Water Parks, Crying Jags, and Still I Don't Sleep

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Maybe it was the iced dutch mocha I ordered at four in the afternoon, or maybe it was the crying jag in the car between Corvallis and Colton, or perhaps it was the constant yapping of the dog, but I am not asleep. It is nearly 2:30 in the morning. I have things to do in a few hours. Things I would like to do clear eyed. Sleep is never simple for me, but just once in awhile I'd like to do it with a little less effort. Last night for example, I should have been out like a light the second my head hit the pillow.

Yesterday, I spent nearly four hours playing in the water with my niece and sister. It was a total blast. We went round and round in the current pool, went up the steep stairs over, and over to slide, hands over head, down the big spiral water slide, and played with every available water toy at the park. It was hot. We got crazy sun tans, and we were completely water logged by the time we rolled away in the hot, hot car to the taco place for dinner. I was the kind of tired that was meant for a deep, sound sleep. But NO! Not only did I  toss and turn, but we had a wicked huge lightening and thunder storm. I actually got scared and had to turn on all of the upstairs lights at my sister's house. Luckily she had escaped to the basement in an attempt to stay cool so she didn't know I was wasting her electricity. 

You'd think after a fun, but exhausting day, followed by little sleep, and a long hot car ride home with a crying jag I would be sawing logs like a logger in the redwoods.  It is not to be. Here I sit, writing about my woeful, non-sleeping existence. I WANT TO BE ASLEEP! I'd cry about it, but I don't think I have any tears left. When I arrived home, this evening, I was drained from the drive, the crying, and the oppressive humidity. I had a complete meltdown all over my husband. I made him so tired, he immediately fell asleep. Now I'm wondering why I didn't just point my car in the direction of the ocean. I'd certainly thought about it all morning. I haven't seen the ocean since March, and I was only an hour away. I think the combination of  weird, thunderclouds in the sky, and missing my husband, and wanting to be in my own bed sent me home instead. Now I'm thinking a long walk on the beach, surrounded by all of those negative ions might have done the trick. 

There is no beach at my house, and I don't like to walk at night next to the woods. (There is something in those trees watching, I just know it). I'm not even that crazy about having my back to the woods right this second with all of those big, non-covered, windows exposing me to the eyes of the nocturnal woodland creatures. So, no walk to wear me out. I'm going to have to crawl back into bed, and hope that the sandman remembers me for once. I probably turned him down for a date three decades ago, and that's why I have such lousy luck in bed (sleeping). I'd like to dream a little too. I'd like to dream about the water park. I think I could live there. I'm sure I could put up a little tent next to the picnic table area. I would love to have that current pool all to myself.

I don't know. I don't know how to sleep through the night, and I don't know how to quell my fear of being up by myself when I am so emotionally overwrought. Many a night, I have faced the woods to look up at the night sky, or taken a midnight walk with the dogs under a full moon. However, when I am this tired, the kind of tired that doesn't even have adjectives to describe it, I get jittery. I WILL climb back into bed, snuggle up to the snoring giant, and hope he is aware enough to wrap his arms around me, and maybe, just maybe, I will fall asleep.

May peace and sleep be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

RANT!

Today the goddess rants about herself:

Those 5 pounds are on top of the 12 pounds I've already gained since the end of July!!!!

May peace and access to a nudist colony be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Best Laid Plans

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I can't seem to get done anything that really needs doing. My summer break is speeding by, and I haven't even gotten a handle on my bedroom closet. I've got the walking thing down, and the lying around thing down. I lost an entire day this week to a migraine. My head is still fuzzy. 

Today, I was nearly two hours into an epic walk when I realized that it was Wednesday. I was supposed to have met Kiggibaby at the gym in the morning. It was 12:30 when the memory shot through the top of my brain, and lodged in my shoe. Dang! I got up this morning and did everything I had planned to do the day before. The day I spent rocking back and forth and breathing in and out very, very deliberately.  I get the kind of migraines that begin with a loss of vision. It starts as if I am looking through a very narrow kaleidoscope, and keeps narrowing until my vision is completely gone. That's when every muscle in my body starts tightening up. Olguita's neurologist called it a 'headache-less migraine". Uh, dude, it hurts. I'm not alternately banging my head against the floor, and violently throwing up like the migraines of my past, but it's not "headache-less".  I spent all day waiting for my appointment to fix the stupid thing. Two hours getting it fixed with acupuncture, and the rest of the evening feeling sorry for myself having lost an entire day.

So, I got up today, and headed out for my walk. I completely forgot about the gym. I hope Kiggibaby forgives me. Today the walk, and dying my roots. I needed to clean the kitchen, pay bills, and fold the piles of laundry all over my bed, rocking chair, and the dryer. But, no. those things did not get done. I did think about how to organize myself.

I was thinking I would do it like a story outline. "Somebody, Wanted, But, So . . . "

"The goddess wanted the kitchen to be clean, but watching television got in the way so, she had Nicole do it on Thursday". Except Nicole doesn't clean the kitchen, and really, she isn't necessarily needed to vacuum and mop anymore since the doc OK'd me for all activities. It's just that she was already scheduled, AND she likes to vacuum and mop. I would be denying her pleasure as well as twenty-four bucks.

I answered the phone this evening. It was someone from Kaiser to schedule my MRI. I got to use my parichardial bovine card. She needed the information on it. When I was instructed to keep it with me at all times I have to admit, I kinda, sorta scoffed. I mean come on, are there heart valve police out there, who are going to pull me over, and check that I have my card? Apparently there are. There are, and they call after eight pm.  

I'm really, really tired. However, my bed is covered in whites and work out clothes. I have to fold before I can snuggle in between my soft, cool, white sheets. Darn, why did I put off my chores earlier? Tomorrow, I am going to be a good girl. Get those chores out of the way, apologize to Kiggibaby, work out, AND make time to lie around.

May peace and a plan for your day be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

Stuff

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

I think I had way too much body work done yesterday. I didn't sleep well, and my insides are turning. Too many toxins stirred up, and not enough drinking of the water. I remember to drink tons of water after a regular massage, but whatever Ruti does is NOT regular massage. She massaged my thyroid and aorta. That's definitely NOT regular. I'm sore, and tired and a tad disoriented. Too bad that I was supposed to spend the day cleaning house. I don't have much choice with company coming.  I don't want to lose Charise in a mountain of dog hair, disguised as a couch. 

I guess I'm good to vacuum now. The doc cleared me for everything. I was a bit surprised to learn that I am now allowed to use all of the machines at Curves. My chest is still sore. However, I hit them all yesterday without any repercussions. Unless the working out, on top of the body work, is contributing to my being up in the wee hours in discomfort. Nah. What I'd really like to do is go to yoga this morning. I would have to get one of the boys to take the dogs to the groomer. I COULD do that . I COULD ask them to clean the house too, but I'm not that delusional. 

My eldest son has been cranky with me lately. I haven't put in the time with him since He moved back home. It's got to be hard to live with your parents after five years. He was so happy to spend nearly every weekend with us last winter when he and his girlfriend went their separate ways. Home and Mommy were comforting then, I guess. Now he is looking ahead at months and months of sharing space with his annoying parents. We are kind of annoying sometimes. But, the boy does seem to have a short fuse lately. I'm thinking he is aware of his less than calm demeanor toward the world around him, but doesn't know how to temper his response to it. Look world, I've graduated from that higher learning place, now what? I had a baby to look after; there was no, now what? for me.  I TRIED there. The constant references to grandchildren, and sabotaging of the condoms didn't get me anywhere though. He is just going to have to face the gaping unknown. I am sure his strong character will prevail.

Unfortunately, what is prevailing around here is my facial hair. Lately, I eschew cover up and foundation (I know, Sondra, gasp!). That five o'clock shadow WILL not go away. Yuck it up, but when it happens to you, don't come  crying to me. For one thing, I don't have an answer. I'm still reeling from the laser holes burnt into my chin by a psycho hair removal technician. She caught me off guard with her perky, cute blonde routine. Then, she got me on that table, gave me the worst pain in my life AND burnt holes in my skin. I won't be going back. What to do, what to do? People used to constantly compliment me on my beautiful skin. Now, they are all like, "What's that smudge . . . Ohhhhhhh  . . . ".

I think I will take the little dog on an epic walk before she has to go to the groomer. The walk will distract me from my sore insides and my hairy outside. It will also impress my son.

May peace and nothing much to complain about be yours from: The Goddess of Everything.

Know It All Neighbors, Sheesh!

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It's not been a bad week. Of course, I speak of what is now the past week, it being Sunday and all. It wasn't bad and it wasn't good. We took my car in for service, at the beginning of the week, and I haven't seen it since. I went to Cracked Pots, had a head-slapping, feet stomping moment with my neighbor, walked all over town (no car), rode in a boat up the Columbia, and womanned the wire sculpture table at Summer Celebration with my husband. The not good parts were not feeling great, and missing out on the dancing in the streets that happens every year in my town. 

I have walked up and down the bleeding, ridiculously steep hill that exists between me and downtown every day for a week. It is quite a triumph actually. The first time I ever did it, I was in tears by the time I reached the top. Did I mention that this hill is ridiculously steep? I remember being so excited to finally live close enough to town to walk in, only to curse the day we exchanged our seven mile, flat surface bike ride, for a one mile climb up Mt. Vesuvius minutes into the first walk home. The people around here call it a 'hill'. They drive cars.

Wednesday saw me at Edgefield, wending my way through the miles of yard art, and a hundred hopeful artists. It was pretty amazing. I started drinking a couple of weeks ago, and helped myself to two glasses of wine before the excursion. Mmmm, black rabbit red. It didn't really help in the energy department, but it sure tasted yummy. It was pleasant to be on the wending end of the event. As I walked through, I couldn't help noticing how tired, hot and bored the artists were. I have certainly paid my dues there. We leave the sales all up to the galleries now, but I remember a time when my husband liked to do the shows so that he could interact with the clients. It is way more fun to look than to sell, especially when you are at a place that lets you carry your wine  glass around, and get it refilled at every corner. 

At some point during the week, oh wait, on THURSDAY, at 10:50 am, my end of week funk started. Well, I'd had a booster each morning that week, but Thursday was  evil day. It was my physical. I got on the scale, the scale at the doctor's office, the accurate one. For years and years I have not had a scale. It seems sadistic. Why ruin a perfectly good day by looking at how much more you weigh now than before the gods started playing their little jokes? However, I was told to weigh myself everyday to check for sudden weight gain. Apparently that is a bad sign of something, and that something is something I'm supposed to be on the alert for. What that means is that I have stepped on a mini torture machine every day for three months. First I was horrified at how much I had  gained. Then, I was horrified at how much I had gained, and finally, I was slightly relieved at a little weight loss. uP, uP, DOwn. This trend does not bode well. . . 

Despite walking EVERYWHERE, with the daily trip up and down the ridiculously steep hill, and the cardio at the gym, AND not eating very much  there had been a little weight gain on my scale. The doctor's scale wasn't as polite as mine. It was very, very rude. It told a different story; the story put me in a funkish mood. Upon returning home, I immediately leashed up the dog, and headed down the hill. (Immediately after spending the entire day in the recliner, going to bed, and getting up the next morning). 

It was Friday by the time I rallied myself for the immediate walk. I was almost home when my across the road neighbor pulled alongside me. She commented on how she sees me walking everywhere these days. So, brandishing my humorous bravado, I told her how the dog had lost weight, but I had been gaining  -- a lot. I asked her opinion, hoping for a response along the lines of , "Oh no, you look great!" (Which I do no matter what the scale says). Instead she asked me a question. She asked if I'd been drinking. No, not because she thought I was drunk. She just said how her daughter always  complains of gaining weight, but the minute she stops drinking the weight comes off. This is the head-slapping part, or should have been. I responded that yes, I had given myself permission to start drinking again two weeks ago . . .        Hmmm. . . about the same time I started to pack on the pounds! First I wanted to deny it then, I started stomping my feet in hot anger. It's not fair!! It is summer, I should be able to suck back a few margaritas and mojitos without having to shop for bigger pants! I  stomped home as cold reality sunk in. I had barely gotten the leash off of my slim, little princess dog before I not so drunk dialed my neighbor. She'd barely had a chance to get inside her house to answer the phone.   "Damn you, Karen!", I stormed, "It IS the alcohol!"  She laughed at me. LAUGHED. See if she gets her plate of Christmas cookies next December!  Well, I told her off a little bit, ranting about how I was certainly not going to give up drinking before Helen's birthday dinner that night, or the white russians a certain friend always sneaks into summer celebration,  or the wine and gab fest set for Sunday. Sheesh! 

OK, so I planned to have just one mojito at Helen's birthday dinner. Yeah, well, that first one  was just so darned good. Helen had  two . . . I had two. Then came the boat trip. Dinner was at the Puffin, which is on a pier in the Columbia. The people who own the Puffin have a boat at the pier. They are friends of Helen. It was her birthday. We went for a ride. Did I mention it was a party boat? It was peer pressure, man. Everyone was doing it, drinking that is -- embibing in the elixir of fat cell production. Oh sweet sabotage. Needless to say, I didn't get up early the next morning. I also didn't get on the scale. Why bother? I wouldn't have to be psychic to know ahead of time what the outcome of that little venture of just two steps would be. Funk, funk, funk all the next day. I drug myself through my volunteer stint at the wire sculpture table, put on a good face for all of the kiddies (didn't even notice my mother working at the table across from me for the  first hour) and had my son drive me home, before the dancing in the streets, and with a coconut popsicle in one hand and a Corona in the other. What the heck.

May peace and a trash can large enough to fit a bathroom scale be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

 

Mamma Mia!

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

Ho Hum, Karma Coins and Coconut Popsicles

    Today the goddess speaks about herself:

It is a day of ho hum, stay in bed, don't face the music. I tossed the coins earlier, and my I-Ching told me to tip toe around the dark forces -- don't stir anything up. My horoscope said to ask what others want, and my relationship tarot told me to be patient. As you can tell I have had nothing better to do than visit the tarot website and spend  all of my free karma coins. I don't know how people who follow these signs get anything done. I am so confused I don't know if it is safe to get out of bed, but I really have to pee.

One of my former students is in charge of complaints and questions at the tarot site. She intimated to me, while we were both waiting for Eddie Izzard to take the stage, that she could bank some karma coins in my account; wink, wink. I don't know if that is kosher. Can it be good karma to gain karma coins in that manner? She is half Jewish; she knows from kosher though.

I'd like to think she understands the depth of my integrity also. I wouldn't want a sudden abundance of karma coins to stir up any of the dark forces that I am supposed to be tip toeing around. The question I asked, when I tossed the coins, didn't have anything to do with karma, or karma coins however. Maybe I am safe in that department. What I did ask was if I should have a certain psychic I know do her woo woo thing on me.  OK, my question actually was framed more like, "Should I work with the psychic?"  Then, I get this long and kind of scary response about being surrounded by dark forces that I should not disturb. But, if there are dark forces the psychic is supposed to get rid of them. That is what she is good at anyway.  Once again, I don't know how people who follow these precepts live their lives without constantly looking over their shoulders. I think I will follow my relationship tarot of, BE PATIENT. 

No really, I am very curious about this psychic thing. I am also curious about tattoos. I think I'd like to get one. I am considering some kind of sun art. Not the one I have posted, but something along those lines. I've been thinking about getting a tattoo for years, but I am a pain chicken. The place I want to put it would be painful, and pretty private. I once went into a shop to get a tattoo with our friend, Lance. He got the good artist, I got the creepy one. Needless to say, I walked out without a tat as my skin is as virgin as the day I was born. Well, except for those stretch marks and age spots. Wouldn't that be cool if age spots grew into beautiful, artistic designs that reflected our inner desires? Whatever . . .

I have a feeling I am not going to be very patient in my relationship area today. I've already been snippy with my beloved. He is running a giant yard sale down at his shop. I will not go near it unless I have an overwhelming craving for a coconut popsicle. I'm happy that he is getting rid of all of that junk. Junk makes me crazy. Junk makes him happy. Of course, it is not junk to him. Every piece is special, and valuable to someone. Oh, and it was a good deal at the time. Once again, whatever. . .  As  comforting as junk/stuff is to him, it makes me feel disoriented. It is one of our only areas of incompatibility. There is the junk collecting and the toilet seat issue, and the whole clothes hamper thing, and oh yeah, he likes to watch Stargate. I would almost rather scratch my eyeballs fuzzy than watch a show with no compelling relationship developments between ANY of the characters. The movie was great. I've seen it multiple times. The syndicated show, however, is deadly awful. If only it were the slightest bit campy I could tolerate it, but no. How that show stays on year after year, and Firefly only lasted one season, I will never know. This is why I don't know about the whole astrology thing.  How can there exist in this world one thing that is so bad, and another that is so good, and the bad thing gets to stay on television for ever! Maybe Joss Whedon, the creator of Firefly, should have consulted a psychic. 

I kind of am craving a coconut popsicle now. The best ones are sold at the little Mexican grocery next door to my husbands shop. They are soooo good. I could walk down with one of the dogs, just in case I encounter one of those dark forces that I am not supposed to be disturbing. I think dogs are probably good protection for that kind of thing. Also, my dogs like coconut popsicles. Perhaps along the way I will encounter a tattoo artist who is also craving a popsicle, or would like to trade her services for a bunch of really special junk.

May peace and good karma be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.