KimNovak.me — I am not an actress

It's quiet here at home. I have the day off work, which is a blessing since I barely slept last night. All I've done this morning is try to make a mocha chocolatte like they serve at Picnik and play games on my phone and computer. The drink was not as good as Picnik, but it was tolerable.

Oh, and I played my guitar and sang a couple of songs. I thought about recording one of them today. The one I wrote last November. Maybe I will. But I probably won't.

I should get out of this chair and go somewhere. It's sunny outside, and I like to feel the sun on my skin. I just can't decide where to go. So I continue to sit and cycle through the games.

I was making conversation with a guy at Lily Dawg's playday place the other day. I told him how happy I was that it was hot and sunny outside. This usually surprises people because I guess not very many people like the heat we have in Austin. I told him that I love to feel the sun on my skin. Then came the part that reminds me I should keep silent and stop making conversation with people... the questions. He asked, "Do you go anywhere special to get out in the sun?"

I panicked. And lied. The truth is that most of my sun time is sitting on the back patio, reading a book. For about 15 minutes a day, but not every day. And I open my sun roof and car windows to feel the sun on my face and arms while I drive to and from work. Or to and from the grocery store. Or to and from hardly anywhere else. And sometimes I walk around the block in my neighborhood or around work.

The lie was that I go to the park by my house where they have hiking trails. But really I've only been there twice in the almost seven years I've lived here. Why did I lie? I'm not sure. Maybe because I feel like I should go to that park. Or to Town Lake. Or anywhere that normal people go to be out in the sun. I felt panicked. And I lied.

Normal people. I suspect there really isn't such a thing. I'm trying to forgive myself for the lie. I'll practice not lying.

"Do you go anywhere special to get out in the sun?"

Answer: "No, not very often. I guess I like to stick close to home. Where it's quiet."

I turned 36 the day my dad died. That's the age I became an orphan. I don't know what age one becomes an old maid, but I'm pretty sure I'm there. An orphan and an old maid.

My friend Kathy says I need to "put myself out there" because guys my age need to be hit over the head or they just won't know I'm willing to be available to them. But that opens me up to possibly hurting the ones who would be with me and being hurt by the ones who won't. Because the overlap on the venn diagram of those who would be with me and those I would be with is pretty small. And once you add the third circle of those I cross paths with in such a way that a relationship could (or should) form, the overlap becomes microscopic. At least, that's how I imagine it.

I ate potatoes for supper. I think that's what's keeping me awake tonight. As I lay in bed, I felt like my arms and legs were floating, but my torso was held down by the weight of my thoughts. And those potatoes. I thought of my little black cat who died four months ago. If he were still here, he'd be under the covers, snuggled up under the crook of my arm, maybe rolling over and stretching so I could rub his belly. I thought of my former best friend who used to chase away my lonelies with nightly phone calls but for reasons between the two of us stopped doing that a couple months ago. I thought of my work partner who retired this month and left me with a shared language full of inside baseball and no one to speak it to. I lay and wonder who I will lose two months from now if this trend continues.

I've been catching up on back episodes of the Beyond the To Do List podcast and the guest, Christin Taylor, introduced a term about when things like this happen in a life -- shipwrecked. I'm shipwrecked.

I can't do anything to change my orphan status. And to change my old maid status, it will take a special someone who fits in that microscopic overlap of my venn diagram. Maybe he's reading this now. And maybe I already put him off by something I've said here. But maybe not. Maybe not.

To celebrate my birthday, I spent the weekend in various parks around Fredericksburg and Kerrville. Today, on the way back home to Austin, I stopped at Pedernales Falls State Park. I took these pictures at the bird blind.

A cardinal taking a bath

Grosbeak

Purple Finch

Hummingbird

For Crabapple Lane Rob

Two Hummingbirds

Day 13 of NaSoAlMo was full of snot. I have contracted a nasty cold. And I'm declaring NaSoAlMo a failure because my mind and now my body are not into it. I've NaSoAlMoed successfully for 5 years in a row before this, so I'm okay with it.

My final progress:

• NaSoAlMo 1: Untitled (Basic guitar recorded ~ 4:20)
• NaSoAlMo 2: Untitled (Piano chords sketched ~ ?)
• NaSoAlMo 3: Curiosity (Guitar chords sketched and lyrics finished)

This is more than I would have done without NaSoAlMo, so not a total failure.

I had an appointment with a surgeon today to talk about my gallbladder. He recommended surgery because of a large gallstone. You know that paper they have on the thing you lay on at the doctor's office? He drew a picture of my insides on that paper to show me where the gallstone is. Then he drew lines on my torso to show me where he would cut me to take my gallbladder out.

I scheduled the surgery for December 7.

This news took the wind out of my NaSoAlMo sails. There was no musical creativity on Day 12.