In response

I sit here, another stupid crisis averted, listening to music picked from a long-loved playlist by the one I love, reeling from being human and from being here, now.

My life rocks, that's the mantra.

But dayum, how it throws for a loop once a while.  As in, today.

Let's jus say my blood pressure is now in check, meds are ordered, the panic and pressure that has gripped me for months straight is alleviated, and I'm not feeling anxious to the point of being nauseated anymore.

That happened TODAY.

I think of this as I hear many of my favorite songs being broadcast from our local radio station (WTHP, if you must know), and you know what?  I'm treatable.  This thing is a thing, my body doing stuff I don't understand and never will, that I ("I") can make decisions about and plan for. 

The past few months of being a scared slave of what was going on?  DONE.  I don't care how embarrassing it is, I'm facing it, not hiding from it anymore. Fat?  DONE WITH THAT.  High blood pressure? TREAT THAT SHIT.  Funked-up thyroid?  MEDICINE ME!

My youth I spent recklessly and happily, so the rest of life, I assume and claim,  I will pay forward in taking care of this life I have been given.

In other words - My demons, I will slay you.

Much girding of loins to come.   Also, strapping on of sneakers and meditations to yodel.

Process, begun.

I think I'll have another.

guess who?

This whole notion of 'getting back to writing' is tougher than I thought.  One day goes by without committing thought to electron, then another, and then a week, and there you go creating a wasteland of nothing but nothing.

'Nothing' isn't very entertaining or informative.  'Nothing' is what teens and angry spouses say when asked 'what's wrong?'  You KNOW that 'nothing' isn't the right answer, but to get more out of a recalcitrant mind is harder than diamonds.  DOING nothing, on the other hand, is easy; you just let time slip by without executing on anything and the nothing takes care of itself.

And that is no way to live, doing nothing.  Unless it's a rainy Saturday afternoon and all the chores are done.  Then nothing is fine. Hey - every rule has its exception.

So, what HAVE I been up to?  What has happened in the world to excite me?  What gigantic idea have I had that spurs me on to communicate with you?

Nothing.

:)

Oh, the regular exciting things are happening - wars, kidnapping, buildings collapsing on thousands of underpaid garment workers, paychecks, stock markets skyrocketing, that sort of thing, but you already KNOW that.  My days of providing commentary on that sort of thing are (largely) over, because it's likely that others will have gotten to that first and better.

Turning then to the 'what's going on with Tiff today?' front, well, today I got a grocery bag in the mail, another Bed Bath and Beyond coupon arrived in the mail too, Biff's birthday was Wednesday, Thing 2 turns 16 in less than 2 weeks, the lawn needs to be moved, we're out of the 'good' cereal, laundry has to be folded that sat in a pile for a week, we're cat-sitting this weekend, my hair (when wet and therefore straight) now reaches my waist, the living room is partially drywalled, I won tickets to go see Carol Burnett on Sunday, the Wake Forest Cemetery tour is tomorrow so come out and see me there talk about Samuel Wait (the first president of Wake Forest College!), and I don't regret for a minute having the trees 'topped' a couple of months ago.

And I planted a foxglove.

That about covers it.  Which, of course, isn't really 'nothing' at all, but lots and lots of little things that don't crack the 'I need to write about this' seal, but I just did and you just read it.

What would YOU write about if you still kept up your blog, or what ARE you writing about if you still do?  Curious minds want to know, and so do I.

Tiff out.

It's a fun place, really.

Pretty good dancer.

Two things you don’t hear a lot of in the cube farm: singing and children.  They are so unusual that when you DO hear them it’s a pretty remarkable day.  So, I’d just like to take a moment to remark that someone just swung through our corner of Cubeland, humming loudly and continuously, all the way back down the hall from whence he came.

Vibrato and everything.

And it was a man, which makes it doubly remarkable!

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Other notes from the funny farm:

We can’t print out SOPs.  Kind of makes it hard to use them that way, wouldn’t you agree?

We have to take out our own trash.  No more of this high-faluting garbage removal service for US!  In protest, I recently left my trash to fester for a while.  This was a mistake.  I came in to work one day and it smelled like a crime scene.  Now I dutifully take my trash to the bin every day I’m here, like a good little drone.

There’s been a hand towel draped around the plumbing of one of the ladies’ toilets for well over a month now.  I think it was put there to absorb a small leak, but it seems that he leak is fixed and there the towel still sits, dry as a bone, purposeless.  I almost want to throw it out in the rain and give it something to do.

They served the same pasta 3 days in a row this week.  Once with peanuts thrown on top.  OF PASTA.  Some things are just wrong, café people, and that was one of them.

I am happy to have the free coffee from the nice Franzia machine, but do get a little frustrated with it because it only fills the paper cup up about halfway.  Which actually is pretty good, because the coffee that comes out is so blingin’ hot that I always add a half a cup of cold tap water to the beverage before even attempting to drink it.  An improvement might just be to turn the heating down and the volume up, but that’s just me being persnickety, I’m sure.

So far the little little rubber mouse thingie has popped off my computer keyboard, the DVD wants to fling itself open at regular intervals, a little plastic ‘something’ keeps wanting to break free and snag my shirtsleeves, Word is being as balky as a gaseous mule, and I’m pretty sure there’s a pound of lunch crumbs wedged into the keyboard.  What’s the state of YOUR favorite computing gadget?

I hardly ever play with the toys in my cube.  Poor Woody and Buzz and The Hulk, so lonely.  I’m sure the kaleidoscope would like to be picked up every once in a while, and the black sheep, plush E. coli, and Snowman-with-a-dish-towel-as-a-belly are likely to want a good squeeze, but I don’t.  I just offer them my back as I sit here, plunked like a pumpkin, in front of the computer doing work-ish things, a dullard and buffoon, a paycheck slave, a bag of water and wind watching the clock edge ever so slightly forward to quitting time.

(*blink*)

THAT turned soul-crushing, didn’t it?  Well, let’s spring off that topic like a fuzzy baby lamb and bounce on over to happy thoughts and the bright shiny promise of a wonderful weekend!

Y’all be sure to rock it like you mean it,

Tiff out.

Scented hankies and the search for the inevitable

Typical dorm room.

The college tour was a pretty good time last Saturday.  Did you know that many colleges are situated in area that are regarded as scenic and therefore have some rolling-type topography?  Certainly the college we visited fit this bill. Did you also know that during the tour the student guides like to use all the stairs available on campus rather than taking the more leisurely and knee-friendly ramps?

You do now.

By the end of our short time there my left knee was shooting pains so sharp they were almost cutting my pants.  Sh*t, that makes me feel old.

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Last band concert of the year last night, and Thing 1’s last HS band concert ever.  Hard to believe we’re starting up with the ‘lasts’ already.  None of his friends seem to be overly sentimental about it, probably because they’re guys.  I can’t really get him interested in doing much of anything celebratory for graduation, and the couple of other seniors’ moms I’ve talked with say the same thing.

Shoot – when I graduated I was making plans to go to the beach for a week with a group of friends and acquaintances.  How our parents let us do that I’ll never know, but do it we did and had a pratty dang good time.

From what I remember of it.

Now though?  While I mentioned the beach thing and it sounds like it would be cool, I’m a little behind the curve and haven’t even started looking and who knows if his friends would go and isn’t that something they’re supposed to organize for themselves anyhow?  Moms throw parties, ‘the gang’ throw PARTIES.

I can’t let this go by without SOME kind of celebration, because my WORD there were times during his school career I didn’t think he’d make it this far.  Academics and Thing 1 are not on the very best of terms, (*Cough*) so I'm happy he's made it this far and on time.

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On another note: the living is almost stripped to the studs.  Biff has been dong some mighty mighty work in there on nights and weekends – no rest for the wicked, I suppose.  I take care of making dinner and filling glasses and not much else.  Oh, I can pull a nail or 2 and lug things around, but once the power tools come out I’m as scarce as hen’s teeth.  This is no way to build an empire, I’m aware of that.

Our chirpy little designer is coming by again tonight to get another infusion of cash and dispense with the advice now that were utterly and completely changed our plans since we last met 2 weeks ago.  Truth be told, I think Biff’s a little sweet on her and just wants to do a little ogling, which is of course why I let him pay for her services.  J  She is kind of darling…   Anyhow, the gist of this visit is to ensure our original color choice is still good and what she would suggest for trims and mouldings and such now that nearly everything is out of the room.  It’s a dang blank canvas in there now – the possibilities are nearly endless.

So, that’s the QotD: should a semi-respectable middle-aged lady plan to include some blacklights in her living room’s new lighting scheme?  If not that, then what SHOULD go in there?  Remember, BLANK SLATE.

Tiff out.

Today, it’s all about couscous

Not really.  While I like couscous, it’s not something you can build a post on.

Now RICE, on the other hand...

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Thing 1 is about to graduate high school.  His cap and gown hang in his closet, brilliant blue and fresh, to be worn once and once only and put away until, most likely, it's forgotten and abandoned.

Senior portraits have been ordered and received and need to be distributed to family as a reminder of this milestone and a quick capture of the young man that he was and is – fresh-faced at just 17 years old, full of future.  One pose mimics a photo I still have on my cube wall of him at 18 months old, looking up and to the right, his gorgeous blond curls (at the time of his toddler-hood) replaced by a thick head of brown hair, the same eyes, seeking.  I ordered those photos, even though they’re not the most ‘dudely’ of shots.  I ordered some of him in casual pose, elbows on jeaned knees, grin plastered on face, to up the dude factor and counterbalance my tendency toward maudlinism.

We are going to a college open house this weekend.  To be frank, there is little expectation of him being admitted to this college because he was very late in applying and, well, he’s not the world’s best student.  However, he wants to go and so I will take him and his buddy (who WAS admitted and just wants to visit once more) down to the school early Saturday morning to get a taste of college life and a peek into what that world is like.  Perhaps it will spur him on through his first year of community college and the 24 credit hours he needs to get under his belt in order to transfer into the UNC system of 17 campuses (some of which are NC State, which is odd). 

As we move through this next season of life, it is my most ardent hope that this boy finds his way, his niche, his passion, his purpose.  This mother’s heart yearns on his behalf for a spark of a notion of an interest and drive that will satisfy him and spur him on to a life well lived in satisfaction and reward.  Hell, I know he can find this as a bagger at the Lowe’s Foods or a checker at the Home Depot or as a plumber/mason/electrician/dog trainer and so college as such is not strictly necessary, but he needs some seasoning, some LIFE, before a path is identified and followed.  I’m also aware that that path can be abandoned for some other one, as I did multiple times through my young adulthood; the goal at this point is just to PICK one and get on it.  A little push, a little shove, a little guidance to get him going, at last, is the goal for this coming year. 

I love that kid, am amazed at his generosity and kindness, am hopeful for his future, and am determined to see that he succeeds.  But first, I need to get to the point where thinking of that cap and gown doesn’t nearly bring me to tears.

Tips for how to survive the next few months without embarrassing the crap out of him AND me are much appreciated.

Tiff out.

Not much, how ‘bout you?

This is a hint

I have an idea – how about we all just quit Facebook for a week and go back to blogging?  Wouldn’t that be fun?  I think that would be fun.  We could roam around, commenting like mad and then checking back on those comments to see if anyone else responded, just like in the old days before the new wave of social media trumped our quaint and old-fashioned social medium.

I have a lot of ideas, some of which are good ones.  Could we do this?  Quit FB (except for the games!  Must have the games!) completely and communicate through blogging?

I’mma try it.

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Along those lines, I’ve gotten absolutely HORRIBLE at reading blogs.  I’m sorry for forsaking you.  I was playing Candy Crush Saga on FB, no doubt.

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Oh, and also -  we’re redoing our living room.  That right there should be good for WEEKS worth of hilarity.  Or at least boring photo updates and the occasional gobsmacked exclamation of horror at each new buffoonish construction error we find as we peel back the layers.

Because, really, who NAILS a brick wall to the panelled wall behind it?  And who, for that matter, uses full-sized bricks to cover an ugly wall?

And then, who covers those bricks with a good solid 4-inch-thick layer of WOOD?  That they used entire TUBES of glue on in addition to screws and nails?

Answer: the people who used to live in my house.  I think their last names were Farskalle, Tomppeli, Schafskopf, and Balwan.  Look ‘em up, it will all make sense…

And with that, Tiff out.

It's the 14th of March, you know.

And we all know what THAT means.

Yes we do, ALL of us.  Even that goofy kid with the funny shirt in the corner over there, and the cosplay chick with attention deficit problems, and whoever that is that just walked in the room and smells like pancakes.

ALL OF THEM KNOW WHAT 14 March MEANS!

Do you?

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Yes, I'm talking about 'Pi Day.' Pi Day, and also 'Pie Day' as well!  Two things to celebrate on one day!  MADNESS!!!

 I know what you should do to properly celebrate! Combine the two to turn your life into a fun-filled festival of crazy wackadoodliness!  So out-there!  So inventive!  Cut that Pi(e) with a bat'leth to really get the insider vibe going!  Ooooh, maybe air a few grievances and eat a Cadbury Egg while staring in a mirror and humming 'Tubular Bells' to completely solidify the making of a new tradition.  Be sure to wear a false mustache while doing it, or it's not hipster and therefore good for nothing.

Or, if you're not into hipster so much, you are invited to do like Matilda of Ringelheim did, and sneak off in the middle of the night to pray.

Then start building a gigantic brick building to house abbesses, and get yourself sanctified.

That's MY plan, anyhow.  Hey, it worked for her, and she didn't even have the power of the internet at her fingertips!

Or, maybe I should just  hobn in der linker peye -  not give a hoot about (lit., to have in one’s left side lock; for more on this phrase, seeWeinreich) Pi/Pie day, and go buy stock in this company, then go check up on what this guy's been up to lately. 

Whatever you do to mark this day, be sure to do it randomly.  Because that's what Matilda would want, I'm sure.  Thus, by extension, that's what I want for you.  Randomness.  Much like this post.

Tiff out.