Through Kat's not-so-clear eyes

I'm getting older, and parts of me aren't working as well as they once did. Yes--even the "bionic" parts. I had LASIK surgery at the age of 18. (In my family you're given small diamond earrings at 16 and eye surgery two years later. Odd, but true. I was the youngest to receive the surgery in the tri-state area, before the surgery was even FDA approved.) But now, almost 10 years later I've found myself squinting at street signs and TV screens. Sigh.

Dad had RK surgery ages ago and has needed several touch-ups throughout the years, so it shouldn't come as a surprise that I would also require follow-up surgery. My right eye will undergo a different type of surgery tomorrow, though--a "relaxation" via scalpel. The left eye will have LASIK surgery at the end of February.

So I've the next two days off, but I don't think I'll be having a whole lota fun. I'll be hiding out at home with a patch over my eye. Aargh. Me feels the need for some Johnny Depp, Orlando Bloom, and rum...

A Birthday to Celebrate

Tomorrow, Jan. 26th, is Sister #2's birthday. Since Mom and Dad are lounging on a white, sandy beach, her sisters and brothers-in-law are taking the birthday girl to La Bodega, a killer tapas bar, to celebrate. The Sangria, flaming Spanish coffee, and delicious tapas will be flowing to celebrate that the baby of the family is no longer really a baby. In fact, she's closing in on her mid-20s. But that doesn't mean that she can escape the watchful eye of the family. Ever. Sorry, kiddo. That comes with the territory of being a family.

Happy Birthday Kitten!!

The Green-Eyed Monster

Okay, not quite green. Perhaps a good-natured sage or even a mint? Mom and Dad are vacationing in Costa Rica this week, and as I sit in my darkened cubicle for too many hours a day, I wish I were there, too.

Instead I stare at the screen saver...images of vibrant blue waters, thatched huts, and swaying palm trees. And it makes me want to hurry up and plan our Farewell to Independence Tour. The Banker and I always planned to take a big trip before settling down, and this year we're hoping to take such a vacation. Where to? When?

Well, we're weighing our options and our pocketbooks. And in the meantime, the cubicle walls are beginning to close in. And those phone calls from The Four Seasons are making me weep.

An odd outing

On Wednesday, I made a small trip after work to the local YMCA. I was greeted by a kind, energetic woman who gave me a tour of their childcare facility. It wasn't as bad as I'd feared, the children looked happy and well-care for.

Not that we're expecting. But the YMCA only accepts eight infants at a time, and the waiting list is two years long. So it's like a weird bit of insurance. A back up.

So many questions are swarming about. Is this what I want? Would I be okay with my child growing, learning, exploring, without me? I'd always wanted to stay at home...but could I handle that, emotionally, mentally? Can I afford NOT to work? What is best?

Right now, I can't pretend to know, and that's really troubling to me.

A reminder of my age

Today I was reminded that I'm no longer as young as I once was. The weather had plummeted a good 20 degrees overnight and a bitter wind sprang up that turned bare skin a harsh red. And in accordance with this unsettling change, the horses were on edge. And so during my riding lesson this afternoon, my typically steady mount gave me a bit of a tumble. While I was able to get back in the saddle and play it off, I'm now definitely not feeling lighthearted about the fall. In fact, I'm achy. A very deep-seated, throbbing that has traveled from my lower back through my shoulders and into my neck and skull. So I'm heading off to bed at this early hour, much like an eight-year-old would. Feeling very, very much older.

A bit of awkwardness

So a lovely gal from my high school recently e-mailed me asking for my impressions on my first job at a local weekly business newspaper. It seems she's interviewed at this establishment and wanted me to weigh in on my short tenure there.

How does one nicely say that I wouldn't wish that job on my worst enemy? That women flee from that place in droves? That the boss sexually harassed me by constantly asking if I meant things in the conjugal sense? That while we once were editing an article onscreen I pointed out he'd failed to erase a period, and he turned to me and said, "Yep, it's that time of the month, isn't it?!" That he encouraged me to use my feminine wiles to get information from my father's and my father-in-law's associates? That he constantly talked shit about his wife? That he was a short, nasty man who is so thoroughly displeased with his life that he must spread that hostility? That he wants a take-no-prisoner, go-for-the-jugular form of journalism that often requires its reporters to be total schmucks? That the asshole made me cry on my birthday--of all days--in the office (a pleasure I'd solemnly sworn never to give him)? That the job pays shit and that she's worth so, so much more?

I'm sorry. It's just that thinking about that place has brought up so much vitriol. I ran from that place with my self esteem in shambles. It was only under the kind nurturing of two wonderful men three states away that I would realize I was okay and that this creative world was, in fact, a place I could call home.

(Sorry Shel, I know this hits close to home. Please forgive my rants and my memories that have no doubt been colored by the passage of time.)

Insult to funk

Pchit! got his. As did Chuck. And Sharfa. But I've fallen through the proverbial cracks. And I understand. I really do. Life at the Magazine Mansion is crazy, hectic, a-thrill-a-minute. And I'm a small fish in the blogging ocean. But the thought of some sort of crap arriving in the mail was enticing...and for an offer of a million babies--how can one refuse?!?

Dirty little secret

I hate to admit this. I really do. It truly is a shameful, shameful secret. I sometimes, sometimes, find America's Funniest Home Videos actually...funny.

I know. I'm hanging my head in shame.

And I've got nothin'

Really. Not a single, solitary anything worth writing about. And it's been over a week since I've last posted. Usually something worthwhile/annoying/amusing/ironic/compelling happens to me in such a stretch of time. But not this week.

Well, I guess that's not entirely true. New Years was great fun. Sister #1 threatened to light a man on fire as he kept grabbing her when her husband slipped away to the restroom or the bar. So that was amusing. And other stuff happened this week. I got the world's worst freelance assignment (Hemorrhoids?!? Hemorrhoids?!? You want me to right about THAT?!?!). But as I have no other sources of freelance in this dismal place, I took it. And I got together with some friends but even that was not so terribly fun.

Everything seems to be happening through a haze, the colors muted, the emotions feeling a bit flat. Maybe it's because I'm nursing on ongoing case of exhaustion and an unrelenting sore throat. Or it could be that I'm getting lazy, easily bored, and am slipping into a bit of a funk.

Yep, I believe I may be firmly encased in a funk. It's the sloshy, shoe-sucking sort of muck that just makes me want to curl up in bed until I can find more energy or something to get jazzed about. In fact, I think my bed is calling...