Is this the blues or Spring Fever?

I don't know what's wrong with me, I just can't seem to keep my blog updated lately. I am not particularly depressed, but I am a bit burnt out, so that has something to do with it, no doubt. I am just not feeling it.




It just finished raining for two days here, with a break yesterday. Now it is raining again. I don't really like the rain, it's depressing. I don't know why, it just is. I am a sun kid, all the way. It is why I live in Southern California. I think I have always been very sensitive to weather.

When JNerd and I were first married, he had an opportunity to work for Microsoft. (this was before they were Uber-Evil) and I just knew I could not do Seattle weather. It rains there, what? 200 days out of the year? I would be suicidal in six months. We opted to stay in Southern California, and I think we are both very happy we did so. There are certainly trade offs. For the cost of our house here, we could have a mini-mansion in almost any other state. (Except Reston, VA, which is the only other place I ever considered moving..when JNerd worked for AOL years ago. The homes there cost as much as they do here, due to being so close to Washington D.C.)

Every once in a while, I see pictures of the seasons in other states that my friends post on facebook and think, "Wow, maybe we want that. The newf would love that weather!" And then I remember as a kid, watching my mother curse the snow and ice in Alaska as she bundled up and threw hot water on her car windshield, trying to get the ice to melt. I remember her chipping away with an ice scraper. I recall my dad, endlessly shoveling snow so that we could move the car, and I know I really don't want to deal with any of that!




So, here is where we stay. The weather is temperate, the people in my city are nice, and I like it here. I don't like the political climate, but unless I move to Vermont or Berkeley, that's not likely to change. I've learned to live with it, and bite my tongue...a lot.

I am not saying we would never move; if JNerd's job took us out of state, we would go. But this is home. It is the only home the kids have ever known. I have been here half my life now, but I am not bored. I am still finding areas I don't know. It is very easy to do so since the concentration of cities is so dense. Google Maps is a lifesaver! I am still learning city names, believe it or not!

Love it or leave it, it's home. And while the sky may let loose, I know the rain will soon come to an end, and it won't require a snow shovel, or boots or wool socks. So all of you out there in Maine, and Wyoming, and Nova Scotia, though I admire your pictures, I will live where my toes stay relatively warm!

T. who has cold feet, but a warm nose T.

Help my life has been stolen and replaced with an Edith Wharton novel

I think I've lost my mojo. No, really. I am not joking; it's not funny. I have never been one to complain, and I know how to avoid/block/ignore pain. The longest I have ever been down with anything was 3 days, and that was the Kill-An-Elephant-and-Leave-It-There-To-Rot flu. It got JNerd, too. We were both very, very sick. I think that was February, before last. So...2009? But lately? I am just...sick.

I wrote about it before...how after I came home from blogher, I was dealing with migraines, on a daily basis. They had me down, for a month. No joke. They started 8/5, and I saw the doctor on 9/2. All the time I was waiting? Languishing in a darkened room like some demented character out of a gothic novel. Talk about the drama! I spent so many days flat on my back I could have paid for my mortgage had I been doing anything more remotely interesting. Instead?Ice pack at the base of my skull, cold, weighted eye mask over my face. I did a lot of listening to tv...it was all I could do.

And now, thanks to a god-send of a doctor, who saw me in the grips of a terrible migraine attack and immediately fixed it with a shot of Imitrex and then a prescription, my head is better, or at least on its way to becoming better. But. There were...complications. I won't go into my bathroom habits, cause that shit lives forever on the internet, but let's just say they're non-


existent. at this point. And not from ...lack of trying. And then, there are complications to that.

And while all that sucks, what's worse is that my cycle is all screwed up. I have had not ONE, not TWO, but THREE periods in the last TWO months. Yep, that's right. Three. The only good news is that proves I am not pregnant. But I am sick of my period, sick of feeling sick and ready to get off my freaking bed. And I just..can't. I am achy, tired, bleeding. Despite this all, I am trying to find the funny, you know, fkeep up my spirits.

I am failing miserably. I have spent the last month begging off of most things I am supposed to be doing. I have missed karate, eye appointments and countless other things I am supposed to attend. I missed a good friend's birthday party, blog events, and just, everything. My house is a disaster, my dog is a monster (She needs my attention and training, no one can handle her the way I do) and my kids are being raised by wolves. ENOUGH. I have an MRI sometime in the next week or so. To make sure I am not dying of a brain tumor (I'm not.) I called the doctor's office and was told that all of my labs: thyroid, hormones, were normal.. Well, that's just awesome, possum!

Then tell me why I don't feel normal?? I am OVER this. I have never been down this long, and I am having a hard time seeing around it to the light at the end of the tunnel. Which is probably a bus, anyway.

ANd that is why I have lost my mojo.

posted from my iPad

When the whole world watches, you need to be fascinating

T, who probably fails, but tries real gosh darn hard

Why I am not mentally home yet from New Zealand

taken with Canon T1i

T, who is gradually coming back, at least the routine is normal again

Tony Awards in two minutes

So you didn't have time to watch 3 hours of the Tony's? That's ok, you can simply listen to Neil Patrick Harris do the finale and you'll know most of what went on. ...minus the crotch action from Rock of Ages and Hair, but hey, you can't have it all. (but... if you click on the links, you can watch, because I am just that kinda gal)

T, who loves me some musicals

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Mirror, mirror on the wall, lie to me, damn you!

I have a bump on my nose. Granted, you are probably laughing now and thinking, "Good Lord, how narcissistic can she be?? I assure you, I could be worse.Does that answer your question? Back to me: Yes, the bump is in the middle of my nose, and yes it is small and yes...every time I look in the mirror, I see it. I don't care if no one else can see it, I can. And I am constantly touching it, because it just feels....wrong. I haven't always had a bump in the middle of my nose. I woke up one morning and it was just...there. Kind of like those annoying neighbors that move in in the middle of the night. And throw wild parties. And bring their friends.

And yes, my bump has brought his friends. I now have bumps on my eyelids, too. I am aware that it's gross, but again, you can't see them, just me. They tell me it is all a part of growing older; you lose your baby-smooth skin. Truthfully? I think someone comes in when I am sleeping and adds moles and pigmentation, sort of an insane Dot Fairy...I picture her like the Jack in the Box chick, going through menopause, wild look in her eye, and all "street rat crazy" as Jack put it, with her paintbrush and liquid latex, attacking my body while I sleep.

I awake each morning to the bold new joy of new skin tags where none have been before.Now I know how the Starship Enterprise feels... only without Zachary Quinto. (come to me, my gorgeous hunk of serial-killer Vulcan-ness, you!) Set phasers on stun, boys, mama ain't gonna grow old gracefully! I remember when I was a young (and stupid) teenager, looking at my mother with all her moles and skin tags and just being...secretly grossed out. I was proud of my own flawless skin: legs that were shapely and had no discernible pattern of skin, just smooth, arms without blemish or freckle. I had no idea in my stupidity that I was looking into a Time Mirror! This is God getting even with me for laughing at my mother, right? Because I look in the mirror (as little as possible these days) and I see all of that and more. So far, there are no hairs in my nose, thank everything holy. But the little crows' feet and "laugh lines" around my eyes? Got. To. Go.

I finally understand why women use botox. Yeah, so it's a toxin. But your face! has few wrinkles! And life is a perpetual surprise! All the time! I am actually starting to temper my reactions to things going on around me. I frown less. I definitely scowl less. And I swear, I never thought I would be putting my hands to my forehead to make myself smooth out those lines before they become craters. I didn't expect to be a vain woman, who cares about her age. And truly, in some sense, I don't. I wouldn't trade the years of experience for anything! But when I feel like a twenty-three year old, and look in the mirror to see a not-twenty-three year old? I am not happy. When I go out with JNerd and he gets carded and I fricken don't? I am not happy.

Ok so it's not all bad. They say that sex gets better after 40. It's true. But when your hip locks up? Not. good. And it isn't because I am in lousy shape, either. My body is just getting older. My knees hurt a lot. My legs hurt. I am a wimp, and this getting older thing just SUCKS. Hollywood stars have personal trainers, and private chefs and money for Procedures like chemical peels and botox and lots of specialties so that they still look good well into their 50's. But what about the rest of us?

Granted, life is far from over. Haven't you heard that 50 is the NEW 30? But...in an increasingly vain world of photoshopped magazine covers, where there are few examples of growing old gracefully, perfectly coiffed celebs at awards shows refuse to show their age. And the ones who do are scary-making (seen Angela Lansbury lately?) what is the alternative For Mrs. Mostly-Sane Suburbia? How do women find their place in the sun? (with sunscreen to avoid wrinkles and skin damage, of course!) How do they become comfortable with who they are growing to be? And how do they accept that image in the mirror when the phantom of what they once were skulks just behind in the shadows, eternally out of reach?

I wish I knew.

T, who is really torn on this one

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The words hung in the air almost exactly the way a brick doesn't

with apologies to Douglas Adams

Lately I am having a hard time with that bane of any writer's existence, Writer's Block. I often write late at night or early in the morning after everyone else is asleep in my house. It helps me to concentrate and unplug, so I can say what I want to say. I know I can write, and I it is something I enjoy, almost all of the time.

Writing is usually easy for me, but lately it's getting cumbersome. Sometimes that doubt creeps in. Why am I doing this? Who is reading? What if I have nothing to say? Am I relevant?? I have been trying to figure out the writing process. I am probably thinking about it too hard, putting too much pressure on myself. (too bad there is no pill for "that certain part of the female creativity".. I could use that)

Maybe I am writing too much about autism elsewhere, and it's a buzz kill. I am coming up empty. It's like a gargantuan space, where creativity is supposed to be. To borrow a term from Star Trek and science, "a singularity".. a black hole that consumes all of my best ideas and writing. I don't know where it comes from or why. I just know it's like...

• ...slogging through warm maple syrup, waist-deep, being chased by weasels (yeah, ok, they would probably drown, but go with me here)


• ... a brick on the chest, that hurts to breathe


• ...a fear of "Oh my God I have written my last funny/poignant/entertaining/informative piece....ever"


• ...feeling like a fraud, every time you hit publish, because, what IF you shot the wad on that one, and there is nothing left. And WHY do people read, anyway when there are so many out there more talented than you are?


• ...neglecting laundry, dishes, pets needing to be fed trying to get that elusive thought translated into writing...so you can breathe again.


• ...every day, feeling a pressure to create, and if you cannot, the pressure increases until it feels like it will consume you.


• ...staring at the flashing cursor and the blank window as you try to get something...anything, to fill that window so it doesn't look quite so ominous (yes, the cursor is mocking you: youcantwrite youcantwrite youcantwrite)


• ...never feeling good enough...never translating it exactly the way it was in your head, groping for words and hoping people understand what you have to say and more importantly, care.


• ...throwing yourself out there, every single day, hoping what you say means something to someone


• ...like labor..stalling and you aren't sure if you are ever going to have the baby and if you do...will it be healthy?


• ...waking up in the middle of the night to write amazing ideas down, then having no idea what to do with them the next morning


• ...trying too hard, too long.


• ...comparing yourself to other writers you admire, and coming up short


• ...every morning, praying you can write something and hoping like hell you won't let yourself down


• ...needing to express yourself in order to get it unscrambled


• ...talking about it, trying to break the power of the block


• ...having no idea how to end this list...
.

• ...so you add one more item and hope it's enough

it has to be

T, who writes, or at least tries to

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Forget it, if you want me, I'll be at the grocery store and crime can fight itself

I found this on Vixen's Den, and well, yeah. She gets to be a really cool superhero, and I get? It seems to be the story of my life. Even my Superhero life is uninspiring. Might as well give up and just go get the car lubed, or something. I was thinking I have the humdrum existence of the superhero alter-ego, so I must at least be a really cool superhero, right?

Wrong.I present...my superhero. Well, at least the glasses are bitchen. Woo.

T, who is pretty sure I got shafted

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Too Hot to Write With Any Wit, Or At Least, That's The Excuse I Am Going With

Just a quick post...It's hot. Today is Monday. The car door's automatic lock is stuck, so the passenger has to get in from the other side and crawl through.(thankfully, there are no pictures of this, because if they wound up on YouTube I would have to be killing somebody) I am feeling bleh, just sort of down. Weary. We didn't go to park day because of a fit (and it wasn't even mine!) Now we have to go to ballet and it is still insanely hot. Last time I checked the temperature, it was 99 degrees. In. April. Crazy.

But, I have things to be happy about, I am just needing to remember them. Besides the obvious stuff like health and family, I bought a kick-ass pair of 4.5 inch heels. (that's right, sucka...eat your heart out) that were completely impractical, but on sale. And sexy as hell. So..

And finally, these cute leaded glass garden stakes, that my husband, J, bought for me.. they are wiggly, and make me unreasonably happy.... It's Spring, beyotches! Now, go and find your bliss!

T, who will write more later tonight

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If You Don't Have Friends, Hire Improv Everywhere

This is the news station that was fooled by the prank:

How would you react if this happened to you?

T, who might hire them to come to my funeral

You can RSVP For My Funeral Here...

For four days now, I am pretty sure I have been dying. No one will tell me, but I know. It started with a high fever and body aches and has mushroomed into this cough that I am pretty sure is consumption. you can't fool me, I saw Moulin Rouge, and I know what she died from...she did a whole lot of coughing beforehand, too! So I am pretty sure that they are just humoring me, in this house. That's why they walk around on tiptoe and bow to my every whim. "Shhh! Yes, get her some orange juice, she won't be this way for long!" I know the way things work.

My youngest already has begun replacing me. When I oozed out of bed to help her into hers, something I have not been capable of doing for days, she started screeching at me:

"No, get away! I don't want you! You're a monster, you're evil! You're an alien! You're an imposter!"

Now I know I didn't look very much like myself, with flaccid, ill-kempt hair and hollow eyes, but I don't think I looked like a pod person! Of course, I am not 7. With autism. So what do I know? [this is where the picture, the one that shows me in my current state of disarray would go. I chose not to put it there. You are glad. Trust me.]

T, who hopes you will come to my funeral

I Don't Make New Year's Resolutions. But, If I Did...

Lately I have been thinking about why I am not writing as much. I am not really burnt out, but just feeling a lot of pressure to perform or something. Then I read this, and now I get it. She said it more eloquently than I could. So, rather than try and reinvent the wheel,just go read Okay, Fine, Dammit. Now.

Have you found yourself writing less? Do you have a plan to deal with it?

T, who says why can't I just write and forget what people think?

15 Hours and Two Missing Pieces Later

This is why I don't do puzzles. Yes, I wanted to pull my hair out. This puzzle was beautiful, but very hard to put together. Still, here it is, evidence. I could write the company for replacement pieces, but I am not altogether sure we didn't lose the pieces. (though I don't see how we could have)

T, who figures I should have just watched TV instead

The Cat Says Meow

Ok, I suck. I know, I haven't updated. It's not because we aren't doing anything, it is because we are doing too much. I will try to be better. In the meantime, here's a cute kitty!

T, who is pretty sure the cat isn't actually making that noise...

I Have Plenty of Excuses...Just Gimme a Minute

(this is my conversation with my imaginary readers...just go with it)

Dear T: Your blog has sucked lately. No really, it is lagging. You are sometimes a bit funny. Maybe. What gives? Do you hate us?

Signed, ticked off

Dear Ticked,

NO. I don't hate you. But maybe your expectations are too high. I can't handle it. I am caving to the pressure. You are going to find me sitting in the corner typing "AOL ate my gmail" over and over again on the screen. (I was going to write that it was better than writing "g-string" but realized at least that would be mildly amusing) Seriously.

But if you had my life you would get why I am throwing up lame videos. I homeschool (have I mentioned that before?) and school has started again. (did I mention that I homeschool?) Also, my oldest daughter has started classes, which means I am playing ferry four times a week. (and did you know that I homeschool?) Not to mention band and ballet and small group... so I just have been so tired, getting used to my schedule. Ok, so I am not Fussypants...who runs a blogdiva empire and homeschools and vacuums blissfully in all her Domestic Glory.... we know this, right?

Also, I am such a fierce (with apologies to Christian from PR) perfectionist that I am really never happy when I hit publish. I get a sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach that it just ain't good enough.

Dear T.: Boo Hoo, cry us a river. We pay you good money to write good content! Oh, wait, no we don't...ahem. In any case, We are tired of the excuses. Yes, we know you claim not to be good at the domestic thing, though we suspect that you are lying and your house is actually spotless, your children are beauteous and obedient and you just don't want to make us feel badly. Further, we believe you actually dress like an Italian film star, which is why you seldom post pictures of yourself on your blog. (you could have totally won the Hottest Blogger Contest, had you entered, right?) You just wanted to give others a chance, since that's the kind of warm-hearted blogdiva you are.

Signed Full of Hope

Dear Full,

Uh, yeah, sure. That's it. I haven't been writing quality material because I have been lunching with important people who are more importanter than you. I actually don't spend all day with my children, I have a live in nanny/housekeeper who takes the little darlings to French Class and dance lessons while I hobnob with the Real Housewives of the OC.

Yes, you have found me out. My life is infinitely more glamourous than yours. Because I am such a successful blogger, Sephora drops makeup at my door by the truckload. But I am not here to receive it, since I am at the theatre, box seats, complimentary, of course. And did I mention that my new car is in the driveway? Paid for by Google Ads page views?

Tomorrow, I will be interviewed by Katie Couric, because she wants to know how I stay so absolutely fabulous. without alcohol, mind you!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get my well-toned derriere off this expensive couch, lift my lacquered nails and deign to remove the refuse from my kitchen since the can is full. And once I am done with that, I will start my thousand dollar dishwasher (no, really, actually that's true....it's a splurge but I LOVE it...) so that it can lovingly and quietly caress my dishes while I sleep.

And then? I will get up and start the whole mess all over again. And I still won't have a decent blog post when (if?) you show up.

Oh. And...g-string.

do you go through blogging dry spells? What is your best advice for dealing with them? Are you ever happy before you hit "Publish Post?"

T, who isn't feeling very "on" lately and hates it..hope you can forgive me

Technorati: blogging, perfectionism, writing

photo of Christian: People.com photo of children: Magnum Photo blog