Wednesday, March 30, 2011

bargaining and sketchbooks

sometimes when you think you need to try to improve yourself...
because perhaps you are feeling high,
or a little low...
you make a little deal with someone.
a bargain with my needs over anyone else's.
the bargaining is like an auction in reverse gear ...
where i try to get the most return for the least amount of effort on my part.
i bargain with anyone i think i can gain my dream from.
these moments can be had with
a version of a supreme being,
the butcher,
a friend,
simply myself.

i do it all the time.
for unknown reasons, i have a lot of what i think are good ideas.
i have them as i drift off to sleep or battle insomnia.
it is at these times,
i wish to hell
that i knew where i put my stinking notebooks.
i have all kinds of them.

amongst the collection are
lined composition books like 'HARRIET the SPY',
black paper or fabric, hard covered books with blank paper inside; in many sizes,
ones made for quick note taking when i am at a bookstore,
one i received as a gift with silk exterior and mulberry leaf paper interior pages,
ones with recipes and notes for adaptations jotted in them....
i have all kinds of them.
the interior covers have so many vital phone numbers and email addresses scrawled on them for posterity.
small card catalogs could store all the info i have scratched and dribbled and sketched into them.

the one thing that they all have in common, is that i lose them.
it is so unbelievably frustrating.

when my husband had a few health issues over the past years,
his rheumatologist suggested that he not drink while taking meds.
ok, not a problem.
he was willing to do just about anything to feel like his old self.
not anything i can blame him about.
however, we gave up the ole nightly beer or glass of wine.
now of course he feels great and is more likely with the ditching of many of those obsolete meds,
to have a glass of wine every month or two.
i gave it all up, simply cause it was bad to be the only one with a jelly jar
filled with nice chardonnay.
the real problem is that i need that glass of something to make me focus harder.
at least i think so.

when i was younger, living in harvard square, bartending and waitressing, retailing,or perhaps in one of my office jobs,
life after a shift included a small 'party'.
(more often than not).
when i went a little overboard by my current standards,
i would consider the obvious chance of misplacing my things in my apartment.
i needed a consistent strategy to employ.
my knee jerk reaction to a flawed memory was that i would put stuff away extra carefully.
the next day when my keys were needed
i could find them.
my friend who was the key guy and locksmith in harvard square
made so little money from me over the years because of this habit.
good thing we had many other interests in common other than my need for replacement keys.

i think i had an antidote that most of the students
and other denizens of the 'square' could have used.
it was fear.
of course, many of them just did not completely freak out when they lost stuff.
the reality that new stuff was around all the time and lost items could be replaced
without years in therapy
was fine with them.
i just am not that easy going.
never have been either.
stretched to the max by little itty bitty things.

big big big sigh here.

so i think i must have that losing stuff gene in me, it is not for keys
(hopefully for a real long time from now still,cause i do not want to lose them EVER....
i think i am getting woozy just thinking about it.).
it is in fact for my sketch/notebooks.

please think of me kindly tomorrow.
i plan to go into the world to find
a huge bottle of chardonnay,
two jelly jars
for my man and me to clink together
a brand new stinking
i am sure if i get a new one,
i might find one of the older ones.
you know the kind....
incomplete, but with one extra important piece of info in it that i have
been searching for over the past couple of months.

wish me luck and i will raise a jelly jar to you .
perhaps those books will come out of hiding
from somewhere ?
i sure hope so.
my brain feels like an overfilled filing cabinet with papers sticking out of all of the drawers
bulging at the sides, and now filled with redundant info.

nighty night all...

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