Where This Week Went. With Bonus Profanity.
It went in a cold snap.
One with lots of wind that made a rare opportunity to see a home track meet unfortunately very short.
To an afternoon of cleaning out my closet, of trying on every item of clothing I own and deciding:
I’m fucking done being neurotic about my body.
Life is too short, and forty is too awesome, for neurotic. Four bags of donated clothes later, somehow I feel like I have a new wardrobe. Less truly is more, sometimes.
The week passed with a meeting of my writers’ group, followed by a much-needed, greatly enjoyed lunch with the ever-fabulous Christine from Quasi Agitato. It passed in a sushi dinner with one old friend, and two new ones.
The week went to an ivory evening gown, which I bought four years ago at Nordstrom’s Rack in Chicago for only thirty-five dollars because it was pre-altered and had a heel hole in the train which my tailor sewed up for me so you can’t even tell.
I wore it to CC’s opening night, even though it doesn’t hide my stomach.
My only embellishments were red lipstick and my handsome, handsome husband. Away from me, someone told him I looked like a badass angel goddess.
That pretty much made my whole life.
This is a picture of me taking a picture of myself in my mirror. Just under my left elbow is my dress, folded over the back of the chair. We did not get a picture of ourselves at the shindig, partly because that useless little purse you carry with an evening gown doesn’t hold your lipstick, phone, car keys AND a camera. Hell, it won’t even hold a camera by itself. Or an epi-pen, I’m told. I considered putting the dress back on just for a picture here, but ultimately decided I was too lazy. Trust me though, we looked fabulous. Also, I am too lazy to figure out how to use the timer on the camera so that I don’t have to look like a douche holding the damn camera in the mirror. Hmm. . . this picture is a remarkably helpful illustration. Of nothing.
The week passed in six commutes, eight shows, eight onstage hangings and crucifixions. Eight times of laughing to myself out loud at the end of the night and saying, “Holy shit these guys are on fire!” because our band is that damn fantastic. It passed with one Drama Desk Best Sound nomination, followed by the crappiest show I’ve mixed here.
These things happen.
The week passed in a couple of yoga classes and some miles on the treadmill and an awful lot of staring myself down in the mirror saying yes I can when I really wanted to just stop.
And eat a cookie. Or ninety.
The week went to this thing in my refrigerator:
I can’t decide if I want someone to tell me what it is or not.
It went to parenting that was neither funny nor satisfying- the ugly, unsettling kind that leaves you second guessing yourself while simultaneously knowing that, given the chance for a do-over, you would make the same decisions. You would still be left feeling sad and anxious and nauseous.
It passed with Jenny Lawson’s stupidly excellent book Let’s Pretend This Never Happened. She’s so awesome it pisses me off. I love her. I almost want to be her when I grow up except then it wouldn’t be as much fun to read her stuff. Which is the exact same reason why I don’t want to be a yoga teacher. Sort of. Also, I think I’m older than her, which would make being her when I grow up even more difficult.
The week went to lots of dog hair and stinky puppy feet, to puggle butts trotting through the cemetery as they sniffed about the freshly dead, of which there were many.
It went to a couple of fantastic mornings on my deck, listing things for which I am grateful. Like not being a reason that the cemetery is busy.
It went to Peanut Butter Puffins and skim milk. Skim, because it makes the best gooey-peanut butter milk at the end of the bowl. Trust me.
The week passed in many games of Scramble, with my sister and also my boss- whom, I am now certain, is cheating and has a ringer sitting in for him. Pretending. But still not winning.
It passed in saying goodbye to my two men as they went on a Scouting trip for the weekend.
It ends with not enough sleep in a bed that is far too empty, even with a puggle or two.
I hear myself say, “Where’d the week go?” but I know exactly where this week went.