Reconciling with The Bond Girl

Either I'm spinning myself into a pupa or I'm busting out of one. My fingers are crossed and my eyes are reluctant to take a gander at just what's going on. Am I becoming or am I accepting? I'm noticing some stages of my life that I have passed through without even realizing at the time, and I feel mostly good about getting past some of my silly phases. In the spirit of the Adams sisters (and for fear of my undeniable lack of organization) , I will make a list:

1. The Tracey Chapman phase. Whereas I totally still love her music, it lost some of its luxurious mope when I realized that I was happily married and politically conservative. I guess I have lost some of my cherished reasons for feeling mournful and indulging in mournful tunes. More or less a good thing, just have to seek out newer and happier music. Okay. (is okay not a word? why is it getting the red line? LAME!)

2. The Watch Phase. This one is less of a developmental advancement and more of a step toward self-awareness. I used to be a watch-junky which I actually think is kind of cool. Somewhere along the way, I stopped caring about time, and embraced not only my watch-free wrists, but my tardy/irreverent approach to all situations in life. Instead of a watch, I caved in and bought a planner-which is mostly useless as I can't keep a schedule while I knowingly resist the demands of time. I subscribe to the theory of relativity that asserts that time does not exist. The problem in this lies with the all the other people who insist that it does exist, and that the virtues of honoring time outnumber the virtues of ignoring it. I think I should regress and go back to the watch.

3. Youngness.

Enough of the list-there is something bigger I am trying to develop into or out of...its normalcy, I think? I always wanted a big life-maybe some fame, hopefully some fortune, and definitely some permanent contribution to the world. Its not just acknowledging who I won't be, but who I am and who I will be. I will never be a James Bond girl, or a mother Theresa, or an Oprah, or a Spice girl, or a Jane Austen. I don't know that I necessarily ever cared to be any one of these, but I did have some pretty fantastic dreams-am I giving up when I change my mind every semester about what I want to study? Is it balls, resolve, focus, or just plain smarts that are painfully absent from my eternal metamorphosis? What if I want to be a butterfly and I end up a moth?
"Oh shut up Mrs. Metaphor! Who do you think you are?! you're a freaking person-a crazy person-who should pull your head out of what? No, not a pupa, your bum-hole! For heaven's sake have a little self-respect and live in the now-the here-and the real. Gees!"

To which POMcDWG says " she was only trying to make peace between her dreams and probability, there's no reason to be rude"

"What do YOU know, Mc Donalds girl? why don't you just go back to your mop bucket and clean floors?!"

POMcDWG "I must have smoked one two many dumb-dumb leaves to believe that I should be working here while you parade around like someone's conscience when all you are is a fun-hating, dream-killer"

..."touchee"


POMcDWG utters quietly and triumphantly " yeah...beeotch"

Mayday: Headed for Downward Cycle

Here is it: I have been handling this deployment, so far, more or less better than the last one- but the proverbial feces, fanward bound is on the brink of splatter. I have been idle and without focus. There is a period of time which I allotted myself to "get it together", and I fear a slight trickle over. Tatum's toilet training MUST happen THIS week so that I can get her into German Kindergarten-and therein lies the problem. The moment impetus enters the situation, my inertia gives way to my stress, and Tatum's obliging good nature gives way to inertia. It doesn't help that I can't figure out how to alchemize my stress into the kind of energy that my body requires to overcome IT'S inertia, which would probably be awesome, as I can only expect that the chemical byproduct of that kind of conversion would be a reduction in the size of my breasts-whose volume alone (to say nothing of their weight), adds significantly to the physical state of inertness in which I find myself. We cannot overlook the added benefit of momentum-which principal, of course, is best illustrated when examined juxtapose the principal of objects in motion. It can only mean one thing.....I need more slippery shoes. There can be no other way. AND we will treat the concept of collision as it arises-or halts, as it were. Wish me luck.

This thing is working! It's alive! I thank yous guys for writing to me-its like you can read my journal-only I have to be careful what I write. I promise not to be too careful...I promise not to withhold my idiocy or madness-I will only attempt to stifle my lewdness and expletives ( a life-long goal).
This whole site comes up in German for me, so I am not entirely sure of what I am doing. I already forgot my "passwort" and had to reset it-I am proud of myself for charging through the language barrier and finding my little gazette again.
I will post something more soon-it's late and my brain is liquifying. Night.