Howdy Blogbots. I'm a day late on this post and utterly shocked that anyone noticed. I am grateful to all six-sometimes-seven of you for caring enough to read this self-centered miasmic pile of palaver. Blogspot doesn't know what to make of me. I used to write about career college education. Then I wrote diatribes on dissertating. Then I fell into the black hole created by the baby planet nucleus I fondly called my maternal parental unit. I wasn't sure we would make it out of that black hole alive. Mom didn't, but I did. In fact, 2021 ejected me from my humdrum life like shooting a clown out of a cannon. Whoosh. Suddenly I plopped down in Tucson. A year later, I'm still dizzy and going in circles.
I've accepted that I'm not a brave person. Notwithstanding the fact that twice I've packed up and moved everything I own to a new town, sight unseen. That isn't exactly a wimpy thing to do, I have to admit. Maybe it's more a continuous case of mild terror while I'm doing that risky thing. Driving in circles, certain I will end up in Tijuana when I was aiming for Tucson, muttering the Serenity Prayer constantly under my breath, and squinting at a map I screenshot and printed from Google Maps (won't ever do that again; I almost ended up in Salt Lake City).
The funny thing is, it doesn't seem to matter how many detours I take along the way, I always seem to arrive at my destination in the end, and almost always on time if not early. I have no idea how it happens. It's like my brain is in an alternate universe, bracing for disaster, but my body (and car) are chugging along, homing in on the end of the journey, one mile at a time.
The circles in my brain are a little different but no less confounding. I am aware that my brain goes in circles but there's no destination and I seem to be orbiting nothing. There's nothing in the middle. I keep trying to imagine what giant gas planet, what amazing project, what essential person will appear to inspire me to jumpstart my mojo with some ambition. I come up empty.
That doesn't mean I sit around moping. I have a list of tasks and I get them done. For the past couple days, I've been editing a dissertation for a candidate at the education college I ostensibly work for . . . I'm more like a contract editor. I still haven't figured out how the workflow flows. It's very similar to working for the editing agency, which I still do from time to time. Projects appear in my inbox. I work on them and send them back. Money eventually appears. Magic. I don't know yet how much I will be paid for the 30,000 word dissertation I submitted last night. It's good to have some surprises once in a while, don't you think? Daily life can get so stale when you think everything is planned out.
Maybe that is why I go in circles. My brain is subconsciously trying to entertain me. Would I wither from boredom if I always knew the correct route to my destination? Hm. I always assume my mind is trying to kill me.
The doves are once again wandering around and proclaiming "Hang up and drive!" and "Live and let live!" Outside my window, lizards soak up the sun and then vanish so fast, I am not even sure they were there. The neighbors bring their boombox outside and enjoy the warm evening air. Someone told me that is a cultural thing—meaning, that is a Hispanic cultural thing. I would feel more tolerant if they were playing mariachi or Banda music. I like that stuff. I am getting really sick of hearing top-40 rap songs. Yet I smile and wave and say hello to their little girl as she pedals unsteadily under my window on her pink two-wheeler. Then I go back to hunting my skittish little roommates with a spray bottle of alcohol.
Four more months in the Bat Cave.
