I�m tired. I�m not really surprised at this state of being, I have, after all, just completed a pretty involved transition which includes moving, discarding my old things, and settling into a new phase of my relationship. I brought the clothes I had left at my RV over to my new place only to discover that they seem to be permanently defiled with the rancid smell of cigarette smoke. The stale smell permeates the fabric and washing does not seem to remove it. I will probably be forced to dispose of the lot because I can not stand the smell. I am amazed that once upon I time I smelled like that. My person, my body, my hair, every part of me, reeked of that smell. How disgusting is that? I am getting used to a house that is not contaminated with the odors of my past. Not a trace of smoke, litter box, or alcohol pollutes the sanctity of my home. My walls will remain Navajo White; the couch will not be shredded, and cleaning will not be a monumental task requiring an entire weekend day. My friends and family are stunned by my decision to endure the world pet less and no amount of explanation seems to satisfy them as they maintain the suspicion that this is all because of my Darling Beau. Oh, well, I know the truth and that is all that matters. I do miss some aspects of living with a cat but the list of cons is so much longer than the list of pros that it is simply not worth it. As I watch one of my co-workers using a lint brush to remove pet hair from her black pants I glance down at my own favorite pair of black pants and remember how long it took me to remove the traces of my pets before work. By the end of the workday all traces of their existence clinging to my person would be gone only to coat me again once I returned home. I will probably have to spend upwards of $500 or more to reupholster the dashboard and couch in my RV because my cats made them selves at home and despite being provided with adequate scratching material, eschewed them in favor of my furniture. No amount of deterrent proved sufficient to break this habit.

Speaking of the RV, it is currently visiting the Grand Canyon in the company of a good friend and her family. I have been stressing about the vacation since yesterday morning fearing the phone would ring and I would be informed that the thing broke down, collided with a semi, or some other disastrous situation, causing harm to my friends or simply ruining their vacation. So far so good, I assume they are enjoying the splendor of the canyon and the RV is providing a home base for their adventures.

I am baking as well. A co-worker is soon due to have a baby (her first) and we are throwing a shower for her here at work. I volunteered to back a �stand up teddy bear cake�.

My first attempt was for a good friend whose shower I was hosting. I wasn�t displeased with the final product.

This is different however. This is CO-WORKERS. I live constantly under the cloud of certainty that tells me that some day they will see through me and realize I have no place here. Soon they will see that I am a fake, a fraud, a waste of space. I understand intellectually that this is the little girl who couldn�t seem to make anyone like her that lives, still, inside the middle aged woman that I have become (through no fault of my own I assure you). Emotionally though I can�t seem to escape her. I fantasize about spending some time in a room with a barred window, paper slippers on my feet and hours a day to indulge in my romps through my imaginary life, the one I created, and still create to replace the tedium that has become my world. It is not that I don�t appreciate what I have, the vision of the non-American world rips any sense of entitlement I might embrace from my arms leaving me ever thankful that I have the little (in American standards) that I possess. I just want a little break from it all. I want to not rush to accomplish. I want a vacation, but not the kind where I rush to see or do something, but the kind where I rise whenever I wake, shuffle to the kitchen in robe and slippers, sip coffee and leisurely read the paper before settling down to a book or at my computer to write. No appointments, no deadlines, no demands other that the ones I put upon myself and just as easily remove if it suits my fancy.

I vant to be alone. I vant to be alone.

Did you know that in Europe most workers get 6 weeks vacation to start? You don�t reach that level in America until just before you retire. And they call us lazy. Gimme a break. No I mean it please, please, please give me a break.

I wish you Peace

~alison~

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