I can honestly say that I did not realize it had been so long since a post.
Granted, I tend to believe (after the fact) that most of my posts are superfluous and unnecessary, with no real meat in them. But I guess it just depends on what one looks for in a post. And now it occurs to me that I might spend too much time thinking about the qualities of a post. So we're just going to move past it.
So the crazy lady next door, Sandra, has recently announced that she is going to stomp me. This comes as no surprise for those of you who are aware of the history I have with Sandra. For those of you who are not, the synopsis is this:
According to Sandra, I strategically waited until she left to go pick up her daughter from school, and within that 10 minute time frame I found a dead black mouse and placed it in her parking spot as a racial threat.
Those are the basic facts. Allegedly (not that I recall any of this actually happening, but what do I know?). Below is a story inspired by the event for those of you who would care to read further:
It was a sweaty and satisfying end to a long day, and the evening proved to be gracious and merciful. I went outside to take a seat on my new perch in the stairwell of my garden-level apartment (although the “garden” turned out to be more of a jungle, bearing muskrat-sized zucchinis and ferocious, domestic-cat-attacking animals of the night, whose other victims I can only assume included the 3-legged rabbit I had seen limping around the property earlier that day).
The cool evening air and the hush of traffic was enough to distract me from the woman yelling at me from the next house over. That is, until she repeated herself, louder this time.
“ExCUSE me! Did you…” she said.
“I’m sorry? I didn’t hear you,” I replied. Yay! I thought to myself. A new friend, a neighbor, one with whom I can share block gossip, one who will invite me in for dinner! Someone to give me the Heimlich maneuver when I find myself choking on a piece of lettuce while eating alone in my studio apartment.
She repeated herself and the tone of her voice sent up red flags and some adrenaline rushing through my blood stream. This was the unmistakable voice of an angry woman on a mission; you could feel the weight of the massive hunk of granite resting on her left shoulder growing heavier with each syllable she spat.
“Did you SEE who put a DEAD mouse in my FUCKING parking spot?”
“A mouse?”
“A DEAD, BLACK, MOUSE.”
“Did I see who put it there?” I only asked the question because the words “who” and “put” were really throwing me off here.
“You fucking HEARD ME. Who the HELL put that dead fucking MOUSE in my PARKING SPOT!” I knew it was a question by the syntax, but she launched the words through the air at me more like a missile than a query.
“Uh, are you sure it wasn’t a cat?”
“There ain’t no fucking CATS around here.”
“Well, I have a cat. But he stays inside, so I guess it wasn’t him. Are you sure there aren’t cats around here? I think I’ve seen cats here. But I just moved in, so I guess I don’t really know. But I think I saw a cat the other night…” The words dripped out of my mouth like water from a leaky faucet. Perhaps I was trying to bore this scary woman into leaving me alone by ceaselessly gabbing until she got so fed up that she would slam the kitchen window shut and forget I had ever existed.
It turns out that approach wasn’t going to work. My run-on sentences merely acted as fodder for her fury.
“It wasn’t no CAT. Someone waited for me to leave, then came out and put that DEAD fucking mouse where I park my car. RIGHT in the middle. Let me TELL you, I’m the wrong bitch to mess with…” And so on, so forth, and in the words of King Mongkut of Siam, ‘EtceteRA, etceteRA’.
As Sandra (I later learned the demon-neighbor’s name was Sandra) continued with her threats and other various announcements through the dirty screen of her kitchen window, I withdrew into my own thoughts, with only the occasional “FUCK” or “Start a fire like you ain’t never seen” slipping through the filter I had put up against her words. I began to drift, and it occurred to me that I was at a crossroads. I clearly saw the two paths I could take – ignore this woman or not ignore her, it was that simple. And I realized that I had been training for this moment for nearly an entire year.
“WWED?” I thought to myself. “What would Emily do?” This seemed like the most important question I could ask myself.
Why Emily? Because Emily is a goddess. Emily is the answer to the world’s problems.
She has the charm of Paul Newman and the steel resolve of a Mafia hit man. She is sweet and beautiful, with a heart like a bottomless buffet – “Take! Take! Take!” she says with open arms, a glistening smile, and endless hugs and kisses for every soul in line. Emily will tell you that she is not charming, but merely naïve, although I will always argue that just her statement of this fact makes it fiction, for the naïve do not know they are so. Naïveté and ignorance are fruits of the same tree, and Emily is neither of these.
I once watched Emily start a conversation with a rude and vaguely offensive man with whom those of us already sitting outside with him wanted little, if nothing to do. Within minutes she had learned and taught us all more about this man than I’ve learned about some people over the span of years, simply by asking him two questions: Are you healthy? Are you happy? She turned this stranger into another friend in the world, another spiritual fighter on our team. My idea of “stranger” melted away that day.
Some of you may be thinking, “Yes, that’s great, but too much sugar is bad for the teeth.” To that I say two things: we can handle, and could use, a lot more sugar than conventional standards allow, and secondly, one of my favorite things about Emily is the sour to her sweet. Just when it gets to the point where you ask yourself, “Does this girl have no limits?! Does she really love everyone THAT FUCKING MUCH?!!”, you see her air punch the back of some guy’s head for pulling a pan out of the box that she JUST PACKED, the pan that she JUST WASHED.
It is this anchor, but not unhealthy attachment, to the “real world”, the one that most of us embrace too tightly, that makes Emily so amazing. Too many of us hold onto the negative, choose to see people in the lights of their worst attributes, brush off those things that are foreign to us and drown ourselves in the familiar stench of conservative reality. Emily refuses these conventions, but not without acknowledging their existence. After all, the heroine cannot slay the dragon without first admitting that it is alive and kicking.
This is how I know she is not just crazy. Because the first time I ever met her, I was absolutely sure that Emily was certifiably insane. I had never met anyone so…nice. No-strings-attached, no-underlying-motives-NICE. Frankly, it was eerie. So I put up the old wall (you know, the one you whip out in line at the post office) and called it a day. But much to my surprise (and concern), it didn’t affect Emily at all. Like an arrow through the air of a crisp autumn day she hopped the fence and then proceeded to quickly (but oh-so-gently) take it down, pulling it apart and sorting the fragments into piles to be recycled and put to better uses than keeping the beautiful world out of this empty pasture.
And as quickly as I had disappeared into my WWED thoughts, I re-emerged. I don’t have to think about what Emily would do. I know what she would do by instinct. This is another beauty of her being – her joy of love and life is so intrinsic and true that one doesn’t have to think about it at all.
I stepped out of my head and right into the middle of Sandra’s threat to call her nephews on my ass (to teach me a lesson for putting the dead mouse in her driveway), and then she artfully segued into an explanation of the symbolic nature of the mouse’s color.
“Would you like me to pick it up for you?” I interrupted.
This stopped Sandra in her tracks.
“Excuse ME?”
“I said, would you like me to pick up the mouse for you? Would that make you feel better?”
“You can do whatever the hell you want. But that thing ain’t goin’ in my fuckin’ TRASH CAN.”
Now Sandra seemed a little dazed, and while it may have been the effects of whatever mental disorder she suffers from, I would like to think that my neighborly chivalry had something to do with it.
“That would be very kind of you,” she mumbled into the window screen.
At that, I scooted inside, grabbed the first plastic bag I found, and edged my way over to the long-deceased carcass of our infamous rodent friend (whom I had, by the way, named Rudolph at some point along the way). Gingerly I scooped him up and put him into a trash can (I still don’t know which one is actually mine), said a quick “Good night and good luck” as I slammed the lid shut, and went to go tell Sandra of my heroic deed.
I quickly walked back to her kitchen window, only to find that she had closed the glass and left me in the driveway all alone. And while I was relieved that she had decided to find a new target for her suffering, I was more overcome by the disappointment I felt for not being able to end my conversation with her the way I had planned, by asking her two simple questions:
Are you happy? Are you healthy?
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
To Whom It May Concern,
To whom it may concern,
The days of wine and roses are over. The sun no longer shines for us; in fact, I don’t believe it ever actually did. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Rather, it is the last day of the best of your life. Actually, yesterday was the last day. Today is the first day of the steady uphill trudge that is to be your daily grind from now on.
We’ve had a good run, but every good thing must eventually come to an end. It was good while it lasted, and so on. We spin so many lines to describe the terrible events that no one wants to admit were actually that terrible (yet in which we fully immersed ourselves anyway in some vain attempt at happiness), but now I can move on to explaining to you how this new game works, as the old one has come to a bitter and crashing halt.
First and foremost you must forego any attempts at self-flattery, adulation, and the achievement of happiness as you once knew it. The ghost of bliss we once easily recognized in the glow of kisses and steaming coffee has found shelter in more obscure places, creeping in through the cracks in the walls that were listening when we told the world how it ends—abruptly and without reason. Where there once was a soft and happy glow subtly illuminating the world so we could see it all at once, there now are just spotlights here and there, serving their purpose of illuminating singular moments of clear joy and cruelly creating a deafening darkness in the meantime, one through which we stumble and often fall. But just as we pitch ourselves unwittingly into the holes we also climb out into lovely moments once in a great while. These are the dreams which keep us walking.
Secondly, you will grow to expect that no man or woman outside of your own soul will ever be able to support you in times of great spiritual need. Not your mother, your father, or the person with whom you spend every waking moment, the one that you think about when you fall asleep and again when you rise, the one about whom you dream while Moon laughs down at you. This is not to say that any one of these people does not want to help, it is just that they are generally standing too close to be privy to the vision of your crumbling. By the time you come to this point your grievances will be hidden at the bottom of a chest cloaked in the dust of so many years of wakeful stillness, and the bright pain of them will only present as the smallest pinprick of light to those outside. And while we all wish to find the soul mate that distinguishes this one light from the rest, most of us will never recognize our rescuers.
To be continued,
The days of wine and roses are over. The sun no longer shines for us; in fact, I don’t believe it ever actually did. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Rather, it is the last day of the best of your life. Actually, yesterday was the last day. Today is the first day of the steady uphill trudge that is to be your daily grind from now on.
We’ve had a good run, but every good thing must eventually come to an end. It was good while it lasted, and so on. We spin so many lines to describe the terrible events that no one wants to admit were actually that terrible (yet in which we fully immersed ourselves anyway in some vain attempt at happiness), but now I can move on to explaining to you how this new game works, as the old one has come to a bitter and crashing halt.
First and foremost you must forego any attempts at self-flattery, adulation, and the achievement of happiness as you once knew it. The ghost of bliss we once easily recognized in the glow of kisses and steaming coffee has found shelter in more obscure places, creeping in through the cracks in the walls that were listening when we told the world how it ends—abruptly and without reason. Where there once was a soft and happy glow subtly illuminating the world so we could see it all at once, there now are just spotlights here and there, serving their purpose of illuminating singular moments of clear joy and cruelly creating a deafening darkness in the meantime, one through which we stumble and often fall. But just as we pitch ourselves unwittingly into the holes we also climb out into lovely moments once in a great while. These are the dreams which keep us walking.
Secondly, you will grow to expect that no man or woman outside of your own soul will ever be able to support you in times of great spiritual need. Not your mother, your father, or the person with whom you spend every waking moment, the one that you think about when you fall asleep and again when you rise, the one about whom you dream while Moon laughs down at you. This is not to say that any one of these people does not want to help, it is just that they are generally standing too close to be privy to the vision of your crumbling. By the time you come to this point your grievances will be hidden at the bottom of a chest cloaked in the dust of so many years of wakeful stillness, and the bright pain of them will only present as the smallest pinprick of light to those outside. And while we all wish to find the soul mate that distinguishes this one light from the rest, most of us will never recognize our rescuers.
To be continued,
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wow, I didn't realize it had been so long. I had these grand plans of using Sundays to write entries, but like so many plans I make, that didn't really happen.
I've been thinking a lot about self-discipline, and more specifically, my lack thereof. I think if I could only master that art, then my whole life would be monumentally easier (at least, on a daily basis). The key seems to be living one moment at a time, or trying one moment at a time. If I hold myself up to grand, epic standards with no specific daily goals then I will never achieve what I have the power to achieve.
It's been an interesting month. It has highlighted my tendency to live on the wire, that is, I live in a constant feeling of trying to achieve balance. I don't know if it would be better to always find balance, or to always try for balance. I feel like always being balanced wouldn't suit my palette. This sounds almost masochistic, but I think that it would be quite boring to be balanced all the time. What I mean by balance is the perceived notion of emotional neutrality. I would say "stability", but I don't think that is the best word for it. I think one can be emotionally stable without necessarily being balanced. I think that a natural part of living life to its fullest is allowing yourself to fully immerse in all ranges of emotion. Yes, it can be painful at times when you're in the bucket, but it is also completely exhilarating during the ups.
Of course, I say this because this is how I currently live. Maybe if I had found a way to stay steady on the wire, I would be preaching otherwise.
I stood up on my toes
To watch the coming Storm
Only to find that
The Rain had already fallen.
peace,
rachel audrey
I've been thinking a lot about self-discipline, and more specifically, my lack thereof. I think if I could only master that art, then my whole life would be monumentally easier (at least, on a daily basis). The key seems to be living one moment at a time, or trying one moment at a time. If I hold myself up to grand, epic standards with no specific daily goals then I will never achieve what I have the power to achieve.
It's been an interesting month. It has highlighted my tendency to live on the wire, that is, I live in a constant feeling of trying to achieve balance. I don't know if it would be better to always find balance, or to always try for balance. I feel like always being balanced wouldn't suit my palette. This sounds almost masochistic, but I think that it would be quite boring to be balanced all the time. What I mean by balance is the perceived notion of emotional neutrality. I would say "stability", but I don't think that is the best word for it. I think one can be emotionally stable without necessarily being balanced. I think that a natural part of living life to its fullest is allowing yourself to fully immerse in all ranges of emotion. Yes, it can be painful at times when you're in the bucket, but it is also completely exhilarating during the ups.
Of course, I say this because this is how I currently live. Maybe if I had found a way to stay steady on the wire, I would be preaching otherwise.
I stood up on my toes
To watch the coming Storm
Only to find that
The Rain had already fallen.
peace,
rachel audrey
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
401suc(k)s
What am I doing here. What am I doing here. What am I doing here.
Was coerced, or herded, really, into a meeting about 401(k)s and how I need to start worrying about my retirement today. If I want to be fiscally successful and independent, I should be putting 10% of my income away in a hidey hole. That's a great sentiment but then I would no longer be able to buy groceries. But really, eating is so passe, so I should probably give it up anyway.
No wonder some people believe the world is going to end soon. "Our" (as in the Western world, and probably beyond) priorities are absolutely fucked. We are cogs in a machine and most of us don't even care. What is life? Life is not working. Life is not money. Life is not stuff. Life is people. It is blood, it is spirit, it is the sun shining and the clouds raining, it is walking and breathing and loving and speaking and connecting and playing and so many other things that are in-quantifiable, therefore of no great importance in the modern world for that very reason.
Yes, I realize that it is wise to save money. It is something that I have to do in order to live in this world. But I get scared to think that someday I might be so involved in the quantifiable that I forget that those are DETAILS. My father told me that I was just going through a phase, that I'll grow up and come to realize that yes, the world is about money. If my notions that the world is much larger and more beautiful than a dollar bill can encompass are actually a phase, then I hope I die before I come out of it.
Was coerced, or herded, really, into a meeting about 401(k)s and how I need to start worrying about my retirement today. If I want to be fiscally successful and independent, I should be putting 10% of my income away in a hidey hole. That's a great sentiment but then I would no longer be able to buy groceries. But really, eating is so passe, so I should probably give it up anyway.
No wonder some people believe the world is going to end soon. "Our" (as in the Western world, and probably beyond) priorities are absolutely fucked. We are cogs in a machine and most of us don't even care. What is life? Life is not working. Life is not money. Life is not stuff. Life is people. It is blood, it is spirit, it is the sun shining and the clouds raining, it is walking and breathing and loving and speaking and connecting and playing and so many other things that are in-quantifiable, therefore of no great importance in the modern world for that very reason.
Yes, I realize that it is wise to save money. It is something that I have to do in order to live in this world. But I get scared to think that someday I might be so involved in the quantifiable that I forget that those are DETAILS. My father told me that I was just going through a phase, that I'll grow up and come to realize that yes, the world is about money. If my notions that the world is much larger and more beautiful than a dollar bill can encompass are actually a phase, then I hope I die before I come out of it.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I was in the kitchen, and I heard it...so I came out.
I was just sitting at my dining room table sorting through some old receipts after thoroughly lecturing myself on the importance of budgeting one's money, when I saw my planner sitting on the table.
I opened it up and started writing things in it, then got very sad that I have relatively few things to write in it these days, at least compared to when I was in school. And I automatically was caught in a weak grip of panic, but instead of surrendering I asked myself, "Why don't you enjoy this freedom? Go ahead. Yep. You...there you go."
I still have a bit of a sour feeling in my stomach, but I'm used to it.
This morning as I was leaving my house I caught a whiff of my shared hallway, and it's a smell that I recognized from moving into the place. The other day I cleaned my carpet with the same solution I used when I shampooed my sofa upon arrival in the Twin Cities. Where is the crazy sniffer lady going with this? Both of these smells instantly transported me back to the crazed feeling of panic I had when I moved up here, instead this time I was an observer, not a participant. And I actually smiled about it. Look at you, I said. Look at you there, freaking out, with no one in the room to protect you from your own fears, with no one to grab your shoulders and shake you. And guess what. You're still alive. And quite smug about it. Look at you, indeed.
Then I went to work, where I alternately consoled, cajoled, and harassed harried loan officers all day. Oh well. The good with the bad I suppose.
As a sidenote, I sometimes wonder if the world can be boiled down to love and fear, and am wondering if we perhaps combine and/or confuse the two.
I opened it up and started writing things in it, then got very sad that I have relatively few things to write in it these days, at least compared to when I was in school. And I automatically was caught in a weak grip of panic, but instead of surrendering I asked myself, "Why don't you enjoy this freedom? Go ahead. Yep. You...there you go."
I still have a bit of a sour feeling in my stomach, but I'm used to it.
This morning as I was leaving my house I caught a whiff of my shared hallway, and it's a smell that I recognized from moving into the place. The other day I cleaned my carpet with the same solution I used when I shampooed my sofa upon arrival in the Twin Cities. Where is the crazy sniffer lady going with this? Both of these smells instantly transported me back to the crazed feeling of panic I had when I moved up here, instead this time I was an observer, not a participant. And I actually smiled about it. Look at you, I said. Look at you there, freaking out, with no one in the room to protect you from your own fears, with no one to grab your shoulders and shake you. And guess what. You're still alive. And quite smug about it. Look at you, indeed.
Then I went to work, where I alternately consoled, cajoled, and harassed harried loan officers all day. Oh well. The good with the bad I suppose.
As a sidenote, I sometimes wonder if the world can be boiled down to love and fear, and am wondering if we perhaps combine and/or confuse the two.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
evening
I am waiting for something to happen. I have conflicting feelings about this situation. It is exciting, and generally fills me with a creative spirit that seems to lend itself to exciting happenings. But it also crosses my mind that I may not be forever satisfied with waiting for something to happen. Then I remember that while I do spend time waiting for things to happen, I also spend time experiencing new and wonderful things. In the end I can only hope that I never forget what it's like to enjoy/look forward to/work towards CHANGE.
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