#396: FIRST I WHINE, AND THEN I SWEAR THAT I'LL STOP, BUT I DON'T, AND THEN I REALLY DO STOP, BECAUSE I'M GOING TO COSTA RICA!
Today is the 13th of December. This puts me squarely four days away from getting on an airplane to Calgary, six days away from getting on another airplane to Costa Rica, and sixteen days away from turning thirty-three.
I am looking forward to things, because: forty-two days ago I started a writing contest that I failed to complete; thirty-seven days ago I fell into my usual late-fall-early-winter existential angst; thirty-one days ago I found out that I was being discussed on forums that would not even let me in to read what was being said about my gender identity; nineteen days ago I had my purse snatched with all of my ID and my new writing; twelve days ago it came to our attention that the Fiery One was plagiarized by a stupid girl (who has since had her weblog removed!); eleven days ago Saviabella and I were involved in a small vehicle chase with a man with rage issues; ten days ago my mother strong-armed me into committing to Christmas festivities that I had done everything I could to avoid without being explicitly rude; two days ago our computer died from as yet unknown causes; and one day ago we received negative news that does not involve illness or death but sucks nonetheless and means that we have to delve even further into the true meaning of what it is to be frugal.
MY WHINING STOPS RIGHT HERE. RIGHT THIS MINUTE. I am going to Costa Rica!
I was going to get my hair cut before we went on this trip, because I insist on having hair no longer than two inches all over my head. If I can feel my hair, it's too long. I can feel it. Also, I just measured it, and it's three inches long. I'll start looking like one of the Beatles if I don't watch out.
Since I am on the subject of hair, I was going to make sure I shaved my legs and armpits and depilated my mustaschio before leaving, but that seems like so much work. I haven't bothered since sometime in July, so now it has moved beyond simple maintenance requiring only a few minutes to problem-solving how to remove it all without leaving a rash and going through twenty razors. I find myself wondering if my moustache will be more acceptable in South America or not and if I really need to de-hair enough to get into my matronly bathing suit when I don't even like the ocean all that much.
My bathing suit, by the way, is very matronly, and I bet I could get away with wearing it to a beach funeral, if there were such a thing. I bought it when the Fiery One and I were first married and went to Bermuda to visit his mother's side of the family. I was distinctly uncomfortable with the thirty pounds I had gained and would have preferred one of the those private, floating bathing houses that were around when people pretended that women didn't even have legs. Instead, I opted for a matte black skirt and tank combination and wished that I could have found a way to cover even my shoulders. Thankfully, I am far happier with myself physically now, but that only serves to make the bathing suit seem even less appealing.
Didn't I say I would stop whining three or four paragraphs ago? SERIOUSLY, MY WHINING REALLY STOPS HERE. I am going to Costa Rica!
My whining really is going to stop, because I just got my very first Christmas card of 2005, and do you know who it's from? TB of Soul Gardening! Thank you so much TB. The sky here in Cityville, Saskatchewan has been the quintessence of dismal all day, the light barely brightening beyond a deep woollen grey, and this cheery bit of mail made all the difference. I would scan it for all to see, but most of our computer system is still kaput...
...which leads me to more non-whiney good news. The Fiery One has hooked up his laptop to the internet at home, so the gloom of internetlessness has lifted. Hoorah!
(beware of automatic audio with the author's link)