Quote of the day :)

She did not believe that she could ever stop hating Nicky and Lee, until her pastor told her that when God was going to do something wonderful, it started with something hard, and when God was going to do something exquisite, He or She started with an impossibility.

Anne Lamott, Blue Shoe

Writing a book.

For the past several years, I have been slowly working on a book. Slowly is an understatement. This book might never be finished. But it is a part of me in a way that I cannot quite express, and therein lies the purpose of the thing. I write because it is who I am, and the book is my way of trying to figure out who I am. It's a weird circular thing.

Seeing myself is difficult, like running-an-ultramarathon-in-the-desert-difficult. I've spent most of my life seeing myself the way other people have described me: melodramatic, annoying, crazy, ugly. To challenge those messages, some of them a lifetime old, is a daily struggle, a work in the deepest primitive part of my brain. So to reach inside that part takes a different kind of energy than the day-to-day walking-around kind of energy.

Anyhow, the book is about my family and the reasons I am the way I am. But it'll probably take me the rest of my life to make something I'm really proud of. So in the meantime, it will be something, a hope, that sustains me.

Peace.

Hug a veteran :)

A Charles Schultz ode to veterans on Armistice Day (11/11)

There was a purple station wagon in the parking lot when I pulled up to one of my favorite thrift stores this afternoon. It was dotted with silver-toned ephemera, lots of crosses. I got to meet the owner at the cash register, and I'm really glad I did. Turns out he was a POW in Vietnam, and the purple on the car matched the purple heart license plate. He was also covered in silver-toned ephemera, with a Western-style outfit and pristine cowboy boots. He said that he never sleeps, so he makes jewelry and decorates his car. It's his thing. I assume it keeps him alive.

This article reports that one US veteran suicides approximately every hour (average of 22 a day, higher than previous calculations). 'Purple Car Man' reminded me of how important it is for people to have something that they find joy in, that keeps them busy, helps them to find meaning, etc. Of course it's never that simple, but it's a big thing. It keeps blood flowing in important areas of the brain, encourages human contact, maybe even increases the input of sunshine.

I can imagine that when people come home from war, minor hobby-ish things seem incidental, perhaps even silly and a waste of time. But unfortunately, this way of thinking keeps the trauma of war close at all times, increasing paranoia, and disconnectedness.

Thought of the day: Hug a veteran :)

Bah!

Current list of things I am tearing my hair out about:

1. On hold for 30+ minutes with student loan company who has the audacity to have one loan, while the other company has seven. Seriously? Yes.
2. Lost my hard drive last night. It died. It decided that life was over and it died. It didn't have a long illness, or struggle desperately to stay alive. It just up and died. And this is why I was at the mall on January 2nd, the last place I ever want to be. The only reason I'm ever there is to go to the Mac store, all for the privilege of feeling like an idiot.

This is why I ate banana pancakes with powdered sugar for lunch at 2pm. This is also why I am going to go make myself a cup of coffee, and drink it whilst listening to the loan guy drone on and on about forbearance, and income blah blah blah. Nevermind. I'll call back later.

Coffee time. Peace out.

And I shall write.

Isn't this an amazing mug? I wish I could give it to everyone.

Esperanza means to wait -

Oh if I'd known this alternate definition,
I'd have suffered patiently,
to wait for healing, and precision

God exists within this pain -
she, triumphant in this waiting tumult,
years passing with each day

Inside my cold and wasting heart,
blossoms bud in silent reverence
for this Abba others cast away,
to ease their confusion, disbelief

I am quiet in my closet,
marking down with lines each day,
waiting for my esperanza - hoping God will find her way

I wrote this poem a few years ago, when life was bleak and I wanted something to hold on to. I was looking for God, or meaning. I was looking for a reason for pain. And I found that sometimes there are no reasons, that to truly accept the depth of evil, deep down in your soul, is suicide, and all we can do sometimes is love one another, and speak truth, and hold hands, and all that good mushy gushy hippie stuff.

Much love.

Delusional hope.

I can't decide whether to give these to my shoe-loving friend for Christmas.

I think I've decided (for a brief moment of time) to be hopeful, for the future, because why not? Hope might be silly, and embarrassing sometimes, but it's tangible. There is no ephemeral hope. There is only hope for change, hope for better, hope for something different already, geez.

I often hope for a day without war, without violence in name and deed. I hope for this because I believe that we, the people, have the power to change the world for the better.

There's nothing better for fostering hope than staring through the window of a moving car (or train, if you're so lucky). That's how I get recentered, I guess, seeing the same scenery I've been seeing all my life, the same highway, the same crazy religious signs, the same oleander bushes. And I think to myself, "Well maybe I could change, maybe things could change a little, and everything would be okay".

I have hope that emptiness will be filled, that loss would be redeemed, and that someday, everything will make sense already, geez.

Peace out :)

Regroup, keep movin'...*

Vintage I. Magnin Pottery - Pretty neat, huh?

I am currently sitting in a whole house, looking onto a rain-spattered patio, two needy poodles by my side, French Toast and coffee in my belly, and listening to talk radio, ensuring that my extreme liberalism is mediated a bit by the other side.

What is it about me and the fall that makes me such a mess? What is it about me that makes me such a mess? At this time last year, I was working through my final year of grad school, and it felt like agony. It felt neverending, like every day was scheduled to the minute, and I had no room to move. This is different. This is emotional exhaustion, and I'm going to sit in this chair until I figure out what to do about it.

How did this happen? Well, it was a confluence of events, really: I haven't been doing so well on reaching my goal of no more freak-outs and no more chasing men (I know - I'm sorry), and I'm dirt poor and constantly worrying about money and blaming myself for my own choice to work in a field that will never help me leave the garage, and I'm in a weird spot where my support system has changed pretty drastically and I'm still trying to restructure and rebuild.

And then there is the reality of being a grown-up, that relationships are difficult, work is everyday, and sometimes low blood sugar becomes life threatening. Sometimes I want to scream at my friends who don't see that the answers are right in front of them, but right now I'm on the other side, unsure that there are any answers or solutions to what are really pretty small problems that I have allowed to overwhelm me.

I don't believe in "God's lessons" or that somehow I'm in a complicated play where in the end, I will be wiser because everything has worked out perfectly for the best. I believe in choice, and human nature, and this morning I am really, really stuck.

I'm taking some time off from life, gonna regroup, try to make sense of it all. Peace out :)

*The title is part of a lyric from a math album I sang on in elementary school. The full lyric goes, Regroup, keep movin', don't let the numbers get you down. Classic.

Delusion.

Pewter and Turquoise - pewter is a funny word.

I'm attempting to sort out some things in my brain at the moment. I use the word attempting loosely. I've been doing it for a couple days, but mostly I'm left just staring at the ceiling, in a daze. I think I've written some poems, and I'll probably write some more, but I don't know if that's even sufficient.

I like to have control. It's a safe feeling. It's a delusional feeling, but safe all the same. But these past two months have been completely out of my control, bringing things into my life that seriously seemed previously unthinkable and impossible. When I was in school, there was a rhythm. Predictable things happened. I worked all the time, and I was exhausted most of the time, and my brain was tired with all of the neurotransmitters being connected. But in the midst of exhaustion was a sense of certainty, that there was a goal at the end of every road, even an ultimate goal. But now there is no ultimate goal, just lots of learning new things and falling down, and standing back up and continuing on. There are no grades, no end to projects, no certainty about the future (again, delusional thinking).

I wonder how much most people fear stability, the quiet of the present moment, the constant unknown and lack of control. My insides get twisted up, and have to be untwisted, and that takes a little while, and a lot of staring at the ceiling.

Peace out :)

I'm gonna eat some pizza now.

Vintage Barbie poster - hellz yeah!

When I was young, and something didn't go my way, I immediately felt like all was lost and nothing would ever get better. I would bask in my misery and cry myself to sleep. And that was okay.

But now, I don't have the emotional room to give to freak-outs the way I used to. Maybe I've trained myself to get through all the feelings speedily, or maybe I'm more patient and loving, which is just doubtful (I'm an imperfect person, after all). Maybe I'm well-medicated. Maybe when I prayed for ECT, it actually happened and I have no memory of it. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Sometimes it takes what feels like forever to get what I want. I want to sell the Rabbit, and yet it sits in my driveway, unsold, for over three months. I want my spine to be straighter, but it takes years of daily work to make it so. And finally, I want a proper immune system, but that's not gonna happen, like ever.

Yeah, so now the making of the pizza, but with marinara sauce, because I wasn't paying attention at the grocery store, and I'm just going with it :)

I can't think of a title.

Shimano shoes - simple style, but very useable :)

I went to the city this weekend with my bff, saw Lori McKenna (ah, bliss), and had a silly time being away from home and getting back on solid ground.

Last week was really hard. I was faced with my professional inadequacies, and that was painful and difficult to work through. Somehow I thought graduating would make me more of a pro, and less like swiss cheese, but ah, 'tis not to be.

Have you ever told yourself (or someone else), "Yeah, I've dealt with that" or "That's not an issue for me anymore"? Well that was what I thought about my own struggles. I probably never realized that I was believing that I was whole and healed (and perfect), but my actions spoke otherwise. I've been behaving like someone who looks the part, but doesn't have all the skills yet. Yeah, teenagers can have sex, but should they? It's like that. So now that my humility has been sufficiently restored, I can go back to the business of helping people with my ego somewhat wounded, but my general safety improved.

I saw Ghandi yesterday, and now I'm reminded how he beat his wife, and how being human means being imperfect, and learning and growing and changing, becoming better, stronger, and wiser (hopefully).

Peace out :)

How long?

The nuclear symbol on a vintage tie - how cool is that?!

Have you ever held on to something for so long that it was unrecognizable? What immediately springs to mind is baby blankies. When I was four, my mother decided that the milestone of my pending entrance into kindergarten warranted throwing my blankie away. Now this was bad, especially for me, but the sentiment was in the right place. She wanted to mark the transition into school by saying, "Hey, you need to leave this behind. New things are coming."

Now that I've written that last thing, I'm starting to think about what I need to leave behind. I cut my hair. It's super short, but no fat face = okay with short hair. I'm actually not terribly unattractive without my usual fro overwhelming my face.

I've made two significant decisions this week: 1) I am no longer having freak-outs. I am calm and cool. I am an adult who handles her business and does not lose it at any given moment. 2) I am no longer chasing men. It hasn't been working, so I'm done. You've all been put on notice, I suppose.

Peace out.

Actually, you're pretty awesome.

We all have baggage. We've all made decisions we regret. I mean, if you're over the age of 30, you've had lovers, haters, and maybe even some pregnancies. You've been drunk one too many times, written one too many poems on your arm, and made out with the wrong person in front of a room full of people.

You've dropped out of school. You've broken up with the love of your life, "...because while he was sweet and sexy and basic, you were afraid you wouldn't be able to discuss Russian novels together (The Deep End of the Ocean, Jacquelyn Mitchard)." You've listened to more Phil Collins and Taylor Swift than you care to admit. You have a tattoo of someone's name that treated you badly. You've loved other people, taken care of other people, more than you've taken care of yourself.

You've hurt people on purpose, and said nasty things that still haunt you. But you deserve to be loved unconditionally, with abandon, just like everyone else, no matter what you've done.

Goodbye false hopes...

So yeah, I am back in the mire of my own brain waves, trying to figure out how to be 30, how to be me, and how to accept the life that I am currently living (without hesitation).

The wonder of it all is that my life is better at this moment than it has ever been. I am happier, more content, and I have more pure joy than I ever did before. But with all of this extra awesomeness comes this new unsettled feeling of, "Is this it? Is this the terribly romantic life I'd planned for myself, full of angst and resolution?"

Maybe those dreams, those hopes, were all just necessary along the way, keeping me alive long enough to get to a place where I didn't need false hope anymore. The idea that somehow, I have to cast aside (throw away!) false hopes that no longer serve me, significantly darkens my countenance.

Lisbeth would have none of these concerns. She'd just be a bad ass.

Ambiguity breeds anxiety :(

Skipper, the ultimate in waiting..."When will I be Barbie?"

I thought that after graduating, it might take a while to feel like myself again, but I'm finding that I only get moments here and there where I really feel sane and stable. Don't get me wrong; I'm not unstable, but I just feel, well, different.

Being in school, no matter how hard I worked, little I slept, and how poorly I cooked for myself (oatmeal x three = a day's worth of meals), I always had a purpose, a destination. And most days, especially 99% of the days of last year, I was genuinely happy with my life. But today, me with a masters degree is less happy and satisfied than me without said degree. And that doesn't make me happy.

I don't like being a pessimist, a cynic, a complainer. It's one thing to complain about Syria, Afghanistan, or factory farming, but it's just not admirable to be a stick-in-the-mud for no reason other than "Well, I dunno. I just don't feel like myself."

I spoke with a colleague this morning about this phenomenon, and he replied, "Yeah, that never goes away."

Sheesh.

Olympic Swimming :)

French Lead Crystal Goblets - Pompadour Pattern

I am having so much trouble watching the Olympics. It makes me really sad. I had to have a talk with myself this afternoon to get over the disappointment. I had to figure out why I was sad.

When I was a kid, let's see, over the past almost 30 years, I have seen many Olympic games. It was always a beloved thing in my family, and every four years, we sat together and enjoyed the solidarity and beauty of the games. As an adolescent, my swim coach brought a television to the pool and we'd watch in between sets. National-level swimming got me through high school, in a way. The idea of somehow rising to that level kept me motivated to train for years on end. The Olympics were like some far-off dream of all that swimming was meant to be. They inspired me to think big, even when those who believed in me most told me I'd never measure up.

And I didn't. I was a mediocre swimmer at best. I was the hardest worker in the pool, and certainly formidable as a high school swimmer in a small country pond, but as a year-round club swimmer, I was always in the middle of the pack, usually on the slower end. The Olympics make me sad because they represent the idea that we each have greatness inside of us, that we each have the capacity to be "The Best" at some thing. But now that I'm an adult, and my competitive swimming days are done (and I'm glad about that), I don't know how I'm gonna find greatness in my life. I don't know how I'm going to prove to myself that I'm good enough. I thought those letters after my name would help, but they really don't.

I imagine that at the end of the day, gold medals aren't that awesome anyway for those who win them. I imagine that they feel amazing for a while, as well they should, but then life goes quickly back to normal, and the winner still has to face their own humanity. That's how life seems to work out for me anyway.

There was a time, a moment in time, that I was crazy fast (crazy stupid fast). And when that moment passed, I was done swimming. I proved to myself that I had it in me, and then I was done. I got out of that pool, and never looked back. So when I have moments like this, like I'm having right now, wishing my life had turned out differently, I remember that moment, and it's all worth it.

The truth hurts.

1974 Vintage (Tattered) Holly Hobbie Doll

So I'm listening to Taylor Swift on repeat. It's a beautiful thing. I don't know why I get hooked on stuff, but she is definitely my current fave. I'm also hooked on having lots of thinking time. 108 degrees will do that to a person. Don't you wish that thinking actually helped a person? That somehow we could think our way out of problems? But no. It doesn't work that way. We have to talk, communicate with others. We have to be in relationships with other people, and that's where it gets tricky.

Yesterday, I received a lovely email from a relative telling me what a terrible person/daughter I am, etc, etc. Now, unless you begin to fret, I'll let you in on a secret: I've received at least a hundred of these things in my lifetime, and do not intend to have a freak-out on account of other people's misplaced anxiety. That being said, 100 of these nasty things can make a girl tired, and in 108 degrees, just done. So, even though I usually throw them away and move on with my day, this one stuck with me, as they tend to do every so often. And in a rare moment of clarity and temperance, I responded.

Nasty emails should not always be responded to. I find that filtering my email (along with various other accounts), allows me to completely avoid the nastiness that other people like to send my way. But sometimes the truth is necessary, and needs to be said. And you know what? Oftentimes the truth hurts, because the truth often just sucks. And that's just the truth.

But use with discretion, like alcohol.

eBay customer rant

Stop eating people's old French fries, pigeon. Have some self respect! Don't you know you can fly?

~ Tracy Jordan (30 Rock)

I receive offers weekly where potential buyers literally beg me to sell them an item for a particular price. Now, I have a "Best Offer" feature on most of my listings, and I welcome offers, but I hate these interactions. Each of them is more insulting than the last. I reject them all, regardless of the amount. I am not your savior! You will not die if you don't have these shoes, or these hair clips. It is not my responsibility (as a stranger!) to take care of you. Do you go to the grocery store and beg the checkers to sell you groceries for less than the asking price? Is begging via eBay really your bottom? Do you need to debase yourself to feel worthy? Seriously, if that's all you've got, that's all you've got, but own it already! Be who you are without apology.

Rant over. Peace out.

Good Sunday to you :)

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Eleanor Roosevelt

A great thing happened today: I went rock climbing (at a climbing gym) for the first time ever, and I went all the way to the ceiling! It was awesome, and I thought you should know. It seems like the scariest thing ever, since you're hanging onto a wall with your fingertips and the side of your foot, but then you just take one step at a time, and eventually you're there! My friends who took me go all the time (they're fiends), so they were super positive and encouraging, and I felt really supported. I figured out that I don't like being told what to do when I'm in the middle of doing it. I need to be able to focus as much as possible on the task at hand, and voices calling out to me where to put the foot I can't see (on the 2" rock I also cannot see) are simply not helpful to me.

So that was good to know about myself. I hadn't quite put those two things together before. See how much I love personal development? I think everyone should do things that scare them just for the heck of it, and we'd all be better people. Unfortunately, I think that a lot of people do drugs and join gangs in an effort to confront their own fears, and this isn't usually a good idea. So maybe the ethos isn't perfect, but it's worth thinking about.

Peace out.

Love them anyway :)

People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered.
Love them anyway.

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Do good anyway.

If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway.

The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway.

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.

The biggest men and women with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men and women with the smallest minds.
Think big anyway.

People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs.
Fight for a few underdogs anyway.

What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway.

People really need help but may attack you if you do help them.
Help people anyway.

Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth.
Give the world the best you have anyway.

 ~ Kent M. Keith 

When I was in high school, and going through a pretty difficult time in my life (parent in the hospital), my school found it prudent to send me to a sports psychologist. Whatever. That was the last thing I needed at the time. They might as well have sent me to an accountant. I was sixteen, and my life was falling apart. I did not need to talk about swimming.

But he was a wonderful man, who really wanted to help me, but who, because of his credentials, could only do so under the auspices of sports psychology. Now that I'm older, I know that he could have done it differently and still have been ethical, but I guess he did the best he could with the information he was given. I admit that I was a particularly difficult teenager, who probably said that nothing was wrong, so I really can't blame the guy for trying.

My heroes were Ralph Waldo Emerson and David Thoreau. I was a romantic, a dreamer, at my core. So when he gave me this poem, it became incredibly formational in my approach to life. The ideas spoke to me in my I-refuse-to-be-cynical view of the world. They told me that there was power in my choices. It gave me hope to think that there were other people in the world who fought as hard as I did.

That thought still gives me hope :)

Happy Saturday :)

This bird's nest fell out of a tree in my front yard :)

This has been a tough week, but the past several have been tough, so that really doesn't mean all that much. I hate the depression of summer, but it keeps me from going over the edge and collapsing the rest of the time, so it's worth the difficult days, usually. Mostly I just sit in my apartment with my mini fan pointed directly at me, doing eBay schtuff and listening to talk radio. Television makes me feel a lot more guilty, so I try to take it in small amounts (I don't know where I got the idea that summer television was shameful - probably my mother). Also, I drink a lot of smoothies, which makes me feel like a rock star. They're full of spinach and berries. I figure my iron and antioxidant load is now back where it should be.

Tonight, I am going out with friends to see Magic Mike (I later read this, and had some brain waves to the contrary). I am telling you so that you know that I have no shame (I think). Oh man, at the end of Dear John, when Channing Tatum and Amanda Seyfried's characters end up together after her sufficiently hot first husband dies tragically, gives me hope that love can truly conquer all. I'm not kidding.