And I’ll take the slow road.

I tried really hard and partially succeeded at waking up early today in order to get on my new schedule since I am now coaching (school has finally begun!). Last Friday I was oblivious to the fact that all the seniors would be parking where I normally park so I got to park far away. It’s okay. I always need the exercise.

I was happy to be in my car by 7:22 this morning, as opposed to 7:40, which meant I had a fighting chance of securing a parking space. I putzed along to work, which is always longer than it should be because of too many people and stop lights that last way too long. I turned onto the street I’ve been taking all summer to get to work, and WHAM! Everyone else was there, too! I did not have this problem on Friday as by the time I got to this point, everyone else had come and gone (and taken the parking spaces, too, of course). It was bad enough that there was a holdup caused by the large amount of traffic into the school where I work, but to make things worse, this jerk behind me, who also planned to turn left, seemed to think that I wasn’t in front of him. HELLO. My name is SUSAN. I am occupying the space IN FRONT of you. GET OFF YOUR PHONE, Mr. Special Pants.  Jerk.

I did make it to work in stellar time, even with this delay, but now I know I need to take the LONG way to school, because it’s actually faster. I’ll probably still go home this shorter way. I know this is fascinating to you! I am sure everyone can relate though, how your commute would be so much easier if it weren’t for X, Y, or Z. I live 4 miles from work yet it takes me 20+ minutes to get there. More time for NPR for me.

To my husband of three years, I say, wow, what a fun time we manage to have together, whether laughing at signs in Mexico:

Or my naming you the king of our resort (for you’re always king of my heart!):

Or wearing funny hats with you:

Or sitting in front of this in Montreat during the winter:

Or running away with you at the beach:

Yeah, it doesn’t really matter what we do. It’s always fun!

I love you!

Don’t I look like Eva Peron in this picture?

Let me count the ways…

Okay, there are too many to list. I actually want to dedicate this post to anyone who has ever lived with me, from when I was born until now. Let’s just say that pretty much anyone who has been blessed with my presence as their house- or roommate had a few things coming to them.

First of all, okay, I have ADD. Yes, piles and piles of stuff can accumulate around me and I won’t notice until either I need something and can’t find it OR the person with whom I am living screams at me to freakin’ clean up. I just get too distracted. It all started when I was little and I’d be playing Barbies or blocks, or whatnot, and sure enough, something interesting would distract me, like a friend coming over or we’d have to leave right that moment to go somewhere (usually an aunt or uncle’s house to see cousins - fun!), and was there time to clean up? Nope. So after a while, the thought of cleaning up first just didn’t occur. It still happens to this day, but, you guys, I am sooo much better! I think I really owe the biggest apology to Rach, who lived with me (maybe that should be put up with me) for the first two years of college. And no, we didn’t not live together later because I was a slob, fyi.

Last night on HGTV, during the commercials, they advertised a show that’s coming on sometime (hello, ADD didn’t allow me to mentally note when it’s coming on, my brain quickly scooted off to my Wayne’s World-style daydream transport) and I recalled two distinct things. First, my college room, particularly freshman year, could very well have been featured on this show because it was awesome. Also, my parents allowed me to develop the skill set needed to make my college room so awesome .

When we were in the first house I lived in growing up, our house was probably 200 feet from the road, which was itself at least 5 miles from civilization. We lived on an entire acre, surrounded by peach orchards and cow fields, neither of which we owned, but we still benefited from the scenery and pungent odors of cow poo. Actually, looking in one direction, maybe east, there was a huge field, free of trees, which was prone to displaying the most gorgeous rainbows after an afternoon thunderstorm.

Out in this remote area, my imagination pretty much had no bounds. And since we must have had some serious time on our hands, my sisters and I got to decorate for whatever season was coming up to the fullest extent, because, get this, our house was waaaaaay off the road and waaaaaaaaay far away from anyone who might see it. I, in particular, embraced the opportunity to decorate our front windows and door, oblivious to the realization that no one, but no one, other than us, would ever see it.

For Halloween, which was by far my favorite, I’d make ghosts by wadding up a ball of Kleenex and putting it in the center of another Kleenex, which I’d fold over the wadded up Kleenex like the wrapper of a Tootsie-Roll pop. Then I’d hold the exterior Kleenex together with some string. I’d lightly draw ghoulish faces onto the fragile, unforgiving surface of the Kleenex head and then tape the completed ghost up in the window. I’d make like 20 of them. Can’t you just hear their chorus of boooos? Look, this artist, Mary Klein, actually has painted a Kleenex ghost! I salute you, Mary Klein!

Then, I’d take a paper plate and draw a witch flying on her broom in silhouette against a full moon. How spooky, eh? It was awesome.

So I totally decorated our college dorm room with these ghosts around Halloween. And from somewhere, we got some bright green web material and those fun plastic spider rings that we put in the web. My black light lit up the web to an eerily awesome degree, and the ghosts glowed a bit too as they were just white Kleenex. But did I take down these decorations when I was done? Why, noooooooooooo.

To it, I added snowflakes, also an old do-it-yourself decoration I employed in decorating our front windows at our old house. I am sure I could handle pattern 31, as I am sure I am at the necessary Advanced skill level.

So, snowflakes and ghosts and the eventually nappy green web. Done, right?

Nope. I added empty soda cans. Christmas lights.

I did all these under cover of darkness as my roommate slept. Did I mention I didn’t ever sleep in college unless it was absolutely necessary? It was a throwback to my old preschool days where I was always too wound up to nap and they had to bribe me to nap (which I pretended to do but never actually did). She’d wake up the next morning to find the Ceiling Fairy had added yet some more crazy items to the ceiling. Like magic!

So, yes, it is just a miracle of miracles that my roommate did not kill me. Apparently my ability to make her laugh far outweighed her annoyance at my messiness and need to hang weird things from the ceiling.

I’m a lot better now, I promise! HGTV, along with a host of roommates and now my husband taught me the benefits of organization. For the most part. Maybe I’ll hang up some ghosts in our window this Halloween as a nod to the good ol’ days.

And, tea. I am tea.

I was just thinking about how at lunch today, the cafeteria offered french fries. I really, really wanted some fries. With some ketchup. But I reasoned with myself that I could definitely find other, worthier, healthier, less-caloric options. Clearly some of the other options were out: corndogs, or hot dogs with a bun, or cold cuts. I’ve been steering clear of cheese the last few days with my upset stomach. So, all I came up with as my lunch was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I ate it slowly, disregarding my fellow lunch mates’ plates of fries. And their ketchup.

Yes, in addition to my sandwich, today I have consumed everything else I’ve listed. If I am what I eat, I’d rather be any of these things because it’d be better than being fries. For one, I wouldn’t be greasy. All the other things I ate are neatly transportable. And can be consumed at room temperature. Fries have to be warm. They may be a convenient thing to eat some times, but you wouldn’t, say, take them with you to work to eat for your afternoon snack. Gross. I don’t want to be gross.

I am pleased with myself for not eating fries. Even though, truth be told, I’d still love to go eat a big plate of them about now. With ketchup. Funny how the same mind that tells me to eat healthy still has a rebellious side.

Yep, moving in circles these days. Lots going on in my head, none of which I can focus on.

Yesterday I went home sick from work. My stomach hurts still, and so does my head, but even while I was home trying to recover, I was and still am full of distractions. Yesterday was the day to make the Friendship Bread my sister sent me, otherwise I don’t know what would have happened to it. Also, I had the brilliant idea of clipping my dog’s nails myself - which I’ve never done before.

I got home and started working on Hunter’s nails. The front paws went exceptionally well, for which Hunter received ample praise and treats. I told him we’d take a break and do the back legs later. I washed my hands and got work on bread baking. All the while, I wasn’t feeling great. I also need to straighten up the house for Octave practice, which was to be at my house last night.

Hmm. Being sick + Baking bread + Needing to finish Hunter’s nails + Needing to straighten up the house + other miscellaneous worries too petty to name = disastrous things are bound to happen, right?

Right.

I followed the instructions on how to bake the bread, or so I thought. The details said to add all the ingredients together and then scoop some of it into a new baggie to keep the starter going. At least, that’s what I thought they said. I thought the starter looked different than what my sister sent me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. I put the bread in the oven to bake and turned to my dog so we could take care of those long nails on his back legs.

The first one I clipped went fine. But then I clipped the next one, he yelped, and the blood came seeping out as I had struck his quick. Poor guy. I felt horrible! It kept bleeding for a little while. I tried to make him keep still, but he kept walking around. Then he lay on his side and chewed on the back nail, which, in addition to make it bleed worse, caused him to pull a muscle in his neck which made him limp on his front end. So he’s limping and bleeding all over the kitchen, and I’m trying to figure out if I should call the vet. I scold myself thoroughly and then decide his foot needs to be cleaned off a that point, and he need to stop inducing the bleeding. I put him in the bathtub with some water, rinsed his foot off, drained and wiped down the tub, and then made him lie down in the tub on some towels for a while.

Meanwhile the bread is baking. Fortunately, nothing bad happened during the baking process as it would have required me leaving Hunter upstairs with his blood foot. After a bit, I take a look at his foot and the nail seemed to be dried up. I took him back downstairs and checked on the bread, my heart breaking as Hunter limped around and stared up at me like, you hurt me, so feed me some treats to make me feel better.

That’s when I noticed a step on the instructions for the bread that I had completely missed. You’re SUPPOSED to add flour, sugar, and milk to the starter, then dole out the starter into 4 bags (to share with friends) and THEN proceed to adding the other ingredients. I am a knucklehead. So I really doubt my starter is any good as it has eggs in it. I had thought it was weird for the starter to have eggs in it, but hey, I was just following instructions, or so I thought.

I finally got to lie down for a little while, but I couldn’t sleep because I was worried about the dog, wondering why I had messed up the bread starter when I am actually literate, and I worried about rehearsal preparation. I pondered how I had made two mistakes in the span of 30 minutes. I thought about how much my husband is going to be out of town the next few weeks. I thought about how I need to schedule a dentist appointment and go get the oil changed in my car.

Mind, do you mind winding down a bit? You’re making me sick. I’d like to get off now, please.

then shouldn’t the movie be like the book?

Yeah, I finally watched The Other Boleyn Girl. I loved the book. It was partially chick lit, partially historical fiction, and it was totally impossible to put down when I read it a few years ago. Imagine my excitement when it came to the theatres. I didn’t get to go for various reasons, but I finally got my chance Saturday night. Sheesh! Could you at least PRETEND the story in the film should be anything like the book? Would it be that difficult?

The look of the film was beautiful.Couldn’t the film have been the fulfillment of what the reader actually read? Now I’ll pretend the actors and scenery from the movie actually did the things in the book, or I might just stick to my own original mental representations.

I spent the entire 2 hours thinking, nope, that’s not how it happened in the book. Nope, not that either. I know it’s a long book, but so are the Harry Potter books, but the Harry Potter films at least have a semblance of their source. I spent the entire 2 hours thinking of other stuff, like painting my toenails or how long would my hair grow if I never cut it (don’t worry, honey, I wouldn’t do that to you). I never did that during the book as I never put it down voluntarily. I only put that book down to, you know, like sleep and eat. That was it. Otherwise, my attention was totally snapped up in that book; I never considered my toenails or my hair.

Disappointed, party of one. Sorry, if you liked the film!

I started my painting I mentioned. And I also have gotten mentally geared up for some more re-purposing. Now they are in conflict with one another, like siblings vying for my attention: look at me! look at me!

Silly projects. So self-important.

It’s also hard to work on them while I want to read some books I got at the library. The school library is closed until school starts, so it’s the public library for me. I put some books on hold so they’ll be delivered to the branch near our house (I love that I can walk to it!). Not very clear on how holding books works, I stopped by the library the day after I put the books on hold, as I recalled my neighbor saying her books she’d put on hold were there the very next day. Turns out I am dim. I am in a cue to get the books, but I must wait my turn. Though I am number 1 in the cue, I must wait until the materials are actually available. While I am waiting on the books I put on hold to arrive, I am reading some books I got from the library - why not check them out? They’re already there.

I’m re-reading The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. What a great book. My favorite part of this book so far is that someone who read it before I did took the liberty of taking notes on pretty much every page. Spelling things out for those of us who need the help, like explaining who someone is when they are referenced early on but not introduced yet, or writing literary terms over the paragraph where such literary terms reside. The note-taker also underlines words copiously. It’s like reading your teacher’s copy of the book from which he or she would teach year after year. I think it’s neat!

Were it not for the note-taker, I might have a hard time focusing as it’s becoming very difficult for me to focus lately, even on things that I enjoy. I am blaming the heat. I can’t even hula hoop lately because I keep remembering something else I meant to do. Then when I do whatever it was I interrupted myself to do, I fall into the snare of other distraction. I really hope it’s the heat!

When my husband and I moved to our neighborhood last August, we knew it was “in transition.” We’d both lived or worked in the downtown areas of Boston and Atlanta, so we felt particularly capable of coexisting with a little variety of folks. Actually, I was quite excited about the prospect of living in and among people of different socio-economic statuses.

Our neighborhood flanks a major thoroughfare between several public housing projects and more affluent areas. On their way to Smyrna or Buckhead, our neighborhood is full of temptation: up-and-coming professionals occupy attractive, newly-built houses, and their many possessions are visible through the occasional open set of blinds or garage door. Most of them work during the day, leaving their homes vulnerable to attack.

Yesterday, two houses were burglarized in Riverside. One home was without its vacationing owners. The other belongs to friends of ours who are wonderful and it kills me that somebody hurt them by hurting their house.

I’m trying to keep my cool about the situation that our neighborhood is in. It would be waaaay easy to say, well, screw it! It’s not safe here, we’d best be movin’ on! But I love our neighborhood. A lot of really cool friends live here, some we knew before August 2007, some we’ve met after. I adore our narrow streets and tall trees, and even the daily dose of squirrel dodging on the way in and out of the ‘hood. I know it’s rough around the edges, and even within, but I love it here.

I’ve been glued to our forum all day, and I’ve been pretty opinionated on there. That’s because a few folks - and I don’t blame them! - seem a little pessimistic. One person said, “There goes the neighborhood!” I can overlook that cliche, but I can’t overlook the message of giving up. It’s OUR neighborhood, by golly. Just because people keep breaking into houses and cars, it doesn’t mean our very good efforts that we’ve put in place amount to nothing. I hope we can all become active in taking back our neighborhood.

If you haven’t already, do go and check out Ideal Bite. It’s just awesome. I’ve been subscribing to their daily emails for about a year now and am a big (and now smarter) fan.