Packing -- it's going great

The cat is on my suitcase.

Nothing else is in my suitcase.

I'm going to miss you too, my sweet Max.

Packing the warmest things I own. Leave no long johns behind!

I also have a fun little New Year's Eve dress but....not sure it's gonna be warm enough. Not for the wuss of a warm-temperature gal planning to wear it.

I called my family tonight, to be assured they were having zero fun without me.

They said they weren't, but I heard something about a bottle of wine being polished off, so I'm not sure they're having zero fun.

They also went to church tonight and there was a cow inside the building, so I really don't think they can promise they are having zero fun.

Cow in church = fun.

I hope everyone is enjoying my incessant blogging of late. It is my way of not packing.

I'm actually packing actual outfits. Be proud of me for that. I usually just throw whatever in my bag, and then I'm dressed like, well, me.

I am syncing up my tablet -- that I won for free at the company holiday party, yessss -- so that I can watch Felicity tomorrow at the airport and on the plane.

Again. Yessssss.

Gonna order my chardonnay -- or what have you -- on the plane, throw in my phones, and laugh right out loud at Javier if I feel like it!

And I'll think of Max. And miss the warmth of California. And some other people and things.

Sigh.

But I'll be headed to see some people I love. The bittersweetness.

I've laid a bunch of clothes out on my bed. Am I done yet?

I also discovered that I don't think I can watch Felicity on my tablet.

Nooooooooo.

Good thing I love to read. And that they have booze at airports. Here's hoping I don't forget my book like last time when I flew to Chicago. But then I made a new friend in Chicago and he gave me a book that was great. So it'll work out.

I'm tired. I want to be done packing. I want to snuggle with the cat.

One day...

Christmas Eve!

Raise your hand if you still need to pack your bag to fly home on Christmas!

Hollllllllllllllllllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

I have to admit I was mid-sentence a few minutes ago when I realized, with sudden urgency (and no, that's not redundant, because it was rather sudden and rather urgent), that I needed to call my brother Patrick.

Once upon a time, a 6-year-old Bailey made a piece of art, which has since been cultivated in the family museum of art.

Admittedly, sometimes it is on display in the front hallway bathroom.

This piece is a Christmas piece of art.

It is on a piece of that horizontal lined paper, with solid and dashed lines, that children use to practice their printing.

I wrote on this piece of paper, in alternating red and green marker, with lesser punctuation and capitalization that what appears below:

"One day Jesus made a holiday and he named it Christmas Eve."

Patrick in particular has taken to quoting this piece of prized visual decoration, and he often greets me in person or over the phone on the day it honors by reciting my famed words of childhood.

Today, when I realized, I decided to beat him to it. I whipped out the flip phone (remains to be seen whether Santa will replace this phone).

"One day Jesus made a holiday," I started.

"And he named it Christmas Eve," we finished together.

Then he told me he was trying to feed pancakes to a cranky child, so I let him go and told him I'll see him tomorrow, late. But I couldn't let the day pass without holding to our tradition.

"You're just gonna chill"

I'm going to write something totally predictable, cliche, and annoying that you may stop reading this blog.

Quick, think of a message you hear during the holiday season.

Was it something to do with being grateful, relaxing, slowing down to open your eyes and look around and enjoy the blessings in your life?

Well holla at your favorite blogger, who's about to do the same thing!

OK here's my situation, leading me to do this.

HEAR ME OUT.

Calm down. Pop some popcorn. Slow down. Take it in. Read slowly. Peace on earth.

I'm a brat.

But I do cheer for peace on earth.

First, I have a history of stressful, tearful, depressed, anxious, let's-just-get-through-this Christmases.

This was due to living in a cold, grey climate, not being on the right combo of psychotropic drugs, and having too much time on my hands to sit around. As a student, I would have month-long breaks from school, and I would spend a lot of time waiting for siblings with full time jobs to traipse home from far away for just a few days -- it was too much free time. Especially when I would switch from the stress of constancy of schoolwork, grading exams as a teaching assistant, gibber jabbering  with classmates, getting drinks on Friday nights to decompress to...sitting quietly with my parents in front of the TV with three cats.

I know what you might be thinking -- Bailey, you love TV and cats and your parents. Cats. Cats!

But, and I don't mean to bring this up all the damn time, but drugs make a lot of difference -- which is another conversation for another time, and I don't expect everyone to be on mood-stabilizing drugs, but I do know that for me they have changed my life, markedly.

So part of it was that I literally wasn't treated fully for something I needed to be treated for. Say instead I had diabetes for five winters in a row and didn't know it. That first Christmas with insulin would feel pretty great, yes? (Providing I cooled it around all the sugar cookies my brother makes every year). Similar situation here.

Also, as you know, and want me to shut up about, I am the last one standing in my family when it comes to the marriage milestone in life. When you fill a room with four sets of couples and one's single, solitary, selfie self, while yes, the three cats do help things, one can find herself wondering what to do with her hands.

And if she's sensitive like me, she may get tearful. And then when all the blissed-out couples in the room are feeling blissful and not tearful, then she may find herself to be the only one in the room crying. Which she isn't self conscious about in terms of the simple fact of crying with an audience, particularly if that audience is her family, but she does start to wish that someone else would cry during this time of year that has a lot of pressure to be happy and during which she doesn't feel quite so happy.

More so she feels anxious and sad and like she wants to run ten miles outside but dammit the sidewalks are covered with snow.

But NOW! I don't feel quite as sad. Truly, praise the good Lord above.

So why am I still stressed out about the holidays?

In short, I'll be covering four states in 10 days. If you really want to get technical and count my starting state (CA) in there, I'll be setting foot in five states within three days.

I don't care who you are -- as long as you're not a teenager, because wow are they energetic -- that's exhausting.

And I've been sick for more than two weeks. Finally got an antibiotic, so hopefully that will help.

I had sent a whiny email to my parents asking for prayers about my sickness and my stress for the holidays, so after seeing the doctor yesterday I called my dad to give him an update.

"And about this trip coming up?" he said, through the ear piece on my conveniently compact flip phone. "Don't worry about it. You're just gonna chill."

"I'll give you bourbon," he said.

Father of the year. Every year. I love him.

I heard him, I did, but I also rolled my eyes. I knew he and Mom would have such sentiments. "You can sleep in the car," they always say, when I start to get overwhelmed with quick turnaround road trips, seeing a new city every morning, a new bed every night. Forgetting that car sleep kind of sucks, and my anxiety knows no bounds and it will keep me up and stressed out if it wants.

But it hit me last night, after I picked up my prescription and came home to Max the cat, that I could, maybe, maaaaaybe, ease into this holiday, and really just enjoy the ridiculous amount of fun that it has to offer.

I mean.

Beginning Christmas night, I am going to be treated to:

Not dropping a dime anywhere
Having highballs with my brother
Drinking wine with my parents
Yes, maybe actually sleeping in a car
Being surrounded by adorable kids who call me (melt) Auntie Bailey
Opening presents
Giving presents
Listening to Julie Andrews Christmas music
Drinking more wine
Petting three fluffy cats
Talking to my parents about whatever I want -- because, mostly, depending on the topic, they'll listen
Letting my brother crack me up
Seeing a whole bunch of people in KS and MO who put huge smiles on my faces
Playing foosball
Playing guitar hero
ETC.

And, of course, the now-promised bourbon with Pappy.

So yeah. Maybe I should chill the you-know-what out and enjoy this.

Last year I took a month-long trip to seven cities or something crazy like that. I was unemployed, I was burnt out, I was self conscious about my placement in life, my parents bought me a plane ticket home and I used what little cash I still had to buy cheap bus tickets and found a way to needle my way around the Midwest to see so many people who I love.

I ate grilled cheese, I drank so much beer I think the effects may have been visibly apparent, I laughed, I talked, I danced.

IT WAS SO GREAT.

I was self conscious about my life but I was moving too fast to think about it. I don't recommend this as a pattern, from a therapy standpoint, but for the moment it worked.

After it ended, I recognized the blessing that it was and that I may never have an opportunity like that again, when most of my friends were still single and childless, when I didn't have a job so that I could take some time to goof off, when, remarkably, no one seemed to be judging me for doing something that most 20-somethings do at some point but that I had always thought to be impractical and therefore judged others, jealously, for doing so.

I now have an abbreviated version of that trip ahead of me. Beginning in t-minus two days. This is like a person's dreamland, being offered up free of charge, cats included. Cats included.

So maybe, if I can recognize what I have and chill out, I might actually enjoy myself during this holiday season.

Maybe this will be the year mind wins over matter.

If you need me, I'll be sipping bourbon. See you in 2015, y'all. And see some of you before then, in a Midwestern state of your choice.*

*Note, I may still blog in 2014 a time or few more.

More thoughtoids, a book you should read (and have a good cry)

Does anyone else have a vague illness that's just hanging on?

For crying out loud...

Going to the doctor today.

----

Read a precious beyond precious book at work today (we continue to sort toys for our clients for the holidays, which is great and feel good). It's called "You're All my Favorites" and it's about these precious baby bear siblings who wonder if their parents love each of them less because they are all different. The parents assure them that they are all equally beloved.

And the illustrations! So sweet. The bears remind me of little kitties. Because a lot of things remind me of kitties; birds, even. Because I'm obsessed.

Anyway, upon reading this book, I almost cried.

Read some reviews on Goodreads (I gave it five stars, obviously), and I wasn't the only one to get misty.

----

I thought of something while in bed last night that made me feel better. I remembered that Anne Lamott says that December is the worst month to try to get any writing done. I've been writing these little pieces of my life updates for you on the blog, as opposed to more thought out, longer essays; part of that is the attention span of my sickness, but I think it's also the fact that it's December!

I ran a half marathon last December and decided never to do it again; it's just too busy. And October and November are busy, too -- holiday parties everywhere I turn -- so the lead up of training for the race was crazy.

I've done a really good job this year of curbing my activities, so as to remain calm and rested and more jovial. It's worked quite well, I think. It was a good reminder to remember the Lamott December advice/wisdom piece.

----

I can tell I'm not feeling well in part because when faced with the opportunity to eat sushi -- one of my loves -- this weekend, I passed. When you pass on things you love, something's up. Physically, emotionally, what have you. Remember that.

----

A bientot, Mes Amis. Wish me luck at the doctor.

Finding his lap

The cat has become a lap cat overnight.

No I'm serious.

He's been sweet, and eager to see me -- and my feeding hand -- when I arrive home from work, for the past four months we've been roomies, friends, cat and human.

But I've wondered lately, and expressed confidently, bravely, to some people in my life, that I'm not sure Max is in love with me.

Dibbs, my beloved cat who has been officially adopted and inherited by my parents in Kansas (he's kind of a princess who would never survive a trip from Kansas to California), was in love with me. Purred before I picked him up. Purred a lot. Crawled in my lap. Only recently has he begun to spend time in my father's lap, as I gather from letters from home, and this is a big development in his character.

I won Dibbs over and it was a victory that I will not forget nor let the world forget.

He is mine and I am his and we love each other.

Are in love.

(Well, whether the active "are" verb can be used is perhaps up to the cat, as his mother did hop in a Corolla two years ago and leave him 2,000 miles in her dust. With food and water, and human guardians.)

But I've been fearful of Max. I tried to keep it on the down low, not letting my cat lady panic rise to the surface. I told myself it will take time for him to fall in love with me.

Meanwhile I feared that my imaginings of his affection being greater for me when I first adopted him in August than it is currently were true.

I took deep breaths.

I confided in few.

And today: I have a new cat.

He has met my lap.

When I came home from church this afternoon, I scooped him up and laid on the floor, setting his front paws on my chest, his face facing mine.

I do this often, expecting his usual response -- 30 seconds' tolerance, then a polite, but direct padding off of my torso and onto the non-human surface below.

Today -- sweet, sweet today -- he stayed.

He settled.

He laid on me, and stayed.

Later, I was watching Felicity (because, duh -- I'm nearing the end of the series; you will soon only hear about it sometimes, as opposed to always), and he came and squished himself beside me.

This he has done before, as well as the very occasional sprawling across my chest, but not as much lately. Furthermore, he used to do this when the futon was in an upright, couchlike position, but today he did it while the futon was in the laid out bedlike position.

And occasionally his paws would rest on my stomach.

Later I was sorting mail, sitting cross-legged on the carpet.

He balanced himself on a thigh (he did this yesterday, now that I realize; I probably just didn't commit yesterday's experience to memory for fear of it being a fluke. And my heart can't handle a fluke. Not with the all precious Office Max).

And then, as I laid on my back, propped on pillows, once again watching Felicity, he was on me again. Granted I went and gathered him from across the room -- he was eyeing some papers and I was afraid he might decide they were going to be a makeshift litterbox -- but when I brought him back over to the futon*, he laid down. His front on my torso, his back portion on my legs.

*I spend a lot of time in my futon.

He was warm. He purred. A steady purr, not motory or gravelly. Even keel, feeling like sand on the ocean's floor slowly pawing at my stomach.

I finally had to get up and go to the bathroom. When I sat up and gently picked him up to move him, placing myself temporarily in a sitting position, he took the opportunity to lie on my legs.

He is sensing I am craving extra affection -- I am -- and he is giving it to me.

I love him.

And I don't know if I should say it yet, but we may be on our way to being in love.

All I know is his timing is great, on this Sunday afternoon when my thoughts are on repeat and my compromised health is keeping me from doing things to actively distract them. He is redirecting my thoughts (to an extent -- he isn't God) to his purring. His warm sandy purr on my belly. His desire for my lap. His desire to fall in love.

Random thoughtoids

We were sorting toys at work today, for our toy drive, and I noticed that Barbie's bikini is almost more scantily clad than mine. Yeeps.

I actually said, however, to my coworker, that her bikini was more scantily clad than mine, then upon reassessing the situation I realized my bikini isn't actually all that pastor's-daughter friendly...

----

I sang karaoke at work this week.

That was unexpected.

I sang, with accompaniment, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," "My Favorite Things," "White Christmas," and "Go Tell it on the Mountain."

I was sitting there with my lunch in front of me and all of a sudden I was being called to the front of the conference room.

I may or may not have been wearing a Santa Claus apron.

I like to be festive.

I was sheepish upon arrival at the microphone, insisting that my coworker sing with me, wishing there were two microphones instead of one, so that her voice could be heard more clearly and mine less.

But at some point, I'm not entirely sure what prompted it, but I grabbed the microphone and flew solo.

Like Rudolph. Flying. With his nose sticking out. Literally.

Today at lunch a coworker said I have a beautiful singing voice, and that surprised me a little bit, since I was being pretty silly and have a cold. But hey. I'll take it.

----

I'm doing a lot of side traveling when I travel home for Christmas this year. We're talking coverage of four states.

That's a lot of states in 12 days' time.

Aw, I just realized I'll be home for 12 days of Christmas. That's kind of adorable.

But still annoying that so much driving and relocating must happen. But I suppose it's WORTH IT! to see my grams times two and my sibs and lots of friends. So, Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, Wisconsin, I will be seeing you soon. And cursing at your temperatures.

I am looking forward to showering the niece and nephew with gifts.

----

Back to the talk about sorting of toys. I really rely on the ages printed on the boxes of toys in order to figure out which age it's appropriate for, given my lack of children and knowledge of what kind of things they play with.

I'm not sure that was very interesting, but I am just trying to type here, so that you readers have some content to read.

----

Hmm, OK. I think I'll sign off now. Smooches. Much love, BB

Cats, Colds

If this stupid cold doesn't go away....

I'll probably just go to the doctor.

Or whine.

I'm good at whining.

Speaking of illness and medication (smooth segue), I recently had to give the cat some drugs, and:

a) He was sometimes a total champ about it, so much so that if the pill fell out of his mouth he would find it on the surface nearby him, where it had fallen, and lap it back up and swallow it down.

b) I discovered that, when I wrapped him up in a blanket or cardigan or something, I could hold him like a baby, and sometimes he purred. If you're a cat person, you know this is a big fat win in life, to be able to hold a cat like a baby and have it purr. I am currently, obviously, trying to cultivate this action in him to become a habit. Because if I can have a purring fur baby in my arms every night, yes please.

What else can I tell you, as I sit here and feel swimmy and mope about my cold that just won't leave?

I am leaving Christmas day for "home," to see family and friends and more family and friends. It's going to be a whirlwind trip, and I better not forget to pack my long underwear.

I shall miss the kitten boy, but he will be in good loving hands, and I am going to my parents' place, which doubles as a Castle of Cats. I'll see the precious/famous Dibbs Master, as well as Yogi and BooBoo. There will be much smushing of fuzzy faces and baby talk and feeding of begging mouths. I actually fricking love it -- I mean obviously, but really -- when I'm in such a ratio of cats:room environment, because I basically put one cat down from a cuddle, pass into the next room and scoop up the next one, and so on and so forth.

It takes me a good minute (hour) to leave the house for coffee dates and whatnot whenever I'm visiting the 'rents.

I must bid all cats a proper adieu!!!

And I must bid you adieu, before this blog post gets any whinier or more cat-obsessed.

Cat love,
Cat Freak

An evening

I thought I was going to break down and turn on the heat last night, but I didn't.

I figured Dec. 16 was too early in the season to do so.

[Grin]

While sitting in the futon all wrapped in blankets yet not quite warm enough, I decided on the bath route instead of the heater route.

I crumbled granules of salt from the blocky clump inside the bag of Epsom salt, massaging the plastic covering to coax them out into the water pouring hot from the spout.

I grabbed my recently organized candles and made a selection of a handful of them, which I placed in a line on the tub's edge. I enjoyed striking the match that lit them, down the line.

After peeling off my work clothes and fleece jacket, I stepped into the water. I rustled the salt grains sitting on the bottom of the tub with my hand, and they dissolved as more water plunged into my sitting chamber.

I noticed that the water was actually steaming, and that the candles I had selected were each a different color, a rainbow of sweaty wax. Thing I buy rarely match; I just like all the colors.

I turned the handle to stop the waterfall and, well, remained sitting. I immediately felt a little too warm, and reflected on our never-satisfied existence as grumpy, spoiled humans.

Eventually I leaned back, and as the water level adjusted the water started to drain, through an emergency chamber that keeps the bathtub from overflowing. I was mildly annoyed, but mostly just sitting.

Sometimes the cat visits me while I bathe, and I have terrifying visions of his tail catching ablaze from the candles and setting the apartment on fire, the fuzzy fuze doing its work.

He didn't visit me last night.

I alternated between sitting and lying back.

I shaved my legs.

I thought about the thing I'm trying not to think about.

I watched the flames of the candles and marveled at that which is fire. Marveled at how I struck a match and lit five separate wicks, then extinguished the match, then five separate flumes remained independent yet came from the same source. Thought about how fire was discovered. Thought about the sun, a boiling ball of fire that keeps me warm and fends off depression.

Thought, thought, thought. Though about that thing I'm trying not to think about.

I got into the bath to get me into a hands-off mode. The tub is a great place to tear one's fingers from the keyboard, from all our cycling habits, pacing repetitions that we do when given some free time. Nothing like stripping down and putting yourself in a bunch of water to keep you from doing anything else.

I lifted and lowered my legs from the water. Watched the water slide down the now-exposed thigh, the edges evaporating. Pulled the leg back under and watched the dimples of my knee create a dimple in the water.

Watched the water steam.

Watched the candles flicker and send black smoke upward, mixing with the steam.

Sat up and hugged my knees.

Looked at myself in the closet mirror.

Wondered if the cat would come visit.

Not quite sure if I was ready to get out -- if I had an appropriate enough "experience" of a bathtub experience -- but then pressed the drain plug and stood up to towel off.

Thirstily I poured myself a glass of orange juice -- one of my current almost-obsessions -- and petted the kitten, in the living room, simply sitting on the carpet. I love how soft their fur feels when I get out of the shower or bath. Holding them against your naked chest is the best.

After a little more Internet time, I pulled myself away from the laptop, got myself a glass of water, selected a book from the shelf, and got back in the futon.

I woke up around 3. It was raining. And thundering, which never happens in LA. The cat seemed a little confused.

My shirt was moist with sweat. Guess I didn't need the heater after all.

Fiction? Fiction!

Below is something I wrote earlier this year. I thought I'd try my hand at fiction. So while what you usually read on this blog is true, below is fiction. (I hope you) enjoy:

And so they laid in the grass.

The ground was not quite warm, and the earth between the million shoots of grass was a little wet, but once their backs met the not-quite-hard, slightly bumpy surface, it was an instant bond that made them powerless to get back up, at least right at first.

And besides, they had had it. They had done enough thinking and problem solving for one day. “Enough already!” they thought, and squished their shoulder blades around to get better acquainted with the ground, not minding that their t-shirts got wetter as they did so. Because as they lay there, they remembered how healing it can be to just lie on the earth and look at the sky. And sometimes it can be the best place to start when you’re trying to solve a problem and just don’t know where to go next.

Brady looked at a cloud and thought to himself that it looked like a rabbit – a boy rabbit, with stiff tufts of hair around his ears and buck teeth that made him look at once mischievous and impossibly charming. He laughed to himself, but only inside, a laugh that didn’t make it to the surface, causing no ripples of movement to move the folds in his t-shirt nor a sound from his mouth. He didn’t tell Jack, either, about the funny image he was picturing, because he just didn’t feel like expending the energy. He wasn’t cranky about it, but rather the longer he laid in the grass the more victim he became to its overpowering influence to make him relax. It was like gravity was literally pushing down on him, rather than just causing his body to fall downward.

This was the best he had felt in weeks, and it only took three seconds to get there.

How we forget to lie in the grass!

Jack let out a grumbly sigh, that both let out his aggravation toward spending half the day fighting their conundrum and expressed the same relief Brady was feeling at having met the grass.

Brady closed his eyes and took three rattly, relieved breaths, feeling safe, quiet, not rushed. Of course the thoughts were still spinning in his head, but when he opened his eyes again and looked at the clouds moving at their own pace he began to transfer the speed in his own head to the sky. “You do the moving for a while,” he thought, talking to the clouds.

He closed his eyes again, softly, and for several minutes would open them faintly, then his lids would close again, as if they couldn’t make up their mind what to do.

At one point the boys happened to let their heads fall to the side so that they caught a glimpse of each other, and they both smiled weakly; weakly but satisfied.

Finally. Finally, they'd stopped. Perhaps for but a moment, but at least for right now the world didn’t have its grip on us with its grimy, manipulative little hands, taking every moment and pointing us toward distraction, exhausting ambition, more more more. For now the world was holding them from a different angle, in the crook of its elbow, like babies. The boys were happy to be babies, babies who care only about food and milk, diaper changes and Mama being near.

And while Jack and Brady were teenagers, constantly shouldering the pressure to be manly, responsible, cool, tall, acne-free, they were in fact part baby, as all boys, all people, are. For the moment, they sank into their status as it was when they entered the world, free once again and not being watched, sized-up, not good enough. Mother Earth held them in her elbow thinking they were perfect, and they were, just as they were.

Short, pimpled, not always happy – all of it. 

What a sick person does and thinks about when she's sick

I could go for a boyfriend right now.

We'd order Chinese food and look at the cat and talk about how cute he is (the cat, not my BF).

I'd make him (my BF, not the cat) watch Felicity with me, and I would talk Noel versus Ben. He (my BF, not Noel or Ben) would think I'm so cute he would just let me talk about these fictional boys. And he would tell me I'm pretty and be happy he was my nonfictional boy.

Le sigh.

Anyway.

I'm actually feeling content to be single, but if a boyfriend were here and he wanted to have Chinese food and watch Felicity and talk about the cat, I'd be totally into that.

And my apartment is messy but not like disgusting-embarrassing messy so it would be OK if he came over.

Anyway. Again.

So I still have this fabulous cold. I spent the morning in bed, and took a nap -- before noon! I read, I made some lists, I watched Felicity (with guest stars John Ritter and Donald Faison), I ate some candy. Hey, I have a cold, not the stomach flu. I can have chocolate for breakfast.

Eventually I got bored.

I called Mom.

"I'm bored," I said when she answered the phone.

We talked for a bit.

We hung up.

I took a shower.

I went to Panera. Third time this week. Do I have a problem?

I went to what I thought was more of a shopping mall, but either I'm not good at finding secret passages to where the stores are hidden or this place was mostly restaurants and a movie theater. So I paid $3 for parking and got out of there.

Then I hit up the dollar store. Got a bunch of loot for me and the niece and nephew.

Then I returned the dead car battery in my trunk to Pep Boys.

Then I picked up my hold at the library.

Then I got coffee.

Now I am home.

Loot is spread on the floor, cat is on the floor, looking at me.

Who's enjoying this post? Show of hands.

The dollar store has a lot of jigsaw puzzles. I took note of this but did not purchase.

All righty. I've been thinking about a children's story -- I have a setting in mind and I think it's going to rhyme -- so I think I'm gonna go get to work on that. We'll see. My attention span is kind of, well, not there today.

Smooches,
Me

Interesting flavor combination

You know, Circle K's Holiday Spice coffee (mixed with a little House blend, I think -- can't remember exactly which concoction I worked up this morning) makes a nice chaser to Rite Aid's Maximum Strength Adult Tussin Multi-Symptom Cold CF (non-drowsy, alcohol free).

The things you learn when you have a cold*.

I sincerely hope my neighbors in the office have enjoyed listening to my hacking and old-man-sounding nose blowing today.

*At least it isn't cold here. I'm wearing a sundress without tights or leggings. It's December 10th.

The 1,000 List, Installment #3

Three hundred things I'm grateful for, 700 to go! Click here and here for the first two installments of my ongoing gratitude list. Also, if I'm starting to repeat myself with some of these list items...well, then, I'm starting to repeat myself.

201. That scene in "Friends" where Joey accuses Ross of breaking his fridge.
202. Ridges on fingernails
203. Reading to someone
204. Being read to by someone
205. Watching a cat drink water
206. Watching a cat bathe itself
207. Being in bed on Saturday with all the blankets and sheets and lack of rush and responsibility
208. Scarves (with a spritz of perfume on them)
209. The smell of musk/men
210. Seagulls
211. The weight of another (animal or human) on or near me. Amazing the power of this comfort.
212. Riding a train in Chicago
213. Whipping out my Discman on an airplane
214. A really good book to keep me not bored during a flight
215. Vacation
216. A string of several days when I get to see several people who I really love
217. Psychotropic drugs that keep me feeling happy and regulated, calm -- that allow me to be me
218. Noel Crane on Felicity
219. That speech in Jack when Bill Cosby's character tells Jack he's a shooting star
220. The rare sighting of a butterfly -- live and in winged person
221. The scene in Miracle on 34th Street when Santa signs "Jingle Bells" to a girl who is deaf
222. Stickers!
223. Quilts
224. An empty -- or smally populated -- email inbox
225. Sara Evans' song "Stronger"
226. The fact that onion rings always make me think of my mom and my childhood
227. Disposable, paper bowls (I'm serious - it dates back, I think, to a grade school party I had involving ice cream sundaes)
228. When the opening credits -- music and pictures -- for Felicity start
229. Tomato soup
230. Fish sticks and ketchup
231. A bland breakfast with coffee
232. A sweet breakfast with coffee
233. Toast
234. The humidity that forms on the glass pane of the door when I start the dryer
235. Plain oatmeal
236. Oatmeal with pecans and dried fruit
237. A good day at work. No annoyances, fun coworkers. Either a highly productive day or one where I can get away with doing little.
238. Stale marshmallows
239. Roasting marshmallows by a fire and washing them down with beers. Particularly with my cousin David (a memory that may not be repeated, but it was a sweet one).
240. Quoting Cool Runnings with Corie and Riley
241. Ordering pizza
242. Watching the Home Alone movies with Riley or Jeff
243. A toddler in my lap
244. A baby in my arms
245. Smiling at a baby slung over the shoulder of a parent in a row in front of me at church
246. Avocado that is soft enough that it spreads across bread like butter
247. Clipping my fingernails (and pushing back my cuticles)
248. Watermelon
249. Romance
250. An encore
251. Live music
252. A burger from Five Guys with "everything" and jalpenos
253. Seeing a great movie in a theater, with popcorn, Junior Mints, soda, [and a friend]
254. Lunch dates with my coworker Shonna
255. Seeing my coworker Carrie afresh every morning
256. Walking across the hall to Carrie's office to gush about my cat and her dogs and how much we can't wait to see the animals we left at home mere hours before
257. Orange juice
258. Scott Speedman's smile
259. Benjamin McKenzie's smile
260. Javier on Felicity
261. French fries with room temperature ketchup (bonus if eaten seaside)
262. Blackberries with a little sugar sprinkled on them
263. Strawberries dipped in powdered sugar
264. Honeydew -- when it's perfectly ripe
265. A perfectly ripe pear
266. Tearing through a book
267. People who smile as much as I do
268. Thoughtful people
269. Funny people
270. Building someone up
271. Addressing a group as "Party People"
272. The phrase "Are you pickin' up what I'm puttin' down?"
273. Sticking my face in a kitty's belly
274. Running
275. Whipped cream on coffee
276. Whipped cream period
277. A great coffee date, with a friend or a family or a boy
278. Putting together a jigsaw puzzle
279. Live music
280. A beer on tap
281. This: "Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair." -- Khalil Gibran
282. Christmas stockings
283. Index cards
284. Wet hair, air drying
285. Saturday mornings
286. Friday nights
287. Watching hair tutorials on YouTube
288. Karaoke
289. Shopping at Fresh & Easy
290. Sushiiiiiiiiiii
291. Roller skating at old school (are there any new school ones?) roller rinks, carpeting and hot dog smells and all
292. Making friends with people on the single pretense that we attended the same university (and I suppose the other pretense that we live in the same geographic location thousands of miles from the university)
293. I don't do it anymore, but I always loved doing math homework
294. That feeling of peace and calm that hits a few minutes after a long run
295. All those glorious items one doesn't need at Target
296. Finding a gem of a book in a used bookstore
297. Hand-me-down clothes, especially from friends I love
298. Rainy days in LA
299. The way a knit sweater feels on a chilly day
300. Water, in its many healing and soothing forms