AYaYaYaY It has been a looong time. I'm forcing myself to put digits to keys and spew forth.
Biggest things first; it is time for a Face Book revolution. We need to change what we choose to post on Face Book. This is my cry to the world to accept the challenge of Rob Brezny's Pronoia and focus on the positive. I know that there are still a lot of mean (in the common sense of the word), base, pedantic, pedestrian yet frustrating goings on in the toilet seat of our 'government' and that we are compelled to call our kin to arms "Viva Le Revolucion"!
However, I purport that the old battle of fighting against the entrenched, stale, bacteria stained, moldy politicians and those they've brainwashed is a waste of good creative, fun-loving energy.
I urge us to, instead, wage a war of positivity. Post acts of human kindness and brave sharing. Share delighted posts that support expressions of original creativity and realized potential.
Eschew individual causes for equal treatment and demand that all living things be afforded the respect inherent in the mere fact of our incarnation.
GO BIG with your generosity and optimism.
I was small yesterday. A grumpiness overtook me and I reacted badly to miniscule-mindedness on the train. Although humorous in the later telling of it, the tale itself was of an intellect used to cut as deep as possible, and one I am a little bit ashamed of. I am not proud of that use of my facilities (well, maybe a little bit...*snicker*).
I felt a need to redeem my soul, as the indulgence in baseness is as surely a soul sucker as working under a reptilian manager. So I found my higher purpose and proceeded to go out of my way to be forgiving and loving in each moment starting last night and continuing today. I love the way connecting to Christ-love inflates my cranium with a warm glow. I practiced non-reaction and willful loving and forgiveness on my squished seat on the subway; mostly, anyway.
As I made my way to the office this morning, I noticed a woman, in bright cerise pants, remaining stationary while the crowds milled past her. Clearly, this woman had a question about something. I stopped and asked her if she needed help. Turns out she was looking for the Ecuadorian Embassy "On third Avenue".
"Oh, you need an address, " I helpfully informed her.
She didn't have one, so I whipped out my Iphone and googled 'Ecuadorian Embassy'. I got the Consulate General, clicked on the 'call them' link and when the auto answer started talking in spanish, handed the phone over to my new friend. Within a minute, she had the address and was on her way. I felt very happy and she was delighted.
Sometimes, while lying in bed unwinding before shutting my eyes, I'll play the downloaded game of the moment on my phone. Part of me curses myself and the phone for our indulgence and laziness and for succumbing to cultural programming. Other times, I am delighted that such mindless entertainments are available to me. Now, though, I am delighted by my smartphone, because it turns out it has a real purpose.
Go forth and spread the true spirit of the season.
Peace
Friday, December 14, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
Adventures On a Train
Saturday, in the Park....not really, on the train. But how many of you just started singing that song by the 70s band Chicago? Huh? Huh?
So, Saturday: early start to get to a rehearsal in far away Bay Ridge. There's a meal cart vendor around the corner in my 'hood that makes a good, cheap bacon, egg and cheese, but today I want to see if any of the bakeries I've noticed closer to the subway have any good, fresh baked treats.
Insert sound of game show 'WRONG' buzzer here. The bakeries all had saran wrapped, gross looking muffins. Yuch. So I try the cart vendor near the train entrance. Yuch, again. The roll was toasted, however, the egg was thin and he used FAKE BACON. Do I even need to talk about how wrong that is?!?!
Aaaandddd he charged me $4!! My regular near the corner only charges me $3.50 for the sandwich and the coffee. And New Vendor Guy even had a sign saying the $4 deal included a juice. So I took one. and not the Sunny D that the breakfast deal included. I took an apple juice, damnit. So There.
Anyway, so I get on the train and I sit in one of those seats that abut other seats, the ones where you're sitting with your back to someone else? I usually don't like those because sometimes people's hair touches yours and that creeps me out. There must have not been anyone in the behind-me seat when I sat down, otherwise I don't think I would have chosen that seat. So, I'm messing with the coffee New Vendor Guy gave me in a leaky cup that looks like it was maybe used, and I finally sit up and something bumps the back of my head. I feel behind my head, and all I feel is the steel vertical seat bar. So I return to whatever I'm messing with. Eventually I sit up again and I bump my head again. So I turn around to see what's up and this very black lady is glaring at me and I notice she had her hair wrapped up on the back of her head and it sticks out about a foot. So I say, "You have big hair!" in a very friendly, kind of joyous way. Ya know what she says? In a confrontational aggressive way? "And you can't sit still!"
"All I did was sit up straight in my seat"
"Well, don't sit up!"
"Excuse Me! You're telling me not to sit up in my own seat on the train?"
OK. Let me move to another seat.
"Oh, now you gonna move to another seat!?"
Uh, well, yah, is that rocket science?
So she continues yelling at me, and I just say "well you DO have big hair. It's not like an insult. You just do!" But she's stuck on my ants-in-the-pants label, so I finally start saying "we don't have to hate each other". I pretty quickly give that up though.
After a little bit this really skinny guy comes on and starts preachin Jesus. Oh, hell no. No, no, no, no, no. Big Hair Lady already has me turned on, plus I'm a little pissed off about New Vendor Guys Fake Bacon, so I can't help myself and I word vomit to him "I paid too much for my ticket on this train to listen to THIS. Do you want to pay for my ticket?!" Some passengers smile at me. "Right?!", they laugh. But he just keeps preachin his crap so i put on my headphones.
A lot of the train clears out after this point, but a new guy comes on handing out little slips of paper to everyone, not really asking if they want it, just giving it to them. He comes near me and I say "You don't want to give me one cause I'll Yell." No problem, he doesn't. I'm really curious about what's written on it, but not enough to ask for one. After he hands them out he goes back to the other end of the train and passes his hat. - - - - -
Really?
This is a new trick. This is a new one. I've never seen this before. Hand people your art work, or poem, unasked, unsolicited, almost forced - and then ask for money for it. I have to admire the pro-active attitude. Isn't that the American way? Isn't that how the American Dream is realized.
Ahem
On the train home from rehearsal, there is a homeless man walking the car, not even asking for anything. He doesn't have to, his appearance asks for him. Well I assume he's homeless. He's wearing tatters, he's unshaven, he's very thin, and he has no shoes. It's the last bit that slays me; his long thin bare feet that he is trying not to step on as he walks, obviously in pain. I always look at the footwear of panhandlers. If you have better kicks than me, I am not giving you coin. I empty out my change purse for this guy. I really want to take him to buy shoes, but I don't even know how to initiate that. And he's old. Someone's son, brother, uncle, maybe father? Grandfather? and uncared for. alone. I know there are those who refuse help, who choose to live on the streets. Shouldn't there be some way for them to be cared for? It's just not right to punish people for non-conformity. This is a complicated issue to some. To me it's simple. If you are not hurting anyone there should be a way for you to have the basic needs. Period.
I feel helpless. and empty. and incredibly sad. What circumstances brought him to this? He does not appear drugged or jonesing - just, plain destitute. I am embarrassed that we live in a society that has such callous disregard for the well being of it's members.
I would much rather be able to laugh about someone's creative way of panhandling as they try to promote their own creation than to be wondering why an old, sick man has no shoes.
And I'd love to end with an upbeat line about looking forward to next Saturday's train ride to Bay Ridge, and all the adventures it will provide. But I know I will see too many bodies sleeping on cardboard in the subway entrances.
So, Saturday: early start to get to a rehearsal in far away Bay Ridge. There's a meal cart vendor around the corner in my 'hood that makes a good, cheap bacon, egg and cheese, but today I want to see if any of the bakeries I've noticed closer to the subway have any good, fresh baked treats.
Insert sound of game show 'WRONG' buzzer here. The bakeries all had saran wrapped, gross looking muffins. Yuch. So I try the cart vendor near the train entrance. Yuch, again. The roll was toasted, however, the egg was thin and he used FAKE BACON. Do I even need to talk about how wrong that is?!?!
Aaaandddd he charged me $4!! My regular near the corner only charges me $3.50 for the sandwich and the coffee. And New Vendor Guy even had a sign saying the $4 deal included a juice. So I took one. and not the Sunny D that the breakfast deal included. I took an apple juice, damnit. So There.
Anyway, so I get on the train and I sit in one of those seats that abut other seats, the ones where you're sitting with your back to someone else? I usually don't like those because sometimes people's hair touches yours and that creeps me out. There must have not been anyone in the behind-me seat when I sat down, otherwise I don't think I would have chosen that seat. So, I'm messing with the coffee New Vendor Guy gave me in a leaky cup that looks like it was maybe used, and I finally sit up and something bumps the back of my head. I feel behind my head, and all I feel is the steel vertical seat bar. So I return to whatever I'm messing with. Eventually I sit up again and I bump my head again. So I turn around to see what's up and this very black lady is glaring at me and I notice she had her hair wrapped up on the back of her head and it sticks out about a foot. So I say, "You have big hair!" in a very friendly, kind of joyous way. Ya know what she says? In a confrontational aggressive way? "And you can't sit still!"
"All I did was sit up straight in my seat"
"Well, don't sit up!"
"Excuse Me! You're telling me not to sit up in my own seat on the train?"
OK. Let me move to another seat.
"Oh, now you gonna move to another seat!?"
Uh, well, yah, is that rocket science?
So she continues yelling at me, and I just say "well you DO have big hair. It's not like an insult. You just do!" But she's stuck on my ants-in-the-pants label, so I finally start saying "we don't have to hate each other". I pretty quickly give that up though.
After a little bit this really skinny guy comes on and starts preachin Jesus. Oh, hell no. No, no, no, no, no. Big Hair Lady already has me turned on, plus I'm a little pissed off about New Vendor Guys Fake Bacon, so I can't help myself and I word vomit to him "I paid too much for my ticket on this train to listen to THIS. Do you want to pay for my ticket?!" Some passengers smile at me. "Right?!", they laugh. But he just keeps preachin his crap so i put on my headphones.
A lot of the train clears out after this point, but a new guy comes on handing out little slips of paper to everyone, not really asking if they want it, just giving it to them. He comes near me and I say "You don't want to give me one cause I'll Yell." No problem, he doesn't. I'm really curious about what's written on it, but not enough to ask for one. After he hands them out he goes back to the other end of the train and passes his hat. - - - - -
Really?
This is a new trick. This is a new one. I've never seen this before. Hand people your art work, or poem, unasked, unsolicited, almost forced - and then ask for money for it. I have to admire the pro-active attitude. Isn't that the American way? Isn't that how the American Dream is realized.
Ahem
On the train home from rehearsal, there is a homeless man walking the car, not even asking for anything. He doesn't have to, his appearance asks for him. Well I assume he's homeless. He's wearing tatters, he's unshaven, he's very thin, and he has no shoes. It's the last bit that slays me; his long thin bare feet that he is trying not to step on as he walks, obviously in pain. I always look at the footwear of panhandlers. If you have better kicks than me, I am not giving you coin. I empty out my change purse for this guy. I really want to take him to buy shoes, but I don't even know how to initiate that. And he's old. Someone's son, brother, uncle, maybe father? Grandfather? and uncared for. alone. I know there are those who refuse help, who choose to live on the streets. Shouldn't there be some way for them to be cared for? It's just not right to punish people for non-conformity. This is a complicated issue to some. To me it's simple. If you are not hurting anyone there should be a way for you to have the basic needs. Period.
I feel helpless. and empty. and incredibly sad. What circumstances brought him to this? He does not appear drugged or jonesing - just, plain destitute. I am embarrassed that we live in a society that has such callous disregard for the well being of it's members.
I would much rather be able to laugh about someone's creative way of panhandling as they try to promote their own creation than to be wondering why an old, sick man has no shoes.
And I'd love to end with an upbeat line about looking forward to next Saturday's train ride to Bay Ridge, and all the adventures it will provide. But I know I will see too many bodies sleeping on cardboard in the subway entrances.
Monday, October 1, 2012
AwwwShiznit
I'm a little freaking out right now. OK. I'm a lot freaking out right now. A BIG part of it is that I have a cold. For some reason, when I get sick I get all needy and insecure. And needy. (Warning: this post is full of bad grammatical choices).
Aaand I just got this weird call from Arizona informing me some charges had gone through on my bank card. They want to know, did I make them? Nope. I did not just buy $300 worth of shoes at Zappos. No. That was definitely not me. Ok we have to cancel your card.
Freaking out big time.
My bank is still in NH because I can't find a credit union here that has literal free checking like my NH bank does. So I depend on my debit card for all my transactions. Taking cash out of the ATM is costly. And I can't even do that now till I get a new card. Hopefully there'll be a bank that'll cash checks for me in the meantime.
I was starting to feel pretty settled and competent here in the city. I live here now and everything is going to work out. That's how I felt.
But I've had monkey mind since Saturday. I was assured by my friend, while we were playing with makeup on Sunday, that I appear very patient and calm. BUT I'M NOT the voice inside my head is screaming while it beats its fists against the sides of its hips jumping side to side like Tigger on crack.
When my daughter left the nest three years ago (THREE. COUNT EM) I wasn't immediately conscious of the loss I felt. I mean, she lives here in the city, well Brooklyn, but close enough. But for eighteen years it was just the two of us. I still feel like a little row boat lost at sea, but most of the time I find a tie-off at work, or rehearsal, or hanging with friends. This card thing has me in the middle of a whirlpool wondering which side I'm gonna fly off of: Port? Stern? Fore? Aft?
And last night I kept having nightmares about being at an outdoors party except I was working at a desk and everyone wasn't nice. And there was a bag of pastel clothing - truly frightening.
I'm trying to pinpoint what it is I feel so wigged out about. There's a part of me that just knows everything's going to be OK. I have friends who will be available if I get in a desperate situation, but that's not going to happen. Even if I imagine the worst that can happen, I mean, what's the worst that can happen? Don't answer that.
Maybe it's time to bite the bullet and open an account here in the city. Cringe.
I don't even think I'm going to have time for that this week tho. I have rehearsal almost every night after work.
On the upside, I really want to save some money, and not having access to my account will certainly accomplish that. I mean, I came very close to making some purchases that would have spent as much as the thieves did today, but I reigned myself in.
Well, now. I feel all better. This is actually a good thing. I might just find my frugal side again.
And I realize, the biggest thing that makes me feel adrift is being by myself. If I had someone, a partner to be talking to about this, to reassure me, to make me laugh, and to depend on practically, this would all be a big ol' joyride.
Which brings me to what I really think; this is just the next lesson. Because I didn't even tell you about the platform nazi who semi-attacked me at rush hour today. He called me a Jew and everything. It was really clear that he was a bully. OK. Here's what happened. I'm on the platform, waiting for the A train. A really crowded one comes, and I have a huge bag with me cause I had my dad send my fur coat (which I got at a craft fair in 1985 for $50) because I might wear it in one of my shows, so I wait for the next one. It didn't come as quickly as I thought it would, so the platform filled up again. I'm standing near the elevator and this double carriage comes out and clips me on the leg. No biggy, the guy didn't see me, whatever. So when the train does come, I slither in front of this double baby carriage, which is now facing the train as the guy thinks he's gonna get on a rush hour train with this thing. Anyway, I'm waiting for the train to stop and unload and I feel a shove on my calves. I turn around and the guy is gesticulating at me. "Did you just shove me?!" I ask. He gesticulates about my slithering in front of his carriage. I shove the carriage back at him. "Don't shove me!"
He comes around the carriage like he's gonna hit me, with this creepy smile on his face. I just stand there. He goes, "Jew". I said, "What did you say?" He smiles and goes, "Yah". I yell something about derogatory terms, which I realize after wasn't what I meant, and also realize afterwards that he probably beats his little wife and enjoys it immensely, but I was on the train by then, far from the madding crowd, and completely aware that this moon phase has passed into it's waning phase and - Oh. Thanks Universe. This. is what's up. Awesome. And now the thing about the card.
But it really is all going to be ok. I mean, didn't someone post a picture of Jean-Luc in a "This is what a feminist looks like" T-shirt? Yah. Plus my waiter when I took myself out to dinner (and that's a perk right there; that I can do that) had a hispanic accent like the hispanic guy on That 70s Show. Made my night. Until the card thing.
Awwwwshiznit I'm gonna try and smile anyway
Aaand I just got this weird call from Arizona informing me some charges had gone through on my bank card. They want to know, did I make them? Nope. I did not just buy $300 worth of shoes at Zappos. No. That was definitely not me. Ok we have to cancel your card.
Freaking out big time.
My bank is still in NH because I can't find a credit union here that has literal free checking like my NH bank does. So I depend on my debit card for all my transactions. Taking cash out of the ATM is costly. And I can't even do that now till I get a new card. Hopefully there'll be a bank that'll cash checks for me in the meantime.
I was starting to feel pretty settled and competent here in the city. I live here now and everything is going to work out. That's how I felt.
But I've had monkey mind since Saturday. I was assured by my friend, while we were playing with makeup on Sunday, that I appear very patient and calm. BUT I'M NOT the voice inside my head is screaming while it beats its fists against the sides of its hips jumping side to side like Tigger on crack.
When my daughter left the nest three years ago (THREE. COUNT EM) I wasn't immediately conscious of the loss I felt. I mean, she lives here in the city, well Brooklyn, but close enough. But for eighteen years it was just the two of us. I still feel like a little row boat lost at sea, but most of the time I find a tie-off at work, or rehearsal, or hanging with friends. This card thing has me in the middle of a whirlpool wondering which side I'm gonna fly off of: Port? Stern? Fore? Aft?
And last night I kept having nightmares about being at an outdoors party except I was working at a desk and everyone wasn't nice. And there was a bag of pastel clothing - truly frightening.
I'm trying to pinpoint what it is I feel so wigged out about. There's a part of me that just knows everything's going to be OK. I have friends who will be available if I get in a desperate situation, but that's not going to happen. Even if I imagine the worst that can happen, I mean, what's the worst that can happen? Don't answer that.
Maybe it's time to bite the bullet and open an account here in the city. Cringe.
I don't even think I'm going to have time for that this week tho. I have rehearsal almost every night after work.
On the upside, I really want to save some money, and not having access to my account will certainly accomplish that. I mean, I came very close to making some purchases that would have spent as much as the thieves did today, but I reigned myself in.
Well, now. I feel all better. This is actually a good thing. I might just find my frugal side again.
And I realize, the biggest thing that makes me feel adrift is being by myself. If I had someone, a partner to be talking to about this, to reassure me, to make me laugh, and to depend on practically, this would all be a big ol' joyride.
Which brings me to what I really think; this is just the next lesson. Because I didn't even tell you about the platform nazi who semi-attacked me at rush hour today. He called me a Jew and everything. It was really clear that he was a bully. OK. Here's what happened. I'm on the platform, waiting for the A train. A really crowded one comes, and I have a huge bag with me cause I had my dad send my fur coat (which I got at a craft fair in 1985 for $50) because I might wear it in one of my shows, so I wait for the next one. It didn't come as quickly as I thought it would, so the platform filled up again. I'm standing near the elevator and this double carriage comes out and clips me on the leg. No biggy, the guy didn't see me, whatever. So when the train does come, I slither in front of this double baby carriage, which is now facing the train as the guy thinks he's gonna get on a rush hour train with this thing. Anyway, I'm waiting for the train to stop and unload and I feel a shove on my calves. I turn around and the guy is gesticulating at me. "Did you just shove me?!" I ask. He gesticulates about my slithering in front of his carriage. I shove the carriage back at him. "Don't shove me!"
He comes around the carriage like he's gonna hit me, with this creepy smile on his face. I just stand there. He goes, "Jew". I said, "What did you say?" He smiles and goes, "Yah". I yell something about derogatory terms, which I realize after wasn't what I meant, and also realize afterwards that he probably beats his little wife and enjoys it immensely, but I was on the train by then, far from the madding crowd, and completely aware that this moon phase has passed into it's waning phase and - Oh. Thanks Universe. This. is what's up. Awesome. And now the thing about the card.
But it really is all going to be ok. I mean, didn't someone post a picture of Jean-Luc in a "This is what a feminist looks like" T-shirt? Yah. Plus my waiter when I took myself out to dinner (and that's a perk right there; that I can do that) had a hispanic accent like the hispanic guy on That 70s Show. Made my night. Until the card thing.
Awwwwshiznit I'm gonna try and smile anyway
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Where Ever You Go...
Oh, my, my, my. No. Yours
Sorry, it's gonna be one of those manic posts I suspicion. I don't fear or suspect, however. I tried those words out and dismissed them.
AHEM
So I reviewed the previous posts on here.
JOY!! I don't even remember being in the midst of that angst that caused the writing of the one about the work drama. So I guess I was able to manifest my belief. I'm working in a quiet, no-drama environment where the only real fear is that I'll get in my own way.
AND I'm manifesting some little dreams. I've started singing Karaoke in a safe little environment and become somewhat of a big fish in a little pond within the big apple.
I'm playing a small part in a wonderful Gershwin musical, I've jumped into another small role to rescue a friend's show, I'm auditioning to teach a dance based exercise class, I'm interviewing to volunteer with an organization that is working to end extreme poverty and performed a poem last night at an open mic with a cool theatre group here in the city that I hope to make a permanent part of my life. It's not the Tonight Show show. Yet. But I'll take it.
I've even become grateful for my living situation. It's a lovely home in a lovely location. It really is quiet most of the time and you can not beat the price! I've made a certain peace with my roommates and it's actually pleasant to be there.
Most importantly, I have been able to accept the fact that a large part of the dissonance in my home life was due to my own issues and perceptions and stubbornness in the face of change. WOW. I hate that. I mean, I love that I'm resolving it, but I hate that it's me and I have to face that. It makes me crinkle my nose as though there's an unpleasant odor in the air.
It is the season of death, however, and it is time to let outmoded beliefs die and allow a rebirth into the embrace of some new, appropriate and joyful ones. This is, literally, written in the stars. According to the Power Path Moon Forecast, which I am a big follower of, this is a theme that will be prevalent for the next three years as we, as a society, transition out of a materialistic view focused on the individual into a spiritual oneness.
And here I will include my poem, On The Benefits of Lentils, which was first performed last night, September 26, 2012 at The Actor's Theatre Workshop, NYC. Not so manic after all. Enjoy.
Sorry, it's gonna be one of those manic posts I suspicion. I don't fear or suspect, however. I tried those words out and dismissed them.
AHEM
So I reviewed the previous posts on here.
JOY!! I don't even remember being in the midst of that angst that caused the writing of the one about the work drama. So I guess I was able to manifest my belief. I'm working in a quiet, no-drama environment where the only real fear is that I'll get in my own way.
AND I'm manifesting some little dreams. I've started singing Karaoke in a safe little environment and become somewhat of a big fish in a little pond within the big apple.
I'm playing a small part in a wonderful Gershwin musical, I've jumped into another small role to rescue a friend's show, I'm auditioning to teach a dance based exercise class, I'm interviewing to volunteer with an organization that is working to end extreme poverty and performed a poem last night at an open mic with a cool theatre group here in the city that I hope to make a permanent part of my life. It's not the Tonight Show show. Yet. But I'll take it.
I've even become grateful for my living situation. It's a lovely home in a lovely location. It really is quiet most of the time and you can not beat the price! I've made a certain peace with my roommates and it's actually pleasant to be there.
Most importantly, I have been able to accept the fact that a large part of the dissonance in my home life was due to my own issues and perceptions and stubbornness in the face of change. WOW. I hate that. I mean, I love that I'm resolving it, but I hate that it's me and I have to face that. It makes me crinkle my nose as though there's an unpleasant odor in the air.
It is the season of death, however, and it is time to let outmoded beliefs die and allow a rebirth into the embrace of some new, appropriate and joyful ones. This is, literally, written in the stars. According to the Power Path Moon Forecast, which I am a big follower of, this is a theme that will be prevalent for the next three years as we, as a society, transition out of a materialistic view focused on the individual into a spiritual oneness.
And here I will include my poem, On The Benefits of Lentils, which was first performed last night, September 26, 2012 at The Actor's Theatre Workshop, NYC. Not so manic after all. Enjoy.
On the benefits of lentils
Which are loaded with goodness of protein
And nutrients for your temple
Of love
Only make sure they’re organic
Littlelegumes
Not Monsanto-ized for profit
But born of the good earth
We have all
Agreed to create
Lets go forward
Making it whole
Believing it is rich and abundant
And well loved
Because we know atoms are arisen of consciousness
That the beliefs we believe are the pictures we see
The dream we live is the one we planned in that hypnogogic state
Between sleep and true wakefulness
Are you truly awake, tho
Daring to believe that the life you dream of
The life I dream of is where
all love each other
Differences are honored
Animals are never abandoned
And children are all happy and free
Tyranny isn’t a word understood
And abundance is a given
The way that the glow of the sun is to us all now
Don’t you feel your heart open and swell at the thought
Stay there!
With that open swollen heart
And let it spill out into the atoms
And the mind of the world
And into each others hearts.
That one heart that we all possess together
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Did You Hear The One About...
This is a joke. There is a punchline. I hope you laugh.
Last year a high school crush found me on Facebook and we decided to try and live the rest of our lives together. It didn't work out. While I was being in this relationship I felt that songs on the radio were sending me messages. When I was in the throes of being in love it was Billy Joel's For The Longest Time. That's the one that stands out the most. When things turned bad, I would hear Adelle's version of the Bob Dylan ballad Feel Your Love, and sing it to me in solidarity with myself.
Earlier this week I considered downloading some new songs to my IPhone. There's a song by Cece Peniston that I adore. It's called Keep On Walkin. It's a song I could never remember the name of and didn't know who sang it so never had a copy. I downloaded it a couple days ago. Ironically, the ex texted me and emailed me a couple days ago, too. He was just letting me know that the relationship he ran to when I left him was over now. Information I didn't want. A contact I didn't want. I'm a fast learner, and one of the things I learned fastest was that talking to this dude is a waste of time, only serves to anger and upset me and never changes anything.
They lyrics to the Cece Peniston song include the following:
I thought I told you it was over
Why are you confused?
Made your choice and now I'm voicing
My opinion to you
You can just Go!
Walk On
keep On
Keep on Walkin
I aint talkin to ya
Keep on walkin, keep on walkin
So I finally realized yesterday that part of my reason for calling out this song and putting it on the repeat was to dismiss this unwanted intrusion. It always upsets me when I hear from that guy. I had him blocked on my other phone, but apparently that didn't carry over to this one. And I admit, a part of me wants to hear from a version of him that has finally taken responsibility for his part in what didn't work so that we could transcend it and maybe be together. That is a throwback to that flaw I mentioned in the You Are NOT My Enemy post from earlier this week; the flaw of believing in people's evloved selves contrary to the hypothesis that a leopard doesn't change its spots.
So I'm listening to this jam, rockin out with Cece when I arrive home the night before last and even though I have my headphones on, I can hear my roommates street rap blasting out of the speakers in the living room. I stick my head in singing my R&B jam. We laugh and my roomie invites me to a chocolate cake shot.
"Yah!" I am enthusiastic. Vanilla vodka and Frangelico are the shot, followed up by a slice of lemon dipped in brown sugar. And the shots are pretty amazing cause they really taste like chocolate cake.
So the next day, after work, I'm still suffering slightly and decide that I must have a bacon cheeseburger before I go to karaoke. It's going to be a rough week from the look of things.
Since karaoke is in the village, I decide to find a place for dinner down there. There's a spot on 14th Street called The Crooked Knife that I've wanted to try for a while, so I stop in and get my burger.
When the burger arrives it's Fat. With a capital "F". I peer around its sides trying to decide how to conquer it. It has lettuce and tomato and onion and I add my mayo and catsup concoction making a fat, sloppy mess of wonderfullness. I pick it up, still wondering what the best way to get the biggest bite in my mouth is. I decide a halfway-through-the-burger-on-a-45-degree-angle is my best shot and I swan dive into that patty.
I raise my eyes and see some patrons staring wide-eyed at me. "Food isn't pretty," I say. And then I realize my mouth is full. So I smile.
I really want a burger now. This comedy stuff makes me hungry.
The moral of the story is that overcoming pain and difficult situations makes you hungry. Wait. No. I mean, it frees you up to find the joy in the mundane. Badumching.
Last year a high school crush found me on Facebook and we decided to try and live the rest of our lives together. It didn't work out. While I was being in this relationship I felt that songs on the radio were sending me messages. When I was in the throes of being in love it was Billy Joel's For The Longest Time. That's the one that stands out the most. When things turned bad, I would hear Adelle's version of the Bob Dylan ballad Feel Your Love, and sing it to me in solidarity with myself.
Earlier this week I considered downloading some new songs to my IPhone. There's a song by Cece Peniston that I adore. It's called Keep On Walkin. It's a song I could never remember the name of and didn't know who sang it so never had a copy. I downloaded it a couple days ago. Ironically, the ex texted me and emailed me a couple days ago, too. He was just letting me know that the relationship he ran to when I left him was over now. Information I didn't want. A contact I didn't want. I'm a fast learner, and one of the things I learned fastest was that talking to this dude is a waste of time, only serves to anger and upset me and never changes anything.
They lyrics to the Cece Peniston song include the following:
I thought I told you it was over
Why are you confused?
Made your choice and now I'm voicing
My opinion to you
You can just Go!
Walk On
keep On
Keep on Walkin
I aint talkin to ya
Keep on walkin, keep on walkin
So I finally realized yesterday that part of my reason for calling out this song and putting it on the repeat was to dismiss this unwanted intrusion. It always upsets me when I hear from that guy. I had him blocked on my other phone, but apparently that didn't carry over to this one. And I admit, a part of me wants to hear from a version of him that has finally taken responsibility for his part in what didn't work so that we could transcend it and maybe be together. That is a throwback to that flaw I mentioned in the You Are NOT My Enemy post from earlier this week; the flaw of believing in people's evloved selves contrary to the hypothesis that a leopard doesn't change its spots.
So I'm listening to this jam, rockin out with Cece when I arrive home the night before last and even though I have my headphones on, I can hear my roommates street rap blasting out of the speakers in the living room. I stick my head in singing my R&B jam. We laugh and my roomie invites me to a chocolate cake shot.
"Yah!" I am enthusiastic. Vanilla vodka and Frangelico are the shot, followed up by a slice of lemon dipped in brown sugar. And the shots are pretty amazing cause they really taste like chocolate cake.
So the next day, after work, I'm still suffering slightly and decide that I must have a bacon cheeseburger before I go to karaoke. It's going to be a rough week from the look of things.
Since karaoke is in the village, I decide to find a place for dinner down there. There's a spot on 14th Street called The Crooked Knife that I've wanted to try for a while, so I stop in and get my burger.
When the burger arrives it's Fat. With a capital "F". I peer around its sides trying to decide how to conquer it. It has lettuce and tomato and onion and I add my mayo and catsup concoction making a fat, sloppy mess of wonderfullness. I pick it up, still wondering what the best way to get the biggest bite in my mouth is. I decide a halfway-through-the-burger-on-a-45-degree-angle is my best shot and I swan dive into that patty.
I raise my eyes and see some patrons staring wide-eyed at me. "Food isn't pretty," I say. And then I realize my mouth is full. So I smile.
I really want a burger now. This comedy stuff makes me hungry.
The moral of the story is that overcoming pain and difficult situations makes you hungry. Wait. No. I mean, it frees you up to find the joy in the mundane. Badumching.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Don't Walk Through the Park at Night
Oak leaves stirred lazily in a warm, summer night breeze under the yellow glow of a streetlamp.
Shadows shifted within the stone walls surrounding the neighborhood park. A group of punks, their thick forms taking shape as two lovers walk by, toss profanity sprinkled challenges of bravado at each other. The sour smell of weed spreads into the air.
The punks stop talking and watch the couple. The couple travels down a path and then up a rise to a secluded tree with a view that looks out over the Hudson River at the George Washington Bridge and the Palisades of New Jersey. The embrace and talk softly, hiding in the darkness that the large oak provides.
"Well ain't this sweet and cozy." A nasaly, accented voice intrudes on their intimacy. The couple says nothing, just turns their heads to see where the voice is coming from.
A group of four males, thick, some fat, some muscular, stands in a pack, blocking any retreat of the couple.
"How about we join in?" says the nasaly voice. The rest of the pack giggles.
The one doing the taunting is short and broad, with a flat nose and pinched eyes that sit close together at the top of his nose. He makes an obscene gyration with his hips.
"We really don't want any trouble," says one of the lovers. "It's probably best if you just turn around and walk away."
The group guffaws. "Hahaha. Oh, we're not afraid. We think it'd be more fun to stay and play. How 'bout you step aside and let me hug your friend."
The other lover turns to face flat nose. No words are spoken, but flat nose's eyes fly open from what he's seeing. "M-m-m=maybe you're right." he stammers. "Maybe we got somethin' better to do."
He turns to leave but it's too late. The friend grabs him by the shoulder, immobilizing him. The lover steps away from the friend and the tree and freezes the rest of the group with a stare.
The friend has now stepped up to flat nose. The friend opens wide eyes aflame with a searing red glow just seconds before sinking sharp fangs into the shoulder of flat nose. A sigh is forced out of the punk. His knees buckle and the friend catches him and lowers him to the ground to feed.
The lover has singled out the fattest member of the group and clamped a claw onto his shoulder. Releasing the other two punks from their hypnotic paralysis, the lover says simply, "Run." The punks don't have to be told twice.
The lover pushes the fat punks head aside and eyes flare red as the lover readies to strike.
There is the sound of screeching tires and a loud thump as a body is stuck by a car.
Leaves on an oak tree rustle lazily, the only sound in the park now.
Don't walk alone in the park at night.
Shadows shifted within the stone walls surrounding the neighborhood park. A group of punks, their thick forms taking shape as two lovers walk by, toss profanity sprinkled challenges of bravado at each other. The sour smell of weed spreads into the air.
The punks stop talking and watch the couple. The couple travels down a path and then up a rise to a secluded tree with a view that looks out over the Hudson River at the George Washington Bridge and the Palisades of New Jersey. The embrace and talk softly, hiding in the darkness that the large oak provides.
"Well ain't this sweet and cozy." A nasaly, accented voice intrudes on their intimacy. The couple says nothing, just turns their heads to see where the voice is coming from.
A group of four males, thick, some fat, some muscular, stands in a pack, blocking any retreat of the couple.
"How about we join in?" says the nasaly voice. The rest of the pack giggles.
The one doing the taunting is short and broad, with a flat nose and pinched eyes that sit close together at the top of his nose. He makes an obscene gyration with his hips.
"We really don't want any trouble," says one of the lovers. "It's probably best if you just turn around and walk away."
The group guffaws. "Hahaha. Oh, we're not afraid. We think it'd be more fun to stay and play. How 'bout you step aside and let me hug your friend."
The other lover turns to face flat nose. No words are spoken, but flat nose's eyes fly open from what he's seeing. "M-m-m=maybe you're right." he stammers. "Maybe we got somethin' better to do."
He turns to leave but it's too late. The friend grabs him by the shoulder, immobilizing him. The lover steps away from the friend and the tree and freezes the rest of the group with a stare.
The friend has now stepped up to flat nose. The friend opens wide eyes aflame with a searing red glow just seconds before sinking sharp fangs into the shoulder of flat nose. A sigh is forced out of the punk. His knees buckle and the friend catches him and lowers him to the ground to feed.
The lover has singled out the fattest member of the group and clamped a claw onto his shoulder. Releasing the other two punks from their hypnotic paralysis, the lover says simply, "Run." The punks don't have to be told twice.
The lover pushes the fat punks head aside and eyes flare red as the lover readies to strike.
There is the sound of screeching tires and a loud thump as a body is stuck by a car.
Leaves on an oak tree rustle lazily, the only sound in the park now.
Don't walk alone in the park at night.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
The Spins
BAhahahaha. It's not what you think. I know, the title of this post has you strolling down collegiate memory lane, one foot on the floor, bucket by the bed, and the whole ceiling acting like a turbo jet engine on speed.
If that were the case I could drink some gatorade and have a bacon sandwich and be on my way to recovery until the next self-induced spell.
This, however, is Miniere's disease, a fluid imbalance in the inner ear. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Good times. Just look left, or right, or up, or down, or sit, or stand or be lying still. Dizzy. Anytime, anyway. Unpredictable. An Adventure.
That was what I was gonna write about but now I'm bored with that. It does remind me of the time, however, on new Year's Eve 2000 when I, my daughter and her friend were rear ended by a big asshole in a white mercedes or beamer or some other equally pretentious ride. I didn't know it when it happened but I had knocked my head into the window. It happened on a Saturday night. By Wednesday i was so dizzy I had a friend take me to the emergency room. I forgot I had been in an accident (that should have been my first clue) so when the snide ER Doc asked if I had had any recent head trauma I couldn't remember any.
BAHahahahahahahah. Life is funny.
Turns out I had suffered a closed brain injury. Took a long time for me to become aware of the word-recall loss, and it having have happened over ten years ago, I believe I have had a, mostly, full recovery, but it took a long time.
I used it as an excuse for a long time, too. Except, looking back, it wasn't an excuse, it was an explanation.
Now when I have word recall issues it's just age and fatigue. Because I stay up too late playing, you guessed! Angry Birds.
I might be ready to give up on the pissed off avian game though. I don't like these levels I've been seeing. I revert to a three year old when I don't like them, "This is stooopid". I fight through to conquer it. I will not, however, be enticed to raise my score to three star level. Some part of me believes that 'they' know I am snubbing them because this level is creatively inferior. I don't think I like the fat birds, either. They do have a lot of bang for the ... well ...bang, but I'd rather have a bunch of those little black bomb birds any day, any level. They're so much more functional.
BAhahahahaha.
Okay. Enough with the maniacal laughter. Even though I still want to be Cat Woman. The Julie Newmar version. How on earth did she get her waist so tiny? Of course, Eartha Kitt had the best purrrrrr. These comments are open for debate, BTW.
And speaking of wanting to be fictional characters, do you know what else i realized? I will tell you. I know the suspense is killing. You know when 'they' ask "what historical person, living or dead, would you have dinner with?" Well, I can never come up with an answer and yesterday I figured out why: because I don't want to have dinner with Liza Minelli. I want to BE Liza Minelli. and Johnny Depp. And Isabella Rosselini. Not Johnny Carson, though. I just want to be on his show. I was devastated when he died. Part of my dream was being on his show. How could he die before I had my fifteen minutes?!?! Honestly. The colossal audacity.
Today, however, I get to be me, and that's going to be more than good enough. I'm rather enjoying myself. Spins and all.
If that were the case I could drink some gatorade and have a bacon sandwich and be on my way to recovery until the next self-induced spell.
This, however, is Miniere's disease, a fluid imbalance in the inner ear. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Good times. Just look left, or right, or up, or down, or sit, or stand or be lying still. Dizzy. Anytime, anyway. Unpredictable. An Adventure.
That was what I was gonna write about but now I'm bored with that. It does remind me of the time, however, on new Year's Eve 2000 when I, my daughter and her friend were rear ended by a big asshole in a white mercedes or beamer or some other equally pretentious ride. I didn't know it when it happened but I had knocked my head into the window. It happened on a Saturday night. By Wednesday i was so dizzy I had a friend take me to the emergency room. I forgot I had been in an accident (that should have been my first clue) so when the snide ER Doc asked if I had had any recent head trauma I couldn't remember any.
BAHahahahahahahah. Life is funny.
Turns out I had suffered a closed brain injury. Took a long time for me to become aware of the word-recall loss, and it having have happened over ten years ago, I believe I have had a, mostly, full recovery, but it took a long time.
I used it as an excuse for a long time, too. Except, looking back, it wasn't an excuse, it was an explanation.
Now when I have word recall issues it's just age and fatigue. Because I stay up too late playing, you guessed! Angry Birds.
I might be ready to give up on the pissed off avian game though. I don't like these levels I've been seeing. I revert to a three year old when I don't like them, "This is stooopid". I fight through to conquer it. I will not, however, be enticed to raise my score to three star level. Some part of me believes that 'they' know I am snubbing them because this level is creatively inferior. I don't think I like the fat birds, either. They do have a lot of bang for the ... well ...bang, but I'd rather have a bunch of those little black bomb birds any day, any level. They're so much more functional.
BAhahahahaha.
Okay. Enough with the maniacal laughter. Even though I still want to be Cat Woman. The Julie Newmar version. How on earth did she get her waist so tiny? Of course, Eartha Kitt had the best purrrrrr. These comments are open for debate, BTW.
And speaking of wanting to be fictional characters, do you know what else i realized? I will tell you. I know the suspense is killing. You know when 'they' ask "what historical person, living or dead, would you have dinner with?" Well, I can never come up with an answer and yesterday I figured out why: because I don't want to have dinner with Liza Minelli. I want to BE Liza Minelli. and Johnny Depp. And Isabella Rosselini. Not Johnny Carson, though. I just want to be on his show. I was devastated when he died. Part of my dream was being on his show. How could he die before I had my fifteen minutes?!?! Honestly. The colossal audacity.
Today, however, I get to be me, and that's going to be more than good enough. I'm rather enjoying myself. Spins and all.
Monday, August 27, 2012
No, You are NOT my Enemy
I am doing this against my will. I would much rather indulge my addiction to Angry Birds than try and dig into the bowels of my soul and articulate some gleaming pearls of wisdom for you all, my friends. I guess the guilt is getting to me, too. I am getting paid, right now, and for not really doing anything, so since I'm not a professional gamer, I guess I should look busy.
Also, I went to a Buddhist prayer meeting yesterday and in addition to being given the message of 'the Truth of Impermanence", the message to not be lazy was reinforced. I've been hearing it a lot lately and it just does not jive with my new philosophy of giving up on any dreams I might have had in my youth and indulging the inclination to play games on my phone. Wait, though. Playing Angry Birds isn't really being lazy. That game takes some strategy! "Especially at the higher levels," she whined.
I could take on the exercise of writing for a half hour every day. I don't know if I can commit, but if I do, and you are a faithful reader, I make no promises about quality or content.
OK. So today's topic, Enemies. Don't blame me. It's not my idea. I found it on a creative writing site. It's the word of the day.
Enemies. When I think of enemies I think of battles and big war campaigns; countries throwing big and bloody to assuage some power hungry man's insatiable appetite. I don't think of the people I know personally. If I have an issue with someone, I don't think of them as my enemy, I just think of them as a shitty person, or irritating or infuriating. The term 'enemy' never comes to mind, somehow.
I wonder if that is because on some level I want all people to be my friend. Oh, dear. Now, that's a profound discovery.
The 'new's has been full to overflowing lately with hateful statements made by politicians. 'Certainly, Mother of Bug, you don't want those people to be your friends," you say? Well, no, not in their current hateful state of unconsciousness and ignorance. However, here is an unfortunate trait I possess over which I seemingly have no control: I have the misguided belief that if only people could change into their evolved soul we could all dance happily around the Maypole together, me with my pastel streamer in hand, you with yours.
Sadly, that ain't the way it is, is it Virginia? This ain't Kansas and people are assholes. So now, do I consider these ignorant incarnations my 'enemies'? Nope. That word still doesn't stick.
Perhaps it is because in order to consider someone your enemy, you must consider them your equal. Perhaps it's arrogance that doesn't allow me to consider people who aren't like-minded evolved enough to be my enemy.
Could be, who knows...."Somethin's comin, I don't know, what it is , but it is, Gonna be GREAT!". Sorry. Sometimes I burst into spontaneous song. We all should, you know. It would make great friends of many who would be enemies.
All I do know is that if I were a victim on Law and Order and they were going around asking people "Did she have any enemies" the only honest response would have to be "None that she was aware of..." Being unnaturally paranoid, I often think people don't like me, but I never think of us involved in a Super Hero, Marvel Comics kind of ongoing conflict (where, of course, I would be the Super Hero and they would be the Nemisis. Although, being a nemisis does sound like an awful lot of fun; all of that evil laughing and destroying people who anger you and purring and wearing cat suits. OMG, ok, batman purists, I know Catwoman wasn't his nemesis. This is my fantasy, OK?!).
Or maybe I don't consciously apply the 'enemy' label to anyone because I really, really, really don't like conflict. I'm not afraid of it, but it can make me very uncomfortable, in a sweaty, shaky, heart palpitating kind of way.
If we disagree, I will not consider you my enemy. If you do me wrong, I will not consider you my enemy. Anyone who sees my Facebook responses to some political commentary knows that I am not afraid to speak my mind. I may label you and make provocative statements. Adamantly. But I will never consider you my enemy. Apparently, you don't qualify.
Also, I went to a Buddhist prayer meeting yesterday and in addition to being given the message of 'the Truth of Impermanence", the message to not be lazy was reinforced. I've been hearing it a lot lately and it just does not jive with my new philosophy of giving up on any dreams I might have had in my youth and indulging the inclination to play games on my phone. Wait, though. Playing Angry Birds isn't really being lazy. That game takes some strategy! "Especially at the higher levels," she whined.
I could take on the exercise of writing for a half hour every day. I don't know if I can commit, but if I do, and you are a faithful reader, I make no promises about quality or content.
OK. So today's topic, Enemies. Don't blame me. It's not my idea. I found it on a creative writing site. It's the word of the day.
Enemies. When I think of enemies I think of battles and big war campaigns; countries throwing big and bloody to assuage some power hungry man's insatiable appetite. I don't think of the people I know personally. If I have an issue with someone, I don't think of them as my enemy, I just think of them as a shitty person, or irritating or infuriating. The term 'enemy' never comes to mind, somehow.
I wonder if that is because on some level I want all people to be my friend. Oh, dear. Now, that's a profound discovery.
The 'new's has been full to overflowing lately with hateful statements made by politicians. 'Certainly, Mother of Bug, you don't want those people to be your friends," you say? Well, no, not in their current hateful state of unconsciousness and ignorance. However, here is an unfortunate trait I possess over which I seemingly have no control: I have the misguided belief that if only people could change into their evolved soul we could all dance happily around the Maypole together, me with my pastel streamer in hand, you with yours.
Sadly, that ain't the way it is, is it Virginia? This ain't Kansas and people are assholes. So now, do I consider these ignorant incarnations my 'enemies'? Nope. That word still doesn't stick.
Perhaps it is because in order to consider someone your enemy, you must consider them your equal. Perhaps it's arrogance that doesn't allow me to consider people who aren't like-minded evolved enough to be my enemy.
Could be, who knows...."Somethin's comin, I don't know, what it is , but it is, Gonna be GREAT!". Sorry. Sometimes I burst into spontaneous song. We all should, you know. It would make great friends of many who would be enemies.
All I do know is that if I were a victim on Law and Order and they were going around asking people "Did she have any enemies" the only honest response would have to be "None that she was aware of..." Being unnaturally paranoid, I often think people don't like me, but I never think of us involved in a Super Hero, Marvel Comics kind of ongoing conflict (where, of course, I would be the Super Hero and they would be the Nemisis. Although, being a nemisis does sound like an awful lot of fun; all of that evil laughing and destroying people who anger you and purring and wearing cat suits. OMG, ok, batman purists, I know Catwoman wasn't his nemesis. This is my fantasy, OK?!).
Or maybe I don't consciously apply the 'enemy' label to anyone because I really, really, really don't like conflict. I'm not afraid of it, but it can make me very uncomfortable, in a sweaty, shaky, heart palpitating kind of way.
If we disagree, I will not consider you my enemy. If you do me wrong, I will not consider you my enemy. Anyone who sees my Facebook responses to some political commentary knows that I am not afraid to speak my mind. I may label you and make provocative statements. Adamantly. But I will never consider you my enemy. Apparently, you don't qualify.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Running Across The George Washington Bridge in A Thunderstorm
So at work today, I get this email from the building management that we're supposed to get this killer storm, and to stay away from the windows and such. My boss and I are like 'Yah. They always talk a good talk but it never happens"
Fast forward to tonight. I finally FINALLY get my ass into some shorts to go for a run. I've only been running like, three times this year. Pathetic. So despite the heat and mugginess, I decide it's do or die time. I start out in my neighborhood heading out in my usual direction, either gonna go up to Fort Tryon or down to the River Walk, but as I'm passing the entrance to the GW Bridge I think "hmmm, maybe the walkway's open." A cyclist appears to be just coming off the bridge and I yell "Is it open?" and he nods, affirmative!
I've never crossed the GW on foot. I have been wanting to do this since I heard about it a couple weeks ago. Alright! I start my little run up the ramp and onto the bridge. It's a tough start for my rusty respiratory, but I'm totally into this. On the bridge proper there is a nice, strong breeze. The sky is a little dark for this time of day at this time of year, but I just figure it's getting near sunset. The closer I get to the New Jersey side, however, the darker the sky to the north is getting. There're some pretty good roiling clouds gathering up there as well. By the time I turn to head back I see the vista at the north end of the river is deep slate blue, and there are some good, black clouds hanging in the sky. I'm hoping to see some lightning off in the distance. The clouds are shifting, gathering closer to the bridge and overhead. There's a big dark roiling sky overhead, and the wind is picking up. I love storms! This is getting exciting.
The sky has gathered on the Jersey side and the cloud area is growing in size and darkness. The wind has got a cold edge to it, and there are flashes behind some of the buildings to the southwest. I'm alternately running backwards to watch the light show and jogging towards Manhattan. It might be a good idea to be off of the bridge when this storm picks up strength. Just after I pass under the Manhattan side tower, I feel some light drops on my skin. The lightning is getting more defined behind me. I still don't hear any thunder yet though.
I see two women starting to head across the bridge with a stroller. I'm about to suggest they turn back, but they've already made that decision. Good choice. As I start down the bridge access ramp, the rain picks up. The sky is dark all around now, and there are big, fat drops of rain falling. I keep thinking it might be hail, but it's just big rain. The lightning is starting to spread north and south of where it was, and I catch a couple of bolts striking. I stop on the ramp to watch for a minute, but self preservation has me heading off the ramp towards safety.
As I turn on to my street, the sky opens and the wind picks up, bending the tops of trees over. I hold out where I can still see the Pallisades so I can keep watching the lightning. Bolts are shooting down behind the north side of the bridge now, and still on the Jersey side. I see a few particularly striking bolts (haha I'm punny) and decide to head back to my building.
Later, in my room looking out at the storm, I see a couple really good strikes. What a great storm. I've pretty much forgotten about the run, at this point, and all the calisthenics and stretching I was gonna do when I got back. But at least I got the run in, and I'm back on track. Tomorrow I might even do my situps.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Believe
Whadyacallit? What do you call it? That waking nightmare feeling that's not a surprise or a shock kind of fear, but a low lying, persistent dread? That dark, dark, place where you feel completely exposed without any defense against the worst from other people.
Yah, it's been one of those days. Ya know, there's some residue from my childhood. Sometimes I wonder if it is nurture or if it's some left over past-life memory. I remember reading somewhere that when children have irrational fears that it could be carry-over from past lives. One of the cases was a girl who was afraid of the shower. Supposedly she'd been gassed in a Nazi concentration camp. Her parents had to reassure her she wouldn't die in the shower. I don't know if I believe in reincarnation, I tend to think I don't, but it does make me wonder.
I have a hard time believing that I've experienced this level of panic and terror in real life, although I know there were experiences I had as a child that would warrant it. I know I don't experience it in the paralyzing way I did in my twenties. I have much more distance from it.
But today, today was a new experience all together. As is often the case, and my most challenging pattern, my deepest crisis of emotion is brought on by unfair treatment at work. I know it's a reenactment of familial dynamics. Unfortunately for me, I believe in that school of psychology that says you recreate your family relationships in your adult life. I'm also of the school that you create your reality with what you believe and this belief is hanging on tenaciously. Fifteen plus years of cognitive therapy has helped to lessen the hold and to move me up and to the outer rim of this spiral but it's still intense.
When I started this job I had great hope that it would be a great job. I've wanted to work at this place since I moved back to the city and the orientation made me believe it could be what I thought it was. I believed. I believed that the philosophy of conviviality was true, that it was practiced by all who were employed here. I don't know if I will ever be able to be a cynic. I don't think I have that gene.
It didn't take long for things to devolve. I was still operating from a belief in the employee manual ( I'm such a FOOL!) while people were demonstrating all around me that I was not over the rainbow and the Wicked Witch of the West was in charge here. It took me about a week to start seeing the truth. Even when I saw what was happening, I didn't accept it. I fought against it. Surprise, surprise, that didn't help.
I worked in other stores for this company and found that my store was the a highly dysfunctional one. Many of the other stores I worked in not only had people who followed the rules, didn't steal and cheat, but had lovely, welcoming employees who were kind, and professional, and friendly. I requested a transfer. It didn't come through. So, I tried to tough it out.
One day, after having been written up for someone else's lack of follow through the day before, I tried to call in sick. The MOD talked me into coming in.
I gave away my upcoming shifts and called all my temp agencies to see if there was any work available.
Three days later, I landed an assignment for a full time gig. I decided to see if that would take some of the pressure of at the other job; see if I could stick it out. I agreed to be kept on the schedule for weekends.
So I went in today with the attitude that I would try to let things roll off me. That worked really well for most of the day. Near the end of my shift a manager made some bad choices that were blatantly unfair. I didn't react. I stayed professional and friendly and finished my shift and gave my notice.
After all that practicing non-reaction and staying calm in the storm I thought I had made some progress with this pattern. As soon as I gave my notice something happened. Some switch was thrown in me and I just became overwhelmingly angry. It's staying with me. I keep practicing non-attachment, and I do get some distance from it, but I'm also feeling as though my soul got sucked out of me. I go back and forth between feeling flattened by the drama and being completely detached from it.
I have just had the wonderful realization that the feeling I feel when detached from the drama is one of joy. Underneath all of this fear is joy.
So bottom line, giving my notice was absolutely the right thing to do. Do you struggle with this; with the question of whether to tough things out because you think you will grow from it or to walk away because no one should have to suffer that kind of ill treatment?
More and more I believe, pigheadedly and adamantly, the latter. Does this mean I'm going to end up one of those homeless ladies, waddling down the street, my shopping cart overflowing with plastic bags full of mysterious items, mumbling to myself and lecturing people and swearing? Or does this mean I'm changing my beliefs, and am going to steer myself towards employment where I'm surrounded by at least semi-reasonable people who don't have a need to treat others unkindly.
So far the office I'm in seems mellow. It doesn't matter though. I'm going to believe. Let's see where that takes me.
Yah, it's been one of those days. Ya know, there's some residue from my childhood. Sometimes I wonder if it is nurture or if it's some left over past-life memory. I remember reading somewhere that when children have irrational fears that it could be carry-over from past lives. One of the cases was a girl who was afraid of the shower. Supposedly she'd been gassed in a Nazi concentration camp. Her parents had to reassure her she wouldn't die in the shower. I don't know if I believe in reincarnation, I tend to think I don't, but it does make me wonder.
I have a hard time believing that I've experienced this level of panic and terror in real life, although I know there were experiences I had as a child that would warrant it. I know I don't experience it in the paralyzing way I did in my twenties. I have much more distance from it.
But today, today was a new experience all together. As is often the case, and my most challenging pattern, my deepest crisis of emotion is brought on by unfair treatment at work. I know it's a reenactment of familial dynamics. Unfortunately for me, I believe in that school of psychology that says you recreate your family relationships in your adult life. I'm also of the school that you create your reality with what you believe and this belief is hanging on tenaciously. Fifteen plus years of cognitive therapy has helped to lessen the hold and to move me up and to the outer rim of this spiral but it's still intense.
When I started this job I had great hope that it would be a great job. I've wanted to work at this place since I moved back to the city and the orientation made me believe it could be what I thought it was. I believed. I believed that the philosophy of conviviality was true, that it was practiced by all who were employed here. I don't know if I will ever be able to be a cynic. I don't think I have that gene.
It didn't take long for things to devolve. I was still operating from a belief in the employee manual ( I'm such a FOOL!) while people were demonstrating all around me that I was not over the rainbow and the Wicked Witch of the West was in charge here. It took me about a week to start seeing the truth. Even when I saw what was happening, I didn't accept it. I fought against it. Surprise, surprise, that didn't help.
I worked in other stores for this company and found that my store was the a highly dysfunctional one. Many of the other stores I worked in not only had people who followed the rules, didn't steal and cheat, but had lovely, welcoming employees who were kind, and professional, and friendly. I requested a transfer. It didn't come through. So, I tried to tough it out.
One day, after having been written up for someone else's lack of follow through the day before, I tried to call in sick. The MOD talked me into coming in.
I gave away my upcoming shifts and called all my temp agencies to see if there was any work available.
Three days later, I landed an assignment for a full time gig. I decided to see if that would take some of the pressure of at the other job; see if I could stick it out. I agreed to be kept on the schedule for weekends.
So I went in today with the attitude that I would try to let things roll off me. That worked really well for most of the day. Near the end of my shift a manager made some bad choices that were blatantly unfair. I didn't react. I stayed professional and friendly and finished my shift and gave my notice.
After all that practicing non-reaction and staying calm in the storm I thought I had made some progress with this pattern. As soon as I gave my notice something happened. Some switch was thrown in me and I just became overwhelmingly angry. It's staying with me. I keep practicing non-attachment, and I do get some distance from it, but I'm also feeling as though my soul got sucked out of me. I go back and forth between feeling flattened by the drama and being completely detached from it.
I have just had the wonderful realization that the feeling I feel when detached from the drama is one of joy. Underneath all of this fear is joy.
So bottom line, giving my notice was absolutely the right thing to do. Do you struggle with this; with the question of whether to tough things out because you think you will grow from it or to walk away because no one should have to suffer that kind of ill treatment?
More and more I believe, pigheadedly and adamantly, the latter. Does this mean I'm going to end up one of those homeless ladies, waddling down the street, my shopping cart overflowing with plastic bags full of mysterious items, mumbling to myself and lecturing people and swearing? Or does this mean I'm changing my beliefs, and am going to steer myself towards employment where I'm surrounded by at least semi-reasonable people who don't have a need to treat others unkindly.
So far the office I'm in seems mellow. It doesn't matter though. I'm going to believe. Let's see where that takes me.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Because Thunderstorms are Never Intense Enough
It's after 3:00pm and the storm's not here yet. From what I can find online, it's not anywhere, and I am deeply disappointed. I felt a bright excitement this morning when my friend put up a post that we were in for real weather, a drastic and fast moving cold front that would create lightning! and crazy winds! and Hail!. I have spent the better part of the day trying to track the storm, but I have been hard pressed to find any evidence of its existence. Part of me is still holding out hope for something spectacular with a darkening sky and air that turns green, gale force winds, deafening cracks of thunder and crisp bolts of lightning (with no accompanying damage, of course). The view out the windows of this nineteenth floor office is of other office windows. I can tell by the light that it is not a clear day, and there is a slight tint of color to the air, but it's not that threatening pre-storm darkness I want. Didn't I read once that pre-storm air is charged with negative ions? I seek the thrill of that intense electricity that I liken to the energy that travels between two lustful lovers.
I'm being stood up by the storm. I put on my best dress and did up my hair special just for you, cold-front-moving-in-fast-and -thrilling. Now I'm left standing on the corner looking bewildered and wondering if there were some miscommunication. Maybe I got the day wrong, or the time. Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Yes, that must be it. It was a dream i took for reality.
You know, that's really it, right there; my life in a nutshell. A dream I mistook for reality. Since I was fifteen I've had no direction. I've had aspirations and plans, but nothing that ever felt sure, known. Don't you, and most of the world's inhabitants, have a strong sense of heading down the right path? Aren't you drawn by some sense of destiny, some strong inclination towards what you know in your heart you're supposed to be doing? Don't most of us think that about each other?
I'm not sure why 'since I was fifteen'; I just remember thinking one day that I had no idea of my life after fifteen. Not, 'I have no idea what my life will be like" after fifteen, just, 'I have no idea of a life after fifteen".
Now here I am at this advanced age on the other end of the time line and I still don't have any idea of my life, except for that one really big thing, my daughter. But her life is her's and not a definition of mine. Mine is still shapeless and behaving like water, taking the shape of whatever container it ends up in.
I thought it would be so much more exciting. Or did I? A part of me daydreamed about Cinderella gowns and truelove and an exciting life on the stage, but it was never a waking, conscientious, material thing I could grasp. Or even had a consciousness of grasping. Only now do I have an awareness that I can want those things in a concrete, material way. Sure, I took steps toward the direction of where my desires lived, but I don't think I had an eye towards trying to bushwack my way onto the actual path.
And now, I tell myself I'm tired. I suspect I am overwhelmed by my life. By the seeming stagnant nature of it. It's like a pond that is fed by a stream, but so overrun with algae that you can't see where the tributary is. There has been some movement. You can sense that. But there is no real shift of the larger body of water. The algae stays and grows, absorbing all the light, feeding on it and jamming up the pond, inhibiting further movement .
Some rumbling has started. And the sky outside these windows is darkening. !!! Excitement! and thunder!! Finally. There are free falling sheets of rain, and bolts of lightning followed by slamming claps of thunder. The wind is shoving the rain sideways. Now THIS is a storm!
Maybe - all I have to do is be patient. Maybe- if I wait long enough, my own storm will roll into port and my life will be the thrilling ride it is meant to be. I suspect, unlike a fast moving cold front, I may have to make my own storm happen. Is that the case? Or do our lives unfold according to some unknown plan, some destiny. Can I? just wait for my own storm to roll in? I guess we'll all just have to wait and see.
I'm being stood up by the storm. I put on my best dress and did up my hair special just for you, cold-front-moving-in-fast-and -thrilling. Now I'm left standing on the corner looking bewildered and wondering if there were some miscommunication. Maybe I got the day wrong, or the time. Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Yes, that must be it. It was a dream i took for reality.
You know, that's really it, right there; my life in a nutshell. A dream I mistook for reality. Since I was fifteen I've had no direction. I've had aspirations and plans, but nothing that ever felt sure, known. Don't you, and most of the world's inhabitants, have a strong sense of heading down the right path? Aren't you drawn by some sense of destiny, some strong inclination towards what you know in your heart you're supposed to be doing? Don't most of us think that about each other?
I'm not sure why 'since I was fifteen'; I just remember thinking one day that I had no idea of my life after fifteen. Not, 'I have no idea what my life will be like" after fifteen, just, 'I have no idea of a life after fifteen".
Now here I am at this advanced age on the other end of the time line and I still don't have any idea of my life, except for that one really big thing, my daughter. But her life is her's and not a definition of mine. Mine is still shapeless and behaving like water, taking the shape of whatever container it ends up in.
I thought it would be so much more exciting. Or did I? A part of me daydreamed about Cinderella gowns and truelove and an exciting life on the stage, but it was never a waking, conscientious, material thing I could grasp. Or even had a consciousness of grasping. Only now do I have an awareness that I can want those things in a concrete, material way. Sure, I took steps toward the direction of where my desires lived, but I don't think I had an eye towards trying to bushwack my way onto the actual path.
And now, I tell myself I'm tired. I suspect I am overwhelmed by my life. By the seeming stagnant nature of it. It's like a pond that is fed by a stream, but so overrun with algae that you can't see where the tributary is. There has been some movement. You can sense that. But there is no real shift of the larger body of water. The algae stays and grows, absorbing all the light, feeding on it and jamming up the pond, inhibiting further movement .
Some rumbling has started. And the sky outside these windows is darkening. !!! Excitement! and thunder!! Finally. There are free falling sheets of rain, and bolts of lightning followed by slamming claps of thunder. The wind is shoving the rain sideways. Now THIS is a storm!
Maybe - all I have to do is be patient. Maybe- if I wait long enough, my own storm will roll into port and my life will be the thrilling ride it is meant to be. I suspect, unlike a fast moving cold front, I may have to make my own storm happen. Is that the case? Or do our lives unfold according to some unknown plan, some destiny. Can I? just wait for my own storm to roll in? I guess we'll all just have to wait and see.
Monday, July 16, 2012
The first time
I've finally done it; jumped on the blog bandwagon. Woohoo! The first thing I'm going to do is tell you who Bug is. Bug is my daughter. And that's her nickname. And I know you're not supposed to start a sentence with 'and'. Or but. And that was an incomplete phrase hanging participle. But I don't care.
All you grammar police better put your lazer x-ray vision glasses on because I consider myself the grammar police chief, and like so many in political positions, tend to believe I'm right whether I can back it up with facts or not. For instance, I'm pretty sure some of you are thinking I need a comma there, after 'facts', but you're wrong. However, it would be less awkward and cause less discussion if I had just written "...whether or not I can back it up with facts." So let's just move on.
This is an ominous beginning to my blogging career. I don't usually ramble so voraciously. I am usually much more economical with my words. Please accept my humble apology, keep reading, and know that future entries will be thrillingly concise, articulate and eloquent. Also, because you are experiencing my manic side, those anticipated well-controlled, graceful articles will be all the more of a thrill for you.
In light of the recent You Tube channel I've discovered where a lovely young man uses the language with ridiculous grace, skill and panache, to the effect that I laugh out loud, literally, I am slightly embarrassed that I'm allowing myself to continue this apparently chronic case of oral diarrhea.
Perhaps it is a reflection of the unfortunate case I am suffering because Fairway Market decided to add mushrooms to their Beef Shepherds pie without any warning. Unfair. Downright Cruel. One of my small pleasures taken away by some indulgent chef. Fooey! of Phooey, if you're picky. Yes, I am allergic, or at the least intolerant, of mushrooms. And soy too. So if you're looking to exact revenge on me, those are two sure-fire weapons to keep me weak and indisposed.
Fortunately, I have landed a new temp job that requires no more of me than that I fill a chair, provide a pleasant appearance and occasionally answer the telephone when it rings. Consequently, I needn't tax myself while I get over this mushroom problem. I get to write, too. I'd say this is a pretty ideal gig, if I forget that it's not a starring role in Chicago on Broadway and remember that all things are relative.
I pledge allegiance, to my integrity, so that you, dear reader, may suffer not the indulgences of my mania when it hits. I don't know. Maybe you'd prefer the indulgences of my mania. I just have this idea (and what pesky little demons those can be; ideas) that it would be more conscientious, more serious, more kind to you if I were to take the time to write something thoughtful; something deep and contemplative and stirring.
Look for that. Here. Soon.
All you grammar police better put your lazer x-ray vision glasses on because I consider myself the grammar police chief, and like so many in political positions, tend to believe I'm right whether I can back it up with facts or not. For instance, I'm pretty sure some of you are thinking I need a comma there, after 'facts', but you're wrong. However, it would be less awkward and cause less discussion if I had just written "...whether or not I can back it up with facts." So let's just move on.
This is an ominous beginning to my blogging career. I don't usually ramble so voraciously. I am usually much more economical with my words. Please accept my humble apology, keep reading, and know that future entries will be thrillingly concise, articulate and eloquent. Also, because you are experiencing my manic side, those anticipated well-controlled, graceful articles will be all the more of a thrill for you.
In light of the recent You Tube channel I've discovered where a lovely young man uses the language with ridiculous grace, skill and panache, to the effect that I laugh out loud, literally, I am slightly embarrassed that I'm allowing myself to continue this apparently chronic case of oral diarrhea.
Perhaps it is a reflection of the unfortunate case I am suffering because Fairway Market decided to add mushrooms to their Beef Shepherds pie without any warning. Unfair. Downright Cruel. One of my small pleasures taken away by some indulgent chef. Fooey! of Phooey, if you're picky. Yes, I am allergic, or at the least intolerant, of mushrooms. And soy too. So if you're looking to exact revenge on me, those are two sure-fire weapons to keep me weak and indisposed.
Fortunately, I have landed a new temp job that requires no more of me than that I fill a chair, provide a pleasant appearance and occasionally answer the telephone when it rings. Consequently, I needn't tax myself while I get over this mushroom problem. I get to write, too. I'd say this is a pretty ideal gig, if I forget that it's not a starring role in Chicago on Broadway and remember that all things are relative.
I pledge allegiance, to my integrity, so that you, dear reader, may suffer not the indulgences of my mania when it hits. I don't know. Maybe you'd prefer the indulgences of my mania. I just have this idea (and what pesky little demons those can be; ideas) that it would be more conscientious, more serious, more kind to you if I were to take the time to write something thoughtful; something deep and contemplative and stirring.
Look for that. Here. Soon.
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