On being Sanguine

Darling Kenny from mass asked me today, "You doing OK? Let me know if there's anything I can do." As if I didn't love him enough already.  So I said, "Can I take your picture for my blog?" And he responded, "Do I have a choice?" And I told him he didn't.
Darling Kenny from mass asked me today, “You doing OK? Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
As if I didn’t love him enough already.
So I said, “Can I take your picture for my blog?”
And he responded, “Do I have a choice?”
And I told him he didn’t.

On Sunday the computer in our living room started acting weird, loading much slower than normal, etc. I didn’t think much of this and went about my day.

Monday morning I logged on to check my email and the start-up process took longer than I had. So, I went to work, did my thing and returned to find the computer pulled out of its comfy, dusty shelf–wires spewing over the hardwood, computer tilted at a strange angle and not working.

My dad was like, “I think the computer is broken forever ever ever” (only with less drama since he’s an engineer) and I thought, “Good thing I’m not in school and didn’t have important stuff saved.”

If I have really important documents, I’ll usually email them to myself (this is probably weird.)

Then I remembered that my play was on that computer and it stressed me out a little bit, but not a lot, because I have the play contained in random, distributed documents on different computers and jump drives; and upon random, distributed pages (intermingled with sketches and notes) in random, distributed journals. Perhaps this was done to foil enemies (eggs in one basket and la la la) or, more likely, because I didn’t get around to organizing better and now, thankfully, I have weird forms of backup.

And then I remembered my photos from Spain.

Good Lord.

All my photos.

Photos of the mountains, the fog, the road, the friends. The once-in-a-lifetime experience with Atlanta-Jesus and Vancouver-Marcus and my darling other baby pilgrims. Photos of the wool socks and the early mornings and the dinners across Spain.

Good Lord.

On Sunday (probably because the computer was down), I opened a book my mom has on the Temperaments. I read about the Sanguine because, I don’t know, I felt like being narcissistic. “Blah blah blah, fun-loving and stuff but don’t always do all of the ideas they have.”

Dag-frikkin-nabbit.

You know what I wanted to do? I wanted to take my favorite photos and post them on this blog and tell stories about my favorite, most touching moments on the Camino de Santiago.

BUT I DIDN’T GET AROUND TO IT YET AND NOW (maybe) THEY’RE GONE.

Dangit.

I’m writing to tell you I’m aware of my failures, I guess. I haven’t finished the July or August crafting challenge…and now we’re in September.

Double-dog dangit.

My room has unsorted laundry. My car has a collection of stuff from the weekend: my work stuff for Friday, my overnight stuff for Friday night, hair-fixing stuff and make-up stuff and wedding stuff for Saturday…all of it in my trunk along with the donation-clothes-I-was-supposed-to-donate. I want to finish my crafting challenges. I want to write a play. I want to sew fall-material jumpers based off of vintage dress patterns. I want to pay the bills and clean the bathroom and wash the walls.

Want to know what I did yesterday night instead?

I held my pig and talked to Christine about life.

What I’m saying is: I’m still Sanguine.

But today is another day.

Carpe Diem!

(Also, cross mad fingers that I can recover some of my stuff. Which is ironic, since the Camino is all about letting go, I guess).

Thanks and besos!!

Here's Frank, in case you've been wondering about him. I told him I liked his new sweater. He still doesn't talk to me, but I think he likes having his photo taken.
Here’s Frank, in case you’ve been wondering about him. I told him I liked his new sweater. He still doesn’t talk to me, but I think he likes having his photo taken.

2 thoughts on “On being Sanguine

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  1. I can so relate to the pains of being sanguine as unfinished projects taunt me daily. “But,” I say, “I’ve gotta go teach the children! I’ll finish you later summer dress without a zipper.”

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