It's not about the house.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Here I Come…

I did this once already!

I wrote an entire freaking blog post (well, almost) yesterday, about me (naturally) and how I can feel myself coming back to life again these days (it’s a very tingly feeling in the extremities, I tell you what). I left the document open on my desktop for hours after I finished it (or after I decided was bored and walked away, I forget which) and when I went to shut the computer down at bedtime and it asked if I wanted to save the changes, I said no because I hadn’t made any changes to it in seven hours. Der. Stoopid computer. (You know where this is going, don’t you?) Yeah, um, it turns out I never so much saved it in the first place. So one of those changes I might have wanted to save at bedtime, for example, was the very first letter I typed. And now it’s gone.

I know what it was, though.

It was a D.

Eh, it doesn’t matter. Truth is it was probably one of those, whatchacall, Freudian mistakes, because I got a bit more maudlin in it than I like to, anyway. It was all I-used-to-be this and soul-curling-up-and-dying that, and when-did-I-become-a-suburban-housewife-anyway the other. Very Women’s-Room-meets-Fear-of-Flying self-indulgent bullshit, only with just minor and largely missable allusions to the zipless stuff.


But it ended with me, here, on “vacation,” putting the past ten years in a little box under the bed to be written about when both my Ladies die. There was this revelatory scene of me standing up and stretching, tits out, vowing to get dressed in real clothes every single day and look as hot as I can while I still can, every waking minute, even if I have no plans to leave the house. Then there was a minor third-act epiphany around the idea that, if the Big Project doesn’t pan out for me (as it’s beginning to look like it might not), it doesn’t really mean I have to put my words away for good like I’ve been planning – followed by a crystalline realization that I couldn’t if I tried.

And then, if I am not mistaken, there was a big Busby-Berkeley-style song-and-dance performance of...

So there you go.

And then of course Lady #2 called and asked me to come take her cat to the vet for her on Thursday and I said I would. 

But I'll be goddamned if I'm not going to look smokin'-hot while I do it.


12ontheinside said...

It's even worse doing that to your own document than a work related one. I feel your pain, I do this sort of non-saving thing rather too frequently!

Michael aaron said...

I tried doing the same thing with music. It was a turning point thing in my head (real or not) that said, ok, time to put it away now, it's not panning out. It's a heartbreak, it's a sad realization, and then maybe you punish it by locking it up for awhile for not working out. But it comes back either way, and if it means nothing to anyone but yourself, well, it's still something you HAVE - something that others don't have to fill their life with. And, with writing, there is no age cut-off. Keep it up, honor it.

ege said...

Thank you, Michael. That was really nicely put. You know, one of these days we really have to have a drink or something.

And 12... Why does that not surprise me!? (I'll have a drink with you, too, if I ever fall through the earth.)

abigail said...

sac burberry
sac chanel
sac chloe
sac dior
sac dolce gabbana
sac Fendi
sac gucci
sac gucci homme
sac guess
sac hermes
sac jimmy choo
sac juicy
sac louis vuitton
Sac Louis Vuitton Homme
sac miu miu
sac mulberry
sac polo
sac prada
sac romero britto
sac tout
sac versace