Furr-bulous On Elm

Sunday's paper had a write-up on a new pet boutique that just opened in Greensboro. I popped by yesterday to check it out. It's Furr-bulous at 354 N. Elm Street and it's adorable. I stopped in to check out the place as well as introduce myself and drop off my kitty-cat books to see if they're interested in carrying them. But while there I had to snag a "Cat Lover" mug that I suspect will soon be the only mug I drink from.

Great dog stuff there. They have a gourmet pet food case with doggie birthday cakes shaped like a bone. Also bibs that read, "I'm not fat. Just Fluffy. " (I'd buy one if I thought there was any chance of getting the cats to wear it.)

Today is "workshop prep day." Lots of handouts and organizing and flipping through the millions of magazines I've collected to find relevant examples of points I'm trying to make.  The guest bedroom where I've laid everything out may never recover. Even my nosy cats appear hesitant to intrude upon the chaos.

The paperwork awaits. Have a great day.

Loooo-ser

Do you ever have days where you just feel stupid? Not ignorant stupid, but just loser-stupid. Like you just clued in that the rest of world thinks you're a joke and is secretly mocking you behind your back? I'm having one of those days.

I don't know why. Nothing's happened. I'm having a good morning. I look cute, had a good networking meeting this a.m., no real stress in my day. But I just feel... loser-like. As if I've been faking my way through life and oops, today is the day it all caught up with me.  Busted.

I'd like to say it's artist angst but I suspect most of us have days like this, where we just want to crawl under a blanket and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist.  I did some quick journaling and already feel better. Sometimes just putting words down on a page is enough to release the emotion from your system.

I debated whether or not to even blog on this topic but, eh. We've all been there. It will pass. No harm in admitting it.

Meanwhile, I've had an idea brewing in my mind for several weeks about an article I want to write for a runner's magazine. I've got 2 hours to kill until my next meeting and am going to indulge in some good old-fashioned writing time.

High-five's to all you losers roaming around out there today. ;)

Dena

Printer Paranoia

My color copier hates me. I realize it's an inanimate object, incapable of human thought or emotion but that doesn't change the fact that it hates me.

And it's not just one. Apparently I have offended the color copier gods and now all are out to thwart me. About a month ago our color copier/printer/scanner/fax machine suddenly and for no reason started printing everything in pink and yellow. We checked the toner cartridges. Full. We shook them (because it seemed like a logical thing to do). No effect.  We printed out numerous color copies of various documents and lined them up in a pretty pink row and scratched our heads. Then we did what any good blooded American would do. We said, "To hell with it," and got a new printer.

I've only used the color copier on this new one once or twice. Wonderful, beautiful copies. But today, I attempted to make a copy of an article of mine that is blue and green and what do I get? Pink and yellow. Again. 

Stupid, blasted machine. What infuriates me is that there's no reason for the error. Nothing's changed! If it worked properly the last time, it should work this time. That's the rule. The error also comes at the worst possible time, as I'm prepping documents for my Saturday workshop and need to make color copies. I'd prefer, on a professional level, not to have every handout I give my class be pink.

My theory is that if I focus enough of my hate on the machine, it will see the error of its ways and start functioning properly. I'm also not above threatening to tie a brick around its waist and dump it in a river where no one will hear its cries for help.  Mad? You betcha. SOMEONE around here better start producing some blue and green color copies, pronto. If not, I can't be held responsible for my actions.

Why Must I Be Organized?

There is a huge pile of crap sitting on my desk. Bank statements, handouts from last weeks class that need to be three-holed punched, a newspaper clipping I want to send to a friend, a magazine with the perfect job opening for another friend, a tape recorder, a book I just finished reading, my cell phone, random scraps of paper with notes about current projects scribbled on them, about 8 paper tablets (a writer's best friend) and probably chocolate crumbs from the protein bars I've been eating all week.

The goal is to get the crap off the desk and organized so I can start the working week fresh tomorrow. I don't know why, but I have a block on chaos. I literally convince myself I can't work unless my desk is cleared and everything is filed, labelled, and put away. Same with the house. How can I write a word if there is laundry in the washer waiting a transfer to the dryer? How can one expect to be creative when there is dust on the end table?

Sheesh. Enough already. I kind of like the idea of being the kooky creative type who can look into a pile of debris and put her hand on the exact memo that she needs and go right on working. But I have what I call the "clean-slate syndrome." I'm convinced every project will go better if I start with a clean-slate. No little details or projects waiting to be attended. Knock the small stuff out so there is a clean-slate to focus on the big-picture items. Of course, any first year psych student can diagnose that the small stuff will never disappear, meaning the big picture projects will forever be pushed off.

Is therapy the answer? Chocolate? Or maybe I just forbid myself from clearing off my desk for a week and see what comes of it. I'll consider that. Next week. When I can start the messy desk experiment with a clean slate.