So for the past two weeks i've been suffering with the effects of flu. I'm sure any one of you fellow bloggers can attest that that is not a fun situation. Loss of appetite, achy everything, rheumy eyes, consumptive cough, I was sporting a look only a mother could love, and if not a mother, well then a necrophiliac.
Last week was the worst of it - a perfect storm of symptoms converged upon me and pretty much took me out. This week has largely been recovery based. I'm still feeling a bit lethargic, but that beats being afraid to open your eyes because your eyelids hurt. (yes they actually hurt. crazy right?) Of course this all bears out (in technicolor even!) that i am not as young as i used to be. (Hm. Was i ever as young as i used to be? Don't answer that.) A cold typically runs its course in three or four days, i was out of commission for over a week. I pride myself - or used to - on very rarely getting sick, but it seems that thats not the case any longer. Stick a fork in me baby.
The silver lining in all this is that i dropped a sweet 8lbs. Mhmm. Its mostly water weight and probably some muscle :-( but what the hey. I'll worry about the details later. Right now i'm content to get on the scale and see a smaller number. Plus, now that i'm feeling better i can get back to working out in earnest, and i'll have a jumpstart on reaching my (numerical) goal.
But even though i'm on that road to wellsville, i still feel like three day old leftovers. The kind that you've been avoiding but now that there is nothing else to eat, you suck it up and commence to masticating. Wait, that's not just me right? I think my malaise has less to do with the after-effects of being ill, than the fact that its still winter. Enough already! I'm done with cold gray days, the long nights. Its time for daisy dukes and belly shirts! (not really). I'm ready for warmth and greenery and not waking up dreading coming out from underneath the covers.
So what's new with me? Nothing really. This blog has become a personal beethovens fifth in that i struggle with writing in it. I'm still without a mojo, which means my thoughts percolate but the conduit from brain to keyboard to your screen just isn't there. I keep reminding myself that its not that serious, and that blogging is supposed to be fun, but i can't help feeling guilty at the direction this thing has taken. Oh well.
I had turned my ringer off, so it was the vibration that woke me up. It jarred me out of sleep, and i considered ignoring it completely, but my curiosity got the best of me. I picked the phone up, willing my eyes to focus, but before i could clearly read who it was calling me, my thumb slipped across the touchscreen, hitting the answer button, the equivalent of taking the phone off the hook. I had to answer. Still blind, I put the phone next to my ear, hoping against hope that it was --
"Hello..." I said, doing my best to sound wide awake. I have this thing about sounding groggy on the phone. Not that i don't want people to know I sleep, but for some reason sounding sleepy makes me feel vulnerable. Go figure.
"Hey." It was not the voice i wanted to hear. Or a voice i expected to hear in a month of Sundays.
I was quiet.
"Lex?" "Did i wake you? Were you asleep?"
I looked at the clock. 3:35 AM.
"Yes." I said, too stunned to worry about whether that sounded rude or not.
"Sorry. Can i talk to you though?"
And so we talked. The conversation traveled the same roads and encountered the same barriers.
Nothing had changed.
We hung up, him feeling dissatisfied, me feeling drained. Did our interactions always leave me this way? A rhetorical question that i already knew the answer to. A year ago the call would have had me awake for the rest of the night, agonizing over details. A year ago i would have made an effort. Last night, i just went back to sleep.
In keeping with my new dedication to disclosure, I have decided to share with you a recent contretemps that has me questioning my sanity. This is the story of how in one day i transferred from law-abiding tax paying citizen, to doyenne of deceit and reluctant renegade.
In common parlance - a crook.
My saga begins innocently enough. I was in target (my addiction) browsing the aisles. Target and I have an interesting relationship. Its one way. I give and give and give. (my money.) It takes and takes and takes. (my money.) Target is the emotionally distant boyfriend that I should drop, but i keep coming back because maybe this time...
On most occasions when i go, I have no purpose. There is no pressing need that must be filled, or even a want to be indulged. I just like being there. People go to parks and libraries and to the gym to think and meditate - I go to Target. The waxed floors, complete with shopping cart wheel streaks, the unflattering fluorescent lighting. The splashes of red. (i'm sure it has a psychological effect) The smell of Starbucks intermingled with that of leather-"like" goods...all a delightful assault on my senses. Shoot. I'm getting a jones now. To me, target is the equivalent of what cheers was to Norm. The retail counterpart of your favorite local bar. And though they don't know my name (yet) - i'm sure they recognize my face.
I had decided to NOT get a shopping cart this day. Shopping carts spell doom when i am in target. I wind up filling it up with nonsense, and by the time i'm at the checkout counter, i have run up a tab of over a hundred dollars. Consistently. And now that we are in a recession, i can't just be doing that. Gotta make every dollar count.
So, I enter the store thinking about all and sundry. I quickly avert my eyes when i pass by the dollar section. I refused to be enticed by the thrill of buying cheap wares just because they are only a dollar. I have no cart. No basket. Plenty of self control. The women's section beckons me and i go over to see what's poppin. Target is great for making the perfect high-low wardrobe. target t-shirt, tsubi jeans. It works.
I see that Thakoon is the new featured designer (and one of my favorites for his higher end clothing) so i check for his stuff. Nice. I pick up a sleeveless sweater. Perfect for transitioning from winter to spring - whenever that comes (yucky snow outside) I fold it over my arm, and continue to browse. I pick up a tank top (6 dollars!) and saunter over to the underwear section. As much as i like the idea of sexy alluring underwear, it really not my type of hype. Cotton is my preferred fabric. Simple, forgiving and comfortable. They have some cute boy shorts on sale so i pick some up. I hold them in my hand.
Next stop is the magazine section. Nothing much interested me, but then i spot the new issue of Marie Claire - and a lead for an article which promises to give hints on how to achieve my best look EVER. Um hello! After seeing myself in the mirror that morning, i know i need all the help i can get. The magazine must be mine. I pick that up and continue on making my circuit.
My hands are kind of full now, but not awkwardly so, so instead of heading to the register, i decide to make one last stop in the health and beauty section. My achilles. Oh baby. There is something about beauty products that I can't resist. There's the possibility of beauty and wealth and happily ever after in every bottle, jar and tube. The more attractive the packaging the more likely i am to buy it. I do quite well until I reach the burts bees section. Lotions and creams and oils...oh my. I pick up a new body lotion that promises to enhance my skin tone. Sweet. I am totally buying this dream.
Finally i head over to makeup, another sad indulgence of mine. Expensive - bobbi brown, nars - or cheap - wet n wild (best liners IMO) and nyc. I LOVE it all and i will spend a grip. The funny thing is, as much as i love make up (repping bare escentuals to the fullest) i don't wear much. I buy stuff and it just sits. I'm especially guilty with eye shadow. I always feel clownish. The same with lipstick. I'll buy a color and never wear it. I always revert back to a nude OR my old standby vaseline. Or if i want to get fancy, Rosebud salve. However i did discover navy blue shadow and i think i will stick with that for a minute. It makes my eyes really pop. This may be make up i actually wear. Other than my bare escentuals (gotta rep them again)
Hovering over the l'oreal section I see that they have finally restocked one of my favorite lipglosses - Colour Riche in soft nude. I have to buy this. The last few times i've been to target they haven't had it, and i must get while the getting is good.
My items, while not huge or bulky are becoming unwieldy. I better check out now. I get in line, and when there is finally room, i put my stuff on the belt. The cashier begins scanning my items and i watch as each article beeps as its bar code slides over the laser beam.
She's done scanning and gives me my total.
But wait.
Where's the...
I look for the tube of lipgloss i had picked up a few minutes earlier.
Its not on the belt. I look around me on the floor. Its not there either.
"What's the matter?" The cashier, in a rare display of concern for the customer looked at me.
"Nothing..." I say feeling confused. I could have sworn i picked it up. I mean i saw myself do it. Walking backwards in my mind (a sesame street-ism) i quickly reconstructed my actions up until that point. But all i could remember was picking up the lip gloss and then - a total blank. I looked back up at the cashier.
"I just thought..." I trailed off.
The line behind me had gotten long. Homegirl behind me was looking antsy too. "Nevermind." I must have thought i picked it up. Only explanation. I slid my card through the debit/credit card thingie to conclude the transaction, Got my receipt, and walked out of the store promptly forgetting about the missing tube of lip gloss. I didn't need it anyway. I have so many glosses that i could use in its place. Not to mention, it would have taken me over the 50 dollar mark, and my goal was to stay under it.
Later on that evening i had to run back out, so i threw back on my corduroy blazer from earlier that day. I didn't feel like carrying my pocket book, so i put my wallet in my left jacket pocket and...
I felt a slim rectangular shaped piece of hard plastic.
Oh no.
My finger reached in even as my eyes involuntarily closed. I was suddenly uneasy.
Don't tell me.
I pulled out the item and peered at it with one eye.
L'oreal Colour Riche Lipgloss Number 508 - Soft Nude.
No. Freakin. Way.
NO. FREAKIN. WAY.
I stared at it - equal parts confused AND amused. How in the world? When looking for it, i had checked everywhere except for my person. Why didn't I check my pockets? Oh that's right, because i'm not used to living a life of crime. My confusion suddenly gave way to fear. Deliberate or not, I had stolen. I, a person who will walk back to the department store to return a pen that i used to sign my credit card receipt, had walked out of a store without purchasing an item.
I was horrified.
In the distance i heard sirens. (probably rushing off to a accident but i swore they were for me.) I expected the swat team to descend upon me at any moment. In the far off corners of my mind i could hear the chant: "attica! attica!"
I felt woosy.
Even though i had no recollection of doing so, I must have absentmindedly put it in my pocket when walking to the cashier. My hands were full, and the smallest item was put "up" to make room for the bulkier ones. But still, don't they have cameras everywhere? How in the world could i put it in my pocket and not a single sales associate or security guard say something to me? I then began question my own sanity. Like how absentminded was i being to commit petty theft and not even know it? Is this how it begins? Am i destined to be one of those old ladies with a hefty bosom and rolled down stocking and comfortable shoes that steals batteries for my remote control so i can flip back and forth between my stories???
I had to return the item. But how? I mean i guess it would be easy enough to walk to customer service and tell them i accidently walked out without paying for the item - and offer to pay for it, but then what? And what if they decide to arrest me? I'd be locked up and all this sexy is too much for prison. Some manly chick would try to wife me up and...
Well enough of that.
Sleep that night was a restless one. How do career criminals do it? I accidently walk out of the store with six dollar lipgloss and I'm all jumpy. I had replaced it in my jacket, and like edgar allen poe's tell tale heart, my tell tale tube thumped thumped thumped, its unrelenting bassline disturbing my slumber. I was as guilty as lady Macbeth, but without all the cool dialogue.
The next morning i was on a mission. I was going to return this lipgloss.
In a supreme act of cowardice, decide to avoid any nasty confrontation and quietly put back the item. As i walked in i expected alarms and strobelights to go off, but, nothing. The security guard gave me a head nod even. I headed straight toward the l'oreal section. Pulling it out, i replaced it on the shelf with its brothers and sisters. No harm no foul right? My heart beat was accelerated. I expected the cuffs to come slamming down on me at any minute. This was the first time in EVER that i had walked into a target and had no desire to shop. I just wanted to get out of there. My body was damp by the time I exited the store. I was relieved that the moment of truth had passed without incident. Relieved...and strangely thrilled. Now that i was in the clear i could relax. Even laugh a little. I had successfully pulled off a caper! I would have a story for my grand children and with a little embellisment (guard dogs, the fibbies, and a possible hostage situation) I'll go down in history as the coolest grandmother ever.
...Of course there is not the issue of my latent kleptomania, but one hurdle at a time.
John Beltran - Felicidad Nova (i'm still dreaming of summer)
Those who can, write - those who can't, edit. - Anonymous.
Actually i'm the author of that aphoristic nightmare. But, there's a reason for my lame attempt at aesopry. For the past hour or so, i've been ruminating on why blogging has been so difficult as of late. There has to be a reason why i enter into a persistent vegetative state every time i come within one foot of the keyboard. Tonight I think i finally stumbled upon on the reason.
Well at least one of them.
Editing.
I have a big problem with editing. No, not the traditional slash and burn that has been the approach of publishing houses and red pen wielding professors, but editing in the form of self censor-ship. The knowledge that as soon as I hit publish all of my personal thoughts go public makes me scale back a great deal as far as content. Time and again i find myself emending my words. "Do I really want to put that out there?" Is what i ask myself. The answer is invariably: "Nah.." And so i snip snip here and chop chop there. The end result is this completely uninspired anemic blog.
What to share and what not? There is a fine line between being frank, and just talking too much. How to straddle that line by sharing and still having privacy? I don't know.
Candor is the backbone of any good journal. At least in my opinion. Candor is what made Anne Frank's diary so compelling, and its what make me come back to read certain blogs. The openness and sincerity. I love when i'm able to read about some fellow bloggers contretemps - relayed in a witty and candid manner, and find a piece of myself in there. Or, when someone has made insight and self discovery, and because they are able to articulate their thoughts and feelings, i learn something about myself. Unfortunately, as much as i appreciate those qualities in other blogs i can't seem to deliver the same kind of soul baring revelations. Even in the many private journals i've kept over the years (actual books) i found myself censoring what went in its pages. Going back and reading some of them, i can feel the restraint. Its difficult for me to express myself, even when i am the recipient of the expression. In the back of my mind there is always the thought..."what if someone else gets their hands on this? ...What will they think?" With a public blog there isn't an "if". Someone is going to read. Its the nature of the beast.
And so not much has changed. My inability (or, should i say reluctance?) to share has effectively sucked the life's blood out of this latest venture. My electronic journal. I choose to keep the meat and potatoes to myself, so when it comes time to write, i am left with nothing but fluff and filler, a weak framework to build any train of thought.
Not that i wanted this journal to be dedicated to my peculiar brand of pathos. My intent isn't to go Kafka on these internets. (not that i could even if i wanted to) I'm not full of deep dark secrets and the assorted paraphernalia that accompanies tortured souls. Nevertheless, some things will probably always remain in the "vault." Or even if i reveal them, it won't be in this forum. But, I mean, should it be so hard to share how _____ makes me _____ . Or when I ______ I ______. Oh and that ______ and ______ kind of ______. And did you know that __________ ?
This is what i'm talking about. I edit all ^that^ stuff out, and whats left to discuss? I'm left writing another entry on my hair woes, or my weight woes...or how i feel old...woes. Topics which really need to be sent out to pasture.
But, quoth the raven - nevermore. From this point forward i am declaring an emotional glasnost of sorts. Less editing, more sharing. And maybe I'll learn a little more about myself in the process. Ok, I probably won't but at least this thing will have a pulse again.
The Avalanches -Two Hearts in 3/4 Time (makes me feel like summer)
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