Almostgotit.com

Enough is enough. Today I’ve made two big appointments, the first to go back to Weight Watchers after a 3 year hiatus, and the second to talk to someone about, let’s just say, an ALTERNATIVE to freelancing.

What to wear for today’s auspicious events? Badass Red, of course.

I wanted to bring red-somethings to everyone else at Weight Watchers, too, but had to settle for the only red rose (a totally tacky fake one, too) that they had at the gas station, and I gave that one to my dear friend (another writer!) who graciously agreed to come to WW WITH me.

The rolls of fat that have been accumulating around my keyboard were enough to motivate me to go to WW today, but I can’t say I was looking forward to it.

I pretty much expected it would feel like going to the dentist… you know, where it hurts and also makes you feel really, really guilty, e.g., … and why haven’t you been FLOSSING??!

Instead of guilty, I almost felt like I’d had a massage. Freal! The leader who once helped me lose boo coo poundage was still there, and she is 100% encouraging and — BONUS! — also wickedly funny.

Rather than feeling beat up for having fallen off the wagon, I left the room feeling deeply confirmed that it is *good* to love and take care of myself — not because I’m a BAD GIRL when I don’t, but because I’m already so marvelous (!!!) that I DESERVE IT!

You know what I did then? I went to the mall and bought my marvelous self a NEW TOP.

So I got my check from Blogher yesterday — $29.28 for three months worth of ads, which makes it all worthwhile when those pop-up ones come up and bug the heck out of you, doesn’t it? 

(I’m so sorry.  I forgot to sign in and go do the thing that nixes those kinds of ads…)

Anyway, with all that money to spend, I felt a trip to the nursery was finally justified, so I went to Stanley’s Greenhouses and spent $149.47.

Welcome to my sick little world.

I bet Heather Armstrong never feels bad when *she* goes and spends $150 at one of her Salt Lake City nurseries.  She reportedly makes $40,000 a month on advertising for Dooce.com.   Yeah sure, go ahead and click through…  buy her another sagebrush or whatever she can actually grow in Salt Lake City. 

$40K vs. a chance to grow dahlias?  Oh yeah, I’m sure glad *I* didn’t move to Utah. 

Since it was the middle of a weekday when I went to Stanley’s, there weren’t many other people there except retirees and SAHM’s with kids in tow. 

And mostly-unemployed me.  

Most of the time, I’m glad I no longer have kids in tow everywhere I go, as I now can spend all the time I want agonizing over which color of astilbe I want.  But there was one very cute little girl trailing behind as her mother asked around and  hunted in vain for the part of the store that stocked wysteria vines. 

“Mommy,” the little girl called out, growing impatient.  “MOMMY!  So, WHERE’S THAT POSSTERIA?!?”

Right next to the asters, is my bet.

I am so glad January is over.

First I was sick, then my daughter was sick, then my husband was sick, then I got sick AGAIN.  Our house was like a giant TB ward with hacking, miserable bodies laying around everywhere, including the floor. 

In the midst of which I had two enormous deadlines.  I never have deadlines.  Why would I? Unemployed people don’t have deadlines!

Except when they are on their death beds, apparently.

I also had these terrible dreams, like the one where I had two hours to pack my entire house into a few suitcases and NO ONE would help me.  Or the other one where I was late for work but I had NO IDEA where my job was or what I was supposed to do once I got there–even if I COULD ever get my house packed into those suitcases.

I was so glad when my husband finally got sick.  Not because he was sick, but because (if you follow me here) it meant I’d really been sick, too.  

Fortunately though, I was a great comfort to him in his time of trial.  For instance, I looked at him one day when he was coughing his lungs out and clearly dying, and said brightly:  ”Wow, I really feel validated now.  You are really SICK.  I guess I was not just a MALINGERER last week after all!!” 

Overcome by my great sensitivity and understanding, he was immediately healed.  He then jumped up and made me a cup of tea, rubbed my back for several hours, brought me chocolate and made reservations for the two of us to have a romantic recuperation in Hawaii.   

Ha.

Hey. You blog for your reasons.  I’ll blog for mine.

No, not really.  Really I am so *glad* to have this editing job, even though my client keeps rewriting everything after I’ve already checked it.

I told her I’m neither dull nor disciplined enough to be a mere COPY editor, and apparently she believed me.  So really I’m helping someone else write a book, instead of writing my own book. 

Next time I need to charge more though, I think.

Whine, whine, whine. 

Did I also mention I’d pulled a muscle in my back, which makes it really hard to sit down and edit in the first place? 

I’m too young to have a pulled muscle in my back.

Plus also I’m totally going blind and can’t read with one eye when I have my contacts in, and so I might even have a deadly brain tumor.

Because I’m far too young to need reading glasses.

And besides who ever heard of needing reading glasses just for one eye? 

A brain tumor, for sure.

And why am I rewriting this whole book for someone else when I have a pulled back muscle and a brain tumor, you ask?  Why am I not in the hospital instead?

Because getting a pedicure and going out to lunch is a lot more fun.  Cheers!

(Thanks to Kathy for sending me the funny LOL catz photo)

This is the pitiful, drugged-out creature parked in a chair next to my computer today.  Jerry had surgery on his paw this morning, and doesn’t want to eat, or drink, or move.  Just gives a pitiful little whine every now and then.

It’s just a wee bit hard to concentrate on my work.

Do you want a drink? A popsicle?  Should I turn up the heat?  Can I get you something to read?  I keep asking him, as I plump up his pillows.  I have several bottles of pills for him, too, which he can’t have until he eats something.

Are you ready to eat yet?  A sausage sandwich, maybe?  Would you like one of the cats?

Pitiful.

I have a deadline in two days, too.  So what do I do… take him to childcare?  Hire a sitter? 

Maybe I should just tell him to snap out of it.  Hey! Come on, Buddy!  You think your life is tough?!?  It was just a glorified HANGnail, for goodness sake.  Get over yourself already!  Hey!  Up and at ‘em!!

Aww, shucks…