Help and the Crazy Person (me)

Sometimes I have this feeling that I know what I'm doing and where I'm headed in life. That feeling is rare and never lasts long. It's as though I glimpse it and then something happens and I lose focus and I can never piece it back together. Like I wrote it down on a crumpled wad of paper and then opened the paper up, smoothed it out, and try to figure out what it said. I don't know why I feel like this. It should be simple enough. I'm a wife and a mom and a full-time employee and a friend and lots of other things. Shouldn't that be enough?

Well, it's not. It's not enough to just be those things. I want to do something else. I want to know that something I did in my life made a difference for at least a few people, as cliche' as that sounds. This is absolutely not about being famous. I have no desire to have people in my business or to be on television or in the newspaper. It's more about me and the way I feel about myself and my own life.

When I hear about someone with a need, I have an impulse to do something, anything, to help out. For example, this week I heard that the cousin of a friend of a friend was in a terrible car accident. She was badly injured and her husband was killed. Their 2-year-old son was unharmed. Because they were traveling to visit family for an extended time they had all their personal belongings with them. The car went up in flames and they lost all their clothes. I went through all my 2T and 3T clothes bins to see what I could spare for the son, and then when I didn't find a lot there (as those are the sizes Owen is wearing now so I kind of need some of them), I went out sale-and-clearance rack shopping. I'm not saying I'm a great person for doing this. I'm just using this as an example of this issue I have. I don't even know these people and there is nothing at all I can do to ease the pain of what happened. But giving some decent clothes to that little boy was some action I could take that could make the circumstance of losing all their clothes a little more manageable.

The problem is that most people have some kind of need and I certainly can't help every person. And sometimes I question the kind of help I provide, because while it is a loving or kind thing to do, it is also driven in part by impulse and in part by guilt over that person being in such a terrible circumstance while I know my circumstances are not as bad. I envy people who focus on helping the homeless or on feeding the poor or on working with at-risk youth. They have found their niche. Their purpose. They have their way of making a difference right there in front of them all the time. I wish I had that.

On a sort of side note, this compulsion is not about 'saving' anyone. I know that I cannot save people from their circumstances or their choices or their back luck. I am (unfortunately) not a billionaire philanthropist, a psychiatrist, or a magician. It really is just about helping. Doing what is within my means and resources to do. I know that sometimes the best way to help is to just let someone work something out on their own or to step back and let better qualified people assist.

That said, I still wish I had one or two areas on which to focus. Something that was clearly what I was meant to do or meant to help with. Maybe I need someone to help me.

New Things I Now Know

I almost can't believe I made it. I know I missed one day, but I had a good excuse. I was preparing all day for a house full of girlfriends with my sisters and my sister's kids here. And then my sisters and I stayed up till 2AM talking and I was drinking wine and just could not muster the anything to write that night. Still, 30 out of 31 days seems like a huge accomplishment to me, despite that it is nothing in the grand scheme of things. So... what have I learned this month? I had decided to do a what-have-I-learned post based only on my writing, but this has been a really interesting month for me so I'm going to expand that and do a general lessons-learned-in-August-2009 post.

LL1 - I feel cheated out of summer and I hate how much the weather impacts my mood. We had the coolest July on record, followed by an August that, save for about 5 hot and humid days, felt like October. I love, love, love summertime and I have an extreme dislike for being cheated out of it this year. Here's hoping for a great Indian Summer.

LL2 - I have no poker face and should probably work on that. Just today I was in a meeting with several people in a conference room and one person on the phone. The person on the phone was not paying attention and kept interjecting things that didn't apply or asking questions about things that had already been fully explained. I realized half-way through that it was totally obvious to everyone in the meeting that I was half amused, half annoyed at the guy, just by the expressions on my face. I cannot be fake nice or face excited or fake any emotion. There is nothing wrong with being honest, but I should work on not wearing my emotions on my face in such an obvious manner.

LL3 - While writing is pretty much my only 'talent,' forcing myself to do it produces (at best) mixed results. All day I think about what I'm going to write and then I sit down and start writing and often times what shows up on the page is not suitable for posting. Then I get frustrated and post something to fill the spot that may or may not be even worse than what I was originally working on. I have an excess of drafts now that will likely never see the background of my blog. I have many thoughts I have tried to put into words that just seem crazy. I know... it is a little scary that I have things that are even crazier than all the things I've posted this month. I think I'm mostly sane though. For now.

LL4 - While I really want people to read what I write and leave me comments, I am paranoid about putting too much personal information out there. The crazy guy who commented on my post about the creature we had for a short time, still checks that post at least once a day and that really creeps me out. I think it's weird an anonymous person goes around commenting on other people's blogs and then has time to keep going back and checking them every day.

LL5 - Despite that I'm creeped out by trolls, I crave feedback on my work -- on what I can do better, on what is working, on what I should never do again and I wish more people either commented or emailed me about the stuff I write. I try to be all I'm-doing-this-for-my-own-enjoyment, but I guess I really do want to know what people think about the stuff I write. Even if they think it is crap.

LL6 - I think I'm getting better at expressing my thoughts about the things I'm learning. At least in writing. In person is a whole different and scary thing.

I think that is enough for now. I had thought of more earlier in the day, but I didn't have time to write them down and now I've forgotten them. This has been a great exercise for me, but I'm ready for a break. I'm ready for writing from inspiration and not from self-imposed pressure. Thanks to the couple of you who have kept up with my blog this month. I doubt I write tomorrow, but I hope to be back soon with something I'm proud of.

Almost There

Two days left. This has been a really long month for me mentally. The self-imposed pressure of writing every day, combined with an unpaid week off work, the weird weather that made it seem more like fall than summertime (bleh!), and all these questions I'm trying to work through, has left me mentally and emotionally exhausted. I don't necessarily think this is negative, it's just the way I feel. I have more I want to write about my topic from Tuesday, but every time I sit down to write about it, whatever I put on the screen is all jumbled and confusing.

I want to write about religious tradition vs. biblical beliefs, but I still have so much research to do that I don't feel I can even begin to cover the topic. I do know that I am trying to sort out for myself what things I do or believe that are just traditions and then determine if those things are useful or helpful to me.

I want to write more about trust. I am still having trouble with this. I've thought a lot about
Isaiah 55:8 & 9, which reads, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." On one hand, it is reassuring to me, because it's a reminder that I am obviously not the first person to have questions about God and why he does what he does. That God sees the big picture and I can only see what's right in front of me. But it is also disconcerting because that doesn't answer questions to just say, "Well, he's God and we just can't know." I really don't think that's what God was trying to say, but sometimes it feels like it.

I want to write more about how I've often thought of my beliefs. I realized that because of so many negative things I dislike about 'Christianity' and many who profess it, I am moderately ashamed to say I am a Christian. I am not ashamed that I have a relationship with God, it's more some kind of misplaced guilt for being affiliated with a religion that people can so easily distort and have distorted for so many years. This guilt has impacted my life and decisions and opinions regarding church and people who attend church. I realize it is not my fault if other people get it so wrong, but I am having a really difficult time coming up with an acceptable answer, for myself and for others, as to why this happens and what I can do about it.

I want to write more about questions. I keep going back to one of my favorite Rob Bell excerpts:

Central to the Christian experience is the art of questioning God. Not belligerent, arrogant questions.... but naked, honest, vulnerable, raw questions, arising out of the awe that comes from engaging the living God. This type of questioning frees us. Frees us from having to have it all figured out. Frees us from always having to be right. It allows us to have moments when we come to the end of our ability to comprehend.

To me this is not about giving up and accepting that something doesn't makes sense to me. I truly believe it would be wrong to just resign myself to not understanding. For me, this is about accepting that I may not understand something right now, but that might be that because of where I am right now, I'm not able to comprehend. BUT, if I keep searching and asking and studying and questioning, I will at some point gain at least some level of understanding in answer to my questions. Something to look forward to.

And I want to write about how all of this has me thinking about the difference between knowledge and experience. Sometimes when I think about people who have different beliefs than I have, I catch myself thinking they are somehow so much more intellectual or enlightened. My beliefs can seem old and quaint and outdated. But that is all about knowledge. That is just picking up some books and reading them and saying that one sounds logical and reasonable while the other seems confusing and crazy. If you just think about it on the surface, if there were a perfect person who never made any mistakes or did anything wrong, why would he chose to die for something he didn't do, just to reconcile the rest of humanity to God? BUT, if you've experienced the relationship and the love, the same story is amazing and beautiful.

So... yeah. I still have more I need to explore in these areas and still more topics I simply couldn't form into decent paragraphs today. The knowledge vs. experience thing is really big for me right now. I am struggling with how to talk about it with people who have only the knowledge and not the experience. Not in a 'come over to my side' way. But for me it is like talking to someone about a friend that person has never met. And in some cases it is like me talking to someone about a friend they have never met, who to them seems like my invisible friend. I just want to be ready with an answer... not a canned, 'Christian' answer, but a real and personal answer, should anyone ask questions.

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful." - Hebrews 10:23

What to Do?

My mind still has some thoughts swirling around regarding my topic from yesterday, but I need some time to catch them and make them into something concrete. I noticed that it has been over three months since I've written a post obsessing about tattoos. So while I'm still thinking of what to say on other, deeper topics, I will post some randomness about my tattoo obsession.

I've already written about why I like tattoos and what they mean to me so I'm just going to talk about my dilemma. I really want a new tattoo, but I also really want to add on to one I already have. As (good) tattoos are not inexpensive, I have to choose one or the other. The one I want to add to is the one on my shoulder. It is two wild violets and some ivy. Violets mean 'watchfulness' or 'faithfulness' and I got them to represent the boys and how as their mother I am to be watchful of them, not just in making sure they are safe, but also in the example I set for them. The ivy is for Ryan, as it means loyalty or fidelity. I loved my tattoo after I first got it and I still really love it. But when I look at it now it seems too small. Ivy doen't just grow in a little tiny patch all neatly around some flowers. I think it needs more ivy. I want more ivy.


But.... I also want something new. I still really want a foxtail, not exactly like the one in the picture on the left, but similar. It wouldn't be to represent someone else, it would just be for me. I love foxtails because they remind me of summertime in the country. I love summertime and a foxtail seems way less cliche' than getting a sun on my ankle (not that there is anything wrong with that if you have it). However, I am concerned about how it would translate to a tattoo. It would have to be big enough to get enough detail in, but I don't really want it taking up my entire side or side of my back. Decisions, decisons.

AND... I'm still trying to decide if I want something on my upper arm. I love the idea of magnolia branches and blooms, but that is a big decision to get something in a location that can't be so easily covered (in summertime, anyway). I'm not sure if I'm ready for that. Or maybe I am. *sigh*

Anyway, I am getting tattoo'd next month, I just have to decide with what. The ivy is my default, as I am completely certain I want it and I've already talked to my artist about it. I still have a few weeks to decide if I'm going to put that off and go with something new, so I guess we'll see what happens.

I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that

I lived just the length of it.

I want to have lived the width of it as well.

- Diane Ackerman

Blank People

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.” - Fydor Dostoevsky


My favorite movie, About a Boy, uses double voice-over narration with the thoughts of the two main characters. In one of the scenes, the character Will is explaining how he views his life and the lives of others as television shows. In his show, he is the main character and all the people around him are just other actors. He is concerned with what he does and keeping his show interesting. If other people's shows are having trouble, that is no concern of his. (I know that doesn't do it justice and I'd like to watch the scene right now so I could quote it, but Ryan is watching golf and I'm already sitting here at the computer ignoring him. I'd feel rude to monopolize both the computer and the television. Maybe I'll add that in later.)

I don't know about anyone else, but I think that I do kind of see my life that way. Not the not caring about other people and their shows, but the part where I'm the main character of my life and my friends and family are the supporting cast. I'm part of the supporting cast in their lives. Friends of friends are shows I don't watch regularly, but I keep up with their shows because some of my supporting cast are also their supporting cast. Then there are the people in my life who aren't really cast mates, but I watch their shows enough to keep up with the plot because they happen to be filming at the same time as my show. The people I don't know are just extras. Blank people. Girl 2 with ice cream. I don't know anything about them so it's like they are a television show that I don't watch and that none of my cast mates talk about.

I don't know why I was thinking about this today and I don't really know where I'm going with it. Something about the thought made me sad. Obviously it is impossible to know everyone you encounter. No one can watch and know the plot of every show or how well it is doing, but some part of me wishes I could. I think a lot of people are fascinating and think fascinating thoughts and it would be great to get a glimpse of that. But I guess it is a lot easier to not think about those blank people. Do I really want to know how difficult life is for Sad Grocery Cashier or what is going on with Bitter Old Lady in Cafe'? And isn't it a lot easier to be annoyed at Rude Woman in Line or Jerk Number 3 if I don't know that she has just found out her husband is cheating on her or that he just lost his job?

I guess I sometimes feel overwhelmed by keeping up with my own show and worrying about how the shows of my cast mates are are doing that I don't have time to take on any new shows. How sad is it that I don't have time for additional other people? I haven't always been this way, but I feel like I've become hesitant to take on any recurring guest roles or new cast mates. In the past year, I have encountered a few people who I couldn't seem to resist bringing into the case, but not many. There are also a few people I've completely lost track of. I don't like feeling this way. And I kind of don't like that I'm talking about myself or other people as actors in television lives, but this is the closest thing I have to a completed post so I'm going to post it anyway. By my own admission, my ratings are slipping and I need to fire my writer.

What was I thinking?

Right now I'm having trouble remembering why I thought I should write every day this month. I'm pretty discouraged at the moment and I feel like I'm all whiny about it, which I don't like. I have about 8 drafts started and saved. I've looked at all of them and tried to think of how I could finish them to make them into something good to post, but I just don't have it in me right now to do all the work and editing that would require.

I do have some other ideas of things to write about, but they are still only half-formed. I guess for now my goal now should be to come up with at least one decent post in the remaining days of this month. Ah..... goals.....

Dear Insomnia

Oh my. It is so late (early) and I am so tired, yet wide awake. And I have a headache. And I have to get up in a few hours. Great time to try for a post. This is all I have for now. It's not so great. I probably wouldn't even post it were it not 2:23 AM....

Insomnia, my dear friend.
I cannot sleep because
of all the questions.
I don't know.
I do not know.
I wish I knew.
All true, but I need answers,
not catch phrases.
The wondering and
the thinking and
the worrying get me
nowhere.
I still don't know.

Practice Does Not Make Perfect

I am so not feeling it today. I actually put off this post until it wasn't even today anymore. I am so ready for this month to be over. I know I missed one day, but I've still been doing pretty well to spill something out into this blog text box all the other days. Sure, it may have been something stupid or rework of something old, but at least I took the time to type it out and post it.

Today, I just feel like this whole exercise has been a failure. I don't think my writing is improving. If anything, it is getting worse, diluted by the sheer volume of nonsense I've been producing. Such frustration. I guess since I didn't really have a goal other than 'Write Every Day' I can't really say I'm doing a terrible job. I guess I was just expecting some sort of breakthrough were I would realize a new direction for my writing. And now I feel like it has even less direction than before.

I guess I shouldn't lose all hope. I still have a week left. I guess something great could happen and I could suddenly feel good about my writing. I'm thinking that is not going to happen tonight.

Sitting.
Staring.
Contemplating practice.
Contemplating words.
Contemplating.
Waiting.
Waiting for practice to
make perfect.
Instead, all this practice
led me astray.
My eyes on perfection,
but my efforts
falling so short.
All this practice made
nothing that
resembled perfection.
All this practice made
burnout.
And self-contempt.

It's Come to This

I have nothing. Nothing. No idea what to write about. I guess I'll just ramble a little bit about my day, which is not ideal, but that is how these things go. This is what happens when I insist on writing even when I have nothing to write about.

I'm off work this week because my company has so generously allowed us to keep our jobs in exchange for everyone taking one week off unpaid. While it is very nice to have extra time off work, I'm really not looking forward to that paycheck that is about one-third of what I am normally paid (since they take the same amount of deductions for taxes, insurance, and 401k, but they are taking it out of one week's pay.)

Luke had told me last night that he was going to sleep in late and then when he got up he would get some clothes and come in and snuggle with me in my bed for a while. This morning he got up very early and made a lot of noise getting his clothes, woke up his brother, and made us all get up extra early. Yay.

We have a list of things to do during my week off, which include baking a cake and topping it with sprinkles, playing putt-putt, going adventuring, and playing in the pool. Naturally, the first thing they wanted to do was the cake. It took all morning to do the cake since everything takes longer with a 2- and 4-year old helping. They helped make the batter and the icing and they decorated it. I guess I just wanted them to have as much sugar as possible since I would have them most of the day by myself.

I did get away for a little while, to get my hair cut and colored. I love going to the salon. It's so relaxing and I always feel like I'm splurging and indulging, even if I'm just getting my hair trimmed. Plus, I'm friends with my stylist so it's like a pampering session and friend gab session all in one. I went darker with my hair and I really like it. I felt like the lighter highlights (getting even lighter in the summer sun) were getting just a bit too perky and sunny, so they didn't really suit me.

Owen was especially difficult tonight, alternating between super-cute and super-terrible-two boy. He fought me on just about everything. He was disciplined several times. After I carried him to his room because he refused to walk by himself and I was explaining to him that it was bedtime whether or not he wanted it to be, he said "Don't talk to me, Mom. Talk to yourself." Ah... kids.

So, that's it. Now I've done a 'highlights of my day' post because I currently have nothing thought-provoking or poetic or literary. I should have considered that my furlough was this month before deciding to write every day in August, because I have very little time for being on the computer when Ryan and I are both off together and we have outings or projects planned. Oh well. It is what it is. And right now it's craziness and chaos and a daily summary.

Note: I chose to edit this post because someone has a saved blog seach out there and goes around commenting on any blogs that match with that search. It is nice that they are trying to inform people, but it totally creeps me out that they continue to check this post at least once a day.

Sleep vs. Insomnia

I usually get the urge to write when I am completely exhausted and should be sleeping. It takes so much more effort to make myself write when I am wide awake and have time (which is honestly maybe 10 minutes a week, now that I think about it.) I wrote this last night, when I should have been asleep. I should be asleep right now, too.

My mind is alert
and churn-y, but
my hand does
not want to hold the
pen and jot the
words my brain
is dictating.
My arm is failing
under the weight of
propping up my head
so my eyes can see to
write.
Willing myself to
press on to insomnia.
I hate the thought of
forfeiting inspiration if I sleep.

Oversimplified Conceptions

ster·e·o·type
noun (plural ster·e·o·types)
Definition: oversimplified conception: an oversimplified standardized image of a person or group

I was thinking about my post from yesterday and why I felt the need to vent. Then I was thinking about my Defense of Motherhood post and why I get so irritated about things I read or watch when it is just someone's opinion or perception. I don't want to seem like one of those people who is protesting too much about things so that it comes across as me trying to convince myself of something. I think the real reason it gets to me is that I dislike when something is based on a stereotype of a group to which I belong. Base something on a stereotype of any of the following and you will probably piss me off -- Female, wife, mother, Christian, friend, working mom, white, middle-class, college-graduate, coffee-addict, meat-eater, book-worm, blogger, tattooed mom, wine drinker, beer drinker, shoe addict, sushi lover, coupon clipper, country girl, pretend poet. (Yes, I know some of those wouldn't really qualify as a typical groups that are stereotyped, but it's my blog so deal with it.)

I think I mentioned a while ago that I was working on a post about labels, but it's not really labels that bother me. To some extent labels can be positive because they can create groups we can recognize and with which we identify. It's actually stereotypes I have a real problem with. I hate being stereotyped and I hate when I see it happening to others. Just because a label fits a person, doesn't mean the stereotype for that label fits them.


I haven't always been aware of stereotypes. When I was growing up, I thought it was okay to think I knew what a person was like based on how they looked or to what group they belonged. For example, when I was growing up, I didn't know any atheists. Surprisingly there were none who attended our church or belonged to our conservative homeschooling group. I may not have known any atheists, but I knew about them. Atheists were the angry people in the pictures in the 'Christian' news magazines who spent their time getting abortions, picketing schools where the ten commandments were displayed, and trying to infiltrate the government to remove the word 'God' from our money and our pledge. They were also trying to take away the rights of parents to homeschool, to discipline their children, or to take their kids to church. Atheists were busy, angry people who hated God and Christians.


And that is the problem with stereotypes. The atheists I know now are nothing like that. Well, maybe they don't really want the ten commandments or prayer or religious teaching in public schools. Maybe they are pro-abortion. Maybe they don't like it that our currency or pledge say say 'God'. But does that make them all terrible, angry, christian-hating people? (Oh, and atheists don't hate God. They don't believe he exists.) I mean, even I don't really think the ten commandments should be displayed in public schools, nor do I believe that students should be forced to pray before they start class. I don't really care either way if the word 'God' is on our money or if it is part of the pledge of allegiance. I fail to see how any of those things will help kids learn or make people behave better or whatever those things are supposed to accomplish. And I think it just comes across as arrogant and narrow-minded to push one's beliefs on other people.

I'm sure that to some extent I still stereotype people, but I really try not to. I try to treat each person I meet on their own merit regardless of what I may think of what 'groups' into which they could be categorized. I really need to work on not letting it bother me so much when I feel that someone is using a stereotype to misrepresent something I am or believe. Getting upset isn't going to help people see that stereotypes rarely apply to an entire group. Something else I need to work on, although I can't guarantee that I will never post another rant about something I care for being stereotyped.

He's Just Not That Into You

So... I rented this movie, 'He's Just Not That Into You' and watched it Sunday night. Oh my. Sure, there were some funny scenes and the chemistry between Gennifer Goodwin and Justin Long was great. But I am getting so tired of these romantic comedies that portray married people as all unhappy and just waiting for the opportunity to cheat on each other because it is their spouse's fault they are unhappy. Seriously?

Three things. First, married people are not all completely miserable people who secretly despise each other. Sure, we're not always happy, but neither are single people or dating people or 'living in sin' (sorry Irena for stealing your line) cohabitants. No one is always happy and if they say they are they are lying. But married people are not all the most unhappy and unfulfilled of all people on the earth. It irritates me that so many movies portray us as such.

Second, we do not all spend our days just trying to resist (and then finally giving in to) the urge to jump into bed with every attractive person who comes along. Movies would have you believe that because we are all so unhappy in our marriages we all just want to grab a little happiness for ourselves by getting it on with any hot, willing person who crosses our path. Sure, you don't stop noticing someone is attractive just because you're married, but ew. The thought of infidelity makes me want to vomit.

Third, why does it always seem that in most movies when a man discusses why he got married it was because the woman gave an ultimatum? This idea that most men would not get married unless somehow tricked, forced, or pushed into it is sad and can encourage women to think that is just how it is. Marriage isn't something people have to do so they shouldn't unless they are with someone to whom they want to be married. Yes, I know the ultimatum happens in real life, but guys, grow a pair! If you do not want to marry someone aren't you better off without her than married to her? Let her leave! Let her be with someone who wants her. And girls, if it comes down to you having to resort to an ultimatum, please realize that you are better off spending the weekends single and out with your girlfriends than married and home alone wondering where your husband is and why he doesn't seem happy with you.

I know relationships are complicated, but I think there are men out there who want to be married to their wives and there are women out there who are willing to just let the relationship evolve. When both are on the same page, they can get married because they are both ready. And if they are never ready then one of them moves on or they are both content to just wait and see what it becomes. Why do most movies want to deny that this could happen? I'm not a relationship expert, but maybe if there were more movies that portrayed healthy relationships (married or not) then people would see that there are alternatives to the sad, pathetic ones they see on the screen.

Okay. I'm finished with my rant now. I'm sure I've said a lot of things that people would disagree with, but something about this movie really got to me and I needed to get it off my chest. The end.

Reversible Change

The boys watch this show, Sid the Science Kid. Aside from being one of the few cute and not annoying kid shows, it's surprisingly informative. Tonight they were watching an episode about ice pops and how liquids can be frozen solid or how frozen liquids can be thawed. The teacher was teaching them that this is called 'reversible change' because you can take water and freeze it then thaw it and then freeze it again.

I was thinking about this and how it would be great if we could do that with our lives. I know this is not at all an original thought, as numerous books and movies are based on the idea of going back and redoing something or going back and fixing 'what ifs' or some variation of those concepts. But I was thinking about how easy it is with water and how you can freeze and refreeze it into a seemingly infinite number of shapes.

If you could do that with your life and get to a certain point and just melt it all down and redo it into something completely different just to see what it would look like, it would be so tempting to do it again and again. Naturally, the problem with this is that you couldn't just thaw away the parts you want to change and keep intact the parts you like. Sometimes I do wonder what my life would be like had I gone to grad school and done something cool. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like had I kept looking for a job and not taken the first good offer out of college from the company where I still work. Sometimes I wonder.... a lot of things. But maybe I would have gone to school and not gotten married to my husband and I wouldn't have the boys. Maybe I would have worked for a different company and my 'career path' would be completely different, but then I wouldn't know my friend Denna who is seriously one of the coolest people ever. Sure, I wouldn't know what I was missing, but now that I have those things, I wouldn't want to give them up.

I guess it's good that reversible change doesn't apply to our lives. We could be so obsessed with finding out what else we could do or have or be that we would never stop to appreciate the now and the wonderful, despite that it may be flawed or imperfect. I know this sounds like I'm all 'yay for life and everything in it!' but it's really just a lame attempt at a decent post when I've spent the past two days listening to kids playing or kids shows or both.

Wondering

I had something else planned to post, but I don't have time for it. I have a ton of stuff to do and I am completely stressed about that and a lot of other things. This is what I have to post in place of something good.

Sometimes I just sit around, wondering what people are thinking. Sometimes I talk to someone who is in a difficult or frustrating life situation (the result of choices, not something out of their control like an illness) and I wonder what I would do if I were in their place. Sometimes that works. Sometimes I can think of something and offer some good advice or some encouraging words. Sometimes I just can't do it because I can never see myself making the choices that would lead me to be in that situation.

But then I think that maybe I would have ended up where they are if way back I had done something different. That maybe if I had screwed something up somewhere or done something incredibly stupid at one point instead of at a different point, I would have started making choices differently. And then I could be the one wishing someone could do something to help me.

Or maybe it is because I started disliking where I was going and started making different choices that I am here and not there. It's all very confusing. I realize this isn't making a lot of sense, but I'm going to have to post it or miss a day. Maybe I can explain more later. I think it just boils down to this: How is it that some of us are able to make choices that lead us to a more fulfilling, albeit imperfect place... but some of us just seem stuck in a cycle of choices that constantly lead to our own unhappiness? Is it possible to help another person break that cycle? Why am I not a psychiatrist?

Okay, so maybe that last question was a little over the top. This is all I have time for. Yay for another crap post.

Sometimes

Sometimes you just really need a good laugh or good cry or a good scream or a good, stiff drink. Sometimes you know you need one of those things and you just have to wait for the right time. Sometimes you don't even realize how much you need one of those things until the moment hits. I found out tonight that I really needed a good laugh and the moment hit and it was delicious.

My sister and her husband came over for dinner tonight. After dinner and hanging out a while we turned on the TV. Despite that we have satellite television and more channels than anyone could possibly need, there was nothing on. Well, nothing except shows on Food Network. We started watching 'Dinner:Impossible' and the challenge was to create a meal for Mattel VIPs for Barbie's 50th birthday. All the food had to be super tiny -- Barbie size. It was quite amusing.

My brother-in-law has to get up early so they had to leave half-way through the show. My sister jokingly asked me to please let her know how it turned out. I'm not even sure how it started, but we started acting out how it would look if Barbie were trying to eat the food. She was a straight-arm Barbie and I was one with bent elbows. It was so silly and funny and stupid and we were laughing SO HARD! Our husbands were just looking at us like we were completely crazy (for the record, we are only mostly crazy). The thought crossed my mind, "It feels really good to laugh like this."

I love moments like that. Moments you aren't really expecting, but you just embrace them when they happen no matter how silly or crazy they may be. I'm so thankful for my sister and that we 'get' each other and can have those moments. I feel like I've been so stressed and deep in thought all the time lately, trying to figure out all the stuff I have going on in my head. A good laugh was exactly what I needed.

I'm Just Gonna Do it

I've really been slacking on my posts. Just about every day, I pull up my dashboard, check out any new posts on the blogs I follow, click 'new post', look at the empty text box for a while, and close the window. That, my friends, is good practice. I don't want to forget how to use my mouse!

So..... I'm going to do another post-every-day month in August. I know quantity certainly does not equal quality, but I need to make myself write or I get rusty and make excuses and I don't do it. Some of what I post in the coming thirty-one days will likely be total crap. There will probably be a lot of partial poems, scatter-brained ideas, and random ramblings. BUT, at least I will be writing and I will not be making excuses for my lack of inspiration.

As my four-year-old would say....

Here goes nothin'.

I Hate Ketchup (Catsup? Catchup?)

I think ketchup is disgusting. Why anyone would want to eat perfectly good food accompanied by a glob of overly-sweet, sticky goop is beyond me. No one even seems to know how to spell it. For my purposes I am going to spell it 'Ketchup' because 'catsup' should be pronounced cat-sup and 'catchup' looks like a typo of 'catch up'. I don't really remember when I realized that I disliked ketchup. When I was growing up I always ate cheeseburgers plain or with mayo (not miracle whip) and I ate my fries with only salt. I actually do not like anything sweet on my meat or vegetables. I don't like Honeybaked Ham, I don't like sweet-and-sour chicken, I don't like baked beans. Any kind of protein or produce with any kind of sweet sauce is completely gross to me. And ketchup is, in my mind at least, the poster child for all sweet and disgusting sauces.

Although I don't remember when I started disliking ketchup, I have a good idea of why. Things were tight a lot when I was growing up. We ate a lot of banquet pot pies or spaghetti. When my dad was growing up, things were even worse for his family. One thing they ate a lot of was this atrocious dish of nastiness that, for some reason, he had fond memories of and would request my mother to make for dinner from time to time. I have no idea what it is called, but the recipe goes something like this: Sauté cubed Spam and some onions in a skillet. Once the onions are soft, dump a bunch of ketchup in the skillet and simmer, stirring occasionally, until heated through. Serve on top of over-cooked, mushy white rice. Enjoy! Or vomit. This is so vile that just the memory of it makes me feel like gagging.

Of course, at this point in my life, I know that I was extremely lucky to grow up in a house where we had something to eat for every meal. I never knew what it was like to have to go days with an empty stomach or to actually look forward to school lunches because that was the only nourishment I would have all day. Sure, things were really tight sometimes, but my parents always had something to feed us... even if it was the grossest thing to ever be presented on a table in the western world. I shouldn't complain, and I'm really not. I am grateful my parents were able to provide for us.

But there are just some things that if you have a choice of what to eat, you would never, ever eat them. I'm pretty sure I will always blame that vile excuse for a meal for the fact I can never enjoy a beautifully sliced sweet-coated ham at Easter or that I can't eat most kinds of chinese food. And I certainly blame it for my deep-seeded hatred of ketchup.

Poseur

I was in Whole Foods the other day to buy yogurt. Surprisingly, the kind of yogurt I like is much less expensive there than at Kroger. I was wearing dark-brown dress pants, a pink (Pink! Seriously?) short-sleeved sweater, and brown strappy heels. I hate wearing dress pants. I usually wear dresses to work in the summer, but it is excessively cool for July and I knew it would be about 40 degrees in the office so I just wore pants. Here is the bad thing about wearing dress pants... they always make me feel like I'm pretending to be an adult. I was walking down an aisle in Whole Foods thinking to myself, 'What am I doing? Why am I dressed up like a business person?" It was so weird. I felt completely uncomfortable. I had the impulse to run out, buy a pair of jeans, put them on, and burn the dress pants in the parking lot.

I finished up my shopping, but couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I was a total poseur. That I'm "a person who adopt[ed] the dress, speech, and/or mannerisms of a group or subculture" but who does "not share or understand the values or philosophy of the subculture." Yes, I have a college degree to pay for and yes, I need a good job with benefits to pay for that degree and for my mortgage and for my other various bills. But I just feel like such a fake. I dress up every morning and drag myself to work and sit in a tiny cubical near all these other people in tiny cubicles who take their jobs and the business world in general very seriously as though business is actually important in the grand scheme of things. As though someday they will look back on their lives and be happy that they gave the majority of their life to a corporation. If working at a big, heartless company truly makes them fulfilled, then I am happy for them. However, I just can't believe they all love the business world as much as it seems they do.

I know it sounds like I hate my job, but I don't. I actually think it's a great job. I learn new things all the time and get to talk to lots of different people and try to figure out why something went terribly awry and what we can do to fix it/prevent it from happening again. But despite that I like my job, it's not as though it really matters to anyone other than some of the people at this company. I'm not helping people or doing something meaningful or for the greater good. I'm just here. Sitting in a cubicle. Wearing dress pants.

Later, I read my friend Irena's post in which she discussed her current gainfully-employed-yet-unfulfilled status and that just added fuel to the flame. I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time the next morning, thinking back to when I was just finishing up high school and who I was then and why I went to college instead of floral design school and how I ended up here instead of somewhere else. It's kind of weird to look yourself in the eye and try to picture what you should be doing instead of what you are doing. (Just to be clear, this isn't an "I want a different life" crisis. I love my family. This is strictly a personal/occupational crisis.)

When I picture myself doing what I'm supposed to be doing, I'm standing in front of a table full of flowers and scissors and floral tape and wire. I'm wearing a black t-shirt, well-worn jeans, and chuck taylor's. My hair is longer and pulled back to keep it from bothering me while I work. I know it would be delusional to think that if I was doing that I would be perfectly happy and never stressed and everything would be great, but I just think I would feel as though I was doing something that I liked and something that was meaningful to other people.

There is no good place for me to go from here. I can't just quit my job and join the circus (or a flower shop). I guess I need to take baby steps to something else, even if it's just on the side. And I think I need to do more things that make me feel like myself and not a different, office-worker-poseur version of me. Today, I wore a purple t-shirt with a koi fish and flowers on it with my dress pants and heels. Tomorrow it should be warmer and I can go back to wearing dresses, which are nothing like dress pants. I can get away with wearing a dress with a funky or mod pattern and heels and look professional enough without feeling unlike me. I know this isn't really about what I wear, but I guess I don't like the thought that I even look like I fit in here. Anyway, I'll figure it all out somehow. One step at a time. Wearing a pair of Chuck's... at least in my mind.


Red-handled scissors
and tan walls
closing in,
ominous.
Endless drone of
traffic
out the window.
People going places,
not trapped.
Not trapped here.
Likely trapped
where they are going.
Autonomy
is far too
elusive.

Misfortune and Faux Words

I was driving on I-71 to work one day last week and I passed the site of where I saw a terrible accident one morning about a year ago. I hadn't thought of it in a long time, but something made me think of it that morning. After I passed the accident I saw over a year ago, I got to work and tried to look up what had happened. I found a little blurb on traffic.com about it. (Very little is reported on the news about accidents that happen on I-71 north of the 275 loop because apparently things that happen in rural areas don't matter.) Per traffic.com, a pick-up truck struck a deer and someone stopped to help them and then someone else hit that car that had stopped and ended up on their top, in the middle of the median. No fatalities were reported, but I can tell you that from how bad the car looked and how close in proximity they landed to the edge of gorge that goes down to the Little Miami River, it was probably a close call for someone.

So on the recent morning when I was thinking of all this, I started thinking of some other car accidents I've witnessed and about all those white crosses on the side of roads that indicate where someone died in a car crash. I thought about all the people that have died on the stretch of I-71 I drive everyday and decided I didn't really want to be driving on the same road were all those bad things happen. Not much I can do about it. I just makes me feel weird and sad.


One hates the thought
of driving on blood highways,
but how else do we get
from there to here?
Oh, cumbersome thoughts.
Oh, misfortunate musing.
Perhaps better to coast.
Unthinking.

Am I allowed to use made-up words in poems if I know they aren't really words, but they sound like they should be words?

Strange

I started playing keyboard in a skater band and got a Harley-Davidson half-sleeve tattoo. Then I was afraid I'd get kicked out of the band because skater chicks can't have Harley-Davidson tattoos. Our coffee table was covered in used, wadded-up Kleenex and supplies to make fake-IDs. But I didn't need a fake ID and neither did anyone else in the house so I don't know why I had that stuff or where it came from. I went to this beautiful hotel with a marble lobby and got shot by an old man using a gun that looked like a set of Lexus keys. I was there with my sister and trying to protect her from getting shot, but she wouldn't run away.

This is just a sample of the totally crazy dreams I've been having lately. I can kind of explain the Kleenex and fake ID one. The boys were sick last week and our table was covered in used Kleenex. I felt like I was constantly picking them up and putting them in the trash and reminding the boys to do the same. That same week I was carded at the supermarket for a bottle of wine, and the clerk looked at me and then my ID several times. I've actually had people tell me they thought it was a fake ID because it looks nothing like me (My hair is much longer now and it is just the most odd-looking picture). As far as the band and the Harley-Davidson tattoo and the key gun..... no idea.

There is no point to this post. Well... maybe a little. I was driving to work Tuesday and thinking about how I have terrible writer's block and that I have nothing to write about. And then I thought that I do have things to write about but a lot of them are kind of scary and that I get concerned about putting too much craziness out there for people to read because then they will see that I really am crazy and that it's not just something I say. I guess if I'm going to get over my writer's block, I'm going to have to stop self-censoring so much.

Don't say I didn't warn you.