Lordie, Lordie, Lordie

Dearies, I am not quite dead. I have just been dormant from the written word as a means of expressing myself, for several reasons.

1) I've been getting banged silly and sideways every weekend for the last several weeks. This is draining, especially in conjunction with 2) a sinus infection which enabled yet another cold. Made me a trifle mental and reckless, as it seemed unfair to have been sick on and off since the onset of the Fever Blister (11 Feb 2010).

Anyhoots, though I expect you have no sympathy for my sexfatigue, spare a sympathetic "Awwww..." for the thought of my snuffly, snotty self. Honestly, congestion makes blow jobs sooooo hard. Two streamers of snot forming a mucusy moustache mid-fellate is not hot, according to the latest research. However, it is hilarious. At least thrice this spring I've started cracking up during the Act, had to excuse myself snuffling and chortling and covering my face as I bolt to the bathroom to honk my nose with much gusto. Se-xy!

Where was I? Oh yes, 3) I've been in the midst of making a gut-wretching, life-altering decision that will have a ripple effect upon the rest of this life, and perhaps a portion of the afterlife as well. However, the decision looks like it has been made for me, and Authentic Drama Queen language aside I'm a pretty hardnosed realist.

I was supposed to start my fabulous new life this fall studying something called "Integrated Design Strategy" in Toronto. The idea being: I cast off the shackles of my West Coast small-town living, flip the bird to the past and conquer the big city with my downhome sass and streetsmarts and kickboxing-tightened bod. Learn, connect, blossom, hold forth in coffee shops, take in undiscovered bands, plus do a whole lot of urban fuckery while pursuing a fab-O career.

Flash forward five years: I recline on modern furniture in a loft in an undisclosed metropolis. Wearing elegant and understated clothes, I purse my lips while managing a nervous, insomniac client in Barcelona. A glass of cold white wine sits beside me, as it is almost end of day. I anticipate my gorgeous husband will be home within the half-hour. I can't remember if he's an architect or a commercial photographer or a vet to the ultra-rich, but he's adoring, handsome, tall and zitless. We are elegantly, understatedly rich. He's fabulous, I'm fabulous. It's all ever so fabulous.

Only problem: I need roughly 40k right now to attain this higher plane of fabulous, for tuition and living and etcetera. And I ain't got it. It's all tied up in my property and house, which sits, charmingly, still unsold. And as I, amazingly, still somehow manage the shitload of debt resulting from my past relationship and my own pisspoor judgement, the chances of acquiring more debt in sufficient student loans are nil. So be it. Eat the rich!

Really, as much as I mock my own vision of What I Want, it really has been true. I'd get these vague flashes of fabulous, and go, all like, oooooo, that's what I want, and that was that. If my house had sold and I had money in hand, I'd be slapping down my first tuition installment tomorrow (the deadline for payment, coincidentally).

However, referencing that hardnosed pragmatist (who is typing in bed, wrapped in her old kimono, by herself in a comfortable three-bedroom house in the countryside with feral pets gallumphing outside--somewhat unfabulous but admittedly cozy), I am blessed with the ability to accept reality with reasonable cheerfulness.

The Vonnegut approach: And so it goes. Or as the people here are fond of saying "It is what it is." The say this half-sagely, half sardonically. And it's true, it IS what it motherfucking is. Truer words never were spake.

I might not be so laissez faire were I not cognizant that my life has, in fact, taken a recent turn for the better. My health has returned, after a stint of antibiotics (quite useless, jeer my doctor friends--to which I retort, well, you have all proven useless otherwise).

I'm already shedding some of the 9 (nine)(!) pounds I packed on in stress and PMS and illness time away from the gym.

Work has picked up on several fronts, including the big, juicy, exciting venture that had been forestalled indefinitely in the early spring.

The house will eventually sell, and I may never have to look at my ex's stuff ever again.

And importantly, I have never had so many good relationships on all fronts before. Family, friends, lover--all are close to my heart these days as reassuring presences. No nasty undermining, no evil co-dependency, no oblique criticism to poke at me. Good vibes. I am not ungrateful. Blessings are counted, roses are smelt, silver linings noted every damn day.

In summary, my final excuse for not having written sooner was that I needed some time to figure this one out,and consult the people around me, and come to terms with what staying put might mean for the present. Now I'm finding life is fairly relaxing and interesting and hilarious once again. Plus it's summer (sort of) so people are frequently half-naked in public, which always lifts my spirits. Stay tuned!

G

PS Always the optimist, I am pleased I no longer have to try to explain what "Integrated Design Strategy" is to people who are polite enough to enquire. Conversely, I had been hoping to find out the first week of school, and now I'll never know...alas. And so it goes.