Gaugain is a lousy bum!

I've noticed (as you may have as well) that some of those celebrated people with creative temperaments are kind of selfish jerks. Yeah, you've gone down in history Gauguin, but what did your kids think of you? I can tell you exactly: they didn't give a hoot about your art. And what was more important? This is why I like movies like Its a Wonderful Life and the hokey ending of Mr. Holland's Opus. And why I appreciate all of the mamas and papas who decide to do the things that aren't always fun, because it stops being all about them (and a reason I'm terrified of having the babies before I'm okay with acting like a responsible adult full-time myself). That's what it takes to age gracefully I suspect, learning how to take care of yourself in all necessary ways without making it all about you. Here's something nice though, from a lady who knows next to nothing about art: Henri Matisse discovered his love for painting while he was convalescing from appendicitis... you know what this means? I'm maybe one terrible head cold away from discovering that I'm a secret genius.

Perhaps biology is working it's voodoo magic more than I realize, as lately I've been thinking way more about kids and families than ever... without planning to have those things soon, or ever if the right circumstances don't present themselves. Maybe it has something to do with my own mom having us when she was around my age, a fact which blows my mind whenever I contemplate my own youth and confusion and how inept I would be if I had three small children in my care-- not only in my care, but completely responsible for their well-being on all fronts. Geez.

Sometimes I feel really trapped by life, but maybe I'm just settling in. There is no secret door that will open to my future. I can leave at any time. However, I do worry that the weeks do turn into months and years and eventually you're here, and you thought you'd be there... but best laid plans go to pot sometimes anyway. You have kids, you buy a house, eventually you get divorced or someone dies. But! There is time between those things, and that's what I need to remember. Not to miss it by waiting for something significant to unfold or some big answer to present itself. Because I doubt that's going to happen. This is it. That's the answer.

People go in for these grand theories and then somehow try to find a way to explain the exceptions. How about this: life is the exceptions. I like romantic movies because they are all about the grand theory of life. One day fate just presents itself to the characters; it had been lurking nearby all along. It's nice. I sometimes feel like I'm waiting for my fate to jump out from behind the refrigerator and scare the crap out of me, before we both start laughing at that expression on my face the moment it happened. But anyway, in the meantime, I think I'm supposed to do something to jump start this destiny of mine. Here I am reminded of the proverb, "trust in God, but tie your camel."

Am I a broken record or what?

Also, the today I saw a magazine advertisement that contrasted a flip-flop and a car with the idea that these two items were "both invented with change in mind". man, were these guys just phoning it in, or what? maybe if I had read further it would have elaborated on how the two items, though different, were similar in their relaxed attitude and non-traditional functionality. Boo. Thumbs down. Uninspired. Okay, I'm done.

Clearing my mind before bed

Tonight is one of those nights where it's hard for me to lull myself to bed, even though I hate staying up so late, knowing that if I stay up until 2 am tonight, I'll be waking up for work in a day at 3 am.

I washed all of the dishes from the dinner that I made for my guests tonight. Most of the dishes I washed by hand; the dishwasher was full, and I think that dishwashers and garbage disposals are a scam anyhow (you have to wash your dishes before packing it, and apparently potato peels will clog the sink anyway) but the amount of dishes were overwhelming, so I did appreciate having a place to tuck them in for the night. I nuzzled my cat and wished for a moment that she was as docile as a teddy bear so I could take her up to bed, appreciating her tiny snores, aware that if I stirred her much more she'd transform into a haughty yet clumsy wannabe-vicious little lion. She'd get annoyed. We live in peace, so I try not to do that. I have hope that when I wake up she'll be napping in my doorway like she was this morning. She gives me clues that she likes having me around: sometimes waiting outside of the bathroom door as I shower, hanging out in the kitchen a while as I cook. She's great. Sometimes reminds me of a teenager, mortified that she has to interact with me, but it makes those sweet moments all the better. Plus if she always wanted to hang out I'd feel like a jerk for being gone so much.

She makes me happy when I'm bummed. Best decision ever bringing her home and one I almost didn't. I was supposed to be shopping with Nick for supplies for the kitten he was getting later that month, and I saw her waiting to be adopted and instantly named her. It was an impulse. I'm a bit of a commitment-phobe, so I probably wouldn't have planned for her otherwise.

Anyway, tonight I went upstairs and (as I often do) sat on the sink and worked my clogged pores, looking for the many imperfections in my skin and trying to temporarily fix problems, poking and squeezing, no doubt worsening the issues for tomorrow.

I thought about finishing the film noir that I started the other day (what is it about watching old movies that makes me feel like I'm up on something? it doesn't take any special skill, but listen to me mention the term "film noir" in casual conversation and feel free to-- mistakenly-- assume I have a deeper knowledge of film and art in general), but I'm too much of a scardey cat to deal with that level of intrigue before bed. Besides, I've been having some unpleasant dreams lately, so I'd better keep a lid on it.I'm not sure if the dreams are mostly unpleasant in retrospect, as I feel that my conscious mind has more opinions and prejudices than my dream-observer mind.

Well, I guess I'm finally tired and ready to go to bed. I wonder if when I'm an old woman if I'll care if anyone finds me pretty. Maybe it'll be really liberating. I hope so, rather than it feeling like a loss. Instead of being depressed about feeling like I'll never be the ideal of womanly physical beautiful (I'm not the most or the least anything, so who knows why not being the most beautiful is something I fixate on), it'll become a non-issue. at least I'm a pretty normal looking lady, so I don't think that aging will be such a terrible blow. I'm not used to getting by on my looks already is what I mean. I look alright. People in general don' find my personality objectionable either. These things are positive.

That's all she wrote: my cat and my vanity. Pretty stoked about hitting the hay. Goodnight.