Plan Simian

I own three computers and a typewriter. What more could I possibly need? It has come to my attention that what I now require is MORE MONKEYS! And maybe a cattle prod... for encouragement purposes.

In case it isn't obvious, my battle with writer's block has not yet ended. I've brought in the monkeys as Plan B. As part of Plan A, I requested long-ass essay writing tips from from a friend who happens to be a professor. Plan C involves a window, an apology, insurance claims being filed and the purchasing of a new laptop. I desperately hope I do not get to Plan C.  

Now, for sanity purposes, and also so I don't go to bed with Nazis on my brain, I'm going to read one of my new books. Yes, I've decided to stop staring at it longingly and actually read it. The latter is sooooo much more satisfying.

No monkeys were harmed in the production of this blog. They may be harmed if they don't pick up the pace on my essay though. Hint, hint.

Lauren.

Cindy Crawford...?

I am suffering from an atrocious and highly irritating case of writer's block. And I'm not happy about it. It always seems to happen at THE worst of times. Which leads me to believe that writer's block is stress induced and therefore within my control. Unfortunately, yelling at it to go away doesn't help and only makes me look crazier than I am. Probably not a good thing.

In other news, the topic of my marriage once again came up at the daycare. I'm seriously starting to wonder about this kid. I'm going to have to ask her why she's so invested/curious about marrying me off. I have to give her credit though. Not many people can surprise me to the point of rendering me speechless. I truly could not think of anything, sarcastic or otherwise, to say in response to today's matrimonial inquiry.

According to her, I should marry Cindy Crawford even if she's a girl. If I'd been drinking something, I probably would have spit it out all over the person in front of me. This kid wasn't done though. Apparently the reason I should marry Cindy Crawford is because I look like her.

...?

I wish I could better replicate the confused silence that followed. I think in that moment I looked more like a fish out of water than a supermodel. It's an awesome compliment, don't get me wrong. It's just... really inaccurate. I could maybe pass for Cindy Crawford's slightly shorter, much younger (sorry Cindy) sister from another mister who happens to weigh enough for two Cindys put together. Maybe. And I don't necessarily agree that looking like someone (even though I don't) is a good reason to marry that person. I think that might lead to scary places... Particularly for me. I have a lot of doppelgängers.

Plus! I wikipediaed Cindy. The Internet That Never Lies said she supported Mitt Romney. On that point alone we'd never work out. I also discovered that there's a porn star of the same name. I'm assuming the kid at daycare meant that I should marry the model. If she knows about the porn star I'm going to have a lot of awkward questions for her parents. Even the fact that she knows of the model is kind of strange to me. Not to dump on Cindy's age or anything, but she's not exactly someone that a seven year old is likely to be culturally aware of.

Maybe I shouldn't ask this kid questions. I might learn something that I will never be able to unlearn.

Lauren.

A Lauren Daily Wedding

One of the kids at work has become especially curious about my personal life. It's nothing new really. When I was on placement some of the kids would ask questions. The usual: Do you have a boyfriend? Why not? Do you want to get married? Do you have kids? Do you want kids? My answers are generally vague: No, I don't have a boyfriend. I don't want a boyfriend. I would like to be married some day. I don't have children. I would like children some day. I don't elaborate and I don't correct. It's not my place and it's really none of their business.

Apparently those answers have worn out their appeal. This one kid just keeps asking and asking. How do you plan on having kids if you're not married or if you don't have a boyfriend? I actually remember thinking it was a strange question coming from that particular child because her parents have adopted children. She seemed content with that answer.

Until today. Today she wanted a timeline dammit. She wanted to know when I was getting married. For a minute I paused and debated giving her a semi-sarcastic answer along the lines of, once I do some serious travelling, finish a novel, move to a place of my own, enjoy my independence a bit, find someone I want to be with, live together for at least a year, I'll probably want to be reasonably established in my career... basically just boring her to tears with the practicalities of life and my own brand of annoying. Instead I went  for a full out sarcastic response.

So, I am officially inviting you all to my wedding. It will be taking place 1000 years from tomorrow. Save the date! And don't you dare tell me you can't get the time off. I've given plenty of warning. Other details to follow.

She took that news really well. I think she was actually excited. One of the other girls who was sitting across from me attempting to nap, lifted her head, smirked and said: I don't think I'll be able to make it. I smirked right back and told her to go back to sleep.

Now I've just got to figure out how to hire a wedding planner a millennium into the future. They wouldn't be in the Yellow Pages would they?

Lauren.

Throwing Salsa

For those of you who are not familiar with my mental health conditions, I have generalized anxiety disorder and dysthymia (a type of chronic depression). Normally, I'm okay. I've been dealing with these conditions for a long time. I've taken a lot of time getting to know myself and how to control my behaviour and thoughts when my anxiety or depression start kicking up. I'm usually pretty good at self-regulating and figuring out what I need in order to get my work done.

Sometimes however, I just get my ass handed to me. And this last week was one of those weeks. I'm sure if you scroll back it will be obvious.

I definitely realized that I was feeling shitty. I tried doing nothing. Sometimes just taking a break is enough to reset my mood. Didn't work. I tried working on school stuff. That really didn't work. I could only stare at my cursor blinking on my blank page. That stressed me out more and got me nowhere. I tried focusing on something fun that I like (reading for the hell of it) but I couldn't. I knew I should have been reading my school books and writing my papers and I just couldn't focus on anything fun. All that left me doing was... laying there... kind of... comatose, mopey and broody. Not. Good.

I didn't know how to pull myself out of my mood. And, as it turns out, it wasn't anything that I normally do or would have thought of on my own.

I went out to supper with my Godmother. It was actually really fun. I was worried that we wouldn't have anything to talk about. Because really, who wants to talk about Nazis other than historians. Even some historians avoid talking about Nazis. In the end, that didn't matter. What was important was the young server from the next section over.

He was walking along with a tray of dirty dishes. I was quite unaware of him until I heard a crash and felt something wet on my face. I turned slowly, looked at the floor, saw a bunch of salsa all over the place, saw the server look at me absolutely horrified. He started apologizing like crazy. He looked so embarrassed. He ran to get napkins and by then, I was wiping at myself. I had salsa all down my right side, on my shirt, on my pants, my neck, my face. I wiped it all up, kind of laughed it off. I promised him it was fine. And then for some reason, he started telling me that it wasn't the first time it had happened to him. I thought that was probably not the best story to tell someone presently covered in someone else's reject salsa. Once the mess was cleaned, he disappeared, I finished eating and that was that.

Until our waitress came back and my aunt informed her of our incident. By then, I'd had time to do a secondary exploration. Turns out I also had salsa in my hair and on my purse which was on the seat next to me... completely blocked by my body. It was amazing really and I felt the need to talk up his ability. I mean, that salsa really flew! He got it to go about five feet. Pretty impressive considering it all rebounded and flew up AFTER hitting the floor. Once again, the waitress was totally embarrassed and asking if I was okay, if she could do anything. I waved it off. Not a big deal. It really wasn't that bad.

Apparently it was because the manager later appeared to inspect me. She asked if they could dry clean my shirt. Since I was kind of wearing my shirt, and it was just a t-shirt, I declined. Instead, I asked if she could mercilessly tease the poor server who got me. As it turns out, he's the manager's son and our waitress' brother. She was all for embarrassing him. She asked if she could cream the poor kid. I thought that was an awesome idea. As far as I know, it didn't happen. But every time he walked by me, he clearly felt bad. He couldn't even look at me.

It was funny. I was genuinely amused. I was even more amused when I got home. I even had some on my back. I don't know how that happened. It was astounding. It was also just what I needed. I don't know why, but just laughing, even if it was at myself and just being surprised, it was enough. I don't have to know why it worked. I'm just happy that it did.

I do however feel the need to mention that I will not be happy if people start throwing salsa at me. This was a one time thing. You throw salsa at me in the future and I may have to hurt you.

Lauren.

Tech-NO

An infinitely better day. Let's just start there. Still quiet and unproductive, but I feel better. Which is something.

I think a lot of it has to do with finally using Skype. I downloaded it forever ago, but had only used it twice until now. Mainly because I think, generally speaking of course, that my friends share my dislike of digital communication. We were using MSN until the last possible minute. If that tells you anything. Anyway, today, Dana and I braved Skype technology and wound up talking for over an hour. I'm telling you the results now because it's kind of a miracle that we got as far as talking at all.

When we began, we couldn't connect. My computer kept saying that it was waiting for her to accept my friend request or whatever. But according to her, that request had never arrived. We fiddled for a while until finally, we figured out what the problem was. Dana wasn't logged in. We then fought with our cameras and mics. My camera kept crapping out because our internet sucks. Her microphone is apparently not the greatest because I had a hard time hearing her. At one point, I asked if she felt like she was talking to a deaf person. She said yes. Much manoeuvring ensued and eventually everything was working. I'm not sure how she was sitting with her laptop and I'm okay with that. I'm also pretty sure it's a good thing we were unable to have a video chat... given the mic issues and laptop placement.

Now if only I could get motivated enough to write my damn paper. My brain has shut down and won't wake up. Rude. Not really though... it's exhausted. Only two and a half more months... I think I'm going to have to attempt this Old School. Because technology doesn't always work for everything. Really. It doesn't.

Lauren.

End of the Week Theory

I'm choosing to believe that going to bed and waking up tomorrow morning will bring an end to this week. I just... really need this week to end. I'm going to get started on that theory right now.

Send good vibes if you have them. They might help.

Lauren.

Saved by the Books

Not a good day. I don't even want to talk about it. The last time I wrote when I was frustrated, I wrote something that I will likely regret. For that reason, I am not saying anything about what happened or why this day has been craptastic in the extreme. It is the craptastic finale to a craptastic week filled with craptastic people and surprises. All together now: Craptastic!

The silver lining of it all is that I finally decided to engage in a form of therapy I have ignored for quite a while. I went to a book store and bought not one, but two books that have nothing to do with school work or Nazis. I spent at least half an hour carefully perusing the shelves, trying to find new works by some of my favourite authors. It was nice. Book shopping is always so... perfect. It's the only kind of sensory overload I appreciate.

The smell, the feel of the covers and pages, the look of each carefully crafted cover concealing identical paper just below the surface. Books are like people. Except that generally speaking, I prefer books to people. Each book is its own being, just waiting to introduce itself to you, to tell you a story and try to teach you how to listen, trying to decide whether or not you're worthy of its secrets. Best of all, it doesn't judge or demand. It simply speaks. It questions. It patiently waits for your answers and never scoffs at your conclusions. Books, though inanimate, are alive. The relationship you have with a books is reciprocal. It gives you words, but you give those words meaning. Books just... make more sense than people.

I could spend days locked in a book store and not care. The owners would of course care, but that's their problem not mine. I have a sense that I will become the Hermione Granger that Professor Trelawny predicts. I suppose it could be worse.

Give me a book store any day. If only they could put that in my meds.

Lauren.