If I Clean Your House, Please Don't Take Offense

For a few reasons:

1. It comes from a place of love. I can't cook, knit, sew, or build anything to contribute to the group. But cleaning is a skill you can learn, and when I put my mind to it I can clean pretty well. So that's what I can contribute to the cause. I do it to help out, not because I think you are dirty. I do it to give you one less thing to worry about. I do it for that great feeling of getting something done that you didn't have to do yourself. I do it to brighten your environment in a way you didn't expect.

It's all I can contribute. Please allow me.

2. For a little while, I get to distract myself from whatever is going on. It's usually when I'm alone, I pop in some headphones and go to town. Meditatioin.

3. My out of shape ass makes it an aerobic exercise. It's good for me. That's built in stress relief while achieving a measurable goal: mentally and physically healthy.

I'm not saying I do a perfect job. But I try to cover whatever I think is important for you. And I try to stay out of your personal stuff.

It's The Most Magical Time Of The Year

I'm thousands of miles from my family. My roomies have headed out for the holiday. It could be a sad story.

But . . . 

My leetle seester sent gifts that arrived back in early Dec.

Both my brothers sent me cards. One put in a ridiculous cash gift. 

I got home and my roomies had left a pile of brightly wrapped gifts on my bed: all in Crazy Christmas Red.

Two care packages arrived from my Moo. So now I'm listening to my very own Christmas CD while I assemble my new Charlie Brown Christmas Tree--my little brother's idea.

My room is wrecked because I had to make room for unpacking and putting out the presents. That's a pretty good problem to have.

I don't give a shit about presents. But this year I have been reminded of the awesome power of physical tokens of remembrance. I've also been reminded of the importance of human connection.

And that's how you end up feeling loved from across a continent. I've got music, I've got decorating duties, and I've got the knowledge that people out there have been thinking about me.

Gotta go, Johnny Mathis is singing.

Serenity Now!

Grant me the ability to be an independent bubble, whose climate and attitude are reliant on only internal intention and feeling.

Neither a sponge nor a mirror shall I be, absorbing and reflecting, but instead impervious to the influences of xeno-forces, allowing in only that which nourishes and supports me.

Grant me the strength to be aloof, so I might be kind; the ability to be self contained, so I might be healthy;  and the wisdom to withdraw, that I may stay free.

Keep my composure when I am exasperated, hold my tongue when I am angry, stay my hand when I am threatened.

Allow me the boon of self acceptance, trust in my intentions, and awareness of my convictions, that I may exercise my self-hood trusting that I do the best I can and am always ready to do better--and that should be enough.

ps

Freak Out - Sobbing - WTF - OMG - I Don't Even Understand, And You Will Think This Is Silly

Today, while pleasant in aspect, was not my day. Against plans, I decided to roll.

Now, there's only one bowling alley in town, and it suits me just fine, because they are the best. It's old, cracked, well oiled (before league) and familiar.

It's the kind of place I can leave my wallet in the pit and hit the restroom and I never even worry about someone stealing my shit.

Say what you will about the South, but this Just Happened:

I'm rolling with three different balls, trying to find a happy medium. Three beers and five sets in, I'm thinking "I should really get the guy to tell me the weights on these balls, so I'll know what to look for, though it's probably the elusive 10lb ball, talked of in myths and legends.

The owner walks over to me and says, "Girl, how many balls you trying to bowl with?"

I explain my situation, which is: I'm outta shape, I have small hands, and the light balls don't carry enough weight to strike. But the heavy balls kill my hip. (Bowlers know).

I mention I used to bowl with a green house ball, not the yellow letter 12 pounder, but the other one. He knows it: the 9 lb green. Gone the way of the dodo, almost.

"Well, lemme see. Now I have an idea," he says. Disappears into the back (the sacred holy bowling ball space). Halfway through my fifth sixth seventh whatever set, he hands me a ball. Pink, blue, and black, like a livid bruise.

"This is 10lbs, try it."

I have a beer and roll a little more. My hip is killing me. My knees are tired. But I've got a good grip on this 10lb. It's not the final weight I'll bowl with, but I can work with it. Put a wicked spin on it a few times without really trying.

I finish up one game and one beer over my original intent. It's all good. I've been trying to make this a McConauDay, though I have quite been able to pull it off. My hip hurts. My knees ache. I'll probably be done in for sure tomorrow. I still haven't eaten. I still haven't cleaned the room or fridge. I still haven't located the Christmas gift cards that I just realized today were missing.

You might imagine it's hard to get Zen and Bowl Right with a brain like this. You'd be right.

Anyhoo, I bowl my final and break 120, which was my goal. A sad goal, but still. I'm thinking crazy things, like how I should really get my own ball, even though I'm totally broke-ass and didn't even try to do that when I had money.

I carry the ball back up to the front, because it's obviously not a regular house ball: it's all shiny and pretty.

The owner cashes me out, and we talk of California (which everybody wants to dog on) and Zen bowling and the world. He pulls out a box and puts the ball I've been using into it. He slides the box across the counter to me.

"Here ya go. Somebody donated this so go ahead and have it. I know you'll use it."

Dude.

Seriously.

He just *gave* me a bowling ball.

I almost cried.

And then I did when I made it home.

I'm sure it seems silly, but good things never happen to me. I'm never rewarded for my loyalty or patience. The surprises in my life are mostly, almost all, negative. I'm not a lucky person.

But today I got a bowling ball for free. From a guy who remembers me even though I don't live here anymore. At an alley I almost didn't go to today.

Fuck a duck. I'll happily take my small miracles where I can.

That's Life

It has been a pretty shitty scene around these parts lately.

However, right now I'm sitting in a balmy house in Venice Beach. The door and windows are all open. Cats are wandering in and out. The Chairman of the Board is singing about his favorite years while I lounge in a club chair made from the aluminum and leather of a WWII plane.

My friend blau is kindly fixing all the stuff I've hosed up on my beloved Mac, between light speed packing for his departure in under an hour.

It's strangely peaceful, this moment. I am grateful for that.

Feelings Are Mentionable And Manageable

Why are there so few people who really care about children, and the adults that children become?

Fred Rogers earns PBS $20M. Best. Fundraiser. Ever.


I had forgotten that he liked us, just as we are. Why didn't we form a religion around this guy?

Chestnut Brown Canary, Ruby Throated Sparrow

It's weird what you wake up with in your head.

I think this is the part where I'm supposed to talk about how some people really don't seem to understand what's going on in my life. Because if they did, surely they wouldn't treat me the way they have.

But I don't want to spend another post whining about my life. It's hard to express, but I am super stressed out--I'm very much on the edge. I guess either it's hard to tell that, or people just don't believe it. It's pretty rough to get lectured when you thought everything was okay, you were planning responsibly (or so you thought), and you were really focused on having a good time with your friends.

In other words, I know I'm a fuck up. I really don't need anybody reminding me of this. I live it every day.

I have to give a shout-out to Handy J, who gave me some awesome, sage-like, and deceptively sweet advice.


another night slips away
in other words i should say
there are no words he should say
there are no words

I Wish Someone Had Said This About Me

I wish that I was this kind of person. A brief look at Jim Henson, Muppets, booze, and the "elegance of kindness."