randomness

I Wish

I wish I could just clip my nails and pick up my guitar after at least a month or two of not playing… and play for more than ten minutes before my fingertips turn warm and swollen, and have clean chord changes and firm hand strength.

I wish I could plug in my keyboard after months and months of not playing… and be able to coordinate my left hand with my right like I could by the end of Class Piano. (Which still wasn’t all that.)

I wish I could remember how to hear the songs in my head and let them out, like I did before I heard so much honestly good music and lyrics and became self-conscious about my own.

I wish I still had an instrument that I felt was *mine*. One where I could just think a about note or an interval or a melody, and then play it, without fracking or sliding or guessing.

I wish I’d stuck with my music more. I wish I weren’t so rusty. I wish I hadn’t managed to let even my voice go to shit.

I wish there were more hours in the day.

randomness 1 Comment

Girlie Stuff

I was looking through my old journals from Junior High, for some details about, well, when I “became a woman,” as my mother would put it. I discovered that my journals are nearly impossible for me to read now without a.) cringing at my naivete and stupidity, b.) being amazed that I used to write like an 8th grader, and c.) wondering why the hell I wrote about such trivial shit when I could have written about important things, like switching from pads to tampons.

o.O

Gentlemen, you’ll want to skip the rest of this entry. Really. It’s for “women” only.
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randomness 2 Comments

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

First, let me give credit for the photo that has been gracing the masthead this week. I *heart* Google image searches, although I do tend to swipe images without permission. (As my site isn’t exactly commercial, though, and gets a grand total of 10 hits a day, I honestly don’t feel too bad about it.) Anyway, thanks be to Jessa for posting this wonderful photo from her trip to Ye Olde Emerald Isle back in 2002, even though I’m a cowardly bastige and didn’t ask her permission to use it. (OMFG, so jealous. Ireland is most definitely on the list of places I want to visit before I die.)

So, we all know that St. Patrick’s Day is in commemoration of St. Patrick, who drove the snakes out of Ireland, right?

Yeah.

If you’re interested in what it’s *really* all about, here are some links for you:

+ St. Patrick’s Day: Customs and History
+ Scotland Online: St. Patrick’s Day
+ History of the Shamrock, Leprechaun, and Blarney Stone

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ruminations 3 Comments

Baby Talk

I must be defective.

I think I’m missing that vital gene in womenfolk that causes us to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at newborns, and to want desperately to hold them and make nonsense words at them.

Today at work, the woman who’s currently out on maternity leave decided to come visit and bring her firstborn for everyone to see. Nothing against either of them, really, but I couldn’t have cared less. All the womenfolk cooing and awwing over the baby girl actually started to grate on my nerves after a few minutes.

Sure, when I signed out for lunch, I passed by the group of ladies ogling the baby, and I took a look at her… and, sure enough, it was a baby. Asleep, to boot, which I think is the very best kind of baby. I looked at her for a grand total of about five seconds, and then I was done. I may have smiled, to be polite. No oohing or gooing or other general cutesiness from me.

Maybe it’s a learned reaction. Every time I get near a very young baby and try to hold it, it invariably intimates from my general attitude that a.) I am not its Mommy, and b.) I am not, in fact, a Mommy at all. At which point, of course, the child becomes disenfranchised with being held by some interloper and demands a real Mommy. Loudly.

It’ll be different when it’s my kid. I hope. Maybe my ga-ga goo-goo genes will activate… or maybe I’ll lose my fear of looking stupid and/or overly sappy in public.

health & fitness

For My Own Future Reference

Even if I forget to put my breakfast bar and other healthy snacky food in my purse, I must *not* purchase ANYTHING from the vending machine during the day when I get hungry. Otherwise, I’ll get home after work, eat dinner, and proceed to crash like a mofo, rendering the remainder of my evening completely useless.

Better to suffer through being hungry at work than to eat friggin’ 40 grams of sugar during the workday, and end up fighting boredom and sleep and depression by 8pm.