WHEW! We're not sick anymore! Papa Boogie told me I had the Bubonic Plague. It felt like bronchitis but I quit smoking in Sept. '09 and I was *wishfully* thinking that my lungs were automagically healed completely...but maybe not. The sun is shining, I painted something (finally !@T^&@#%*&^!%!@), and my 'baby' ain't lookin' so much like a baby anymore. He turned seven months old and I didn't even notice. I was too busy trying to remember what it was like to move, talk, and act like a real live grown up cool as cake independent woman to notice the longer legs, expanding vocab, and burgeoning personality. Actually I'm lying. I noticed that stuff but was too wrapped up in myself to make a bigger deal of it.
But I got baptized also yes! The water wasn't that cold and that hair wrapped around my toes wasn't that gross no wait yes it was. And those cookies really were that good. But my favorite part was the speakers. There were a few particular moments that hit me pretty hard and it just kinda meant the world to me that all those people got together and made sacrifices for lil' ole me. And then I got confirmed and that super made me cry. Some folks just really know how to pull your heart strings out of NO WHERE and blizzAM, yer cryin'. Good happy tears, too, not those pesky sad/mad ones.
I still have not written my Thank You Notes for our wedding. I have tried everything. I tried actually writing them, tried rationalizing excuses for my failure to complete them, tried sharing the burden with my new hubby, and now I am trying to figure out if it's kosher to even send Thank You Notes months after the actual event for which you are trying to express your gratitude.
I am a mediocre adult.
But I did paint something. That's kind of a major deal to me and I'm still trying to decide why. From the time I was little, folks always said, "Oh that's beautiful! You're going to be an artist when you grow up," or "You want to be an artist, don't you?" or "That's awesome, make me one!" and then...nothing really. I painted some stuff sporadically over my young adult years and ripped some of them up and put them in the trash. I studied Journalism and Psychology instead of anything creative. I did social work until it made me crack. I tried to tattoo but discovered I had no tolerance for shop drama and shadiness. Not painting or doing art has become the epitome of my failure to blossom as a successful, productive member of society. By not painting or becoming an artist, I have somehow not become anything else either and that fear has caught like a wildfire in my soul, blocking me from even attempting anything new because I am afraid of the prospect of failing at it, too.
But yesterday? Yeah I painted something. And it's no Van Gogh or Picasso or Khalo or like the work of that lady that looks like floral vah-jay-jays. Georgia O'Keefe! Yes, that's her. It's not the same caliber of work but it sure does match my living room rug and I finished it. Well, actually, I am now starting to generate ideas for further embellishment but that's a whole other dealie. Point it, I painted something. Maybe I am not a failure after all.
And did I mention I got baptized? And confirmed. I don't have the grammatical self-discipline, let alone brain power right now to get into those ramifications but soon.
BTW, don't buy three packages of cookie mix to "bake some cookies for the neighbors" because if you are like me you will bake them...and pour a tall glass of milk.....and promise to bake some other time for others...oopsy. BTBTW, can someone babysit for the next two weeks? I have to go run off three batches of cookies.