You can find my new blog here:
http://wickedwit.wordpress.com/
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Sunday, February 28, 2010
You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still Freud.
I've decided to do the unthinkable: Write two new blog posts within days of each other. Seriously. Don't choke on your cheerios.
I am sitting in the library at computer #9 with 19 minutes remaining on my session. It usually takes me longer than 19 minutes to figure out the title of my newest entry, let alone finish writing one. But I have discovered that if you wait it out, sometime within the last 5 minutes remaining the computer gives you another 15. I don't know how many times the computer will do this for me before it realizes that I'm not actually attempting to finish up anything - I'm just refusing to sign off of the damn computer. I won't go so far as to say that machines are stupid. A small part of me believes that machines are sentient beings and as a result of my directly insulting one, I am opening myself up to a bizarre keyboarding "accident" that may cause my fingerprints to burn off.
Of course, that's not a half-bad idea...
I've discovered something else today. Something unthinkable. Unimaginable for me. Makes me want to run home and crawl under the covers and pretend it never happened.
I think I might want to go back to school.
I fucking hate school. Hated it. Never liked it. Not one day in my lifetime have I ever enjoyed being in a classroom and being lectured to, having to read textbooks and complete homework, sit up straight and pay attention and not blow bubble gum bubbles and tap my pen too loud and stare at the good looking guy across the room. I have to pretend that some of these pathetic instructors have succeeded in making me believe they actually give a shit about what I'm learning, and didn't just sign up for the job to have off weekends and summers. That being qualified to teach a class means that they are more intelligent than me and can look down their noses at the "student", condescendingly quizzing me about trivial topics and refusing to hear my point of view.
I think I'm going to throw up on my borrowed copy of The Yage Letters.
Incidentally, I didn't think the JoCo Public library was so hip.
In another time and another mood I'll delve deeper into my bitterness and animosity towards formalized educational systems, and I promise to highlight both the best as well as the worst of pedagogues. I am merely attempting to be more diligent in updating my blog and writing down these heavy thoughts before my fucking brain explodes.
My passions are simple and I fear that I have been making too much a deal of them. It's easy, I guess, to succumb to societal and peer pressures regarding conformity and career and salary and the pursuit of complacency. Because it's not the pursuit of happiness anymore. It seems more apt to refer to it as the pursuit of standards or pursuit of stereotypes. As much as I detest authority I fear that I abhor money even more.
I have decided not to worry about that right now. I didn't grow up with money, or around people that had a lot of money. And a lot of our families are doing OK. Some settled for careers with the best salary options and not necessarily for the pursuit of fulfillment and personal passions. Work was work, and money made from work makes the family happy.
Oscar Wilde once said that work is the refuge for people who have nothing better to do. I want more passion in my career than that. I've never been able to separate work and life. I have so much pride and devotion to my job that it's difficult to not define myself by my work. Instead of fighting that connection, I want to flip it slightly, such that I define my work by my self.
Buddha says: "Your work is to discover your world and then with all your heart give yourself to it."
This is what I aspire to do. And this isn't achieved by sitting behind a desk. I have a voracious appetite to learn about the world around me, through travel, through people, through thoughts and words and songs and gestures and emotions and connections. Through CONNECTIONS. I make connections through my words - rants, ramblings, reflections - tiny splinters of my soul I use to communicate all of the distorted images within my personality, coalescing the very fibers of my being within the universe. Trying to find a way, as we all are, in making ourselves immortal. But mostly, I want to make a difference. I feel very passionate about making a difference, making the world a better place even if it's only within the atrium of my mind.
I feel like things are slowly starting to come together. Like watercolors on canvas, I feel as if these self-schemas of my existance are started to blend together and form beautiful connections that I am able to interpret.
There must be some sort of symbolism or interesting metaphorical axiom regarding the fact that I always seem to have these existential revelations in the library. One day, I will need to address that, I am sure.
I have decided to pursue the career path less traveled by my mind, the one of which I longingly considered years ago and dismissed in favor of a more bling-laden degree as is the Clinical Psychology PhD. In the near future, I will address why it is I feel like I chose to pursue that career. In short, what I feel happened is that I took my passion and personal "calling" in this world and tried to dress it up. Like putting lipstick on a pig, I thought I could disguise my passion because it "wasn't good enough" and make it more fancy, more acceptable professionally. I am ashamed to say that there was a brief period in my life where I had my world tied up in a green bow made out of hundred dollar bills, but that was never me, that world never fit me and it is disguisting that I spent years of my life not being true to who I am. That's also a blog for another day.
I'd like to be a family and relationship counselor. I have to be licensed, of course. Unfortunately, the Master of Science degree that I currently possess was tailored specifically for the Clinical Psychology doctorate. In order to qualify for licensure according to the Kansas Behavioral Regulatory Board, I will need more classes and more clinical supervisory hours. The easiest way to accomplish this is through a university program. I've begun researching these programs and reached out to folks who may be good resources during this discovery process. I will keep everyone posted as I advance towards my goal.
It's not how much money you make to be successful in life, it's what you do with the money you make. I need to remind myself of that because it's too easy to get caught up in all the world has to offer and how much the world charges for that ride. But I don't need to make a lot of money to be happy, and I don't need a PhD to follow my passions.
I am sitting in the library at computer #9 with 19 minutes remaining on my session. It usually takes me longer than 19 minutes to figure out the title of my newest entry, let alone finish writing one. But I have discovered that if you wait it out, sometime within the last 5 minutes remaining the computer gives you another 15. I don't know how many times the computer will do this for me before it realizes that I'm not actually attempting to finish up anything - I'm just refusing to sign off of the damn computer. I won't go so far as to say that machines are stupid. A small part of me believes that machines are sentient beings and as a result of my directly insulting one, I am opening myself up to a bizarre keyboarding "accident" that may cause my fingerprints to burn off.
Of course, that's not a half-bad idea...
I've discovered something else today. Something unthinkable. Unimaginable for me. Makes me want to run home and crawl under the covers and pretend it never happened.
I think I might want to go back to school.
I fucking hate school. Hated it. Never liked it. Not one day in my lifetime have I ever enjoyed being in a classroom and being lectured to, having to read textbooks and complete homework, sit up straight and pay attention and not blow bubble gum bubbles and tap my pen too loud and stare at the good looking guy across the room. I have to pretend that some of these pathetic instructors have succeeded in making me believe they actually give a shit about what I'm learning, and didn't just sign up for the job to have off weekends and summers. That being qualified to teach a class means that they are more intelligent than me and can look down their noses at the "student", condescendingly quizzing me about trivial topics and refusing to hear my point of view.
I think I'm going to throw up on my borrowed copy of The Yage Letters.
Incidentally, I didn't think the JoCo Public library was so hip.
In another time and another mood I'll delve deeper into my bitterness and animosity towards formalized educational systems, and I promise to highlight both the best as well as the worst of pedagogues. I am merely attempting to be more diligent in updating my blog and writing down these heavy thoughts before my fucking brain explodes.
My passions are simple and I fear that I have been making too much a deal of them. It's easy, I guess, to succumb to societal and peer pressures regarding conformity and career and salary and the pursuit of complacency. Because it's not the pursuit of happiness anymore. It seems more apt to refer to it as the pursuit of standards or pursuit of stereotypes. As much as I detest authority I fear that I abhor money even more.
I have decided not to worry about that right now. I didn't grow up with money, or around people that had a lot of money. And a lot of our families are doing OK. Some settled for careers with the best salary options and not necessarily for the pursuit of fulfillment and personal passions. Work was work, and money made from work makes the family happy.
Oscar Wilde once said that work is the refuge for people who have nothing better to do. I want more passion in my career than that. I've never been able to separate work and life. I have so much pride and devotion to my job that it's difficult to not define myself by my work. Instead of fighting that connection, I want to flip it slightly, such that I define my work by my self.
Buddha says: "Your work is to discover your world and then with all your heart give yourself to it."
This is what I aspire to do. And this isn't achieved by sitting behind a desk. I have a voracious appetite to learn about the world around me, through travel, through people, through thoughts and words and songs and gestures and emotions and connections. Through CONNECTIONS. I make connections through my words - rants, ramblings, reflections - tiny splinters of my soul I use to communicate all of the distorted images within my personality, coalescing the very fibers of my being within the universe. Trying to find a way, as we all are, in making ourselves immortal. But mostly, I want to make a difference. I feel very passionate about making a difference, making the world a better place even if it's only within the atrium of my mind.
I feel like things are slowly starting to come together. Like watercolors on canvas, I feel as if these self-schemas of my existance are started to blend together and form beautiful connections that I am able to interpret.
There must be some sort of symbolism or interesting metaphorical axiom regarding the fact that I always seem to have these existential revelations in the library. One day, I will need to address that, I am sure.
I have decided to pursue the career path less traveled by my mind, the one of which I longingly considered years ago and dismissed in favor of a more bling-laden degree as is the Clinical Psychology PhD
I'd like to be a family and relationship counselor. I have to be licensed, of course. Unfortunately, the Master of Science degree that I currently possess was tailored specifically for the Clinical Psychology doctorate. In order to qualify for licensure according to the Kansas Behavioral Regulatory Board, I will need more classes and more clinical supervisory hours. The easiest way to accomplish this is through a university program. I've begun researching these programs and reached out to folks who may be good resources during this discovery process. I will keep everyone posted as I advance towards my goal.
It's not how much money you make to be successful in life, it's what you do with the money you make. I need to remind myself of that because it's too easy to get caught up in all the world has to offer and how much the world charges for that ride. But I don't need to make a lot of money to be happy, and I don't need a PhD to follow my passions.
Friday, February 26, 2010
the lights are on, but no- ah, fuck it. you know the rest.
I think I spend more time thinking about what it is that I am supposed to be doing, as opposed to actually doing something. Maybe that's what I am - a thinker. Certainly that has to be some sort of personality type. Someone whose brain is always on five-alarm but no one is actually sliding down the fire pole.
I'm hoping that analogy isn't lost on everyone because I admit, even for me, it is reaching a bit. But who am I if not colorful and occasionally ambiguous and difficult to follow?
I digress.
For example, I think constantly about writing. Constantly. I think about what I've written, what I am in the middle of writing, what I would like to write, what I should write, what I want to write, even what I need to write. You get the picture. It's an obsession. But I do very little writing. I am beginning to think that what appears to be a dramatic case of adult attention deficit disorder is actually the result of my carrying around all of these THOUGHTS in my skull without making any effort to expunge them from my head space. If you grabbed a handful of my brain and squeezed, hundreds of ideas would drip shamefully from the grey matter, beading rapidly like quicksilver, marching little soldiers across my desk. I say "shamefully" because without intention these ideas have become toxic avengers to my 9-5 existence. They've infected an otherwise healthy brain with noise, constant noise, buzzing noise that at one point in my life was a low, dull hum and has now intensified into a roaring cacophony that makes it difficult for me to concentrate on anything.
And what does this mean for me? What does anything mean that I write in this fucking blog? It means that I am a thinker. My friends write lovely and interesting blogs about what they DO. I write blogs about what I THINK about doing. Surely, that will never get old. Are you freaking kidding me? And I've done this to myself, I get it. I've put myself out there. I've started this blog. I've recruited followers. You've all signed up for this crazy ride - you've got front row seats to the freak show and the evolution of Danielle Ross.
I haven't really reconciled any of my issues, as you can see. Like mercury, these thoughts and ideas do very little to keep me warm at night as they are terrible conductors of heat. But - aha! - what fanastic conductors of electricity. If only I could channel that energy into action, rather than the distracting din currently in my skull. The lightbulbs are going off at all hours. Thank you, Thomas Edison. Yes, I can fucking see. Now please let me get some sleep.
I'm hoping that analogy isn't lost on everyone because I admit, even for me, it is reaching a bit. But who am I if not colorful and occasionally ambiguous and difficult to follow?
I digress.
For example, I think constantly about writing. Constantly. I think about what I've written, what I am in the middle of writing, what I would like to write, what I should write, what I want to write, even what I need to write. You get the picture. It's an obsession. But I do very little writing. I am beginning to think that what appears to be a dramatic case of adult attention deficit disorder is actually the result of my carrying around all of these THOUGHTS in my skull without making any effort to expunge them from my head space. If you grabbed a handful of my brain and squeezed, hundreds of ideas would drip shamefully from the grey matter, beading rapidly like quicksilver, marching little soldiers across my desk. I say "shamefully" because without intention these ideas have become toxic avengers to my 9-5 existence. They've infected an otherwise healthy brain with noise, constant noise, buzzing noise that at one point in my life was a low, dull hum and has now intensified into a roaring cacophony that makes it difficult for me to concentrate on anything.
And what does this mean for me? What does anything mean that I write in this fucking blog? It means that I am a thinker. My friends write lovely and interesting blogs about what they DO. I write blogs about what I THINK about doing. Surely, that will never get old. Are you freaking kidding me? And I've done this to myself, I get it. I've put myself out there. I've started this blog. I've recruited followers. You've all signed up for this crazy ride - you've got front row seats to the freak show and the evolution of Danielle Ross.
I haven't really reconciled any of my issues, as you can see. Like mercury, these thoughts and ideas do very little to keep me warm at night as they are terrible conductors of heat. But - aha! - what fanastic conductors of electricity. If only I could channel that energy into action, rather than the distracting din currently in my skull. The lightbulbs are going off at all hours. Thank you, Thomas Edison. Yes, I can fucking see. Now please let me get some sleep.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Back to School: The 3 Rs of the New Year.
I've been doing more than my usual share of reflection lately and I won't pretend that it isn't related to the end of another year. Maybe I've been paying more attention than I normally do to other people, maybe it's Facebook and the ease at which people can share their thoughts, or maybe it really was a shitty year for a lot of people - but I have heard/read so many folks report gratitude for the end of 2009 and the beginning of a new year, one with promises of sunshine and roses to erase the blackness that the evil 2009 spread over the land. Ignoring the obvious which is that any of us have the ability to make a fresh start everyday - hell, every fucking second of every day - I will buy into the psychological implications of a "new" year and that blanket of heavy comfort wrapped around all of us that seems to whisper, "it's OK - better days are coming".
My fear and reflection in large part is related to the haste at which folks are rushing into 2010. Wearing their shiny hats and plastic leis, nosemakers hanging absentmindedly out of their mouths; I can see them all in the backyard, cold dirt under the snow, digging feverishly into the ground in an effort to bury 365 days of self-reported angst. They finish, spit on the shallow grave and wander back into the warmth of 2010 with a smirk ironically humming Auld Lang Syne. It is now we ditch the shovel for a pen and begin writing all of those resolutions that will miraculously make us better people and indeed cement 2010 as a year to go down in infamy, forging ahead by a misguided desire to make our world perfect in an attempt to pretend that we are not perfect, nor will we ever be. Resolutions lie to us, beckon with bony fingers and bellow like Baptist preachers, empty promises of expectations too high - we set ourselves up for failure before the new year even has a chance to prove itself. Are you freaking kidding me?
I will now pause and state for the record that I don't believe there is anything inherently wrong with making resolutions. The new year is symbolic, and for many of us we need that calendar separation of one year to the next - one decade to the next - to move forward in our lives in an attempt to fill them with color once again, or at least make them a little brighter. What I want to emphasize is that without some sort of reflection we are doomed to repeat each year again with a repetive cycle of optimism and self-loathing. Without a firm understanding of who you are and what you want out of life, how are you capable of determining the appropriate resolutions that will allow you steps forward, rather than spinning in circles?
Right now you may be saying to yourself, "What the fuck is she babbling about? I stopped playing farkle/farmtown/mafia wars/insertyourowngamehere to read this?"
Very simply, it's the 3 Rs. I like to refer to them as the 3 Rs of mental health, reflect-realize-resolve. As it pertains to the new year:
Reflection ---> Realization ---> Resolution
It's what helps me. And some may say that I do it a bit too much. I acknowledge that I tend to get lost in my own mind occasionally. I analyze the hell out of everything and everybody. Neurotic? No - people who are neurotic are emotionally unstable. My reflections allow me a personal understanding of myself and my emotions in order to stabilize. May the universe help us all if I didn't do that...
But I digress.
My current reflections? It must be my age compounded with my natural tendency to perseverate, as well as the fact that I don't believe 2009 to be of any special importance one way or the other. Perhaps because 2009 wasn't shitty to me - or spectacular - I have spent the year casually learning some very interesting things about myself and those around me, locally and globally. Some of these learnings have been painful, others comforting. Nonetheless, I refuse to spend my time wallowing in the previous though I recognize the value of my own self-actualizations. I want to move forward, set resolutions, make 2010 incredible. But outside of this new year, I want my life to be incredible. And in order to do so I need to be self-aware, I need to understand myself and I need to take that insight and apply it to the future. With this in mind - and in an effort to encourage all of you to do so - let me share with you my 2009 Realizations and their subsequent Resolutions for 2010.
1. I am a good person. --- this may seem like an easy one with which to start my list, but I assure you that realization did not come easy. I now know that I am innately a good person through my core. And good people deserve good things, even though we may have to go through bad times to get there. But I believe in karma and every year I learn a little more to be tolerant of those who aren't good people or who are good people that slip and do not so good things. For a long time I don't think I believed I was a good person, especially not one that deserved good things, and I acted out as such toward others. For anyone that I have ever hurt, my actions are deeply regrettable because I truly feel that no human being deserves ill treatment from another. Though let me say that I believe real evil does exist, and it is cultivated in a poisonous environment from which some people never recover. I don't know what to do with those people, so don't ask me. One day I'll figure that out. In the meantime, in an effort to be a good person and true to my core, this Realization leads me to my first Resolution:
a. I will be more understanding of others.
2. I don't have to like everyone. --- another obvious statement tough to accept. At the surface, it doesn't seem consistent to be a good person and not like everyone. True to my nature, when I am encountered by an individual that rubs me the wrong way, I take responsibility and internalize those feelings and ask myself from where do they originate: is it work-related, derive from a shared relationship with a mutual person, has it evolved over time or is this based on a hard-coded first impression? I need to determine whether my dislike is fueled by negativity - my own fear and/or jealousy. This may take a really long time to figure out on my own! There has to be a reason why you don't like someone, right? Right? Not always, but often times a reason exists and it may not necessarily be something you can control. I have learned to confront fear and jealousy. And I have also learned, on occasion, there are people that I just don't like. And it freaks me out. Other people like them. I should like them. I'm a good person. Ugh. Finally, I am embracing the notion that there are people in this world that I do not like and that is OK. I feel like since I am so thoughtful (obsessive?) about the process that if I decide I don't like them, c'est la vie. I have more important things to worry about.
a. I will be more understanding of others.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
3. I am a very passionate person. --- this gets me into trouble. However, I must say that it has become my absolute favorite quality. Jason and I joke about how I attack the injustices of the world, regardless of their stature, from gay marriage to the high prices at Arrowhead stadium. There isn't much else to say about this Realization that shouldn't speak for itself, particularly if you know me. I can be infuriating and come across as a self-righteous know-it-all, though that isn't my intention. I love the passion within me and I resolve to take that passsion and fuel my life with a purposefulness that is less ranting and more action. One could say that I should learn to self-edit, but to that I say, "fuck no". To edit that passion makes Dani a very dull girl.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
c. I will pursue my passions with purpose.
4. I possess little patience. --- an understatement sure to draw snickers from the crowd. I wonder daily what is the root cause to such lack in patience, and it has been immensely challenging to pull apart. Kind of like that leftover chicken breast in my refrigerator that I discovered last night, and wanted to feed to the dog, but I didn't want to actually touch it so I used a combination of a paper towel and the foil in which it was wrapped to rip pieces off of it in an effort not to have him swallow the whole thing at once. It was quite a prize effort that took three times longer than it would have if I had just grabbed the damn thing with my bare hands. There is a metaphor in there somewhere but I sense the reader's impatience for me to get to my point. I've made tremendous progress in developing more patience while driving, and at times I can be almost zen-like in the car. That said, I will still engage in random profanity-laced tirades after which I force myself to take deep breaths and gently coax out the zen that has retreated, trembling, under the dashboard. I sense that I have more patience with strangers than I do with the people in my own personal life. I have little patience for ignorance, misunderstandings, lack of intelligence, lack of insight, lack of ability to read my mind, not appearing as smart as I think you are, not being as smart as I think I am, thinking you are smarter than me, or not being patient with me and/or others. It's not rational, I get it. That's why it's on the list.
a. I will be more understanding of others.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
d. I will be patient.
5. I am easily irritated. --- in some ways, this is closely connected with the previous Realization. I'm irritable sometimes for no reason. I have realized however that this tendency for disgruntlement is exacerbated by stress, pressure and over-commitments that seems to be a non-verbal way of my body telling me to chill the fuck out. This isn't anyone else's fault, and unfortunately my loved ones tend to be on the receiving end of this irritability which isn't fair to them. I appreciate their tolerance and understanding of my moods even when I am not reciprocating that same support. It's OK to feel overwhelmed and out-of-control. It is important to recognize those feelings and know that sometimes on the road to good mental health, I need to be a little selfish.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
e. I will chill the fuck out.
f. I will make myself a priority.
6. I have a strong personal commitment to helping others. --- not so bad at first thought. I don't know that I feel pure joy with anything as I do when I feel like I am helping someone else. The parts of my life where I feel discontent I believe it is because I am not doing enough to adhere to that commitment. I have a natural desire to make the world a better place, one person at a time it seems. Big goal, I know. In this I have realized that I do not do enough on a larger scale to fulfill that commitment and at times do too much on the small scale. Thus, on second thought, there is such a thing as putting others' needs before yours too much and I certainly am guilty of that. I am one person and I can't save the world on my own, though my hope is that each person I touch reaches out to someone else and one day we'll all share a Coke and a smile. Until then, I need take care of me or one day I won't be able to take care of anyone.
c. I will pursue my passions with purpose.
f. I will make myself a priority.
7. My health habits are terrible. --- this may be the most important on the list. I won't use the word 'fat' but let's just say that if I continue on the same health path I pursued in 2009 I will have a lot more to physically worry about than just my knees. This is more than an exercise Resolution, it's a lifestyle change. It's an attitude change. And it needs to be done sooner than later. If anything it should be driven by another Realization that I have had this past year, and that is I am incredibly vain. Each year I crawl through living in the moment makes me less a woman and more a sloth. When I think about it too much, I'm incredulous at the fact that not everyone shares this same attitude: we're only young once people, let's be as attractive as possible. Superficial, yes. But true my friends. And not deserving of its own bullet point, but nonetheless deserved some ratification.
f. I will make myself a priority.
g. I will adhere to a healthy lifestyle.
8. I am terrible with money. --- this goes along with another Realization that won't be making it on the list this year because I don't know what to do with the general issue, and that is I am disorganized. On my best days I am scatterbrained and on my worst days I should be medicated. Without humor, let me say I do believe I am undiagnosed ADD. However, for someone who researched that field for years during my psych studies and belonged to the camp that thought it was purely behavioral and a result of poor discipline, both self and parent, it is close to impossible for me to accept that it might be an actual chemical disorder. I need to spend more time reflecting on that before I take some actual resolution with it. I lack organization, I am forgetful and impulsive. Terrible recipe for money management. I am going to continue making strides in this area and hopefully turn my finances around.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
f. I will make myself a priority.
g. I will adhere to a healthy lifestyle.
h. I will improve my money management.
9. Not everyone likes me. --- but I want them to. Because I am so awesome. If their dislike of me is fair, then I don't mind. I can be an ass. But if their dislike is unwarranted or the result of a misunderstanding, I take issue with that. I recognize that there are times when me not liking someone can be the result of nothing at all. Guess what I realized? That applies to everyone else as well, and sometimes directly involves me. Damn. How about that. But guess what else? There are folks who think I am awesome. And they love me every bit as much as I love them. Those are the important folks and the ones worth my time. C'est la vie.
a. I will be more understanding of others.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
e. I will chill the fuck out.
i. I will realize that while I can control my own behavior, I cannot control others' perceptions of me.
10. Everyone is going to die some day, and that includes me. And I have no idea when in the hell it will happen. --- I am terrified of dying. No amount of discussion in afterlife or reincarnation will assuage that fear. It's because I love my life, and life is pretty fucking difficult. I don't want to do it again, even if it is just to live this life over! With that attitude, I better make this life count. And I better enjoy myself and my loved ones as much as I am able. When I think about not being with the ones I love, it makes my chest hurt and my eyes sting with tears. I spent too much time either avoiding love, repelling it and/or making fun of it. I think too many of us who don't understand love are afraid of it, afraid of others. It frustrates me, and I've already discussed my lack of patience. Love comes in many forms from many different sources. I have learned to deconstruct family, redefine it and then piece it together again. This new perspective allows me an understanding of what is and what should be important. How many times have we dismissed an opportunity to tell someone that we loved them? Or giggled out of discomfort, changed the subject, or pretended not to hear? It's OK to love and to be loved. We all deserve it. What we don't deserve are individuals who try to bring us down and deny us that feeling of worth. Hold tight to those who love you, who you love. Spend time not dwelling on what is lacking in your life but what it is you actually possess. Giving love breeds love. I want to put all my effort and attention into my personal circle. This includes ignoring those fucking douchebags in Hollywood. I'm living out my own movie and I am the producer, director, screenwriter, and actor. My life is far more rewarding and entertaining than anything created in a studio.
j. I will appreciate the special people in my life.
**********
That is the top 10 list of Realizations and Resolutions. There are some that didn't make the cut this year, including understanding the difference between a job and a career, playing office politics, the challenges of parenting, and whether or not having cable adds value to our daily lives. I have yet to figure those out and I will continue to reflect in 2010. There is one more Realization that plagues me, and I honestly haven't sorted it out. It's swimming around in my head like algae in a fish tank - I know it's there, it's clouding the water and distorting the view of its contents, but I don't know to clean it out.
Honorable mention: Just because you can write doesn't mean you should; and just because you write doesn't mean you can. --- what the fuck do I do with this? How does this apply to me? I know that I am so intimidated by the number of people in this world in love with their own words and full of self-importance. Hundreds of thousands of blogs and essays and short stories and commentary and poetry...I'm drowning in alphabet soup. I have a talent and it has taken 3 decades for me to acknowledge this - my next step is to determine my level of talent and whether or not I should actually pursue...something...with it. I don't know what to do. I have this blog, which is purely rant and reflection. It's a way for me to practice my writing skills, maybe hone them in some way though I secretly prefer the raw product. I read all of these blogs by people I know, some of whom are brilliant and some of whom couldn't write their way out of my 12th grade English class. Do these people think they are good writers, or are they merely writing as way to convey their thoughts without attempt to appear serious about it? I feel like I cannot read for enjoyment anymore, everything is critiqued and dismantled and reviewed in my brain and I pause and wonder, "can others be doing this with my writing, and thinking the same things?" It makes me want to stop altogether and retreat to the comfort of my adolescence and the days in which I wrote until my fingers were tired without any desire to ever share those words with another human being. But the longer I withhold my thoughts, my brain turns into a pressure cooker or at least some sort of virus that reacts within my system the way the flu would after too quickly consuming that vegetable soup - I wretchingly regurgitate all those letters in a rush and then breathe a sigh of relief once they have been expelled. I now know that I am compelled to write but not mature enough to embrace my ability. I worry too much about what others are doing, and the opinions they may have of themselves and of my own work. Much like everyone thinks they have a good sense of humor and are funny, I feel like everyone I know thinks they can write and are good. And a number of them can. I mean really really write well. But some write not so well. What differentiates me from any of those folks?
Some of you may not know that I do not own a computer nor do I have internet at home. Can you imagine anything more ironic? A writer - one who has created her own blog - that denies herself the very mechanisms by which to partake in her craft. Pathetic!
I don't know what this blog is for, I don't know my own ability and limits as a writer, I don't even know what I would want to write if I was allowed to pursue it full-time as a career. I write this blog, I write short stories, rants, poems that rhyme and those that don't, novels, autobiographical accounts, screenplays. Works that lay unfinished like a box of chocolates in which every piece has been sampled and put back in place. I can't give that to anyone as a gift - I have to hide it away in shame.
I do know that I don't want an unfinished life. I may need to reflect more on the Realization that yes, Virginia, there are a whole fucking lot of folks who write out there in the world. Get used used to it. Hopefully, I will spend 2010 more devoted to my passion of writing. To sharing my thoughts to every one and no one in particular, to ridding myself of the virus that incapacitates this exercise, and fucking figure myself out.
My ongoing Resolution is to "fucking figure myself out". I will let you know when that happens. Check back in 2011.
My fear and reflection in large part is related to the haste at which folks are rushing into 2010. Wearing their shiny hats and plastic leis, nosemakers hanging absentmindedly out of their mouths; I can see them all in the backyard, cold dirt under the snow, digging feverishly into the ground in an effort to bury 365 days of self-reported angst. They finish, spit on the shallow grave and wander back into the warmth of 2010 with a smirk ironically humming Auld Lang Syne. It is now we ditch the shovel for a pen and begin writing all of those resolutions that will miraculously make us better people and indeed cement 2010 as a year to go down in infamy, forging ahead by a misguided desire to make our world perfect in an attempt to pretend that we are not perfect, nor will we ever be. Resolutions lie to us, beckon with bony fingers and bellow like Baptist preachers, empty promises of expectations too high - we set ourselves up for failure before the new year even has a chance to prove itself. Are you freaking kidding me?
I will now pause
Right now you may be saying to yourself, "What the fuck is she babbling about? I stopped playing farkle/farmtown/mafia wars/insertyourowngamehere to read this?"
Very simply, it's the 3 Rs. I like to refer to them as the 3 Rs of mental health, reflect-realize-resolve. As it pertains to the new year:
Reflection ---> Realization ---> Resolution
It's what helps me. And some may say that I do it a bit too much. I acknowledge that I tend to get lost in my own mind occasionally. I analyze the hell out of everything and everybody. Neurotic? No - people who are neurotic are emotionally unstable. My reflections allow me a personal understanding of myself and my emotions in order to stabilize. May the universe help us all if I didn't do that...
But I digress.
My current reflections? It must be my age compounded with my natural tendency to perseverate, as well as the fact that I don't believe 2009 to be of any special importance one way or the other. Perhaps because 2009 wasn't shitty to me - or spectacular - I have spent the year casually learning some very interesting things about myself and those around me, locally and globally. Some of these learnings have been painful, others comforting. Nonetheless, I refuse to spend my time wallowing in the previous though I recognize the value of my own self-actualizations. I want to move forward, set resolutions, make 2010 incredible. But outside of this new year, I want my life to be incredible. And in order to do so I need to be self-aware, I need to understand myself and I need to take that insight and apply it to the future. With this in mind - and in an effort to encourage all of you to do so - let me share with you my 2009 Realizations and their subsequent Resolutions for 2010.
1. I am a good person. --- this may seem like an easy one with which to start my list, but I assure you that realization did not come easy. I now know that I am innately a good person through my core. And good people deserve good things, even though we may have to go through bad times to get there. But I believe in karma and every year I learn a little more to be tolerant of those who aren't good people or who are good people that slip and do not so good things. For a long time I don't think I believed I was a good person, especially not one that deserved good things, and I acted out as such toward others. For anyone that I have ever hurt, my actions are deeply regrettable because I truly feel that no human being deserves ill treatment from another. Though let me say that I believe real evil does exist, and it is cultivated in a poisonous environment from which some people never recover. I don't know what to do with those people, so don't ask me. One day I'll figure that out. In the meantime, in an effort to be a good person and true to my core, this Realization leads me to my first Resolution:
a. I will be more understanding of others.
2. I don't have to like everyone. --- another obvious statement tough to accept. At the surface, it doesn't seem consistent to be a good person and not like everyone. True to my nature, when I am encountered by an individual that rubs me the wrong way, I take responsibility and internalize those feelings and ask myself from where do they originate: is it work-related, derive from a shared relationship with a mutual person, has it evolved over time or is this based on a hard-coded first impression? I need to determine whether my dislike is fueled by negativity - my own fear and/or jealousy. This may take a really long time to figure out on my own! There has to be a reason why you don't like someone, right? Right? Not always, but often times a reason exists and it may not necessarily be something you can control. I have learned to confront fear and jealousy. And I have also learned, on occasion, there are people that I just don't like. And it freaks me out. Other people like them. I should like them. I'm a good person. Ugh. Finally, I am embracing the notion that there are people in this world that I do not like and that is OK. I feel like since I am so thoughtful (obsessive?) about the process that if I decide I don't like them, c'est la vie. I have more important things to worry about.
a. I will be more understanding of others.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
3. I am a very passionate person. --- this gets me into trouble. However, I must say that it has become my absolute favorite quality. Jason and I joke about how I attack the injustices of the world, regardless of their stature, from gay marriage to the high prices at Arrowhead stadium. There isn't much else to say about this Realization that shouldn't speak for itself, particularly if you know me. I can be infuriating and come across as a self-righteous know-it-all, though that isn't my intention. I love the passion within me and I resolve to take that passsion and fuel my life with a purposefulness that is less ranting and more action. One could say that I should learn to self-edit, but to that I say, "fuck no". To edit that passion makes Dani a very dull girl.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
c. I will pursue my passions with purpose.
4. I possess little patience. --- an understatement sure to draw snickers from the crowd. I wonder daily what is the root cause to such lack in patience, and it has been immensely challenging to pull apart. Kind of like that leftover chicken breast in my refrigerator that I discovered last night, and wanted to feed to the dog, but I didn't want to actually touch it so I used a combination of a paper towel and the foil in which it was wrapped to rip pieces off of it in an effort not to have him swallow the whole thing at once. It was quite a prize effort that took three times longer than it would have if I had just grabbed the damn thing with my bare hands. There is a metaphor in there somewhere but I sense the reader's impatience for me to get to my point. I've made tremendous progress in developing more patience while driving, and at times I can be almost zen-like in the car. That said, I will still engage in random profanity-laced tirades after which I force myself to take deep breaths and gently coax out the zen that has retreated, trembling, under the dashboard. I sense that I have more patience with strangers than I do with the people in my own personal life. I have little patience for ignorance, misunderstandings, lack of intelligence, lack of insight, lack of ability to read my mind, not appearing as smart as I think you are, not being as smart as I think I am, thinking you are smarter than me, or not being patient with me and/or others. It's not rational, I get it. That's why it's on the list.
a. I will be more understanding of others.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
d. I will be patient.
5. I am easily irritated. --- in some ways, this is closely connected with the previous Realization. I'm irritable sometimes for no reason. I have realized however that this tendency for disgruntlement is exacerbated by stress, pressure and over-commitments that seems to be a non-verbal way of my body telling me to chill the fuck out. This isn't anyone else's fault, and unfortunately my loved ones tend to be on the receiving end of this irritability which isn't fair to them. I appreciate their tolerance and understanding of my moods even when I am not reciprocating that same support. It's OK to feel overwhelmed and out-of-control. It is important to recognize those feelings and know that sometimes on the road to good mental health, I need to be a little selfish.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
e. I will chill the fuck out.
f. I will make myself a priority.
6. I have a strong personal commitment to helping others. --- not so bad at first thought. I don't know that I feel pure joy with anything as I do when I feel like I am helping someone else. The parts of my life where I feel discontent I believe it is because I am not doing enough to adhere to that commitment. I have a natural desire to make the world a better place, one person at a time it seems. Big goal, I know. In this I have realized that I do not do enough on a larger scale to fulfill that commitment and at times do too much on the small scale. Thus, on second thought, there is such a thing as putting others' needs before yours too much and I certainly am guilty of that. I am one person and I can't save the world on my own, though my hope is that each person I touch reaches out to someone else and one day we'll all share a Coke and a smile. Until then, I need take care of me or one day I won't be able to take care of anyone.
c. I will pursue my passions with purpose.
f. I will make myself a priority.
7. My health habits are terrible. --- this may be the most important on the list. I won't use the word 'fat' but let's just say that if I continue on the same health path I pursued in 2009 I will have a lot more to physically worry about than just my knees. This is more than an exercise Resolution, it's a lifestyle change. It's an attitude change. And it needs to be done sooner than later. If anything it should be driven by another Realization that I have had this past year, and that is I am incredibly vain. Each year I crawl through living in the moment makes me less a woman and more a sloth. When I think about it too much, I'm incredulous at the fact that not everyone shares this same attitude: we're only young once people, let's be as attractive as possible. Superficial, yes. But true my friends. And not deserving of its own bullet point, but nonetheless deserved some ratification.
f. I will make myself a priority.
g. I will adhere to a healthy lifestyle.
8. I am terrible with money. --- this goes along with another Realization that won't be making it on the list this year because I don't know what to do with the general issue, and that is I am disorganized. On my best days I am scatterbrained and on my worst days I should be medicated. Without humor, let me say I do believe I am undiagnosed ADD. However, for someone who researched that field for years during my psych studies and belonged to the camp that thought it was purely behavioral and a result of poor discipline, both self and parent, it is close to impossible for me to accept that it might be an actual chemical disorder. I need to spend more time reflecting on that before I take some actual resolution with it. I lack organization, I am forgetful and impulsive. Terrible recipe for money management. I am going to continue making strides in this area and hopefully turn my finances around.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
f. I will make myself a priority.
g. I will adhere to a healthy lifestyle.
h. I will improve my money management.
9. Not everyone likes me. --- but I want them to. Because I am so awesome. If their dislike of me is fair, then I don't mind. I can be an ass. But if their dislike is unwarranted or the result of a misunderstanding, I take issue with that. I recognize that there are times when me not liking someone can be the result of nothing at all. Guess what I realized? That applies to everyone else as well, and sometimes directly involves me. Damn. How about that. But guess what else? There are folks who think I am awesome. And they love me every bit as much as I love them. Those are the important folks and the ones worth my time. C'est la vie.
a. I will be more understanding of others.
b. I will be more accepting of myself.
e. I will chill the fuck out.
i. I will realize that while I can control my own behavior, I cannot control others' perceptions of me.
10. Everyone is going to die some day, and that includes me. And I have no idea when in the hell it will happen. --- I am terrified of dying. No amount of discussion in afterlife or reincarnation will assuage that fear. It's because I love my life, and life is pretty fucking difficult. I don't want to do it again, even if it is just to live this life over! With that attitude, I better make this life count. And I better enjoy myself and my loved ones as much as I am able. When I think about not being with the ones I love, it makes my chest hurt and my eyes sting with tears. I spent too much time either avoiding love, repelling it and/or making fun of it. I think too many of us who don't understand love are afraid of it, afraid of others. It frustrates me, and I've already discussed my lack of patience. Love comes in many forms from many different sources. I have learned to deconstruct family, redefine it and then piece it together again. This new perspective allows me an understanding of what is and what should be important. How many times have we dismissed an opportunity to tell someone that we loved them? Or giggled out of discomfort, changed the subject, or pretended not to hear? It's OK to love and to be loved. We all deserve it. What we don't deserve are individuals who try to bring us down and deny us that feeling of worth. Hold tight to those who love you, who you love. Spend time not dwelling on what is lacking in your life but what it is you actually possess. Giving love breeds love. I want to put all my effort and attention into my personal circle. This includes ignoring those fucking douchebags in Hollywood. I'm living out my own movie and I am the producer, director, screenwriter, and actor. My life is far more rewarding and entertaining than anything created in a studio.
j. I will appreciate the special people in my life.
**********
That is the top 10 list of Realizations and Resolutions. There are some that didn't make the cut this year, including understanding the difference between a job and a career, playing office politics, the challenges of parenting, and whether or not having cable adds value to our daily lives. I have yet to figure those out and I will continue to reflect in 2010. There is one more Realization that plagues me, and I honestly haven't sorted it out. It's swimming around in my head like algae in a fish tank - I know it's there, it's clouding the water and distorting the view of its contents, but I don't know to clean it out.
Honorable mention: Just because you can write doesn't mean you should; and just because you write doesn't mean you can. --- what the fuck do I do with this? How does this apply to me? I know that I am so intimidated by the number of people in this world in love with their own words and full of self-importance. Hundreds of thousands of blogs and essays and short stories and commentary and poetry...I'm drowning in alphabet soup. I have a talent and it has taken 3 decades for me to acknowledge this - my next step is to determine my level of talent and whether or not I should actually pursue...something...with it. I don't know what to do. I have this blog, which is purely rant and reflection. It's a way for me to practice my writing skills, maybe hone them in some way though I secretly prefer the raw product. I read all of these blogs by people I know, some of whom are brilliant and some of whom couldn't write their way out of my 12th grade English class. Do these people think they are good writers, or are they merely writing as way to convey their thoughts without attempt to appear serious about it? I feel like I cannot read for enjoyment anymore, everything is critiqued and dismantled and reviewed in my brain and I pause and wonder, "can others be doing this with my writing, and
Some of you may not know that I do not own a computer nor do I have internet at home. Can you imagine anything more ironic? A writer - one who has created her own blog - that denies herself the very mechanisms by which to partake in her craft. Pathetic!
I don't know what this blog is for, I don't know my own ability and limits as a writer, I don't even know what I would want to write if I was allowed to pursue it full-time as a career. I write this blog, I write short stories, rants, poems that rhyme and those that don't, novels, autobiographical accounts, screenplays. Works that lay unfinished like a box of chocolates in which every piece has been sampled and put back in place. I can't give that to anyone as a gift - I have to hide it away in shame.
I do know that I don't want an unfinished life. I may need to reflect more on the Realization that yes, Virginia, there are a whole fucking lot of folks who write out there in the world. Get used used to it. Hopefully, I will spend 2010 more devoted to my passion of writing. To sharing my thoughts to every one and no one in particular, to ridding myself of the virus that incapacitates this exercise, and fucking figure myself out.
My ongoing Resolution is to "fucking figure myself out". I will let you know when that happens. Check back in 2011.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
I love ya, tomorrow...
What is it about tomorrow that permits every one of us to channel Scarlett O’Hara? Tomorrow is just another day, but so is today. So was yesterday. Why do we put off until tomorrow what we could do today? What’s going to change about ourselves, about our motivation, our abilities, about the world we live in? Is it about the promise, the idea of starting anew, starting fresh - as if we’ve already ruined today’s chances? Is it merely a scapegoat, a hairy excuse with horns lazily wandering through our thoughts with a mouthful of weeds that reminds us the grass is always greener on the other side of midnight? Of course, the opposite problem is always possible, so afraid of tomorrow that there can be no rest for the weary.
The dilemma is, how does the weary rest and accomplish life’s goals?
My dad is dead. He didn’t pass away - he died. He spoke to my mother on the phone, walked out of the house, got into his car, started it up and put it in reverse. Then he died. And ran his car into the corner of the neighbor’s house. It wasn’t a stroke or a heart attack. He wasn’t suffering from a chronic illness or a debilitating disease, he didn’t have an accident, he wasn’t attacked nor did he meet his fate at the hands of a natural disaster. He dropped over dead.
I’m not sure what he thought about that day, if he was contemplating his retirement or planning a visit to see me in Kansas City. Maybe there was a basketball game on that evening or perhaps a pile of work shirts that needed ironed. Was he thinking about Christmas?
The date was December 6. It was 3 days past his 65th birthday.
He never did visit me in Kansas City. He never saw his grandson play soccer or meet my dog. He also never had that sports car he’d dreamed of.
I don’t know what else my dad wanted. I doubt it was very much. But I wish that I’d asked him.
This isn’t about what my father did or did not accomplish in his lifetime and it isn’t about the idea we could all drop dead at any moment.
It isn’t entirely about those things.
Though they both weigh heavily on my mind. I try not to perseverate on those thoughts of gloom and doom or else they’d invade my world with a crippling darkness that sucks me deeper under the covers each morning until one day I’m unable to leave my bed.
Ah.
That’s it, isn’t it?
That’s tomorrow.
Whether we’re well or sick, happy or sad, rested or tired, joyful or fearful, alive or dead - tomorrow happens.
Tomorrow will happen.
Suddenly the blinds are flung open and rays of sunshine stream in through the windows and I indeed am greeted by a new day, by tomorrow.
Tomorrow is hope.
Because tomorrow happens there is also the opportunity to create a tomorrow, any tomorrow that fulfills our needs. Obligations, dreams, desires, fantasies, challenges, chores - all will be greeted by tomorrow, just as we will be. It’s a mental manipulation we can carry around ourselves like a security blanket. We become Linuses of the lies, using tomorrow as an excuse and wrapping our souls in swaddled promises and breathe easy, a sigh of relief, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…
I can do it tomorrow!
I don’t need to worry about it until tomorrow!
Tomorrow we can be anyone and do anything and accomplish whatever we put our minds to doing.
Tomorrow things will be different…
And things could be different - the lies are only poison insofar as we allow ourselves to betray what we know to be true: We have control over our own lives and we alone are responsible for the choices that we make. Are you freaking kidding me? It’s called free will! We are the puppeteers and the masters of our own fates. We can’t be afraid of the challenge - it’s too easy to allow the world to take over and dictate the day.
It’s not only that we put off the unpleasant, we seem to put off anything that deviates from routine. For someone that hates routine and throws around the word “complacency” with the same amount of contempt I exhibit when I pronounce Sarah Palin’s name, one might think that I would do anything to escape a routine. Yet I find myself in a daily revolving door.
Tomorrow will happen. If not for me, then for somebody else.
Oh, yeah…Three years later my parents’ neighbors have yet to fix the corner of their house. Perhaps they keep putting it off, until tomorrow.
The dilemma is, how does the weary rest and accomplish life’s goals?
My dad is dead. He didn’t pass away - he died. He spoke to my mother on the phone, walked out of the house, got into his car, started it up and put it in reverse. Then he died. And ran his car into the corner of the neighbor’s house. It wasn’t a stroke or a heart attack. He wasn’t suffering from a chronic illness or a debilitating disease, he didn’t have an accident, he wasn’t attacked nor did he meet his fate at the hands of a natural disaster. He dropped over dead.
I’m not sure what he thought about that day, if he was contemplating his retirement or planning a visit to see me in Kansas City. Maybe there was a basketball game on that evening or perhaps a pile of work shirts that needed ironed. Was he thinking about Christmas?
The date was December 6. It was 3 days past his 65th birthday.
He never did visit me in Kansas City. He never saw his grandson play soccer or meet my dog. He also never had that sports car he’d dreamed of.
I don’t know what else my dad wanted. I doubt it was very much. But I wish that I’d asked him.
This isn’t about what my father did or did not accomplish in his lifetime and it isn’t about the idea we could all drop dead at any moment.
It isn’t entirely about those things.
Though they both weigh heavily on my mind. I try not to perseverate on those thoughts of gloom and doom or else they’d invade my world with a crippling darkness that sucks me deeper under the covers each morning until one day I’m unable to leave my bed.
Ah.
That’s it, isn’t it?
That’s tomorrow.
Whether we’re well or sick, happy or sad, rested or tired, joyful or fearful, alive or dead - tomorrow happens.
Tomorrow will happen.
Suddenly the blinds are flung open and rays of sunshine stream in through the windows and I indeed am greeted by a new day, by tomorrow.
Tomorrow is hope.
Because tomorrow happens there is also the opportunity to create a tomorrow, any tomorrow that fulfills our needs. Obligations, dreams, desires, fantasies, challenges, chores - all will be greeted by tomorrow, just as we will be. It’s a mental manipulation we can carry around ourselves like a security blanket. We become Linuses of the lies, using tomorrow as an excuse and wrapping our souls in swaddled promises and breathe easy, a sigh of relief, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…
I can do it tomorrow!
I don’t need to worry about it until tomorrow!
Tomorrow we can be anyone and do anything and accomplish whatever we put our minds to doing.
Tomorrow things will be different…
And things could be different - the lies are only poison insofar as we allow ourselves to betray what we know to be true: We have control over our own lives and we alone are responsible for the choices that we make. Are you freaking kidding me? It’s called free will! We are the puppeteers and the masters of our own fates. We can’t be afraid of the challenge - it’s too easy to allow the world to take over and dictate the day.
It’s not only that we put off the unpleasant, we seem to put off anything that deviates from routine. For someone that hates routine and throws around the word “complacency” with the same amount of contempt I exhibit when I pronounce Sarah Palin’s name, one might think that I would do anything to escape a routine. Yet I find myself in a daily revolving door.
Tomorrow will happen. If not for me, then for somebody else.
Oh, yeah…Three years later my parents’ neighbors have yet to fix the corner of their house. Perhaps they keep putting it off, until tomorrow.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I'm not really sure what it is, but I know it isn't indigestion...
A friend of mine is bored. Yes, you - my only male follower. I read your blog and your reflections on life and your frustrations of boredom. Sleepwalking through the world, your job, with only your motorcycle and your blog to entertain you. Certainly, companionship has its merits and your lovely wife and wuppies tolerate your cranky ass; devotion of which I know you are eternally grateful. But you are bored nonetheless. It may not even be your own boredom which creates a haze of lassitude, an uncomfortable awkward feeling that settles in the pit of your stomach and causes you to stare unblinking for minutes at a time until you're suddenly aroused by an auspicious noise and turn hopeful looking for excitement, entertainment, anything to awaken your brain from the hum of its constant stupor and -
oh wait. that could be me. fuck.
OK - so I am bored. But it just isn't my boredom alone that causes me frustration. I am profoundly affected by others' boredom, only I don't think they know they are bored. I think I get the greatest frustration out of those who should be bored but appear to be just fine and settled into their innate little lives, long paved roads of which they have been traveling since before they can remember, no potholes, no deviations, no construction, not even a passing lane. I have written about this before. Obviously I've come no closer to an answer. I feel like there is so much about our lives, about our world that is cause for exploration, for adventure. I cannot say that I empathize with folks who are satisfied with routine though I can honestly say that a part of me is envious of their complacency.
But I'm not really sure that it's boredom. It's more of.....a longing for the unknown.
no. dumb.
A propensity for change.
ugh. Be patient, I'll come up with something once I am on a roll.
I enjoy many aspects of my life. I love my family and friends. Spending time with my son is outstanding.
you know, for someone who frequently writes/types as if the words were flowing from my fingertips like Guinness from a tap, those three sentences were excrutiatingly slooooow.
Not that I am making them up, however. Are you freaking kidding me - my kid is rock star. And I have great friends and family, along with a very supportive and loving boyfriend. Let me tell you why I am so affected by the "boredom" of others, why the moronic complacency of my fellow person seems to suck the wind from my lungs. These zombies with a heartbeat are so fucking happy with themselves, at least to the point where they don't analyze the hell out of it all. My problem is that I haven't fully accepted myself yet and reconciled those life commitments and responsibilities with my passions. I'm not comfortable with myself, and that is a very uncomfortable feeling, and I have such difficulty with that reconciliation I shut it down. I repress it, because if I didn't it would remind me that I have absolutely no idea what it is I want to do with myself and I won't be able to figure it out, I'll have a terrible headache with a crippling depression that lasts longer than Cialis. I'm already half-panicked at the idea of growing old and dying so losing 36 hours of my life because I decided to think about it which resulted in an emotional bender and a full-blown pity party is pretty much not on my immediate to-do list.
But if I am so unsettled, if I am so out of place, if I am so bored, then why don't I just fucking do something about it?
oh, ok. so it's that easy.
What is it that I am going to do? Because I can't spend another 33 years watching other people live their lives and referring to them as zombies with heartbeats and poking fun at their seeming lack of intelligence. Because it's me who is the fucking moron. If I could only get inspired. But that's the thing, I write that and read it over and I know it's total bullshit - I shouldn't be looking for inspiration. It's as if I am always looking for something - for a reason, for an excuse, for a sign, for someone else to do it, to make me do it, whatever. I should try living a little in an active mode rather than a reactive one.
So maybe that's what it is - I'm an electron looking for a chain reaction, a battery in need of a jump...good lord, those are hideous analogies. I'm really reaching for straws here.
I'm not bored, but I'm not...comfortable.
I can blame it on the pad Thai I had for dinner.
Blame it on the ADD?
Blame it on the rain?
The matter of contention is that I am smart as a whip and though I couldn't pass an elementary school test I could kick the teacher's ass in the facts of life. But that and the loose change in my wallet won't get me very far.
This is all coming back to my job again, isn't it?
oh wait. that could be me. fuck.
OK - so I am bored. But it just isn't my boredom alone that causes me frustration. I am profoundly affected by others' boredom, only I don't think they know they are bored. I think I get the greatest frustration out of those who should be bored but appear to be just fine and settled into their innate little lives, long paved roads of which they have been traveling since before they can remember, no potholes, no deviations, no construction, not even a passing lane. I have written about this before. Obviously I've come no closer to an answer. I feel like there is so much about our lives, about our world that is cause for exploration, for adventure. I cannot say that I empathize with folks who are satisfied with routine though I can honestly say that a part of me is envious of their complacency.
But I'm not really sure that it's boredom. It's more of.....a longing for the unknown.
no. dumb.
A propensity for change.
ugh. Be patient, I'll come up with something once I am on a roll.
I enjoy many aspects of my life. I love my family and friends. Spending time with my son is outstanding.
you know, for someone who frequently writes/types as if the words were flowing from my fingertips like Guinness from a tap, those three sentences were excrutiatingly slooooow.
Not that I am making them up, however. Are you freaking kidding me - my kid is rock star. And I have great friends and family, along with a very supportive and loving boyfriend. Let me tell you why I am so affected by the "boredom" of others, why the moronic complacency of my fellow person seems to suck the wind from my lungs. These zombies with a heartbeat are so fucking happy with themselves, at least to the point where they don't analyze the hell out of it all. My problem is that I haven't fully accepted myself yet and reconciled those life commitments and responsibilities with my passions. I'm not comfortable with myself, and that is a very uncomfortable feeling, and I have such difficulty with that reconciliation I shut it down. I repress it, because if I didn't it would remind me that I have absolutely no idea what it is I want to do with myself and I won't be able to figure it out, I'll have a terrible headache with a crippling depression that lasts longer than Cialis. I'm already half-panicked at the idea of growing old and dying so losing 36 hours of my life because I decided to think about it which resulted in an emotional bender and a full-blown pity party is pretty much not on my immediate to-do list.
But if I am so unsettled, if I am so out of place, if I am so bored, then why don't I just fucking do something about it?
oh, ok. so it's that easy.
What is it that I am going to do? Because I can't spend another 33 years watching other people live their lives and referring to them as zombies with heartbeats and poking fun at their seeming lack of intelligence. Because it's me who is the fucking moron. If I could only get inspired. But that's the thing, I write that and read it over and I know it's total bullshit - I shouldn't be looking for inspiration. It's as if I am always looking for something - for a reason, for an excuse, for a sign, for someone else to do it, to make me do it, whatever. I should try living a little in an active mode rather than a reactive one.
So maybe that's what it is - I'm an electron looking for a chain reaction, a battery in need of a jump...good lord, those are hideous analogies. I'm really reaching for straws here.
I'm not bored, but I'm not...comfortable.
I can blame it on the pad Thai I had for dinner.
Blame it on the ADD?
Blame it on the rain?
The matter of contention is that I am smart as a whip and though I couldn't pass an elementary school test I could kick the teacher's ass in the facts of life. But that and the loose change in my wallet won't get me very far.
This is all coming back to my job again, isn't it?
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Wait...what?
There must be something about being at the library that causes me to sit at computer #9 and submit entries to this blog. Quite a bit of time has passed since my last entry, though the delay has certainly not been intentional. I've got dozens - if not hundreds - of ideas for blogs running through my mind daily. Most of the time these random ideas spring into my head when I am at work. Not really an appropriate place to drop what I am doing and start typing away my feelings. I don't have internet at home, and when I sign online it's through the use of a neighbor's wireless and the connection is sketchy at best. I usually become defeated, waiting for the page to load and deciding it is too reminiscient of my parents' antiquated dial-up internet. Then I sign off after doing nothing more than checking my facebook page (such a priority) and wandering around on iTunes.
If I find myself at a reliable computer, or even after hours at work where the peacefulness of the office is such antithesis of the day it actually lulls me awake, I reach for the keyboard eager to purge myself of dogged inspiration and enlighten the world around me and...nothing. I've got nothing.
One would think that over the years I would learn to carry a notebook around with me in order to jot down those flashes of brilliance that tease my neural pathways into believing that they do indeed serve a vitally important task of stimulating my often dormant grey matter. For some reason I have become tolerant of my mediocrity and perversely appreciative of my status as an underachiever, as one who is expected but defies expectations. I stand proudly, Belushi in his "College" sweatshirt, Colbert reporting live on CNN, W. ordering whiskey in a gay bar, Sarah Palin speaking at a MENSA conference. I'm out of place, increasingly more so as I age. Knowing I don't belong in my current intellectual & social environment but daring everyone to notice. It's not cute anymore, it's not parent-teacher conferences - no one is going to tell my mom how much potentional I have but lack the follow through. Motivation needs to come from within. I should put some big-girl pants on, take the bull by the horns, step up to the plate and ride that bastard around the bases until it bucks me.
But.
what a terrible fucking word
But.I.Can't.Seem.To.Get.It.Together.
I finally decided that as part of my delayed foray into adulthood I would start taking responsbility for myself, and that meant not saying repeatedly "I can do this - I don't need any help" and standing naked in the mirror staring at all those exposed parts of my life that seem to exist in perpetual chaos and admitting, "ya, ok. I could use a little assistance".
Let me take a few steps back and lean against the wall while I wait for everyone to catch up. The thing is this - sometimes I interrupt myself. Verbally, mentally. I'll be in the middle of a sentence anda new train of thought comes tearing loudly through the tunnel and leaving colloquial carnage in its wake. I forget where I park my car. I lose money. I couldn't balance my checking account or stick to a budget if someone had a gun to my head. I try!...but I often can't seem to remember how much money I have or who I owe it to...or something like that. I start and stop tasks at work and then never think of them again. I have gone to meetings to discuss projects I have been working on only to have no idea what it was I was supposed to be discussing. I miss all varieties of appointments. I started writing a novel and haven't touched it for over four years. It's my one greatest life's dream and I frequently forget that I have the outline and first chapter written. I walk into a room at home for one thing, and then become side-tracked and do something else. Later I realize that I never actually did that original thing. I'm overwhelmed with too many tasks and overburdened with personal responsibilities. What is priority? I don't know! What is a priority? Everything seems urgent, important, top of mind...
I saw a credit counselor. I'm not ashamed to admit. This is a tough economy and if I want to get through it (and retire at the age of 40 in order to live out the second half of my life as an writer), I need to get my financial shit together. At the end of the meeting, after tallying up my new budget, the credit counselor politely mentioned that the amount of money I had left over was impressive, given that most people in my situation have very little with which to save. I wasn't surprised. I know I have the fucking money. I just don't know how to manage it. Pathetic.
I went to an 8-hour class at a local community college called "Increasing Personal Productivity". I skipped to the car and whistled the theme song to Sesame Street, awed at my new-found knowledge and desperate to shove my entire life into the inside of an 8x11 zippered leather-bound planner. Life was good.
I made an appointment for the local mental health center. After years of being teased (always a kernel of truth, I say) and years of resistence, I decided to meet with a mental health counselor and open my mind to the idea that I may possibly perhaps in some slight way have...adult attention deficit disorder.
sigh
This wasn't easy for me! It's tough to be a martyr if you're learning the skills to overcome a disability - especially if someone is assisting you in the development of those skills. Sure, Joan of Arc would have escaped a horrid, painful death had someone said, "Look, Joan: We're all a little concerned about these "visions" and "voices" that you've been yammering on about. Sitting alone at afternoon tea, talking with yourself, calling out to God. We've called in a 5150 to have you evaluated for schizophrenia." Boom! Before Joan knows it, she's on Clozapine, living in a halfway house, working at the local 7/11 and renouncing Christianity for paganism. At most she may make assistant manager, but - ah! - the disabled Joan left to her own devices was made a saint.
I'm not pompous enough to believe I may eventually be canonized if I ride around town on a horse and dress like a man, refuting my shortcomings and struggling with my deficiencies. All I am saying is that I am a bit comfortable being a scatterbrain - it covers me like a warm blanket. It is what I am used to, what I have known.
Or maybe I am just afraid that if I get my shit together I may need actually need to accomplish something?
scary
At any rate, I make this appointment for the other day at 8:00am. This is what happened the morning of the appointment:
wake up at 7:00am
take shower
remember that I have a charity lunch and need to dress nice
pull shirt out of dirty clothes
find pants that I purchased last summer and never had hemmed
select really really high heels
attempt to sign online at home and look up directions
attempt to sign online again
reload page several times until I finally get an address
assume that I know where said address is and that it won't take me long to find it
look for my new insurance card on the kitchen table under a stack of papers and junk mail
give up after five minutes
run out through the garage and am reminded that it is trash/recycle day
pause to look at 3 weeks worth of trash and recycling
decide to wait another week
get in the car and notice gas light is on
start driving where I think I need to go
get lost
can't call office because I don't have the phone number
finally realize the direction I should be going but will run out of gas before I get there
stop at gas station and put the only $5 cash in the tank I have on me because my checking account is overdrawn and I can't use my debit card
find the damn office
suddenly notice the new insurance card on the passenger side floor of my car underneath my checkbook and a week-old apple
go up to the front desk and greet the receptionist at 8:45am
I don't remember the counselor's name
I announce that I am late
she asks me if I want to reschedule
I declare that I was told my appointment was an hour and a half therefore I have time left
she says fill out paperwork and go through intake but I won't be able to see the therapist
I explain to receptionist that I went through a lot just to make it to the damn office
she understands
hands me the clipboard and says she will try to squeeze me in with intake
I pause for several moments and return clipboard
I thank the receptionist
I leave
I've decided that I may not have as much experience as that mental health counselor, but I have just as much - if not more - education. So I am going to cure myself.
Here I am in the library. I came to research ADD in adults. I wrote a blog. The library closes in 8 minutes. I have not yet looked for any books.
Next time, I guess.
Maybe I should jot that down...
If I find myself at a reliable computer, or even after hours at work where the peacefulness of the office is such antithesis of the day it actually lulls me awake, I reach for the keyboard eager to purge myself of dogged inspiration and enlighten the world around me and...nothing. I've got nothing.
One would think that over the years I would learn to carry a notebook around with me in order to jot down those flashes of brilliance that tease my neural pathways into believing that they do indeed serve a vitally important task of stimulating my often dormant grey matter. For some reason I have become tolerant of my mediocrity and perversely appreciative of my status as an underachiever, as one who is expected but defies expectations. I stand proudly, Belushi in his "College" sweatshirt, Colbert reporting live on CNN, W. ordering whiskey in a gay bar, Sarah Palin speaking at a MENSA conference. I'm out of place, increasingly more so as I age. Knowing I don't belong in my current intellectual & social environment but daring everyone to notice. It's not cute anymore, it's not parent-teacher conferences - no one is going to tell my mom how much potentional I have but lack the follow through. Motivation needs to come from within. I should put some big-girl pants on, take the bull by the horns, step up to the plate and ride that bastard around the bases until it bucks me.
But.
what a terrible fucking word
But.I.Can't.Seem.To.Get.It.Together.
I finally decided that as part of my delayed foray into adulthood I would start taking responsbility for myself, and that meant not saying repeatedly "I can do this - I don't need any help" and standing naked in the mirror staring at all those exposed parts of my life that seem to exist in perpetual chaos and admitting, "ya, ok. I could use a little assistance".
Let me take a few steps back and lean against the wall while I wait for everyone to catch up. The thing is this - sometimes I interrupt myself. Verbally, mentally. I'll be in the middle of a sentence and
I saw a credit counselor. I'm not ashamed to admit. This is a tough economy and if I want to get through it (and retire at the age of 40 in order to live out the second half of my life as an writer), I need to get my financial shit together. At the end of the meeting, after tallying up my new budget, the credit counselor politely mentioned that the amount of money I had left over was impressive, given that most people in my situation have very little with which to save. I wasn't surprised. I know I have the fucking money. I just don't know how to manage it. Pathetic.
I went to an 8-hour class at a local community college called "Increasing Personal Productivity". I skipped to the car and whistled the theme song to Sesame Street, awed at my new-found knowledge and desperate to shove my entire life into the inside of an 8x11 zippered leather-bound planner. Life was good.
I made an appointment for the local mental health center. After years of being teased (always a kernel of truth, I say) and years of resistence, I decided to meet with a mental health counselor and open my mind to the idea that I may possibly perhaps in some slight way have...adult attention deficit disorder.
sigh
This wasn't easy for me! It's tough to be a martyr if you're learning the skills to overcome a disability - especially if someone is assisting you in the development of those skills. Sure, Joan of Arc would have escaped a horrid, painful death had someone said, "Look, Joan: We're all a little concerned about these "visions" and "voices" that you've been yammering on about. Sitting alone at afternoon tea, talking with yourself, calling out to God. We've called in a 5150 to have you evaluated for schizophrenia." Boom! Before Joan knows it, she's on Clozapine, living in a halfway house, working at the local 7/11 and renouncing Christianity for paganism. At most she may make assistant manager, but - ah! - the disabled Joan left to her own devices was made a saint.
I'm not pompous enough to believe I may eventually be canonized if I ride around town on a horse and dress like a man, refuting my shortcomings and struggling with my deficiencies. All I am saying is that I am a bit comfortable being a scatterbrain - it covers me like a warm blanket. It is what I am used to, what I have known.
Or maybe I am just afraid that if I get my shit together I may need actually need to accomplish something?
scary
At any rate, I make this appointment for the other day at 8:00am. This is what happened the morning of the appointment:
wake up at 7:00am
take shower
remember that I have a charity lunch and need to dress nice
pull shirt out of dirty clothes
find pants that I purchased last summer and never had hemmed
select really really high heels
attempt to sign online at home and look up directions
attempt to sign online again
reload page several times until I finally get an address
assume that I know where said address is and that it won't take me long to find it
look for my new insurance card on the kitchen table under a stack of papers and junk mail
give up after five minutes
run out through the garage and am reminded that it is trash/recycle day
pause to look at 3 weeks worth of trash and recycling
decide to wait another week
get in the car and notice gas light is on
start driving where I think I need to go
get lost
can't call office because I don't have the phone number
finally realize the direction I should be going but will run out of gas before I get there
stop at gas station and put the only $5 cash in the tank I have on me because my checking account is overdrawn and I can't use my debit card
find the damn office
suddenly notice the new insurance card on the passenger side floor of my car underneath my checkbook and a week-old apple
go up to the front desk and greet the receptionist at 8:45am
I don't remember the counselor's name
I announce that I am late
she asks me if I want to reschedule
I declare that I was told my appointment was an hour and a half therefore I have time left
she says fill out paperwork and go through intake but I won't be able to see the therapist
I explain to receptionist that I went through a lot just to make it to the damn office
she understands
hands me the clipboard and says she will try to squeeze me in with intake
I pause for several moments and return clipboard
I thank the receptionist
I leave
I've decided that I may not have as much experience as that mental health counselor, but I have just as much - if not more - education. So I am going to cure myself.
Here I am in the library. I came to research ADD in adults. I wrote a blog. The library closes in 8 minutes. I have not yet looked for any books.
Next time, I guess.
Maybe I should jot that down...
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