I was wondering when you'd show up!

Hey! It's crippling doubt! Buddy! Where have you been these past weeks?! It's been lonely without you lurking around. I've been lazily skipping through my new life, feeling on top of the world, braver than ever before without you. You can imagine how hard that was to get used to, so I'm relieved to have you back weighing me down. Like a mean, little yoda-type creature gripping my shoulders, training me with sage words "Too old, you are." and "You, no one wants." Reuninted, and it feels no good, my familiar disease.

How is it that I can see this part of me makes absolutely no sense part of the time, and the rest of the hours be completely certain of my worthlessness. I feel like a child of a broken home where one parent tells me I'll never amount to anything, then the shared custody switches and the other half reminds me that is a bunch of ridiculous nonsense, reminds me I'm special and awesome and gives me a juice box. But these caretakers are all in my head pushing chemicals and images and words around my noodle to keep me a confused, middle-aged bullying victim of my own damn thoughts.

I just got to ride this out, maybe watch some Mr. Rogers clips on YouTube, and press on until the sensible part of me comes to take me to the zoo or something.

Funemployment

This morning, I woke up for the second time, an unproductive resident of Los Angeles, wondering what to do with myself. This feeling is strangely alien and disturbing, having worked steady at one or more jobs since the age of 14, downtime doesn't come easily to me. Yesterday, I filled the void washing my roommates entire closet and picking up litter from his floor like community service for a punishment of my own sentencing.

My first instinct (after cleaning, that is) passed down from a long lineage of tireless farmers and diligent homemakers, was to go online and immediately look for work of any kind. My muscle memory took me through all of the graphic design positions on Craigslist, filling me with a familar dread. Yesterday, after fullfilling my only mandatory requirements of the week by moving all my belongings into public storage before lunch, I instinctively froze in front of a 'help wanted' sign in front of a tiny sea food restaurant. And I don't know the first thing about the preparation or service of sea food, and I don't much care to learn, either.

Do I need a job right now? Not really. My bills are up to date, I have enough money saved to get by for a while and I've been sustaining on the same bag of Korean BBQ take-out since my plane touched down. So the only thing pushing my need to work is me.

As the beautiful looking, former reality TV show chef said in the booth next to me at the coffee shop said "Do what you love and you never work a day in your life." Cliche, I know, esspecially for someone whose main passion is Beschamel sauce, but I've been "working" non-stop since I can remember and frankly, I'm sick of it. So today I wander my new home, determined to fill my time with new creative thought and not the thoughts of failure for finding myself in a period of societally-deemed unproductive self-reexamination, determined not to fall back into old patterns of doing what is expected of me, not doing what I love.

Yep, I think that's what I'm going to do today.
That and catch a matinee of Man of Steel.

Feeling strangely calm

Congratulate me, I'm homeless!

No! It's really alright. I meant to do it! It's not by unfortunate circumstances, but by the calculated (albeit, perhaps unwise) choice to ditch the life I had settled into and settled for, to chase the unknown. Being the age that I am, I guess you could say I'm getting a head start on my mid-life crises. Or perhaps a delayed outreach to 'find myself' that really should have happened all the times I dreamed of running away in the past 20 years. Anyway, it's happening. My job is almost done. My apartment is home to someone else now. Hell, even my cat has gone on to better things! For the foreseeable future, it's just me and a couple of suitcases and a misguided yearning to go west and try something new.

A couple of days ago, I was in a coffee shop next to a threesome of an organized group of graphic designers. While I was paying bills online and emailing my mom, they droned on about websites and fonts, and this and that, and audiences and aesthetics, the customer and the kerning... In my head I was screaming, "Oh Good Grief, who gives a rats batooty?!" Even before it dawned on me that that IS me! -Soon to be 'former me', in my defense. But that's my life so far by trade. I move other people's photos and words and ideas around and create something entirely not my own. The banality of hearing the language of it as a fly on the wall of a Dunn Brother's made me feel briefly angry.

However, as of a week from today, that is my former self, facing a future-self that is not blank, but a white-washed canvas with a few ill attempts at greatness buried below the surface. At the same time I feel the physical aches of my road so far and the mental lightness of making a childish decision. We'll see which one wins in the end.

At the moment, I'm a house guest - drinking someone else's booze, using someone elss washing machine, walking someone else's dog at a point in my life where I know for a fact that some may judge me on my lack of material wealth and see the lack of production of my womb as an unfortunate result of  unfortunate circumstances.  But, as I've learned with age, my friends, comes orneriness, and I don't care what some think anymore. Actually, I have a feeling some people might be secretly jealous I can pick up and start over, and that's good enough for me.

A Burn Book for all the World

I think we should stop paying attention to the following people so they go away:

Kardashians (all)

Octomom

Lindsey Lohan
Mittens Romney and Paul Ryan

Anyone judging a singing show (minus "The Singoff" because of Ben Folds)
Anyone who was on a show called "The Hills"

Tom Cruise

Chris Brown

Anyone who has ever been on "Toddlers and Tiaras" 

Carrot Top

Anne Coulter *
Michele Bachmann

Tila Tequila
Dick Enriquo

The Pawn America guy

The Gold guys
Charlie Sheen

The New York Yankees
Former reality show hosts with daytime talk shows
Former reality show stars
Current reality show stars
Someone named Abby Lee
One Direction
Justin Beeber (I don't know how to spell it, but who cares, you know who I'm talking about)
Tyra Banks 
Donald Trump


If one of these 'celebrities' should appear anywhere, just walk/click on by and do something better with your time like reading or taking up a traditional folk art.

Ambition in spite of myself

In the first 1/3rd of my life, I suffer from a few of afflictions, mental and/or physical, most of them hardly mention in my day except to do stupid stuff like take a dietary supplement and hope for temperate weather. Some of these may correct with age, and correct diet (if that ever happens) and be replaced with new and more severe problems, but the rest will just deteriorate me into a shriveled, barely recognizable version of myself.

The one I want to cure the most, is the nagging pull that I am meant to do more with my life. Not like curing cancer or climbing something really high. Nothing like that, just live a slightly more exciting life that's fulfilling and maybe even interesting in some way, at least to me who has to wake up in my world every morning. I blame Mr. Rogers. The man lived in a world he created, so of course anything was possible. Without even knowing anything about me, he loved me and believed in my potential, but little did he know he'd would have gotten little return on his investment. Of course I can't be anything I dream of, silly! I dreamed of winning Oscars, being a turtle or one of "The Pips." I am not a reptile or a black man with silky, smooth voice that sways behind Gladys Knight, so odds are better get used to it Mr. Imagination!

But like many others, I was also reared in sturdy midwestern family which taught that loyalty and hard work and all that malarky was the right and only path. Get a good job, eat your vegetables, work hard, brush your teeth, find someone who you tolerate and tolerates you, collect some money for retirement and hopefully you've passed that lifestyle to a miniature version of yourself.

I find myself today, no tolerable mate because I either don't find people likable, or they are too likable and I don't wish to ruin them with a lifetime of me. No miniature versions of myself, because I barely take care of my cat in this land of 6 billion breathers... the rest I'm doing pretty well on (still working on the flossing goal) to the standards set by so many others. But, I think something is lacking in my genetic makeup to make me docile in my 'just-so' life and leaves me wanting more. In the past years I've been trying to become a round peg to fit in the life I'm stuck in right now, and every day I feel more numb to it scares the bajeezus out of me!

So, I'm stuck in the middle. Friday nights are neither drinks with friends, nor game night with the family... they're a red box and a bottle of Yellow Tail; the sad, single girls limbo. But would I want the other options? I don't know, but I would like to try some new angles on living before I settle down and adopt another cat.

After showing this 100% authentic Chinese restaurant fortune to one of my  more studious family members, they replied "Sha, right! More like 'Infamous'."

Which brings me to #1 on my list; change. Now, I'm not talking changing my name to "Terrance" and becoming an apprentice blacksmith in Iceland. But getting back on the proactive path leading where I could go and not just sitting on the side of the road wondering where I could have gotten by now and risking the chance of being pummelled by a stampede of some kind of animal that stampedes down the roads of complacency (like maybe some turtles or kittens that have just had a big meal.)

Once I figure out what this cataclysmic change will be, I'll probably let you all know. I'm also open to suggestions.

By Popular Demand (or, for the two people who said I should start a blog)

Today, I am 36. Ok, if you should know, I've technically hovering in this chronology for 4 days now. (In my defense, I really did mean to write this on 4 days ago. Months, or perhaps years ago, I started this-here blog account and figured having one random, lifeless mass of words with my DNA on it was better than opening a whole new blog account somewhere, and it took me a little digging to figure out what I named the original and the password... what am I saying, this is my blog. I don't have to defend myself! Go back to your point, Tara.)

Anyway... 36, that's like a yard of life! Somehow, it sounds less scary when I think of it in terms of measurement. Instead of being a 36 year old female who has done little or nothing to be proud of, height-wise, it makes me think I've still got a way to go. I mean, average life expectancy is somewhere around "Big Bird" or "Andre the Giant", and I'm still safe in the "E.T. the Extraterrestrial" ballpark, so I've still got a few good inches of accomplishment left.

To try to improve my quality of life during year 36, I'm composing a list of "36 things to do while I'm 36"; simple things to change and do to result in a happier, healthier and less-hopeless me. While I'm not done with this list (I'm up to 27... seriously, 36 is a lot to accomplish, even in a year!), I've got a few jotted down.

#10: Start a Blog. Crossed that puppy OFF! Done! I am amazing! I am a Golden God!

Well, maybe not. I'm just a mediocre person trying to get by with the help of a select group of people who still speak to me, a feline roommate, bottom-shelf white wine and, currently, Morgan Freeman in the background narrating a science program I borrowed from the library. I'm not sure what he's really talking about, since I'm also (pushes up hipster glasses) 'writing in my blog,' but as he oozes out words like "Phosphorus" and "Hadean" I feel my IQ is, at least, holding steady for the time being. Besides, I love thinking of the world in a scientific view. In science we're all connected and pretty much incosequential, which for some bizarre reason makes me feel better about my meager contribution.

Me, circa 1.5 inches, patiently waiting for delicious cake.

Oooo! I gotta run. I just thought of another list item and want to nail this sucker down before it's gone...
#28: Floss AT LEAST once a week.