I Have Come to These Conclusions: Lost in the Shuffle

For a person whose, according to a recent sleep study, “brain never shuts down, even after six hours of supposed sleep”, the bed looks inviting this morning. However, I’ve learned that if I don’t grab the day by the minute hand as soon as I open my eyes, all is lost. So after a quick caffeine and chocolate fix (Shame! I was doing so well 😦 , I mentally vow to get things off to the right start instead of crawling beneath the covers in my mix-match jammies and fuzzy socks.

In goes Classical Stretch into the DVD player, pop goes my shoulders and knees, and I hear a crunch…somewhere. But that’s okay.  On this Friday, March 21st, 2014, my joints and body parts will bend at my command, I shall emerge from the next fourteen hours relaxed, refreshed;  and when I waltz into the local massage parlor at 1 p.m., they will not compare my muscles to “brick walls” (seriously, she did); and nothing bad will happen upon leaving the parlor–unlike the first time when a man’s brakes went out, resulting in a four-car accident, which included my mom and myself; or the following month when  my car broke down a couple hours later. Nope, this time will be great! I am in control of myself and my anatomy.

After getting warmed up, I’m amped and grinning. If I hurry, I figure I might get in another shower and a quick shampoo, maybe even some writing before the phone rings, or a mini-emergency strikes, or a monkey wrench gets thrown into the schedule.

But dog darn the phone vibrates, and I’m inclined to answer because I have this thing;  I find it nearly impossible to lie, and I’ve always imagined the person on the other end as some omnipotent being who knows I’m purposely ignoring the phone. The woman in yoga pants instructing me to stand tall with tail bone tucked and back straight is put on pause.

Other titles take over just as I am leaning into a forward stretch. You know the ones—mentor, sales consultant, mommy (Thing 2, who is barely out of preschool, decided she wanted purple contacts, which lasted all of four hours before she demanded her glasses again, which means a trip to the eye clinic, again. And so on and so forth. And that is life…

I have learned that sometimes that part of you that you identify with most gets lost in the shuffle of every day life.


What Does That MEAN?! (A TRUE story)


“Ooh, my turn; my turn.”  I quickly raise my hand for the free massage my co-worker is giving away in the break room.  And she’s really good.  I suggest she get certified and knead necks and shoulders for a living; she says she’s been thinking about it.

Anyway, there’s one problem.  She keeps telling me to relax. I shrug and say in what I’ve been told is one of the most soft-spoken voices ever, “But I am relaxed; this is as calm as it gets.”

She shakes her head.  “You’re extremely tense, all in your arms.”  Then she looks at me and asks, “You sure you’re relaxed, because I see a bulging vein on the side of your head.  You grind your teeth, too, don’t you?”

How does she know!  The dentist has chiseled me FOUR times already.  And I don’t even realize I clench and grind.

I sit there, speechless.  I mean, three nurses and a doctor said the same thing prior to a surgery.  I went in, as calm as I knew how on a level 9 of pain, and the first thing dude suggested was Valium.

Two Valium later, I was still awake, still crying (softly mind you, not boo-hooing), and still asking questions.  By the time they wheeled me into OR, a tech said, “We’ve got a nervous one here.”

Excuse me but I was NOT nervous.

I simply laid on the gurney, crying softly.  Who wouldn’t upon their first major surgery.  (My past c-section doesn’t count because I blacked out and wouldn’t have known heaven from earth if asked.)

Anyway, I’m reminded to chill all the time, even when I’m not verbally saying anything, even when I’m oblivious to the cues and clues that I’m not…chilling.

What does that word mean–relax?  Maybe I should look it up, or take a class.  I mean, I never raise my voice; I never outwardly panic; I rarely get angry…I’m calm, right?  Isn’t calm the same as relaxed?



And Sometimes All A Writer Needs Is…Rest

I call it a perfect day; the clouds are dark and the sky hazy, there is a light drizzle that sets in for the entire afternoon, and streetlights have a somewhat ambivalent glow.  I ponder what to do on such a cozy Sunday.  Should I do the average–cook, clean, iron in preparation for the following week?  Or should I indulge in cyber space, or, perhaps, a couple of sitcoms from my Golden Girls DVD set?

The room is quiet, nothing but the soft hum of an electric heater, which, in this house of noisemakers and aspiring harmonica players, is rare.

“I could begin the revision of chapters five and six of my novel,” I think to myself as I lay down on the oh-so-cozy couch.  Yes, I can do that and then cook and iron while I watch television.  (Talk about multi-tasking)  I wrap a blanket around my body as I mentally go over this to-do list.

However, the tapping of rain on my tin roof (so glad we did that last year), along with the warmth of the room, lulls me into slumber.  A nice, quiet place were there are no bickering children, or music making devises, or request of one’s time…

Sometimes all a writer needs is…rest.

Have a great Sunday, fellow bloggers:-)