ME: With all the home decorating shows and looking at paint chips and being excited about my new apartment, I feel as though I’m turning into the stereotypical single woman in her mid-30s who lives alone with her cat and buys frilly bed linens.
THERAPIST: Do we need to start bringing a mirror into therapy to remind you what you look like?
My grandmother died eight years ago today. This year has been easier than years past, but there still isn’t a day that I don’t miss her. Mostly I get sad when I think about how much she would have loved seeing Rebel and Renegade grow up. And she never even met Rebel, a fact that reminds me that an entire little boy’s lifetime has passed since she’s been gone.
I measured my new apartment today. This involved going to Target for a tape measure, and I didn’t quite realize how paralyzed I would feel by the pressure to decide between 12′ and 16′ lengths. Nonetheless, the measuring itself went well, and I’m starting to get a better idea of how I’ll arrange things to my liking. Really, as long as my vintage Formica table fits in the eat-in kitchen, everything else is pretty much negotiable. And it does, so there you have it.
My feet still hurt, but I’m able to drive. Or at least I’ve been driving. Ability is a matter of perspective, I suppose.
I’m going to the doctor next week to find out whether I have cancer and, if so, whether I’ll be keeping all of my internal female organs. It’s funny how I don’t want any more children, but the idea of having the option taken away from me isn’t settling so well. Also, I think I’m way too young to be dealing with this. I’ve already had a freakin’ brain tumor — hasn’t the universe screwed with me enough over the past few years?
Looks like another trip to NYC is in order for May. More details soon, or as soon as I figure them out myself. Knowing me, this may be at the last minute.
Texas is little more than three weeks away. It’s funny, but I’ve never been to Dallas, nor have I been to Denton, which is where my brother lives and also where I’ll be staying with my brother’s friend Tim (and Tim’s wife, Amy), whom I met when his band toured here last fall. And there are promises of lots of good live music — knowing my brother and Tim, I’m sure I will not be disappointed. I’m a little less enthusiastic about running into my mother, father, and sister.
I’ve done so little work over the past week that I’m ashamed of myself. Today is the day to get back into the swing of things. Although it’s almost 2:30pm and I haven’t even opened my work email, so perhaps that’s ambitious of me.
I’ll spare you the details of how I accomplished the task of shaving my legs last night, but suffice it to say that it wasn’t particularly attractive. The end result, more so.
It’s time to come clean: I’ve been watching Rock of Love 2 all along. And I was oh-so-happy when Ambre won, but mostly because Daisy made me want to strangle random 25-year-old rock groupie strippers with fake breasts and bad, bad eyebrows. Seriously, she was a bitch.
There has been an overabundance of pie consumption in my household over the past 72 hours. If this continues, I may need an intervention.