Where I left off…

I’m a fan of Stephen King.  Ever since I can remember, I have been reading his stories.  Whether it was hiding up in the attic with piles of my mom’s books littered around me, curled up in bed on a late stormy night, or laying on the couch with my feet up and toenail polish drying.  He has been what I read when I need to “go away” for a little while.

I’ve read some of his stories a few times over.  So, it appears that I need to go away a lot.

Last night you would have caught me in the last scenario.  After the girls and I had a bubbly foot bath and massage, I clipped and painted the girls’ toenails (Abby has the exact same feet as me); I ushered the girls to bed, then plopped myself down on the couch to paint my own toes, and read for a little while.

The book that I am reading is titled “On Writing”, where Stephen King gives an account of his life experiences entertwined with his writing, and thoughts on how it all happens.  I have been delighted to find instances in which his real life inspired characters, and situations in his novels.  It has been fun pinpointing those moments.

It got me thinking about my own desire to write…something substantial.  Never having any material or that brilliant idea has held me back.  That and my fear of failure,  distractibility, and self doubt.

But reading this particular book is making me more aware of my own surroundings, and how maybe some of it can be worked to create a story.  Even if it never happens it is something interesting to think about. 

Lately it has been hard to juggle…I love all of them equally; each for their own little quirks, mannerisms, and personalities. 

But it is hard to juggle.  Showing each of them equally that I love them for their own little quirks, mannerisms, and personalities. 

Lately they have all been clamoring for my attention.  Individually. 

The little one cries if I don’t give her a certain number of hugs and kisses each morning and each night.  Then there is the story reading that she has been hungry for, and the coloring, and playing Barbies, and…

The middle one calls me at least three times a day, just to say “hi”.  She has also been getting up at 6:00 AM so that she can say good-bye to me before I leave for work…it is a tearful good-bye.  This morning it was a tearful good-bye with the expression that we don’t see each other enough any more.

The oldest…his clamoring is something altogether different.  I was expecting his teenage years to be difficult; I know mine were.  However, I had hoped the onset wouldn’t have started so early…or emphatically.  He tells me that he doesn’t feel “wanted, loved, or at home here “.

I’ve got about 3 hours every night to get things done…and spend time with my children.  One extra hour each night is devoted to my husband (which generally looks like us vegging out on the couch). 

 And that is if we don’t have something else going on.

I love that they love me.  I love that they want to spend time with me.  I wish that I wasn’t so tired during the time that I have.

I use to think that all people who attend church were religious. And to some extent, maybe most ARE.  However, I also know that there is a group of people who attend church, believe in God, and who have accepted Christ as their savior and are NOT religious ( religious as in puritanical and pious; basically all the negative connotations  associated with the word). 

Unfortunately, being a person who attends church, believes in God and who has accepted Christ, I find that I am lumped in with individuals who are religious (see above description).  Sometimes I am lumped in by my non-Christian friends (of whom I have many). 

Sometimes this bothers me.  Mainly because I know that this false impression of me and my family has created invisible barriers in particular relationships that I wish weren’t there, but are a direct residual affect of my faith. 

My faith hasn’t changed me so much that I don’t play video games, eat chocolate, sit on the couch instead of exercise, drink an occasional alcoholic beverage, and laugh at jokes about poop and farts. In fact, I made up a pretty darn good joke about a proctologist not too long ago.   

Religious I am not.  In fact, on a scale of 1-10 I am probably an 8 or a 9 on being irrevocably human. 

I am glad that I am an 8 or a 9 for being irrevocably human, because if I were any lower it would imply that I have angel, demon, or marmoset blood running through my veins.   

Personally, I would prefer to not be a marmoset, especially since I really don’t know what one is, nor what it looks like; only that I like typing the word, and it sounds funny when I say it out loud (and think it in my head). 

Being an angel would come with its own set of quirks and set backs, and being a demon would really just make things difficult for everyone around me; though I would probably enjoy myself immensely at the expense of them all. 

So clearly, because I am none of these things, I can’t be religious.  I think that the poop jokes are the deciding factor, but not being a marmoset helps.

I’ve been a royal grump.  Sometimes my boss has been the brunt of my dark mood.  Thankfully, I recognize my err and apologize.  Sometimes I wonder if that is good enough.  I guess it will have to be.  I could also pray that next week will make it all better, instead of thinking that I have an inumerable amount of strikes against me and my job is a hairs width away from being taken away.

This morning I woke up 10 minutes before I had to leave.  Amazingly, I got to work early.  I guess the adrenaline rush gave me just the right amount of motivation and speed to get the bare minimum done so that I was presentable when I ran out the door.  I also keep my necessity cosmetics in my purse, so I was pretty safe.  Good thing I am not wearing a skirt; I may have been mistaken for a cactus.

I have decided to discontinue my campaign for presidency for a later date.  I know that the masses will be disappointed, but I am concerned that my sordid past will become public knowledge.  We really don’t need another individual with a colorfully speckled past in the white house.

In other news, I reorganized my entire filing system yesterday.  I feel good about that because I know where to find things, as opposed to the day before yesterday when I didn’t know where to find anything. 

I am also dangerously low on thumbtacks, and could use a bowl of ice cream (not together of course).  One scoop of strawberry and one scoop of cookies -n- cream would be nice.

My doctor has decided that I am not happy enough, and certainly 25mg more would do the trick.  I am rooting for the ice cream, but my behind might have something to say about that.  However, if my behind started voicing its opinion I would be posed with a new set of problems.

I had a weird dream last night.  I dreamnt about a boy that I had a crush on all throughout my school days.  Literally from 1st grade to 12th grade.  I think that I crushed on him for so long because he looked like Christopher Reeves in Superman.  And Superman is my ultimate crush.  Not Christopher Reeves…Superman.

So in my dream I explained this to the boy, and I told him that eventually I will get over it, but it might take time and I need him to be understanding.  Crushes are hard to overcome, no matter how much you rationalize it.  Mainly because crushes are at the height of irrationality. 

Anyway, I think that he understands, though I wonder if he will be sad that I will eventually stop identifying him with Superman, and eventually stop having my 6 year old perspective dreams about holding his hand and generally being in his presence.

I’ll be okay.  But will he?  I mean, he will have to come to the realization that the only reason he is perfect in my dreams is because I dreamnt it.  Not because it is true.  And when that realization hits…it will be his world that will crumble, not mine.  Especially considering his world is one that I made up in the first place.

I’m kind of sad now…for him.

But reality is better; I have a Superman-blue-eyed man at home who loves me and is my protector.  And it is Thursday and we have a standing Thursday night date.  I love Thursdays. 

So, now that I am thinking about it being Thursday, I am not so grumpy.  Thursdays mean potential and promise in my world.  The beginning of the weekend is on its heels.  I think that last night I ended a 29-year-old crush. 

Today is Thursday…anything can happen.