I woke up to a helicopter hovering over the house. A helicopter sounds just like a lawnmower or a blower or something else I would cuss out my neighbor for using at 5am in the morning. But The Mayor of Our Street wasn’t responsible for this one. Someone ran into a treeing front of Neighbor Dentist's house and the tree won. In trying to figure out what was happening, I planted myself down in front of the TV to watch the ‘breaking news.’ Suddenly what went wrong was more important than my morning writing. Once I knew what when wrong, I could be sure to avoid doing that, right? Although, the reality is that I will likely use this to add to my fears of an early death or Husband’s early death or Mom’s early death and I just use this to plan accordingly. (As I open a browser to Kelly’s Blue Book to find out the how much I can sell Husband’s car for…)
Anyway, I turned on the TV to find out what went wrong and didn’t because they had nothing but a picture of the crash. But I kept watching, through the weather and the traffic and the weather and the traffic and a recap of the shooting and the car crash and the weather and the traffic and then that section of “News” ended and I was suddenly in the morning show loop. My mornings usually start with me writing before I spend way too much time looking at the news online. The news online is easy to walk away from. The TV sucks you in. There are pictures. There is video and I am invariably in tears by the end of the brief snap of information and I cannot walk away. The world is an absolute mess. Everyone hates everyone. Everyone’s cause is righter than everyone else’s cause. There are mean people and dying people and angry people and stupid people. And I honesty don’t know how I’m going to get off this couch and move about my day. I don’t know why we bother getting up in the morning. The expression “Can’t see the forest for the trees.” I honestly can’t even see the wood of trees right now. They are all on fire with the unpleasantness that we humans can and are doing to each other… Sorry. Dark place. I know you all make fun of my very obvious owl obsession. But when I stand outside and look at our forest and spot those eyes looking back at me through the branches and the leaves, I can breathe again. That small focus can make the other stuff, the awful asshats that are running and ruining this world, disappear. If you want me today, I’ll be standing outside staring, trying to see the feathers in the trees. It’s a much better view than the one on TV. Or the one in my head
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I am not kidding about this puzzle thing. I am totally addicted. I am not getting anything done.
At all. When I try, it sits there, tickling that spot in my psyche, that spot I can’t quite shut up, telling me, “Five minutes. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.” And so I do but five minutes turns into three hours and I haven’t moved and my hand is cramping from pushing imaginary pieces around a board and my neck is aching from the awkward position I’ve assumed on the couch and the dog isn’t speaking to me and the Husband is frustrated with my lack of accomplishing… well anything. This is bad. This is really bad. But I’m almost done with this one. I’ll stop after five more minutes. I promise. I just need five more minutes... Years ago, when I was putting my acting resume together, I put ‘Screamer’ down as a talent. I am very good at a loud, horror movie scream. Which is ironic because I can’t watch horror movies without hyperventilating myself into a coma and then never sleeping without a light on again.
What I should put down on my resume is ‘Brilliant at talking myself into and out of things’ – but I think that will be as confusing as ‘Screamer.’ If I could focus my talent and put it to use – the talking myself out of things talent, not the screamer talent – I could probably solve the world’s current conflicts. Israeli and Palestine would come to an agreement. Boehner and Obama and their pals would actually listen to common sense, see that this playground squabbling is not good for us little people and actually work together and fix this mess of a country. Football fans wouldn’t be so angry and might actually see that there is something out there besides watching someone else kick a ball… But all I seem to be able to do with my magic talent is talk myself into and out of things – usually a pace that is ridiculously fast and with a logic that is unreasonable. I’m going to eat healthy, cut out all junk food and sugar and only eat fruit and veggies and air... But life is short and I could die tomorrow so I should eat that cookie because what’s the point if I don’t? I’m going to get up and write every day. But I just found that app on the iPad for jigsaw puzzles and I’m stressed and doing jigsaw puzzles reminds me of my Grandmother and calms my crazy brain so until I feel more centered, I should sit and work on the puzzle instead... I’m going to walk the dog. But it really is too hot out there and her paws will melt on the pavement so what I should do is keep her inside and unscramble my jigsaw puzzle and take her out later... I am going to call the doctor and get my back taken care of once and for all. But what if the doctor misses and paralyzes me and I can’t go to the bathroom by myself? I couldn’t do that to Husband. He told me when we got married that wiping my bum if I was incapable of doing it myself was off the table… so I’ll just sit here, resting my back and solve that jigsaw puzzle... You get the idea. I am really, really good at something that is really, really bad for me and my attempts to function as a grown person. I would write more but I don’t want to take up your time with silly arguments that are going nowhere. And also, I have that jigsaw puzzle… This is a babbling 'ej goes to the Dentist' update. And no, I'm not on the nitrous oxide yet.
Reality is a rough road to travel. Sometimes I miss having the Mom make all the decisions for me; your doctor is this guy, your eye doctor is that guy, you are going to school, you can’t get a tattoo... You get the idea. Being a grown-up isn’t all fun and games. Sometimes you have to put on your big boy pants and make a decision. When we moved to Nashville, having to find a doctor just about wiped me out. All the stress about who was going to be poking at my bits and bobs was enough to send me mental. When I picked a doctor with perfect doctor name – Payne – who had a great rep AND she was awesome, I thought I had won the lottery. Having to find a dentist would be as rough, right? My teeth were always in great shape and I wasn’t going to have to get naked in front of them, they were only going to poke around in my mouth. A cleaning once every six months, how bad could it be? Apparently very bad, because there are horrible people who lie to you just to make a quota in crowns. When the New Dentist I’d found told me after a “great teeth” cleaning that I had eleven cavities and needed a root canal that would run me upwards of three thousand dollars, I badly wanted to be a kid again so Mom could deal with this. But I’m apparently a grown-up and grown-ups have to do their own unpleasant grown-up stuff. So, after I picked my face up off the floor and stopped laughing, I had my old dentist – now referred to forever more as Nicest Dentist Ever – look at the x-rays. He said I only needed two fillings and NO ROOT CANAL! Phew, right? The plan was going to be to fly to see him for the work but then I decided – well, Husband pointed out that I live here now, IN Nashville. I should find a dentist here, IN Nashville. I can’t always fly home if need be because home is now, IN Nashville... Sometimes I hate Husband even when I love him. After I stopped cussing Husband’s logic out, I went hunting for a third opinion from a dentist here, IN Nashville. This time, because I know a few people and picking a dentist because their office is near my grocery store and the website says nice things was a horrible way to go, I asked people for a dentist they liked. My next-door neighbor suggested her across-the-street neighbor, who happened to be dentist that she liked as a person AND as a dentist. Score! Neighbor Dentist confirmed what Nicest Dentist Ever had recommended – YAY – and that Bad New Dentist, with her, "You have eleven cavities and need a root canal." was full of crap! He went on to explain that corporate dentists like Bad New Dentist, have quotas that they have to achieve each month; X amount of crowns, X amount of x-rays, X amount of stupid treatment plans that are sure to send a person to the poor house. Neighbor Dentist was steaming. I was steaming. I felt totally vindicated. My teeth cleaning habits were still stellar. My teeth had not gone to war on me. I could like them again. As Brother would say, long story boring, I have a new dentist in Neighbor Dentist. I’m reporting Bad New Dentist. And I’m having the work done today the holy teeth. The end. Kidding. I’m me. That can’t be the end. I’ve not had a filling in twenty-five plus years. My brain is in overdrive with what will/can/might go wrong here. The, “What if…?” scenarios are pretty vivid. I’m thinking I should write my will in case I die on the table. I mean chair. Or worse, what if they drill into the wrong tooth? Or find more problems once they open me up? Or put in a spy bug that will record everything I say? Or implant a special chip that contains information that will prevent war or start war or is the actual switch that will start a war and all of a sudden, I’m being followed about by men in black SUV’s that are trying to capture me and I have no idea who the bad guys are and Matt Damon and Jason Stratum are no where to be found and all I have to fend off the bad guys with is a toilet paper roll and my iPhone and my years of street fighting learned by sitting on my ass watching Hollywood movies… Is it bad to drink before drilling? The other night at dinner we spotted this beautiful lady with a similar haircut to mine. Only her hair was straightened and swooped to the side, which emphasized her gorgeous neck. And she stood up straight and was slim and wore make-up and was stunningly beautiful. “We have the same haircut.” I said to Husband. “If I straightened my hair, I’d look just like her.” Husband just squeezed his lips together, tried not to smile and nodded slowly. But his eyes lied. To prove a point, I washed my hair and straightened it. I should say, I washed my hair and attempted to straighten it. Attempted three times. I have no idea how people do this daily. It is not easy to do. It takes WAAAAY too long and the results are totally unsatisfying. Humorous even. My first attempt gave me stick straight bangs and a Kate Gosselin Before Hollywood hairstyle. No judgment on her hair style choice. All I can say is it did not look good on me. At all. But my arms were tired from holding them over my head and pulling the wand thing slowly so I wandered away and did other important things before coming back for attempt number two. Which was equally unsuccessful. This time I got the hair to mostly lie down everywhere but on the back of my head. Which chose to stick straight out as if i was in a wind tunnel or standing in front of a jet engine. When I finished laughing, I turned off the straightener and went to put chocolate in my face. Because when you look like you’ve stuck your finger in an electric socket, chocolate is the only cure. The third and final attempt resulted in a style – and I’m not sure you can actually call it a style - that was not unlike Beaker from the Muppets. No lie. Bald is looking good right about now.
Also, hats are awesome. |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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