A case for kittehs

Okay, y'all can make your arguments about why you think dogs are better than cats, but I just have to say.

No animal other than a cat can purr when you touch it, to show it's contentment with you, your presence, and your choice to pet it.

That's downright awesome, therapeutic, and spectacular. And a pretty great design choice on God's part, if I do say so.

You may not want to hear this, but...

I filed my nails while peeing tonight.

My schedule has me multi-tasking on a whole new TMI level.

On my nightstand

I'm reading "The House on Mango Street" right now.

I really like it.

Short. Sweet. (Truly sweet, not just "short and sweet").

You should give it a read. You might be able to finish it in one sitting.

What are you reading, friends?

An apology to my readers (those of you who are still reading the DB)

Dear friends,

Funny things are happening in my life.

Spiritual things are happening.

Things are being accomplished.

Thoughts are being thought.

And things are being written.

They're just not being written here, as of late, most of the time.

I so want to tell you all a story involving my cat, my oven, and my landlord (don't worry, no one was hurt) that happened here tonight, but I want to tell you in a funny, eloquent way that I know I'm capable of.

But I'm entering student grades online. And it's after midnight. And I'm hungry (I think, I'm not even sure). And I haven't gathered the trash, nor taken it outside. And I have another thing to post online for class by 9 am tomorrow. And I've overdrafted my bank account. And I have several assignments this week that I haven't started.

And I am sincerely grateful to God that my anxiety is under pretty good control at this moment in time. And I'm grateful that while my anxiety level was pretty high this past week, that I made it through. And I am praying for peace of mind in the days, weeks, and months ahead because this train of work is just going to keep coming and I have to keep getting stuff done.

And so...I can't tell you the story about the oven, and the cat, and one of my two awesome landlords just yet.

By the way, the cat is investigating the oven again...let me just give you the nutshell version: I'm afraid there might be a creature in there; with the oven turned on, nothing escaped, but now with the oven off again there is still a noise...

So I miss you guys, my audience, in some cases my friends (maybe some people I don't actually know in the audience? Raise your hands...). I hate that I'm not providing you with content. But as a writer, one of my pet peeves is shitty writing.

I don't want to provide you with shitty writing.

And the hours are just getting away from me.

So I'm sorry. Thank you for reading. I want to get back to the writing for you ASAP. Maybe I can get you a good (or good-ish) post every day during my Thanksgiving break.

Sigh.

Please be patient. Please read me when I'm back on the blogging radar (unless you don't like my writing, then maybe you shouldn't; I don't want to force you to read something you don't like). In the meantime I am on the journalistic radar (see yesterday's post for links. Oh, look at that, I posted two days in a row. Been a while since that had happened).

Love,

Bailey

Byline Babe

Well, my byline has greeted the world twice this week, so I'm going to put in some shameless plugs to my recent publications. Enjoy:

Generations keep tailgating legacies alive

Movie Review: The Big Year*

*If you haven't read Mark Obmascik's book, "The Big Year," it's worth picking up a copy. I loved it.

I miss people who are far away

Communicating over the phone is hard.

Especially when you feel like you're only, always, talking on the phone with people you love the most.

I was pretty amazed I had made it so far through the semester without any tears. They had to come sometime.

:(

Here's hoping for some revitalizing sleep.

Email from Nick: A reader

I'd like to provide you all with a smattering of some recent correspondence.

From Nick, who is a fantastic friend, which is an understatement.

Once upon a time we were pen pals, and by "we" I mean that Nick was an excellent pen pal, sending encouraging letters, with sarcastic P.S.'s, magazine clippings, original artwork, and I would write back on plain notebook paper, lamenting how much I hated my job and how depressed and lost I was.

Like I said: understatement.

Nick continues to provide me with weekly support. We miss each others' phone calls regularly, and when we do catch each other on the air waves he sometimes tells me, "Don't panic," before we say "love you" and hang up.

And then there are the emails.

Recently his emails have been pretty spot on with their sarcasm, or a perfect blend of sarcasm and support. We'll catalog those under "sarcastic support."

So, for your reading pleasure, I have compiled the following. Pop some popcorn and come on back for a little joviality:

From Sep. 27:

I sent Nick a little reminder that I am neurotic. He wrote back:

"so sleepy."

My response: "you're supposed to talk me out of my emotional pit." (I then said something nice about him getting some good sleep).

Nick: "i think i do enough talking you out of emotional pits. you need to find some calm pits for a change." (So sympathetic. It's heartwarming, really).

Me: "i'm eating pumpkin shaped, iced cookies. that's a pretty calm pit to be in.

and i have not yet cried this semester. you should be proud of me."

Nicholas, Sep. 28: "you should not cry in any semester. it shows weakness."

I believe I laughed out loud at this.

Sep. 29:

I asked Nick if we had discussed going to Punxsutawney, PA for next year's Groundhog Day (the latter is one of my favorite holidays, the former on my bucket list).

Nick: "i think that sounds like a terrible idea..."

Oct. 5:

I called Nick from a parking garage and left a message with the embarrassing confession that I was in my car and could not find my way out! of the garage.

Later--after I emerged--I got an email:

"in case you are still not out of the parking garage, here is some music to entertain you. (we are pretending you have a smart phone...)"

Nice to know that my bestie will send me a YouTube video before he'll call the cops. Noted. To be fair I didn't give him the name or latitudinal points of the garage so he couldn't have accurately reported my whereabouts to the authorities. Also, knowing me, he probably had the accurate hunch that eventually I would have rolled down my window to explain to a pedestrian that I was stuck in the effing garage and ask, "Could you please tell me how to get out of here?".

See this post from the archives for why he would suspect such behavior. ("Hi my name is Bailey and I'm not shy.")

.Mom

After searching for "Mom" several times in my phone contacts list, I decided to move Mom up in the list. She has priority in my life, certainly, but this is also an issue of the several other "M" contacts who are listed alphabetically before her in my phone.

So whenever I go to call Mom I have to scroll through several "M"s first.

Well today I tried to put a "1" in front of the word "Mom," to see if that would move her toward the top of the contact list.

I've done this for email. I have a folder called: "123 THESIS stuff!," the "123" being there simply to put it up higher in my line of vision so I don't have to search for it.

More recently, I believe, I added the folder "*more than i can chew," where contest opportunities, job opportunities, etc. go to be generally forgotten about. But at least there's an asterisk so that I can find the folder quickly.

Well in my attempt to add a "1" in front of Mom's contact listing in my phone, instead my phone added a period:

".Mom"

It put her toward the top of the contact list, so mission accomplished.

Then I realized that if you read it in a certain way, it kind of sounds like "dot com."

Dot Mom.

:) This could be a cute nickname. I'm pretty sure Dad would be on board with it, too.

Whiner

Maybe I'm cranky because I had plans to go home this weekend and those plans were cancelled.

Maybe it's because the vent over me at Starbucks is blowing cold air.

Maybe I just don't want to grade tests, and if they were out of the way I'd feel fine.

But most likely I think I'm suffering from anywhere-but-here syndrome.

Next weekend is the Chicago Marathon, in which four of my family members will be running and several others will be spectating. Unless I cram my weekend and commit to a seven hour solo drive each way, I won't be there.

My brother Patrick sent an email listing all the cute things that his daughter is doing these days--I can look forward to seeing those things at Christmas. And I'll probably have to reintroduce myself to her. I've considering posting videos to YouTube of myself so she'll have some idea of who Aunt Bailey is.

Did I mention it's freezing in this Starbucks?

I feel like I would be less cranky if I could even just be grading tests in my Starbucks back at home, where I used to work.

This is kind of ridiculous, to write myself a hypothetical prescription and imagine what it would be like to experience it, or assume that it would be better than my here and now.

I talked to my brother Kelly this week, and after disagreeing with him about an issue in one of my classes and telling him that I didn't want to talk about school, he asked me how things are on the boy front.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He apologized; I could tell he didn't intend to upset me and felt bad about my stress level.

I rarely flat out say, "I don't want to talk about it," so saying so twice alerted me that, well, either I'm changing or I'm in a funk.

I've been extra annoyed with driving lately, too. Being in the car--it's like a cage, with squealing brakes and a gas tank that needs to be filled.

If I knew this staff better, I might ask them to turn off the A/C.

Grumble grumble. To the tests now.

Yours grumpily,

B