Forgettable in Every Way

I experienced a week of complete writer’s block. A complete and utter blank on anything compelling, witty, or even sarcastic. It’s officially a cold day in hell. I’ve tried to rack my brain for a really good reason, I was the kind of busy that makes me a little short of breath, I didn’t drink near enough liquids to get me through all 5 days of the week, my child threw away all semblance of the “Terrific 3’s” and introduced me to the “Terrifying 3’s,” my husband has been coming home practically still spinning like the helicopter he just flew, unable to devote himself to anything other than the highly professional, handmade map book I’d like to officially take the credit for… Yea, it wasn’t any of those things.

I think I figured out that I can’t write or be cool and career-driven because I am just absolutely disgusting. Yup, disgusting. I do everything a little bass ackwards, get out of bed way before the birds, take a shower, wrestle an overly dramatic girl into the car, drop her off, and then I walk/pretend to run a few miles to pound my frustrations on the pavement, go home, and sit around in my stench for a while working on a technical writing contract, sweaty clothes and all. Disgusting.

And somehow I go through the day in clothes full of dried perspiration. Double disgusting.

Alright, before you write me off here and now, I do swipe my standard 12 strokes of deodorant on as soon as I walk in the door.

I promise my reasoning seems sound to me. I have nowhere to go, no one to see, I’m not a big fan of laundry and all the steps it entails, and for some reason, I feel like a machine when I walk around in gym shorts, a t-shirt, and bright neon Nike’s that every 5-year-old girl raves about. It’s extremely gratifying for my legs, my butt, and the piece of chocolate cake I plan to down later in the day.

Ok, so I’m in a funk. A sweaty, stinky, chocolate stains on my shirt funk.

I have plenty to wear. You could call me a collector of nice things for my feet and my body, ie., perfectly tailored business dresses and classic pumps. I love them, I love how they feel, I love how I feel in them, and at one time I wore them to work everyday. But I just haven’t felt like slipping them on.

This morning I went for the work out clothes. And then I looked in the mirror and said, “hey girl, what the heck are you doing?” Sometimes I make a habit of talking to myself, and so I answered back, “Well, I think I’m hiding out.”

See, this time last year, I was the girl who was everywhere, at every function, every event, I was a gatekeeper of information. People knew who I was and I was a pretty well-respected girl. But, it was my job, I was tired, burnt out, used and abused. I was over-cooked, done, time to take me out of the oven.

Since I’ve been on my own, I have a million things I love about this great flexibility in my hands, but I’m not going to lie, there are some things that are a little bit uncomfortable.

For instance, I don’t go out anymore. Meaning, I work behind a computer instead of working a room. If there’s something cool going on in town that might be a great chance to network, I talk myself out of it because I’m not quite ready for the question, “so what are you doing now?” and “well, what are you going to do when your husband gets orders?” It’s questions like these that awaken the sarcastic gnome that lives inside.

I also learned something since I’ve been on my own that few people really like to confront: I am THE MOST Forgettable person who has ever walked the face of the earth….or at least my little southern piece of earth.

I’m going to brag on my memory for a second and claim that it’s a little scary how much I remember about anything and everything. I was the kid who memorized entire books of the Bible and quoted them word for word during my Bible Quiz Days in Middle School. Cue instant reaction, “Bible, what?!?!” I’m a little weird, we can talk about that another day. The thing is I remember conversations with people, where we met, what we talked about, what we were eating, how people were dressed, you name it.

So when I see someone, maybe someone of importance or a good connection for me professionally and try to remind them how they know me, they stare at me blankly like I’m some sort of abnormally small, fast-talking stalker. I normally walk away from those awkward moments feeling defeated. And they happen a lot.

So, ok, I’m hiding out and I’ve gotten used to the smell. But as of today, it sucks and I realize I’m a much happier person when I’m throwing random thoughts on paper in some jumbled, cryptic, let’s-laugh-at-the-world fashion.

You’ll be happy to know that not only did I do my hair today, AND my make-up, I also put on the only long summer dress I own that is short enough that it doesn’t serve as a strap on mop. I also showered. And did not leave any sweat on as a substitute for lotion.

And now that I am publicly presentable, I plan to take my brood for some Italian and live entertainment at the local golf course. And prove to my professional counterparts that I am way better than forgettable.

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/laurenunfscurtisward/4429671248/

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