minalisms


    Posts Tagged ‘life’

    Dream state

    Wednesday, November 4th, 2009

    I had one of the more scarily bizarre dreams of my lifetime last night.

    I know, you don’t so much care to read about another’s dream. Because, if you’re anything like me, you’re curious about just how scary/bizarre it is but know better than to ask for a play-by-play about something that, inevitably, is wholly uninteresting and anticlimactic .

    But I dreamed last night that Ben and I had a baby; the most adorable little girl with dark hair and big brown eyes who looked more like an 8-month-old by the time we brought her home, which (surprise!), wasn’t our home at all.

    I was calling my baby by three different names — Brooke, Gus and Asha — and growing frustrated by those who called her by the wrong name. This detail, I believe, symbolizes my control issues.

    Anyway, I started nursing my baby for the first time, and somehow the act of breast-feeding was the easiest thing I could have done, which I’m sure is a statement my mom-friends who nursed their real-life kids would guffaw at.

    Once she was fed and burped, I placed Brooke-Gus-Asha into her bassinet and walked away. I don’t know how much time elapsed, but I thought I heard cooing sounds so I went to check on her. As I peered at her face, I discovered that she was very much not cooing but choking on milk she had spit up.

    And so I saved her.

    I quickly yet calmly picked up my dream-induced daughter and patted her back  to clear her throat. Her breathing steadied.

    I saved her. I saved her even though seeing her choke would’ve been the precise moment I’d shake myself awake from a nightmare — when all seems hopeless.

    This is depressing

    Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009

    Today, I noticed another one of my shoes had a broken heel, making this the second pair in three months that must be fixed or thrown out.

    “Great, now I have to go shoe shopping,” I complained.

    Wait, what did I just say?

    But it’s true. I couldn’t care less about shopping for new duds. I’m not the least bit intrigued about this season’s fall boots or want to stock up on fuzzy sweaters and wool skirts. I stopped caring about fashion about a year ago. That’s why I rotate through the same three work pants every week. On weekends, I stand inside my closet and stare; yet nothing inspires me, so I pull out something drab yet comfortable and conclude, “I don’t care. Who really cares? I don’t care!!”

    This is depressing me.

    I want my vanity back. I want back the part of me that didn’t mind the fuss of makeup and dress-up. Bring back the girl who invested in herself — With time and money and confidence.

    Creatures of habit?

    Tuesday, October 27th, 2009

    First, there’s my tendency to sleep until about 7:30 a.m. every work day, even though my alarm goes off at 6:50.

    Then, after dressing, there’s the check and re-check of the dark nooks within the master closet to make sure none of the cats snuck in to dance on the clothes.

    Then there’s the parting kiss that my husband never forgets to give.

    There’s also makeup application: a spot of creme blush and a shade of lipstick — which ends up being the same one out of 15.

    Then there’s the rush to get in my car by 8:05, except that it’s always closer to 8:15.

    Then I see the security guard dozed off again in the tower in the employee parking lot and think, “Life is unfair.”

    There’s, of course, the man at work who dumps canned tuna on a whole-wheat tortilla and eats it for lunch Every. Single. Day.

    There’s the blogging (lately, anyway).

    There’s definitely the slowing of time once the clock strikes 3 p.m. on a weekday.

    And then there’s Gizmo, sweet, cantankerous Gizmo, who waits and meows on the other side of the door as I unlock it upon my arrival home.

    From about 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Friday, these are the markers of my life. These occurences orient me in a space-time sort of way; they provide context and, as a result, spur decisions. Yet, interestingly enough, those daily decisions are never the same.

    The metaphor

    Wednesday, October 21st, 2009

    There used to be a time when my eyes would light up at the sight of 4-inch-high polka-dot stilettos in size 7. Or I’d see a heather gray pencil skirt that hugged me just right. Back then, a gold-and-silver beaded clutch within a pile of thrift-store rubbish was a treasure find, and my pursuit for the most glamorous shade of red lipstick was a worthy challenge.

    (You know where I’m going with this, don’t you?)

    I still have a majority of those items, but now I look at them with disdain because they remind me of diminishing youth — one that I don’t forsee returning.

    I glance at the dusty stilettos quizzically, not daring to put them on and risk tripping and breaking my pelvis. The pencil skirt — well, that’s gone, donated in a clothing swap with friends who evidently have the discipline to keep their cute waistlines. God only knows why I’ve kept the red lipstick, which looked pretentious even in my early twenties.

    But the clutch — I will never let that go. Because it’s still exquisite, despite its beads somewhat dull after years of handling.

    Let your light shine

    Saturday, October 17th, 2009

    “While popularly regarded as the Festival of Lights, the most significant meaning of Diwali is the awareness of one’s own inner light.”

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