Thursday, August 27, 2009

The roof, where I do my best thinking.

Since I’ve started this blog and am otherwise unemployed at the moment (yes, I am officially done concierge-ing and teaching yoga), I’ve begun keeping a notebook with me to jot down thoughts in the hopes of later constructing a coherent story.

My days as a whole, while relaxing, aren’t particularly blog-worthy.  Most of these days consist of roughly a couple hours sitting on the roof, a couple more bumming around the city, and a lot of exercise, which I know is good for me but not necessarily worth writing about.  And I’m not too proud to say I’ve recently seen my share of The Price is Right.

So I carry this notebook in case something interesting happens that I don’t want to forget.  But then I finally reread my scribble, and I can’t make a bit of sense out of it.  It’s like that scene in Baby Mama where Tina Fey’s character talks about jotting down her dreams only to end up with unintelligible phrases like “Make everybody twins.”  My notebook is filled with a lot of Make Everybody Twins.  For example, I tried to read this chicken scratch I’d written the other day and all I got out of it was “live on a corner.”  What the hell does that even mean?  And I promise you I’m not drinking.

So while I’ve been sitting on the roof scribbling this incoherent crap (not to mention using the handwriting of someone with Multiple Personality Disorder), I’ve felt a good deal of guilt.  Ah, that good old American guilt over not working hard enough and taking some time off.  You know, more than the allotted 10 days per year.

I’m enjoying myself more this summer than I have since, perhaps, grade school.  But I keep mentally reminding myself to not feel guilty about it.  It’s difficult not to, though.  Who cares that I’ve worked my butt off since I was 16, that I went to college full time while holding an internship and a part-time job, that I went a little nuts first moving to Chicago because I didn’t have three jobs at once, or that in 2007 I took exactly 7 days of vacation.  And in 2008, not much more than that.  I still internally cringe when someone asks, “So, you’re not working now?”  Heee!  Aaaahh!  Just stab me, why don’t you.  Because I’m pretty sure you just called me a lazy ass.  That is what you said, isn’t it?  If not, I’m sure you were at least thinking it.

Ok, so maybe that’s my own insecurity getting the best of me.  I’m just saying that having this summer off came with a small sense of guilt that I hadn’t expected.  And guilt or no guilt, the days of 15 mile bike rides, strolling through the farmers market on Tuesday mornings, and playing really bad tennis came to an end all too quickly.

Our boxes arrived a couple weeks ago, and my new “job” was packing up the contents of our life together and paring it down to 4 suitcases.  It’s brought a wave of strange feelings, just looking at our things and knowing we won’t see them for awhile.  Sure, it’s good to clean out your junk every now and then anyway, but it’s weird looking at all the stuff you’re not getting rid of and just saying “see ya later” as you pack it into a box.  These are all the things that made our five year marriage thus far.

And with these strange feelings came my favorite of the Multiple Personalities – we’ll call her Emotional Blabbering Mess.  And just like in my first post, boy does she like to appear out of nowhere.  A few days ago, she showed up just in time for my fight with the tape gun (I lost).  Steve immediately made some comment which left me laughing like a maniac only to end up collapsing and crying all over again.  I kid you not, I ran the spectrum of human emotion in less than five minutes.  And I promise you I’m not juicing.

So here we are, our last weekend in Chicago.  And just like the rest of this summer has been, we’re going to do it up.  Some drinks, some dancing.  Some new places, some old favorites.

And when that UHaul arrives on Monday morning, it’s on to the next chapter.