It's Pull It Together, P Day at my house. I'm not sure 1 day is enough, so thankfully tomorrow is Sunday. My shiz scatters to the 4 winds so easily, so regularly. I don't know where anything is. C is patient, but last night, while cursing everything solid as I hunted for lost things (things I needed in order to complete a project I should have finished at least 4 months ago), I realized my mess had kind of buried him, too. I don't understand exactly how my piles get so disorderly; they just do. I am some kind of human hurricane, bumbling bermuda triangle, two-legged typhoon. I am, from time-to-time, a natural disaster. At least I'm nice. And I make good cheesecake.
Surprisingly, I'm really good at setting up organizational systems. I even like doing it. I have color-coded files at work and a "directory" indicating what goes in each color. I don't actually put anything in those files, however. The intended contents are dog-earred and busting out of off-colored folders on my desk.
Yesterday I had lunch with Katie MacDaddy (who isn't "MacDaddy" anymore, but I can't let go), and we discussed our dual personalities -- that likely everyone has multiple personalities; it only becomes disorderly if they start talking with accents and making important life decisions. For instance, I house both an introvert and an extrovert. Sometimes my introvert wakes up and finds that the extrovert has abandoned our person in the middle of a party. That's bad news. Sometimes my anal retentive librarian takes over the wheel to discover that the Bohemian Baton Twirler has filled all the labeled accordion files with leaves and doodles during her shift.
I see a cobweb by the TV. Gross.
And so, today, on local (very local) Pull It Together, P Day I will dig through my crap and organize my crap, and find my lost crap, and throw out some old crap, and crap like that, so that C will not be tempted to go out and find himself a nice, tidy librarian.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
pants.
I'm in Sioux City. I had raw onions on my salad tonight. Bad choice. I wish I'd brought a book; I feel mindless--like my brain is drooling on itself and short-wiring. I brought work, but I don't have the focus to do it. I don't work well in the evenings. Intellectual fatigue. At a certain point every day, I'm done, all finished, zeroed out. I get up at 4:30 a.m. to run around and lift things in repetitive patterns; I expire early. Is this age? I remember "all-nighters" when I was 20. I don't think I could pull an all-nighter if I tried. I would need invasive surgery to keep my eyes open that long.
I dressed badly today. Some days I'd like a redo. Relatedly, I lost a pair of pants. Not today. I don't know when I lost them--a couple of months ago, maybe. I also don't know how I lost them. I don't take my pants off in strange places, so where could they possibly be? I could see losing a pair of socks. But pants? No. Pants seem like something you'd keep track of.
This morning I was running late, and I pulled up to a red light behind another car. I was turning right. The car in front of me was not turning right. It was a long light, and I noticed how mad I was that the Toyota in front of me was not turning right. Who goes straight at red lights? Ridiculous. We could have been moving by then--right on red, let's go! Then, I thought, that's a pretty funny thing to be mad about. So I let it go. Then the light turned green, and the Toyota…. turned right.
I dressed badly today. Some days I'd like a redo. Relatedly, I lost a pair of pants. Not today. I don't know when I lost them--a couple of months ago, maybe. I also don't know how I lost them. I don't take my pants off in strange places, so where could they possibly be? I could see losing a pair of socks. But pants? No. Pants seem like something you'd keep track of.
This morning I was running late, and I pulled up to a red light behind another car. I was turning right. The car in front of me was not turning right. It was a long light, and I noticed how mad I was that the Toyota in front of me was not turning right. Who goes straight at red lights? Ridiculous. We could have been moving by then--right on red, let's go! Then, I thought, that's a pretty funny thing to be mad about. So I let it go. Then the light turned green, and the Toyota…. turned right.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
starchy pellets
I'm hungry.
The house is a pit.
Bills are stacked.
I hate the tedium of paying them (stamps and envelopes and logging into accounts and looking up amounts and… gah, just shoot me right in the soul.)
And my guitar needs restringing.
(Because I busted my very first string, which made me feel kind of badass until I told C and he made fun of me for thinking that was badass.)
The printer has stopped communicating with my laptop again.
I don't know why these 2 fuss so much.
And I need to trim and install some fancy new insoles for my running shoes.
Because my back and knees hurt.
I don't know why they fuss so much, either.
The dishwasher is busted.
I've been eating horribly.
And my workout routine is all zoinked up.
My body is complaining (and getting mushy).
More travel this week.
And the week after.
And then that weekend.
And the weekend after that one.
And then it's Christmas.
I'll like that.
I love cookies and cider.
Also, my family is awesome.
C and I haven't seen much of each other since our vacation in October.
Last night we went to dinner.
It felt like a first date, like we needed to reintroduce ourselves and talk about the weather.
Until C started talking about music and music theory and how much he loves guitar.
I like it when C talks about music.
It wakes up his inner-mystic.
Inner-mystics are my favorites (My guess is we all have one. But we get embarrassed when they do the talking.).
I think if we let our inner-mystics steer our big dumb ships, we'd be happier.
We'd be weirder.
But we'd be happier.
I just listed a lot of complaints.
My complaints always make me feel self-conscious and apologetic, because they are about such small things.
My grievances are small potatoes.
Tiny potatoes.
They are basically little birdseed-sized starchy pellets.
It's ridiculous to have them.
But I do.
I feel tired and rushed.
I was built for leisure.
I know this about myself--that I was designed for solitary wandering and musing.
So when I don't have time to solitarily wander and muse, my soul gets sick.
This week, someone gave me an assignment, and I almost cried.
Literally.
I had to quick smile and make a joke so that I wouldn't cry.
I cry when I feel stress-bally.
It's embarrassing.
I cried at the gym once.
It was pretty lame.
The house is a pit.
Bills are stacked.
I hate the tedium of paying them (stamps and envelopes and logging into accounts and looking up amounts and… gah, just shoot me right in the soul.)
And my guitar needs restringing.
(Because I busted my very first string, which made me feel kind of badass until I told C and he made fun of me for thinking that was badass.)
The printer has stopped communicating with my laptop again.
I don't know why these 2 fuss so much.
And I need to trim and install some fancy new insoles for my running shoes.
Because my back and knees hurt.
I don't know why they fuss so much, either.
The dishwasher is busted.
I've been eating horribly.
And my workout routine is all zoinked up.
My body is complaining (and getting mushy).
More travel this week.
And the week after.
And then that weekend.
And the weekend after that one.
And then it's Christmas.
I'll like that.
I love cookies and cider.
Also, my family is awesome.
C and I haven't seen much of each other since our vacation in October.
Last night we went to dinner.
It felt like a first date, like we needed to reintroduce ourselves and talk about the weather.
Until C started talking about music and music theory and how much he loves guitar.
I like it when C talks about music.
It wakes up his inner-mystic.
Inner-mystics are my favorites (My guess is we all have one. But we get embarrassed when they do the talking.).
I think if we let our inner-mystics steer our big dumb ships, we'd be happier.
We'd be weirder.
But we'd be happier.
I just listed a lot of complaints.
My complaints always make me feel self-conscious and apologetic, because they are about such small things.
My grievances are small potatoes.
Tiny potatoes.
They are basically little birdseed-sized starchy pellets.
It's ridiculous to have them.
But I do.
I feel tired and rushed.
I was built for leisure.
I know this about myself--that I was designed for solitary wandering and musing.
So when I don't have time to solitarily wander and muse, my soul gets sick.
This week, someone gave me an assignment, and I almost cried.
Literally.
I had to quick smile and make a joke so that I wouldn't cry.
I cry when I feel stress-bally.
It's embarrassing.
I cried at the gym once.
It was pretty lame.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
undershorts and mortar attacks: a veteran's story
My dad, Paul, enlisted in the Army in the late 60s. He led convoys through Vietnam. I think that's right. I know "muleskinner" and "48th Transport" are significant to him, although I don't know exactly what they mean. My dad didn't talk about his experiences in Vietnam until much later. I don't remember hearing stories until high school in the late 80s. (Maybe he talked about it sooner, and I just wasn't paying attention, but I don't think so.). Here is one of my favorite stories:
Fresh on the ground, my dad was awoken early one morning to sirens for an air attack. He heard doors slamming and men yelling and running. He yelled to his hooch buddy, a guy named John from California, "John! Here we go!" John's response: "Zzzzzzzzzzzz."
My dad grabbed his flak jacket and a steel pot, crawled into the fetal position under the bunk, and wondered what in the hell he was doing there. John slept peacefully until the all clear signal. When the rest returned, my dad learned that no, running to the bunker was NOT just a suggestion; and no, hiding under your bunk in your underpants was NOT okay. "From that point on, I ran like hell."
They were bombed again two days later while my dad was standing in his skivvies at the piss tube. The sirens went off, and he cleared the 40 yards between the tube and the bunker in approximately 3 steps. "I didn't have to pee anymore. I'll tell you that," he said.
For the rest of his time in Vietnam it would seem that "every time they tried to blow us up, I was in my skivvies." I forgot to ask if John ever stopped sleeping through mortar attacks.
I love my dad a lot. I've said this before about my parents--the strangeness of suddenly realizing they are actual PEOPLE who existed before me, who experienced things outside of parenting me. It's strange to think of my dad as some scrawny young 20-something hiding from bombs under a bunk bed. Charming almost, if I am allowed to say something so naive about war. It's strange to know there is so much I don't know about his time there and how that's shaped his life. He has said on more than one occasion that he can't not notice small things--trained to pick out inconsistencies in others dress or speech or behavior. I know he feels deep respect for the new generation of veterans.
He was in the car listening to the radio in 1990 when they announced F-15s taking off for Saudi Arabia at the start of Desert Storm. "The entire car filled with the smell of cordite. All I could smell was cordite. It was the weirdest experience, and it never happened again."
Fresh on the ground, my dad was awoken early one morning to sirens for an air attack. He heard doors slamming and men yelling and running. He yelled to his hooch buddy, a guy named John from California, "John! Here we go!" John's response: "Zzzzzzzzzzzz."
My dad grabbed his flak jacket and a steel pot, crawled into the fetal position under the bunk, and wondered what in the hell he was doing there. John slept peacefully until the all clear signal. When the rest returned, my dad learned that no, running to the bunker was NOT just a suggestion; and no, hiding under your bunk in your underpants was NOT okay. "From that point on, I ran like hell."
They were bombed again two days later while my dad was standing in his skivvies at the piss tube. The sirens went off, and he cleared the 40 yards between the tube and the bunker in approximately 3 steps. "I didn't have to pee anymore. I'll tell you that," he said.
For the rest of his time in Vietnam it would seem that "every time they tried to blow us up, I was in my skivvies." I forgot to ask if John ever stopped sleeping through mortar attacks.
I love my dad a lot. I've said this before about my parents--the strangeness of suddenly realizing they are actual PEOPLE who existed before me, who experienced things outside of parenting me. It's strange to think of my dad as some scrawny young 20-something hiding from bombs under a bunk bed. Charming almost, if I am allowed to say something so naive about war. It's strange to know there is so much I don't know about his time there and how that's shaped his life. He has said on more than one occasion that he can't not notice small things--trained to pick out inconsistencies in others dress or speech or behavior. I know he feels deep respect for the new generation of veterans.
He was in the car listening to the radio in 1990 when they announced F-15s taking off for Saudi Arabia at the start of Desert Storm. "The entire car filled with the smell of cordite. All I could smell was cordite. It was the weirdest experience, and it never happened again."
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Solitaire Games
Today I am reminded of two games I like to play with myself:
1) The Hibernator
…wherein, I hover over several literal and figurative delete buttons. Delete facebook. Delete blog. Delete emails 1-76. Delete my social calendar. Delete ambitions. Delete plans. Tell everyone, "Nevermind." Delete delete delete. Reduce my life to: gym, work, home, self, sleep.
It happens around the same time--this time--every year. Whether it's cooling temperatures or overwhelmption, I don't know, but something triggers my introversion, and I find myself blushing from overexposure and lunging for caves.
2) Do I Have a Right To?
…wherein, I fall into various levels of sour mood-itis and then debate whether or not I have a right to. Do I have a right to feel irritable when people in the world are starving? Do I have a right to get mad about relatively small bits when the world is riddled with gross civil injustice? Do I have a right to feel blue when I have no overt reason? Do I have a right to feel tired and overwhelmed at my desk job when bomb squads are tiptoeing around the desert?
Because I really like the idea of accepting the full gamut of humanity, which includes sour moods, irritation, fatigue, and bouts of overwhelmption. I don't want to put any more pressure on myself to be perfect than I would on any other person. I really hate the word "should." I really do. I think it's a loaded and destructive word, and I don't like it. Every time I hear it--including from my own mouth--I wince.
But I also really like the idea of always trying to be better, to relax, to keep a healthy sense of priorities, to identify my weaknesses and work to improve. How much improvement is enough? How much improvement is an unrealistic demand for perfection and repression?
Scorekeeping for this game is particularly difficult.
1) The Hibernator
…wherein, I hover over several literal and figurative delete buttons. Delete facebook. Delete blog. Delete emails 1-76. Delete my social calendar. Delete ambitions. Delete plans. Tell everyone, "Nevermind." Delete delete delete. Reduce my life to: gym, work, home, self, sleep.
It happens around the same time--this time--every year. Whether it's cooling temperatures or overwhelmption, I don't know, but something triggers my introversion, and I find myself blushing from overexposure and lunging for caves.
2) Do I Have a Right To?
…wherein, I fall into various levels of sour mood-itis and then debate whether or not I have a right to. Do I have a right to feel irritable when people in the world are starving? Do I have a right to get mad about relatively small bits when the world is riddled with gross civil injustice? Do I have a right to feel blue when I have no overt reason? Do I have a right to feel tired and overwhelmed at my desk job when bomb squads are tiptoeing around the desert?
Because I really like the idea of accepting the full gamut of humanity, which includes sour moods, irritation, fatigue, and bouts of overwhelmption. I don't want to put any more pressure on myself to be perfect than I would on any other person. I really hate the word "should." I really do. I think it's a loaded and destructive word, and I don't like it. Every time I hear it--including from my own mouth--I wince.
But I also really like the idea of always trying to be better, to relax, to keep a healthy sense of priorities, to identify my weaknesses and work to improve. How much improvement is enough? How much improvement is an unrealistic demand for perfection and repression?
Scorekeeping for this game is particularly difficult.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Dear Mr. Branstad,
I feel kind of crummy today. And disappointed. I feel disappointed for a few reasons:
a. I don't like the way our election turned out.
b. I don't like how hard it is to be compassionate and kind when in disagreement.
c. I don't like it when I fail to be compassionate and kind when I disagree.
I want to explain all the reasons for (a), but I get very… desperate… about it, and then it triggers my breathing problem. So instead, I will just write a letter.
Dear Mr. Branstad (or do I call you "Governor?" You aren't yet. But you were once, already.),
I don't care what political party you claim. I really don't. I hope that you don't really care what political party you claim, either. That is, I hope you adopt ideas and policies because they make sense and are respectful to all of humankind. I just have a few requests, and I hope you will consider them, because I'm not very special or unique, and I think a lot of people might have similar requests.
1. Please make decisions that preserve the dignity of all people. We don't always make the best decisions when left to our own devices. Please use government wisely to this end.
2. Please examine our systems and ensure that they foster environments of kindness and compassion and respect.
3. Please recognize the serious and widespread damage that fragmentation and separation cause. And then please look for the ways we subtly fragment and separate. Sometimes we don't even notice we're doing it.
4. Please work to unify and integrate. (See #3.)
5. Please examine and take care of your soul, because your soul is connected to my soul and the souls of everyone I know and everyone I don't know, through an intricate web of spiritual energy.
6. Please don't think I'm weird for saying that.
7. Please recognize how physical health impacts mental and emotional health and how all three impact the practical workings of our society (For example, my neighbors could use better nutrition and resources to prevent chronic illnesses that stress them out, trigger mental illness, diminish their commitment to education, reduce their income earning capacity, and push them to beat on their kids who in turn learn how to beat on their own kids and get stressed out and trigger mental illness and diminish… You get the idea.)
8. When you examine the state employee systems of discipline, performance, and layoffs, please recognize those of us who work really hard and do a good job, and then protect us. Please don't let people who've been skating by on the minimum bump me out of my job just because they've been kept around longer.
9. Please love and respect Mama Earth. She's my mama, too, and I adore her. She works so hard for us.
10. Please continue to recognize my gay friends' rights to love, cherish, honor, respect, and support one another through the covenant of marriage. (Please see requests #1-5.)
11. Please value arts and creativity in school so that our kids will grow up to be good, kind, heartfelt people.
12. Please take care of those judges who lost their jobs. They worked hard and did what they thought was right, just like a lot of us who work hard and do what we think is right. They are good people.
13. Please be a visionary. And, if you aren't a visionary, please keep one close by.
Thank you for considering these requests. Even though I didn't vote for you, I really want you to do a good job. I think if you do a good job, the world might be better. I really want the world to be better.
Good luck, and let me know if you need some help.
Sincerely,
Patresa
a. I don't like the way our election turned out.
b. I don't like how hard it is to be compassionate and kind when in disagreement.
c. I don't like it when I fail to be compassionate and kind when I disagree.
I want to explain all the reasons for (a), but I get very… desperate… about it, and then it triggers my breathing problem. So instead, I will just write a letter.
Dear Mr. Branstad (or do I call you "Governor?" You aren't yet. But you were once, already.),
I don't care what political party you claim. I really don't. I hope that you don't really care what political party you claim, either. That is, I hope you adopt ideas and policies because they make sense and are respectful to all of humankind. I just have a few requests, and I hope you will consider them, because I'm not very special or unique, and I think a lot of people might have similar requests.
1. Please make decisions that preserve the dignity of all people. We don't always make the best decisions when left to our own devices. Please use government wisely to this end.
2. Please examine our systems and ensure that they foster environments of kindness and compassion and respect.
3. Please recognize the serious and widespread damage that fragmentation and separation cause. And then please look for the ways we subtly fragment and separate. Sometimes we don't even notice we're doing it.
4. Please work to unify and integrate. (See #3.)
5. Please examine and take care of your soul, because your soul is connected to my soul and the souls of everyone I know and everyone I don't know, through an intricate web of spiritual energy.
6. Please don't think I'm weird for saying that.
7. Please recognize how physical health impacts mental and emotional health and how all three impact the practical workings of our society (For example, my neighbors could use better nutrition and resources to prevent chronic illnesses that stress them out, trigger mental illness, diminish their commitment to education, reduce their income earning capacity, and push them to beat on their kids who in turn learn how to beat on their own kids and get stressed out and trigger mental illness and diminish… You get the idea.)
8. When you examine the state employee systems of discipline, performance, and layoffs, please recognize those of us who work really hard and do a good job, and then protect us. Please don't let people who've been skating by on the minimum bump me out of my job just because they've been kept around longer.
9. Please love and respect Mama Earth. She's my mama, too, and I adore her. She works so hard for us.
10. Please continue to recognize my gay friends' rights to love, cherish, honor, respect, and support one another through the covenant of marriage. (Please see requests #1-5.)
11. Please value arts and creativity in school so that our kids will grow up to be good, kind, heartfelt people.
12. Please take care of those judges who lost their jobs. They worked hard and did what they thought was right, just like a lot of us who work hard and do what we think is right. They are good people.
13. Please be a visionary. And, if you aren't a visionary, please keep one close by.
Thank you for considering these requests. Even though I didn't vote for you, I really want you to do a good job. I think if you do a good job, the world might be better. I really want the world to be better.
Good luck, and let me know if you need some help.
Sincerely,
Patresa
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