A Room of One's Own

How long could I possibly have this?

When I was two, my parents got me a big girl bed and a suitably sized comforter to go on it. It was a Sesame Street blanket. All the characters. I have no idea how it made it to my 12th birthday but it did. It was long replaced off my bed but the blanket went into the closet to be brought out on sick days, like when I got the chicken pox. I was supposed to go to a big swim meet that weekend and ended up covered in calamine lotion instead. I was miserable. I insisted on wearing my bathing suit all day one day and sat myself in the middle of this blanket on the floor and cried in misery because it would have, for sure, been the first time I would beat my arch nemesis, Nikki, at the 200 meter breaststroke.

When I went off to college, it came with me. There was just no question about it. It was beat up but so well used it was better than any old pair of jeans you could possibly imagine. Soft. Cool when you need it cool and warm when you don't. It must have it own thermic qualities than could never be duplicated.

It has been photo graphed over and over again. I can't even say the number of photos it has been in. And, it's been a source of serious consolation over the years. When my daughter was mere weeks old and waking up at 4:30 in the morning, I would wrap both of us up in it and hit the couch to watch the sun come up. It's 31 years old and I'm sitting curled up under it right now. Needless to say, if my house was on fire and I could grab one thing, this blanket might just be it.

Tonight it serves the purpose of relaxation therapy. It was the first thing I grabbed after coming home from dinner. Threw it on the couch, lit the fireplace, threw in the first season of West Wing and I am fully convinced that life does not get better than this. There is a very large yellow lab, who may have reached a break through in learning the word "stay" laying on the floor to my side. I have, of course, forgotten once again, to get more coffee and peppermint Schnapps. However, it does occur to me that I may have ALL of the makings for homemade egg nog. That would be the proverbial cherry on top of the sundae. Please excuse me. I'm off to the cupboard.

My, she was yar

Once again, I got side tracked from Sunday Night Football. This time it was Cary Grant. I caught The Philadelphia Story. It's all I have in me to not stay up until midnight watching Casablanca.

They just don't make men like they used to. Women either. It seems odd to me for as far as both genders have come, you don't see leading men and women with nearly the character of the films of 50 years ago. How does that happen?

The men were strong and unwaivering and solid. They said what they  meant and meant what they said. They were beautifully dressed in linen, even in Morocco. The women had class and decorum even when, standing on their own two hands they were going crazy.

What intrigues me it that for as often as these movies show folks losing their heads, they never lose their heads. It's fairy tale, I known that. But, I'm a fan of the straight shooter. You just don't see that as much these days.

The Philadelphia Story could be redone in today's time. Easily. The beauty of it is that you wouldn't have to change a single word and it would be just a relevant but not nearly the movie. Of course, no one could pull off Tracy Lord like Katharine Hepburn could. That was one hell of a woman. She was with Spencer Tracy when he died. He was a devout Catholic and would never, though separated, contemplate divorce. She did not attend the funeral. She thought it would be disrespectful. You would never see that these days.

I've, once again, lost my point. I just wonder where we lost class.

My childhood of idle threats

A friend of mine was saying how her son's friend from down the street made a minor transgression against her own son. The boy's mom informed him that the next time the boy went to my friend's house, my friend would give him "a good spanking." There is clearly a gut reaction needed here along the lines of, "Say wha?" We tried to figure out why in the world this woman would say such a thing. My friend is appropriately confused.

Now, I'm not saying that I condone the neighbor telling her son my friend would give him a spanking. I'm not a real big fan of spanking in general. I can, however, say that I am a really big fan of the threat of spanking. I have realized that much of my childhood discipline was steeped heartily in that threat. And it worked like genius.

I remember that my friend's parents had no hesitation in threatening to whoop my ass. At least a good number of them. The Bogren's had the most lenient mom. They were Mormons and I think the lady was either just too tired to punish anyone or too busy counting the change in the "Blessing Jar." Of course, the Bogren kids never did anything bad. But, you didn't want to mess with Mrs. Morici. She would have whopped me. My mom and dad would have been just fine with it. They, most likely, wouldn't even have known. I sure as hell wouldn't have told them. I would have keep my little misbehaving mouth sealed shut tight.

I wonder if that wasn't part of the whole plan. I could see a good number of the parents on my street all sitting around while we played somewhere else. They would be sipping their wine spritzers and creating their whole diabolical plan. "Okay, first, we're all going to agree that every one of us will act like we'll spank them...." They had power in numbers and psychological warfare. We had no way to win.

I'm sure they learned it from my elementary school principal and my junior high principal. Our school had swats. The was the end and be all of childhood horror. Looking back, I don't think that anyone was ever swatted. I remember rumors of a kid who had been swatted. I also think that was created by our parents. It is wholey possible that two moms sat on the phone one evening and started the viscious rumor. "Okay, I'm going to call you back in 5 minutes. Act like I'm Ricky Johnson's mom. I'll pretend to tell you all about him getting swatted. Be sure to ask a lot of question really loud so that your kid overhears. In two days, school won't even be a concern..."

I know. I make the parents here out to be very deceitful. There is a reason. I have a 3 year old and she is sassy. I am willing to try just about anything after December 25th when I can no longer threaten her with the all seeing eye of Santa. I need some serious trick up my sleeve. The only thing I can think of is to find someone who's kid need punishing and talking them into bringing the kid over so I can pretend to smack the kid's bum with a leather belt. The kid who just have to fake horrible shieks of terror just loud enough for my kid to be totally whipped into shape. I mean, it could work...

Hiding in the bunker

I am 6 hours through my 14 hour day. I have no idea why I just had to quantify my day in such a mnner as it if horrifically sad and I've drawn my own attention to it while draws yours. This was not my intention. I don't think this last paragraph makes any sense but that's okay.

The following things have been of comfort to me today:

• 2 tiny KitKats
• 1 tiny 100 Grand
• 1 tiny Butterfinger
• The bacon wrapped filet, with four cheese ravioli and salad (leftovers) I had for lunch
• My co-worker, Anne, just stopped me and sang me We've Only Just Begun by the Carpenters. I don't mean she just gave me one line. Girl went for it.
• I ordered my Landscape Manager a pink Razr phone. He's not gay. He just thinks it's funny. Oh, and it is. Very funny. It came today with a lavendar purse like carrying bag. Continence was almost an issue.

What's my point with all this? I'm finding the funny. The funny is out there. My assistant looks like 50 miles of bad road with a detour. I looked at her and I just said, "Oh honey. I know." We're on the verge of giving up. We've realized we're nto going to win so we're treating this like checmical warfare. You don't need to "win." You need to get in, do whatever you need to do and then get the hell out as fast as you can. Don't look back. I'm getting her some GI Joes for Christmas.

And, silver lining here people, I just emailed the GM for the Club I go to and told him I had a gift certificate from over a year ago and could I still use it. I need it. He said to come on in! I am so going to come on in on Sunday. I cannot wait for Sunday.

Sunday football is out

Usually, I'd be settling into Sunday Night Football. I got completely siderailed. Little known fact about me: I am a total politics junkie. I love it. I know exactly whent he Arizona state legislative session starts. I went to a breakfast last week to talk to a state senator and a few local representatives about a few issues I want to work with them on. It was quite thrilling!

I went to find the channel for Sunday Night Football (you would think I woudl know it by now) and found that The American President is on. I know this whole storyline is so completely far fetched and would never happen, but I am a hopeless romantic and I really love Aaron Sorkin. I love when the President calls Syndey Allen Wade for the first time and she doesn't believe it's him and he makes her call the White House. Love it.

I haven't seen the thing in ages. I haven't seen it since I got the entire series of West Wing on DVD. It is so clear that the movie is a blue print for the show. From the "walk and talk" to the fast paced dialogue. You can't pass up such lines as "I'm calling the United Brotherhood of It's None of Your Damn Business!" 

This is one of those great moments where the perfect movie just happend to come on. I'm taking it, LaDanian be damned. Well not damned. I need him to score big for fantasy football...

Don't try this at home

I gave up caffeine cold turkey. It's ugly. It's an unfathomable kind of ugly. Not that I had any plans to, but I never plan on being an alcoholic or a drug addict or anything else that requires you to go through withdrawal upon detox.

I started this lovely endeavor Thursday afternoon as I skipped my afternoon Coke Zero. I made a decaf latte at home yesterday morning. I had a decaf latte the morning and another mid-day. So, I've been without the stuff since 10am Thursday. The headache kicked in mid-day Friday. I still have it. It is so bad I have cried twice today because of the sheer pain. Tylenol is not touching this. I think my evening may be capped off with a percocet. I bet a little scotch with that would be delightful. Yep, it's that bad.

Let's add onto this that today I have been fully in charge of my daughter who is three. She's very good at it. She is also very loud and has been a bundle of energy and sass all day. I have tried to explain to her that today is a bad day to flex her muscles in the envelope pushing arena. She doesn't care. She had us so worn out today that we both needed a nap, mine 45 minutes, hers 2 hours. She finally fell asleep tonight at 9:00 and I nearly had to beg her.

I did some research on-line about it. Oh, don't look at me like that. Everyone googles weird medical shit. My God, there are vast prestigious medical institutes that have done research on this. Apparently, this ain't no small thing I walked into. God DAMN, am I an idiot or what for not reading about this ahead of time! Here's some info from an article from Johns Hopkins.

"The researchers identified five clusters of common withdrawal symptoms: headache; fatigue or drowsiness; dysphoric mood including depression and irritability; difficulty concentrating; and flu-like symptoms of nausea, vomiting and muscle pain or stiffness."

Headache? You mean that the throbbing feeling I have that seems to be running from my sinuses to my frontal lobe all the way back to my medulla oblongata? Fatigue and drowsiness? I can't believe that I am up at 9:33. I have accidentally fallen asleep three times today. Dysphoric mood? Depression and irritability? I can't list a single person I like right now. Difficulty concentrating? What was I talking about? Nausea? I would like to be in the fetal position. Muscle pain? You'd have thought I ran a half marathon today.

"Typically, onset of symptoms occurred 12 to 24 hours after stopping caffeine, with peak intensity between one and two days, and for a duration of two to nine days."

Great. So, I'm at the peak right now. Spiffy. And, I could have a whole 'nother week of this shit. Just pray folks. Pray hard. Pray I don't kill anyone. In the meantime, I'll be locked away from the world in my bedroom, in the fetal position, crying for my mommy who I really wouldn't want to see anyway because she's very loud and, with the irritability factor, not safe.

Never thought I'd say it

I miss my old house. I miss that damn house I wanted to sell so freaking bad I couldn't stand it. I never thought those words would come out of my mouth, especially this close to the holidays.

That house was supposed to serve two functions. It was supposed to be my dream home and fix my marriage. I can tell you, it wasn't my dream home but it was damn close. It was large, over 3100 sq. ft. I designed the backyard myself and it was gorgeous. It had a panoramic desert view. The kitchen was perfect. All stainless KitchenAid appliances including a double oven. I finally had the wood rail staircase I always wanted. The master bedroom was huge and had plenty of room for a reading chair. My daughter had a nice big playroom.

There was one thing missing. It had no warm and no love. I tried damn near everything from Chirstmas decorations to homemade curtains. It never quite felt like home. It never fixed my marriage. I was so sure that the minute I got my own home the whole thing would come together. It'd be perfect and it would be my dream home on sheer principle because it was all mine.

Sadly, it's like the jeans you try on and they fit perfect and they are going to be your new favorite jeans but then you wash them and all bets are off. I'm not sure how that analogy makes sense but in my world it does. It's a nice little house. But.... my shower is way too small. I can barely shave my legs without contorting. I miss my double ovens. Bad. I can't believe that I just sometimes forget I don't have them. But.... It's mine and I own it. Happiness lives here because that's how I want it. No one can take that away and no one can rain on that parade.

I'm sure the two can be foundin the same place but I've never seen it happen. I'm certain that I can find a place is all that I want in both realms. And, if any of you tell me I can't have it all, there will be some serious reckoning to do. I'm trying to refi my house right now and they asked how long I'd be here. I told them 5 years max. He asked how I knew that. I just told him this place wasn't it. I like to very well but I had three weeks to find it. I'm hoping the next 5 years finds the best of both worlds. 

Burn out, phase one

I got nominated for a very cool, very visible Board that will help me as far as networking and furthering my efforts in being seen as a highly knowledgeable player in my field. I am very excited and hope they choose me. I got asked today to send a bio to the nominating committee. I didn't have one so I had to whip one up. A few things became very clear.

First, my God, am I busy. I had my assistant read it over to see if I had made any glaring mistakes and she pointed this out. Said something along the line of, "Crap. You do a lot." Yep. I do. I know how much work I have to put in to get where I want to be.

The problem is that I have no idea where I want to be. I feel like a college kid at last call. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here. In writing my bio, I realized I have been in my profession for almost 8 years. Almost 6 of which have been in the same place though I've served in three different jobs. Upward mobility is good. Problem is, I have hit the top of the food chain. I'm done. My career path just hit a road block. So, the key to my professional future lies in impressing the hell out of someone who in turn wants to give me a great job. My niche is so small that I have to convince someone that my genius can be applied to whatever it is THEY do. Good enough. Not easy.

In the meantime, my burnout levels are increasing fast. I'm estimating that I have approximately 18 months left in me. So exact, no? The upside is that I have 18 months to plan my next move. My sense of loyalty is so great that I have actually picked out my replacement and, after I pump him full of a stupid amount of liquor and he agrees to take my job, I can begin to train him to replace me. Always leave a place 10% cleaner than when you first got there.

I'm just tired and I need some rest. I'll keep plugging away for a while, refusing to go at it half assed but still continuing to wear a path from my cabin to the pond.