigh 105 pounds
2. finish writing a novel of fiction
3. start writing a novel of non-fiction
4. write a book of poems
5. write every day
6. read every day
7. run a marathon
8. work on my correspondence
9. travel
10. finish projects from 2008
11. organize the mail
12. take ballet classes

Wish me luck.