It's Wednesday already and I have a million things due this week at work, and they had taken me off one project so I'd have time, but then last night they said, No. You should really be on that project and OH MY GOD I WILL NEVER GET EVERYTHING DONE.
I will never get everything donnnnnne.
Do you do that? Do you panic and declare impossibility before you start working and everything turns out sort of okay? Even as I wrote that, I thought about all there is to do in the next 48 hours and I said, yeah no. Everything will NOT be okay.
I'm a panicker. It's what I do.
In the meantime, Lottie just asked to come up here, and I forgot that when she gets on her hind legs and asks for something that I'm to coldly and calculatedly ignore her and even get up and walk away. And at recess, I'm to say to everyone, "No one play with Lottie."
Remember that, in elementary school? That was awful. And everyone would do it! What a bunch of bitches little girls are. Tammy Thompson would get mad at Doreena, and tell the rest of us, "No one play with Doreena" and we'd freeze her out, man. We would not play with poor Doreena.
Anyway, Lottie asked to come up here and I picked her up without thinking about it, and good consistent training. Won't you enjoy my hair?
Here she is, below, on May 13...
What a little monkey she was. This was when I was still Anne Frank-ing her and she was MY SECRET ALONE.
As someone who's no longer allowed to wax her brows, I am envious of Lottie's expressive eyebrows. Or eyebrowns, as a sign at the manicure place back in LA said.
You know what I'm sick of? The phrase "mani/pedi."
Also? Heart hands. Oh my fucking god stop making heart hands. Stop. STOP!
I'll never get everything done this week. Did I already say that? Remember when I just copyedited things? Those halcyon days when I just copyedited things? The good news is, now I look at the clock most days and I'm all, "It's FIVE already?" So that's good. But oh lord.
Plus also I think I'm getting a cold. I've been told that that I always thought I was getting a cold. Is that true?
In other news, I found out some stuff re my last relationship that I sort of knew, but didn't have cold, hard facts about. Now I do. And now that sort of ruins me. Like, all those years I thought we were happy and terribly in love? Turns out I might have been the only one in love at all. Which kind of sucks ass. It's awfully inconvenient. It's an inconvenient truth.
Did you ever do that? Did you ever end a relationship and then--oh, just to throw a random amount of time later out there, like 8 and a half months later--find out for sure that it wasn't what you thought it was?
Once I was waiting at the doctor's office--surprise!!--and I read a story about a woman whose husband had died at the World Trade Center on September 11.
What if you'd died at the World Trade Center of, say, a cold, on August 9, 1980 or something, but every time family member would say, "My cousin died at the World Trade Center," everyone would assume it was because of September 11?
I guess what you'd say is, "My cousin died from a simple cold, like the one June's getting. Can you believe that? He was at work, and boom. Dead." You wouldn't say "World Trade Center."
See. That's what it's like in my brain. All day. No wonder my hair does that. It has a lot going on underneath it. It can't help but react to all that cacophony.
OH MY GOD ANYWAY. So in the story in Women's Day or whatever I was reading at the doctor's office--can't remember the disease du jour. Might have been when I had that kidney stone. IN THE STORY, this woman's husband had died September 11, and she was going through his stuff after to get everything in order and so on, and she found tons of emails from another woman. He'd been having an affair.
That was not what I found out, it was not my inconvenient truth, but the point is, when you discover your relationship was not what you thought it was, HOW DO YOU EVER TRUST ANYONE AGAIN? How can you go on to the next person, who will look you clean in the face and say, "I love you" and know they mean it, given the LAST person looked you clean in the face and said, "I love you. I've never loved anyone else this much" and you've find out, well, THAT wasn't really true.
I have a new rule. A man doesn't commit within one year, he's out the door.
Or maybe I have a new rule: No more men, ever. Like, that's how ruined I think I am. I'm all discombobulated now. People can really fool you.
I have another new rule. If I feel "desperately" in love again, that man is out the door.
Out the door, like in It's a Wonderful Life. That's it. Out you two pixies go, through the door or out the window.
But in the meantime, I have to recalculate the last four years. Like, when you get off the freeway for gas, and your GPS is all Recalculating...? That's where I am. I'm recalculating.