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 |  of a tennis player, hiker, writer |
 A bird in the bath. well, just before.  On court 1. Lookin' to own.  In Jax, enjoyin' some solid juniors tennis.  I love my new phone cam.  * Clears throat * “Um, Robin here, your friendly neighborhood MC(Mistress of Ceremonies). Welcome to my blog. In it you’ll find my rants, ramblings and random updates on everything ME... …and since I’m the typo queen and master of misspelling, these will be present in most, if not all my posts.”  A few of my better entries - all quick reads: |
| I’ve written several things and all have gotten the delete button. Why? What’s wrong with me? Why am worried about posting in my blog? It’s not like I wrote anything mean or vindictive about a family member. I save those entries for my journal marked ‘For My Eyes Only’. Did I just type that? Oh. Wait. Excuse me. Sorry. Everybody…? FYI; Robin never writes anything even remotely negative about her closest friends for family. Ever! Furthermore, in her mind, she only thinks happy positive thoughts about said people. I think I’m avoiding something, making my previous words seem fake or trite. What am I trying to avoid? My chronic pain Sick of writing about it. Sick of dealing with it. Today, being a better day than the past four, you would think I’d be happy. Here I sit, tired of sounding like a whiney baby. Scared the levels will stay at seven and eight. Afraid my SFA isn’t strong enough to handle it. Leaving my creative soul laying on the dusty floor, shriveled up and screaming for one ounce of inspiration. I still haven’t done what I said I was gonna do; when in extreme pain, write dark poems, and stories. See what happens. It’s better than avoiding, which will only crush. |
| I'm calling renee in a little while. I hope she feels like doing I&O's with me. |
I woke this morning with jagged thoughts on two or three diff subjects - to write down. Now, they are gone from my head. I so hate when that happens. Lost, forever forgotten, or later retrieved into metamorphosisized ideas barely resembling their origin. Posing, fronting like they are worthy of being called creative. Flaunting teasing making fun of my inability to remember., decipher or reshape. I probably should just welcome the newly reincarnated ideas. Instead, I balk, underscoring my stupidity. Sometimes, I struggle to find the original core. This particular idea emerged in late Feb. early March. It’s tiny voice almost inaudible. It’s presentation laughable. “You must be kidding.” I told myself, always filled with self-doubt. However, like a little child, this idea has returned, on several occasions no less. Building strength and intensity, refusing to accept its ‘tossed in the garbage’ status. At present, it’s right here, brimming under my conscious awareness. I feel its presence. Floating in and out of my soul. Or am I in sweet denial. Not really wanting to find the true idea. Can denial even be sweet? I say yes. Pieces of the puzzle fit. The missing ones lay upside down on the floor for I am too lazy to pick them up. Or more accurately, I am unmotivated to do so. What will the full picture look like? Will I be impressed with its detailed manicure? Will I greet the posing changes as unique attempts to gain precious knowledge, insight, and glimpses into a being so lost its scattered existence needs to be shaken up before it can become whole again. Or, will I become angered, feeling controlled and manipulated? I already know and see the ugly. Accepted its unpleasantness. But there is beauty there. My heart tells me. For as long as the initial motivation was cultivated out of an intense desire to know and love, not to harm. I am okay with everything. |
| Autumn came over last night. YAY!! Well, she stayed after she dropped me off at the house. We have cable. Being a struggling college student she does not. The Gilmore Girls, and One Tree Hill were on. She had to see them. Frozen pizza was made. Laney even let her chose which kind! (I didn’t even get a bit of the crust.) Please note, grilled chicken was also on the menu. I watched some of the GG w/ her while I folded laundry. I had wanted to watch more, but my nightly routine is loaded with responsibilities. (I really gotta work on this.) But it was great having her visit. |
| Okay, so, um, the maintenance man is on vacation this week and I’m picking up his chores. Well, I’m all for vacations. Plus, I don’t mind helping out. However, why is it that if I take off I am responsible for covering, like every minute of my leave? And, this person – my temp replacement does very little to reduce my To-Do List? I mean, it’s almost a given my TDL will have double, even tripled upon my return. Yet, why doesn’t the MM have to cover his obscene? In addition, why do I have to take out the trash, clean the courts, mop the floors, wash the windows? (Okay, I know I’m venting. Being childish, showing my ass.) There, I feel better. Well, not really, but at least my cleaning aversion is out. |
| Jw again. WTF? I hate it. Even though I know its good for me. It’s like cleaning out from under your bed. You know you’ll find something fun, money, a missing article of clothing, a detention slip your daughter was supposed to give you to sign. Well, okay, that’s not fun, but money is always fun. Well, actually, now that I think about it, it’s more like taking really bad tasting medicine, like Niquil. It sucks. You squeeze your eyes shut trying to cut off your sense of smell hoping that will reduce the grossness of it all. I’m going to a committee meeting tonight. Laney will be at the Prince demo thing so she won’t fuss too much about staying longer than she has too. Oh, wait, I forgot, she’s a teenager…she will fuss no matter WHAT I tell her. At any rate, I will be late tonight. So this will be the only writing I get done today. Why am I not happier about it? Ugh, grrrrr, |
| Since Jennifer Wilbanks was found, safe and sound in Albuquerque, it would seem all is fair in love and haulin’ ass. With six hundred would be attendees, Jenn wanted more, the entire country, involved in her hesitancy to walk down the isle. I am one of these spectators, swept in by the constant media coverage, who wondered, worried, and prayed for her safety. Now, I’m a tab bit ticked. After all, I was deceived. WTF was she thinking anyway? Chatting with acquaintances on the bus, sightseeing in Albuquerque, finally phoning her mom; ‘I was abducted.” Granted, I wasn’t on the guest list, nor did I even know Jennifer Wilbanks, nonetheless, I’m still a bit ticked. Yes, I know, I have not run a mile in Jenn’s New Balance shoes. I did witness the pain and emotional suffering of John Mason, her mother, and other family members and friends. Putting her marathon running skills to good use, Jenn left the house for a jog and kept running – right to the Greyhound station. So she ran, and kept running. So what? When she finally did call home, why lie? Why conjure up a fictitious story about your alleged disappearance. (Only writers are allowed such privileges.) Who gave runners this license? The real question here is: How will New Balance capitalize on its unexpected gratis advertisement? |
| I’m so mad right now and it just dawned on me I haven’t eaten breakfast. I once saw a talk show where the guest said you should never eat when you are mad. My stomach is growling so maybe I had better find a way to calm down, at least long enough to put food in it. My optoins are limited as I only have a soy shake or instant oatmea - all my fav flavors long gone too. |
| The original itinerary listed the Springhill Suites as the hotel. I know, cuz I made the reservations, with my trusty MC card, for three non smoking rooms each housing two double beds. Two days before the trip Adam calls me and says Liza’s mom has them a room somewhere else. A cheaper room, Adam, the driver, wants Laney and I at the same hotel, to cut down on his taxiing. Could I please cancel my room and make new reservations. Call him back after I’ve cancelled. I start to argue, but my words fall on deaf ears. Against my better judgment, I do as asked. Huge mistake. My little voice was screaming inside my head, ‘Robin, don’t do this. You know better.” But did I listen? Hell no. I so totally ignored it. Shame on me. Once canceled, I then got the name of the place Adam, and the other girls would be staying. Could I get a reservation there? Absolutely not. Nor could I seem to be able to get one at any near by hotel. Sooo, I was stuck staying at the Days Inn. We haven’t even really stepped foot in the room and I can already smell cigarette smoke. Laney, right behind me remarks, “Um, who missed the part about the non-smoking room?” I’m a little upset. I hate the smell of smoke, but I giggle at Laney’s comment. After all, I’m stuck here, no use in getting all wigged out about it right? Scanning the room with our eyes while we dump our luggage on the beds, we begin to count the things not right with the room. No iron, no batteries in the TV remote, etc. The refrigerator looks liked it hasn’t been cleaned in at least a half dozen stays. I refuse to put my baby carrots in there. Beta-carotene consumption losing its priority for the next three days. Bottled water at room temperature isn’t a bad thing, I quickly decide. Laney, the hotel inspector, begins rattling off even more unpleasant things. At least we are laughing about it. After checking out the bathroom, she grabs me by the wrist, “Mom, come here, look at this fan-tabulous bathroom." I’m almost too afraid to look. I can live without baby carrots, but don’t mess with my shower! “Someone, “ she says as she yanks back the shower curtain, "has stolen the shower head.” Sure enough, I look up to see spout, just hanging there, naked, without a shower head. We both burst into laughter. "And, and, and,” she is tugging on my wrist again. “Look! At the sink. What’s missing?” I peer into the sink, trying to look for exposed pipes…cracked ceramic…whatever. “Now…just exactly how desperate do you have to be…to steal the sink stopper?” the inspector asks. More laughing. I can already tell this is gonna be some trip. |
| I’m kinda brain dead. Not sure why either. I’ve got lots to write about, but when it comes to composing, it all sounds like crap. Make any sense? I think this is because I haven’t done my ‘junk writing’. You know, the times I speed write all the stuff and clear my mind. Since Laney’s been traveling w/ tennis lately, I don’t have the time. To clean house. Savannah was great but cold. Laney and I had a great time. Liza bugged the stew out of her by acting like most eleven year olds do. She thought it was fun to tickle Laney, and play some hitting game., thinking it was funny. I could tell Laney was getting tired, but she really never got aggravated at Liza. On Sunday evening, when we got in, she came up and hugged me. “Mom , I am soooo sorry for all the stuff I did to you when I was younger.” I smiled. “It’s okay. At least you see.” Now, I know she’ll eventually see, her teenaagerness, later, when she is older. This makes me feel good. |
| I’m not all here. Well, I am all here, just separated. Fragments of my brain have decided to segregate themselves, destroying alliances with each, which make up the ME character. The lines are thick and made of drenches. Grouping together, each small segment flaunts its strengths, while underscoring the weaknesses of the others. The loudest will win out. Since I’m in level seven pain mode, it won’t be good. In moments like these, I cling tight to my SFA. Seven will subside to six and then five, dipping down as low as three. But seven is the loudest, and loves to be destructive to my emotional well being. I will not let this pain crush my SFA, or ruin my Friday. |
| This happened last Sunday evening...i am just now getting it down. It’s Sunday evening. I’ve worked seven days straight, my brain has lost all parts of logical thought. The Braves are loosing. I’m going to sleep. (I’m in a Holiday Inn Express in Tifton Georgia.) So, I pull the covers up over my hear in an effort to drown out the baseball game and its constant announcement that my team is losing. Who really wants to watch? A commercial comes on and I think I hear the word. “Marco.” . Before I even realize it, I have said ‘Polo’. Bear in mind, I’m overworked, seven days in a row. (just incase you missed it a few sentences ago.) Laney, who is lying on the bed next to me. On top of the covers, rolls over and pulls the sheets off of my face. ‘Mom?” she asks, pausing for a moment. I guess for dramatic purposes. Who knows what motivates a teenager. “What did you just say?” Slightly embarrassed, but too tired to care, I told her why I said the word ‘Polo.’ She thinks this is funny and starts to giggle. (FYI according to Laney, she never giggles. However, it sounds like giggling to me. So, therefore, I will refer to it as such.) Since giggling is contagious, I partake – even with a tired brain. “So, when I can’t find you. And you’re back in the laundry room. I’m gonna yell ‘Maaa-cooo!’” She puts her stretched out hand next to her open mouth. Like some people do when they are yelling. I have stepped up my giggling and am now chuckling. So has she. She makes a few jokes, about us being in different locations, the grocery store, the tennis center, stuff like that. “Maaar-cooo1” she keeps softly yelling. Now, we are both outright laughing. “Mom. Mom. Mom.” She taps me on the shoulder. She has an idea and really wants to share. “Remember that comedian? The guy who did the bit about English people not carrying any weapons…even the police? “Yeah.” And even though I remember, she reenacts if for me. “Red Rover, Red Rover, send the criminal right over.” Both of us are hit with an uncontrollable fit of laughter as we remember the bit. Laney, the comedian has more to add. You’re standing outside a building with a hostiage situation, just say – and up goes the hand – ‘Maaar-coo.’ More laughing. Why am I forking so much money into tennis? When she’s already solidified her comedian status? |
| The power goes off at like five AM this morning. (not sure, didn’t bother to get my lazy ass out of bed and check) It’s weird, how when the power goes off, it wakes you up. It’s pitch black dark too. Zero visibility. Can’t see my hand as I lift it in front of my face. I stretch my sleep filled muscles and turn onto my back. I’d stare at the ceiling only I can’t see the ceiling. My eyes are wide open anyway. Scanning the blackness, then squinting like I might actually see something. My ears are open too. Silence. I hear nothing. No hum of the air filter, refrigerator, the air conditioner, the florescent light, which is always on down the hall in the kitchen. Nothing. It’s odd, how electricity makes so much noise. So, here I am, lying in bed, wide-awake, in darkness and silence. Of course, my creative mind wanders. Unfortunately, it wandered right over to the suspense murder genre where it proceeded to spin some horrible story about a crazed escaped maniac from a psychotic ward somewhere up north. He had traveled his was down south, in search of the origin of the voices in his head. Never being able to find said voices, he turned to violence and mayhem. Brutally murdering his victims while they slept. Well, okay, not while they slept. He woke them up first, so they would be painfully aware of their demise. I know, I know, how idiotic of me; the drawbacks of being a writer who doesn’t write in the murder mystery genre. By now, the sky is lightening. Great. It must be time to get up. Throwing off the covers, I stumble out of bed. My heavy feet stagger down the hall in search of my cell phone, which has a clock on it. Sure enough. Six-thirty. Great times two. A shower in the dark. Joyous rapture. What fun this will be. Grouping around, probably putting conditioner in my hair when I should be using shampoo. And visa versa. Just as I’m stepping under the steamy water the power does come back on. YAY. This means coffee is next on my agenda. It’s goona be a super fantastic day. I can feel it. |
| I just got back into town and I have to get ready to go again. Laney played her state match yesterday and lost. She starts slow and got four games in the fist set. Her opponent had a really good net game, Laney was pretty good at returning her shots. She played a great second set, going to the net herself and hitting overheads, which she often lets bounce and hits at the baseline. I was proud of her. If she could have held on to that game during the third set she could have won. But she lost getting just two games. Nonetheless, I am very proud of her, playing number one singles her freshman year, finishing third in her region, even getting to go to state. YAY laney. We had a blast and I need to write about some of the funny things that happened. I hope I get around to this, as I have those two projects I’m working on, plus, now, I’m in a campfire. Some guy from SC on the site. I can’t believe I was even invited. I remember, when I first stumbled onto his port, peeking around. I found his folder and saw his strict guidelines. I really thought I’d never be able to participate. Funny stuff though. Still think I’m unworthy. |
I'm helping Sarah run her first tournament today - a junior sat. It could be fun, but I have my doubts. No matter what I am taking my SFA with me. I always have more fun with it.  |
| Well, I’m high speed ready. But not ready. The cable guys showed up, earlier than expected. (I was in the middle of preparing bank deposits when they arrived.) Two guys. Tim, and Daniel. Nice guys, obviously in great moods, I guess with it being Friday and beautiful weather at that. “Oh great. Concrete.” Tim says, inspecting my walls. He practically slides his hand in this hole I have in the wall. It’s – the hole I mean, hidden behind files on the top teir of my desk. “Too bad we can’t use this.” Before I painted my office and rearranged my office furniture, the hole was covered with a small-framed picture I had drawn of a teddy bear hugging a tennis racquet. Now, its visible, but not blatantly so. They busy themselves with installing the cable wire. I move my money counting outside my office to behind the counter. Daniel, is in my office drilling a hole. He’s made a mess which he says, if I had a vacuum cleaner, he’d be more than happy to clean. ‘Yeah right’ I think, but just smile at his offer. We chat for a few minutes, while waiting on his partner to come down from the attic. An attic to me is a place where you can actually store stuff. Not this huge piece of space above my ceiling. I guess I’m being anal. The cable guys keep calling it an attic. Who am I to argue? Tim covers up the hole Daniel drilled with a nice clean wall cover. He’s hooking up the modem to the hard drive and tells me how he dropped his expensive sunglasses down in-between the concrete blocks. Apparently, they fell eight feet down. He's very proud of the fact he has managed to retrieve them. With some tool i don't remember the name of. He shows me just how far down they fell, with his hand on the wall. “My wife would kill me.” He says. “She complains *and he did NOT use the word complain) about me wearing them to work.. It would be icing on the cake, if I lost them on the job.” I ask him how long has he been married, ‘Three years.” He says. “Aaahhh. A newlywed.” I say. But he disagrees. I didn’t tell him that I have been married for twenty and a half years, plus two dating. Three years is a newlywed to me. When the job is almost complete, Andy, another cable guys shows up. Apparently, it takes three of them to install high speed at a place of business. Something’s wrong and Andy has arrived just in the nick of time. He can have the pleasure, Tim tells him, of climbing on the roof? Or something, I’ve quit listening to them. They are chatting in my office. A staff meeting called without my consent. So here I sit, with the high speed on ready. Now, I have to wait for Edmond to finish connect it to my hard drive. I wonder how long THAT will take. He still has not fixed my precious CD player. |
| I’m getting frustrated. At the CD burner no less. I know, how stupid am I to let some POS technology device dictate my inner peace? But it’s not a POS burner. Granted, it’s not nearly as nice as the one I had – that crashed several months ago. It is pretty decent though. Although, I’m beginning to have doubts, and reassess my assessment of it. Grrrrr Ugh! Ahhh. There, I feel better already. Okay, not really. It’s just I wanted Norah Jones at work w/ me tomorrow. And Jessica Andrews too. |
| Well, Laney played her Region Tournament yesterday. I was lucky to get to take the day and go watch. Three matches in all. Since she got a bye the first round, all she had to was win her first match to make qualify for state. As her mother, I was very nervous for her. I have never wanted her to win a match so desperately in her entire tennis career. Usually, all I want is for her to play a good game. Or, not give up. So, I was a wreck yesterday morning. She did win! YAY for Laney. 0;3. Then, she had to play the nationally ranked player. But at least she was going to state so there wasn’t any pressure there. Of coarse she lost, I wanna say she got about 8 – 10 points. A few times she was able to hit the ball back over the net two or three times. This player already has a scholarship to UGA. I don’t think any of her opponents has gotten a single game off her. After losing, she then had to play the ¾ playoff to determine what seed she would be representing her region in state. She won that match, but only after a long struggle. Both girls were really tired. I am so proud of Laney. She tired so hard. And I could tell she wanted to give up from being so tired. But she didn’t. |
| I’m stuck. My barefoot is stuck in the mud. Ankle deep. Thick gooey, dark wet soft mud. I can’t take a step forward. I’ve tried, for several days but am immobile. So, I’m working my mental attitude yet again. Focusing on the bright sunshine overhead. It’s warmth covering my bare shoulders like a blanket on a cool windy day. My view is spectacular. Even if my goal is out of sight.. If I squint my eyes, twist up my nose, think with a concentrated effort, I can feel a glimpse of an outline I know is my goal. But the birds are chirping. A small child calls out with laughter while her dog barks. Stop worrying about your immobility I say to myself. I just don’t want to lose sight of my goal. |
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