Actual Happenings

Yeah, well, hi. Another fortnight has vaporized. Sheesh! And it’s May.

Because it’s been merciful (to some °) outdoors, I’ve been digging and moving objects and making myself grubby and oh-so-many whatnots in attempts at amounting to an effort to a) be less fraught with anxiety; b) transform the hitherto crucible of our house [yes, it’s in the middle of our street] into a beacon of intentionality and beauty for everyone; c) coax every neutrino of loveliness out of the springtime, which manages still to spring, somehow. This afternoon, we’re going to spread d├ęchets cheval onto parts of our yard. On purpose.
Since we ran out of heating oil, I have changed. I have realized and rerealized and serially realized things. I’d list them all, but they’re kinda prosaic. Except one. Get down with this goodness:

1.       When I shower after several days of not doing so, my balding head develops a glare sufficient to qualify it as a reflective light source.
Yeah. Ha effing ha.

I have to start my own business, which I am in the process of doing. All of this searching for work has been stunningly ineffective; in some respects, I have never (ever) felt worse about myself. After our refinance failed, my everything ached with consistent kvetch, but I understood the ultimate why behind my inability to find even a measly job after nearly 1,500 applications.

It is a lot like my experience with romance growing up—it seldom worked, and it never worked out. I always figured that it was something wrong with me, and that people would somehow catch on to the fact of there being something wrong with me. I never felt handsome or stylish or acceptable. Rather than consider that possibly my chronic pining was evidence of a deeper wisdom in how life was unfolding, I grew neurotic and estranged. I catalyzed that sense of alienation into creativity and humor, which kept my friends around, but its underpinning was always a longing for acceptance that superseded my awareness of my place, if there is or was one, in the great, big world. But I think that I get now that people were living their lives, just as it would dearly have behooved me to live my own. People knew that I belonged elsewhere (although there were no details available), and they had the integrity to demonstrate that. And I found my person, and we have made our people, and there is so much love there that I can only express gratitude for every awkward interlude that brought me here.

It is O.K. that others have priorities, and it is A.O.K. that your priorities are different from the priorities of others; said priorities become problems only when, instead of tending to your own priorities, you take to managing the extent to which the priorities of others operate at your expense. It’s a subtle shift, but a significant one.

I suppose that it’s all about actively doing, rather than not doing the opposite. When babies are born, they are BORN. They don’t merely fail to remain unborn. I told a dear friend of mine, leaden with guilt when considering ending a long-term relationship: “Just because [someone]’s not wrong for you, doesn’t make them right for you.” That was a lot smarter than I actually am, because it points to truths consistent throughout our lives. I guess it’s condensed to this: don’t default to the tarpit of projected responses. What’s real is real, at least in this context, and our respective and collective responsibilities are to trust our own perceptions and believe in them as we act.

So, instead of trying so incalculably hard to convince a prospective employer to say YES to me—even if it’s a dubious fit in terms of my skills and their needs—I’m going to do everybody a favor and launch my own business.

It is to be a writing, editing, and proofreading service. It is to be called, shockingly: Good Ideas on Paper.


Ha ha ha ha ha

It is said that the mere experience of laughter will generate mirth. As the last fortnight has left me beleaguered, I'm gonna start laughing despite my inclination to fret. I will chronicle the results of this, my abjectly informal mockery of science, throughout the day.

I will start by laughing. Here goes:

Forced. It's 8:30 a.m.

Update to follow.

10:00 a.m.

All that I can manage is a snicker that sounds a bit like a scoff. Too much tedium. I did laugh at breakfast. Now, I am feeling amuseder at last night's Desmond after-dinner attempt to describe an animal ("It's like a tiger; it has like a lemony face [SQUINCHES] it's like, ...short and all sweating and everything, like covered in drops of water, and there are some scales on it and it looks out of its shell at you like... [GESTURES TO APPEAR SNEAKY AND MALEVOLENT]. What's the name of it?") that turned out to be the armadillo. "That is the BEST game!" Molly exclaimed, and I agree with her.