Curtis Stone hosts a little show on TLC called Take Home Chef. Basically, he meets people in the supermarket, and comes home with them to cook a gorgeous gourment dinner.
THIS NEVER HAPPENS TO ME.
It needs to.
Also, Clinton and Stacy: COME FIND ME.
TLC is totally warping my world view.
Edmund and Agatha Milley.
All my friends have gorgeous babies. There is no doubt. They say that two gorgeous parents usually combine genes to create a weird-looking baby, but all my dear ones have apparently managed to dodge that particular genetic bullet.
Of course, it may just be that I think all babies are gorgeous.
And that I think that anyone I love is gorgeous, too.
But it’s true. So.
J and J, so much love to you both. And Edmund and Agatha? Just wow.
(The b. It’s for “blogs”, Mom.)
So YAY! You all came. You’re here! Which I’m thrilled about. You are rapidly increasing my confidence about the big switch. And that’s why….
YOU’RE INVITED TO MY BLOGWARMING PARTY! Yes. A BLOGWARMING PARTY. I’m going to have music! Guest bloggers! Outrageous JPGs! Inappropriate language! Video! Audio content! And it’s all happening this weekend. Or sooner.
You can only know by checking back in.
BUT YAY!
Thanks for being here…. and remember… update your links!
It’s a weird thing to leave one URL for another. Especially when you can’t tell if anyone is following you. Which I hope you are. Are you? Wave if you’re out there.
And the links. Apparently I have over 100 inbound links at the old homestead and uh… five here.
But I’m all about moving lately. So come on in and stay a while.
I’ll try and do something I’m proud to put my name on.
Or at least something that will make you shoot coffee out of your nose.
Not that they’d buy it, since my blackheads are WAY out of control, but still. Gypsies. My face. NOW.
If you don’t have allergies/nasal issues/my head, you’re probably not aware that changes in air pressure and humidity create a sensation in certain peoples’ sinuses that feels like a knitting needle stabbing you repeatedly up the nose.
And I’m not exaggerating. I wince perceptibly every ten minutes or so and have to dab the tears that come immediately to my eyes. I’ve taken to idly slapping at my nose and cheekbones like a crazy woman when the shot of itchy, itchy pain comes in the hopes that I’ll feel THAT instead of THIS and Ohhhhhhhh Please Let The Weather In Vancouver Stabilize For Ten Seconds.
Also, according to this magical page, the pollen and mold spore levels in The ‘Couv (that was for you, Holynaty) are pretty chillin’ right now and I happen to have asked my face and it says, NOT TRUE. Damn dirty Weather Network. Get your facts straight! Why would my eyes be puffed up like HoHos if things were MODERATE. Why would my nose be dripping like the tap in my old apartment if things were LOW. Why does the back of my throat itch like I’ve got a kitten sleeping there?
Seriously. COME NOW. THAT’S ENOUGH.
Even the coffee’s not helping, and when it comes to that, there really seems no reason to keep going.
Well, okay, there’s lots of reasons but THERE’S A KITTEN IN MY THROAT, I WANT TO BE DRAMATIC ABOUT IT.
Welcome to Edmund Cooper Milley, born June 12, 2006 at 6:08 pm yesterday. He’s happy and healthy, and weighed in at a fabulous 8lbs, 12 oz. You go, Edmund!
And congrats to Jaegen, Jennifer, and big sister Agatha on their new addition.
(Here’s the divine Miss A., just in case you’ve forgotten the cuteness…)
Can’t wait to meet you, Edmund.
Man, it’s been a hell of a couple of weeks.
Just over a month ago, I got the worst news of my life — and I cringe to say that, because it sounds ostentatious and dramatic, but it was, when I line it up against all the other worst things — along with a foreboding list of states that I might find myself in as a result of receiving that news. Everything from clinical depression to feeling suicidal to taking on destructive behaviours to disconnecting from the people I love. Why? Because I would be bitter. Because I would be grieving. Because — hey! It sucks.
Then, almost two weeks ago, we wrestled The Apartment That Is Slowly Sinking Into The Earth into cleanliness and submission, only to launch into 3 days of packing, slogging, and living out of bags until we could move into the Promised Land. Once we were there, though, wow. So that doesn’t suck. Not a bit.
Since then, I’ve had multiple deadlines at work (which is normal and good), several friend-events (which are normal and good), and all the normal financial and time stresses of making a major location change. I also had (have?) a two-week-long migraine, which has made all the other events surreal at times. But hey, it’s just a headache.
I’ve really and truly lacked the space to do anything but move forward. And I’ve lacked the space to be sad, because who can be sad when you are moving into a cool new pad? Which is great on several hands for keeping perspective (can I borrow your hands? I just have the two) and bad on one or two others (there, I’ll use yours for the bad.) It’s bad because late at night, all of this dealing and thinking and letting go and wondering shows up and sits on my chest like a giant bird, nesting and ruffling and setting up a home.
For a happy person in a happy place, I’m not terribly happy.
I look in the mirror now and see something is missing.
I look in the mirror and see a body that self-sabotages and doesn’t work properly.
I look in the mirror and see the lack of perspective in my expression, and my own frustration and fatigue and hurt.
I look in the mirror and I wonder where this girl is going to go from here.
And I lie in bed and wonder all these things, too.
I don’t know what to do. I’m the kind of person who sloughs hard things off like calluses or shoves them under the bed to deal with at a later date. I’m not used to having the kind of ache that isn’t fixed by having a fun new thing or mocking it into submission. I can’t get a new apartment or a new pair of shoes or a great bunch of grapes or a new hairdo and feel better about this. I can’t crack jokes, although I do… they just seem to be more like needles than salves this time around.
I just have to find a way to walk through it and actually DEAL with it. This is clear.
And oh — did I tell you? I HATE DEALING WITH THINGS. My things. Your things? No worries. Happy to walk that road with you. But can we leave my things behind at the old apartment and let the new tenants find them?
No?
Shit.
There is so much going on. So much other stuff to think about.
Can’t we just forget about it?
For a minute?
I guess not.
And I don’t know what to do now. Or how to do it. Or where to do it.
So if you know, let me know. Because I’m not looking for sympathy or false hope or distraction right now. I’m looking for the next fifty years of my life.
So I think I’m going to go with this template for now, because (despite the fact that I loved it! Loved it!):
There.
Now you know. And knowing is half the battle. I’ll have a rich and gorgeous template someday when I marry a web designer or throw myself at one or something. Or I learn how to tweak. Or, you know, it just up and changes on its own.
