My Dishwasher, My Friend

When you don't have a job, you begin to become a bit of a recluse.

For example, I had no idea that Conan was no longer on television.
Or that Avatar could be seen in 2- OR 3D.
Or that the Olympics were going on. Like, right now.
(no, I'm not even kidding about that last one).

Lately, my life has revolved around my computer, my fireplace, my dogs, and various household chores. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, since it covers all my basic needs - income, companionship, warmth, and a sense of accomplishment (as much as clean folded laundry can be viewed as a life goal). Speaking as someone who generally loves her little cozy house in the woods and avoids crowds like the plague, quitting my job has definitely lent itself to a feeling of serenity and oneness with my environment.

That said, I'm having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I feel more comfortable hanging out with my dishwasher than I do with real live human beings.

I see this chick, sorting laundry and planning dinner and picking up after her husband and I'm all, is that me?!?!?
It's trippy.
And it reminds me that everytime I dare to think that I know who I am, I find a whole new dimension of myself that I didn't even know was there.

Like that time I killed that prostitute....
But I've already said too much.

So that stupid unending question - that "who am I and what should I be doing with my life" question - rears its ugly head again.

And I know I've been blogging about that question a lot lately but you'll forgive me for pointing out that it's really the only big thing going on in my life. So it's either THAT... or I blog about the fact that I made pecan-encrusted salmon for dinner last night. Which was delicious and nutritious but not exactly blog worthy. (Or WAS it? Message me if you want the recipe.)

(and you DO want the recipe)

Fact is, I have a hundred different options right now. I have a hundred different things I could be doing with my life - a hundred different doors that I could go through. They're all here, right in front of me. I just need to take that first step.

But man. That first step is a doozy. That first step entails deciding what makes me really, really happy. That first step entails finding a very integral part of myself that has thus far escaped every trap I've set for it.

I swear, at this point I would have better luck trying to find a ninja during a blackout than trying to find the part of myself that I need to go forward.

Figures.

SO.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.

A trip - a chakra-centering, soul-searching, me-finding, possibly massage-including trip is in order. I'm lucky to have a sponsor for this trip, a myseterious character known only as la madre, whose heart appears to be as big as her checkbook. I'm also lucky enough to have a sister who, wouldn't you know it, is having the same sort of life crisis as we speak.

And everybody knows that simultaneous mental breakdowns among siblings = awesome.

So a trip will be taken within the next month.
A trip that, hopefully, will help me find my purpose in life.
And if it happens to be eventful enough to inspire a novel that puts me on Opra's Book Club?

All the better.

Details will be forthcoming.
For now, I need to get back to my dishwasher.

It misses me.