34 year old blogger.

 I have nothing terribly shocking or thought-provoking (in my opinion) to share tonight. It is a school night. I have had all day off and have nary a key-stroke to show for it. It is 11:35pm. So, what brings my bony fingers to the keys?

I have had an awakening, of sorts, recently. An avalanche of beautiful, white light has fallen over me and instead of driving me to a claustrophobic madness, it has blessed me with some kind of fantasy. Everything has been simplified. Everything's frilly details have come into such clear focus, at the same time. I don't think any one item/choice/situation has brought this on; I believe it has been born from a lifetime of choices and efforts and heart & soul. I am amidst a rapid growth, of sorts. 

I feel confident. In example: there will be instances when I will talk to someone who's behavior I will find to be unsavory. In another time, I would have brought receipts, gotten worked up about person(s) shutting down/not listening/not believing me, I would have gotten angry/ felt like I needed to defend myself... I no longer feel that way. I know what I'm doing. It is not up to me to prove it. With my job: I love it! I get excited to go to work because of the work itself and because of the people I get to work with. In general: my intuition &  instincts are incredible. I will fumble and "mess up" plenty, but I love not letting that hold me back / slow me down in the meantime. I love this clarity. This knowing. I love getting older. 

It feels - now, more than ever - nothing can knock me off my path. I am eating exactly what I want - not guilt-eating for others / not eating to be a certain look/weight. I am exercising the way / when I want. I am reading much more. 

So much of my younger years were spent looking forward / searching ahead. Then I hit a point where I was only what I had been / in my past. There were times I was looking in no direction; with eyes closed. There have been points where I actively practiced being present. I feel as though I am all of those directions and none at all at once. 

Getting older is: you think you have reached your maximum of not caring what others think of you / reached your maximum of confidence in what you do & love for yourself and your family... and then you get whacked in the face with a level up on all of the above (and then some). 

I would love to type more, but I truly can't think of anything... Maybe I'll read some oldies and try to let inspiration do its thing. 

"Don't you just love New York in the Fall?"

 "...Makes me want to buy school supplies." - Tom Hanks, You've Got Mail

Okay so it isn't about to be Fall and I am not in New York, New York. But I'm in the state, the weather is on my mind and I still like that line.

It is March (still early march - the 8th) and I am SO EXCITED for spring. The city I reside in had a few scares and dodged quite a few bullets this winter. The weather really hasn't been that treacherous. And the accumulation has been so low / only here and there - we have certainly lucked out. That being said: I am still chomping at the bit for better weather. 

There have already been days where I comfortably walk from my apartment to the coffee shop and back. Days where I leave my car windows down as I drive. Days where I wear a tee inside the restaurant's kitchen and can still feel my extremities. It's basically tropical out there. Soon the porch / outside dining will be open and the restaurant will be insanely busy, even on week nights. Obviously this will be more stressful, but this will also be bearable because everything is bearable in the summer time. Infinitely so. At least, for me. And I have gotten to start / train in the slower season, so at least there will be less hesitation on simple things during the rush. I wish my bff was down here to enjoy it with me! (Part of me wonders if they would be happier living down here. More inclusive, in certain ways. Certainly more activities to do / better access to them. If only it didn't cost money to stay in a safe, cozy apartment. You could move to a new city, try it out for a month - if it didn't work out, no harm / no foul!)

This, of course, means I will have outdoor lunches to looks forward to as well. Outdoor chats with coffee. Lazy, sunny afternoons just outside the brewery. Late nights with cigarettes and whiskey at the bar. Everything is better when the weather is warm. Just ask Jonathon Richman. He loves hot nights. 

***

Today I was complimented in a very pleasant, artistic / poetic and specific way and it got me thinking: I am very lucky. I am lucky in so many ways, but specifically: this person who gave me this compliment is someone I have only just met. At work. And they didn't have to go out of their way to even meet me, let alone get to know me. This person is completely delightful and smart as a whip, by the way, which always makes the compliment / efforts even more exciting. (*swoon*.) 

I thought about how the people who I have met down here; the girls who trained me for the bank and got teary eyed on my last day, giving me a card with the phrase: "you make the world a better place". (It was an absolute killer duo who I loved being around. I was sure to buy a plant and make a card.) The kids at my new restaurant job who take me the way I am and celebrate and appreciate me. The therapist who, after the first meeting, had sent me home with a pocket full kind words and compliments. What is going on?? I don't feel as though I have changed that much, but have I?

Also: It took me a horribly long thirty years to meet my best friend. Because of them, I met my (elected) little sister. When we went out, we would often go to this bar, who's manager was an incredible woman who I would be happy to call my sister (the cool, adult sister who I am incredibly jealous of and who has killer instincts, a beautiful brain and sense of adventure). And somewhere within the madness, I also met one of the coolest cats who I genuinely hope is my forever-date when I get back home and need some thai food and some quality cackles and/or advice. 

These four people are people who did not grow up with me, are not beholden to me and who simply appreciate me, genuinely. (These are also people who are so freaking beautiful that I don't even understand how they exist / how we found each other / am so grateful for their well-roundedness and insights.)

What I'm trying to get at is: it feels as though this is a sudden onslaught of appreciation. And it feels incredible, but holy cow does it make me think back to some less-savory relationships. I remember how many years I spent time with people who under appreciated me / did not appreciate me at all. Including but not limited to my romantic partners. All of this has really helped me feel better about myself (when I didn't even have an enormous problem with myself to begin with). After all those years of being in the wrong crowds you're telling me these people appreciate me?? Talk about zero to sixty.

Space-Claim / Experiment with Writing

I promised myself I would try this: writing in a different part of my home. 

As much as I love writing at a coffee shop (the romance cannot be beat), I wouldn't mind saving a few bucks by staying home. Not to mention; there are plenty of days where I have a few hours between waking up and getting to work and I would love to take better advantage of that time. My appointment anxiety will not allow me to do so at a coffee shop, so here we are!

I have found that I am often unable to work at the coffee table in my home. And as far as the bedroom goes: the only time I have been able to work from within my bed was during my time at Pine Street. Twas a magical time. Also: I was on a fairly tight deadline before publishing. Other than the floor; the only surface left would be J's desk - off-limits, as far as I am concerned. Partly due to the face that he should have some place that is only his own and partly because I feel as though it would be as mystically disastrous as wearing another man's shoes - and the island / bar in the kitchen. 

So far so good! The counter top to stool ratio is serviceable and the elevation makes me feel as though I am doing something special and/or important. The most useful, I believe, is the fact that I have never once actually sat here. So this spot has not necessarily been claimed. Sure I have cooked in here plenty, but when I cook, I am zipping around - chopping this and tasting that. Eyes on the noodles. The timer, for the roasting veggies or tofu. I am a true believer in the power of claiming a space ever since I read that article in Cosmo (something I was/am incredibly unlikely to do). 

It is tough to be a realist and to not believe in the cosmic mysticism of the universe at such times: there's this magazine I don't care about, in my home because my well-intentioned (but clueless - it is astounding how un-well we know each other, isn't it?) boyfriend bought it for me one day when I wasn't feeling well. I spent all day in bed eating the odd hard candies and smelling the flowers and flipping through the 'zine he got me. After the attempts to fall back asleep got my goat, I decided to actually read this thing. 

Amongst the overpriced name drops and 101 ways to achieve 86 orgasms - every time! was an article about sleeping. How fortuitous! I needed all the rest I could get. And I was ready to try anything. I dug in and remember my cortex being positively tingled by something; this article had stated: often times, when people have difficulties sleeping in their own bedroom, it is due to the other activities that they choose to do while in bed. If you use your bed for hanging out, watching t.v., doing your bills, taking phone calls, doing art projects... then of course when it comes time for you to get to sleep, your brain is going to (at least in part) be preparing for other such activities. Instead of the psychological queues you should get by even entering your bedroom / touching down onto your bed at the end of the day, all your brain is thinking is: "So what'll it be now?? A little t.v.? Some organization? OOH - how 'bout a coloring book??"

This is obviously not helpful. Especially when we are already having troubles turning off our brains from our busy days. 

The article suggested that the bed be for sleep, sex and maybe reading (the idea being that reading to wind down and get to slumber land is way more conducive / likely to work better and faster than, say, winding down by watching television). Ever since that random article, I have had another tool in my toolbox for accomplishing tasks I simply can't seem to complete. 

I used to find reading terribly difficult to do and I used this concept to help myself get into a flow. Sometimes it's finding the right chair that I can comfortably sit still in (if I am uncomfortable when reading, I find it awfully distracting). Sometimes it's setting the right mood at home - a long, relaxing playlist with smooth tunes, a candle, a big glass of water (or wine, depending) and perhaps some snacks. And sometimes it still comes down to casting myself out to a place that is not my home with only my book; effectively marooning myself and leaving only my book as entertainment. But the thing that works the best to get the ball rolling? Still space-claiming. 

I know that if I could leave my laptop plugged in, atop this counter top, open and on a blank blog entry page / word document, I would be able to pop in and out of writing so effortlessly. Just a here-and-there activity. And perhaps someday I will live in a place where that will make more sense. However, this is a kitchen counter. It is for food. And I am not upset to say that we have lovely food to chop, cook, heat up and eat at least three times daily. So it makes a little more sense to put the chromebook away between sessions, for now. I guess I will have to still put a little effort forth. I mean, if something is too easy to do, do you even know if you actually want to do it? 

Surveys: a useless rant

I have recently started an online psych class (now that I have completed my obligatory vegan class on plant-based diets and how they're saving the whole world). This psychology class introduced a few different ways a psychologist might collect data. One of these ways is: the survey. I have always thought them useless. Here is why (in detail and in the tone of a rant, for some reason. Even though no one is pressuring me to take a survey or even asking me my opinions on them).

Who was the first person to think of giving a group / selection of people a survey?

Sure, I could look it up, but that is for another day. Today: we are pondering.

The thought, I am sure, had occurred to others. Something will have gotten in the way of the first few, likely, as it typically does. One of the challenges I think the surveys present: dishonesty. Whether it is unbeknownst or knownst to the party / selection of surveyees. I am willing to bet that the majority (at least) of the people who would take a survey would be dishonest. There are so many factors at play that I am (and have always been) shocked to the teeth that this way of "collecting information" was ever even implemented. Hell - that it ever got past the brainstorm phase. 

There's the factor of paranoia - popular in my generation as well as previous - which will at least lead the surveyee into a downward spiral of suspicion and make them feel as though there are ulterior motives to the event / of the survey/surveyor. At... well, most likely (to be honest), once mixed with self-absorption and delusion: (popular in mine and the generation to follow) this will lead the surveyee into a sort of Truman theory. Wherein the surveyee will be convinced that they are in a constant state of being watched / surveyed / there is no privacy / people are always spying on them / everyone else is an NPC and they are the only real person and this experiment is so much bigger than what it appears. 

Then there is the base-line delusion, wherein the surveyee is convinced they are telling the truth when in reality they are not. This person would like to believe that they are a good - at least decent - person and so they have told themselves that they are just that. For a while. Years. And years. And in this self-assurance: they have completely persuaded their mind to be made up. They simply are a good person and they will never think otherwise and anything anyone else says is lies and they are obviously jealous or: just don't get it. This person taking the survey will almost certainly select the answers that they consider to be the "good-person" answers or the "right-thing-to-do" / "thing-one-should". They have heard the surveyor say that these are anonymous. They heard them say that there was no way to ever trace this survey back to them. But this person is also delusional and will act accordingly. 

There are the people who can't focus long enough on the question to even bother giving it a thought, people who can't focus on the question and so: spend an amount of time reading and re-reading and then get nervous about how long they just spent, get distracted by wondering if everyone took this long / what everyone is thinking about them right now / insecurities, distractions, nerves... The person who just wants it over with and rushes through it, the person who ponders much longer than is arguably necessary. The person who is being arrogant / narcissistic, the person who is being so humble that they have humbled themselves into being dishonest (most likely by mistake). 

Who ever thought this was a good idea? Or even much more of an idea? I would have thought that this would have died a quick and painless death upon the phrase: "Wouldn't it be nice if we could count on humans to answer surveys accurately so that we could then collect information on a large number of people?"

Surprise v. Rug-Pull

 A loved one recently confessed their unusual distate for surprises.

There are people who simply don't care for them. People who are convinced they could "plan their own party better" (and maybe they could). People who prefer calming things. People who dislike the anxiety of having other people do things for them / the feeling of now owing them things. People who have a certain kind of relationship with control that makes them feel like death whenever they must hand the reigns over.

This loved one is working through why they do not like surprises, so I will respectfully back off / not over analyze / do my own confessing: I am not a professional (nor have I ever been) in this scene. Also: sometimes people don't want to be analyzed, so don't be rude, you big jerk. 

So what am I to write about? Was that it? Was this just some kind of quick, friendly reminder / PSA not to analyze people when it could be considered rude? While that is something I personally need to keep in mind sometimes, no: that was not it. 

First of all: let's applaud healthy growth in any/every way possible. Perhaps especially for loved ones. 

Second of all: their growth / realization got me thinking: do I have a similar distaste for surprises? Is this something I can work through and grow through as well? I don't think I have a poor relationship with surprises in general. I deduce this by recalling literally any of the conversations with either my mother or my sister on the topic. They both REALLYdo not like surprises. They hate them, I think. Makes them so painfully uncomfortable / discomforted that they often get angry and will likely be in a very bad mood throughout the duration of their birthday party. 

This processing has made me realize something I truly do have an issue with: having the rug pulled out from under me. And of course nobody I know has ever rejoycedover such a thing happening to them, but I can tell - should I ever be able to afford one - this topic could easily be an episode of Lexx Speaks to Her Therapist (maybe even a "To Be Continued"!).

There is an element of surprise that comes with such an event, but these two items are very different. The rug-pull is not necessarily an issue of change (at least not for myself), nor is it something "new" added. It is the antithesis of this. It is, in fact, a loss. It is something taken. Something missing. Something wrong. Like a trap door under an unsuspecting cartoon coyote. 

Have you ever, for example, had a great morning because, heading to work, you had visions of yesterday's leftovers dancing in your head? You ordered too big a lunch yesterday for the office meeting and - against your usual impulse - saved the rest of your veggie burrito (as well as some chips and salsa dregs) in the break room mini fridge. "I'll never eat that", you thought, packing your things to go home for the day. You were certain you didn't want it. So much so that you realized you did not have it on your way out. You were a mere ten paces out from the fridge and decided the trip back to it was not worth it. You deemed it useless. 

And now look at you: you had no time for breakfast. No time for a coffee shop before hand. And, thanks to that NCIS marathon last night, you had "forgotten" to prepare a packed lunch. No food. No bev. Never fear, you think to yourself; leftover burrito is here. 

You confidently cross the street from your parking garage. You all but kick in the office doors, ravenous. You drop your bags at your desk, get to the mini fridge with prepared, empty, available hands just to find - someone has cleaned out the fridge. (This is the end of the point to be made, but hang on a sec:) You stand there in disbelief, thinking surely you must be mistaken. Your eyes search militantly - work their way from left to right, top to bottom: Nothing. With the exception of a few old dressings. Half empty, because you are feeling pessimistic. You replay the many days over what feels like weeks where, right next to where you like to put your coconut cream yogurt, you have had to fight a deep gag over the molded hummus Kathy had left. Even Kathy surely got, at least, the satisfaction of throwing away that science experiment. That crime against humanity. Even that was safe from the cleaners' hungry clutches for so long. And yet your precious burrito had not been given a day. 

Your stomach gargles. Your head begins to throb. You close the door in defeat. You head over to the sad Keurig machine in the corner of the break room. Someone says an all-too-cheery salutation. You turn to see: 

Kathy.

OKAY back to reality. My point is: ^^^this is having the rug pulled out from under you. This - although surprising - is not what I would consider (in this blog's context) a "surprise". 

The rug-pull is much more sinister. There is a negtive or selfish intent from the other party, if there even is one. (Someone eating your fridge food vs. the cleaners simply trying to do their job.) And sometimes the over-looking / complete and utter lack of consideration is what sucks the most and is the most difficult for the rug-pullee to deal with. (This, I suppose, could be: your mother / roommate / partner going grocery shopping and deciding it was up to them to make the call. Even though they watched you make that boxed mac and cheese yesterday and take the time to pop it in the fridge, they decided to toss it to make room for their stuff / the new stuff / whathaveyou.) 

I guess that's kind of it for now. (Two blogs today! Woohoo! I feel great.) And, yes, this example is based around a none-too-serious issue / event / happening surrounding an employed person's food (that they can presumably replenish). And if you're curious: it is mostly due to the fact that I think this will be relatable as well as: some of the other examples I first thought of are much darker and shitter and I do not wish to bring you / myself down at the moment. I don't think it is necessary to discuss this topic today. 

Just Thinking! Go enjoy the weather before it turns to shit and goes fully Autumnal and there is no sun.

Back in NY

 I am back in NY after:

WEEK ONE:
        home from work, quick nap, redbull, up to Maine/ME.
        stay at mother's place. sleep on oversized recliner. be sad and feel odd together.
        fight through the La Brea Tar Pit that is overwhelming sadness and get things done. Future-plan.
        watch a new show that I would have never picked out with my mother as I enjoy Old Fashions.
        take turns picking out music videos and singing with all the fervor of the late, great Freddy Mercury.
        I head back to NY. Sleep. Next day: back to work.

WEEK TWO:
        home from work, quick nap, redbull, up to ME.
        arrive early enough to have the realization wash over me: ME is not NY and nothing is open until 6. 
        pass out at my best friend's place (thank you!) and wake up - not an hour later - for a bday party.
        party ends - back to best friend's for deliciously relaxed times fitted between other social delights.
        check on Ma.
        I head back to NY. Nap. Enjoy the day off. Next day: back to work.

I have had exactly two weeks and three days to regain myself and in precisely 7 days time I will head back up to ME. Here's the thing: this time I will have a beautifully full allowance of time up there. I will have 8 days off (at least, anyway; haven't gotten October's schedule just yet) to whatever my friends / loved ones and I cook up. And the only thing set in stone is my best friend's and my departure to Boston (via train) to see one of our favorite bands on their farewell tour. We've got train tickets. We've got a hotel room. 

I am so excited I could spit. 

THRILLED. I am thrilled. Even down to the precision of what to bring to Boston (out of the things I brought from NY to ME) so that I will have what I need while also having my hands completely free and be able to comfortably walk around Boston with my best friend. I keep checking the weather app because, although it is far too soon to do so, it is making me feel as though I am planning. Really doing something. Getting even closer to the date than if I had left the weather app alone. 

My friend and I have been through a fair amount recently. We love each other very much. And we need a break. Not just a break; a real adventure. Cost be damned (and boy, had it better be): I have never had a friendventure like this in my life and I may not ever again! 

sis boom bah.

***Also ahead: October 21st: a reading of my own published book at a dear loved one's book shop! With other spooky authors / readers! Ain't life grand?***

Lately

 Lately there has been a fair amount of personal tragedy in my life / the life of those around me / no longer around me. 

One week it was my mother's sister / my aunt who passed. The next week I found myself overwhelmed with the doom of the goings on of the world that I live in (relatable content - so cringe!), the next week it was a very lovely man / friend I used to work with and certainly loved. These things usually come in threes, so I allowed myself to believe that that had been it. "It"; a word, here, meaning: "too much already".

My circle and I were spared exactly three weeks before my mother's partner / my stepfather passed. There are many details that make this information so much more overwhelmingly gloomy, but I will tuck those inside of myself to fester so you will not have to. (It's already tragic enough. What would that do, exactly?)

I had not taken a day off of work for any of the previous, but I knew this last hit was going to be critical, so I texted my manager and let her know. I was - very foolishly - only going to take one day off before heading back and pretending to not have a family or problems for eight hours again. My manager offered the week off (a mere two extra days for liittle old part-time me) under the pretense of "in case you wanna go visit your mom". She is a very thoughtful person / manager to offer this. To use the little information she has on me to my advantage. I was very grateful. And so: I was off. 

My mother, being the original version of my copy, did not want company at first. I respected that and stayed in NY, by my phone all week. I waited for her to change her mind. She didn't. I was glad she didn't because it is a very visceral, fiery torture to be needed by your loved ones and not be there. It may be the worst feeling in the world. But at least the anxiety was lessened by the all-consuming work factor being vacuumed away.

Now, after I have had my big, sobby day and am attempting to move through the thick, marshy substance that is my day-to-day, I can plan a proper trip. Granted; it will only be a few days and I would obviously like it to be more, but (alas!) I have only just spent my "more" to do my own processing. I will pack a bag. I will drive up to Maine and I will park Jasper at my mother's place. I will clean, I will cook, I will escourt, I will sit... I will do anything she needs or thinks of within the small amount of time I am able to grant us. This is the only thing I can think to do. And - aside from this blog that two people read - I will tell very few others where I am and when. I will not exist for those few days except within the context of my mother and myself. ...And her cat, of course. 

I think I must have been very fortunate to not have much tragedy of this kind in my life until now. I am certain so many others my age would / will have been so well-vetted by now that they could flow through it with a sad grace. I know that death is certain and I know that all three of these individuals were of a certain age where such things should be less shocking. It is not less shocking. And it is just sad. 

The only solice, at the moment, is that I know exactly where to neatly fold my emotions. I have not always been in such a position. And confusion makes the tragedies a little rougher.