Semi-Daily Scribbles

Stage Fright

Second Acts. Encores.

Whatcha gonna do when you no longer have to punch a clock? I don't golf. The thought of a cruise ship holiday makes my butthole pucker. I've been making art since I was a child, so that's not going to change, but neither will it pay for my upkeep in old age. Old age ... what does that even mean in the times we are a-livin' in? My definition of old age is to put your years of experience to work in the service of others. Serve a greater cause than living the good life of a retiree (if you're lucky enough to have a big ass nest egg hidden somewhere.) But even if you do have a big ass nest egg hidden somewhere, answer me this: What need do you fill? I've been meditating on this question recently, especially as another year is streaking by. In six months I'll be another year older. Will I be any wiser? We'll see. Last week I had A Defining Moment that screamed in my face: Stop shoehorning yourself into situations that are only intended to dole out a paycheck. Yeah, I know, I've got angst in my pants. But this pantser is finally becoming a plotter. I need to plan out the next 20 years of my life with care.

Back to that Defining Moment, though. Eliza stopped me in the hall and asked how do visual and performing arts help her daughter excel in STEM? Well, music is math/math is music, so there's that. But the real answer, which I conveyed to Eliza, is that humans must exercise both hemispheres of their brains in order to build the world we'll be living in 50 years from now. It does not do to just be good with numbers. One has to dream a need into awareness, and then provide the blueprint to address it. That takes some pretty beefy creative muscles. Let's just hope the dream, the need, and the execution of a solution makes for technology that enlightens rather than enslaves us, but I'll save scribbling about that for another day. Eliza then asked "how do you have all the answers?" and "can I look inside your head?" Whenever we have water cooler chats she always learns something. According to Eliza, I'm a very good speaker and listener. She let me know should I ever become a psychologist, she wants to be my first client. Word of Mouth! Pay it Forward! Food for Thought ...

As I research next steps for non-retirement, fields of study that have long held my fascination are coming back into the picture. I'm being invited to pick up loose threads and weave a narrative that'll manifest a nourishing future. It is true. We return to Source eventually.

fresh, easy, approachable, evocative

Have I bought into any number of myths concerning beauty? Do I truly believe beauty comes in all shapes, shades, and sizes? Is everyone beautiful?

 

Sure.

 

I'm not going to lie. I have a huge crush on Charlotte and I wouldn't mind being tall and slim and very French. Hell, I don't wear makeup at all and I still want to buy this entire line. But then this is up next on my To Be Read List (if I can set aside my quest to become a Cool Girl long enough to pick up the book.) I'm eager to unpack and examine my definitions of health and feeling at peace in my own skin once I've explored stories different from my own. I'm even open to the possibility I'll discover some squicky revelations about myself. This is all in the name of education and the betterment of yours truly, yeah? My gut is telling me something different. Something along the lines of: Who wouldn't want to be a Size ... ?

Presentation

Ok Melody, listen up. Truthie Ruthie here to help an old friend.

 

You don't get a second chance to make a first ... Quick! First thought that popped up ... I wonder where my copy of A Confederacy of Dunces is I read in college and carried around with me like an In Case of Emergency tampon? Let me jot down a few thoughts about the internal and external worlds. After sleeping in you didn't go to work because you thought it was your day off. TRANSLATION: boss man says let's put this flake on the shortlist to get riffed (always happens Qtr4). What really occurred? You stayed up all night putzing about with your novel. I mean, c'mon! That's the real work, right? WRITE WRITE WRITE!!! Your endearing yet off-putting dreamy far-away-ness (Ooh, and the way you listen. Eyes wide, head bent, lips doing that funny pucker thing. You ain't heard a word I said, but boy do you put on a good show!) is due to you living in two realms at once. You can bounce between one plane of existence to the other, but it leaves you breathless and blurry around the edges. People just think you're a messy mouth-breather. They give you a wide berth but think you're friendly enough. OBSERVATION AND A BIT OF UNSOLICITED ADVICE: We are all judged and we are all judgmental. The trick is to own your quirks and prejudices and know you are whole in spite of your disheveled self. This is why when someone offers you love, take it. BUT BUT BUT!!! No overthinking. THE CHOICES: Be you or be someone else. You're in for a ride no matter what (don't worry sweet cheeks, you're still my girl.)

Thursday's Ponderous Thoughts

Is Height-Weight Proportionate a thing anymore? I'm curious because I've been called out for my shape-size-stature (all 160 centimeters of me) in recent years. I never heard comments regarding my shape-size-stature back in the days when ... well, more people were HWP. I'm not even sure I understand what Body Positivity means. I am positive I have a body (which is a cumbersome thing, by the way), but I reckon the term means self-acceptance. I do believe you need to love yourself because humans are flimsy creatures and to whom/what they claim loyalty frequently shifts. Just because you refrain from berating yourself, however, doesn't give you license to kill yourself with kindness. Want to make changes in how to navigate this life? You know what to do.

 

Anyway, back to me. I've decided not to feel guilty anymore when I wear my size S clothing. I won't get defensive when called Stick Woman, or when my boss comments on the fact that I "obviously don't eat." I have more important things with which to be concerned. And so do you.

Don't hang on. Climb.

Petra won't have to stare at spreadsheets for 10 hours a day anymore. Accepting that job at the equipment place was one of her more stupid moves. Petra is a talker and a fixer and a can't-sit-down-for-long kind of gal. She must be seen and heard while she is seeing and hearing everything going on around her. That's entertainment! That's just her brain. Turbulence and an increased heart rate gets Petra to give her best. So what if she's on an adventure to deal with frustrated people who can't muster 500 Mbps at their house at the end of the logging road several miles off the interstate? For Petra, life is dull without change and challenges. Toss in a pile of cranky customers and Petra will have her fill of c-words in no time. Criminy!

Chore

Maya earned a college degree, damn it! Ralph and the kids didn't give a second thought to Mom's intellect. They just needed her to make their lives a little less of a hassle. For instance, Maya knew how to separate the laundry. She'd happily tell them all cold water worked for most things. Maya dreamed of rivulets and great sweeping sheets of icy blue water. She often pictured herself clad in overstretched sweats, negotiating treacherous rapids on a rather enlarged under-the-rim bowl deodorizer, paddling madly with a wickedly big brush. She was going to get to her destination regardless of discomfort and danger. Regardless of loneliness and lungs filled with pure mountain runoff. All she had to do was take a deep breath, point her toes in the right direction, and hold on. Maya'd grown tired of scrubbing the commode every time she had to pee. What a chore, but how else could she sit down in peace? Turbulent, torrential water washed away a multitude of sins.

Official Motto

Busy, busy bee. Mother of all industry. If it's true we write what we know, best to know as much as possible. One needs something quote worthy to say when one's work is called "a shabbily disguised conversion story." Either own the act of disciple-making, or close up shop. People say they prefer the truth, but there will always be an audience for well-spoken lies.

Hot Potato

What Edwina did was write a 19th century-style novel praising the CTW and readers never noticed or didn't care. The easily impressed and highly enthusiastic masses cried: This book is amazing! However, when one's main character is emotionally dependent on others, intellectually incurious, and ill-equipped to think critically, we may as well root for the potted dieffenbachia in the corner of the protagonist's living room. Meaningful, thought-provoking narrative does a body good, but it also seems to be an acquired taste. Life's bitter moments often teach us a more valuable lesson than the sweet and quick fix of a happy ending that goes down smooth as butter. But what defines 'happy?' What is 'The End' and how does one get there? Why the hell, in 2015, do we cling so tenaciously to gender stereotypes? Don't bother asking Edwina.

Safety First

...and therefore Constable Excessive-Force was instructed that teenage girls in bathing suits (neon floral and other such summery motifs) pose a most grievous threat. Why, the concealment of weapons beneath all manner of itsy-bitsy, teeny-weenies is a public safety calamity! The only action available to Constable Excessive-Force, one in which he had intensive training, was to draw and aim.

Fire with extreme prejudice.

Learn Aversion for Profit & Gain

To self-educate is way better than to self-medicate. And hey, a gal doesn't want to go through life as a thwarted intellectual, does she? Turn up the dial, amigos. Your community is waiting. So what if your feet haven't found anything solid on which to stand? Build your base and let time manage the project's schedule. Wisdom eaters will find your door and happily queue up for a copy of your half-completed Masterwerk. Let them finish it and weep. Your best effort is back at the starting line. Begin again ... and again ... and again ... and gain a whole new audience.