jimmy legs

I've been antsy for weeks now. Defensive and easily offended, my affective filter hovering somewhere between the "scream" and "cry" settings. Pissy and pissed off for no good, or at least no apparent, reason.

I thought maybe it was the therapy -- in the next to next to last session before I turned into Quitty McQuitterson and told the good Dr. I needed a break, he hinted a little too loudly that we were starting to make some progress through all the fluff issues that I kept throwing at him in an effort to hide the bitter dark soup that lurks just beyond the smiles and kittens. Despite reassurance that it's better on the other side, I'm not totally onboard with stepping off into that lake of muck and obscurity. It might well be deeper and farther than I can swim through and I'm fine right here on this splintery old dock, thankyouverymuch. I'll catch the next ferry across. Go on, you go ahead without me. Here's my cell number... give me a call when you get to the other side and tell me how it was.

I've blamed my allergies. Ah, histamine. Histamine, histamine, histamine. I appreciate your fervor, really I do. There is not a single system in my body that takes it's role more seriously than you do yours. And it's good to know that you are ready at a moments notice to fight the good fight. But could you rachet it down a notch or two? Seriously, dude, it's pollen. You're killing my already interrupted sleep, screwing with the flavor of the foods that I eat, and blurring my vision. Not to mention the oh-so-attractive peeling of the tip of my nose because of all the blowing and wiping, wiping and blowing. My kid is starting to sound like he has a stutter when in reality he's just imitating my speech patterns (w-w-w-wou-ACHOO-ld you please g-g-g-gi-ACHOO-ve me th-th-th-ACHOO-at? P-p-p-ACHOO-ass the sa-sa-sa-ACHOO-lt.). Enough already. I get it . You're sensitive.

I thought it might be the inconsistency of the weather. Or that time of the month. Or lack of sleep. The horrible threes. Bad diet and poor exercise.

It wasn't until I started seeing the same faces over and over and over (At the grocery store! At the library! At the bank! At the park! At another park! Over there behind that bush! ) that it dawned on me: Holy shit, I'm jonesing for another move. I guess it kinda makes sense when you look at our history:

  • 1997-1999: Our first home together was a itty-bitty (almost) two bedroom apartment 871 miles away from family and friends. I focused my attention on figuring out which classes I had to take over since math and science and English are so vastly different state-to-state.
  • 1999-2001: We bought our first house* 20 miles north-eastish of the apartment and while his workfriendslife stayed the same, I plunked my roots down 35 miles even further north-eastish while I finished school.
  • 2001-2003: Our address stayed the same, but now my world alternated between that dark, dank, windowless cell on the UCDavis campus and the elementary school just around the corner from our house. Teacher by day, student by other days. Except for that last year when I actually collected a paycheck under the guise of "teacher".
  • 2003-2005: We got called up to the majors moved to San Antonio. I tried volunteering in the art** community on for size and lost my heart at least a hundred times over at a local children's shelter.
  • 2005-2007: Transferred to the East Coast. Had a baby. Lived in the Big City. Started blogging.
  • 2007-present: Moved West, young man. Suburbia, one town over from where we started married life. Occasional contact with old friends with new faces proves that you can't go home again. We're all different, older, wiser, tireder, quieter than we were before. And the reality of it is that my community is made up of yet another new set of faces and names.
So here we are, almost a year and a half into our "new" home and surprise, surprise, I'm all fidgety. We're here through the end of 2010 -- that much is as certain as anything ever is with the Evil Empire. But it makes me wonder (okay, so obsess is probably more accurate) where next will be and just how long it will be before next is yesterday's news.




*The white one with the green trim. It was white with country blue trim when we bought it, had a 60+ foot (vicious) liquid amber tree (that would pelt you with it's little seed pods of death and left impossible to remove driplets of resin (that weren't visible unless driving down the highway and the sun hit just right) all over the windshield of our car) just to the left of the garage. Over there where we put in a nice, new, smooth, driplet, seed pod free pad? Oh yeah, we ripped that mutha out. Also, if you squint really carefully, you can see the bench that Josh built out of the trunk of that effer over on the right side of the yard, under the neighbor's pine trees. That's Bob's house. Bob was an older, mostly retired, very bored fellow who knew freaky amounts of information about our house. We're talking information like the color that we painted the guest bathroom and the kind of tile we replaced the entry way with. Even though Bob had never been invited over to check out our home improvement projects. He also knew that we had two (indoor) cats and that one of them preferred to lie in the sun in the back window. And that I drank coffee, but Josh didn't. I don't think he ever mentioned our favorite positions or the color of my panties. In fairness, we never worried about security when we were away.

**Looks like they've still got the same clueless asshole er, person, as the president/executive director. Hopefully the names on the staff list that I don't recognize belong to people strong and visionary enough to help cancel him out. That idiot aside, we were privileged to meet, work with, and form friendships with some incredible artists while we were there. Most of our real art was a direct result of these relationships, so although I can't imagine ever volunteering to go back to the Lone Star State for more than a visit, we will always carry a little bit of it with us.
*cue sappy sighs*

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nothing to see here

Unless you want to look at my new banner of which I am insanely proud. I spent the better part of Friday evening tweaking and splicing and stretching and patching and spliffing and sploofing (okay, I made up those last two) the banner from a free template that I found over at BlogspotTemplate.com and Ta-DAAAA! I am so head over heels in love with the way it turned out that I hurt my tongue licking the screen after I was finished. Josh was off climbing some mountain, though, so both my pride and tastebuds had ample private recovery time, thankyouverymuch. I think it very well may have been the spark I needed to get reinvigorated about spilling my guts here. Good for me, not so good for you, methinks. But, still. New, shiny banner!

Beyond that, there really is nothing new to see here. I've been in one of those grand gray-purple miserable funks where I've all but convinced myself that my sole purpose in life is to provide everyone around me with comic relief except I don't realize that I'm the butt of the jokes so I don't even get the pleasure of knowing that I've made the world around me a better place and yes, my worms do taste better sauteed in my own tears and self-pity. Add a high-carb crust to that and oo-ooey! I'm a blast to be around. Every time I near the end of one of these I swear that I'm going to start keeping track of how often they come because hey! maybe they are cyclical and related to something I could actually take steps to control. But then I get all caught up in the sunshine and lollipops and rainbows and butterflies until blammo I walk straight back into a cloud of suck and don't realize that I'm back there again until I start to see the glimmer of hope and light on the other side. Spell it with me now: m-a-n-i-c-d-e-p-r-e-s-s-i-v-e- - t-e-n-d-e-n-c-i-e-s. Yes, yes, I'm sure there's some of that, too. I think it coordinates quite nicely with my favorite "I Heart OCD" apron with the slightly asymmetrical pockets. Yes, I measured them.

The problem is that I'm currently on a break from the good Dr. and we didn't get far enough in therapy for him to conclude that I do or do not need help beyond spilling my guts and wallet for an hour every other week. The break is a story for another time -- suffice it to say things were getting a leeeeetle bit overwhelming and I all but ran screaming "LEAVEMEALONE!!!" from his office on our next to last session. We both agreed that maybe I needed some processing time, what with my head exploding and all because hey, fun fact! there's no "right" way to "do" therapy and how am I ever going to get a 100% A+++ for staying on the rails no matter what if there ARE NO RAILS TO STAY ON, at least, not the same rails for everyone and there's actually no way to fail therapy, so my whole basis for self-esteem, (aka: doing exactly what I'm supposed to and smugly noticing how much better than you I'm doing even though to your face I'll tell you you're doing a great job, too, but come on, really, can't you see that I'm doing it much better than you are?) is shot completely to hell.

So that's a fun tale for us to all look forward to, but in the meantime, there are no happy little mood stabilizing pills in my immediate prescription future.

Anyways, as I was saying, there's a break in the clouds and since my space is now shiny and pretty and I lurve, heart, luv, L-O-V-E looking at it, I think there's a good chance that I might actually get back to posting in the not too distant future. But no more tonight and probably not tomorrow because Josh just got back from that mountain and I've blocked out the next 24 hours to openly stare at his manliness and breathe in the testosterone. And clean the phunk off of the clothes he wore. I know nothing quite as certainly as I know this: Damn, boys stink.


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let's play a little game of truth and dare

Truth: The weather forecast showing rain for the whole weekend is not necessarily a bad thing, especially when you consider that the 12-hour, knockyouonyourass flu thing that came to visit a certain little boy's family decided it liked the hospitality well enough to extend its stay by a few days and so a couple days of R&R might be just the thing.

Truth: Translating the words "rainy weekend" into "two whole days to relax and recuperate", will lull the parents of a certain little boy into thinking they can fudge on a certain little boy's naptime on Saturday. And by fudge I mean skip it all together and run all about the local area doing fun stuff like Shopping For Lightbulbs.

Truth: Brand new houses come equipped with very odd lightbulbs that are programmed to crap out just enough after the 1-year warranty has expired to make you feel reeeeeally uncomfortable with the idea of calling up the new customer service guy (who is not at all like the old customer service guy, the one who actually read that part of the manual with the helpful suggestions like "listen to what you are being told" and "do everything within your power to find a solution" and "return calls before the customer has forgotten that she made the phone call in the first place") to ask for new lightbulbs so instead you find yourself running all over the local area carrying around 4 different lightbulbs in 4 different odd shapes and sizes and so boggling the minds of the nice young men and women in their orange/red aprony things by asking them "Do you have any lightbulbs that look like this?" that they can barely summon the energy needed to wave faintly in the direction of aisle 10 where, behold, there are 15 million different kinds of lightbulbs, but not a one with the size and or shape that you need.

Truth: A certain little boy who is being deprived of naptime will be able to keep his shit together just long enough for his father to make it out of earshot after his parents have discussed, at length, whether or not a certain little boy is going to make it if they split up and head in opposite directions so as to speed up the rest of the shopping / errands since it just took 4 effing hours to find the effing lightbulbs.

Truth: Somehow a certain little boy will pull his shit back together 2.2 seconds before his father rejoins his now-harried mother back at the car.

Truth: The father of a certain little boy won't say it out loud but will be wondering WTF the problem is and why the mother of a certain little boy doesn't do a better job of rolling with the punches.

Truth: A certain little boy will be good as gold the rest of the day. Charming, even. Such a delight that his parents will be duped into letting him stay up just a little bit later to play one more game on the Wii.

Truth: A certain little boy will not sleep in the following morning.

Truth: A certain little boy will take a shorter-than-normal nap that afternoon.

Truth: When faced with the erroneous information that Sunday night is the last night of the city league basketball season, mixed with the actuality that the team of a certain little boy's father has been undefeated, the mother of a certain little boy will choose to swallow that niggle of negativity when it is suggested that a certain little boy's bedtime be moved back an hour to go watch the final game.

Truth: The earlier game will still be in progress at the scheduled start time for the later game that a certain little boy's bedtime has been delayed for. The earlier game will last an additional 15 minutes after scheduled start time for the later game.

Truth: A certain little boy's father's team won the later game with well over double team the other team's score. The later game was won a solid 20 minutes later than scheduled game-over time. A certain boy's bedtime, thus, was more like an hour and a half later than normal.

Truth: No naptime on Saturday + late bedtime on Saturday + early awake time on Sunday + a shorter-than-normal naptime on Sunday + already delayed bedtime on Sunday = Extra Super Fun Late Late Bedtime Temper Tantrum Extravaganza (ESFLLBTTE)

Truth: ESFLLBTTE is so much fun that a certain little boy's mother winds up taking a full 3 hours to wind down before calling it a night.

Truth: "Calling it a night" really means "just barely dozing off before a certain little boy comes running into the room to crawl into bed with her for 45 fun-filled minutes of Kick-The-Mommy-In-The-Gut", leaving only 4 hours and 45 minutes left for sleeping before a certain little boy's mommy's alarm is set to go off so that she can get out of bed to go meet her work-out buddies at the park. Also? "Work-out buddies" can be translated to mean "People Who Get Out Of Bed Before 6am On Purpose Because They Like To And Are Happy And Smiling And Chatty Before Coffee". They really do exist!

Truth: A certain little boy's mommy briefly contemplates throwing the alarm across the room when it goes off at 5:45 am, but a certain little boy's mommy's littlest sister is getting married in just over a month and she really, really, really has her heart set on not taking her own muffin top to the reception.

Truth: A certain little boy's mommy is not in the best of moods.

Truth: A certain little boy is not in the best of moods.

Truth: A certain little boy makes some rather poor choices (1. throws two scoopfuls of kitty kibble "up, up, up in da air acuz dey were hungry an I'm da man who feeds da kitties", 2. pees on a full roll of toilet paper, and 3. fingerpaints across the kitchen floor with butter).

Truth: A certain little boy is so distraught over missing all of playtime at the gym and having shortened time at the library so that he could "clean up" (in a world where "Clean up" = "Push pieces of kibble around on the floor until a certain little boy's mommy can't stand it any more and then go fingerpaint across the kitchen floor while a certain little boy's mommy takes care of the kibble." and "lick the butter off the floor faster than a certain little boy's mommy can wipe it up.") after those poor choices that naptime is delayed for round two of ESFLLBTTE, Naptime Edition.

Truth: A certain little boy's mommy makes the rather poor decision to interrupt a certain little boy's already shortened naptime to take him to his scheduled swimming lessons.

Truth: A certain little boy experiments with Letting Go Of The Wall With Both Hands and Spitting Gysers Into The Faces Of Fellow Level I Swimmers, followed by How It Feels To Have To Sit On The Edge Of The Pool While The Swim Coach Works With Fellow Level I Swimmers Because I Can't Be Trusted Not To Let Go Of The Wall With Both Hands And Not Spit Gysers Into The Faces Of Fellow Level I Swimmers.*

Truth: A certain little boy's mommy puts a certain little boy to bed earlier than usual.

Truth: A certain little boy's mommy puts a certain little boy down for naptime a little earlier than usual the following day.

Truth: A certain little boy is still sleeping, 3 1/2 hours later.

Dare: Don't you even think about dialing my number. I will cut you.


*PS Lora: I said it. I said it loud. I said it in front of people. I said it in casual conversation. I will not be forgotten at that pool for a very, very, very long time.

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