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.

If the world is an overwhelming place in which I inhabit a little calm boring corner of, I can be grateful of that.

thoughts of the morning:1.) this girl who used to have regular dreams involving apocalypse, rejection, and violence, woke up from a lovely time of visiting with friends and family (my cousin Jenn even asked if anyone wanted to play parcheesi. I thought, "how does one play parcheesi?") 2.)Television dreams my dreams for me and I'm not sure that's a good thing 3.) I went to bed with intention about what I still want to do in life (not what I want out of life, cause that's easy= happiness) and a clear idea of what, if not a concrete plan of how to make those things happen, a clear idea of what I want to avoid doing n order to make those things more likely happen 4.) Change (capital C) is happening in ways we can and cannot control. We need to/should (normative versus positive lecture in college political science class. was positive the other word?) work to change the things that we can. history tells me that scary things happen in times of change 5.) I'm glad that some of the things I like are not prohibited in a jail cell: reading and yoga, although I'd miss sunlight. however, if I ended up in a jail cell I'm not sure that times would be such that that would be enough or that they would allow me to do those things 6.) I am soft. Yesterday I bought yet another jar of $6 hazelnut spread and multiple cups of coffee. My guilt sends me to the $6 jar, but my reason should tell me otherwise 7.) It's all over. It's too late. But I'm still here. My cat is grooming herself in my doorway, I'm lying in bed, coffee will be ready soon. Shoot, I still have to pour the water into the french press. 8.) log out of facebook. pick up that real book. even if you are accomplishing nothing, maybe you will at least stave off alzheimers in your old age. 9.) who was alzheimer? wikipedia is down today 10.) I should call my grandmother. and I should write my congressperson. how is it that I am so ignorant and inarticulate? it's my own fault. If I had a month to shut myself in my room and study... 11.) I want to move 700 miles away, away from all distractions and obligations 12.) still haven't made that coffee yet

That is my proof positive that thinking constantly does not indicate intelligence. The other day at work I realized I thought of the character Miranda from the television show "sex and the city" four separate times. I don't have any affinity towards her or Cynthia Nixon. But she kept popping into my consciousness. What are the things I still want to do in life? Two of the three things I articulated to myself last night I can accomplish right here, even right here in my bed if I had the tools. If I focused those racing thoughts and stopped idly thinking about "sex and the city" so much. I'm banking on the fact that the women in my family typically live long lives and that I'm a late bloomer. However, I have also observed that those same women who are blessed with health have also had their dreams curtailed or shifted by life, so I guess it's especially nice that they were granted the time to wrap their heads around those facts and make peace with them (my nana says, "isn't it a shame we had to be poor, but so good looking").

My family is very interesting to me. It'd make a good story that I will never write. I'm sure most peoples families are interesting. It's the story of people after all. Alls I'm saying is, we got plot. Which is good, because from my perspective as a child, I'm missing some of the dialog. The tip of the iceberg, which author said that? Anyway, i forget most everything that happened, and most of the things I'm told, my brain as most people's just clings onto the sensational bits.

I'm going to make that coffee now. I hope the water's still hot enough.

Meet Virginia or I'll Never Get it Right

This will end with an explanation of how I nearly caught caused (well, started) a kitchen fire with the microwave and ruined a perfectly good pair of underwear and our trash basket. You can guess. It's going to be pretty anticlimactic, as I already giggled about it all day the day it happened and have pretty much lost the steam to tell it. But here goes:

I met my friend for coffee yesterday and he looked down at my feet and remarked that the combination of my flip flops and bike clips reminded him "of that Train song." Kind of an embarrassing reference for him to make, but I did get it, howling, "she only drinks coffee at midnight... but I drink coffee ALL DAY!" Nerds. Anyway, I don't get it. I never have. It's not a chosen aloofness, a rejection of the norms of style and behavior, I just genuinely can't function in that way. Those girls that you see shivering outside of the bar in December in their tiny clothes-- I would totally be them. I didn't have a moment ever where I looked at hot chicks and said, "well, that looks stupid," it's just so unnatural and foreign to me that I can't even conceive of operating my life like that.

When I was younger, my mom bought us (my siblings and me) a giant trampoline for Christmas one year. My parent's were not wealthy, but Christmas was always a big holiday for us.

So, before I tell you about the beautiful porcelain doll that my grandmother gave me one year (she lost her eyelash, and I was just so upset), let me just wrap up my pleasant trip down memory lane and say that I rarely jumped on that giant trampoline. I was too self conscious to jump on the trampoline. The neighbors could see me, people walking down the street could see me. I didn't want anyone to see me jumping and think I looked stupid.

I'm not sure why that happened. I remember changing schools in 5th grade and going from being a happy little weirdo to being very shy and self conscious. I remember having a clear thought that I needed to change who I had been. I was 10 years old! Anyway, I don't know anything about child psychology, but I'm sure that kind of thing happens. Well, I hope it does. So I spent about a decade being painfully embarrassed at just existing (my description of adolescence) and afraid to do fun, harmless things like jumping on trampolines in my own back yard.

Well now, I often feel like I could very easily be the butt of a joke, but rather than it causing me to shut down I try to embrace it. Or I'm an attention whore. I do like it when people like me, so of course if this story caused people to actively dislike me rather than find me slightly ridiculous I might not share it:

I was getting ready for work. I had not had the time to do laundry for about a week. Even though I suspect there was clean underwear somewhere in the giant heap of clean laundry that permanently rests at the foot of my mattress, I couldn't find any. So I decided to hand wash some and microwave it dry. I totally have microwaved my clothes before (totally. this is totally normal), when I worked at a coffee shop and I didn't realize my work shirt wasn't clean before my shift. So I took the damp underwear, wrapped it in a paper towel (to be considerate of my housemates) and microwaved it for about a minute. They were still damp, so I put the underwear back in the microwave and unthinkingly went upstairs. When I came back downstairs, it was clear that my underwear were ruined. The paper towels looked singed and brown. So I tossed the underwear in the (empty)trash basket and went to brush my teeth. I came back into the kitchen to find smoke coming up from under the sink. The downstairs smelled like burning plastic. My housemates were still asleep, so I had to alert them of the fact that I nearly started a kitchen fire them via text message as I rode the train to work.

I texted my mom what happened and she replied, "you're just like your grandmother!" alluding to the time that my maternal grandmother almost burned down their apartment by putting her girdle in the oven. I told Ish and he called it "some crackhead-ass shit" and I reminded him that my nana had made a similar mistake some thirty years ago, and he maintained that "some crackhead-ass shit" runs in my family.

And that's the story. I really do fear the day when I am no longer young. I suspect that this sort of behavior doesn't age well.

I'm all grown up

I never want to be a teenager again. Never ever ever. So that's one of the things that I guess I can be grateful about getting older for, unless reincarnation does in fact exist and I am just marching unknowingly to an an unlimited future of teen lives. I'm not sure if that's how reincarnation works, and I realize that the likelihood of my continually experiencing the same bored, privileged, suburban teenage life over and over again is very small... I'm just saying that now that I have lived to be 26, I feel confident that I will make it into old age, unless illness or other malicious forces (not my hand) intervene.

One of the major downers that I recall about being a teenager is the feeling that nobody liked me, except maybe my grandmother (and what was her problem) and a few friends. Accompanying this was loneliness and lack of self worth. I dealt with these feelings in different ways as life progressed: as a kid I read books constantly, when I was a little older it was hours of television, and when I was still a little older I discovered the joys of alcohol. Luckily I didn't become a real drinker until I turned 21, but I got into enough trouble with my parents as a teenager involving alcohol that the level at which I consumed it then was about as damaging to my life as it was when I lived away from home and was legally able to buy it.

When I was a kid I had a huge appetite and a fast metabolism. Puberty was a crushing blow. I gained 20 pounds in less than a year. However, I could not conceive of changing my diet and was accustomed to eating every meal until I felt physically sick or uncomfortable. I remember one day in high school someone brought in donuts for the class. Someone else brought in apples. The really pretty blond girls (who looked like they were 30 rather than 16), ate the apples while I miserably enjoyed the immediate gratification of my donut (I probably ate two).

At some point when I was a teenager, I got the idea that a good way to lose some weight would be continue eating all of the huge servings of food that I was accustomed to for every meal and not exercising, and to somehow force all of those excess calories out of my body. I'm sure had I been another type of person I would have tried starving myself, but that was not the type of quick fix solution I was into. I once wrapped packing tape around my belly as a type of a corset to sleep with, which goes to show you the level of planning and common sense I was employing in my quest. Not only was the packing tape (obviously) ineffective, it was pretty painful to take off.

So for some years I was bulimic. I have to say that it's pretty convenient that this nice medical term exists that veils the inherently disgusting nature of making yourself vomit and abusing laxatives. Add to this that being an incredibly insecure, unhappy person didn't make me super nice to others. My first few boyfriends experienced pretty insane levels of jealousy and anger from me. I once threw an entire smoothie into my ex boyfriend's car.

So, one of the best things that ever happened to me was transferring to college, moving into an apartment with people who became really good friends, and getting a job at a co-op. At school intelligence was really valued, which was not something I recognized much as a teenager. And at work all sorts of people were liked and accepted, and no one was rewarded for being a jerk. I made friends and stopped watching so much t.v. I stopped worrying as much about what I looked like. I gained weight, cut off my hair and was really, really happy. For a few years I did have crazy anxiety about my teeth, sure I was going to lose all of them after mistreating my mouth so much, but eventually I went to a dentist and as far as I know dentures are not in the cards-- yet.

Fast forward a few years later and I'm still ironing out some kinks. I take from those experiences some valuable lessons, and a plan for what I will try to impart to my daughter, if I ever have one. Life is good, I'm okay, and I'm ready for what's coming. Life can be hard enough without being on your own side. Teedle-y-dee, off to work I go!

Napping through the Revolution

I have a cold. This is not at all surprising to me, although I was trying to wish it away and kill it with spicy food (sometimes effective methods) yesterday; the mere four hours of sleep I got last night certainly did not help.

Since my last post, I was rehired at the grocery store that I worked at before the job that I will be losing (sooner rather than later now, though they still haven't given us a date). I've been going to both most days, working 5 am to 5 pm, leaving home by 4 a.m. to catch the train. While I actually prefer the early shift, I had a feeling that not having the ability to nap would catch up with me, as going to sleep before 10:00 p.m. is impossible (and before 11 is a challenge), even if I intend to be up by 3:20 at the latest. Waking up this early I set the maximum five alarms on my cell phone-- as a coworker once said, my body tricks me into getting more than I am alloted of that sweet, sweet sleep.

So here I am on a Saturday night, wearing an XXL "Stick it to the Man!" co-op shirt that I got for free from my work one of the two other times they hired me (continuous employment! gratitude!) borrowed pajama pants, and my old friend blue bathrobe, who hasn't made an appearance since last March. I am missing a potluck and music at my favorite coffee shop/food hang out place. I don't even care. I feel so tired and run down, I'm excited to maybe watch a movie (something of the sweet and sappy variety, perhaps starring Meg Ryan) and make some citrus ginger juice with my new juicer before going to sleep at a reasonable hour and waking up feeling refreshed and 100% better tomorrow morning (it's called the power of positive thinking;)

The best part of my work day today was feeling like a know-it-all when I was alone in the walk-in, putting away pallets. Yes, I enjoyed standing in a refrigerator as I was getting sick, stacking boxes that weigh 20-50 lbs on average. 1.)It makes me feel cool and macho and 2.)Even though I am a gross, disgusting, embarrassing secret slob (to borrow a phrase from Catcher in the Rye. How hip! I barely remember that book. I liked Nine Stories, but gave my copy away and never finished Franny and Zooey although of that I have two copies), even though I am a gross, disgusting, embarrassing secret slob, I do enjoy the feeling at work that everything is in its right place, and also rearranging the boxes to fit something where there was previously no space for it. Look at the apple section! What was previously a haphazard mess is now neat stacks of Spitzenbergs, Galas, Fujis, Honeycrisps, etc, etc, sorted by dated oldest received on top, partial boxes put out or on the cart.

The last time I worked at this store unloading pallets drove me crazy. Ice cold water drips from boxes down onto your hair and into your shirt, boxes are heavy and cumbersome and hard to maneuver in the little space available after the walk-in is crammed with multiple pallets and carts of product. Coworkers forget to move a poorly placed box, or just do something of questionable judgment, like sticking a heavy citrus box on top of delicate grapes. I hated setting up the olive bar as well; the smell of that much brine at 5 am made me swear I never wanted to look at anything from the olive bar again, let alone eat it.

However, months have passed and I am over it. I actually asked my coworker if he wanted me to do the olive bar this morning. Feeling competent is nice, although I'm self concious that I might not be moving fast enough.

As for my other job, I go in, shuffle papers, make copies, respond to emails, and feel not very useful to my boss. I'm just not there for enough time in the afternoons, but I can't commit any more time than I already am. Luckily, some of the people in my office have found jobs/have finally gotten interviews, so there is less of a doomsday feel around the water cooler (actually, the water cooler is in an empty cubicle that no one hangs out in, last occupied by the student intern that had the unfortunate learning experience of watching the agency implode this summer).

So, this is life right now. Work. Juicers. A slight cold. I'd better not get cold sore, or to use a less disgusting phrase, though not as accurate, sun blister (less disgusting to me. Don't even use the "h" word). Those are the worst. I already feel pretty haggard, these past two and a half weeks. I think I may have gotten less than a handful of solid nights of sleep in that time. However, as the protests around the country will tell you, I am one of the lucky ones I guess. No unemployment. I'm eligible for awesome benefits after a few months. I'm really enjoying working a physical job and working with my friends again. It's an alright place to land. I just gotta get over this dang cold!

The Titanic

There is only so much television that I can watch before I feel depressed. Granted, I love t.v. but spending a perfectly good evening watching more than two hours watching television makes me feel pretty crazy. that isn't to say it isn't done, but I'd prefer otherwise.

I've been lacking in imagination, and have had been lazy with my brain. I'm housesitting for my boss- who I like very much, however I worry a lot about her continuing to or consistently liking me. She seems to. This is nice. of me. right? She's a cool lady.

My job (secret), I'm not crazy about. The people are wonderful and I'm getting laid off soon anyhow. But it's been stifling, man. Going to that office everyday, everyone knowing that they're losing their jobs (the agency is closing). However, everyone else is in an employee union and know they know when they're losing their jobs. Not me. I'm an independent contractor. And my program isn't defunded. It's just moving somewhere at sometime. Has anyone told us when? No. Is there an answer to when I will lose my job? Probably in a month or two. Am I still moving ahead like I'm not on a sinking ship? Yes, indeedily do.
*To be fair, everyone else is also fully invested, have careers and morgatages and kids and car payments. Not me.

And, despite not liking my job too too much, the uncertainty is getting to me. And I might not qualify for unemployment if I can't find a job, which never occured to me, because I've never been unemployed before without it being my choice and in such a crappy economy. And I think I accidentally downloaded a virus onto my personal computer the other day. From Netflix. Not porn. Which is irrelevant, but I'm on a roll here.

I don't love my job (something I hope no one at my work realizes), but I worry about everything, all the time, so this is stressful. I should focus on the definites. So I don't know when, but I know I will. The bigger picture, so to speak. Like a break up, or a good friend moving away. Loss is inevitable. Like death. I am calm, I am accepting. I'm still getting a paycheck. You see, these things called dollar bills don't come easily. They're important. If I can just secure them and somehow keep them... not worry about such frivolities as healthy expensive food and shelter. And fun. I like to have fun.

The best things in life are free, like love, or a good attitude. However, call me bourgeousie, I think that money definitely helps. And my employer is the only entity that gives it to me. So. There's that.