Throughout my travels, it's that I do not travel well. Sure, I'll sign up for the major trek and I'll do it, so that's pretty impressive... however, getting me there and the first week or two... or three... or several months are misery. As my mother once said and I quote often to explain my mentality, "Most people get hungry and they're grumpy. You get hungry and you're a pit of despair."
This applies to hunger, travel, socializing, and... life. I don't deal well with things. Particularly new things. I'm kind of autistic in that way. Is that an adjective one may use non-offensively? To be fair, my anxiety is an offshoot of autism, so it's kind of true. As in, I am HIGHLY reactive. I get a sensory overload quite easily. Too much clothing in the clothing store! AH! Too many plans this week! AH! This did not go as planned! AHHHH!! Yeah, that's another thing, I don't deal well with last minute changes. If someone says we'll meet at a certain time, if they're late, or even if I am late due to unforeseen circumstances, I die. I straight up just die. Fortunately, I come back to life, but the death part is overwhelming and anxiety-provoking in itself.
This is not the direction I was planning on taking this bloggy thingermadoo, but I always seem to turn things, whether it be a travel log or a romantic venture, into over-intellectualized existential crises. Anywho, sensory overload (or overlord, as I almost typed), what is this you speak of? You being me. Me being me. Well, it means I take in everything I see, feel, think, do, smell, and hear in a way that makes my head cry. It even goes as far as how I feel about things. I obsess, I overthink, I care too much. Fortunately, this is balanced out a bit by my lack of attention span. This, however, may sound like me saying I'm too good of a person that not even the tremendous capacity of the human mind can handle it, but that's certainly not what I mean. What that means is that I take things and people to heart. Let me simplify: I have the feels big time, yo. However, in a little twist of events, it's so overpowering, that in order to cope, my mind practically shuts those feels down. As in, I know before a big trip that I am crazy nervous and excited. I'm not a robot, as it appears sometimes. I am maddeningly emotional and sensitive. However, if I constantly spouted those feelings out and cried or screamed in joy all the time, someone would slice open my throat. In order to fix this, my body has decided to turn me into the person who's like, "Oh- the 4 month trip to the Middle East? Yeah. That'll be coolstuffandthingswhatever."
I am certain many individuals can relate to this poor way of coping. After all, it would be nice and healthy to turn on some sort of emotional faucet once in a while, right? Maybe the ability is inside us all and we just need to believe and let the emotions free!
Yeah, I get that line a lot. People seem to think I hold back my emotions because I fear vulnerability. You too? You hear that all the time also? Wow, we should be best buddies or something! Sure, this may be part of the defense mechanism. Like I said earlier, it's risky to constantly let everyone know how you feel and think... BUT I don't think this is entirely the case. As a matter of fact, I know it isn't. I'm happy to tell people about much of my dark past (cue bats and witches and junk). I just won't necessarily go into the emotional aspect. Obviously if I cried in a dark corner, I wasn't Cheerful Charlie, but that's for you to infer, not for me to go into a whole rant about. "And then I felt like my sadness was just a big crumpled piece of looseleaf paper. I just wanted to chuck it into the trash can. Chuck it! I want to CHUCK IT! DO YOU HEAR ME!?"
Here's what I say: My rule is that I am allowed to be as terrified and sad and angry in my private time as I need to be. I won't be mad at myself for it or embarrassed, I'll just let it happen. At the end of the day, though, I have to go forward with the plan. Of course, in small print it says, "Unless it's really not worth it." Indeed, I'm also allowed to back out of it. The idea is just trying. Sometimes things end up being intolerable, of course. Even if I think I am ready for something, it doesn't mean my mind is. I have to respect that. This can get tricky, too. Sometimes you can't just walk out of a situation or say, "I'm getting off this ride now." Sometimes... maybe (????) it's good to put yourself in a new, scary situation that you can't escape. Maybe it'll be awful and horrible, but I do recommend it is something temporary. Even if it's 4 months. Those 4 months will end and I'll either fail out of school and go home crying like a true failure or maybe I'll excel and adjust and want to come back right away. Admittedly, these are two extremes, and neither are likely to happen... That too is in the fine print. I'll just keep the cheerful, positive voice. Yay! Everything will work out and all your dreams will come true and unicorns will pop out of your eye sockets!
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
In your eyes...
There are few times in my life when I become spiritual. Whatever that means. As a matter of fact, I don't know that I've ever felt there was a bigger, better reason for the way of the world. I may have hoped it, I may have wished it, but I never saw any signs, any memories, any times in my life when the world plotted a path for me or taught me something through metaphysics or astronomy. Nor has a tree ever given me wisdom conspired from the hundreds of years prior. However, I will say, on my latest exploration abroad, something quite mind blowing occurred.
It happened after a short chain of events. At first I experienced something some would consider dark, horrific, and traumatizing. Something, I unfortunately, have come to see as what life brings to me for some reason. I won't go into specifics, but it was just not good. Around the same day, the next, I believe, I went to the cruise ship's headlining act. He was a country singer, but he mostly did folk music covers. In my depths of despair, I sat through his show and lip synched the songs in a sorrowful and dejected manner. The musician kept catching my eye and smiling. I assumed this was because I was the only one in the room who wasn't wearing Depends and Poligrip. While I cannot say the music made the events less harmful, they did make the situation more bearable.
I started going to his shows every opportunity I got. Each time, my confidence and ability to dance and sing along becoming more visible. The musician continued to smile at me and play towards me. Until, finally, after about a week or a week and a half, I ran into the musician outside one of his shows. He came to me with a smile and said, "I don't believe I've learned your name." He held out his hand and I gave him mine. He didn't let go, he just gripped it. I told him my name and he responded with, "What. a. BEAUTIFUL name. Fits for such a beautiful girl." He told me little details about himself, the one that stood out to me was that he had 17 Great Danes. My curiosity was peaked.
More days went on, and even though we now were familiar with one another, I did not think much of it. We did not speak again, we didn't even wave 'hello'. That is, until the very last night of the trip. After a night of one particularly "friendly" older gentleman dancing with me and making jokes about kissing my neck, I made an excuse to excuse myself and then, when I saw he was gone, I snuck back into the area where the musician had been performing and I sat. I was hoping he would stop to chat, but it was rather late, he was rather inebriated, and he was already chatting with another family. He had thrown my name into one of the songs earlier, but I am certain this was just a crowd pleasing technique.
Still, I waited. I jumped each time someone walked past, thinking it could be the "friendly" man, but he was preoccupied by waiting at the bar until I was to return. Which I was not going to do (I think it best to be kind to people you will be spending 10 days on a ship with. Until the very last night, of course.) The waiting turned into an hour wait. This would not be a big deal, but I was growing more nervous, it was getting later, and I had to leave the ship early the next morning. Not to mention, I knew my grandmother would go off on me if I got back to the room too late.
After sneaking a peek every few minutes to see if the musician would notice my presence, I hear, "Mind if I finish my beer with you?"
I look up with a smile and there is the big Southern boy all dressed in black and looking down at me. I tell him it would be my pleasure, inserting some sort of less-than-clever witticism. He sat down next to me and asked me, "What do you want to do with your life?" Without hesitation I told him I was studying music therapy. That wasn't exactly an answer to his question, but it was the best I could come up with off the bat and I don't think I had a better answer within me.
At this, he went off on a tangent. He had a website idea and kept mentioning this fancy name he came up for a physical therapy plus music therapy plus massage therapy sort of deal. It wasn't the most original or genius idea, but it was definitely impressive how confidently he shared and how much he came up with in the moment. The whole time he spoke, he maintained eye contact and looked at me with such intensity and genuine concern, that I couldn't stop looking into his eyes and focusing on each word (something I am utterly horrible at). When he finished with the idea, I nodded that it was a great idea. Fortunately, he didn't stop speaking long enough for me to worry about what worthwhile response I should give.
He then stood up and searched everywhere for a pen and paper to give me his personal contact information. He assured me repeatedly that it was not his business or agent, but his personal email and phone number. He wrote in silver marker. I said, "Wow. I love that marker!" He then handed it to me with a wink and followed with something which would normally totally creep me out, but it didn't feel wrong when he spoke it. He said, "I've been watching you for 10 days. Whenever you were within 10 feet of me, I knew. You radiate. You are a special lady."
I have been told I am special many a'times. Not because I am special, but because guys know girls want to hear it. I can't say why this felt different, but it felt like the words were glowing and in bold font. I took it to heart, which I never do. Anyways, he tells me about his wife and his life and then he tells me if I ever want to move to Nashville, he can hook me up with housing and a job. He then gives me one last really good eye stare and stands to pack up his things. "Need me to walk you anywhere to avoid bad old men?" He jokes. I normally wouldn't accept such an offer, but I both wanted to feel safe that night and quite honestly, I wanted to have a few last minutes with this fellow. At this point I should clarify, there was nothing uncomfortable or sexual or even remotely flirty about the conversation we had. This man is 60 years old and his genuine concern is what led to our friendship. At no point did I feel he was making advances or attempting to woo me. As a matter of fact, once we safely arrived on my floor, he asked if my room was near the end of the corridor. I told him it was midway, so he looked me in the eye, shook my hand, held it tight for a moment that felt like an hour, and said, "This won't be the last time I see you." and walked away.
SO... a couple days after I got home, as I picked up the book I had been reading throughout the trip; some depressing memoir in which a child dies or is killed each chapter (it was about Haiti), a paper slips out. The paper is the musician's contact information written in silver marker. At seeing it, his eyes flash in mind and throughout the day, I cannot escape them. They are the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg (Great Gatsby reference) to me. I decided to send him a message and I explain what had just occurred. I can't say his response was particularly spectacular or profound, but he let me know he would be texting me when he got back into the states. Whenever that will be. He was sure to include, "You're a special lady."
Was this a spiritual encounter? Oh, I don't know. Probably nothing in the stars about it... but so help me if it wasn't precisely what I needed during the trip. Each night when the other young people would come to collect me and have me come up to the lounge to dance to hip hop and pop and R&B, I would reject them and stay where I felt wanted and safe. If not for the musician, my sadness would have been overwhelming, this I know for sure. I can't thank God or fate, I can only thank the musician and his music.
It happened after a short chain of events. At first I experienced something some would consider dark, horrific, and traumatizing. Something, I unfortunately, have come to see as what life brings to me for some reason. I won't go into specifics, but it was just not good. Around the same day, the next, I believe, I went to the cruise ship's headlining act. He was a country singer, but he mostly did folk music covers. In my depths of despair, I sat through his show and lip synched the songs in a sorrowful and dejected manner. The musician kept catching my eye and smiling. I assumed this was because I was the only one in the room who wasn't wearing Depends and Poligrip. While I cannot say the music made the events less harmful, they did make the situation more bearable.
I started going to his shows every opportunity I got. Each time, my confidence and ability to dance and sing along becoming more visible. The musician continued to smile at me and play towards me. Until, finally, after about a week or a week and a half, I ran into the musician outside one of his shows. He came to me with a smile and said, "I don't believe I've learned your name." He held out his hand and I gave him mine. He didn't let go, he just gripped it. I told him my name and he responded with, "What. a. BEAUTIFUL name. Fits for such a beautiful girl." He told me little details about himself, the one that stood out to me was that he had 17 Great Danes. My curiosity was peaked.
More days went on, and even though we now were familiar with one another, I did not think much of it. We did not speak again, we didn't even wave 'hello'. That is, until the very last night of the trip. After a night of one particularly "friendly" older gentleman dancing with me and making jokes about kissing my neck, I made an excuse to excuse myself and then, when I saw he was gone, I snuck back into the area where the musician had been performing and I sat. I was hoping he would stop to chat, but it was rather late, he was rather inebriated, and he was already chatting with another family. He had thrown my name into one of the songs earlier, but I am certain this was just a crowd pleasing technique.
Still, I waited. I jumped each time someone walked past, thinking it could be the "friendly" man, but he was preoccupied by waiting at the bar until I was to return. Which I was not going to do (I think it best to be kind to people you will be spending 10 days on a ship with. Until the very last night, of course.) The waiting turned into an hour wait. This would not be a big deal, but I was growing more nervous, it was getting later, and I had to leave the ship early the next morning. Not to mention, I knew my grandmother would go off on me if I got back to the room too late.
After sneaking a peek every few minutes to see if the musician would notice my presence, I hear, "Mind if I finish my beer with you?"
I look up with a smile and there is the big Southern boy all dressed in black and looking down at me. I tell him it would be my pleasure, inserting some sort of less-than-clever witticism. He sat down next to me and asked me, "What do you want to do with your life?" Without hesitation I told him I was studying music therapy. That wasn't exactly an answer to his question, but it was the best I could come up with off the bat and I don't think I had a better answer within me.
At this, he went off on a tangent. He had a website idea and kept mentioning this fancy name he came up for a physical therapy plus music therapy plus massage therapy sort of deal. It wasn't the most original or genius idea, but it was definitely impressive how confidently he shared and how much he came up with in the moment. The whole time he spoke, he maintained eye contact and looked at me with such intensity and genuine concern, that I couldn't stop looking into his eyes and focusing on each word (something I am utterly horrible at). When he finished with the idea, I nodded that it was a great idea. Fortunately, he didn't stop speaking long enough for me to worry about what worthwhile response I should give.
He then stood up and searched everywhere for a pen and paper to give me his personal contact information. He assured me repeatedly that it was not his business or agent, but his personal email and phone number. He wrote in silver marker. I said, "Wow. I love that marker!" He then handed it to me with a wink and followed with something which would normally totally creep me out, but it didn't feel wrong when he spoke it. He said, "I've been watching you for 10 days. Whenever you were within 10 feet of me, I knew. You radiate. You are a special lady."
I have been told I am special many a'times. Not because I am special, but because guys know girls want to hear it. I can't say why this felt different, but it felt like the words were glowing and in bold font. I took it to heart, which I never do. Anyways, he tells me about his wife and his life and then he tells me if I ever want to move to Nashville, he can hook me up with housing and a job. He then gives me one last really good eye stare and stands to pack up his things. "Need me to walk you anywhere to avoid bad old men?" He jokes. I normally wouldn't accept such an offer, but I both wanted to feel safe that night and quite honestly, I wanted to have a few last minutes with this fellow. At this point I should clarify, there was nothing uncomfortable or sexual or even remotely flirty about the conversation we had. This man is 60 years old and his genuine concern is what led to our friendship. At no point did I feel he was making advances or attempting to woo me. As a matter of fact, once we safely arrived on my floor, he asked if my room was near the end of the corridor. I told him it was midway, so he looked me in the eye, shook my hand, held it tight for a moment that felt like an hour, and said, "This won't be the last time I see you." and walked away.
SO... a couple days after I got home, as I picked up the book I had been reading throughout the trip; some depressing memoir in which a child dies or is killed each chapter (it was about Haiti), a paper slips out. The paper is the musician's contact information written in silver marker. At seeing it, his eyes flash in mind and throughout the day, I cannot escape them. They are the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg (Great Gatsby reference) to me. I decided to send him a message and I explain what had just occurred. I can't say his response was particularly spectacular or profound, but he let me know he would be texting me when he got back into the states. Whenever that will be. He was sure to include, "You're a special lady."
Was this a spiritual encounter? Oh, I don't know. Probably nothing in the stars about it... but so help me if it wasn't precisely what I needed during the trip. Each night when the other young people would come to collect me and have me come up to the lounge to dance to hip hop and pop and R&B, I would reject them and stay where I felt wanted and safe. If not for the musician, my sadness would have been overwhelming, this I know for sure. I can't thank God or fate, I can only thank the musician and his music.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and I’m just a kitten
"Competition is about winning and losing. That is it. There is no middle ground. It's about being better than the next guy. That's what life is about."
This is a quote I stole from a fella named Matt Hopard**. Matt heard this statement being spewed from the ignorant mouth of a father to his now-jaded son. The topic at hand is that of competition. The need to be the winner. The *requirement* of this man's son to be "better than". The lesson being that anything less will be a failure and a disappointment. This father is not expressing his own desire to be better or a winner, but his expectations of his son to be the very best, like no one ever was. To capture success is his real test, to train himself is his cause. He must travel across the land , searching far and wide. Each Pokemon to underst- wait, I think I may be quoting something else.
I am sure this is a very common sentiment. It may be seen by some as motivation to do better and be better. What's wrong with that? Is it really "tantamount to child abuse", as Matt believes?
Well, here's the problem- any absolute is bound to be flawed. The fact is, there IS a middle ground. There are "losers" who are still a success, who still can makes something of themselves, or feel pride despite not being 100% perfect 100% of the time. Telling a child, your child, no matter his age or background, that he is, essentially, a failure if he does not always win will affect that child in various ways throughout his/her life. Some may be positive effects, but the thinking and the doing may also be negative. Now, it is true this applies to most words of wisdom, but there is a particular empathy, as well as common sense that is involved when it comes to parental advice. There's a difference between telling your child, "Always try everything new" and telling them, "If you think you have something positive to learn or experience from something new, give it a try!" Even this example may have its faults, but my point is, all wisdom must come with leeway. Not to mention, advice should be supportive rather than give a sense of shame or fear. No child gains from fear. Positive reinforcement is the wave of the future. We're moving forward from the hand slapping, head whacking, and emotional deterioration.
The one point that I have not made yet is that failure is not always fruitless, either. It is a learning tool and it may lead to winning in other ways. It leads to understanding, compassion, empathy, and most of all, it leads to resilience. Maybe not most of all, but it certainly does. I was inspired by this topic due to a patient I work with. This patient is extremely intelligent and has tons of potential, but his greatest downfall? His fear of failure. He refuses to play games he does not know how to play or that he is less than perfect at. He loves mechanical engineering, but he is very resistant to the idea of returning to school to continue his studies in fear of not being as successful as his own father expected him to be. This man is 52 and to this day, he fears failure due to his father's unrealistic expectations. His father did not believe in a middle ground, much like the father in aforementioned situation. It was either win or be a loser. This is a common theme I have noticed in the mentally ill patients I work with. They have lived a life being told they are never good enough. That simply trying their best was never good enough. That living life and trying things for the sake of giving it a go was never good enough. That their "normal" and healthy sibling is the better child because they are healthy and "normal". What was it that Einstein said about climbing a tree like a fish?
"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”
I was close.
We are individuals, we are flawed in a thousand ways. We are built to fail and lack and play pool and sometimes (or always) lose. Admittedly, when you are in a competition, you are trying to win. You are trying to reach that point of accomplishment, and "being better", and making the other dude buy you a drink, and bragging like an idiot. However, you are also trying to enjoy the game, and working on your skill, and letting your crush win, and cheating, getting caught, and laughing about it, and punching the other dude in the arm because you lost. It's a game foremost, a hobby or social activity.
The trick when it comes to competition is not only respecting the other player(s) at the end, win or lose, but respecting yourself as well. If you have been raised to believe that losing means you should belittle yourself, that is abuse. Any parent who puts pressure and disdain into the mind of a child is not considering the well-being of the child. A parent who makes their child feel loss of self-respect for one day or one month or their entire life is committing the act of child abuse. That is cruelty. That is unforgivable.
**** You can check out Matt's live stream/Twitter/website @ www.stopmotionsolo.net - stopmotionsolo.tv - https://twitter.com/StopMotionsolo****
This is a quote I stole from a fella named Matt Hopard**. Matt heard this statement being spewed from the ignorant mouth of a father to his now-jaded son. The topic at hand is that of competition. The need to be the winner. The *requirement* of this man's son to be "better than". The lesson being that anything less will be a failure and a disappointment. This father is not expressing his own desire to be better or a winner, but his expectations of his son to be the very best, like no one ever was. To capture success is his real test, to train himself is his cause. He must travel across the land , searching far and wide. Each Pokemon to underst- wait, I think I may be quoting something else.
I am sure this is a very common sentiment. It may be seen by some as motivation to do better and be better. What's wrong with that? Is it really "tantamount to child abuse", as Matt believes?
Well, here's the problem- any absolute is bound to be flawed. The fact is, there IS a middle ground. There are "losers" who are still a success, who still can makes something of themselves, or feel pride despite not being 100% perfect 100% of the time. Telling a child, your child, no matter his age or background, that he is, essentially, a failure if he does not always win will affect that child in various ways throughout his/her life. Some may be positive effects, but the thinking and the doing may also be negative. Now, it is true this applies to most words of wisdom, but there is a particular empathy, as well as common sense that is involved when it comes to parental advice. There's a difference between telling your child, "Always try everything new" and telling them, "If you think you have something positive to learn or experience from something new, give it a try!" Even this example may have its faults, but my point is, all wisdom must come with leeway. Not to mention, advice should be supportive rather than give a sense of shame or fear. No child gains from fear. Positive reinforcement is the wave of the future. We're moving forward from the hand slapping, head whacking, and emotional deterioration.
The one point that I have not made yet is that failure is not always fruitless, either. It is a learning tool and it may lead to winning in other ways. It leads to understanding, compassion, empathy, and most of all, it leads to resilience. Maybe not most of all, but it certainly does. I was inspired by this topic due to a patient I work with. This patient is extremely intelligent and has tons of potential, but his greatest downfall? His fear of failure. He refuses to play games he does not know how to play or that he is less than perfect at. He loves mechanical engineering, but he is very resistant to the idea of returning to school to continue his studies in fear of not being as successful as his own father expected him to be. This man is 52 and to this day, he fears failure due to his father's unrealistic expectations. His father did not believe in a middle ground, much like the father in aforementioned situation. It was either win or be a loser. This is a common theme I have noticed in the mentally ill patients I work with. They have lived a life being told they are never good enough. That simply trying their best was never good enough. That living life and trying things for the sake of giving it a go was never good enough. That their "normal" and healthy sibling is the better child because they are healthy and "normal". What was it that Einstein said about climbing a tree like a fish?
"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”
I was close.
We are individuals, we are flawed in a thousand ways. We are built to fail and lack and play pool and sometimes (or always) lose. Admittedly, when you are in a competition, you are trying to win. You are trying to reach that point of accomplishment, and "being better", and making the other dude buy you a drink, and bragging like an idiot. However, you are also trying to enjoy the game, and working on your skill, and letting your crush win, and cheating, getting caught, and laughing about it, and punching the other dude in the arm because you lost. It's a game foremost, a hobby or social activity.
The trick when it comes to competition is not only respecting the other player(s) at the end, win or lose, but respecting yourself as well. If you have been raised to believe that losing means you should belittle yourself, that is abuse. Any parent who puts pressure and disdain into the mind of a child is not considering the well-being of the child. A parent who makes their child feel loss of self-respect for one day or one month or their entire life is committing the act of child abuse. That is cruelty. That is unforgivable.
**** You can check out Matt's live stream/Twitter/website @ www.stopmotionsolo.net - stopmotionsolo.tv - https://twitter.com/StopMotionsolo****
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Live Like Today is Your Last Day on Earth!
"It could be worse"
How many times have we served up these delicious slices of philosophical pie? Just about as many times as we've heard them, probably.
That's beautiful. I love how you live your life like a poster in a guidance counselor's office.
You make me sick. Stop this monster before it smashes the ever-living sanity out of you!
Am I supposed to live as if my problems don't matter? As if I am being weak for caring about what happens to me?
Repeat after me: There is no shame in having reactions and feelings and needs and freakin' pity for myself!
I don't want to live every day as if it is my last. I've seen what I thought was my last day and it was grim and lonely and it made me want to eat an entire chocolate cake WITH SPRINKLES! I am all for appreciating each day and making that leap, but the fact is, as much as there is a likelihood that we'll die tomorrow, there is just as much a likelihood, and probably even more of one, that you will live. That means there are consequences. Ones we as humans don't want to deal with. Think about it- when you get drunk and do something incredibly stupid, do you wake up and say, "Wow- super glad I made out with my best friend's mom! No regrets!" Is that who you want to be?
Some cliches exist because they sum up the things we want to tell people. Some exist because we have run out of "answers" and are sick of those people who act as if they want an answer from you, but then trash all your suggestions. Some exist because we like to pretend life is simple and can be summed up in one fortune cookie. Have you read a fortune cookie lately?
Am I guilty of using these lines from time to time? Heck yes! I will cliche the pigtails off your underage girlfriend! That doesn't mean I can't be a hypocrite and shame you for doing it. More importantly, at least I know what a crime to humanity I am committing. I am doing it with full awareness of it and the horrors it brings unto us. What do these two phrases, and many like them promote? Shame. Self-hate. Disappointment. Humiliation. Masking. Repression.... The thing is, we need to recognize when things aren't how we want them to be. Awareness is how we make change. Simply accepting the unpleasant things will not lead to progress! We can no longer be the abused wife of life! Besides, how is it right or fair to compare oneself to every other downtrodden case? "Yes, your scalp was stuck in a garbage truck and you were dragged by your hair for 2 miles, but... this guy has lung cancer from smoking for 40 years, so, hey! It could be worse!"
As much as I hate other people to be unhappy or sick or sad or dead, if something is MY problem, it's MY problem. That means, "no wise words are gonna stop the bleeding". As the guy in that band says in that song. You preach it, dude in that band!
Maybe I'm just sick of coffee cups with heart shape bubbles and people jumping in front of green screens masked as a blue sky and dandelions, babies giggling inside flowers, and puppies. Wait- I went too far, sorry. There are never enough puppies. Whoever told you there was any chance that thinking positive or praying (hey- don't hate, it's truth) or repeating some dumb-butt mantra will make life improve, they need to get botox of the brain, because they are sagging. Not to say some peace of mind and inner-joy won't help, as it may, but no amount of women playing tennis and doing yoga while wearing the perfect tampon will lessen my desire to stab people during my period, honey. After all, we know what happened to Carrie when she wore white pants on that certain day of the month....
How many times have we served up these delicious slices of philosophical pie? Just about as many times as we've heard them, probably.
That's beautiful. I love how you live your life like a poster in a guidance counselor's office.
You make me sick. Stop this monster before it smashes the ever-living sanity out of you!
Am I supposed to live as if my problems don't matter? As if I am being weak for caring about what happens to me?
Repeat after me: There is no shame in having reactions and feelings and needs and freakin' pity for myself!
I don't want to live every day as if it is my last. I've seen what I thought was my last day and it was grim and lonely and it made me want to eat an entire chocolate cake WITH SPRINKLES! I am all for appreciating each day and making that leap, but the fact is, as much as there is a likelihood that we'll die tomorrow, there is just as much a likelihood, and probably even more of one, that you will live. That means there are consequences. Ones we as humans don't want to deal with. Think about it- when you get drunk and do something incredibly stupid, do you wake up and say, "Wow- super glad I made out with my best friend's mom! No regrets!" Is that who you want to be?
Some cliches exist because they sum up the things we want to tell people. Some exist because we have run out of "answers" and are sick of those people who act as if they want an answer from you, but then trash all your suggestions. Some exist because we like to pretend life is simple and can be summed up in one fortune cookie. Have you read a fortune cookie lately?
Am I guilty of using these lines from time to time? Heck yes! I will cliche the pigtails off your underage girlfriend! That doesn't mean I can't be a hypocrite and shame you for doing it. More importantly, at least I know what a crime to humanity I am committing. I am doing it with full awareness of it and the horrors it brings unto us. What do these two phrases, and many like them promote? Shame. Self-hate. Disappointment. Humiliation. Masking. Repression.... The thing is, we need to recognize when things aren't how we want them to be. Awareness is how we make change. Simply accepting the unpleasant things will not lead to progress! We can no longer be the abused wife of life! Besides, how is it right or fair to compare oneself to every other downtrodden case? "Yes, your scalp was stuck in a garbage truck and you were dragged by your hair for 2 miles, but... this guy has lung cancer from smoking for 40 years, so, hey! It could be worse!"
As much as I hate other people to be unhappy or sick or sad or dead, if something is MY problem, it's MY problem. That means, "no wise words are gonna stop the bleeding". As the guy in that band says in that song. You preach it, dude in that band!
Maybe I'm just sick of coffee cups with heart shape bubbles and people jumping in front of green screens masked as a blue sky and dandelions, babies giggling inside flowers, and puppies. Wait- I went too far, sorry. There are never enough puppies. Whoever told you there was any chance that thinking positive or praying (hey- don't hate, it's truth) or repeating some dumb-butt mantra will make life improve, they need to get botox of the brain, because they are sagging. Not to say some peace of mind and inner-joy won't help, as it may, but no amount of women playing tennis and doing yoga while wearing the perfect tampon will lessen my desire to stab people during my period, honey. After all, we know what happened to Carrie when she wore white pants on that certain day of the month....
Thursday, May 16, 2013
How to Be Sexy without really Trying (women's edition)
This is not a topic I talk about or think about often, but it does nonetheless come up from time to time. I can't completely ignore it, now, can I?
When I talk about sexy, I don't mean, "Oh, look, she has boobs and such and such. I like that." When I say sexy, I mean walking down the street and heads are turning. Men in desire, women in envy (some also in desire). Too intimidated to hoot and holler. Looking for any excuse to talk to you, touch you, smell you. That kind of sexy.
We've all had those days. We've also had more days when we felt anything but. How does one create this lustful look?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Act how you want to act. Ammirite? Maybe you're shamefully awkward and mumble and make inappropriate comments and walk right over 4 large steps, nearly falling down and dying when walking to the bathroom. Three times in a row.
Who hasn't done that?
If you want to be shy or weird or hyper or lethargic, you have every right to be. You see all these articles about loving yourself, but then when it comes to 'attracting love', suddenly they want you to be smooth and confident and cool as a cracker jack in February. Whatever that means. Just act like you. Unless you happen to be a psychopath on a murder rampage. In which case, find your way to the nearest- um, I'll stop myself there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't know what you like to wear and I don't care what you wear! You're a big girl, you can dress yourself. If you're trying to look sexy, I probably don't recommend blood stained windbreaker blouses and flab trappers (as I will now call leggings), but if you're into that, maybe there's a guy out there into it too. Do you really want to attract a guy who will expect you to dress up each time you see him? God, that sounds like a lot of work. All the power to those of you who put effort into existence, but for those of us who get distracted easily and end up with only half lipsticked lips because there was something glimmering in your reflection, we don't got time for that!
Wear less to catch our eye...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wear more to make men sigh...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wear a bathing suit and eat vagina pie!
Wear the things that hit the right spots, miss the wrong spots, give you space to dance or frolic or just take a seat without finding yourself in the predicament of a habitual butt-crack wedge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You know that part in the movie when the girl does the thing and the guy does the other thing and next thing you know, they're madly in love and practicing coitus on the rocking horse they just built during the montage, from wood, her grandfather's ashes, and gorilla glue? Do that. Whatever it is they did right there, do that. Because if you're anything like me, your attempt to wink is as tragic as seeing someone with a clubhand trying to get their wallet out of their back pocket. "Don't worry, I got this. I got it." or as painful as a new Adam Sandler movie? Anyone?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Secretion"
"Abscess"
"Wenis"
"Gelatinous"
"Republican National Convention"
All words which will not win you the 'sexy award' of the year. They will, however, guide you towards the man of your dreams. Maybe. Maybe less so if he is saying, "So, I was attending the RNC, my favourite event EVER, when suddenly I noticed an abscess on my wenis. It was secreting some sort of gelatinous fluid..."
In this case, proceed with caution.
However, aside from a few exceptions, as long as you're not a complete idiot, and he's not a complete idiot, you two will enjoy each other's conversation if it's real, interesting, and not creepy. Some people think if your style matches or your level of attractiveness matches, you'll be a good match. I think the importance lies in the conversation. Even if you have opposite interests or she can't stop talking about death (another 'Me' issue), if both parties find the other fascinating, you'll end up getting along well and he'll want more than a one night stand, as the kids are calling it. Don't be afraid of "awkward silences", those tell a lot about a relationship, I think. I happen to love them and embrace them when they come along. Just means you have control of the next topic of discussion, if you like. If you've been dying to bring up the topic of hand sanitizer: foe or friend? Now is your chance. Of course, if you just were awaiting a moment of quiet so you can drink more drink, that works, too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I talk about sexy, I don't mean, "Oh, look, she has boobs and such and such. I like that." When I say sexy, I mean walking down the street and heads are turning. Men in desire, women in envy (some also in desire). Too intimidated to hoot and holler. Looking for any excuse to talk to you, touch you, smell you. That kind of sexy.
We've all had those days. We've also had more days when we felt anything but. How does one create this lustful look?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
- RULE NUMBER ONE: Attitude.
Act how you want to act. Ammirite? Maybe you're shamefully awkward and mumble and make inappropriate comments and walk right over 4 large steps, nearly falling down and dying when walking to the bathroom. Three times in a row.
Who hasn't done that?
If you want to be shy or weird or hyper or lethargic, you have every right to be. You see all these articles about loving yourself, but then when it comes to 'attracting love', suddenly they want you to be smooth and confident and cool as a cracker jack in February. Whatever that means. Just act like you. Unless you happen to be a psychopath on a murder rampage. In which case, find your way to the nearest- um, I'll stop myself there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
- RULE NUMBER TWO: Clothing.
I don't know what you like to wear and I don't care what you wear! You're a big girl, you can dress yourself. If you're trying to look sexy, I probably don't recommend blood stained windbreaker blouses and flab trappers (as I will now call leggings), but if you're into that, maybe there's a guy out there into it too. Do you really want to attract a guy who will expect you to dress up each time you see him? God, that sounds like a lot of work. All the power to those of you who put effort into existence, but for those of us who get distracted easily and end up with only half lipsticked lips because there was something glimmering in your reflection, we don't got time for that!
Wear less to catch our eye...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wear more to make men sigh...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wear a bathing suit and eat vagina pie!
Wear the things that hit the right spots, miss the wrong spots, give you space to dance or frolic or just take a seat without finding yourself in the predicament of a habitual butt-crack wedge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
- RULE NUMBER THREE: Gestures.
You know that part in the movie when the girl does the thing and the guy does the other thing and next thing you know, they're madly in love and practicing coitus on the rocking horse they just built during the montage, from wood, her grandfather's ashes, and gorilla glue? Do that. Whatever it is they did right there, do that. Because if you're anything like me, your attempt to wink is as tragic as seeing someone with a clubhand trying to get their wallet out of their back pocket. "Don't worry, I got this. I got it." or as painful as a new Adam Sandler movie? Anyone?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
- RULE NUMBER FOUR: Words.
"Secretion"
"Abscess"
"Wenis"
"Gelatinous"
"Republican National Convention"
All words which will not win you the 'sexy award' of the year. They will, however, guide you towards the man of your dreams. Maybe. Maybe less so if he is saying, "So, I was attending the RNC, my favourite event EVER, when suddenly I noticed an abscess on my wenis. It was secreting some sort of gelatinous fluid..."
In this case, proceed with caution.
However, aside from a few exceptions, as long as you're not a complete idiot, and he's not a complete idiot, you two will enjoy each other's conversation if it's real, interesting, and not creepy. Some people think if your style matches or your level of attractiveness matches, you'll be a good match. I think the importance lies in the conversation. Even if you have opposite interests or she can't stop talking about death (another 'Me' issue), if both parties find the other fascinating, you'll end up getting along well and he'll want more than a one night stand, as the kids are calling it. Don't be afraid of "awkward silences", those tell a lot about a relationship, I think. I happen to love them and embrace them when they come along. Just means you have control of the next topic of discussion, if you like. If you've been dying to bring up the topic of hand sanitizer: foe or friend? Now is your chance. Of course, if you just were awaiting a moment of quiet so you can drink more drink, that works, too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
- RULE NUMBER FIVE: Kissing
Apparently, some people have issues with sealing the deal, or they have issues with the deal. The way I see it is, if it doesn't happen, it isn't supposed to happen yet or ever. Feminism aside, because forget that bo bidnezz, I can only deal with guys who are willing to take control of the situation and go in for the kiss without being like, "Um, miss? Pardon my forwardness, but I would honoured if you would allow the presence of my lipial (ha- that sounds dirty) area to grace your lipial (it still sounds dirty!!) area. May I?" Yeah, it's potentially charming, but 90% of the time, this is the guy who thinks he is the "nice guy", don't even get me started with the "nice guy". Although, maybe I will address that at another time. I am sick of this friendzone, nice guy junk. Point being, he is the weaker species in denial and he needs to be stopped before you "lead him on" by being nice to him. Ideally, he'll just dive in, but know well enough how to not kiss your eyeball socket or some random part of your chin.
Now, from my experience, it's usually the men who don't know how to kiss, but I am sure there are also clueless females out there. This isn't a science class, though, I'm just saying, do your research and be sure you know what you're doing before you go out, because a bad kiss can and probably will ruin everything.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Relationships. With food.
I love food.
I love the feeling of something activating your mind, your taste buds, your body, your everything. Every food item gives you different thoughts and memories and feelings. It might be a gross texture and make you gag, or it might be delightfully crunchy (my favourite), or so smooth, you can just slurp it up like Heaven. Some foods make you sleepy, some make you feel light and beautiful, and some leave you feeling silly and childish.
Filling up your tummy's desperate beckon for sustenance is a relief and an absolute joy! When you eat with someone you trust and care about, your mutual self-care and care for each other is a unique bonding experience. When your significant other takes you out for food and pays without question, he/she becomes your hero. Even more so if (s)he knows what you wanted or is craving the same item(s).
A dessert item is like that secret or very loud shared experience. It can be something you shamefully do alone, but feel so good about!
An appetizer- oh, boy. So disgustingly gluttonous , but if you have a tasty little treat to tide you over, you feel good, you feel excited, you feel relieved when it comes. Even a bowl of soup or a simple salad can make your eyes roll back, your eyebrows float, and your mouth salivate.
I love it for the faces someone makes after biting something truly horrific. They could get mad, but usually they just go wild and make all the faces and sounds you want to see and they truly feel. Somewhere inside themselves. There is no shyness when it comes to gross food; when you trust the people you're with. You might be more polite in mixed company... or not!
Every food you have ever eaten, you had at one point eaten for the first time. You may not remember it, but even your favourite food in the world, was once something new and strange, and maybe you didn't even like it.
My favourite food is peanut butter. Since I was a child, I would eat ridiculous, unhealthy amounts of peanut butter. Not on bread, not with crackers or jelly or celery or "fluff". Just peanut butter. Every time I taste a hint of it, I fall in love with it all over again. It is such a simple food, most people take it for granted. Not I. I savour every lick of my finger, every nibble of the knife, every last piece of peanut in thai peanut sauce. Crunchy peanut butter used to gross me out, however. As did pulp in orange juice. Now I just find it to be more peanut in my peanut butter. Nutty and messy and gooey and simply uncouth! Precisely how I would hope someone would describe me.
Not to mention french fries. My arch nemesis, my weak-point, my ab-killer. Who has the strength to only eat one french fry? Each fry, a new flavour, a new texture, a new chomp into oblivion. Children don't understand how lucky they are to have the right to say, "French fries. Just french fries." and this could be considered a picky child's improvement. Or a fair and "good enough" meal. For me? I'm just the carb guzzling, grease bather. Does this phase me? Not in the least. Just be aware of what I must endure in order to enjoy a french fry meal.
Although... I hate food.
I hate feeling like my food choices aren't good enough. That stupid 5, 10, 20 minutes of sitting and throwing mushed, mashed, crushed, cracked nutrition (or sometimes lacking) down my throat. It gets gross and boring and unpleasant. The stomachache and bloating and unpleasantness that seems to come all too fast and easily and unwanted. The inability to move or feel good about yourself for hours, days, weeks (if you experience IBS, you know what I mean.)
Not wanting to get fat so you can please the people you have no desire to please, yet feel the compulsion to satisfy. It's disgusting and ironic and not fun. To the point of contemplating anorexia or bulimia or just cutting of a limb. Say, the nose? As, I am not too content with mine. Water weight and muscle weight and hoping that my organs way 100+ lbs. It could be.
Watching how other women eat. Some eat so much and remain thin, we are bred to hate them, maybe devour them. The ones who eat too much and get fat and we ask, "Why do they keep eating?" but in the end, we wish we were comfortable enough in ourselves to eat like that and look like that without shame. Because there is no shame in looking like that! Unless, of course, you ask the models and actors and the rest of the list- all of which are known for their drug problems. Ah, where we find our heroes... genius. Or maybe we wonder how women eat so little and look the way they do. That one person who never seems to eat and yet, she weighs the weight of two of the skinny ladies combined. How frustrated she must be. Who does she blame at night when she looks in the mirror? I hope she is content, but what are the chances of that? It is people like me and you and us all, whether we know it or admit it or see or not. We are all part of it.
Of course, I happen to love a little something extra on a person. Or a lot extra. Or nothing extra! How do such beautiful creatures think such horrible things? Who or what gave us that idea? Of course, the media, the government, everything we see in the world. The things we cannot erase, the reason this way of thinking will never end, never cease, never be defeated. Self-love will only exist in the mind of the man or woman in denial.
Food which disappears so quickly after you buy it. Maybe it is just me, but I a so excited to eat the broccoli once I buy it. Every type of fruit I bought. I binge. I suffocate. I sit and sit and sit and struggle to move or breathe or think anything but, "Oy." Then it is gone and I wait several weeks before buying more. I starve meanwhile. That starvation! That ache! That nausea that accompanies it! I get it, stomach! Why not be like an alarm clock? Ache for a bit, then rest. Remind me again in 20 minutes or so. I assure you I will find food, stomach. Don't panic unless it's been more than a few days. Relax, stomach, you worry wart. I am going to take care of you and refuel. With what, though?!
Meat and dairy are bad. But I need the vitamins. I want the vegetables, but they upset my stomach. I need the vegetables, but they make me hurt. Meat and dairy make others hurt, they may animals suffer, they disgust me. I need the vitamins, but they are big and smell bad and make me gag. I need the vitamins but I don't want to suffer, so I seem to be okay without them. One day this will catch up with me.
Food is not simple. It's not simple.
I love the feeling of something activating your mind, your taste buds, your body, your everything. Every food item gives you different thoughts and memories and feelings. It might be a gross texture and make you gag, or it might be delightfully crunchy (my favourite), or so smooth, you can just slurp it up like Heaven. Some foods make you sleepy, some make you feel light and beautiful, and some leave you feeling silly and childish.
Filling up your tummy's desperate beckon for sustenance is a relief and an absolute joy! When you eat with someone you trust and care about, your mutual self-care and care for each other is a unique bonding experience. When your significant other takes you out for food and pays without question, he/she becomes your hero. Even more so if (s)he knows what you wanted or is craving the same item(s).
A dessert item is like that secret or very loud shared experience. It can be something you shamefully do alone, but feel so good about!
An appetizer- oh, boy. So disgustingly gluttonous , but if you have a tasty little treat to tide you over, you feel good, you feel excited, you feel relieved when it comes. Even a bowl of soup or a simple salad can make your eyes roll back, your eyebrows float, and your mouth salivate.
I love it for the faces someone makes after biting something truly horrific. They could get mad, but usually they just go wild and make all the faces and sounds you want to see and they truly feel. Somewhere inside themselves. There is no shyness when it comes to gross food; when you trust the people you're with. You might be more polite in mixed company... or not!
Every food you have ever eaten, you had at one point eaten for the first time. You may not remember it, but even your favourite food in the world, was once something new and strange, and maybe you didn't even like it.
My favourite food is peanut butter. Since I was a child, I would eat ridiculous, unhealthy amounts of peanut butter. Not on bread, not with crackers or jelly or celery or "fluff". Just peanut butter. Every time I taste a hint of it, I fall in love with it all over again. It is such a simple food, most people take it for granted. Not I. I savour every lick of my finger, every nibble of the knife, every last piece of peanut in thai peanut sauce. Crunchy peanut butter used to gross me out, however. As did pulp in orange juice. Now I just find it to be more peanut in my peanut butter. Nutty and messy and gooey and simply uncouth! Precisely how I would hope someone would describe me.
Not to mention french fries. My arch nemesis, my weak-point, my ab-killer. Who has the strength to only eat one french fry? Each fry, a new flavour, a new texture, a new chomp into oblivion. Children don't understand how lucky they are to have the right to say, "French fries. Just french fries." and this could be considered a picky child's improvement. Or a fair and "good enough" meal. For me? I'm just the carb guzzling, grease bather. Does this phase me? Not in the least. Just be aware of what I must endure in order to enjoy a french fry meal.
Although... I hate food.
I hate feeling like my food choices aren't good enough. That stupid 5, 10, 20 minutes of sitting and throwing mushed, mashed, crushed, cracked nutrition (or sometimes lacking) down my throat. It gets gross and boring and unpleasant. The stomachache and bloating and unpleasantness that seems to come all too fast and easily and unwanted. The inability to move or feel good about yourself for hours, days, weeks (if you experience IBS, you know what I mean.)
Not wanting to get fat so you can please the people you have no desire to please, yet feel the compulsion to satisfy. It's disgusting and ironic and not fun. To the point of contemplating anorexia or bulimia or just cutting of a limb. Say, the nose? As, I am not too content with mine. Water weight and muscle weight and hoping that my organs way 100+ lbs. It could be.
Watching how other women eat. Some eat so much and remain thin, we are bred to hate them, maybe devour them. The ones who eat too much and get fat and we ask, "Why do they keep eating?" but in the end, we wish we were comfortable enough in ourselves to eat like that and look like that without shame. Because there is no shame in looking like that! Unless, of course, you ask the models and actors and the rest of the list- all of which are known for their drug problems. Ah, where we find our heroes... genius. Or maybe we wonder how women eat so little and look the way they do. That one person who never seems to eat and yet, she weighs the weight of two of the skinny ladies combined. How frustrated she must be. Who does she blame at night when she looks in the mirror? I hope she is content, but what are the chances of that? It is people like me and you and us all, whether we know it or admit it or see or not. We are all part of it.
Of course, I happen to love a little something extra on a person. Or a lot extra. Or nothing extra! How do such beautiful creatures think such horrible things? Who or what gave us that idea? Of course, the media, the government, everything we see in the world. The things we cannot erase, the reason this way of thinking will never end, never cease, never be defeated. Self-love will only exist in the mind of the man or woman in denial.
Food which disappears so quickly after you buy it. Maybe it is just me, but I a so excited to eat the broccoli once I buy it. Every type of fruit I bought. I binge. I suffocate. I sit and sit and sit and struggle to move or breathe or think anything but, "Oy." Then it is gone and I wait several weeks before buying more. I starve meanwhile. That starvation! That ache! That nausea that accompanies it! I get it, stomach! Why not be like an alarm clock? Ache for a bit, then rest. Remind me again in 20 minutes or so. I assure you I will find food, stomach. Don't panic unless it's been more than a few days. Relax, stomach, you worry wart. I am going to take care of you and refuel. With what, though?!
Meat and dairy are bad. But I need the vitamins. I want the vegetables, but they upset my stomach. I need the vegetables, but they make me hurt. Meat and dairy make others hurt, they may animals suffer, they disgust me. I need the vitamins, but they are big and smell bad and make me gag. I need the vitamins but I don't want to suffer, so I seem to be okay without them. One day this will catch up with me.
Food is not simple. It's not simple.
Monday, April 1, 2013
The Train Ride (a short story)
They entered the train together with the natural briskness of a native New Yorker; avoiding elbowing any elderly strangers. She couldn't help but do a double-take as a man possibly twenty-six years old, only a few years older than she, sat 12 feet away from her.
"Do not become infatuated", she told herself. "You see handsome men everyday. You feel the exact same urges and crushes. Don't look at him again!"
The doors slammed shut and the train began gliding along the rails in the direction of her home. The train stopped at the next station and as if she had no control of her neck and eye muscles, she turned to him again. This time she caught his eyes looking back at her. He quickly looked back down at his feet.
As the ride continued, the frequency of their glances increased. She was even fairly certain he would smirk a little each time they caught each other sneaking a peek. She wasn't sure what drew her to this man. He wasn't as good looking as other men she had come across on this same train ride. The kind she could get for a dime a dozen any other day of the week. He wasn't dressed like a man who was heading home from an exhausting day at his luxurious office. He was an ordinary man with an ordinary face and as far as she could gather, he probably led an extremely ordinary life. Yet, here she was, unable to stop herself from looking at him. His shaggy, dark brown hair was held out of his face by his green hoodie and his jeans were rather shabbily stitched together. No, he definitely wasn't her idea of sophisticated. After all, she was returning from a long day of work at a big-time attorney's office. Her boss was the kind of man she wanted to marry. As a young secretary, she knew she had no chance with her large, surly boss. She doubted even other co-workers would be interested in her. For now, at least. She had plans to move up in the office ranks quickly. She had big dreams for her new job. For now, however, she was enamored with this rumpled boy on the train.
She tried not to look away too long, hoping he would recognize her interest. They both watched the crowds pour out at every stop, concerned this would be the others' stop and their coy interaction would be ended.
However, station by station, neither of them even began to put their things together in preface to leaving.
As the train emerged from the ground, she watched as snow hit the window pane. She was not looking forward to walking through the snow but watching it from the warm indoors was just lovely. As she turned to do her routine check-in with the man, she noticed he had now moved several seats closer to her. He gave her a smile to acknowledge his act. Letting her know she was responsible for it. Her smile was shy in response but unmistakable. She turned back to the window to watch the snow. She caught a glimpse of herself in the window. Trying to be inconspicuous, she inspected her half-formed image for any glaring faults, fly-aways, or smudged eyeliner. She concluded that she was reasonably presentable.
Several stops later, she noticed how close to her stop they were. She also noticed how close he was to her. She could now see his eyes clearer. They were green... maybe hazel. Whichever colour they were, they made him look like an honest man. They were large and reflected the train's lights in an almost cartoonish way. She could also smell him. Clearly, he had overdone the cologne, but she didn't mind the pungent musky odour he was emitting. The smell was how she thought a man should smell. She worried that she would have to get off the train first. In which case, she didn't know what she would do. She could initiate conversation but that wasn't really a skill she had. Men made her nervous. She had never outgrown that adolescent discomfort. If he got off first, he would have to make the first move. Would he?
As they approached the 18th avenue stop, he stood up and walked to the doorway. She was overjoyed, she didn't imagine forty minutes after their initial glances, they would be then getting off at the same place. This was perfect. She knew he felt the same when she stood up and waited by the door next to him. His smile was all-revealing.
The train came to a halt and the doors opened. They exited the automatic doors and he placed a cigarette between his lips. He turned to her. "You look just like my friend's sister." He continued speaking for a bit but his words were incoherent through the cigarette in his mouth. She just smiled, excited by the conversation that was finally taking place. The one she had been waiting for the entire ride.
"Are you related to this guy named Lorenzo in the area?"
He had a certain air of confidence and disinterest that told her he was a true Italian Brooklynite. She shook her head.
"You look so much like her. It was driving me nuts the whole train ride."
He walked through the exit door. Without looking back at her, he shouted, "All right. Have a good night!"
His pace sped up as he walked in the opposite direction from her own.
She stopped walking and said under her breath, "What the hell?"
"Do not become infatuated", she told herself. "You see handsome men everyday. You feel the exact same urges and crushes. Don't look at him again!"
The doors slammed shut and the train began gliding along the rails in the direction of her home. The train stopped at the next station and as if she had no control of her neck and eye muscles, she turned to him again. This time she caught his eyes looking back at her. He quickly looked back down at his feet.
As the ride continued, the frequency of their glances increased. She was even fairly certain he would smirk a little each time they caught each other sneaking a peek. She wasn't sure what drew her to this man. He wasn't as good looking as other men she had come across on this same train ride. The kind she could get for a dime a dozen any other day of the week. He wasn't dressed like a man who was heading home from an exhausting day at his luxurious office. He was an ordinary man with an ordinary face and as far as she could gather, he probably led an extremely ordinary life. Yet, here she was, unable to stop herself from looking at him. His shaggy, dark brown hair was held out of his face by his green hoodie and his jeans were rather shabbily stitched together. No, he definitely wasn't her idea of sophisticated. After all, she was returning from a long day of work at a big-time attorney's office. Her boss was the kind of man she wanted to marry. As a young secretary, she knew she had no chance with her large, surly boss. She doubted even other co-workers would be interested in her. For now, at least. She had plans to move up in the office ranks quickly. She had big dreams for her new job. For now, however, she was enamored with this rumpled boy on the train.
She tried not to look away too long, hoping he would recognize her interest. They both watched the crowds pour out at every stop, concerned this would be the others' stop and their coy interaction would be ended.
However, station by station, neither of them even began to put their things together in preface to leaving.
As the train emerged from the ground, she watched as snow hit the window pane. She was not looking forward to walking through the snow but watching it from the warm indoors was just lovely. As she turned to do her routine check-in with the man, she noticed he had now moved several seats closer to her. He gave her a smile to acknowledge his act. Letting her know she was responsible for it. Her smile was shy in response but unmistakable. She turned back to the window to watch the snow. She caught a glimpse of herself in the window. Trying to be inconspicuous, she inspected her half-formed image for any glaring faults, fly-aways, or smudged eyeliner. She concluded that she was reasonably presentable.
Several stops later, she noticed how close to her stop they were. She also noticed how close he was to her. She could now see his eyes clearer. They were green... maybe hazel. Whichever colour they were, they made him look like an honest man. They were large and reflected the train's lights in an almost cartoonish way. She could also smell him. Clearly, he had overdone the cologne, but she didn't mind the pungent musky odour he was emitting. The smell was how she thought a man should smell. She worried that she would have to get off the train first. In which case, she didn't know what she would do. She could initiate conversation but that wasn't really a skill she had. Men made her nervous. She had never outgrown that adolescent discomfort. If he got off first, he would have to make the first move. Would he?
As they approached the 18th avenue stop, he stood up and walked to the doorway. She was overjoyed, she didn't imagine forty minutes after their initial glances, they would be then getting off at the same place. This was perfect. She knew he felt the same when she stood up and waited by the door next to him. His smile was all-revealing.
The train came to a halt and the doors opened. They exited the automatic doors and he placed a cigarette between his lips. He turned to her. "You look just like my friend's sister." He continued speaking for a bit but his words were incoherent through the cigarette in his mouth. She just smiled, excited by the conversation that was finally taking place. The one she had been waiting for the entire ride.
"Are you related to this guy named Lorenzo in the area?"
He had a certain air of confidence and disinterest that told her he was a true Italian Brooklynite. She shook her head.
"You look so much like her. It was driving me nuts the whole train ride."
He walked through the exit door. Without looking back at her, he shouted, "All right. Have a good night!"
His pace sped up as he walked in the opposite direction from her own.
She stopped walking and said under her breath, "What the hell?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)