My Granny Panties

I must tell you, this whole writing thing is exhilarating and a little terrifying at the same time. Here I am at 40 years old and up until now I can truly say that I think I know myself pre-t-ty well.  I’m very familiar with the cast of characters inside my head and can run through the Academy Award winning moments for each of them with ease.  And even though I have done a lot of soul searching and healing over the last few years, I’m quickly realizing that I’m entering some uncharted waters here because strange things are starting to happen me.  But one thing I do know for sure is that nothing gets passed Mr. E.  And if I’ve got a suspicion that things are a changing, well he is going to all over it like white on rice. And then it’s just a matter of time before he calls a “family meeting” and I have a bad feeling the sh*t is about to hit the fan.

It would probably be best if I shared a little bit more about what is happening behind the scenes so you can see how it is unfolding.  Let me start by going back a couple of days to give you all of the details.  Remember the day I boldly decided to proclaim myself as an official writer?  You know, the granny panties day? (which one of my girlfriends was kind enough to send me a photo of today, thanks G! :-))  Well, there was a whole lot more going on that day than I had a chance to  share.  It was really the first day I noticed something significantly shifting inside of me. Not just mentally but physically too. (Insert Twilight Zone music here)

See, after my laundry reality check, I was writing quite a bit that morning when I realized it was already way past lunch time and even though I wasn’t hungry (which is odd in itself because I’m a grazer, always hungry and can always eat a million little snacks all day long), I decided I should run to Trader Joe’s to pick up a few groceries.  I was hesitant to pull away from my writing but knew I would need food at some point in the day so I thought I might as well make a quick trip before it got any later and really screwed up my standard meal schedule.  I had been really living it up that morning, hanging out in my pink bath robe and writing my life way so obviously that wouldn’t quite make the cut it as appropriate shopping attire.

So, I literally ran in my bedroom and threw on the first 3 random articles of clothing that were in closest reaching distance of my “in process” laundry piles and I raced out the door.  As I’m listening to the beeping sound of the reverse gear in my Prius (beep, beep, beep you know, kinda like a golf cart makes?), I catch a glance of myself in the rear view mirror.  Eek!  Not a stitch of make up and I’ve got my hair pulled back in a very poor attempt at a 1/2 ass pony tail.  But oh well. Who cares, right?

As I stop to fix my pony tail, I start replaying my morning because I normally pull myself together a little bit more than this so I must have missed something along the way.  Yes, ok, I did shower today.  Good.  I obviously just skipped the beautification process afterwards. Ah ha!  That’s it.  I got wrapped up in the whole underwear debacle which derailed the the body lotion, makeup, hair, etc.  Not a totally big deal because I consider myself a low maintenance kinda gal so I don’t really have any problems going out looking “au natural”.  And as long as I’m clean, have definitely brushed my teeth  demonstrated by my fresh minty breath, I’m good to go. (You, know just in case I meet the man of my dreams in the check out aisle and need mouth to mouth resuscitation or something).

As I pull into TJ’s, I get out of my car and start walking quickly towards the store.  I glance down at my feet and see I’m wearing ballet flats, which is fine but they don’t go with these jeans.  These are boots jeans, not flats jeans.  (Ladies, you know what I mean. And for the men, if you don’t understand, just ask a woman and she’ll explain it to you).

Anyway, I heard a little alarm bell going off in my head which I assumed was the fashion police, but it wasn’t a huge violation, so it will be fine.  As I am fast approaching the entry way glass door, I see my full reflection and think “Geez, it’s worse than the shoes and jeans faux pas …what heck am I wearing?”

I enter the store, grab a basket and I quickly scan myself to survey the damage.  Cranberry red graphic t-shirt, hot fuchsia pink zip up Nike hoodie plus the already identified wrong jeans that also happened to have had a brown belt attached (where did that come from?) and of course the pewter flats. (Plus, don’t forget the lack of even a courtesy effort of some shiny lip balm) Now, any of these closet items are fine on their own and certainly lovely when fashionably paired with the properly coordinated outfit but this a mess and I look like a total train wreck.  I mean I know that certain reds and pinks can go together these days, but I assure you 1000%, this combo wasn’t going to work at all…ever.

Mr. P is very disappointed with me and tells me to keep my head down, make no eye contact and get out of here as quickly as possible.  He will fix this as soon as I get home. But another part of me really honestly didn’t care.  So, I grab my goods, pay for my stuff and jump back in my car. Whew, no major damage done.  As soon as I get home, I shed the hoodie and the flats, which makes the tshirt and jeans work some approved fashion level so I let the rest slide for now.  But regardless, I am complete perplexed on how I got out the door in the first place.  Even with the quickest clothing change, at the very minimum, I have standards (well I guess I used to) and can certainly throw together something that will work for any occasion in a matter of seconds. But little did I know, the shift was already occurring.

After a quick lunch, I jump back head first into writing. YAHOO!  Feels great.  Then, a few hours later, I realize, Hmm.  I smell something funny.  And it seems a little hot in here too.  I take a quick whiff of the couch, the pillow, the blanket, all seem to check out fine so I just ignore it and  keep on writing. (I’m in the zone, Baby!)  But then, a little while later, I again realize, that this scent is still lingering around here and it’s definately not going away.  I bend down, smell my pants, check my shirt and BAM! There it is, again. And it’s on me!  I am the thing that is smelling funky!  I go for a quick reflex underarm check and YOWZA!  Not only do I smell bad, I am sitting here on the couch sweating and I didn’t even know it!  Sweating? Yes, truly sweating. Like I have actually generated a nice little pool of wet underarm stank and let me tell you, I’m NOT the type of woman that sweats.  Nope.  Glistens? Ok. Glows? Sure.  But full on arm pit perspiration with the odoriferous smell of BO on top of it?  Absolutely not!  That is where I have to draw the line.  I’m now completely convinced this must be somehow be all connected back these damn underwear!  They are not just ugly, they are cursed!

Now, the second round of alarms start going off inside my head.  Great.  This is very, very strange and certainly totally unacceptable to Mr. P.  So, I start to think back and realize that I did miss the whole beautification process this morning which includes antiperspirant and now I can certainly smell the results of that critical mistake.  But you know what? Come to think of it,  I don’t necessarily wear deodorant every day because I really don’t need it, and when I do it’s because I’m active….outside, running , exercising, etc.  Hmm. I wonder what I have been doing today that has sparked this over active gland secretion issue?  Nothing.  NOT-A-THING. And I did take a shower this morning so it’s certainly not some excuse of yesterday’s activities gone bad.  Oh and by the way, come to think of it, I didn’t do anything yesterday either!  Beautiful.  Smelly, meet Lazy.  You two will make a wonderful couple.

Then it hits me.  Um. Wait, I have been doing something today!  I have been writing because;  Today, I am a writer, remember?!  Uh-oh.  So, what the heck does that mean?  Do writers wear mismatched clothes, ugly underwear, bail on any and all beauty regiments, barely eat, smell funky and are solely 100% obsessed with only one thing that matters in life which is writing?  Oh my.  They must!  And is this the new me?  Footloose and fancy free?  Running through fields? Soaring through the sky? Together flying high, upon the wings of love?  Oh yes, welcome to the new me.  I feel amazing, happy, creative,  expressive, joyous and most importantly, free!  Free like a beautiful butterfly who has just come out of her cocoon.  Do you hear the birds singing or is that just me?  Can you see the squirrels coming up to my patio and asking me to play?  Shall I start singing Disney songs while the mice are doing the dishes? (Hey, note to self, you haven’t done the dishes all week and this place is a mess!)  But do you want to know what the absolute best part of this whole crazy thing is?  I’m having fun.  (Insert record scratching sound here) The singing and animals stop dead in their tracks.

A writer, huh?

Yes, I am a writer.

I think it’s best to put some rules around wiriting because it’s really starting to get out hand.  I am doing a lot of it and I don’t want to have it turn into a work thing. So, how about let’s say NO writing before noon.  That way I can get some stuff done in the morning, etc.  And then if I have a lunch date, etc., I will be already (showered, dressed and definitely deodorized, maybe squeeze in meditation if we aren’t too busy with other more important stuff.)

And we should limit the writing time, too?  Maybe 3-4 hours a day max?  This isn’t on the approved resting activities list.  Also I think I should set some goals for this project, not just play around with it because this is serious.  Not fun.

This is hard work.  Writing is a hobby not a profession.  This is blog not a book.  It would takes forever to get published if anyone is even interested and I can’t make any money doing it.  Remember, the savings account won’t last forever.  I can have a couple months off but then I need to go back to corporate and do the same thing I have done for the last 22 years. Ok? Ok.

Don’t forget, I have the kids this weekend. So, it’s best not to write for a few days. Let it simmer down.  I can pick it back up next week or move on to something new.

Everything will be fine.

Huh?  The writer is completely unfazed by Mr. E’s rant.  Do you want to know why?  The writer is connected with the Soul.  Remember, the Ego’s fuel is negative and likes to model those unattractive outfits of Fear, Guilt and Shame but the Soul’s foundation is positive energy and has an incredibly amazing wardrobe filled with Love, Gratitude, Faith.  And it is the power of the Soul that is way stronger than the Ego and he knows it.  He’s trying to negotiate, regain control of the situation, set some rules, establish some boundaries all so that he and his thugs can turn the tables around and regain the upper hand. Because he knows better than anyone else that if the soul and spirit are fueling this writer, he doesn’t stand a chance.

I must say, love this new writer girl, crazy clothes and all.  I’m just not ready to take her to the mall yet.  Who knows what we would end up purchasing?  But that’s fine with her, she doesn’t need any “stuff”, that’s an Ego thing and she clearly could care less about what she wears.  The writer lives in the present moment of life that that is where the love and beauty within in resides.  Nonetheless, we’ll work on the deodorant thing together for everyone’s benefit.   I think I’m going to learn a lot from her and I do hope she’s going to stay for a while.

Look out boys, there’s a new girl in town and she’s about to give us a run for our money.

This entry was posted in Ego, Mr. E, Mr. P, Soul and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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