I stopped by Foster's Donuts this morning.
Either the woman working misheard me or really likes me, because I requested two sprinkle donuts but when I got to work I discovered three rings of confection in my white paper bag.
Score. Sugary, cakey score.
I've eaten one, not sure when I'll consume the other two. Perhaps I will bring them to the
THIRD ANNUAL GAL PAL GETAWAY
with
GAL PAL LAURA
for breakfast consumption tomorrow morning.
Who knows when we'll eat them? The world is our oyster. Or donut, as it were.
***
I went to Alex's improv show last night. I was very impressed by everyone's quick wit, and I never cease to be impressed by Alex's talent.
They did a mock poetry reading, and A pretended to be a painfully shy child and he was just so precious it was all I could do not to squeal from the front row.
SIGH.
So precious. And he's mine. Yay.
***
Do you ever stop and think about how much our lives can change from week to week?
Par example, last week I spent every night at Alex's place, affixing new bandages to his recent bicycle accident wounds.
This week I've hardly thought about that. But for a week that was my life. This life just changes, swiftly and steadily.
Hmm. Just thought I'd share that little musing.
***
It's also interesting to me that I can be so wrapped up in a book, and then suddenly stop reading it for a bit and not miss it. I'm reading Marisa de los Santos' "Belong to Me" right now, and it's ridiculously good.
I was tearing through it, but then I just got busy and I haven't touched it too much recently.
I mean, I absolutely look forward to getting back to it, but I'm not actively missing it.
But I feel a twinge of guilt that I'm not driving through it, as though the match of passion has burned out on a crush and I'm wondering why the bottom of my feelings have dropped out. (Except my crush for Marisa de los Santos is still there and I love her work). Is that weird?
I feel similar guilt regarding clothes in my closet that I don't wear very often. I feel as if I'm not giving them adequate attention. Does this stem from my place as a forgotten middle child? Something to explore in therapy...
Who's with me? Inanimate object guilt? Anyone?
I'm sure if my brother Patrick is reading this he's thinking, "Bailey, you're overthinking this." Can't argue with him, but I plan to continue overthinking, thank you very much.
In other Patrick news, he is headed to Africa tomorrow, which will make me and him the only two Brewers to have traveled to the motherland. Holla. Passport club!
***
My new favorite game at karaoke is to have the DJ pick a song for me. I've told him that basically anything poppy from the 90s is a safe bet. So far he's called me on to the stage to sing Alanis' "You Oughta Know" and Third Eye Blind's "Semi-Charmed Kind of Life."
The latter makes me think of my seventh grade boyfriend, because he loved that song and I remember vividly him jumping up and down at one of our school dances to the "Doo doo doo"s.
He's gay now.
***
A bientot! Happy Gal Pal Weekend! Thanks for reading!
Xoxo
Friday, February 19, 2016
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Dad says I need to write
I talked to my Dad yesterday, as I munched on tuna salad (like, a salad with tuna on top -- not a sandwich with tuna salad in between the bread).
He said our friends Rick and Maureen (also my former landlords extraordinaire) want to know how my book is coming.
Ummmm[gurgly eschewing-the-question noises]mmmmmmmmm, I said.
[Laughter], Dad said.
Daddy Dearest then requested that I get some writing in "before you forget how to do it."
Admittedly, I have started -- and abandoned -- several blog posts in the last couple of weeks.
The book hasn't been touched since last year, I'm pretty sure.
But since FATHER asked specifically, I will write SOMETHING here and then post it and you're welcome.
The good news is I have been very active in 2016, so I have plenty of material to draw from. So let's begin with a smattering of thoughts and musings, shall we?
Onward.
#1. I am becoming one with karaoke.
I would say I'm obsessed. I would say I'm falling in love. But as I dissect it more closely, I'd have to say that karaoke is just becoming a part of me.
(Normally), when one first begins singing karaoke, the number one emotion tied to the action is fear. Also maybe some elation, excitement, fun. But certainly some nervousness in there as well.
Well, I'm at the point where I just get up there and do it, the way I would sit down to stitch some X's into perforated fabric, or snuggle my kitten's face, or drink a beer. It's just easy peasy. It's fun, don't get me wrong, but I'm no longer like, "Eeeeeeek" when they call my name to take the stage. I'm just like, "Circle of Life in the key of E, yo."
I'm also getting to know some new pals at our favorite local bar, which is making karaoke way more fun than it already naturally is.
#2. Billiards is also becoming a part of my natural self/life.
Adding to our favorite local bar's charm -- in addition to the great patrons and karaoke two nights a week -- is the fact that it has a pool table, and games are a whopping 50 cents.
I am beginning to love pool so much that I gladly dip into my precious quarters-for-laundry collection to play several times a week.
I have some off moments, to be sure, but...to be honest...I'm getting a little better at the game. And that's fun.
#3. I'm getting pretty organized.
My car and bedroom, while not pristine, are currently not atrocious.
One of my besties, Laura, is coming to stay with us tonight, and I am not cringing with self consciousness at the fact that she might walk into a horrendous mess this evening (just a number of days ago I would have been clamoring to keep her away from my horribly messy room).
I did some laundry last night. I'm getting better at using my evenings and weekends and spare time to do at least small things in the effort of becoming more clean/organized/calm/Namaste.
#4. Several books are being cracked these days.
To New Year date, I believe three books have been completed. (I didn't read 16, like my friend Jill). But I have books, books, books everywhere, in various states of being read. On the shelves, in my purse, in my car, in my bed.
Books about the Titanic, post-World War II, pregnancy (it's a novel, not a Bailey-reading-for-personal-info book), menopause (see previous parenthetical, except replace "novel" with "memoir"), cessation of smoking (this is a kid's book, I promise; again, not for self help), a castle that comes to life, the hospitality industry...
On and on.
Oh how I love to read. I want to write a blog post about my lifelong love affair with words, but for some reason am not quite up to pull the trigger on that one.
Books. Read. Yum.
#5. My refrigerator magnet collection is getting a wee bit out of control.
Or it's on point, depending on how you see things.
In the last couple of months, I have collected new magnetic booty from:
The Sonoran Desert
Yosemite
Catalina Island
Ensenada, Mexico
Kansas City, MO
The Carnival Imagination cruise ship
Somewhere along Highway 99
This weekend I plan to pick one up from Santa Barbara.
Let's just say the wheels of my suitcase have been getting some exercise of late.
#6. I get to hang with my friend Laura, which is rad.
Before Valentine's I went on a cruise with Lola, her BF, my BF, and her parents. This past Monday we hung out at the beach with Abs during Laura's layover. And this weekend we're headed to a beach getaway.
This is our third annual gal pal vacation we'll be taking together, and to put it only lightly I LOVE this tradition. It is things like this that make me love being a (without kids) adult. Planning vacations with friends and making them happen. This might sound over the top, but in a way it is a dream come true for me. I spent a lot of my adolescence feeling like I was on the outside looking in on other people's living of normal life/events/happiness, and I feel like, now at 30, I am grabbing life by the horns and making things happen and oh if it doesn't feel GREAT.
#7. My nephew is hilarious.
I Skyped with him this weekend, and he made me laugh, more than once.
All right, Kiddoes, I did it! I wrote something. Never mind that it's a listy blog post, I got my fingers doing keyboard aerobics and that is something.
Some. Thing.
Be back soon, with some better writing, hopefully.
Love,
Me
He said our friends Rick and Maureen (also my former landlords extraordinaire) want to know how my book is coming.
Ummmm[gurgly eschewing-the-question noises]mmmmmmmmm, I said.
[Laughter], Dad said.
Daddy Dearest then requested that I get some writing in "before you forget how to do it."
Admittedly, I have started -- and abandoned -- several blog posts in the last couple of weeks.
The book hasn't been touched since last year, I'm pretty sure.
But since FATHER asked specifically, I will write SOMETHING here and then post it and you're welcome.
The good news is I have been very active in 2016, so I have plenty of material to draw from. So let's begin with a smattering of thoughts and musings, shall we?
Onward.
#1. I am becoming one with karaoke.
I would say I'm obsessed. I would say I'm falling in love. But as I dissect it more closely, I'd have to say that karaoke is just becoming a part of me.
(Normally), when one first begins singing karaoke, the number one emotion tied to the action is fear. Also maybe some elation, excitement, fun. But certainly some nervousness in there as well.
Well, I'm at the point where I just get up there and do it, the way I would sit down to stitch some X's into perforated fabric, or snuggle my kitten's face, or drink a beer. It's just easy peasy. It's fun, don't get me wrong, but I'm no longer like, "Eeeeeeek" when they call my name to take the stage. I'm just like, "Circle of Life in the key of E, yo."
I'm also getting to know some new pals at our favorite local bar, which is making karaoke way more fun than it already naturally is.
#2. Billiards is also becoming a part of my natural self/life.
Adding to our favorite local bar's charm -- in addition to the great patrons and karaoke two nights a week -- is the fact that it has a pool table, and games are a whopping 50 cents.
I am beginning to love pool so much that I gladly dip into my precious quarters-for-laundry collection to play several times a week.
I have some off moments, to be sure, but...to be honest...I'm getting a little better at the game. And that's fun.
#3. I'm getting pretty organized.
My car and bedroom, while not pristine, are currently not atrocious.
One of my besties, Laura, is coming to stay with us tonight, and I am not cringing with self consciousness at the fact that she might walk into a horrendous mess this evening (just a number of days ago I would have been clamoring to keep her away from my horribly messy room).
I did some laundry last night. I'm getting better at using my evenings and weekends and spare time to do at least small things in the effort of becoming more clean/organized/calm/Namaste.
#4. Several books are being cracked these days.
To New Year date, I believe three books have been completed. (I didn't read 16, like my friend Jill). But I have books, books, books everywhere, in various states of being read. On the shelves, in my purse, in my car, in my bed.
Books about the Titanic, post-World War II, pregnancy (it's a novel, not a Bailey-reading-for-personal-info book), menopause (see previous parenthetical, except replace "novel" with "memoir"), cessation of smoking (this is a kid's book, I promise; again, not for self help), a castle that comes to life, the hospitality industry...
On and on.
Oh how I love to read. I want to write a blog post about my lifelong love affair with words, but for some reason am not quite up to pull the trigger on that one.
Books. Read. Yum.
#5. My refrigerator magnet collection is getting a wee bit out of control.
Or it's on point, depending on how you see things.
In the last couple of months, I have collected new magnetic booty from:
The Sonoran Desert
Yosemite
Catalina Island
Ensenada, Mexico
Kansas City, MO
The Carnival Imagination cruise ship
Somewhere along Highway 99
This weekend I plan to pick one up from Santa Barbara.
Let's just say the wheels of my suitcase have been getting some exercise of late.
#6. I get to hang with my friend Laura, which is rad.
Before Valentine's I went on a cruise with Lola, her BF, my BF, and her parents. This past Monday we hung out at the beach with Abs during Laura's layover. And this weekend we're headed to a beach getaway.
This is our third annual gal pal vacation we'll be taking together, and to put it only lightly I LOVE this tradition. It is things like this that make me love being a (without kids) adult. Planning vacations with friends and making them happen. This might sound over the top, but in a way it is a dream come true for me. I spent a lot of my adolescence feeling like I was on the outside looking in on other people's living of normal life/events/happiness, and I feel like, now at 30, I am grabbing life by the horns and making things happen and oh if it doesn't feel GREAT.
A snap from Gal Pal Trip #1
#7. My nephew is hilarious.
I Skyped with him this weekend, and he made me laugh, more than once.
All right, Kiddoes, I did it! I wrote something. Never mind that it's a listy blog post, I got my fingers doing keyboard aerobics and that is something.
Some. Thing.
Be back soon, with some better writing, hopefully.
Love,
Me
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Catalina
A 36-year-old boy before me, curly hair flapping in the breeze, every inch of him free on that beach cruiser bike.
Boyfriend shaking his head as I shiver, three layers and 60 degrees for warmth.
Watching the swell of the ocean, remembering a recent viewing of Titanic. A birthday boy's arms wrapped around me, eyes closed, breathing in his comfort.
Dramamine blues against a grey sky, waiting out the drowsy malaise to enjoy the company of my love.
Upturned teacups of fog capping the island hills; candle snuffers on God's acolyte stick.
Golf carts our only competition in traffic; a relieved me, whose bum hasn't graced the seat of a cycle in a decade.
Cursing my lack of fitness, wanting to throw the bicycle down. "You're beautiful," says A, leaning my direction to apply a healing kiss.
Finding clouds lifted as we filter out to a balcony. Dandelion light in the harbor below. I long to swim in the water that I know is too cold.
Ice cream dripping down my hand, gumming the seams of the gear shift. Forgetting to be stressed as we race back to the boat.
A slow day but hardly bored, with this man whose humor triggers my laugh, whose hand fills mine, whose crannies of the heart match the nooks in mine.
Beers on the bow. Clinking our Hawaiian brews, remembering a shared vacation of yore. Dreaming of travel ahead.
Brilliant sunshine warming me through, the boat's powerful wake spitting a hundred feet behind, waving goodbye to our day for two.
Back to the city; hurried showers, tired frames. Spirits renewed as friends crowd the bar, hugs all around before collapsing into couches and conversation. The day carrying on into the night, celebrating my honey bee and his life, oh his precious life.
Boyfriend shaking his head as I shiver, three layers and 60 degrees for warmth.
Watching the swell of the ocean, remembering a recent viewing of Titanic. A birthday boy's arms wrapped around me, eyes closed, breathing in his comfort.
Dramamine blues against a grey sky, waiting out the drowsy malaise to enjoy the company of my love.
Upturned teacups of fog capping the island hills; candle snuffers on God's acolyte stick.
Golf carts our only competition in traffic; a relieved me, whose bum hasn't graced the seat of a cycle in a decade.
Cursing my lack of fitness, wanting to throw the bicycle down. "You're beautiful," says A, leaning my direction to apply a healing kiss.
Finding clouds lifted as we filter out to a balcony. Dandelion light in the harbor below. I long to swim in the water that I know is too cold.
Ice cream dripping down my hand, gumming the seams of the gear shift. Forgetting to be stressed as we race back to the boat.
A slow day but hardly bored, with this man whose humor triggers my laugh, whose hand fills mine, whose crannies of the heart match the nooks in mine.
Beers on the bow. Clinking our Hawaiian brews, remembering a shared vacation of yore. Dreaming of travel ahead.
Brilliant sunshine warming me through, the boat's powerful wake spitting a hundred feet behind, waving goodbye to our day for two.
Back to the city; hurried showers, tired frames. Spirits renewed as friends crowd the bar, hugs all around before collapsing into couches and conversation. The day carrying on into the night, celebrating my honey bee and his life, oh his precious life.
Friday, January 22, 2016
Another moment in which I wonder if I will be a good parent
One of my biggest fears,
if I'm being honest with you, World,
is that I may require too much sleep to be a parent.
I think I can overcome my selfishness. I think I can navigate unforeseen issues. I can handle a lot. I am strong.
But I am weak when it comes to violating an early bedtime.
Just hours ago, I was thinking about how I'm ready for kids. Maybe more eager than I had previously thought. I have stitched enough X's onto canvas. I have read enough books to satiate my appetite (this, I know, is a lie). I can set these things aside and trade them in for years of diapering. The extreme love will be worth it all.
I tell myself this in the morning. In the innocent, not yet slammed with tiredness morning.
And now, at 1:33 p.m., I feel like I am going to die.
I am, through and through: exhausted.
I can't shake the fatigue. It is consuming my thoughts, my bones, my ability to move beyond a shuffle. Weeks of back-to-back weekend travel, with work days in between -- it's finally getting to me. It's grating against my stamina, causing the world to spin with drama and self pity.
Tonight I have a dinner date, and tomorrow morning I am to catch an early boat with my love to go to an island and celebrate his birthday. Upon our return from the island, we will take showers and get beautiful and then head to a late-into-the-night party for continued birthday celebrations.
Now I know, rationally, that I will sleep on Sunday. That tomorrow, with some coffee, I will be my usual, surprisingly morning person self. That, on my feet, on the island, my spirits will likely be up. That I will collapse into a chair with a cocktail, and smile at the wonderful people in Alex's life and mine. The fatigue won't be all consuming, but rather an afterthought.
I know that, come Sunday, I can sleep, or whine, or cry, or shake my fists tiredly in the air, furious with the unfairness of being bone tired.
I can do that, because I don't have kids. No noses will need to be wiped, nor butts for that matter, no dinners to be cooked, no entertaining needing to be offered to restless, toddling bodies and minds.
But all I can think, in my pathetic, tired, sob story state, is: but what if I did have kids? What would I do? Am I fit for motherhood?
Because truly. It is the being tired all the time that scares me the most. When I am tired, the floor falls out from beneath me. Reality starts to melt. Emotions -- the bad ones -- swell tenfold.
Sure, there is the occasional elation from a fit of giggles that can only be known in one's maddeningly tired state. The giggles that bubble when someone looks at you and says only your name, or the word "banana," or something else that shouldn't make you giggle but does.
But will that be enough?
I sure hope my kids make me laugh, because I need it to be enough.
Either that or I'll need a large dose of Prozac. A husband to pull my weeping self into his chest, when it all becomes too much. And the best kids. Kids with grins and messy curls and creative minds, all to buoy their crazy mother in the harbor.
I wonder how many Sundays I'll have left. Sundays with naps, and food delivered to my door, and neglected chores and early bedtimes.
I wonder if I'll miss them after kids arrive.
Something tells me I won't, even though I find myself at this moment dramatic and worried, longing for rest and assurance that I will always be guaranteed enough of it.
I sip my tea and ponder this, watching the sediment of ground leaves fall into organized lines at the bottom of my cup, forming art without care, like sand on the ocean floor.
if I'm being honest with you, World,
is that I may require too much sleep to be a parent.
I think I can overcome my selfishness. I think I can navigate unforeseen issues. I can handle a lot. I am strong.
But I am weak when it comes to violating an early bedtime.
Just hours ago, I was thinking about how I'm ready for kids. Maybe more eager than I had previously thought. I have stitched enough X's onto canvas. I have read enough books to satiate my appetite (this, I know, is a lie). I can set these things aside and trade them in for years of diapering. The extreme love will be worth it all.
I tell myself this in the morning. In the innocent, not yet slammed with tiredness morning.
And now, at 1:33 p.m., I feel like I am going to die.
I am, through and through: exhausted.
I can't shake the fatigue. It is consuming my thoughts, my bones, my ability to move beyond a shuffle. Weeks of back-to-back weekend travel, with work days in between -- it's finally getting to me. It's grating against my stamina, causing the world to spin with drama and self pity.
Tonight I have a dinner date, and tomorrow morning I am to catch an early boat with my love to go to an island and celebrate his birthday. Upon our return from the island, we will take showers and get beautiful and then head to a late-into-the-night party for continued birthday celebrations.
Now I know, rationally, that I will sleep on Sunday. That tomorrow, with some coffee, I will be my usual, surprisingly morning person self. That, on my feet, on the island, my spirits will likely be up. That I will collapse into a chair with a cocktail, and smile at the wonderful people in Alex's life and mine. The fatigue won't be all consuming, but rather an afterthought.
I know that, come Sunday, I can sleep, or whine, or cry, or shake my fists tiredly in the air, furious with the unfairness of being bone tired.
I can do that, because I don't have kids. No noses will need to be wiped, nor butts for that matter, no dinners to be cooked, no entertaining needing to be offered to restless, toddling bodies and minds.
But all I can think, in my pathetic, tired, sob story state, is: but what if I did have kids? What would I do? Am I fit for motherhood?
Because truly. It is the being tired all the time that scares me the most. When I am tired, the floor falls out from beneath me. Reality starts to melt. Emotions -- the bad ones -- swell tenfold.
Sure, there is the occasional elation from a fit of giggles that can only be known in one's maddeningly tired state. The giggles that bubble when someone looks at you and says only your name, or the word "banana," or something else that shouldn't make you giggle but does.
But will that be enough?
I sure hope my kids make me laugh, because I need it to be enough.
Either that or I'll need a large dose of Prozac. A husband to pull my weeping self into his chest, when it all becomes too much. And the best kids. Kids with grins and messy curls and creative minds, all to buoy their crazy mother in the harbor.
I wonder how many Sundays I'll have left. Sundays with naps, and food delivered to my door, and neglected chores and early bedtimes.
I wonder if I'll miss them after kids arrive.
Something tells me I won't, even though I find myself at this moment dramatic and worried, longing for rest and assurance that I will always be guaranteed enough of it.
I sip my tea and ponder this, watching the sediment of ground leaves fall into organized lines at the bottom of my cup, forming art without care, like sand on the ocean floor.
Thursday, January 21, 2016
168 (hypothetical) hours in the woods
This weekend I went on a girls trip.
Me and three of my gal pals drove ourselves to a cabin in Yosemite, and hung out in a winter wonderland for a couple of days.
We would have loved to have our friend Courtney there, who we each know from various walks of life, and who used to live in California, but she has since moved away and thus, sadly, was unable to join us. She was missed.
I asked Courtney for some blog topics, and she asked me this:
If you were trapped in a cabin for a week by yourself with no electronics (no laptop, cell phone, TV, etc.), what would you spend your time doing?
She gave me other potential questions to address with my typing, but in honor of us missing her during our weekend escapade, I will answer her cabin question below. Read on if you dare, my friends:
Well I'll tell you one thing that I would be doing if left alone in a cabin for a week, Courtney. I would be having an anxiety attack.
I enjoyed my girl time this weekend, along with the gorgeous sights and the time spent making fun of a ranger we met (who was lovely, but, well, we have no excuse for our making fun of him. Anyway).
But I spent more time than expected -- which is to say any time at all -- feeling anxious and downright scared.
As it turns out, being in a cabin in the middle of the woods -- at night, particularly -- freaks.
me.
OUT.
I downplayed this for my girlfriends, but the truth is my anxiety robbed me of several hours of sleep our first night in the woods.
I also talked about it with my therapist upon my return to LA.
So to answer your question, initially, dear friend Courtney, I would probably spend some time adjusting to my new surroundings. I would breathe deeply. I would pray. I would sit tightly in one spot, then force myself to walk around the rooms. I would turn on music to soothe myself, but I presume this is not allowed.
I imagine, as is the case with many of my anxious bouts, I would eventually get over my fear of a cabin in the woods. And I know I would find plenty of things to do. I wouldn't have to find them, as I would bring them with me.
If movie watching and music listening are indeed off the table, this would be difficult to endure. But I would survive, and probably get more out of the week because of it. In fact, I think a silent retreat would be awesome. (Granted we can, like, talk at dinner or something. Because have you met me?)
However, if I find a Lionel Richie cassette tape in my cabin, as we did in our Yosemite abode, I would play it for kicks. Because that's just funny.
No doubt I would get bored in a cabin by myself, probably terribly so, probably for more than just an hour, and probably on most days. Despite this guaranteed boredom, I think the week would go by quickly, and the thought of a week away from work and Facebook and incessant calendaring of social events excites me quite a bit.
So, when not being bored or battling scary thoughts with my worrisome little brain, I would do the following:
I might cry, if I needed to. I might cry from loneliness, or boredom, or fear that I will lose my mind alone in the woods. If worried by the thought of potential robbers or ghosts in the cabin, I might let myself cry to let myself feel better.
I would unpack my suitcase and put clothes in drawers and on hangers. I *might* make my bed. I would be more organized than in my daily life. I would not wear jewelry. I might wear perfume, as I like the smell, and spritz it on more for my benefit than for others; but I would probably forget to pack any. I would unabashedly crank the heat, and/or wrap myself in an inappropriate amount of blankets. I would apply lotion to my hands and feet. I would determine during my solo retreat whether or not I would shave my legs.
I would wear deodorant.
I would throw open the windows during the day. I would have socks on nearly always. I would try my best not to think about the movie Titanic, and that one time I watched it while in a cabin in the woods and how it traumatized me.
Clearly my list of things to do is too long, so I would not get all of the aforementioned items completed. I would know this going in, and it would both bother and relieve me.
The week would be over before it began. But as I returned to my apartment, I would snap back instantly and fully. With my breathing a little bit slower than before. And I would be thankful to whomever put me up in a cabin for a week away from it all.
Me and three of my gal pals drove ourselves to a cabin in Yosemite, and hung out in a winter wonderland for a couple of days.
We would have loved to have our friend Courtney there, who we each know from various walks of life, and who used to live in California, but she has since moved away and thus, sadly, was unable to join us. She was missed.
I asked Courtney for some blog topics, and she asked me this:
If you were trapped in a cabin for a week by yourself with no electronics (no laptop, cell phone, TV, etc.), what would you spend your time doing?
She gave me other potential questions to address with my typing, but in honor of us missing her during our weekend escapade, I will answer her cabin question below. Read on if you dare, my friends:
Well I'll tell you one thing that I would be doing if left alone in a cabin for a week, Courtney. I would be having an anxiety attack.
I enjoyed my girl time this weekend, along with the gorgeous sights and the time spent making fun of a ranger we met (who was lovely, but, well, we have no excuse for our making fun of him. Anyway).
But I spent more time than expected -- which is to say any time at all -- feeling anxious and downright scared.
As it turns out, being in a cabin in the middle of the woods -- at night, particularly -- freaks.
me.
OUT.
I downplayed this for my girlfriends, but the truth is my anxiety robbed me of several hours of sleep our first night in the woods.
I also talked about it with my therapist upon my return to LA.
So to answer your question, initially, dear friend Courtney, I would probably spend some time adjusting to my new surroundings. I would breathe deeply. I would pray. I would sit tightly in one spot, then force myself to walk around the rooms. I would turn on music to soothe myself, but I presume this is not allowed.
I imagine, as is the case with many of my anxious bouts, I would eventually get over my fear of a cabin in the woods. And I know I would find plenty of things to do. I wouldn't have to find them, as I would bring them with me.
If movie watching and music listening are indeed off the table, this would be difficult to endure. But I would survive, and probably get more out of the week because of it. In fact, I think a silent retreat would be awesome. (Granted we can, like, talk at dinner or something. Because have you met me?)
However, if I find a Lionel Richie cassette tape in my cabin, as we did in our Yosemite abode, I would play it for kicks. Because that's just funny.
No doubt I would get bored in a cabin by myself, probably terribly so, probably for more than just an hour, and probably on most days. Despite this guaranteed boredom, I think the week would go by quickly, and the thought of a week away from work and Facebook and incessant calendaring of social events excites me quite a bit.
So, when not being bored or battling scary thoughts with my worrisome little brain, I would do the following:
- Cook
- Take a bath
- READ
- Write, longhand, I guess...I really prefer to type, but a week alone would give me ample time to start filling one of the four journals I've received as gifts in the last year.
- Perhaps play Scrabble with myself. I may even go so far as to set up tiles for multiple players, scrabbling myself, as it were, around the table to take each subsequent turn.
- Stitch, stitch, stitch, stitch, stitch. I would pack five needles just in case I managed to lose four. You know what? Might as well pack 10.
- Read the Bible, pray
- Play solitaire
- Write people letters and cards/assemble care packages, large and small
- Sort a bunch of papers, that I of course would bring with me, likely in a laundry basket, to the cabin. Burn old medical bills and paystubs in the fireplace (after learning how to start a fire and not burn the place down or asphyxiate myself with smoke).
- Do laundry
- Tidy things. Fold blankets, wash dishes, neaten stacks of magazines, that sort of thing.
- Make friendship bracelets. Use brightly colored paper to make cards and pieces of art to hang on the wall. Color in a coloring book.
- Do yoga
- Walk outside
- Sing
- Have a dance party for moments when I'm really losing it
- Have afternoon tea. I may speak in a British accent during this time. Who will I be speaking to? Myself of course.
- Brew full pots of coffee and drink only a third of its contents
- Tend to my cuticles and paint my nails
- Make a list of goals and to-dos for my return to the city
- Is Max cat coming with me on this trip? Because he'd get a lot of snuggles.
- Shovel snow
- Go for drives to the general store and buy things I don't need. Linger and chat with the employees.
- Make friends with my neighbors (if I have any and that's allowed)
- Drink wine
- Edit my manuscript. This I don't mind doing by hand, actually.
- Work on jigsaw puzzles!!!
- Draft a kids' (picture) book
- Think about a lot of things -- things that have been bothering me, mysteries of life, memories and people that make me smile so hard
- Daydream about Alex. About falling in love with him initially, and continuing to do so in the future.
- Come up with topics to discuss in therapy, as I'm sometimes shorthanded in that category of life
- Braid my hair, then take it out, then braid it again
- Elect not to take very many showers, but then take them while still relatively clean, when (I presume) I will be looking for something to do to fight the boredom
- Make a list of people to invite to my wedding, then pare it down to smaller numbers of guests. It would be a fun game for me. I would also select my bridesmaids.
- Do crosswords and other logic/word puzzles
- Select names for my children, then guess which ones Alex would veto
I might cry, if I needed to. I might cry from loneliness, or boredom, or fear that I will lose my mind alone in the woods. If worried by the thought of potential robbers or ghosts in the cabin, I might let myself cry to let myself feel better.
I would unpack my suitcase and put clothes in drawers and on hangers. I *might* make my bed. I would be more organized than in my daily life. I would not wear jewelry. I might wear perfume, as I like the smell, and spritz it on more for my benefit than for others; but I would probably forget to pack any. I would unabashedly crank the heat, and/or wrap myself in an inappropriate amount of blankets. I would apply lotion to my hands and feet. I would determine during my solo retreat whether or not I would shave my legs.
I would wear deodorant.
I would throw open the windows during the day. I would have socks on nearly always. I would try my best not to think about the movie Titanic, and that one time I watched it while in a cabin in the woods and how it traumatized me.
Clearly my list of things to do is too long, so I would not get all of the aforementioned items completed. I would know this going in, and it would both bother and relieve me.
The week would be over before it began. But as I returned to my apartment, I would snap back instantly and fully. With my breathing a little bit slower than before. And I would be thankful to whomever put me up in a cabin for a week away from it all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)