Rummage Sale Planning - Part 2

This is possibly the most beautiful photograph I have ever taken.

So planning events is not something I am awesome at, not because I don't have experience. I have loads of experience. It's just the energy, and the neurotic stress I typically take upon myself. Stress makes me lose sleep at night, and then crash after the event for days, wishing I'd been more relaxed.

Now I have the opportunity to do that, to relax more, and stress less, to truly and fully adopt the persona I've been faking for so long: that I truly believe that everything will be okay, turn out well, etc. This involves not constantly thinking about said event, letting other people imagine things they would like to contribute, and not obsessing over the details. Because in the end, the purpose is to raise money, and that will happen. We will also add another life cycle to a piece of clothing or furniture.

Last but not least, we will raise awareness of a part of the world that has been largely forgotten (I mean, if we're not paying attention to our own wars, it makes sense that we wouldn't pay much attention to those we're only loosely affiliated with). So on that note, you can read here about what the sale will be supporting.

Love to all :)

Rummage sale planning - Part 1

Your ultimate dream: parent-child matching costumes.

I wish I had a delivery boy who brought me sandwiches from Whole Foods on weekends, or any evening really. I was at Whole Foods last night getting groceries, and wishing that I was home in a prone position. Sometimes I think people need to get married so that they split up these kinds of things. I swear I talk to so many women whose husbands cook and clean, and I do not know how this all goes down. It's a mystery to me. I tend to be more traditional, hands in hot soapy water washing dishes, making broccoli pesto for dinner, etc. There are just certain things I don't like to do, and sometimes these things keep me from doing things I would enjoy doing.

[Insert rummage sale here]. So I am currently organizing a rummage sale, to be held at my church, to raise money for Syrian refugees. I found myself getting too caught up in the minutiae of my own life, took a step back, and realized that I needed to be more productive, and generally whine less.

I did the same thing a couple years ago, but it stressed me out so much that I swore I'd never do it again. Now I'm just trying to stay chill, let things happen, and not agonize over the details. I don't know if it's working. I'll let you know.

Rat's ass, flying f***, etc.

Vintage scarf with a design I thought was cool, and now adorns my office :)

I've decided that not giving a fuck is like, our calling in life as human beings. Now hear me out please. I'm not suggesting that we hurt other people, but that we stop having freak-outs over all of the things we think might happen, or what people might think, or might do. Maybe something will happen that is difficult, or even unmanageable, but let's get to that when it comes, not years before. Think of all your wasted anxiety on things that never came to be, how much sleep you lost, how little you ate, how much you cried, etc, etc, etc.

So I may, or may not, have had a seizure a couple weeks ago in yoga, and this possible seizure has created a whole host of problems for me, the least of which is the totally inappropriate time at which this all happened. It seriously has put me over the edge. Suddenly, I have to deal with all of these tests and doctors, unexpected medical bills, rescheduling a whole host of appointments for work, and it's all a pain in the ass.

But here's the deal: all of the things that I've been stressing out about at work have fallen by the wayside. Suddenly I have no room for the extra anxiety of thinking about what people might be thinking about me. I think it actually makes me do my job better. Suddenly, I've stopped giving a fuck, and it's a wonderful thing. I keep imagining that this is what eighty-year-old women feel like.

Also, my hair just keeps looking awesome, so that helps too.

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.

I am bad at being patient.

After waiting two years to find these in my size, when they arrived, all I could think was, "Meh"

So I moved into my new office today, and found that in spite of my saying that "yes, that's okay with me", it did not feel okay to have someone else's things in the office. The previous occupant needs a little bit of grace to move her things out. And in that moment (which extended into a school-day long of feeling crappy and anxious), I realized, "Hey Megan, you're not as patient as you thought you were." Shit. I was afraid of that.

I have waited for a lot of things in my life, and for some of them, I am still waiting. Scratch that. I've been waiting for a lot of things for my whole life. I thought that this waiting was making me a patient person, but in fact, it isn't. I've become angry about the waiting. I'm angry with God for the hand I was dealt. I'm angry at God for not plucking me out of my own life, and giving me a similar, but easier, alternate reality. Instead of being an adult about the whole thing, I've allowed my three-year-old self to run the show, and she's constantly asking, "Are we there yet?" And I don't know what to tell her. "No, we're not there yet. I don't know when we're going to be there, or if we'll ever get there, or if I even know where it is we're supposedly going." Is that what I say?

Whatever I end up saying, I want it to be something that helps me to be more patient, that points me in the right direction, instead of where I am at the moment, the decidedly wrong direction. Somehow, I need to learn to be patient for the things I want. But it's so hard. I want it now!

Also, I'm terrible with change, so that might not be helping the situation. Prescription? More cowbell!

Frugal tip of the day - Free Yoga :)

 
So I've been doing a lot of yoga lately. I started about a year ago, give or take, and it has helped me to stay calm as my life has become increasingly more diverse, and I take on more responsibility over my own life and the lives of others. In light of my extreme poverty this summer, I stopped going to my yoga studio. I think it's been months since I was last there, and every time I thought of it, I got a little sad. But then I had an idea. YouTube!

So I am now practicing more than ever, with friendly yogis who've done the world a huge service by donating their time and talent to the world wide web. My spine is straighter, my brain is clearer, and I'm generally a happier person (also, my blood sugar is always better with yoga than with any other form of exercise). I did this one yesterday, and tried a pose I'd never done before. I don't know what I'm going to do when I go back to my garage, and lose out on the benefit of a living room to spread out in ;)

But just in case you're wondering, I will definitely go back to my local neighborhood studio when I have the funds to do so. I think it's important to support the people who pour their lives into the health of the community.

What I want :)

To know me is to know I love cake :)

So in an effort to evidence my desire to want more, here is what I've come up with. While I understand that these things may not all occur, I still want them to. So this is what I wrote the day I decided to start wanting things.

I want a house, with a kitchen, a kitchen window and counter space
I want to write a book, a whole book, and then another, and then another
I want sons who climb trees and get into trouble - I don't want a television
I want to learn Spanish
I want to go to Slovenia - I want to live in Slovenia, learn the language, write my book
I want to tell my mother how she hurt me, and let her know that I forgive her
I want to hike the John Muir trail
I want to do a headstand and the splits
I want to take a Northern California thrifting tour
I want to see Lori McKenna with Amy for my birthday
I want to go to the annual San Francisco library book sale
I want to visit my friends in Canada, and in Kansas, and in Switzerland
I want to go to an art conference in New Mexico
I want to go to Vista Academy to see my tile

Another day, I will explain all of these, but not today. Peace out.

Want is a terrible thing.

I wasn't much of a Barbie girl...my poor mother laments this

“[S]he believed that the Buddhists were right – that if you want, you will suffer; if you love, you will grieve.”

-Anne Lamott, Crooked Little Heart

Last week, in between watching the Olympics, reading Jane Austen, and hangin' with the dogs, I thought about some stuff. I generally try not to think too much, since I'm neurotic and thinking too much all the time anyway, but sometimes it's necessary to sit in silence and work to untangle some things in your brain. I probably have done a lot of thinking this summer, since I had no time to think the previous year. Perhaps the thoughts just backed up in my brain, and had to be processed one by one, like items on a conveyer belt coming out my ears.

When I was a kid, I didn't want things. I just didn't. I learned at an early age that wanting was futile, that it only brought pain, and that it was just easier to avoid it entirely. But when things started to happen that were outside of my control - I fell in love, and didn't know what to do about it - I was faced with the question, "How does a person want and not want, love and avoid, all at the same time?" After all those years of not-wanting, the feeling of want became unbearable, so uncomfortable, and I got stuck between the two, not being able to choose either one.

So I've decided to want things, and unfortunately (oh boy), wanting means suffering. Wanting inevitably means not having, not getting. And at some point, I might get the things that I want, the big things, or maybe I'll get different things, things that are better for me than the things I want (thank you, Mick Jagger). But I'm tired of believing that I don't deserve the things that other people have, that for whatever reason I deserve less because I am less.

Oh geez, sometimes I sound like a makeup commercial.

Belt buckles - Booyah.

Mim Di N (what does that even mean?!) belt buckle

This afternoon, my nurse practitioner, who is in charge of my diabetic care (obviously second in command), told me that something has happened to me that is so interesting, she is going to bring it up in her next case conference! How cool is that?! She said that one of the doctors at the practice is a diabetes nerd. I said, "I'm a psychopath nerd". She laughed. She got it. We had a moment of shared understanding. It's weird to have to be in school so long just to do what I want to do, the thing that my soul knows how to do.

Solid Brass-Made in Israel.

I made a thrift stop on the way home and have already listed everything I bought! How awesome is that? I was so productive today. I cleaned the yard for my party. I had help. We were amazing. Me and my tall friend made that yard our bitch. I was so proud, I had to keep going outside to look at it. There was so much dust, I kept blowing my snot all over the place. Disgusting. I was sneezing like a mofo.

Just to emphasize the awesomeness of this feat, I did not, as a rule, do yardwork until about a year ago when I found that it was cathartic. So me, doing yardwork, and getting injured (I got a palm thorn stuck in my hand) was some kind of proof to the world (and my parents, who am I kidding) that I'm not a loser. I'm a grown-up who does yardwork.

Booyah.

We are not cylons.

 

I'm starting to hope that somehow, some way, I can overcome the monstrosity of my childhood and manage to eek out a healthy, long-term relationship. Most of the time, it feels hopeless. People who don't really know me assume I'm attached, because for all appearances, I look like someone who has a stable person in her life.

I'm not trying to be coupled to meet anyone else's expectations. I don't even know if I could manage a long-term relationship under one roof. I don't know because I've never done it. I don't know, because in my life, it has not yet proven possible. It is a very difficult thing to hold two things in constant balance: the desire to be with another person along with the need to be comfortable in my own skin and content with my own life, as it is, today.

Somehow, I have to hold on to both of these parts of myself, and continue to move forward. I have to choose to be the person whose life I have lived, whose full life I have lived, and still hope for something different to be created in the future. That person has suffered. That person hurts. But that person is only a person, a human being, if all of those things are true. To be human is to feel pain, and not be able to turn it off, or successfully wish it away. To be human is to be imperfect and my imperfection happens to be highlighted in this one particular area.

We are not cylons (tee-hee -- I am currently hooked on Battlestar Galactica).

Ideals vs. reality

Today was not a good day for me personally, but it was a pretty good thrifting day. I spent less, which is always great. I didn't take care of myself as well as I should, though. I'm losing steam, and making unwise decisions, or maybe I'm just being thrown complex problems. Who knows?

The dog and I are not a good fit. We're just not. But I'm caught between the ideal of never going back on an agreement, and the reality of a dog who needs a different structure to thrive.

Can someone bring me some ice cream? I think that ice cream would make me feel better.

Ack! Lent is coming!

I haven't given anything up for Lent in years. My life is already about deprivation. Not a day goes by that I don't willingly live without something I want. The only reason I'm considering going to weekly Lenten prayers at my church is because everyone goes out for bagels afterwards. I'm tired of living through Lent, listening to people detail their wonderful deprivation skills, their ability to go without. Am I being judgmental? Definitely.

I am often judgmental. As long as this depraved habit doesn't affect my life in too negative a way, I usually just forgive myself and move on. Except then I miss out on what Lent offers for me (ah, perhaps individualism could benefit me in some way in this instance). Maybe Lent offers me a reason to spend less time on the computer. Maybe Lent offers me outside time for gardening, or more yoga and less ice cream, or vice versa. I don't know.

A while back there was a significant other in my life, in that he was significant because he'd seen me naked, and an other, because he wasn't a lady from my gym locker room. He was always looking to be more spiritual. He tried and tried to be monk-like without actually being celibate. We listened to monks-chanting-psalms on tape in the car. We lit candles and read the bible. When he was upset, I read to him from my favorite book of sermons.

This all felt like an act, like a play with meaningful lines, but with actors playing parts, not real people living their real lives. It all felt false, and I felt empty. On the surface, for me, it looked like I was making good decisions-I'd chosen a good Christian man, hadn't I? But being in this relationship made it feel like someone stuck a maple tap into my heart, and blood just dripped out day by day. I needed an infusion, and I was lost.

Sometimes spirituality is empty because it's only on the surface. We can't make something happen in our souls. We can try, but there has to be a response from the other side. Even Mother Theresa felt like God didn't speak to her. Being "spiritual" doesn't always mean what we think it means.

Maybe take some time this Lenten season for your spirit, in whatever way feeds your soul. I will continue to contemplate the ritual, as I do every year.

Part II: Scars and Clumsiness

Define yourself radically as one beloved by God.

-Brennan Manning

So I'm lying on the canal trail, bleeding, with asphalt in my wounds and the terrible bad luck to have twisted one ankle, but fallen on the opposite side. Both sides were inoperable, and even though I lived a quarter mile away, there was no way I could get there on my own. So I figured I'd wait it out, lie on the pavement and wait for a car to drive by. I was close enough to a street lamp that I was covered in a dull yellow light.

Several minutes later, a kind, caring couple stopped in their car. They put me in their Volvo and drove me home (so close, yet so far). We'd never met, and in that delirious moment, I wasn't sure they were real (again, low blood sugar + runner's high + serious injury = delirium).

I ended up being in crutches for a week. I couldn't work because of the terrain of the job, so I lived on my couch with my legs in the air, hoping I hadn't done permanent damage that would lead to a foot amputation (I was an uninsured diabetic with a foot injury; my mind wouldn't stop swirling with worry).

When my wounds healed, which they all eventually did, I had a bright red heart-shaped scar on my knee. And for some reason, I felt like it meant something. I felt loved and protected, and today, that scar reminds me of that feeling. I don't feel foolish for running at night, or for running alone. I don't feel silly for getting hurt at the beginning of a new job. I don't feel those things, because of that little heart, reminding me that I am loved unconditionally, even radically.

Many more times in the next few years, I would experience similar reminders, none of them visible scars, but all of them tattooed on my memory forever.

Scars and clumsiness

This morning I saw this collection of photos on The Huffington Post. Scars are often jarring, disconcerting things when seen from the perspective of onlookers. But by-and-large, people seem to be proud of their scars. This surprised me; I'm not sure why (Obviously, this is not an unbiased sample, though).

I have huge scars on both knees and I don't feel entirely fond of them. They're only a reminder of my clumsiness. In my crazed long-distance running days, I fell a lot, always on asphalt. One of these injuries was particularly bad. I'd just started a new job, and the human resources manager asked me to stay after my shift to work an employment fair with her. At the time, I had even less of an ability to say "No" than I do now, so even though I was exhausted, I went.

By the time I got home, it was dark, and I had to run out my stress. There was a mile-long paved trail right by my house, lit at night, and I ran laps. By the end, I had that runner's high combined with low blood sugar and maybe some dizziness. I tripped, and fell, sprained an ankle and a foot, and busted my knee. I couldn't get up and was bleeding all over myself. It was dark outside and there was no one around.

I'll finish the story tomorrow. Oo! A cliffhanger!

My un-straight spine

I kinda wish I had a job where I could be a little more flashy. In some ways, I feel like the way I might normally dress, even nicely, might draw too much attention to me, and my work is not about me.

When I get dressed, I don't think about how I want to look, or what I feel like wearing that day. I just pull out my slacks, and pick a shell and sweater that I haven't worn together lately. Then I try to make my face look like I haven't slept in hay, cover up my white lips, add some earrings, and it's an outfit. My medical ID bracelet is the only other "jewelry" I have. I believe I've previously disclosed my inability to wear necklaces. Maybe in another year or so, I'll try a necklace one day, when my neck is all the way straight.

I have a lot of tension in my neck and shoulders. This is something that I have dealt with for a long time, but is only becoming worse over time. Yoga helps, but it doesn't fix it. The best thing that I have found is getting adjusted by a chiropractor, and not little tweaking-major wrenching.

Maybe I am unique in this way, maybe not, but my spine is not as it should be. Working with a chiropractor has begun a reversal process (reversing what, I don't exactly know). The process isn't complete, but it is a whole lot better than it ever has been in my adult life. Thank you awesome chiropractor-you've helped me stand truly straight, for maybe the first time in my life :)

You can't control anybody.

 

I have no control over whether or not other people make poor choices, or whether they make good choices. I have no control over other people, period. That is a hard, horse-sized, pill to swallow, and sometimes, I think it takes a lifetime to try to do it right. So much of what we do involves our own imagined need to control other people. It keeps us from admitting our true pain, our unique weaknesses, and ultimately, our humanity. Attempting to control other people is an attempt to deny those things.

So maybe take some time today to think about the person or people that you wish you could control (Hint: They're probably the people you love the most, or your family, or both). Then take a deep breath, blow all of your breath into your closed hands, then lift them to the sky, and blow your troubles away. Blow away your desire to control, when it's an impossible goal. Blow away your defensiveness and blame. And while you're at it, you might as well blow away any shame you have at wanting control or trying to get it. We all do it. We're human.

Did you know I love dogs?

I saved a dog's life this week. It was a big black Labrador, late at night. He was standing in the middle of a dark street. I was also walking a black lab, which was strange, so I let them sniff eachother. Then the male dog ran into the street and got hit by a car.

I screamed. The dog walked away like nothing had happened, but the sound of the impact convinced me that he had some sort of internal injuries. I figured if I left him behind on the canal, he'd run into the street again and get killed (he insisted on running in front of the cars-so scary), so I hooked him to my leash and tried to walk the two beasts together. That lasted less than a minute, so I just hollered at him every time he went near the street and he walked home with us. It was awful. Walking one beast is enough of a job. Worrying about the other dog just made my heart race faster. I was exhausted when I got them both home in one piece.

The dog slept with me, so as only to keep him from being shot by an exasperated neighbor in the backyard after he howled with sorrow from 12 to 5am. I didn't get much sleep, between the howling, and the sleeping with a beast. But it was all worth it. In the morning, my mom called animal control and thirty minutes later, the owner was at the front door.

I know it's a simple silly story, but I felt like a hero that night, and saving a life is good for the soul.

Shame in me

Shame is an awful thing. I can feel it in my chest. It's like a fist grabs my heart, and then wrenches it to the right. Ouch.

I am feeling shame at this very moment, and I am trying to talk myself through it. I feel the shame of a little kid who is tattling, something I don't directly remember doing, but imagine I did quite often. Doing the right thing is very important to me. And when I see it out there, possible, I want to grab it and make it mine. I want to own the essence of being right. I want to own it and let it define me. I want to be right. I want to be right. I want to be right. Ad infinitum...

Being right makes us feel safe. It makes us feel in control. When that is questioned, when we make small mistakes, we are struck with the uninvited wrenching fist in the chest.

I have to talk to myself often, remind myself that I am fallible, remind myself that I cannot know the right and perfect way to do everything. All I have is myself, and whatever faculties are available in that particular moment.

In all reality, I am human and flawed, and I never do the right thing. But so are you, so at least we're all in this thing together.

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?

I need a new car.

 

I need a new car. I am done being a teenager with my old beater. I've had my youth. Now I want to be an adult. I'm tired of climbing in the back hatch because my doors won't open. I'm tired of the doors not opening. I'm tired of it being cold in the winter and hot in the summer. I'm done. It's time.

I just don't know how to make a new car happen. My meager subsistence is not enough to afford me any kind of vehicle other than my own. But to put another dollar into that damn thing will be the end of me. So I need a plan. Here are the options my friend and I came up with this evening. Option-creating is a no-holds-barred event. No option is too stupid when we're trying to develop a list of possibilities. So this is the beginning of the process. As it continues, the list will whittle down.

• Call my alien friends and ask them to send me a car
• Get a car loan from a bank
• Take out more student loan money next semester
• Find a sugar daddy

The rest of the list is not G-rated, so I won't be explicit. I need a car. I know what I want. Now I need to figure out how to get what I want.