Today is finally a full day off where I have no obligations to anyone but myself. Phew! KEXP's 90.3 listener voted albums of the year plays in my ears (M83, right now.) Enjoying the amenities of wireless service at my neighborhood coffee shop and sipping something warm on this cold, wet Seattle winter day. I was thinking about my blog, this morning. Thinking about what topic I could investigate, on this lovely free day. Two percolate in my brain; dreams about Dana and giveaways on talk shows. Unrelated and vying for brain attention...

I woke up from a dream starring my sisters and my mom. Not all dreams stay with me after getting out of bed, but ones that involve Dana usually do; especially since I rarely have any dreams that involve her. I don't know how often she visits my dreaming life; since I recall so few times. She is always the same, though; frozen in time as an 18 year old. Her hair (which was long and thick dark brown--the kind I wished for as a child) is down, and she never speaks. I can speak to her, whomever else is in the dream can speak to her, and her response is always a quiet smile. She looks so happy to just be with us--I can see it in her eyes. They're sparkling and all this positive energy comes off of her. But we can't touch her.

I'm no dream interpreter, but even I can figure this one (and the others I've had like it) out. She's dead, so she can't participate, and she is in our hearts and minds, so we can see her and feel her presence, if not her physical self. Pretty much spend the rest of the day feeling blue and missing her after a dream like that.

So the talk show giveaways...you know what I'm referring to, right? All those Ellen, Oprah, Tyra, Tony and--I don't know of anymore talk show hosts--it's become a given that at some point during the hour long program, someone is going to get something. Don't let this list of shows fool you, I don't actually watch them all of the time. Rarely. Just often enough to get the gist of the spiel. Oh, yeah!!! And Martha does it, too. It's pure bazillion dollar craziness. I actually catch myself drifting into the day dream of "What if I went to a taping of ________'s show? What would she/he be giving away then? Could I be lucky enough to be there on the day of the great car giveaway? The spa package? The shopping spree?" This really happens inside my head. And, truth, I haven't any real interest in spending a vacation in Chicago, or LA, or New York and waiting in line to watch a taping of any one of those shows. Now, if I could get a ticket to see David Letterman, well that would be worth it. I would LOVE to get one of those big boxes of beef and the explodapop microwave popping corn (even though I don't own a microwave). But that's where I draw the line. Dave, yes. Oprah, no. Not that I have anything against the divine miss O. She's fine. She's obviously generous.

What I would like to know, is how much of this showering of free stuff is because the host wants to be generous and lovely to all those audience members who aren't multi-millionaires, and how much of it is pure publicity plugging? Some of both, I assume...but how MUCH of both? I caught an episode of the Tyra talk show and it must have been near some awards show because she was talking about all of the free stuff celebrities get when they go to these things. (Ahhhhh...The Shins representing the Live at KEXP album, number 35 on the countdown....number one--both the band and the radio station--in my heart....sigh....) She gives her gift bags of expensive perfumes, ipods, diamonds and watches away to her non-celeb family and friends. Well, today Tyra is going to give the audience a taste of the celeb life!!!!! Everyone gets a gift bag of goodies!!! Crappy silver earrings, an xm radio thingy bob that they have to buy a subscription to so that they can listen to Tyra's satellite broadcast, some kind of lotion (I think) and some socks? I don't really remember all of the "goodies" she gave away to her audience, but it was all about what she wanted to plug. Which, again, is the mixed message of generosity and self-serving promotion. Eh. Who am I to talk? I can barely manage to give a dollar to the countless homeless people I walk by every day.

Shawn had turned on Ellen's show, this morning, and that's what sparked the thought, because she was in the process of giving away Mariah Carey's new cd. And the audience goes wild! They can't believe their luck!

I avoid writing on this blog just like I avoid writing in my journal or finishing some writings that I started. Did I mention letters, too? Yeah. Easy to avoid them. I am a writing avoider. My excuses are vast and lame, and are interchangeable among the aforementioned creative outlets.

1. I don't have time.
2. I'm not really that interested in writing.
3. I don't have any talent for writing.
4. I'm too tired.
5. I don't have anything to say.
6. I'm boring.
7. Who would want to read what I write, anyway?
8. It's my life. I can waste it with Seinfeld reruns if I want.
9. I don't care about it.
10. I don't want to.

Wow, sort of my own Top Ten List, huh? Top ten reasons why Linnet is inconsistent, at best, with the writing thing. Only, if Dave were reading this on his show, I think I'd have to reverse the order, put the "I don't want to." as number 1. Good ole' Dave.

While I wait for my squash to bake (yes, I did come home by way of the grocery store, tonight. And, even though I'll be eating late just so that I make sure I eat the food I bought to prepare, I will be getting some vegetables and good-for-you protein. Hurrah me.) I force myself to sit at my computer and type this here blog. What's with me, anyway? I WANTED to start this blog. I TOLD people, three people--no, FOUR people--about it. This means that on a very obvious level, I have a desire to blah blah on my blog blog and for these words to be read and, possibly, enjoyed. It's supposed to be practice, in some way, to keep me active, creatively. At least, that's what I've been telling myself. hmmmmm...what is it really?

Is it, perhaps, ego? I've been on a where-is-my-ego-in-me? kick for a few days, now. An episode at work--poor decision making on my part--has prompted me to ask the question, "Why would I act in such a way, knowing that it was not in my best interest?". Occurred to me that the pervasive "I" and "mine" ruled over any other thoughts, at the precise moment the words "Of course we can do that for you." left my mouth. I KNEW that I hadn't the right to make that decision without first asking my boss. It was a gross trespass of her trust and respect towards me. Ugh. (This seems like a random segue from the beginning of this entry, but this is free form, right? Besides, there's a connection. Truly. At least I think it's connected. Yeah. It's connected. I continue.) Up until the other day, I really think that I was egotistical enough to believe that my actions were not ruled by my ego. Omigosh, am I an egotistical ass for simply HAVING that thought, or am I? Well, no more. I accept that ego is a part of my every day, and not just when I'm in headstand and suddenly think, "Holy crap, I got it!" right before I tumble to the ground. It is everywhere. Sometimes stronger than others, but it's there.

So...what to do....ummm, well, I haven't gotten that far. I'm still in these early discoveries, see? And I admit, I find it a touch depressing. Having to look at myself and notice aspects that I'm not proud of, and wanting to address them so that, at the very least, I can begin to evolve. I guess this is what we do as we get older, huh? Confront the demons we've been ignoring for 31 years?

What's For Dinner?

A fantastic yoga class, preceded by a day full of holiday shoppers making careful and sometimes belabored decisions between THIS particular necklace or THAT particular necklace makes for a hungry Linnet. Add to that such a busy day that by the time I ate lunch, I was past the point of hunger and ate only half of the sandwich I hastily bought at the next door coffee shop. Then the yoga...ahhhhhhh...yoga......and now home. First to be consumed, cold basmati rice. Just as a snack while I look in on the sad contents of my refrigerator. Next, a small glass of Organic Valley Eggnog--to wash down the rice, naturally. I sniff the remains of some Trader Joe's pesto tortelloni. Smells slightly odd, but maybe it's just a strong cheese mixed in with the pesto? After all, the use or freeze by date is two weeks away. Put some water on to boil for the tortelloni and eat an orange. (The first piece of fresh fruit I've eaten in a week. Pathetic, aren't I?) Pasta cooks, finishes, is doused with olive oil and parm cheese and bite number one. Bite number two...bite number three is a little too pungent for me. Not like I remember the tortelloni tasting when I ate it last week. Or was that two weeks ago? Can't do it. Once I believe something to taste off or stale or rotten, there is no convincing my taste buds, nor my stomach, that it could possibly be alright. Even if it is. Blech. Two slices of Genoa salami to distinguish the bad tortelloni lingering on my tongue. WHAT TO EAT NEXT?!! A bowl of frosted mini wheats? Well, that choice is in the hands of the milk--is it, like the pasta, a little off? I'm afraid to try so I will continue to type, instead.

All of these odds and ends of food are trying to tell me something, I am beginning to suspect. GO TO THE GROCERY STORE, LINNET. Please. I'm sure that my body is simply dying for a little leafy green vegetable with some red antioxident vegetables thrown into the mix, instead of into the garbage because I was too lazy to make them into a salad so they lay, decomposing, in my "crisper". I actually like to eat healthfully and well. I even like to cook, from time to time. And, I can so easily fall into the food pit of despair. I don't wanna think about what to make. Let's order pizza. Let's get pho. Let's go to Muy Macho. If my girlfriends/coworkers didn't generously bring me leftover casseroles, lentils and what have you, well, I'd be in the poor house solely from spending all of my money on crappy lunches from various eateries in the Market. Thank goodness for those nice ladies!

I shudder to think what I'd be eating if Shawn and I didn't, occasionally, decide we should buy the kind of groceries that you have to couple with other groceries to make an actual meal. I'm even sick of pizza, and I do love the Hot Mama's; especially reheated in the oven the next day. mmmmmm....pizza....or if I were single and left to my own lazy food devices. No top raman for me, but are udon noodles, tossed with sesame oil and hot pepper/garlic sauce really any better?

I am still here....

I know this may be difficult to believe, but I actually AM still here. I didn't even go anywhere. Though I've been avoiding my own blog for reasons unknown but suspicioned, I have been keeping up with the reading of others. I can certainly point to November as a technically difficult month--my computer had a hard drive failure as well as a virus--and work has been busy enough for me to not want to head in earlier than normal to use the computer. Now, I have a repaired pc (which is looking for a new home) and a new computer that is sitting on my lap, at this very moment. I made the switch, you see, and I am definitely happy about it. I think I'm not quite used to--omigosh. What am I writing? Do any of the one or three people who might accidentally come across these musings really want to read the blah blah blah blah boring blah of why I like this computer above another?

Maybe this is why I haven't really been contributing to my blog. I haven't anything to say. Or what I DO have to say is not really that interesting.

I have blogger blues...