A Perfectly Cursed Life

Because Blessings Are Overrated

Top Dawg October 17, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 2:11 am
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The anniversary trip went off…well, better than expected but not without hitches.  For God’s sake, this is my life; if I did have an uneventful weekend I think I’d die of shock.  I can say that for 75% of the time we had an exceptional time.  15% of the remainding time we had a good time.  5% of the last remaining time was alright.  5% was bad…really bad.

I think it was an omen that the area of town where my family and I stayed when we were there thirteen years ago was completely razed and built again, save a few minor things.  It was like that part of the city made a fresh start, so maybe I could too.  For the first time in a long time, when we were on the Maid of the Mist, I closed my eyes and just let the wind and water fly in my face and absorb into my skin and my mind.  It was one of those few moments where you realize that things will be okay.  Or at least you fool yourself into thinking that things will be okay.  And really, isn’t that just as good?

The night of our actual anniversary was interesting.  We had reservations at one place, but we soon realized that while the view might be good, the food was likely to suck.  So we hopped in the car and drove somewhere else to have a great dinner and a great bottle of wine.  I should have known the wine would be too much for the both of us.

After dinner we arrived at an outdoor bar where there was karaoke.  For anyone who knows me, they know that karaoke is one of my favorite things in the whole world.  The next best thing to being a rock star, is being buzzed and pretending to be one.  Whether it was the many drinks I had (seriously, don’t ask), or whether I was just on that night, I was a total hit.  I was even getting requests from the 19 year old drunk kids from across the border in the U.S.  (For the record, the selection was not great and I did “Like a Virgin,” “Natural Woman,” “Proud Mary,” and “Golddigger.”  Yes, I can sing and rap…) In fact, that’s me performing my much loved rendition of “Like a Virgin” above.  I had to represent the D (Madge and Aretha) and full figured women (Aretha).

I was on top of the world and on a buzz.  At first I thought it was a joke, but these people genuinely liked me.  After a week of being beaten down by life and work, I needed that release–standing on a stage, belting out some of my favorite tunes, and just being embraced.  Hell, even TheMister started dancing a little towards the end.  That’s a total rarity.

But then reality set in.  The Mister was, in fact, wasted.  For him, wine before Canadian beer is a deadly combination.  We walked back to the hotel, me trying to get him to stand up straight and he, trying to kill my well-deserved buzz.  He kept asking me to take him to the hospital.  I refused…he was drunk, not sick.  He continued these loud requests until we were in the room and even for a period of time thereafter, where upon I had my most rockstar moment of the night–while The Mister was passed out on the floor and things were strewn about, the hotel management knocked on the door telling us that next time it would be the police.  The Mister eventually regurgitated his expensive dinner and I finally was able to go to bed.  In the morning we were both hung over and The Mister remembered nothing of the requests for the hospital or the hotel management.  At least he cleaned up his mess in the bathroom on his own.

Meanwhile, back in the mitten, Mom and Dad were watching Rocky the Dog on his first overnight stay without us.  Dropping him off before we left was hard.  I told The Mister I didn’t know if we were going to be able to have kids because leaving the dog at my parents was hard enough.  Poor Rocky was surrounded by Amy the Hound–a puppy of about six months or so.  Amy has more energy than a nuclear powerplant and you can’t see her when she’s moving, let alone catch her.  Rocky is an easy going, older gentleman.  I was worried that he wouldn’t be able to handle her.

Before we left though, it became abundantly clear–Rocky might not have been young or fast, but he was top dog.  Amy had already rolled over once to show her submission and Rocky barked at her in response.  According to Mom and Dad, the dominance continued, amidst Amy’s constant pestering, all weekend.  Rocky stood his ground and when Amy got too tough, he taught her that experience has a little bit on age.

When we picked Rocky up on Monday, we drove home in near silence.  The dog was asleep and The Mister and I were hung over (and in my case majorly PMSing in addition).  When we got home, Rocky picked a spot and laid there not moving for probably 12 hours.

I guess it turns out that every dog has his day.  Rocky was top dog over Amy and I was top dog at kareoke.  But in the end, being on top only lasts for so long.  Sometimes you need someone to knock on the door and remind you that you’re a bit out of control to take a break and rest awhile.

I’m still waiting for my rest.  Rocky, on the other hand, is ready for another battle of wits and stamina.  And maybe a few more of Grandma’s many rawhide treats.

 

Scene of the Crime October 7, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 2:24 am
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For the past six to eight weeks I have dreaded every Monday.  It’s not so much that I hate my job, I just know that the week is going to take a level of energy that I can’t sustain much longer.  In all honesty, I was waiting for my first year as an associate to be like this, but apparently it’s the second that kills you.  Each Monday morning I walk in to work, sometimes after being there over the weekend, and watch as the new week unfolds, amazed that we could all return to the scene of the crime as if nothing happened and everything is hunky-dory.

This scene-of-the-crime motif seems to be haunting me lately.  I don’t know if it’s a cosmic hint to get things right the first time, or a way in which to get me to come to terms with some sort of past harm or wrong, but I’ve been revisiting places that I used to frequent or at least visited along the way.  For example, last week I found myself in the city where I lived during my first year of law school and, coincidentally, the first year I was dating The Mister.  It’s weird how random stops in suburbia will make you recall memories outstanding.  But they do.  I was forced to put old songs on my iPod and travel through these areas, memories of a time I thought was so difficult, but was sadly much simpler.

The most glaring example of this, however, is yet to come.  This weekend, The Mister and I are traveling to Niagara Falls for our first anniversary.  I was not a fan of this destination.  I have had strong negative feelings for Niagara Falls since I was 13.  In a one year span, I visited Niagara Falls twice.  Once was on the Eighth Grade Class Trip where, I consumed alcohol for the first time and passed out standing up in a souvenir shop in Niagara, almost missing the bus back home.  More importantly though, I remembered that trip because it stood out as a time where I felt out of place.  I burnt my tongue on Tim Hortons coffee (which I always find to be too hot) and it just started the trip off on a bad note.  Before you know it, people were fighting and I was breaking into the mini bar with two popular girls who, the next day, would soon forget my existence in their fun the night before.

Then, not even a year after this, Mom and Dad decide to make a good ol’ family trip to Niagara Falls.  Why they chose that for that year, I’ll never know.  It’s something only my parents would do.  Nevertheless, there we were in Niagara when I was in the midst of puberty and on the edge of a deep depression–for which I was being improperly medicated.  Let’s just say that I was miserable at the best times.  In fact, when I told Mom about our selected destination she was quick to bring up what a miserable trip that was. And she did not mince words when telling me that it was the fault of my “attitude” that made it so miserable.  That is, of course, in addition to the really crappy motel we stayed in.

So for the past few days, when The Mister would try to peg down details about our trip–when are we leaving, where are we staying, etc–I was noticeably cold.  I refused to stay anywhere cheap, without telling him the underlying reason for my refusal.  This caused a great fuss in The House which was only remedied by me caving to a less than four-star hotel.

Now I sit here, in the midst of another game-changing time in my life, wondering if Niagara is truly cursed for me.  I tried my damnedest to go somewhere else.  In fact, I just wanted to relax somewhere other than here.  But, The Mister, knowing none of my woes in Niagara, pushed the trip because he’s never been.  I tried to tell him it’s a really beautiful natural wonder surrounded by the worst crap imaginable.  That didn’t detour him.  I decided not to bring up the bad memories because it’s just easier that way, I guess.

I wonder whether I’ll play the self-destructing devil in my own play of follies, making this weekend miserable because I can or whether I’ll try and remedy the woes I’ve experienced at the Falls.  I’d like to say that I’ll focus on the latter, but I know myself all too well to see that as anything more than a definite maybe.

Part of being married, I’ve come to find, is learning to make yourself whole in the places you were not able to on your own.  We all have our rivets in our lives which we, by ourselves, are unable to repair.  But maybe, with the help of another person in the right place at the right time, we can work on those.  The hope for this wholeness is what keeps me optimistic about marriage.  The knowledge of the faults we have yet to work on is what keeps me realistic.

But I know if I can do it with anyone, I can do it with The Mister.

And if not, I’ll just find a barrel and make the trip really memorable.

 

My Mother, Myself – or – Take A Walk On The Wildside September 23, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 2:18 am
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Last Thursday my Mom and I went out for dinner to celebrate my birthday.  Yes, my birthday was Monday, but people are busy.  Namely, me.

I love Mom.  This goes without saying, I think.  But I love her more than the obligatory daughter-to-mother love ratio.  She’s an amazing person that’s been through a lot in her life and still is the kindest most caring person I know.  Honestly, she’ll give you the shirt off her back and then ask you if you’re still cold and go buy you a new wardrobe.  That’s the kind of person she is and I hope that some of it has rubbed off onto me.

But there are ways in which my mother and I are extremely different.  I’d like to just describe them in general, but I think that these two vignettes will serve to do the job much better than I ever could.

Scene 1:

My mother arrives at my house and pets one of the outdoor cats from two doors down for about five minutes while Rocky goes nuts at the door.  She then gets in and proceeds to tell me how happy Rocky is and what a good dog he is (which is not a lie–he’s a kickass dog).  So she gives me my gift and it’s extremely generous.  Then we get ready to leave…

We’re in her minivan (Pride and Joy) and we’re backing out of the driveway.  She looks back up at the house before shifting the van into reverse.

“You need to trim your bush,” she says matter-of-factly.

Without missing a beat, I reply, “That’s what she said.”

“That’s what who said?” she counters.

At this point I’m laughing hysterically.

She continues, “Who said that?”

I can’t stop laughing and reach into my purse to try and call Mr. CVD.

“Did someone tell you that you need to trim your bush?”

Laughter continues uproariously.  Mr. CVD’s phone goes to voicemail and I put it down. I contemplate calling The Mister and then realize that I probably should just wait to tell him later.

“No one mom…it’s a joke.”

“Oh.”  She pauses, ostensibly to gather what the joke may be.  “Ha.”

She continues to back out of the driveway, clearly not understanding how she set me up for the perfect “that’s what she said,” joke.  My Dad would have gotten this.

Scene 2:

My mom heavily insisted suggested that we try some Vietnamese place the people at the nail salon suggested. Now, my mom isn’t shy from cultural food, but this extreme desire to visit this place isn’t quite like her.  So I say fine and we go.  Of course, she expects the decor to be much more than it is.

“Oh….this is it?” she asks as we pull into the mid-1980s strip mall where it’s located.  “Are you sure you want to go here?” she questions, almost suggesting that this was my idea.

“It’s fine.”

“We can go somewhere else.”

“This is fine, we’re here.  Let’s just go in.” I assure her.

“I just thought it’d be….you know…a little fancier,” she struggles to get out.

“I didn’t.”  She’s pulling in the parking spot very trepidetiously.  “But that’s fine.”

“Okay,” she says very unsure of her selection.

So we get in and order.  This was no small feat, because the menu was composed almost entirely of dishes we had no clue what they were.  She asks the waitress if the beef is ground or not in this dish, the waitress thought she said “brown,” and I have to clear up the ensuing confusion.  Eventually we order.

As we sit and wait I look at her shirt.  It’s an interesting t-shirt with applique shoes and boots that are all in some sort of animal print and the shirt says, in between the melange of footwear, “Take a Walk on the Wild Side!”   (Side note:  this is the woman who wears glittery shit to go bowling, so this shirt will not come as a surprise to anyone who knows her.)

“What’s with that shirt?”

She looks down and pulls the fabric out to inspect the shirt closer.  “It’s got shoes on it.”

“No shit, Mom.”

“Well…you see it’s got shoes on it that are animal print…”

“Yeah?”

“And it says ‘Take a Walk on the Wild Side!'”

“Right,” I respond.

“Well…it’s wild because of the shoes.”

“Yes, I get it.”  Then I add, “The joke isn’t lost on me, it’s just not funny.”  And it’s not funny.  I’ll be damned if she thinks this shirt is amusing, but my “that’s what she said” victory from earlier wasn’t.

“Well, it’s better than what you’re wearing.”

I look down and do the same thing she just did.  I’m wearing a Detroit Pistons t-shirt. “No it’s not,” I say.

“Pistons?”

“It’s a damn t-shirt,” I respond.  “It’s a sports team…it’s not a bad joke.”

We sit there without much to say until the spring rolls come.  At that point, the waitress does not give us any silverware.  There are some funny spoons and chopsticks on the table.  I hand her some.

“How’s this for wild, Mom?”

Take a walk on the wild side indeed.

Sometimes I wonder how we’re related when things like this occur.  My sarcasm is clearly not from her–she barely gets when I’m being sarcastic, let alone engages in sarcasm herself.  And although I’m no fashion plate, I’d not be caught dead in a shirt with applique shoes on it.  I have some standards. (Mr. CVD can shut up with his comment here…)

But as we’re walking to the car, I remember that we are again connected.

“Well that was interesting,” she says, unlocking the doors.

“Yeah, I thought it was good.”

“I didn’t think it was that good…the beef was tough.”

“Mine was good.”

“Oh well, sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry…I liked it.”

“Well, okay.”

We pause before separating into a ‘Y’ shape to enter either side of the van.

“I could go for some ice cream,” she says.  And even though I was stuffed, it’s that kind of blatant love of eating food (especially at times when you shouldn’t be hungry) that reminds me she is my mother and I am her daughter again.  Applique shoes, lack of sarcasm and all.

 

Remember What I Said About Blessings and Curses? September 15, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 3:36 pm
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Though I haven’t blogged about it here for fear that he’d finally read my blog, I had been planning a surprise 30th Birthday Party for The Mister for a few weeks now. It’s been one other thing to add to the stress that has been the move, my work, etc. as of late. But it was also necessary.  The Mister hasn’t had the best birthdays growing up and it was about time for him to have a good one.  It was also kind of a housewarming as it was the first party in our new place.  So I had to get things organized to a state where people could come over.

Mr. CVD and Mr. RMB were part of my plot to get The Mister out of the house while Mom, Dad and others helped prepare the place, welcome guests and hide to surprise him.  The events of the night were unfolding either according to plan or better than the plan could provide.  It was surreal.  For those who know TheMister, you know that he can be stubborn and can throw a fit about doing things like you’ve never seen.  So I was afraid he’d be throwing a fit about our mock plans or something along the way.  But the Universe was preparing me for a great fall and allowed the events of the night to unfold somewhat perfectly.  The Mister was compliant with the ruse and the timing was perfect.  The Mister was very surprised to see his friends and family in his Man Den Basement hiding for him. The only thing that was not cooperating was the weather–it was raining for two days straight at that point. But what the heck, we have a house and a covered porch.  Life was good.

In other words:  all was too well with the world.

Shortly after the party started, Mr. CVD comes upstairs and informs me that the basement bathroom is flooded.  Sure as shit (pardon the pun, but I feel it necessary to comfort myself with literary techniques), the water was everywhere and moving towards the bathroom door.  The folks that were crammed into my basement because of the rain were soon pushed out by the flood waters which started escaping the lavatory.  Dad was trying to contain the problem and for about ten minutes we thought he was successful.

Fate had other plans.

Soon thereafter, The Mister’s mood turned from celebratory to frustrated and then frustrated to irrate.  Our guests began to leave just as the festivities were really getting underway.  The water continued to come out and a plumber was required.  Said another way, we had curses coming our way.

The night could only get better, right?

Well, the plumber comes out and snakes the main drain.  At one point a weird noise comes from the drain as the machine winds more and more cord down the pipes (that’s what she said).  It sounded like a dragon hiccuping or a baby turning inside out.  The plumber informed us that the problem was not over.  In fact, the $185 it had cost us was only a drop in the bucket.  We have tree roots in our line to the sewer…something that requires excavation and major repairs to fix and something you can’t just remedy with a series of quick fixes.  His estimate–about $1850.

As The Mister and Dad finished up with the plumber, a buzzed Mr. CVD and I took Mom’s minivan (her “pride and joy” as Mr. CVD joked) and attempted to go to Meijer, Michigan’s all-hours superstore, as The Mister insisted they had carpet cleaners for rent.  Though Mr. CVD and I doubted it, when we arrived at the Meijer approximately 3 miles from the house, it turns out he was right.  So we ask the soon-to-be-discovered-as-inept kid at the service counter to help us procure such a magic machine.  He looks at us like we’re from outerspace.  The machines are sitting about five feet from him, yet the concept is completely foreign.

“I don’t know if we rent those,” he says.

Mr. CVD and I look at each other as only we can understand.

“They’re right there,” one of us replies.

He then fumbles around for someone else to help us.  Then comes this brilliant revelation.

“The day shift must have taken the key, sorry.”

Mr. CVD, in his slightly inebriated state says “The Day Shift would take the key.  You know how those Day Shifts are.”

So we stood there for about five minutes while he tried to figure out what to do.  Finally we ask if the other store which is about 5 miles away from the house has such a rental system.  I’m not sure what confused him more–the rental, the fact we asked for another store’s abilities or just life in general–but it required an older employee to help him figure out how to lift the receivier and call the store.

Sure enough, the other store had them. The catch?  We had to be there by 11.  It was 10:25.

So Mr. CVD mount up into the Minivan and start out on the second part of our journey.  That’s when the hunger pangs hit.  I had about half of a half of a sandwich and a pickle spear.  I was starvin’ like Marvin and the four drinks I had in me made it difficult to control that hunger.  So we made our secret (but now exposed due to this blog post) stop at McDonalds on the way.  If The Mister knew, he’d be pissed.  But I didn’t care.  I was about ready to pass out.

We get to the other store and, for a change, the clerk was quite helpful.  I mean, it still took forever, but she was helpful.  (Side note to self:  write her manager a letter, I’m sure she doesn’t get enough praise for being the only employee at Meijer to give a damn.)

We get back and Mr. CVD insists on doing the cleaning.  So that’s what’s done.  I drive him home.  I get to bed around 2 a.m.  tired as can be.

The best part of this?  Today is my birthday.  And although I have an excuse to work from home for the time being, I’m still going to be out about two grand and I can’t wash clothes or use the dishwasher for a few days at least.  I was told to limit my bathroom use and showers, but honestly, they can bite me.

The blessing of having The Mister be compliant when I needed it most was tempered by the curse of a faulty plumbing system.  I’m telling you–I cannot make this stuff up.  My life is a series of checks and balances in which I’m constantly laying in wait for the next turn of my luck.

The good news is that I should be in for some good news.  The bad news is that there’s probably bad news to swallow soon thereafter.  I guess what they say is true: “you take the good, you take the bad, you take it all and there you have the facts of life….the facts of life.”  Too bad there’s no half-hour time limit on the saga of my life.

 

Easily Distracted–The Tickertape In My Head September 5, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 5:04 pm
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I haven’t updated my blogs recently.  My chronic health blog has taken a turn for the worse simply because I haven’t had the time, patience or motivation to do anything about it.  It’s no one’s fault but my own, but I can’t bring myself to make it better.

The past two weeks have been hectic at best, crazy most of the time, and downright insane at worst.  We’ve had family drama, moving into the new house, busy work schedules and The Mister’s birthday.  If ever there were a perfect storm of activity, it is now.

I’ve noticed some weird things about life/me/etc. recently.  They’re like floating ideas that don’t deserve their own post, but just enough to men

tion here.  So here are the things that have been ru

nning on the ticker-tape in my head as of late:

1.    People advertise movers that pack your stuff, but no one advertises movers who unpack your stuff.  Furthermore, movers are great, but they are constantly asking you were stuff goes.  Like I know!  I kept saying “just put it in the Red Room for now” or the like.  Eventually The Mister took over as one room was being barraged with boxes and the others were empty.

———————————————————-

2.     I’ve had a Friennassance with coffee.  I used to drink about a cup or two a day.  For the past week, I’ve been drinking coffee non-stop at work.  (In fact, I just took a sip.)  I know I’ve been sleep deprived and tired, but I don’t think that’s it as much as it is the taste.  When I was little, I used to want to drink coffee with my Grandma.  She’d give me a cup that was about 2/3 milk and sweet n’ low and 1/3 coffee.  How I loved that taste!  I still take my coffee with milk and sweet n’ low (splenda at work because they’re sweetner nazis here).  Maybe it’s a memory thing.  Maybe it’s a taste thing.  But lately, coffee has been my new BFF.

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3.   Things could be a lot worse.  Without going into details, The Mister has had a family situation over the past week involving a lot of drama and he’s had to take the brunt of it because, well, his family is just like that.  It’s made his birthday week a bit sour and I resent his family for that alone, but more importantly I resent them for making him the pillar of responsibility.  Seeing this reminds me that my family, while crazy, could be a lot worse.  My ever-commenting Mom can be a pain, but she’s genuinely one of the nicest people anyone could meet.  My Dad can be stubborn, but he’s also one of the strongest people I know.  My Brother is idiotic and comical, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders.  The Mister’s family isn’t composed of bad people–they’re just misguided.  And this week I feel blessed that it’s not my family drama at the center of our lives.

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4.  I love giving gifts more than getting them. I’ve always assumed this to be true, but now more than ever I’m convinced of it.  I was so excited to get wicked awesome seats at the Tiger’s game for the Mister on Wednesday and reservations at the Tiger’s Club.  I also had his name put on the scoreboard.  At first he was actually mad at me for spending the money.  But I told him to cut the games and, eventually he did.  See he grew up with his birthday being less than stellar.  I refuse to play that game.  Especially now that he’s turned 30.  I have one more gift to give today and I’m ecstatic to give it to him.

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There’s probably a lot more, but those are the main throughts that have been streaming through my brain.  I need to get back to work, but I had to get this out there.  I feel like I’m having a backlog.  I need some sort of brain/creativity laxitive.

For more exciting Kimisms check out my Kimisms Google Page. I’m always saying something witty.

 

Only in Kimerica: For A Good Time Call August 27, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 2:27 am
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My life is nothing if unpredictible.

This weekend Mom and Dad helped me prepare the house some more.  One of the projects was painting the “Rock Room” red. (For your reference, the Rock Room is a room where I will house CDs and rock and movie memorabilia.)  Also for the record, my parents hate the idea of a red room. My dad says that it reminds him of a whorehouse. (Why he would know what a whorehouse looks like, I don’t know or want to know.)  But this is my house, and having grown up in a beige and off-white home, I’m having color damn it.  It should also be noted on the record that I bought stupid Home Depot paint, not wanting to spend a fortune on Benjamin Moore or await the reopening of the paint store on Monday.  For the record again, Behr paint is crap.

The Mister and I did the dark primer Saturday night and on Sunday it was ready to go.  Well, I thought it was.  Perhaps it was the paint fumes, perhaps it was exhaustion, but in any event, while painting, Dad got giddy.  After about twenty minutes or so, I walked in and instead of painting the wall to paint the wall, he was drawing a large face and next to it it said:

For a Good Time Call TY-871.

TY-871 was the number on an old commerical in the area.

He thought he was being so funny and for about ten minutes it was funny. And then I realized that it was on there kind of thick. I stopped laughing.  My dad did not.  He continued to sing “Roxanne….you don’t have to turn on the red light…” for a good hour afterward.  I’m glad I could provide him with such entertainment.

Then came the reality–the damn paint didn’t cover it up completely.  I put the second coat on tonight and I’m praying that the face doesn’t show through.  I think, the “for a good time” part is covered.  I’ll find out tomorrow.

And then I’m going to drag his ass over there to fix it.

To make everything easier, I tried telling my mom about the lasting impression today on the phone.  Her response? “Well you bought crappy paint.”

Yes.  Of course!  How could I miss this?  This is my fault.  Clearly, my crappy paint purchase forced my father into being a juvenille and vandelizing my home.  Understandable.

Behr Paint–you’re on my list. Obviously this is all your fault.

 

Note to Self: Things Appear Easier Than They Are August 18, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 2:53 am
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We closed on our house Thursday.  After a minor (yes, only minor) meltdown, I was off to the races to pick paint colors.  I’ve been living in white and beige apartments so long that my heart called out to a color–any color–to save it.  “Please Mr. Yellow (yes, Yellow is male), please help me.”  (Mr. Yellow didn’t win out so far.  Mr. Green and Ms. Blue did.  And yes, Blue is female.  Take that patriarchy!)

So Friday after I got an obligatory appearance at work out of the way, I dove into some painting clothes and into a project I didn’t understand the depths of until it was too far underway to stop it.  I’ve painted before–but never on my own.  I’ve never planned the project, bought the materials and followed through until the end.  I’ve just hopped in and out where I’ve felt like it and watched the rest unfold (or stand still as it did so many times in my home growing up) and pitched in where I felt the urge.  No one reminded me of that prior to engaging in this project.  Suffice it to say that by Friday afternoon I was awash in a sea of questions, doubts and misgivings.

But with help from Mom and Dad and Mr. CVD, my two first painting projects–our living room and our bedroom–are 90% complete.  And looking mighty fine, if I do say so myself (and I do).

These projects and my lack of preparation got me thinking that this is more than just a happenstance along the way of life.  It reminded me that this, in fact, is the way I approach most things.  I kind of plow into them head-first and ask questions later. One day when I was about fifteen I was sick of all of the posters and pictures on my wall. So I tore them and all of my wallpaper down.  I decided yellow was a good color and convinced my parents to invest in the project.  Months later, sleeping in a bedroom with the furniture perpetually pushed together so people could work on the walls, I quesitoned my committment and allowed them to finish the project.

I could probably think of countless projects like my childhood bedroom where I was anxious to start, blessed with grand ambitions, but frightfully lacking in the follow-through department.

That’s not the point of this tale, though.

The point is that for once, I’m close to finishing something. Granted, I have had help, but damn it, I’m on my way to seeing a project through from conception to completion, having been there every step of the way.  It’s not just a blue bedroom and a green living room that I have to look forward to–it’s the knowledge that I can complete a project without getting so frustrated as to throw the towel in, abandoning all hope of completing it.

I’ll take the small victories where I can have them.  And this, I’d say, is a medium sized one at worst and a good start on a larger one at best.

I’ve picked out a few colors for my spare bedroom/writing room.  If I start and complete that, we’ll claim another victory for the soul.