I am blogging to say that I cannot blog today. I am too busy dead-bolting the office doors to keep the press away, abandoning my front-lines lobby perch, and hunkering down in the back at a desk with a spectacular view.

Yes, seriously. It’s been very exciting – in an “I might vomit” kind of way.

That is all I can say at the moment.

I do not have the vocabulary to understand what is going on, but all I can say is that the mood in my financial office today is “terrified” and “frantic.” It is times like this that make me glad that I have no money to speak of, because money makes certain people greedy and fearful.

And when those people screw up, it leaves a lot of honest, hard-working, generous individuals screwed over. My heart hurts for my co-workers.

Bad: It is Monday.
Good: It is a holiday, and GRETA IS HERE!
Bad: My car got towed on Friday night.
Good: I didn’t really feel upset about it.
Bad: Probably because it’s already been STOLEN three times.
Good: We got it back.
Bad: It cost a lot of money.
Good: I had enough money in my account to pay for it.
Bad: I now have $1.86 – in change – to last me until my next paycheck.
Good: Friends have spotted me for everything from a spring-form pan to a DiGiorno pizza.
Bad: These are the things I spend my money on.
Good: The spring-form pan helped me make a chocolate marble cheesecake.
Bad: It didn’t really look marbleized.
Good: Holy Christmas, it tasted good.
Bad: I’ve consumed a lot of calories this weekend.
Good: I’ve burned them off.
Bad: I have run so much, I can’t really bend my knees today.
Good: Runner’s booty, here I come.
Bad: All the same, I had some moments of physical insecurity.
Good: A favorite boy said some very nice things, unprompted.
Bad: I cried at the Bluebird on Saturday night.
Good: Because Josh and Meg were so good.
Bad: I’ve been feeling discouraged about the whole music thing.
Good: Greta and I got pulled into a spontaneous pickin’ party down in Leiper’s Fork, and each played 3 of our songs, and the people walking past were smiling, and my heart felt happy, and the old cowboy loved us, and I was reminded that no matter how much I threaten… I could never quit doing music.
Bad: I’m still in bed.
Good: I’m still in bed.
Bad: I have to get up now.
Good: Because Greta and I are going on a long walk.
Bad: My world is better when Greta is around – and she does not live here.
Good: My world is better when Greta is around – and she is still here today.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. What was WITH me yesterday?

Maybe you could tell from the blog, maybe not – but I seriously lost my mind for a few hours in the afternoon. Upon further introspection, I blame it on the fact that my life is completely out of balance.

I spend 8-9 hours each day in complete solitude at a desk. Those of you who have come to visit me at work know that I’m not joking – it is dead silent. No one – no, seriously, no one – is around; everyone else works back behind a heavy glass door, and I rarely see a soul. As a strong introvert, I’m probably able to handle this kind of isolation better than most. But… I while away the hours over-analyzing the lack of purpose in my life, and exploring the vacuous far-reaches of the internet – which, by the way, I’m pretty sure that I found the outer limits. I have now seen the entire World Wide Web.

Then, when the whistle blows, I leave work and rush off to a variety of social engagements, throwing myself into “extroversion” mode, and staying out way too late most nights.

It’s like jumping from a hot tub into a snow bank, rolling around, and then jumping back in: TOTALLY PAINFUL. Extremes are not good – and currently, I feel like a pendulum swinging back and forth, back and forth. It’s clear to me that something needs to change.

It would be awesome to have a real job. One with a salary and benefits. One in which I’m contributing to something. One that I like. One in which I am saying more than “Thank you for calling…” and “One moment, please.” One that utilizes my gifts – because I have them! I do have gifts.

Not to knock the temp job, because as far as temp jobs go, this one is pretty sweet. But ultimately, it’s not a good thing for a girl’s main goal each day to be “post a blog.”

Who wants to hire me?

No, for real. The search is on. Let us pray.

Our bodies don’t always do what we want them to. This is terrifying.

For as long as I can recall, I have carried tension and stress in my neck and shoulders. I remember being 6-years old and going to see a chiropractor – I was complaining about back pain in kindergarten. As I’ve gotten older and my life has been filled with adult responsibilities, questions, and anxiety, the pain has only increased.

I tell myself to relax, to breathe deeply, to roll my head down to my chest and stretch out the muscles, willing myself to let go of the tension. But my body just doesn’t respond – it doesn’t listen. I walk around in a state of permanent rigidity and strain. This pain is exacerbated by repetitive movements that I do daily: typing, playing guitar, holding a phone to my ear. It’s hard to know how to change my lifestyle in order to improve my discomfort.

Recently, the pain has been spreading. I’ve been having headaches, and my jaw feels permanently locked and tense. Again, I tell myself to unwind, loosen up, calm down… but my body refuses to comply. I want to take out my muscles and stretch them like rubber bands, forcing the kinks to be pulled back to a healthy form.

Last night I went to the store to look for muscle relaxants. One time, we gave muscle relaxants to our dog, and she peed all over the big comfy chair – but frankly, this is a risk I was willing to take. I asked the pharmacist if they had anything over the counter, and she looked at me like I had asked for cocaine. “No,” she said. “Those are available by prescription only.” So I found the next best thing – Excedrin Back & Body – and took 2 before bed.

This morning, I still hurt.

How can I force my body into submission? I wish that I could will away the pain, or refuse to let stress take up residence in my muscles. But the body has a mind of its own – and unfortunately, it’s not MY mind. The body and the brain are divided by the Great Wall of China. And it’s a scary thing to feel out of control.

We need to stop using plastic bags.

Now, before you start thinking that I’m a damn “hippie liberal from Seattle” (as I was recently called), let me just say that – as much as I wish it wasn’t true – I am not what you might call an “environmentally conscious” person. I don’t have a compost bin. I don’t drive a hybrid car; I don’t even own a bike. I like the idea of walking to work – but it’s just too hot. I don’t wear organic cotton t-shirts, or jeans made from bamboo. I love hamburgers. I avoid those people outside the grocery store raising money for the baby seals. I don’t always buy organic. One time, instead of recycling it, I threw my old car stereo in the dumpster. For shame.

But I am not a complete lost cause. I never leave the lights on when I don’t need them. I use my heat and AC sparingly (but yes, that’s also because I’m a cheapskate). I do not litter. I cut up the plastic rings from 6-packs before disposing of them. And I am a dedicated recycler. Faithful. Unwavering. Staunch. Even when it means risking my life by driving down to the Kroger on Nolensville Rd. late at night to drop off my recycling, since my apartment doesn’t have curbside pick-up.

Recently, I’ve read several articles about plastic bags and the horrible havoc they are wreaking on our environment. I am not going to preach at you, because I am the least qualified person in the world to tell people to change their habits for the good of the planet. But just some quick facts:

1) 500 BILLION plastic bags are used each year. It costs more to recycle these bags than it does to produce new ones, so they just keep cranking them out.
2) It takes 300 years for a plastic bag to break down – and when it does, it’s into toxic particles that contaminate the soil and the water, and therefore, wildlife.
3) Plastic bags make up a large part of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, the mass of trash the size of Texas floating somewhere between Hawaii and San Francisco.

I am not going to be one of those squawking voices that says that we must radically change the way that we live – although I do believe that if we want to see any kind of improvement in the health of our planet, it IS going to take some radical changes.

But today, I just want to encourage you to reuse your plastic bags.

Go a month without picking up a new plastic bag.

I have a canvas grocery sack that I sometimes use, sometimes don’t. I want to start using it every time. And I know that I, for one, have enough plastic bags stuffed under my kitchen sink to last me at least a month. This is my challenge to myself. And I hope that maybe you’ll think about trying it, too.

Things I have seen on my porch in the past week:
A spider
A cicada
A cockroach
A lizard
A possum

A possum. A POSSUM. On my front step, I kid you not. I was approaching my door after dark, and there it was, in the glow of the porch light, just sitting there waiting for me – at which point I said, “Oh, hellz no,” and performed an about-face back out to the street. I thought that cockroaches were bad, but they do not hold a candle to the extreme revulsion I hold for possums. God should have destroyed those demons in the flood.

Are you shuddering? I am. Still. Anything with RED EYES gets the middle finger from AP.

Since when did my front porch become a scene from “Deliverance”? Next thing you know, I’ll be blogging about moonshine and inbred albinos.

This Annie’s getting a gun.

I overslept. Again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but for as long as I have been setting an alarm clock, come morning, I do not hear it. I mean, I must hear it at some level of consciousness, because I hit the snooze button. Excuse me, the “SNOOZ” button. Why do alarm clocks leave off the “e”? Or is that just mine?

Wait, is that true? Does my alarm clock really say “SNOOZ”? I think so. I can’t remember. I can’t say that I’ve ever “officially” checked; it just seems like that is what is embedded in the deepest subconscious part of my brain – the part that gives me REM cycles. I’ll have to do some reconnaissance and report back.

You know what’s funny? The phrase “snooz button.” Say it ten times fast, and try to keep from laughing.

You know what’s annoying? The phrase “alarm clock.” I bet that if, instead of a beeping, my alarm clock just said, “ALARM CLOCK. ALARM CLOCK. ALARM CLOCK,” over and over and over, I would get up and get on with my day.

So, late again, I jumped out of bed and threw on a t-shirt and a skirt and my red heels, and ran out the door. Things I neglected to think of:
• My skirt is covered in slop of some sort.
• My white t-shirt has a ketchup stain on it from the spicy fries I ate last night at the French Quarter, where I played a show with the fantastic Meg Allison and Josh Stevens.
• I’m not allowed to wear t-shirts to my BUSINESS PROFESSIONAL workplace.
• Having no time to do any quality control, the hair on the back of my head strangely resembles a mangy badger’s rump. I am so not as cute as this girl today.

I desperately want to be a morning person. They’re so chipper and spry and productive and put together. But I’m not really a night person either – I used to be, but now I am an old lady, in my late-mid-20’s, and go to bed by 10pm most nights.

So if I’m not a morning person, and I’m not a night person, I guess that just leaves me mid-day. And isn’t that the best time to be alive anyway? That’s when things happen. And today, the lunch hour part of my mid-day is going to include a free sample meal at my happy place: Whole Foods Market.

This cannot be good.

If you believe that I have already covered the topic of the Nashville heat to satisfaction, that I have fulfilled my word quota on the subject, that I couldn’t possibly have more to say about living in the never-ending doldrums of sultry torment… THINK AGAIN.

There is no insulation in the walls of my home, and so the wimpy window air conditioner unit doesn’t make a difference. Last night was the hottest night so far, and my apartment would not cool down, no matter what. I have taken to freezing my Nalgene water bottle, and then sleeping with it in my bed at night. How resourceful – I’m a regular PRAIRIE WOMAN. It doesn’t really help, but it makes me feel like I’m doing something to combat the swelter.

A couple of weeks ago, I put on my fall clothes. I just put them on, and stood in front of the mirror, scarf and all. And then I peeled them off. I needed to remind myself that it won’t always be this way, and better days are coming, and there is hope. Incidentally, these are also the words that crisis counselors are trained to give suicidal individuals, but I digress.

Last night, I told Debbie that if I had known how miserable the summer was going to be, I never would have moved here. Maybe it’s good that I didn’t know, because I’m serious: I would not have come. I solemnly swore to her that this will be my only summer in Nashville, and that I’ll move away before June 1 next year. She told me that that’s what she said 11 years ago. I do not like those words.

I have been in an outrageously bad mood for a full 2 months, ever since my lunchtime walks around Centennial Park were terminated due to the sizzling air and scorching sun. Now, the only walking that I do is down 4 flights of stairs in the parking garage to cross over to my office building. Ever since it has gotten unbearably hot, do you want to know what the stairwell smells like? A carnival. Humid and dirty, stale popcorn and urine, old newspapers and staph infections. That is what I get to walk through on my way to work.

So Seattle, enjoy your day. No, I mean it: SOAK IT UP. Relish your 83 degrees of gorgeous bliss, with the mountains and the ocean and your patio happy hours. Think of me – whose next patio happy hour will likely be in November – in sheer misery, with no ability to think of a blog topic outside of the heat.

Some things have happened lately – some things that have left me feeling really lousy. Worse than lousy. I would say “shitty,” except then some people might get upset. So I’ll just leave it at lousy.

What are these “things” that have happened? Well, take your pick – there’s a panoply. But I don’t want to talk about them, because then you’ll know how lousy I am. And that would only make me feel lousier. But they involve miscommunication, and pride, and fear, and insecurity, and rejection. Aren’t those the worst things ever? Maybe not worse than war and famine and death. But still, pretty bad feelings.

Times like this make me want to throw in the towel. I feel like throwing my hands up in exasperation, and saying, “Fine, I GIVE UP.” I’m tired of trying, tired of tripping, tired of failing, tired of disappointing.

Sometimes I wish that Jesus would just come back.

I feel lousy. But today, I’m going to try to choose hope instead. I’m only a little ragamuffin, making my way as best as I know how. None of us will escape the hard times and the pain and the quiet moments where we question the value of who we are at our very core. But we are called to a long obedience in the same direction, day after day, no matter what. So…

Courage. Onward. And praise the Lord, really.