Reverie

My high school yearbook was called “Reverie.” Because of that, I think I’ve always thought that the word reverie had something to do with memories…something to do with reminiscing (yet another example of the miseducation of my youth.) And it was always tinged, as memories often are, with just a bit of sadness in my mind. Reverie always meant per my definition “remembering fondly and longingly for something in the past” (which is kind of ironic since nothing that happened to me in high school or that was printed in that yearbook can be described as either remembered fondly or longed for. But that’s not my point here today. )

All these years when I heard songs use the word “reverie” (which, let’s be honest, is just in jazz standards and show tunes. I don’t know a lot of current artists toiling over trying to work that word into their lyrics anywhere…) it always meant dreaming of days of yore with just a titch (it’s a word, slang though it may be) of melancholy.

Come to find out, I am mistaken. (J is pulling out a calendar and writing this day down for posterity and future torment. The day I admitted…in WRITING no less, that I was incorrect.)

But I was close, because it does have to do with letting the mind drift to other thoughts. But as it turns out, it doesn’t necessarily mean recalling the past, nor does it connote sadness. It is in fact rather from the French (ah, the French) for delirium and wandering. It literally means “the condition of being lost in thought.” Or better yet, it means to daydream.

To daydream. I like the word even *more* now. (Add it to the list.)

I can admit out loud at this point in the game that I was sure far before J asked me to marry him that that was the path we were on. In fact, I knew (for me) very early in the game. I believe, after about our third date (which remember, came after three years of solid friendship) that I said to our mutual friend C something like, “If we don’t screw this up by getting in our own way and being stupid, this is the real deal.” Granted, the actual engagement day/ time/ procedure was a complete and utter surprise to me (I was definitely the last person to know it was happening.) But not the whole we’re-probably-going-to-get-engaged-someday part. That I’ve known for a while.

When I found out that J was going to have to go back Over There for a year, I told C that if J was thinking of proposing to me, you know, EVER in his life, that I really hoped he did it before he went back Over There. I needed something to keep me busy while he was gone…something to keep me focused on the happily-ever-after rather than the tedious-here-and-now…and something to keep me actively moving forward toward future US- capital U, capital S. I could not possibly have known at the time how dead-on that was going to be in terms of me making it through a deployment.

Because I gotta be honest. Reverie is my life line right now…my air supply (as in, my sustenance not the soft-rock, Australian 80’s ballad producing duo.) Reverie’s what I’ve got. And I’m getting really good at it.

Now, I’ve always been one of the more imaginative people I know. I can dream up A LOT. And when you couple that with the fact that I am not only a daydreamer with a good imagination, but also a PLANNER, well. My daydreams are never half-baked; let’s just say that. I have a contingency plan for every possible potential daydream outcome.

Here’s a prime example: I am convinced that I am going to win Publisher’s Clearinghouse someday. Not like, sorta think it’s possible, but actually truly believe that it’s going to happen for me. And maybe all poor people have that same dream, but I honestly believe it to be real (I’ve seen Charlie and the Chocolate Factory a LOT of times. Publisher’s Clearinghouse = my Golden Ticket.) At any rate, one of my best girlfriends is a financial planner. And, true story, we have already discussed things like taxes on winnings, lump sum payouts versus annuities, and how much can be given at any one time as a gift to someone without raising tax questions. Yup. Knock on my door tomorrow, Publisher’s Clearinghouse. I’m already covered. (P.S. I’d like to go on record as saying, you know, should any P.C. folks be reading along, that I’m a really generous person, and J is even more so than me…and giving us this money would do lots and lots of people a lot of good, not just us. I promise. You know…just in case you were wondering.)

So now, you’ve got my frequent (and necessary for sanity) daydreaming. You’ve got my way-too-overly-active-imagination (I’m winning Publisher’s Clearinghouse.) You’ve got my planning penchant (my nickname is the Binder Bitch, as you may recall.) And now, add to that my time of transition and my copious amounts of J-less free time. What this spells, my friends (I’ve mixed metaphors…perhaps I should say “what this equals...”) What this equals, my friends, is me being completely, utterly, 100% head-in-the-clouds-broken-with-realty, lost-in-thought All Day Long right now. Reverie, indeed.

When J first left, it was wedding daydreams primarily. Picturing the day with one dress v. another. One set of flowers v. another. Summer wedding v. fall wedding. Big wedding; little wedding. Red flowers; white roses. Bridesmaids in blue v. flame. And then, for each of these scenarios, I had planned out the contingencies. “If three bridesmaids in red (which they all look very good in) in the fall, then they’ll be summer tan, so that’ll look good…but how do we get A here for the fitting at the same time as CA & CI, when she has kids going back to school…and CI will have just had a baby and CA potentially might be pregnant by then so, what dress will look good on all three, and….” Well, you get the general idea.

I think it goes without saying that I’ve stepped reverie and planning up to a whole new level.*

* Please note my use of the phrase “a whole new”. This is in lieu of the phrase which many of you might have tried using “a whole nother.” I hope when you see that latter phrase in print, you realize how wrong it is when you are saying it. Because you say it. I promise you say it. Everyone says it. But as you can clearly see, “nother” is not, in fact a word. It isn’t even an abbreviated word, because you’re not trying to say “a whole another.” What you are TRYING to say is either 1) a whole other or 2) another. Correct iterations of the sentence above include: 1) I’ve stepped planning up to a whole other level; 2) I’ve stepped planning up to another level, or my personal choice; 3) I’ve stepped planning up to a whole new level. Incorrect usage of the English language at work in the sentence above: I’ve stepped planning up to a whole nother level. Come on. Spell check doesn’t even let you do it. Get it together people.

Yesterday, I applied for three different jobs in three different cities with three different application deadlines. Talk about daydreaming. For each job, I have figured out the “if they should call, I could interview when.” I have thought about how to rent out my place. I have thought about where I’d live. How I’d move. I’ve looked at apartments. Looked at houses. Looked for job opportunities for J in each of the areas. I have looked at short term housing and buying a home. I have found storage units available to stash my stuff temporarily should I need to move in the next five days of my life. I’ve planned my “two week’s notice” speech. I’ve interviewed for all three jobs in my mind. I found our dream house online through a real estate agent and have played out the scenarios “so, if I work here for the next two years and then when J gets home he can’t find a job there and we have to move to a different city, then we rent the house out, we move to here, we…” pant. pant. pant.

I realize that the potential for setting myself up for heartbreak is high. There’s no reason to believe that I’ll get interviews for these jobs. That I’ll be doing anything other than exactly what I’m doing right here and right now. No dream house. Just this apartment. No moving from this town to some exciting city. Just the predictable sameness of another year here. I know that having a big imagination and the penchant for daydreaming BIG has the side effect of crushing disappointment sometimes.

But a girl can dream, can’t she?

I know, that I’m probably not winning Publisher’s Clearinghouse. I know that I’m probably not getting a new job…or apartment…or dream house anytime in the near future. But that’s ok. Because right now, these dreams of the “what’s next” are keeping me really good company. And when that someday comes, which I’m certain it will, I’ll be prepared for it.

The comforting thought in all of this is that daydreaming about the wedding…that’s not a dream. That’s real. Spending the rest of my life with a man I love more than I ever dreamed I could. Also real. So maybe dreaming big isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe it’s self-fulfilling. And as the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard said, “Reverie is not a mind vacuum. It is rather the gift of an hour which knows the plentitude of the soul.”

I’m blessed to have that gift in abundance at work in my life right now. And if you see me and I seem lost in thought, it’s because I probably am. Just let me have it. I’m most likely arranging china on our Thanksgiving table, in our home of 30 years, together with J, our kids, their kids and the dog.

Biography

Today I was asked to write a short, 150 word professional biography of myself for a publication. Believe it or not, it was really hard for me to do. (Have you ever had to do that? Seriously. Try it. I bet you’d be surprised at the difficultly level of summing yourself up in 150 words.) It’s rather serendipitous actually, because I’ve been thinking a lot about words used to describe me in the last few days (this is what happens when you spend *hours* writing resumes and cover letters…you start to run out of words you can use to describe yourself and your accomplishments and start to need new ones: hard-working leader with vast experience coordinating, and instructing, and organizing…things and stuff?)

As I stared blankly at the page today, trying to come up with the words that described who I am, I found myself constantly coming back to phrases not about who I am, but instead about what it is I do. Because let’s be honest, when people are asking you for your resume or a biography, they aren’t really asking you to describe who you are—what makes you tick, what makes you happy, what drives your being. They are *really* asking for you to outline your track record of accomplishments—what it is you have done, ticked off in list form so as to impress those who would be reading it. “Oh, she’s a director. I understand it now.” People need categories to make sense of things.

To take a break from the resumes, on Saturday I took myself on a movie date to watch the film “Eat, Pray, Love.” It was surprisingly good. Much more like the book than I thought it was going to be, actually. The book was one of my favorite reads of a few years back, and I’m always very afraid when they make books I like into movies, as the potential for sucking bigtime is generally pretty high. But this movie I found faithful to the book and easy to watch. This made me happy.

Yet even in my downtime, the movie time I had taken as to get away from writing resumes and cover letters, this question of self-description came up again. On one of the star’s legs of her journey, she and various other characters were having a conversation about how places and people could usually be summed up in one word. What was her word? What was your word? And then the star of the movie spends the rest of the movie trying to come up with her word. And then finally she does and it is quite touching and there is a collective, satisfied sigh from the members of the audience. And there is much rejoicing.

It struck me that I don’t think I have a word. And how does someone go about finding their word?

So because I am a byproduct of the computer age, and because I really had nothing better to do on a Saturday night, I did what any well educated women seeking enlightenment and greater insight about herself would do: I took a Facebook quiz. (Don’t even try to tell me you haven’t taken them. Of course you have. I bet you can tell me exactly what 80’s tune is your theme song, what breed of dog you are, and what cocktail best represents you as well.)

After several probing questions obviously designed by a genius (who couldn’t spell) about my favorite pet and favorite color and favorite element of the periodic chart, this obvious mental marvel sussed out that my one word description was simply: Calm. Apparently according to anonymous Facebook genius “X”, I am calm. My very simple, one word rebuttal to this conclusion: Incorrect. (Anybody have a Magic Eight Ball I can seek some clarity from over here?)

At any rate, I slowly gave up the ghost on trying to melt the whole of my person down to just one word (though perhaps you dear, readers would do a better job than me.) Then, I happened to remember that a few years back, J was mildly obsessed with a book that came out which asked movie stars and people from all famous walks of life to write their own life stories—their autobiography, in just five words. Perhaps, if I couldn’t come up with one word to describe me, I could come up with a five word phrase that captured the essence of me! Hurrah!

After hours of contemplation, I decided I was satisfied with “trying harder than you think” (because I am). And while I think that’s probably true generally, the fact that I had just spent a considerable amount of time stumbling through this little project *may* just have tipped the scale in that whole “trying hard” mindset. At any other time, my biography might just as easily have read, “I’m definitely laughing at you” or “Trying to figure things out” or “I love pizza and wine.” I digress. This is a game that could go on literally for hours.

And so, after my movie-Facebook- break, I went back again to the resumes, hoping that I had gained some insight from these exercises. This, my friends, was a bust. Because at that point in the evening, a beer in hand, my brain basically mushy for the evening, I found myself writing things like “I like kids. I’m good with details. I want you to hire me. Please.” Clearly, it was time for me to put away the computer for the evening and get lost in some television.

Now, if a television show could be a religion, I have to tell you that I would be a staunchly practicing West Wingian. And while accepting Aaron Sorkin into your life isn’t quite a religious experience, to me, it’s been pretty darn close. For those of you who have not yet opened your heart to the work of Aaron Sorkin, (“A Few Good Men”, “The American President”, “Sports Night” and “The West Wing” are merely my personal highlight list) I so desperately entreat you to do so. He is our century’s Shakespeare, his writing funny and honest and so smart. He is master and commander of the English language. His writing is music- it has a timbre and a rhythm and a meter, each word chosen carefully for the sound it makes and the emotion it evokes.

And so, as I soo often do when I want to relax, I popped in a West Wing DVD and got lost in the language. I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to the disc I picked up, but I think it was divine intervention: The episode about the first (and only) presidential debate of Bartlet’s first term, nestled nicely inside of Season Three, began to play. The episode is entitled “Game On” and is spent primarily with his staff telling Bartlet (the President of my dreams…Thank you Aaron Sorkin and Martin Sheen) that he is no good with the “ten word answer.” He likes to talk too much. He is terrible with the sound-bites of the presidency. He must learn summary statements and catch phrases because people will never listen to him otherwise! (How sound-bites have ruined mankind is a soapbox of mine for another day.)

At debate time the President is faced with an opponent who is exactly the opposite. Great with the sound-bites…the ten word answers are his wheel house. After hearing the short, ten word answer on taxes from his opponent, Martin Sheen pauses and then as President Bartlet says the following:

Bartlet: There it is. That's the ten word answer my staff's been looking for for two weeks. There it is. Ten-word answers can kill you in political campaigns. They're the tip of the sword. Here's my question: What are the next ten words of your answer? Your taxes are too high? So are mine. Give me the next ten words. How are we going to do it? Give me ten after that, I'll drop out of the race right now. Every once in a while... every once in a while, there's a day with an absolute right and an absolute wrong, but those days almost always include body counts. Other than that, there aren't very many unnuanced moments in leading a country that's way too big for ten words...

I couldn’t help but smile when I heard this again, one of my favorite monologues from the show. Why are we always trying to sum up ourselves and other people into one word…or five words…or ten words? Aren’t humans more nuanced than that? Don’t we deserve all the words we can possibly get? It bothered me to think that we have started trying to sum up people with sound-bites and one-word descriptions. He’s the smart one. She’s the pretty one. They’re the rich ones. He’s a teacher. She’s a scholar. He’s a writer. It just seems so limiting, and can’t possibly tell a person’s true story.

Life, it seems to me, is all about the nuances. The small moments and intricate details and ideas that we each have and bring to one another are what we should spend our time embracing. We’re all way too complicated for ten words, and that’s a beautiful thing. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to convey all that I’m about in a 150 word bio about the jobs I’ve held, or on a resume or a cover letter. I guess I have to try. But I think that at the end of the day, we should stop trying to boil life down to bullets, and instead enjoy all the words we can get our hands on. Because that’s where the story lives.

Elemental

31 weeks left
22 weeks completed
5 weeks left until mid-tour leave
0 Pounds lost (This is a most impressive number! I’ve been traveling for the last two weeks without diet or scales to track what I was certain would be backwards progress…Is there such a thing as “backwards progress”? Hmmm…discuss amongst yourselves… At any rate, nothing gained is OUTSTANDING news to me. Well done, body. Well done.)
25 pounds total
13 months until the wedding

One of my favorite phrases has always been “in your element.” I love it when people refer to others (or themselves, actually) as being in their element. It means you’re good. You’re happy. You’re doing just exactly what you are supposed to be doing, and better still, you’re doing it well—you’re *good* at it. And people can see it. What a great way to feel about a person or yourself—to recognize what you’re doing as being just the right thing or in seeing another work in a capacity that truly makes them happy and fits. (Isn’t this everyone’s life wish ultimately? Don’t we search our whole lives to figure out what our element is, and then go live there in it?)

More than the fact that I have always just generally loved the connotations of the phrase, is the fact that its origin is a complete and utter Sherlock-Holmes-type mystery to me. Where does it come from? Why do we say it?

I mean, I know what element means all by itself (with special thanks, yet again, to my bff Professor Webster):

1 a : any of the four substances air, water, fire, and earth formerly believed to compose the physical universe b plural : weather conditions; especially : violent or severe weather s> c: a constituent part; the simplest principles of a subject of study : rudiments d : the state or sphere natural or suited to a person or thing

Ok fine. The first three seem to make some sense to me. But the last definition (and the one I’m most concerned with here, actually) seems sorta like an afterthought, not really related to the other meanings at all. Elements = substances. Right. Elements= weather conditions. Ok. Elements= small building blocks or rudiments. Got it. But randomly, the word takes on a totally different nuance with the final definition: the natural state suited to a person or thing. Am I the only one missing the connection as to how this last one fits?

I looked and looked on the vast and always-full-of-nothing-but-total- truth interweb. Annnnnd nothing as to where it had come from or why we say it. I asked all the smartest people that I know if they knew where the phrase came from. And summarily, each gave me a detailed recount of their interpretation of its definition. This was of course interesting, but not particularly helpful. Because I know what it has come to mean. I just don’t know why. And because the question of being in one’s element has been at the forefront of my noggin in recent weeks, not knowing why has come to be a little frustrating to me.

For the last two weeks I have been on the road (for a refreshing change of pace?) and have been without reliable internet or phone service. I have been *very* far removed from the hustle and bustle of the East Coast where I reside, and have been living life the much simpler, Midwestern (country) way. For the first few days of the trip, I was actually camping with some friends in the deep woods, in a place that is almost fairy-like to me in its separation from reality. When I was there, I was literally living in THE elements. Which interestingly enough, made me feel like I was in MY element (as I really am an outdoors, country girl deep down beneath the urbanized, jaded, too-fast moving adult I have become.)

So does being in YOUR element, mean being exposed to THE elements? Is that where it came from? That can’t be right… because I know a GREAT number of people who would not feel at all comfortable in THE elements, or *any* element really other than, say, the Plaza Hotel (we’ll call those folks Eloisian. And bonus points for those who know why.)

So I guess that’s a definition of being in THE elements, but not necessarily as being in YOUR element (though, for me, it sorta is one in the same…just to confuse the issue further…) (An aside: While doing our state park camping time, a friend of mine commented that “Camping people are the last bastion of hope in the United States. Where else do people just live randomly together in a community of total strangers, completely reliant upon mutual respect of belongings, safety, and looking out for one another and each other’s stuff?” This thought has stayed with me. I think it’s a good question. I’d welcome rebuttals. But only from those who have, you know, *actually* been camping before.)

I moved from being in the elements home to the small town in which I grew up, and spent time with my father and my best friend from youth. It is fairly clear to me that that place can no longer be considered “my element” as a whole. I’ve moved away and grown and changed. And while I will always find comfort and familiarity and love there, it is not the place any longer in which I am best suited. (You can’t go home again?)

That said, there was no action more fundamental and very very right; no love more rudimentary…so, completely elemental, than spending each night I was home sitting on the couch of my best friend, her two young children (whom I am sad to say I see only sporadically) comfortable enough with their crazy auntie to crawl right up on my lap immediately upon my entrance to the house, bring me a book, and cuddle down for the evening bedtime story. Here again, I felt I was in my element. (And can I just say, that when we said our evening prayers, and her 4 year old prayed for her Uncle J to come home from the Stan safely to me, I could not control my tears.) Maybe a love that is pure, that is elemental, is a prerequisite for being in your element. I think it is for me.

For a part of this two week trek, I was helping to run a school reunion (yes friends, I’m old enough to not only start ATTENDING reunions, but helping to plan them as well.) And I like people. And I like planning. And I’m good at that sort of thing. But after about 48 hours of dealing with crazy logistics and adults with schedules and plans that weren’t *quite* happening as they were intended, I was a little burnt. Late in that third day, I found myself with the opportunity to sit down and just chat with a couple of teenagers who were currently attending the school. At this point in the weekend, as I started to ask these girls about their lives, their plans, their hopes and fears, my body relaxed a little bit, and a smile more real than I had produced at any other point in the weekend spread across my face. A new friend, someone I had just met, who was sitting with me as I chatted up these young girls, smiled and made the off-handed comment as they walked away: “Wow. When you’re with kids…you’re really in your element.”

In and of itself, the statement sorta went over my head. I wasn’t really thinking about it or paying attention to it at the time. But since I got back from my trip, I’ve pretty much thought about that comment non-stop.

In a time in my life where I feel like I am so desperately searching for what’s next (and where’s next…and how’s next…and if’s next…etc. etc.) having someone point out for me that working with kids, engaging them in conversation and listening; talking and learning and guiding and helping; that when I was doing that, I was in my element…well, it was a hugely helpful insight to me. I’ve always known deep down that it was true, but to have someone who hardly knew me say it to me out of the blue, just reinforced it for me. I consider that comment truly a gift in a time when I am trying to be open to signs from the universe for direction in what I do next.

And so I might not ever know the origin of the phrase or why or how it’s come to mean what it does. I guess I’m going to have to let that go. But as I continue on my journey to find my own place in this world (insert Michael W. Smith tune *here*) it’s nice to know what the phrase has come to mean in my life: I’m in my element when I am surrounded by nature, surrounded by children, and surrounded by love. And that, my friends, is a pretty sweet set of fundamental building blocks to start with.

Off

It’s been almost three weeks since I’ve written last. I’ve been off the grid. Seriously off the grid. Very limited phone reception. Almost no internet. Just me and my car and 2400 miles of highway between me and wherever-it-is I was supposed to be the next day (yeah…perhaps I’ve mentioned that I travel?) Alone with only a book on tape (p.s. as much as I adore Stephen King, “Blaze” is a big skipper), my thoughts, and random, staticy NPR stations fading in and out of reception as I traversed the Midwest (what a friend of mine used to call Central America in an attempt to make me laugh.) I spent nights in shady hotels along darkened interstates, in sleeping bags under stars in state parks, and finally at my father’s small home nestled in the heart of our nation’ farm country.

This time was spent driving to see friends and family. This time was spent returning to my childhood home to visit with my childhood best friend and her family. This time was spent having quality conversations with my beloved father. This time was spent doing work for my current job and for the organization I do volunteer work with. It was spent finding old friends and meeting new friends. And all of this was very very good.

But friends, I have to admit: I am off. Not just off the grid, though I’m sure that’s contributed to my sense of offness. I’m off my schedule. Off my health. Off my game. (Possibly off my rocker?)

I’ve always known that I am a creature of habit. I like schedules and order. I’m predictable, and I’m ok with that. So when I travel (which I have mentioned is often, yes?) even this momentary change of scenery (that is not at all glamorous by the way, for those who feel it necessary to covet my expeditions) throws a monkey wrench in my mental schedule. I get off my routine. And all of this is not so good.

When I talked to friends about coming home from this, my final trip of the summer, I was mostly excited about having a regular sleep schedule again; about having a regular exercise schedule again; about *actually* going back ON the diet (that has definitely gone right on down the crapper in the last two weeks) and about writing the blog again… (Part of why I started writing this blog in the first place was so that I could have something to keep my mind busy; something to fill in the evening time so that I didn’t just sit around the house in the hours when I would normally be talking to J and think about the fact that I wasn’t actually doing that. I was acutely aware of this hole in my day on this trip. Being in your car alone with your thoughts for hours on end is good…until it isn’t.)

So yeah, no regular sleep (or location…or bed), no regular diet (though homemade donuts and ice cream topped my list of supreme cheats), no exercise and no regular writing… for me, missing these things on a daily basis is pretty significant. And it messes up my routine. And it makes me feel off.

But right now, even worse than that feeling of being off my schedule, is the feeling that I don’t really have a schedule to get off of. And ambiguity, dear readers, is not my friend. I feel as though I’m wandering a bit, lost in the proverbial forest of my life. All the trees are there and healthy and growing strong, but damn are they big…and they’re blocking my sunshine. And it just seems like I’m walking around the trees in little circles-- like that everything I’m doing with my life right now is just only teetering on the edge of progress, merely marking time in a period of my life that I so wish I was instead marching forward. The only thing worse to me than ambiguity in my life is stagnation.

I will go back to my regular ol’ job that starts here in a week or so, a job I had hoped I would not be returning to this fall. A job I have only half-heartedly been attending to over the summer months, because in the secret corners of my heart, I had truly hoped I would not be coming back. And on many levels, it will be really comforting to have that regular schedule again- familiar tasks, and predictable events. But somehow, going back, resigning myself TO that job (instead of FROM that job) feels a little like a failure ( I seriously need an attitude adjustment before my students come back…) After spending a good six months doing nothing but searching for jobs and having nothing to show for it, I gotta say, I’m not feeling professionally awesome. And I really don’t want that to show to my students when they return in a couple weeks.

And I *know* what you’re going to say. Blah blah, worst job market in years. Blah blah, recession blah. I got it. And I know that’s true. But when the one and only job where someone actually even had the courtesy to call back to mention they had received the application only did so in order to tell me that there were 200 more qualified people who had applied before me, it becomes pretty hard even in these tough times to not take that just a little bit personally.

I digress. Reliving it is not going to get me a new job or a better attitude. And I need both. Though right now, the latter seems of more importance.

And so, I start back again. No new job. No new apartment. No new city. Same faces. Same tasks. Same schedules in a lonely town that I am ready to leave. And for someone who appreciates routine, I guess I should be satisfied. Maybe instead of making grand life changes right this second, I should use this time to jump back on the horse. Re-establish the diet, and the exercise, and the sleep. Get back to writing each day, which I have so desperately missed. Get rid of this miserable cold that has me feeling like a woolen-mitten- donning Yeti has a death grip on my throat, causing my glands to rise up under my ears like someone squeezing sweet peas from their pod. Yes, maybe right now I just need to work on not being so off. Because a time is going to come very soon when I’m going to need to be very very ON. And it’s not as easy as flipping a light switch. I gotta crank this ol’ machine up slowly, lest it explode.

As is always the case, as I write this, I’m drawn to song lyrics. Now, this particular song lyric is completely out of context because in its original form it is about losing love, and hoping that there will be new love right around the bend, which clearly isn’t my case (I’ll keep J right here with me thank-you-very-much.) But even as I hear in my head Rowlf and Kermit sing “I hope that something better comes along” (the Muppets in all of their forms are sheer and utter genius, by the way. I will not be swayed in my opinion on this matter), I start to smile and realize that my offness, even in just last night’s sleep, today’s exercise and diet, and this evening’s writing, is starting to melt away. This little bit of normal has freed my head up to wander to things like the Muppets. This, is a good thing. Soon enough, I’ll be able to say GAME ON, and mean it. But for now, I sleep again, in my very own bed, and dream of better things coming along tomorrow. Joy doth cometh in the morning.