Day Two

Day Two of my “new blogger” phase seems kind of daunting. It’s like the day after you get a burst of creativity and you really put some effort into your book, and then the next day, *thud*.

I always do that. Do you have any idea how many books I’ve started? Written a great first page, put together a rough outline, refined it in my head while I was supposed to be sleeping, and then the next day I would just careen with energy over to the computer, and *thud*! I’d chalk that up to good old writer’s block and procrastinate for a day or two, and then I’d go and “proofread” and “fine tune” what I had written. Maybe I would add a few hundred words, call that a good day, and then NEVER continue.

Ugh.

Luckily for me, WordPress has seen those of my ilk coming, and has created a whole series of articles, day-by-day guidelines and daily prompts to keep us going. Day Two is devoted to stating and refining your name. Check! These mittens and all their associated ideas, puns and witty remarks have been floating around my brain for a few years. I guess that I’ll jettison some of them out, then, and really get down to why I’m (finally!) blogging. After all, the two most important rules of writing are “write every day” and “write what you know”. Here goes:

Children are much more likely to wear mittens, as they are only tangential members of the adult swim after all. Lots of kids today have their own “need” for their fingers in the cold, either using their parents’ devices, or their very own. When you go to the store to buy some winter gear, you see a whole bunch of little mittens, some little gloves and then you go to the big-people section and it switches, now there’s a whole bunch of gloves and very few, if any, mittens. My personal collection is about 70/30 gloves to mittens. I have 3 pairs of mittens. A set of large, wooly red ones, and two sets of pastel (pink and purple) ones with the accompanying neck strings. In the glove pile are some very staid and appropriately adult-colored ones, a leopard print pair I keep in the glove compartment of my SUV, and a pair of cheap, soft Kermit the Frog-colored gloves. My fiancé has taken to calling me “Grumpy Green Gloves” and these are the pair that inspired the nickname, along with my usual state of being grumpy. What, you didn’t notice?

I also have a pile of mitten-glove hybrids/tech gloves that have the fingers separated, but utilize an attached mitten overlay for us busy adults to whip off and go about our very adult business of electronic device poking. These are, of course, my favorites. It’s like the “adults need all their fingers” society has given in, and is trying to warm their frozen Very Important Digits with a nice, fuzzy covering. They are saying: “These things could wait, what is important now is that my hands are warm”. They are the young adults of hand-warming devices. Embrace the mitten, everyone, it’s nice and warm in here!

An attitude of “come over to the mitten side” is great for hyperbole, but no one actually wants this lifestyle. Well, some do, I’ve heard many people proudly proclaiming their ‘DINK’ (Dual-Income, No Kids) status and they love it. A lot of those people are either a little older than us and happy with their choices and probably have more than a couple hundred dollars in their bank accounts. Another contingent are younger than me, want their relative freedom, and they can always change their minds and join the main stream (mainstream, ha!).

Then there’s me. Just last month I was wrapping up my Big Corporate/Big Pharma job (I knew the assignment was ending and was so sad to leave but I had irons in the fire both there and at other exciting venues), I had to make a decision to take the plunge on a new apartment, had my birthday vacation booked, et cetera, et cetera. And I wasn’t 40. Today, I’m sitting here, a 40-year old woman, with my hair going in all different directions, in a huge t-shirt and my ducky pajama pants and bare cold feet. If I put my slippers on, I’ll be less likely to shower soon, though, so I have to tough it out.

I just woke up an hour ago, I’ve claimed my bi-weekly benefits like a good girl, and have checked all my alerts and emails as is the purview of job hunters everywhere. There’s not much to look forward to tonight, no good TV, I have to cook in my stupid small kitchen (no, we didn’t move, sigh), I have to try (snort!) to go to bed early (snort! snort!) and there is nothing in particular on the horizon for tomorrow, either. Friday I have plans with my girlfriends from my ex-workplace and feel bittersweet about that.

At the moment, I’m waiting for both the mail and a normal-human time to eat lunch to arrive, then it is time to join the world outside. I have to go to the Laundromat (because I hate the laundry in our building’s basement), and I also need some basic supplies: water, olive oil, wipes and Oreos. Half adult, half child. So mitten.

So, so mitten.

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