Ay-Yi-Yi

Phew. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I feel like I'm losing it here, y'all. My days are so full and I know that my definition of full is completely different from most other people's definitions of full and that's because they live in the "real" world and I do not. I live in the Magical Kingdom of My Mind which is yes, situated in Lloyd, Florida and I'm happy about that. I look at other people I know who get about fifteen thousand things a day done while I get about two things done and they travel and go kayaking and hiking and oh hell, to art museums and India and I? Well, I go to the chicken coop a lot. Four or five times a day, at least.

One of my friends, a woman who is way beyond productive, gets up with insomnia and cleans her house at two in the morning. Or four. Or six. Whatever. This woman travels more than anyone I know both with work and for pleasure, has at least two parties a month, has more friends that she does things with than she can shake a stick at, has moved an old house onto a piece of property she owns next door and is restoring it, has a beautiful yard and house that have her mark of quirk and charm about them, and is ready at the drop of a hat to help someone move, decorate for a wedding, throw a genuine English high tea or a redneck Christmas party, or take you on a road trip if that's what you need. She has a long-time, full-time boyfriend, a job and two sons. They're grown, but still. Also, she goes to the gym regularly.

I just look at her and go, "Whaaaaa?"

If I get up with insomnia I certainly do not clean my house. I eat Chex Mix or something equally nasty and read with my book up to my nose because I don't have my glasses on until I'm falling asleep in my chair in the kitchen and then I go back to bed.

Then I complain all the next day because I am TIRED and I am FAT.

See what I'm saying?

I suck.

I suck at the things normal people seem to be able to do.

In two weeks we're supposed to go to a wedding up in Alabama and it's going to be a big one. We've been invited to the wedding, the rehearsal dinner, the day-following-the-wedding brunch and I've been invited to a luncheon honoring the bride and her bridesmaids. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine how much they do NOT want Ms. Moon at a luncheon in Alabama with nice young Alabama girls and their nice young mamas? Oh Lord. This could be a fiasco. Let's not even mention the fact that I do not have four different outfits proper to the occasion of any of these events. I am already in deep depression about this and don't begin to know how to get ready. I think I'm in denial and am hoping, once again, that a comet hits the earth, destroying all forms of life as we know it, especially those forms which would require me to wear something "nice." Help me, Jesus.

I would so much rather spend a weekend cleaning up chicken shit and weeding the garden. I'm being honest here. But I suppose I'll have to go. I'll have to be nice. This is family. I'll have to pretend to be civilized. I'll have to be wearing appropriate shoes. At all times. I'll have to try and not shame Mr. Moon in any way. I'll have to wear a bra, remember not to say words like "cocksucker" (especially to the bride) or get drunk and dance the hootchie-mama dance.

In other words, I will have to pretend to be someone I am not.

Pray for me.

Meanwhile, I'm just hoping for a day soon where I have the time to hang my clothes on the line in this beautiful weather. A day where I can take a walk and sweep the floors and talk to Lis on the phone. A day where I can write.

A day where I can breathe. A day to spend in the Magical Kingdom of My Mind, right here in Lloyd wearing overalls and NO BRA.

A day to breathe. In and out. Consciously and without worrying that I'm about to be late for something.
Because I don't operate in normal time. I know that. I know I'm not normal. And that's okay with me.

I just wish the rest of the world understood.