I am giving heavy consideration to deleting this blog in its entirety. 

I have perhaps two faithful readers and maybe eight folks who proclaim to read it. I don't really feel if I vanished, anyone would be particularly sad or distraught. Not too many folks reach this level of popularity, anyway.

I can't explain it, but I just feel Brown Hair, Brown Eyes has served its purpose. That part of me is dead. That layer of my life is over. I've cataloged roughly a year and a third information here. I've deleted more entries and comments than any one human being should have to. I hate that part of my online history; it was a dark time. There were moments I felt the tension and idiocy that went on here would destroy my marriage. How titanically idiotic! 

I warned people not to leave unsavory comments and at first I kept things private and moderated everything. When I let my guard down, that's when trouble began. 

Then it ended and things got quiet, and life got busy, and I struggle to come up with things to say. I don't like "grocery list" style blogs. Today I did this and this and this and this and blah-dee-blah. Events can be interesting, but they often aren't. I don't want that now.

I think it's time for something new.

Mind is swollen with thought. My fingers often cease to move, lame on the keys; even the scant quantity of focus required to update these assessment sheets is lacking. I sit and stare at the cursor, my brain trying to understand what a number is. I am elsewhere. I am thinking of our future.

Yesterday, out of the blue, my husband launched a campaign to purchase a foreclosed home. A co-worker recently did so, and Jason is a natural follower, so he believes this plan would benefit us. He claims we can find a quality house with mortgage payments of $400 a month or less. That would save us $200 a month off the top, but what about the hike in all of our other expenses? That, and we browsed the HUD listings. The homes are either oversized or have the wan look of a neglected cube. Most have been stripped of all appliances and require hundreds of dollars in vital repairs. This is his draw, apparently. He suddenly cultivated an urge to construct and mend.

This is also coming from the man who, this very morning, said a $17 shirt is out of budget until his paycheck hits. I am not criticizing him, merely pointing out the logic doesn't seem to be connected. He wanted to buy a $60 game Friday. When it comes to money, Jason is delightfully confusing. He keeps a loose budget, but we find ourselves in an odd pattern of surplus-strain-surplus-strain. We never have an even flow of money. How can we buy a home if we can't even update our wardrobes?

And there's that pay cut, whose first half began today.

I love him, but he is a mysterious person at times. He doesn't want to settle, but he wants to own. Qua?

My idea has long been to move downtown. Centralizing ourselves would cut our commutes down. Of course, rent in the newer buildings is ridiculous, but I don't want to live in a new building anyhow. I want the real city urchin experience, in an ancient building with the pipes running up the walls and hardwood floors. Until yesterday, he was keen on the idea too.

Still, I must think of our future. We've never discussed it. Oh, vague ambitions, but of the concrete? Never. We have no goals, really. We've just been getting by these past three years and some-odd months. We live comfortably, not richly, but we have plenty of good food and material wants. I own my "dream" car and I'm going to art school. And I guess for me, that's what I see in the next five years. School and job hunting. I've not really considered the long-term, because I have so much in my mid-term.

I have a life I'm working toward and I have to wonder how it overlays with Jason's projected future. I am leaning toward urban-art-retro-eccentric. The excitement of a city. I want to have a studio for all of my art, my iMac. Even if it's a corner, it seems divine. No kids, no heavy obligations. I just want a lifetime filled with gaming, loving, culture and the arts. That's all I want. Maybe I can have that in Indianapolis, maybe I can't. I am willing to move wherever the jobs are. I want to go into book design or print work. I love ink and layouts more than web design. I suppose you could say I want a career where I need a business card. That would be nice.

I might even go into teaching one day.

I want to live in a space that lends itself to the boldly-painted walls we have now. I want art-deco decor (oh that Metropolis print!) in the living room and eventually bathroom (or perhaps later art nouveau) and my Mediterranean paradise for the bedroom. That's still my dream. I want to have cute shoes that women envy and long hair I stubbornly keep until it all falls out.

Don't care about having a lot of friends or being part of a higher society. I just need the love of my husband and cats and the kooky folks I know online to keep me company. Anyone or anything I have beyond this would be a happy bonus!

And before I get too old to appreciate it, I'd like to visit Barcelona and Greece.

That is really it. I don't have to have my name recorded in any histories or win any awards. If I feel I've succeeded, if Jason is proud of me, then I've done what I want. I can die satisfied. I don't need to impress the world or grab onto a certain rung. The bar isn't set at any particular height. As long as I get over it in some fashion, that's enough. I don't need to prove that I'm a "full" person.

I already know I am.

Flying Reindeer

A cat owner's anecdote.

Our cats loathe when I scour the apartment, particularly when I shampoo the carpet. Their sensitive little feet can't abide the damp, and I think the diminished feline odor confounds them.

Alfredo decided to cope by climbing the back of the sofa (such a rebel). Mind, it's settled up against a wall and the slot could never afford a cat's body. I don't care how flat a cat can squish itself! Nothing doin'!

I hear his claws and rap the sofa, hissing a command to stop. He glares at me defiantly. I retrieved our spray bottle and doused him.

Now, you must imagine my husband standing in the living room, pulling on his shirt so we can go to the store. He is not expecting to see anything unusual today.

We have this metal reindeer sculpture I sit out over the holidays and store beside the sofa.

In his panic, Alfredo did as all cats do: he blindly fled the scene in a rush. His trajectory carried him between the legs of the sculpture. In a flash, I saw the deer had straddled him. Obviously, this lasted a half-second. So there was this blur of white with a sculpture attached.

The reindeer careened into their cat gym. Jason only saw this inanimate object moving rapidly and jumped. He hadn't seen Alfredo.

Needless to say, I had a good cackle. What are the odds?!

I suppose this must be one of those hideously tedious entries where I explain what I did over the weekend. In this case, it matters, because I feel much improved after having done them.

Essentially, I played catch-up and took care of a lot of sprucing up that I'd not had the time nor will to do in weeks. I scoured the refrigerator, washed nearly every piece of laundry, shampooed the floors, and even went so far as to wash my make up and hair brushes. Pre-spring cleaning, you might say. 

We also figured a solution for the sofa. We're going to buy a very large blanket and pull it over the edges like a slipcover, then maybe tack the bottom. We've got the red blanket tucked in right now, rather than simply draping it, and while it isn't perfect, it's much better than the hole-gash-pock appearance the poor thing has suffered for months. If we could find a giant, black microfiber piece to work with, that would be ideal. Still, the red is fine. I don't care as long as I don't have to see foam.

Truth be told, I didn't do much other than that and watch him finish up DQVIII. I did register for classes, so I'm all set for next quarter. It's going to be an interestingly diverse session.

Oh well, that's it, folks!