YS List

There’s something written on my calendar for tomorrow that says “YS list.”

I have no idea what it means. But I wrote it earlier in the week—earlier in the month?—for that day specifically and I’m wracking my brain trying to remember what I’m supposed to do about it.

I’ll spend all day tomorrow totally spooked that someone will come flying at me demanding my YS list, and I will be grievously unprepared.

x x x x

I got a cut and color yesterday. The answer to “how does the miracle $15 haircut lady make a living?” has been answered: color. It’s cheaper there than at most places, but writing that check still made me catch my breath.

x x x x

Today at work I was coming up with a title for a sewing demonstration DVD, and I was making this huge long list of related words and concepts in a stream-of-consciousness way. I just looked back over it, and one of the words I listed was “demon-sew.” As in Demonstrate + Sew.

But now I’m picturing black, wispy demons with horns and jaggedy wings trying to thread sewing machines and pricking their thumbs.

Now there’s a way to sell a sewing machine.

x x x x

Birdy is the fricking potty training queen. She is also at a stage in her social scene where lots of the kids in her daycare class have pregnant mamas or new babies in their lives, and she spends most of her free time walking around with a baby stuffed in her shirt, asking you if you want to touch her tummy.

It makes people kind of uncomfortable to see a pregnant toddler.

x x x x

I have a photo of her as my monitor’s wallpaper at work, and I’m staring at it right now, missing her like fucking crazy. This week has been long. And boring. As shit. And what’s that? Oh, two hours? I have TWO MORE HOURS to fill in this day, and nothing to fill them with. Doing nothing is far less fun when you have nothing to put off in order to do the nothing, if that makes sense.

I was teary about this job yesterday morning. There has been very little work for me in this past week, and I feel over-payed and under-needed. I miss having people call me and ask for help, and being able to say, “I will help you.” I miss knowing what to do. I miss procrastination; right now it’s just boredom.

And also, nothing interesting has happened to me during my eight-hour workdays in the last month. No crazy hillbillies, no bad hollers, no weird roadside shit. No weird requests or desperate pleas. No profound life lessons or cautions. No more squirrely feeling in the pit of my stomach, it’s true, but also no feeling in the pit of my stomach.