I sometimes feel like my life is not my own. Like I inhabit it, but it's kind of unreal or intangible to me. Especially now. I remember feeling like this after moving away from Fargo after high school. I just up and left. When the plane touched down in the desert, I instantly started living a whole nother existence. The background scenes, the characters--completely different from before.
When I called up my old friends, I realized the movie was still playing for them. Even though I had left the theater. It's weird to snap your fingers. Change your life. And the beat goes on...
I guess it's the transition stage. The part where you feel groundless. I'm trying to get my bearings; I'm trying to decide who I am here. When I moved from Fargo to Phoenix, I became someone else. Someone better.
Truthfully though, I probably was that person for awhile, but my old circumstances and friends and decisions were on auto-repeat. Because of my geography I never pushed forward (not that it wasn't possible). That move gave me the power to become who I already was. Break free from the destructions and delusions of the younger me.
While older now, twelve years of a person more, I expect the same from this move. Growth. Different than what I needed at age 18, but growth all the same. This is a chance to jump into a more evolved version of the self. I want to embrace her. Say hello.
I want to be more. I want to give more too.
I want to take this clean slate and fill it with fulfilled dreams and loved ones and this place called home.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Day 50 - Buck UP
Ok ok I admit, I've left you goals. I've pushed you out of my mind. I think about you sometimes...as I choose not to write about you. You're boring, I think. Unimportant to my paragraphs. You hold the words back, weigh them down.
And then I see you in my sidebar. My 'progress report.' My point of all this. Unchanged. Un-updated. You linger on last week's ambiguities. I re-read my headlines. I think that I'm a fake.
I try to fake-muster enthusiasm. I think about all the people who I think are better than me. This is easy for successful people, right, sticking to goals? I'm overwhelmed. How do they stay motivated? How do I re-motivate myself? Am I bound to fail...
First step, I think, perhaps, maybe, is to re-evaluate my goals.
Second step, I think, perhaps, maybe, is to re-dedicate myself to them.
Third step, I think, perhaps, maybe, is to write it all here. Say it out loud.
Here goes...
1) Re-evaluate - Writing a book - missing big idea...brainstorm for GREAT book/screenplay idea for 15 minutes per day until find one I'm confident about. Day one starts tomorrow...
Art - one per week still seems attainable plus I LOVE it
Exercise - always missing the 5 per week mark, but pretty consistently hitting 3-4. Still want to push for it, but am reducing goal to 4x per week. Still progress considering I was pretty sporadic with exercise prior to project. Need to build confidence...
Volunteering - Touchdown with my preferred organization Planting Peace and received assignment yesterday, will update all later! Very excited...
Quitting smoking - one and a half months, hurray!!!!!
Eating healthy - need to break down into smaller attainable goals...new goals: no diet coke. 2 fruits and 2 veggies per day; starting Monday
2) Re-dedicate - I hereby rededicate myself to these goals, albeit revised. Hear ye. Hear ye.
3) Say it out loud. Check.
Wish me luck...
p.s. what do yall do to keep motivated? have you succeeded in some goal you've always wanted, and if so, how'd you do it? tips?
And then I see you in my sidebar. My 'progress report.' My point of all this. Unchanged. Un-updated. You linger on last week's ambiguities. I re-read my headlines. I think that I'm a fake.
I try to fake-muster enthusiasm. I think about all the people who I think are better than me. This is easy for successful people, right, sticking to goals? I'm overwhelmed. How do they stay motivated? How do I re-motivate myself? Am I bound to fail...
First step, I think, perhaps, maybe, is to re-evaluate my goals.
Second step, I think, perhaps, maybe, is to re-dedicate myself to them.
Third step, I think, perhaps, maybe, is to write it all here. Say it out loud.
Here goes...
1) Re-evaluate - Writing a book - missing big idea...brainstorm for GREAT book/screenplay idea for 15 minutes per day until find one I'm confident about. Day one starts tomorrow...
Art - one per week still seems attainable plus I LOVE it
Exercise - always missing the 5 per week mark, but pretty consistently hitting 3-4. Still want to push for it, but am reducing goal to 4x per week. Still progress considering I was pretty sporadic with exercise prior to project. Need to build confidence...
Volunteering - Touchdown with my preferred organization Planting Peace and received assignment yesterday, will update all later! Very excited...
Quitting smoking - one and a half months, hurray!!!!!
Eating healthy - need to break down into smaller attainable goals...new goals: no diet coke. 2 fruits and 2 veggies per day; starting Monday
2) Re-dedicate - I hereby rededicate myself to these goals, albeit revised. Hear ye. Hear ye.
3) Say it out loud. Check.
Wish me luck...
p.s. what do yall do to keep motivated? have you succeeded in some goal you've always wanted, and if so, how'd you do it? tips?
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Day 49 - My Husband, My Hero
So, as you can see by yesterday's blog, I was a hot mess. In fact, as I finished silently tapping out the words, salty tears dissolved into my checks. I sat in the yellow light of the lamp and let them.
Right then, Dave walked into my emotional war zone. I tried to compose myself, only making matters worse. God love em', he gave no indication of worry at my mini-meltdown. He quietly read my blog from yesterday, typed a comment, and went to watch television.
Later that night, I read his comment. In it, he basically said just go Darc. I leaped from the couch, galloped into the other room where he was munching on celery, "Really?!" I said hopeful-like. And just like that, he said, "Of course."
My husband, my hero. My heart wells with gratitude.
And so within minutes, I combed Travelocity, Expedia, and CheapAir.com. We bought an overpriced ticket to the green humid plains of Fargo, my old heart my hometown, so I, the godmother of Nova, could watch her dipped in holy water in St. Andrews church. The small brick church where I watched my cousin marry, the church were I bid my grandpa good-bye.
It isn't practical, no. I'm seeing them in a mere month for our yearly family vacation with my dad and stepfamily. I'll be able to hold Nova for days.
It isn't practical, no. I can only go for one day. I fly away Saturday. I fly back on Sunday. As I need to save time off for the family vacation. The flight has transfers and it's ridiculously long.
It isn't practical, no. We are budgeting and chipping away at our debt. We save for X amount of trips per year. This plane ticket clips our savings.
BUT, it is completely and impractically right, oh yes.
I'll never remember that $300-plus we didn't save. I 'll never remember the long flight and the brevity of my stay.
But what I will remember, is that I was there. For Nova. Watching as God hugs her. And I, her doting godmother, does too.
Right then, Dave walked into my emotional war zone. I tried to compose myself, only making matters worse. God love em', he gave no indication of worry at my mini-meltdown. He quietly read my blog from yesterday, typed a comment, and went to watch television.
Later that night, I read his comment. In it, he basically said just go Darc. I leaped from the couch, galloped into the other room where he was munching on celery, "Really?!" I said hopeful-like. And just like that, he said, "Of course."
My husband, my hero. My heart wells with gratitude.
And so within minutes, I combed Travelocity, Expedia, and CheapAir.com. We bought an overpriced ticket to the green humid plains of Fargo, my old heart my hometown, so I, the godmother of Nova, could watch her dipped in holy water in St. Andrews church. The small brick church where I watched my cousin marry, the church were I bid my grandpa good-bye.
It isn't practical, no. I'm seeing them in a mere month for our yearly family vacation with my dad and stepfamily. I'll be able to hold Nova for days.
It isn't practical, no. I can only go for one day. I fly away Saturday. I fly back on Sunday. As I need to save time off for the family vacation. The flight has transfers and it's ridiculously long.
It isn't practical, no. We are budgeting and chipping away at our debt. We save for X amount of trips per year. This plane ticket clips our savings.
BUT, it is completely and impractically right, oh yes.
I'll never remember that $300-plus we didn't save. I 'll never remember the long flight and the brevity of my stay.
But what I will remember, is that I was there. For Nova. Watching as God hugs her. And I, her doting godmother, does too.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Day 48 - The House of Sand and Fog
The sun, all-white, dives through the blinds. My black cat, like a blanket, burns against my side. I am feeling low today, almost down, as I pour shredded wheat and cut the apples. What slows me today?
The book by my bedside that I pick up and read non-linear-like, speaks to me, "In life, there are periods of high energy, and then periods of low energy. Go with the flow. Do not fight the flow." So today, I let the air drag me. I flip through etsy things. I ignore the dishes.
Last night Dave handed me a piece of mail. My sister's clean writing graced the front of the square envelope. I knew what it was immediately, and felt the lump forming in my throat. When I pulled the pink baptism invitation for my little niece Nova out of its white paper sleeve, the tears rolled down my cheeks. I ran my fingers over the lettering, detailing my godchild's baptism. Dave watched me with concern.
Defeated, I could barely breathe as I looked into my lap and said, "I wish we could BE there."
"I know," he said quietly.
This afternoon, painting fixed me a bit (just a little little bit). I felt sad enough to work the colors slowly. I brushed in the tree and washed out the bright pink flowers. Water fell out of the sun. I sense I've finished my emotional abstraction. Just a couple more blots and some varnish.
Doesn't everything looks better with a thick layer of gloss.
The book by my bedside that I pick up and read non-linear-like, speaks to me, "In life, there are periods of high energy, and then periods of low energy. Go with the flow. Do not fight the flow." So today, I let the air drag me. I flip through etsy things. I ignore the dishes.
Last night Dave handed me a piece of mail. My sister's clean writing graced the front of the square envelope. I knew what it was immediately, and felt the lump forming in my throat. When I pulled the pink baptism invitation for my little niece Nova out of its white paper sleeve, the tears rolled down my cheeks. I ran my fingers over the lettering, detailing my godchild's baptism. Dave watched me with concern.
Defeated, I could barely breathe as I looked into my lap and said, "I wish we could BE there."
"I know," he said quietly.
This afternoon, painting fixed me a bit (just a little little bit). I felt sad enough to work the colors slowly. I brushed in the tree and washed out the bright pink flowers. Water fell out of the sun. I sense I've finished my emotional abstraction. Just a couple more blots and some varnish.
Doesn't everything looks better with a thick layer of gloss.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Day 47 - Close-Ups
I'm out of words today...so instead, here's some close-ups of everyday things in my house...
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Day 46 - The 'Phoenicians"
This week zipped by. Dave in Vegas for work. I in Cali working. After the high of last weekend's trip to Phoenix, I felt light and happy. I missed my husband, but this potential dark hole beamed brightly, as I still glowed.
With him back on Thursday, we ceremonially prepared for our weekend guests--mopping floors and wiping mirrors, washing sheets and folding towels. These two Phoenicians, a smart and funny engaged couple, are two of our favorite newest friends.
I met them almost a year ago, in August, as the campaign in Arizona reached an early full sprint to November. Her and I both organized field offices for the democratic party. As a newbie, I was sent to her office to learn the ropes. I respected her immediately. Her large, light-filled office felt like good karma. Brightly-colored Obama posters and other local politican's posters covered the walls. She seemed organized and thoughtful.
During intense campaigns, friendships progress as if on speed. The days run upwards of 12 to 15 hours, and days off do not exist. Not until election day. While I eventually branched into running my own office, by November 4th the respect was mutual and a friendship was formed.
It's always such a joy to meet new friends. It often seems like at any given point in life, you've reached some kind of capacity. Like, 'oh I have five great friends, I guess that's it.' Never conceiving of more. But unfailingly, it always seems like every year or two, you meet someone new that you click with. A welcome surprise.
You shuffle around your life a bit. You make room for them. Cultivating a friendship takes time and patience. You start to tentatively water your new friendships with love.
Some of them never make it. They wither and die quietly, before bloom. Some burst open quickly--full of promise--only to faint just as quickly to the ground, like a sigh. Some, despite your best intentions and care, are unbloomable--you don't understand their needs or they don't understand yours. Some friendships you shouldn't be wasting your water on anyway...they suck up all your energy without ever providing beauty or peace.
But then there's those, that for some reason, all the conditions are right--season, light, and space. And when the flower starts to open, petal by petal, you squeal with delight. It's delicate arms stretched open to the sun.
You shuffle around your life a bit. You make room for them.
Needless to say, my friend and her fiance were an absolute blast. Both smart, interesting, driven, creative, easy-going, funny, and compassionate (well of course they get along so well with Dave and I ;-))! It's also obvious that they truly love and respect one another.
Anyhoo, the ultra-abridged version of the Fri-Sun weekend fun is as follows: talk and sleep, talk and eat, talk and beach.
Lastly, Three Random Quotes from the weekend without contextual explanation...
1. "While breeding children for the future success of the democratic party remains at the top of my list, we're having just two kids.
2. "No one would wear that shirt if they weren't a black Republican.
3. "Let's go watch babies read."
With him back on Thursday, we ceremonially prepared for our weekend guests--mopping floors and wiping mirrors, washing sheets and folding towels. These two Phoenicians, a smart and funny engaged couple, are two of our favorite newest friends.
I met them almost a year ago, in August, as the campaign in Arizona reached an early full sprint to November. Her and I both organized field offices for the democratic party. As a newbie, I was sent to her office to learn the ropes. I respected her immediately. Her large, light-filled office felt like good karma. Brightly-colored Obama posters and other local politican's posters covered the walls. She seemed organized and thoughtful.
During intense campaigns, friendships progress as if on speed. The days run upwards of 12 to 15 hours, and days off do not exist. Not until election day. While I eventually branched into running my own office, by November 4th the respect was mutual and a friendship was formed.
It's always such a joy to meet new friends. It often seems like at any given point in life, you've reached some kind of capacity. Like, 'oh I have five great friends, I guess that's it.' Never conceiving of more. But unfailingly, it always seems like every year or two, you meet someone new that you click with. A welcome surprise.
You shuffle around your life a bit. You make room for them. Cultivating a friendship takes time and patience. You start to tentatively water your new friendships with love.
Some of them never make it. They wither and die quietly, before bloom. Some burst open quickly--full of promise--only to faint just as quickly to the ground, like a sigh. Some, despite your best intentions and care, are unbloomable--you don't understand their needs or they don't understand yours. Some friendships you shouldn't be wasting your water on anyway...they suck up all your energy without ever providing beauty or peace.
But then there's those, that for some reason, all the conditions are right--season, light, and space. And when the flower starts to open, petal by petal, you squeal with delight. It's delicate arms stretched open to the sun.
You shuffle around your life a bit. You make room for them.
Needless to say, my friend and her fiance were an absolute blast. Both smart, interesting, driven, creative, easy-going, funny, and compassionate (well of course they get along so well with Dave and I ;-))! It's also obvious that they truly love and respect one another.
Anyhoo, the ultra-abridged version of the Fri-Sun weekend fun is as follows: talk and sleep, talk and eat, talk and beach.
Lastly, Three Random Quotes from the weekend without contextual explanation...
1. "While breeding children for the future success of the democratic party remains at the top of my list, we're having just two kids.
2. "No one would wear that shirt if they weren't a black Republican.
3. "Let's go watch babies read."
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Day 44 - Noodles and Pork
My downstairs neighbor makes me crazy. Crazy I tell you.
When Dave and I moved to San Diego, our looking-for-a-place occurred over the course of two days on a short weekend just weeks before the wedding and the actual move. Not an ideal situation. For me. Because I'm crazy about everything. Light. Color. Sound. Room flow. Window view. Ceiling height. You name it.
But ultimately, decisions like these are made based on my intuition. I like to wait. I'll see 25 places, doesn't matter, until it "feels right."
But we didn't have time for this potentially lengthy process. We had two days. So we saw this place, liked it better than the rest, and signed a one-year lease.
So here we are.
Don't get me wrong, the apartment is absolutely gorgeous. It's big--with three rooms and nine foot ceilings. It boasts an automatic gas fireplace, Roman tub, a balcony, washer/dryer, and a garage. We are unquestionably blessed, more than likely spoiled.
But, and there is a but, my downstairs neighbor drives me crazy.
Apparently, unknown to us, we moved to an area in San Diego very well-known for its abundant Asian population. We slowly learned of our diverse surroundings over the course of our first few weeks. For example, a San Diegan asks where we live. We reply. They pause and remark "lots of Asians there." Or my uncle who candidly replied, "Oh, you live in Little Manila?"
As we perused the bookstore, attended yoga class, and drove past the seafood markets, we noticed that yes indeed, we were always the minority. But mostly it hit home when, at the nearby multi-plex movie theater, we noticed egg rolls advertised right next to buttered popcorn.
But whoopie, we don't care. If you're going to live as a minority among a people, why not asians? Lovely and quiet, in my neighborhood, they tend to their gardens and walk their floppy dogs like anyone else.
Yet...
Flashback to the first time we saw the place months ago...
We walk into an apartment with the leasing agent. Upon entering, I am hit with a thick and sour smell, like meat and spicy sauce bubbling for hours. And the origin is unmistakable. I say to the leasing agent half-jokingly, “It smells like Chinese food in here.” Instead of light-hearted laughter as I expected, she looks down and mumbles half-heartedly as if trying to be thoughtful, “Hmmm…we’ll have to air it out.” I wondered if I was offensive.
Next, we traverse the complex to our future apartment. Thinking the last apartment was a freak anomaly, I am surprised to be assaulted with a strikingly similar smell upon entering the apartment. This time I kept my mouth shut. However, I noticed the leasing agent breathing purposefully through her mouth, trying to keep a poker face.
And so, I can't say I wasn't warned. But I didn't have time for this. Like I said, the apartment = wonderful, so we signed. I figured it was due to the apartment being empty and unaired. The fact that both apartments were two acrid-smelling abodes? I chaulked it up to coincidence.
I sometimes wish I hadn't. Like in the mornings, around 8 a.m., she cooks some form of meat. Is it pork? It's sour and suffocating. It makes me gag. It's the first thing I smell. It smells thick and dead and so f#$%ing gross. I yell at the open window, "Turn on your fan!" I can't sleep. Why would anyone want foul pork in the a.m.? I think about this and get angry.
I get up. To counteract the smell, I open all the windows and turn on all the fans. I even bought a Costco-sized tub of cookie dough. When I first moved in, I baked a sheet of cookies a day just to fill the air with sweetness again. I gained five pounds.
My coworker, who brings in fried spring rolls for snack during break, says wistfully while chewing a juicy mouthful, "Oh the food smells bad, but it's deliccciouss." I want to punch him.
When she's cooking,, the dank bubbling smell consumes my entire apartment. I imagine it has seeped into every fibrous thread of the carpet. It creeps up the walls, sullies the paint. It cuddles into my furniture. Wraps itself around my bedsheets. Perfumes my hair. Offends the cats.
I try to picture what she's cooking down there and my imagination runs wild. I imagine her crouched over a thick black pot, tossing in various meats into some thick red sauce. She peels skin off the hoof of a pig. She deep-frys soggy vegetables for acidic soup. She serves chunks of mystery meat on a platter for breakfast. She doesn't open the windows as her sour dinner concoction boils all day.
And so, like I said, my downstairs neighbor is driving me crazy. Up the wall. So much that I want to move from this lush canyon valley. It's beauty tainted by noodles and pork.
(Disclaimer: Do not get me wrong. I love my food from the east as much as the next person. I just don't want to live as its kitchen vent fan.)
When Dave and I moved to San Diego, our looking-for-a-place occurred over the course of two days on a short weekend just weeks before the wedding and the actual move. Not an ideal situation. For me. Because I'm crazy about everything. Light. Color. Sound. Room flow. Window view. Ceiling height. You name it.
But ultimately, decisions like these are made based on my intuition. I like to wait. I'll see 25 places, doesn't matter, until it "feels right."
But we didn't have time for this potentially lengthy process. We had two days. So we saw this place, liked it better than the rest, and signed a one-year lease.
So here we are.
Don't get me wrong, the apartment is absolutely gorgeous. It's big--with three rooms and nine foot ceilings. It boasts an automatic gas fireplace, Roman tub, a balcony, washer/dryer, and a garage. We are unquestionably blessed, more than likely spoiled.
But, and there is a but, my downstairs neighbor drives me crazy.
Apparently, unknown to us, we moved to an area in San Diego very well-known for its abundant Asian population. We slowly learned of our diverse surroundings over the course of our first few weeks. For example, a San Diegan asks where we live. We reply. They pause and remark "lots of Asians there." Or my uncle who candidly replied, "Oh, you live in Little Manila?"
As we perused the bookstore, attended yoga class, and drove past the seafood markets, we noticed that yes indeed, we were always the minority. But mostly it hit home when, at the nearby multi-plex movie theater, we noticed egg rolls advertised right next to buttered popcorn.
But whoopie, we don't care. If you're going to live as a minority among a people, why not asians? Lovely and quiet, in my neighborhood, they tend to their gardens and walk their floppy dogs like anyone else.
Yet...
Flashback to the first time we saw the place months ago...
We walk into an apartment with the leasing agent. Upon entering, I am hit with a thick and sour smell, like meat and spicy sauce bubbling for hours. And the origin is unmistakable. I say to the leasing agent half-jokingly, “It smells like Chinese food in here.” Instead of light-hearted laughter as I expected, she looks down and mumbles half-heartedly as if trying to be thoughtful, “Hmmm…we’ll have to air it out.” I wondered if I was offensive.
Next, we traverse the complex to our future apartment. Thinking the last apartment was a freak anomaly, I am surprised to be assaulted with a strikingly similar smell upon entering the apartment. This time I kept my mouth shut. However, I noticed the leasing agent breathing purposefully through her mouth, trying to keep a poker face.
And so, I can't say I wasn't warned. But I didn't have time for this. Like I said, the apartment = wonderful, so we signed. I figured it was due to the apartment being empty and unaired. The fact that both apartments were two acrid-smelling abodes? I chaulked it up to coincidence.
I sometimes wish I hadn't. Like in the mornings, around 8 a.m., she cooks some form of meat. Is it pork? It's sour and suffocating. It makes me gag. It's the first thing I smell. It smells thick and dead and so f#$%ing gross. I yell at the open window, "Turn on your fan!" I can't sleep. Why would anyone want foul pork in the a.m.? I think about this and get angry.
I get up. To counteract the smell, I open all the windows and turn on all the fans. I even bought a Costco-sized tub of cookie dough. When I first moved in, I baked a sheet of cookies a day just to fill the air with sweetness again. I gained five pounds.
My coworker, who brings in fried spring rolls for snack during break, says wistfully while chewing a juicy mouthful, "Oh the food smells bad, but it's deliccciouss." I want to punch him.
When she's cooking,, the dank bubbling smell consumes my entire apartment. I imagine it has seeped into every fibrous thread of the carpet. It creeps up the walls, sullies the paint. It cuddles into my furniture. Wraps itself around my bedsheets. Perfumes my hair. Offends the cats.
I try to picture what she's cooking down there and my imagination runs wild. I imagine her crouched over a thick black pot, tossing in various meats into some thick red sauce. She peels skin off the hoof of a pig. She deep-frys soggy vegetables for acidic soup. She serves chunks of mystery meat on a platter for breakfast. She doesn't open the windows as her sour dinner concoction boils all day.
And so, like I said, my downstairs neighbor is driving me crazy. Up the wall. So much that I want to move from this lush canyon valley. It's beauty tainted by noodles and pork.
(Disclaimer: Do not get me wrong. I love my food from the east as much as the next person. I just don't want to live as its kitchen vent fan.)
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Day 43 - Will Blog for Comments
Seriously, where is everybody? All of the sudden the comment section is like a ghost town. I feel like a comedian telling their best jokes on stage while the only audience is the bartender who's busy washing dishes. I suppose I should be happy that atleast I have no hecklers.
And it shouldn't matter. I know. I'm not doing this for you right? I'll tap away at the keyboard irregardless of participation or lack thereof. But still, a little conversation never hurt anyone. I mean, in my last post, I just said reality t.v. was kinda sorta good for people. What?! You're going to let me get away with that, unscathed?
Dear friends and family, I know many of you are reading. You've told me. So I know you're out there, lurking in the windows. Introduce yourself, say something every once in awhile. Praise me, damn me, question me, agree with me. I can live off comments. You don't even have to tell me your name. In fact, Anonymous is one of my favorite people.
You do not have to sign up for ANYTHING if you comment. Just click on the "Comments" link below. Type in your words (include your name or don't or make up an alias). When you're done, where it says "choose your identity" just click "Anonymous".
I know this is begging. But I don't care.
And it shouldn't matter. I know. I'm not doing this for you right? I'll tap away at the keyboard irregardless of participation or lack thereof. But still, a little conversation never hurt anyone. I mean, in my last post, I just said reality t.v. was kinda sorta good for people. What?! You're going to let me get away with that, unscathed?
Dear friends and family, I know many of you are reading. You've told me. So I know you're out there, lurking in the windows. Introduce yourself, say something every once in awhile. Praise me, damn me, question me, agree with me. I can live off comments. You don't even have to tell me your name. In fact, Anonymous is one of my favorite people.
You do not have to sign up for ANYTHING if you comment. Just click on the "Comments" link below. Type in your words (include your name or don't or make up an alias). When you're done, where it says "choose your identity" just click "Anonymous".
I know this is begging. But I don't care.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Day 42 - The Reality of Reality T.V.
O.k. I know I'm going into dangerous territory here, but I'm just going to go ahead and say it...
I LIKE reality T.V. That's right.
That. just. happened.
I'm sick of it. Sick of apologizing. Sick of calling it a "guilty pleasure." There's no guilt involved. And THAT's the reality.
Phew...I feel so much better now. Confessions make me feel good. Now we can move on...
So, today, I'm kinda tired from my bi-monthly graveyard shift at the art & frame store last night. On days like today, reality T.V. is like a cup of tea.
When I first moved here, three short months ago, those first few weeks, I literally fell apart. I was utterly exhausted from the whirlwind of the last two months--we married, both turned 30, then moved across state lines. I was numb. It all happened so fast, the actual processing occurred as I stared up blankly at my empty beige walls, long after the moving truck staggered away from our new California apartment.
Dave dove headfirst into work. And I immediately got sick. Or as my body calls it: "self-preservation." During stressful times, I can go go go. But when it's all over, my body completely shuts down. Sit down you, it commands. And I obey.
During this time, I had a freshly unpackaged DVR and some chicken noodle soup Dave brought me. I sought out reality t.v. marathons, long enough to entertain me like a long movie for the better part of a day. It was "Keeping Up with the Kardashians," "The Real Housewives of New Jersey," "What Not to Wear," and more. As three days turned into five, my thick hibernation started to lose some of its lustre as I regained health and ambition.
I eventually peeled myself from the flat screen and even deleted upcoming recordings from my cluttered DVR list, but I have to say, that mindless watching was needed for renewal. And today, as my tired self summoned a three-episode run of Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood, I relished my away-from-my-life time.
People bag on reality t.v. And I get it. There's a lot of really really shitty T.V. out there. And many many people reading this would probably relish the chance to speak face-to-face with me, deconstructing the negative effects these trashy shows have on the ultimate downfall of society and our vulnerable children.
And there's truth to that. Surely when one views "Fear Factor" or "Bridezillas," you must question the ultimate destination of the human race. But these shows are meant to shock, awe, and exploit. Examples of reality t.v. at it's worst and most dehumanizing.
But, on the flip side, reality t.v. also has the power to inspire, interest, and illuminate common experience, which to me, is alluring. (Think of it as the difference between Jerry Springer and Oprah).
Most of the ones I dig are really about love and relationships. Take for example, Tori and Dean. Today, they struggled with time management--juggling their careers and two kids while still trying to find time for each other. I relate to this. Dave and I are both super busy right now, and we are constantly in search of time together. It made me appreciate this common experience. How another couple, albeit much richer and more stylish, approaches their normal couple issues in loving and mutually supportive ways. And find compromise and joy. How is that bad for you?
Or even the Kardashians. The show is about a very loving and tight-knit family, albeit much richer and more stylish, relate to one another and support each other. It reminds me of my own family.
Now of course, copious amount of reality t.v. replacing your actual participation in actual relationships poses a large problem. But as a means of entertainment and mild escapism (and fashion aspirations), I defend it wholeheartedly. So there.
I LIKE reality T.V. That's right.
That. just. happened.
I'm sick of it. Sick of apologizing. Sick of calling it a "guilty pleasure." There's no guilt involved. And THAT's the reality.
Phew...I feel so much better now. Confessions make me feel good. Now we can move on...
So, today, I'm kinda tired from my bi-monthly graveyard shift at the art & frame store last night. On days like today, reality T.V. is like a cup of tea.
When I first moved here, three short months ago, those first few weeks, I literally fell apart. I was utterly exhausted from the whirlwind of the last two months--we married, both turned 30, then moved across state lines. I was numb. It all happened so fast, the actual processing occurred as I stared up blankly at my empty beige walls, long after the moving truck staggered away from our new California apartment.
Dave dove headfirst into work. And I immediately got sick. Or as my body calls it: "self-preservation." During stressful times, I can go go go. But when it's all over, my body completely shuts down. Sit down you, it commands. And I obey.
During this time, I had a freshly unpackaged DVR and some chicken noodle soup Dave brought me. I sought out reality t.v. marathons, long enough to entertain me like a long movie for the better part of a day. It was "Keeping Up with the Kardashians," "The Real Housewives of New Jersey," "What Not to Wear," and more. As three days turned into five, my thick hibernation started to lose some of its lustre as I regained health and ambition.
I eventually peeled myself from the flat screen and even deleted upcoming recordings from my cluttered DVR list, but I have to say, that mindless watching was needed for renewal. And today, as my tired self summoned a three-episode run of Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood, I relished my away-from-my-life time.
People bag on reality t.v. And I get it. There's a lot of really really shitty T.V. out there. And many many people reading this would probably relish the chance to speak face-to-face with me, deconstructing the negative effects these trashy shows have on the ultimate downfall of society and our vulnerable children.
And there's truth to that. Surely when one views "Fear Factor" or "Bridezillas," you must question the ultimate destination of the human race. But these shows are meant to shock, awe, and exploit. Examples of reality t.v. at it's worst and most dehumanizing.
But, on the flip side, reality t.v. also has the power to inspire, interest, and illuminate common experience, which to me, is alluring. (Think of it as the difference between Jerry Springer and Oprah).
Most of the ones I dig are really about love and relationships. Take for example, Tori and Dean. Today, they struggled with time management--juggling their careers and two kids while still trying to find time for each other. I relate to this. Dave and I are both super busy right now, and we are constantly in search of time together. It made me appreciate this common experience. How another couple, albeit much richer and more stylish, approaches their normal couple issues in loving and mutually supportive ways. And find compromise and joy. How is that bad for you?
Or even the Kardashians. The show is about a very loving and tight-knit family, albeit much richer and more stylish, relate to one another and support each other. It reminds me of my own family.
Now of course, copious amount of reality t.v. replacing your actual participation in actual relationships poses a large problem. But as a means of entertainment and mild escapism (and fashion aspirations), I defend it wholeheartedly. So there.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Day 41 - Dare I Say...
I'm evolving. As a human. You heard me.
'How can I know for sure?' you ask. And I'll tell you...
One of my faults is my over-developed defense mechanisms. While a defense mechanism can be quite necessary, saving one from all sorts of emotional damage, mine is a touch overzealous.
In an effort to keep my confidence soaring high, unbridled by pesky insecurities, my defense mechanism will reject and/or completely shred the ego offender to bits.
You see, if I'm good at something, and by good, I mean totally awesome and better than most, my heart sings joyous praise of my new favorite hobby/game/sport.
However, if I am not good at something, and by not good, I mean mediocre, a total loser, or even just third place, then my defense mechanism completely and utterly disavows the entire activity. You're likely to hear a very sharp-tongued and witty and intelligent-sounding diatribe prolonged only in direct proportion to my failure or loss or fear.
Most people who know me grow weary of these lengthy analyzations as to why golf or chess or scuba diving (which I respectively have failed at, lossed at, and fear) are complete and utter wastes of time. Illogical at best and ridiculous at worst.
On the other hand, ping-pong and roller skating (both at which I excel) rise above the rest. I got me buckets full of good words for these useful and high-minded activities.
My point? Oh yes, that. So, as you all know, since this blog inception and my subsequent to-do list (see sidebar "progress report"), I've failed on several occasions. And by failed, I mean not done my goal list 100% totally awesome completely fail-safe.
Due to my very developed aforementioned defense mechanism combined with an equally developed i-can-justify-anything-if-i-want-to mechanism, I normally would quit. I mean geez, I have to protect myself.
Soooo, since I have neither quit nor abandoned nor succeeded to the standards I so desire, I consider this evolution. Aha!
p.s. I also did a Bollywood dance video today on exerciseTV. Critique: total thumbs up. bollywood is the best. perhaps the most evolved and beat-centric dancing of our century. and probably the most arm sculpting. Disclaimer: I also ROCKED at it, so you can't really trust me.
'How can I know for sure?' you ask. And I'll tell you...
One of my faults is my over-developed defense mechanisms. While a defense mechanism can be quite necessary, saving one from all sorts of emotional damage, mine is a touch overzealous.
In an effort to keep my confidence soaring high, unbridled by pesky insecurities, my defense mechanism will reject and/or completely shred the ego offender to bits.
You see, if I'm good at something, and by good, I mean totally awesome and better than most, my heart sings joyous praise of my new favorite hobby/game/sport.
However, if I am not good at something, and by not good, I mean mediocre, a total loser, or even just third place, then my defense mechanism completely and utterly disavows the entire activity. You're likely to hear a very sharp-tongued and witty and intelligent-sounding diatribe prolonged only in direct proportion to my failure or loss or fear.
Most people who know me grow weary of these lengthy analyzations as to why golf or chess or scuba diving (which I respectively have failed at, lossed at, and fear) are complete and utter wastes of time. Illogical at best and ridiculous at worst.
On the other hand, ping-pong and roller skating (both at which I excel) rise above the rest. I got me buckets full of good words for these useful and high-minded activities.
My point? Oh yes, that. So, as you all know, since this blog inception and my subsequent to-do list (see sidebar "progress report"), I've failed on several occasions. And by failed, I mean not done my goal list 100% totally awesome completely fail-safe.
Due to my very developed aforementioned defense mechanism combined with an equally developed i-can-justify-anything-if-i-want-to mechanism, I normally would quit. I mean geez, I have to protect myself.
Soooo, since I have neither quit nor abandoned nor succeeded to the standards I so desire, I consider this evolution. Aha!
p.s. I also did a Bollywood dance video today on exerciseTV. Critique: total thumbs up. bollywood is the best. perhaps the most evolved and beat-centric dancing of our century. and probably the most arm sculpting. Disclaimer: I also ROCKED at it, so you can't really trust me.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Day 40 - I Left My Art in San Diego
As I unscrewed the clean white tops of the new paint tubes today, I breathed a joyful sigh and smile. The fresh white canvas felt crisp and new out of the wrapper. As I filled a cup with water, I flipped through ideas in my head. After squeezing the thick paint onto the palette, I scooped the colors onto the brush and then pushed them into abstract shapes on the small 12 X 12 space.
What gives us joy is something to pay attention to. Didn't the master of the universe implant loves in our soul before we took up our human form? Isn't there a reason why I can't stand the sight of blood, therefore ruling out the medical profession? Or why I shy from unnecessary danger, ruling out skiing instruction or the army? I believe yes.
What action moves us and calms us at the same time? Watch for these. Make time for these. There's power in that. And transformation. It's different for each person. It's flying planes for one and taking photos for another. It's computers or buildings, music or numbers, gardening or teaching. Some may argue, 'i don't know what it is though.' But you do.
What gives us joy is something to pay attention to. Didn't the master of the universe implant loves in our soul before we took up our human form? Isn't there a reason why I can't stand the sight of blood, therefore ruling out the medical profession? Or why I shy from unnecessary danger, ruling out skiing instruction or the army? I believe yes.
What action moves us and calms us at the same time? Watch for these. Make time for these. There's power in that. And transformation. It's different for each person. It's flying planes for one and taking photos for another. It's computers or buildings, music or numbers, gardening or teaching. Some may argue, 'i don't know what it is though.' But you do.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Day 39 - So Much To Say
Gosh...I sure ditched you for the weekend didn't I? Well you'll smile to know that today, full of guilt, I combed through and filled in the previously sparse weekend words/photos in the last few blogs below. Scroll down and scroll up for air.
I have so much to say here. How is it the words keep bubbling to the surface? Today is for conclusions though, and summations, which signifies the ends of things. The weekend, the lightness, the failures...
I failed in nearly every goal this week. I played a symphony of failure. The band, proud of itself, bowed and curtsied, and twirled off stage. I didn't possess the energy to tackle them to the ground. I watched them saunter past, whooping and hollering. I shoved my face in my hands.
I'm home now and it's Sunday and I had a helluva time. I ate fries with my niece. I didn't exercise in leiu of seeing precious little newborn Jack on Saturday. And I didn't write a page a day, because to be honest, my book really really blows and I'm giving myself one week to rethink it. One redo.
I know I know, but I can't care.
So here we are. Goals all blown up and scattered on the floor. Heart filled up with light and joy.
I have to admit, today I thought "oh it's too hard!"
And when I mouthed it out loud, Dave saved me.
He lovingly dragged me from my nachos to show me this this crazy workout video he ordered called "Insanity," which we then proceeded to run to, jump to, sweat to, laugh to--together.
We also finished our thank you cards today. The words pumped up my heart.
We cut up watermelon and pineapple and talked about next week's groceries.
I feel good. I feel renewed. I think I can do this.
(Dave's quote to lift my spirits: "Listen...No NBA team goes 82 and 0.")
I have so much to say here. How is it the words keep bubbling to the surface? Today is for conclusions though, and summations, which signifies the ends of things. The weekend, the lightness, the failures...
I failed in nearly every goal this week. I played a symphony of failure. The band, proud of itself, bowed and curtsied, and twirled off stage. I didn't possess the energy to tackle them to the ground. I watched them saunter past, whooping and hollering. I shoved my face in my hands.
I'm home now and it's Sunday and I had a helluva time. I ate fries with my niece. I didn't exercise in leiu of seeing precious little newborn Jack on Saturday. And I didn't write a page a day, because to be honest, my book really really blows and I'm giving myself one week to rethink it. One redo.
I know I know, but I can't care.
So here we are. Goals all blown up and scattered on the floor. Heart filled up with light and joy.
I have to admit, today I thought "oh it's too hard!"
And when I mouthed it out loud, Dave saved me.
He lovingly dragged me from my nachos to show me this this crazy workout video he ordered called "Insanity," which we then proceeded to run to, jump to, sweat to, laugh to--together.
We also finished our thank you cards today. The words pumped up my heart.
We cut up watermelon and pineapple and talked about next week's groceries.
I feel good. I feel renewed. I think I can do this.
(Dave's quote to lift my spirits: "Listen...No NBA team goes 82 and 0.")
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Day 38 - White Out
Traversed desert to ocean today, AND encountered danger and adventure. Lots-of-miles-per-hour sandstorm with limited visibility pummels my little purple pick-up.
O look, it's the apocalypse...
Everything running lovely...
Oh wait, what's that up ahead?
O look, it's the apocalypse...
Visibility blew (literally)...
Sand whipped across the road, carrying tumbling tumbleweeds, cardboard boxes, and even a bright blue innertube. The road disappears beneath the moving sand...
Crawled the highway at turtle pace. Pulled into Yuma where all the power was out...convenience store piled with stranded motorists. Rain starts to pound sandy drops down. People are chaotic...it's humid and fun and scary.
I collect-call Dave, thereby ruining my one-day-early-return surprise (it's our three-month anniversary today!), to let him know I was driving home. P.S. I'm not safe either.
He fails to reassure me that I won't die. I get back on the road anyway (sorry mom). I figured danger in the light was better than danger in the dark. It's me against the sun.
He fails to reassure me that I won't die. I get back on the road anyway (sorry mom). I figured danger in the light was better than danger in the dark. It's me against the sun.
A few slow-crawling hours later, and I meet the end. It's a very distinct line between chaos and clarity...
Home safe--I watch air balloons bob in the distance near our apartment....
Day 37 - Wedding Bells
My friend's courthouse wedding = beautiful, touching, perfect.
The judge was AWESOME! What a blessing. Seriously better than many officiants i've seen...and perfect for our newlyweds...
Met in the bright afternoon heat at their downtown historic home, smart decored in cozy yellow and cool photos. Shaking off a slight tiredness from last night's festivities, we tie her hair up and fasten colorful necklaces, choosing the brown stone one with a shiny silver chain.
Marley and Sammy, summer-content but wishing they could be the witnesses...
They champagne toast before driving to the downtown courthouse...
the entrance is Resorvoir Dogs style... Then I got screamed at by a security guard, "No pictures!"
It's our lucky day...wedding number one! (lots of people waiting...my fave was the eight-month preggo ones...shotgun weddings rock ;-))
The judge was AWESOME! What a blessing. Seriously better than many officiants i've seen...and perfect for our newlyweds...
On to the small downtown gathering of twelve...we clink champagne and munch hummus and cheese until late night.
Ended up deep-discussing politics and world affairs until even later at the house of the bride and groom. Got home safe and sound.
Stay tuned for their big wedding bash in Jerome, AZ next year on their one-year anniversary! Congratulations you two.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Day 36 - Road Trip
I heart road trips. And for the first time in a long time, I'm driving alone--from ocean to desert. While the frantic morning zips by, the promise of grey road and blue sky beckons. In the car, the stereo sounds the steady voice of an audiobook gifted to me by my wonderful mother-in-law. As an audiobook first-timer, I'm pleasantly surprised by how quickly I am absolutely ensconced in the true story account of the humanitarian hero Greg Mortenson in the book "Three Cups of Tea."
I listen and choke back tears as the story of his fantastical struggles to build schools and medical centers in remote regions of Pakistan unfolds during the picturesque drive. It reminds me of my yet-to-be-tackled volunteering goal. My spirit renewed, I promise to follow through. One of the things I find the most heart-breaking and unnecessary in today's modern world, is the extreme poverty, hunger, and lack of medical help of our Third World countries.
As if by divine "coincidence", I turn on my lap top to check my email when I reach Phoenix, and a message awaits from one of my first and fave organizations to volunteer for, "Planting Peace," which provides medical treatments and education and sustainable solutions to some of the world's most impoverished regions. I am ecstatic to hear from them, as I sent several emails (as explained, the address was unmanned, oops) a few weeks ago. I hope to help soon.
So, in Phoenix, I immediately traveled to a nearby fave hip and arty wine bar to meet two of my best girl friends for pinot noir and bruschetta in celebration of B's last night as a single girl. Their pitch-perfect company, rift with our smart girl humor and airtight analyzations (of course we're right, guys), rendered me happy and blessed. This much-needed night wiped away my recent loneliness. Sigh of relief. Sigh of relief.
But sadly, and I'm just going to say this (I'm really just hoping no one's reading this far down): Like an animal out of a cage, my bliss led me--right before returning home in a half-drunk happy stupor--to smoke one half of one cigarette. Arg.
So there it is. I said it. Am I disappointed? yes. Crushed? yes. Self-mad? yes. Is there anything I can do to change it? no. Is there anything I can do to change the future? yes.
I contemplate some form of self-punishment, or implementation of road blocks to this result. No drinking? No celebration attendance? No vacations? Kidding, but kinda seriously, these are my i-want-to-smoke Achilles heels. I need suggestions/ideas...how to make-it-right and not slip again? Prevent unraveling?
Sigh. And then slap my own face.
Anyhoo...let's end with pictures from the long drive into the desert...
I listen and choke back tears as the story of his fantastical struggles to build schools and medical centers in remote regions of Pakistan unfolds during the picturesque drive. It reminds me of my yet-to-be-tackled volunteering goal. My spirit renewed, I promise to follow through. One of the things I find the most heart-breaking and unnecessary in today's modern world, is the extreme poverty, hunger, and lack of medical help of our Third World countries.
As if by divine "coincidence", I turn on my lap top to check my email when I reach Phoenix, and a message awaits from one of my first and fave organizations to volunteer for, "Planting Peace," which provides medical treatments and education and sustainable solutions to some of the world's most impoverished regions. I am ecstatic to hear from them, as I sent several emails (as explained, the address was unmanned, oops) a few weeks ago. I hope to help soon.
So, in Phoenix, I immediately traveled to a nearby fave hip and arty wine bar to meet two of my best girl friends for pinot noir and bruschetta in celebration of B's last night as a single girl. Their pitch-perfect company, rift with our smart girl humor and airtight analyzations (of course we're right, guys), rendered me happy and blessed. This much-needed night wiped away my recent loneliness. Sigh of relief. Sigh of relief.
But sadly, and I'm just going to say this (I'm really just hoping no one's reading this far down): Like an animal out of a cage, my bliss led me--right before returning home in a half-drunk happy stupor--to smoke one half of one cigarette. Arg.
So there it is. I said it. Am I disappointed? yes. Crushed? yes. Self-mad? yes. Is there anything I can do to change it? no. Is there anything I can do to change the future? yes.
I contemplate some form of self-punishment, or implementation of road blocks to this result. No drinking? No celebration attendance? No vacations? Kidding, but kinda seriously, these are my i-want-to-smoke Achilles heels. I need suggestions/ideas...how to make-it-right and not slip again? Prevent unraveling?
Sigh. And then slap my own face.
Anyhoo...let's end with pictures from the long drive into the desert...
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Day 35 - Bull Sshh...
I feel so all or nothing. As I watch my eating habits this week slide hard into pizza and diet coke land this week, I rebel wholeheartedly against my "goals." I'm pissed at them. I want to throw rocks at them. They're too hard I whine. I can't.
Perhaps it's the heading out of town throwing things a little off-kilter. I'm a Taurus, which according to absolute astrological hearsay, means I dig routine and stability and ABHOR change. Like a bull. Sure, it resonates so I'll take it, but f&$#, I'm feeling overwhelmed.
I want to throw it all away.
I thought this confessional-type blog today would help me buck-up and 'just do it,' but my self-violence refreshingly produces the opposite effect: I need to take it easy on myself. (sigh of relief)
1) Art for creation and consumption: delayed until Monday due to glorious nuptials of close friend in the sizzling desert
2) Food: failed this week. oh well.
3) Book seriously blows. Needs eval asap.
4) Exercise: I got this!
(double sigh of relief) Conclusion: All or nothing is not a healthy attitude for goal-reaching. No need for toxic perfectionism. If there's a stumble, get up and give it another go.
Or how bout' my mother's infamous advice: "If you can't reach your goals, lower them." Um, that's good advice right?
Perhaps it's the heading out of town throwing things a little off-kilter. I'm a Taurus, which according to absolute astrological hearsay, means I dig routine and stability and ABHOR change. Like a bull. Sure, it resonates so I'll take it, but f&$#, I'm feeling overwhelmed.
I want to throw it all away.
I thought this confessional-type blog today would help me buck-up and 'just do it,' but my self-violence refreshingly produces the opposite effect: I need to take it easy on myself. (sigh of relief)
1) Art for creation and consumption: delayed until Monday due to glorious nuptials of close friend in the sizzling desert
2) Food: failed this week. oh well.
3) Book seriously blows. Needs eval asap.
4) Exercise: I got this!
(double sigh of relief) Conclusion: All or nothing is not a healthy attitude for goal-reaching. No need for toxic perfectionism. If there's a stumble, get up and give it another go.
Or how bout' my mother's infamous advice: "If you can't reach your goals, lower them." Um, that's good advice right?
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Day 34 - Where Everybody Knows Your Name
Thank the sweet lord I'm driving to hawt Phoenix this weekend. As much as I adore Dave (and the cats of course), I crave conversations with other members of the human race. Due to our lackluster social life in our hilly new town, we depend almost entirely on each other for entertainment. And while staring at each other and speaking incessantly about nothing much is just a hoot, I need to junkie-inject my soul with some wine and good times with my friends!
(Case in point: The cats often switfly duck out of the room when they see me sauntering down the hallway, mumbling jokes to myself. LOL. At myself. You see?)
(Case in point #2: What about virtual friends, doesn't that count? I talk to you. I think about things to tell you. I've even shared meals and drank wine with you once. You weren't there though. At least not at the same time. And I imagine a shrink would tell me to find three-dimensional friends. 'Words aren't friends,' they might chastise. And I'd rage back defensively, "O they do talk back! Haven't you read my 'comments'?!)
(pauses...clears throat)
Soooo, I'll have you know, in an effort to manifest livingbreathing friends to share time with here (and save myself some obviously looming professional-couch time), I've put in a bid to join a very-hip-looking ladies' book club of twenty&thirty somethings that congregate ever-so-often at some equally hip spot downtown. Perusing their previous reads gives me the giggles--they boast many of my long-time faves!
So I'm smoothing my hair down and putting on my best blouse as I try to win me over some brand new friends. BUT, the problem is, I emailed three days ago to join. And nothing. Not a word. Not a calendar. Not a hello. Not a "here's the next book...see you next Thursday!"
I really kinda sort of want to send another e-mail. I mean, did they not get my first one? How soon is too soon to send another one? Three days? Four? What's the lead time these days on friendship courtship? I mean, I don't want to seem desperate or anything...
But I like totally am.
(Case in point: The cats often switfly duck out of the room when they see me sauntering down the hallway, mumbling jokes to myself. LOL. At myself. You see?)
(Case in point #2: What about virtual friends, doesn't that count? I talk to you. I think about things to tell you. I've even shared meals and drank wine with you once. You weren't there though. At least not at the same time. And I imagine a shrink would tell me to find three-dimensional friends. 'Words aren't friends,' they might chastise. And I'd rage back defensively, "O they do talk back! Haven't you read my 'comments'?!)
(pauses...clears throat)
Soooo, I'll have you know, in an effort to manifest livingbreathing friends to share time with here (and save myself some obviously looming professional-couch time), I've put in a bid to join a very-hip-looking ladies' book club of twenty&thirty somethings that congregate ever-so-often at some equally hip spot downtown. Perusing their previous reads gives me the giggles--they boast many of my long-time faves!
So I'm smoothing my hair down and putting on my best blouse as I try to win me over some brand new friends. BUT, the problem is, I emailed three days ago to join. And nothing. Not a word. Not a calendar. Not a hello. Not a "here's the next book...see you next Thursday!"
I really kinda sort of want to send another e-mail. I mean, did they not get my first one? How soon is too soon to send another one? Three days? Four? What's the lead time these days on friendship courtship? I mean, I don't want to seem desperate or anything...
But I like totally am.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Day 33 - Time Management
I suck at time management. I literally can waste hours meandering the Internet, googling this or that. Dave says I'm like a sponge and he is sometimes wowed by my thirst for research and reading. I like this view he has of me, gobbling up knowledge.
But lately I'm ashamed at my ability to wile away hours on the net. Perhaps the new goal sheet magnifies each pointless peruse. I mean I got shit to do (see sidebar)! And with a bag of fresh new canvasses and unopened paint tubes staring at me accusingly, I gotta knuckle down.
I believe in balance. And while no-mind time remains a priority, my current habits provide nil of this. For someone so angered by the very sound of the television and its life-consuming wormholes that warp the time-space continuum, I am embarrassingly fond of Netscape's escapes.
Perhaps this medium hypocrisy simply highlights my true nature as a control freak. I maintain control over the time and speed to which I browse, whereas the T.V. (which, in my distaste, I've quarantined to one small room) confines my viewing to only what's playing.
All right, o.k. Never mind the analytical mumbo. Point is: I'm busybusy with goal goal goal. How do I carve out quality time with my self doing a necessary amount of nothing, and yet balance that with my new zest for goal-reaching?
But lately I'm ashamed at my ability to wile away hours on the net. Perhaps the new goal sheet magnifies each pointless peruse. I mean I got shit to do (see sidebar)! And with a bag of fresh new canvasses and unopened paint tubes staring at me accusingly, I gotta knuckle down.
I believe in balance. And while no-mind time remains a priority, my current habits provide nil of this. For someone so angered by the very sound of the television and its life-consuming wormholes that warp the time-space continuum, I am embarrassingly fond of Netscape's escapes.
Perhaps this medium hypocrisy simply highlights my true nature as a control freak. I maintain control over the time and speed to which I browse, whereas the T.V. (which, in my distaste, I've quarantined to one small room) confines my viewing to only what's playing.
All right, o.k. Never mind the analytical mumbo. Point is: I'm busybusy with goal goal goal. How do I carve out quality time with my self doing a necessary amount of nothing, and yet balance that with my new zest for goal-reaching?
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Day 32 - Oh Art, how I need you...
Implementation of goal--"art for creation and consumption"--begins tomorrow. I am giddy over this one.
I'm thrilled because I love this kind of stuff. I love art. I love creation. I love color, shapes, lines, shadows, paper, paint. But my track record is sporadic. I finished some classes in college; I even briefly named Art my major. That is, until I found out my Creative Writing would cycle me out of college faster. While I tried to combine my two fave loves into one "interdisciplinary" major, the administrative gods wouldn't have it. And so I abandoned my charcoal sticks and camera lenses in the back of my closet.
Over the years, I've dragged out the glue and paint tubes, the canvas and decorative papers. And sure, I've blasted Cat Stevens from the laptop and made a mess out of the kitchen table more than once. Mostly for "presents from the heart" OR when I felt particularly lacking of soul--art proves the quickest way back to myself. I even went through a semi-serious stint of bookbinding and making, where I crafted some supercute journals and accordian books.
But what I've never been is consistent. AND I've never put anything out there. To sell. And I've ALWAYS wanted to. I know this because I'm insanely jealous of anybody else who does. And because when I see indie art on a coffee shop wall, I think to myself 'O why can't I do that?!' I may not be Picasso, but I think I got some talent (and you know my mom thinks so too). And most of all, I simply love the process. Isn't that enough?
My inner Naysayer says, "You need a Career darcy, not a hobby." or "What's the point of crafting pretty little trinkets? If it's not going to make you rich, it's a waste of time. Get a job loser."
Luckily, I already tried all of Naysayer's dubious instructions. And considering the whole "get a career" thing grew progressively lamer and lamer, I simply gave up on the whole darn thing! Now I can do whatever the f*%$ I want. As Janis says, "Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose..."
The concrete goal for my 'year of change' is to make one arty thing a week (anything!) and put it somewhere (anywhere!) with a pricetag attached. It could be etsy (a cool all-things-handmade website), ebay, a coffee shop, an amateur art walk, a website, a boutique store, a booth at an arts and crafts fair. Whatever it is, it just must be done.
So, I've decided to make WHATEVER I WANT every week. And I'm hopinghoping that one day, as I brush through this glorious process, that I'll zero in on a particular artsy thing (i love so much of it--photography, painting, book-making, printmaking). And I'm hopinghopinghoping that I'll be good enough that people will want to purchase my color and shape creations.
My secret little dream is that one day I'll man my very own cutesy little booth at an art fair (hopefully with a family member or friend ;-)!). I'll sit on a lawn chair under a straw hat. I'll smile at passerbys who comb through my artsy goods as they ooh and aah. I'm barefoot, drinking iced green tea in the sunshine. I'll hand out colorful business cards to my new patrons and friends, telling them, "Look for my booth at the neighborhood farmer's market too!"
I'm thrilled because I love this kind of stuff. I love art. I love creation. I love color, shapes, lines, shadows, paper, paint. But my track record is sporadic. I finished some classes in college; I even briefly named Art my major. That is, until I found out my Creative Writing would cycle me out of college faster. While I tried to combine my two fave loves into one "interdisciplinary" major, the administrative gods wouldn't have it. And so I abandoned my charcoal sticks and camera lenses in the back of my closet.
Over the years, I've dragged out the glue and paint tubes, the canvas and decorative papers. And sure, I've blasted Cat Stevens from the laptop and made a mess out of the kitchen table more than once. Mostly for "presents from the heart" OR when I felt particularly lacking of soul--art proves the quickest way back to myself. I even went through a semi-serious stint of bookbinding and making, where I crafted some supercute journals and accordian books.
But what I've never been is consistent. AND I've never put anything out there. To sell. And I've ALWAYS wanted to. I know this because I'm insanely jealous of anybody else who does. And because when I see indie art on a coffee shop wall, I think to myself 'O why can't I do that?!' I may not be Picasso, but I think I got some talent (and you know my mom thinks so too). And most of all, I simply love the process. Isn't that enough?
My inner Naysayer says, "You need a Career darcy, not a hobby." or "What's the point of crafting pretty little trinkets? If it's not going to make you rich, it's a waste of time. Get a job loser."
Luckily, I already tried all of Naysayer's dubious instructions. And considering the whole "get a career" thing grew progressively lamer and lamer, I simply gave up on the whole darn thing! Now I can do whatever the f*%$ I want. As Janis says, "Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose..."
The concrete goal for my 'year of change' is to make one arty thing a week (anything!) and put it somewhere (anywhere!) with a pricetag attached. It could be etsy (a cool all-things-handmade website), ebay, a coffee shop, an amateur art walk, a website, a boutique store, a booth at an arts and crafts fair. Whatever it is, it just must be done.
So, I've decided to make WHATEVER I WANT every week. And I'm hopinghoping that one day, as I brush through this glorious process, that I'll zero in on a particular artsy thing (i love so much of it--photography, painting, book-making, printmaking). And I'm hopinghopinghoping that I'll be good enough that people will want to purchase my color and shape creations.
My secret little dream is that one day I'll man my very own cutesy little booth at an art fair (hopefully with a family member or friend ;-)!). I'll sit on a lawn chair under a straw hat. I'll smile at passerbys who comb through my artsy goods as they ooh and aah. I'm barefoot, drinking iced green tea in the sunshine. I'll hand out colorful business cards to my new patrons and friends, telling them, "Look for my booth at the neighborhood farmer's market too!"
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Day 31 - Politik
I apologize in advance to my dyed-in-the-wool Republican readers and friends. But knowing me, you knew this would happen. So seriously, just stop reading right here. I'm going to speak freely. You might not like it. And p.s. I still love you, I just don't love what you do.
Sooo, I thought when I moved to California I'd be free from these pointless "discussions" with conservatives. You see, I'm from North Dakota, a state that runs pure blood red year after election year. I've heard earfuls of thinly-veiled racist twang from the good ol' boys who like to hunt and fish; the ones that damn sure don't want any free-lovin' lazy liberals to get their hands on their hard-earned tax dollars. No sirree. And stay away from their guns or they'll shoot ya.
Then I moved to Arizona, where a whole nother brand of Republicans paints the desert red. They're the mock intellectual religious zealots--the Mormons, Evangelicals, Jehovah's. They view their ballot not as a choice between two candidates, but rather as a decision between God and eternal damnation. These mostly college-educated suburbanites LOVE to patiently have "discussions" with you with their completely unresearched information that was hand-fed to them straight out of the pastor's mouth.
This conversation is a complete and utter waste of time (trust me, I've had it more times than I can count). They've got eternal life on their side remember? They surely won't listen to your devilish Democrat ways (or your facts for that matter), I mean seriously, their pastor warned them about you.
And I'm not saying I have anything against their religious choices. In fact, most of them are better because of it. And some are just downright the loveliest people I've ever met. But I just don't see why Religious and Republican are so intertwined. It's antithetical.
Anyway, so I finally live in a blue state through and through--my first time EVER living in a Democrat state--and here I am, today, having another one of this circular conversations. Ugh.
And let's be clear: I am not anti "Republicans," per se. That's just semantics. I don't care what you call it. The bottom line for me is: I really just do not understand, for the life of me, no matter how many times I try to think it through, given the overwhelming concrete evidence--I don't get why anyone would vote for George W. Bush (especially the second time) and/or for the McCain-Palin ticket last year.
I just have to believe that you don't read the news. Or you confuse facts with opinions. Most of all, I believe you have a willful aversion to the truth.
So in either cases, my point is, I don't want to "play nice" and try to understand where you're coming from. I've tried and tried and tried, and I can't for the life of me wrap my head around that type of belief system. It's like smashing my head into a brick wall. Over and over again.
It just leaves me flabbergasted and sad. So after this discussion today, I've decided to try to never go there again with my red friends and colleagues. Not in North Dakota, or Arizona, and now California.
They're obviously dead-set against enlightenment ;-). And that's their problem.
Sooo, I thought when I moved to California I'd be free from these pointless "discussions" with conservatives. You see, I'm from North Dakota, a state that runs pure blood red year after election year. I've heard earfuls of thinly-veiled racist twang from the good ol' boys who like to hunt and fish; the ones that damn sure don't want any free-lovin' lazy liberals to get their hands on their hard-earned tax dollars. No sirree. And stay away from their guns or they'll shoot ya.
Then I moved to Arizona, where a whole nother brand of Republicans paints the desert red. They're the mock intellectual religious zealots--the Mormons, Evangelicals, Jehovah's. They view their ballot not as a choice between two candidates, but rather as a decision between God and eternal damnation. These mostly college-educated suburbanites LOVE to patiently have "discussions" with you with their completely unresearched information that was hand-fed to them straight out of the pastor's mouth.
This conversation is a complete and utter waste of time (trust me, I've had it more times than I can count). They've got eternal life on their side remember? They surely won't listen to your devilish Democrat ways (or your facts for that matter), I mean seriously, their pastor warned them about you.
And I'm not saying I have anything against their religious choices. In fact, most of them are better because of it. And some are just downright the loveliest people I've ever met. But I just don't see why Religious and Republican are so intertwined. It's antithetical.
Anyway, so I finally live in a blue state through and through--my first time EVER living in a Democrat state--and here I am, today, having another one of this circular conversations. Ugh.
And let's be clear: I am not anti "Republicans," per se. That's just semantics. I don't care what you call it. The bottom line for me is: I really just do not understand, for the life of me, no matter how many times I try to think it through, given the overwhelming concrete evidence--I don't get why anyone would vote for George W. Bush (especially the second time) and/or for the McCain-Palin ticket last year.
I just have to believe that you don't read the news. Or you confuse facts with opinions. Most of all, I believe you have a willful aversion to the truth.
So in either cases, my point is, I don't want to "play nice" and try to understand where you're coming from. I've tried and tried and tried, and I can't for the life of me wrap my head around that type of belief system. It's like smashing my head into a brick wall. Over and over again.
It just leaves me flabbergasted and sad. So after this discussion today, I've decided to try to never go there again with my red friends and colleagues. Not in North Dakota, or Arizona, and now California.
They're obviously dead-set against enlightenment ;-). And that's their problem.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Day 30 - Still Life in Words
Today marks the one-month anniversary of posting! Fittingly, I lack any real thoughtful thoughts this evening, so I've decided to woo you with small snippets in Real Time....a mini still-life of My Still Life...
...and ACTION.
The cats zip by, leaving black tracers in the hallway.
The big one watches the small one speed back and forth
chasing nothing.
It's a game of cat and mouse between cat and cat.
I type and sip my wine.
I love them and their silentloud company.
In the beige beige beige living room
I feel California breezes and hear California cars...
The coolness is noted.
Dave is sleeping and I want to go to him but
this is my time, untired, and getting tipsy
for the first time in weeks
I miss my friends because
this is sad, and o, I miss them too.
The batteries in my camera
are dead and my bike
is broken. I need to buy things
so I can show you things
besides this oblong room
in word pictures. Am I getting it?
I wonder
and wander stage left.
Pour. Repeat.
Hearing a sound
I think, 'this is the cat's meow."
And CUT.
...and ACTION.
The cats zip by, leaving black tracers in the hallway.
The big one watches the small one speed back and forth
chasing nothing.
It's a game of cat and mouse between cat and cat.
I type and sip my wine.
I love them and their silentloud company.
In the beige beige beige living room
I feel California breezes and hear California cars...
The coolness is noted.
Dave is sleeping and I want to go to him but
this is my time, untired, and getting tipsy
for the first time in weeks
I miss my friends because
this is sad, and o, I miss them too.
The batteries in my camera
are dead and my bike
is broken. I need to buy things
so I can show you things
besides this oblong room
in word pictures. Am I getting it?
I wonder
and wander stage left.
Pour. Repeat.
Hearing a sound
I think, 'this is the cat's meow."
And CUT.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Day 29 - Marriage, Four Thoughtlings
1) Marriage is weird. I'm a wife now you know. It's like a whole new identity, made very real by an actual name change.
2) Marriage provides your life with answers. And in many many ways, that's the best part. You've made a decision. You're sticking to it. I mean, I had a big fokkin' party right? I must be serious...
3) Marriage changes the psychology just a bit. Now, when your beloved irks you one day, instead of thinking 'psh I can leave if I want to!'; instead, you think 'Omg, I signed on for this FOREVER?!' (Of course, Dave and I are so madly in love that we, heavens no, never ever have those thoughts, golly gee no...)
4) The commitment of marriage is either really romantic or tragic. And you never really know which one it is until its end. You either stay happily-ever-after until death (in this case it's romantic) or you divorce (there's the tragic one). Unless, of course, you and your hubby die in a plane wreck together and they find your charred bodies intertwined together holding hands, in which case, that's tragic AND romantic. But I digress...
2) Marriage provides your life with answers. And in many many ways, that's the best part. You've made a decision. You're sticking to it. I mean, I had a big fokkin' party right? I must be serious...
3) Marriage changes the psychology just a bit. Now, when your beloved irks you one day, instead of thinking 'psh I can leave if I want to!'; instead, you think 'Omg, I signed on for this FOREVER?!' (Of course, Dave and I are so madly in love that we, heavens no, never ever have those thoughts, golly gee no...)
4) The commitment of marriage is either really romantic or tragic. And you never really know which one it is until its end. You either stay happily-ever-after until death (in this case it's romantic) or you divorce (there's the tragic one). Unless, of course, you and your hubby die in a plane wreck together and they find your charred bodies intertwined together holding hands, in which case, that's tragic AND romantic. But I digress...
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Day 28 - Volunteering: It Doesn't Pay
Does anyone else volunteer? What are your interests/causes/cares? Any ideas or orgs for me to check out? I'm feeling a little stumped...
Back in Arizona, I went to several "orientations" and even volunteered a few times. In each case, the organization itself would disappoint or I became turned off by the actual work. So what did I do? O, my fave--I quit.
But now I want to change remember? Act differently to achieve different results. As my father would say, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
This goal is a must. Why you ask? Because For Gawd's Sake I'm Spoiled Rotten in life. I'm not sick or poor, beaten, abandoned or malformed. I should be able to stop the darcydarcydarcy noise for a bit and spare a few hours a week! There's people out there who need people.
But here's my thing...I've been looking and I can't really decide on anything. I want three things outta all this: 1) that it's something I care about 2) directly impactful and 3) dare I say, fun.
And there it is. I feel bad about myself that I can't find anything yet. When I peruse the volunteer "opportunities," shouldn't I be bursting with give-edness? Am I as cold as ice?
Back in Arizona, I went to several "orientations" and even volunteered a few times. In each case, the organization itself would disappoint or I became turned off by the actual work. So what did I do? O, my fave--I quit.
But now I want to change remember? Act differently to achieve different results. As my father would say, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
This goal is a must. Why you ask? Because For Gawd's Sake I'm Spoiled Rotten in life. I'm not sick or poor, beaten, abandoned or malformed. I should be able to stop the darcydarcydarcy noise for a bit and spare a few hours a week! There's people out there who need people.
But here's my thing...I've been looking and I can't really decide on anything. I want three things outta all this: 1) that it's something I care about 2) directly impactful and 3) dare I say, fun.
And there it is. I feel bad about myself that I can't find anything yet. When I peruse the volunteer "opportunities," shouldn't I be bursting with give-edness? Am I as cold as ice?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Day 27 - Cardioke
Yup, you read it right. And I didn't even make that up. Remember Tae Bo? Billy Blanks with his lispy counting? I do. In fact, my sis and I ripped it up, throwing rocking air punches at the T.V. in our cramped living room, years ago to Blank's revolutionary workout.
And no, it's not what you think. Billy Blanks didn't come up with a new workout style AGAIN. But his spawn, Billy Blanks Jr., did! And me and little baby Billy on the T.V. just danced up a storm (like hands-in-the-air pump-up-the-jam grooved) in my guest bedroom. O, and sang. At that same time. Cause that's the thing about Cardioke--you dance AND sing--at the same time. Genius...
So yeah. ExerciseTV OnDemand changed my life. And my neighbor's lives. And maybe even my cats (they might have been a little scared, or is it 'scarred'?).
Working nights this week, so regular yoga classes are out of reach. So it's me and the T.V. I gotta get after that goal this week. Bring it down. And sing out-of-tune to it.
And no, it's not what you think. Billy Blanks didn't come up with a new workout style AGAIN. But his spawn, Billy Blanks Jr., did! And me and little baby Billy on the T.V. just danced up a storm (like hands-in-the-air pump-up-the-jam grooved) in my guest bedroom. O, and sang. At that same time. Cause that's the thing about Cardioke--you dance AND sing--at the same time. Genius...
So yeah. ExerciseTV OnDemand changed my life. And my neighbor's lives. And maybe even my cats (they might have been a little scared, or is it 'scarred'?).
Working nights this week, so regular yoga classes are out of reach. So it's me and the T.V. I gotta get after that goal this week. Bring it down. And sing out-of-tune to it.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Day 26 - Confessions: It's a Learning Curve
I failed last week. That's right. F.a.i.l.e.d. I missed my exercise goal for the first time (by two!), and like a domino, I ate whatever the last two days of the week. I'm not tore up about it. I'm not going to cry about it. Geeezzzz....
Why's that? Because I learned, that's why! (I read in a book somewhere that it's best to see failure as a chance to do better next time and that perfection was kind of a disease and since this all works conveniently well with my experiential experience right now I'm going to go ahead and run with it...).
First, I need to force consistency with my time i.e. getting up at the same time every day (not my strong suit...sleeping till noon is not uncommon). Secondly, need more food readily available. Solution: purchase more at farmer's market this week. Thirdly, exercise-wise: plan ahead for oddities like vacays and holidays...
O.k. All fessed up.
pause
breathe
begin again...
Sometimes I love Dave so much I want to eat my arm. Like the other day in the grocery store, he was intently searching for something in the deli aisle. Suddenly he murmured, "I'm looking for summer sausage...I can't find one I want..."
Then he turned to me with his eyes wide, he pointed into the freezer at the labels and said so seriously, "I want it to be just all-beef. Why are all of them beef AND turkey? WHY would I even want a combo meat? What's wrong with just one or the other?!"
Why's that? Because I learned, that's why! (I read in a book somewhere that it's best to see failure as a chance to do better next time and that perfection was kind of a disease and since this all works conveniently well with my experiential experience right now I'm going to go ahead and run with it...).
First, I need to force consistency with my time i.e. getting up at the same time every day (not my strong suit...sleeping till noon is not uncommon). Secondly, need more food readily available. Solution: purchase more at farmer's market this week. Thirdly, exercise-wise: plan ahead for oddities like vacays and holidays...
O.k. All fessed up.
pause
breathe
begin again...
Sometimes I love Dave so much I want to eat my arm. Like the other day in the grocery store, he was intently searching for something in the deli aisle. Suddenly he murmured, "I'm looking for summer sausage...I can't find one I want..."
Then he turned to me with his eyes wide, he pointed into the freezer at the labels and said so seriously, "I want it to be just all-beef. Why are all of them beef AND turkey? WHY would I even want a combo meat? What's wrong with just one or the other?!"
He was so genuinely flabbergasted. I don't know, but the look of conviction on his face as he stood there looking at me (he really wanted an answer), it just made me giggle and warm to the core. I agreed and love-him-so for being so upset about it. I mean, he IS right for pete's sake.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Day 25 - In Reverie
Yesterday was all red, white, and blue. Independence Day--the day of the year celebrating CHANGE and FREEDOM from the past. It's head-first into a brand new future. Blinded by its brightness. I too crave this, eager to live as my new self, I write here, documenting the beginnings and the ends of things (although I fell a little short this week, I'll explain that tomorrow...for today? A reverie).
Parts of my lovely Phoenix family invited us to their sailing boat soiree. The dock creaked under our feet as we leaped into the shiny white. We slid out of the harbor, and headed with purpose to the bay, slowly rocking over the deep blue mounds of the sea. The conversations moved just as naturally, open-air voices in the clear space.
Parts of my lovely Phoenix family invited us to their sailing boat soiree. The dock creaked under our feet as we leaped into the shiny white. We slid out of the harbor, and headed with purpose to the bay, slowly rocking over the deep blue mounds of the sea. The conversations moved just as naturally, open-air voices in the clear space.
As our boat anchors, we barbecue, swig from our beers, and share chips from a crock pot. It's all-American as Jim Croce croons from a speaker, misting the ocean air with "She's living in L.A., with my best old ex-friend Ray..." Boats and yachts and mini-cruise ships slide by as we ooh and aah at their lights, cracking jokes about P. Diddy.
As night ignites the charcoal blue ocean with twinkle-light reflections of the shoreline, I feel safe and happy. I enjoy the company and the quaint closeness of our rocking vessel. The scenery awes me; and I think I live here. God bless it.
As the fireworks burst and explode like colorful brazen bombs over San Diego Bay, I think for a minute about my brother. Last year, we sat mesmerized on a cool grassy hill in a Minnesota park, gazing upward at a show similar to this one. My memories weave me in and out of the moment. "Isn't that the way they say it goes..."
We gathered last year with our family at my sister's house. Our amateur fireworks pranced and fizzled on the front driveway, and as drunk and happy as we were, we danced around the lawn like fireflies. The thick humidity (or was it the booze) fueling our rising voices. It's a lump in my throat when my brother texts, "@ stacys 4th party. We miss u out here." A sad reminder of how far away I am.
"But let's forget all that..."
I'm here and I'm happy. And I'm more than grateful to see loved ones out here in this misty city--my new home. When we dock back in the harbor, we learn that a baby boy was born during our seaward celebrations--the newest family member. I like to imagine that little Jack saw the world for the first time at the exact same moment we sat in a line hugging our knees--awe-struck and silent--as the bursting finale lit up the night sky. Brilliant and sparkling and luminous, our faces had no words.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Day 24 - Independently Owned and Operated
Happy 4th of July!
1) LOVE: I'm actually celebrating my first 4th of July as a NOT-independent woman. And I couldn't be happier. I spent years being scared witless of marriage and its "chains". I feel blessed to say that marriage, or yet, my major commitment to my man, has made me a better person. As opposed to what I originally thought, which was: If I got married, I would soon wither and die.
2) LIFE: I am, however, freed from my cigarette addiction. Well almost. I don't smoke and haven't for 3 weeks. I'll probably be an addict forever. One is not an option for me. Social smokers: I despise you.
3) CAREER: I am also freed from the notion that this matters. Well, it does and it doesn't. And you know exactly what I mean.
Be safe. Live free. Eat Strawberries.
1) LOVE: I'm actually celebrating my first 4th of July as a NOT-independent woman. And I couldn't be happier. I spent years being scared witless of marriage and its "chains". I feel blessed to say that marriage, or yet, my major commitment to my man, has made me a better person. As opposed to what I originally thought, which was: If I got married, I would soon wither and die.
2) LIFE: I am, however, freed from my cigarette addiction. Well almost. I don't smoke and haven't for 3 weeks. I'll probably be an addict forever. One is not an option for me. Social smokers: I despise you.
3) CAREER: I am also freed from the notion that this matters. Well, it does and it doesn't. And you know exactly what I mean.
Be safe. Live free. Eat Strawberries.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Day 23 - So You Think You Can Write
My book blows. I'm on page 13, and I'm getting to that stage where I just want to chuck it out with window! Arg. This happens every single time. Who wants to read this stuff?
A swirling swarm of ideas start to clutter my brain. As I type a page, I think of other themes and plots. Ones that are far superior to my current one. And it hinders me. Makes me want to spit on my screen.
But I know better now. I've read that on your first book, you just gotta plow through, and get to the other side. Don't worry about editing or outlining. Just go. Once you get the the end you can sculpt it. Don't let the size overwhelm you. Of course there's an equal number of advice sites advising just the opposite. But hey. I just pick and choose what rings right.
So what I normally do, is start over. I leave my 15 pages in an abandoned virtual folder somewhere. I take a different idea, and write away. UNTIL I get to about the same place, then I abandon yet again. Rinse, repeat.
This time. This year. It's going to be different. Sucks or no sucks, I'm going after the epilogue.
But I'm just saying, I hate it. I hate the whole thing.
A swirling swarm of ideas start to clutter my brain. As I type a page, I think of other themes and plots. Ones that are far superior to my current one. And it hinders me. Makes me want to spit on my screen.
But I know better now. I've read that on your first book, you just gotta plow through, and get to the other side. Don't worry about editing or outlining. Just go. Once you get the the end you can sculpt it. Don't let the size overwhelm you. Of course there's an equal number of advice sites advising just the opposite. But hey. I just pick and choose what rings right.
So what I normally do, is start over. I leave my 15 pages in an abandoned virtual folder somewhere. I take a different idea, and write away. UNTIL I get to about the same place, then I abandon yet again. Rinse, repeat.
This time. This year. It's going to be different. Sucks or no sucks, I'm going after the epilogue.
But I'm just saying, I hate it. I hate the whole thing.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Day 22 - City in the Wire
I surfed the blogosphere for a long while today; I just kinda of swam from one brightly lit site to the other. The words ran together, and the voices were sometimes similar, sometimes distinct. What are we all doing here, I thought.
Our voices crescendo together in this busy makeshift city. We chatter and describe. We share little bitty pieces of our lives, or we own up to what pieces we have left after being broken. 'I own this square space in the world's imagination,' we say. And we prove it by staking domains.
The world has changed. A whole new landscape is defined by our modems. We communicate unfathomably fast and furious; each voice is a unique sound in the overall opera of life. And we each have access to a microphone.
It's beautiful and overwhelming. Loud and truthful (even in its untruths).
As for what it all means, I (we) don't pretend to understand.
BUT today I searched for voices that moved me; I'm on the lookout for virtual friends. If anyone knows of any blog I might revel in, please link me. I'm o.k. with this solicitation.
All in all. I know. I need to leave words here. For others to gather and perhaps remember. Perhaps to forget. For now, I'm write here.
...And she runs head-long into the heaving crowd.
Our voices crescendo together in this busy makeshift city. We chatter and describe. We share little bitty pieces of our lives, or we own up to what pieces we have left after being broken. 'I own this square space in the world's imagination,' we say. And we prove it by staking domains.
The world has changed. A whole new landscape is defined by our modems. We communicate unfathomably fast and furious; each voice is a unique sound in the overall opera of life. And we each have access to a microphone.
It's beautiful and overwhelming. Loud and truthful (even in its untruths).
As for what it all means, I (we) don't pretend to understand.
BUT today I searched for voices that moved me; I'm on the lookout for virtual friends. If anyone knows of any blog I might revel in, please link me. I'm o.k. with this solicitation.
All in all. I know. I need to leave words here. For others to gather and perhaps remember. Perhaps to forget. For now, I'm write here.
...And she runs head-long into the heaving crowd.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Day 21 - Arrested Development
These first few weeks of work, I am beginning to notice that on the days I work I find it more difficult to exercise. Therefore, if I work too many days or longer hours, I am in danger of missing my goal. The past me (unaccountable to this bloggy blog), would just chalk it up to life. Let it go. And hope to exercise "someday."
But this damn blog is my arch nemesis. So, today, I needed a solution or I woulda failed this week. Lo and behold, I found ExerciseTV! I ordered a free On Demand workout (hip hop dancing!) and rocked out J.Lo-like (probably not so much) in our entertainment room before work. Hey-O!
Speaking of this freekin' blog, I freaked out yesterday after posting yesterday's blog. I was panicking, 'gosh, if I'm happy, no one's gunna want to read this thing.' I don't want to be one of those annoying go-getters that makes everyone feel so bad about themselves that they would rather run over my face with their bike pedal than hang out with me.
AND, is happiness even interesting? To quote Tolstoy in his infamous book Anna Karenina, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
I mean, isn't that the gravitational pull of dysfunction...that we are all unique in our pain? Without it, do we join the boring masses with our Dr. Phil quotes and lush tended gardens?
If I snuff out my ill habits and "reach goals" and such, what about my snarkiness? The sarcastic "who gives a good goddamn?" Isn't there joy in that too? Acceptance? A certain nihilism that comforts? Will it all be lost? Who are we without our faults? Our tender heart-breaking vulnerabilities? Isn't that part of why our loved ones love us? Taking pride that they love us in spite of us?
And so, a question is posed...not changing of course my course here, but still...still...just tell me...do you know what I mean? Do we all just want the juicy f***'d up bits of people?
But this damn blog is my arch nemesis. So, today, I needed a solution or I woulda failed this week. Lo and behold, I found ExerciseTV! I ordered a free On Demand workout (hip hop dancing!) and rocked out J.Lo-like (probably not so much) in our entertainment room before work. Hey-O!
Speaking of this freekin' blog, I freaked out yesterday after posting yesterday's blog. I was panicking, 'gosh, if I'm happy, no one's gunna want to read this thing.' I don't want to be one of those annoying go-getters that makes everyone feel so bad about themselves that they would rather run over my face with their bike pedal than hang out with me.
AND, is happiness even interesting? To quote Tolstoy in his infamous book Anna Karenina, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
I mean, isn't that the gravitational pull of dysfunction...that we are all unique in our pain? Without it, do we join the boring masses with our Dr. Phil quotes and lush tended gardens?
If I snuff out my ill habits and "reach goals" and such, what about my snarkiness? The sarcastic "who gives a good goddamn?" Isn't there joy in that too? Acceptance? A certain nihilism that comforts? Will it all be lost? Who are we without our faults? Our tender heart-breaking vulnerabilities? Isn't that part of why our loved ones love us? Taking pride that they love us in spite of us?
And so, a question is posed...not changing of course my course here, but still...still...just tell me...do you know what I mean? Do we all just want the juicy f***'d up bits of people?
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