“It is in his pleasures that a man really lives, it is from his leisure that he constructs the true fabric of self.”

The above title is a quote from Dinty Moore’s Craft book, as said by Charles Lamn and Sir Walter Scott in a contemplative essay by Agnes Repplier.

In the middle of acquiring two new Fashion Product description clients—thanks guys, I’m looking forward, I took a moment to breathe, and look at my pretty frikkin pup:

You gave me a treat-treat now shoo yourself away

She’s adorbs. My absolute love.

O, and about the size of my cordless phone (but 2 lbs, 10 ounces) and full-grown.

She keeps thinking she’s a bulldozer when she barks, so I got her the perfect t-shirt today.

She's BOSSY. She's the first girl to scream at the motorcycle!

 And then, if I didn’t jump out of my heartbeat enough looking at her cuteness—

she decided she didn’t wanna be photogenic for her Mom this afternoon.

No Mom, I'm just not gonna look, I'm just not gonna

Often, I think she’s even smarter than I am; just look at this face—studious.

Now if she can just get these edits done for me all will be well.

Mom's Gyrrrl

How ‘Bout Now?

Notebook in her bunny suit pajamas

2 lbs. 10 ounces of pure feist, and I love every second of her. No, no one ever promised this life would be a piece of cheesecake, nor did they promise me an abundance of healthy days. It happens, that in the best of my denial, I’m still sick. Still, unchanged.

Doesn't the little bunny suit look adorable?

But on most days, when I look at my beautiful little fluffy sass and my son, I smile. I wonder when I’ll get a break? When the good part is gonna happen? When won’t it be such a thick pill(s) to swallow? Why is it me? How come it’s so difficult to enjoy the now?

What's up?

I wonder when the faeries are gonna come in and mop my floor? Why Prince Charming starts as himself—then becomes the frog when it’s supposed to be the other way around? How many second opinions I have to get before I believe it?

Why it was effortless for him to rev up and off? In the melee of skirmish scrimmage, why some moments aren’t deemed worthy of face-to-face conversation? Woe the whys of my world. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry before I can say I did the best I could with the lemons I had?

She always catches the camera. He's out.

I’m not shy, I guess, it’s just the butterflies, they’re eating me alive.

All of a sudden, I’m clingy. I caught myself. Usually intimacy creates it, this time—I blame the butterflies.

~~~

I like to call it smothersome. And boy have I had some of this medicine before. I don’t mean the gentlemenly “You look beautiful tonight,” I mean the “I’m going to attempt to kiss you four times in five minutes, come back to check on you, peek-a-boo around the corner-honey is that you, hi, I’m still here… just looking at you, watching you go about your business, studying your eyebrows and then guess what I’m going to do, honey-honey! honey! I’m going to kiss you. Yes, again. Mmmmuah” Seriously, I want to give up on people. [Shake-my-head.]

So what happened you ask? O, besides subtleties? O besides someone that knows how to play the push me once on the swing and let me flap my legs for a bit on my own, then come back and push me slightly—then run when I say “again!” He slips off, then pops up behind me when I’m least expecting it-game. See, it’s the same but quite different. Did I know about it until it hit me? Maybe once or twice before, but it’s very very different. Butterflies are more like dragonflies when you’re an adult. Like the bigger the elephant the harder it falls, maybe?

~~~

Case in point: The other day I was conveniently gossiping about the new cutie patoot. The conversation was getting so interesting, but I had somewhere to go, and I’d already started out too late. I decided it’d be a bright idea to bring my bestie (on the phone) into the shower with me via the cordless phone. I sat the cordless phone alongside the tub and decided to shower with her on speakerphone blasting and bursting with laughter— it went something like:

“Grrrrrrrrl, I know, I know! I know right?! Right!” I continued on explaining to her that I know it’s early, we just met, I know like only a few weeks but I feel (giggles) clingy. Like. I’m human. My emotions are carbonated lava and he likes to kiss five different places on my forehead and then doze off across the bed and pretend I’m not there.

Subtlety, S-O-L-D. Like rose gold. Like a garage sale, everything must go.

I’m smack dab in the middle of confession 101 when my son runs full speed into the bathroom and vehemently bangs and shakes the shower sliding door. I freak the hell out, slip the soap, slop the towel and the cordless phone slides jollily down into the shower water as I fancy a jump-hop-scream AaAAah of terror I’d be electrocuted back into my good sense anyway. I did all of this magicianship stark naked, mind you.

Today I spent $20 replacing the cordless phone battery after having dried it out inside of a plastic bag with a hair dryer like my good ole google-friends told me to.

And yes, and yet, I’m still fighting this, example #2: The other night, I swore North, South, East, West, and upside down that I didn’t like holding hands. It’s funny as soon as you draw a line how much you yearn to blur it. Now all I want is for him to grab for my hand. I want him to take off work and play in the sandbox, pink sand of course. I want him to hold my hand and hold it while he tells me the biggest storybook story with the most enormous imagination. Queue artful silence I like.

And yet, I would very much like him to keep holding my hand. And I guess that makes me clingy. Or irksome. Or what I’d coin as smothersome from some folks in my past in which I shall not name. Ah, the other foot is so hard to wear. I suppose I’d rather be slightly ornamental—sniffing him in like the tip of a permanent marker. Because what does it say about someone who doesn’t have an ounce of overdose in their blood? Someone without that race in their genetic make-up? That she sticks to no one? Or that she sticks to everyone? Or that she’s unemployable? I sorta dig long-term. Sigh SMH again.

~~~

He got really quiet the other night, and I pouted, well, because, well, you see actually … I just wanted his undivided attention.

How absolutely OUT of character of me.

I guess it’s just the butterflies, they’re eating me alive.

Happy Birthday Lalanii!

I dunno what she’s gonna do when I fold and put away the clean laundry…

               perhaps it’s a reason not to.

 

Also its my birthday today!!!!

So in love

I will say she’s the happiest little gizmo in the world!

And why does she stick her tongue out at me? So spoiled rotten… ah, back to work.

It’s all just a mosaic, when you seem to be losing

You haven’t heard from me because ahhh, I’m battling a few things. It’s all just a mosaic, you know when you seem to be losing.

I finished the tangerine and cerulean colored mosaic heels and they are for sale. $50 or best offer– originals. And they are gorgeous. Email me if you’d like more information about them. Light pink carnations, beige babies, bare yellow, and money green ones will be available soon.

A 25 page critical paper— I seem to be losing, but with fighting mentors in my corner I’ll be fine. Thanks Terry Wolverton and Robert Fox!

Memoir is pulling along… I’ve coined the term: Juno meets Eat.Pray.Love. with a lot of Sex and mistakes. I cannot believe the rough draft is almost complete. Thanks to Alistair McCartney for line by line edits when my brain wakes up empty.


My new little princess is getting acclimated. As you can see in this post, she goes on her pad without any trouble. She is housebroken in a week and a half, although you can tell by the pictures, she has no idea that she is indeed a puppy— she is certain that she’s a human.

I’m submitting, so far two rejections. I cried at first. What if I don’t have tough enough skin for a form rejection—email? Lol.

I really am doing some spring cleaning, trying to have less sick days and more healthy days.

O, and mini me, got a bad report card. So I’m dealing with that. Apparently he’d rather be cute, than intelligent…conversation went like this:

Me: So which subjects are hard for you, honey, because maybe we can get you some tutoring or some type of help?

Son: None of them.

Me: So what you’re saying is none of the subjects pose any difficulty, nonetheless, you have succeeded in bringing me home by far the worst report card in your eleven year old history? (I’ve heard if you rephrase the question you may warrant a different response)

Son: {Quiet stare down at his wrist— which reads in red ink I LOVE GIRLZ)

Me: What the?? (looks down, shakes head)

All of his privileges have been revoked until further notice and I’ve added chores. So THIS explains my lack of focus, I suppose. I am participating in April’s Poem a day, but I’m not posting them because they’re all going in for this contest.

Heaven is… taking time for yourself

I am juggling so many things that I’ve decided to take a little time off to:

  • submit, submit, submit
  • complete critical paper
  • work on re-doing a few annotations/3 new ones
  • finish my discussions
  • write chapters 9 and epilogue of memoir!!! Ahhhhh!
  • edit memoir
  • attempt to slow down and enjoy, hope for good health

Thanks to everyone who emailed about my writing, and for everyone who encourages me to work harder and get better! I love you!

I’m going to get some fresh air!

Minding my business

Lots of news today…

  • My baby notebook is eating her food! Yes, my lovelies she’s eating (not being picky) and she’s gotten an immune booster shot and improving. Yes, the breeder says she’s even playful. I love those people.
  • I’m trying not to panic: catching up on my reading, reading, reading.
  • Scheduled an interview and excited about a meeting with my mentor.
  • Doing lots of research and starting to feel a little better after fleeting sickness last night and this morning.

Sick it is

“Three-quarters of the sicknesses of intelligent people come from their intelligence. They need at least a doctor who can understand this sickness.” -Marcel Proust

I’ve been sitting here all morning trying to understand why everything happens all at once. My 1.8 lb. puppy is sick. Perfectly fine the other day, today, she’s sick… I took her back to the breeder again yesterday. Apparently tiny dogs get hypoglycemia… and she is of the tiniest. And me? I’m the same… I feel so sick. Big boaty loads of homework is due, some of which I haven’t started, and all I can do is… obsess over what’s not done, and apparently panic about it. Not to mention the pain, woe me and my condition. There’s some odd itchy rash on my cheek- I’m attributing to my eczema that’s apparently aggravated during stressful times. Yippee me! If I were in better spirits I would give you all a mouth full of more… but I’ve heard a few times that if you don’t have anything good to say…

So for now. A picture of my sickly puppy:

I’ve tried everything to lift my spirits lately, even adopting a puppy… to no avail. I get the short stick. I had to call my own doctor again this morning at 6 A.M. We’re on a first name basis at this point. I guess I gotta agree with Jackie Mason who said “It’s no longer a question of staying healthy. It’s a question of finding a sickness you like.”

Playing Possum?

Have you ever had an experience, or finally attained something you’d wanted for so long– something that you thought would initially bring you so much joy, and it only gave you the opposite? And yet you couldn’t do anything else except still long for that aching joy?

Well my little newborn “notebook” kept me up all night. I bought her a playpen, toys, food, water—the doggie aka doll aka Queen of the house, was running me by her itty bitty little paw. When I left the room, I could hear a slight whimper… I couldn’t stand it for once second. I’d race back in the room to greet my little pup only to find that she’s quiet the second I’d pick her up.

This went on and in the middle of the night I could stand it no more… I picked her up and moved her fuzzy blanket and cushion onto my bed. The beautiful puppy falls asleep. She woke up at 3:30AM and used the bathroom by herself (on her puppy pad-impressive) at the edge of my bed where it wasn’t supposed to be. She then walked back to her warm spot sassily, curved herself-up – and went back to sleep… very daintily. I finally drift off too.

Notebook woke up this morning without wanting to eat anything. I gave her vitamins and water, and she was playful for a bit, but not much.  I rushed to the Petco for something–anything that will help her. After I explain her extremely small size, the guy offers me goat milk. I run out with it, some baby food, and a baby bottle. I figured if she wasn’t eating it was because of her lack of teeth, or interest in the food. After I feed her the baby bottle filled with maybe an ounce, she kept trying to go to sleep– which was when I noticed her limp, her trip over her own feet twice–within her limping, and her overall weakness.

I call the breeder immediately and rush over there within an hour. On the 405 I notice Notebook can no longer hold her head up by herself. I begin to speak to her,

“Notebook hi sweet girl, you’re okay, you’re okay…”

Her eyes roll back into her head, I swerve to the side of the road in shock, and I begin screaming, singing, pleading with Notebook to be ok. After she grew immune to the sweetness in my voice-

I barked.

Yes, I barked, it opened her eyes and woke her up… (and yes she had to stay alive… for the breeder to see how sick she was to fix her, I was desperate.)

I barked again, it caught her attention more… I even impersonated mad fighting dog barks.

I finally saw through her doggie travel kennel that she’d keeled over inside. I began barking loudly and crazily… as fast, random, and ridiculous as I could get.

I barked to keep Notebook awake. I barked for 40 minutes until we got there as I sped along the freeway. Yes I barked, and it was quite the sight, sound. Once I arrived… I discovered, that apparently my teacup Maltese likes to eat … cat food. The guy had to imagine I was ridiculous because Notebook seemed fine after a few licks of the cat food. She had been either “really picky with her food,” or just “playing possum”.  At least now I’ll know that I’ll have to slowly mix in the cat food with the other dry food. I just hope she’s ok.

I miss her because I had to leave her there for “checking up” and overall well-being.

%d bloggers like this: