manic monday.

the antihistamine and caffeine in my system are cancelling each other out and the effects are so... weird. call me sadistic but I'd rather run around frantically trying to get things done on time than pretend to be working on something when what I'm actually doing is jotting down a grocery list/planning next day's outfit/thinking about what i'll eat for lunch. pretending to work is super tedious. trust me. it's more work than work itself.

posted from Bloggeroid

working girl blues

inescapably, life has its trade-offs. for a newbie working girl, a steady paycheck easily equates to bad posture, all-day coffee breath (gross, i know) and (very) limited surfing time. i don't doubt that i'll soon grow pasty from extreme sunlight deprivation, and that my muffin top will soon have a life of its own for my lack of any physical activity save for the tips of my typing fingers. but as trade-offs go, a steady paycheck is actually the tip of the fulfillment iceberg and there are perks to counter the working girl blues.

after a good, solid 5 minutes of thinking, i'll have to get back to you on that. i  have some typing to do you know.

when i was younger, i liked to listen as the adults talked around me. about war, and politics, and the current president. the economy in post-martial law, freedom constitution times. about today's editorial. about snoring and the benefits of wheat grass in the diet. about not mixing coloreds with whites. and presoaking. and deglazing. and whatever adults talk about. now, i look up from my doodling and sometimes forget to speak. behind closed doors i am extremely childish and petty and totally unready. i forget that i am two birthdays shy from being thirty and have to talk the talk. or do i?

vain, and (not really) denying it.

i never thought of myself as vain. a bit self conscious perhaps, but never vain. i'm usually the first out of the bathroom and ready to go. i don't mind stepping out of the house with wet hair and toothpaste-encrusted lips. i don't mind being caught on camera with the weirdest, most unflattering of facial expressions, and i have a few photographs to attest to that. sure i have, on occasion, glanced at a showroom display pretending to admire the merchandise when i'm actually looking at my reflection. but it almost never occurs to me to check my teeth for food particles or blot my T-zone off of its usual grease. sure i enjoy photoshoots and dressing up. but, i have never had a facial, never stepped into a gym, never went to the "derma" and all that jazz. so, by my selfish standards, i am NOT vain. but i have yet to reconcile myself with the idea that i have an older husband who will look infinitely younger (and cuter) than me. so yeah, i am, um, not vain.

happiness is weird.

i could be the girl with the glossed lips, armed with cocktails and a thigh-high slit. the girl with the four-inch stilettos and ridiculously expensive could-feed-a-small-country purse. i'm off-duty, in between runways and callbacks and premieres and outrageous things like that.

i could be the girl with the sun-kissed skin, hair blowing in the wind, athletic body, confident, intrepid, dangerous. i'm in Africa, South America, India, Antarctica. explorer. international correspondent. wildlife photographer. adventurer.

i could be the girl wearing a tight bun, not a strand of hair out-of-place. armed with a python satchel, assistant in tow. or two. charming everyone's socks off. editor. chief legal counsel, hotshot firm. district attorney. 

i could be the girl on the cover of Fortune. or Time. C.E.O. of the next big idea to hit a gazillion. Pulitzer prize winner. best-selling author.

i'm not any of these girls.

my lips are chappy. my lipstick's stale.

my old jeans squeeze my muffin top to gross proportions.

i have arm fat and i'm not fabulously dangerous.

i can't take pictures to save my life.

i can't even maintain a decent blog.

and the only gazillion i have are dust bunnies.

i look at my sleeping husband beside me. he doesn't seem to mind my arm fat. he whimpers as he sleeps and i'm reminded that he's my over-all wonder boy. my hero. i'm not any of these girls but i have no reason to complain and every reason to be grateful. which i am. happiness is weird. it's never what you thought it was back when you were daydreaming and filling in college applications.

and python satchels are so not animal-friendly.