Iâ€™ve always had a thing for the idea of traveling. Traveling, as a reality, however, has sometimes proved disappointing. There is so much tourism. Everywhere you go, you run into packs of American high-schoolers on Senior trips. In Rome, they lined all of the sight-worthy fountains. They were throwing stuff in, laughing at their amazing wit in contriving such an original diversion from the ancient city. In the Alps, it was said that you could always pick out the Americans on the slopes; they were the ones in the blue jeans (ha ha ha! ho ho ho!). I asked my boss if people could tell so easily that I was American. They said, â€œNot so much.â€ Must be the perpetually chubby face. Someone told me I have the face of a Dutch milkmaid. In Salzburg I was sick for three weeks and couldnâ€™t eat, and when I finally came to and could receive visitors, the women stared at my cheeks and said, â€œYouâ€™ve lost weightâ€¦ Youâ€™re pretty!â€ They were surprised. Astonished, actually. As if Iâ€™d been pulling a fast ugly one on them all that time. Women are always blaming men for their eating disorders, but I think we do it to each other. I was afraid to ingest anything beyond clear soup and tea for another week and a half after those well-meant comments. (more…)
I know I should be thankful that I even have a job. A relatively easy, flexible job at that; one that affords me time to sit here and do this whole blogging thing in the first place. And I am, I guess. Thankful, that is. When I think about it. Which I should do more often. But I hate my alarm clock. Hate it hate it hate it.
Why am I so tired? I feel like I got old all of the sudden, within a matter of weeks; my hands dried out, I started longing for bed at around 9:30pm, and can suddenly no longer tolerate spinach. And I like spinach! My stomache reminds me, however, that no matter when, where, or how I eat it, that I simply oughtn’t. Sad.
I think I can blame the dry hands on the diving temperatures and my over-heated apartment. The tiredness… Well, blame that on poor time management and the frustrating nature of life in general. I guess. But this issue with the spinach… That’s just about aging. Pretty soon it will be nothing but creamed corn and pepto bismol. And what is with this cherry-floavored pepto bismol, all of the sudden? Ack. Not that I’ve tried it. Yet. But as I said, it’s only a short matter of time.
I “visited” my apartment for the first time last week this past Saturday. You can imagine the pile of bills and other junk mail that tumbled out of my post box when I was finally able to check it. Among these was my first electricity bill. I was too busy to open it that night, so I stuck it in my bag along with my latest bank statement, a new writing magazine (I’ve yet to crack the front cover), and my unopened car insurance bill. Out of sight, out of mind? I don’t think so. That night I had a dream. Actually, it was more like a nightmare. It featured an electricity bill in the amount of $360.00. Yes, I remember. It came with an itemized list of charges for “special parts.” I don’t know what the special parts were, but such is the nature of night horrors. (more…)
A recent post about personality types on Meanderings got me thinking about this song we used to sing at my old church in Sunday School, Children’s Church, and other kids’ ministries:
He’s still workin’ on me
To make me what I ought to be.
It took Him just a week to make the moon and the stars,
the sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars.
How loving and patient He must be,
’cause He’s still workin’ on me. (more…)
I haven’t seen my poor little apartment all week. I have been home helping my mom, who has her own busy schedule at this time of year, by watching my younger brother in the evenings. It doesn’t make sense to go back to Boston just to sleep and wake and come back here at 8am, so I’ve been sleeping here, instead. Saves gas money and morning aggrevation. Kind of. Anyway, a couple of days ago I caught the tail-end of a news report about an apartment building that burnt down in Boston since I’ve been away. I seriously wondered for a while if it was my building. I’m still not sure it wasn’t. If it were, it would make last weekend’s fiasco look like a walk in the park. But we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it… (more…)