Monday? So Soon? Oh, Weekend, You Fickle Bitch

It's Monday. I'm utterly drained. Far too tired to appreciate the handiwork of all I've accomplished this weekend, and eight hours of work looms... after I've cranked another couple cups of coffee into me.

But, if you gotta work after a weekend like mine, I recommend picking up a job like mine. Sitting there for eight hours watching tv's not a taxing job, thank god. Staying awake for it, that can be a challenge, but there in the wings is always my dear friend coffee. Gotta love legal drugs.

And today is bound to be a repeat of last Monday, in that I'll start fantasizing about my new bedroom half-way through the day, and resolve myself to a long, deep sleep upon my return home, which will include, in probably this order, frozen pizza, a long hot bath, and an early night turned into my tidy new bedroom (the only part of my home that IS tidy).

Half of the reasoning behind my big French press full of coffee is delaying getting out into this rain, which is coming down hard and steady, the kind of West Coast day that seeps into the bones. I was toying with bussing since I'm bagged, but I really can't fathom being on/waiting for the bus for two hours or so today. I'd rather toil through rain and get home earlier and keep that extra hour to myself, or, as the case will probably be, to my bed. :)

Last night's Dexter is playing on tape. A bit twisted, but I like the show. It's hard to conjure much sympathy for the protagonist, Dexter Morgan, but sympathy isn't always necessary, I guess. Still, I don't think it's as brilliant a series as people might have you believe, but it's still a far cry better than most and likely one of the best things going, and a nice, but very dark new twist on the Angel of Mercy.

A little more coffee, skip through the commercials... there we go.

Okay, here's the thing that's crazy about all this painting. Today, I'm not as sore and out of whack as I was last Monday. Maybe I've sufficiently broken myself in. Regardless... I can't believe how much better I am this point in the game than I thought I'd be. It's the end of an era, the end of necessity forcing me to change my life, myself, to be what I needed to be in order to avoid discomfiture, to avoid pain.

It's like the Ayn Rand quote I so love, avoiding death does not equate living life. When you're living life afraid of getting hurt... you ain't living much of a life.

It's been like playing a game injured. Gotta be sure of your footing, be sure of your moves... it saps the care-free outta day-to-day life sometimes. It negates a lot of choice. It's a dampener for life.

Granted, I've been over much of that for the last year or so, to a degree... many problems have arisen, bodily wise this past year, but all were overcome. This painting, though, may well be the nail in the coffin of my cautiousness. This has been a bit of a catharsis for me. Correction, a lot of a catharsis. Even if some of my troubles linger, I can, and will be able to, push through it and still enjoy the things that have always been high on my list of loves... like the decorating I was so scared would never be pain-manageable... but now isn't much pain at all, let alone in need of managing.

And now it's time to get to work. Scootering in the rain. Sigh. I'll just keep telling myself how, at $20 insurance for the month, and $7-8 gas for "busy" weeks, it beats the fuck out of any other option for a gal who's recrafting the world around her, a gallon of paint at a time. Yeah. Sure. Self-talk. That'll do it.

That, and Goretex.