Friday and one week and a day until my party! It's perfect to have a huge event looming - quiets my often overactive mind to have a huge task at hand. Focusing on logistics, putting grocery lists together, lugging cooler and drink tubs from the garage, amassing bowls and silverware, putting out vases where a dozen dozen roses will be displayed. And thanks to Amazon Prime and free shipping it was painless to order three dozen Irish coffee glasses and balloon wine glasses to replace ones broken since the last party. This weekend, more work on the five soups and the cakes (unfrosted) will be made and frozen. I'll remind Bobby to bring his sound system, check in with Michael, the masseur to ensure he hasn't forgotten the date (he will be set up in my bedroom giving massages to anyone who wants one). This is going to be one helluva party! Martha Steward ain't got nuthin' on me!
Neighbors Una and Henry bopped over yesterday evening for an unauthorized Valentine's Day martini (Valentine's Day is NOT a federal holiday!) There was a whole shaken versus stirred debate. I, like James Bond, prefer my martinis battered and bruised (I shake the bejesus out of them). Henry prefers a gentle stir to create a drink less watered down with more of a bite. Una just likes them. They were worried about me home alone on Valentine's Day - so sweet! I hope I'm not that pathetic that people worry unnecessarily about me in that way! I was fine yesterday - 'twas just another day, barely noticed the "holiday". Didn't make or receive a single Valentine. Was wistful only once but shook it off and said, "Who knows...next year on 2/14 I might be in love and in Paris!"
Been thinking about my writing. Gearing up to start writing the narrative that will connect all the songs in my Burt Bacharach show. Friends have also been pushing me to pick up the novel I started a year plus ago - it's a great premise and it needs to be written. Realizing there's an undercurrent to my writing - something Kaveh and I never got to the bottom of was why I'm fixated on the death of children. Joke at the writing group is that just about everything I write has dead babies in it - it's a Sarah theme. I also dream about children dying all the time. Most often my writing and dreams include two children - often twins. So what's up with that and why did Kaveh leave that untouched? Hmmm...
Reading through old pieces I wrote in the group - here is one from about a year ago.
The doctor put his hand on my arm and said gently, "You or the baby will survive, but not both of you. I'm so sorry."
"Says you," I yelled, defiantly. "You're an idiot!" There were enough idiots in the world, I reasoned as I whipped my Beretta out of my backpack and shot him accurately between his eyes. I slipped from the examining table, tossed my backpack over one shoulder and held my gown closed as I ventured cautiously into the hall. Thanks to the silencer, the gunshot had gone undetected.
"Who's in charge here?" I demanded of the nurse at the station "Bitch, you've got exactly five second to get your smug cow-face out of that Sudoko puzzle you're doing and answer me!" Nurse Crachit or Crotch-less, or whatever her name was, snapped to.
"I'm in charge," she said with fear in her eyes.
"No I mean really in charge - head doctor, surgeon - chief of the universe - whatever - get him NOW!" I bellowed.
She scrambled away from me like a sideways crab.I realized I was waving the Berretta around again - I had a habit of doing that. Pacing and waiting, I weighed my options. Doctor Idiot had to be wrong - he was just covering his ass. My daddy always told me to never take no for an answer. It mortified me when I was little to hear him bargain and wheedle his way, extracting "Well, maybe's" or "Just-for-you's" from store managers who just got tired of dealing with his shit. I wished he were here now - he would know what to do.
"Mam, I'd like to help you. Would it be possible to sit down and discuss your options? Possible for you to put the gun down so we can talk more easily?"
He was young to be in charge of anything and impossibly handsome but I was tired - the drugs were starting to take effect. I slumped into a chair and he sat next to me - reached for my hand.
"I know this is a blow but I'm afraid there is no third alternative. We can't save both you and the baby."
I believed him. "What the fuck! I guess baby it is!" Without warning I put the gun in my mouth and made a mother's choice.
Not going to Weight Watcher's tomorrow. On a scale of 1-10, my week was a 9 (previous weeks have been take-no-prisoners 10's. I slipped ever so slightly and I didn't exercise much. If I get on that hated scale one more week and show no loss or another .4 reduction, my resolve is sure to crumble completely (I know myself). There's a risk, certainly, in skipping a week - that can also be a set up for failure (a slippery slope) - I'm mindful of that. Goal is to have an amazing active week (activity will be way up with party prep) and to give myself the gift on the morning of my party of a weight loss of a couple of pounds.
Have a wonderful weekend. Challenge is sending me an e-mail if you want to come to my party - I'll give you the particulars. And maybe you can work on finding a creative outlet where you can let all kinds of stuff (even the dark scary stories like mine) bubble out of you. It's so much better to expose that darkness to the light in an artistic way.