I passed up a beautiful sunny afternoon wandering with my camera in Nelson for this. Instead I'm transistioning from one soft surface to another, listening to my butterball cat chatter like a 5-yr old in a very annoying voice. I'm managed to get from bed to the dining table to the sofa so far today. In my current world that's a fair accomplishment.Still trying to convince my insides they don't hate me and that yesterday's epidsode was entirely unnecessary, even if they did have some quarrel with me.
I was reading a blog recommended by another blog I'm quai-following. The writer has made it a point not to reveal anything about herself: name, location, etc. It left me wondering, aside from withholding "Hi, my name is ______ and I live in _________", how does one not reveal anything about themselves while blogging? Some of the posts I've read are more telling and personal than if we'd sat down together for coffee and talked for two hours.
Oh boy. The umpa-loompa music is blaring again. That's almost enough to make me sick again. It's just too fecking happy and I'm exhausted. Another nap may be in order...
Farm Girl
I'm a hippie in training I guess, because this woman has me beat by about a mile. Her blog makes me smile and gives me a great goal to shoot for as part of the bigger dream (which I'm keeping under wraps on principle). She's been added to my "Inspirations" list, probably without her knowledge, so please check her out of you get a minute.
The Dilemma of the Moment
I've stalled off posting the last two days due to an absolutely shitty attitude. I didn't think it was necessary to splash all over you good people.
Today, however, leaves me in an ironic position: trapped somewhere between wanting to champion the fat girls and having a small Asian woman assume I'm pregnant. I'm not, by the way. Let me explain.
Last night we watched the movie The Invention of Lying, which turned out much better than I thought, considering I was still in that shitty mood when we started. It's based in a world where everyone tells the absolute truth (brutal or not), not because they have morals or anything but because they physically can't comprehend saying something that isn't true. They don't even have use of the word 'true' or 'lie'. The point being that if someone thinks you're a fat loser, they tell you to your face without a second thought. And much of the dating interaction involves determining whether or not someone's genetics are good enough for you: i.e. pretty enough, making enough money, etc. The nerds end up with the nerds, the fat people with other fat people, and the hot attractive people - a club I've never been in due to my dress size - end up with other hot attractive people based solely on their hottness. Kinda like Hollywood. And they only judge based on appearance: overweight = loser, period. It all ended well, the fat man got the hot girl, and the whole thing left me somewhat dumbfounded. I was shocked at some of the brutal comments, which was a large part of the humor, but at the same time completely true out here in the real world. We all do that: judge people and assume that anyone overweight is lesser somehow. I felt like I needed to be all I could be at my size, and for those of you who don't know me, that size ain't 6.
So I go to work today, like any other day, and right before my shift ends this very small Asian woman comes running in, grabs a hand basket for herself and her husband, and starts buying half the store. At the end of the whole thing, she takes all the bags from me and won't let me carry a thing, saying something in very broken English about 'pregnant'. She thinks I'm pregnant. Now any woman will tell you there's nothing worse in the world than someone assuming you're pregnant when you're not. For me, this is the second time. The first time I was gearing up for my senior prom and I responded with hurt indignation and called the guy a few nasty names, as most would. This time I started laughing. I joked that if she wants to spend over $1100 with me, she can call me pregnant all day. I'm sure however that its messing with me on some deeper level; I just haven't acknowledged how deep.
Now here I am, debating: do I go out and be a damn, happy fat girl or get my ample buns in the gym so no one mistakes me for pregnant ever again?
Choices, choices.
Today, however, leaves me in an ironic position: trapped somewhere between wanting to champion the fat girls and having a small Asian woman assume I'm pregnant. I'm not, by the way. Let me explain.
Last night we watched the movie The Invention of Lying, which turned out much better than I thought, considering I was still in that shitty mood when we started. It's based in a world where everyone tells the absolute truth (brutal or not), not because they have morals or anything but because they physically can't comprehend saying something that isn't true. They don't even have use of the word 'true' or 'lie'. The point being that if someone thinks you're a fat loser, they tell you to your face without a second thought. And much of the dating interaction involves determining whether or not someone's genetics are good enough for you: i.e. pretty enough, making enough money, etc. The nerds end up with the nerds, the fat people with other fat people, and the hot attractive people - a club I've never been in due to my dress size - end up with other hot attractive people based solely on their hottness. Kinda like Hollywood. And they only judge based on appearance: overweight = loser, period. It all ended well, the fat man got the hot girl, and the whole thing left me somewhat dumbfounded. I was shocked at some of the brutal comments, which was a large part of the humor, but at the same time completely true out here in the real world. We all do that: judge people and assume that anyone overweight is lesser somehow. I felt like I needed to be all I could be at my size, and for those of you who don't know me, that size ain't 6.
So I go to work today, like any other day, and right before my shift ends this very small Asian woman comes running in, grabs a hand basket for herself and her husband, and starts buying half the store. At the end of the whole thing, she takes all the bags from me and won't let me carry a thing, saying something in very broken English about 'pregnant'. She thinks I'm pregnant. Now any woman will tell you there's nothing worse in the world than someone assuming you're pregnant when you're not. For me, this is the second time. The first time I was gearing up for my senior prom and I responded with hurt indignation and called the guy a few nasty names, as most would. This time I started laughing. I joked that if she wants to spend over $1100 with me, she can call me pregnant all day. I'm sure however that its messing with me on some deeper level; I just haven't acknowledged how deep.
Now here I am, debating: do I go out and be a damn, happy fat girl or get my ample buns in the gym so no one mistakes me for pregnant ever again?
Choices, choices.
A light in the dark
I've just been reading a new blog I'm considering following. It's not particularly happy: the mental wanderings of a woman with depression, dealing with work stress, dirty laundry, and finding the will to live through morning tea and oatmeal. It makes me, with my comparatively small parental issues, seem grounded and normal when I've known for years that I'm not. We all do what we must, and since I've conquered a small part of my many issues, I thought maybe I couldn help...rather ironic. My support group mantra was "get over it". It was harsh and insensitive and brutal to hear and I hated it...and exactly what I needed, repeated for 5 years before I had the courage to dig inside myself and let it go. I don't claim to be "cured", if there is such a thing, but I can talk about my folks now without bitterness. It is what it is; the only difference is I can accept it now and move forward. I hope everyone can find their way out their own darkness.
Let's be Honest
I was chastised just now. A reward for my whining that there’s no time: for the gym or my blog or guesting on someone else’s blog, which sounds great before the ramifications hit me that I need something to say, something dazzling and intellectual to impress an audience other than my own and that I haven’t been able to produce that for my own blog of late. It’s a bit daunting. All these things I say I want to do, that I’ve said for years I want to do, but I don’t. It leaves me feeling raw. I have this grimace on my face when I think about it and a sour taste in my mouth and that sickening feeling inside when inescapable truth arrives. If I lead a dull existence…that must be what I wanted. Action requires effort. Effort requires desire. And without desire…well there you are – there I am, sitting on this horrible lumpy couch, guilting about my tightening slacks and the huge brownie in my hand, wondering as I have since I was 13 or so, while attempting to become my own person in a household where it was discouraged if done outside the accepted lines, wondering why haven’t I done [fill in the blank as appropriate] yet? I’ve come to hate the word ‘why’ almost as much as ‘should’.
Despite that and the rawness which I’m forced to face, it’s a valid question. Truthfully, it’s so much more than a valid question; it’s the only question of my life, possibly everyone’s life. The answers are always excuses, cop-outs, or generalized bullshit to shield myself from the truth, which may be that I’m lazier than I realized. It may also be that I don’t want what I want. Maybe I don’t want to be svelte and healthy nearly as much as I claim – hello, more than 10 years of saying I’m going to diet, gym, sweat, whatever is necessary until I get there and yet here I am, probably 10 lbs heavier than I was 4 months ago and farther still from my long-standing goal. I’ve been saying I wanted to resume piano since I left college, also more than 10 years ago, and yet there’s no piano in this house. My chest aches when I hear those keys; the most appealing and comforting sound to my particular ear and inner whatever-you-call-it, yet I don’t play. And maybe too, it’s a comfort thing. I already know…how to behave or respond or judge in relation to my not-so-happy little rut.
No matter how I look at it, how many ways I turn it, how I try to pretend and sugar-coat my own hypocrisy, the truth is: I have no excuse. I sleep too much. I eat too much. I eat junk when the better option is just as available. I let other people’s needs outweigh my own. I don’t try, and when I do, it’s not hard enough. Where is the zest? Where is the spice? Where is that damnable person who told me I had too many big dreams, that I couldn’t have them all, and that I’d have to chose and just let the rest go, so I can punch him right in the face?
*Deep breath*
I have no excuse. You don’t either. Go chase your dreams; I’ll be out there with you. I don’t know about you, but I can’t face myself knowing that I had so many opportunities for a novel-worthy, freaking amazing, always-with-a-great-story-to-tell life and did nothing about it. Can you??
Despite that and the rawness which I’m forced to face, it’s a valid question. Truthfully, it’s so much more than a valid question; it’s the only question of my life, possibly everyone’s life. The answers are always excuses, cop-outs, or generalized bullshit to shield myself from the truth, which may be that I’m lazier than I realized. It may also be that I don’t want what I want. Maybe I don’t want to be svelte and healthy nearly as much as I claim – hello, more than 10 years of saying I’m going to diet, gym, sweat, whatever is necessary until I get there and yet here I am, probably 10 lbs heavier than I was 4 months ago and farther still from my long-standing goal. I’ve been saying I wanted to resume piano since I left college, also more than 10 years ago, and yet there’s no piano in this house. My chest aches when I hear those keys; the most appealing and comforting sound to my particular ear and inner whatever-you-call-it, yet I don’t play. And maybe too, it’s a comfort thing. I already know…how to behave or respond or judge in relation to my not-so-happy little rut.
No matter how I look at it, how many ways I turn it, how I try to pretend and sugar-coat my own hypocrisy, the truth is: I have no excuse. I sleep too much. I eat too much. I eat junk when the better option is just as available. I let other people’s needs outweigh my own. I don’t try, and when I do, it’s not hard enough. Where is the zest? Where is the spice? Where is that damnable person who told me I had too many big dreams, that I couldn’t have them all, and that I’d have to chose and just let the rest go, so I can punch him right in the face?
*Deep breath*
I have no excuse. You don’t either. Go chase your dreams; I’ll be out there with you. I don’t know about you, but I can’t face myself knowing that I had so many opportunities for a novel-worthy, freaking amazing, always-with-a-great-story-to-tell life and did nothing about it. Can you??
I am approaching drunk. I think.
Seems like a good time to advice everyone else on the finer points of life which I'm sure you're all missing.
First: Soup is good. I could live on soup and breadsticks very happily for the rest of my life. I am reminded of this every time I eat at Olive Garden.
Second: Mashed potatoes are better with garlic, too much butter, and gravy of just about any sort.
Third: You should have more sex. Well-sexed people are happy, mellow, slow to anger, easy to laugh, and more positive than their less-sexed neighbors - proably because no matter how bad things are there's always more sex coming soon.
Fourth: I haven't thought of a fourth yet.
Fifth: Good life lessons can be learned from reading everything about Sherlock Holmes. When I'm done with the book I'm sure you can request it from your local library.
Sixth: Terry Pratchet is awesome. The man created his own world, that rides on the back of four elephants that stand on a giant turtle that floats through space. Like I said, freaking awesome.
Seventh: Canadian whiskey is quite pleasing when accompanied by Coke and lime. I'll keep you posted as to whether headaches are a problem.
Eighth: The word eighth has too many 'h's.
Nineth: I've decided that the best way to grow eyebrows is to shave them off. Think about it - it'll make perfect sense.
Tenth: Feeling like Gumbi is not an entirely unpleasant feeling. Perhaps this is my unique reaction to alchol?
In closing, I would like to direct your fascinated attention to this video on making curls with paper bags.
First: Soup is good. I could live on soup and breadsticks very happily for the rest of my life. I am reminded of this every time I eat at Olive Garden.
Second: Mashed potatoes are better with garlic, too much butter, and gravy of just about any sort.
Third: You should have more sex. Well-sexed people are happy, mellow, slow to anger, easy to laugh, and more positive than their less-sexed neighbors - proably because no matter how bad things are there's always more sex coming soon.
Fourth: I haven't thought of a fourth yet.
Fifth: Good life lessons can be learned from reading everything about Sherlock Holmes. When I'm done with the book I'm sure you can request it from your local library.
Sixth: Terry Pratchet is awesome. The man created his own world, that rides on the back of four elephants that stand on a giant turtle that floats through space. Like I said, freaking awesome.
Seventh: Canadian whiskey is quite pleasing when accompanied by Coke and lime. I'll keep you posted as to whether headaches are a problem.
Eighth: The word eighth has too many 'h's.
Nineth: I've decided that the best way to grow eyebrows is to shave them off. Think about it - it'll make perfect sense.
Tenth: Feeling like Gumbi is not an entirely unpleasant feeling. Perhaps this is my unique reaction to alchol?
In closing, I would like to direct your fascinated attention to this video on making curls with paper bags.
No fun undone
So…at present I have the most energy I’ve had since probably…I was 10 years old. It comes on me in fits and spurts and this particular spurt is slightly inconvenient. It’s 10pm pacific time – I’m game to run a marathon right now. Unfortunately my couch-potato hubby is becoming annoyed by my incessant nagging that we should dance, drink, fornicate, do bad-ass cardio, run (on foot) to 7-Eleven, or otherwise burn insane amounts of juice so that I might be able to sleep tonight. So far he hasn’t jumped at any of my suggestions, for which I’m slightly put out. Usually I’m dragging major ass after a day of waiting on indecisive elderly ladies and want nothing more than to sit undisturbed for 10 minutes and slink off to bed. Tonight though, even after a day of being a man down and at least one exceptionally difficult, indecisive elderly lady (and her footman), I’m ready to take on a small army. It might have been the burrito, the fruitcake, or the other cake – I’m not sure. Anyway, the bad part of this whole thing – if nobody joins in or worse attempts to tone me down to a reasonable level of eccentricity…most of the fizz drains away in disappointment. I’m approaching that level at this moment and it feels somewhat like an opportunity wasted. I’ve been instructed by a higher power: leave no fun undone.
So I’m off to create a little madness on this otherwise uneventful evening. I hope you all do the same, because ultimately my favorite question and motto: Why not??
So I’m off to create a little madness on this otherwise uneventful evening. I hope you all do the same, because ultimately my favorite question and motto: Why not??
Food for thought
A few anecdodal lines that sum up the complex world of relationships...
There comes a point in your life where you realize:
Who matters,
Who never did,
Who won't anymore...
And who always will.
So, don't worry about people from your past,
There's a reason why they didn't make it to your future.
There comes a point in your life where you realize:
Who matters,
Who never did,
Who won't anymore...
And who always will.
So, don't worry about people from your past,
There's a reason why they didn't make it to your future.
Mental Meanderings on a Tough Day
Uncertainty pervades these days. It’s all new and shiny, this new year of unparalleled opportunities, and yet the undercurrent is the same: impending tragedy hovering in the wings. Standing at the precipice with toes gripping the edge, holding the breath and praying whatever looms doesn’t descend. We’re all there, in one way or another. Times are hard - ask anyone.
Yet…we smile; we laugh. We leave hard decisions for another day and pretend all is well. And for a little while, it is. We pretend some more. Too much is attached to so little and yet we know no different. Those with little are poor; those with much are rich. Even as I know the truth of it, I’m afraid. That hungry beast may cast its evil eye this way, ravenous, unstoppable, and unforgiving. Leaving us only with what is truly ours.
The day comes when the big decision will wait no longer, now not so big after all, almost simple. So simple it decides itself. Move through life as if it were scripted to the last act, pretend you have no control, and the fault lies elsewhere, anywhere.
Yet…there is choice. There is always choice. One option often too terrible to consider and ruled out off hand. It simplifies and agonizes. Consider any direction as a path, even a circuitous one, and move. Action on one’s own behalf changes perspective, which could change your world.
Smile. That could change your world too.
Yet…we smile; we laugh. We leave hard decisions for another day and pretend all is well. And for a little while, it is. We pretend some more. Too much is attached to so little and yet we know no different. Those with little are poor; those with much are rich. Even as I know the truth of it, I’m afraid. That hungry beast may cast its evil eye this way, ravenous, unstoppable, and unforgiving. Leaving us only with what is truly ours.
The day comes when the big decision will wait no longer, now not so big after all, almost simple. So simple it decides itself. Move through life as if it were scripted to the last act, pretend you have no control, and the fault lies elsewhere, anywhere.
Yet…there is choice. There is always choice. One option often too terrible to consider and ruled out off hand. It simplifies and agonizes. Consider any direction as a path, even a circuitous one, and move. Action on one’s own behalf changes perspective, which could change your world.
Smile. That could change your world too.
When Inspiration Strikes...
There’s something to be said for inspiration.
You stride through the world with even the winds at your command, or conversely you wander, taking leisurely strolls, stopping to smell flowers and enjoy sunsets… and yet, when inspiration grabs you, you realize in a flashing, humbling moment that you haven’t really been paying attention. Suddenly everything is alive with color and deeper meaning, like you've never seen it before.
It comes from surprising sources, always there but often where the eye does not see, and then – its thrust to the front where it won’t be ignored and takes your breath away.
I read two authors recently that by the shortest of paragraphs pulled my heart out where I had no choice but to see it. To gently force contemplation or longing is truly a gift, one which I have often failed to give my readers. Please take a moment to become acquainted with Meditations in an Emergency and Birdykins: Fly, Crash, Repeat. You won’t be disappointed.
You stride through the world with even the winds at your command, or conversely you wander, taking leisurely strolls, stopping to smell flowers and enjoy sunsets… and yet, when inspiration grabs you, you realize in a flashing, humbling moment that you haven’t really been paying attention. Suddenly everything is alive with color and deeper meaning, like you've never seen it before.
It comes from surprising sources, always there but often where the eye does not see, and then – its thrust to the front where it won’t be ignored and takes your breath away.
I read two authors recently that by the shortest of paragraphs pulled my heart out where I had no choice but to see it. To gently force contemplation or longing is truly a gift, one which I have often failed to give my readers. Please take a moment to become acquainted with Meditations in an Emergency and Birdykins: Fly, Crash, Repeat. You won’t be disappointed.
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