Sleep Well

The first exceptionally good night's sleep I remember having was on a business trip, of all things, in 2004. Oh sure, I probably had a few good nights before then, probably even slept soundly at times, but 2004 was the first time I slept on a particular hotel's famous bed and the comfort bar, for me, was set.

I remember it so distinctly because it was such a horrible trip otherwise. The people we had assembled disagreed with everything we were presenting, had nothing but criticism for us and our vision, and were basically uncooperative at every turn. And those were the highlights. By the time the first day's activities came to an end, I was sure I wouldn't be able to sleep that night.

And then I crawled into that magical white cloud in the middle of the room, and... I think I was out some time between turning out the bedside lamp and the room going dark. 

For nearly ten years now,  I've been trying to re-create that stay in my own bedroom and finally, I think I've done it. 

A few years ago I bought a mattress that is the best I've ever slept on. A few months ago I bought all new bedding, ditching my dark comforter and colored sheets for all white ones.

There was just one thing missing and though I looked high and low, shopped high-end boutiques and bargain basement bins, I had no luck in finding the perfect pillows. I can't tell you how many pillows I've bought over the last ten years, trying to find the perfect balance of softness and support, made without allergens or feathers, and ones that wouldn't leave me with a sore neck in the morning. (Well, I could tell you the number but it's so embarrassing... let's just leave it at upper lower-range double digits.) 

I am the Goldilocks of bedding. Apparently. 

But, if you are in the market for pillows--and if you can't tell me the last time you bought pillows, you ARE in the market--I can wholeheartedly recommend these. (Serta makes something similar but they are slightly more expensive and I can't vouch for them.) 

If you prefer pancake-thin pillows, disregard this post because these are not for you. But, take it from Goldi, if you are looking for the perfect pillows that are not too soft and not too firm, but are just right, you've found them. I've never slept better.

Not even in 2004. 

I was not compensated for this endorsement, I just wanted to share. I've been waiting nearly ten years to write this post.  :-) 

And, How Are You?

I ran errands yesterday. I dropped eight boxes (!) of things at the Goodwill donation center, ran by the DMV to get my license plate sticker renewed, filled up the gas tank, and stopped for groceries. 

It was a beautiful day to be running around. Not so cold that I needed a jacket but not so warm that I had to run the air conditioner. Not so sunny that I couldn't see well but not so overcast that it was depressing. Just a really nice morning to be out driving and singing to the car radio and letting the breeze from the rolled-down windows catch your hair. 

Feeling rather accomplished and deliriously happy that all my chores for the week were now done, I stopped at the natural food market and picked up a few things I needed and headed to the cash register. 

"How are you doing today?"

"I'm great!" And I meant it. I just didn't bother to convey why. "And, how are you?"

She looked me in the eye as she explained how she was having a wonderful day. It was the first day in weeks that she hadn't been miserable from allergies and she felt like a new person. In fact, she had just been tested last week to determine what she was allergic to (having just gotten married to a man with insurance), and found out her cat and dog are the culprits. But, of course, she can't get rid of them, she's had them almost ten years, they're family, and besides the doctor has prescribed her medication which is helping, and gosh, isn't it just a beautiful day? 

The whole story didn't take more than a couple of minutes to relate but I walked out of the grocery store feeling a little bit more connected to the world and a lot better about my choice to go the more expensive but friendlier store with the kind cashier who would rather sneeze all the time than give up her four-legged friends. 

Why don't we actually answer the questions we're asked? Would it have been so difficult to spend an extra sixty seconds to let her know that I was actually in a really good mood because the weather was perfect for running around town, I had a great week off from work, and I had just mastered an amazing steering wheel drum solo?

I don't know when or why we learn to short-cut our greetings but I'm going to practice sharing a little bit more of myself in the responses I give and looking people squarely in the eye when I ask them how things are going. 

Because if I don't care enough about you to share something of myself and listen when you want to share something of yourself, and the guy over there doesn't, and she doesn't... who will?

So, how are you? And, I mean it. 

No, I Haven't... Yet

The packet from the attorney is still sitting on the desk. 

This shouldn't be that hard. 

I have some sort of mental block keeping me from finishing the questionnaire and making the appointment. I don't know why. I know what I want to happen. 

I am to be cremated. 

There is to be no memorial service, no visitation, no funeral. 

David will burn copies of my favorite books--To Kill a Mockingbird, East of Eden, The Grapes of Wrath, Little Women, The Great Gatsby, The Jungle Book, Charlotte's Web--and add their ashes to mine and carry us all to the ocean. I want to always have something achingly beautiful to read. Preferably we will be laid to rest under a tree on a bluff overlooking the surf.

But I trust his judgment. 

David is my executor. 

And that is where my thoughts break down. What is David to execute? How do I divide up what little I have and to whom should it be given? Who would want these things that matter so much to me but matter very little in the grand scheme? Who is to inherit when there are no heirs? 

I rifled through the packet yet again today, hoping that having had a little time pass would make the questions easier to answer. 

The packet from the attorney is still sitting on the desk. 

This shouldn't be that hard.

Forgettable

There's a man who sits not far from me in the office who is retiring soon. A few months ago, a woman moved into the desk next to his to learn what he does and take over his responsibilities. At first, I heard the expected conversations... he explaining everything to the gnat's eyelash level of detail and she asking hundreds of questions and typing copious notes. 

In the past six weeks or so, the tables have turned. She's scheduling the meetings, making the telephone calls, and handling the people who walk up. She hasn't just learned the job, she's made it her own. 

He's not doing so well. 

I can hear him ask questions now... "Did you think of this?," "Why are you doing it that way?" She not only learned, she changed things, improved them. From the tone of his voice, I can tell that wasn't part of the plan. Not his, anyway.

He'll tell you how he can't wait to retire.  But as much as he's looking forward to forgetting the day-to-day grind, he didn't expect to feel quite so easy to replace.  

I can empathize. 

Soundtrack of My Life, #05

I'm asked this question often and this song always springs to mind...

Considering

"Read me the smallest line you can see."

"Something curvy. V. Umm... F or P. Another curvy one. L." 

"Okayyyy.  Just for grins, what is in the line below that one?"

"Oh, that's easy. Five ink blobs. Or, maybe four?"

* * * 

"Well, with new lenses, I can get your eyesight to 20/40.  That's pretty good, considering." 

I didn't have the strength/will/stomach to ask what we were considering so I let that remark slide. I suppose the fact that I can still see at all is something to be grateful for.

Considering. 

Buying Dreams

I've been spending money like the fate of our economy rests solely in my hands. 

You're welcome, America. 

I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I'm innately a saver. Few things make me happier than seeing my bank balance go up. It's a strange security blanket I've always needed and can't imagine (read: dread, aka fear) not having. The little spree I've been on in the past three months is a sign that something is not quite right with me. Spending isn't necessarily a good thing. 

On the other hand, I feel like I've successfully staved off a major bout of depression because of it. Retail therapy isn't just for soccer moms. Normally it's an ineffectual means of filling a void and I'm not denying that that is the case here. But I also tried to use it to my advantage. 

Everything I've purchased in the past three months has been what I imagine to be part of my future life. All of those visions I have of my post-career days in the cottage by the water always contain a few steadfast pieces and I'm slowly and surely beginning to collect them. 

I guess you could say, I'm putting some solidity to the ethereal. I'm laying the path to that cottage one piece of bedding or china place setting at a time. That life I want so badly is moving ever slowly closer. Weaving it's way into my every day. Becoming real. 

Spending isn't necessarily a bad thing, either. 

Fragile

I have not been around because the euphoria of Monday lasted about as long as Monday did and I just didn't know what to say. 

On Monday, I thought I was going to get some help. Someone who was going to take a little of the burden and let me breathe again. By Tuesday, I knew it wasn't going to happen. 

I gave myself Tuesday night to enjoy because I knew it was probably going to be the last opportunity for a while. David and I sat and talked over a plate of hummus and photos of bridges and I did my best to keep the tears that were -right there- from falling. I wasn't quite so lucky on the drive home.

I'm working on finding a new normal, a new routine, because I don't see this changing for quite a while and I need to find time for me. I can't tell you the last time I opened a book. You have seen every word I've written this month. The one thing I do when I have any time at all is walk. It's the only thing that clears my head enough to tackle the next thing. But even that has been sparse this month. 

I'm going to figure this out. I have to. 

And when I do, no more posts about this. I want to write about something a lot more interesting. 

A Corner Turned

Well, would you look at me? 

I'm home from work at a semi-reasonable hour, sitting on the sofa in comfy clothes, giving googly eyes to the bird who is peering in my window, and eating chips and salsa like it's an Olympic event and I'm going for the Gold. 

Life is good again, is what I'm saying.

My boss and I talked this morning and agreed that I can't keep up the hours I've been working. It's not like he was ever holding a gun to my head, but I'm glad we talked so I can stop feeling so pressured and stop feeling guilty if I want to take time to, I don't know... wash dishes or buy groceries.

How everything is going to continue to get done is still to be worked out but that's on me. I have this problem of not being able to rest until everything I have to do is done and that just isn't always possible. I'm going to have to give myself some slack and let things take a little longer than I'm used to. I have to or I'm going to break. And, he doesn't want to pay me to break.

I must admit, I felt a little guilty leaving tonight after only 10 hours in the office but by the time I got to the car and realized I had an ENTIRE evening to myself, the guilt was replaced with the giddy and... well, you know the rest. Comfy clothes, bird watching, Olympic chips. 

Someone asked me what I did for fun over the weekend and you know what my answer was? I let myself wander around Target when I stopped for laundry detergent Friday night. Seriously. Call the Vice Squad. I hope I get asked about my weekend next Monday, too. My answer is going to be SO MUCH BETTER. 

Brewing

I stole a few minutes yesterday before work to brainstorm post ideas. I came up with eight! 

Now to find time to explore them and write. Simple pleasures, that's all I'm asking for. Right now, I'm only getting about 5-6 hours between work days, and a girl has to sleep (or in the case of last night, at least shut her eyes), so writing has gone from a simple pleasure to a straight-up luxury. One to return soon, I hope. 

Love to all...