Were we all taught that not making eye-contact while speaking to someone was a sure sign of cowardice, or was that just what I have interpreted from previous lessons? (Chalk it up to insecurity, if the latter.)
The Epiphany Elephant has reared its majestic head again.
[cut to lackadaisical, ever-graying third-grade classroom of children; heads on their desks, half-awake]
Classroom [in slightly off-rhythm, near-unison]: "What new, exciting thing have you learned about yourself now, Lexx?"
I'm glad you asked, kids!
I have been in the supervisory/managerial position at a job before, and as such have dabbled in the study and practice of body language (if I sit up straight, speak calmly but assertively and don't cry, they might respect me here!). As such, I have gathered that eye-contact is labeled as important - even necessary - in not only the job interview, but throughout the career journey. If you let your eyes avert, people may think you're:
1. a wimp
2. lying
3. don't know what you're talking about or how you got here.
In addition, of course, I have also been taught in my childhood that making eye contact is respectful. SO! Whenever I do not keep eyes locked, I feel a twinge of guilt and even embarrassment from it. Having my attention called to it in this way is, of course, irritating, but has also allowed me to notice a pattern: When I listen to a person, my eyes naturally go to theirs (alert respect). If I am to think creatively and/or prove a point/make a scientific call-back to something important I have learned, it is nearly impossible to keep my eyes on someone else's face. I believe the reason for this is that when I look someone else in the eye while I am trying to talk, I will get distracted; By their reaction. By their intention to interrupt me. Distracted by the inundation of emotional information projecting from their face, by way of a simple lip-twitch.
My boss says this may be because I am an "Empath" (Empath Epiphany Elephant??). I can not only read other peoples' reactions/faces/body language very naturally and smoothly, but it is typical for me to immediately feel what they feel. To run on their energy instead of just my own, in a way. This is also very typically why I feel so terribly spent at the end of a very social day, even if the physical activities didn't run far past sitting on the couch.
In conclusion! If you find yourself consistently unable to keep eyes locked on your opposing human as you speak to them about why you think the metaphysical world has evolved/is falling to bits, fear not, little Empath. You may just be trying to form poetry without the stinging distraction of someone else's emotive surface.
Wednesday, December 5, 2018
The Funniest Thing My Sister Ever Said
We were much younger than we are now; we must've both been in school, as this was pre-divorce. We were spending time with our mother (Dad was likely working) in the living room of our gorgeous, cathedral-ceiling white house. These were the culdesac times. The times when I felt that no one day was really marked and every adolescent moment I lived was a safe, white blur (albeit riddled with disorder-driven confusion).
The house was quiet. The sun was silkily warming the boring, tan carpeting we all three lazily sprawled on. My mother read aloud from the hardcover she held in her hands. A book with the words "Harry Potter" stamped upon it in a funky gold lettering. I believe it was Prisoner of Azkaban, but who knows at this point. I just remember being riveted. I remember this so clearly because before this (and for some time after) reading had been a very painful experience for me; All alone in the florescent corners of the classroom, so much noise and distraction, so many words on every page. Words I didn't care about from some stranger I didn't care to know. I couldn't fathom why people would choose to do this to themselves on purpose - on their days off. But this was different. This was just something cool my mother was doing while including my sister and I. This was entertaining, this was peace. And I got to hear my mother's voice (and sometimes my sister's) consistently. We were all together. Very relaxing and immersive. A very special time, indeed.
(As if to say: "It's Harry Potter Day!")
The house was quiet. The sun was silkily warming the boring, tan carpeting we all three lazily sprawled on. My mother read aloud from the hardcover she held in her hands. A book with the words "Harry Potter" stamped upon it in a funky gold lettering. I believe it was Prisoner of Azkaban, but who knows at this point. I just remember being riveted. I remember this so clearly because before this (and for some time after) reading had been a very painful experience for me; All alone in the florescent corners of the classroom, so much noise and distraction, so many words on every page. Words I didn't care about from some stranger I didn't care to know. I couldn't fathom why people would choose to do this to themselves on purpose - on their days off. But this was different. This was just something cool my mother was doing while including my sister and I. This was entertaining, this was peace. And I got to hear my mother's voice (and sometimes my sister's) consistently. We were all together. Very relaxing and immersive. A very special time, indeed.
Then the phone began to ring. My mother would get up, check the caller ID and see if it warranted a pick-up. Then she would walk back, rejoin us on the floor and sift through the words on the marked page to find her place and begin again.
Then the phone began to ring. My mother would go through the rigmarole and once more head back to join us.
The landline again.
Finally, in a huff and in great humor my sister said: "Don't they know what today is??"
Finally, in a huff and in great humor my sister said: "Don't they know what today is??"
(As if to say: "It's Harry Potter Day!")
I love this for many reasons. My sister is the one who said it, so already it's up there on the list of favorites. The applicability of the statement has effortlessly been proven over time - I call back to her words to this very day. Of course the humor has a few lines: the obvious, where someone is simply getting huffy about being interrupted; the specific, where my family and I are doing something silly, yet we categorize it as something we should have alerted the media about. And that brings me to my favorite thought of it:
I really love how it reminds me that, at one time, I was shown that it would be alright to give a moment as much merit as I thought necessary. As important as I wanted it to be and/or as important as it was to me is exactly how important it was, period. You could be spending time with loved ones (or on your own), having what would appear to others as a really "nothing" day, and it could mean so much to you. It could be imperative to your childhood. It could give you the peace you didn't know you needed. It could save you.
I hope we all have "nothing" days like this. Moreover, I hope that if we miss the bus on recognizing these days' greatness in the moment (as is human), that we can at least recall them with enough sharpness to really appreciate them in nostalgia.
quote source: my sister.
quote source: my sister.
Friday, November 30, 2018
Legacy
Some of us feel the drive to leave a legacy. Whether it began as instinct, was taught or decided at a random point in time, that active drive is in them.
I feel drive for a lot of things, but leaving a legacy isn't one of them. I am not implying that it is silly to want to do so, it just honestly isn't on my list. After all, without those people we wouldn't have some really incredible things, from books to organizations to foundations, etc... I will say that I find some legacy-leavers to be a bit arrogant in intention - those people who "want all boys" so they can carry on the family name... what is that all about? Pride, perhaps? Or those who just know they are "making the world a better place" by living in it, so they'd better leave a little something in memoriam. Maybe I don't understand it, but it just seems gross.
Having said all that, it has made me consider how I would like to be remembered. Does this make me arrogant? Wasn't my intention, I do apologize if it does. At any rate, I do not daydream about an incredible funeral with the flowers and the church and the people in it just so. I do not actually give a shit about what happens to my physical body after I die, as long as my sister and my mother feel comfortable with it. (After all, we all know the aforementioned wingding is more for the living that we leave than our expired selves, no?) And if no one is to think of me once I am gone, than that will be that and I will still have no problem with it. What I will say is that if I am remembered, in some dream land, this would be the best scenario:
I want to be remembered as a writer (I am sick to the teeth of people only knowing me for my painting and would - truth be told - just as soon have them not know me at all). Provided they can fathom it, I want the people who I love to really remember just how much I love them and to know that it was very real. When they watch good stand up comedy I want them to think of me, the same goes for whenever they hear a killer Byrne lyric or bass line by the Stones.
As far as specific personality traits, I have marked the ability to make others laugh as a pretty great accomplishment. Right up there with it would doubtlessly be my compassion. I only really realized this when I was in a fight with a significant other (someone who surely should know you very well) and he told me that I "obviously just don't care". Never before - or again - have I ever been left so pearl-clutchingly speechless. It takes a lot to shock me, it's just not typically in me to react in an extreme manner. But this? This was so clearly ridiculous that I had no way to properly respond to it. It is along the lines of when someone implies that I am stupid - what am I to say? Other than a well-placed "Am not!", I suppose the only thing I could think to do would be to recite English literature. Or perhaps do long-division. Neither really proving how smart I am in the way that I would actually care about proving.
The killer thought (in my opinion) that I am ultimately left with after all of this is:
Those who know me - even those who know me best - have known me in a way I could never know myself. I cannot watch myself be, react, live. Not even in a Truman-esque scenario where cameras would roll on me throughout the day - I would know they were on me and likely behave differently as a result. Not to mention the aforementioned "those who know me" have not known me in my most raw form. They do not have my thought process to truly see where the initiation of my actions were born. They even have their own psyches and thought processes to filter me through before they are even able to come to a conclusion about me. Maybe I am not at all the person I think I am. Perhaps I think I am far better person than I really am, as that would be undeniably human of me.
Like I said; this is all just "best-case-scenario" stuff. Obviously people will remember me the way they will/want to/have to. Which, of course, is fine. I need not make my mark on this planet.
I feel drive for a lot of things, but leaving a legacy isn't one of them. I am not implying that it is silly to want to do so, it just honestly isn't on my list. After all, without those people we wouldn't have some really incredible things, from books to organizations to foundations, etc... I will say that I find some legacy-leavers to be a bit arrogant in intention - those people who "want all boys" so they can carry on the family name... what is that all about? Pride, perhaps? Or those who just know they are "making the world a better place" by living in it, so they'd better leave a little something in memoriam. Maybe I don't understand it, but it just seems gross.
Having said all that, it has made me consider how I would like to be remembered. Does this make me arrogant? Wasn't my intention, I do apologize if it does. At any rate, I do not daydream about an incredible funeral with the flowers and the church and the people in it just so. I do not actually give a shit about what happens to my physical body after I die, as long as my sister and my mother feel comfortable with it. (After all, we all know the aforementioned wingding is more for the living that we leave than our expired selves, no?) And if no one is to think of me once I am gone, than that will be that and I will still have no problem with it. What I will say is that if I am remembered, in some dream land, this would be the best scenario:
I want to be remembered as a writer (I am sick to the teeth of people only knowing me for my painting and would - truth be told - just as soon have them not know me at all). Provided they can fathom it, I want the people who I love to really remember just how much I love them and to know that it was very real. When they watch good stand up comedy I want them to think of me, the same goes for whenever they hear a killer Byrne lyric or bass line by the Stones.
As far as specific personality traits, I have marked the ability to make others laugh as a pretty great accomplishment. Right up there with it would doubtlessly be my compassion. I only really realized this when I was in a fight with a significant other (someone who surely should know you very well) and he told me that I "obviously just don't care". Never before - or again - have I ever been left so pearl-clutchingly speechless. It takes a lot to shock me, it's just not typically in me to react in an extreme manner. But this? This was so clearly ridiculous that I had no way to properly respond to it. It is along the lines of when someone implies that I am stupid - what am I to say? Other than a well-placed "Am not!", I suppose the only thing I could think to do would be to recite English literature. Or perhaps do long-division. Neither really proving how smart I am in the way that I would actually care about proving.
The killer thought (in my opinion) that I am ultimately left with after all of this is:
Those who know me - even those who know me best - have known me in a way I could never know myself. I cannot watch myself be, react, live. Not even in a Truman-esque scenario where cameras would roll on me throughout the day - I would know they were on me and likely behave differently as a result. Not to mention the aforementioned "those who know me" have not known me in my most raw form. They do not have my thought process to truly see where the initiation of my actions were born. They even have their own psyches and thought processes to filter me through before they are even able to come to a conclusion about me. Maybe I am not at all the person I think I am. Perhaps I think I am far better person than I really am, as that would be undeniably human of me.
Like I said; this is all just "best-case-scenario" stuff. Obviously people will remember me the way they will/want to/have to. Which, of course, is fine. I need not make my mark on this planet.
Quick Holiday Thoughts: 2018
It's beginning to look a lot like anxiety.
Yes, with another Thanksgiving under our belt (the same belt that we unbuckled and flung to the wayside on the night), Christmas is sure to peek its garland and baubled head around the corner any minute now. I have already felt the weather turn, I have already heard endless "shopping list" talk and I have already seen peoples' steps quicken, in the way that only stress, obligation and abrupt business can. That and the fact that I spend part of my professional time in a retail environment has lead me to reflect on my holidays passed.
Much like I have never lived the same summer twice, I feel as though the same could be said of the colder season. The main difference, of course, being that in summer I am much less likely to cross the line into weather-based misery. The more interesting difference: the disparity between my current holiday and any in my past has nearly everything to do with my growing, aging self. For me summer is the time to be young, carefree; a kid. Winter (and more specifically Thanksgiving/Christmastime) is the time to really recognize how much you've grown and be an adult. Be assertive, take control, make decisions.
This is where I'd like to go for holiday.
This is how much I'd like to spend on presents.
This is the year I make the presents.
This is who I want to see, and for this amount of time.
Naturally my first few Christmases are a bit of a cozy blur, save for a few incredible food spreads or favorite gifts I received. But at a certain point it made a shift. I made a shift, and with every passing year I put a little more of my foot down, do a little more of what I would like to do for the holiday and, in doing so, a little more of my season is improved. And far, far less stressful.
Of course it helps that I have a very small family (my mother, my sister) who insist that if I am unable to see them exactly on Christmas, the world will not in fact end. This affords me the ability to dodge a large, ugly amount of familial guilt. Which, in turn, affords me the freedom to really make this time of year whatever I want it to be. I can go all out on a Friendsmas at my place; silver trays, matching dish and flatware, expensive wines and decor. I can rack up the hours at my jobs (given the opportunity) and add all the overtime/holiday pay to my savings for next year. I can make rounds to family and friends, I can see a local play, I can travel, I can even choose to stay inside my four walls under a fuzzy blanket, against a plush cushion with a book and a glass of scotch and wait for all of the snow to fall.
For that I am grateful.
Happy holidays and might I suggest that you make what you want of it in the same fashion you would any other day.
Yes, with another Thanksgiving under our belt (the same belt that we unbuckled and flung to the wayside on the night), Christmas is sure to peek its garland and baubled head around the corner any minute now. I have already felt the weather turn, I have already heard endless "shopping list" talk and I have already seen peoples' steps quicken, in the way that only stress, obligation and abrupt business can. That and the fact that I spend part of my professional time in a retail environment has lead me to reflect on my holidays passed.
Much like I have never lived the same summer twice, I feel as though the same could be said of the colder season. The main difference, of course, being that in summer I am much less likely to cross the line into weather-based misery. The more interesting difference: the disparity between my current holiday and any in my past has nearly everything to do with my growing, aging self. For me summer is the time to be young, carefree; a kid. Winter (and more specifically Thanksgiving/Christmastime) is the time to really recognize how much you've grown and be an adult. Be assertive, take control, make decisions.
This is where I'd like to go for holiday.
This is how much I'd like to spend on presents.
This is the year I make the presents.
This is who I want to see, and for this amount of time.
Naturally my first few Christmases are a bit of a cozy blur, save for a few incredible food spreads or favorite gifts I received. But at a certain point it made a shift. I made a shift, and with every passing year I put a little more of my foot down, do a little more of what I would like to do for the holiday and, in doing so, a little more of my season is improved. And far, far less stressful.
Of course it helps that I have a very small family (my mother, my sister) who insist that if I am unable to see them exactly on Christmas, the world will not in fact end. This affords me the ability to dodge a large, ugly amount of familial guilt. Which, in turn, affords me the freedom to really make this time of year whatever I want it to be. I can go all out on a Friendsmas at my place; silver trays, matching dish and flatware, expensive wines and decor. I can rack up the hours at my jobs (given the opportunity) and add all the overtime/holiday pay to my savings for next year. I can make rounds to family and friends, I can see a local play, I can travel, I can even choose to stay inside my four walls under a fuzzy blanket, against a plush cushion with a book and a glass of scotch and wait for all of the snow to fall.
For that I am grateful.
Happy holidays and might I suggest that you make what you want of it in the same fashion you would any other day.
Why Is It...
...every time I start to talk about certain topics, the person/people I am speaking with stop listening and start over-sympathizing to the point of not being sincere?
It seems I cannot breach the subject of death, suicide, trauma and just recently I found the same is true about topic of: ending up alone. And so, I once again find myself at the keyboard.
Ending up alone is not ending up lonely - let's just get that one out of the way. While we're at it; all romance is not based on the fear of being alone, just as it isn't all based on actual, active love and just really enjoying that person's company. There is a percentage in each category. Also worth mentioning: I do not currently find myself embittered and/or touche'd by past romances and friendships, and let it be known that I am not moping or lying when I say:
I think I am going to end up alone.
And I am okay with that.
There is nothing to cover up. Some people are just okay and even perfectly content on their own. It's nice to be around people sometimes - that's why you have your friends, family, co-workers, those people who always start conversations with you in the grocery store and library etc... Just craving company is not necessarily craving companionship. Furthermore, craving companionship does not necessarily point to romance. You don't have to be married/coupled/in a romantic relationship in order to exercise that part of your brain/emotions. I think romantic relationships can be nice. But I have come to terms with the fact that I think this in the same fashion as I think chocolate cake is nice. I don't always want it. If it's offered to me, I will likely partake. And even if I go down the sugary spiral of craving it all the time, that doesn't mean that I should continue to have it. It might even have real milk in it - and I'm lactose-intolerant.
Trouble for all, trust me.
Enough of all that, though. What I really think it boils down to is: when am I most content? The answer is: when I am single. It is when I am most relaxed, peaceful, focused, motivated, strong and all around at my healthiest. Things are simplified. I no longer have to remember anniversaries. Or give all of my time to someone. Deal with unusual expectations. Fuss over who's buying what. Fight over "where this is headed". Fret about the fact that I am spending time with male friends. I no longer have to over-analyze my actions from the past 3 months to sift through them all and find which one has made my partner sad/mad/frustrated. I am sick of "fixing" partners because I never get to get fixed. I am sick of belonging to them because I end up no longer being my own. Bottom line? The paycheck just doesn't justify the job.
In fact, after trying to get that across to someone (a friend), I am likely to be told "oh, you just haven't found the right one, yet." That is possible (in the way that most things are), however what is more likely is that the majority of people who used to get married did it out of fear of being alone, accidental pregnancy, guilt, money/status, or - my personal favorite - lowering their standards. Ergo, perhaps the only way I will get into another long-term relationship is if I lower mine. I have heard of so many comedians make jokes about how they were in their twenties and no one was good enough for them. Then they got older and they'll "take what they can get". I understand that this is a punchline. I also understand that it sprang from truth. Banking on someone lowering their standards in order for them to settle for you is not exactly how I want to spend my time. And certainly not who I want to spend my time with.
Not everyone lowers their standards to get married. Here is the missing fact I have yet to throw your way this entry: there are a lot of things that I have to do in a particular fashion, so as to not create an upset. (Think Sensory Disorders meet Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.) So without even getting to the bottom of whether or not someone could handle that without fleeing for the hills, let me just share the fact that I might not want to deal with that. And in fact; I don't. There are already too many cooks in the kitchen, and as it stands there is only one cook (me).
It may not sound it, but I am open to possibilities. I just hate telling anyone that because whoever hears that just tends to erase everything that I have just taken the time to type out, thinking they will be the exception. Which is arrogant and selfish and, actually, disrespectful to me (I have already covered this). Not to mention, even if you were the exception, I would still have to find you desirable on additional levels in order to actually want to date you! SO many clauses and screenings to get through - it just really seems silly/unrealistic. And so far I haven't had a relationship that was better for me than being without one.
It seems I cannot breach the subject of death, suicide, trauma and just recently I found the same is true about topic of: ending up alone. And so, I once again find myself at the keyboard.
Ending up alone is not ending up lonely - let's just get that one out of the way. While we're at it; all romance is not based on the fear of being alone, just as it isn't all based on actual, active love and just really enjoying that person's company. There is a percentage in each category. Also worth mentioning: I do not currently find myself embittered and/or touche'd by past romances and friendships, and let it be known that I am not moping or lying when I say:
I think I am going to end up alone.
And I am okay with that.
There is nothing to cover up. Some people are just okay and even perfectly content on their own. It's nice to be around people sometimes - that's why you have your friends, family, co-workers, those people who always start conversations with you in the grocery store and library etc... Just craving company is not necessarily craving companionship. Furthermore, craving companionship does not necessarily point to romance. You don't have to be married/coupled/in a romantic relationship in order to exercise that part of your brain/emotions. I think romantic relationships can be nice. But I have come to terms with the fact that I think this in the same fashion as I think chocolate cake is nice. I don't always want it. If it's offered to me, I will likely partake. And even if I go down the sugary spiral of craving it all the time, that doesn't mean that I should continue to have it. It might even have real milk in it - and I'm lactose-intolerant.
Trouble for all, trust me.
Enough of all that, though. What I really think it boils down to is: when am I most content? The answer is: when I am single. It is when I am most relaxed, peaceful, focused, motivated, strong and all around at my healthiest. Things are simplified. I no longer have to remember anniversaries. Or give all of my time to someone. Deal with unusual expectations. Fuss over who's buying what. Fight over "where this is headed". Fret about the fact that I am spending time with male friends. I no longer have to over-analyze my actions from the past 3 months to sift through them all and find which one has made my partner sad/mad/frustrated. I am sick of "fixing" partners because I never get to get fixed. I am sick of belonging to them because I end up no longer being my own. Bottom line? The paycheck just doesn't justify the job.
In fact, after trying to get that across to someone (a friend), I am likely to be told "oh, you just haven't found the right one, yet." That is possible (in the way that most things are), however what is more likely is that the majority of people who used to get married did it out of fear of being alone, accidental pregnancy, guilt, money/status, or - my personal favorite - lowering their standards. Ergo, perhaps the only way I will get into another long-term relationship is if I lower mine. I have heard of so many comedians make jokes about how they were in their twenties and no one was good enough for them. Then they got older and they'll "take what they can get". I understand that this is a punchline. I also understand that it sprang from truth. Banking on someone lowering their standards in order for them to settle for you is not exactly how I want to spend my time. And certainly not who I want to spend my time with.
Not everyone lowers their standards to get married. Here is the missing fact I have yet to throw your way this entry: there are a lot of things that I have to do in a particular fashion, so as to not create an upset. (Think Sensory Disorders meet Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.) So without even getting to the bottom of whether or not someone could handle that without fleeing for the hills, let me just share the fact that I might not want to deal with that. And in fact; I don't. There are already too many cooks in the kitchen, and as it stands there is only one cook (me).
It may not sound it, but I am open to possibilities. I just hate telling anyone that because whoever hears that just tends to erase everything that I have just taken the time to type out, thinking they will be the exception. Which is arrogant and selfish and, actually, disrespectful to me (I have already covered this). Not to mention, even if you were the exception, I would still have to find you desirable on additional levels in order to actually want to date you! SO many clauses and screenings to get through - it just really seems silly/unrealistic. And so far I haven't had a relationship that was better for me than being without one.
Tuesday, November 13, 2018
Tethering System
We all need one.
...Okay, maybe only some of us need one, but I am undeniably one of the aforementioned some.
I LOVE getting older because you end up learning so much as you go. With every passing day, week, year I am confronted with more and more of myself and that is irrefutably worth every additional ache and pain my physical body faces along with it.
"Sure, my back hurts, but I now know that I value time over money!"
Terrific, no?
The thought that I was most recently analyzing was how I use music as a sort of tethering system. I have not always known how to do this, or even that it was valuable; I learned it. I learned it the same way I learned that the cleaner I kept my apartment/room/refrigerator and cabinets and the more controlled I kept my environment, the more content I was (I do this in hopes of starting my "patience-spent-meter" at 0 every morning, so as to have more to afford throughout the day).
As I have admitted, I have suffered from a sensory disorder (do they ever just go away without therapy?) in my childhood and may fall somewhere on "the spectrum". And in the same ways some on said spectrum are uncomfortable with loud noises, certain pitches and abrupt interruptions, I find that I can get anxious without music playing. I could be speaking to someone I truly love and respect and wanting to be around them for the rest of the day/night, and if I don't have music playing, I will have a straining feeling. A quiet but constant feeling of the "other me" tugging at my sweater, impatiently indicating that I am to flee. Naturally, this will result in the original me getting very frustrated and anxious (and sometimes even guilty, thanks OCD) and is sure to at least put a damper on what could have been a very enjoyable social endeavor.
Much like I have learned to bring multiple forms of entertainment with me whenever I leave the house (I arrive early most places because I hate being late, so I will come with my arsenal of books, notepads, sudoku & pencil with eraser, laptop, phone & charger cords), I have also, thankfully, learned that as long as I play a little music of my choosing and at the right level of volume, I can basically be comfortable anywhere. I can tether myself back to Earth and reality and the present company I am fortunate enough to have.
That seems awfully specific, now that I write it out, but believe me when I say that it is very much "small potatoes" when it comes to keeping myself content in such an oddly stressful scenario. I care about the people I like to talk to - being able to be around them comfortably has afforded me so much more opportunity with them.
I will say that in finding all of the aforementioned a necessity has driven me to a conclusion: I imagine I am no picnic to be with. At least not for elongated periods of time, and certainly not romantically. Who wants to listen to the same 5 songs over and over? Especially when they are exclusively of my liking? My friends will forgive me and call me crazy for even saying this, but that is because they can leave. Much like you adore your nieces and nephews, but fight back vomit when faced with the chance to create your own offspring. My friends and loved ones will babysit and cherish me, as I cherish them. My roommates will eventually find my ticks out and learn when to avoid me. My boyfriend - should I ever have one again - will be trapped in misery and confusion until he leaves.
Just another reason to keep things simple. I believe I might be moving closer and closer to the forever-single life, and I feel as though it may be the healthiest direction my life could take. For my strength. My happiness. My peace. For the sanity of myself and others.
...Okay, maybe only some of us need one, but I am undeniably one of the aforementioned some.
I LOVE getting older because you end up learning so much as you go. With every passing day, week, year I am confronted with more and more of myself and that is irrefutably worth every additional ache and pain my physical body faces along with it.
"Sure, my back hurts, but I now know that I value time over money!"
Terrific, no?
The thought that I was most recently analyzing was how I use music as a sort of tethering system. I have not always known how to do this, or even that it was valuable; I learned it. I learned it the same way I learned that the cleaner I kept my apartment/room/refrigerator and cabinets and the more controlled I kept my environment, the more content I was (I do this in hopes of starting my "patience-spent-meter" at 0 every morning, so as to have more to afford throughout the day).
As I have admitted, I have suffered from a sensory disorder (do they ever just go away without therapy?) in my childhood and may fall somewhere on "the spectrum". And in the same ways some on said spectrum are uncomfortable with loud noises, certain pitches and abrupt interruptions, I find that I can get anxious without music playing. I could be speaking to someone I truly love and respect and wanting to be around them for the rest of the day/night, and if I don't have music playing, I will have a straining feeling. A quiet but constant feeling of the "other me" tugging at my sweater, impatiently indicating that I am to flee. Naturally, this will result in the original me getting very frustrated and anxious (and sometimes even guilty, thanks OCD) and is sure to at least put a damper on what could have been a very enjoyable social endeavor.
Much like I have learned to bring multiple forms of entertainment with me whenever I leave the house (I arrive early most places because I hate being late, so I will come with my arsenal of books, notepads, sudoku & pencil with eraser, laptop, phone & charger cords), I have also, thankfully, learned that as long as I play a little music of my choosing and at the right level of volume, I can basically be comfortable anywhere. I can tether myself back to Earth and reality and the present company I am fortunate enough to have.
That seems awfully specific, now that I write it out, but believe me when I say that it is very much "small potatoes" when it comes to keeping myself content in such an oddly stressful scenario. I care about the people I like to talk to - being able to be around them comfortably has afforded me so much more opportunity with them.
I will say that in finding all of the aforementioned a necessity has driven me to a conclusion: I imagine I am no picnic to be with. At least not for elongated periods of time, and certainly not romantically. Who wants to listen to the same 5 songs over and over? Especially when they are exclusively of my liking? My friends will forgive me and call me crazy for even saying this, but that is because they can leave. Much like you adore your nieces and nephews, but fight back vomit when faced with the chance to create your own offspring. My friends and loved ones will babysit and cherish me, as I cherish them. My roommates will eventually find my ticks out and learn when to avoid me. My boyfriend - should I ever have one again - will be trapped in misery and confusion until he leaves.
Just another reason to keep things simple. I believe I might be moving closer and closer to the forever-single life, and I feel as though it may be the healthiest direction my life could take. For my strength. My happiness. My peace. For the sanity of myself and others.
Light N' Fluffy (things on my mind)
(originally - and fully - created in October:)
Good morning, blog.
With the weather getting colder, fashion suffering and as such my will to join activities in the outside world withering away at breakneck speed, I have immersed myself a little further into the Writing Abyss. It feels great, as it always has (and hopefully will continue to). I have yet to write a complete draft or form a deliciously creepy short story for the Curious Post, but I have started a few things. The purpose of these things is often not to finish them, but to let them fly out of you. Get these half-thoughts out on paper (or on screen) to better clear your brain tank for fully-formed - or should I say "fully deformed" - bloody howlers. As there is nothing more satisfying than creating and completing, top to bottom, a great scary short. Humorous Fiction certainly has its place, as it is mainly what I will read, but there's just a quality about the creepies that no other genre could ever hope to qualify for.
So writing the bits and bobs out helps... What else? Reading, of course. Others' work will aid you in shaping your own literary concepts and styles. Searching out scary things, things that have already happened, things that certainly could, every day things that could be scary, given just the slightest twist (always found old people terrifying, quite honestly). Writing in this blog surely helps - exercising the old typing muscles so by the time I am ready to kill it on the keyboard, it all just flows like butter instead of running the risk of losing chunks of the coolest details in the hiccups of my inability to type smoothly. Same goes for a daily/nightly journal.
The last way (that I can think of) that I have been helping myself in this endeavor is by finishing up a project for my mother (preferably in time for the holidays, but there's no chance I'm rushing this one). I found an old book with a patterned material cover. No title, no lines or words on the pages, no suggestion of what it should or might be. I purchased it from a local thrift store when I was in the other mill town and immediately knew just what it would be for.
I am taking my favorite scary/spooky/dark/eerie shorts and poems from the Curious Post and I am hand-writing them all inside this book. There are only a handful of them, so I will have to see how many pages are left in the end. I may write some lyrics from a friend's creepy songs (that he used to play at Curious Post events), I may sketch some illustrations or symbols from the writings, I may talk a bit about where my inspiration came from, or even just do a quick write-up about the Curious Post. My mother was unable to attend any of the events, and so I think it might be fun/something nice for her to read about and look back on.
Decisions, decisions. My life is just oh, so hard. This is what happens when you're in your twenties with no children, I think. And you're creative. And possibly over-caffeinated.
Good morning, blog.
With the weather getting colder, fashion suffering and as such my will to join activities in the outside world withering away at breakneck speed, I have immersed myself a little further into the Writing Abyss. It feels great, as it always has (and hopefully will continue to). I have yet to write a complete draft or form a deliciously creepy short story for the Curious Post, but I have started a few things. The purpose of these things is often not to finish them, but to let them fly out of you. Get these half-thoughts out on paper (or on screen) to better clear your brain tank for fully-formed - or should I say "fully deformed" - bloody howlers. As there is nothing more satisfying than creating and completing, top to bottom, a great scary short. Humorous Fiction certainly has its place, as it is mainly what I will read, but there's just a quality about the creepies that no other genre could ever hope to qualify for.
So writing the bits and bobs out helps... What else? Reading, of course. Others' work will aid you in shaping your own literary concepts and styles. Searching out scary things, things that have already happened, things that certainly could, every day things that could be scary, given just the slightest twist (always found old people terrifying, quite honestly). Writing in this blog surely helps - exercising the old typing muscles so by the time I am ready to kill it on the keyboard, it all just flows like butter instead of running the risk of losing chunks of the coolest details in the hiccups of my inability to type smoothly. Same goes for a daily/nightly journal.
The last way (that I can think of) that I have been helping myself in this endeavor is by finishing up a project for my mother (preferably in time for the holidays, but there's no chance I'm rushing this one). I found an old book with a patterned material cover. No title, no lines or words on the pages, no suggestion of what it should or might be. I purchased it from a local thrift store when I was in the other mill town and immediately knew just what it would be for.
I am taking my favorite scary/spooky/dark/eerie shorts and poems from the Curious Post and I am hand-writing them all inside this book. There are only a handful of them, so I will have to see how many pages are left in the end. I may write some lyrics from a friend's creepy songs (that he used to play at Curious Post events), I may sketch some illustrations or symbols from the writings, I may talk a bit about where my inspiration came from, or even just do a quick write-up about the Curious Post. My mother was unable to attend any of the events, and so I think it might be fun/something nice for her to read about and look back on.
Decisions, decisions. My life is just oh, so hard. This is what happens when you're in your twenties with no children, I think. And you're creative. And possibly over-caffeinated.
Thursday, October 18, 2018
Who Started This?
Chicken - egg situation:
woman: "I'm not in a dating space right now"
man: 'There's no way she means me.'
Was it women? Saying things they don't mean in order to guard their actual feelings? Were they trying to play a game and see if it would stick? Or are men to blame for somehow assuming they're ALL the exception to the rule? I find this behavior quite curious and terribly frustrating. Yes, you could boil it down and simplify it to the act of "just another man not listening to a woman", but I am not sure it is so blatantly sexist. I don't know that men even know that they're doing this. I'm not saying that makes it okay, because - and let me be clear -
IT
DOESN'T.
If it were just a simple misunderstanding;
man: "...Oh, you didn't mean other ppl? You meant me, too? Oh. Shit. Sorry 'bout that, then."
That would be one thing. But it never is. Or at least certainly hasn't been in my case. Don't get me wrong; this is a relatively new discovery for me, and as such am keeping the typical open mind about it until I can do proper research on it (for what it's worth, I would trade facts in a heartbeat to just never have to go through this again). To quote Austin Powers: "Having said all that, I do have some thoughts..."
So far, I have made it abundantly clear that I am, in fact, not dating right now. I shouldn't. It won't be quality/my best self and I refuse to waste my time with anything less anymore. There's just no reason. I know I only have so much resolve when it comes to actual physical contact in that way, and as such am trying to break the news to everyone to better protect them and myself. I have told women, I have definitely told men; all of my friends. Most of them are probably sick of hearing me say this. That's fair - but clearly enough-to-get-sick-of is still not enough when it comes to the male ego.
Surely not all men are like this. I don't like getting grouped in with all 20-somethings, all people of my generation, all women etc... and it would be illogical to assume that one man could speak on behalf of all of them. Those men are an exception to this blog. To the kind of male and overall arrogant attitude/thinking process I am now assertively against. But they are still not an exception to my rule of "not being ready to date right now". You could be the man of my dreams and I would still be relieved to know you had someone else you were going after. And if by the time I'm ready to date you are married to said other person? Fair. My loss. I'm not going to pout about it because it is not sensible to wait for me and the whole prospect of a man doing so at this point would prove to be incredibly stressful to me. It's not personal. Which, by the way, surely proves moreover that I am not ready to date. To quote Kathleen Kelly in You've Got Mail: "...It ought to begin by being personal."
I am a logical, yet understanding and sensitive person. I am patient. I am sensible. I don't feel as though I am asking for too much to just be single - and not hassled - while I am sorting some things out. And even if I was asking for too much by expecting this; trust me. I am doing you a favor by denying a relationship with you at this point in time.
I have never in my life assumed that someone of the opposite sex is sexually interested in me simply because they are being polite to me. Because they are laughing at my jokes. Because they are taking the time to talk/listen to me about my day. Because I can relate to them. Because they asked me how I was doing, or even remembered something about me. Some people love others. Some people treat their friends with respect and love. Some people just fucking care. And I refuse to not care. So I guess this is the price I pay for not compromising that principle. You wanna know why people get bitter about relationships/the opposite sex? Haven't the foggiest, old chap.
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
Autumn and After
I pulled out and freshened up my cozy sweaters, readied my boots and queued up the Fleet Foxes. I even swapped my typical iced Americano for that of a toasty hot one.
Then I went outside for a smoke after 4pm.
Jesus.
It's fucking cold already. I knew it was coming! I have been (and continue) trying to keep up with the weather, prepare for the outdoors with my layers of sensibly thick purchases from the thrift store and refuse to skip a meal or a wink of sleep in a feeble attempt to keep sickness at bay. I am likely more prepared this year than ever before, but still it was not enough to shield my body from the shock of Autumn.
You can spin me tales of long walks, seasonal lattes & pumpkin carving, but I would forgo it all just to stay comfortably warm. I am getting older. Soon the only weather I will be able to stand is that of a "real scorcher" as I begin to trace migration patterns; southbound, with the other white-feathered birds. Perhaps I will surprise everyone and land somewhere in Texas. Go Cowboys.
I love driving, and the pending cold weather does its best to destroy the joy ride. That goes at least double for the casual jog or race walk. You can no longer throw something on and go. I think that might be it. I think that the minute I have to plan something to death, the fun gets sucked right out of it. Where are we going? Is there parking close to the building? Is it more up or down hill? Are we staying until dusk? Later? What's the forecast? And then, of course, you have to factor in the usual questions that let you know whether or not to wear heels, a dress, eat before you go, bring a bottle of wine, champagne or infused teas.
AND IF! By the end of this ordeal your spouse/friend/family member you are attending with somehow can stand you long enough to get in the car and get to this event, something inevitably will go wrong. Be it the weather ("Wow, colder than I thought..."), the timing ("...Storm should've passed by now") or the usual stuff (i.e. transportation, uncomfortable outfit/shoes) that is absolutely made immediately so much worse with the added effect of freezing your little ass off.
Halloween should be fun, though.
Tuesday, October 9, 2018
Food-Piphany
I think I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
I know I used to suffer something awful from a sensory disorder. (No I haven't gone to a doctor for this, but sometimes you just don't have to.)
One of the symptoms of OCD is that you may have a strange relationship with cleaning, orderliness (that's an actual word?? Whoa) as well as guilt. A person suffering from sensory issues may hold issue with foods of certain quality and/or strange texture. I recently was able to change my relationship with the food that I eat by going vegan! It has been over a year now, and never have I ever been so damned comfortable with grocery shopping, prepping, cooking or eating food. Furthermore, it is so easy to take care of my dishes - there's nothing dodgy to me about veggies, rice and legumes!
I used to have a strenuous relationship with the food going into my body and the food I cleaned from a plate. Sometimes it was the rubbery texture of a chicken patty, sometimes it was the astounding amount of cheese someone had decided to litter my pizza with, and it always was absolutely horrifying to touch any of the food on a plate that had already been eaten off of. Naturally this was seen as an attempt at dodging my chores, but I can assure you that was not the case.
Meat was always creepy - sure, less so when it was in the form of a strip or giant pepperoni-esque circle, made just for sandwiches, but if I ever saw the chicken breast before my mother cooked it, I would be completely disgusted. So that was fairly easy to give up. Dairy used to weird me out something fierce - the thought of the process, the texture of most of it, the fact that if you left it un-refrigerated it would immediately turn to garbage. Once I learned that the Diary industry is the stuff of nightmares, I quickly decided to venture into veganism - and I'm so glad I did.
In addition to the "cleaner-living" aspect to this lifestyle/diet, I have no guilt over what I am eating, as it never had a face/nothing with a face had to suffer for it. It is terribly difficult to cook vegan food incorrectly, as most of it is perfectly edible in its raw form, so there goes the pressure of feeling as though you might get sick/get someone else sick from your cooking. And if you're eating whole food, you have no reason to fear the odd texture of processed "food" (basically just don't eat moldy fruit and you'll be kosher).
I'm not entirely sure why it took me so long to make the correlation, but I am ever so glad that I did. I'm not afraid of food anymore. I enjoy myself when I am eating. One less thing to worry about in a day (especially for a busy Obsessive Compulsive mind) is one big step toward happiness and contentment.
I know I used to suffer something awful from a sensory disorder. (No I haven't gone to a doctor for this, but sometimes you just don't have to.)
One of the symptoms of OCD is that you may have a strange relationship with cleaning, orderliness (that's an actual word?? Whoa) as well as guilt. A person suffering from sensory issues may hold issue with foods of certain quality and/or strange texture. I recently was able to change my relationship with the food that I eat by going vegan! It has been over a year now, and never have I ever been so damned comfortable with grocery shopping, prepping, cooking or eating food. Furthermore, it is so easy to take care of my dishes - there's nothing dodgy to me about veggies, rice and legumes!
I used to have a strenuous relationship with the food going into my body and the food I cleaned from a plate. Sometimes it was the rubbery texture of a chicken patty, sometimes it was the astounding amount of cheese someone had decided to litter my pizza with, and it always was absolutely horrifying to touch any of the food on a plate that had already been eaten off of. Naturally this was seen as an attempt at dodging my chores, but I can assure you that was not the case.
Meat was always creepy - sure, less so when it was in the form of a strip or giant pepperoni-esque circle, made just for sandwiches, but if I ever saw the chicken breast before my mother cooked it, I would be completely disgusted. So that was fairly easy to give up. Dairy used to weird me out something fierce - the thought of the process, the texture of most of it, the fact that if you left it un-refrigerated it would immediately turn to garbage. Once I learned that the Diary industry is the stuff of nightmares, I quickly decided to venture into veganism - and I'm so glad I did.
In addition to the "cleaner-living" aspect to this lifestyle/diet, I have no guilt over what I am eating, as it never had a face/nothing with a face had to suffer for it. It is terribly difficult to cook vegan food incorrectly, as most of it is perfectly edible in its raw form, so there goes the pressure of feeling as though you might get sick/get someone else sick from your cooking. And if you're eating whole food, you have no reason to fear the odd texture of processed "food" (basically just don't eat moldy fruit and you'll be kosher).
I'm not entirely sure why it took me so long to make the correlation, but I am ever so glad that I did. I'm not afraid of food anymore. I enjoy myself when I am eating. One less thing to worry about in a day (especially for a busy Obsessive Compulsive mind) is one big step toward happiness and contentment.
The Sixties
It is as if I have been transported to the sixties.
I feel partially responsible, of course, this being the only decade that I have ever yearned for. Not in exchange for my own, of course, just for a visit. Mostly for the fashion and the music.
I work my small business, locally-owned office job in my pencil skirt and Italian-inspired loafers with the pointed toe, look completed by a white, tucked-in oxford and mod haircut. Half way through my shift I walk outside and before I can light my cigarette, I notice the sidewalk is rife with political signs being held and waved by a group of older people who have assembled in their frustration for the "way things are going". Cars that speed down the one-way occasionally honk. I hear the murmur of the people; something about health care. Something else about the elderly. Something else about the Republican party. I pay no mind. I snub out my cigarette and throw it in a nearby bin - I was taught not to litter.
Once back inside said office job's building, the discussion on the local broadcast raises in volume. My male boss - sweating from manual man-labor - curses under his breath. Something about women's rights. Something else about women's rights. I tune my own dial to the freeing sounds of the Kinks.
I suppose that something like this has always happened around this time of year; voting time, I mean. Maybe it's been just long enough since the last go-round that I have forgotten the details. Maybe I'm just noticing it because I am finally in the thick of things, downtown, in it. Or maybe it's never been this obvious. This wild. Maybe it's just a matter of time until we commence mandatory drills, heads under our desks.
I feel partially responsible, of course, this being the only decade that I have ever yearned for. Not in exchange for my own, of course, just for a visit. Mostly for the fashion and the music.
I work my small business, locally-owned office job in my pencil skirt and Italian-inspired loafers with the pointed toe, look completed by a white, tucked-in oxford and mod haircut. Half way through my shift I walk outside and before I can light my cigarette, I notice the sidewalk is rife with political signs being held and waved by a group of older people who have assembled in their frustration for the "way things are going". Cars that speed down the one-way occasionally honk. I hear the murmur of the people; something about health care. Something else about the elderly. Something else about the Republican party. I pay no mind. I snub out my cigarette and throw it in a nearby bin - I was taught not to litter.
Once back inside said office job's building, the discussion on the local broadcast raises in volume. My male boss - sweating from manual man-labor - curses under his breath. Something about women's rights. Something else about women's rights. I tune my own dial to the freeing sounds of the Kinks.
I suppose that something like this has always happened around this time of year; voting time, I mean. Maybe it's been just long enough since the last go-round that I have forgotten the details. Maybe I'm just noticing it because I am finally in the thick of things, downtown, in it. Or maybe it's never been this obvious. This wild. Maybe it's just a matter of time until we commence mandatory drills, heads under our desks.
Saturday, September 15, 2018
Money & Kicking Ass.
I remember being young, daydreaming about a life of adulthood; I would have a car, a modest house, and enough "extra" cash to eventually be able to travel a bit (even if just to Vermont for the weekend). Yes, I was already reaching for the stars. The good news? I'm basically there. And have definitely been there before. Is it my ever-present realism? Is it my ability to shut down, kick ass and pick myself back up? Or perhaps just the strong work ethic inherited from my mother and father? Maybe a healthy mix of all three.
Along with an unhealthy amount of courage.
If ever I find myself once again descending down the pit of low esteem, if ever should I fall, I hope that I will be able to remember such times; times when my boot (and my boot alone) was the one that kicked the ass. Times when there was no caring parent, childhood home or friends to fall back on. I sincerely hope that I am allowing of my error, no matter how large. On the off-chance that I am not...
Dear future-self,
Remember that time when you accepted that invite to go somewhere new, by yourself? You know the time; when you opted for the sketch-ass ghetto part of town, where the only inhabitants were the drug-addled and the ones making money off of them? Oh, c'mon, you must recall the late nights, driving "home" from work at 1:00am (or somewhere around there), fearing for your life as you clutched your mace in one hand, metal bat in the other? Dodging strange men twice your size to get to your apartment building, only to have them follow you in for a bit? The first skill you acquired was not that of matching guests' names to their faces at the restaurant, nor was it the art of balancing those enormous martinis without spill; it was the art of "not existing" that you mastered first, there. The less you exist, the less trouble you get into, the less immediate danger you're in. You learn pretty fast, kiddo. You didn't fall into unhealthy habits, in fact! You lessened the amount of booze, cigarettes and crap food you ingested. And dodged some drug bullshit while you were at it. And not only did you do a great job out of work; you killed it at the restaurant, as well. Guests got along with you, co-workers (for the most part) got along with you and you learned a whole new way of serving. You made do with the insane amount of hours you were handed and you earned an unusual amount of money. You went home to see your family on every day off, you didn't go out to spend all of the money you earned while you were down there, you bought a damn 5-year-old PERFECT dream car that you decided you wanted and you saved up over four grand. Nobody told you to do any of this, let alone give you pointers on how to do so; you just decided to do it. And you freaking nailed it.
Just sayin'.
Sin-focken-cerely,
past-self.
Does it sound like I'm up my own ass? Couldn't care less. Because sometimes you have to be your own biggest fan. You wanna save money? Do it. You want a different job? Apply. You wanna travel a bit? Make it happen, Cap'n. The objects in your way are mobile. And if they're not, they're temporary.
Along with an unhealthy amount of courage.
If ever I find myself once again descending down the pit of low esteem, if ever should I fall, I hope that I will be able to remember such times; times when my boot (and my boot alone) was the one that kicked the ass. Times when there was no caring parent, childhood home or friends to fall back on. I sincerely hope that I am allowing of my error, no matter how large. On the off-chance that I am not...
Dear future-self,
Remember that time when you accepted that invite to go somewhere new, by yourself? You know the time; when you opted for the sketch-ass ghetto part of town, where the only inhabitants were the drug-addled and the ones making money off of them? Oh, c'mon, you must recall the late nights, driving "home" from work at 1:00am (or somewhere around there), fearing for your life as you clutched your mace in one hand, metal bat in the other? Dodging strange men twice your size to get to your apartment building, only to have them follow you in for a bit? The first skill you acquired was not that of matching guests' names to their faces at the restaurant, nor was it the art of balancing those enormous martinis without spill; it was the art of "not existing" that you mastered first, there. The less you exist, the less trouble you get into, the less immediate danger you're in. You learn pretty fast, kiddo. You didn't fall into unhealthy habits, in fact! You lessened the amount of booze, cigarettes and crap food you ingested. And dodged some drug bullshit while you were at it. And not only did you do a great job out of work; you killed it at the restaurant, as well. Guests got along with you, co-workers (for the most part) got along with you and you learned a whole new way of serving. You made do with the insane amount of hours you were handed and you earned an unusual amount of money. You went home to see your family on every day off, you didn't go out to spend all of the money you earned while you were down there, you bought a damn 5-year-old PERFECT dream car that you decided you wanted and you saved up over four grand. Nobody told you to do any of this, let alone give you pointers on how to do so; you just decided to do it. And you freaking nailed it.
Just sayin'.
Sin-focken-cerely,
past-self.
Does it sound like I'm up my own ass? Couldn't care less. Because sometimes you have to be your own biggest fan. You wanna save money? Do it. You want a different job? Apply. You wanna travel a bit? Make it happen, Cap'n. The objects in your way are mobile. And if they're not, they're temporary.
Thursday, September 6, 2018
Television
I think I took the fact that I was raised with a television for granted.
Don't get me wrong; there was no shortage of appreciation for what I had (from cable, to a house, to the food I consumed), I just mean purely from a social standpoint. I grew up learning the dialogue to Seinfeld, impersonating Ace Ventura's catch phrases and quoting nearly every David Spade one-liner. Where did this get me? No place of impressive rank, of course (you can't get nominated for being the best copycat of once-brilliant wit). But it did train me to be the funny one. It was like comedy pre-school; the first lesson being that you love making people laugh. Lesson two: you might have to embarrass yourself from time to time in order to do so. Last but not least; you learn why the things on your favorite sitcom are funny and you just tailor the details to your audience. This was great! I had discovered the formula! I unintentionally made friends with this? And I didn't even have to be good-looking or smart? I just had to bring up Friends and people would like me? Oh, man. FAN-TAS-TIC.
And so began my foundation for socialization. I no longer needed outdoor activity and incredible life experience; I had film to discuss. It worked, sure, but it was all I knew. Twenty-something years later, it is still all I know (put all my eggs in the basket), and something terrifying has happened; I realized this year that...
I no longer watch TV.
When I say I no longer watch TV, that is not to say that I have began the latest boycott or have in any way sworn it off, no. All I mean is that I just don't happen to watch it. Like most other things in my life, my relationship with this activity is very passive. I have only on incredibly rare occasion been the person to purposefully carve out a chunk of time to dedicate myself to sitting in front of the boob-tube (possibly my least favorite and most distracting term for it). My mother, sister, father all loved television and were all older than me, so it felt like there was simply no use in making an attempt to elbow my way in. You guys watch what you want. I'll be over here drawing.
As I grew up and experienced some strange living situations, I never really had to buy a TV (someone always had one already, and having two of them in a shabby apartment hardly seemed the thing to do). By the time I lived on my own I had better things to focus on (working multiple jobs, remembering to eat, sleeping when I could). I have moved so many times and have always seemed to have gotten too terribly distracted, which resulted, of course, in never purchasing a television.
Now that I am relaxed, back in town and - for the first time in about one hundred years - am working part-time, I have time on my hands! It is only now that I am recognizing how people can fall so dependent on these entertaining screens. Whether it's cable, Netflix, YouTube; I get it. It's nice to have something to look at. Or even have playing melodically in the background as you are making dinner or cleaning. I will also say, however, that it is quite the danger; good luck getting anything done, ever. Your time flies by faster, you stay up later, before you know it you're exhausted and you have nothing to wear to work because you have't done laundry in three weeks. Aren't you so glad you caught that Will & Grace rerun marathon??
It's one thing living without wi-fi and a television when you are keeping your head down and not being terribly social. It is another entirely once you make the time to catch up with one of your friends.
"You don't have wi-fi?"
"So... you haven't caught the latest Game of Thrones."
"What do you do all day?"
Well, read, for starters. And everything else adults used to do, I suppose. It is awfully nice to be able to relax on purpose without anything really distracting you or taking away from it. And this lifestyle teaches a person to be creative when finding alternative activities, and it promotes peace and gratitude for the simple pleasure of quiet down time. My place is clean, meals are prepped, laundry is always done... The drawback? Congratulations! You now have nothing to talk to your pals about. You may try to pull out a rusty punchline from an old nineties sitcom - y'know, from when you actually watched TV - but don't expect that dusty Just Shoot Me reference to land. You'll have much better luck with something from Rick & Morty.
Don't get me wrong; there was no shortage of appreciation for what I had (from cable, to a house, to the food I consumed), I just mean purely from a social standpoint. I grew up learning the dialogue to Seinfeld, impersonating Ace Ventura's catch phrases and quoting nearly every David Spade one-liner. Where did this get me? No place of impressive rank, of course (you can't get nominated for being the best copycat of once-brilliant wit). But it did train me to be the funny one. It was like comedy pre-school; the first lesson being that you love making people laugh. Lesson two: you might have to embarrass yourself from time to time in order to do so. Last but not least; you learn why the things on your favorite sitcom are funny and you just tailor the details to your audience. This was great! I had discovered the formula! I unintentionally made friends with this? And I didn't even have to be good-looking or smart? I just had to bring up Friends and people would like me? Oh, man. FAN-TAS-TIC.
And so began my foundation for socialization. I no longer needed outdoor activity and incredible life experience; I had film to discuss. It worked, sure, but it was all I knew. Twenty-something years later, it is still all I know (put all my eggs in the basket), and something terrifying has happened; I realized this year that...
I no longer watch TV.
When I say I no longer watch TV, that is not to say that I have began the latest boycott or have in any way sworn it off, no. All I mean is that I just don't happen to watch it. Like most other things in my life, my relationship with this activity is very passive. I have only on incredibly rare occasion been the person to purposefully carve out a chunk of time to dedicate myself to sitting in front of the boob-tube (possibly my least favorite and most distracting term for it). My mother, sister, father all loved television and were all older than me, so it felt like there was simply no use in making an attempt to elbow my way in. You guys watch what you want. I'll be over here drawing.
As I grew up and experienced some strange living situations, I never really had to buy a TV (someone always had one already, and having two of them in a shabby apartment hardly seemed the thing to do). By the time I lived on my own I had better things to focus on (working multiple jobs, remembering to eat, sleeping when I could). I have moved so many times and have always seemed to have gotten too terribly distracted, which resulted, of course, in never purchasing a television.
Now that I am relaxed, back in town and - for the first time in about one hundred years - am working part-time, I have time on my hands! It is only now that I am recognizing how people can fall so dependent on these entertaining screens. Whether it's cable, Netflix, YouTube; I get it. It's nice to have something to look at. Or even have playing melodically in the background as you are making dinner or cleaning. I will also say, however, that it is quite the danger; good luck getting anything done, ever. Your time flies by faster, you stay up later, before you know it you're exhausted and you have nothing to wear to work because you have't done laundry in three weeks. Aren't you so glad you caught that Will & Grace rerun marathon??
It's one thing living without wi-fi and a television when you are keeping your head down and not being terribly social. It is another entirely once you make the time to catch up with one of your friends.
"You don't have wi-fi?"
"So... you haven't caught the latest Game of Thrones."
"What do you do all day?"
Well, read, for starters. And everything else adults used to do, I suppose. It is awfully nice to be able to relax on purpose without anything really distracting you or taking away from it. And this lifestyle teaches a person to be creative when finding alternative activities, and it promotes peace and gratitude for the simple pleasure of quiet down time. My place is clean, meals are prepped, laundry is always done... The drawback? Congratulations! You now have nothing to talk to your pals about. You may try to pull out a rusty punchline from an old nineties sitcom - y'know, from when you actually watched TV - but don't expect that dusty Just Shoot Me reference to land. You'll have much better luck with something from Rick & Morty.
Age: For Consideration
It is as if I have forgotten how old I am.
Is this likely to keep happening? Because it seems unsafe. Last summer I was able to grasp the fact that I was no longer a late-teen/early-twenty-something as I quickly exhausted my ability to recoup after a 50-hour work week (thank you, seasonal restaurant). I had given them great work for a stretch, meanwhile my body eroded into beach sand. I got a fever, I got the flu - the only thing I didn't get was sleep. I was eating better, doing my research on wellness, not going out and drinking/partying, and yet here I was ready to hear my eulogy. Finally I asked my co-worker how she and her friends were able to do this sort of thing and recharge so easily? After all, it wasn't like this was my first time with 50+ hours, at a restaurant or under pressure. Then she gave me my answer:
"...Well, I mean... you are like ten years older than most of us..."
Ah.
Somehow life had gotten away from me, zipped by and the next thing I knew; I was nearly the oldest person sporting a denim apron. She was right! I was old! Not old for this world, of course; the Basilica boasts a Holy 500 years or so. But I was officially at the spot where I would need to give my consideration. I was too old for certain things. Wanna go for a bagel? Sure, I'm good with that. Wanna book a last-minute flight? Sounds great. Wanna feel rested while working more than 40 hours a week, on your feet in a fast-paced, mentally draining customer-service driven job? Now you've gone too far.
Now don't get me wrong - this "for consideration" age is likely different for everyone. Some, God bless them, may never reach this age - forever youthful. I am not one of these "some". So what did I do with that information? Left the seasonal noise to retire to a quiet, mind-meltingly slow-paced office job for the local Chamber of Commerce. Set schedule. No nights or weekends. Holidays off. Days surrounding the holidays off. And the only time I remember being on my feet for long was when I had to make the trek from my ergonomically correct swivel chair to the heated bathroom. It had its nice aspects, but naturally that only lasted until I chose to forget what I had learned entirely and move onto another exciting scenario.
I still have a nice, beautifully calm office environment in the morning, but that was only part-time. So obviously it was only a matter of time before I mucked up the calm in my life by choosing to apply to a retail job where I would be working on my feet all day, get mentally drained by customers and be in the building until about 11pm. I will say that it was necessary for me to fill the gaps. A grown (ish) person cannot expect to live comfortably on part-time alone. Not to mention I would eventually get bored out of my mind, which would lead to brain fizzles. Plus this retail job really seems different from the others I have worked at. It's like I've completed the taxing office and customer service side of things and now I get to enjoy dessert. It will keep me out of trouble. The paychecks will be nice. But how long will it be until I ask a co-worker why I'm so tired again?
Something for consideration.
Is this likely to keep happening? Because it seems unsafe. Last summer I was able to grasp the fact that I was no longer a late-teen/early-twenty-something as I quickly exhausted my ability to recoup after a 50-hour work week (thank you, seasonal restaurant). I had given them great work for a stretch, meanwhile my body eroded into beach sand. I got a fever, I got the flu - the only thing I didn't get was sleep. I was eating better, doing my research on wellness, not going out and drinking/partying, and yet here I was ready to hear my eulogy. Finally I asked my co-worker how she and her friends were able to do this sort of thing and recharge so easily? After all, it wasn't like this was my first time with 50+ hours, at a restaurant or under pressure. Then she gave me my answer:
"...Well, I mean... you are like ten years older than most of us..."
Ah.
Somehow life had gotten away from me, zipped by and the next thing I knew; I was nearly the oldest person sporting a denim apron. She was right! I was old! Not old for this world, of course; the Basilica boasts a Holy 500 years or so. But I was officially at the spot where I would need to give my consideration. I was too old for certain things. Wanna go for a bagel? Sure, I'm good with that. Wanna book a last-minute flight? Sounds great. Wanna feel rested while working more than 40 hours a week, on your feet in a fast-paced, mentally draining customer-service driven job? Now you've gone too far.
Now don't get me wrong - this "for consideration" age is likely different for everyone. Some, God bless them, may never reach this age - forever youthful. I am not one of these "some". So what did I do with that information? Left the seasonal noise to retire to a quiet, mind-meltingly slow-paced office job for the local Chamber of Commerce. Set schedule. No nights or weekends. Holidays off. Days surrounding the holidays off. And the only time I remember being on my feet for long was when I had to make the trek from my ergonomically correct swivel chair to the heated bathroom. It had its nice aspects, but naturally that only lasted until I chose to forget what I had learned entirely and move onto another exciting scenario.
I still have a nice, beautifully calm office environment in the morning, but that was only part-time. So obviously it was only a matter of time before I mucked up the calm in my life by choosing to apply to a retail job where I would be working on my feet all day, get mentally drained by customers and be in the building until about 11pm. I will say that it was necessary for me to fill the gaps. A grown (ish) person cannot expect to live comfortably on part-time alone. Not to mention I would eventually get bored out of my mind, which would lead to brain fizzles. Plus this retail job really seems different from the others I have worked at. It's like I've completed the taxing office and customer service side of things and now I get to enjoy dessert. It will keep me out of trouble. The paychecks will be nice. But how long will it be until I ask a co-worker why I'm so tired again?
Something for consideration.
Thursday, August 9, 2018
August 2018
I cannot believe it is the last official month of summer.
I have certainly packed enough fun into this one; my past summers pale in comparison. As the cold days kick in, I will miss being comfortable outdoors. And the fun events that ensue, without a doubt. Alas, summer's end is simply another aspect that makes the season seem like such a special treat.
This year's season will be remembered as many things; one in particular will be how I fell back into painting. The positive, peaceful me in my head is meditating with a knowing smile at this while the other one rolls her eyes and huffs. Painting will likely be a perpetual in-and-out situation for me. So be it. Since I have started it up again, one of my beautiful downtown friends has invited me to an event soon to display said creations! What fun. Of course, I'll have the option of selling these pieces, but I have (thus far) found that it is an unlikely event. Paintings are just too expensive for the marketplace audience. This scenario I have been invited to will be closer to a farmer's market than a gala. People come to such things with enough cash to cover three beets and an overpriced can of homemade salsa, not a 37 x 27 acrylic on canvas. I am just excited to be a part of it - and this art community is simply the best, so it will be great to hang out/be around them.
While my venture for a writing side-gig does not go entirely unanswered, it hangs in the air like a cobweb on a cathedral ceiling. So it will be quite nice to be able to focus on something else creative while I keep up the search. Print off some more "Love Lexx Studios" business cards, perhaps get some prints... sometimes the fun is in the little details.
I have certainly packed enough fun into this one; my past summers pale in comparison. As the cold days kick in, I will miss being comfortable outdoors. And the fun events that ensue, without a doubt. Alas, summer's end is simply another aspect that makes the season seem like such a special treat.
This year's season will be remembered as many things; one in particular will be how I fell back into painting. The positive, peaceful me in my head is meditating with a knowing smile at this while the other one rolls her eyes and huffs. Painting will likely be a perpetual in-and-out situation for me. So be it. Since I have started it up again, one of my beautiful downtown friends has invited me to an event soon to display said creations! What fun. Of course, I'll have the option of selling these pieces, but I have (thus far) found that it is an unlikely event. Paintings are just too expensive for the marketplace audience. This scenario I have been invited to will be closer to a farmer's market than a gala. People come to such things with enough cash to cover three beets and an overpriced can of homemade salsa, not a 37 x 27 acrylic on canvas. I am just excited to be a part of it - and this art community is simply the best, so it will be great to hang out/be around them.
While my venture for a writing side-gig does not go entirely unanswered, it hangs in the air like a cobweb on a cathedral ceiling. So it will be quite nice to be able to focus on something else creative while I keep up the search. Print off some more "Love Lexx Studios" business cards, perhaps get some prints... sometimes the fun is in the little details.
Wild Mood Swings
Whether you know this or not, I am attempting to refer to a the Cure CD with this blog title. (Check it out if you haven't, it's a good'n.)
I am, in my natural state, fairly even-keeled. My mother, not one to casually project compliments of this nature, once told me that I have the patience of a monk. Am I stressed and anxious on the inside? Probably. But that's more of a quiet storm, one that does not often effect my mood. As such, it comes as a great shock to me when I actually feel something and have what I refer to as a "mood". When I experience one of these "moods", I am transported to a now-familiar scene inside my own head. A dark, calm, quiet living room with one maroon sofa, one tall floor lamp, and a rug on the unfinished hardwood floors. Also residing in this cranial flat for all of eternity; the two versions of myself. One leisurely reclining on the aforementioned sofa, and the other nervously pacing the floor before the first.
The me in repose is the calmest version of my self. She is optimistic, sweet, quiet and is sometimes holding my cat, Romeo. The other, perpetually in motion, is representative of my tense self. Violently distressed, she is suspicious, emotive, loud and very typically a sweating wreck. On the other hand, the couch-me keeps me in bed too long and the sweaty-me is the only reason I get anything done. You learn to take the good with the bad.
As I understand, this is quite normal and even boring to the greater population. But I'm sure they do things that they find to be odd, remarkable or even magnificent that I do without thinking. So what's fair is fair; you write about your mundane thing, I'll write about mine.
These moods are not common, I certainly cannot count on them, but the most common theme between them all? Relationships. I don't mean romantically, not necessarily, anyway. I mean any relationship. And, more often than not, I do not find myself terribly vexed by the notion of spending my life without a lover, but evermore disturbed by the thought of losing a friend, drifting further apart, being mistreated by one, etc... Ask any woman worth her salt; a break up between her and her best friend will inevitably be worse than one with her and her romantic partner. Who will I daydream about going on silly little day adventures with now?
It seems to me that I should take the advice of my own harsh, logical thoughts and "get over it already". But I'm not certain I would if I even could. Feeling is nice, every once in a while. Especially for something I care about so much; my friends/family. They get all of my heart, which, to say the least, will always be risky. It will also always be worth it. And so continue the wild mood swings.
I am, in my natural state, fairly even-keeled. My mother, not one to casually project compliments of this nature, once told me that I have the patience of a monk. Am I stressed and anxious on the inside? Probably. But that's more of a quiet storm, one that does not often effect my mood. As such, it comes as a great shock to me when I actually feel something and have what I refer to as a "mood". When I experience one of these "moods", I am transported to a now-familiar scene inside my own head. A dark, calm, quiet living room with one maroon sofa, one tall floor lamp, and a rug on the unfinished hardwood floors. Also residing in this cranial flat for all of eternity; the two versions of myself. One leisurely reclining on the aforementioned sofa, and the other nervously pacing the floor before the first.
The me in repose is the calmest version of my self. She is optimistic, sweet, quiet and is sometimes holding my cat, Romeo. The other, perpetually in motion, is representative of my tense self. Violently distressed, she is suspicious, emotive, loud and very typically a sweating wreck. On the other hand, the couch-me keeps me in bed too long and the sweaty-me is the only reason I get anything done. You learn to take the good with the bad.
As I understand, this is quite normal and even boring to the greater population. But I'm sure they do things that they find to be odd, remarkable or even magnificent that I do without thinking. So what's fair is fair; you write about your mundane thing, I'll write about mine.
These moods are not common, I certainly cannot count on them, but the most common theme between them all? Relationships. I don't mean romantically, not necessarily, anyway. I mean any relationship. And, more often than not, I do not find myself terribly vexed by the notion of spending my life without a lover, but evermore disturbed by the thought of losing a friend, drifting further apart, being mistreated by one, etc... Ask any woman worth her salt; a break up between her and her best friend will inevitably be worse than one with her and her romantic partner. Who will I daydream about going on silly little day adventures with now?
It seems to me that I should take the advice of my own harsh, logical thoughts and "get over it already". But I'm not certain I would if I even could. Feeling is nice, every once in a while. Especially for something I care about so much; my friends/family. They get all of my heart, which, to say the least, will always be risky. It will also always be worth it. And so continue the wild mood swings.
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
Low-Stress Diet
In today's world - and quite possibly every other one - stress is inevitable. But not just every now and again; it seems as though it is always an appropriate time to be riddled with anxiety and fret. We have been told that this is simply the way of life, and we had better accept it/not fight it or - you guessed it - we'll be even more stressed out. I feel as though this is not 100% accurate.
Naturally, there are some of us who just appear to be more uptight more often; these incredibly shake-able individuals, it seems, are doomed to a life of anxiety. I am not confidant enough in my life-coaching abilities to say whether or not this is true. What I will say is: although I may not stress as easily over the typical things the masses do, I do stress out quite a bit over quite a few things that the masses may find to be of the mundane persuasion. Does this mean I have phobias? Am I destined to be the real-life version of Bill Murray in What About Bob?? Of course I am not trained in these topics, and so cannot be sure, although it seems as if I am starting to get a handle on it. So what is it, have I taken Dr. Leo Marvin's advice? Am I implementing the latest version of Baby Steps? In a way, yes.
I have made the conscious decision to take things a little more easily, to not expect too much of myself. To make and keep goals and ambitions, while keeping things as realistic as possible. Baby steps down the stairs.
These things are sometimes easier said than done, and naturally there are extraneous circumstances, but if you just nail down a few things, this smoothness will more often than not be your end result.
Don't double-book yourself; whatever this means to you, just try not to do it. If you get stressed easily when you make plans after work because you are worried you might have to stay late, or maybe the traffic will be a nightmare when you are released, or maybe you get very tired during work (to the point where you consistently just need to go straight home and sleep immediately), just don't rely on making plans after work. This will not only save your evening, it will also save your day at work.
Be realistic; I used to think that if someone called you "ambitious", it was meant as a compliment. In reality, being ambitious could be synonymous with taking on way too much - and in doing so, it is likely that you be unable to meet deadlines and/or not be able to give 100% on anything. As for scheduling, if you have never successfully gotten from your home to the destination in question in 20 minutes, don't plan to be there in 20 minutes. If ever in doubt? Just leave your starting point early. Even just a few minutes could make a huge difference. You will have a calmer commute and not fret so much over the traffic lights/traffic/etc... and maybe you'll just be super early to the hangout destination.
Be prepared/Be resourceful; it is my belief that everyone is at least one of these two. I try to be both as much as possible. Let's say that you do leave ten minutes early and arrive ten minutes (or more) early to your destination. If you are prepared? You will have a charged phone, great book, your laptop, favorite CD, some paperwork... something to occupy your mind and time as you await your pal. If you're resourceful? You will figure out a new article/game to check out on your phone, think of fun things to do/discuss with the person you are meeting with, better collect yourself, etc.
Create/Keep Healthy Surroundings; every person is essentially a human myna bird. The minute you surround yourself with negative people, negative music, negative media, you create a negative self. Don't let this happen to you (it is a slippery slope). Be proactive about spending your time with the people you love the most and make you feel the best. Listen to music that propels you into positivity. Even something as seemingly small as what you eat can make an enormous impact. Everything will not always be perfect, but the more things you make an effort to keep harmonious, the more harmonious you will be.
It it likely stressers will find you throughout your day-to-day, and such things simply cannot be helped. So why wouldn't you give your best efforts to start your day as stress-free as possible and control what you can in order to keep it that way?
Naturally, there are some of us who just appear to be more uptight more often; these incredibly shake-able individuals, it seems, are doomed to a life of anxiety. I am not confidant enough in my life-coaching abilities to say whether or not this is true. What I will say is: although I may not stress as easily over the typical things the masses do, I do stress out quite a bit over quite a few things that the masses may find to be of the mundane persuasion. Does this mean I have phobias? Am I destined to be the real-life version of Bill Murray in What About Bob?? Of course I am not trained in these topics, and so cannot be sure, although it seems as if I am starting to get a handle on it. So what is it, have I taken Dr. Leo Marvin's advice? Am I implementing the latest version of Baby Steps? In a way, yes.
I have made the conscious decision to take things a little more easily, to not expect too much of myself. To make and keep goals and ambitions, while keeping things as realistic as possible. Baby steps down the stairs.
These things are sometimes easier said than done, and naturally there are extraneous circumstances, but if you just nail down a few things, this smoothness will more often than not be your end result.
Don't double-book yourself; whatever this means to you, just try not to do it. If you get stressed easily when you make plans after work because you are worried you might have to stay late, or maybe the traffic will be a nightmare when you are released, or maybe you get very tired during work (to the point where you consistently just need to go straight home and sleep immediately), just don't rely on making plans after work. This will not only save your evening, it will also save your day at work.
Be realistic; I used to think that if someone called you "ambitious", it was meant as a compliment. In reality, being ambitious could be synonymous with taking on way too much - and in doing so, it is likely that you be unable to meet deadlines and/or not be able to give 100% on anything. As for scheduling, if you have never successfully gotten from your home to the destination in question in 20 minutes, don't plan to be there in 20 minutes. If ever in doubt? Just leave your starting point early. Even just a few minutes could make a huge difference. You will have a calmer commute and not fret so much over the traffic lights/traffic/etc... and maybe you'll just be super early to the hangout destination.
Be prepared/Be resourceful; it is my belief that everyone is at least one of these two. I try to be both as much as possible. Let's say that you do leave ten minutes early and arrive ten minutes (or more) early to your destination. If you are prepared? You will have a charged phone, great book, your laptop, favorite CD, some paperwork... something to occupy your mind and time as you await your pal. If you're resourceful? You will figure out a new article/game to check out on your phone, think of fun things to do/discuss with the person you are meeting with, better collect yourself, etc.
Create/Keep Healthy Surroundings; every person is essentially a human myna bird. The minute you surround yourself with negative people, negative music, negative media, you create a negative self. Don't let this happen to you (it is a slippery slope). Be proactive about spending your time with the people you love the most and make you feel the best. Listen to music that propels you into positivity. Even something as seemingly small as what you eat can make an enormous impact. Everything will not always be perfect, but the more things you make an effort to keep harmonious, the more harmonious you will be.
It it likely stressers will find you throughout your day-to-day, and such things simply cannot be helped. So why wouldn't you give your best efforts to start your day as stress-free as possible and control what you can in order to keep it that way?
Friday, July 20, 2018
Reminder
Today's post is going to serve as a quick little reminder to my future-self, and as such, is likely to be a bit less eloquent.
You've just been through a bunch of shit.
You had a killer job with a big-brother bar manager and a cool-aunt GM, but you gave it up in order to help a best friend while simultaneously giving yourself an opportunity to make more money. You got the money, lost the friend.
Around the same time, you lost another close friend because of her toxic choices.
When you moved for friend/opportunity, you moved by yourself and it was stressful and terrifying.
Your boyfriend eventually moved in and after one year, made it apparent that your appearance/other peoples' opinions meant much more to him than you did. That ended (after a very lengthy, stressful process).
You tried a new job, got to do work you really liked for a great, fair boss, and after you left, your co-worker decided to commit defamation of character, not only on you, but on cool boss person.
You moved back in with your mother at 29.
Your "Central Perk" was completely destroyed by an individual filled with malice - dunderhead sheep followers in tow.
You still tried to be social, ended up getting whisked away by another guy to find that he was not sweet & bizarre, but just bizarre, entitled, arrogant and possibly certifiable.
BUT!
You must not forget all of the incredible things that have happened. Your true family. Your art selling, the fact that you love your job here even more than the previous one, you are socializing OTHER places and in doing so have seen beautiful art and comedy and music you would have otherwise never thought to seek, you still have Jasper; the most beautiful, without-a-doubt-coolest car and co-pilot you could ask for. You may be at Ma's under duress right now, but at least you don't have a bunch of money problems and for the first time in your life you have a physical place as a back-up home, in case anything should happen.
Don't forget what you've been through because it serves as a reminder of what you can conquer, how strong you are. But don't let the past bullshit blind you from the incredible stuff right in front of you in current day.
You've just been through a bunch of shit.
You had a killer job with a big-brother bar manager and a cool-aunt GM, but you gave it up in order to help a best friend while simultaneously giving yourself an opportunity to make more money. You got the money, lost the friend.
Around the same time, you lost another close friend because of her toxic choices.
When you moved for friend/opportunity, you moved by yourself and it was stressful and terrifying.
Your boyfriend eventually moved in and after one year, made it apparent that your appearance/other peoples' opinions meant much more to him than you did. That ended (after a very lengthy, stressful process).
You tried a new job, got to do work you really liked for a great, fair boss, and after you left, your co-worker decided to commit defamation of character, not only on you, but on cool boss person.
You moved back in with your mother at 29.
Your "Central Perk" was completely destroyed by an individual filled with malice - dunderhead sheep followers in tow.
You still tried to be social, ended up getting whisked away by another guy to find that he was not sweet & bizarre, but just bizarre, entitled, arrogant and possibly certifiable.
BUT!
You must not forget all of the incredible things that have happened. Your true family. Your art selling, the fact that you love your job here even more than the previous one, you are socializing OTHER places and in doing so have seen beautiful art and comedy and music you would have otherwise never thought to seek, you still have Jasper; the most beautiful, without-a-doubt-coolest car and co-pilot you could ask for. You may be at Ma's under duress right now, but at least you don't have a bunch of money problems and for the first time in your life you have a physical place as a back-up home, in case anything should happen.
Don't forget what you've been through because it serves as a reminder of what you can conquer, how strong you are. But don't let the past bullshit blind you from the incredible stuff right in front of you in current day.
Friday, July 6, 2018
Summer
Every winter I think it's never going to end; the violent winds, the harsh storms, the ice, the bitter temperatures, the agoraphobia that comes with it... And then it happens.
Summer.
Some may argue that summer in Maine is no summer at all, but it is how I know the season best, and as such is completely comfortable to me. The warmer weather (this year, apparently, more than others passed), the shining bright sun, the festivals, concerts and events, the evenings that seem as though they will never end, the faith in humanity that comes with it.
As I notice that my mood and overall outlook improves immensely with every warmer day, I also need to recognize that each summer (so far, ever the realist) is better than the last. One summer is great because I am around a new and exciting circle of friends, doing things I wouldn't normally do, or maybe another is great because of a new love, or maybe because I traveled or got into painting again, or writing, or there's a new job etc... This summer is great because there is a new spin on an old story. My loved ones; friends, family, community, town are surrounding me but in a brand new way. I am anything but bored, although I am quite comfortable. I love how hot it is. I love that friends are getting me out of my comfort zone. So far my favorite things that they have accidentally pushed me to do are going to Portland more casually (oh, you have a gig there? Yeah, I'll drive ya), attending comedy shows/entertainment, and certainly finally taking appropriate advantage of the fact that I live so close to so many natural bodies of water. That, paired with the swing of socialization and "yes-manning" I have fallen back into since getting into town, have made for what I would deem as a very successful summer.
And it could be argued that I still have a whole month to go.
Speaking of "It Could Be Argued", I have officially started writing again (thank God); "It Could Be Argued" and "In Case This Helps" will hopefully be on bookshelves before I die (but if not, not). It is just so incredible to have that writing drive. Nothing feels better. Maybe not even music... (!) But maybe. In addition to that fun creative aspect, I have also began painting again! I am not sure how far it will go, but it's awfully nice being easily inspired by fully immersing myself in the art community through my job, for once. Less pressure that way!
Alas, the coffee shop I am writing in (can you say "cliche"?) is about to close up shop, and so I must away.
This blog feels less poetic and more sloppy, but it'll do for now.
Wednesday, June 13, 2018
My Goodness.
I have this habit of claiming that my life is boring.
Maybe it is.
It's all relative, there is no undeniable answer to whether it is or isn't. A matter of opinion is not a fact. Whether my life is, in fact, a bore or not, I will say that I feel as though a lot happens in it (and "what happens matters").
B and I have separated (a mess I am not certain it would do me any good to uncap/recap at this point). I should mention, however, that I was incredibly uncertain about my final decision for quite a while;
(discussing the separation originally) was I being too harsh?
(speaking to my family about it) How much hurtful behavior should I forgive one person for?
(gathering my things, packing) Specifically a person I love so much and means so much to me?
(situating my things in the space I've moved into) Well maybe I don't mean as much to him, because he was harmful to me, and not just once... And on and on.
Thankfully, I was given some grace.
The minute I moved back into town, I dropped my things off in my mother's vacant room (safe, away, no immediate rent necessary, one less thing I have to worry about). A friend in said town not only asks me to house-sit for a month for him and his wife, but is passionate about me being the "guy for the job". As I am house-sitting, I am able to be closer into town (where my friends/the attractions are) and, as such, am able to be much more casual about saying yes to certain social events. I get out, I reconnect with friends that I very much need around me, I see how much fun and how full of love my life can be. I am reminded. Single or not, I'll be just fine, thank you.
It isn't too long before my beautiful friends/community members connect me with the odd shift at the local restaurant/bar I used to work at, then one of them hook me up with this incredible job that I could have never conjured up with these bosses I don't believe exist (too good to be true), and as a result I am at work, surrounded by art, artists, art-talks, the ability to organize and be odd and play music I like and sing out loud to it. There are events that I actually care about, with people I love and respect very much. AND it's part-time, so I don't have to donate all of my time to it.
My job: beautiful. The weather: beautiful. My friends and community and family: beautiful. Goodness all around me. The only thing left to do is listen to the Beatles.
Oh my goodness.
Maybe it is.
It's all relative, there is no undeniable answer to whether it is or isn't. A matter of opinion is not a fact. Whether my life is, in fact, a bore or not, I will say that I feel as though a lot happens in it (and "what happens matters").
B and I have separated (a mess I am not certain it would do me any good to uncap/recap at this point). I should mention, however, that I was incredibly uncertain about my final decision for quite a while;
(discussing the separation originally) was I being too harsh?
(speaking to my family about it) How much hurtful behavior should I forgive one person for?
(gathering my things, packing) Specifically a person I love so much and means so much to me?
(situating my things in the space I've moved into) Well maybe I don't mean as much to him, because he was harmful to me, and not just once... And on and on.
Thankfully, I was given some grace.
The minute I moved back into town, I dropped my things off in my mother's vacant room (safe, away, no immediate rent necessary, one less thing I have to worry about). A friend in said town not only asks me to house-sit for a month for him and his wife, but is passionate about me being the "guy for the job". As I am house-sitting, I am able to be closer into town (where my friends/the attractions are) and, as such, am able to be much more casual about saying yes to certain social events. I get out, I reconnect with friends that I very much need around me, I see how much fun and how full of love my life can be. I am reminded. Single or not, I'll be just fine, thank you.
It isn't too long before my beautiful friends/community members connect me with the odd shift at the local restaurant/bar I used to work at, then one of them hook me up with this incredible job that I could have never conjured up with these bosses I don't believe exist (too good to be true), and as a result I am at work, surrounded by art, artists, art-talks, the ability to organize and be odd and play music I like and sing out loud to it. There are events that I actually care about, with people I love and respect very much. AND it's part-time, so I don't have to donate all of my time to it.
My job: beautiful. The weather: beautiful. My friends and community and family: beautiful. Goodness all around me. The only thing left to do is listen to the Beatles.
Oh my goodness.
Saturday, June 9, 2018
A Lovely Saturday.
It is June of 2018, which means that I have officially dropped the ball on blogging.
The coolest part of this, of course, is that this blog is not my responsibility; it is not my duty to "keep up" with/on it, to "stay current". It is simply a tool. Something that serves to aid in getting my thoughts out, to commemorate a personal time/moment in my life, and likely I am the only subscriber. As such, if I do not write every day/month/never publish another post as long as I live, the only person I am in danger of letting down is myself. And I am very much still on my low-stress diet, which means I will certainly not allow the aforementioned scenario to bring me down.
Today I am in Portland.
It is absolutely beautiful outside. In the park, past the cobblestone path from the parking garage, there is a spirited young man strumming guitar and singing the words to David Bowie's "Starman", a personal favorite for sure. I am in an area of Maine where I normally am not, I am drinking a locally brewed iced Americano from a cafe I have never before been to, and my car is safely in the garage. To further immerse myself into the romantic ease of the day, I recognize the fact that today is not mine to schedule. I have no further dates to keep; my only real responsibility was to make sure M got down here in time for his commitment. And I did!
M will be occupied at said appointment until about 1pm. So what else is there for me to do but to legally park Jasper for about 4 hours and really appreciate some simple aspects of the area on this gorgeous day? And naturally check in on my blog, hopefully keeping my ability to write somewhat polished.
Speaking of which, there is plenty to write about since the last post, and since the gift of time has once again fallen into my lap, perhaps I should take full advantage of it.
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