Getting used to the idea

First of all, if you'll direct your eyes to the left-hand portion of this page ... Vanna, please point out the two new bloggy links I've added: Johanna and Rachel. Also if you haven't yet checked out Johnny's blog, it's also a relatively new link. Now that that's out of the way ...

I mentioned yesterday that I'd had lunch with some family members, specifically Mom, my grandmother, Aunt Linda, my cousin's wife Shannon and her three daughters (A., who's 18; and H. and K., who are preschoolish).

When Shannon and the girls got there, H. was not a happy camper. She looked as if she wanted nothing more than to hide. "I swear she's already got PMS," Shannon said, a little frustrated. They got settled, we ordered, she colored on her kiddie menu ... and after a while she was just fine. "She just had to get used to being here," my mom said, and everyone nodded and agreed.

As I was getting home, Matt called to say he was stuck where he is. "I just met a girl," he said, "but that's not it ... I mean, she just complicates things." No, the main reason he's there and not here, he assured me, is because he's broke and trying to get money to buy the torch/kiln/glass. I didn't have any reason not to believe him, but I was still pissed off.

"But you said you'd be back," I said, sticking my tongue out at the phone a little angrily. "Yeah, I will be ... there's nothing I want more than to get out of here," he said.

"And you have my torch," I said. "I know," he replied, "and I guess I could mail it back if you wanted." I sighed, gritted my teeth, and told him I just wanted him to come visit. Make me something. Spend some time here. Give me back my spirit bears (although I think I'll let him keep them and make myself a matching anklet instead).

When I got off the phone, I was angry. I felt queasy, lonely, bored. Fighting off the nausea, I wrote the post below, wanting nothing more than to hide.

So this is how H. felt, huh? Well, it felt pretty damn crappy. I can see why she wanted to hide. But instead, I took a Klonopin (trust me, the situation warranted it), tweaked the song I'm writing, retied Matt's hemp necklace, and painted for a while. And by the time Paul got home, I was on the phone with Carrie. I felt much better ... it just took a while to get used to the idea that things don't always go my way, but eh, what can you do? I always make it, and I'm stronger for it.

This morning, I reorganized my iPod. So Matt's not going to be back for a few weeks. Well, then I guess I can move off most of the Pink Floyd, CSN, Hendrix, etc. (No bitching -- I kept the good songs I wanted. And everything's saved in case I want to put it back.) When he gets here, he can make his own damn playlist. With that stuff gone, I added back a couple thousand songs I'd taken off earlier: U2, The Cranberries, R.E.M., Veruca Salt, John Mayer, etc. You know, my stuff.

Yes, Johanna, we'll get together. So we can't turn back time. Who cares? Today is what we make of it ... and I guess it's time to wipe off the pouty face and put on my dancing shoes.