Defeat.

Super cool original ceramic replica of a Polaroid Land Camera :)

"We shall find no enduring strength until we first admit complete defeat."

Twelve Steps, Step One

This inspired me this week, the idea that there is strength at the bottom, strength in brokenness. I struggle to hold on to his idea, even though I'm sure lots of people who know me would say otherwise, describing me as vulnerable. But the truth is, I like to look good. I talk big talk about trash and recycling, but deep down, I want people to think I have it all together and I want to look good.

I want to be a winner. I want to be the best. I don't want to admit my faults or flaws. I don't want the world to see the ugly parts of me.

It's easier to be vulnerable when deep down I think I have it all together, and the vulnerability is a nice persona. It's harder when it's the real thing, when the vulnerability is raw and needy and broken because that's where I am.

Defeat.

Salvation Army Mecca :)

I went to visit my sister up in Northern California's beautiful wine country over the summer, and took the opportunity to go to a dream destination of mine, the Salvation Army mega-store commune in Healdsburg.

If you're interested in going, here's the address and phone number. It's right off the freeway and easy to find.

200 Lytton Springs Road
Healdsburg, CA 95448
(707) 433-7404

I think I went at the worst possible time in the week, late on a Saturday afternoon. Everything had been picked through, and I didn't find anything outside in the hard-scrabble bins. I enjoyed the experience, however, and also enjoyed providing the women-starved men of the rehab center a little eye candy. I got so many offers of help, I started to avoid anyone who smiled at me.

There were several stores, but no real deals. Again, I went on the worst possible day, but I was surprised to see how expensive everything was. I might be spoiled with cheap thrift. It seemed like a good place to get furniture and appliances.

There are plenty of people to help you load your purchases should you wish to get some larger items and can't lift them by yourself.

Maybe I was tired, but the furniture just bored me. I drove about four hours to get here and there was a ton of traffic because I took a wrong turn and there was no way to turn around.

It was fun to treat it like a field trip and take pictures of all the stuff. Although there were some tools, this was definitely not a destination for outdoorsy mechanical things.

It was also really hot in July. Perhaps that's why there aren't a lot of people in the outdoor photos. The stores were all full of people. I felt crowded. There wasn't a lot of walking space. This makes sense given that the property was so large and the buildings were so small.

I could tell that stuff sat in the sun if it didn't sell, so it looked like old garage sale rejects in some places. The broken stuff was depressing to me.

There was some interesting original art.

I loved this painting, but didn't feel like I could spend any money on it.

Some stuff seemed really expensive for being at a thrift store. I don't know if they had any additional online selling or marketing going on.

This place was a barn that had all the clothes in it. It seemed like the most familiar place to me. This was the only location where I bought anything. Because of the gas to get there, I was trying to be really  cautious in any spending. I bought a large framed Picasso poster, which currently sits in my store. I also bought a suede Fossil bag that has sold fairly quickly. I really like the selection in this particular store and spent the most time in there.

Questions? I'd love to add more to this post :)

I've found my vice.

For a long time, I've complained to anyone who will listen that I need a vice badly. I need something that I can do that is mine, that feels like rebellion, something I do that says, "I really don't give a fuck". Well friends, I have found that thing. And it is Whole Foods.

Whole Foods gives me vegan muffins and scones, vegan cake, soy yogurt, fake wonderful meat, kombucha (!), and men who smile at me like goons. Whole Foods has the most comprehensive selection of vegan options than anywhere else in town. Yeah, so it's more expensive, but I don't care. It's food! It's what I put in my body, the houser of my soul and all that jazz. So I'm gonna own it. I'm gonna own my vice like nobody's business.

Drunk teenagers

Vintage Peanuts bed-sheet - Charlie Brown & Snoopy :)

Yesterday, I hung out with drunk teenagers. It was 5 o'clock in the evening, and they wanted to start roaming the neighborhood, so I accompanied them. We went to the park, swung on the swings, and generally had a nice time. They were overly affectionate and making friends with people they referred to as "hobos", as in, "Hobos sure are cool, Megan." Eventually, I decided I'd had enough and turned for home. Once we were inside an enclosed space, I immediately wanted them to leave. I wanted to sit with adults and eat dinner, and not have teenagers screaming in my ear.

At one point in my life, I too was a stupid drunk teenager. I drank a lot in high school, and by the time I graduated, was pretty much done with the scene. I got to college, and it seemed so strange to me. Where was the fun? Where did I fit in if I didn't drink? How could I be social and well-liked, but not have to go to worship night and sing hymns? It never seemed like there were other options, so I played the part. A close friend regales me with stories of me at parties, drunk and topless, which I have no memory of.

I drank for the same reason most people do. I drank to get away from feeling lost and alone. I drank to fit in. I drank to pretend that everything in my life was okay, and that I wasn't miserable all the time. It worked. But it also brought out my selfishness, and my tendency to be unkind. I was too honest, unfiltered, and passed out quickly. I was like a tornado, spinning quickly through the room, spreading loads of damage, then disappearing into the night.

I don't miss those days. I don't miss feeling so awful, hating myself so incredibly much. I like myself today, and I strive to spend my time in a way that encourages self-love and discourages self-loathing. Oftentimes, I am too hard on myself, and I expect more of myself than I do of anyone else. But sometimes I get it right, and then on a rare occasion think, "Gosh I'm glad to be alive". But that's not today. I'll try again tomorrow.

Peace out :)

Postscript (10/21/12): I in no way contributed to the teenagers being drunk, just in case you worrywarts are having anxiety.

25 hour work-week?

I had a thought this week, now that I'm considering my future post-graduation. I've been supporting myself in unique ways over the past several years, and I may soon have the opportunity to put that aside in the interest of something more stable, higher-paying, and let's face it, more demanding. And I'm thinking that I don't want to, not because I'm lazy (I work constantly as it is), but because I don't want to contribute to a society that claims that work is life.

When I consider my life, and the lives of others, I see that the strain work places on us as human beings causes us to treat ourselves with less care, in the interest of our jobs. We give our jobs all we have, whether we realize it or not. Then all that is left at the end of the day is the dregs. How is that life? Let's face it-who among us, with a full-time job, really spends every minute working? The answer is not zero. I understand that there are plenty of people who work hard, and then others for a number of reasons are limited by their own abilities and work harder than most. I grant you that.

What if you only had to be productive half the time? Or even less? What if everyone were salaried, and could leave when their work was done? What if we began to look at eachother more as human beings and less as mindless, all-powerful, drones? What if we were all honest about our needs? What if we were vulnerable, and committed to change?

Utopia is a dream, but being fully human is something worth striving for.

Sexual Zeitgeist

When a prostitute can comment on the sexual zeitgeist of an age, you know you have to listen. And since I've read this editorial/commentary/opinion piece, I've thought to myself, "I wonder if it was always thus? Have sex workers always had their fingers on the pulse of the sexual heartbeat of the nation and/or culture?" I think this might be entirely possible.

I feel lonely sometimes, though I am rarely lonely in its truest sense. I am not hungry for human affection, or love. I'm not even hungry for canine love or affection. But there is something deep inside of me that longs for touch that can only truly come in the form of a significant other, a romantic partner, not because sex is the be-all, end-all, but because that's what it's there for. It exists as an outlet for true and honest intimacy. We pervert it all the time, but at its essence, that's what it is.

So I strive towards that end. I search to express my sexuality in ways that are honest, and true to who I am as a person. I try to be honest with my words, with my tone, my body language, and my physical appearance. I may fail in any and all ways at one or more times, but I keep trying. I want connection, but I only want honest connection from someone that wants to connect with me. I don't want false intimacy. I've had enough of that for a lifetime.

An addiction to thrift?

 

So I read a blog post this morning that talked about thrift addiction (i.e. the addiction to thrift store shopping). I've been wondering lately if I have such an addiction, and this blog post really hit me hard. I resonated with the idea that I thrift for therapy. I go thrifting at the end of a long day: I walk the aisles; I comb through racks; I talk to my crazy thrift store friends. I freely admit it. I know I do it. I do it intentionally. And I haven't run the numbers, but I think I'm in the black overall.

Here's my take on this, if we're going to use the word addiction to describe the things we use to define us, that consume our time and energy, and give us purpose in life. The word addiction has a negative connotation, yet we all use it freely. People say they're addicted to their Diet Cola of choice, but I don't stress about that. People say they're addicted to running, to a particular sport, to a place they like to go (e.g. Yosemite), but I say that if it isn't harming anyone, then it isn't a real addiction.

Thrifting can be an addiction if it comes between you and people, if it distances you from those you love. I mentioned once that I feared that someone I loved would ask me to give up thrift entirely, and that I would be challenged to let go of something I didn't think I could live without, because it permeated every part of my life. Honestly, I don't know if I could, and that scares me. I wouldn't define it as an addiction, but I have allowed it to become something I depend on to the point of dependence.

Scary, but is it wrong?

Less pie.

$6.27.

That's how much I spent today. I think I'm doing better not thrifting compulsively. One of the hardest things is not buying things for other people. I have a friend I buy clothes for, a teacher I buy books for, and then there is the year-long gift buying. When I find something, I get it, and then I'm always ready when a birthday comes.

Now I am feeling calmer. Instead of buying all of the vintage Vogue sewing patterns that I found, I only bought the two most valuable ones. I'm so proud of myself. That viewing of Hoarders really did me some good. I also dropped off a box of stuff today for donating.

I am not compulsive. I am healthy and make healthy decisions. But I did eat too much sugar last night and the headache I woke up with was killer.

Next step in healthy decision-making: less pie.

Loving what you love

 

Do you ever wonder why you want what you want, what makes you interested in your interests, why you love who you love?

Sometimes our desires are born from our upbringing, and sometimes this can be good. You like Christmas music because it reminds you of the holidays with your family. You love strudel because you always ate it at Grandma's house. You like to bowl, because you went bowling every Saturday morning with Dad.

But sometimes our desires are born from suffering. You love running because it makes you feel strong, and you were made to feel weak and insignificant as a child. You love eating, sometimes too much, because it fills a void you can't quite name. You become an accountant because you were homeless as a child and want to avoid any feeling of helplessness.

These are things that trigger our deepest feelings, good and bad. Oftentimes, the things that are the most important to us are the most difficult to explain to other people. If your heart could speak, it would explain, and people would understand.

I'm beginning to think that I love what I love for good reasons, and bad reasons, and I'm wondering where to draw the line. How much bad is too much?

"The WWE is not real, honey"

So, I love reality television.

1. Anything with Kardashian in it: Family members walk through the room when it's on and moan that I'm frying brain cells. Your complaints do not affect me, pious ones.
2. Bachelor/Bachelorette: This is best watched with others who enjoy watching and commenting on good vs. bad social interactions. This way, I figure that by the time I'm 40, I'll be able to date. By then, I'll have learned all the things not to do.
3. The Biggest Loser: I don't watch the newest season. I'm not even tempted to watch it without Jillian Michaels. She and Bob had perfect chemistry. I love watching people change, learn things about themselves that they never knew before, and get healthier.
4. Survivor: What does a liar look like? What does a trustworthy person look like? I have a lot of trouble reading facial expressions, so this is quite helpful to me.
5. So You Think You Can Dance? Teenagers reaching for their dreams? Enough said.
6. Work of Art: Awesome first season. Artists in competition? Chaos ensues.

But, I am also a discerning connoisseur. I choose carefully, and do not enjoy the following:

1. Real Housewives of anywhere: Mom, seriously? Turn it off. Turn it off right now.
2. Music competitions. This includes American Idol, which I only watch with my parents because they love it so much. They especially enjoy introducing the contestants to me.
3. Dancing with the Stars: That's what it's called right? The one where they take unknown soap opera actors and make them dance with midgets? All I know is that people don't like it because it's going to make all of our children transgendered. Now that's a reason to watch.

Hate reality television? Tell me why. I'd love to attempt empathy.

Just pick something.

 Extreme hopes are born of extreme misery.

Bertrand Russell

In reality, hope is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man.

Friedrich Nietzsche

I am a stubborn fool, and believe in things that will never be. But I am also a wise fool, because I believe in the impossible, and maybe, just maybe, hope things into being. I've been told that I would die without hope, because I said I didn't have any. But to live without hope is no life at all. To live without believing, even somewhere deep inside your own unconscious mind, that something better is possible, is to be dead.

Every person alive has some form of drive to live, and I call that hope, I guess, whether or not it really fits (If I tweak the definition a bit, I can claim that I have some and no one will worry about me). Depression can be the realization that there is no reason to hope, and no thing to hope for. So every day, I wake up, and I find something that keeps me going. Sometimes, it's completely delusional. Actually, it's usually delusional; that's why it sticks around. It's the rational hopes that don't last long-they are quickly swept into the "not possible" pile and filed away in the garage.

I believe in the impossible. It has gotten me through decades of life-not-always-worth-living. And to give it up, and hope in a God I cannot see or touch or feel, who may or may not ever return-that seems more delusional than thinking you can time travel to win the lottery, don't you think?

The unattainable thrifty middle-ground

My perfect rug is still sitting on the dirty cement floor of a warehouse-sized thrift store in town. I just can't see myself spending $265 on it. It's super nice and perfect for me, and huge (and yellow!), but that's a month's rent. It's food. It's an African famine, and a broken world.

On the qualifier list for Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder (OCPD; not to be confused with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) are the following:

·       is overconscientious, scrupulous, and inflexible about matters of morality, ethics, or values (not accounted for by cultural or religious identification) 

·       is unable to discard worn-out or worthless objects even when they have no sentimental value 

·       is reluctant to delegate tasks or to work with others unless they submit to exactly his or her way of doing things 

·       adopts a miserly spending style toward both self and others; money is viewed as something to be hoarded for future catastrophes 

·       shows rigidity and stubbornness

American Psychiatric Association. (2000).  Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition, Text Revision.

Where may hoarders fall? Yup. On this list. Where do I fall? Yup, on this list. Miserly? Okay, so I am poor, so maybe we could take that one out. And my ethical preoccupation is kind of religious, so maybe that one can go as well. But I am definitely unable to delegate, ridiculously stubborn, and unable to discard worn-out or worthless objects.

You may be saying to yourself "Well sure, but you're a thrifter. Those aren't worthless objects." Sure, but when I was moving last month, I came across a drawer of things I'd saved that might/could be used in some artistic endeavor in the far-off future. Well, it was not trash ( I cannot call it trash), but I threw it away, in agony. This is why I wail at the SPCA photos on my Facebook page. "Why has someone thrown this away?" My chest hurts when I think about throwing away the things from that box: old string, wire, springs, used tissue paper-nothing of value!

But sometimes I get so preoccupied with my recycling ethic that I move over into pathology. Friends don't want to tell me that their dog came from a breeder, that they own a pick-up truck, that they eat cheese. And I myself don't know where to draw the line, because it doesn't exist inside of me. I have to project it onto every situation: Will this drain me of energy? Do I really have the time to live with this?

So I don't have a personality disorder, as much as I want to believe that I do. I was sure raised to go in that direction, but by the grace of God go I. Cheers!

This is not food porn

So, Sexual Addictions. I know that I would dish, and I will, in part, but mostly I want to comment on the nature of the issue itself. The class was fine. I was of course offended by the usual injustices of lack of egalitarian language, and a sole focus on married people and all of their problems. Because who wants to even talk about single people and all of their problems ad nauseum? We all know that once you get a single person talking about themselves, it could go on forever, right? They're so darn selfish.

If I get too offended about these issues, I won't get much done. I'll become a tape that just plays the same sides back and forth, over and again. And of course, I can't start talking about the gays and all of their deviant homosexual problems either. So I will just stick to the real stuff. Get married in that normal hetero way. Attach fully to your spouse. Be honest; get therapy; don't look at porn; repeat.

Okay, so apart from all of my sarcasm, sexual addiction is real (and it's more than pornography), and the neurological factors involved are also real. The brain is deeply affected by visual sexualized stimuli, and pornography has become so accessible, affordable, and anonymous, that now pornography is reaching populations it may not have reached before. A lot of people struggle with sexual addiction. They feel controlled by it just like any addiction, and it's a hidden thing, a secret. Sex is always around us, but shame keeps us from always engaging in relationship in healthy ways. When we do something that we don't want anyone else to see, the shame sweeps us into a terrible cycle of secrets and hiding and unreality.

This is where I come in. If there's a huge percentage of men and women out there dealing with this, how can we allow it to remain a hidden, shameful issue? It's normal is what it is. Sex is normal. Arousal is normal. Attraction is normal. Our bodies do it without our permission. What fucks everything up is our belief that sex is dirty, that our humanness is dirty.

You are not dirty! There is nothing wrong with you! Say what you want. Say who you are.

There is no shame in being you. Start there. Accept yourself as you are, and when you feel completely okay with that, you can look into the parts of your life that aren't working so well, that are hurting your relationships, and hurting you. But don't start by hating yourself. That will never work.