I know I promised that this blog would be posted yesterday, but like everything else in life, I didn’t make my own deadline. If it helps my case, I would like to state for the record that I am injured. I’m pretty sure it’s something like tendonitis… either way, my right elbow is the affected joint, which makes even bending it (or worse, lifting anything) painful. CON: The pain limited my coffee intake yesterday morning by making it difficult to lift my “It’s Good to be Queen” coffee mug to my mouth. Who can blog without coffee?!? PRO: Maybe this injury will also help me shed a couple pounds by keeping me from shoveling food into my face.
Who am I kidding?… Give me a couple weeks and I’ll still be the same weight, but ambidextrous.
Anyway, back to this real life sucking thing… It’s TOTALLY gotten in the way of blogging! It’s not like I was THAT forthcoming with the blogs before life managed to get me in a submission hold and force me to get a job, but now? Pfffft. Bullshit, I say. BULLSHIT! (Seriously. The last thing I remember was a rear naked choke. Wait. *thinking back* Yes, definitely naked, annnnnd yeah… pretty sure there was choking involved.) I WAS home, though, and the idea that I *could* blog whenever I wanted was exciting.
For those of you keeping score at home, I’ve gone corporate. I’m a sellout. I’ve been getting up before the chickens and trudging through the nursing trenches in scrubs and sneakers, almost daily, for almost fifteen years. NOW? Monday through Friday, I get up before the chickens so I have time to do hair and make up, put on my grown-up clothes, and then play a real life game of The Fast & The Furious with other morning commuters. I toil away in a cube all day in front of widescreen dual monitors, and my name is on a nifty little plaque attached to the front of it… all while wearing business attire. Not business casual. Business. The dress code clearly states that employees are encouraged to have a blazer and/or suit jacket available to them at all times, just in case. In case of WHAT, exactly? An emergency funeral?
Dress code also prohibits open-toed shoes. SHOES! I love shoes! BUT, the majority of my shoes are of the athletic variety. Tennis shoes. Sneaks. Kicks. I DO own quite a few pairs of high heels (not nearly as many as Carrie – THAT’s going to be a FUN BLOG!), BUT I certainly wouldn’t consider them “dress shoes.” They’re my Girls’ Night Out shoes! They’re my ROCK SHOW SHOES! They’re strappy, platformed, caged, and/or crafted of crimson patent leather! AND, most of them are indeed, open-toed… which makes almost NONE OF THEM work appropriate. Not only did I have to go out and purchase Big Girl clothes (vs. my usual jeans/tees/sneaks), I had to buy new shoes. FORCED to buy clothes and shoes, you say? “OMG. That’s terrible!” No really… it was. I’m not really much of a shopper. *ducking* (CLARIFICATION: I can shop the hell out of a hardware or home improvement store, I just don’t enjoy shopping for girly necessities like “real clothes.” I have plenty of jeans and concert tees… what more do I need?!
SO, I have all kinds of photos for y’all! Playing in the yard and my new urban vegetable garden has been fun, weather permitting. The self-instructed guitar lessons have been going splendidly. Pretty sure that all the hand-washing that accompanied my former employment situation was preventing callous formation on my fretting fingers. Practicing ALWAYS hurt like hell and whatever starter callouses I’d manage to grow would simply peel off a few days later. I’m excited to say that I now have reduced sensation to the fingertips of my left hand AND real callouses that AREN’T trying to feel off. YAY! Couple this with the fact that my fingernails are the shortest they’ve probably ever been (turns out you can’t press on strings worth a shit with ANY length of fingernails), and what’s left of them are unpainted… HELLO, MANHANDS!
Bright side: When I practice, the noise that used to emanate from my guitar has been magically transformed into something resembling, wait for it…
So… looks like once the weather warms up for good, I can quit workin’ for the man and become a street performer. It’s probably not how most would imagine me making a living while hanging out on a street corner, but a Lotus-driving millionaire needing directions could hypothetically still happen.