i feel as renewed as a library book.

you know those pictures where it's two of the same picture and you have to pick out the differences?

last week on friday i was overly optimisitic about my living room, and most of the house. i had delusions of steam cleaning and amazing house-cleaned-top-to-bottom hallucinations.

in reality, not much happened. i took a walk, called my sister, retrieved the heat gun, and got a good start on peeling paint off my garbage find, the blue-white painted cedar chest...

all today, sunday, the last day of my vacation.

i look at my living room and it's the second half of those two pictures--the coffee table is in the same place; the piles of crap are moved minutely. not a whole lot has changed, in the reality-based series of "Kim's Vacation." i ate, i slept, i lounged. i read some, watched television, played some online games. there was at least one day that i didn't shower, and just stayed home the whole day, in my pajamas.

i suppose that some people might not call that a vacation. there was no sun-warmed island sand, no museum visits, no tequila or chilled beer.

just me, burning incense and being a layabout.

part of the issue was that i never actually got the steam cleaner, due to some miscommunications. and the heat gun dropped into my hands last night, and i got bored this afternoon and decided to give it a whirl. my biggest accomplishment this week was sweeping and mopping the kitchen. and that was strenuous, let me tell you what.

dan took monday off and we bummed around the house. tuesday i met with helene. wednesday and thursday were kind of a tv-computer monitor based blur. friday dan came home for lunch, after his third interview at the same place, and announced that he was employed as of may 1st; i did a pretty wild happy dance, and suddenly the rest of the vacation was just that--a vacation.

it's the little things about him being employed that are the good things--he can purchase his own socks, he can get non-generic soda, he doesn't have to ask for gas money like a sixteen year old bumming it from mom. for dan, it's a renewal of hope; for me, the same.

and a reminder that i don't have to go to jamaica in order to have a vacation.

the little things--being home by myself, listening to my alice in chains "unplugged" cd, having complete run of the remote--that's what made it a vacation. eating chocolate until i was nearly sick of it. (yes, nearly...) having cats fall asleep on me, while i tested and re-tested the sofa.

i suppose it was a vacation. i think the fact that it wasn't the vacation i had originally intended--not much on my actual list of things to do got accomplished--that's what makes me feel less ready to go back to work tomorrow.

or perhaps it's just that it's work, and i know what's waiting for me there. my week off from there was unfettered and loose, unorganized, chaotic, happy. i might not have gotten all the sleep i wanted, but i did something out of the ordinary, at least for me.

nothing.

and it was quite lovely.

scratch and dent

today's my last day of work for a week. a whole week. people asked me what i was doing next week; my pat answer is "staying home. steam cleaning my carpets. making a dent in the house."

if i glance around the living room, i remember why i want to stay home on my vacation--the house is a mess. and most of the mess is mine.

*sigh*

i read somewhere that adhd folks have issues with making piles. termites, eat your hearts out--i've got piles everywhere in the house. tackling them seems like a monumental, spinning-gold-from-straw type of task, but it's got to be done.

looking around again, i'm near to overwhelmed. how can i think to accomplish this in a week? inconceivable!

at the same time, i know it needs to be done. my committment is that it doesn't have to all be done at one time--i don't have to get the mass of mess cleaned up in the span of a week. i just need to make a dent.

lately i've been watching dan make a dent in the world, too. he's gone to an interview that turned out to be a mere testing session, and another this morning, for a job that he never will want, not in a million years. either of them, however, has more potential than nothing, i suppose. and he's temping at another job, at which he's unhappily excelling.

i think he has a sense of pride, in that he is doing so well at it, but to him it's so elementary that he doesn't expect any less of himself.

i see him eyeing up the job market every day, in the same manner as me, eyeing my massive mounds of what will probably turn out to be mostly garbage.

in our own feeble human ways, we're trying to make a dent in something, trying to scratch out existence on the planet. i always think that cavemen, or whoever was scraching the surface for the first few millenia, could never have felt the lack of success that we so often do: they'd have to succeed, just in order to eat.

i'm sure that a mammoth, to your average pre-gunpowder crowd, was the same size as the seemingly insurmountable tasks that are set before us now--my mountains and dan's job search for a good, permanent job that he won't go bald while working at.

i'm sure that someone who woke up now, after living back at the dawn of humanity, would think that we have it infinitely simpler: the mammoth is in nice, pre-cut slabs at the grocery store, and you don't have to do anything other than cook it. there's dentistry and sanititation, life well beyond the age of 40.

it'd be quite shocking, i'm sure.

then again, after a good amount of time, this hypothetical thawed pre-history person would no doubt be hankering for a good romp through the fields with sharpened stick in hand--that seems so much easier than dealing with healthcare plans and a nine-to-nine job. it's just you and the mammoth; you kill it and eat and live, or you get dented by the mammoth.

lately, i see dan being dented by the mammoth. which sounds so ridiculous, but it's my own inner metaphor for the world in which we're now living.

***

i'm a big fan of second-hand items; most of my house is furnished in them. lots of the dents and scratches are not mine, or if they are, i don't remember how they got there. over time, i've become a second-hand item.

does it make me worth any less? or is this how you become human--acquiring the mental and physical scarring that separates you from your neighbor, and yet joins you to that same neighbor? because everyone you know has survived, regardless of the magnitude of odds or obstacles, and your ancestors before them--long or short lives, they lived and you're sitting here, now, reading something brought to you only because one of my ancestors survived a shipwreck.

i must be optimistic this morning due to the impending vacation. but i'm looking at the world through dark glasses, seeing each year etched into my body. in the pattern of dents, i can see the tale of how i've survived to this point, what i've gone up against, how i'm still here.

in this era, the only difference is what you call that mammoth.

does life come in chewable pill form?

first of all, the wedding was lovely. the priest did a jig twice during the service (yes, an actual jig. i thought he was having a seizure at first, but he was dancing. apparently it was his last mass EVER as a catholic priest; he's leaving the priesthood. dan said, "i'd dance too.") and the reception, though a long ways away, was nice. i just wasn't in a mood to dance, all pms-y and tired and feeling like a hermit forced into a social butterfly's costume.

weddings, in my mind, suck. it's a HUGE amount of money being spent on one day of your life--money that in my mind could go towards so many different things. and is it really the happiest day of your life? my mom always said the day she had her kids was the happiest day of her life, and dad agreed. i suppose that's spending money on something different, but still...

that being said, i don't want to get married by a judge in a courthouse. i'd like to have my family near, and a few friends. but not everyone i've ever known, and certainly not my extended family. there's just too many of them, especially on my mom's italian side.

my ideal wedding would be an outdoor party, with orderves and maybe some barbeque chicken sandwiches, vegetarian for friends who don't do meat. i'd like everyone to show up and mingle, have a glass of lemonade, chat, etc. after about half hour or so, have the officiant call attention, and instead of sitting in neat rows, just have the ceremony with everyone gathered around in a circle. then afterwards, cake and bocce ball, or something fun that's not a dance.

or just rent a restaurant--my choice would be stephano's, across the street; it's a little italian place. have dinner and drinks, then the service right there, and ta-da! you're done. course that can't be very cheap, either.

and as dan pointed out, there'd be a lot of miffed family members if they didn't receive even an invite. i just don't want to spend too much on something like this. my mom suggested a cake and champagne wedding, which is what they had--just the wedding and the reception just with cake, etc. but when my sister tried this, my mom vetoed it, and came up with money for sara to have a reception for the whole crew.

it was very nice, and i doubt sara regrets any of it, but it's not my style. i don't want a big church thing; i want small and laid back. i don't want a white dress...well, not necessarily. (; i just don't know what dress i would wear...but that would just require shopping trips, and i'd be fine with those.

but i don't want to just stand in the courthouse, or elope to wisconsin. i like organizing a party; i just don't enjoy being the center of attention.

i wish that the answer could come in the same size tablet as my blood pressure medication--so tiny, but keeping my veins in order all the same. course, if that was the case, there ought to be an answer for world hunger and violence and everything else, too. an answer to questions without answers, and to answers that come with too many questions.

get me to the church on time

so my friend burt is getting married today. i'm quite glad for him; i didn't think burt the mountain man would ever find a gal, after the last stalker-chick relationship that was so horrible. but kate's perfect for him, and it'll be fun to watch them get hitched.

the bummer is that the reception is about 90 miles away from the wedding. wedding is at noon; reception is at 4. huh? i'm sure it was logistics and all. but with the price of gas...ouch. i'm sure we'll go, because some of our other friends will be attending, and we don't get to see them too often...again, painful pump prices...

so yeah. it kind of shoots the afternoon in the foot, as well as the evening. i don't know how long the reception is supposed to go, but we're going to drive home afterwards, instead of staying overnight in a hotel near the reception. it's kind of a play it by ear type of thing.

the title reflects why i'm typing now, instead of ironing like i oughta be, or showering, primping, all that crap girls like to do prior to events. i'm perpetually late, and i guess it's my penchant for being distracted by EVERYTHING that makes it so.

***

on wednesday i went shopping for a book i wanted to give to the happy couple: the prophet, by kahlil gibran. they're doing a reading out of it, and burt said he'd never read the rest, so there you have it.

anyway, kim the distractable is in the bathroom of barnes and noble when i hear two or three other shoppers come in. i'm putting my jacket on and finding my lip gloss in the neverending pit of my purse, and one of the voices rings in my head and sounds like serena's.

so thursday morning i sent an email to another friend attending, kind of ashamed that i was even asking, whether or not she was going to be coming to the wedding. i was told she couldn't make it.

again, i don't feel like popping her in the noggin. i don't feel like i have much to say to her. but it's annoying--like a mosquito you can't find in the dark of night, humming and buzzing away.

eventually, on those hot summer nights when you're already sapped by the heat, you fall back asleep, knowing that it will bite you anyway, but knowing that it's better than lunging around the room at 3 am with a book and the lights on, springing off the bed at walls and such. the small bite is a sacrifice you're willing to make, just to go back to sleep.

despite all of its loud buzz, the mosquito is very small.

which is how i'm thinking about this. the world's a small place; my dad regularly bumps into people from his hometown of about 500, on various areas of the continental US. it stands to figure that we're all mingling at this gigantic worldwide reception--and i'm bound to bump into people that rub me the wrong way, or people i'd rather avoid.

however, i don't want that to ruin the event itself. i don't want to run away if i see serena. i used to do that, when i was younger--i had this job while in college that i despised, mainly because my boss was a complete bitch-ass. i quit; but again, small town--she came through my line when i started working at the grocery store. my stomach was in knots as i rang up her groceries and made small talk, but afterwards the panic rose and i had to go into the bathroom for a few moments to let it roll over me and onto the next person.

i was talking to my friend nathan, a few days after that. he asked me something that has given me a step towards my own growth of a spine: "kim, why do you give her such power over you?"

i couldn't answer that question at that time. but after i found out that serena wouldn't be there, i chided myself for even worrying. was this going to detract from my enjoyment of the reception, if she was there? probably, to be honest. i'd be worried about dan, and what i would say if she approached.

i didn't want to be the chick on yahoo! news with the headline: GUEST RUINS WEDDING WITH BRAWL; RECEPTION HALL BURNS TO GROUND.

so i have to keep making serena smaller in my mind. i feel like if i say her name enough, it will become as normal as saying "couch" or "plate" or any other word. i have to remember that i'm at this giant party and maybe it took me a while to show up--the perpetually late thing, again--but i'm here, and the tiny buzz of one mosquito cannot control my emotions.

***

so. onto the Location of the Nylons, and the Finding of the Dress Shoes. i still have to decide what to wear.

*sigh*

this is why i'm never on time. too much rustling around in my head. i suppose if i could use an iron on those rustled thoughts as easily as i can on my pants, i'd be in business.