Prickly

I am dangerously prickly and sullen lately. Quick to take offense - and sure to give it. Being known for my rays of sunshine and optimism, this is hard to reconcile! I honked and "gestured" at someone who cut me off (he pulled up next to me and apologized), I refused to engage in an argument with a client and ended up losing his business (not because I was taking the high road...I simply didn't care enough to exert energy on him), and have been randomly glaring at one household child or another (so I am told).  I feel yucky on the inside but don't have enough spunk to commit to a change. 

I need a pep rally or something. I can see it now: Go! Fight! Be nice! 

Bye Little Birdie

Jeremy is a senior this year. I have already grown and graduated a senior child (she graduated from both high school AND college), but this time seems to be different. I am not sure if it's because my daughter insisted on doing everything herself and making sure that I didn't stick my nose in her business, or if it's because I actually understand now what it means for a child to graduate and go on about their life without you. 

I am panicking a little. It's not that I don't want them to have their own lives...it's that I don't want them to have their own lives without me. And yes, I have already inquired: Jeremy will NOT let me attend college with him next year. 

Bummer. Maybe the youngest will.  

A Spring Lament

It's that season-in-between-seasons here in Colorado. Not Winter anymore and not really Spring yet - but almost. It still gets below freezing at night and can snow any given afternoon if there are enough clouds. Even if the forecast says 61 degrees.

We are past the Spring Equinox, and that should mean something!

All it really means to me is that I wore the wrong thing to work again today.

Nom. And more Nom.

I can tell you without a doubt that I will need to take cooking classes before I walk down that aisle again.

In the last 11 years, the percentage of meals prepared by me for me and my little tribe is maybe an optimistic 45%. The percentage of meals prepared by me for me and my sweetheart is around 9%.The rest of our eats have been prepared by fantastic restaurateurs.

While I really enjoy those percentages, I am pretty sure that cooking meals for my man will increase my chances of staying married in the future. I want to have at least a 50% success rate of marriage when it's all told. So far my percentage rate is 0.

How many nights in a row can you serve grilled cheese and tomato soup before it starts getting redundant? Asking for a friend.

What's ya digits?

 First thing out of the box, I would like to share this comprehensive and practical list of  GOOD MANNERS. I am a fan of good manners because I believe it is the easiest way for us to show respect and awareness to others. Plus, I am terrified of seeming rude so having a list to refer to fits me well!

Speaking of fitting me well, I have been studying my Enneagrams pretty intensely for the last few weeks. Last Spring, our health coaches Amanda  and Carrie did a segment study on them using the Enneagram Institute's material. I was hooked! It's like astrology without the dark stigma of occult involvement. I don't even have to confess to my priest when I study the Enneagram! Anyway, our little church did a workshop seminar earlier this year and I discovered that I was actually mistyping (misnumbering? misclassifying??) myself as a strong 2 (who needs to be loved and creates dependency situations with others) when I am actually a 6 (who needs to be valued - I actually run away if someone depends on me too much). I also learned that 6's like to know what all of the rules are (like manners) but chooses when and if they will follow the rules rather mercurially. That makes sense to me! 

What is YOUR number? 

At Eclectic Energies, you can find a smaller and pretty accurate test - it will even give you little bonus information like what your "wing" is. 

I believe my wing is a 7 in case you were wondering. 

That makes me funner and enhances my inability to commit. Wooohooo!

Leftovers

I joined a gym this year. It was supposed to be a body-altering decision, but apparently you actually have to go more than once a week. More than once a month, even!

I love regaling my friends with my gym anecdotes because it usually involves me dropping something while on the treadmill and the absurd chaos that follows whilst I try to do retrievals with grace. (Grace and I are not friends, btdubs. Smooth, Grace and Style have evaded me for years.)

The last time I went to the gym was a little scarring, however. Ever try really hard to engage someone in conversation that doesn't really want you to talk to them anymore?

It's probably because you have eggs and spinach left over from dinner in your teeth. Check yourself before you wreck yourself.  Word to the wise, friends.

More Bread Crumbs

I did a search on my email to see if I could find the name of the Chicago suburb we stayed at when we had our Quitnet International 3D. It was just a piece of trivia that I thought would be an easy find.

I didn't find it. The year was 2007 and there were a whole lot of other emails that year, too. The email listing the itinerary with the town name is a literal needle in the haystack.

What I did find, however, read like an archaeological dig. What a year that was. Who in the world was I, even? I can feel myself slipping back in to that whirlpool of confusion and excitement ...and fear.  Like I have stumbled upon a portal of the Time Between Times. I followed breadcrumb trails through my blog, through my instant messages - even through picture archives I had forgotten about.

Shaking off the swirling emotions is proving difficult. But is that even what I want to do? Maybe my ruminations are designed for a purpose.

One thing that I know for sure: I feel the loss of you keenly. I miss my support system, my tribe of vagabonds and artists and writers and musicians. I wish there was a way to tell some of you that.