Irish Cream in my morning coffee…

I just put Baileys Irish Cream in my coffee. I thought you should know,

or rather… that I wanted to say.

I woke this morning with thoughts of calling in well on Monday… like in the book. (‘Even Cowgirls Get The Blues’, Tom Robbins) I smiled, as much as a person mostly still asleep and un-moving could smile. Perhaps my mind was doing the smiling for me I don’t know. … It was very pleased with itself.

ssllllrrp.

Call in “well” I mean from my job that I only have until the end of the month, but still.

I don’t have another one lined up. I’m leaving 3 weeks of pay with them.

They can keep it.

Yesterday: It was difficult to get up from researching schools (that I may want to take advantage of this opportunity and go to) and get ready for work. It has become more and more difficult/depressing to make myself go to work each day now that my days are precisely numbered. I have the direction of the rest of my life I need to be figuring out! (It puts a nervous knot in my tummy but it is also, exciting.)

I decided yesterday while sitting at my desk, working and being repulsed by being in the room I was in, that tomorrow will be my last day. I emailed the HR person (the Severence-Lay off final paperwork is being prepared). I now need to say my good-bye’s to friends and tell the Creative Services Director.

My manager is the most selfish I’ve worked for. I think ever. Honest. Such a bully. (Tiny example I imagine most anyone can relate to:) Calling in sick is a chore we all (departmentally speaking) hate EVEN when we’re actually sick! This, I believe, is why my brain found “calling in well” the appropriate way to let him know I’m never coming back.

It’s the little things. *smile*

Last night I made a list of possible ways to schedule my days starting next week when I have all of the day to do with as I designate. There are so many things I want to do!

Let us hope that I do them.

I mean, I am easily distracted and lazy.

Today I put Baileys Irish Cream in my morning coffee… and then I wrote it down.

If you know me at all. That is a good sign.
(The writing it down part I mean. *wink* Doubt I’ll be trying to afford Irish Cream in my coffee every day. Ha.)

.

Good Witches.

Mono...

Cold weather. I *think* I like cold weather, right? (to those of you who actually know what cold weather is) I get a chill, snuggle into a sweater and long for Scotland.

I daydream of living there in a castle next to J.K. Rowling and writing stories.
(ok, maybe not *really* a castle, but I would visit them, and write stories about living in them.)
I would change my last name back to Callaway (three a’s) and ponder giving up my U.S. citizenship. (I probably wouldn’t do it. *sigh* But I would look into it!)
I would read books by fireplaces and have dinner parties that lasted the weekend.
I would go out during the day to libraries and read stories to children who wanted to listen. Adults too.
I would invite my parents to come and live in Scotland very very near to me.
They would of course decline, but travel across the ocean as often as good health allows
and visit for months at a time maybe.

I would miss my friends.
But I would leave them.
I would bring my cat… and consider getting two big dogs.
I would probably live alone with my animals (and ok let’s face it…
also a maid, gardener, and dog trainer/groomer…they would become my friends.
I would write the names of their children into stories.)

I would drink more tea than coffee and wonder why it was ever the other way around.
I would take pictures of everything, still.

I would probably be too picky, too busy, have too many dreams to focus on finding love.
I would long desperately for it though.
I would have woolen socks and wear fun hats that covered my ears.
When I got too old for my scooter I would ride a three-wheeled bike
with a large basket on front.
One day my Gardener would put a little motor on it and I will motor down the road
going all of 25mph and I’ll insist on wearing an old fashioned leather helmet with goggles.
Locals will laugh a little when they see me buzzing loudly by
or when I stop in front of their shops,
but they will always wave with outstretched arms and large genuine grins.
Then they’ll turn to a visitor and say quite seriously,
“Ohhh, that’s Ms. Callaway, she comes into town often. If you’re lucky,
or ve-ry un-lucky, she’ll capture your soul and rewrite your fate into a story…
She’s a witch, that one, don’t ever cross Ms. Callaway. Nooo, don’t cha’ dare it.”
(it’s best to have heard that in your head with a Scottish brogue)

I would illustrate my own stories.
I would curse the cold like an old woman, but love it still.
I would write spooky stories for Halloween and read them at bonfire parties.

Spring would warm my soul… and joints and bones.
I would miss New Olreans.
I would buy a small home right on the outskirts of the Garden District
and when my bones get really old, live there through the winters.
I would throw Christmas parties and ride the streetcars sipping hot tea
in a covered paper cup. No particular destination in mind.
Sometimes I would stay in Scotland for the Holidays just to have white Christmases.
I would pay for friends and their familes to spend Holidays there too if they could get away
for a week… or more.

I would change my mind a lot,
and not worry that I do.

I would be oft invited to parties, some in castles, even well into old ladydom.
I would be so happy, and miserable sad sometimes.
But I would snuggle into a sweater and be thankful for my life, the whole of it
and all of the characters in it, real and fictitious.

I would wear many kinds of boots.
As I got older they would become sturdier.
I would always, always feel like a superhero when I wore them.

One beautiful crisp morning I would spend finishing a book that I’d spent years
off and on, writing.
It would be called, ‘You, Me, and Burnt Toast.’
I’ll cry happy tears and sip hot tea, and watch the morning turn to afternoon.
Then I’ll take a nap, and not wake up.

In my will I’ll have left almost everything to a young woman of a family who,
since the age of three, always liked my stories.
She will have a detailed imagination… and have quiet, polite charm about her.
She will ache to do something creative with her life but will have to have a regular job like everyone does.
She will jokingly lament often, “Where’s my wealthy benefactor?”
She will like cats.