I recently was having a conversation with W and it lead to the topic of romantic relationships.
(I'm beginning to see a pattern in my writing. If it's not relationship-based, it likely has something to do with disorders. I'm a single, empath, Millennial with a slew of disorders and an overactive brain. What do you want from me?)
In this conversation, I was able to truly capitalize and convey (I hope) the following thought:
When a man first meets me and decides he would like to date me, it seems as though he comes to this decision by projecting what he thinks I should be onto me. And then assuming it is true. And then later on in the relationship when he finds out I'm not the Manic Pixie Dream Girl he "knew" I was, he gets insulted/upset/finds me to be a counterfeit. When in reality I never intended to put him on, I was being the same me as ever, he just refused to see it/hoped I would have less of those parts and more of the parts he has projected upon me.
Is everybody confused?
I hope this makes sense. Because I have more to say. First of all: this sucks. It is not my fault that he is being poopy and presumptuous and it is no concern of mine whether or not I am a man's dream. I have absolutely no interest. Not to mention most of the aforementioned men dream in 2D. I am at least 3-Dimensional, and I challenge any of you to find a woman who is not. We are beautiful and complete. And for some bloody reason, there are plenty of men out there who specifically want only a few things. No more and certainly no less. Here's where it gets really confusing, though: There are plenty of men out there who also want their partner to be everything at the same time as being nothing. The irony of course being that plenty of these plenty hardly surpass the second dimension themselves, so I hardly see how any of this would be a realistic future for them. No woman of that caliber would want a flat, boring, spoiled wreck, would they?
Then I considered the difference between how men of the past have initialized their decision to pursue a future with me and how I would do such a thing/how I have. I discovered that I typically will approach the situation as an experiment (there must be a warmer way to convey that). I proceed with hope for love in lieu of assumption. More of a "Well you are quite interesting and lovely, let's see how this goes".
I just wish these men would open their eyes and see who I/we really am/are and admit "Hey, you don't seem like my type of person. Have a great day, off to the next lady!" instead of convincing themselves that my entire frame will fit into a space the size of a Rubik's Cube.
Sunday, June 28, 2020
Wednesday, June 24, 2020
Millennial Timeline
*this was fired from the fingertips of a hungry writer during lunch time. excuse the broken sentences and such.*
It's a classic scene:
A child, growing into it's adolescence, opens it's eyes to the mass of New. New sensations, new goals, new drive, new found thoughts and patterns. It considers how it might be able to make a life for itself. Suddenly it begins to ponder on what values it stands for. It's out of school now, possibly out of the house it grew up in. What's the next move? What's the next course to take? Very typically it will instinctively - if not subconsciously - look to its parent(s)/guardian(s) for the overall clue. This has happened - and worked - so many times before. Before any of us were alive. In places none of us have been to. Places that no longer exist.
Here's the thing.
This Millennial Generation - incidentally my generation - is unique in that we appear to be "starting our lives" a bit later. It has been argued that this is due, in large part, to the fact that we do not have certain opportunities on our metaphorical table that our predecessors had. It could be argued that we make up a majority of the bridge between the Traditionalists and the New Generationalists. Between the hoards of generations who copy and pasted patterns made by those before them and the new generation (Gen Z) who, although did not invent the internet and all of technology, are quickly learning how to capitalize upon it. Gen Z is using magnificent tools that have been laid before them in such an exponentially more brilliant way than we Millennials ever have/possibly could. Young entrepreneurs flood your instagram page. A new kind of comedy and skill presentation take YouTube by storm. Many of these incredibly successful individuals would not even be able to rent a car legally, but no matter; they'll buy one with their funds they worked for by using their technological tool of choice!
And so I suspect Gen Z, the furthest from the Traditionalists, will ironically trend closer to the Boomer's timeline (and masses of people before them) while Millennials will likely be the odd-man-out, starting their "20s" at their "30s" and so on.
While Millennials deny their fate and down their glass of vino, Gen Z watches along like a clever little brother and vows to find a way out. Even if that means creating a new tool and mining the way to the surface on their own.
It's a classic scene:
A child, growing into it's adolescence, opens it's eyes to the mass of New. New sensations, new goals, new drive, new found thoughts and patterns. It considers how it might be able to make a life for itself. Suddenly it begins to ponder on what values it stands for. It's out of school now, possibly out of the house it grew up in. What's the next move? What's the next course to take? Very typically it will instinctively - if not subconsciously - look to its parent(s)/guardian(s) for the overall clue. This has happened - and worked - so many times before. Before any of us were alive. In places none of us have been to. Places that no longer exist.
Here's the thing.
This Millennial Generation - incidentally my generation - is unique in that we appear to be "starting our lives" a bit later. It has been argued that this is due, in large part, to the fact that we do not have certain opportunities on our metaphorical table that our predecessors had. It could be argued that we make up a majority of the bridge between the Traditionalists and the New Generationalists. Between the hoards of generations who copy and pasted patterns made by those before them and the new generation (Gen Z) who, although did not invent the internet and all of technology, are quickly learning how to capitalize upon it. Gen Z is using magnificent tools that have been laid before them in such an exponentially more brilliant way than we Millennials ever have/possibly could. Young entrepreneurs flood your instagram page. A new kind of comedy and skill presentation take YouTube by storm. Many of these incredibly successful individuals would not even be able to rent a car legally, but no matter; they'll buy one with their funds they worked for by using their technological tool of choice!
And so I suspect Gen Z, the furthest from the Traditionalists, will ironically trend closer to the Boomer's timeline (and masses of people before them) while Millennials will likely be the odd-man-out, starting their "20s" at their "30s" and so on.
While Millennials deny their fate and down their glass of vino, Gen Z watches along like a clever little brother and vows to find a way out. Even if that means creating a new tool and mining the way to the surface on their own.
Sunday, June 21, 2020
Forgiveness is Fine
Relationships (both romantic and otherwise) in my younger years consisted mainly of someone approaching me, me accepting their company, them being human, and me at a complete an utter loss for words when I realized that they did not always know entirely how they should treat me/ should act/ should be. It was a real high-temper, low-wisdom situation from where I was sitting. Ironically having said that, I also had incredibly low-standards going in to these relationships, so it could be argued that I still have high-temper, the difference mainly being that I have lived through enough experiences to have learned my truths; to better avoid sticky situations by way of activating a finer filter. By way of deciding to have more consistent, higher standards.
My point (of this specific blog entry) is that as I have aged, I have grown more patient and more understanding. I have gotten much more comfortable with forgiving people and far more uncomfortable with the act of holding a grudge; of refusing to admit that people are people and that - more often than not - there is a psychological reason behind someone acting unfavorably toward me.
Pretty typical, right? Elders in stories and cinema and in the reality it has all been based upon will often bare the gift of patience and wisdom. They have learned to pick their battles. They have undergone hardships. They have surrendered petty insecurities. They have admitted what is truly important to them (if to no one other than themselves). (...Not all of them, of course, there are always those nasty old crones who have grown only more nasty and have so become insufferable. This entry is not about them. Not everything is about them.) These Beautiful Beings; these Outstanding Elders; these Golden Oldies; within the interim of growing more forgiving they have also learned to "take no shit". When something does actually bother them enough to "choose it" as their "battle", they will stand strong even at the risk of it being their last stand. It is what they deem as "worth it". I have also adopted this aspect of the journey.
So here's the question:
What's the difference between being forgiving and being a doormat?
Why is it that we revere those who "stick up for themselves" and do not "settle for less" and do not accept certain behaviors while we chide those who "have their standards too high" and do not allow for mistakes and missteps? We praise those who recognize unfavorable behavior, forgive it, and try to work past it with the other party (who committed the unfavorable acts) while we urge the same people to "get a backbone" and ask them "are you really going to let them get away with that"?
Now, I feel as though it must be said: at the end of the day, you and you alone are left with your choices/ decisions made. Not those other people. And, naturally, this could all be boiled down to the suggestion of balance (are we sick of hearing it yet?), but I just find it terribly interesting. Things that bother other people may not bother you. Does that mean you should pretend as though it does bother you in order to better-preserve yourself from being taken advantage of? To better-initiate those boundaries? Or should you simply coast along (ignoring everything those helpful people who love you are telling you), confident that it will not be long before those things that you do find to be irksome (that others do not) present themselves in human form?
I pride myself on my patience and truly feel the act of grudge-holding is entirely useless. Forgiveness is fine. I suppose the only difference for me is when self-preservation comes into play. Being so forgiving, I can sometimes find it difficult to admit when someone simply will not change.
My point (of this specific blog entry) is that as I have aged, I have grown more patient and more understanding. I have gotten much more comfortable with forgiving people and far more uncomfortable with the act of holding a grudge; of refusing to admit that people are people and that - more often than not - there is a psychological reason behind someone acting unfavorably toward me.
Pretty typical, right? Elders in stories and cinema and in the reality it has all been based upon will often bare the gift of patience and wisdom. They have learned to pick their battles. They have undergone hardships. They have surrendered petty insecurities. They have admitted what is truly important to them (if to no one other than themselves). (...Not all of them, of course, there are always those nasty old crones who have grown only more nasty and have so become insufferable. This entry is not about them. Not everything is about them.) These Beautiful Beings; these Outstanding Elders; these Golden Oldies; within the interim of growing more forgiving they have also learned to "take no shit". When something does actually bother them enough to "choose it" as their "battle", they will stand strong even at the risk of it being their last stand. It is what they deem as "worth it". I have also adopted this aspect of the journey.
So here's the question:
What's the difference between being forgiving and being a doormat?
Why is it that we revere those who "stick up for themselves" and do not "settle for less" and do not accept certain behaviors while we chide those who "have their standards too high" and do not allow for mistakes and missteps? We praise those who recognize unfavorable behavior, forgive it, and try to work past it with the other party (who committed the unfavorable acts) while we urge the same people to "get a backbone" and ask them "are you really going to let them get away with that"?
Now, I feel as though it must be said: at the end of the day, you and you alone are left with your choices/ decisions made. Not those other people. And, naturally, this could all be boiled down to the suggestion of balance (are we sick of hearing it yet?), but I just find it terribly interesting. Things that bother other people may not bother you. Does that mean you should pretend as though it does bother you in order to better-preserve yourself from being taken advantage of? To better-initiate those boundaries? Or should you simply coast along (ignoring everything those helpful people who love you are telling you), confident that it will not be long before those things that you do find to be irksome (that others do not) present themselves in human form?
I pride myself on my patience and truly feel the act of grudge-holding is entirely useless. Forgiveness is fine. I suppose the only difference for me is when self-preservation comes into play. Being so forgiving, I can sometimes find it difficult to admit when someone simply will not change.
Tuesday, June 9, 2020
After-Lunch Sludge (a.k.a.: 2 o'clock)
I used to think my morning coffee was so important. It seemed as though no matter how early I went to bed and how well I slept (and how much I didn't drink) the night before, I just couldn't seem to skip the After-Lunch Sludge. That awful feeling where you helplessly succumb to the oh-so-signature complete and utter lack of productivity that only two o'clock on a week day could deliver. I also noticed this feeling only grew as the week went on until finally - FRIDAY.
Specifically 5:01pm on a FRIDAY.
It's worth mentioning that I would still be absolute molasses at said point on a FRIDAY, but at least my serotonin levels would get a bit of a bump with the promise of impending freedom the drive home would bring.
I love work. I HATE being productive at any less than a "super-human-rate". This sludge feeling? Unacceptable. I had to solve it. Okay. So how do I solve it? My sleep habits are ever-decent, my diet is on the healthier side of things (lots of veggies and whole foods), I only have one cup of coffee in the morning... maybe that was it! I'll just grab another cup of coffee after lunch! Oh no, wait... I've tried that before. Here are my Second-Cup-Study findings:
result #1: It works, I get a jolt to plow through the rest of my day at work and then have even less energy than I typically would by the time I get home and could actually write/cook/do other things that I find enjoyable. Then I keep it up with the two cups for a while. Then I work in an espresso shot in that second cup. And when that doesn't quite do it; ooh, chocolate covered espresso beans? AND they're vegan?? WHERE'D THE BAG GO????
result #2: (And this one is more often than not:) I notice absolutely no jolt or ease into supplimental energy. At best I might get supplimentally shakey hands. (Which are useless in a pandemic. No one wants to get close enough to shake hands with me. HA!)
What I'm trying to get at is that it usually doesn't work. And when it does work? My body gets accustomed to the caffeine so easily and adapts so quickly that I will end up intaking nine espresso shots intravenously to even get out of bed in the morning. I don't want that. Addiction is gross and freedom is super cool. Plus being an opportunist is just the best thing ever and I already have an addiction that throws a wrench in the gears of spontaneity as is, so I would much rather not add to. Also it's nice when you're able to keep the money that you worked and sludged so hard for and not feel as though you have to spend half of it on caffeinated products just to get through to the next pay period.
"So why don't you just quit coffee and your body can acclimate to that and you'll never need caffeine another day in your life?"
And they said there was no such thing as a stupid question.
I kid, of course. That is a fine question and I honestly pondered on it for a bit. The truth is, though, that even if I got to the point where I didn't need coffee to feel productive in a day, I would still want it. I would very much want it. I love the smell. The taste. The ritual of it all. I love feeling super-human, even for a little while, and coffee - I think you'll find - is far cheaper than cocaine and much easier to obtain. So quitting wasn't an option. (I have had sporadic days where I drink absolutely no caffeine without even noticing that I've skipped it, but those days are behind me until the exhaustion of this pandemic is over with.)
With quitting and doubling off the table, it seemed as though I was at a stalemate. I had to drive results without altering my number of coffees drank throughout a day. It wasn't until I made an offhand remark to my sister about it that I even thought it was something I might be able to acheive in my lifetime. She said:
"Try working out more in the morning and saving your coffee drink for later in the day when you would normally need the boost."
Wow.
There it was.
Logic.
Why hadn't I thought of this / why is my sister so terribly brilliant? I had had a similar thought of going for a run in the morning to better jump-start my mornings/days and give me more energy, but then instead of moving my iced americano to later on in the day, I just slugged one back real quick to quench my post-gym thirst. Y'know. Like water could.
I am incredibly happy to say that I have tried my sister's method and so far so good! I can't believe it. This is something that might actually work for me for the forseeable future (say "for" again)! I still have at least the rest of this week to commit to this experiment, but I am staying hopeful. And honestly? At least I'm getting in a somewhat more rigorous activity in the morning as well as having a new project to excite me for the week. And this is one with immediate and possibly long-term health/happiness benefit.
Here's hopin'!
Specifically 5:01pm on a FRIDAY.
It's worth mentioning that I would still be absolute molasses at said point on a FRIDAY, but at least my serotonin levels would get a bit of a bump with the promise of impending freedom the drive home would bring.
I love work. I HATE being productive at any less than a "super-human-rate". This sludge feeling? Unacceptable. I had to solve it. Okay. So how do I solve it? My sleep habits are ever-decent, my diet is on the healthier side of things (lots of veggies and whole foods), I only have one cup of coffee in the morning... maybe that was it! I'll just grab another cup of coffee after lunch! Oh no, wait... I've tried that before. Here are my Second-Cup-Study findings:
result #1: It works, I get a jolt to plow through the rest of my day at work and then have even less energy than I typically would by the time I get home and could actually write/cook/do other things that I find enjoyable. Then I keep it up with the two cups for a while. Then I work in an espresso shot in that second cup. And when that doesn't quite do it; ooh, chocolate covered espresso beans? AND they're vegan?? WHERE'D THE BAG GO????
result #2: (And this one is more often than not:) I notice absolutely no jolt or ease into supplimental energy. At best I might get supplimentally shakey hands. (Which are useless in a pandemic. No one wants to get close enough to shake hands with me. HA!)
What I'm trying to get at is that it usually doesn't work. And when it does work? My body gets accustomed to the caffeine so easily and adapts so quickly that I will end up intaking nine espresso shots intravenously to even get out of bed in the morning. I don't want that. Addiction is gross and freedom is super cool. Plus being an opportunist is just the best thing ever and I already have an addiction that throws a wrench in the gears of spontaneity as is, so I would much rather not add to. Also it's nice when you're able to keep the money that you worked and sludged so hard for and not feel as though you have to spend half of it on caffeinated products just to get through to the next pay period.
"So why don't you just quit coffee and your body can acclimate to that and you'll never need caffeine another day in your life?"
And they said there was no such thing as a stupid question.
I kid, of course. That is a fine question and I honestly pondered on it for a bit. The truth is, though, that even if I got to the point where I didn't need coffee to feel productive in a day, I would still want it. I would very much want it. I love the smell. The taste. The ritual of it all. I love feeling super-human, even for a little while, and coffee - I think you'll find - is far cheaper than cocaine and much easier to obtain. So quitting wasn't an option. (I have had sporadic days where I drink absolutely no caffeine without even noticing that I've skipped it, but those days are behind me until the exhaustion of this pandemic is over with.)
With quitting and doubling off the table, it seemed as though I was at a stalemate. I had to drive results without altering my number of coffees drank throughout a day. It wasn't until I made an offhand remark to my sister about it that I even thought it was something I might be able to acheive in my lifetime. She said:
"Try working out more in the morning and saving your coffee drink for later in the day when you would normally need the boost."
Wow.
There it was.
Logic.
Why hadn't I thought of this / why is my sister so terribly brilliant? I had had a similar thought of going for a run in the morning to better jump-start my mornings/days and give me more energy, but then instead of moving my iced americano to later on in the day, I just slugged one back real quick to quench my post-gym thirst. Y'know. Like water could.
I am incredibly happy to say that I have tried my sister's method and so far so good! I can't believe it. This is something that might actually work for me for the forseeable future (say "for" again)! I still have at least the rest of this week to commit to this experiment, but I am staying hopeful. And honestly? At least I'm getting in a somewhat more rigorous activity in the morning as well as having a new project to excite me for the week. And this is one with immediate and possibly long-term health/happiness benefit.
Here's hopin'!
Tuesday, June 2, 2020
The Past
I've been thinking about the past a lot.
I wonder if that means that I am successfully growing away from it. Of course it could just as easily be that things are quieter now and so my head is filling the new found space with something - anything - else. Like it doesn't have enough input / there is no new information to put in its place, so my mind is simply using what resources it already has (make do and mend!). Like when you're waiting for your online order to come in with that new kitchen table and in the meantime you've filled the space with an empty banana box you found lying around the garage. 'This'll do.'
Another option is that E shared this 30-day-music prompt with me and it's gotten my gears turning in the reminiscent fashion.
Scent is allegedly the strongest sense tied to memory. I reckon Music is somehow its counterpart. Walking alongside Scent in the neighborhood of powerful triggers.
There is a considerable chunk of my past that was not great, in my opinion. Perhaps not obviously nightmarish, but certainly something I'd rather leave behind me, as a whole. There are reasons I have actively made changes and only try to continue to grow. There are reasons why I do not fear getting old and why I am one of the few that I legitimately believe will be one of the last men standing when it comes to actually celebrating my age with each passing birthday. ("What do you want for your birthday?" "It doesn't matter - I'VE GROWN!")
I know my past has been useful and so I do not mourn the lost years, or what-have-you. (I don't even believe in a meaning of life. How silly would that be??) I do, however, often times find that I am in the minority when someone recounts their "good old days" of yesteryear. When they were younger and things were simpler. I feel as though I have touched upon this in a prior blog, and so will not swim to deeply in its ocean. It simply seemed to fit and seemed worth mentioning.
However, I must admit I am often times left wondering:
With the powers combined of human memory capabilities, defense-mechanisms, nostalgia and that thing we do where we allow our emotions to "remember" what happened instead of what actually did (i.e. "you were being mean!" when "you" wasn't being "mean", "you" just ended up saying something nondescript that brought up some insecurities you have and you ended up projecting all over poor "you". And "you" was just trying to have a nice day at the beach. "You" was on vacation!!) ...I wonder how much of our rosy-colored days of yesteryear truly were sweeter?
I mean if there's no harm in remembering something fondly then - by all means, my friend - do so! The world could use more love. More positivity. Even if it is involuntarily manufactured. I just think it begs a second look when this faux-fond remembrance initiates a kind of harm. To you, perhaps (and those around you), by pondering and romanticizing so much on the past that you fully take your present for granted. To others, perhaps, by not recollecting their pain properly. And then proceeding to approach them as if this shared memory were to be celebrated ("I really had a great time at that festival! We should do that again!!" "Are... you kidding? You downed a bunch of drugs, ran off, leaving me completely alone and scared and then I spent the rest of the night crying and nursing you back to health, so...").
...Just some levity.
That never happened.
...To me.
Seems like it could happen to someone, though, eh?
Which also makes me wonder how much of a shared memory truly is shared. Quite possible you're both recalling it inaccurately. Think about that! (Actually don't. It'll drive you mad.) ...(Also there's no way of ever telling what actually happened, so I hardly think it would be worth your time, anyway.)
And so, the moral of this blog is:
My brain is bored and hungry (and I am finding it increasingly challenging to spend time doing "responsible" things while there are so many words to be read and written) and... use nostalgia with caution.
I wonder if that means that I am successfully growing away from it. Of course it could just as easily be that things are quieter now and so my head is filling the new found space with something - anything - else. Like it doesn't have enough input / there is no new information to put in its place, so my mind is simply using what resources it already has (make do and mend!). Like when you're waiting for your online order to come in with that new kitchen table and in the meantime you've filled the space with an empty banana box you found lying around the garage. 'This'll do.'
Another option is that E shared this 30-day-music prompt with me and it's gotten my gears turning in the reminiscent fashion.
Scent is allegedly the strongest sense tied to memory. I reckon Music is somehow its counterpart. Walking alongside Scent in the neighborhood of powerful triggers.
There is a considerable chunk of my past that was not great, in my opinion. Perhaps not obviously nightmarish, but certainly something I'd rather leave behind me, as a whole. There are reasons I have actively made changes and only try to continue to grow. There are reasons why I do not fear getting old and why I am one of the few that I legitimately believe will be one of the last men standing when it comes to actually celebrating my age with each passing birthday. ("What do you want for your birthday?" "It doesn't matter - I'VE GROWN!")
I know my past has been useful and so I do not mourn the lost years, or what-have-you. (I don't even believe in a meaning of life. How silly would that be??) I do, however, often times find that I am in the minority when someone recounts their "good old days" of yesteryear. When they were younger and things were simpler. I feel as though I have touched upon this in a prior blog, and so will not swim to deeply in its ocean. It simply seemed to fit and seemed worth mentioning.
However, I must admit I am often times left wondering:
With the powers combined of human memory capabilities, defense-mechanisms, nostalgia and that thing we do where we allow our emotions to "remember" what happened instead of what actually did (i.e. "you were being mean!" when "you" wasn't being "mean", "you" just ended up saying something nondescript that brought up some insecurities you have and you ended up projecting all over poor "you". And "you" was just trying to have a nice day at the beach. "You" was on vacation!!) ...I wonder how much of our rosy-colored days of yesteryear truly were sweeter?
I mean if there's no harm in remembering something fondly then - by all means, my friend - do so! The world could use more love. More positivity. Even if it is involuntarily manufactured. I just think it begs a second look when this faux-fond remembrance initiates a kind of harm. To you, perhaps (and those around you), by pondering and romanticizing so much on the past that you fully take your present for granted. To others, perhaps, by not recollecting their pain properly. And then proceeding to approach them as if this shared memory were to be celebrated ("I really had a great time at that festival! We should do that again!!" "Are... you kidding? You downed a bunch of drugs, ran off, leaving me completely alone and scared and then I spent the rest of the night crying and nursing you back to health, so...").
...Just some levity.
That never happened.
...To me.
Seems like it could happen to someone, though, eh?
Which also makes me wonder how much of a shared memory truly is shared. Quite possible you're both recalling it inaccurately. Think about that! (Actually don't. It'll drive you mad.) ...(Also there's no way of ever telling what actually happened, so I hardly think it would be worth your time, anyway.)
And so, the moral of this blog is:
My brain is bored and hungry (and I am finding it increasingly challenging to spend time doing "responsible" things while there are so many words to be read and written) and... use nostalgia with caution.
Monday, May 18, 2020
Here We Go Again
The longer I wait, the worse it's going to be, so here we go:
I am so un-practiced, what topic do I even write about? I guess I am unsure, but the weather has never treated me better (in the face of a pandemic) and as such, I feel the need to once more be at the keys. Perhaps that's what I will ponder upon (uponder, if you will); the pandemic.
I would like to skip the fiddly bits about the 'Rona that we have all been made well-aware of. If for no other reason than - believe it or not - I am no scientist.
(WHUUUUATTT???)
I know. Shocking.
I AM, however, a human being (I guess) and as such am more than qualified to discuss my very own personal affliction. So here goes.
At first I was afraid; I was petrified. What the hell was a pandemic? I bounced between noxious anxiety and casual dismissal. Because this was, after all, the unknown (gasp!), however, I know how we human-types get when fancy science terms are thrown around; it couldn't be that bad, right? The worst part of this paragraph is that I still really don't know the answer. Well, that and the fact that I started a sentence with the word "Because".
Somewhere my 3rd grade English teacher is shaking her fist. (Sorry, Ms. Cruz, I never deserved you.)
And to add a much-desired dash of excitement to this, our own Armageddon, I was to move into a new apartment building just as the quarantine was starting to take effect.
FUN!
Once we got over that hump, it became quite clear the joy was to spread. Y'know, like a ...what's the word for something that spreads? Ah, yes; butterknife. The marmalade of change was beginning to make its way to the toast that was my professional life. A couple of us were tagged "Essentials" - a term here meaning "people who know no rest" - and were assured of our place in this world. And that place was at our desks. The rest of us who were sent to be paid to work a quarter at home fretted over this and stressed over that (while the original Essentials fretted and stressed over whatever miniscule things had been taken off of their plate). The stay-at-homes - or "Homies" - were not to be sent to a cozy vacation with their loved ones; they were exiled to a shadowy sentence of despair as they grew resentful of we who held strong to our office key. These "Homies", these poor souls, trapped in the snare of family bonding. Drowning in the envious abyss that consumed them.
Plus: homeschooling. Yikes.
Of course I cannot truly speak on the Homies' collective behalf, but I can say that the situation took some getting used to between the Essentials' four walls. The terrifying feeling of being exposed and exposing others to you. Daily tasks being flipped and flopped. Completing small but time-vacuuming tasks for the majority of the team. Having to leave your bed to get to work on time after a nice long depression nap.
I was eternally grateful (and still am) for the work I was gifted; many people were not as fortunate as we. I was grateful for the normalcy. The perpetual motion. The back-and-forth with the other Essentials. And of course: grateful for this collective body of superheroes who supported me at work. These pros; these kings among men, who showed exponential patience, care and understanding in a new, cold, unsure world. If I needed a day off for mental health? I got it. Leave early for an appointment? Sure, why not. Arrive late to get to the grocery store to better avoid the five o'clock swarm? A girl's gotta eat, right?
I still recognized my active appreciation as I slowly slunk in my desk and unwillingly succumbed to the quiet panic and somber malaise that only a pandemic could bring. What was I feeling so dark and distant for? I still had my best friend and a home to share with them. My car to escape in. My job that I am wild about. I was even doing home-improvement at the new place. I still had my phone with enough data to make Tim Cook blush and yet here I was, feeling...down. I felt as though I didn't have the right.
Then the weather turned.
The Sun and its warmth gave me the courage to sink my teeth back into everything that is inherently me. More than just my cooking, baking, cleaning and unruly drive for organization; I was working out and reading and learning and singing and joking and laughing and - WRITING. Whatever the opposite for being thrown into a rebellious jet turbine engine was, that's what I was feeling.
And that's what I am still feeling. I have actually been left alone with myself for the proper amount of time. I have been granted the patience and gifted the circumstance to finally phoenix my way out of insecurity and frustration. I am mentally stronger and better than I ever have been. I'm the cerebral equivalent of the Six-Million-Dollar-Man. I even feel as though I have come full-circle on some things. But more on that later. I've got work in the morning, you know.
I am so un-practiced, what topic do I even write about? I guess I am unsure, but the weather has never treated me better (in the face of a pandemic) and as such, I feel the need to once more be at the keys. Perhaps that's what I will ponder upon (uponder, if you will); the pandemic.
I would like to skip the fiddly bits about the 'Rona that we have all been made well-aware of. If for no other reason than - believe it or not - I am no scientist.
(WHUUUUATTT???)
I know. Shocking.
I AM, however, a human being (I guess) and as such am more than qualified to discuss my very own personal affliction. So here goes.
At first I was afraid; I was petrified. What the hell was a pandemic? I bounced between noxious anxiety and casual dismissal. Because this was, after all, the unknown (gasp!), however, I know how we human-types get when fancy science terms are thrown around; it couldn't be that bad, right? The worst part of this paragraph is that I still really don't know the answer. Well, that and the fact that I started a sentence with the word "Because".
Somewhere my 3rd grade English teacher is shaking her fist. (Sorry, Ms. Cruz, I never deserved you.)
And to add a much-desired dash of excitement to this, our own Armageddon, I was to move into a new apartment building just as the quarantine was starting to take effect.
FUN!
Once we got over that hump, it became quite clear the joy was to spread. Y'know, like a ...what's the word for something that spreads? Ah, yes; butterknife. The marmalade of change was beginning to make its way to the toast that was my professional life. A couple of us were tagged "Essentials" - a term here meaning "people who know no rest" - and were assured of our place in this world. And that place was at our desks. The rest of us who were sent to be paid to work a quarter at home fretted over this and stressed over that (while the original Essentials fretted and stressed over whatever miniscule things had been taken off of their plate). The stay-at-homes - or "Homies" - were not to be sent to a cozy vacation with their loved ones; they were exiled to a shadowy sentence of despair as they grew resentful of we who held strong to our office key. These "Homies", these poor souls, trapped in the snare of family bonding. Drowning in the envious abyss that consumed them.
Plus: homeschooling. Yikes.
Of course I cannot truly speak on the Homies' collective behalf, but I can say that the situation took some getting used to between the Essentials' four walls. The terrifying feeling of being exposed and exposing others to you. Daily tasks being flipped and flopped. Completing small but time-vacuuming tasks for the majority of the team. Having to leave your bed to get to work on time after a nice long depression nap.
I was eternally grateful (and still am) for the work I was gifted; many people were not as fortunate as we. I was grateful for the normalcy. The perpetual motion. The back-and-forth with the other Essentials. And of course: grateful for this collective body of superheroes who supported me at work. These pros; these kings among men, who showed exponential patience, care and understanding in a new, cold, unsure world. If I needed a day off for mental health? I got it. Leave early for an appointment? Sure, why not. Arrive late to get to the grocery store to better avoid the five o'clock swarm? A girl's gotta eat, right?
I still recognized my active appreciation as I slowly slunk in my desk and unwillingly succumbed to the quiet panic and somber malaise that only a pandemic could bring. What was I feeling so dark and distant for? I still had my best friend and a home to share with them. My car to escape in. My job that I am wild about. I was even doing home-improvement at the new place. I still had my phone with enough data to make Tim Cook blush and yet here I was, feeling...down. I felt as though I didn't have the right.
Then the weather turned.
The Sun and its warmth gave me the courage to sink my teeth back into everything that is inherently me. More than just my cooking, baking, cleaning and unruly drive for organization; I was working out and reading and learning and singing and joking and laughing and - WRITING. Whatever the opposite for being thrown into a rebellious jet turbine engine was, that's what I was feeling.
And that's what I am still feeling. I have actually been left alone with myself for the proper amount of time. I have been granted the patience and gifted the circumstance to finally phoenix my way out of insecurity and frustration. I am mentally stronger and better than I ever have been. I'm the cerebral equivalent of the Six-Million-Dollar-Man. I even feel as though I have come full-circle on some things. But more on that later. I've got work in the morning, you know.
Wednesday, February 19, 2020
Relationships & Guilt
You may be sick of hearing about my affliction with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but here's the hilarious thing:
I can't help but obsess!
*queue laugh track*
Today I would like to touch upon the guilt-factor. More specifically, its effect on my "big life decisions". Let's start with something easy: Love.
Slowly but surely, I have come to realize that I feel as though the opposite sex (the one that I appear to be sexually and romantically attracted to) is much better off without me. Without dating me certainly, and possibly even without knowing me.
To date (harhar) I have not had a romantic relationship last. (The one longest one being a two-year stint wherein - I found - I was being actively cheated on, with my average hovering around a year.) At the end of any of the aforementioned un-lasting relationships, I leave the other party completely down. Which I hate. Because regardless of what they have or have not done, I truly do not harbor any lasting aggression toward them and hope they have lovely days to come. (Of course, I suppose it would be a bit suspect if neither of us felt down about it and treated the break-up more like a business transaction.) I feel as though any time a man spends with me is simply time wasted prior to finding their "forever homes".
Basically, I feel guilty when I am with someone because I cannot help but feel they would truly be better off somewhere else with someone else. The less I can negatively effect another person (anyone!) the better. And if I am with someone, I inevitably effect them negatively. Some people can live with this (healthy people, one might venture), I simply cannot. And it is nearly impossible to convince someone that it is not coming from a place of cynicism when I say:
I honestly do not think that I was made for relationships.
Not romantic ones, anyway. My friendship relationships are solid and I have positively no qualms with any of them. I feel as though I operate best when single. And although you can have as many friends as fate will afford you while keeping your solo status, I have not yet found a way to be both single and taken. Long story short? I hate the guilt, it eats me alive and if the numbers show the unlikelyhood properly; I probably just shouldn't bother.
This sensation can be bridged into other facets of my life, as well. Pets, for example, appear to be lovely and having something to spend your love on is almost always a good idea. However! I cannot help but feel the twinge of guilt if I am ever less than the owner they deserve, and so I do not have a pet. I feel as though - with such heavy commitments - it is better for me to err on the side of caution. Did I ever have a job I felt like leaving in order to travel? Sure, who the hell doesn't. But I am uncertain of the decision and so I stay. Drugs seem like a riot, but there are still days when I am happy that I have never experienced anything too hard because I (for some reason) feel guilty about even wanting them.
It is a strange thing, this guilt. And I am a strange creature. I am logical and forever empathetic. I am at peace and full of anxiety. I make perfect sense you can count on and yet I have these little isms you never saw coming.
Is everyone like this?
I can't help but obsess!
*queue laugh track*
Today I would like to touch upon the guilt-factor. More specifically, its effect on my "big life decisions". Let's start with something easy: Love.
Slowly but surely, I have come to realize that I feel as though the opposite sex (the one that I appear to be sexually and romantically attracted to) is much better off without me. Without dating me certainly, and possibly even without knowing me.
To date (harhar) I have not had a romantic relationship last. (The one longest one being a two-year stint wherein - I found - I was being actively cheated on, with my average hovering around a year.) At the end of any of the aforementioned un-lasting relationships, I leave the other party completely down. Which I hate. Because regardless of what they have or have not done, I truly do not harbor any lasting aggression toward them and hope they have lovely days to come. (Of course, I suppose it would be a bit suspect if neither of us felt down about it and treated the break-up more like a business transaction.) I feel as though any time a man spends with me is simply time wasted prior to finding their "forever homes".
Basically, I feel guilty when I am with someone because I cannot help but feel they would truly be better off somewhere else with someone else. The less I can negatively effect another person (anyone!) the better. And if I am with someone, I inevitably effect them negatively. Some people can live with this (healthy people, one might venture), I simply cannot. And it is nearly impossible to convince someone that it is not coming from a place of cynicism when I say:
I honestly do not think that I was made for relationships.
Not romantic ones, anyway. My friendship relationships are solid and I have positively no qualms with any of them. I feel as though I operate best when single. And although you can have as many friends as fate will afford you while keeping your solo status, I have not yet found a way to be both single and taken. Long story short? I hate the guilt, it eats me alive and if the numbers show the unlikelyhood properly; I probably just shouldn't bother.
This sensation can be bridged into other facets of my life, as well. Pets, for example, appear to be lovely and having something to spend your love on is almost always a good idea. However! I cannot help but feel the twinge of guilt if I am ever less than the owner they deserve, and so I do not have a pet. I feel as though - with such heavy commitments - it is better for me to err on the side of caution. Did I ever have a job I felt like leaving in order to travel? Sure, who the hell doesn't. But I am uncertain of the decision and so I stay. Drugs seem like a riot, but there are still days when I am happy that I have never experienced anything too hard because I (for some reason) feel guilty about even wanting them.
It is a strange thing, this guilt. And I am a strange creature. I am logical and forever empathetic. I am at peace and full of anxiety. I make perfect sense you can count on and yet I have these little isms you never saw coming.
Is everyone like this?
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