in the midst of winter...

At Trader Joe's on Monday, they were selling daffodil stems. Stems, not bloomed or anything. I put them in water and today this is where they are. I would love to capture them on film each day, but at least I did today.

I am home, sick. Yes. You read that right. The fortunate thing is that the fever (low grade, 99 F) has seem to have gotten me out of my "funk." I find this--if I get a cold, my body decides that it can't take being depressed AND being sick, so it tells the mind to shape up. Not the best way to cure depression, but I'll take it. I'm home. I need to find out where my orange juice is. I think it might still be in the foyer.

Got the car warshed, and so now my car has a "Got milkweed?" bumper sticker, from my mom. (Milkweed is the life source for monarch butterflies in the mating and pupa stages.)

Okay, that's enough for now. ISO orange juice, then maybe a movie, and I might fall asleep.

I don't think it's a cold b/c it didn't respond to the Zicam daytime liquid I took at 9am and at 1pm.

TTFN...

What day is it?

Well, I was feeling better. I went to see Slumdog Millionaire--what a fascinating way to tell a story.

It didn't last long. So say a prayer--it is rare that I talk to my therapist during the week but after yesterday's session, she said, call me if you need to. And I did. I texted Bird (my sister) "I need a hug" and she called back right away. Now, I don't get suicidal (there's a blessing) but she said to me, "I talked to Jesus and he's not ready for you yet." She is such a dear one.

The good news is I made it to work. Late, but I made it. (After my shower, I crawled right back into bed, though.)

Last night the Monday girls (our small group) had a Girl Scout Cookie party. I brought my own bottle of Coke, and ate one cookie. K. was a gracious host (she always is) and fed me some mashed potatoes she had on hand. When my stomach settles, I have some cookies to enjoy in my purse.

So, since I really have nothing to say, I'll make this Poetry Tuesday and give you some Emily Dickenson that always makes me smile. Do you have a poem that always makes you smile?

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--
without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

What do I hope for? That this cough is not a harbinger of a cold. That I can remember to take care of some financial errands tomorrow (that I forgot today). That I can get out of this funk.

The Emily Dickenson reminds me of the hymn, How can I keep from singing.

I sure am a rambling writer today...

Gloomy on a beautiful day...

If I leave now, I can catch my dear friend and her hubby at Whole Foods for breakfast. Which is undoubtedly what I should do.

But I'm so tired. This is my latest tweet: wondering if I'm in the wrong profession. the wrong city. the wrong house. Also, soaking a new Britta filter.

I want a job where I don't have to think really hard about whether or not I can afford a gym membership. I want a job where I don't have to measure out my vacations. (I want to be able to take time at Easter, in the summer.) I want long conversations, face to face. I want companionship.

I love this city, but can it give me that job (which is surely an academic one?) Am I this beholden to this town?

I have always said that geography and relationships are crucial to me. But what do you do when you feel that both are failing you? That the geography you love you are not able to enjoy. That the relationships you cultivate cannot support your need for long conversations?

************

My mother is taking a class right now. It is on the needs of gifted and talented (GT) students. How their special needs are almost as needy as a child with autism, or another "special needs." It is interesting, as my mother talks about what she is learning, I am able to realize how lonely I was as a child. I finally was able to share with her how I longed for college, when in high school I sat at dinner and couldn't have conversation, because conversation had to encompass everyone and that included two toddlers. (Bird will forgive me. By the time I was fifteen, she was five and NOT a toddler, but as in her eyes I was the older sister, the additional parent figure, to me, she was the young one, removed from my life.)

All my friends are married, or getting married, or having babies, or had them. It takes a month and endless emails to arrange even one lunch date. Can I live on a diet of lunch dates?

When I was in my freshman year, by October, I thought, I have to transfer, I have to get out. I worked through and out of that, but by October the next year, I thought, I have to transfer, I have to get out. And by that time, I had enough stability to get out, to do what must be done. I wonder if now is that time again. Last year I went through a need to get out, to move on. It passed. But I wonder now if that time has not returned. And if in the stability of this year, having tried to make it work and seeing that it is not enough, what this city offers me, that it IS time to move on.

If I leave now, they will still be sitting there with breakfast, maybe. But I am ragged, and tears stain my face. Is now really the time to compose myself?

*************

Back to my mother's class. So there are "special needs" that a gifted and talented child/adult has. But what then of the myriad of needs? I am special by many ways: I have a bright and quick mind. (And I long for people to talk to.) I am a TCK grown up (and I long for people who understand what it is to have grown up traveling, not to have to explain myself always.) And I am a single woman, not sure if she will find a mate, if she wants to. (There is a dual special need there: for companionship in the singleness, but also for discussion of what it is to be single.)

So is there a balm in Gilead? Is there ever a way to have all one's needs met? (Outside of heaven, that is.) The answer comes back, a resounding no. But then how does one decide which needs are most important? What will continue to kill me slowly if I do not nurture it?

So, dear reader, what is it that is killing you slowly as this winter moves on, always snowing, never Christmas? Is it time to take an inventory and see if the pieces will form a whole puzzle, the sailboat that shines in the breeze? Or is it warped and missing too many pieces, water damaged from all the tossing to and fro?

Is there one thing that would stop the oozing out? Or do you have multiple oozing holes, each one crying out like that plant in the Little Shop of Horrors, "Feed me, Seymour, feed me!"

(Aren't I a cheery one this morning?)

This blog hasn't died, I promise

Helen just commented that she misses "new" content. I miss it too. In many ways, Twitter has become my blog, but in other ways, I am busiest now than I have ever ever been in my professional life.

I'm working on corralling the North region to choose Summer Reading programming--in a meeting that was an hour and a half, I still have to make phone calls!

I'm working on this project that was started in New England. I'm nuts. I have never planned anything bigger than my own birthday party and three Stuffed Animal Sleepovers. I actually have to go real soon and meet with a woman at Borders. And I have NOTHING to hand her, partially b/c we have nothing on paper... (look at the links.)

I am behind in that I promised Mitali Perkins I would review her new book, Secret Keeper. Tuesday, when I tried to compose myself and make some notes at my favorite bistro, the waiter was hitting on me, so I left as soon as I could. Drat.

The cat lady on the second floor has been of concern--the smell is sometimes in my own apartment and I have threatened my landlord that I'm considering moving.

The depression I had a week ago threw me for a major loop. But it only lasted about a week, YAY!

I'm feeling less connected to blogs because it's not where my friends are, so much. My friends are on Face Book or Twitter. I miss getting comments, which could be because I'm not writing.

I'm considering visiting my mom for her birthday next weekend. It might be a better on the bus trip, as I'm Tired.

I don't think this winter is too long. (I've been hearing this a lot lately.) If I haven't gone ice skating, winter can't be over yet.

I will work on being more witty n'at. Here, have a cookie. Have two.