Today I read that one of the seven deadly blogging sins was jabbering on too much about oneself without giving something to the reader, so before I indulge in more navel-glazery tonight I will give back. Yes indeed. Here is a lovely link to my books you can buy. Now, please don’t say I never gave anything to my blogfans!
The otter day I commented somewhere (can’t remember where) that I’m a chatty introvert. I meant to talk more about this because it’s interesting to me, since it’s about myself, and honestly what could be more interesting than meeee?
I enjoy my own company and am happy in solitude ~ reading, writing, organizing stuff, watching a movie, chilling with the cat, etc. I’m fine going the whole weekend without talking to another person as long as I know my kids are okay. My office is quiet too, and I like that; I don’t chat much with people usually nor do I go to lunch with anyone. I think I’m probably more of a loner than the average introvert. My friends call themselves introverts too, but they seem to need much more social time than I do.
However! Speaking of friends, and being social generally, when I’m with people, I’m on. I talk. I talk a lot. I’m an open book. I’m warm and friendly, not shy, not quiet, not reserved at all. You really can’t shut me up, basically. I’ve even done open-mic stand-up comedy!
But after a few hours or so, my energy level will sink like a phone battery with a million apps open. I’ll become noticeably drained to the point that peeps might comment on it. My head feels too heavy for my neck… it’s overloaded with all the peopleness in the room. So much sensory input. Eventually I can’t process one bit more. Must escape!
I recharge again by being alone.
I’m a bit compulsively organized, as I may have mentioned previously. So, it was already bugging me that I had a giant box full of disorderly photos. They were of my children and my pets, my exes and my parents, ancient relatives, random friends, cakes and flowers, and whatever else, all spanning like a hundred freaking years. There were “leftovers” that hadn’t made it into my cute memory albums, duplicates I couldn’t bear to dump, and sepia shots of strange people who possibly are related to me.
I tried not to think about this too much, even though the box was lurking right there in my hall closet like a sleeping demon.
But then my former sister-in-law gave one of my daughters another big box of photos consisting of all the photos I had given my in-laws over the years while they were alive. My daughters took the photos they wanted and gave me the rest, which was a lot. A lot.
Now what was I supposed to do? Add this box to the other, so they could weaponize against me? Hah. I know how that works: soon my closet would turn into the devil’s disaster zone. No thanks. Only one option ~ I bought big envelopes and am sorting all the photos into categories and filing them away.
It’s taking me longer than I expected. Some of the photos provoke memories that I stop and linger over for a minute or three. And some I struggle to categorize. My girls look very similar as babies; I’m happy when they’re both in the same shot so I can toss that one in the “sisters” envelope.
Now everything is on our phones and in “the cloud.” Don’t think I’m not making folders there. Are you kidding? My cloud is totes foldered up.
I am the Goddess of Folders!
Posted in Noodling, OCDoodles
Tagged aminals, cake, death, family, goals, homey, navel glazing, psychology, retro, techyness
Ruth’s poast reminded me of a series of unfortunate events in my own life. I’ve remarked to friends and family lately that I’m extra careful about shoes/walking these days because of falling, but the truth is… I have always been a bit off-balance.
When I was a kid, it was pretty normal for me to trip over nothing and sprain my ankle. Never broke anything, but damn that hurt. I’d limp home and Mommy would ice my ankle and then wrap up my foot in an Ace bandage. Three days later I was good as new.
In Chicago, I was always slipping on the ice no matter what shoes or boots I wore. Most likely other people were falling too, but I assumed I was the clumsiest one. I took a particular nasty fall one night coming home from work and was covered in bruises for weeks. That was my last winter in Chi-town.
Out here in SoCal, I either had a break (har) from falls for a decade or so, or else my brain pushed out the tumble memories to make room for more important things, such as how my eldest daughter pronounced yogurt (new-moo, so cute!).
So, my recent falls aren’t something new, but simply a reminder of who I’ve been all along: Klutzy McKlutzface. Yet, it is scary to fall at my advanced age (50+)… that’s when people break and fracture bones. Not only that, but bruises take a long time to heal. Aches and pains linger around. Who needs more of those layered on top of the usual ones? Feh!
One of my friends suggested I get a mini flashlight to clip on my keychain ~ it helps when navigating dark parking lots. Those seem to be my particular kryptonite. The least little bump or slope and down I go. But I also stumble in broad daylight walking in sturdy shoes on a smooth surface. It’s just me.
I don’t have the “normal” superstitions; in fact, I love black cats in particular. They’re so gorgeous! Well, all kittehs are adorable imo. I don’t fear walking under ladders, stepping on cracks, or the number thirteen. All my life, if someone told me a thing was “bad luck” I’d scoff at it.
However, I do have my own ideas about… shall we say “positive and negative energy.” I’ve noticed that if I use certain words or types of speech, unpleasantness tends to result soon afterward even though the result seems unconnected from my words. No, I’m not going to poast them here or tell you what they are! They exist. That is all. And I avoid them.
Since that is not logical, it qualifies as a superstition, I suppose.
There are certain numbers I associate with positivity, so I try to keep aligned with them when I can. But no numbers are bad.
I enjoy keeping things in my personal space organized in certain ways. Sometimes it’s at right angles, but not always. One of the key factors is that my space looks uncluttered and I can quickly find my things. But this isn’t a hard and fast rule because I do have some spots that may appear “cluttered,” yet to me they are arranged pleasantly. Forex, I’ve been keeping more greeting cards on bookshelves. I don’t know why ~ maybe it’s because people have been giving me really pretty ones the last several years. Also, one of my daughters has hand-drawn some.
I’m a big proponent of tossing stuff in the trash, except for the few things I want to hang onto forever. Why? Idk. Maybe I suspect they’re good luck charms.
Summer is the season of plenty! From all the juicy ripe fruits available at the market to the plethora of outdoor concerts, there’s abundant deliciousness and fun to be had on a daily basis.
And yet… and yet… I find myself just as tired after work when the evening is warm and lovely as when it was dark and cold. I still don’t feel like doing much except going home to my sweet kitty and reading or watching a movie on Prime.
On weekends? Well, the weather may be perfect for the beach or a BBQ, but I still have to do laundry, dust, vacuum, grocery shop, etc., just the same as I did back in January. Gatsby’s litterbox does not take a summer vacay, unfortunately.
If I were a decade or three younger and single, I’m sure I’d be enjoying this great SoCal summer abundance ~ in fact, I can vaguely remember doing just that when I first moved out here in the 1980s. But, alas, I am old. Age > abundance.
They’re out there somewhere…
Not a hoax—
I catch glimpses of their lives
Floating through mine
Via misdirected emails:
The other Paula Lights.
One of them has DISH TV–
That might be nice,
All those channels.
I could watch anything
Well, I do have trouble with choice:
This is known.
Another one, married,
Bought homeowners insurance;
They seem like a solid couple,
Smart financial planning.
I was like that once,
With a house and a husband,
Doing all the things
I was supposed to do.
One of the Paulas has a tribute page
Posted for a deceased relative.
The confirmation came to me.
(Please do not reply.)
I probably should have done
Something like that
For my parents.
One shops at Wal*Mart
And I get her alerts,
No way to unsubscribe.
She bought a granite-topped cart,
Which looks pretty cool.
I had a cart once,
In that house with the husband.
They’re convenient, at times:
Carts and husbands.
Fun! One of them just visited
In Bossier City (Bossier!),
The casino asked me
If I enjoyed my stay–
I’m sure I did.
These other Paula Lights
Are in the Midwest,
Where I once lived too
Among the blizzards and ‘nadoes.
For all I know,
They’re the same person,
Or maybe they’re reflections of me,
Living my parallel life.