witifulramblings

Cubicles, Highlighters, and Hopes: Day Deux

In life, wit on July 14, 2010 at 10:53 pm

Today is a good day or rather if you think otherwise, then try missing it. I Hope to see you tomorrow.  If not I’ll assume your on your way to the funeral home in a wood box, your spirit in heaven, citing a new mantra to The Holy One, “you know what Creator? Today is a great day! Today is a GREAT DAY! (in that cheesy Bob Barker Price Is Right enthusiasm). Afterwhich you plead, “please– reincarnate me?”  Like he hasn’t heard that before.

I should warn you, not everything I write here is truth, well, in the literal sense.  Truth is subjective, just like writing, I think that’s why so many people are scared of it, writing that is.   However, fear is very limiting and I’ll tell you the world is in desparate need of good liars (I mean writers).  Austen, and Dante, and Donne, have all passed on–we’re all we have left—us self-supporting subjective writers.  Besides, who cares, everyone lies anyway.  So, what if I told you I don’t have a husband who wears silky boxers, or live in a Marina laden cottage, but that I just exist in an old apartment in the boring capital of California .  Bonus points if you can name this city and, no, it’s not LA; although, I know this may come as a blow to some.  My prize possession—a dusty bookshelf with which novels abound.  Oh, the part about the kid and the Japanese dog, they’re also my prizes, you see, I feel like I’ve won them underservingly.   Now you know me, my life in actuality (sort of), so read on.  However, I can’t promise you anything but subjectivity oh and wit.

I’ll start with today, July 14, the year is 2010.

This morning I walked six blocks to work and six blocks back–my daily routine.  I almost never hate it.  Sometimes, dependent on my choice of shoes, I get blisters.  Then I hate it.  I have to remind myself that my gray sandals invoke great pain, YOUR gray sandals invoke great pain.  Although my mind still fights for the beauty of them.  What can I say, they make my toes look small, and according to my own mother I have very large toes.

When the walk is done I arrive at a lovely cubicle.  The sweet women to the left of me has a cross stitched welcome sign displayed atop her computer, “cublicle sweet cubicle.”  I can only hope I never reach that point.  The point where I long for four walls of gray metal.  I can’t cross-stich perhaps I should laser print a sign that says something more like this, “dungeon sweet dungeon,” or “solitary confinment sweet solitary confinement.”   Working isn’t exactly a dream come true– for some it is.  I once overheard had a friend proclaim that she lies awake at night unable to fall asleep, waiting in anticipation, to get back to work.  Me?  I just wait for two days a month: the fifteenth and the thirtieth.

After all this, will you still read?  My guess is some will and some won’t but folks this is reality.  This is my life story.  Page by page, word by word, period by period.   I am not a woman of perfection, not on the outside, or the inside.  That should make you feel a little better.  Today I forgot to scrub the acne mask off the side of my face so I’m sitting in a meeting when my boss goes, “you’ve got something white on your face” I manage a little rub, “nope, still there.”  At this point I realize what it is and retreat to the fact that its not going anywhere without some form of liquid.  She offers her spit but I decline.  Got it? People who wear acne medicine to work, mistake or no mistake, are not perfect.  You’re safe here.

I’m a women who cries, and laughs, and works, and pays the bills, and blogs, and longs for peaceful showers.  I’m a Southwest frequent flier, a self-proclaimed philanthropist, a writer, a student, a believer, a mom.  All of these things I am.  What are you?  I used to think my handbag defined me.  I used to believe a pair of shoes made me worthwhile.  Just last week I saw a husband and wife at the park and longed for the saavy women’s classy stroller and name brand jeans,  but then I reminded myself that a pair of jeans can’t write a novel and a stroller can’t earn a masters degree.  We are all subject to the human condition (and targeted female marketing strategies) but we must also be our own believers, believing in things beyond rooms filled with crappily made overpriced products surrounded by elevator music.

A really wise author once said that it is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great [women] is [she] who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude. Learning to be who you want to be, even in the midst of others, is a great thing.  It’s taken me 25 years to figure out.  I got a late start.

I’m staring at my desk as we speak and I see a yellow highlighter, it’s a product, one that I use to mark very important things, but would I ever let it define me?  Would I ever let a Sanford brand Accent highlighter with a white cap define me.  Hell no.  It is non-toxic but still, hell no.  Why then a pair of Ballenciaga heels?

Here we go, three hundred and sixty five days of truth, nakedness, life, wit, intellect, humor.  I’m sure it’ll be a ride just please ladies (and men) keep praying, keep reading, and if you’re having a bad day, Chanel is not the answer.  Go highlight some stuff; it’s much cheaper and the fumes are sure to make you feel better.

a whit. ing. addict on the verge of sanity.  Today you must learn to believe as I am doing.

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