Blog Share 2008!

Since signing up for BlogShare two days ago, I’ve been wondering what exactly to write about. I thought about my life, and what I don’t regularly share on my blog. And then I thought about whether or not I really wanted to be all angsty and emo-like, and I decided (thankfully?) not to go there.

So, I’ve decided to “confess” something that I would never admit to if I had a name attached to me, something that I wouldn’t even “confess” to myself until recently. There’s nothing quite like writing under pressure to get the creative juices flowing huh? Yeah, I thought so. So, *gulp* here goes nothing.

I have no ambition for my life.

Whew. That one’s a doozy, isn’t it? Talk about melodramatic, really. Yet, it’s true, and it’s a statement I find slightly terrifying to see on my screen. In fact, it’s taking all I have right now not to erase all of this and instead talk about unicorns and ponies and rainbows and sparkly things.

I don’t know why I don’t have any ambition. Maybe because I’ve already tried the college route and failed miserably? Maybe because I think about what my passions are, and, besides blogging and making my house a home, I come up empty. But I’m a mediocre blogger (at best) and children aren’t in the picture for (quite) a few years yet, so both of those “careers” seem to be dead-ends, at least for now. Another thing I’ve been struggling with this whole thing is that it’s never been me, to not have ambition. I used to have it in spades. Why the sudden lack? It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever quite figure out, so I won’t go into detail about it here.

I guess I could tell you why I find it so terrifying – but I think you can figure it out for yourselves? For me, to admit that, not only do you have absolutely NO CLUE what you want to do with yourself and your life, but that you don’t really CARE about doing anything with it, seems extremely self-indulgent, almost rude, in a way. Certainly not what our forefathers (four score and seven years ago) had in mind while fighting for our country to remain free. (At least, I don’t think so) (It’s hard to tell for sure, because, I wasn’t exactly around back then)(and I’m no war-buff)(but you get the general idea) (so I can stop doing this) (Yes?)

Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m not saying that I don’t want to work, or accomplish things with my life. While I don’t believe that money makes the world go ‘round, I’m enough of a realist to know that it certainly can grease the wheels quite a bit. And I’m not saying that I won’t have a fulfilling life, because, really, fulfillment falls squarely into the self definition category of life’s little quirks.

I’m just saying that I won’t be reaching for the stars here. I’m (working on being) just perfectly content right here on the ground.

Sharing, But Not Like With Needles

I just finished my post for this year’s blog post. It was a lot of words! I’m now too tired to make the personal post that I’d been tossing around since last night.

At any rate, below are the other blogs that are participating in the exchange. All posts should be up by tomorrow at noon EST. If you can guess which one is mine, I will do a shot of tequila.

Vent Vox
Turn On The Stars
Trudie - Life After AC
Swimming With Sharks
Stefanie Says
Shhh! Librarian-In-Training
Sauntering Soul
Sass Attack
Reflections in the Snow Covered Hills
Red Red Whine
Our Simplicity
One New Duck
Oh My Seven
The Occasional Truth
No Lady
Nancy Pearl Wannabe
Muse On Vacation
Messing With Texas
Melliferous Pants
Lizland
Live Work Dream
Just Below 63
Jonniker
Java Literally
Heidikins
Full of Snark
Face Down
Ex Everything
Everything I Like Causes Cancer
Did I Say That Outloud?
The Daily Tannenbaum
The Coconut Diaries
Citystreams
Catheroominations
Bright Yellow World
Breath Smiles Tears
And You Know What Else
Alyndabear
3 Carnations

Please Pass the Aquanet

Today I found myself missing the way that things used to be.

For the record, I’m not talking about my braces or that perm gone awry. I miss the way that I used to feel when my parents were still alive.

I suppose that I’ve been aware of this on some level. Hello: I had a nervous breakdown on the last anniversary of my mom’s death. The part that I didn’t recognize was the depth of this change.

All of this is very hard to write. There is too much that I would have to feel. Figuratively speaking, I really have managed to put all of this in a tiny little lock box in an unvisited portion of my subconscious. If I open it now, will a lion leap out, or the entire sea?

In lieu of psychoanalyzing myself and writing about my feeeeelings, I would just like to say that I had a very good childhood. I didn’t realize this until the people who anchored me were gone.

It’s hard to pick yourself up when you’re kicking your own butt for being an idiot.

HA!

I wrote the above last night. It seems that I channeled myself at age 16 to write that very moody attempt at an emotionally packed final sentence. Simultaneously, my five-years-old self seems to have merged in order to leave the post sort of hanging.

Bravo, girls. It’s nice to see you muddle through all the other voices in my head and make yourself heard.

Anyhow, the part that I left out was that I’m working through my grief, and have high hopes of feeling good about life, the universe and everything (R.I.P., Mr. Adams) soon, or at least within the next couple of months.

Towards that end, I’ve been reading “The Art of Being,” by Dennis Merritt Jones.

My family doctor prescribed an antidepressant for me in February. I took it for awhile, but it literally made me feel nothing at all. In spite of everything, I believe that it’s better to feel like absolute crap than be completely emotionless.

I was also in therapy. The woman with whom I was meeting was very nice and sympathetic. I answered her questions, gave her a snapshot of myself in so many words, and asked her: What do I need to do so that I no longer feel so lost and damaged by the loss of my parents?

She didn’t try to answer me. She did mention that her parents were also dead. Does that mean that there is no answer or solution?

There must be. I can live with my sorrow. It isn’t right, however, to feel too scared to move forward and unable to step back.

This brings me back to the book. The subtitle is “101 Ways to Practice Purpose in Your Life.”

I don’t expect some magical and quick fix. Reading through the exercises makes me feel like this will help me take a step in the right direction. It’s better than what I’m doing right now, which is standing motionless and too afraid to look around.

Theme Thursday: Hot

Yes, I could have posted a picture of my coffee mug. Goodness knows that I’ve been getting more than enough use of it lately.

I prefer to upload an image of the perfect accompaniment to a hot day.

Blame TORONTO!

I used to take the subway from this station every day!

I’m not at all surprised that some person (allegedly) shoved a stranger onto the tracks. Keep in mind, this is the same city where people pushed me out of their way when I was eight months pregnant so that they could board before I could or get to the last available seat before me.

Project 365: Day One

Dear Diary,

Today I found out that my smoke detector does not work.
Love,
A.

I made chicken adobo for dinner. Being a card carrying member of the Asian Armada (well, if an Asian Armada existed, and if the members carried cards), I realized that you can’t properly enjoy adobo without rice.

I’ll admit to not being a very good Asian because I don’t own a rice cooker. I threw all the ingredients in a pot on the stove. Long story short, I headed into the kitchen for something else entirely and found the entire room veiled in smoke.

All the windows were subsequently thrown open and the fans activated. After about an hour, the place finally cleared up.

Now, I’m beat. I think I’ll enjoy the fruits - or carbs - of my labor.

P.S. -Penguin happily chirped, “Hey, the rice has a nice smoky flavor!”

P.P.S. - We’re in the process of tearing down wallpaper and painting. I don’t live in a crackhouse.

Photo Friday: The Great Outdoors

The other week, the sun finally broke through. Although the snow had melted long before that, it had been replaced by gray skies and a lot of rain. (I actually had a completely disgusting metaphor for exactly how much rain. Just in time, I realized that not everybody has the same sick sense of humor as I do.)

Penguin, Bug and myself sat on the deck to soak in this weather. Our house has an enclosed porch, from which mournful meows could be heard. On a whim, we let out Portia.

For the most part, it was a good experience. She was able to roll around in grass as well as eat some greenery (and later throw it up in the aforementioned enclosed porch). She did scamper off at one point, but was retrieved within the hour.

I think we ended up screwing ourselves for the long haul, though. Every time one of us heads out the front door, she comes scampering to be let out.

I say with much affection that my cat is an idiot. She can’t even hunt a spider properly and jumps two feet in the air if we shuffle our feet. Why she thinks she’s some wild outdoor kitty, I don’t know. Maybe it’s that same instinct that drives some upper middle class teenagers to think they’re from the ‘hood.

At any rate, we don’t let her out anymore. I’m hoping that she eventually gives up on trying.

Photo Friday for June 13, 2008: Movement

Hey! I didn’t try to run away from home until I was five years old!

Kids are growing up so fast these days…

Show Me the…Oh, Never Mind

Things have reached quite a low in my personal life. I won’t go into details, because I’m old enough to remember a time when everything wasn’t made public knowledge.

No, this has nothing to do with the sheep.

In any event, a fellow blogger directed me to a blog network of which she is a member.

I was initially leery of signing up with Pay Per Post. I worried that it would compromise the integrity of my writing, or at least give the impression that this was happening. Another part of me was hesitant to sign up for something that sounded like way too easy of a method of earning some money. I hemmed and hawed for months (I even have pictures! My jaw swings at exactly 35 degrees of an angle when I hem, and swings in a 180 degree arch when I haw. No, not really) and then finally took a chance.

It really isn’t as bad as I thought it could be. If I wasn’t so overly critical about everything, I’d say it wasn’t bad at all.

The nicest part is that I honestly don’t feel like I’m selling out my words (I was going to use a much harsher verb, then realized that the good folks at PPP probably wouldn’t appreciate that). I get to view a list of companies or people that want exposure. I can’t speak for other members, but I proceed to follow available links or use Google to ferret out whatever information that I could.

I’ve passed over a few things because I’m honestly against them, like blogging about meat, since I’m working my way back to being a vegetarianism. Other things I choose not to write about, because they aren’t services that I’d use, so I wouldn’t be able to provide a true review or opinion.

Some things challenge me, in a good way, in that they are topics in which I’ve been interested, but never quite found the time to research.

Right now, I’m going to see where this goes. I just wanted to make this post and honestly say that I won’t be writing about things just for an easy buck. I’ll look into them to the best of my abilities.

Catholics Don’t Do That in the Water

I don’t know how to swim. People usually point out the oddity of this to me, especially when they find out I grew up in California.

I’d like to get all crunchy and say that it must be because I’m a fire sign. A more grounded reason would be my nearly complete lack of physical coordination. It certainly isn’t from a lack of trying.

My first attempt in adulthood occurred when I was 18 years old. The local community college grouped about 20 women of various ages - although mostly in their early 20s - in a morning class. The oldest among us was a snow haired woman that was pushing 80.

She was completely different than anyone in her age that I had ever met, at that point. The women in my family tend to be reserved. I expected that’s just how the world was. My classmate defied this.

During the session where we learned to float on our backs, she yelled something at me. I missed it, since my head took that moment to sink below the water. Again. Defeated, I made my way to the side of the pool where she waited.

She eyed me appraisingly and asked, “Honey, how old are you?”

After I told her, she looked aghast.

“I’m so sorry! I thought you were older! If I’d known how old you really were, I would never have yelled, ‘Arch your back like you’re fucking, honey!’”

She was awesome. I would love to have that much of a spark throughout my life.