Emptying the Contents

October 22, 2010

Hello dear readers—both of you. My, you’re looking grey. Oh, hell, I’m sorry. I seem to be looking at a mirror. My, I’m looking grey. So. It may have been a little while since I’ve written. I…you know…may have taken a very minor half-year vacation from my brain. Sorry about that. My brain has been full of ick and cobwebs. But, dear friends—both of you—as Halloween is approaching, I thought it was high time to open the old girl up and let the ick and cobwebs out. And sorry for that dank smell.

And to catch you up, I figured I’d let you know about what I’ve been doing lately to feed the figurative piggy bank, which is more often than not jingling with the deep, echoing resonance of lonely coins. Since my overtime has come to a screeching halt, I went searching for odds and ends to fill the financial crannies in my life, and I’ve found, for lack of a more personally amusing phrase, shit I do for money. So that will be coming up in entries to come.

I’ve been digging my heels into living outside of the city, where I newly reside, for the time being. Planning (plotting) for the day when I do get to haul all my beautiful, very inexpensive, thoroughly tacky and jangly collective mass of things back up to Chicago and plant them in a shiny, new apartment, water them, and watch them grow into a beautiful, very inexpensive, thoroughly tacky and jangly home. And the plan is to be doing this with my darling male companion, with whom I am finally moving in—as the kids say these days—“for realsies.” But for right now, he and I are moving in together out in the ‘burbs, and that promises to be lovely also. Just, you know. In the ‘burbs.

In the meantime, life has happened in the last half a year. I turned 25 for the third time. Thank you, thank you. It was an amazing feat, and I was quite stunned myself. That occurrence passed this year peacefully; perhaps with age comes grace. In fact, and for the first time in years, it passed without my sniveling miserably into a wine bottle—cheap and near-empty (the wine bottle, not me)—in a former prom dress and all the costume jewelry I own, lying woefully across my love seat like a dead carcass, still clutching the bottle in my wretched hand. I’ll consider that a win for me. Small favors and all that. And I even got a cupcake cake this year.

So, yes. This year seems to insist on moving on, one day after the other, so I’m going to go out and do things that are post-worthy. I’m going to stop being so damned neglectful; I’m going to start getting my head out of the clouds and get my ass in gear, or possibly get my ass out of the clouds and get my head in gear. Then I’ll get out of my dreams, and into your car, get on the good foot, do the bad thing, play that funky music, do a little dance, make a little love, and start writing more. Because it’s good for me. And also, I suspect, for humanity.

My therapist is now scribbling something on her pad.


Miss Near-Miss

March 8, 2010

Here’s one little arcane morsel of wisdom about the universe I seem to have acquired during my short stay here in this life: pretty much anything attempted before 10 AM is going to have a few practice runs before it is accomplished. And this is all the way from the important things, like work tasks, down to the minutia of the morning. It is compulsive. I am unable to skip the practice runs. I will perform any given action a healthy few times before I do it correctly.

I mean, I was in theatre. I know the importance of dress rehearsal. I assume this is what this is cosmically all about, why I am destined—why many of us are destined—to do this. Yeah, that’s right. I’ve overheard you talking. It’s not just me.

For instance, in order to fully prepare to grasp what time it is at any point in the morning, I need to go through a few reps first (I assume to get the motions down perfectly). Okay, the train is coming into the station. Is it on time? I glance down at the time on my phone. Okay… I could really go for a bagel. I walk halfway to the office. Wait, was it on time? Am I going to be on time? What time did the phone say? I look again, nod but store no information to my memory, put the phone away, and ooo—shiny thing! Shiny thiiiing!!! Now I’m about to cross the street to my building. Wait, so was I on time? What time of day is it? Did I fall asleep and it’s afternoon now? No way of possibly knowing. I glance again, satisfied, but not storing the information. …So why do beagles look nothing like Snoopy? Does Woodstock migrate? I get to the elevator. Um, seriously though. What time is it? I peer at my phone again and put it in my pocket, then feel my scalp for evidence of head injuries. I now have gotten five steps away from my desk. Have I arrived here at the same time I always do? I check my phone in the final stretch just before I sit down to my cubicle where I will be surrounded by no less than three things that will all tell me the time, but now the time on my phone finally sticks. 8:52 AM, right there on the front of my cell phone. Yup, normal time.

See, and I have to assume I would never have been able to have gotten the time if I hadn’t done all that rehearsing of the precise hand movements it takes to read my phone clock. Thanks, universe.

The same applies to things like the first step out of bed, which often bears repeating for good measure. Alright, Hofer—stand. *stands up, teeters* Noooope, sit right back down again. Possibly curl back up into former sleep pretzel position in order to have a totally fresh restart. Okay. Now, stand. *stands up, dismount* Nailed it! Thank god I practiced.

Even retrieving my key pass (which electronically grants me access to the doors at work) from my pocket so’s I can buzz myself into my job seems to require daily honing, oddly enough. Like, I get inside the building and reach into my pocket to grab my key pass. I instead pull out my left glove and hold it in my hand all the way to the elevator. Okay, good, Hofer. That is a similar motion to grabbing your key pass. I notice I’m holding a glove and put it back in my pocket. Shaking my head, I now reach into my pocket and pull out my bus pass, holding it firmly in my hand. I press the button for my floor and begin my ascent. Okay, closer now. We have part of the word correct—“pass”. Good! Dry run #2 accomplished. Now, put it away. I realize I’m holding my bus pass, sigh heavily, and put it back in my pocket, thinking about the things I have to do when I get to my desk. Meanwhile, I now pull out my car keys and prepare them to open the door to my office on the 18th floor. Hmm. Nope. No. Alright, the other part of the word is now present—“key”. Excellent job, Hofer! You are now prepared to correctly pull out your key pass. It dawns on me as I get to the clear glass doors which guard my office that I’m standing there holding a set of car keys, like an idiot. I plunge them back into my pocket, this time able to pull out my key pass with nary a problem.

See? Practice.