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.
Tuesday, October 9, 2018
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)