Some days I can think of a million things to write about and other days not one single thing comes to mind. This would not be that much of a problem were it not for the fact that I still have the urge to write, even when I know I have nothing to say. There are days when the sentences roll out in almost a jumble over one another like they are each scared they will be forgotten or left out if they don’t hurry to the forefront of my mind and be one of the lucky ones to go from ethereal to corporeal through the magic of Word. On those days, it is easy. I feel less like a person than a conduit. The sentences that form hardly seem mine and I am proud of them in a detached sort of way because, although they came out of me and onto the page through my efforts, they seem to have a life of their own. I can re-read those pieces with a pride that I really don’t own and it always surprises me. Now, I can honestly say that some of it may be pure and unadulterated shit that no one could possibly interested in reading, but there is something about it that feels different. Whether it is inane drivel or actually something with life and meaning is not really something I judge, I just know how it feels as it pours out.
Then there are days like today. I have no subject. I don’t even know that I want one. I had no plan as I started typing a few minutes ago. I just started because I had to. My fingers were itching. I can look back over this blog which has only been up for a month with a mixture of pride and shame. There are some entries in here that I am happy to read (and re-read, if I am being honest and not thinking about how conceited that sounds). I just like them. There are others that I have to fight the urge to delete, but I have told myself that once I click Publish I am not taking it down, no matter how shitty it is. Those have no flow and are disjointed. Even if I like what they are trying to say and like some of the sentences in them, they are not going to win any awards for content or style.
I have a list of topics that I try and keep for days like today when I am just watching words take shape on the computer screen in front of me. I try and pull one of those topics and treat it like an assignment – just stick to the subject and write for as long as I can. That usually does not work. It feels forced and trite; dishonest somehow. Like today is not the day for that one. I can always tell when it is the right time for a subject because I am a really crappy typist, but on the days when the subject is right I am Mavis Beacon on crack. I forget that I have never passed a typing class (that I miserably failed at least two of them in college, as a matter of fact). My fingers just do it and I have no clue how they do it anymore than I have a clue where the sentences come from. But today the only thing I can write about with any flow seems to be my lack of something to write about. Figures.
So, let’s see. What can I tell you about that will keep the ole fingers flying and allow me a bit of respite from a dreary Monday morning? Ah, my weekend.
It was a rainy weekend and a quiet one. Ezra was at his dad’s. I probably should have been doing a whole shit load of things, but I am one of those people who just needs a day off. I usually take it on Saturdays. I don’t like to do anything productive on Saturdays. There are exceptions to this general rule, but they are few and far between. I can do projects on Saturdays. I am already planning on some painting projects come Spring (and, love, if you are reading this, brace yourself. It may not look like it, but the ideas are churning behind the scenes. Google nesting instinct). But I don’t do errands on Saturdays – at least not tedious ones.
For example, I lost my license a month or so ago. I took a Monday off work and had it on my list of To Dos for that day off. Well, as luck would have it, the State of Georgia closes the DMV (or whatever they call it in here – in Alabama it is the DMV and so it forever shall be to me) on Mondays. Assholes. I had it all planned out and my organized day was foiled by the government – I was not surprised. Anyway, I saw a sign saying it was open on Saturdays. Of course. That way no one will have to take off work because they lost their license, right? Problem is, that was about 4 Saturdays ago and I can never remember it on Saturday. You know when I remember that I forgot to go get my license AGAIN? Yep, when I pass that cop at about 12 mph over the speed limit while I am running late getting to work on Monday. That is when I remember that the damn DMV is open on Saturdays and I will now run the risk of getting pulled over without a license another week. It just does not register. I have decided that I am finding the DMV closest to work and I am going on Thursday. If I try and do it on Saturday, it will obviously never get done. That is my day off, God-love-it, and even my subconscious is in on it. I know better than to try and outsmart myself. For some reason, I always seem to know it is coming and my authentically lazy self is prepared for such trickery. I will take an hour out of work – it will only get done that way.
I do like to have fun on Saturdays. That means sleeping in until whenever, making pancakes, drinking coffee, watching news and other things best kept off this blog. This weekend was a special treat as Jay and I got to go bed shopping. We are sleeping on mattresses I bought on clearance circa 1995. On the floor – as in no bed frame. I know this sounds totally white trash – and it is. The rest of the room looks really nice, I promise, from the matted and framed Starry Night, another framed floral print and the beautiful print from NOLA Jay’s mother gave me for Christmas. It also has a beautiful Haverty’s dresser and mirror, an armoire and another chest (neither Haverty’s nor really nice, but they’ll do) and two bedside tables. However, Jay decided that my sleigh bed (the floor sample bought at Barrow’s Fine Furniture also in 1995) was a bit too rickety when we moved, so we have had the bed on the floor for stability since August. One thing you have to know is that Jay’s dad owns several mattress stores in north Florida – and his mother has been with Haverty’s, well, for a while, let’s say. I am sure they would be beside themselves to know what their son is sleeping on. As Jay put it, he has never slept on anything as sub par as my bed unless it was unavoidable and then only for one night. Being that his dad has had mattress stores since Jay was a baby, I am sure he is absolutely right about this. Wanna guess what our wedding present is going to be? Bingo. I hereby take this opportunity to express my gratitude to them (not that they even know I have this blog, thank the good Lord) and I am quite sure that my back, especially when I am 7 months pregnant, will be even more thankful. See, I can do this kind of thing on a Saturday with no problem. And then Jay took me to Varner’s so I could scarf a delectable chicken sandwich. Ahhh, my kind of Saturday.
On the weekends, everything outside my home and family enjoyment goes into the background. I believe in following the sage example of a day of rest. I recharge on Saturdays and go into housekeeper mode on Sundays. Sunday is the day for reorganizing everything at home that got left out during the week. That is when the sweeping is done, the dishes are caught up on, the dusting (I dust only the dust I SEE – which means that the armoire in the bedroom still has a layer from 3 months ago – the last time I got a wild hair and dusted everything in the house – yet the chest of drawers I have to look at every time I walk into the bedroom gets dusted almost weekly) the laundry is washed (although it will be in baskets in my reading nook of the living room until next Sunday – I run a week behind on folding, but it is by-God clean and that is all we are after here, folks) and just general removing the week’s worth of grime that our nasty selves allow to accumulate during the weekdays. I swear we are all just pigs in disguise.
I also do all the grocery shopping and meal planning on Sundays. I may do a bit of it on Saturdays, but it is only the beginnings of thinking about it, not actually putting any effort into it, while I read my magazines in my reading chair. Unless I have some weird bout of energy on Saturday or get to wanting something to eat that we do not have all the ingredients for at home. I can spend anywhere from 2 to 8 hours (or even more on occasion) doing household stuff on Sundays. I like doing it, really. I like getting my house in order and making sure we have all the things we need for the week. I suppose it appeals to my nurturing side, my organizing side and the side of me that cannot abide filth for more than a few days at a time. Of course, the urge to do this does not strike until 2p at the earliest, so it is not odd for Jay to be asking, “Are you done yet?” at 10p. I am not. I am really just on a roll by then. I am getting everything clean and I am enjoying it. My heart rate is up, I am in full cleaning mode and I am on fire. If left to my own devices I can keep it up until 1 or 2a. This was not unusual when we were moving in and getting settled. He walked into the living room one night at about 1a and I had our entire library of books in stacks around the living room. The bookshelves were empty and I was standing in the middle of all the stacks. I was pinging. I can stay up all night long cleaning and putting things away. I am also a night owl living in a lark world and this always, always, always comes back to bite me when I finally drag myself out of bed a least a half hour later than I swore I would a few hours before. I am proof that the road to hell is paved with good intentions – Hell being Monday mornings and traffic, with the occasional thunderstorm thrown in to teach me a lesson I will never be capable of learning.
Anyway, I was on my knees in the bedroom with a pan of diluted Murphy’s Oil Soap trying to clean something off the front of the chest in our bedroom at about 10:30p last night when I realized I probably throw in the towel – literally. I walked through the house one more time noting all the stuff I had not gotten to that day and finally decided a shower was in order, as I had not yet had one. I valiantly fought the urge to clean out the tub before getting into the shower and was nice and squeaky clean, shaved and lotioned by 11p or so. Man did it feel good, too. I suppose I began to doze on the couch sometime after 1a and Jay woke me to go to bed around 2a. Jay is every bit as much of a night owl as I am – probably more so, actually. And I must admit that, with this pregnancy, I am a bit of a light weight right now as I am more tired, unable to drink therefore lack the alcohol needed to get to talking about politics or religion or any of the other dozens of things that we can get to yawing about and stay up until 3 or 4a on a Tuesday.
Needless to say we should have no problem with midnight or 2a feedings, but this baby is probably going to be teaching him or herself to get over it and go back to sleep for a while at 5a. I can just see it, 4:45a and Ezra comes dragging into our bedroom to physically shake one of us awake so we can feed the baby because we will both be completely oblivious to any cries for food at that time of morning. In my defense, I have always been able to get up for a hurt, scared or sick cry, even at 5a. There is something about the difference in the pitch or urgency that could wake a dead mother if she heard a whimper of desperation from her child. I at least have that.
Ok. I am going to have to wind this up. Man, I sure have a lot of shit to say for someone who was complaining about not having shit to say today, uh? Welcome to Jay’s world – I am sure he has looked, but I don’t think my own mother has been able to find a mute button on me anywhere.
Oh, and one more thing. Here’s a shout out to Ricky for the high praise about my little blog. I was touched you read it and happy you enjoyed it. Even if I did not seem like it, your compliment made my day – almost as much as that chicken sandwich.