Starting Here, Starting Now

I know the new year is barely begun, so the idea of a reset seems pretty early. But that’s what I’m thinking. Continue reading

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Things They Don’t Tell You

There are things about living with an aging parent that nobody tells you. For example, last night, I came home and Mom was on the computer. It was late, so I was surprised— she’s normally awake when I get home from the theater, but in her room reading. But this time, she was telling me that she almost signed up for one of those “find your classmates” type things, but it gave her a scary “allow this program” kind of message that I have warned and warned her about. I said I’d try to find something out about her friend for her.

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Okay, I Think This Is It

Alright, I think the thing about the presents was really about her being nasty and sarcastic. I made a decision a long time ago that even though I naturally tend a little toward sarcasm, that I wouldn’t go that way, because it is, at its foundation, nasty and contemptuous of people, and I don’t want to be that kind of person. Nasty and contemptuous is not funny, especially outside 90s sitcoms.

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We Don’t Want No Stinking Presents

Here’s the thing. My mom has never been normal about Christmas presents. She doesn’t want to unwrap them, for reasons passing understanding. I kid you not, there’s a stack of Christmas presents from Christmas 2016 sitting just behind her chair in the living room. (One from me on the tippy top. Partially unwrapped.) She eventually opened them (under duress) but won’t do anything with them.

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Nothing Profound to Say

Dear readers,

I don’t have much to say, today. I’m hunkered down, trying to do the impossible at work, and it’s taking most of my mental and physical energy. When I’m not doing that, I’m filling my plate with baking my traditional array of Christmas cookies like a freak. I have no idea when I’m going to put up my tree (I thought about last night, before a massive headache convinced me to sit down for the evening and to stop trying to multitask, before my body got serious about slowing me down), and with a Christmas concert this week to prepare for and office and neighborhood baking to do, I’m not holding out a lot of hope for the weeknights. I’ve done very little shopping, and I’m uncharacteristically flippant about that, because I’m very clear that I’m beyond maxed out. Cleaning? Please. Cooking things with nutritive value? Not realistic.

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Peace-keeping and Stubbornness

I’m continuing my fascination with the Enneagram. I’m pretty sure that I’m a 9 (the Peacemaker), but I’m a very five-y 9. (This is not actually a thing, but I relate a lot to 5, which is the Observer, who tends to be a little bit isolated and intellectualizes, and on one test, I typed as a 9, and the wing they gave me was a 5w4. Wings are the types right next to yours— if I’m a 9, my wing could only be an 8 or a 1, so they said I was a 9, but if I wasn’t a 9, I’d be a 5 with a 4 wing. Pretty impressive mental gymnastics, there, as the 9 is in the gut triad, the 5 is in the head triad, and the 4 is in the feelings triad. Covers a lot of bases.) They say a lot of 9s want to be 5s, but it’s pretty rare that a 5 would mistype as a 9. Nines want to be more profound than we are, apparently. Flattering.

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