It makes no financial sense to get a car since I will be digging myself out of some financial stuff, but I want a car. Sharing a truck isn’t working well (in fact it’s pretty much the only thing we may bicker about being two very independent people used to… having their own cars). Makes sense. I need a car.
I want everything actually. I want to be in an office with a secretary I like who has a fish on her desk. Maybe a gay male secretary. I want a graphic designer sitting over there in that chair who runs to me immediately with a bunch of concepts like a kid on sugar rush and I remind him or her to meet with me after lunch.
I want to walk into my office and sit down in a nice leather chair, and untether Diego and Dante and let them go to their designated office doggy beds. I think better with my dogs in the room. They quiet my mind and help me focus (figure that one out).
I want to water my own aloe plant. I miss having plants. They didn’t live in the basement of my parents house because of light, or in the basement of my rented room in Windsor or in the basement of my three-bedroom apartment later in Windsor. I have no plants! I need to fix this. That is part of me that I set aside that I need to reclaim.
I need a plant named Norman. And one named George, and some red flowering indoor plant that I can’t kill, which I will call Gracie.
I want the world to leave me alone sometimes so I can write the things I want to write. But I also enjoy working with the teams, the conference calls, the creating thinking, building campaigns, slogans and concepts. I think I am lucky. I know I am. My job (aside from being the owner which is challenging) is fun. I get to use my creative pen, my artist eyes and my writers heart. I am blessed for the opportunities while also realizing that I have worked so hard to get here.
And it doesn’t always feel like work to be honest with you. I love it. And I am ready to grow now that immigration is behind us for the next 9-12 months (until the next step for landed status).
I want a house that has tile floors (I hate carpet) and area rugs in the places where you want your toes to squish. I want furniture that doesn’t match, little vignettes of Queen Ann chairs that have a crackle or shabby scratched finish but opulent fabrics. There will be a lot of red and chocolate brown and natural, deep espresso wood tones in our house. Stainless steel, black and red in the kitchen. Neo classic modern.
I am two units away from giving up Diet Pepsi. After these last two little bottles, pop is illegal in our house. So is artificial sweetener. Welcome Stevia, lemon, herbs and other spices. Hello black coffee with no sweetener, let’s try to be friends again.
I have cut down my pop portions to less than 50% this week and Kevin has been asking me if I am okay while I throw up, fight off wicked headaches and nausea. Psychosomatic? Am I imagining this symptoms with 50% reduction in Aspartame? No. It’s going to kick my ass on the way out, but it is happening. Bring on the symptoms bitch! Bring on the water too.
Something else can try to kill me. Not diet pop.
And weight loss. Diane and I are tracking our weight privately and quietly throughout the week, keeping a thoughtful journal and evaluating honestly about what we are eating. Fat doesn’t come without a reason. Eating the wrong things, at the wrong times, in the wrong amounts and not moving enough. Voila! Every diet book should be that short, right? I’m awesome at any size, and my husbands love does not change. It’s not about vanity. I’m a diabetic. My pancreas needs me to lose about 50 more pounds. The last fifty. And keep it there for good.
I can do it. I’ve honestly not thrown myself into it for years. I’ll get it done because I am tired of taking so many pills (which also make me feel sick from time to time). It’s my responsibility to be a healthier me. I’ve run out of excuses now that I am here in Texas and getting settled.
I’m not settled yet. But I am setting some big expectations because I don’t know what to do with myself. And it’s no one else’s job to make me feel settled. I own it. I am working on it. When I say it is different in Texas, I am not negating it. I will grow to love it, but I imagine Texas and I sitting in a room eyeing each other up. I have those nasty East Coast manners and I talk too fast, and I am far too open and up front for the Southern culture. Abrupt. I blurt. I don’t finesse. I don’t say something mean about someone and back it up with “bless her heart”. If I have something negative to say, I’ll talk to Diane or Kevin, otherwise you probably won’t hear anything from me at all.
How is that for expert level drama aversion? Or maybe I have had enough negativity to last me a lifetime. I lean toward hermit easily, especially when I don’t feel confident about where I am. Which I don’t. Yet. Working on it.
It’s been 10 weeks and I should have a whole closet full of new friends, a brand new office, staff, more invites than I can shake a stick at, a new red Audi, a house full of beautiful new furniture and a new house. My magic wand is busted.
I never get tired of being the orphan trying to prove herself to parents who stopped giving a shit years ago. When does that stop?
I’m not an over achiever because it is fun. Where and how do you lay down that complex so you can just be free? Or where being what you are right now, is simply enough?
I wish the feeling would go away and I could just be the person that feels like a Super Star for simply paying her bills this month. It is never like that in my head. I don’t think it ever will be no matter how much I want that simplicity.
And I don’t know anyone who would pray to have the noise I have in my head still, even now. Writers are nut jobs.