racing...

towards an end. sometime. in some way. do you know that feeling that invades after reading for eight hours straight? brain headache. of sorts. that is how i feel. all the time. right now. i can't get my mind to stop running. and just breathe. it won' stop racing. even when i close my eyes. or attempt escape. like through a post. such as this. it jumps to another place, another job, another thought. and I can't organize it. at all. it is everywhere. all the time. at once. continually. i am not in the moment. but ahead of the moment. or behind. i'm unsure.

and i don't know how. or when it will find release. it is out of control. and i am all over the place.

stacks of books. jump drives full of articles. i drown in pages of lists, thoughts, questions, quotes, references, resources, websites, videos.

and i can't seem to come up for air.

here.

I didn't want to get out of bed this morning. And had it not been for a planned visit from cousin Becky, I would still be there.

Clin would categorize this as PMS. But who knows? I mean I've given up on calendaring these things. And maybe I'm just in a state. Or tired. That would definitely be a label I could wear.

But who isn't?

Maybe it's the four point five day food free-for-all that began Thursday and has not yet declared an end. I can't stop. Right now I'm downing a glass of the DC and graham crackers with a bunch 'o' frosting in the middle. And I'm not satisfied. Seriously, the frosting/graham combination used to be so much better than it is in this moment.

But I did put on a new, old pair of jeans this morning. Size 8. I only own 1 pair of eights. I've only ever owned 1 pair.

Perhaps the one exception could be Brian Rothery's hand me downs that ended up in my college dresser during my boy jean phase. But they were labeled based on that male system that makes no sense. So those can't count.

My eights are considered new because they were only ever worn for a couple of months preceding the pregnancy of 2004. They have lived in the closet since.

So this should be some cause for celebration. For not crawling back into bed.

But I just don't feel it.

*I would like to take this moment to give a shout out to the high I got yesterday from the Ginger Snap bubble bath scent wafting from Ellis's hair. That was nice.

putting grant #1 under my belt...

...because I'm done. And submitted. And it feels good.

So now we sit and wait. If I don't get it I will be disappointed. And looking for work. But it won't be as scary next time. I know what to do. And it was exciting.

So exciting that I wanted the girls to join in on the fun by accompanying me to campus Friday to pick up letters of support and get signatures before passing them off to the selection committee.

So please, picture a commuter campus, on a mountain, with lots of young students rushing to class, having to move out of the way of a relatively old woman and her two toddlers, on a very long double stroller, pushing her way up hill through the masses. Not another stroller or toddler in sight.

Skateboards passed us. And Millie thought it most funny to yell out, "Wouldn't it be funny if that building had a bum?" for all to hear. (Clin humor. I don't get it, but 2 and 4 year olds love it.)

3 letter stops later, we make it to the performing arts building, which has no elevator - and thus we abandoned the stroller for stairs. By then, the only words coming out of the small mouths were: I'm hungry. But this was not for lack of food. It was boredom.

Bored? How? We were enjoying nature (snow), and stopped to pick up every leaf in our path (millions), and then there was always the view of the concrete as I focused on pushing our mass up the mountain.

Final stop - copy center for scans and copies of all signatures. Which is where the screaming began. (In my soul.) And then the run to return to the car, where I was sure that a ticket awaited us, because the hike took much longer than the 36 minutes available in the meter.

Hallelujah - no ticket, turned on Lion King and the hungry screams turned to whimpers as we drove to the library for final submission.

And I like to think that the experience was liberating. Because I accomplished it with 2 toddlers in tow. And perhaps they internalized the importance of education in the journey.

But really, they probably only internalized the suckers, dried apples/pears, m&m's, gummy bears, chicken nuggets, and frosties that got them (me) through.

broken.

I told you I was on the verge of something. Just waiting for it to happen. Perhaps this was it.

How is it that someone weak, like me, can break 2 weed eaters? I don't think that is physically possible. And yet, it has happened.

The first disintegrated in my hands. Melted right through my fingers. Repair was not an option.

The second, most recent, froze on me. And I assumed repair was possible.

Until I took it apart.

And nothing would go back.

So please. release me from my weed eater dungeon. I need something that will not disintegrate. That I can easily re-string. That will trim the grass around the fence and house, as well as edge my lawn.

I am desperate. Because we are starting to look like a jungle here.

And deep down I would love to leave it for the new owners. But that's not how I play the house swapping game.

Suggestions? Anyone?

itchin'.

me. right now.

on the verge of something. I can't grasp. and the shaking won't stop.

perhaps it's tears. or 5 almost tears.

I've been searching the box junket. Resigning myself to free boxes, since movers will be taking our money. (Pay! for movers? AH!) But we have a piano. And it is probably best that it not be moved by me. or Clin. or anyone. but a professional.

Yesterday I followed a craigslist lead and showed up at the house just as someone was loading all boxes into her van. That's okay. They weren't that great. And we saw some sheep.

But I'll tell ya, freecycle? craigslist?- boxes go fast.

So I then attempted Wal-Mart this AM. Evidently you can take whatever boxes they set out. First come thing. So I got there at 5:55 AM. Testing it out. And as I walked to my box rendez-vous ....I didn't see any. (Verging tears #1) And I thought how crazy. to get up at 5:30 for nothing. I turned the corner and hit shopping cart pay dirt. One whole cart full of Malt-O-Meal boxes, all collapsed and ready for my trunk.

one employee said: I'd take those straight to your car, if I were you.

Warning heeded. And I ran to the parking lot. Suspecting everyone. Leary. Why else do you go to Wal-Mart at 6:00 AM?

Then, home, I offered to make Clin a nutritional breakfast. Because that's the wife I am. He refused and ate a healthy pop-tart. So I packed leftovers for his lunch and promptly dropped them on the floor. (Tears #2)

And it is now evident that he would prefer me in bed at such hours, so that his morning person can actually accomplish life without the extras brought about by my non-morning psyche.

Millie awoke, happily, to the commotion. And I tried to talk her back to bed. Why are you out of bed, mom? Why was I? Why? So the day began. Knowing that her morning euphoria would not last. (dam holding back tears #3)

9:00 AM - out to mow the shaggy carpet we lovingly call our lawn. And to let the girls bask in springtime bliss. 9:10 AM - lawnmower won't start and I can't remember where to spray the fluid to get it to start. So I spray the whole thing. 9:15 AM - (tears #4)

At least I can weed wack. Right? That is something I can do. On my own. My one ability of yard work empowerment. But the cord won't pull. It's stuck. I can't even get it out of the machine. (brimming #5) Forget empowerment. Forget self reliance. Forget knowing how to do anything.

I spray the dandelions.

Put Millie on her bike. You will ride your bike once a day. And you will like it!

Riding: I like it mom. Look! I like it.

10:15 AM. Time to shower. or cry.

photo via Ryner12