You have your own potato. I know that.

I can’t seem to write these days, which is so frustrating, because in my head, that’s what I want to do most of all.  But when it comes down to it, I don’t have the focus, material, or whatever else I need.

Maybe because it’s been a hard year, starting with a disappointing breakup, followed by getting laid off from a job I’ve had for 14 years, followed by blah blah blah.  Getting laid off is mixed, I guess.  I’ve gotten a ticket out of a job that I couldn’t leave, but then again, there’s the bit about how women over 50 have the hardest time of anyone getting good jobs, and there’s the big mortgage, the house that’s lost half it’s phony inflated value, R. going to college, yadda yadda yadda.  Oh, but wait, I have this super-transferrable, highly in demand skill!  I almost forgot.  I know King County Code, and can say stuff like, “Per 21A.24.045D 63, you’re allowed to place the drainfield within the buffer of an aquatic area, provided you meet the criteria.  Any questions?  Why yes, I do cut my own hair!”  As my physical therapist said to me when I was explaining the code to her, "wow, when you go to a party, do people wish you would drink more?" (I have no idea why I felt compelled to explain it to her.  No, I don't.)

The potato.

And then the little stuff – a bad mammogram that was scary for a week and turned out to be nothing, but started a terrible train-wreck of a thought pattern that involved looking for a job with no hair (tip:  smile a lot) and getting health insurance with a pre-existing condition.  And R. wrecking another car (no one was hurt, phew), plus my own car hassles, and the leak in the upstairs deck that’s caused the front door to swell shut, and the woodstove that won’t open, and so on.  Oh, and this:  a potato fell out of my cupboard about a week ago, and I haven’t picked it up yet.  I know!  Every day, I see that potato and wish I would pick it up, and then I don’t.

So, I haven’t been posting because I haven’t wanted to write That Whiny Post That Makes You Tired.  You have your own problems, and for all I know, your own potato.  I'm aware of that.  But I thought that maybe if I write One Whiny Post, it will cleanse the blog palette, and I can get on with the rest of my life, because one thing I know is that when I’m in the paper bag, thinking -- sheesh, this is my life? Really, inside this paper bag? – the only way out of it is to actually write about the paper bag, and eventually, I remember that life isn’t so tiny and dark after all.  If I write about the bag for a bit, suddenly, bits of light start to come in, and after a while, the bag disappears, because I remember that amidst all of the crummy stuff, there’ve been a million large and small miracles involving how fortunate I am to have the most amazing, loveliest friends ever.  Which sounds like a cliché, something I’d feel required to say, like sacrificing a virgin to the paper bag goddess or something, but it’s completely not that at all.  I don’t want to go into it all here, because frankly, I get a little teary with the kindnesses that have come my way, but I will offer this: The other day, the instant C. got into my car, she pulled a hard-boiled egg out of her pocket and started cracking it on the windshield.  I know.  It pretty much doesn’t get better than having friends who carry the legitimate symbol of hope around in their pocket, and then, to make it less hokey, smash it on the window and eat it.

And yoga.  I have yoga, and something that I will henceforth call my own personal yoga miracle, which is that I got my favorite blanket three days in a row this week.  This is no small thing, due to my self-imposed rule that no rummaging is allowed.  With about 20 blankets, the odds are, duh, 1 in 20, but to get the blanket three days in a row is extremely unlikely -- one in a ten thousand chance of that happening.  Is that an official miracle?

But the blankets are arranged in two stacks, doubling the odds.  There’s still only one blanket, but there are twice as many desirable positions.  In fact, there are two identical blankets, but let's pretend that isn't the case, because we want to keep this simple and miraculous, don't we?  So, one blanket, two chances for it to appear in the top position makes the odds of getting it three times in a row closer to one in a thousand.  Uh oh, is that the sound of you yawning?   What if I get there sort of late, and there are only 3 blankets left?  What if other people like the same blanket, but don’t have the no rummaging rule?  I wish I didn't have to confess that I've spent several hours thinking about this, but I will.

Anyway, this is that post.  The whiny, math-laden one in which nothing happens.  Pallete cleansed.  Thanks for reading.