facebook outbursts #478

preaching to the choir (which is myself) moment #45: is it all about getting what you want all of the time? nope. is it all about getting what you want some of the time? nope. is it about seeing what you have and accepting it unwittingly? nope. is it about making the most of what you have? kinda. is it about seeing something better and staying open to it? closer. is it about having a sense of humor no matter what happens because in a moment you could get hit by a bus? yes. is it about being totally selfish and not taking care of yourself because it’s all about living in the moment? nope. is it about having a long term plan some of the time but living in the moment most of the time? yes. the end.

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i want to know the etymology of the term ‘BenGay.’

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procrastination is the single greatest contributor to my creativity.

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you know those male ballet dancers who stand there while the ballerina does all the pretty and graceful moves? that’s how i feel as a parent of teens. but come to think of it, that in a way is what all relationships are like. it’s just that when you get older, each person takes turn being either the holder-upper or the pirouetter. back and forth. but it’s all good. it’s just my turn to do what somebody else did for me once. the end.

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brilliant idea #544353498573490: last night, going through the drive-thru at taco time, we came upon a vision of the future. one day there may no longer be fast food restaurants where you buy food that is then put in a bag and handed to you. maybe in the future, you’ll just drive up and there will be a steel tube that reaches out to your car window and you open your mouth and they just shoot the food paste into your mouth. more efficient, n’est-ce pas? less wrappers, less time, pre-masticated…

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whenever life gets to be too much – too boring, too stale, too stressful, too stupid, too cheap, too expensive, too nonsensical, too logical, too blech, too bigahsldjgalk, too too – i look at my hands and think how lucky i am to have hands and then i start playing with my hands and i remember being a kid playing with my hands and how i’d construct little plays out of nowhere with my fingers. and then i’m back in the present again.

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The reason why spotting a penny is lucky is bc it indicates that your mind is peaceful enough to see it.

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Less drama offstage. More drama onstage. That is my current philosophy and I’m sticking to it.

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Men need a fancy store to buy special underwear and it should be called “Victor’s Secret.”

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i am determined to seek out magic wherever and whenever i can… and where there is no magic, i am walking away.

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you know how they have those videos of people who take like the same one second shot of something for a year and then compile all the shots together? if i had balls (instead i have ovaries… which are really the same thing…just inside), i would take a photo of myself as soon as i wake up every morning and post it each day as my profile pic.

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if you ever find yourself in middle school (or a similar social dynamic in your life), when someone calls you a dumbass, just call them a smartass to get them back. a perfect riposte!

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Can u be alone without feeling lonely? Yes I can. More and more. And here’s how I do it. I walk. I notice the pavement under my feet. I hear the birds. I go a new direction. I think about my legs and how good they feel to move. I think about how it’s not winter anymore thank god. And I can be outside without dreading it. And I think about the interesting people in my life and I hear remnants of our conversations. And I realize that I used to do this as a kid. I didn’t need much to entertain myself. I can do that again.

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I can’t handle it when strangers are nice. Well sure I can. It just always surprises me.

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i’m extremely intolerant of judgmental people. hmmm. let me untangle that a moment…

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i’m extremely intolerant of judgmental people. hmmm. let me untangle that a moment…

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Just saw a woman wearing a button that read “Porn produces pollution.” Ummm. The world gets a little weirder every day.

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chi

ddf899b71cc2828a75f692b1a8e47cc0I just saw the cutest little drone in the air. It was flashing red and blue lights and it looked like a little UFO drifting above my neighbor’s yard and heading my way.
When I go outside, that is where life is. Always. Except for when my kids are at home. Then I feel life inside the house, too. (No, I haven’t forgotten my animals – it’s just not entirely the same).
When the drone went away, I turned and saw the clouds and there were different kinds of clouds. Dark grey ones. Light gray ones. They looked like fuzzy layers of soft wool draped over each other.
And then I turned once more and saw the moon which I caught a glimpse of right before the clouds stole her away and hid her from my view.
The air is ripe with potential (which is a good smell btw). And I found my chi again today (which is also a nice smell). Sometime between walking up and down a ramp while videotaping myself doing silly stuff and talking with a friend about everything in our hearts, I found it and it smelled like patchouli/wild roses/cedarwood.
And now that I found it, I’m not letting go of it again.

Fb posts #7749847985

My dog Gizmo puts his paw on my leg.

The air smells sweet again this morning.

I feel empty and yet complete. I see the bigger picture and I’m fine.

I realize that you need to listen to the whistlings of your soul and my whistling is singing a tune that says ‘Sit. Relax. Draw. Daydream. Do a little work now and then. Doing nothing sometimes is the best something.’

And when you’re ready to be your silly self, the person who can easily forget herself and get lost in the moment, the person who can laugh at herself and not lose herself, the person who loves to help people laugh at themselves, too, the person who doesn’t care if she does push-ups in the classroom as long as it gets people to loosen up, the person who doesn’t care if she dyes her hair black because at least it’s a fucking change, the person who takes risks, the person who has been through all kinds of shit and still lets go of the bad and lets in the good, the person who would rather sit down in a restaurant and watch people than watch TV, the person who thinks about ‘the end being nigh’ every day not because she’s morbid but because she wants to live life to the fullest Buddha way, the person who is going to keep writing about her life because she is still trying to accept self-love and she’s going to keep doing this until it doesn’t feel so awkward and weird… and when you’re ready to be that person, then be her.

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no matter how up or down or around or sideways a day has been, i go outside and i smell the air and i realize there is something bigger and better than all of the petty little concerns that can take up too much space in one’s brain at times. i smell campfires and grass and leaves and moss and i feel the cool air on my nostrils and i realize i’m more alive out here than in a house and life is wild and when you connect with that then it doesn’t matter where you’re at. it doesn’t matter who you’re with. it doesn’t matter if you’re alone. you’re already a part of it all and that’s just fine and dandy. and the trick is to stay open no matter how much circumstances conspire to close you up. stay open. and free.

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why do i write so much gobbledyguk about my past? because i’m a woman in a culture (in a world) that tends to want to define me before i have a chance to define myself. for all the good in religion (and there is some – for example, i learned about karma or ‘treat others the way you want to be treated’), i also absorbed that stupid notion that self love is a bad thing. so between culture trying to tell me who i am for years and a religion telling me that i have to put everyone else’s needs before my own all the time, i have a lot of self actualizing to do.

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beautiful moment #1: driving down a road in sequim that i’ve never been down before and realizing that this place has nooks and crannies that still surprise me.
beautiful moment #2: realizing that my strategy of grading a small chunk a day (rather than waiting for it to pile up and then i start hating life) is paying off and actually do-able.
beautiful moment #3: the feeling of freedom is awe-inspiring, scary, and magical.
beautiful moment #4: slowing down is what reaps in the magic.
beautiful moment #5: getting reacquainted with my favorite pen.
beautiful moment #6: freedom means carving out your own destination/destiny.
beautiful moment #7: people will always buoy me up if i’m around them long enough.

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to be the kind of person who sees the good in everything does not have to mean that you are a pollyanna. it can mean any of the following though:
1) that you are not only a survivor but an enjoyer of life,
2) that you’d rather be filled with love than anything else,
3) that you’d rather savor the pleasures in life than the bitter pills,
4) that you’d rather gather strength for the rockier moments than sap your energy dwelling on the negative,
5) that you realize that anything virtually anything (except having your arm stuck under a boulder or being bunker buddies with hitler) can be seen in a positive light,
6) that you’d rather offer some good to the world than bad,
7) that even those curtains you put up that don’t quite go with your windows but are better than what you had are a relief to have and that though they may be frustrating because you don’t have a way to tie them back they remind you of the fact that you did it all by yourself and you are a capable person who can solve their own problems and when you can’t you are smart enough to research and explore and stand on your own two feet and not only survive but flourish,
8) that perfection is stupid,
9) that laughing at yourself is everything,
10) that the universe conspires to help you unless you go out of your way to fuck with it, 11) that you get what you give,
12), that the feeling of peace and contentment in my belly right now is a thousand times better than the moment 10 years ago when i was doubled over with rocks rolling around in my gut from an obstructed bowel and as long as i am not in that kind of excruciating agony then life is good,
13) you can always compare yourself to someone with more than you and make yourself miserable so why fucking do it? don’t do it,
14) think about the people with less than you who are still happy and be happy,
15) you are alive and breathing and lucky. that is enough.

Maude

When I am – not to get morbid here but I guess I will – laying on my deathbed, there will be two memories that stand out. One is, the day I discovered Natalie Goldberg.

I was visiting this older lady named Maude. She was very small, very old, and she had a beautiful horse and she lived alone in a tiny studio apartment and she drank a shot of tequila every afternoon. She had lived with an abusive husband for years, but she eventually divorced him. She had a nice son. And she was happy with her life as it was with her horse. I don’t know how it came up but she handed me this book Writing down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg and it was one of those books in my life that I couldn’t put down until I finished it. Like Jack Kerouac’s On the Road.

I loved it for many reasons but mainly because it finally gave me permission to write. Write my drivel. Write whatever came out of my brain. But write. Up until that point I knew that writing could lead me in positive directions. I had intuited this on my own. But to hear this come from another writer was spectacular. And writing has become such a huge healing part of my life since then that I would not be who I am if it weren’t for that day.

The other memory is an exercise she wrote about in her book where she asked a classroom full of kids to each unwrap one Hershey’s chocolate kiss and put it in their mouth and close their eyes and only open their eyes to write down the sensations and thoughts and feelings that came over them as they let the chocolate melt (don’t bite it!) in their mouth. I loved that image and I use it from time to time with my students.

Savoring the little moments since that’s all we really have. Knowing what you love. That’s all that really matters.

Bubbles in my stomach

I hold my cat usually every morning. Lately I play Putomayo world music and she lays there with her fur in my face as I pet her head and her head falls back relaxed. They say that petting cats and dogs lowers your stress level. I believe it. I feel the bubbles of tension in my stomach slowly soften like when a massage therapist works on those little nodules in your neck and shoulders, pressing on them until they pop and melt away.

18740583_1658519430854938_1897522485596615668_nIt’s not bad tension really. There’s a bit of excitement mixed in. Not knowing what will come my way. When I start moving around and dissipate the energy, it goes away and I care less about what curveballs come. Being immobile and overthinking is what doesn’t work. That’s why I type. At least my fingers are moving, dissipating the energy. When I was a kid, I was excited every night for what was to come the next day. In the morning, I bolted out of bed ready to jump into the day. I am ready to get back to that kind of excitement.

Look away

target-kind-cashier-today-160119_43b87714bde3c4e300e79126f3ade9f9.jpgThere is only one thing that can get me outside myself – besides sex – and that’s writing. Ok there is one more thing: talking to people. So yeah, in order of importance? I guess it’s sex, writing, then talking.

With sex, it’s pretty self-explanatory why it’s easy to get outside yourself. Or rather, out of your way. Stop thinking so much and just start doing. Same with writing (for me). Talking with people? It’s a little easier to get distracted. Somebody can be yammering on and I can drift away if I’m not careful, but even with that I’m getting better at noticing when I’m not paying attention or if I am monologuing it and not even noticing whether the other person is listening or not. I’m getting better at checking in and staying connected (get it? ‘Connected?’ Sex? Hahaha).

So yeah, aside from sex, it’s writing. Writing for me is like talking to this imaginary other person. This all-knowing, all-understanding other person who just ‘gets’ me. That’s why I like writing. It’s like my best friend is sitting there, listening, hanging on every word, and they have all the patience in the world. Maybe it’s because they know that I will be enraptured when they speak next. That’s what writing is for me.

It makes time go away because for a moment I am connected not only to the universe of being but to all of the minds down the road who might read these words… who might follow this train of thought and not jump off the train out of fear or boredom. It’s not necessarily that I write for posterity – although that is a plus – it’s more the idea that my mind can somehow time travel into someone else. Ok, so maybe it is about ‘living on’ but not because I need to be famous. I just like the idea of popping into somebody else’s mind and bopping around and seeing if maybe an idea or two that I have might help them out.

Like this idea. Look people in the eye. I know I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again. Or, try the opposite and don’t look people in the eye. Either way, do what’s unexpected. Sometimes when I go through the checkout lane at the grocery store, I deliberately give the cashier very little attention. Not because I’m ignoring her or him but because I want to take the pressure off so they don’t feel obliged to ask the same ole boring questions. I notice that if they feel attended to but not stared at, then they start opening up and telling me things. Like this lady the other day who told me how the previous guy had just tried to hit on her and she was glad she escaped his clutches. Or like this other store clerk who told me how much he hated the whole Monopoly marketing campaign but he had to do it and what a fucking waste of time it was and how employees at other companies like McDonald’s were often fired over it because the staff would collude and try to scam the company and save the tickets and win the big bucks. I love it when people share things because you’re not putting pressure on them to share.

But I also like putting the pressure on. I like looking at people just to let them know that I’m aware, and I’ve noticed that when people are being watched that they don’t really want to escape. I’ve noticed that if you don’t look away upon first meeting someone (in a natural, non-weirdo sort of way), then people are not tempted to look down at their phones. But if you allow yourself to get shy and look away for too long, virtually everyone begins the self-preservation tactic of grabbing their phone and hiding, too. Stop hiding, I say. Stop!!!! Myself included!!!!

So there’s an idea. Don’t hide. Stay connected. Writing. Sex. Talking. It’s all the same thing really.

More FB rants/raves/ramblings

Rambling-DriveHow did someone come up with the phrase…’Be the bigger person?’ Like, is it impossible for smaller people to be big- hearted, generous folk? i call that small-ism and i’m not going to stand for it. i’m going to sit down, in fact, and show my support for smallness.

Be yourself. If you’re changing yourself to suit someone else too much? You’ll know it. So don’t do it. Be yourself.

that’s it!!! i’m getting out of this house!!! no more no more no more no more looking at a screen. no more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! at least for 10 minutes.

Sometimes you have to ham it up… in order to egg people on [cue audience groan].

my life consists of doing a lot of repetitive tasks differently more and more each time. not complaining. just observing.

Don’t normally like cloudy skies that are toooo cloudy but this one is special. It feels like a literal blanket that I’m playing hide and go seek under but it feels even more like when you’re swimming in a pool and you look up at the sky through the surface of the wavy water.

cheesy moment #478924578249857409: be a leader of positivity rather than a follower of negativity.

i cannot do it all. i can’t even do part of it. in fact, the only thing i can do really really well is WHINE!. yes i’d say that is one of my best skills. letting it out. yup, that’s what i do. wooohooooo i can do something!!!!!!

i like clothes that don’t make me think so hard when i put them on.

A day of meetings. Woooohoooooo. Ok now where did I put my positive spin on things soapbox? Darn. I used it as firewood.

The world would be such an easier place to live in if we all just said ‘sorry’ more often (including myself) and stopped pretending that we weren’t little shits to each other sometimes.

Sometimes a little space and a lot of coffee is all I need. Sometimes a lot of space and a little coffee. Sometimes it’s a lot of space and a lot of coffee but it’s never little space with little coffee.

 

 

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.

The epic story of the washing machine

redlgSo I realized that the washing machine breaking again–

was a metaphor for my life.

Not because I’m narcissistic–

But because I like to philosophize.

So here is its story……….

The washing machine broke down a few months ago. I decided to fix it and be eco-friendly and frugal at the same time. Why dump another washing machine down a cliff if it just takes a spare part to fix it. So the mechanic took forever to come to our house. Day after day we waited. I went to the laundromat. I phoned. I waited. Finally he showed. He fixed it and it worked for one day. And then, it broke again. So, I called and called and waited and waited and sure… I could have found another fix-it man, just like I could have found another washing machine, right? But I didn’t. I thought… “I’ll give him a chance. I’ll be

 

 

 

machine repairman-friendly and frugal with my time by giving the guy a chance to prove that he can show up and fix it. He came. He fixed it. At this point, I had sunk so much money into it that I probably could have had two washing machines and thus I was really determined to make it work. It did. For about two months. And then it broke again.

Before you judge me and think… “She’s a fool. She should have seen the signs on the wall (not to mention the pool of water on the floor).” I’m a single mom (get out your handkerchiefs) and I don’t have time or energy to go running around finding washing machines. I’d rather fix something that’s already here than go to even more trouble and money replacing it. That’s number one. Number two: I had SEVERAL well-respected people I know advise me that it’s better to fix an older washing machine because the newer ones are super expensive and often fail because they’re made with a lot of plastic parts and nothing is designed to last these days so older, simpler models are more reliable than newer glitzier ones. I had reasons to keep clinging to this hope. Believe me.

But in the end, I gave up.

And this is a metaphor for my life.

Why, might you ask? What does it all mean? It means… I’m good at trying. I try and I try and I try and I try and I try and eventually I hit a wall. And sometimes even then I try. But eventually I learn to walk around the wall.

BP #3

I refuse to not get enough sleep anymore.

It’s just not worth it.

It’s not worth the grumpy ass attitude in the morning from me which then radiates out to the rest of the world.

I don’t care if I’m not being productive enough O’ world that demands I keep producing so much…?

I’m just fucking done with it.

I’m fucking done trying to be perfect.

I’m fucking done biting my nails because of it.

I’m fucking done living my life to please somebody else’s conception of what makes a good life.

Fuck it if we don’t all sit at the same time around the dinner table. Hell, at least we’re not eating out all the time.

Fuck it if I’m not making $75K/year which apparently is the amount you’re supposed to make in Washington state in order to achieve relative happiness.

Fuck it if I’m not doing enough to keep all balls juggling in the air, parenting duties upheld, self duties maintained, exercise regimen, caffeine intake, bill payment, retirement outlook, online dating profile updated, fiscal budget trimmed of excess fat, yada yada phou phou crap.

Fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it fuckity fuckity fuck fuck.

All I know and all I figured out today that truly makes me happy is art, is poetry, is being creative, is writing bad poetry. Poetry so bad that nobody would dare publish it, let alone read it. Poetry so bad that it makes you pee blood from your eyes. Permission to write crap just because you gotta get it out. Fuck it if it’s not perfect. Fuck it. I feel better and that’s a fact. Nobody can fuck with that.