Part of the reason I’m not feeling particularly optimistic about the sweet escape to dreamland is that my brain has been going about 150MPH all day today, and it’s only gotten worse as the day has progressed into the evening. It’s been a day where every self-doubt, every question of choices made, and the rest of my mental flotsam and jetsam has decided to come bubbling up to the surface.

I was talking with a friend earlier about a mutual friend who had gone off and tried something new and potentially terrifying. Granted, it was a no-lose situation, but he went outside his comfort zone to do it. And we were both proud of him for the attempt, regardless of the outcome.

There was a time where I told The Universe, “Bring it on!!” Which she did, in spades. (Yeah, tempting Fate in the first place ain’t the greatest idea.)

But she’s winged about as much as she could at my head, and I’ve managed to survive it.

However, it’s left me ridiculously gun-shy. And I really hate that I’ve become a rather timid person for it – for no other reason that I’m tired of the fact that the Fates decided to have a psychotic break while cutting my strings.

But I just don’t want to discover that The Universe has more fun and games in store for me. I’ve had enough at this point, thankyouverymuch.

When you can’t convince yourself that anything new won’t end in spectacular disaster, it’s hard to psych yourself up for anything new and outside your comfort zone.

It’s quite an annoying spot to find yourself in.

And then that bitch of insomnia shows up last night.  I had a great plan – I was going to go to bed early, get a great night’s sleep, get up and conquer the world today.  The fact that I am talking about it likely indicates that it didn’t work out.

First, I stayed up WAY too late being a couch potato and watching TV.  Which in and of itself isn’t the worst thing in the world, but I was mildly annoyed with the fact that I’d not been paying a whit of attention to the time and turned off the TV at 3AM.

Went to bed, nice and tired, and could NOT fall asleep.  I’d start to drift off, and then I’d hear a noise.  Or some random thought would pop in my head.  Or Lily would be jumping up on the high boy again (which she knows she isn’t allowed to do) and I’d be awake again.  Then it was 4AM.  Then 5AM.  Then the Metrobuses started coming through.  The last look I got at the clock was 6AM, and I was briefly contemplating just getting up and going out for breakfast.  Apparently I finally fell asleep before I could attempt to follow through on that idea.

What sleep I did get was total crap as it was filled with odd dreams and when I woke up, I felt a bit like I’d been hit by a truck and with a mental state I’d graciously describe as cranky.  On top of it?  Craptastic weather!

It’s not a confluence of events that is particularly conducive to productivity.  I think the trip to the store should wait until there is a smaller chance of my bitch slapping a clerk.

It was the end of senior year in high school (or maybe into the next year – we’d definitely been done with school for a good six months) and we still had to do some final thing with the drill team and marching band before we’d all officially graduate. (It was a county wide thing and not a big deal, more of a pain in the ass than anything.)

But, there were several people around from high school about that I didn’t really have any desire to interact with, but they were there. And all staying in my home. Not just in the guest rooms, just everywhere. Beds, couches, floors, all covered. I was not pleased, and recall telling some girl that I’d slept with her boyfriend. (Which never happened, I simply said so out of some spite that is obviously buried somewhere deep within my psyche.)

If that’s not a sign to skip my 20 year reunion, I’m not sure what is.

Then there was the argument with my parents. Seems that in the six months since classes had ended, I’d gone and done a semester of college and I wasn’t particularly pleased about that. Something along the lines of “I could have taken the classes anytime, this was supposed to be my six months OFF and I want them back!” Why, yes, there is still a touch of residual pissiness over the fact that I won’t be able to get back the two years I spent tethered to the phone trying to convince my grandmother to get real help instead of relying on my absolutely incompetent assistance. Seems my brain hasn’t quite let go of that one just yet.

Then the trash trucks came through and that was that.

That being said, I have come to appreciate the whole idea of Lent.*  Much more so when I discovered that the Vatican apparently said at some point that Lent didn’t have to be so much about giving something up as much as trying to do a little more good.  (No, I have no citation for this – it is simply something I read somewhere and it stuck with me – it could be complete manufactured nonsense aimed at getting people to stop giving up broccoli for Lent and encouraging them to volunteer at the library.)

There is a common theme out there of it takes 21 days to make or break a habit – yet studies have shown it takes more along the lines of 6 weeks.  Well – 40 days of Lent fills that bill quite nicely.  And you get a bye on Sundays to boot.  It’s perfect if you’re trying to make a few changes, regardless of whether it’s ditching a bad habit, creating a good one, or both.

For whatever reason – kicking it off in February seems to ever so slightly less arbitrary than January 1 – if only because Mardi Gras is a moving target every year.  That, and Lent has an end date, which New Year’s Resolutions do not.  If after 40 days, you say, “To hell with this, I did it for 40 days, hated it, it’s not an ingrained habit by now and obviously it isn’t going to be anytime soon!” you can chuck it out the window and give it another whirl next year.  Because you at least gave it a go for a decent amount of time, whereas with NYR’s there is no end in sight and you have no marker of “I have done well” or “I suck at this” and given that, one tends to trash it all in the space of  two and a half weeks.

That all being said, I am ditching the pool hall for Lent to get rid of a bad habit (so far, not too bad) and picking up the better habit of attempting to be a better homeowner/housekeeper/cook.  (One of the three a day, not all every day.)  Things are a tad more sketchy on that front, but I’m still mindful of it – and I’ll either have a few better routines in place by Easter and I can carry those throughout the rest of the year, or I’ll still be a slob.  But I’m still giving it the old college try anyway.

So yes, I am co-opting Lent for my own selfish personal growth.  But in the end, it should not just better for me, but others as well.  So it’s not death-by-lightning worthy, right?

We’ll know if I post on Easter.

*I certainly did NOT get this as a child.  We didn’t muck around with Lent and I could not fathom why my Catholic friends would give up things such as chocolate rather than something from the vegetable family.  It seemed quite strange to not pick a path with a better chance of success.

This is hardly a new revelation to me by any means.  However, it was once again cemented in my head this evening.

Little bro is back home from his annual Super Bowl sojourn and we headed up to the pub for a beer.  (OK, he went for beer & trivia games, I went for beer & SportsCenter – we happened to have seats next to each other.)  A complete aside, THE EMPTIER OF THE DISHWASHER IS BACK!

I watched the trivia games he was playing, and one of the answers to a question about kids’ programming was “Zoom.”

Upon seeing that ONE DAMN WORD, the signoff song of the Zoom program kicked off in my head – it was for those kiddos that wanted to contact the program.  And it goes as follows…

“Write ZOOM, Zee-double-oh-em, Box three-five-oh, Boston, Mass, Ohh-two-one-three-four, SEND IT TO ZOOM!!”

This is a program that ended in my world in 1978.  (It was resurrected in 1999, a version of which I have no knowledge – I didn’t even know it came back until I looked it up trying to figure out when it went off the air.)

I cannot find my keys 90% of the time, I will spend $40 at the market while forgetting the quart of milk I actually went there for, and yet I still know how to contact the participants of a kids telly program that ended 30+ years ago.

There is part of me that rationalizes this exceptionally well.  I don’t have to remember directions, as I have Google maps.  I don’t have to remember what days what bills are due, I have spreadsheets, and I have auto backup for my hard drive.  I don’t have to remember phone numbers, as they are all in my phone and I also have auto-backup for that as well.

Therefore, I have a decent amount of space for useless nonsense taking up my brain.

However, I watch my grandmother’s memory sliding and I am terrified that 50 years from now I will still remember the damn Zoom song and not remember which bills are due when and will be overrunning the cell phone minutes of everyone and their brother trying to make sure that my homeowner’s insurance has been paid.

Know thyself is awesome.  Seeing what’s ahead is sketchy at best.  Seeing both in the same instance is scary as fucking hell.

I keep reminding myself that as much as I love the markets and finance and such, I need to REALLY crank up my other hobbies before I get… well, a bit touched in the head for lack of a better description.  Because when I finally get dotty, I want for my step/pseudo/foster/whatever kids/grandkids to say, “It’s fun to go knit/crochet/draw/paint/make tinfoil hats” with Goofy Aunt Cindy!” rather than, “She’s mean and no fun and can’t even enjoy a good conspiracy theory because she thinks there is some random bill that hasn’t been paid!” (Which if they are any relation of mine, blood or otherwise, they WILL enjoy a good conspiracy theory until such point where Fox News mucks up the fun for all of us.)

It’s fun to kickass at Trivial Pursuit.  (Especially if you have opponents willing to wager on it.)  I just don’t want that crap to be the only thing I remember 50 years down the road.  And I’ll readily admit that I am scared shitless of what year 86 has in store for me should I live that long.

I really hope that if I live that long and my mind decides to skip out on me, I hope it goes in a fun and entertaining direction.  (I’ll start stockpiling the tinfoil now for alien invasion prevention.)

I should do this more often.  It’s something that EVERYONE should do at least once in their life, if not multiple times.  It just puts you in a nice, happy place.  A happy enough place that it wasn’t undone when I couldn’t initially find my wallet when I checked out.

And I’ll admit, I went whole-hog on it today over at my neighborhood Red Door.  (Kelly, I wish you were as close as they were!!)  First the super awesome body scrub where basically the top layer of skin was removed from your body – that is a massage in and of itself.  Sure, you can buy the nifty scrubby stuff and do it at home, but let’s face it – you’ll spend 10 minutes tops in the shower with it.  When you have them do it?  Well over 30 minutes.  AND they get that spot in between your shoulderblades that you just can’t get to no matter what.  (Unless you happen to be lucky enough to have someone you can invite into your shower.  I don’t at the moment.)

After that, you’re already nice and relaxed for the actual massage, and at this point, it could very well put you in a coma.  Again, I went overboard and went for the 80 minute massage and it was WORTH EVERY SINGLE PENNY.  I don’t go for the sports massage, or ART, or Swedish – just the girly “make me relaxed” massage.  And it was just what I needed.  Two straight hours of total peace and quiet and someone else taking care of ME for a change, which I haven’t had for a while.  Couldn’t have hit the spot more.

When we finished up, the massage therapist said that I had a lot of tension in my shoulders.  “You DID have a rough holiday season!”  Let’s see, some family stress, two painful airline flights and 8 nights of not sleeping in my own bed – yeah, that could tense you up a bit.

All I can say is I feel soooooooo relaxed.  My shoulders aren’t tensed up to my ears.  My toes are uncurled.  My back doesn’t hurt.

Seriously, if you’ve never had a massage – GO GET ONE.  If you haven’t had one in a long time – GO GET ONE.  Your body and mind will thank you.

I really should go schedule my next appointment.

Mike was one of Donald’s college roommates, and so when he asked if I wanted to go with him to see the play up in Wilmington, I couldn’t say no. (For whatever reason, they went everywhere but DC it seems.)

Let me tell you, the production was absolutely fantastic. I had no idea who was cast in it, and just figured it would be Mike and 12 other people that I didn’t know, given that I’m not really up on who’s who on the stage. Wrong. Very wrong. The cast was top notch. They just did a great show, you could tell everyone was really enjoying being on stage with each other and if it hits your neck of the woods, catch it. Oh, and Richard Thomas is not aging – just a tad disturbing.

If you ever find yourself in downtown Wilmington, hit the Washington Street Ale House. Nice people, great food and beer that is about 1/3 less than it is here… We went over and had some beers with Mike after the show, got to meet some other folks in the cast (very cool) and a good time was had by all.

I haven’t seen Mike since 2001(?) – it was great to get to see him again, and my lord, he’s all grown up. I couldn’t be happier for him that he’s getting to do this work!

I’ve often felt that if you’re feeling poorly, taking a few minutes to spruce up will make you feel better. However today my mood was, “OK, so I’m gonna look like a scary 70s housefrau, the world can deal with it.”

If nothing else, I think my look probably cemented the idea that the market is NOT a good place to pick up chicks with the local male community. Come on, if this isn’t a come hither look, I don’t know what is: Sweatpants, MCM shirt, Tevas and hair doing god knows what, cause I just pulled it back into a clip without looking in a mirror and off I went.

I also discovered that in the same vein of “don’t go to the market when you’re hungry”, that I shouldn’t go to the market when I have a cold. For whatever reason, EVERYTHING looked good. I guess it has something to do with the fact that when I do have a cold, I will eat pretty much anything within reach. (There was an incident at Red Lobster many years ago on my brother’s birthday. I had quite the head cold, and I lost count of how many cheese biscuits I devoured, and how many times I asked family members, “Are you going to finish that? Can I have a bite?”)

And I must say, the Starbucks next to the local market is VERY convenient. And if Starbucks can’t fix me, nothing can.

And it’s a beautiful day out there to boot. Went out to run some errands and had the windows down and the sunroof open and it was just spectacular. This is Mother Nature’s way of keeping the winter suicide rate down, I am sure of it.

It would seem that my ex-husband either has or is going for a job that requires a clearance. Mind you, I’ve not seen or spoken to him in over 7 years, so from the get-go I didn’t exactly feel like my input should matter given that a) there was no physical abuse, b) no monetary addictions, c) no active plans to overthrow the government in a violent manner, and d) he’s 7 years more grown up by now – and I’m quite sure at the age of 42 I’ll be quite different from the gal I am now, and I expect no different from him. Though I will admit that the first words out of my mouth were, “Wait, he’s got a REAL JOB?!!?” Followed by, “Feel free to mark me down as the snarky ex-wife.” (What can I say – the job he had the last time we spoke was 32 hours a week, 8 of which were playing golf.)

Shit, what the hell am I supposed to say? I did say he was “a decent guy, but a lousy first husband” and I clarified by saying it was simply because he was too young at the time. (I know they discount bitter sounding comments from ex’s – we’re ex’s for a reason.) I wouldn’t date him again, but shit, I’d trust him with national secrets, especially since he has more to lose now than he did when I knew him.

I’ll fully admit that there is part of me that wants to hunt down his current address and drop him a note saying, “Don’t worry – I never mentioned the cross-dessing!”

He was by no means a perfect person, nor am I – otherwise we’d still be hitched. But hell, give him the clearance – he’ll do just fine.

Just odd to have that part of my life that I thought was totally and completely behind me crop up on me when I would have never expected it.

And DoS – if you’re reading – I didn’t lie about anything today – it was just weird.