Hold me closer, tiny dancer.

It's too weird that I haven't been all bandwife-y lately, right?

I admit it's been a while since I so much as casually mentioned a certain band. THE band, obvi: The Mister's (Wonder)-bread-and-(i-cant-believe-it's-not)-butter and the fodder for many a dramatic post. Really, a huge inspiration for this blog, at least in the affecting-me kind of way (because obviously it's all about me). Annnnnyway, I've been mum for a reason. While I can't really get into specifics, let's just say that the boys are on a bit of an "indefinite hiatus". That's what I'm allowed to say (and I'm trying to be less mouthy and rebellious). 

No rehearsing, no recording, no shows, no tours. 

 { why is this not happening? like, now? cold case. }

(If you know me in real life, I've undoubtedly blabbed the whole story in person. If I haven't, we clearly need to do coffee. Stat!)

What does this all mean in the grand scheme of life/music for Alex and me? We still don't know. But while Sweet Thing is on an unspecified break, I do know that I have a lot less me-time and it's making me squirm. 

Look at me! I soaked pillows upon pillows with fat tears feeling sorry for myself and my tragic lonely bandwife condition. Now I'm complaining that I never get the house to myself? Can you believe this girl?! Impossible to satisfy. I also know that I really, really, REALLY miss it. It = everything. Especially the cheering. Oh dear. I'm a piece of work.

 

{ I mean, who ARE these people!? }

  
I should be less self-involved. This big empty space is his burden, not mine. During this weird limbo stage in his life, Alex is contemplating this: what, oh what, to DO with all of this free time! 

Well.

Write an album, of course. 

I'm sure he'd rather I not trumpet this fact to the masses (or the 8 people who read my blog) but it's his fault for marrying an oversharer/big-mouth. INYOFACESUCKA! 

He's built himself a "music room" in our unfinished basement. I am convinced that mold spores will be the cause of his untimely death. But he's a badass musician, right? A big middle-finger/crotch-grab to death!!! Not really. He's just SO desperate for his own space that he's willing to make himself a little sick for it. Sigh. We need to move.

 

{ really? unfit for humans. even for THIS caveman. }

So the music plays on, Sweet Thing or no Sweet Thing. It's a good thing. I think. It's the only "career" he really wants. But I'm pushing for a more stable Plan B in case the music thing doesn't work out. I sound un-supportive. Oh no, no. It's not for any lack of faith in his awesomeness, just complete disdain for the pathetic, crumbling music industry (especially in Canada). 

Sure, I married the creative left-brain type. I AM the creative left-brain type: "Spontaneity! Romantic poverty! Starving for art! Love is all you need!" But that side of me is very equally balanced by my plan-ahead, pragmatic right-brain: "Investments! Budgets! Colour-coded file folders! 5-year plans!"

And this side of me is displeased. But he's trying. He has a solid background in the tv biz and is going through the soul-crushing task of writing endless cover letters and applying for roles for which he's hella-overqualified. I can't believe we're back HERE again.

And what of me? Since my bandwife role has been stripped bare, I feel disconnected from his music-life. 

 { scruffy beards and wayward dress-straps? we belong in a green room }

So I've asked to help. 

We've already decided that if the solo thing takes off, I'd be his daily biz manager (ahem, nagging wife with additional accounting duties) and responsible for all of his big-upping (I'm experienced). But what about now? Oh, well, y'know, I'm just going to...

WRITE LYRICS! 


So excited. He's agreed to give me 2 unfinished songs and I get to pen the words! Are you really understanding how awesome this is?!? Don't laugh. This part requires little to no musical ability (and I have little to no musical ability, emphasis on "no"). I'm not a bad poet and I love words to death, so I might actually pull this off. The vocal melody is there, so easy-peasy, yeah? Also, if we write a hit, I'll rake in the royalties. Ha.

John's Imagine was based on Yoko's imagination, after all. I need to live up to my handle.

9-to-5-ish

Fashion Week has come and gone. Really? Did I blink? Such fun. OK, I'm kind of lying. Well, perhaps it would have been fun, had I not been clenching my teeth together (a reaction to anxiety) the entire time. I feared botching blogTO's coverage. But I'm over it. I'm not even going to read the comments. And a few of my quasi-journalist peers were at least complimentary. (Oh, and p.s. my OR by Angela Chen review is up!)

[ photo by blogTO partner-in-swag-crimes, Dennis Marciniak ]

But if LGFW was a triple-layer buttercream-iced gateau with spun-sugar bows (yum-yum-yum!), this week is a Kellogg's Pop Tart in comparison (ho-hum). OK, melodrama is one of my (non-resume-worthy) skills but if I was really exaggerating, I would have said Wonder Bread. At least I'm tossing in a little strawberry(ish) filling.

 

[ ummm, too early to renew my vows? ]

I am waking up at six. I am commuting over an hour in each direction. I have a physical in-box. The office coffee isn't free. It's not all bad, though, and I have some seriously exciting career-news to share shortly (yes, more changes), so I'll survive.

In the meantime, I'm going to need to find time in the non-working-hours for me-me-ME. It's all about balance.

Oh, and planning!

And follow-through!

Oh my. I need to rediscover my organized self after a year of making my own schedule and keeping late hours. I need to be that super meticulous and "together" person that I am in my head. Putting it to practice is challenging, but in the works:

 [photo via: Things Organized Neatly ]

I have:

1. Organized closet into "work" and "play", and by type (skirts, blouses...); purged fugliness = easier coordination of outfits while half-asleep
2. Committed to night showers = shaving a good 20 mins off of my morning routine (and not waking Alex with the blowdryer)
3. Bought new tupperware = making healthy lunches in advance, reducing risk of meals built around expired desk-pudding
4. Sorted out commuting activities (my NY Times Crossword book, that Vonnegut novel that Alex recommended, that small biz book that I still haven't read) = productivity during new-found idle time
5. Bought new work bag (well, mum did) = room for #3 and #4
6. Broke news gently to affected parties = Alex is aware of his new housewife role, and is adapting nicely (his Tuesday involved dog-poo management and laundry)
7. Google mapped every possible route to work = saved myself $5 per day (and several calories) by adding a 20-minute walk (albeit through a woodsy/industrial area, frequented, I can only assume, by search parties, rapists and various victim-types)
8. Bought actual alarm clock radio that is not my phone, despite overwhelming ugliness = lowered sleep-in potential and increased waking-up-to-Shakira potential

Excellent.

I'll stop now before I "accidentally" spill the beans. Oh, and because it's 8pm and I need to be in bed soon.