Dear Reader:

I feel like it is really good to create some goals every morning when you wake up.   Or, rather, just have this one goal pretty much every day:

This seems reasonable, right?   

The crazy-making circus continues here in "doing-too-much-all-the-time" town.   And, apparently, I was tricked.   It is my circus.   And, they are my monkeys.   And, it's probably all my fault, ultimately.   Ha.   

I did get a bit of perspective and a tiny sliver of space this weekend.   Of course, it makes me crave MORE.    But, I watched two actual movies.   The whole way through, dear reader.   One was "Rock the Kasbah" which I went to blindly.   I was just about to lay down the big cinematic bucks for that Tom Hanks' flick - "Bridge of Spies" - and I saw the poster with Bill Murray's face on it and just folded.   It's Bill Murray.   And, surprisingly, Bruce Willis in a role that I really liked.   And, it was just a weird little bizarro fairy-tale/fable.   Which seems to be Bill Murray's fare these days.   It was good.   And, I was all by myself watching a movie in a theatre.   (I mean, except for 5 age-60ish couples).   That was Friday.  Then, on Saturday, I watched "Late Quartet" (on Netflix) with Christopher Walken, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Catherine Keener.   About a professional string quartet and their last performance together as a group after 25 years of partnership.   It used Beethoven's Op. 131 quartet as the unifying theme.   Pretty darn good.   Lots of strife and interpersonal drama that doesn't get resolved.  You know, like real life.  Only with great actors.    Only one little "false" note of unrealistic rivalry between the first and second violinists to my mind.  Still haven't watched that Nina Simone documentary, but I am going to! 

Anyway, as usual, I will pay for my time off this past weekend.   I've been thinking about how I want to move forward with my health and wellness goals, but that the level of on-and-on-ness that I am experiencing in my responsible adult life right now really feels like it precludes any planning to take care of myself.    Right now, I am writing this blog entry as a gesture of self-care, but I "should" be cleaning up the living room (two almost 7 year olds, people.  I'm not even going for a really tidy living room.  I just want it not to look like there has been some sort of crazy unsupervised day care in here for the past month.  Like there actually is an adult living here).   I should also take a look at some of my students' rough drafts of research papers sent to me for some feedback.    I should sleep.   I should do some laundry.  I should plan for class tomorrow.   I will do none of those things.  Because to survive this semester, sometimes I just have sit here and write down words that are not "required" of me for some professional or care-giving purpose.   Just random words, words, words.   Ha.

Also, I now have a new career option, should this academic gig not work out for any reason:

I am JUST the person to drive that truck, play Debussy, Fauré, Ravel, Chabrier, and Milhaud on a little studio upright in the back of the truck, and hand out wine.   That and a secondary gig as a dog-walker will, in fact, pretty much take care of my financial, mental, emotional, and spiritual health for the duration.   And, people will think I've made a great contribution to humanity.   Although... more so if the truck also sells crepes filled with bananas and Nutella.   That would deserve the Congressional Medal of Honor or the Nobel Peace Prize or whatnot.   I'm talking to my financial advisor about this.   For sure.   It's a solid plan.

Update on the other areas of my life:   I am officially done with match.com for the time being.   Since it is sometimes a huge achievement to just get myself and my children groomed and ready for school and work in the morning and since I am just mostly filled with empathy and sadness for all of the people who seem to be just looking for the opposite of the horrible and hurtful relationship they have just come out of (or, more likely, are currently in the last death throes of) and since, really, I'm used to being on my own, and since the three people that I've been vaguely interested in and corresponded with are somewhat far away, I'm just ready to not worry about this part of my life right now.   I'm not giving up.   I feel like there's going to be a grand passion and a wonderful love affair for me later in life.   Maybe when I'm retired and/or the kids are in college.   We'll live in townhouses next to each other in NYC (because, clearly, I will retire to NYC and live in a brownstone - ahem.  Dreaming...) a la Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn.   We'll respect each other's space.    We'll eat dinner at charming little bistros or dives.   We'll go to symphony concerts.   Ha.   Apparently, I just want to be in a relationship with myself.   But, in NYC.   See, problem solved.   On to the next issue.   :)

As you know, dear reader, I like to work with images and visualizations.   In fact, I sometimes feel the need to illustrate my life.   So, here's my latest therapeutic creation:

So, you see, I have developed a little cocoon for myself with all of the things that bring me joy and balance and equanimity and pleasure.   Outside the cocoon are things that threaten to impinge upon my mental and emotional health.   But, those things inside are not going to let the other stuff in.  Look at how happy I look in there.  Lotus position.  Curly hair.   Smiling.   Namaste.

On a serious note, I received the biggest compliment of my life this past week.  It was epic.  If you knew the nature of this compliment, dear reader, you would be in awe.  But, I shall keep it to myself and lock it away for future use in perspective-building.   Because, apparently, I am worthy of such a compliment.   It was one of those compliments that basically nullifies any failures I might have had for the past 20 years or so.   It's one of those well-if-that's-true-then-WOW kind of scenarios.

So, tonight, I'll just hug that compliment to my chest like a stuffed animal while I sleep.  NB - I actually do sleep with a stuffed animal.   I won't tell you what kind...  Oh, OK, it's an owl.  Now, don't tell anyone, because I am 44 years old.  Seriously.   It's not at all dignified.

Also, I'll hang onto these scenes:

I wish that I could tell you that I took these pictures while on a restorative hike, but I took them while acting like a crazy person and pulling over to the side of the road and jumping out of the car and hoping that nobody would see me acting like a tourist when I went to pick up my kids from a playdate.   It was just so pretty, though.   What a wonderful world.   

Ah well, I suppose I should tidy up the living room and go to bed.  Tomorrow is another day.   I'm fairly sure that tomorrow, at least, I'll be happier than a turtle on an escalator.   I hope that all of my dear readers are similarly blessed.  

Thanks for reading.