Searching for: Balance

I was going to call this post "Finding Balance," but that would be wholly misleading. I'm pretty sure I've never actually found balance with anything in my life, except for maybe walking with a book on my head. Which, it should be said, I am fairly good at. 

Anyway, the present search for balance relates to the components of my summer. I'm all over the place, and in myriad ways: sleeping till 9 this day, 12:30 that day (today . . . ), staying up till 1 a.m., being ready for sleep at 10:30 p.m. Or, pulling weeds for 15 minutes, then jumping into sanding 1/3 of the sofa table, then getting on the phone, then spending an hr. playing Word Bubbles (can you say "addict" loud enough?), then folding laundry, then watching old school L&O (season 4!). I'm pretty spastastic right now. 

And I haven't gotten a wink of reading for the fall done (I haven't even gotten any of the books) or a line of fiction written. I have worked on the revision of my contemporary fiction paper, which is coming along slowly but surely, but given that we're about to embark on Month 3 of summer, I'm not patting myself on the back too much. 

Balance is something that I've never had much of in my life. I've always been a sort of all-or-nothing person. Either I'm eating really healthily or I'm eating junk like it's going out of style. Either I'm working really hard writing, reading, etc. or I'm totally slacking off. Either I'm obssessed with online clothes shopping or I don't even go to the J. Crew, Gap, BR, etc. websites. Either I'm blogging up a storm or I forget I even have a blog. You get the gist. 

So I'm wondering: how exactly does a person who is nuts-by-nature find some sort of normalized middle ground? Maybe I need a schedule - ? But then I feel locked in. Which I hate. Goodness, every time Brad asks me if I want to go to Starbucks tomorrow or out to dinner Friday night, he feels compelled to say, "But don't feel like you're locked in." 

Basically, I'm having fun, but I'm not being productive. Or, at least, I'm not being school-productive. We've been working like crazy on the house - painting rooms, removing wallpaper, spray painting bath fixtures, etc. - so there's definitely been a lot of productivity in that area. 

Part of me thinks that maybe I just need a 2- or 3-month break from all that is the regimented and intense life of a grad student. Part of me thinks I'm just nutty, lazy, and disorganized. Hmmmmm. The former makes me sound so much better! 

No freaking way

No way can this be right (can it?): two online dictionaries have pronounced the word "biopic" like the first part of "biosphere" paired with the word "pick." How can this be right? 

I would've bet $2000 without flinching that it was pronounced like the first two syllables of "biopsy" plus "ick." I laughed at Brad when he said it his way (errrr, the right way) and quickly busted out the online search to prove my correctness. Oops. Now he's "zing zing"-ing me left and right. And I might have to watch Raging Bull after all.

Meet the Monster

Who doesn't love a cat in a
blowfish hat?! 

That is, meet Cookie 

aka Cookie Monster 
aka the Monster 
aka Cookaroni Macaroni Chicharoni 
aka Cook 'n Book 
aka Cooked 'n Booked 

aka our new kitty. 

A few months ago, sweet little Cooksteroni was at a shelter about an hour away from our house when the woman who runs a local no-kill shelter was there to pick up a dog. Cookie (formerly known as Mona) and another cat were to be put down the next day b/c their time at the shelter was up - and even though her shelter had no space, this woman took them with her b/c she couldn't bear to see them put down. 

Well, thank goodness! 

Our Mini Fuzzy (that is, she looks like a little version of Fuzzy) is 7 lbs., probably 1.5 years old, loves chasing plastic balls, and laying just far enough away from you that petting her head is an inconvenience. She's also afraid of feet. And about as sensitive to sound as I am. 

Yes, our cats do eat in the
powder room. Long story 

While she was all morose and cuddly and lovey at the shelter (re: lap cat; also read: exactly what we were looking for) and when we first brought her home and quarantined her, over the last week and a half she has

- met the cats 
- ingratiated herself with them (albeit not without their having hissed a number of times first) 
- squished herself into multiple window sills 
- semi-stolen P.J.'s beloved window seat 
- carried P.J.'s turtle (Terrence) around in her mouth while "singing" 

and decided that now that she's got love, safety, and lots and lots of space and food, she isn't going to be the lap cat we took her for. 

What a little brat. :) 



Some sisterly bonding. (She totally looks like Fuzzleface!) 


We're suckers for this little baby, and we're happy we went with a "cat" and not a "kitten" (even though she's tiny) since it's much easier for kittens to find a home. Did I mention she's a total pig? She fits right in . . . even if she is sitting over there on the window seat instead of on the couch with me and Brad.