I don't know when I first learned the art and bad habit of only noticing what is missing from the architecture around me. Each day I am surrounded by a million things and I can see them in whatever way I want to. Some days, there seems to be more sunlight in my view, and everything seems to sparkle with some kind of pleasant magic. More days, however, clouds brood above my window. Most days, I sit within my small room made smaller by all the clutter, and I despise everything in it and myself for allowing it to become so inhabited. That attitude usually (and by that I mean nearly always) follows me into whatever other rooms I venture to, including those of others and even outside in nature. Who taught me to be so negative? What is it that causes me to wish I was somewhere else, believe I should be doing something else, pray I was someone else?
Some days I wake up and can sense, both from my own mood and the mood of others around me, what kind of day it is going to be -- either sunny or stormy. Today, I knew my mood was in the right place from the moment I awoke at 5:30 a.m. to the blood-curdling screams of my 5-year-old. Despite her mood and the mood of my lover, mine was steady. I handled the situation like a professional, and even thought to myself "I should be given awards for actions like these." No one else wanted to play along, though. Buddy awoke angry and tried to fight it all day. Johanna awoke emotional and needy. Howie, our 7-month-old Peke-a-chin awoke horny and nearly overheated himself trying to hump a bigger, more masculine cousin.
But in my alone time, I popped in Eat, Pray, Love, and regardless of others' critiques, I still believe it to be a part of my story as much as White Oleander. By that I mean that it is an inspiration and an emotional journey I can relate to. Only a third of the way in, I am writing. Hallelujiah... I am writing, and I am doing it because the mood of the movie is pleasure-seeking in a healthy, not animalistic and selfish way. As I watched and reveled, my eyes drifted to the pile of shoes thrown helter-skelter into the back corner of my room. Before, I would see them and become depressed, thinking of the messes I make and my lack of motivation to clean them up due to my innate focus on the destruction rather than on the potential for improvement. Today, I look at them and see an old tattered Nike that belongs to a boy and inevitably endured hardship and, if it had had a camera attached, most likely would have recorded exciting adventures. I see cheap high-heels mixed with expensive work boots and I smile at it, because I see it for the beauty of chaos that it is instead of seeing it all as a mess and a failure.
If only I could take that image with me throughout every second of every day and see the world, my world, for it's beauty and potential and simple pleasure.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Rat Race
Today I woke up in the middle of walking to my car like a hamster on a wheel. Hamsters probably don't think as philosophically as I did today and do sometimes -- but maybe they do... who knows?
I'm sure there have to be others who do this -- just... WAKE UP. Today I looked into the heart of downtown Fort Wayne at all the frantic cars and upper middle class women tiptoeing on heels in skirt-strides and men looking stately in ridiculously (I'm sure) priced suits and I had a spidey-sense kind of vision that behind their designer sunglasses is a cynical confusion. For any one of them, there's that temporary blissful thought that crosses his mind - "I look good" -- but there has to also be "Shit... I really don't want to sit at a desk all day under fluorescent lights in front of a glaring screen and wait for so-and-so with their such-and-such problems to drain my mind with their ..." and so it goes. I can't even write about it, it's that boring. Is anyone having any fun at all?
I know I, for one, don't want to be here. I can attest to Linda, also. Her boyfriend is a drain and though she loves him on an accepting level and he's her best friend, she's sick of him. The job bores me after three months, so surely it bores her after 11 years. And Rob. Rob HATES this hamster wheel. He's got an amazing wife but he's a dad and a worker and he has to crunch numbers all day long and avoid "the man." Carol is so overrun by her controlling nature she actually thinks she LOVES her job and her life. Rachel's getting out but just getting right back in, and even deeper. I could go on.
The thinking started when I took my second smoke break of the morning (any excuse to remove myself from the monotony for any precious blip of time) and thought "Gee, I'd really like to be white-water rafting right now or anything else relatively stimulating." The insanity then kept circling and building. Next was "What are we doing here? What's happening? Why are we killing ourselves?" And then "Oh yeah... we have to make money to survive." And then "Survive for what? To die?"
The hamster wheel. The rat race. But there's more. We settle down with one singular person. Then we realize that's insane also, so we cheat or we break up. We have children because we obsess over having someone look like us or fantasize about the sweet idea of buying tiny shoes and then we curse ourselves later when the children are still there but less cute and more obnoxious and demanding. We commit to jobs, people, credit cards, classes and the list goes on until we're running and running and running and we fail to acknowledge the only thing ever truly certain and proven and so obvious it cannot be and will never be proven wrong, that being time and change. And with time and change, regret. And the impossibility to predict either. If change falls out as time rolls over, and there is no fool-proof way to determine what change will appear, regret is inevitable. I am suffering from it and everyone else is too in some capacity even if they're slow to admitting it. Who can be judged for being impulsive when impulsiveness is the only way left to control the time and the change even for one moment of it?
Final thought: this is no preach. I believe in what I just said about as much as I believe in anything else - very little. But that, as with anything else, could change.
I'm sure there have to be others who do this -- just... WAKE UP. Today I looked into the heart of downtown Fort Wayne at all the frantic cars and upper middle class women tiptoeing on heels in skirt-strides and men looking stately in ridiculously (I'm sure) priced suits and I had a spidey-sense kind of vision that behind their designer sunglasses is a cynical confusion. For any one of them, there's that temporary blissful thought that crosses his mind - "I look good" -- but there has to also be "Shit... I really don't want to sit at a desk all day under fluorescent lights in front of a glaring screen and wait for so-and-so with their such-and-such problems to drain my mind with their ..." and so it goes. I can't even write about it, it's that boring. Is anyone having any fun at all?
I know I, for one, don't want to be here. I can attest to Linda, also. Her boyfriend is a drain and though she loves him on an accepting level and he's her best friend, she's sick of him. The job bores me after three months, so surely it bores her after 11 years. And Rob. Rob HATES this hamster wheel. He's got an amazing wife but he's a dad and a worker and he has to crunch numbers all day long and avoid "the man." Carol is so overrun by her controlling nature she actually thinks she LOVES her job and her life. Rachel's getting out but just getting right back in, and even deeper. I could go on.
The thinking started when I took my second smoke break of the morning (any excuse to remove myself from the monotony for any precious blip of time) and thought "Gee, I'd really like to be white-water rafting right now or anything else relatively stimulating." The insanity then kept circling and building. Next was "What are we doing here? What's happening? Why are we killing ourselves?" And then "Oh yeah... we have to make money to survive." And then "Survive for what? To die?"
The hamster wheel. The rat race. But there's more. We settle down with one singular person. Then we realize that's insane also, so we cheat or we break up. We have children because we obsess over having someone look like us or fantasize about the sweet idea of buying tiny shoes and then we curse ourselves later when the children are still there but less cute and more obnoxious and demanding. We commit to jobs, people, credit cards, classes and the list goes on until we're running and running and running and we fail to acknowledge the only thing ever truly certain and proven and so obvious it cannot be and will never be proven wrong, that being time and change. And with time and change, regret. And the impossibility to predict either. If change falls out as time rolls over, and there is no fool-proof way to determine what change will appear, regret is inevitable. I am suffering from it and everyone else is too in some capacity even if they're slow to admitting it. Who can be judged for being impulsive when impulsiveness is the only way left to control the time and the change even for one moment of it?
Final thought: this is no preach. I believe in what I just said about as much as I believe in anything else - very little. But that, as with anything else, could change.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Lunch Break? No... but shh!
I sort of worked through my lunch break here at the new job, but then again I sort of "break" all throughout my work all the time, too...hehe.
I am going to start writing everyday, by the way. HA, how many times have I said that? A million, at least, but I'm saying it again and I mean it. I'm going to really try this time. Why not? The least I could do is write something short about my day on this blog every day, right? Right!
So anyway, the first thing on my mind is that my status just now was this:
Carrie Gardiner Bragg: pms doesn't make you irrational, it just makes you more sensitive to experiences that would (rationally) upset you anyway. with that said, i sure hate it when other people pms harder than i do, especially when they're male. it's my week, people. how am i suppose to get in some bitch time when everyone else is stealing my thunder??
I wrote it because I'd just gotten off the phone with my boyfriend and he was being really mean because he thought I was being mean because clearly he is ultra sensitivo today because I was, in no way, being mean, and in fact if you had heard the conversation (like his sister did) you would have told me he was being a jerk and that I should hang up on him (which is what Rachel, his sister, said, and I did (hang up on him, I mean)).
Well that sure was convoluted. I just felt like sharing. Mostly because he is like this very very often and, unfortunately, I understand why he does it and forgive it. Forgiving it is okay, I think, except forgiving means I still have to deal with it, and OFTEN. Hate it.
Anywhosies. Another thing on my mind is that Linda, the other assistant, got really sick today and the ambulance had to come take her away from the office. That was the emergency that was going on in the background of our phone conversation when Buddy got mad and thought I was talking to other people and wasn't paying attention to him and was being mean and blah blah blah. See what I mean? Irrational.
I don't know if Linda's okay. I am hopeful she is even still alive.
So Rachel's at the hospital with Linda now and Carol already left, so I'm the only person in the Property Management Department right now, and yes, this is what I'm doing. I'm not irresponsible or anything, it's just that there is so little to do and I am so efficient at doing it that I have to spread out the work in order to fill my day productively. It makes sense, I promise.
The last thing on my mind for now is that I want to write Jake a really long letter, because I want to tell him about the moments, moments like just a few minutes ago when I randomly thought about all the little notes and crafts and things I used to make him when we were together -- I must have really adored him because I was always thinking of him and making him little things to show him I cared -- and I remember his reaction was always a smile and a polite "yeah I like it, it's nice" and then that would be it... and he never made anything like that for me.
I think maybe I adored him and he must not have adored me back. I'd like to tell him about moments when I realize things like that and instant tears come. There's a hole in my heart where he used to be. I wish he could understand that. Regardless of how it ended, every day feels like an extended nightmare when I think about how different life is now. I can't believe two people can share so much and then suddenly, it's like they un-remember and un-experience it all. Well, I haven't un-experienced anything. It's all still with me, and it's heartbreaking to think it never even happened for him. Imagine remembering an entire life vividly that no one else seems to recall or will own up to. I feel alone, but I can't help believing that the whole world could disappear and if he'd just remember again, everything that's upside down or misplaced in my life would magically realign.
This isn't to say I haven't moved on. It's just to say I'm no longer unsure of what I felt for him. Surely nothing but love could have held on this long and this lonely. I have moved on, but that doesn't mean I'll ever heal, or that the hole will ever fill. I am irrevocably changed, like a survivor of a life-threatening car wreck who lost all her limbs.
I am going to start writing everyday, by the way. HA, how many times have I said that? A million, at least, but I'm saying it again and I mean it. I'm going to really try this time. Why not? The least I could do is write something short about my day on this blog every day, right? Right!
So anyway, the first thing on my mind is that my status just now was this:
Carrie Gardiner Bragg: pms doesn't make you irrational, it just makes you more sensitive to experiences that would (rationally) upset you anyway. with that said, i sure hate it when other people pms harder than i do, especially when they're male. it's my week, people. how am i suppose to get in some bitch time when everyone else is stealing my thunder??
I wrote it because I'd just gotten off the phone with my boyfriend and he was being really mean because he thought I was being mean because clearly he is ultra sensitivo today because I was, in no way, being mean, and in fact if you had heard the conversation (like his sister did) you would have told me he was being a jerk and that I should hang up on him (which is what Rachel, his sister, said, and I did (hang up on him, I mean)).
Well that sure was convoluted. I just felt like sharing. Mostly because he is like this very very often and, unfortunately, I understand why he does it and forgive it. Forgiving it is okay, I think, except forgiving means I still have to deal with it, and OFTEN. Hate it.
Anywhosies. Another thing on my mind is that Linda, the other assistant, got really sick today and the ambulance had to come take her away from the office. That was the emergency that was going on in the background of our phone conversation when Buddy got mad and thought I was talking to other people and wasn't paying attention to him and was being mean and blah blah blah. See what I mean? Irrational.
I don't know if Linda's okay. I am hopeful she is even still alive.
So Rachel's at the hospital with Linda now and Carol already left, so I'm the only person in the Property Management Department right now, and yes, this is what I'm doing. I'm not irresponsible or anything, it's just that there is so little to do and I am so efficient at doing it that I have to spread out the work in order to fill my day productively. It makes sense, I promise.
The last thing on my mind for now is that I want to write Jake a really long letter, because I want to tell him about the moments, moments like just a few minutes ago when I randomly thought about all the little notes and crafts and things I used to make him when we were together -- I must have really adored him because I was always thinking of him and making him little things to show him I cared -- and I remember his reaction was always a smile and a polite "yeah I like it, it's nice" and then that would be it... and he never made anything like that for me.
I think maybe I adored him and he must not have adored me back. I'd like to tell him about moments when I realize things like that and instant tears come. There's a hole in my heart where he used to be. I wish he could understand that. Regardless of how it ended, every day feels like an extended nightmare when I think about how different life is now. I can't believe two people can share so much and then suddenly, it's like they un-remember and un-experience it all. Well, I haven't un-experienced anything. It's all still with me, and it's heartbreaking to think it never even happened for him. Imagine remembering an entire life vividly that no one else seems to recall or will own up to. I feel alone, but I can't help believing that the whole world could disappear and if he'd just remember again, everything that's upside down or misplaced in my life would magically realign.
This isn't to say I haven't moved on. It's just to say I'm no longer unsure of what I felt for him. Surely nothing but love could have held on this long and this lonely. I have moved on, but that doesn't mean I'll ever heal, or that the hole will ever fill. I am irrevocably changed, like a survivor of a life-threatening car wreck who lost all her limbs.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Easter
I got Adele 21 and Jo got Justin Bieber 2.0 and Buddy got new white Nike shorts :)
Oh yeah, and lots and lots of candy!
It was nice. I didn't feel weird the way I always did with Jake's family. I don't know why I always felt that way with them... I may have blocked out all the details of that past as a symptom of PTSD.
But I'm really happy. I have a solid job (I think) and a great boyfriend (aside from occasional storms) and my friend/family base is growing. It doesn't take much to make me happy, contrary to all my haters' beliefs. I do miss school and art and poetry and my friends and being irresponsible, but life is good and my heart rarely hurts, so I'm not complaining.
I'm perfectly happy as long as my heart doesn't hurt.
Oh yeah, and lots and lots of candy!
It was nice. I didn't feel weird the way I always did with Jake's family. I don't know why I always felt that way with them... I may have blocked out all the details of that past as a symptom of PTSD.
But I'm really happy. I have a solid job (I think) and a great boyfriend (aside from occasional storms) and my friend/family base is growing. It doesn't take much to make me happy, contrary to all my haters' beliefs. I do miss school and art and poetry and my friends and being irresponsible, but life is good and my heart rarely hurts, so I'm not complaining.
I'm perfectly happy as long as my heart doesn't hurt.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Realization
Very soon, I will no longer have to work weekends or nights and I'll have a real, solid schedule. I won't have to deal with the kind of people that make me feel bad about how I act around them (they're so ridiculous they bring out the ridiculous in me).
That's not the point of this post, though. Just felt like sharing it.
The real point (if there is one) is that last night both Buddy and I got really drunk and fought about absolutely nothing, but that's not really the point either. The point is what I woke up thinking some interesting things this morning.
We fought and I cried and he didn't care and was being cruel and wouldn't be cool and then I fell asleep (somehow) and he woke me up a little later and wanted to have sex. That simple. Then we went back to sleep and it was as if everything was fine this morning, as if we didn't almost break up or I didn't tell him to leave or anything. I thought about it... Maybe I consider everything fine with my relationship as long as the guy I'm with will have sex with me. Maybe because I know that he must be REALLY disgusted and TRULY not like me in that moment if he would turn down sex, because guys don't care about anything but. Isn't that nuts?
Every day I wake up or put myself to sleep with weird realizations about myself that tell me my psychology (at least about men) is more broken than I could have imagined.
That's not the point of this post, though. Just felt like sharing it.
The real point (if there is one) is that last night both Buddy and I got really drunk and fought about absolutely nothing, but that's not really the point either. The point is what I woke up thinking some interesting things this morning.
We fought and I cried and he didn't care and was being cruel and wouldn't be cool and then I fell asleep (somehow) and he woke me up a little later and wanted to have sex. That simple. Then we went back to sleep and it was as if everything was fine this morning, as if we didn't almost break up or I didn't tell him to leave or anything. I thought about it... Maybe I consider everything fine with my relationship as long as the guy I'm with will have sex with me. Maybe because I know that he must be REALLY disgusted and TRULY not like me in that moment if he would turn down sex, because guys don't care about anything but. Isn't that nuts?
Every day I wake up or put myself to sleep with weird realizations about myself that tell me my psychology (at least about men) is more broken than I could have imagined.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
I dunno why I do this
Because nobody cares. About writing anymore at all, it seems. I just spent the last year writing because "people care" supposedly, but it's not true. I do, though. I care about words and what they can do or undo.
I was looking back over old messages I'd sent or that had been sent to me and it's nuts the way people change. My perspective then, I thought, was utterly confused and cloudy, but looking back on it, I realize the only thing I was confused about was my own self-worth. I think I've at least figured that out now.
I don't need the approval of a lot of people anymore -- and especially not that of perfect strangers. I have gurus now and they keep me grounded. I know who I want to be and what my intentions are and I think I'm close to being able to love myself. Growing up is hard, but it's beautiful.
I was looking back over old messages I'd sent or that had been sent to me and it's nuts the way people change. My perspective then, I thought, was utterly confused and cloudy, but looking back on it, I realize the only thing I was confused about was my own self-worth. I think I've at least figured that out now.
I don't need the approval of a lot of people anymore -- and especially not that of perfect strangers. I have gurus now and they keep me grounded. I know who I want to be and what my intentions are and I think I'm close to being able to love myself. Growing up is hard, but it's beautiful.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Joanie
Joanie was a girl who rested in the sound of a referee's whistle. She collected Barbies her brother stole to use as model-tall girlfriends for their robust G.I. Joes. Their hair got tangled in the wrists of lonely soldiers. Hers got caught in the carpet on the floor she'd place her head on as she waited for rescue of a kind she couldn't describe. She lived in a tornado, ever-whirling, in the eye. The eye is where it seemed most calm, but one self-gratifying stretch in any direction would shred the skin from her young arms. She read to retrieve herself. The words were tiny doctors of the heart. The kittens she'd accumulated through tears of manipulation, her audience, her adorers, and their purrs, gifts of flowers and candy tossed to her feet where she balanced on an invisible stage. In the eye, she willed the wind stop so she could reach across the wall's barrier, but it held her in and all others out. She was happy cats could climb the spinning dome of her home and land like gymnasts on the 'x' of the monster's circular center to be her comrads. But they climbed and lept, just as easily, out, as her legs went numb in their Indian-style posture and she observed cats' ripe cores lifted and heaved by graceful, fuzz-covered limbs up and out of the cage of spinning debri in escape. They'll come back, she'd say aloud with neck tilted up toward the circle of evading light at the top of the junk-blistered tunnel. Joanie always spoke out loud, by way of conditioning. No one could hear a small girl of such youth mumble remarks from inside the heart of a vacuum.
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