me: A Blog

Stress is really stressing me out. Normally when I feel stressed it's for a reason. A reason. Not just because. Lately, it's stress "just because" and I am frantically trying to find the reason for it. I'm not being successful with that and that too is stressing me out. There's a sense of foreboding but also a sense of unease (which is pretty close on the synonym scale to foreboding, I know) and a sense of dread (again, I know) and a sense of pressure....OK, you get the point. I'm pretending it's not there. Sort of like when your grandma farts and stinks up Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone just pauses, maybe clears their throat, sips their wine and continues like no one's hair just got curled. That's where I am right now. Stuck in the middle of turkey dinner with a gassy old woman. Of course there's school (always a strain) and work (ditto) and money (hahahaha)a and everything else that simmers in my head. But I have added something to the po...

Summer is over, or so it would appear as I look out my window and see clouds and know it's an autumnal 57 degrees. What a word, autumnal. No one I know ever uses that word in real conversation. Seemed appropriate here though. Autumnal... hmmm... School starts tomorrow and I have a sense of dread going into it. Anytime the professor sends an email the Friday before class that basically says "Hold on to your hats, it's gonna be a bumpy ride" I get a tad nervous. He calls the course demanding and challenging. Crap! I really am not in the mood for demanding and challenging at the moment. But I've read 3 of the 30 pages I'm supposed to read by Wednesday. The discussion board has due dates for every post and it appears I am going to be a busy gal. Crapola. I'm still feeling restless about me. I want to do something but I don't know what that something is. I don't even know if it has to be something important or mundane. Maybe I just need a t...

I view email and texting as forms of drunken sex. Drunken sex is the sex you would have if your sober sense of self would let you let loose. Whether it's trying a new position or a new partner, drunken sex opens up a world of possibilities, thanks to too many vodkas. When you're 3 sheets to the wind, who cares if your panties are revolving on the ceiling fan of some stranger's bedroom? It's when the deed is done, and he's passed out that the sober sense of self goes "Holy shit! What the hell is that?!" and you tiptoe out as quietly and quickly as possible. If need be, sacrificing your underwear in the process. When it comes to email - and especially texting - it's much too easy to let loose. Fingers go wild on the keyboard when the glow of the screen is all you can see. That glow is the cyberspace equivalent of too many vodkas. Hurtful words are easier typed than said. Propositions and profanity flow more freely. And it's only when you hear the ...

I'm finally home for what appears to be a couple months and I don't know what to do. Well, let me rephrase - I know what to do: vacuum, clean the bathrooms/basement/kitchen, tidy up the front yard, paint the garage, reacquaint myself with the grocery store...but I don't know what to do FIRST. Hell, I'm sitting here staring at the list and instead of tackling even one of the projects, I am lolly-gagging around by typing about my lack of motivation. I think I'm feeling whelmed. Not overly, yet, just a tad whelmed. I have been so busy I've neglected me and my life for a few months that starting to pay attention to all of that seems daunting. I'm blaming my recent vacation. Last week I took a wonderful cruise with my niece. We spent a week cruising the Caribbean: Grand Cayman, Isla Roatan (Honduras), Belize, Cozumel and it was a much needed relief. Although I could have paid through the nose to make/take calls, I turned my cell phone off. So no cell phone, and, ...

My house is a mess. How can that be? I haven't lived in it for almost a month. My 8-pound cat has been here, but how she could wreak this much havoc, I have no idea. So - to clean or not to clean? That is the question. I am home for five days before I take off for 10. What does the gambler in me do? Live in a mess for five more days knowing in 16 I will come home to a HUGE mess to clean? Or do I clean tomorrow to live relatively tranquilly for four days knowing I'll have another mess on my hands when I return, but that the mess I'll return to if I clean will be less heinous than the one I would have if I just sat around on my butt all day tomorrow. Decisions, decisions. I am going to clean tomorrow, but even pretending for a minute I could handle living this way for another week is a bit freeing. Seriously, Simba and I won't have company this week. No one will ever know I need to dust and vacuum. No one will know before I can vacuum I will need to move the su...

I am finally enjoying peace and quiet. It's been a long haul planning this conference - more than a year - but the event went swimmingly. We took care of more than 440 people in Jackson and I don't think there were any curve balls thrown that we didn't have an idea were coming. Today is the first day in a long time where everything I've thought about, done or knew I had to do was for the conference in Jackson. Now what? My priorities are now allowed to go back to normal. That could be interesting; I'm not sure what they are anymore. I have a real job I haven't done for some time. At least two months. Heaven only knows what I'll find after I clean the cobwebs from my office. There are exercises to be done, articles to write, staff to supervise, projects to complete (or should I say "start") and I feel like I have no idea where to begin.

Yesterday I was one of those people who appears to have all the time in the world at an airport. I was one of them yesterday because I can’t seem to take care of my own travel arrangements. Give me 20 people and I’ll make sure they are good to go. Ask me when I leave DCA and the only number sticking in my head is 0700. Being the good little traveler I am up at 0415 to ensure I hit the airport 2 hours prior to my flight. The hotel shuttle driver even commenting on how busy the airport was that morning was a huge vindication for the ungodly hour. “Good job,” I think to myself, “you will be able to get in and relax after the security line gaggle.” Visions of Bloody Mary breakfasts dancing through my head. Then I round the corner and see the empty ticket counter. The maze of poles isn’t even in place. Hmmm…I’m not the brightest in the morning, so I decide a gander at my ticket would be in order. “Sometimes I fly out on a different carrier,” I think to myself. Then I find my ticket. I was r...