Wednesday, November 30, 2011

My Life, In Lists: Please Pardon My Dust

Currently under construction:

1. My body (again): It seems as if my body has been under some sort of renovation project so many times in its lifetime, that it's no wonder parts of me are starting to sag and complain and wither. I mean, really, how many times is one's tummy skin supposed to be expected to actually suck back in to its original smoothness and tautness, between all the preteen-chubby-years, adolescent crash diets, vacation-dieting, holiday weight gain, post-holiday weight loss, pregnancy 1 and 2, and now the official "Approaching-My-Last-Birthday-In-My-30's-And-I'm-Going-To-Paris-Soon-So-I-Wanna-Be-Ultra-Skinny-So-I-Can-Wear-Chic-Black-Cigarette-Pants" era...?

2. My backyard: My parents, who are the most amazing human beings in the world and cutest little old couple EVER, are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary this weekend, complete with a renewal of vows ceremony. Yep. After 50 years, my dad says (and I quote) "if I were to be born all over again and start my life over, I would still pick your mom and marry her and do things just as I did." And my mom, who is still known to giggle and squeal when she gets excited about something, and still matches her lipstick to her outfits, will "walk down the aisle" in what I am sure is her first-ever designer dress, bouquet and all. And so where does my backyard come in? It is the place where all of this is going to happen. After 14 months of planning, Hubby and I are hosting this event on Saturday, and Hubby has literally done minor construction in order to hold up the 1000+ twinkling white lights he strung over the pool and throughout the backyard in honor of the "bride and groom."

3. My family room: Because of #2 (see above), my family room which usually houses 8 large bins filled with toys, a Little Einstein's Art Table, two computer desks and chairs, indoor soccer goals, an art easel, and whatever else happens to end up there, is now being transformed into a party room of sorts: plants, white drapes, a collage of black and white photos of my parents' original wedding, and a cake table. Seems minor, but when you've got that much crap belonging to 2 little boys, it's not.

4. My health: I've had this little stint over the last few months with some random and minor (but highly annoying and disruptive) medical issues. Doctors, unfortunately, sometimes pose as many questions as patients do: "Is it asthma? Is it bronchitis? Is it migraines? Is it GERD?" All of this has--much to many of my friends' and family members' politely restrained amusement--led to a persistent eye twitch. Yes. An eye twitch. For over two months now. So if you see me and think I'm winking at you or doing my best Elvis snarl, just ignore me. Or, point and laugh.

5. My personality: Yes, I have come to the conclusion that for my very own benefit, I am currently desirous of a slight personality makeover. A little therapy perhaps? Some meditation? Pondering dramatically by the seashore? Cocktails with friends? High quality conversation with Hubby over average-quality wine? Yes, please. All of the above. I need to get a better handle on how I handle everyday stress, everyday life, and live more in the moment. (This item on the list, interestingly enough, is kinda like #1...When it comes to my ass or my attitude, I think there is always room for improvement.)

6. This blog: Well, I don't know if I can honestly drape this place with the "Caution: Construction Zone" tape, since I'm not here enough to actually justify wearing a hard hat. But this little blog, my little blog, is still here...and I'm still here...rebuilding, remodeling, reinventing.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Musings of a Writer: The Chicken or the Egg?

Are writers prone to angst?
Or are angst-ridden people prone to writing?

I wonder, if all those years when I was a little kid, clicking away at my sister's typewriter, scribbling in my pink and purple lock-and-key diaries, filling up pages of notebook paper, it was because, even then, I was driven by the need to vent?

Even at that young age, I thought about Stuff. I worried. I pondered Life.

Much like my oldest, who recently asked if he were to touch his daddy's and my hands when we went to heaven, if maybe, just maybe, we could take him with us, and how he had decided, right then and there, that he would, in fact, touch us, "just in case." All of this...from a 5 year old. The one who Hubby says is the emotional and psychological spitting image of me.

It seems his brain never shuts down.

I can relate.

My mind is never quiet.

And it is usually when I am in A Place...some weird place I can get in...either surrounded by plans or dreams or worries or fears or all of these, that I feel the urgency to write most. Even when I don't write (as has been the case on this blog lately), I am constantly composing in my head. The sentences are formed, the words swirl around, all in an attempt to make sense of it all: whatever is in there, currently, in my head.

Perhaps it is like a defense mechanism: the words are my safety net that catch the thoughts that threaten to drown me. They give me the very false feeling that I am in control. Of something. Of anything. At the very least (or the very most?) of myself.

And so I wonder: is it the writer in me that over thinks everything? Or is the thinker in me that has to write?