I feel scattered lately. But not in a bad way. Just having an especially hard time taking care of simple domestic business. When I find myself with a few good waking hours at home, I seem to want to veg, or take in a DVD, as my pace with those Netflix/library offerings has slowed quite a bit.
Speaking of libraries, I'm at Mallett's Creek now. It's quite lively in here. I like it.
Noticed this a.m. that I hadn't changed the calendar I put on the nail in the dining room---hadn't changed it TO February. Pretty bad. I flipped past Feb (it was about sex toys) and got it to March, where I saw a little red mark on March 2.
That mark makes me wonder whether I was menstruating on that particular Friday in 1990, or whatever the original year for the calendar was; the calendar's vintage "Dykes To Watch Out For," found in old junque last year & nearly recycled until I thought to check & found it'd be good for 2007 too. Very little was written on its days then. (I do see, though, that it was in that January I broke a toe dancing to "Love Shack" a little too exuberantly.)
I never was much of one to mark bleeding days on a calendar. Don't have any memory of doing it, in fact, except for during the early fibroid days, when it was still a mystery why I was bleeding so, uh, bloody much. Any of you mark calendars to note bleeding? Do any of you still-fertile females have any jealousy around the following? Lisa: Menstruation-free Since 2001.
Back in 1990, by the way, the drawings of the Dykes we Watch Our For hadn't developed fully into what we know now. It's a little like looking at the early days of "Peanuts" that way.
In other vapid blathering, ---well, maybe this part isn't so vapid... or maybe it's worse. You tell me: I am liking life. And it's been going on for days and days, with few interruptions. It's been going on for weeks, really. Months? Can I say months, plural? Might have to think about that. It's hard to say when it started, when I first noticed it'd been going on for a while. It's kind of wonderfully bizarre to find one has pieced together a consciousness of such good news. It's even a little scary, though, again, not in a bad way.
Perhaps a fine example of evidence that it's true, and life is good: I don't hesitate to say so out of fear of jinxing it. That kind of thinking, while completely familar to me, just looks preposterous to me these days. And it would look sad, but it's hard to be sad about it when I'm not feeling sad.
Okay, I'll settle it--- it was more vapid. But I don't care! Ahhhh, yes.
Good, bad, sad, glad... I think in Seuss-sized words these days.
Off for errands and back to the little house & its neglected caretaking. Will I have any interest in the yard this year? I haven't felt it yet. And somehow am not worried about that, either.
If I could bottle this state (these hormones, this attitude, this whatever-it-is), I sure would. And I'd give you some, dear reader, if you weren't making your own right then, through whatever magical properties one does.