I am nervous as I write this, because its content is more personal in nature and it may come across unintentionally as a less-than-subtle request for pity and (so NOT what I intend) a veiled "hint" for certain attention, but it feels more cathartic to write it than not. For the past few days I have been in a personal turmoil - one that, suffice it to say, involves heartbreak and sadness over an old flame - and potential ones that are frustratingly staying put in the "potential" category. That's another trial all its own - one that happened just now, actually. Guess that's what prompted me to write this.
There are many other factors; too many other parts of my life - my insecurities, fears, personal demons - that also lend themselves naturally to this. I'll leave those out - this is personal enough. But hey - if people can get their fifteen minutes of fame by opening up (unbelievably) on reality television, well, I don't think it's too bad if I open up a bit here.
Basically, right now, the word is "pain." It's amazing how Elizabeth Kubler Ross' Five Stages of Grief plays out, time after time, during the grieving period. For a while I didn't buy it - I just thought that grief could basically be summed up in one word: "SHITTY." But her research is solid, and her discovery correct.
It's also amazing to me how indescribably, given my chosen word above, I have been able to describe my feelings to myself and to the few others with whom I've shared this so far. Raw, rending, Molecule-shifting-changing-jumbled around-so-as-to-render-you-a-Pod Person-Version-of-yourself...wait. I just did describe it. Whaddya know? But the true identity of my melancholy has remained an enigma. I keep trying to figure out exactly what to call it because...I don't know why. Perhaps then I think that I'll be able to exorcise it effectively?
I can't believe why and how I torture myself sometimes. But mostly, the remnants, the glimpses of memory, the quick flashbacks are my tormentors. Sadness will catch me when I least expect it, and altogether too often. It's interesting how little "reminders" will pop up - his name you see somewhere, a song that comes on that you used to know together...it makes you wonder, well, just what's going on.
Here's the thing, though: I know this will end. I've been through enough to know that. This miasma, this Pig Pen-gray-ever-present cloud of yuckiness will dissolve. This is a normal process that has played out time after time throughout history. Sometimes it's ended in a duel; other times in a death due to jealousy; still other times in death by suicide. I am in danger of none of those. In that I am very fortunate, no? :-) Knowing this does not ease the pain; but it does make it easier to endure. If you hang on long enough, pretty soon the blackness leaves you; the Saran Wrap-like murky, clingy material that suffocates you and then becomes a part of you suddenly sheds itself. I'm waiting for that moment, that day: My Arrival.
What also helps light my way through the tunnel is a part of my faith. The Catholic faith teaches us that we can offer up our sufferings not only to atone for the sin of the world but for the betterment of others who are suffering also. I do offer my pain up for the former but focus more on the latter benefit; I try not to concern myself too much with the failings of others - Lord knows I've enough of my own to atone for. Being able to offer up my sufferings in the hope of helping others gives me great strength through trials: what better way to defeat suffering than to grab it by its claws, whip it around, kicking and screaming, and throw it up with a mighty effort to God to be turned into gold nuggets that will be deposited in the "Help ____ Fund" coffer?
The most difficult aspect of this isn't even the endurance of the hurt, bad as it is. It's the wondering, the "Why?," the "Why Not?:" The trust. Trust. I have fought with God long and hard on this subject; I've said things to Him that would make the cheeks of statues in my church flame with embarrassment; the eyes of people depicted in the Stations of the Cross to look at each other in shock and horror. Frankly, I've tired of it. I give up; give in. Okay, God, here I am. I'll take the leap - You've promised me that You'd catch me, and You'd better deliver. ;-) Dare I say it, I'm trusting in You. You know what I want. You know that I want for me to be what You want for me, as well. In other words, I want to call the shots. But here You go; here is what I can give You. I'm doing my best to love You and not fight with You. (I can just see God saying, "Don't worry about it, Tina - you'll take it back soon enough." :-) ) Perhaps God is merely waiting for me to just do it - like the fabled Isaac who was ready to kill his son at the behest of God, He's simply waiting to see if I'll turn the reins over to him. Sometimes I think of taking the "leap" into trust as a Key: the Key to unlocking the good of what could be of my life. The Key that can only be turned by my willingness.
I suppose that this note leaves the sensical realm at points - I'm getting this down in one fell swoop. But it's honest, which is what I was shooting for - what is necessary for my healing.
"Love when you can; cry when you have to/Be who you must; that's a part of the plan./Await your arrival with simple survival/ And one day, we'll all understand" goes a favorite song of mine by former singer Dan Fogelberg. Awaiting my arrival with simple survival is my current modus operandi. And one day, preferably sooner than later, there's a good chance that I will, indeed, understand.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Plates
No, not the garden variety found in your cupboard. And I bet you thought I might possibly be talking about one in my head (the one that I previously mentioned that allows me to receive HBO through my eyeballs), given all that I've written so far, huh? :-) Well, actually, I'm talking about the ones in my jaw.
No, they're not plates, actually, but that's the way they feel and how I think of them. I just got back from the dentist for a fitting for a mouth guard. Apparently, I have TMJ problems. The "plates" in my jaw have apparently shifted a bit; have become unhinged. Sigh. The paste for making the mold was kind of goopy, and funny-tasting. But watching the assistant whip it up in a bowl made me think of how amazingly similar it is to mixing cake batter. I never knew. Anyway, all was well when I saw my dentist whip out this little glue gun for your mouth to make yet an addendum to the first mold, if you will. I was fascinated - it looked like something Austin Powers would have used.
In some ways, it's only apropos that I live here in L.A., home to one of the biggest dance floors where Mama Earth shakes what God gave her. I mean, my plates have shifted, too. Now, my father jokes that my having a mouth guard is apropos as well - only he thinks it should be upgraded to a muzzle. (You have to know my dad to understand that that's not an insult; we Schraders have a weird way of showing our love.)
You know, with all of my wacky musings and notes here on Facebook, my former classmates and sorority sisters on here must wonder, "What happened to that girl? Is this the Tina we knew?" Well, yes and no. Yes, I still have the same DNA I used to. But, also, no - I'm also older, wiser (HA!), and... my plates have shifted. (I still sound like myself, though - not like Charlie Brown's teacher, in case you're wondering.)
Hey - did you also know that I wore braces on my legs when I was little? Yep. Apparently when I was still in utero, as it got closer to my due date, there was less room for me to shake MY booty, and my feet got positioned inward somehow. Since there wasn't much space for me to rework my new position, my feet ended up forming that way, I guess. At least that's what the doctor surmised when he talked to my mother about it. I didn't complain much, I guess. All I remember is sitting on the doctors table looking down my legs at the big pair of brown shoes on my feet in which the braces ended. After a while, it appeared that the braces weren't working, and the doctor just suggested that I be fitted with a good pair of tennies. It worked; I can walk normally to this day. In my opinion, anyway.
And yet, to this day, I still find myself standing sometimes with my feet turned inward. And whenever I genuflect (an action that involves kneeling on one knee while making the Sign of the Cross; it precedes entrance into one of the pews in a Catholic Church and is a sign of respect for Christ on the Cross), my right foot immediately bends at a clean 90-degree angle upon going down. And when I lie in bed sometimes, if I'm on my back, my feet just naturally turn inward upon one another. If ever there were a sure sign that some things, indeed, never change, then that must surely be it.
Perhaps my jaw is trying to correct for the odd bend in my feet. I don't know. I gave up trying to figure out all the weird ways my body and mind try to declare their individuality. You might find me feeling differently on some days, but overall, so what if I'm a little "off?" In a lot of ways, and thank goodness, my kookiness is right "on."
No, they're not plates, actually, but that's the way they feel and how I think of them. I just got back from the dentist for a fitting for a mouth guard. Apparently, I have TMJ problems. The "plates" in my jaw have apparently shifted a bit; have become unhinged. Sigh. The paste for making the mold was kind of goopy, and funny-tasting. But watching the assistant whip it up in a bowl made me think of how amazingly similar it is to mixing cake batter. I never knew. Anyway, all was well when I saw my dentist whip out this little glue gun for your mouth to make yet an addendum to the first mold, if you will. I was fascinated - it looked like something Austin Powers would have used.
In some ways, it's only apropos that I live here in L.A., home to one of the biggest dance floors where Mama Earth shakes what God gave her. I mean, my plates have shifted, too. Now, my father jokes that my having a mouth guard is apropos as well - only he thinks it should be upgraded to a muzzle. (You have to know my dad to understand that that's not an insult; we Schraders have a weird way of showing our love.)
You know, with all of my wacky musings and notes here on Facebook, my former classmates and sorority sisters on here must wonder, "What happened to that girl? Is this the Tina we knew?" Well, yes and no. Yes, I still have the same DNA I used to. But, also, no - I'm also older, wiser (HA!), and... my plates have shifted. (I still sound like myself, though - not like Charlie Brown's teacher, in case you're wondering.)
Hey - did you also know that I wore braces on my legs when I was little? Yep. Apparently when I was still in utero, as it got closer to my due date, there was less room for me to shake MY booty, and my feet got positioned inward somehow. Since there wasn't much space for me to rework my new position, my feet ended up forming that way, I guess. At least that's what the doctor surmised when he talked to my mother about it. I didn't complain much, I guess. All I remember is sitting on the doctors table looking down my legs at the big pair of brown shoes on my feet in which the braces ended. After a while, it appeared that the braces weren't working, and the doctor just suggested that I be fitted with a good pair of tennies. It worked; I can walk normally to this day. In my opinion, anyway.
And yet, to this day, I still find myself standing sometimes with my feet turned inward. And whenever I genuflect (an action that involves kneeling on one knee while making the Sign of the Cross; it precedes entrance into one of the pews in a Catholic Church and is a sign of respect for Christ on the Cross), my right foot immediately bends at a clean 90-degree angle upon going down. And when I lie in bed sometimes, if I'm on my back, my feet just naturally turn inward upon one another. If ever there were a sure sign that some things, indeed, never change, then that must surely be it.
Perhaps my jaw is trying to correct for the odd bend in my feet. I don't know. I gave up trying to figure out all the weird ways my body and mind try to declare their individuality. You might find me feeling differently on some days, but overall, so what if I'm a little "off?" In a lot of ways, and thank goodness, my kookiness is right "on."
Facing the Fire
Betcha thought this was going to be about facing a difficult moral situation, didn't ya? :-)
Well, in a way, it is. I'm facing my demon, my fear - of fire.
I have decided I'm going to eat much healthier than I have been, and to try to save as money as I can doing so. Which means I'll have to cook on our gas stove. For the first time since I moved in with my roommate, which was over a year ago.
I'm not sure when my fear of fire began or what to call it: aversion, phobia? But fire's always been a source of...awe and apprehension for me. I can remember looking at a picture when I was little - it was a group of people who were standing behind a fire in the foreground. One of the women in the group was crouched down with her hand dangling towards the ground. You could see her hand through the fire. Being little and not knowing about backgrounds/foregrounds and how photography can trick the eye, I distinctly remember thinking - the memory has stayed with me ever since, "Her hand is in the fire! Her hand is IN THE FIRE!!!! And she's not even CRYING!!!"
Since then, I actually have cooked on a gas stove. One fateful day I happened to be using oil, apparently, and it must have spilled outside the pan. All of a sudden, WHOOSH! went a huge 'ol flame right up in front of me. Scarred, I was - inside, that is. Traumatized, I was - outside, that is, as I screamed, turned off the flame, ran to my room and flopped on my bed. And then checked my eyebrows.
Being trapped in a burning car is one of my greatest fears. Every time I pass a smoking car on the side of the road I start to hyperventilate. Every time I get gas I always have a tiny suspicion that some gas will leak and somehow...someway I'll end up charcoal in two seconds. I was once in a bad car accident in Miami with my brother and cousins in which we were rammed in the back (goodbye, trunk!) by a hit-and-run driver. After the initial shock, I immediately began exclaiming, "We've got to get out of here! We've got to get out! The car's going to blow up!!!" Only my cousin Jacqueline's cry of "Allen [my brother], you're bleeding!" woke me out of my panic.
I think what really sealed it in, however, was watching a nightclub in Rhode Island burn down (the result of an ill-conceived pyrotechnic display gone horribly awry) with tons of people in it; people trying to get out; people running out; the flames engulfing the ill-fated small building. That was right before I moved out to California. And I've never forgotten it.
Even with all of this, however, I suspect that my fear provides a good cover for some laziness on my part. If I'm afraid of the stove, well, then, there's the microwave! And easy-to-prepare foods! I wonder if that particular foible's attempt at self-preservation has somehow fed my fire freakishness. Ah, the human mind. Ah, MY human mind.
So! Right now I'm trying to figure out how to do this. How to not freeze up at the sight of the stove controls, hyperventilate and tear up when the flame comes on and actually cook something on that damn contraption!
And, finally, how to do all of that and still keep my eyebrows.
Well, in a way, it is. I'm facing my demon, my fear - of fire.
I have decided I'm going to eat much healthier than I have been, and to try to save as money as I can doing so. Which means I'll have to cook on our gas stove. For the first time since I moved in with my roommate, which was over a year ago.
I'm not sure when my fear of fire began or what to call it: aversion, phobia? But fire's always been a source of...awe and apprehension for me. I can remember looking at a picture when I was little - it was a group of people who were standing behind a fire in the foreground. One of the women in the group was crouched down with her hand dangling towards the ground. You could see her hand through the fire. Being little and not knowing about backgrounds/foregrounds and how photography can trick the eye, I distinctly remember thinking - the memory has stayed with me ever since, "Her hand is in the fire! Her hand is IN THE FIRE!!!! And she's not even CRYING!!!"
Since then, I actually have cooked on a gas stove. One fateful day I happened to be using oil, apparently, and it must have spilled outside the pan. All of a sudden, WHOOSH! went a huge 'ol flame right up in front of me. Scarred, I was - inside, that is. Traumatized, I was - outside, that is, as I screamed, turned off the flame, ran to my room and flopped on my bed. And then checked my eyebrows.
Being trapped in a burning car is one of my greatest fears. Every time I pass a smoking car on the side of the road I start to hyperventilate. Every time I get gas I always have a tiny suspicion that some gas will leak and somehow...someway I'll end up charcoal in two seconds. I was once in a bad car accident in Miami with my brother and cousins in which we were rammed in the back (goodbye, trunk!) by a hit-and-run driver. After the initial shock, I immediately began exclaiming, "We've got to get out of here! We've got to get out! The car's going to blow up!!!" Only my cousin Jacqueline's cry of "Allen [my brother], you're bleeding!" woke me out of my panic.
I think what really sealed it in, however, was watching a nightclub in Rhode Island burn down (the result of an ill-conceived pyrotechnic display gone horribly awry) with tons of people in it; people trying to get out; people running out; the flames engulfing the ill-fated small building. That was right before I moved out to California. And I've never forgotten it.
Even with all of this, however, I suspect that my fear provides a good cover for some laziness on my part. If I'm afraid of the stove, well, then, there's the microwave! And easy-to-prepare foods! I wonder if that particular foible's attempt at self-preservation has somehow fed my fire freakishness. Ah, the human mind. Ah, MY human mind.
So! Right now I'm trying to figure out how to do this. How to not freeze up at the sight of the stove controls, hyperventilate and tear up when the flame comes on and actually cook something on that damn contraption!
And, finally, how to do all of that and still keep my eyebrows.
The Survey of Me
TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Name: Tina
Birthday: October 6, 1975
Birthplace: Lincoln, NE
Current Location: Los Angeles, CA
Eye Color: Hazel
Hair Color: Right now, mid-brown auburn; naturally, strawberry blonde
Height: 5'6"
Right Handed or Left Handed: Right
Your Heritage: Irish/German
The Shoes You Wore Today: Tennis shoes
Your Weakness: You leave me only one line to write them? (Notice how I skillfully evade the question.) ;-)
Your Fears: Fire, being trapped in a burning car, groupthink, extremism, Sarah Palin as potential VP
Your Perfect Pizza: Lincoln's Valentino's, hamburger & onion
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year: Oh, too many - self mastery. How about that? :-)
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger: Well, I can hardly text anything, but LOL. That's easy enough.
Thoughts First Waking Up: Damn that alarm!!!
Your Best Physical Feature: Eyes, smile
Your Bedtime: Way too late
Your Most Missed Memory: Do you mean what do I miss most? My family.
Pepsi or Coke: Coke all the way!!! It's truly my favorite; however, my reason for choosing it also involves a bit of trepidation: my uncle worked for Coke for many years. He passed away a few years ago, and I'm trying to prevent a haunting here.
McDonalds or Burger King: The King's been dethroned: McDonald's all the way!!!
Single or Group Dates: Single
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Hardly drink tea - but if Lipton gives me money for saying so, then Lipton.
Chocolate or Vanilla: You can't be serious. Chocolate!!!
Cappuccino or Coffee: Coffee! Milk in coffee is yucky.
Do you Smoke: No
Do you Swear: Sometimes...
Do you Sing: Yes
Do you Shower Daily: Yes! You can come near me. It's okay. :-)
Have you Been in Love: Yes
Do you want to go to College: I'm an alum of FSU. I've considered a Masters in PoliSci, so in that sense...maybe.
Do you want to get Married: Yep. At the right time, to the right person.
Do you belive in yourself: Most of the time
Do you get Motion Sickness: No. I love roller coasters, for goodness' sake!
Do you think you are Attractive: Yes
Are you a Health Freak: And you ask me about McD's and The King above. No.
Do you get along with your Parents: Yes - very much so.
Do you like Thunderstorms: Love 'em!!! Miss 'em!!!
Do you play an Instrument: Ever since I was little, I've wanted to play the piano. Someday I will.
In the past month have you Drunk Alcohol: Yes
In the past month have you Smoked: No
In the past month have you been on Drugs: No
In the past month have you gone to a Mall: No
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos: No; but most likely, admittedly, something similar
In the past month have you eaten Sushi: Don't like it. This saves me from mercury overload.
In the past month have you been on Stage: I've been on a stage - "on" stage? No.
In the past month have you been Dumped: No
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping: No
In the past month have you Stolen Anything: Someone else's soul; this is how I can speak ten languages.
Ever been Drunk: Yes
Ever been called a Tease: Yes
Ever been Beaten up: No. I am She-ra.
Ever Shoplifted: Are you trying to make me sound boring? :-) No.
How do you want to Die: Peacefully, when I've done everything I want to do.
What do you want to be when you Grow Up: I haven't grown up yet.
What country would you most like to Visit: You give me one line to write this? Ireland, Paris, Peru, Egypt, Scotland, Germany, the world, basically.
In a Boy/Girl..
Favourite Eye Color: Don't have one.
Favourite Hair Color: Well, the Hunchback of Notre Dame could have black, curly hair and I'd fall in love with him. He'd just have to stay turned around all the time.
Short or Long Hair: Short, but chin-length isn't bad, either.
Height: Generally tall, but it's all good.
Weight: Average, not the most important
Best Clothing Style: Casual, classic
Number of Drugs I have taken: Preferably no serious ones, but everybody's got something.
Number of CDs I own: Lots is fine. Any.
Number of Piercings: Maybe one at most on his ear.
Number of Tattoos: Preferably none, but that's not the most important thing.
Number of things in my Past I Regret: We all regret something.
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS! http://www.kwiz.biz/simplesurveys
Name: Tina
Birthday: October 6, 1975
Birthplace: Lincoln, NE
Current Location: Los Angeles, CA
Eye Color: Hazel
Hair Color: Right now, mid-brown auburn; naturally, strawberry blonde
Height: 5'6"
Right Handed or Left Handed: Right
Your Heritage: Irish/German
The Shoes You Wore Today: Tennis shoes
Your Weakness: You leave me only one line to write them? (Notice how I skillfully evade the question.) ;-)
Your Fears: Fire, being trapped in a burning car, groupthink, extremism, Sarah Palin as potential VP
Your Perfect Pizza: Lincoln's Valentino's, hamburger & onion
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year: Oh, too many - self mastery. How about that? :-)
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger: Well, I can hardly text anything, but LOL. That's easy enough.
Thoughts First Waking Up: Damn that alarm!!!
Your Best Physical Feature: Eyes, smile
Your Bedtime: Way too late
Your Most Missed Memory: Do you mean what do I miss most? My family.
Pepsi or Coke: Coke all the way!!! It's truly my favorite; however, my reason for choosing it also involves a bit of trepidation: my uncle worked for Coke for many years. He passed away a few years ago, and I'm trying to prevent a haunting here.
McDonalds or Burger King: The King's been dethroned: McDonald's all the way!!!
Single or Group Dates: Single
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Hardly drink tea - but if Lipton gives me money for saying so, then Lipton.
Chocolate or Vanilla: You can't be serious. Chocolate!!!
Cappuccino or Coffee: Coffee! Milk in coffee is yucky.
Do you Smoke: No
Do you Swear: Sometimes...
Do you Sing: Yes
Do you Shower Daily: Yes! You can come near me. It's okay. :-)
Have you Been in Love: Yes
Do you want to go to College: I'm an alum of FSU. I've considered a Masters in PoliSci, so in that sense...maybe.
Do you want to get Married: Yep. At the right time, to the right person.
Do you belive in yourself: Most of the time
Do you get Motion Sickness: No. I love roller coasters, for goodness' sake!
Do you think you are Attractive: Yes
Are you a Health Freak: And you ask me about McD's and The King above. No.
Do you get along with your Parents: Yes - very much so.
Do you like Thunderstorms: Love 'em!!! Miss 'em!!!
Do you play an Instrument: Ever since I was little, I've wanted to play the piano. Someday I will.
In the past month have you Drunk Alcohol: Yes
In the past month have you Smoked: No
In the past month have you been on Drugs: No
In the past month have you gone to a Mall: No
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos: No; but most likely, admittedly, something similar
In the past month have you eaten Sushi: Don't like it. This saves me from mercury overload.
In the past month have you been on Stage: I've been on a stage - "on" stage? No.
In the past month have you been Dumped: No
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping: No
In the past month have you Stolen Anything: Someone else's soul; this is how I can speak ten languages.
Ever been Drunk: Yes
Ever been called a Tease: Yes
Ever been Beaten up: No. I am She-ra.
Ever Shoplifted: Are you trying to make me sound boring? :-) No.
How do you want to Die: Peacefully, when I've done everything I want to do.
What do you want to be when you Grow Up: I haven't grown up yet.
What country would you most like to Visit: You give me one line to write this? Ireland, Paris, Peru, Egypt, Scotland, Germany, the world, basically.
In a Boy/Girl..
Favourite Eye Color: Don't have one.
Favourite Hair Color: Well, the Hunchback of Notre Dame could have black, curly hair and I'd fall in love with him. He'd just have to stay turned around all the time.
Short or Long Hair: Short, but chin-length isn't bad, either.
Height: Generally tall, but it's all good.
Weight: Average, not the most important
Best Clothing Style: Casual, classic
Number of Drugs I have taken: Preferably no serious ones, but everybody's got something.
Number of CDs I own: Lots is fine. Any.
Number of Piercings: Maybe one at most on his ear.
Number of Tattoos: Preferably none, but that's not the most important thing.
Number of things in my Past I Regret: We all regret something.
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS! http://www.kwiz.biz/simplesurveys
My Silly Random Thoughts
Yes, these are silly. And they're random. Here THEY are:
By the time I live to be 100, I'll have lived 100 years.
One day we will all have metal plates in our heads, which will allow us to get HBO through our eyeballs.
I think. I think all the time. I think too much. I think about my excessive thinking. I am, because I think. If I thought I was a purple walrus, though, would I be one? Or would I be a red one instead?
I write. I write all the time. I write about silly stuff. I write about serious stuff. Pure hubris is behind all this, I suppose. I'm always so sure that everyone want to hear what I have to say. :-)
I am drinking, right now, terrible hot chocolate. It's fat-free. It's also taste-free. No - I take that back. It does have a taste, only I can't describe it. Needless to say, it's awful. "Then why do you continue to drink it, Tina?," you ask. Good question! The answer is that it's the nearest liquid to me and I'm trying to make restitution by subsitution for previous malfeasances.
I mean, really: why do they have that warning about the tags on mattresses - that it's an offense? Do they honestly care? I don't think so. How would they know? If they do care/know, then it could be Bush's alert system of secretly tapping into everyone's lives.
I once dreamed that I won ten million dollars. When I woke up I wanted to cry.
Once and for all: is it macaroni and cheese, or cheese and funny-shaped noodles?
How come whenever some reporters/forecasters move their hair doesn't?
I have a big, square head. This makes it hard to find hats that fit it properly. When I was a baby, I didn't have any hair until I was two. And I have a high forehead (see profile pic above). So, I had a big, square baby head that rose up like a highrise. This made my eyes look like they started halfway down my face. I was still a cute baby, though. Just ask my mom. :-)
If a woman has morning sickness in the evening, do they still call it morning sickness?
I love ABBA. They have no idea who I am.
I love working with the Vote for Equality team. This isn't exactly a silly thought - but it's true. They rock. Since I'm a part of the team, that means I rock, too. It's simple logic, really.
I love to blather. It's fun. I am nothing if not NOT brief. And hyperbolic.
I don't see my friend Mia much anymore. I think her move to Florida had something to do with it.
Say, I miss my hippie community that consisted of only me and my sorority sister Shannon. I haven't heard her reaction, though, when I said that I was allowing meat. Imagine!: having a non-existent commune license revoked for trying to modernize it. Ah, well. It was good while it lasted. Which was less than a day.
I'm done now. It's late and I'm falling asleep at my chair. Hopefully when I look at this tomorrow it won't resemble the pig-latin version of my roommate's Mandarin.
:-)
By the time I live to be 100, I'll have lived 100 years.
One day we will all have metal plates in our heads, which will allow us to get HBO through our eyeballs.
I think. I think all the time. I think too much. I think about my excessive thinking. I am, because I think. If I thought I was a purple walrus, though, would I be one? Or would I be a red one instead?
I write. I write all the time. I write about silly stuff. I write about serious stuff. Pure hubris is behind all this, I suppose. I'm always so sure that everyone want to hear what I have to say. :-)
I am drinking, right now, terrible hot chocolate. It's fat-free. It's also taste-free. No - I take that back. It does have a taste, only I can't describe it. Needless to say, it's awful. "Then why do you continue to drink it, Tina?," you ask. Good question! The answer is that it's the nearest liquid to me and I'm trying to make restitution by subsitution for previous malfeasances.
I mean, really: why do they have that warning about the tags on mattresses - that it's an offense? Do they honestly care? I don't think so. How would they know? If they do care/know, then it could be Bush's alert system of secretly tapping into everyone's lives.
I once dreamed that I won ten million dollars. When I woke up I wanted to cry.
Once and for all: is it macaroni and cheese, or cheese and funny-shaped noodles?
How come whenever some reporters/forecasters move their hair doesn't?
I have a big, square head. This makes it hard to find hats that fit it properly. When I was a baby, I didn't have any hair until I was two. And I have a high forehead (see profile pic above). So, I had a big, square baby head that rose up like a highrise. This made my eyes look like they started halfway down my face. I was still a cute baby, though. Just ask my mom. :-)
If a woman has morning sickness in the evening, do they still call it morning sickness?
I love ABBA. They have no idea who I am.
I love working with the Vote for Equality team. This isn't exactly a silly thought - but it's true. They rock. Since I'm a part of the team, that means I rock, too. It's simple logic, really.
I love to blather. It's fun. I am nothing if not NOT brief. And hyperbolic.
I don't see my friend Mia much anymore. I think her move to Florida had something to do with it.
Say, I miss my hippie community that consisted of only me and my sorority sister Shannon. I haven't heard her reaction, though, when I said that I was allowing meat. Imagine!: having a non-existent commune license revoked for trying to modernize it. Ah, well. It was good while it lasted. Which was less than a day.
I'm done now. It's late and I'm falling asleep at my chair. Hopefully when I look at this tomorrow it won't resemble the pig-latin version of my roommate's Mandarin.
:-)
Lost Keys, Found Keys, Give Me My Keys, Please!!!!
I once lost my keys while coming back to work from...somewhere. After an excrutiating search, I resigned myself to going home and beginning the process of getting replacements. As it turns out, after I had done so, someone actually found my keys, looked at the little mini CVS card attached to the ring, called the store and they called me. The rest is history.
But this is what I wrote to my colleagues at work. You might try something similar if you ever lose yours - it might not get you your keys back, but it's good for a laugh.
Hello all,
It has come to my attention that a very important set of keys has gone missing: mine. Time of disappearance: somewhere between 11:30am and 6pm yesterday. Description: a ton of keys on several looped-together rings, all bound to one blue metal....thingie - you know, it has the part that you can push in so that you can hook it around something. The blue metal...thingie is large and has numerous straight markings on it which Father Time has etched to form some undecipherable message...most likely one at my expense. My car and house keys are on it, along with many whose purpose is long forgotten but that we all know will come in extremely handy.....someday.
I would appreciate it if you all could keep your eyes ever watchful for my set to see if it somehow springs out of a box or just happens to be lying lazily about as if to say, "Oh - were you looking for me?" I have not a dime with which to repay any of you, but since I know that only the highest caliber of people are in our office, I'm sure that a simple expression of undying gratitude and eternal pledge of loyalty will do nicely. And if they don't, then you are a very sad case indeed.
Thank you all!
But this is what I wrote to my colleagues at work. You might try something similar if you ever lose yours - it might not get you your keys back, but it's good for a laugh.
Hello all,
It has come to my attention that a very important set of keys has gone missing: mine. Time of disappearance: somewhere between 11:30am and 6pm yesterday. Description: a ton of keys on several looped-together rings, all bound to one blue metal....thingie - you know, it has the part that you can push in so that you can hook it around something. The blue metal...thingie is large and has numerous straight markings on it which Father Time has etched to form some undecipherable message...most likely one at my expense. My car and house keys are on it, along with many whose purpose is long forgotten but that we all know will come in extremely handy.....someday.
I would appreciate it if you all could keep your eyes ever watchful for my set to see if it somehow springs out of a box or just happens to be lying lazily about as if to say, "Oh - were you looking for me?" I have not a dime with which to repay any of you, but since I know that only the highest caliber of people are in our office, I'm sure that a simple expression of undying gratitude and eternal pledge of loyalty will do nicely. And if they don't, then you are a very sad case indeed.
Thank you all!
My Mother, Inventress Extraordinaire; Laundry Is...Oh, Well
I just had to post this. My mom is too cute. My parents have an older, though stone, home - but one that has an old laundry room that water gets into whenever it rains. So! My mom devised a way - or thought she did - to direct the incoming water away from getting on their outside carpet. She used straws. :-) But, alas, I got an e-mail this morning from her informing me of the sad news: her dike didn't hold up completely. But we Schraders try! And you wonder why I try to fly with cardboard.
"My careful dike building in the basement has not proven entirely successful. One sneaky little stream found its way underneath the clothes thing-a-ma-jig and got around my carefully constructed dike and dampened the carpet again. Boo hiss!"
Waverly Grads, don't you just miss my mom? ;-)
"My careful dike building in the basement has not proven entirely successful. One sneaky little stream found its way underneath the clothes thing-a-ma-jig and got around my carefully constructed dike and dampened the carpet again. Boo hiss!"
Waverly Grads, don't you just miss my mom? ;-)
Turning Point
Some come in an instant, like when there's a tragic accident or a woman learns that she's pregnant. Others take time to build - kind of like a pressure cooker and boom! It lets off steam and there you have it: the new side from which you're looking at life. You've turned a corner. You have a different vantage view. You've experienced a turning point.
Mine, actually, was neither of the above scenarios. It came gently, on a weekend day (I can't remember which) in my eighth or ninth year of age. I was at home, and trying to draw yet again; the knowledge of exactly what I was drawing has been lost to time. But as I drew, or tried to draw, I became increasingly frustrated at my ineptitude. Undoubtedly my budding wanna-draw was more sophisticated than the wobbly, wavy-sided blobs I called people when I was four years old. But four or five years apparently hadn't made me that much better, either. Come to think of it, I made a fuss about those "people," too. But mom's "No! They're good!" reassurances did little to assuage, to placate. (Years later, I would bring that up to my mother. "Well, they were good for a four year-old!" she defended herself with.)
Now, my mother, on the other hand, CAN draw. Really well. She's particularly good at drawing people. She's illustrated cookbooks, created a picture of the Blessed Mother (Virgin Mary) and adorned it with calligraphy; it hangs on the dining room wall of my parents' home. She's taught art classes and helped kids with art projects from time to time. And while her art also encompasses her lovely singing voice, illustrations are her specialty.
Anyway, my frustration grew out of my inability to draw like my mother. People, as subjects of art, have always confounded me. My renditions always come out looking like Picasso's lopsided men and women - only unintentionally. Recreating the muscles in the legs or illustrating a proper torso-hip ratio is a problem that's always vexed me. And forget sinews or the lines on fingers or wrists; I have enough trouble trying to keep my people from looking like stick figure scientific experiments gone horribly wrong.
But at least I'm better than my father, who, by his own admission, messes up said stick figures in his attempts at pencil to paper. (Perhaps he, in his own frustration, instigated the scientific experiments as revenge.)
But it was my caring father who got me to put the lines together, finally. Upon seeing me in my worked-up state that day (complete with tears - I was nothing if not dramatic), he invited me to take a ride with him as he ran an errand. It wasn't a long one, but long enough to ask me what was wrong. "I can't draw like mom can!," came my anguished wail. Dad then explained to me - there's a strong possibility that it was in an unintentionally patronizing manner - that God gave each of us different talents and that even though I couldn't draw (oh, the pain of having it confirmed!), there were other things I was good at. And so after that day, that turning point, I felt better. No, I still can't draw people, or much of anything else. But I have gotten better, somewhat: I can do a decent-enough job of leading my team to victory at Pictionary. And I am good at other things, like my dad pointed out. I can sing, whistle a mean tune and get up to level 19 (the highest!) on Tetris and stay there longer than 10 seconds. (You try it!) I'm caring, have a wicked, silly, off-the-cuff sense of humor and remember faces, numbers and music, as well as details of past events, exceptionally well.
And when it comes down to it, come Halloween - which isn't too far off - being able to at least draw wobbly, wavy-sided, ghost-like "people" is a big plus.
Mine, actually, was neither of the above scenarios. It came gently, on a weekend day (I can't remember which) in my eighth or ninth year of age. I was at home, and trying to draw yet again; the knowledge of exactly what I was drawing has been lost to time. But as I drew, or tried to draw, I became increasingly frustrated at my ineptitude. Undoubtedly my budding wanna-draw was more sophisticated than the wobbly, wavy-sided blobs I called people when I was four years old. But four or five years apparently hadn't made me that much better, either. Come to think of it, I made a fuss about those "people," too. But mom's "No! They're good!" reassurances did little to assuage, to placate. (Years later, I would bring that up to my mother. "Well, they were good for a four year-old!" she defended herself with.)
Now, my mother, on the other hand, CAN draw. Really well. She's particularly good at drawing people. She's illustrated cookbooks, created a picture of the Blessed Mother (Virgin Mary) and adorned it with calligraphy; it hangs on the dining room wall of my parents' home. She's taught art classes and helped kids with art projects from time to time. And while her art also encompasses her lovely singing voice, illustrations are her specialty.
Anyway, my frustration grew out of my inability to draw like my mother. People, as subjects of art, have always confounded me. My renditions always come out looking like Picasso's lopsided men and women - only unintentionally. Recreating the muscles in the legs or illustrating a proper torso-hip ratio is a problem that's always vexed me. And forget sinews or the lines on fingers or wrists; I have enough trouble trying to keep my people from looking like stick figure scientific experiments gone horribly wrong.
But at least I'm better than my father, who, by his own admission, messes up said stick figures in his attempts at pencil to paper. (Perhaps he, in his own frustration, instigated the scientific experiments as revenge.)
But it was my caring father who got me to put the lines together, finally. Upon seeing me in my worked-up state that day (complete with tears - I was nothing if not dramatic), he invited me to take a ride with him as he ran an errand. It wasn't a long one, but long enough to ask me what was wrong. "I can't draw like mom can!," came my anguished wail. Dad then explained to me - there's a strong possibility that it was in an unintentionally patronizing manner - that God gave each of us different talents and that even though I couldn't draw (oh, the pain of having it confirmed!), there were other things I was good at. And so after that day, that turning point, I felt better. No, I still can't draw people, or much of anything else. But I have gotten better, somewhat: I can do a decent-enough job of leading my team to victory at Pictionary. And I am good at other things, like my dad pointed out. I can sing, whistle a mean tune and get up to level 19 (the highest!) on Tetris and stay there longer than 10 seconds. (You try it!) I'm caring, have a wicked, silly, off-the-cuff sense of humor and remember faces, numbers and music, as well as details of past events, exceptionally well.
And when it comes down to it, come Halloween - which isn't too far off - being able to at least draw wobbly, wavy-sided, ghost-like "people" is a big plus.
Adam and Steve
As I write this, the battle for the right to marry for gays and lesbians rages on as we inch towards November 4th. Polls flip-flop as people are swayed by one commercial or another.
It should never have come to this.
The California constitution has always stated that all are equal under state law. There should never have been any “definition” officially placed in the California constitution that stated that marriage should be between one man and one woman. The fight over Proposition 8 (which would ban the freedom for gays and lesbians to marry in the state) is almost entirely a moral one, and those who oppose it do so largely because of religious beliefs. But you can’t legislate morality. It doesn’t work.
I become utterly baffled every time I hear or read about the uproar over redefining marriage. Those who say that gays and lesbians don’t have the “right” to redefine the institution for others miss the point entirely. This isn’t a dictionary contest; arguing over marriage’s meaning is as worthwhile as debating whether it's macaroni and cheese or cheese and macaroni - in other words, a gigantic waste of time.
I wish people could see the tears – of joy, of relief, of love – that gays and lesbians have shed when they realized they could legally be marry the ones they love and on their wedding days. I wish people could see how much it means to them. Imagine, then, being married and then being told that your union may be declared null in less than a month because others – people whom you don’t even know – don’t think it’s right. Because of what someone else believes, you may lose the right to enjoy one of the most meaningful relationships others have – that of being a spouse. Your relationship with one of the most important people in your life is up for committee vote. There is something very, very wrong with that.
There are those who claim that gay marriage will destroy the institution or at the very least, change it for the worse. Actually, straight people messed marriage up loooooong before gay marriage ever came onto the scene. Remember the 70s? Many of us are too young to actually have experienced the decade, but we all know that the divorce rate began to skyrocket then. And long before that, the landscape of marriage changed when people changed the landscape. Centuries ago, as people moved across country borders and intermingled with others, as they grew in knowledge and perceptions slowly began to change, dowries and other views (such as women being “property” to be “given away”) were abolished. So, I’d like to suggest the following for all who would “protect marriage:” help strengthen marriages so that the divorce rate isn’t so high. Help couples understand one another better. Help reduce domestic violence. Help end child abuse and neglect. All of those have far more damaging implications for marriage than allowing same-sex couples to join the party.
Yet I realize that it also isn’t that simple. Many who are for Prop 8 are well-meaning, good people, yet people who see gay marriage as an assault on family values and the catalyst for Armageddon. People who are my relatives, friends, my family’s friends and people in my faith community (yes, I’m religious and still am against 8; I was raised, fortunately, to follow my conscience above all). But religion has scant place in this argument because the ceremonies used in gay marriages would be CIVIL ones. (Churches who are open to performing them could also do so; those who object to them wouldn’t have to.)
“It was Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” goes an oft-repeated saying. True. Yet in that one sentence lies one of the greatest ironies of Prop 8's proponents' desire to ban gay marriage. If you recall, the book of Genesis says the responsibility for the fall that set sin in motion sat on the shoulders of two people – Adam and Eve. It was, note: a man and a woman who were the first sinners.
It should never have come to this.
The California constitution has always stated that all are equal under state law. There should never have been any “definition” officially placed in the California constitution that stated that marriage should be between one man and one woman. The fight over Proposition 8 (which would ban the freedom for gays and lesbians to marry in the state) is almost entirely a moral one, and those who oppose it do so largely because of religious beliefs. But you can’t legislate morality. It doesn’t work.
I become utterly baffled every time I hear or read about the uproar over redefining marriage. Those who say that gays and lesbians don’t have the “right” to redefine the institution for others miss the point entirely. This isn’t a dictionary contest; arguing over marriage’s meaning is as worthwhile as debating whether it's macaroni and cheese or cheese and macaroni - in other words, a gigantic waste of time.
I wish people could see the tears – of joy, of relief, of love – that gays and lesbians have shed when they realized they could legally be marry the ones they love and on their wedding days. I wish people could see how much it means to them. Imagine, then, being married and then being told that your union may be declared null in less than a month because others – people whom you don’t even know – don’t think it’s right. Because of what someone else believes, you may lose the right to enjoy one of the most meaningful relationships others have – that of being a spouse. Your relationship with one of the most important people in your life is up for committee vote. There is something very, very wrong with that.
There are those who claim that gay marriage will destroy the institution or at the very least, change it for the worse. Actually, straight people messed marriage up loooooong before gay marriage ever came onto the scene. Remember the 70s? Many of us are too young to actually have experienced the decade, but we all know that the divorce rate began to skyrocket then. And long before that, the landscape of marriage changed when people changed the landscape. Centuries ago, as people moved across country borders and intermingled with others, as they grew in knowledge and perceptions slowly began to change, dowries and other views (such as women being “property” to be “given away”) were abolished. So, I’d like to suggest the following for all who would “protect marriage:” help strengthen marriages so that the divorce rate isn’t so high. Help couples understand one another better. Help reduce domestic violence. Help end child abuse and neglect. All of those have far more damaging implications for marriage than allowing same-sex couples to join the party.
Yet I realize that it also isn’t that simple. Many who are for Prop 8 are well-meaning, good people, yet people who see gay marriage as an assault on family values and the catalyst for Armageddon. People who are my relatives, friends, my family’s friends and people in my faith community (yes, I’m religious and still am against 8; I was raised, fortunately, to follow my conscience above all). But religion has scant place in this argument because the ceremonies used in gay marriages would be CIVIL ones. (Churches who are open to performing them could also do so; those who object to them wouldn’t have to.)
“It was Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” goes an oft-repeated saying. True. Yet in that one sentence lies one of the greatest ironies of Prop 8's proponents' desire to ban gay marriage. If you recall, the book of Genesis says the responsibility for the fall that set sin in motion sat on the shoulders of two people – Adam and Eve. It was, note: a man and a woman who were the first sinners.
The Great Purpose Question
And that is, "Why am I here?" Okay, I lied. There are two questions. The other is, "What am I meant to do while I'm here?"
To be perfectly honest, and I'm a little abashed to admit this, I'm still not completely sure. I have prayed for an answer; haven't gotten one yet. And it's rather disconcerting - a constant discontent with where I am, but not knowing what or where the hell I'm supposed to do or go. To be. To live.
In the meantime, in my uncertainty, I do things I'm passionate about and hope that I get that feeling that yes, this is it. There are so many things I could do - so many talents I have that I am working on developing. Sometimes I am so jealous of people who just KNOW. Know that they'll be a doctor; a marine biologist (which is originally what I went to college for); a singer; a scientist. With regards to the ill-fated marine biology major, organic chemistry is what sunk me - no (terrible) pun intended. That was the beast I could not tame. Of course, the fact that I kind of "majored" in my sorority that year might have had something to do with it. :-) So, I switched to communications. And got out of damn-hard science! :-)
But I digress. Constantly. Unknowingly. Amazingly often! Okay: there's a saying that I've always liked, and it's actually from some greeting card that I've never been able to find again, and it says, "But to state your worth would take but a minute; the world is better because you're in it." I'd like to think that about myself. But sometimes I wonder if it's really true with me - that the world is better. Or is it just...the same? Usually that doubt is followed by self-pity or some other bum feeling. And that's when it's time to shake myself out of it. And remind myself that God doesn't make mistakes - except the ones that I fight Him on. ;-)
I sometimes wonder if I'm doing the right things. With respect to my work on No on Prop 8, I have been so torn between a religious tradition I've been a part of my whole life (Catholic) and friends and family who hold strong religious values that they're not willing to set aside in the name of civil rights. I really do believe that I did, and am continuing to do, the right thing with regards to gay rights. To fight for those who are the underdogs, the "different." And I was raised to follow conscience above all, so I feel pretty safe in that. But in trying to build the bridge I was naive enough to think I could do in a relatively short period of time (we idealists are all naive, in some ways - that's what enables us to make changes never thought to be possible), I experienced an agony of endless debate within myself. When you've been raised with certain beliefs and you were a fairly impressionable teenager - and you're not willing to just jettison your faith, either - well, it's a tug-of-war. My family's view of the special, unique role conscience plays in our lives doesn't seem to be shared by too many people, save for the few friends I've found who do.
Whew! Okay. There. I said it. In many ways I'm damned if I do and don't. I'll say it here and then won't again: being in the middle REALLY BITES sometimes. It's a rather lonely place to be. As is not knowing. Just not knowing.
Okay! Enough of that. So, I'm searching. I guess there's not too much wrong with that. :-) It's better than just settling down and stagnating, though that is often all-too-tempting.
I may never truly know. I may never be hit over the head with an opening of Heaven shining down upon me and a chorus of angels singing the joy of my enlightenment. That prospect doesn't really thrill me, but all I can keep doing is my best. And lately that's what I've been concerned about: living my life with excellence. Oh, the length of road I have to travel on that one.
All I know is that I terribly, achingly, my-body-turns-inside-out-with-the-desire want to do the right thing. To somehow, if I'm concerned about the ecological imprint I'll leave, certainly want to be thinking about the legacy that will stay after I'm gone. What that legacy will be is wrenchingly still a draft on a page. But I suppose I'm lucky - so very, very lucky - to have the chance to fill the blank spots in.
To be perfectly honest, and I'm a little abashed to admit this, I'm still not completely sure. I have prayed for an answer; haven't gotten one yet. And it's rather disconcerting - a constant discontent with where I am, but not knowing what or where the hell I'm supposed to do or go. To be. To live.
In the meantime, in my uncertainty, I do things I'm passionate about and hope that I get that feeling that yes, this is it. There are so many things I could do - so many talents I have that I am working on developing. Sometimes I am so jealous of people who just KNOW. Know that they'll be a doctor; a marine biologist (which is originally what I went to college for); a singer; a scientist. With regards to the ill-fated marine biology major, organic chemistry is what sunk me - no (terrible) pun intended. That was the beast I could not tame. Of course, the fact that I kind of "majored" in my sorority that year might have had something to do with it. :-) So, I switched to communications. And got out of damn-hard science! :-)
But I digress. Constantly. Unknowingly. Amazingly often! Okay: there's a saying that I've always liked, and it's actually from some greeting card that I've never been able to find again, and it says, "But to state your worth would take but a minute; the world is better because you're in it." I'd like to think that about myself. But sometimes I wonder if it's really true with me - that the world is better. Or is it just...the same? Usually that doubt is followed by self-pity or some other bum feeling. And that's when it's time to shake myself out of it. And remind myself that God doesn't make mistakes - except the ones that I fight Him on. ;-)
I sometimes wonder if I'm doing the right things. With respect to my work on No on Prop 8, I have been so torn between a religious tradition I've been a part of my whole life (Catholic) and friends and family who hold strong religious values that they're not willing to set aside in the name of civil rights. I really do believe that I did, and am continuing to do, the right thing with regards to gay rights. To fight for those who are the underdogs, the "different." And I was raised to follow conscience above all, so I feel pretty safe in that. But in trying to build the bridge I was naive enough to think I could do in a relatively short period of time (we idealists are all naive, in some ways - that's what enables us to make changes never thought to be possible), I experienced an agony of endless debate within myself. When you've been raised with certain beliefs and you were a fairly impressionable teenager - and you're not willing to just jettison your faith, either - well, it's a tug-of-war. My family's view of the special, unique role conscience plays in our lives doesn't seem to be shared by too many people, save for the few friends I've found who do.
Whew! Okay. There. I said it. In many ways I'm damned if I do and don't. I'll say it here and then won't again: being in the middle REALLY BITES sometimes. It's a rather lonely place to be. As is not knowing. Just not knowing.
Okay! Enough of that. So, I'm searching. I guess there's not too much wrong with that. :-) It's better than just settling down and stagnating, though that is often all-too-tempting.
I may never truly know. I may never be hit over the head with an opening of Heaven shining down upon me and a chorus of angels singing the joy of my enlightenment. That prospect doesn't really thrill me, but all I can keep doing is my best. And lately that's what I've been concerned about: living my life with excellence. Oh, the length of road I have to travel on that one.
All I know is that I terribly, achingly, my-body-turns-inside-out-with-the-desire want to do the right thing. To somehow, if I'm concerned about the ecological imprint I'll leave, certainly want to be thinking about the legacy that will stay after I'm gone. What that legacy will be is wrenchingly still a draft on a page. But I suppose I'm lucky - so very, very lucky - to have the chance to fill the blank spots in.
The Great Purpose Question, Part Two
I finally got my internet back up; thus my chance to write this note. After multiple attempts to actually get my internet connection to stick and several calls to Time Warner, I contemplated how much trouble sending a stink bomb to their technical support center would get me into. Blessedly, I got it up again, and discarded my fantasy.
Such is life. And life, today, found me at my mentor Sharon's apartment. She coaches me regarding different aspects of my life. It happened that today I was in a rather down, grumpy mood when I arrived - part of which was caused by not being able to locate the whipping cream for her at the grocery store - an item she asked me to pick up for her before I arrived. I am terrible in a grocery store. I might as well be trying to find my way inside a twisty, mystery maze.
But I digress. Again, constantly, amazingly, freque- okay. Yes. Ahem. ANYWAY, I was a bit persnickety when I arrived. It was a mood I did not want to subject Sharon to, so I tried to release it. No such luck. Things tend to "stick" with me, though I'm working on that. So, we began our session. After unloading how frustrated I was that my life was not where I wanted it to be, she finally took her notebook and made two columns - one of which was "What I did." The other half was "What I didn't do." The "What I did" column had a great deal many more little dots that Sharon had poked on the page than the other. Yet "You're living over HERE [the "What I did not do" column], Tina!" was her admonishment. And there it was: a bit unscientific, yes, but accurate nonetheless: overall, I was busy doing what is so easy for we humans to do: I was focusing on the negative aspects of my life, basically. And feeling more than a little sorry for myself, I realized to my great chagrin.
So! What does this have to do with purpose? Nothing, directly. Indirectly, what I realized was that my frustration involved not finding my purpose, and moreover, not getting done in my life what I wanted to when I wanted to get it done was at the heart of my discontent. What is it that I currently want to accomplish? Self-mastery, in short.
Yes, your eyes are doing fine. I did indeed say, "Self-mastery." I didn't say it made sense - because it doesn't. Attempting to achieve what takes Japanese warriors (in practice) and other great persons in our world a lifetime to achieve in a few short months, well, indicates, dare I say it: insanity. But I know I'm not insane b/c I can surmise if I am or not. That's one area where "I think [I'm insane], therefore I am," doesn't apply - don't you think? I do. I have to.
Yes, indeed, I have been impatient with my self-improvement plans. When I want something badly, I usually go after it at full speed - yet with this, I have been dragging my feet in some areas (another area of frustration). But Sharon told me that by focusing on the positive in my life, not only would that sooner or later help propel me onto the next level of my work, but it would attract more positive energy into my life. Fair enough. And true enough.
I realized that I had committed an impertinent blasphemy: I had in one sweeping motion cast aside from my mind all the incredible ways in which God has blessed me in my life. For instance, I have access to wonderful warm water when I take a shower; I live in an exciting and fun, albeit sometimes overwhelming, city; I have an awesome Chinese roommate from whom I am learning, everrrr-so-slowly, Mandarin (I encourage and cheer myself on with the belief that, never fear: by the time I'm about...oh, 125 years old I should have a solid-enough knowledge of the words that would get me directions to the nearest bathroom in China); I have a to-die-for family and terrific, loving relatives who, REALLY!, all like each other and actually desire to be with each other when occasions arise; I am alive; I can walk; I can talk; I can watch my favorite TV shows over and over again due to the brilliant invention of DVR (TiVo). See? Already there are a million blessings I enjoy, and I didn't even have to delve into amusement parks, fall leaves or Pez candy - all of which I adore, too - to think of them.
So! "Where is all this going, Tina?," you ask. The truth? I'm not exactly sure anymore. It's late and the monitor screen is getting brighter by the second - a sure indicator that my eyes are tired. But I was emboldened and inspired to get my ramblings down. Whether or not they're coherent enough for me to not be embarrassed tomorrow is another story. But overall, you get my drift, no? Basically, I am working on improving myself and my life, and I want it done NOW. And I'm a perfectionist to the core. Like I said, it doesn't make sense. But when you're unsure of your true purpose - the exact, so-perfect-you-can-recite-it-at-a-moment's-notice mission you have here on this earth, well, it makes you want to run to the therapy/lemonade-look-alike stand that Snoopy tends to find out. And find the nickel with which to pay him.
Such is life. And life, today, found me at my mentor Sharon's apartment. She coaches me regarding different aspects of my life. It happened that today I was in a rather down, grumpy mood when I arrived - part of which was caused by not being able to locate the whipping cream for her at the grocery store - an item she asked me to pick up for her before I arrived. I am terrible in a grocery store. I might as well be trying to find my way inside a twisty, mystery maze.
But I digress. Again, constantly, amazingly, freque- okay. Yes. Ahem. ANYWAY, I was a bit persnickety when I arrived. It was a mood I did not want to subject Sharon to, so I tried to release it. No such luck. Things tend to "stick" with me, though I'm working on that. So, we began our session. After unloading how frustrated I was that my life was not where I wanted it to be, she finally took her notebook and made two columns - one of which was "What I did." The other half was "What I didn't do." The "What I did" column had a great deal many more little dots that Sharon had poked on the page than the other. Yet "You're living over HERE [the "What I did not do" column], Tina!" was her admonishment. And there it was: a bit unscientific, yes, but accurate nonetheless: overall, I was busy doing what is so easy for we humans to do: I was focusing on the negative aspects of my life, basically. And feeling more than a little sorry for myself, I realized to my great chagrin.
So! What does this have to do with purpose? Nothing, directly. Indirectly, what I realized was that my frustration involved not finding my purpose, and moreover, not getting done in my life what I wanted to when I wanted to get it done was at the heart of my discontent. What is it that I currently want to accomplish? Self-mastery, in short.
Yes, your eyes are doing fine. I did indeed say, "Self-mastery." I didn't say it made sense - because it doesn't. Attempting to achieve what takes Japanese warriors (in practice) and other great persons in our world a lifetime to achieve in a few short months, well, indicates, dare I say it: insanity. But I know I'm not insane b/c I can surmise if I am or not. That's one area where "I think [I'm insane], therefore I am," doesn't apply - don't you think? I do. I have to.
Yes, indeed, I have been impatient with my self-improvement plans. When I want something badly, I usually go after it at full speed - yet with this, I have been dragging my feet in some areas (another area of frustration). But Sharon told me that by focusing on the positive in my life, not only would that sooner or later help propel me onto the next level of my work, but it would attract more positive energy into my life. Fair enough. And true enough.
I realized that I had committed an impertinent blasphemy: I had in one sweeping motion cast aside from my mind all the incredible ways in which God has blessed me in my life. For instance, I have access to wonderful warm water when I take a shower; I live in an exciting and fun, albeit sometimes overwhelming, city; I have an awesome Chinese roommate from whom I am learning, everrrr-so-slowly, Mandarin (I encourage and cheer myself on with the belief that, never fear: by the time I'm about...oh, 125 years old I should have a solid-enough knowledge of the words that would get me directions to the nearest bathroom in China); I have a to-die-for family and terrific, loving relatives who, REALLY!, all like each other and actually desire to be with each other when occasions arise; I am alive; I can walk; I can talk; I can watch my favorite TV shows over and over again due to the brilliant invention of DVR (TiVo). See? Already there are a million blessings I enjoy, and I didn't even have to delve into amusement parks, fall leaves or Pez candy - all of which I adore, too - to think of them.
So! "Where is all this going, Tina?," you ask. The truth? I'm not exactly sure anymore. It's late and the monitor screen is getting brighter by the second - a sure indicator that my eyes are tired. But I was emboldened and inspired to get my ramblings down. Whether or not they're coherent enough for me to not be embarrassed tomorrow is another story. But overall, you get my drift, no? Basically, I am working on improving myself and my life, and I want it done NOW. And I'm a perfectionist to the core. Like I said, it doesn't make sense. But when you're unsure of your true purpose - the exact, so-perfect-you-can-recite-it-at-a-moment's-notice mission you have here on this earth, well, it makes you want to run to the therapy/lemonade-look-alike stand that Snoopy tends to find out. And find the nickel with which to pay him.
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