Dear Saturday

I have kind of mixed feelings about you. I like you but need more. I wish there were two Saturdays in a weekend; one for running errands and cleaning your home, etc. and the other for fun.

I combined both today and was completely wiped out by 5:00 p.m.

Part of this could be due to the fact that I didn't go to bed before 11 p.m. one night this past week. I blame the rest on the varnish incident of this past week and my ever-present, all-consuming rage.

So I was really looking for ward to Saturday and for the most part, I am going to give you a thumbs-up. I got a lot done and I met my new love.

Sorry, Saturday. I just don't like you like that.

me

Dear minor brain shift,

I wanted to send you a brief note of thanks. Because of that little movement of yours, I see a new opportunity.

You see, I am not one of those ladies who has their whole wedding designed. I don't really want a bridal party, or even a wedding ring, really. I don't care about the colors or the flowers. My biggest focus has always been the reception because I want the slammingest party ever! Lots of people, great music, and most of all, my wedding cake.

My wedding cake is important because I want it to be made of meat. I want a meat cake with mashed potato icing and bridges made of ribs and a gravy fountain. Bacon wreaths and little slider islands surrounding it. (Recently some gastrointestinal issues have made me start to worry about this dream, but I will take some pepto and muscle through.) Anyways, today I was telling THE COWORKER about it (all caps because he is awesome) and I realized, I don't have to wait to my wedding for my cake.

I have mostly made peace with my life of solitude. I made choices and assumptions and this is what it is and it's not so bad. As Lupe rhymes, "Some days it ain't sunny but it ain't so hard." I realized though, that I often say, "if I ever got married, I would do this..." But that is still postponing what I want for some fantasy. And I DETEST the idea that my fullest life can only come if/when I marry. So why wait?

No more waiting.

I am glad for this realization. And while it will take a bit to fully incorporate this shift into my life, as all of my changes are slow, it seems, I want to do this.

I can have my cake and eat the whole dang thing myself. And enjoy it.

With gratitude,
me

Dear Varnish,

You're a potent little devil. And today, you defeated me. Because despite the fact that the door was open all day long, your toxic fumes overwhelmed and finally conquered me.

My office was formerly a closet. There are tile floors and white, cement-block walls and the ceiling is unfinished, because originally, it was going to only hold file cabinets and not staff. It is affectionately called the closfice and recently I was able to get the fan that circulates air throughout parts of the building to be silent so that I didn't murder my customers.

In an effort to spruce up the joint, I guess, they re-varnished all of the doors. About 10 minutes after her door had been done, one of my coworkers went home. I stayed because the varnish scent sort of grew on you after a while. But then I left to get a cup of coffee and upon my return the smell seemed stronger and more potent than it had been before. I dismissed it, figuring it would pass and that any subsequent high would only make me a more cheerful employee. Things changed by the end of the day, however.

Do you know that feeling when you are completely aware of a part of your body that under normal circumstances you don't really think about? Like sometimes, I am really aware of my nose. And all day long, even though I am looking at other people, things, my computer screen, I also see my nose. It is present and blocking things and I think has a touch of lint on it.

Today, it was my tongue. But it had become more of a presence because I could taste the varnish and it was making my tongue both numb and tingly at the same time. Even that I was taking as a new sensation.

Then there was lunch. For which I was starving. Until I actually ate. And after every bite, I was sick to my stomach. I think my intestines had absorbed so much toxins as to create a slick lining. Since this was new, my body was unsure how to respond to food. I ate, but it was not pleasant.

I don't really understand why the smell never dissipated. Several of us had the same process happen. Granted, I couldn't open a window because the one in the closfice is inexplicably shut and I just noticed, as I glanced over longingly at the cold fresh air behind it, that it is covered in cobwebs. It's hard to climb over the vent to dust it, but maybe if I do, I could get a burst of air and refresh my lungs.

So even though you were here for all of this, varnish, I wanted to document my side. I think my insides have become teflon. I shall be forever preserved and nothing will ever stick.

So, thanks?

me

To whom it may concern:

I seem to be unable to make a decision. Or, rather, once I have made my decision, I lack the ability to stick to the decision I have made. Not in simple things obviously. If I have chosen a meal at a restaurant, I am committed to that meal. And, to be honest, I rarely choose wrong. I mean, I usually know the taste I am looking for, or have an idea how wonderful something new might taste and I choose accordingly. Rarely am I disappointed. But in my life, I don't seem to be able to choose that well. The result is maddening.

Recently I read somewhere an illustration of a construction project. How much time and energy is invested because you want the building to be made of the finest quality. The description ended with, "the building under construction is you." And I felt a twinge of panic and then my stomach cramped up. Constructing me isn't a project in which I want to invest and maybe that is why I am struggling so much with making a choice.

When one has a vision, it is easy to choose. You building will have high ceilings and you love pink. You will decorate that in all the pink that exists and even if everyone who comes by leaves under the impression that a bottle of pepto bismal exploded in your living room, what do you care. It is home to you. It is awash in pink. You are comfortable and you are happy.

I have no pink. What I mean to say is, of all my visions, of all the ways I can see for everyone else, I can't see a room for me. A building made of...what, exactly?

What I really don't want is more talking and no building. But I feel at a loss as to what tool to pick up when I don't know what I am building. And there aren't really plans to consult in this project. No one else can really tell me how to construct myself. Shamefully, I built me that way for a long time. Under the advisement of ill-equipped architects and decorators. That building went down in flames and ash. I want to build something more permanent. Someplace for me to come to, put my feet up, sip a glass of wine and exhale. I've got wine. It's all the rest.

I keep waiting for some voice inside to say, "this is the way. This is who you are. Do this." But there is not that. What I hear is: "Give that a shot. It can't be worse. Oh God. It's worse. Uhm, well. Try this then. Lord, I hate everything and everyone. What are you doing?"

My inner voice is judgey.

So, I guess I am trying to find a layout and determine a vision. I will need time and some quiet. And likely booze. And tissue because there will be crying. Let's face it, construction sites are messy. But hopefully, in the end, there will also be a house. Or me. Hopefully in the end, I will find me.

Searchingly,
me

Dear Fire Detector

ARE YOU FLIPPING KIDDING ME?!!!

Guess what? THERE IS NO FIRE!!! I am fine. Actually, no, no I am not fine. I am filled with murderous rage at you. I am the person who has opened the windows and has the ceiling fan going and has been whipping you with my kitchen towel for 30 MINUTES and who just wants you to STOP BEEPING AT ME!!!!

Yes, my stove needs to be cleaned. Yes, something spilled in it. Yes, I neeed to clean it. But everything is fine. It will be cleaned. Stop freaking out.

And would you mind telling me why it is the fire detector near the ceiling of my bedroom that keeps going off and not your easy sister in the hallway? I could just reach up and press a button and she stops. But YOU? No, not you. YOU I can't reach. So everytime you screech I have to do a jump smash manuever to attempt to reach your stupid button and make it all stop.

And all I wanted was to come home and reheat my roasted chicken and make my potatoes and relax a little.

You ruined it.
I hate you.

me

Dear Confusion,

You seem to make an appearance more often than I would like. And you are leaving my brain a mess. I hate to compare you to others because I feel that is a recipe for disaster and it makes it challenging for someone to rise above when they are constantly compared to someone else, but for reals, you are nothing like clarity. That feeling of relief is absent with you. I mean, I am sorry to be so blunt, but you REALLY muddy the waters. If you could maybe just be a little more like clarity, I would sooooooooooo appreciate it, k?
Thanks! :)

me

Dear Lasagne,

Will you marry me? I will be loyal to you and I will never ever leave one bit of you alone, in a bowl, with no one to appreciate you. I will appreciate you. I will love you. I will only say good things about you. To anyone who will listen. I will pair you with delicious wine and garlic bread and black olives. I will not just take. You can talk to me. Tell me what you need and I will be there for you.

I will do all of this because today, after a long day of being reminded of all the things that aren't working in the world, I came home and spent time with you. And it was heaven. It was a comfort. You were my comfort. Thank you for being unselfish and supportive. For being dependable.

I love you.

So consider my proposal. Take your time. I know this is a committment. I will be here.

With undying devotion,
me

Dear Monday

Lord, did you bite today. Like, it was a fully terrible Monday, the whole Monday long. Did you just breakup with your lover? Do you suffer from seasonal affective disorder? Or do you simply enjoy tormenting others? Because honestly, today was torture.

It started off fine, meaning, I rolled over in bed and all of my limbs were still attached. But in the time it took me to shower, dress and perform THE BEAUTY RITUAL, I was in an awful mood and nothing happened to alleviate it.

I don't really know why a Monday must be so so rough. I know it's the first day back in the swing of things, but it's not the first Monday in history. It was distressing. The sort of day where you want to cry in the afternoon because the day is only half over and your will to leave is at a record low.

I survived you Monday, despite your heinous efforts. I made it to the exact moment I have been longing for all day: lying in my bed, eating olives, free from my despicable outfit, ready to go to sleep.

Monday, I wish you were more lovable.

Adversarily,

me