They're going to say I'm just trying to justify a move back to the west coast and that I'm only making excuses. I don't really care, though. I had a sort of revelation today.
I was thinking about purpose, about circumstance, about consequence. I was thinking about everything happening for a reason. I was thinking about everything that happened. I was thinking about the reasons. I was thinking about all these things that I believe in very strongly.
Something was giving me a hell of a time when I was trying to leave San Francisco. We're talking floods (literally), pestilence, and plague. Everything that possibly could have gone wrong did. I didn't think I'd ever get on the plane. I thought that if I got on the plane it would most assuredly crash into some farmland in Middle America. I was convinced that I was being punished. Purpose, circumstance, and consequence wanted me dead. I felt like I was constantly fighting against a current - a current trying to force into staying out there against my will. I thought I was being punished for something I'd done or not done. I'd been bad. I'd been naughty. I'd been sent to sit in the corner. I was not to leave the corner. I just wanted to leave the corner.
It was, without a doubt, the most trying, painful time of my life.
I had a thought today, though. What if I wasn't supposed to leave? What if I was only fighting against myself? What if I was trying to bite the hand that fed me? I know now that I was never supposed to come back here. I know now that I'm supposed to be out there. I know now but I didn't know then. What if something knew then?
I�m wearing my cowboy shirt (yeehaw).
I finally bought a new black jacket (Kenneth Cole black nylon biker).
And I'm going to see Kelly Clarkson at The Orpheum one week from today, thanks to my ever-lovely friend Angel.
I did hit a very low point today, though, when I was scouring Bluefly for a new jacket. I saw this specimen and fell in love. I had visions of the two of us strolling lazily down Newbury Street on a brisk April day. I imagined myself lovingly hanging it up after each and every outing, rather than throwing it on the couch in my bedroom (the admittedly unfair treatment some of my other jackets endure). I wanted this jacket. I needed this jacket. Then, like a boot on a cockroach, my dream was crushed.
Medium. They only have mediums left.
And then, I'm not going to lie to you. I cried. I actually started to tear up. I wanted that particular jacket so badly that, when I learned that I couldn't have it, I began to cry. Bitsy had to come over with a tissue. It was a brief moment of sorrow, but powerful nonetheless.
And now I'm fine. Really. I'm fine.
Time to assess my wardrobe. Without a proper inspection I can already tell you that I need some new clothes.
Also, for the record, I need new clothes like I need to know what it feels like to swallow glass. I need new clothes like I need a high sperm count. I need new clothes like I need to spend 45 minutes in the car while Mother listens to Marvin Gaye�s Sexual Healing on repeat (which, might I add from experience, is not fun).
So yes, I need some new clothes. I have very few outfits for work that take the rising temperatures into consideration. I could take care of that with just a few shirts � four or so � and a couple pairs of pants. That�s fine for work. It�s not a fashion show over there (don�t make me talk about the get-ups that The Bathroom Bombardier sports on a daily basis. Let�s just say that plaid flannel shirts, black pants, white socks, and black ballet slippers does not an outfit make).
I really need a new Spring jacket, too. I always have a couple of denim options for the times when denim is okay. And I have a cropped navy blue jacket from J. Crew. And a tan corduroy blazer from BR. And an olive linen jacket from the Gap. But I don�t have a single black light-weight jacket! My two black jackets are wool and, thus, not appropriate for this season. Unfortunately, and despite my best efforts, I�ve yet to find a black jacket that suits my needs.
And I need new brown shoes (I also think I need new black shoes, but I�m sure the existing eight pairs could beg to differ).
So yes, I need to go shopping.
(Additionally, I need to go shopping about as much as I need to sit through that God-awful Pam Anderson show on Fox one more time.)
This girl right here? She and I are on the same page today. Same page, same chapter, same book. Naturally, my hair is perfection, but it�s just one of those days.
It all started when I opened my eyes this morning and had an overwhelming urge to club myself like a baby harp seal. I�m either not getting enough sleep or dying.
And then I heard on the news this morning that some people in Wisconsin are trying to pass some sort of law that says that anyone with a hunting license is allowed to shoot cats they see on the street. Hello. I don�t even know where to begin with why this is so wrong. Equally as wrong was the lot of people they showed in the meeting hall discussing said issue. The whole group, collectively, probably had 15 teeth. 15 teeth and mullets. And buffalo plaid shirts, too. Fifteen teeth, mullets, and buffalo plaid shirts = you don�t get to make any decisions that might alter or affect the lives of other living creatures.
And then I got into work and had to listen to the deaf man who works out on the dock tell me about his �seven-inch shooter.� If I could have reached in and plucked out my mind�s eye right then and there I would have. He was trying to convince me that 7 inches works just as well as 9 inches (a fact which I have never disputed, much less wanted to discuss with him).
And then, just moments ago, I�m here in the office and an abandoned cell phone sitting on a desk across the room started to ring. Now, it�s not a traditional ring, as so few are these days, but a song. A catchy song. I got the bug to dance. So I did. I got up and I danced along to the cell phone song � and then my boss� boss walked in. I don�t think he was feeling my moves.
That�s fine, though. I told Bitsy that if her boss is in the mood to fire anyone today I would gladly raise my hand. Just give me a reason to pack my bags.
Posted by Taylor on April 12, 2005 @ 1:53 pm