March 21, 2015 by Amy

Bits and pieces that don’t add up to squat

I haven’t been writing much anywhere lately. Too busy having fun and getting ready for surgery. I’ve been reading a lot, though, which is also good for the brain, and jotting notes down for the story I’m working on and the one I want to write next.

We went to Cincy for the first part of spring break, and it did not disappoint. We laughed until our bellies ached, and got to see where three cousins work. We hung out and caught up. Ate too much good food. Way too much good food. The first night back we ate a regular meal and as we relaxed later I thought how pleasant it was to not feel as though I were going to explode.

Man, I am not feeling it today. The writing thing. I’m sitting here staring at a blinking cursor thinking, “I know I can be witty. I can bring the laughs. Really, I can.” But it’s just not happening today.

I think I am feeling too content. It’s a gorgeous day and I have the windows cranked open on the house I adore. I am sitting in my newly-organized (and re-arranged) office with a cat on my lap. It’s all set for me to work from home next week. M has taken Zoe and her friend to a soccer game. The tax stuff is almost all pulled together and all that’s left is to make the appointment with our tax lady. I just made the final payment on the Corvette (which alone makes me want to bust open a bottle of bubbly and drink myself silly). M and I spent some good time together this morning before picking Zoe up from her sleepover. It’s amazing how much fun just grabbing a coffee, going shopping, and hanging prints in his office can be. I just like being with the guy is all.

Still, I need to write. I need to get back into the habit of writing daily. I’m hoping my recovery week will also serve as a recovery to my creativity. Get up, get Zoe out the door, make some coffee, write, work, write, work.

I found some new writers on Twitter. One guy especially blows me away. His blog posts always result in my laughing uncontrollably. I read him, and I read The Bloggess, and the way their minds think just slays me. I’m new on the Twitter, and still figuring out how to use it. I’m finding a whole treasure chest of material there, though. Stuff that makes me laugh and makes me think. I’ve also learned that whomever handles social media for Jimmy Fallon has a serious caffeine or cocaine issue because that person updates the Fallon Twitter feed about every 2.5 seconds and I just can’t handle it. However, I realized in this little endeavor that I can handle only two social media accounts at any one time. With the addition of Twitter, Instagram has fallen off. I haven’t been photographing much lately, so that’s part of it. Part of it, though, is that my brain can handle only so many inputs at one time. I think three social media platforms may just send it over the edge and into oblivion. Someone just told me that Instagram is the new Twitter (how that can be since Instagram is several years old is beyond me) so I shouldn’t get too far away from it. When I think about it too much, I start to feel like the grumpy old man who yells at kids to get off his lawn.

I pulled out all my unframed posters this week and jotted down their dimensions. I’m on a mission to pick up some cheap black frames and get them hung in my office. We went round the house a couple weekends ago and hung lots of pictures, but got burnt out by the time we made it back to the project rooms. I also found a wooden sign when I was in Colorado and brought that back to hang in my office. It says, “SWEARING…because sometimes ‘gosh darn’ and ‘meanie-head’ just don’t f%*@ing cut it.” Anyone who knows me knows this sign was made just for me. M says I can’t put it out until Zoe is older. I say she gets it already, since one of her favorite jokes is to say, “My favorite word starts with an F and ends with a K” and then after watching the adult’s eyes bug out, “Firetruck!” And then she smiles sweetly and I know that she is indeed my daughter.

While we were getting coffee this morning we ran into a friend from the parish. She got her bag of pastries and walked over to our table to let me know that she had bunion surgery ten years ago, and that my podiatrist was her podiatrist. She said her surgery went wonderfully and her feet are now perfect and reaffirmed that I am doing the best thing. We also found out at the fish fry Friday that another parishioner friend of ours will be my anesthesiologist. These things are all adding up to make me feel better about this whole thing, when I have huge reservations about the cutting of bone and titanium screws and other stuff that makes me want to vomit. I don’t know how many more signs God can send me that this is the right thing to do, so I should just give in to it and stop worrying. The most surprising thing is how many friends came out of the woodwork on Facebook at the mention of bunions. I have friends who have said, “Oh yes, get the surgery. I had mine done and it was awesome!” and I have friends who say, “I have horrible bunions but am nervous about getting them done. Report back to me about it.” It seems I am far from being alone with my old lady foot issues. Sweet. I just might have to Storify this whole process. That’s a whole ‘nother social media thing, so no, I probably won’t. But it’s a nice thought to have. Besides, I’d have to think of a catchy hashtag. #bunions2015 is probably already taken, because it’s so sexy.

Okay, I’ve rambled for far too long now. I think it’s time to get something productive done. Whatever that means.