For a short week that started out with a vacation day (which was mostly spent driving downstate and cleaning the house), it has been distasteful in many ways. For starters, I should have listened to Susan Miller when she warned that if I chose to make any changes to my appearance – such as buying new clothes, etc – I should keep the receipts or wait til July. Unfortunately, I chose to color my hair, not much I can do about the strange coppery stripey shade (which I am grimly calling “Mercury Retrograde”) until I can set 20 minutes aside to recolor. Or should I wait til July to do that, too? I’m not sure it can get much worse.

I had to give a presentation yesterday and public speaking is definitely not my forte. When I was younger, I had massive phobias about it, and was terrorized at the thought. In this job, though, I have to put my big girl pants on and get it done, and to my surprise, when I put my mind to it, I can definitely do it, and do a passable job. I just don’t like it. It’s distasteful to me. Projecting an outward image, pushing my energy out to a big group of people, letting them feed off it, is draining and unpleasant for me. It makes me feel scrutinized and invaded and uncomfortable.

This morning, less than 24 hours after giving that big presentation, I had an appraiser come to the house and was reminded again of the uncomfortable feeling of being invaded. She was perfectly nice, even when Emmett jumped onto her shoulder, as he is wont to do with me. I was horrified – he is a wingnut. I locked him in the bathroom and he yowled and violently rattled the door the entire time she was here. He sounded like a tempest in a teapot and his brother Sarge stretched out on the hallway rug and stuffed his paws under the door to either soothe him or mock him, not sure which.

I am a crazy cat lady, I told her, trying for a laugh, and she merely politely agreed and went on with her clipboard. Again, a very nice person but who wants someone looking in your rooms and closets and putting a dollar value on your fortress of solitude? Talk about feeling like you’ve just had your pockets turned out.

I guess just another day and a half and I can call this week done and spend the weekend recovering and paying attention to all of the little details in my life that make me happy and recharge me. Go for a run, work in the yard, encourage Miss L’s marimo to divide so I can make one of these, drink some wine, and read some Travis McGee.