P.S.

There's new beagle porn. ------->

Grapple, Crapple

I'm grappling with some issues lately that are hard to sort out. A friend approached me about a position that might be interesting, but I know it's not what my heart wants me to do. Hubby is panicking because we have a ginormous AmEx bill due tomorrow and a lack of funds to pay it. Most of it is from our quarterly taxes, so I'm waiting for some invoices to be paid before I can be paid before AmEx can be paid. Ugh. I hate this part of self-employment.

So that sucks right now. This leads me to ponder various money making schemes ranging from a part time job to selling a kidney. Not sure which one would be more painful. It's just a temporary thing, this money issue. Come the end of November, we'll be rolling in it like Scrooge McDuck. Taking a part time job would be hard for me, almost like admitting that I can't do this. Like I'm a failure. Am I?

I think about leaving, moving to the middle of nowhere and living in a trailer with solar panels and a well. Actually, I think about moving back to Tucson quite regularly. Oddly enough, my friend Cameron posted about it this morning. I do miss it, in the way we all miss the place we came from. Especially at this time of year, when I know that it's cooling off. Or during the monsoons. Or in the early morning, when there's a pink glow reflecting off the mountains. Or when it rains, and the sweet smell of creosote bushes hints at your nose. I have in my mind that Tucson is the small town that I grew up in, but in reality, it is almost as big as Denver. Census records indicate that nearly 500,000 people live there. The metro area is pushing 900,000. By 2010, it'll hit 1 million.

And then I would miss all that I love about Colorado. My friends. My life. My little house. DU hockey on Saturday night. Changing seasons. The brilliant, white-capped mountains rising over the plains, framed by a cloudless blue sky. Crunching leaves under your feet as you rake the yard. Ski season. Snowy days with hot chocolate and snuggling hounds.

It's the memories of an easier time that pull me back. When I'm struggling to figure out my next steps, it's easy to think that moving somewhere, or changing something, or giving up and going home will make a difference. But I'll still be there, no matter where I go. And I'm the person that has to deal with me.

Muster on. Tally ho. I have work to do this week and no time to sit and wonder about the 'what ifs.'

Dear Universe,

I would like to be successful. But not so successful that tabloids will pay money to see my underroos. I would like to do business with honorable people. I would like to learn how to do all those cool things that other really cool graphicy people can do. I would like to make gobbs and gobbs of money so I can give donations to the Beagle Rescue and the Sea Monkey Foundation and all the other Unfortunate Causes I get mailings from. I would like to visit my family more than once a year, but for less than a week a time, a person can only stand so much you know. I would like to buy a modest house on a gargantuan piece of land and be kind to the Earth by recycling my wine bottles. I would like to have one day a week where I don't obsess over something. I would like my friends to be cared for and have good things happen to them, too.

Can you do that for me? You know I don't ask for much, but I get the feeling that I need to start asking or you won't know what to give me.

Thanks.

OK, I get it already!

This past week I've learned that the Universe, in all it's bewildering glory, has been hitting me repeatedly over the head, neck and shoulders whilst trying to tell me something. Indeed. The Universe sent a message with The Kitchen Project. Then there was the Surgical Segue. Now it's the IT/ISP/email boondoggle with a sore throat/medicine head/cough cocktail.

The Universe has been trying to tell me to ask for help. Put more correctly, the Universe has been giving me permission through stressful, strenuous and downright painful times that I need to ask for help. I can't do it all alone. I know that. Or I thought I did. Now I really know that.

My business coach put it another way for me last night. She told me that maybe the Universe is telling me that it is OK to ask for help. That it is not a sign of weakness, but of courage, to go outside yourself to find the answers. She suggested that when the next problem comes up (and it shall, oh yes, it shall), that I ask myself, "I wonder who can help me with this?" Smart, ain't she?

Thinking back, there were other less obvious messages. In June, I attended a luncheon where the speaker was a rather humorous, yet strong, confident woman. She had that way about her, like she was talking Only. To. You. She explained that women think that doing Everything makes us strong and independent when it only weakens us. She spun a story of when she was dating an guy and he came to pick her up from the airport. When he offered to get her luggage, she told him, "it's ok, I've got it." And proceeded to carry every piece of luggage by herself. At the time she thought it meant that she was an strong, independent woman. Fast forward a few years. She's dating another guy. Same scenario. He offers to get her luggage. This time she says, "sure honey." And they walked away with him carrying the heavy load, and her carrying her purse. She asked us, "which woman had more power?"

Like most women, I try to do Everything. I have in my head that I am Wonder Woman and Super Girl all rolled into one. The problem is that my cape is not the wrong size and ill fitting. It really doesn't flatter my skin tone. That sateen fabric gets dirty often and most of the time it's at the dry cleaner. This means that I'm usually without my Super Powers for important jobs like Rescuing Puppies and Finding the Cure for Rapid Remote Control Changing. The rest of the time, it's just me, scratching my head, trying to whittle down a problem. With the weight of the world on my shoulders. And then there's the Yesofcoursenoproblem Demon. Do you have one? Mine clings to me. Drive art supplies across town for a charity. Sure! Run a meeting, come up with the topic, guest list and run down the contract with the facility. Why not? Donate 10 hours of design time to a foundation. Bring it on.

I drag the Yesofcoursenoproblem Demon around all the time with one hand. The Icandoitmyself Bitch is curled under the other arm. Slung around my shoulders like a shawl (or is it a poncho?) is my OCD. Of course, all of them muddle my brain, making it hard to think clearly. Something's got to give. I want to chuck them all under the next city bus, enjoy a glass of wine while watching them flatten, ooze their goo out onto the tarmac, and lose their power over me.

For the next few weeks, I'm going to try, no, I am going to ask myself, "I wonder who can help me with this?" whenever a problem comes up. We'll see how it goes.

must...beat...head...

Where have I been? Ugh. Battling the internet demons. Can't get email from one company. Can't get emails for 5 hours. Can't get help from hosting company. Can't stop beating head against the wall. For several, how many, who knows, days now, I've been wrestling with the email beast. Problem is, I get email from some people, just not everyone. Double Ugh. I know enough to know that I don't know anything. Take heed children, when your IT department is you and a magic 8 ball, trouble abounds.