Have you ever put so much effort into something good in your life that you unwittingly turn it into a NOT good thing? So much effort that you grow lazy when it comes to all other good things in your life? Without going into TOO much detail, this is how I'm feeling as of late...like I have somehow developed a crushing and stressful case of tunnel vision, spending months and months pouring all of my focus and energy and attention into one of the good things in my life, only to be shaken into reality and discover that the good thing has soured into something marked by pressure and obligation and stress and that all of the other good things just OUT of my narrow field of vision have grown dusty, rusty and forgotten.
I find it almost hard to remember the "other" good things...even though for the vast majority of my life they've been all I had...but a few obvious things stick out. My family and my friends. Extensive writing and reading. Extensive traveling. Music. New experiences in general.
Here's what my relatively recent life has been like for the most part: Get up, go to work. Come home. Put on lounge clothes. Fix something to eat. Settle onto the couch. Watch TV, surf internet. Have perfunctory phone conversation with some combination of family members/boyfriend. Go to bed. Repeat.
I can't do it anymore. To borrow a line from the Vampire Weekend song referenced in my last post, my soul has grown old and rusty, and before I just accept that this is who I am now, I have to do something (or several things) to remind myself of who I REALLY am.
And so I'm making a list of things that will provide me with happiness. Just the act of making a list gives me a bit of happiness, so it feels like a small start in and of itself. I don't necessarily intend to share EVERYTHING that is on the list or that goes on later, but here are a few initial entries:
1. Clean out my closets and filter out the things that I don't like, that don't fit, that are stretched out/stained/frayed/worn out, or that just frustrate me for reasons I can't even explain.
2. Take small weekend road trips much more frequently to see my dear friends in Memphis, Jackson, Tuscaloosa, Birmingham, New Orleans, and Nashville.
3. Get a serious haircut, just for a good shake-up.
4. Cliched, but make walking/running outside part of my routine as soon as the weather is remotely warm enough to do so (which should be happening very soon I hope!)
5. Start that budget I mentioned months ago in earnest...
6. ...mainly in order to start saving enough money for plane tickets to visit friends in LA, NYC, North Carolina, Dallas, Denver, etc.
7. Give up at least half of the TV shows I follow. In other words, turn off the damned TV and listen to music, clean, read a book, go out to eat, go or a drink, etc.
8. A little more detail on the previous entry I guess...but get out of the house at least one weeknight each week.
9. Give my Charlie dog a little more attention...more playtime, more car rides, more baths.
10. Do all of the girly grooming things I've mostly abandoned...manicures and pedicures, new perfumes, experiment with makeup, and so on.
I'm open to further suggestions or advice, gang.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
what do jake gyllenhaal, a jonas brother, and lil john all have in common?
...they're all in Vampire Weekend's music video for a single from their new album, Contra. Hmm. Random?
The song is Giving Up The Gun, and I like it. But I haven't met a Vampire Weekend song that I don't like. They're all just so soaring and bouncy and comforting. Anyway, you can find the video here....
The song is Giving Up The Gun, and I like it. But I haven't met a Vampire Weekend song that I don't like. They're all just so soaring and bouncy and comforting. Anyway, you can find the video here....
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
poem for the day (as stolen from a friend, who stole it from The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor)
Cleaning up after the Dog
Pull plastic bag from pocket
and wave it like a flag
or diploma. Make sure many people
congratulate your care
for the community.
Check bag for holes.
Double check.
Inspect stool for odd hues.
Greens, blues, blood.
Evaluate consistency.
You don't want to leave smears
on the sidewalk or grass—no prints.
Getaway must be clean.
Prepare to go in for all of it.
Hold breath.
Grab, clamp, reverse bag, twist, knot, cinch.
Smell hands.
Hold loaded bag high in the air,
assure onlookers that Everything is Okay.
If a cop should cruise by,
his crew cut bristling
in the sun,
hold that bag higher,
so he, too, can salute
your contribution.
The bomb diffused,
the world a little safer, a little cleaner,
will not offend the deep treads
of someone's shoes.
In response to this poem I'll just say...thank you, Katie O., for a reminder that I should be grateful to A) not live in the city with a dog; and B) own a dog who prefers to back up into any handy bush or clump of underbrush and use it as his personal toilet rather than go right out in the open.
Check out The Writer's Almanac site for more interesting tidbits...
Monday, February 1, 2010
why I hate living alone.
When my little sister graduated and moved out, leaving me living alone for the first time, it felt like the most blissful thing imaginable. I could prostrate myself on the couch with dirty hair and no makeup without fear of my roomie having company over. For the most part I could go to sleep in my preferred state of blissful silence. Ceiling fans were permanently turned off, which meant that I was never chilly and never had dry contact lenses.
I've often wondered since then if I would ever be able to share a home with another person without major issue. It's been quite a while, and I am awfully used to having it my way. Are these throw pillows a little too girly? Eh, who cares. Should I paint the inside of this cabinet bright turquoise? Why not. Stash all of my pretty/fancy kitchen things in separate cabinets from my old/ugly things, even though it's completely impractical? What the heck, it's my kitchen anyway.
Those are the pros of living alone. Putting things wherever you wish. Leaving your home clean or dirty, depending on your mood. Temperature set just the way you like it, colors just as you selected them. But there are also, unfortunately, some major cons. I'd be lying if I said I'd never experienced that cliched moment of seeing a news story about some poor person choking to death in their lonely apartment and thinking "Oh crap....that could happen to me..." Every now and then I'd give my right arm to have someone else around the house to let Charlie out at lunch when I'm too busy. And finally, there is the ultimate con....there's no one else around to help you catch a mouse.
Yes. A mouse. In my bathroom. I'd like to think that I've actually made it pretty far in life before having to endure a face-off with a wild warm blooded creature in my space, and to tell the truth, this creature was pretty adorable... but that certainly didn't provide me with any assurance in the moment. In the moment I shrieked and cursed and jumped back as if I'd happened upon a viper. I had enough presence of mind to quickly block the mouse into a corner with items from the room, and then to curse my property manager and maintenance man for not sealing the gap underneath the bathroom vanity that just happens to back up to a crawlspace. And then, when the mouse apparently decided he'd rather live in the new habitat I'd created for him than crawl back from whence he came, I freaked out a little bit again. A cute mouse in a pet store is one thing. A cute mouse who may just happen to run across my toes while I'm brushing my teeth is quite another.
I picked up the phone and realized that I was going to have to choose one of two cliches....either call my boyfriend and interrupt his card game with a ridiculously girly problem...or call my daddy and provide him with further proof that his 30 year old daughter still can't take care of herself. Having pestered Ben enough for one week (and having at least a little respect for the sanctity of guys' card night), I went with Option B. My dad only jokingly asked if perhaps it was someone's pet and then told me it wouldn't bite and to grab a shoebox. Great.
In the end I armed myself with a tupperware bowl and an issue of Marie Claire, took a deep breath, and then removed a section of the barricade and nudged the mouse through it with a plunger. One loud curse, a clap of tupperware against the floor, several scampering steps outside, and one mouse flying off into the thick pile of leafy underbrush across from my apartment later, the rodent problem was solved. Well, after all of that and a few minutes spent stuffing the open space with old washcloths.
You'd think that in the end I'd feel confident, proud, content. As if I'd single-handedly managed to cross one big Con out on my Living Alone list. I didn't feel that great, though. Not at all. A little proud of myself, sure, but when I texted Ben about what I'd done and remarked that I'd be glad when he was around to catch the mice, he texted back that better yet, he'd make sure all the walls and spaces were sealed so that I'd never have to find them. And that just made me even more sick of living alone than I was to begin with.
I've often wondered since then if I would ever be able to share a home with another person without major issue. It's been quite a while, and I am awfully used to having it my way. Are these throw pillows a little too girly? Eh, who cares. Should I paint the inside of this cabinet bright turquoise? Why not. Stash all of my pretty/fancy kitchen things in separate cabinets from my old/ugly things, even though it's completely impractical? What the heck, it's my kitchen anyway.
Those are the pros of living alone. Putting things wherever you wish. Leaving your home clean or dirty, depending on your mood. Temperature set just the way you like it, colors just as you selected them. But there are also, unfortunately, some major cons. I'd be lying if I said I'd never experienced that cliched moment of seeing a news story about some poor person choking to death in their lonely apartment and thinking "Oh crap....that could happen to me..." Every now and then I'd give my right arm to have someone else around the house to let Charlie out at lunch when I'm too busy. And finally, there is the ultimate con....there's no one else around to help you catch a mouse.
Yes. A mouse. In my bathroom. I'd like to think that I've actually made it pretty far in life before having to endure a face-off with a wild warm blooded creature in my space, and to tell the truth, this creature was pretty adorable... but that certainly didn't provide me with any assurance in the moment. In the moment I shrieked and cursed and jumped back as if I'd happened upon a viper. I had enough presence of mind to quickly block the mouse into a corner with items from the room, and then to curse my property manager and maintenance man for not sealing the gap underneath the bathroom vanity that just happens to back up to a crawlspace. And then, when the mouse apparently decided he'd rather live in the new habitat I'd created for him than crawl back from whence he came, I freaked out a little bit again. A cute mouse in a pet store is one thing. A cute mouse who may just happen to run across my toes while I'm brushing my teeth is quite another.
I picked up the phone and realized that I was going to have to choose one of two cliches....either call my boyfriend and interrupt his card game with a ridiculously girly problem...or call my daddy and provide him with further proof that his 30 year old daughter still can't take care of herself. Having pestered Ben enough for one week (and having at least a little respect for the sanctity of guys' card night), I went with Option B. My dad only jokingly asked if perhaps it was someone's pet and then told me it wouldn't bite and to grab a shoebox. Great.
In the end I armed myself with a tupperware bowl and an issue of Marie Claire, took a deep breath, and then removed a section of the barricade and nudged the mouse through it with a plunger. One loud curse, a clap of tupperware against the floor, several scampering steps outside, and one mouse flying off into the thick pile of leafy underbrush across from my apartment later, the rodent problem was solved. Well, after all of that and a few minutes spent stuffing the open space with old washcloths.
You'd think that in the end I'd feel confident, proud, content. As if I'd single-handedly managed to cross one big Con out on my Living Alone list. I didn't feel that great, though. Not at all. A little proud of myself, sure, but when I texted Ben about what I'd done and remarked that I'd be glad when he was around to catch the mice, he texted back that better yet, he'd make sure all the walls and spaces were sealed so that I'd never have to find them. And that just made me even more sick of living alone than I was to begin with.
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