Sunday, August 9, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Overheard
Two guys on the sidewalk: "I think I found my calling. I'm going to be a power plant engineer."
Wow.
I didn't even know guys talked like that to eachother. Like they were in a midday commercial between Jerry Springer and Maury Povich offering certifications in a variety of fast growing industries. It was all I could do not to go back to them and say, "Really?"
Wow.
I didn't even know guys talked like that to eachother. Like they were in a midday commercial between Jerry Springer and Maury Povich offering certifications in a variety of fast growing industries. It was all I could do not to go back to them and say, "Really?"
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Freaking out; heartbreak stories
This post from The Optimistic Pessimist got me thinking about my injured pride/broken heart behavior over the years. The few folks who actually know me AND read this blog (hi best friend and goodgrace) know that my "relationship" history hardly qualifies me to have a lot to say about breakups and broken hearts unless we did a series on unrequited affection and history of going to formal dances in college with gay men. My relationship history otherwise consists of nursing impossible "secret" crushes on guys who aren't interested in me and a delightful assortment of Mr. Coffee's, Stairmaster's and Batman's that serve primarily as blog fodder. It makes celibacy effortless. Really.
So my one prized memory of me completely freaking out publicly over one of these guys instead of doing the usual brooding, bad poetry, and endless banal discussions with my girlfriends was over David. We were all in Brussels on a school trip. I don't remember having any interaction with him at all--perhaps that was why I was so disappointed. What I recall is crying, crying, and crying some more on the bus, on the ferry, in the bathroom on the ferry, in the movie theater in the ferry (The Brave Little Toaster was playing, a movie I still hate). I was miserable because this boy was never going to like me the same as I liked him. I was sad over many guys but I recall only ever crying over him. Not sure why. I think I just felt alone and was sad that I didn't have him in the way I really wanted. It likely wasn't about him at all but when I saw him, it represented everything I wanted that I couldn't have. I kept hoping he would see how good I was and choose me. We were friends, but he just didn't like me in "that way."
"That way" was always the issue. My crushes may have been "secret" but I always had some kind of relationship with the guys I liked because I date in reverse (which is why I don't date). I meet a guy, we become friends, and then I decide I really like him more than that. And I had a terrible habit in high school of eventually confessing my crushes to my crush in a heartfelt artfully folded note. A girlfriend of mine recently did something like that to some guy she worked with and I plainly told her that my observations and experiences had led me to the conclusion that if you find yourself writing a letter to a guy who isn't in prison, confessing your love and affection and hoping your letter will lead to his uncovering of feelings he's never expressed to you, it is not likely to end well. Especially since we are in our 30's and not our teens. And our lives don't even remotely resemble a romantic comedy or sitcom.
I would have done well if I had grown up in the 1940's and 50's. I would have been a swell girl to know, guys would court me properly, and I'd be married by the time I was 21. My husband would likely cheat on me and I would probably be on some kind of medication for my "nerves." It would be picture perfect.
So my one prized memory of me completely freaking out publicly over one of these guys instead of doing the usual brooding, bad poetry, and endless banal discussions with my girlfriends was over David. We were all in Brussels on a school trip. I don't remember having any interaction with him at all--perhaps that was why I was so disappointed. What I recall is crying, crying, and crying some more on the bus, on the ferry, in the bathroom on the ferry, in the movie theater in the ferry (The Brave Little Toaster was playing, a movie I still hate). I was miserable because this boy was never going to like me the same as I liked him. I was sad over many guys but I recall only ever crying over him. Not sure why. I think I just felt alone and was sad that I didn't have him in the way I really wanted. It likely wasn't about him at all but when I saw him, it represented everything I wanted that I couldn't have. I kept hoping he would see how good I was and choose me. We were friends, but he just didn't like me in "that way."
"That way" was always the issue. My crushes may have been "secret" but I always had some kind of relationship with the guys I liked because I date in reverse (which is why I don't date). I meet a guy, we become friends, and then I decide I really like him more than that. And I had a terrible habit in high school of eventually confessing my crushes to my crush in a heartfelt artfully folded note. A girlfriend of mine recently did something like that to some guy she worked with and I plainly told her that my observations and experiences had led me to the conclusion that if you find yourself writing a letter to a guy who isn't in prison, confessing your love and affection and hoping your letter will lead to his uncovering of feelings he's never expressed to you, it is not likely to end well. Especially since we are in our 30's and not our teens. And our lives don't even remotely resemble a romantic comedy or sitcom.
I would have done well if I had grown up in the 1940's and 50's. I would have been a swell girl to know, guys would court me properly, and I'd be married by the time I was 21. My husband would likely cheat on me and I would probably be on some kind of medication for my "nerves." It would be picture perfect.
High School
So I was watching a Target back to school commercial and I finally found something I miss about high school. How fun it was to dress. I cringe almost to the point of straining when I see the kind of stuff I wore but high school was all about clothes that created a persona. I wore a nightgown and boots to school once and thought it was the best thing ever. There is picture in my yearbook of me in an english bowler hat. I don't know how my parents weren't reduced to tears of laughter every morning when I went to school. I purposely bought a paisley scarf and wore it. I wore shorts in the winter. I should call my parents and tell them that I love them for purchasing those hideous clothes for me and allowing me to express myself in clothing that way. The point is that dressing isn't fun like that anymore. I don't recall ever thinking about how long I would have to walk when figuring out what shoes to wear or considering the weather at all. I just wanted to project a certain image. Nevermind the image was goofy, every fall was the fun of becoming something new.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Church
Bless my blasphemous heart, this made me laugh out loud. I knew I had to return to get a picture and finally remembered to bring my phone on our walk this evening.
Thunder
Few things are as exhilarating as getting caught in a real deal epic thunderstorm. One that treats an umbrella as a liability, floods the streets in moments, and produces chest tightening thunder claps. We took shelter in a parking garage and still had to move 20 feet in to stay dry which is relative when you are already soaked. But we're home now, my clothes are drying, the storm outside is subsiding, and I'm grateful for parking garages, dogs that aren't even a little bit afraid of thunderstorms, and the opportunity to experience that great storm in the company of others.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Addict
This morning I was looking out the window while waiting for my coffee and thinking of next weekend when one of my good friends will be coming to visit. The weekend will be a whirlwind of eating, walking, talking, and shopping. And then she will leave on Sunday and I'll return to the Ava show which has been suffering low ratings for quite some time now. There was a girl sitting across the street wearing a 'Save Darfur' t-shirt and a poster in Starbucks about a water pump installed in an African village both of which started the marbles rolling about getting absorbed into some cause to inject purpose, meaning, and new characters into my life.
What I'm looking for is an addiction. I'm looking for something to consume me, to be the thrust behind everything else. Something that holds my interest long enough for it to become a habit. In my 20's, my habit was church but there was something lonely in the way I practiced my faith. I never really felt as free as I think a relationship with Christ should have felt. I don't blame Jesus, nor have I abandoned my belief in God. Things are quite different between us now and if God was ever the center of my life to begin with and not just a shield I used so life couldn't touch me, He isn't now. So I'm looking for something or someone to give my life to. My friend's mom thinks all single people are doing the same. Maybe. It would be nice in many ways to be some other kind of person but as my friend Wendy would say, "When you are called to be a servant, don't stoop to be a King."
I think deep, deep, down, I'm an impulsive free spirit. That spirit flashes up everyday in some way. Sometimes I'll see a person and want to tell them that they are beautiful or I'll want to take a picture of them so they can see their loveliness. Sometimes I want to do a little happy dance with a good song on the ipod and sing the lyrics at passersby. Sometimes I want to burp loudly in the office or fart and make a big to do about how good it felt. Basically, all the stuff I do when I'm with my family. I want to be loved by someone who wasn't instrumental in the development of that crazy. I want to be with someone who feels like home. One can argue that I have to embrace myself before I can expect anyone else to but I really do not believe that is true. A different and longer discussion for another post perhaps.
It goes without saying that I routinely struggle with depression and I'm functional at those times only in the sense that I can manage to do those things that must be done but I have very little left over to do the things I would like to do. I have no sense of how anything really is, just that very little feels good and I want desperately to retreat. Which brings me to our videos; songs which don't glamorize drug use as much as they describe how well drugs meet the need to have an obsession, to have something to give your life over to that makes you feel good long enough for you to keep coming back. It's a shortcut, and an unhealthy, cruel one at that. Even though drugs can never love you back, I think I understand why it's so easy to love them and so hard to let go. Not my kind of thing but just another way some people try to find the home I think we're all looking for.
What I'm looking for is an addiction. I'm looking for something to consume me, to be the thrust behind everything else. Something that holds my interest long enough for it to become a habit. In my 20's, my habit was church but there was something lonely in the way I practiced my faith. I never really felt as free as I think a relationship with Christ should have felt. I don't blame Jesus, nor have I abandoned my belief in God. Things are quite different between us now and if God was ever the center of my life to begin with and not just a shield I used so life couldn't touch me, He isn't now. So I'm looking for something or someone to give my life to. My friend's mom thinks all single people are doing the same. Maybe. It would be nice in many ways to be some other kind of person but as my friend Wendy would say, "When you are called to be a servant, don't stoop to be a King."
I think deep, deep, down, I'm an impulsive free spirit. That spirit flashes up everyday in some way. Sometimes I'll see a person and want to tell them that they are beautiful or I'll want to take a picture of them so they can see their loveliness. Sometimes I want to do a little happy dance with a good song on the ipod and sing the lyrics at passersby. Sometimes I want to burp loudly in the office or fart and make a big to do about how good it felt. Basically, all the stuff I do when I'm with my family. I want to be loved by someone who wasn't instrumental in the development of that crazy. I want to be with someone who feels like home. One can argue that I have to embrace myself before I can expect anyone else to but I really do not believe that is true. A different and longer discussion for another post perhaps.
It goes without saying that I routinely struggle with depression and I'm functional at those times only in the sense that I can manage to do those things that must be done but I have very little left over to do the things I would like to do. I have no sense of how anything really is, just that very little feels good and I want desperately to retreat. Which brings me to our videos; songs which don't glamorize drug use as much as they describe how well drugs meet the need to have an obsession, to have something to give your life over to that makes you feel good long enough for you to keep coming back. It's a shortcut, and an unhealthy, cruel one at that. Even though drugs can never love you back, I think I understand why it's so easy to love them and so hard to let go. Not my kind of thing but just another way some people try to find the home I think we're all looking for.
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