but my cats handily helped me escape so blissful a fate by arriving promptly at 601 am. henry had his new kitty toy, a shiny fish with a tiny, tiny rattle and string, and shiva had her rumbling purr. both of which required me to fulfill their early morning agendas.
shiva's included half a can of wet cat food. blech.
henry's included playing fetch with his new fishy, but in true cat fashion, returning the fishy to about five feet away from me, and then yowling pitifully when said toy was not hurled again for him to race after immediately.
*sigh*
my life isn't ruled by my cats, mind you. i got up and played and fed and then went back to bed for an hour, during which i had a bizarre dream about being ferried around new york by my cousin therese, only the version of therese was from years ago, pre hubby and kids and job, etc. my mom and dad and i were packed into her car and she was navigating these side streets i'd never seen in new york -- broad avenues, with bright, cream colored pavement and lots of wide staircases that led to the base of a skyscraper, where there was a large wooden door that lead to therese's apartment--clean and modern, lots of light, and overlooking what my mind said was central park.
i woke up because my left hand was mashed under my face, and tingling painfully as blood rushed back into it.
then i was wide awake, and it wasn't even 9 am yet.
lucky for me, catland beckoned again, this time in the form of "cleanup in aisle five," where henry had kindly cleaned his cute little ass on our living room carpeting, and shiva had graciously tossed her cookies (wondertwin powers unite: form of--HAIRBALL!). so out with the steam cleaner and away with stain.
there are days when i wish my life was more glamorous than this. days when i dream of flitting about in magically pain-free high heels, with perfect, smudge free mascara lashes batting confidently and a handbag that is in fashsion. i don't even have kids, or a good excuse, for why i don't have that fabulous dream--i just don't feel like keeping up with the world enough to do so. it seems a waste of perfectly good time.
the other glamorous dream is not really glamorous at all. it involves a house with a backyard, and time to bake muffins and read whatever i like all day long. this dream is much more dear to me, i believe, than that of socialite with runway-ready figure, mostly because it seems a tad more accessible.
and then i wake up to the jingle of cat-toy and am reminded that i have a house and cats and time today to fulfill part of the more-accessible dream. well, portions of the dream. which for now, will need to be enough. in lieu of sleeping, at least, until three.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
pass or fail
the other day while driving to work i had an epiphany. it wasn't one of those "world peace" or "end hunger" epiphanies--not anything so large as that. it was about the way in which i view my life, and the terms i find to describe it in my own little epic movie that's recording constantly in my head.
anyway i was sitting in traffic, which was moving slowly for reasons unknown to man--i like to think that it's because the sun rising over the minnesota river valley is so stunning that people have to pause and appreciate it, but in truth i'm sure it was because of a car that was stopped and empty on the opposite side of the highway. sometimes i'm glad that everyone goes slowly over the bridge because it allows me the time to stop and see the pretty, as well as the eagles and herons that float over the bridge.
so i'm sitting there listening to the defrosters pump hot air into the car and the guys on the radio share stories about their worst blunt-object-to-nutsack tales when it comes to me that i've done a lot of writing but haven't got a thing published.
i've done a lot of writing, since it's the one thing that i enjoy as an outlet for all the invisible stuff bumping around in my mind. poetry, stories, novel-length stuff. one weekend i finished the ump-teenth romance novel and thought, i could write one of these.
so i sat down and wrote 100 single-spaced pages. i'm reasonably sure that it could be published. but it's not up to my standards. what standards those are, i can't quite explain, because i really don't know that i have standards until i read something that runs into my Standard Wall.
i thought about how when i was a kid my dad would tempt me with ten bucks if i wrote a story and he could read it. i never wrote anything that i thought dad would like, and thus, there has never been the ten dollar payment.
usually when i think about my writing i think of all my attempts as failures. i've written the same opening to the same story about fifty times, give or take, but none of them develops further than a certain point at which i lose interest and feel that a re-write is in order.
generally, when i do this, i save what i've written, because you just never know when something might lead your sentences forward, and the rest of the story could tumble out onto my computer monitor.
the night before my epiphany, i'd opened the folder in which all my random writings are saved and remember the thought that crossed my mind: look at all the failure.
sitting on the bridge, however, i decided that perhaps i needed to change the way in which i viewed that folder of what i usually term "junk."
instead of failure, i needed to see practice.
julia child, i'm fairly sure, had some misfires in the kitchen and some inedible objects before she started to get the hang of things. da vinci had artwork that didn't actually work, and i'm sure that robert jarvik, inventor of the artificial heart, didn't dream it up in one sitting and have everything function.
trial and error--that is the way you learn. for such a long time now i've thought of my written word as error, and not only error, but failure. i feel that i have failed to be published, which must disappoint my dad, my friends, the rest of my family. their dreams of me as a published author--based on all the stuff i scribbled as a child--have not come to fruition.
and that is what leads me to consider my works as failed, instead of practice runs.
in the car that morning, cursing other drivers and watching the clock tick along while i sat there cursing, it occurred to me that if i changed my viewpoint, i could change the way i felt.
the same thing is true of so many things in life. i see things as insurmountable, but i do not take the steps necessary to change them, and why? because i leap to the conclusion that i will fail, instead of seeing it as a chance to better or even just a chance to practice.
i have to play it as it lays, as joan didion writes.
life is pain, life is joy, life is practice. if i try to meld it around my own thoughts of whether i have passed or failed, nothing will look correct, and everything will be skewed.
anyway i was sitting in traffic, which was moving slowly for reasons unknown to man--i like to think that it's because the sun rising over the minnesota river valley is so stunning that people have to pause and appreciate it, but in truth i'm sure it was because of a car that was stopped and empty on the opposite side of the highway. sometimes i'm glad that everyone goes slowly over the bridge because it allows me the time to stop and see the pretty, as well as the eagles and herons that float over the bridge.
so i'm sitting there listening to the defrosters pump hot air into the car and the guys on the radio share stories about their worst blunt-object-to-nutsack tales when it comes to me that i've done a lot of writing but haven't got a thing published.
i've done a lot of writing, since it's the one thing that i enjoy as an outlet for all the invisible stuff bumping around in my mind. poetry, stories, novel-length stuff. one weekend i finished the ump-teenth romance novel and thought, i could write one of these.
so i sat down and wrote 100 single-spaced pages. i'm reasonably sure that it could be published. but it's not up to my standards. what standards those are, i can't quite explain, because i really don't know that i have standards until i read something that runs into my Standard Wall.
i thought about how when i was a kid my dad would tempt me with ten bucks if i wrote a story and he could read it. i never wrote anything that i thought dad would like, and thus, there has never been the ten dollar payment.
usually when i think about my writing i think of all my attempts as failures. i've written the same opening to the same story about fifty times, give or take, but none of them develops further than a certain point at which i lose interest and feel that a re-write is in order.
generally, when i do this, i save what i've written, because you just never know when something might lead your sentences forward, and the rest of the story could tumble out onto my computer monitor.
the night before my epiphany, i'd opened the folder in which all my random writings are saved and remember the thought that crossed my mind: look at all the failure.
sitting on the bridge, however, i decided that perhaps i needed to change the way in which i viewed that folder of what i usually term "junk."
instead of failure, i needed to see practice.
julia child, i'm fairly sure, had some misfires in the kitchen and some inedible objects before she started to get the hang of things. da vinci had artwork that didn't actually work, and i'm sure that robert jarvik, inventor of the artificial heart, didn't dream it up in one sitting and have everything function.
trial and error--that is the way you learn. for such a long time now i've thought of my written word as error, and not only error, but failure. i feel that i have failed to be published, which must disappoint my dad, my friends, the rest of my family. their dreams of me as a published author--based on all the stuff i scribbled as a child--have not come to fruition.
and that is what leads me to consider my works as failed, instead of practice runs.
in the car that morning, cursing other drivers and watching the clock tick along while i sat there cursing, it occurred to me that if i changed my viewpoint, i could change the way i felt.
the same thing is true of so many things in life. i see things as insurmountable, but i do not take the steps necessary to change them, and why? because i leap to the conclusion that i will fail, instead of seeing it as a chance to better or even just a chance to practice.
i have to play it as it lays, as joan didion writes.
life is pain, life is joy, life is practice. if i try to meld it around my own thoughts of whether i have passed or failed, nothing will look correct, and everything will be skewed.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
the hermit's reluctance
the hermit watched "ratatouille" last night, quite amusing. i say "the hermit" because that's somewhat how i've felt again lately. tonight i am supposed to be at a surprise birthday party for an ex-coworker but i feel like sticking my head in the proverbial sand again.
it comes and goes, you know, the healthy level of sociability. perhaps it's part and parcel of my mental cocktail--all that crap that's written on my diagnosis sheets. more often than not i think that it's due to my job, and that i really ought to start looking for a different job, but then apathy sets in and i think about all the effort and whatnot, and i conclude that nothing's going to change.
there's a line in an anna nalick song: can't jump the tracks/we're like cars on a cable/and life's like an hourglass/glued to the table.
i think that about sums it up.
***
yesterday we had an 8 pm visit from our internet provider's service guy. nice fellow, i think his name was luke. anyway luke replaced our modem, which has been crapping out now and then for ages. while he was standing here he noticed that we had some world of warcrack paraphenalia sitting about, and noted that he's also a player. he's got a level 70 warlock.
strangely enough, so does dan. later i commented that it was a small world, and how odd that the repairman played.
"nine million people play, hon," he reminded me. "i guess i'm not that surprised."
everywhere, i am reminded, is a crowd. everywhere there are people, waiting in groups or by themselves, wherever i go. there is not any place on this planet where you are entirely alone. when you're born, usually you're in a hospital, and certainly people do not spawn spontaneously--there is another person bringing you into the world.
even in death, even buried, you are not alone--i think of graveyards filled with tooth-shaped stones, granite angels, lettering tapped out carefully.
which is probably a good thing, really. humans are social animals; we're genetically constructed to face each other and communicate. it just happens once in a while that the inner hermit comes out, at least in some of us, and we feel the absurd need to hide.
i suppose it must be attached to the fight or flight switch in our brains. either we wish to face our adversary--friends, shopping, the hungry face of my cat--or we want to run away, and avoid whatever those things are.
why would i feel the need to avoid? why is it that there are some days i long for hermitage, a cave in the mountains, a living tomb?
they say that the fear of snakes or spiders is generally not even learned--it's a basic genetic response, tempered with experience. i like snakes; it's bees and hornets that i cannot abide.
but friends--why would i avoid friends? i suppose it is the fear i have of becoming attached, only to lose that friend. and that cannot be boiled down to genetics; that is a purely emotional response, based on experience. i suppose it's all linked together, and if i pick it apart, i can see it for what it is: excuses.
***
often i react and simply go with that reaction, instead of pausing to question it. i can see where things stem from--my aversion to making new friends, or being in their company or the company of old friends. that whole melange springs from having friends live miles and miles away, as much as it does the whole not-sure-i-can-trust-friends thing that i am trying so hard to face and learn to live with.
in addition, i feel un-interesting, i feel blank, i feel meaningless. i'm not really working towards anything, and i'm certainly not moving in any direction.
and why? because taking that first step is so terrifying to me that i cannot move. i'm the fawn, frozen and scentless in the grass as the wolf stalks. and other days i feel like the wolf, stalking that self-same fawn.
it comes and goes, truly. i long for connection, but fear the price--the emotional price--that might be exacted. it's safe here, in my little realm of blankets and purring cats and books.
i've allowed myself to moulder away, and why? for what reason? because i am afraid of the possibly consequences? what if the consequences are only pleasant, and not something to fear? what then? i could die trying--trying anything, even just making contact with others--or die languishing, too scared to move.
more than one of my coworkers laugh when they hear my response to their panicked situation, but i'd do well to take my own advice. when they begin to shy away or show fear, my first response is always the same: you're six feet above ground. count yourself lucky, and keep trying.
it comes and goes, you know, the healthy level of sociability. perhaps it's part and parcel of my mental cocktail--all that crap that's written on my diagnosis sheets. more often than not i think that it's due to my job, and that i really ought to start looking for a different job, but then apathy sets in and i think about all the effort and whatnot, and i conclude that nothing's going to change.
there's a line in an anna nalick song: can't jump the tracks/we're like cars on a cable/and life's like an hourglass/glued to the table.
i think that about sums it up.
***
yesterday we had an 8 pm visit from our internet provider's service guy. nice fellow, i think his name was luke. anyway luke replaced our modem, which has been crapping out now and then for ages. while he was standing here he noticed that we had some world of warcrack paraphenalia sitting about, and noted that he's also a player. he's got a level 70 warlock.
strangely enough, so does dan. later i commented that it was a small world, and how odd that the repairman played.
"nine million people play, hon," he reminded me. "i guess i'm not that surprised."
everywhere, i am reminded, is a crowd. everywhere there are people, waiting in groups or by themselves, wherever i go. there is not any place on this planet where you are entirely alone. when you're born, usually you're in a hospital, and certainly people do not spawn spontaneously--there is another person bringing you into the world.
even in death, even buried, you are not alone--i think of graveyards filled with tooth-shaped stones, granite angels, lettering tapped out carefully.
which is probably a good thing, really. humans are social animals; we're genetically constructed to face each other and communicate. it just happens once in a while that the inner hermit comes out, at least in some of us, and we feel the absurd need to hide.
i suppose it must be attached to the fight or flight switch in our brains. either we wish to face our adversary--friends, shopping, the hungry face of my cat--or we want to run away, and avoid whatever those things are.
why would i feel the need to avoid? why is it that there are some days i long for hermitage, a cave in the mountains, a living tomb?
they say that the fear of snakes or spiders is generally not even learned--it's a basic genetic response, tempered with experience. i like snakes; it's bees and hornets that i cannot abide.
but friends--why would i avoid friends? i suppose it is the fear i have of becoming attached, only to lose that friend. and that cannot be boiled down to genetics; that is a purely emotional response, based on experience. i suppose it's all linked together, and if i pick it apart, i can see it for what it is: excuses.
***
often i react and simply go with that reaction, instead of pausing to question it. i can see where things stem from--my aversion to making new friends, or being in their company or the company of old friends. that whole melange springs from having friends live miles and miles away, as much as it does the whole not-sure-i-can-trust-friends thing that i am trying so hard to face and learn to live with.
in addition, i feel un-interesting, i feel blank, i feel meaningless. i'm not really working towards anything, and i'm certainly not moving in any direction.
and why? because taking that first step is so terrifying to me that i cannot move. i'm the fawn, frozen and scentless in the grass as the wolf stalks. and other days i feel like the wolf, stalking that self-same fawn.
it comes and goes, truly. i long for connection, but fear the price--the emotional price--that might be exacted. it's safe here, in my little realm of blankets and purring cats and books.
i've allowed myself to moulder away, and why? for what reason? because i am afraid of the possibly consequences? what if the consequences are only pleasant, and not something to fear? what then? i could die trying--trying anything, even just making contact with others--or die languishing, too scared to move.
more than one of my coworkers laugh when they hear my response to their panicked situation, but i'd do well to take my own advice. when they begin to shy away or show fear, my first response is always the same: you're six feet above ground. count yourself lucky, and keep trying.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
snow and other dreams
today it's finally snowing, and it's so lovely that unless i position myself in front of a window, i'll probably have whiplash by 2 pm--the patio doors are to my right and i keep looking over to ensure that yes, it is still snowing.
henry is watching things for me while i type; he's positioned in front of the doors, about a foot back, watching the snow fall, and people bundled in layers fumble through the wind to their cars.
i think this fall i have been sick more than i have any other year. it's been awful--random fevers, a cold that doesn't ever just get nasty but dabbles along in annoyance, and yesterday, the stomach flu, courtesy my beloved spousal equivalent. this last one happened so rapidly that i thought he had food poisoning, but then six hours later i was sick, too.
today i feel fine, but have that tender-tummy feeling that'll take a bit to go away.
anyway i was bummed about being sick for two reasons. the first was that i was supposed to do training on friday at work, and was actually very excited to do so. the second was that dan had made reservations tonight at a nice place, at which we would get to dress up a bit and go eat fancy food.
this morning we discussed it before he went to work and made the decision to cancel. i doubt either of us would have enjoyed the meal simply because in my mind at least, i'd be overly concerned about eating a ton of rich food when for the last 24 hours i've been subsisting on apple cider and peanut butter toast.
so the dressy night out will be postponed. but i suppose in the end, that just will allow me to spend more time enjoying the weather.
when i say that, i mean it honestly. i love living in minnesota, for the simple fact that it snows. in the summer, when all ten thousand lakes have moved from lake form to humidity, and you sweat just considering the movement of your eye lids, i could live elsewhere. but in the winter i'd live no where else.
(except perhaps new england, which seems to have gotten a ton of snow in the last few years...)
***
the sunday morning before thanksgiving i came downstairs to see that i'd missed a call from my dad, so i called back. mom answered; they were out having breakfast and had run into someone that looked familiar.
mom: hello dear.
me: hey mom, i saw dad called, what's up?
mom: well...we're at the ihop here in town and we ran into someone you used to live with.
me: what?
mom: someone you used to live with, in bemidji.
me: like a roommate?
mom: yes, that minister's daughter. i can't remember her name so we had to call.
me (hesitating): oh, you mean serena?
mom: yes! that's it!
me: yeah, we don't talk anymore.
mom: that's what i thought.
me: did she talk to you?
mom: no, she looked at us and i could see that she knew us, but she didn't say anything. so i went up to her.
me: (dead silence) what did she say?
mom: she's here visiting her brother and sister-in-law. they're having a baby. so you don't talk to her anymore?
me: well, honestly, she decided not to talk to us anymore.
mom: oh, well, i just couldn't remember her name. she's put on some weight, though...
(which is mom for: she's fat. but mom's too minnesotan and polite to just blurt that out.)
it was kind of surreal. i guess after that year happened and since then, i've tried to excise her from my life--which really didn't work at all. then i tried another tactic--accepting that she was in my life, and that now she is not in my life any more. which worked much better. since i've started thinking in that manner, i'm not such a nervous nelly when someone brings up her name. but that morning was still a reminder for me that i've got a ways to go.
dan and i discussed it later; he was surprised that mom would say anything but i wasn't. she wouldn't be my mother if she hadn't.
***
thanksgiving, by the by, was nice. it's always good to see dan's parents, and they're such a hoot to be around. they remind me so much of my mom's extended family that i always think that his uncle louie could be another member of her family.
which would be gross, considering my relationship with dan, but i think it just comes from living in northern mn for your whole life and never leaving. i'm sure that if my mom's entire family was french i'd feel the same way if i went to france, or something along those lines.
anyway it was good to see his family and their myriad animals, and it was just as good to get home, scrape and wash the smoke-smell from ourselves and our clothing, and see our own two fuzzy beasts, who chastised us with their big kitty eyes for having abandoned them for days at a time.
***
which brings me back to today, saturday. usually a day during which i'd have cleaned the whole house by now--just to get it done and out of the way. however i cleaned the kitchen, rested, rearranged the foyer, rested, blogged...and now it is time to get up again, and perhaps take a chance at rescuing my carpeting from cat hair.
which in itself is a pipe dream. (;
henry is watching things for me while i type; he's positioned in front of the doors, about a foot back, watching the snow fall, and people bundled in layers fumble through the wind to their cars.
i think this fall i have been sick more than i have any other year. it's been awful--random fevers, a cold that doesn't ever just get nasty but dabbles along in annoyance, and yesterday, the stomach flu, courtesy my beloved spousal equivalent. this last one happened so rapidly that i thought he had food poisoning, but then six hours later i was sick, too.
today i feel fine, but have that tender-tummy feeling that'll take a bit to go away.
anyway i was bummed about being sick for two reasons. the first was that i was supposed to do training on friday at work, and was actually very excited to do so. the second was that dan had made reservations tonight at a nice place, at which we would get to dress up a bit and go eat fancy food.
this morning we discussed it before he went to work and made the decision to cancel. i doubt either of us would have enjoyed the meal simply because in my mind at least, i'd be overly concerned about eating a ton of rich food when for the last 24 hours i've been subsisting on apple cider and peanut butter toast.
so the dressy night out will be postponed. but i suppose in the end, that just will allow me to spend more time enjoying the weather.
when i say that, i mean it honestly. i love living in minnesota, for the simple fact that it snows. in the summer, when all ten thousand lakes have moved from lake form to humidity, and you sweat just considering the movement of your eye lids, i could live elsewhere. but in the winter i'd live no where else.
(except perhaps new england, which seems to have gotten a ton of snow in the last few years...)
***
the sunday morning before thanksgiving i came downstairs to see that i'd missed a call from my dad, so i called back. mom answered; they were out having breakfast and had run into someone that looked familiar.
mom: hello dear.
me: hey mom, i saw dad called, what's up?
mom: well...we're at the ihop here in town and we ran into someone you used to live with.
me: what?
mom: someone you used to live with, in bemidji.
me: like a roommate?
mom: yes, that minister's daughter. i can't remember her name so we had to call.
me (hesitating): oh, you mean serena?
mom: yes! that's it!
me: yeah, we don't talk anymore.
mom: that's what i thought.
me: did she talk to you?
mom: no, she looked at us and i could see that she knew us, but she didn't say anything. so i went up to her.
me: (dead silence) what did she say?
mom: she's here visiting her brother and sister-in-law. they're having a baby. so you don't talk to her anymore?
me: well, honestly, she decided not to talk to us anymore.
mom: oh, well, i just couldn't remember her name. she's put on some weight, though...
(which is mom for: she's fat. but mom's too minnesotan and polite to just blurt that out.)
it was kind of surreal. i guess after that year happened and since then, i've tried to excise her from my life--which really didn't work at all. then i tried another tactic--accepting that she was in my life, and that now she is not in my life any more. which worked much better. since i've started thinking in that manner, i'm not such a nervous nelly when someone brings up her name. but that morning was still a reminder for me that i've got a ways to go.
dan and i discussed it later; he was surprised that mom would say anything but i wasn't. she wouldn't be my mother if she hadn't.
***
thanksgiving, by the by, was nice. it's always good to see dan's parents, and they're such a hoot to be around. they remind me so much of my mom's extended family that i always think that his uncle louie could be another member of her family.
which would be gross, considering my relationship with dan, but i think it just comes from living in northern mn for your whole life and never leaving. i'm sure that if my mom's entire family was french i'd feel the same way if i went to france, or something along those lines.
anyway it was good to see his family and their myriad animals, and it was just as good to get home, scrape and wash the smoke-smell from ourselves and our clothing, and see our own two fuzzy beasts, who chastised us with their big kitty eyes for having abandoned them for days at a time.
***
which brings me back to today, saturday. usually a day during which i'd have cleaned the whole house by now--just to get it done and out of the way. however i cleaned the kitchen, rested, rearranged the foyer, rested, blogged...and now it is time to get up again, and perhaps take a chance at rescuing my carpeting from cat hair.
which in itself is a pipe dream. (;
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