Monthly Archives: February 2008
I don’t know why, but I’m worried about the coming (and it IS coming)recession. OK, so I know why, I’m afraid if I get laid off, I’ll never be able to pull myself onto my feet again. Recession is a scary word, and not all that far off from DE-pression.Gas prices are soaring, mortgage rates are getting so bad, they are putting people out of homes, we have rampant homelessness and people living off the welfare system. (Like my half sister) We have people not paying their fair share of taxes. We have a war going on that our descendants will be struggling to pay off.
Bush’s “plan” for stimulating the economy is, to be quite frank, rubbish. It is a steaming, stinking pile of political voter butt-kissing garbage. A check for $600? Nice, but I’d rather action be taken at the roots of the problem, rather than be given a
- Quality affordable housing for lower income people.
- A cheaper (and more environmentally friendly) source of fuel for our vehicles.
I’m sure there’s more ways to stimulate our economy, but I have neither the brains or time to offer up more suggestions. It’s time for me to write!
It’s time for me to achieve my dreams of being a writer, or fall on my fat face trying. I need to stop being such a wussie and follow the old Nike axiom and JUST DO IT. I must admit, I’m the Queen of Excuses. There is always something to keep me busy or a place I need to go to. Something always holds me back…and that is my fear of failure. Also, I seem to have a hard time finishing what I start—and that’s a more serious problem than the fear of failure.
As I sit here and attempt to analyze why I’m afraid of either failing or finishing what I’m working on, I recall incidents in my past. Ballet lessons, gymnastic lessons–my mom would sign me up for just a few then not bother to continue taking me to them. Why? I’m really not sure. Maybe (and this is the most likely reason) she got the first few at a discount then refused to pay full price when the deal was up.
Another reason is that I was a most clumsy child. (I grew into a slightly less clumsy adult.) I loved ballet, but fell on my tutu a lot. I mean a lot. Gymnastics? I was always too afraid of becoming one with the floor mat to really let go and just try my best–with good reason. I hurt my groin on the uneven bars*, landed on my stomach on the vault**, took out the teacher while doing cartwheels*** on the floor…I’m sure you get the idea.
Maybe all those experiences taught me was life leads to pain, thus becoming more reluctant to take chances.
Hm. The older I get, the more I realize a life led in caution is no life at all. I think it’s time to risk getting my groin smashed on the uneven bars of life–again.
Hey, I wasn’t planning on having kids anyway.
*I, in my finite wisdom, was trying to do a manuever I saw one of the older girls do.
**Luckily, I didn’t barf.
***That incident was fun to explain to Mom.
As you can probably tell, I’m back. It felt good to take some time off, to not feel the pressure of having to come up with a new and original post.
It doesn’t help that I’ve been working ungodly hours. I need a vacation, even if it’s just for a few days. Oh wait, I’ve got three days (and the weekend) off next week. I plan on doing some housecleaning, reading, WoW’ing and probably perousing the news, looking for some good articles to contemplate.
I’ll try not to think too much, as that particular activity seems to land me in trouble. Neurotic people are intelligent people, for the most part. Maybe too smart because our brains envision a hundred different scenarios for a given situation–and act crazy trying to figure the “proper” way to react. I try to remain calm in groups of people, but inwardly, I freak out.
It’s a thing I do. Can’t help it. I love myself anyway–for the most part.
Anyway, I’m back. Let the commenting begin. 🙂
Possibly for a week. Possibly for longer than that.
I think I’ve run out of what I’m willing to share, but I promise if I quit blogging, I’ll let you know. I just won’t disappear. (I always hate it when my favorite bloggers go poof!)
Let me leave you with this thought: Treasure all your loved ones. Don’t waste time with useless arguments. Seize the day and make the most of it. Laugh, cry and make the most out of every day. Don’t be a fusspot, don’t be a diva, just relax and go with the flow of life.
Whatever “it” was, I don’t think I have it anymore. Maybe it was the desire to write. Maybe it was just a passion to use my imagination. I don’t think I have “it” anymore. The muse for my creativity has always been a little “emo”, if you catch my drift. My writing has always been a reflection of deeply buried thoughts…it’s the only way for me to express them.
Well, as I am currently writing this post, I do have “it”–I take it back–but it is driving my writing to dark and dangerous places, where I will reveal a side of me that isn’t so sweet. One that is driven by anger and long held thoughts of revenge. Believe me, when I feel that anger swell up in me, I have to turn it off or I will end up hurting people I care about.
I repress those feelings for very, very good reasons. But it is almost like my subsconscious is trying to make me deal with that dark side of mine.
When I’m writing a scene with violence in it, I find myself holding back. I’ve been a victim of violence myself, albeit a different kind of violence, and I always am gnawed at by tendrils of guilt? Or shame? Whatever it is, I do hold myself back.
Maybe I’m scared of what I see.
*That’s my fave Nietzche quote. Trust me on this; the guy was an ass, but he had some good yet bitter insights on human nature.
Another year, another “no” valentine. It used to be depressing to have no sweetie to lavish my affection on, but now I know VD is just another holiday cooked up–or at least built up–by Hallmark. Still, a secret part of me that is all woman wants to be spoiled just a little.
Besides, real love doesn’t come in a box of chocolates, nor is it as flashy as a diamond necklace, but it is worth so much more.
(Don’t ask me how I know this as I’ve never been in wuv. It’s just something I know.)
Amanda looked at his portrait, the one that they had taken while vacationing in Bermuda. He had held her in his arms and the happiness they felt resonated in her even through the distance of time. It was more than happiness showing in the picture, though, it was apparent to anyone that they belonged together.
They fit. They were a perfect match. Their connection was hard to explain, yet it was simple. Uncomplicated.
She smiled and let that familiar warm feeling grow and spread through her, more intimate than his lover’s touch.
She touched the scar on her arm, the scar he had accidentally caused while fishing in Bermuda. The woman remembered the shock of the hook buried in her arm, she’d never recall how it got lodged there, and his beyond mortified expression. After getting some medical care and eight stitches –and a Vicodin later–she could laugh it off. It became a couple’s joke between them. He kept teasing her to their friends that he was lucky enough to “catch” her twice. She usually grinned and kissed him. Amanda felt that she was the fortunate one, truth be told. He loved her despite her neurosises and her crippling social phobia; it had been almost too much for her to go on her trip, but his love had seen her through.
The office space was decorated with his beautiful art; he did a wonderful job at sketching women. They were more realistically styled than the typical “t-n-a” drawings of the average artist. Some women were even “pleasingly” plumb.
Deep in her heart of heart, Amanda wished she were a superhero. Everything was so neat and clean in those comic books he liked to read and draw; she personally never got into them. Junk literature, was the term she coined for them.
TBC. So tired.
I’m doing a spin-off of Manuel’s 5 things that tick him off.
What am I calling it? Five People That Tick Me Off. I find that people make me mad more often than situations or things. Why? I guess it’s because I’m a people person. It’s either that or I think that people are supposed to be able to control their behavior, while situations usually are out of a person’s control.
I think I’ll go with a political theme.
Hilary Clinton–She has all the warmth of a glacier.
Whats-his-face Huckabee–Besides, the name (although I would laugh every time I had to say President Huckabee), his conservative views conflict with my pagan (I “like” how pagan is said as a bad word. Please insert rolling eyes here.) soul destroying lifestyle.
President George Bush–The tax rebate? Not something I’ll turn down, but if he really wanted to improve the economy, I think the best thing he could have done was do something about the price of gas. (Or you know, restrict outsourcing jobs to foreign lands.) Gas is the lifeblood of the country and the higher up the price goes, the cost of living rises too.
That tends to make us poor schlubs reluctant/unable to spend our dough.
Next election, 2012, write me in as President. Please? Either me or Bart Simpson.
Bruce Campbell–he’s full of common sense and charming in a rough way. I think the first Americans probably were a lot like him, and not like the current idiots polluting the Potomac now.
I’m mad because he WON’T run for public office…which means he’d get things done.
Let me explain. I have a pet theory; the best people for government won’t run because of an inability to tolerate bs. And we need less bs in Washington DC.
Rush Limbaugh/Michael Moore: I’m lumping these two extremists together. Both are slimy and distort facts. They slink around the truth, sniffing at it, hoping for a chance to turn the “truth” into something that makes them look good.
A pox on their rotten carcasses, I say!
Put all excuses aside and remember this: YOU are capable. —Zig Ziglar
It’s true. The power to change our own lives is rooted in our own psychology. Some people use the crutch of religion to initiate change, good for them, but all we have to do is muster up the gumption to do it.
I guess I’ve always been intrigued by the story of the garden of Eden. I’m sure most people are acquainted with it; a story about a man, his lady and the taboo
cookie jar apple. Now, I’m not sure how many of my readers are parents, but how logical would it be for a parent to put a forbidden object in reach of their children?
My thought is that God would want us to eat it, but He wanted it to be our choice. He wanted us to evolve and not be satisfied with the status quo. (My other thought regarding this isn’t as charitable and makes me think God is a cruel being.) Eve ate the apple out of a desire to improve herself, whereas Adam just ate it to appease her.
My belief is that we were created, but we also were given the capability to evolve. I don’t think one belief necessarily excludes the other. Honestly, we have been evolving through the centuries. Our height has increased, our longetivity has increased, our capacity for learning has increased.
Evolution and creationism theories can co-exist and complement each other. I hope no one is so narrow-minded that they would outright refuse to see that one can fill the gaps in the other’s theory.
Of a soul
lost in the void
with what I used to be
Reminders of better times
Jab me, force me
to turn inward
to save what is good in me
nestle in my heart
they tear my humanity apart.
No, this isn’t a Reznor song. Just something that I wrote on break. I know that poem is undulated with the taint of depression. But I like it, and I don’t give a damn if others hate it. It makes me think about the days when I used to be so hopelesss and mired in my own self despair and how far I have come.
Believe me, I’ve changed a lot. For the better.