Simple thoughts

Did you hear the one about the old babe who had a PVD/Posterior Vitreous Detachment and then had a second one four days later?  Well, it seems that having that little heart thing a month ago, plus the joint pain, plus the nerve damage, and the high blood pressure was not enough to help her see (pun coming) that she needed to regain her healthy body and the general health that comes with it.

She needed to be faced with the risk of having the remains of her sight lost due to the little bleed-outs in her retinas and the detachments and the flashers before she was able to take all of this crap seriously.  Lordy.

The simple things in a life are what seem to matter the most.  Forgetting that is just a darn shame.  Big problems are reduced when a client keeps thanking you over and over and keeps asking to shake your hand just because of that little thing you did for them.

When the next client does a little of the same and tells you that you are a nice person and that you are the first person with whom he has felt comfortable in a very long time, well, that is the icing on that cookie and that cookie is one that you can safely enjoy without further assault to your vision.

It is a lovely thing when the person who felt most threatened by your volunteering has become one of your most ardent supporters, which is important in an increasingly uncertain, local government, economic environment.

That he has a larger pole up his ass than you do is an opportunity to mind your own hubris before it can come back and bite you in the ass.  Frankly, it is a blessing, and you get to be grateful not only for his transformation, but for the gentle reflection he offers to your own attitudes and behaviors.

So, anyway, there is this guy who comes into the library on a fairly regular basis.  I do not know who he is, but I see him there all the time.

Today he has a new haircut.  I see him walking towards me and I think, "Man, that is so cool...he is manifesting his inner Beatle."  The mop-top bowl cut is actually quite cute on him.

Then, we pass and I turn to look at the back of the new haircut and I think, "Man, do you not have any friends who are good enough friends to share with you that, from behind, your head looks like a furry penis?"

It is very sad, very, very sad, when a local organization, one dedicated to the needs of veterans, accepts the help of a good person in utilizing a significant part of their facility to bring in much needed funds, and then after learning from him, decide to eliminate him from the program he designed, built and successfully ran.

It would be fine if the reason for dumping the good person was other than intentionally using him to develop the program so that they could take over and run it themselves.  Had they been upfront about their plans, no one would have been surprised or hurt in the transition.  But, seriously, to use someone like that is just plain shameful.

I am dedicated to that organization and when I heard what had happened I went to the source, where the suspicions of the dumped, good person were confirmed.  Bad enough to do that, but how much worse to be so blasé, so matter-of-fact and unashamed about it.  I could not be more shocked if it had happened to me.  I am hoping that writing it down will help me to process what seems like a complete betrayal of principles, beliefs and honor.   I am stunned and see no future time when this is not going to bother me.  I have also severed my connection to them, which makes me more sad that I can even think about.

I want to be light-hearted about this, you know, how breaking up is so hard to do (feel free to sing along), but I thought that I could do my little, peripheral stuff there and it could be a sort of connection to my brother, and there just is not any reasonably light aspect that I can find, which is another disappointment for a positive view girl like me.  Heartbroken and a little scared that such a thing could happen.

I get to play with the babies and their mommy tomorrow.  She, the mommy, was ill last week and I could give her only one day.  Maybe she will feel well enough to play outside with us.  More likely, she will use the time to catch up on all the stuff that was put aside so that she and her babies could play outside every day.

She is a lovely mom and I adore her.  I think that we will surprise her with home-made pizza for lunch.  One of her favorites.

I am a big girl.  I can pull up my big girl panties and get on with whatever needs getting on.  Still, today's disappointment and subsequent split with one of my favorite organizations is so sad.  People get to be human.  I get to let them do that.  I get to accept people for who they are, because, you know, we are all simply doing the best that we can, here on this pretty, little planet.  I get all that.  But, if I really do, then why does my heart ache so much about something that did not directly happen to me?

I have to release this.  Holding on to it serves no one.  Besides, it feels as though I am giving some of my power away to them, and they do not deserve to have anything from me.  This totally and completely sucks.

Even in this small and insignificant place,

where I come to write once in a while, it is not private.

When I posted the last post, I got this page that is in-between the writing of the post and the viewing of the blog.  In those few seconds between writing and viewing, this ad appeared on that 'tween page.  Lordy.

Frozen tuna casserole.  The egg noodles are good.  The celery is not good at all.  Not sure where the tuna went.  However, the peas make up for everything.

I am happy to be your friend.  I am glad to be able to take you out for shopping, or meals, or just to go somewhere for coffee and an hour or two of conversation.  Really.  I know that you are lonely and I am, again, happy to be your main social contact.  Truly.  That said, I am not certain that I am able to take you out for many more of these long days. 

I am still feeling ill and Easter Sunday brunch yesterday would have been so much fun if it had been only three or four hours.  Arriving back home at 10:00 p.m., I must admit, was way too late. 

We can still go to the big city for one of those thirteen hour days of lunch, shopping, sitting and talking, dinner, talking and all the rest.  Then, later, I think we need to talk about this.  At least a little.  Huh? 

Rhubarb, I love your hearty efforts to survive everything you have endured for the past three years.  The transplanting, the stomping and tromping, the late season, wintry weather.  Even a covering of April snow has done nothing to offend or inhibit you.  You just shoot your brilliant crowns up through the still-chilled soil and unfurl your dreamy green leaves.  I need to find my inner rhubarbness so that I am not feeling distraught over my own snow bonnet.  Metaphorically speaking, but you already know that.

I had to decline a new opportunity because of the last thing that happened with that gallery manager.  On Friday I was offered major space and I just kind of said that I was no longer exhibiting, mostly because I do not want to rehash what happened or even re-experience those feeling from earlier this year.  When the gallery owner replied that that was not possible and kept staring at me, waiting for some kind of an explanation, I realized that it might be true.  I might not have the heart to show my work anymore. 

I am simplifying my schedule.  I have eliminated three obligations and moved four more to different days.  With any luck, I will have three or four days each week for taking care of my older ladies, for cleaning better around here, for spending more time with my grandbabies, napping, sewing, napping.

The difference between all the past months and May is astounding.  May looks positively empty.  I am not sure that the future will find me all that happy about releasing some of these obligations, but for now, it seems wonderful.

In releasing my attachment to judging other people, I seem to be more stuck on critique, criticism and nit-picking on myself.  I am a slacker of the highest degree and deserve that kind of observation and correction.  I am hoping that my desire and efforts to improve myself, and all of the attendant issues, can keep pace with the urgent attention paid to how much have I still have do and how far I still have to go. 

I am running as fast as I can.

Simple thoughts

McDonald's will not serve you water.  They have water, they just will not let you have any.

The robins thought it was safe enough to come back north.  I am guessing that the past 2 1/2 days of snow and freezing temperatures were not on this year's schedule.  I know that it was not on the rhubarb's schedule.

Yesterday was A's birthday.  His friend, M, from school, was cute, funny and a handful.  His parents are sure to age prematurely.  I hope they have factored that into their life plan.  I really do.  My C was a handful and I never thought to plan ahead.

I am weary of sitting here at McDonald's, and my soon to be accomplished return to the car repair place seem to be almost more than I can handle.  Last night, when my sore throat, sore glands, sore sinuses and sore head were making sleep impossible, I begged to not be sick again.  Please, I implore you, body, do not be sick.  I do not have time to be sick.  More importantly, I do not have the heart to keep getting sick.  I accept a crappy immune system and seriously impaired mucus membranes.  I do.

Last night, the prospect of being ill again, so soon, only since the end of January, for cryingoutloud, was discouraging enough to have me thinking about an overdose of something.  That I do not have anything capable of producing an overdose seemed to not be an obstacle last night.  Today, the daylight, gloomy as it is, allows me to see the flaws in that plan.

I mean, you can no longer overdose on acetaminophen any more.  At best, you will just lose a leg and the final shreds of respect that your family holds for you.  If you have any doubts, just ask S.

When you are visiting your daughter and her family for three months, just following Christmas, it is not in your best interest to precede your departure to her house with a week's worth of fighting. 

If you do, on the two days when you have your catarracts removed, your daughter will refuse to hire someone to come in and be with you whilst everyone else in the household is at work or school, and she will leave you to spend the remainder of each surgery day in a restaurant.

You will have money for lunch and coffee and, maybe, cake, but you will not be able to see well enough to find your way to the restroom.  You and your ancient bladder will have to rely on the kindness of strangers to help you pee.  This one is not about me.

It is important, if not actually essential, to avoid laughing out loud when two men in very expensive suits walk into the McDonald's (where you are waiting whilst your car is being repaired next door) and one of them asks the counter clerk, "So, what's good today?" and then stands there and stares at her until she begins to recite the menu, which is posted on the wall behind her.

Especially when that man orders for the other man, and they end up with fries, one Big Mac (which they split), two soft drinks and a dipped cone.  Lordy.

Especially when he turns and you see that it is your old boss.  I mean, you heard his voice every day, for years.  Failing to recognize him sooner must be your heart, trying to protect your psyche from those memories.

This simple girl is taking her prescription cough medicine, her antihistamines, her nose goo, her pain meds, her mentholated chest rub, her snugly blankie, her book, a couple of cats, her simple thoughts and going to bed.

Reality

My grasp on it, the whole reality thing, is not what I thought it to be.  And, just when you think that things cannot get worse, they do.

It is the usual complicated playground here.  It is like a person I know who lives in Australia, who says that she is a very responsible person...when something goes wrong, she is responsible.  So, O.K., I get that, I accept it and I just move on.  Except for today.

I had my driver's license renewed.  I was all prepared.  Like, totally. 
I had my ophthalmologist complete the eye exam part of the renewal when I was there earlier this month when I had that bleeder in my eye. 
I had the cash to pay for the renewal.
I arrived in plenty of time, and it went quickly, which it usually does at our DMV location.
I like to go and do this on my actual birthday, which I did today.  It is a small and silly ritual about the moving into a new year, even though these driver's licenses are renewed only every eight years.  
Then they gave me my license.

You know, I know that I am not beautiful or pretty or even cute.  I know that whatever attractiveness I have in all on the inside and I do my best to be the best person that I am capable of being, then I go the extra distance to be just that little bit more of a good and decent, loving and supportive person.  But, you know, you go along and you forget what you look like.  You see yourself in the mirror at least twice a day when you brush your teeth.  You look there to watch yourself brush your hair.  But, you do not really look at yourself.  At best, you focus in on a part or section.  Eyelashes, chin, eyes, brows during plucking. 

And, I guess that you just become accustomed to that mug looking back at you.  You get used to what you look like and never pay much attention to what you really look like.  And, since I know that I am just barely O.K. in the physical looks department, I thought that I had accepted and was able to honor my appearance.

Then, I looked at my license as I was walking out of the building and I thought that I was going to go into a fugue state or some damn thing, because I was stunned at what I really look like.  I have been aware of people sort of staring at me over the past several months.  At first it drew my attention and then when I could not explain it, you know, like you have noodles dangling from your incisors or a trail of toilet paper stuck in your pants and flowing behind you, I just let it go.  Or it is because I am so fat, but I just let that go as well.  But, now I know that the staring is because I am so ugly, like seriously, truly and really bad looking.

I am glad that people get to know me and can see that I am a good person.  I really am.  But, I also really thought that I was sort of not so bad.  I guess that I thought that being well-groomed was enough.  Clearly, it is not. 

And, the worst part is that I believed that I was not a vain person, but I am, I have to be, otherwise I would not feel so bad about all of this.  And, any time that I get to feeling too full of myself or prideful, all I have to do is look at that picture and be immediately brought back to reality.  Rats.  Double, fucking rats.

And, you know what?  If you are attractive and looking nice, people will tell you that, they will compliment you, but when there is nothing short of a miracle that you could do to improve your appearance no one will say a complimentary word to you and you never even notice that.  I feel such a fool for ever believing that I looked O.K.

A couple of hours, a piece of cake and a beer later

Having just eaten a poorly conceived dinner, I am off to bed.  I think that another reason that I am feeling so badly about this is that I do not have anyone that I can trust to not hurt me here.  There is not, never will be, a moment when I am able to feel safe.  I suck.

Cold dishes

Who said this...revenge is a dish best served cold?  I have to look this up somewhere.  My table-sized Bartlett's is actually out on loan, so let me see...

Oh, who cares.

Anyway, even though I am trying to be as good a person as I can, I have revenge in my heart.  That person who claimed never to have told me a single lie after I found out that he had cheated, is sort of telling the truth in one respect.  He does not lie in ways that I will eventually be informed, but he does lie about me.  Like, a lot.  This week, after I heard him tell a lie about me I decided to keep count for a while.  You know, just in the spirit of being accurate. 

It is Thursday, and he has told people, in my presence, lies about me four times.  Four fucking times. 

Each time I just stood by and did nothing.  You know, just like I always do.  This must be a special week, because I usually only hear about the lies from his family or one of his friends.  When that happens, I do what I did this week.  I say nothing in my defense.  It just does not seem worth the hassle of saying anything.  When it happens, I feel as though I should be judged and treated on my own merits, the factors of how I am in relationship with that person and not in defense of myself.  Besides, defending one's self from that sort of thing is an exercise in heartbreak.

But, after having it happen again, just a half-hour ago, I am sitting here and feeling so badly about the whole damn thing.  When it happened, and I waited until the person was gone and asked why the lie had been told, I realized something.  I think that he wants me to respond when the person is still around.  I think that he wants me to be upset and maybe even cry or something.  I believe that he wants confirmation about how much this hurts me and that it makes him glad, like that is the payoff for him.  So, now I am even more sad.

But, just a few minutes ago I felt anger about this whole thing.  And, I was thinking that, oh, just you wait until you need me to do some dumb thing for you again.  Boy, I will show you by not doing that thing.  Yeah, I will show you.  Yeah, I am so mature.

And, the next time something is needed, and that happens several times a day it seems sometimes, I know that I will step up and not be all pissy, petty and revengeful and, well, like that.

So, what I have to do is find a way to not let any of this bother me anymore.  Right now I just hate my life a little bit.  Yeah, I know that this is my place to be upbeat and positive and hopeful.  So, maybe I am positive that I hate my life.  There is something seriously wrong with me that I do not leave him to handle his health problems and just go away somewhere where I do not have to deal with all of this.  I just totally suck at this.

Frequencies

It is impossible to avoid finding pleasure in a day.  Sometime I have to look for it, on occasion it is necessary to wrestle it out of the mess that a day can be.  So, I should be writing here more often.

I do not because I am weak and the end of the day finds me too exhausted from all of the things that are not pleasurable.  Still, I should make the effort.

Yesterday found me without any scheduled clients.  In itself, it is a cause for unbounded joy, because it means that I have an entire day to catch up on all of the things that never seem to get finished in a normal day.  So, yeah, that was really great.  I did have two short, impromptu meetings with other staff, but I managed to bring everything up to speed, including the forum site that I created for clients. 

The two previous weeks were full of clients, and they were all, with a single exception, my most favorite type.  They come in, do the work and pull together all of the adjunct work they need to do. 

Ah, my exception.  He is the man who rarely shows up, often sleeps/dozes, and is very resistant to doing his own work.  We have established that he does not have any reading or behavioral deficits, and my best guess is that he really does not embrace forward movement in his life right now.  When he shows up, we work; when he stays home, I am able to take walk-ins and do more catch-up stuff.  My supervisor believes that I should have fired him as a client long ago, but, truth be told, I kind of look forward to what he will do next.  He is also a bit dramatic, and wails that if he forgets his appointments that I will be mad at him.  Frankly, I find him amusing, but if that is what he needs to feel about it, then that is just fine.  He missed his appointment this week.  I am looking forward to the next installment.

What else.  I am still infusing hydration liquids into a cat with kidney failure.  She is doing well and is so sweet about allowing me to poke her with a huge needle and then fill the space above her shoulders with cooler than body temperature liquid.  She tolerates the entire procedure and then takes a step or two away from me, plops down and sits and rests whilst I put all of the equipment away.  Her owner is calming down a bit and the two of them are often the sweetest part of my week.

I received a call this morning from the social service agency for which I sometimes volunteer.  One of my old clients has been diagnosed with cancer and I am taking her to an out of town appointment tomorrow.  I think that I am also going to be designated as her person qualified to accompany her and take notes during her doctor visits.  I am saddened by her illness, but thrilled to be involved with her again.  If she is strong enough, I will offer to take her to lunch before returning her to her home.

The kitties are fine, although C seems to be having trouble with his colon again and is vomiting a fair amount.  Sad for the process of his health, but also because it means that he cannot sleep in my room whenever he likes.  I have no desire to clean up the effluence from either end of that wonderful guy, so he must stay on the wrong side of that door.  It means that both cats cannot go there, and that makes for sadness for all of us.

I am trying to stay upbeat here, but I had an issue with my good, as in decent vision, eye last week.  It has not resolved and there is not explanation of the cause or how to fix or prevent the bastardly issue.  So, I am concentrating on enjoying the vision that I have now and not stressing about something which is unknown and might not fully manifest anyway. 

I am weary of my weight, as in huge body, and am trying to move in the direction of doing something about it.  I have good intentions, really and truly I do.  Moving from intention, desire and need is difficult for me.  It is as though I do not feel deserving of a healthy life.  It is like I deserve to have a sad body to match my sad life.  I cannot control or really even affect the life part, but I could and can do something about my physical aspect.  Why is this so hard and why does it make me weep.  I have to move beyond this barrier.  If I do not, I will die long before I want or need.

Feeding yourself

I should be in bed, but I just have to write about my friend.

He and his mother used to have a really cool, down home, spirit satisfying, soul food restaurant.  Here in the US that means lots of honest Southern cuisine.  But, you know how those things go.  Even though they had plenty of business, the work became overwhelming for the two of them, especially his mother who was no longer a f\girl with youthful energies.

So, they finally closed the restaurant, but they never gave up on having the energy to try it again sometime.

So, anyway, my friend was at a local veteran's center.  They have a bar, meeting rooms where vets come to play cards, have bar snacks and shoot the shit, which is a good thing, by the way.

One day he happened to wander down a hallway and see a fully equipped kitchen, with an adjoining dining room, albeit a little on the small size, both the kitchen and dining room.

Since you cannot smoke indoors anymore, he continued on his way outside to have his way with a cigarette and got to talking with another smoker.  He mentioned the kitchen and asked if the other guy knew how or when it was last used.  Turns out the other vet was on some kind of board at the center.  My friend told me, but I have forgotten the details.  Anyway, they used to have Friday night fish fry dinners there, but it did not work out, mostly because the previous guy was kind of a flake and the food was not so great either.

My friend and I have been noodling around with ideas for a community center that he wants to open, and since that sort of thing is both in my background and an adjunct to the self-employment support and services I provide to my clients, between the two of us, well, we had made forward movement on his ideal plans.

But, when this opportunity presented itself to get back into a kitchen post-haste, he arranged for a meeting with whomever is in charge there (again, he told me, but I have forgotten...huge surprise) and developed a plan for resuming those Friday night dinners.  He shared all of his ideas, but, frankly, he was so informed about what is needed for having a restaurant, even a part time one, that I was of little extra help to him.  He says otherwise, but he is wrong.

That was a month ago.  Tonight was their first dinner.  Actually, it started late this morning with a lunch menu, but the full dinner menu started this evening.

To say that it was great is an understatement.  You could tell that it was the first time for all of those people to be working together, but there was barely a misstep.  There was the kitchen door that kept self-locking and the really old guy at the table next to me who managed to unscrew the top from the tartar sauce container and dump most of the contents on his lap and cap and then proceeded to pick up the container's top from the floor and screw it back on.  No worries, because I told the wait person and she took care of it.

There were two tiny issues with the serving temperature of my dinner, but we will discuss that later when we meet to recap my experience.  On the whole, it was outstanding food, efficient and friendly service, a pleasant environment and he really scored a huge win on his first day there.

Despite the fact that I, a very healthy eater, brought home half of my dinner, he assured me that he really is making sufficient money on the huge portions they are serving.  Just another proof of his dedication to fabulous food at a fair price.  I can hardly wait to surprise the kitties with pollack and catfish for din-din tomorrow when I get home from the quilt show.

I am looking forward to next week for the chance to try another item from the menu.  I may never cook another Friday night dinner for myself.  Yum.

I am practically atingle with happiness

Whilst I still have a load or two of laundry to do, no one has hassled me or given me grief or yelled at me about using the machines today.

If this is not pure, unadulterated bliss, well, I do not know what is.  Were I able to move with comfort, I would be happy-dancing all over the place, but really quiet, like a mouse.  Wee, tiny, little happy-dancing mice.  I would dance with them.  My peeps.

Ah, whatever happens for the other half of this day, I can survive it relatively unscathed because this early part is worth appreciating, seeking out and bringing on the dancing and very blissful little guys with the naked tails. 

To leap, to soar, without a care
Is a blessing of the rarest kind.
Through the air and in my soul,
One to be held in heart and mind

For times less peaceful,
Times less calm and quiet and gay,
When struggles are met
With the strength gathered today

It is life's dance, at least mine
To experience as best I am able.
And gather the soft remembrances
For future times unstable.

Dance, baby, whilst you can.

Maps

I was using Google Maps this morning to find the location and direction to a family thing being held in another state, on the weekend next.

Alongside of the directions, there was the full, continental US map image.  Except for the tolls and the likelihood of encountering road construction, it looks like a nice and easy trip.

I grabbed the little zoom bar and pulled it all the way down so that I could see the whole world.  I swear, that image never fails to thrill me right down to my core.  That teeny place marker, that infinitesimal point where I will be spending a couple of hours on the road, well, it just floors me.

A space on my screen that a gently expanded hand-width covers and I have touched the entire planet.  Rotate my hand approximately 20 degrees and I could hold it in my palm.  It makes me think of how delicate, how fragile and wondrous it is, this place we call home.

Sure, it enthuses me to take care of it.  More than that, it helps me revisit my commitment to making my part of it, that tiny bit at the point of the marker, a better place.  Small things salve my emotions, fuel my desires and make make my behaviors worth performing them.  My tininess reminds me of my connection to every other person, every other living thing.  I am humbled by the shared responsibilities and shames me for my pitiful efforts.

On that map, I am an invisible speck beneath uncounted specks. 

Oh, and I might have lost a friend today.  If it happens, it will make me sad beyond my ability to express how truly sad I will be.  Sometimes friends have to take that risk with each other.  But, I will still be sad.

Better here than there

Mostly because I am trying so hard to be the lighter version of myself.

So, anyway, this is how I feel.

I am a simpleton of the highest...or is it lowest, I cannot ever remember...order, and I have to wonder why anyone really and truly and deep in their own frugal, thrifty, earth-honoring, dedicated to making the planet a better place, higher selves, cares much about this issue.  I get the angst and the sense of feeling proprietary about something that holds great energy for you. I understand the feelings of sorrow and loss when someone wants to take something that you hold dear away from you. 

Sure, there will always be someone who will come along and manifest their puffed-up selves, having lost all perspective about what is important and how good people manifest in the world,  and try to take more than their share, heck even try to take the shares of other people. 

I am a child of the 60s.  I cut my social, political and public teeth on the conflicts of those times.  I lost my innocence there.  Until that war, I believed in so many things, patriotic and practical.  It fucking broke my heart.  It taught me that I have a voice, certainly, but, more importantly, that I have the will and means within me to release the past and move forward in my life  smarter, wiser (yes, they are different), more informed and more determined.

Protest if you are moved to do so.  Standing up for what you believe makes you and your world a better place, but always remember that no one, no entity, no government or legal battle or maneuverings can take your beliefs, your practices, philosophy or standards away from you.  They cannot even, no matter how how they try, take your words.

They are just words and every single one of us is more than that.  Fight this?  Some will, but no matter what happens, no one can take us from this life.  We get to go on and have lives that sustain ourselves, our families, the whole damn world, and all they get is a couple of words.

No big deal.

Babbling

So, anyway, it has been an interesting day here at work.  I am leaving in a few minutes and am not sure what I think about this job or myself, for that matter.

The day began with an unexpected and tricky legal issue.  It involves state government, so no problem with accepting that it was over my head and experience.  However, with a half-dozen telephone calls and meeting some truly kick-ass civil servants along the way, we ended up with personal legal attention for my client.  I love happy endings.

Two no-shows and two walk-ins, back in business, both with very challenging issues.  Cool.

Then, my final client of the day came in.  I was out and waiting for her and I knew, as soon as I saw her looking at me, seeing me, that she was hugely disappointed.  Here I am, the person that her human resources consulting firm mother said that she has to see and all she gets is me.  Old, fat, dumpy, felt valentine (the ones in Joybelle's link, yeah, they are still uber cool and groovy) in my hair (which refused to stay up and out of the way today), walking, barely, with my cane and then we go into one of the study rooms, not even an actual, official office.  Ummm, I know that was what she was expecting because she mentioned it.

Man.

We  did some work, and we made changes that pleased her, but her heart was not in it.  This sort of thing should not bother me.  I know that I do excellent work here.  I know that other community programs are being modeled on what I do and how I do it.  I receive lots of feedback from my clients and the director here. 

I think that what bothers me, and yes, I can intellectualize the crap out of this, is that she could not get past my appearance.  You know, I do not make children run, weeping in fear and my friends think that I am great.  I have lived long enough to get over myself and accept how I look, my body type, my features, my disabilities, everything. 

But, the way I am feeling right now, gosh.  I know that I am being superficial.  Stupid.  Vain.  I have known all of my life that I am not a beauty, not attractive.  So, I am always clean and shiny.  Well-groomed.  I try to have nice posture and walk with as much confidence as it is possible to do with a cane or two. 

Well, I will get over this.  Scarlet and I will have a better day tomorrow.  I cannot please everyone, particularly for those aspects of myself over which I have absolutely no control.  I guess there are some days when you just feel like your existence is a waste of planetary resources.  I think the worst part is actually caring what someone else thinks about how I look.  I think, hell, I do not know what I think.

Slacking

Or, maybe writing would be slacker behavior.  You know, doing this instead of any of the thousands of useful things I should be doing around here. 

I had to get a refill on Charlie's medicine and stayed to chat at the vet clinic.  Of course.  They agreed to take more books, those sweet babies.  Plus, they can take the leftovers to the charity shop down the road who does not want take any more of my crap, even though my personal stuff is really high quality and lots of it is virtually unused.  Seems they like my crap, they just feel that they do not have any more room for any of it for a while. 

Now, they will not know that what the clinic babes bring over was originally mine and I am trying to not be conflicted about this, you know, like in it might be slightly dishonorable if the books were mine to begin with and only passed through the filter of what the clinic babes do not want.  It is not like I am stopping strangers on the street and asking them to pretend that my stuff is really their own, personal donation or anything like that.  Still, it seems a fine point and I suppose that I could collect what the clinic babes do not want and then take it into town to the other charity shop that will take anything.  No hesitation, just pull up in your car, open the doors and they will remove the boxes and send you on your way. 

At this point it does not make any difference, because I am still sick, only slightly, marginally better, but sick, still, and I just do not have the strength to haul anything anywhere.  I should feel good about continuing to rid myself of this stuff, but I thought that I would be finished divesting by this time.  Hell, it has been a year since the first trickles began seeping out of here.  It should be all gone by now.  There should be so much stuff gone that I would be experiencing fairly regular moments of regret that something useful is gone.

Then there is the whole issue of all of the projects that need completing, some of which could bring in some cash.  Yet, I slack.

Just the slacker in me. 
I probably should have named this blog properly.   
Slacker...and too unmotivated to really give a darn.