-sick day-

And I thought that once I had the job I wanted, these days wouldn't happen anymore.

And I thought that once my insurance kicked in, these days wouldn't happen anymore.

And I thought that once I got my new glasses, these days wouldn't happen anymore.

Longer days. Higher temperatures. Blue Skies.

I'll open a window. I'm thinking of moving furniture. I should listen to the McKinney Sisters--they sing my favorite version of Blue Skies--it's always good for getting me started moving furniture around, and if I can move a little furniture around, I can maybe move around the pieces in my head--move out of inertia.

I mean, after all--my sweetheart and I are planning to drive to the coast tomorrow to see if we might espy the puffins who spend the spring on Haystack Rock.

And I didn't even mention the fact that

I

saw

Robert

Plant

in concert with Band of Joy on Tuesday night.

"Now, nudity may not be for everyone."

It's a Kids in the Hall quote.

Mark McKinney just got naked onscreen--but with a big ol' X over the full monty.

So I happened to wonder just how naked I plan to get with this ol' blog I'm seemingly beginning here. I tend toward the confessional. I don't write fiction. However, I am also circumspect and, in the words of (I think it was) Pete Martell on Twin Peaks: "she's filllled with secrets." But then again, I think of bell hooks and how she writes of living in truth--absolute truth--the truest truth a person can tell--

But then again I think about Dave Eggers in A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (although I can never locate the quote) wherein he writes about oversharing--and it is along the lines of "even if they know everything, even if they know the worst, what do they really have over you?" I think I should find that quote.

We shall see. I keep telling myself that.

someone's had a case of the "I-usetas"

When I was a little girl growing up in South Carolina, if my mother thought I was being pouty or bratty or self-absorbed she'd tell me I had "me-itis." As if this were a terrible, debilitating disease that would cause me to waste away as if consumptive or tubercular. "Get over yourself" was the basic message.

So, long story short, instead of getting over my me-itis, I allowed it to flower, giving in to the full force of my tempestuous nature and getting in many a pickle and many a scrape and behaving in a harum-scarum manner that caused a lot of trouble, broken bones, bad grades, catastrophe, estrangement and et cetera.

And also, I was imaginative and sweet and likable and sassy and fun and effervescent and et cetera.

And studious, and industrious, and curious, and at times like both the grasshopper and the ant. And I grabbed the thistle and seized the day and whatnot.

I suppose this is a bit of a long-winded and off-the-cuff way to introduce myself. Here I am, just turned 42 (the Answer to the Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything, right? Right?) and living all the way across the country from the only place I've ever lived in my life. All of a sudden, it seems--and yet I've been here five years already and just now starting to really dig in.

And I've noticed that my me-itis is still there (I mean, my last name begins with an I and my first name encapsulates the word "me"--) and that's okay. But what isn't OK? Something I'm barely becoming aware of and that is the I-usetas.

I useta be married.

I useta have a house.

I useta have a wooden beaded curtain.

I useta have a whole bunch of friends I saw from Thursday through Sunday if not more often.

I useta . . . I useta . . . I useta.

I guess some of this has been a mourning process. My life has flip-flopped in a major way. Not for the first time, really, but whew! Talk about pulling up stakes.
There have never been many pioneer types in my family. Not much of a template for moving around. I'm really doing pretty well. I have a lot of gratitude for my household of three (my beloved, and my fat cat, and me). But I have still been on some knife's-edge of my past and my heretofore unimaginable future.

I think of that tarn in front of the House of Usher.

And also of Elysium Fields.

Today I got my brand-new glasses--first time my prescription's been checked in six years. Oy, were my eyes bad! Now I have progressive lenses. Everything is sharp and clear, but there's still a little familiar blurriness until I shift my gaze around and find what the kind lady at the optician's office called the "sweet spot."

And there you have it. I can see. Not to belabor the point--but--I can see.

Oh No

Feeling cruddy and generally sorry for myself even though I'm listening to Rubber Soul on vinyl. And Sammy-the-Cat just jumped up on the bed with me wanting me to play mouse-fish-bird with him. And there's chocolate. And Matthew is cooking my favorite casserole. And I'm surrounded by books.

Oh, gratitude. Now, to get that game of mouse-fish-bird underway.

Unfurling? Potentially.

Well. There are so many wonderful blogs I've been reading lately. And I want to join in this fun community. But not tonight, because I'm about to go and read a book (WHAT book? Oh, I'm just re-reading The Madness of a Seduced Woman for the something-th time). But I will ponder this in my sleep--this posting business. Last night I dreamt again of finding unexpected rooms in the house in which I tired of dwelling--fancy rooms, fun rooms, a room with a yellow couch I couldn't decide whether to keep or throw out.

I love these dreams. They remind me to explore the things I let lie fallow as I pursue some ideal future--waiting to write until "things are better"--until I get my new glasses or I've worked at my new job for a while or I get a new phone or et cetera.

Inhabit those unused secret rooms! There are always plenty more.