Even More Random Thoughts I Failed to Make Relevant

At this point it is a cliche for me to start another blog post about how I have more or less abandoned my blog, so I won't do it. I'll just leap forward into my next cliche and tell you that it's time for my year-in-review-type post that I've been doing for the last ten years. Okay, three. I've lost track. I remember one year I wrote a New Year's post sitting on the sidewalk behind a closed coffeehouse sucking up free Wi-fi. God, that was a sucky time. I think I have since deleted all my posts regarding that sociopath of a housemate I had for a while. The one that also hated women. I'd like to say I deferred to my higher angels and offered myself as a being of compassionate grace. I'd like to say that. But the truth is that, after a week or two of giving said psycho the benefit of the doubt, I recycled him into satire to preserve my own sanity. I guess this the place where I need to establish some kind of connection between all that and this year: THINGS IN MY LIFE NO LONGER SUCK.  Except I don't have the attention span for that today.

Here's what's new: I gave my sister a massage for her birthday. It's the first full massage I have done in (really?) four years. She was a smart aleck about it and asked me to wear a polo shirt (the corporate spa whore uniform.)  Nevertheless, I tuned my Internet radio to the Krishna Das station and slathered lavender oil and ylang-ylang lotion all over her. I remembered how my arm used to hurt just from tuning my radio or using an eraser. I recalled how I considered lying about my age and working as a stripper because I was so broke after I lost my job. And because I already felt exploited. How much worse could stripping have been? I will never again earn my living as a massage therapist. It sucks my creativity, and my arm could never handle more than part time work. However, I reclaimed the skills I worked so hard to cultivate. I gave them as a gift and on my terms. I didn't know whether I would ever recover enough to do a massage, so that was a big deal. Go me.

Actually, writing that makes me realize how far I have come. I am remembering one particular former co-worker who made a snide comment about me collecting workers' comp. She was not a massage therapist, and she had no idea how hard I worked for ten years before I injured my arm. The rumor in the spa was that she dipped into the massage therapists' tips to buy her pot. I never knew if this was true. Her hard edges remained sharp, as did her viciousness. If she was high, she was not high enough. Thinking of her now, I am surprised how much of a burn there is in my chest. I never thought of clever comebacks to counter the insults she hurled until I was back at home. It wouldn't have been worth it anyway. She would have enjoyed the attention. So, why am I wasting my blog on her? Hmm.. I could make some connection between leaving behind the less helpful people and where I am now. However, the truth is that it was really a stream of consciousness moment that I am too lazy to edit.

My friend Ben wants me to stop talking about "Hoarders." I had dinner with friends last night, and Ben wasn't there, so I got it out of my system. We discussed the show for at least twenty minutes, including our impersonations of Dr. Robin Zasio. Two of the three of us agreed that she needs a consultant with a better hair stylist. The other did not care. And I was not the one who brought up the subject, so I don't think that conversation should be held against me the next time Ben tells me: "You always talk about "Hoarders!" But I do want to let people know that this week's show involves live, free-range rats. Way better than Monday Night Football.

I start school again in a few days. Yikes. I mean, I can't wait! I am excited, of course, to dive into my second semester of my MFA program. It's just that grad school is an exercise in extreme time management. I just found out that one of my workshops also requires that I read eleven books. I also decided to write nonfiction, fiction and poetry all in one semester. I wanted to get some out-of-genre requirements out of the way, and I also wanted to challenge myself. I started writing fiction and poetry over break. I am officially challenged. Ugh. Writing nonfiction is my comfort zone. I know how to deal with the roadblocks I encounter in nonfiction. I know how to dive to greater depths to discover what's even more true about telling the truth. Making up characters and thinking about meter? Not so much. But I have to do this if I want to grow as a writer, so there's nothing to do but chain myself to my laptop until I produce something.

Non-writing goals for 2011: Learn how to make Pad Thai (maybe.) Find a way to get back to walking four miles a day. Find out if my cat is un-spayed or if she is simply an artistic personality. Drink coffee RIGHT NOW because I am falling asleep. (My cat decides what time I get up, and today it was too early.)

Happy New Year, y'all! Thanks for reading another series of unconnected ramblings.