Z has given me his summer cold, which, in addition to three days of angry stomach, is making it impossible to sleep for more than a few hours at a time.
I dreamt that I invented a device called the Etruscan Head Clamp. It looked like a gladiator helmet. The EHC was used on customers who check out samples of carpet & linoleum & it would squeeze one's head like a vice until the samples were returned to the flooring department.
I can feel the anxiety creeping back into my brain like squiggly little baby spiders. This begins with a random twitch here & there, followed by another & another until suddenly I am overwhelmed by the swarming, wriggling sensation of ick. Maybe it's the heat. The world seems like a very cranky place these days. Everybody needs a cookie. Or a frozen margarita.
I was working in the garden center today & a little girl of about eight or so told me You are very unlucky to have this job. I replied Things could always be worse. I feel lucky to be working at all, even if it means being outside in the 90 degree heat.
I am having difficulty making sense of things. Also: I could really, really use a lemon-lime slushie right about now, but I think they're pretty hard to come by at 4 a.m. so I shall have to settle for a glass of ice water.
I feel as though I have reached a point where I lack the necessary drive to succeed at anything but this may be an illusion. The Moon has appeared in my last two tarot readings, so it's possible that I am letting my imagination mess with my head these days.
I should be sleeping or working on looming writerly & editorial projects. Instead I nap at inappropriate times & then find it to difficult to sleep at the appointed hours. I had a mega-shit day at work yesterday where I screwed something up and I cannot shake this feeling of horror at my own moments of stupidity. On the upside, every other day or so, a customer will say how much they like my hair. It's too bad the brains lurking underneath my curls are so totally made of colossal FAIL. I'm glad I had today off. I painted my toenails bright bubblegum pink & drank a cherry coke to cheer myself up, but I still feel craptacular. I would have made cookies but I was too sad to bake. If I still feel bad tomorrow I might have a rootbeer float for dinner. So much for quitting soda pop, eh? I have to be at work by 7 a.m. I hope I see something that makes me happy, like a baby contentedly gumming his mom's car keys or an elderly man shopping for lightbulbs with his poodle. The other night I got an excited wave from a little girl with sparkly shoes who had scribbled on her own forehead with scarlet lipstick. We should all take a moment to doodle on our foreheads with lipstick once in a while. I hope tomorrow is a better day.
If I find myself unemployed again I shall have to write vivid erotica under a fabulous nom de plume or sell cellular phones on commission.
Once upon a time, the author of this blog went to Catholic School. She wore a blue plaid jumper & white blouses with Peter Pan collars & knee socks & saddle shoes. There were nuns clad in black wool & naughty children got the paddle. She shits you not.
Once she got stung on the top of her head by a bee & wanted to go to the school nurse but one of the sisters told her to suck it up. She asked why women weren't allowed to be priests & was told that men would come to church to ogle & leer at them. She asked why the girls had to wear heavy polyester vests over their blouses while the boys got to wear comfy polo shirts & was told it was to keep the boys from looking at the girls' chests.
The girls asked the pastor why they couldn't have a basketball team & they were told because it isn't ladylike.
She had a real problem with all of this.
She used to pray for the poor souls in purgatory, hoping someday, someone would return the favor.
Okay, that's enough third-person narrative.
The point of all this?
a.) I am feeling nostalgic.
b.) I am feeling guilty.
c.) While I have not been a practicing Catholic for some years now, I am still fascinated by Catholicism: the cosmology, the saints, the art & literature that examines Catholic culture.
d.) I am reading Angelology because someone gave it to me for my birthday.
Angelology is okay, but rather Dan Brown-ish in terms of style. I like the concept, but (like most thrillers) character development is sorely lacking.
Today was one of those mad mad mad emotional days. My author copies of CYBORGIA arrived & they are very beautiful.
Missy is a brilliant cover designer & Mayapple makes such lovely books. Even the typeset is beautiful.
We had an awards ceremony at Z's school today & I got all weepy because I am a big dork & it's just been such an amazing thing to raise a child with profound disabilities & see him become a bright, funny, independent young man. I don't talk about it much on my blog but today was a big big BIG day. Next week is his last week of high school & college classes begin the first week of June. It's wonderful & bittersweet & I am feeling melancholy.
I am working a 10 to 7 shift tomorrow. Sometimes I go home for lunch to visit with my dog. He gets lonely & likes it when I share my potato chips. Is this weird?
The thunder is rumbling & I am drinking Constant Comment because I am out of Tazo Zen. I am almost done reading The Girl Who Played With Fire. I used to read a couple hundred pages a day, even when I was crazy busy but lately I am a slow reader. I fall asleep so easily. I might have narcolepsy or some kind of leechlike brain parasite that makes me too sleepy to do anything awesome like read detective novels or bake homemade peanut butter cookies.
The wicked-lovely Amy at Coffee Lovin' Mom has honored me with a kickass blog award. Sweet. Especially considering I have been remiss in posting these days. After eight hours a day on my feet, I just want to lay on the couch & watch Netflix. Right now, I'm watching Season 2 of Reaper. I like it.
Rules, Such As They Are
1.) Thank the person who gave you the award. 2.) Share 7 things about yourself. 3.) Pass along the award to 15 bloggers you think are hella awesome. 4.) Contact said hella awesome bloggers & let them know you think they are the blogdiggity.
So here's my random weirdness:
1.) My ultimate career goal is to someday hold the giant question mark at Trader Joe's. Go ahead. Ask me about the biscotti. Or the dried Turkish apricots. You know you want to.
2.) I believe that the perfect version of me exists somewhere in a parallel universe. This is the Susan that does not walk into walls, back into the lawnmower with her car or say weird shit on the internet. She probably owns a pair of red cowboy boots & drinks straight bourbon out of a solid gold hip flask. She knows how to pronounce Goethe and Rimbaud without mumbling to hide her ignorance.
3.) I own a pair of socks with tiny shoes embroidered on them.
4.) I like gingerbread. And chewy ginger-molasses cookies. And Reed's extra-ginger Ginger Beer. I also have red hair. In Great Britain, they would find this amusing.
5.) My idea of a perfect evening would involve a pan of rice krispie treats, a bottle of Syrah Rose, and the gold box set of Twin Peaks.
6.) In a former life, I was Morgana Le Fay.
7.) I don't know Chuck Norris, but sometimes I like to pretend we were in the Roller Derby together.
What's that you say? There's only twelve? I forgot to mention the eighth thing you should know about me: I don't like rules. Sometimes I break them just because I like it.
I should also mention that I'm probably too shy to contact those writers whose blogs I love if I don't really know them. I'd feel like some kind of weird fangirl or something. Still, I love all this badass shit. Each writer listed above is brilliant in his or her own (very distinct) way.
Hey! I just realized that the phrase "eighth thing" is a bit of a tongue twister. Bet you can't say it twelve times fast.
I have been plagued with nightmares about distressing emails. I should deal with my email soon, or I will be buried in messages. I worked three eight-hour shifts this weekend, but still made it out to the race track last night in time to see M win first place. We had our picture taken in the winner's circle & it was neat-o. M is very happy. I think he has forgiven me for backing into the lawnmower.
I am off today & tomorrow & my plans include such glorious things as cleaning out my fridge & cooking REAL FOOD. I am tired of sandwiches. I might bake something groovy, like spice cookies or banana cupcakes with chocolate ganache. There might be gumbo. There might be homemade baguettes. The possibilities are intriguing.
CYBORGIA will be out in about a month! I'm so freaking stoked. I cannot wait to hold it in my hand.
Yesterday a gentleman at the return desk told me my curls are awesome. This humidity gives me a head full of mad spirals. Ha.
I am so tired that I see tiny pinpricks of starlight & glowy purple nebulas whenever I close my eyes. There are galaxies on the backs of my eyelids. Last night I could not sleep because someone's car alarm burbled & yelped for about three hours. I could have closed the window but the house was already disgustingly stuffy. Ray Bradbury once referred to 3:00 a.m. as the soul's midnight. My soul would very much like to be asleep at midnight.
I encountered three bees yesterday but did not act ridiculous or freak out or anything.
I did, however, back into the lawnmower with my car.
Susan Slaviero lives on the cusp of a hellmouth, where she vanquishes evil with poetry and cupcakes. She hopes to someday land a job as either a dog whisperer or a telephone psychic. In the meantime, she writes. She has a fondness for esoterica.