The Reading Room.

When I was seven I was sent to live with my grandparents.

My mother is a darling person. She was a sweet loving parent. She was also very young when she had me. Young in the sixties and seventies generally equates a certain level of wandering and experimentation. Darling generally equates having the wherewithal to send your children away when these levels exceed a certain limit.

Funnily enough this time of sending me away is a source of shame for her. Like she failed me. It was actually one of the most wonderful times of my life.

Like, if you decided your child should be away from bad influences where would you send them? To people who made them feel like the most loved human being on the face of the planet? How about if we throw in a charming white farmhouse in an idyllic setting?

Now how much would you pay?

Add to this, my grandmother and I were two of a kind. I adored her. She, like me, liked to stay in. Our favorite days were rainy ones. "Stuck" inside. Nothing to do except stay in our jammies, put some wood on the stove and read. She always had a book going. Thinking back I don't know how she chose or found them. There was no Internet. It was a small town - there was a bookstore, but it was a drive to be considered. They would special order, but what to order? We're spoiled you know.

Anyway, in this lovely farmhouse on this delightful farm, was a short narrow upstairs room with a slanted ceiling. A room of this dimension isn't good for much. Personally, I would probably fill it with boxes. They built out shelves and filled them with books. Bless 'em.

I spent hours in that room. It was just my size and I had time to kill because in Oregon it rains a lot. They had full sets of junior novels, Readers Digest Condensed versions, zillions of National Geographics. I read Sewell, Kipling and London. Gulliver's Travels, Robin Hood, Paul Bunyan, Treasure Island, and everything by Laura Ingalls Wilder (special order from the tiny bookstore you know). I wish I had those books now. All of them. Even the dumb ones. I can still see the covers of that one set. One story on one side and another, upside-down on the other.

My favorite books at the time were Bambi and Bambi's Children by Felix Salten. I read Bambi's Children 13 times that year. I counted. My mother had purchased them for me before I left, from a used bookstore that was on the way home from school. I still have those. The page edges are frayed and ruined from thumbing.

So here's to the book room. And good memories that come from bad times. And good people who save the day. And good people who have a day to be saved.

Bless 'em.

News From the Front

I sit by the sliding-glass door.

It's a nice spot - I can see the backyard and aforementioned squirrel shenanigans. There's even a birdbath. It's all rather bucolic. I have to say that working next to a full-length window is a vast improvement from any seating arrangement I ever had in the office.

Unfortunately, this location has also fostered my transformation into the cat's Official Little Bitch.

It wants inside.

It wants outside.

Outside is cold - back inside.

Inside is boring - back outside.

Needs to vomit - back inside.

Likes the look of that bird - back outside.

Wants to smell the (open) doorframe for three full minutes while you watch impatiently - stays outside.

Changes mind about coming in once door is shut again - back inside.

Wants to look out of open door and let you freeze while you slowly realize it has no intention of going outside at all - stays inside.

Lap time.

New cat clocks in for door shift.

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Today I did not eat yogurt for breakfast even though I wanted to, because I was already cold. Now I want to go back in time and have yogurt for breakfast because that sounds nice. Unfortunately for me, I'm already full because I ate raisin toast and scrambled eggs with Tabasco, so I cannot. Plus it's impossible to go back in time.

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At 10:30 I had a bath because it was distractingly chilly. I was nice and warm afterward for awhile, but now am cold again. Too late though. Bathtime's over. I should probably learn to regulate my temperature with something other than water.

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The mail hasn't arrived yet. Most likely because yesterday was a holiday and there's more mail for the post office to sift through and the mail-carrier to carry. Although it's often not here by this time so that might have nothing to do with its non-delay.

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Remember when Mail-Carriers were Postmen? Even when they were women? Nobody got insulted because Postwomen sounded silly and they kind of looked like boys in their uniforms anyway.

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Why did actresses and waitresses decide to chose the male "actor" and "waiter"? It's not officially a male title you say? Guess what - it is when it described employees who were male and there was another word for female employees of that type. If they cared so much, why didn't they make up a new word, like food-carrier? Or act-person? Since when is it derogatory to be identified as female? That annoys me.

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I'm wearing my old-lady glasses today. They're from three prescriptions ago and slide down the bridge of my nose. I wonder if they will eventually thin the bridge a little. That would be nice. It happened to my dad I think. Did you know that's a big deal in some cultures? Mothers will pinch their children's nose so that it grows out thin. I wish I'd known that sooner. I could look like Morgan Fairchild by now.

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Sometimes I miss having co-workers.

I only tell you things.

This morning I wanted to be a good freelancer and Twitter something. That went how it usually goes:

Creak open Twitter
Blow the dust away
Delete spammers that have collected among the crevices while I was gone
Think of something to write
Realize it all sounds dumb
Look at what other people are writing
Realize I probably don't care enough about the industry to announce shit to strangers
Realize I can't, with good conscience, tell the world I just ate cereal
Realize it sounds pose-y to announce that I'm working on my portfolio
Realize it sounds desperate to announce that I'm sending out resumes
Realize nobody cares that I'm taking the kids to visit my mom today
Realize I don't have time to read everyone else's posts, no matter how pertinent, amusing, or helpful they may be
Feel like a slight failure
Close Twitter.

I just don't get it. Maybe it's a self-esteem thing. Maybe enjoying that medium requires a genuine desire to share. I mean, I share here, but can't possibly understand how my minutiae can be of interest to friends, acquaintances, and business peers. It's barely of interest to me.

My coffee is delicious.

I love three songs by The Cure.

So the other week I heard "Spectacle" by Sean Lennon on LastFM. It sounded pretty good so I bought it. Then I heard it on shuffle and enjoyed it again. How nice for me.

Then it became lodged in my brain like a demon spore. I go to sleep and it's there. Wake up at 4:30 to pee? There. Wake up in the morning and again, it's there. Then we take a break as the holy light of Spongebob shines upon me and banishes it until the Baby Kitty goes to school and then it's back like a crazy girlfriend who mixes her metaphors.

We haven't had an episode this bad since the great "Torn" debacle of 1997. That went on for weeks. I wish I was exaggerating. What made it better was that I heard it was written by the guy from The Cure and I imagined that he probably wrote it about another guy, which added an interesting dimension and made it seem a little more honest and poignant. However, in doing my research tonight I find that it was churned out by four people, so there goes that dream dashed. Now it's back to being melodramatic and annoying. But I still kind of like it. And Natalie Imbruglia has gigantic eyes so that was interesting.

Know what's a good song? "Friday I'm in Love".

But I don't feel friendly.

I'm an introvert. It has been officially categorized on more than one occasion so it must be true. For this reason, the whole social networking craze going on right now is not exactly my cup of tea.

Now don't get me wrong, I like people fine, it's just that talking to them usually makes me tired. It doesn't occur to me to comment on everything they say or do. I don't in real life, so why would I online? But that's the way it works, so I try - peppering the little comment boxes with "cute!!!" and "awesome!!!"- and even though there is no lying involved (the cuteness and awesomeness are certainly real) it just feels false, and therefore unsatisfying.

I was spending a great deal of time feeling flawed because I'm not more peppy, but then I realized that...I'm just not. Duh.

It's a lot easier to like where you live than live where you like.

Everybody eats somebody sometimes.

For the past few years the Baby Kitty has been obsessed with carnivores. Mainly those with big teeth and gullets that can swallow some poor unsuspecting creature in one massive, terrifying gulp.

Although this sounds horrifying, judging from the toy selection out there, it is not uncommon for children to become obsessed with snapping jaws and consumption of the innocent. Really.

So we buy the toys: giant sharks, man-eating squids (fish are excellent at this sort of thing apparently), dinosaurs, even those squishy blob/tendril things that are generally used as hats. They're all here, and they're all hungry. If you are a lego man or action figure, do not enter our home. Your life will be short indeed.

The best of the best is the Pit of Carkoon. This was a holiday present last year and is being played with next to my chair as we speak. Right now it's actually eating Star Wars action figures, but it generally does not discriminate. He just showed me a fairly disturbing tableaux that satisfied him greatly. All of his robots and tertiary bad-guys get swallowed by this disturbingly yonic sand-worm thingy. A terrifying death indeed. Especially if you are not a feminist.

"Now," you say, "this is slightly horrible. What sort of little monster are you raising? Whose kid spends their time playing death and destruction all the time?"

Good question. Although the answer is technically "mine", it's a little more complicated than that. He's been playing the volcano swallowing/monster eating game since he was a wee little thing. Even the Hot Wheels sets always have something that eats the cars. So first cars were eaten. Not so offensive. My little environmentalist. Then he went on an ocean kick, but that's what happens in the ocean so I can't fault him there. Maybe he'll be like Jacque Cousteau or something, right? Plus he gets sad if the fish get eaten on T.V. so that's nice. Also, we are so not interested in seeing any animals or bugs killed in the various nature shows we watch. I have to be very careful. If it's cute, it's totally off-limits.

So my thought is this: it is a helpless feeling to be a little person. In order to sort this out, we play games where big things eat little things. But the good guy always wins.

We're all the good guy you know.

Shnelly and the Hugs.

This is Shnelly. She always has a mad face and really hates hugs.

That's why it's so fun.

This week.

This week is weird.

I have four drafts out to three clients. Nobody is getting back to me. So, even though I'm sure everyone is busy with this and that, I assume they all hate me and are planning the various ways they will be terminating my services.

This happens all...the...time. And then everybody calls me at the same time and I think back and remember that time when there was nothing to do for two days and remember the weekend I had without internal fretting over this and that and wish I had gone to the movies or something instead of wigging out. I try to keep this in mind.

I've been taking Lynda.com tutorials so I can get my portfolio site up to snuff. It's really boring. But I'm learning a lot so whatever.

In other news: We had a strange kitty in our back yard this morning. It was really cute and let us pet it and everything. I'm worried it will want us to adopt it though. I know where it lives and am contemplating a visit to see if they still live there.

But what do you say then?

"Knock knock"

"yes?"

"Hi, you don't remember me, but two years ago your kids were out selling lemonade and I saw your cat, who I then thought was a pain in the ass, but now I like. Anyway, I asked if it was your cat and you said yes and I tried to imply that it was a pain in the ass and was hanging around at night and getting our cats all riled up but you didn't get it so I dropped it. Anyway I just wanted to see if you still lived here and your cat's not acting super-cute and nice because you moved away and abandoned it. And I see you still live here so....good. Have a nice day."

So obviously I'm open to all suggestions. If you have any, let me know.

Thanks,

Lisa

Working at home

Today I ate cheese and got heart-palpitations. That happens with dairy sometimes. It's generally worth it.

I bathe when I get cold. Or when I'm bored. Or when I need a break. Only once daily of course. When I do, I am always keenly aware that bathing late in the day would be impossible in an office environment. This makes it better.

If my body-temperature varies I go to the closet and put on something warmer or cooler. After many, many days freezing or sweating at work due to lack of planning/foresight regarding temperature, getting up from my desk and going to my closet never fails to delight.

My desk is now near the window and when I look out I get to see the squirrels. They're married.

I'm going to vacuum. Probably around 3:00.

There have been two instances of cat-vomiting so far today. One yesterday.

I have begun taking pictures of cat vomit. Only when it's interesting. Today's had political undertones.

Now I just have to learn to hustle.

The new post.

So let's see, what have you missed while I was taking far too long to realize that Facebook is actually not very interesting at all?

Mostly just this picture of a waffle with Conan O'Brien on it.

Which is actually quite a bit.

Sorry.