Are we there yet?

Well, mentally and physically, perhaps we are where we wanted to end up--Kentucky, but my alter ego appears to have disappeared and my brain is only partly up and running. It could be the 2,400 miles I just drove to get to Louisville, or the monotony of the desert coming through parts of California, Arizona and New Mexico. I've seen enough scrub, sand and rocks to last a lifetime. I also got a speeding ticket in Texas--Thank You Lone Star State! Way to go! Cops are worried about speeders in a state that allows people to pack pistols without permits and shoot someone without blinking an eye if there is suspicion of infidelity. Hmmmmmm. What's wrong with this picture? My sister was my partner in crime during our trip. We weren't exactly Thelma and Louise and we didn't find any Brad Pitts--just a few rough looking guys without teeth or recent bathing--but it was fun despite the deserts, long drives during the day, spending mucho dinero on gasoline, and staying in a couple of very bad hotels along the way--one of them has taken the award for dirtiest, most raggedy and tackiest hotel in America!

We stopped in Vegas for two days to see a couple of shows--which were great--but the sleaze factor in that town is over the top and down the hill. Wow! That's all I can say about the lifestyle of the crowd there. Maybe it's the desert air. Maybe it's all those rocks and the heat of summer. And then again, maybe it's just a town that attracts the cave dwellers (apologies to the GEICO guys) and those who live under rocks.... Whatever it is, I'm glad I made my pilgrimmage there and I don't have to return. Seeing an Elvis impersonator that was better than the original was a highlight of the stay there. Viva Elvegas!!

Moving experiences...

It's been five days since I've read comments or written anything on my blog. It's not that I have such a thrilling life and that more interesting events have prevented me from doing so. Right now my life consists of cardboard boxes, tape and labels...and a huge fear that I will forget something, put it in the wrong box when it should be in my suitcase, or mislabel a box which means a panicked game of "treasure hunt" when I finally get to my destination. When I am trying to sleep, I dream (or think) about what is "left to do" and how to arrange the furniture and boxes in my moving container. I have to make sure items don't shift while en route--I wish I could figure out how to keep my body parts from shifting. Now that's an effort that I consider worthwhile. Perhaps I will devise a whole body suit made of spandex that will hold everything in place. The problems attendant to that are: (how do I put this delicately) 1) using the bathroom--old women, especially those who have had an hysterectomy no longer use the term "bladder control" because there isn't any. There is also very little warning when the bladder decides it is "time". Old lady runners have the best chance of "making it" to the bathroom in time. The rest of us are like one maneuver basketball players--all we know how to do is dribble. 2) Then there's trying to peel off the spandex suit when it's time to do anything else--especially on a hot day. Plans must be made. Help must be solicited. Gyrations abound! 3) Finally, there's the emotional upheaval when the "suit" is removed and, once again, gravity wins, hands down (and many other parts as well)! Shifting back to the moving experience--furniture and personal treasures, not my body--I can only give one piece of advice regarding this task: break or strain something and let your children, other family members and friends do the work for you, while you sit in a comfy chair giving orders and sipping a lemonade. Just keep an eye out for the closest bathroom...

Twice the fun...

Whenever I work on an art project, which requires close work and use of my eyeballs beyond their capacity to focus, I end up with double vision for about an hour. I have learned that driving until my eyeballs return to "focus" is not an option unless I want to test all the other motorists-on-the-road's adrenaline output. I have also found that seeing double does not necessarily increase the pleasure of such activities as watching TV--who wants to see two Britney Spears or Paris Hiltons? Heavens, I don't even want to see one. And, although I've always enjoyed Impressionist painting styles, having my vision go "Monet" on me is a little disconcerting. I have trumped vanity and now wear reading glasses when I do the close work, but I find that, when I put on my "close-up" glasses, it feels like the lenses are pulling my eyeballs slightly out of their sockets--another disconcerting feeling. So what's a myopic person supposed to do?

The answer to that compelling question is: wear the reading glasses and afterwards rest your eyes until they can focus properly and won't mistake a great Dane for a miniature horse, or a stopped car for a moving one. I also call this little post-art-work event a nap. I am always looking for excuses to take a nap. Now I have the perfect reason to snooze away. I feel a big art project coming on....

Procasternating what needs to be done...

I am currently involved in an effort to perfect the process of procrastination, and I find that I am excellent at it. It's so comforting to find something at which I am excellent--other than arranging my three hairs and often saying something stupid or out of place which requires an apology and community service hours.

I don't procrastinate everything. In fact, I don't procrastinate very often, but when I do, I want it to count for something, make a statement, drive everyone (and me) crazy as I try to warp-speed my way through whatever it was that I should have done earlier and didn't. For some reason, since my "retirement" from working (only temporary boys and girls), I have been slow to get up, get showered and get dressed. I don't know why I have chosen these particular daily events in my life to defer, but defer I do. I do get up. I do put on a loungey outfit. I do function and take care of lots of tasks and things on my To Do list, but I fight against keeping a routine-driven schedule by not showering until I need to do so (for an appointment or to run errands) or when my papier mache pig starts to complain or the plants I keep in the house begin to wither and swoon. I am sitting at my computer composing this blog post dressed in my sad, slightly tattered pink bathrobe and slippers with the hair on the left side of my head standing straight out as if it were a flag in a brisk wind. I will remain in this outfit until I have to clean up in an hour--I have an appointment that forces me to shower before Noon!

The downside of this new routine a la procrastination is answering my front door if someone knocks--the postal person, a friend, kids soliciting money for school events, etc. Sometimes I pretend not to be home. I stand very still in a place away from any windows, make no noise, and wait for whoever to go away. (I was always pretty good at playing "statue"--a childhood game--and all that youthful effort is paying off.) If I do open the door, I only open it a crack, because I don't want to be arrested for emotional assault and end up paying for someone's therapy for years. If it's someone I don't like or don't want to talk to, I boldly open the door, scare the Hades out of the "visitor" and watch him or her back pedal off my front porch. Ha! Take that, uninvited guest!! And, once again, I am left to my own devices, my smelly, disheveled body, and a hairdo that would make a rock star jealous.

So, if you are planning to come to my house any time soon, please call ahead, alert me and I'll make myself presentable...maybe, unless I'm in a procrastinating kind of mood.