2009-09-07
Labor Day Musings.
It's Labor Day, and already I've put most of my summer clothes away. I've left out a couple of light blouses and two pairs of sandals.
I'm mostly okay with this; weather-wise, we did not have us much of a summer. For the last week-and-a-half, mornings have been clocking in at around 50 degrees. Whatever we had, Summer of 2009, is over now. Don't call me anymore, and stop looking at my website -- I have sitemeter installed and I can tell when you're on here.
I do hope that we have a nice autumn. It's one of the things that keeps me tethered to New England, autumn is. Now, I am not one of those people who think "leaf-peeping" constitutes a wicked good time...on the contrary, such an excursion could only be undertaken were I to be rendered fully unconscious. But I like cider donuts, haunted houses, tiny little gourds and stupid Halloween decorations in my cubicle. My birthday is coming up, as is my wedding anniversary (which will be nice, considering that about five months ago I didn't think I was going to have another one of those).
This Labor Day also marks a full year of having Foot Foot around. In that year, we have gone from this:
to this:
Please note that only the houseboy and I are allowed to refer to her now as "Fat Fat." Thanks so much.
Really, it has been a pretty good summer as summers go. I actually went ahead and submitted some writing to a magazine. I won't know a damn thing until December or so, but I did it. I shot the little editor on my shoulder, the one who tells me that I suck and that nobody needs to read any more "recovery" stories. I didn't kill it...just hobbled it enough so that I could only barely hear it whimpering, "OK, but...but you STILL SUCK."
Ever since I did the MORTIFIED show last spring, I've realized that I have a pretty impressive backlog of writing. Hell, next month will mark TEN YEARS of this very online-please-don't-call-it-a-BLOG-diary. I haven't really plundered the journals from my twenties. I probably need to do that, although I know some of it will be quite painful to read, if only because I was even more of a self-absorbed twit than I am now.
I am afraid I am not going to have much patience with mid-to-late-nineties-era Lisa McColgan, so clearly well on her way to full-blown alcoholism, whining about how depressed she always is while pouring depressants into her system. It was much easier at the time to convince myself that I was sensitive and tortured than admit that I was pretty much just a drunk. You should all thank your lucky stars there was no such thing as Facebook back then, my God.
"Lisa McColgan is awash in a sadness for which there can never be a name."
"Lisa McColgan is going out for several pints yay!"
"Lisa McColgan is homeo and needs somwtone to talka to someone plase talke to her."
"Lisa McColgan has a hangover."
And then there would probably be the random Nick Cave lyric thrown in for good measure.
Oy.
lisamcc at 10:08 a.m.
3 comments so far
Lynette
2009-09-08 00:53:48
Thank you for those pix of Foot Foot. The before shot just made me smile ear to ear. She is just a stunning cat now. Wow. And as for your shoulder editor, tell it to stuff it. I will read anything you write. And I am a professional lemming. I hope you keep trying. And I will talke to you any time.
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Kaire
2009-09-08 12:35:17
Anytime Foot Foot needs to feel svelte, she could look at a picture of my PD, who often resembles a bloated raccoon.
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mumma
2009-09-09 01:50:34
Foot Foot is just beautiful...love, love big furry cats...she's almost as gorgeous as Sam...does she have fur growing between her toes? Guess we'll have to wait til Christmas to see her...
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