july the second

Sometimes I worry that my disinterest in the rules of society make me look ignorant of the rules entirely. I exist in this paradoxical state where I just don’t care about superficially impressing others but then I worry someone will see this as ignorant or disrespectful. I don’t want to care about my hair and makeup or my clothes, but because society does I feel pressured to at least make an effort. I don’t want to care if I look provocative or unprofessional but since we continue to insist on being a visually driven animal, then it behooves pride that I strive to fit the image that I want people to see of me.

Pride is going to be what kills me. My last words will most certainly be “It’s the principle of the thing.” I will stubbornly hold out because pride says not to give in. Pride says I don’t need help, that I’ll get it on my own eventually. My steam-engine drive is stoked with pride but throw on too many coals and the whole thing is likely to blow. Pride will feed and pride will starve. Pride demands the best and laments anything less.

Say what you will about pride, however, it’s what’s kept me alive today. Too proud to quit when I want to give up, too proud to settle for less than best. In my darkest hours, it’s been my pride that’s kept me from giving into the voices that say “you can’t”. Pride drives my work ethic, keeps me determined to be the best, no matter how menial the task. The pride I feel over my health keeps maintenance a priority.

Do the western philosophies not recognize the balance and order of the east? Do we not understand that equivalent exchange is in fact a natural law? To appreciate rest, one must work. To experience relief, pain must be applied first. All things rise and swell then release and collapse. Pride in one’s work, one’s accomplishments is not sin because it is not hubristic in nature. Be proud of what you’ve done, not boastful. Be confident, not foolish. The pride that dooms our souls is the kind that pulls us from our path, that tempts us to take more than we give, to claim more than we own. But take pride in a job well done,  a good deed enacted.

I hear by declare that in the one woman nation of me, it is okay to feel proud. Feel good about the good that you do for goodness sake. You are no-where near the limits of “overly confident” and this self sabotaging doubt will not clear your soul. This dismissive modesty is like trying to clean a window with a dirty rag, how will anyone see the beauty on the other side if you keep smearing grime on the glass? Take credit where it is given, no one can take away what you know in your heart what you’ve accomplished.

 

may twenty third (and twenty fourth I suppose)

Thirty is a weird decade. The first year was be exciting, “Fuck ya I made it without severely screwing up my life.” Then, a shift in perception began to slowly make it’s way into my conscious level of thinking.

As a younger person, 30 was essentially the oldest I imagined myself ever being. Not that I thought I wouldn’t live beyond thirty but I think I just couldn’t process the concept as reality. Now I realize I have my entire life ahead of me and how three decades is a very long period of time that goes by so rapidly. I’ve reached a point where I feel I have no idea how I’m going to go on doing this “living business” for thirty more years  let alone the next thirty that will come after that. That’s just so much more life and I’m already so exhausted. (ps, that not a veiled reference to suicidal tendencies but an expression of my sloth like nature. Wait, I can’t just stay in bed from here on out?)

The main concern in my life right now is financial security and all the worries that stem from it. At some point in my life I decided to gauge how well I had my shit together by how comfortable I was financially. Could I afford the occasional Target binge? How much work could I afford to turn down? Can I pick up the tab for date night or splurge on random “thinking of you” gifts for my family and friends because that’s how I say I love you? Not having to check my bank account before making a an unplanned purchase is freedom to me. To be able to be responsible and spontaneous was how I measured how much of a fuck I have to give about other people’s opinions. Continue reading

I had a moment today where I was enjoying my time in the yard trying to fold a large tarp meant to cover a metal framework for a deck tent all by myself in the gentle tousle of a cool autumn wind. It began simple enough. This thing looks basically like a fitted sheet so I should be able to fold it just like a fitted sheet. After one noisy and fumbling attempted I decided to try laying it down and smoothing it first. Try as I might, soon as I’d get one side down, the wind would flip up the other. I stopped in frustration and laughed. I thought about how if I had Jack here, I’d still have the same problem. I could imagine him giggling at my exacerbated sigh as he playfully flipped up the corner I had just smoothed out and gotten to lay flat. I really enjoy our playful dynamic. He’s a pain in my ass and that’s what I need him for. To remind me to laugh.

As I think of him I remember him earlier pointing out the cinder blocks I had moved to the side patio of the patio. They had been used to hold down the legs of our deck tent but  since we took it down, they no longer had a purpose and with no where else really to go, I put them to the side. I walked over to the edge and squatted down and picked up a cinder block in both hands. I walked back to the tarp, squatted down, smoothed a corner and tacked it down with a block then stood up, lifting the next with me, and walking over to the other corner. I repeated this for the other two corners. I continued rotating around the square as I methodically smoothed and folded the tarp. As soon as I became aware of how inefficient I was being over something I could just quickly fold up messily and put away, out of sight out of mind. Then I began to notice the precision I took with each movement, bracing my core with every squat, engaging in my quads to take strain off my lower back and knees, curling the blocks as I lifted them, ensuring a solid back, ready to carry the load. I was having fun doing this slow and repetitive task, it felt meditative. My body focused on the task at hand and my mind free to drift away on the wind. I thought about when I took the rugs out and beat them last month, how much I had enjoyed the experience and the work out that it gave me.

I became determined to create a regimen that helped me combine working out and housework. I could replace a workout and a chore while adding quality time by the natural stress reduction of the time to reflect. I set to the internet to find  out if anyone else has found ways to turn cleaning house to working out. In my poetic mind I felt the best place to start was to find out how the old world did it. Simply curious how things can be done without electricity and machinery, I googled “how old world housework was done”

The first hit is for the Wikipedia entry on housework. The rest of the front page are headlines screaming that women are still doing the housework, pointing out the feminist war on sexism is not over, there was even an line that asked who is supposed to be the one to do the housework. I was defeated. This is why we’re missing the point. Questions no longer get answers, they get rhetoric. Someone young, naive, and hungry for knowledge can be very easily led astray. If you don’t know how to look for the truth, how do you know you’re being led astray?

But really, what makes me any better if I sit here pointing out the point that everyone is missing the point because everyone is so busy pointing out what’s wrong. I think the question “Why are things bad” has been thoroughly and fully examined. And I think we know what the right thing to do is, but it’s almost like we’re at a stand of. I won’t be nice to other until everyone is nice to me. Well that’s dumb. I’m just going to keep on doing responsible things the fun way and not really get to worried about how chores. I know why I do more chores in the relationship. I do more chores because I’m home more and he works more so he can pay more so I can stay home more and pursue my creative endeavors. So I guess in taking on more of the work load I’m saying thank you to my partner in supporting me. And by forgiving me when I forget to do the chores because I got caught up writing a particularly juicy story, he’s supporting me in being an artist. All I need to survive is love. After that it’s just for fun.

Random cat post

My cats like to become selectively finicky, surprise surprise. They get a combination of wet and dry food in the mornings and sometimes one or both of them will decide they are not interested. Possibly the flavor of that tin does not lend well to the kibble, maybe it’s a texture thing. I don’t know, I don’t eat cat food.

They had not been too excited about their food yesterday morning so today I decided to blow their minds. I took the same tin from yesterday from the fridge and mixed it with the same dry kibble they always get. Then, on a complete whim, I popped those bad boys in the microwave for 10 seconds. No more no less! Soon as I put the food in front of their adorable, inpatient little faces they wolfed it down.

Whoduhthunkit?