Thanks for the fish

enjoying the things around me: fire, wine, comfy chair, laptop, but at the same time I’m annoyed, grumpy, and tired.

Tired because my exercise addict husband made me get up at 4;30 this morning to drive to Portland in time for a 6:15 Body Blast class. (That’s a 60 minute long torturous assault on every muscle group in the body if you were wondering). Now I’m satisfied that I did it but sore and tired.

Grumpy because I have PMS and have all week. Isn’t it funny how people I normally like irritate the living shit out of me when I have PMS. There is a guy at work, D. He’s the brother of a good friend of mine (who coincidentally also irritates the shit out of me when I have PMS). He’s nice and funny and I used to think cute. Before I knew him so well, he seemed like a perfect prospect if I ever happened to get divorced. Now, not so much. He’s so negative and gloomy and Eeoyore-like. I had to give him a lecture today about thinking positive. He thinks his worldview of “expect the worse, then be pleasantly surprised” is effective. I don’t. I mean, I try not to get my hopes up unreasonably high, but COME ON. If you never expect anything more than mediocrity than what’s the fucking point?????

Also pissed off at my piano teacher, who is raising her rates beginning Jan. 1 to $80 a month. You may think that doesn’t sound like much, but it’s what you get for your money. 30 minutes (usually less because she’s running late) a week, most of it telling me about God, her sex life, the time her husband almost left her, her weight problem, her crazy family, or other things. Have I actually learned anything productiec in hte last year? Um, no. And then she acts irritated because I can’t play worth shit. (or maybe I’m just being overly sensitive in a PMS type fashion)

My cats are also annoying me. One is not eating, which really irritates me because then I have to worry about him, and I HATE IT when people/animals make me worry about them. It makes me want to live alone and have no friends or family so I can just worry about my own self and nothing else. I totally understand being a recluse. I can’t deal with it. The other cat is being a greedy, needy pig, and I know he’s a lovely cat that just happens to have emotional problems but I’m a bitch right now and can’t handle that either. Right now, I won’t let him anywhere near me, so he is sitting on the couch, next to my chair, just so he can be near me.

I’ve become obsessed with making money. Not in the tradional  9 to 5 sense but in every other sense. I’m trying to find ways of squeezing blood out of stones, turnips, whatever so one day I can avoid going to work. Meanwhile, I’m trying to bilk my current ocmpany by working as much overtime as possible since they pay me time and a half for it and it’s damn good money. It’s all completely irrational and contradictory, which pretty much describes my personality sometimes.

And J is miserable too so we talk about what suckers we are working for the man, which just makes it worse, because if at least one of us believed in this bullshit capitalist system, then maybe it would rub off on the other one. But now we just hate ourselves for not having the balls to quit our jobs and do what we really want to do. So I horde money and try to pay off my mid-life-crisis-minicooper, which I still love in this completely irrational way.

And my sister, who had been unemployed for several months, and I worry about (so I’m mad at her too), finally got a job. And I’m happy and so is she, even though it’s at a company that she continually quits from (though not the last time). But she has a mortgage and the pay is good so she has learned the lesson at the age of 36 that yes, if you are the little people of America, you have to be a slave to the man if you want to pay your mortgage.

And is I type this out, I think, if i could write my novel as quickly and passionately, and with no thought whatsoever as I do this blog, and I could actually make it interesting and grammatically correct too, that would kick ass.

And so I will continue on wiht my new novel, which I do believe in, but I keep writing and rewriting Chapter 1, losing more faith in it eahc time I rewrite it. And now the red wine is kicking in, my muscles hurt, and my eyelids are getting heavy as the hum of the propane fireplace blurs in the background and the heat hits my feet and …. boy it’s only 6:45 so I guess I better rewrite Chapter 1 one more time.