web-awkward-cowI think the toughest thing about anything is taking the first step. You know, you’re sitting there and there is this awkward silence with someone. It could be anyone. I walk into a classroom to teach and the room is silent. Nobody dares speak a word. I can’t fucking stand it. Or you walk into a music shop and there is no one in there but you and the cashier. Awkward. Over and over and over again, those first few moments of any encounter with anyone can be awkward. But does it have to stay that way? No.
I’m fucking tired of it. Life is so short. Why spend it in uncomfortableness with people. I’d rather reveal my most embarrassing secrets than sit there in stupid silence. I’m sorry but I would.
Some of the people I have admired most on this planet are people that refuse to be kowtowed by silence. They don’t fucking give a shit. They talk about awkward stuff and they don’t care. This guy J who used to do push-ups during class and talk about his gym teacher that he and his friends called ‘moose knuckle.’ My friend from high school S who can walk up to anyone and instantly begin a charming conversation about ANYTHING. This other student H who wouldn’t let one millisecond go by when I entered the classroom before she’d blurt out something about the look on my face or the clothes that I was wearing instantaneously engaging me in a conversation. I admired the hell out of these people. All too often I fall prey to that mind-numbing silence that sneaks up on people when nobody dares stick their neck out and I can’t fucking stand it.
I’m sorry but I don’t think anyone really enjoys silence. Unless you’re alone, and probably not even then.
So here’s what I do. I walk into a classroom. Nobody is talking. Everyone is staring at their phones. I feel my soul shrinking backwards into the white board. I feel myself getting smaller as each student enters the room. My enthusiasm wanes but before I let it completely disappear, I take the plunge. I make myself look like an idiot. I go for it. I say whatever comes out of my mouth, to the nearest person I can find. It doesn’t matter what is said, but I break the ice before the ice swallows me up.
Someone has a chilly look on their face. They look like they’ve swallowed a rank tuna. I start talking to them anyway. I find out that they suck at math and hate their living situation. I listen and soon realize that I’m not the only one with worries on my mind and as I start trying to help them laugh or at least crack a smile, I start to feel slightly less self-conscious and pretty soon I am feeling connected to more people in the room and the awkwardness is slinking away. It’s really easy to connect but over and over and over and over again I forget. Each new encounter on a new day with a new person, it happens again and again. How to begin? Who says what? Eventually maybe it will stop mattering whether nonsensical jibber jabber comes out of my mouth or not because at least the death sentence of silence is broken. 

Spit it out

this is a rant and rave because too much stuff bottled up is fucking ridiculous. i’m fucking done with weekends (bear with me… it will get positive eventually). i mean, why is it that i sit here feeling duty bound about paying bills and cleaning the house. fuck it. fuck. it. fuck it. what did i do as a kid on the weekends? play. what does all work and no play make anyone? a dull idiot. i don’t want to be a dull idiot. i want to play. i don’t care if i’m an adult. i need to play, too, goddammit. and not just on a friday night with a glass of cheap wine in my hand and a loud great band playing. i need to play periodically more so throughout the day, throughout my life. it’s fucking ridiculous how serious life fucking gets. and all the pressure and all the bills and all the worry and all the nonsense never got anyone anywhere. i’m just going to pay everything with a credit card for the rest of my life and then take all my credit cards to the grave with me. ok, not very responsible i know but fucking fun to think about. ok, now, where is the positive part? hmmmmm positive…. i can feel it coming…. here it comes….. ummmm…… positive….. ummmm…. this. the realization that if there is anything i can do on this earth, if there is anything i am capable of, if there is any kind of gift that i have to offer anyone (including myself) it’s the permission to make an ass out of yourself sometimes. we all need to do it. more so rather than less so and then the world will be less pent up and fucking stressed out. so let it go. let some of that shit inside of you out and put it somewhere. it doesn’t matter where but put it somewhere or else it will slowly inevitably indubitably abominably vociferously stupefyingly scatalogically serendipitously swallow you up whole and spit you out. so spit it out before it spits you out. the end.🙃

The Negativity Train song


happy-children-train-25121693I’m chugging along doing my thang, don’t have a single care

When what should I see in front of me but a negative Nancy stare

What should I do? what should I say?

But oh no ‘it’s comin my way!’

Here’s what I do, I hope you try it too

Fight ‘no’ with ‘yes’ and ‘wah’ with ‘you’re da best!’

Give ‘hugs’ to ‘thugs’ and ‘smiles’ for ‘piles of shit’ that piss on your parade.

Love love love love love all the hate away

Love love love love love all the hate away.

12 Days of Emo-Maturity

conversation1The 12 days of Emo Maturity:

On the first day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “It’s ok to agree to disagree.”

On the second day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Two heads don’t have to be one.” And “It’s ok to….”

On the third day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Three French kisses mean more than an orgasm,” “Two heads don’t…”

On the fourth day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Four minutes of a TimeOut can be healthy,” “Three French …”

On the fifth day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Five to One is the Magic Ratio of positive to negative that predicts divorce so let’s have more positive moments in our days,” “Four minutes of…”

On the sixth day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Six things I love about us, when he really wanted to list things he hated,” “Five to One is…”

On the seventh day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Seven year itch is not a myth so let’s postpone marriage til then,” “Six things I love…”

On the eighth day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Eight o’clock is bedtime  because arguments tend to happen late at night when my patience runs dry,” “Seven year itch is…”

On the ninth day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Nine ways that I’m grateful for myself because unless you love yourself you can’t love other people,” “Eight o’clock is…”

On the tenth day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Ten caramels make me almost as happy as you,” “Nine ways that I’m grateful..”

On the eleventh day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Eleven years of feeling alone but being married is worse than eleven years of being single,” “Ten caramels make…”

On the twelfth day of EmoMaturity, my true love said to me ~ “Twelve minutes of walking in nature can cure anything, “Eleven years of….”…..and “It’s ok to agree to disagree.”

Yup, I’m talking about the dreaded topic of …. L O N E L I N E S S

17634607_1586851054688443_4818405659193518389_n[Disclaimer: I know I go on and on and on about the same shit but… well… I guess you don’t have to read it. So, I guess I shouldn’t feel bad. But believe me, the reason I write is to figure things out and I don’t always figure things out the first time. It takes practice and practice and more practice for me to change my so-called bad habits of thought or action. So forgive me for my repetitiveness but maybe just maybe this is helping somebody else.]

I HATE being alone just a little bit less each day. Yes, I said it. The dreaded topic of loneliness, being alone, solitude, being single, that relationship status that so many proudly claim to be (but secretly harbor thoughts that there’s something wrong with them because society keeps reminding you in so many covert and overt ways that there is). Well, I’m going to be honest with ya and myself. Sometimes it does suck and sometimes, more and more so, I downright enjoy it.

But I’m becoming bi-curious (‘bi’ referring to being curious about solitude and togetherness) about the moments when the aloneness turns into loneliness. Usually it’s late at night or when I’m tired or doing something boring like making the same goddam drive to the neighboring town because I have a ½ hour commute. Why? Why? Why do I dislike it at those times? Sometimes I dislike being alone because being with someone who doesn’t understand me feels more lonely than just being alone.

Sometimes I feel lonely when the person cleaning my teeth starts asking me endless and boring questions about my job and family. Questions just to fill the time. Questions that lead to more questions that are all trite and blah. Their innocuous questions remind me of the gulf between me and other people… people who ‘get’ me but don’t happen to be around at that moment.

It’s at times like these that I know I need to write in order to turn things around. I need to dig my way into the problem to understand it. I’m done with the idea that there is a quick and easy fix to things. But I want to understand.

And the only thing that makes sense to me is that there is a voice inside  us that, if we listen to it too much, makes us feel separate and different from other people. The fact is that the dental hygienist is just as bored as me with the prospect of cleaning my teeth for the umpteenth time and she is just trying to kill the blandness. Or the massage therapist who also fills the void with blasé questions when I would rather just lie down and enjoy the pressure of my muscles being ripped apart by her fingers. I love that kind of pain. But I can’t feel it if she’s yapping away at me while I lie there. Still, not to be rude, I answer the questions in the hopes that I can steal away a moment or two when she stops asking and I stop answering and I can just ‘be’ in the moment of bliss with my body.

We’re not so separate from each other. I guess that is the thought that I don’t dwell on enough. If I dwelled on it more, then I probably would never feel lonely. In fact, I’d probably want to run away and be a hermit in the woods more. There are days when I deal with so many people that all I want to do is hide. Just walk alone on a beach for miles. Just listen to the wind in the trees and think and not hear a human voice for days. Thank god I want that sometimes. Whenever I feel lonely and want to get back to just feeling my aloneness, then I should do that. Remember those days that drain the living life out of me. When I need time to myself to just think straight. To hear my own voice inside. Because that’s what happens eventually. Everyone else’s voice clamors so loudly in my head that I forget what I think or feel.

So the next time I start feeling the panic and dread of being lonely, I just need to hear the voices of the world banging around in my head. I want to love the voices, cherish the voices, but too much time around the voices and I just want to flee. Shhhh voices shhhhhh. Go to sleep, take a nap for awhile, but let me be. Thank you, voices. 😊

















life is short: pass the butter

butterknifeCutting cloth with scissors feels good in my hands.

I like noticing little details like this.

I like people who like noticing little details like this.

Why are we so afraid as a species to notice this kind of stuff?

Is it because the world is about to end and Trump is destroying the planet and if we aren’t on hyper-alert 24/7, then another type of butterfly is going to go extinct?

It’s good to notice little things that make you happy all day.

What else is there really? It’s not like you’re going to get a promotion or win the lottery or fall in love or get a new puppy every hour on the hour?

So you might as well stop and enjoy little details. Little things. Let the big stuff come to you. Seek it out at other times, but the big stuff will always be clamoring for attention.

So back to cutting cloth. Why does it feel so good in my hands? I don’t know. I can feel the edge of the scissors effortlessly gliding through. There are some bumps and ridges but it still feels like a hot knife slicing through cold butter. It’s not a perfectly smooth ride. But there is assurance. I know the scissors will make it to the end. And I know that the cloth will never be the same. And I like having that much power, with just a pair of scissors and some cloth.