Dying Orchids and Expired Yogurt: One's Best Life
There are points in your life when you wake up and find that your orchids have died, your yogurt is expired, your coffee is stale as you dug out the cast off bag of grounds in the back of the fridge you tossed aside for a "rainy day" (three or so years before) as you didn't care for their grunge, and your only pair of clean pants are a pair of jeans that even an alcoholic troll would find unattractive on you. There are points . . . Now, now is one of those for me.
I should probably be ashamed about the oddities of my expired yogurt, but--yeah-- here are the things. It's bacteria anyway. Also, with as much Pepto as I've been drinking these days can it make it any worse? The Lupus drugs are a bitch, the side effects are a nightmare, and . . . What? I'm a glass half full kind of gal, so I'm thinking perhaps inside one of these expired yogurt cups we will find the secret to eternal salvation, a cure for these disgusting side effects, and maybe an end to the Lupus hell. Okay, so that last one might be a long shot, but hell a girl can certainly dream.
Though, among the emptied cups in recycling, and the pills swallowed, I tinker away at projects on my list. Items to sew in the hours I'm too wound up to sleep, too exhausted to write, and too worried to relax. Shorts to sleep in for spring and intricately quilted and made travel bags fill some of those hours. And, more of those hours with jeans and topstitching . . . And things we already know I make. Remeasuring myself, recutting patterns, redoing a wardrobe as pieces from last year and the year before would now fit two of me. These things fill the days, and the nights too.
Somewhere in there, I remember that I've long loved orchids, and I try my hand--again--and harboring love for them.
ElpÃda, psychi, onéria, chara, and agápi: hope, soul, dreams, joy, and love. If you've been keeping up, I've already killed elpÃda and agápi once, which provoked a friend to tell me to never have kids and a class of college co-eds to pronounce I shouldn't get a puppy, or kitten, or even a fish. That's okay; I'm usually not home enough anyway. Or, in the case of now, when I am home, I'm disassociated enough not to notice.
(yellow and purple: chara (joy); purple and white: agápi (love)).
(fushia: onéira (dreams); mustard yellow and fushia: elÃda (hope); and white and lavender: psychi (soul)).
Though, I've kept dreams alive for a little over a month now. That's a first. Maybe I'm on my way to becoming an Orchid Whisperer and instead of Orchid Killer? I know, I know. Don't hold your breadth.
To make myself even more ghastly, as I forget to water the plants (or perhaps I over water them), I went six months with a showerhead that worked enough to get a shower but never a "great" one. Why? Was it because I couldn't afford the ten bucks for a showerhead? That I didn't know how to put one on? No. I just couldn't fucking remember to stop at the hardware store to pick up a replacement. I should be ashamed, and I also realize the ability of myself to take care of myself is falling into question.
It gets better.
I've been in this apartment for three years, and as such my lightbulbs are starting to burn out. That's normal, and fair, yet--you guessed it--I didn't remember to buy new ones until I had one of five left in my kitchen and one of four left in the bathroom. Again, I should be ashamed. Though, that brings me to my point: how is that I finally remembered to buy lightbulbs?
Well, it's pretty practical you see. I was working on hefty revisions to my novel, and I was doing serious research and recon into the business of performing guerilla warfare to find a literary agent. In as such, I found myself out of Crabbies. Enter a rainy night, NYC, and Seamless. Yup, I had light bulbs, Crabbies, and a cheeseburger delivered. Yes, yes, I did. Granted, I had to swap the bun for gluten-free bread when I got it (hey, the world isn't perfect yet), but seriously y'all . . .
Dead orchids and expired yogurt aside, having beer (gluten-free too boot), light bulbs, and a cheeseburger delivered is what I call living my best life.
I should probably be ashamed about the oddities of my expired yogurt, but--yeah-- here are the things. It's bacteria anyway. Also, with as much Pepto as I've been drinking these days can it make it any worse? The Lupus drugs are a bitch, the side effects are a nightmare, and . . . What? I'm a glass half full kind of gal, so I'm thinking perhaps inside one of these expired yogurt cups we will find the secret to eternal salvation, a cure for these disgusting side effects, and maybe an end to the Lupus hell. Okay, so that last one might be a long shot, but hell a girl can certainly dream.
Somewhere in there, I remember that I've long loved orchids, and I try my hand--again--and harboring love for them.
ElpÃda, psychi, onéria, chara, and agápi: hope, soul, dreams, joy, and love. If you've been keeping up, I've already killed elpÃda and agápi once, which provoked a friend to tell me to never have kids and a class of college co-eds to pronounce I shouldn't get a puppy, or kitten, or even a fish. That's okay; I'm usually not home enough anyway. Or, in the case of now, when I am home, I'm disassociated enough not to notice.(yellow and purple: chara (joy); purple and white: agápi (love)).
(fushia: onéira (dreams); mustard yellow and fushia: elÃda (hope); and white and lavender: psychi (soul)).
Though, I've kept dreams alive for a little over a month now. That's a first. Maybe I'm on my way to becoming an Orchid Whisperer and instead of Orchid Killer? I know, I know. Don't hold your breadth.
To make myself even more ghastly, as I forget to water the plants (or perhaps I over water them), I went six months with a showerhead that worked enough to get a shower but never a "great" one. Why? Was it because I couldn't afford the ten bucks for a showerhead? That I didn't know how to put one on? No. I just couldn't fucking remember to stop at the hardware store to pick up a replacement. I should be ashamed, and I also realize the ability of myself to take care of myself is falling into question.
It gets better.
I've been in this apartment for three years, and as such my lightbulbs are starting to burn out. That's normal, and fair, yet--you guessed it--I didn't remember to buy new ones until I had one of five left in my kitchen and one of four left in the bathroom. Again, I should be ashamed. Though, that brings me to my point: how is that I finally remembered to buy lightbulbs?
Well, it's pretty practical you see. I was working on hefty revisions to my novel, and I was doing serious research and recon into the business of performing guerilla warfare to find a literary agent. In as such, I found myself out of Crabbies. Enter a rainy night, NYC, and Seamless. Yup, I had light bulbs, Crabbies, and a cheeseburger delivered. Yes, yes, I did. Granted, I had to swap the bun for gluten-free bread when I got it (hey, the world isn't perfect yet), but seriously y'all . . .
Dead orchids and expired yogurt aside, having beer (gluten-free too boot), light bulbs, and a cheeseburger delivered is what I call living my best life.
Comments