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.
Friday, November 30, 2018
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.
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