Thirty-two, Brute?

I am visiting my parents in North Carolina this week. Although where they live now isn't the house I grew up in, I did spend a couple of summers and the year after college here, so there are piles of my belongings strewn about. I was going through some of my old music books, when a battered copy of Julius Caesar fell down from the top shelf of the closet. Written inside the back cover was the following note (original note is in italics, my current thoughts are in bold):

I am so bored I think I'm going to cry. Someday when I'm thirty (darn it, I'm two years late!) I'll find this book at the bottom of a box (or the top of a closet) and read through it. And I'll remember what an unpatient (um...impatient?), silly girl I was (the use of past tense is really not necessary). Except that I probably won't be able to read it because my handwriting is so terrible (terrible, but familiar (terribly familiar?)). But after I look through it, I'll show it to Antonio, my loving husband (I assume this is either Antonio Banderas (who was much hotter then) or Antonio Sabato Jr. (who played Jagger on General Hospital), and he will laugh at me and ruffle my hair (apparently at 15, my dream man would laugh at me. Jeremy, I dare you to try it).

Monday, May 16, 1994

2:04 pm

Mrs. Reier's English class

My sincere apologies to Mrs. Reier, who overall was a fine, fine teacher. In my defense, this was likely my last class of the day...and I think Heather, Sara and Dan were all in this class with me, so I'm sure when I wasn't bored, I was distracted.

Also, my apologies to Shakespeare for defacing his work with such silly, adolescent ramblings.

However, kudos to my 15-year old self for having the foresight to write a blog entry 17 years in advance (I never was much of a procrastinator).

How Can I Miss You if You Won't Go Away?

My dog likes to greet me in the morning by running up to the bedside and snorting in my face. And yet, this is still better than being awakened by the alarm clock at 5:30. Tilly of course has to adjust to my new schedule, too. After many failed attempts to teach her to tell time (I don't care if it's 2 pm, you're home and thus it must be walk/supper time!), I've given up and gotten used to her glaring at me until she gets what she wants.

For both our sakes, I am spending the morning at a Panera. I'm trying to be productive, but I chose a seat facing the menu, and every time I look up I find something else that I'd like to eat for lunch...two hours from now. Darn you, soup in a bread bowl!

I continue to find amusement (or at least bemusement) in the kinds of people I find out in the middle of a work day. Not too many obvious stay-at-home moms at Panera...rather, this seems to be the hangout of the slightly-addled-yet-charming old person. Perhaps, instead of my Baby Bjorn and Cabbage Patch Kid idea, I could adopt a slightly-demented grandparent and have them accompany me to coffee shops. Who knew unemployment would afford me so many different options? Outstanding!

And I've just eavesdropped on a conversation between the manager and the health inspector. They received an A-, so it looks like it'll be safe to order lunch here (two hours from now).

I have all these thoughts, and I'm pretty sure they all contradict each other.

Being home during the week is a completely different world. Everywhere I go, I'm surrounded by stay-at-home moms. And I'm not dissing these women at all, but I am considering purchasing a Baby Bjorn and a Cabbage Patch Kid...just to fit in. I mean, Tilly is my baby, but I don't think she'd appreciate being strapped to my chest and taken to Target.

I have done some work this week--both on writing/editing and around the house--but I have also spent a great deal of time acting like a 14 year-old boy. I opened up two new races on MarioKart and defeated a new level on Monkey Island, plus I just ate a box of SweetTart Hearts (finding a single serving-sized box was the highlight of my day...possibly my week).

I began cleaning out the office yesterday and discovered that I apparently hadn't filed anything since the spring of 2009. Clearly I am an organizational mastermind.

Obviously nothing too exciting is going on--except that I am happy. And for me, that's pretty exciting! Full credit for this must go to my quitting my job (that, or the SweetTarts. Let's face it: they're awesome).

Unemployment, Day One

The battle between me and the DVR began in earnest:

Gossip Girl: You know you want to watch me.
Mary: I can’t! Must…be…productive!
Gossip Girl: Ha! We both know you can’t resist bad tween television.
Mary: But the laundry situation is so dire that I had to resort to my strapless bra today!
Gossip Girl: But you’re unemployed…you don’t need clean clothes! And don’t you want to know if Chuck and Blair get back together?
Mary: Yes…but I haven’t been to the gym since the Bush administration…
Gossip Girl: You are powerless over me.

And so it continued. And yes, I watched Gossip Girl, but I did do laundry and go to the gym, so it’s a draw. (And, dammit, just remembered that yesterday was Monday and there’s another Gossip Girl sitting there on the DVR, tantalizing me with its teen angst and ridiculous-yet-captivating fashion).

In all seriousness, I do think I need a small mourning period before putting the freelance plan into action. Because you can do a good job, and be well liked, and still, as my former co-worker put it, “be served a shit sandwich.” And Good God does that piss me off when I think about it.

So, to recap: Day One: Great American Novel not written.
However, Day Two: Wearing a real bra again!

Small victories, people.