If I can't be a lover, at least I can be a mother

... To a lamb, of course. Don't worry. I'm still not the the point that I actually think out-of-wedlock babies in my life are a good idea. Not that I think I ever will. Anyway...
Yesterday one of our sheep had a baby. I was a little worried about her, so I stayed pretty close through her labor. I wasn't exactly doing Lamaze here, but I was praying for the safe delivery of the lamb. Well, the baby came out healthy and strong, but for whatever reason the sheep rejected it. I don't know why they do that sometimes-- it's heartbreaking.
So, what does this all mean in my life? It looks like I'll be taking care of Tiny Tim (he's so frail right now because he hasn't been able to eat). I gave him a bottle a bit ago, but he doesn't really know what to do with it yet. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before he gets the hang of it.
At least he has a very proud godfather. Our rooster, Esteban, crowed very proudly all through Tim's birth.
In other news, I guess I'm not going to the ballet with Aaron this weekend, but again, props to him for canceling our date early enough that I can make other plans. Aaron is a considerate soul.
Some of the other men in my life leave quite a bit to be desired-- particularly the ones who aren't really even securely IN yet. Last night, I had two very humorous conversations with fellas who seem to think I'm jonesin' for 'em. One is a guy I've known for a bit. He called to ask me to do something, but I already had plans. I told him I'd love it if he'd ask me again, but instead he went out of his way to tell me how it wouldn't have been a date, etc., etc. I don't know why he got all worked up, but no biggie. The other funny thing was when this dude told me that he wasn't coming to a party, and thought I was going to be really disappointed. Ha! Whatever. Does he even know who he's dealing with? Tee hee hee.

What's the Matter Here?

So I've had an exciting couple of days. I don't know how much to say, but I'm going to launch in anyway. Writing it down keeps the creative juices flowing, I always think.
First of all, the happy stuff: It was a really good weekend. I went to the temple; went dancing with Lou and Paul and Gabe and the cousins (and hundreds of skanky people at Graham's Central Station) and I worked on my yard. The yard work was particularly gratifying, though not easy considering I'd not made it home until about 4 that morning and then was up three and a half hours later to start my Saturday. I had to pull some weeds and finish spreading the rock around my trees. Then my dad helped me fix a sprinkler head and I leveled out the ground a bit. We planted seed and I spread a little topsoil/manure combination. It took a little more than three hours, but the results were well worth it. I mean, right now my backyard is still a wet, stinky mess. But I think in about a week I should be seeing a little grass coming up. And pretty soon it'll be a fairyland of Eden-like peace. And then just think of the parties I can have! Hooray!
Also on Saturday I hit a party at my sister-in-law's house and went to my friend Sean's wedding. The church was beautiful, the couple was beautiful. I just plain felt good about it. And then yesterday I was able to visit and catch up with a lot of people I haven't seen in a while. It was all very satisfying.
Also surprisingly satisfying is the new Sego family diet. So far so good. I think my pants are looser and I feel even more energetic than usual (as evidenced by doing major yard work on just about a third of my forty winks). Mom and Dad are really sticking to it, and I'm proud of them. Can't wait to hit the family reunion and have everyone talking about what a sexy family we are! Just kidding. That would be creepy, right?
Speaking of creepy, the weekend did offer a bit of the um, less than desirable. Again, I don't want to say too much, but here's the gist and the nub (thank you, Georgia Nicolson!): I had the most unexpected conversation with a man, expressing his kind and affectionate feelings toward me. But I'm not really flattered. More flabbergasted. While I appreciate it, I feel particularly awkward about it. Clearly, I don't feel the same way about this gentleman. Now, I don't really have any delusions that he's in love with me or anything, but I will admit quite a bit of discomfort resulting from his declarations. Think Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Collins. Yeah. Hoping to not have to deal with it and that everything will blow over on that score.
But, because no one likes to end on a downer, I'll say that my social life is generally quite improved recently. I've got a few things on the horizon to look forward to. I'm happy. And even if things don't come together just as I'd like, it's OK. Because I can always just chill in my backyard.

They can't get you now

Do you ever give your friends pep talks that are really for yourself? Happens to me all the time. The other night I was having a chat with a particularly conflicted friend. She's in love with this guy who doesn't treat her well, and she can't break out of it. He strings her along because he can. I think he knows the likelihood of getting a better deal than the one he's got with this girl is slim to none, but he won't commit, and it makes the gal miserable. Finally, I insisted that she take his phone number out of her cell phone, and because of those straws breaking the camel's back in his recent behavior, she did. I'm proud of her.
On this score, though, I don't think I'll be taking my own advice by removing a certain gentleman (term used very loosely) from my phone. But the reason is, I want to be able to screen my calls! I think I'm finally at the place where I can see his number come up and not really care. Want the latest dish?
Without divulging too much, let's just say that the man in question (and of course, it's the same one as always-- I can't have y'all thinking that I consistently go out with jerks and losers-- I just have a problem moving on is all), is only consistent in disappointing me. He asks me to get together, but keeps me waiting. He's always late. We make plans and he either cancels at the last minute or makes excuses for not showing up/calling/etc. Then, we we do go out, he can't let go of his blasted cell phone.
The other night, he was upset with me. He accused me of being "cold" to him in public-- of only being nice to him when we're alone. I was surprised initially... I think if this happened early in our relationship it would have only been a side effect of me trying to not smother him. And now, I think it's true-- not because I'm ashamed of him or anything (should I be? that's a question for another blog) but because my resolve to not get sucked in to the same old pattern generally ebbs by the end of the night when we're alone.
Regardless, I also was upset and I even tried to put it in that chipper "I feel" language. You know, like when you say, "When you cancel our plans, are late, or text people when we're together, it makes me feel like you don't value our time." He insists that he does. But then he asked me to watch a movie with him for the subsequent evening. I told him I'd be game, so long as certain criteria were met, ie., he came over to my house, it wasn't too late, etc. I'm trying to set some healthy boundaries here. Except as I drove home from the gym last night, I got a text asking me what I was doing and telling me that he was having dinner with some other people. That text came in right around 7. He didn't call to tell me that he was busy until around 11, I think. I was up, but I didn't answer the phone. I'd long earlier made other plans (even if those plans were just to finish up a nice, suspense-filled novel). I can't count on Mr. Man to be anything but unreliable. But I'm not taking him out of my phone, because I don't want to be caught off guard.
Here's the change I AM making-- from here on out, I must insist that my dates are actual dates and not just hanging out. My old roommie and I were talking about it last night. She said that girls who do this may spend a few extra nights at home (heck, I don't need a man to go out! but you get what we're saying), but in the end, it'll be worth it. She said the Bishop of her singles' ward said that it was ridiculous that people even need to have DTRs (Define The Relationship talks) because if they'd just date the way they were supposed to from the beginning, there'd never be a question. True, right? From here on out, I expect for men who want to spend time with me to make plans in advance, and follow through. I'm not going to keep settling for being treated like a second-class citizen, and chances are that if they don't ask early, I won't be available. Kudos to Aaron for asking me to the ballet three weeks in advance... what a nice boy!
Anyway, that's that.

Cleaning out in the Cruelest Month

You know, I'm finding that God always answers prayers. Sometimes, we just have to be tuned in to the right frequency.

I have a confession-- I rarely mop my floor. I'm a pretty clean person, and I like for things to be tidy, but it seems that I rarely get around to sweeping, swiffering and mopping. It's terrible, I know, but my tile especially is very, um, well, brown. It's beautiful and it doesn't show the dirt. But it's brown and doesn't show the dirt-- you see what I mean? Though I love the convenience of not having to mop every other day, I'm afraid I've fallen into the habit of not mopping... ever.

And OK, that's an exaggeration of course. But my sister-in-law would probably freak out if she knew how long it'd been since I'd given the floors the type of thorough cleaning she claims to do once a week (though I suspect it's more often than that). But it's easy to let it go, and sometimes I justify myself in thinking I'll change later. I'll get around to it. It's not that big of a deal.

Well, this morning in my rush to get out the door to the gym, I accidentally broke this beautiful candle holder. It was on the ledge of my bathtub and when I went to grab a towel post-tooth brushing, I knocked it over on the floor. It was sad because I'd never even lit the candle (how's that for logic? Oh! It's too pretty!). Fortunately, the glass didn't shatter too far, but I think we've all learned the hard lesson that once you break glass, it's not enough to sweep. You sweep. Then you dry Swiffer. Twice. You wash your bathmats and vacuum the surrounding rugs. You wet Swiffer. You mop. And just for good measure, you wear flip-flops around for the next few days to avoid a rogue shard of glass embedding itself in your foot.

Even though it was sad to lose my pretty little robin's egg- blue and brown flocked candle holder, I really felt like this was a metaphor for something bigger going on in my life at the moment. Last night, I had this really upsetting conversation with someone who's in a habit of hurting my feelings about as frequently as I put off mopping. Last night was particularly bad. And I'm not completely stupid-- I know I ought to probably cut this person out of my life, but I keep putting it off. I simply don't want to do it, and I've not been convinced it would bring me much happiness... just like mopping. But just like my candle-holder was broken, so's my relationship. And there's simply very little more I can do than sweep it up, throw out the broken bits, and be grateful that I still have a candle to burn, even without the protection of what was, on the surface, protective and beautiful for several months. I may have to mop up that segment of my life, because the relationship shattered a while ago, and though I thought I took care of it, little sharp fragments of this man I love keep shredding me. As much as I hate the thought, I think some spring cleaning will do me good.

Samson

Here's something that gets my goat: People who think they can tell you what to do with your hair. Well, to some extent, anyway.
This afternoon (play the death march now), I'm helping my sister out by having her trim my hair-- she's in beauty school, and has to get so many services to fill a quota. Well, I love her, and I trust her (mostly). I do hope we can avoid an Uncle-Jesse-loses-his-mullet-while-Stephanie-Judith-Tanner-plays-with-scissors situation, but you know what? It's just hair. It'll grow back.
Of course, that said, I would really like to keep my hair long for a bit more time. I like it long-- I've only had it this long once before when I donated a ponytail to Locks of Love. That's the plan again, and I look forward to it. Still, I get a little tired of people weighing in on what I should do with it-- my aunt telling me it was time to cut because I look better with shorter hair; the two boys who both nearly had a heart attack when I told them my hair isn't going to be this long forever (one I used to go out with, one I plan to go out with); and my choir director saying my hair was jacked up with all the different colors. OK, ok. This is not Joseph's coat of many colors we're talking about here, people! All these sweet spirits meant well, but at the end of the day, it's my hair. I'd like to be vain a bit longer because I frankly enjoy people stopping me on the street to tell me how pretty my hair is (this is the only thing I frequently get complimented on, so I've started to believe it-- so sue me!). But when the time comes, I look forward to chopping it off at a moment's notice. When I do, that'll be that, and I'll probably start growing it out again, hoping to get another donation or two under my belt before I start going gray (who knows when that will be?).
OK, enough of the hair rant.
Every day I think, "Oh yeah, I forgot to write about..." and then I promptly forget what I've been pondering the last few days. Next time I'll make myself a note... I've got some good stuff coming. Really. I promise...

I'm back! And I'm on fire!

So, as many of you know, I'm recently switched over to rachelsego.blogspot.com and it's a bit of a scary change. I really do feel some residual myspace guilt. But we'll see... I imagine it'll dissipate soon enough.

Anyway, transferring old blogs was really an eye-opener of me. First, I can't believe how much I've written over the past couple of years. I guess seeing the volume alone (I can't attest for the quality at this stage) makes me realize that I've got it in me to actually write that novel. Sometimes there's that age-old worry that you'll not have anything worthy to say, or that you've never had an original thought. Somewhere in those previous 167 posts, there's surely SOMETHING that isn't completely useless, right? And besides, maybe I'll follow in the footsteps of Ray Bradbury (not that he's one of my major literary heroes, but still)-- he said (paraphrased of course) that if you pump yourself full of every bit of literature you can get ahold of, surely something will eventually pour out of you (wow, did I butcher that! But the sentiment is the same). And I think it might be taking hold because I had a nice little brainstorm this morning in the bathtub... that's where I get my best ideas.

OK, what else? I've been busy, busy, busy. I'm not sure that's necessarily interesting to anyone, but I'm always happy when I'm productive. I think I'm a little sleepy, though, as well. I'm hoping there will be enough time this weekend (between all the other things I already have planned or am obligated to do/attend) to do some deep spring cleaning. I need to change out light bulbs and spread some more gravel. I want to get rid of some old clothes and stuff I don't need. In a perfect world, I'd have time to wipe down all the baseboards, but let's get real. If I get the place mopped, I'll feel good. I've been in my house for a year already, and it's amazing how stuff and dust will accumulate if you're not vigilant.

But on to other things... which means I need to get back to work.