All blogged out

I wonder if this blogging thing, for me, has run its course. I’ve been staring at this computer for two hours, just wanting to use this space to make sense of so many things, and it just isn’t coming. Instead, I probably just dropped $50 in the iTunes store and am happily listening to all the music I’ll probably forget about in two days. 😉

I find it funny that probably my best writing is done behind the password-protected screen. Funnier still is that probably all but two of you have the password. (If I know you and you want it, just ask. Honestly, one person is purposely excluded and the other, well, the entry is about and he doesn’t know that this blog even exists. LOL)

Aside: Do you other bloggers do that — meet people and casually forget to mention that this is a huge hobby for you? I figure that if they become important enough, they’ll see it eventually. But if they’re just another overnight sensation, is it really worth it to expose them to your growing pains?

I love this blog. I rush to it to share what’s going on in my head and in my life. It’s been the source of some problems in my life, sure, but the people I’ve met because of it and the improved writing skills I’ve gained from it, not to mention the permanent record of moments I’d otherwise forget, have been the reasons to keep it going for more than five years.

I don’t want to do one of those swan songs, the “I’ll be back … someday” stuff. Because the second any of us types something so trite, we end up having the Big Idea for the next entry just five minutes later! In fact, I’m sort of hoping for that major epiphany to hit. It’s like when you’ve got a crush on somebody and the minute you decide to give them up, they remember that you’re alive. Accordingly, I’m hoping my Muse realizes that I want to give up — maybe she’ll come back with a vengeance, to remind me to keep on plugging along.


I mean, if I were doing a “real” entry today, I’d say that I went to IKEA yesterday to get an Easter present for the cats (the red cat tent — we already have the blue, as I always decorated in blue but now I’m moving toward adding some red to the kitchen). (*yawn*) And that I got stuck in traffic, trying to go home. I’d say that my poor little fingers need a manicure (a pedicure wouldn’t hurt, either), because from packing boxes, they look like smashed little sausages.

It’s weird how I’ve invested so much in decorating in cobalt blue glass, especially when it was so hard to find. Now it’s everywhere, and I’m ready to toss out everything I have because it’s not special anymore. But I’ve got to be careful with red — a friend and I went to a party with a red room, and it felt like being trapped inside a blood clot. Used wrongly, it’s such an angry color. So I’m trying to do it with class, for when it all comes together.

One thing I didn’t do with my last three apartments was decorate. I used to live in cheap apartments with pretty furniture and accents. Now, my apartments are getting better (or, at least, more expensive) and I’ve got nothin’ in them.

I find that a lot in D.C. — we’re all dumping so much of our salaries into real estate (rental or otherwise) that we can’t afford to furnish those spaces. I looked in a lot of windows during my mad apartment-hunting journey, and to say things are sparse for everyone is an understatement. Your gross income is what qualifies you for these spaces (you need to earn at least 30 times the rent), but I see what the government grabs from my paycheck. And it sucks. That could have bought me a whole lot of furniture!

I’ve been trying very hard to save money, and for the first time in my life, I actually have something in my savings account. Not a lot, but I don’t ever want to be in dire straits like I was just a couple of years ago.

Of course, the temptation is there to blow it. I went furniture-shopping yesterday (and there it goes — *wave goodbye*) because I want to do it differently with my next space. I would rather be poor and have a nice place to escape to. Nothing hurts worse than working your ass off and then going home to sit on the floor. Then again, I tell you, that nest egg might just go toward a MacBook Pro, because at least I can take my life with me and go sit on a couch at Starbucks, if I really need a soft place on which to plant my ass!

I saw some nice-enough furniture. I’m cheap these days. I’ll pay $50 for a good meal in New York or $100 on a bag in a Las Vegas boutique, but when commas start to get involved, I get a big case of “ick.” It’s not that cute, is one of my arguments, as is, “Well, the cats would just TRASH that once they got their hot little claws on it.”

I finally got the keys to my new place. I asked them to do a bunch of repairs and stuff, and they complied. My mom and her boyfriend came down to visit, and they loved it. I let the cats run around in it for awhile, and Maddie left her first official shit streak on the carpet, so I know she’ll gladly call it home.

I’m almost done packing up the “old” place. (An Easter miracle, I tell you.) It’s sad, looking around and remembering all the dreams and plans I had for it. But it’s not a lingering sadness — it’s a gratitude, really, that it was a great experience and that so many greater adventures lie ahead. I mean, my life and my work is done mainly on the Web, so my life is actually a portable one.

I had a dream the other night, that we were being forced to bid on our jobs, and if someone underbid you, you were fired. I dreamed that the probably most-vital person to our operations was underbid and decided to pack up and go to L.A. for greener pastures and a whole ream of different, more exciting opportunities. And the suggestion came out of it that I should do the same, and not wait to see whether I had a job or not. And in the dream, I’d said, “Hell, I’m already packed. Why not?”

I don’t even know why I just told that story. Maybe to illustrate that a single decision made on a whim can alter the course of the rest of your life. And that being willing to travel light is a good thing — leave the baggage behind, wipe the slate clean and just start living. Who only knows what’s behind Door No. 2, if only you just look?

I wrote something profound in my last entry, about being torn between what’s “right” and what really IS right. The thing is, you never really know, but my sneaking suspicion is that eventually, you can tell the difference. But the choice is yours.

And I’m glad to be able to have choices.

So, happy Bunny Day to all of you who celebrate it, and happy Sunday to those who simply use it as a day off. Me, I’ve got places to see and people to be with, and no matter what I do, or where (or with whom) I end up, it’ll be a good day. I hope you have one, too!

Comments closed.