Quote for today: Life is what happens while we are busy making other plans.
Ok, so here is some of it anyway.
I am writing in a haste today with a book upon my knee because I have so many thoughts and ideas that I need to pin down to this page. To catch and stick down like insects on a styrofoam board. They buzz 'round my ears incessantly.
On coming into my own:
I have more and more each day been forgiving myself and accepting the imperfection that is being human. I am making an honest effort to allow myself that at least. Of an arm gesture here and a fumble there, what does anyone make of it anyway? To constantly remind myself that yes, I am human, that dastardly form. I have two arms/legs, two eyes, things that come in twos, for what reason I don't know, perhaps balance? And then to exclaim to myself in the corners of my mind, "Do not be so fixated on these things!! Surely at some other point in time, another human has had this same posture, this same stance, committed this same fumbling!" And as we are all but human, that is precisely what we are meant to do. So that when I, in all my self conscious frenzy, am showing great concern about what others will think, how others might view me and what tragic accident or folly will befall me if they all discover that I am truly as human as they, I can finally then remove the blindfold, give my head a shake a little and realize to my own surprise and chagrin that truly, I have not been noticed at all, which could be an even greater tragedy considering my whole hearted belief in my central location in this universe. So notwithstanding my own world revolving ideals and ambitions, I have been and continue to go unrecognized. And in this charming state of anonymity, I still exist, and I can behold myself in all of my private thoughts and begin to dedicate myself to becoming a model that is not necessarily perfect but human, of which I can put on display. A model or motivation which uncovers my secret inner being and allows me secrecy no longer. To come into my own. To become human and at the exact same moment display that humanity as it ought to be, as it is and not as a form of some other illusion. All of my illusions have been betrayed! In this positive glow of becoming, I now see clearly what it means to be different. Oh to be different! To absolutely revel in it! I have never quite understood it. How two people can get along, where others can not. That being a casualty of my perfect chameleon skin. Not once having a problem with other humans, concentrating all of my energy mainly to ensure with accuracy and skill every time that they would fail to find a flaw within me. Becoming that which is adored for a short while, but pull away come midnight for fear the pumpkins would reveal themselves and her dress in tattered rags. And so as my magical charade comes to a close and my fleeting fancies dissuade me, I must exit the masquerade and allow this world to uncover me. This sort of behind the scenes look at who I can really become, besides just a puppet on a string. The curtain is coming down for me and it is time to pack up the glitter, go home and put on the flannels and come into my own. Welcome to my beautiful alive. This is a bright, excited alive. One can't help but notice especially when one encounters an idealist such as myself who is completely thrilled in regards to where exactly the focus of all things ought naturally to be and could not possibly be mistaken.
The nutty bourgeois in me: I have decided that I am an elitist but not in the way everyone expects. For the most part, I am just giddy with disillusionment. It used to be different, I had such high hopes. Back in university, we had a promise. Everyday it seemed I was constantly drowning in that promise that I was one of the elite few, the treasured, the golden children of a generation, the educated and career bound, one of a unique group of mind challengers/brain users. And I took bites of all of this and swallowed it down, content with this ever important knowledge and proud to spend thousands of the government's dollars, wading up to my neck in debt with this smugness that it was worth every penny to be a broke starving student for five years of my pittance of a life. Yada yada. Just to be a member of this secret, elite club. To remind myself that even if all of my dreams didn't come true, it would be really, truly, genuinely, down to the bottom of my heart worth every drop of blood. I have been like a prisoner, so grateful to serve the time knowing that he finally belongs somewhere. I hope you sense my bitter sarcasm. I have only just recently realized that all of this is a big sham, but it worked. It really did. I am still here in this pot aren't I? This money pit. An advertising ploy each and every one of my professors was paid to employ in order to ensure that we as drones feel a sense of elite belonging and will yearn to return time and again to have our pockets emptied. 'You are the elite few that can make a difference in this world. You are the educated. You will rule the world!! Bwahahahahaha!!'
So then, why is it that now that I have finished my magical tour, when I have, according to the institution, become rehabilitated from rude peasant to professor of that same stiffness about the collar, and fulfilled every requirement of a specific education so much so that they will all now consider me over-qualified, as though there is nothing left to teach me in this life, why now do I feel so unprepared, incapable and even betrayed? To pull the wool off of my eyes for the first time and discover that my collar really isn't that stiff after all and that the magic, mind altering, attractive, genius enhancing potion that they have been feeding me; dumping down my throat in fact and drowning me in for all these years has nought but the strange and suspicious likeness to that of cherry wine with no magical properties whatever and all of the bitterness about it. And yet, I still uphold an elitist's confidence which I recognize to be as thin a veil as air but at the same time which I grasp onto with such a violent fervour for fear of life and death. We shall see how time passes in this life.
That's all there is to say. I can always tell when I am done writing. My brain just shuts down and no more thoughts will come. There I will be, writing furiously with such an adrenaline that it surprises me sometimes that the callouses on my fingers remain uncracked, half expecting them to split open and run down to the keys where my words land like sparks ready to ignite only to be quenched by the flow. My cursor skipping across the lines as a flint, awaiting the charged blow. And then it all stops, it falls silent. Then I can tell that I am done. Houselights go on, the magician steps out from his hiding place, the vanishing act revealed. No more to ponder. Nevertheless, it is all to be replaced, next show. I have completely run out of fuel. Imagine, to write until you have nothing else to say or think. Isn't it the brain's major function to think? To shut down this main feature of the body's most vital organ is quite impressive indeed. I am not thinking clearly at all anymore.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Writer's Block
Quote for today: Can you possibly imagine how it feels to fall in love with a mermaid?
The sidewalks are smoking. So are the rooftops. Like one giant WestSide Story poster and the jitterbug in my heart is screaming like it must be spring. But the weather is still refusing to break. Can't shake this feeling.
I am not making any sense today. I keep trying to write something. Writer's block. Blocked in, locked in, cooped up. Frustration! That is the main thing about writer's block. I could pour out meticulously all of these bright, masterpiece style ideas and they will still read simple and dull to my mind in the grip of writer's block. I could rival the works of Amis and Tennyson and still come off sounding more like Dr. Seuss. Maybe this isn't so bad. I will remain colloquial and satisfied.
I wonder if animals have a sense of freedom. For example, do animals that have been born in confinement still have that natural instinct? Can they sense that they are trapped or are they just accustomed to it? Does freedom mean little when they are provided with the main elements of survival? What about animals that have been captured from the wild? Do they just view their confines with acceptance seeing that they are provided for or do they long for the places they were born? Many scientists explain that because animals are always on the move searching for new sources of food that it is easy for them to adapt to an environment that provides all of their basic needs. It is almost like relief to them because life in the wild is quite precarious. Captivity being a safe haven where they are guaranteed protection from predators and three square meals. Also, animals generally don't stray too far from a habitat that meets their needs anyway. They don't tend to head off on great expeditions or have sudden urges to vacay in the Bahamas. Perhaps there I have come to my conclusion. This is how I feel today. I do want the all expense paid trip to the Bahamas.
I live in an animated world. I am not making any sense today. :) I am back at my novel but it endlessly pisses me off because it won't fly no matter what. I might just have to start smoking again. I was far more creative when I could just drink a bottle of cheap whatever and smoke until the ashtray overflowed and the sun came up. Voila! My manifesto piled on the table, a tribute to my impoverished lungs.
I have decided to accept the conspiracy. Stockholm Syndrome. Sometimes I write things that make sense to me in my head at the time. I wish I had no boundaries. That is the major difference between writing a journal and writing on here. I wish I had a sparkly clever topic to discuss. But my insides are so dazzled right now that I couldn't write it down even if I took a month of Sundays. Not to do any of it justice that is. What is wrong with me, I need an obscenely large cup of coffee or maybe a jolt cola. Something to wipe this damn grin off my face. Geezus. This is when I regret quitting smoking the most. When I am fidgety and nervous, about nothing. This is also my most vulnerable time of the year and I recognize that. My flighty, agitated state proves it. Spring fever. It's like something in me is fighting me tooth and nail to escape, a giant tiger cat pacing, a ball of liquid fire.
Can't shake this feeling. Damn it, writer's block.
Oprah once said that we should make a list of all of the things that we wanted to experience in this life while we are still alive. I was thinking about this the other day because I have realized that I don't want to leave this world the way that I am right now. I feel unfinished. I feel like you are only given one life, one chance at bat. So here is my list:
1. Take a hot air balloon ride
2. Go snow shoeing
3. Learn how to sail
4. Go snorkeling
5. Visit the tidepools and swim with dolphins
6. Skydive again
7. Make snow angels
8. See the castles of Britain/Scotland
9. Swim in an ocean with white sand
10. Go whale watching in Alaska
11. Learn to tango
12. Go to a luau on the beach in Hawaii
13. See the rainforest
14. Go to Mardi Gras
15. Touch an iceberg
16. Ride a camel
17. Explore a pyramid
18. Paddle the Amazon River (is this possible? I have always wondered.)
19. See the Coliseum and the Parthenon in Greece
20. Visit my friends overseas
21. Go to the Tomato Festival in Spain and watch a bull fight
22. Meet each of my rock star status authors
23. See the Taj Mahal
24. Visit Stonehenge
25. Write a monthly column for a popular magazine/paper.
I don't know how many are supposed to be on the list but these are my top 25 at the moment.
So there you have it. Even with writer's block I can still manage to take up all of the space in the blogroom.
And no, I won't go and undo two years of hard work by starting up with smoking again. This better be worth it though. I had better live at least forever.
There are so many little things that go forgotten but become cherished when a slight reminder suddenly gives the mind a hearty nudge. I love it when you can't tell just what is about to happen next. That is my favorite part of life.
The sidewalks are smoking. So are the rooftops. Like one giant WestSide Story poster and the jitterbug in my heart is screaming like it must be spring. But the weather is still refusing to break. Can't shake this feeling.
I am not making any sense today. I keep trying to write something. Writer's block. Blocked in, locked in, cooped up. Frustration! That is the main thing about writer's block. I could pour out meticulously all of these bright, masterpiece style ideas and they will still read simple and dull to my mind in the grip of writer's block. I could rival the works of Amis and Tennyson and still come off sounding more like Dr. Seuss. Maybe this isn't so bad. I will remain colloquial and satisfied.
I wonder if animals have a sense of freedom. For example, do animals that have been born in confinement still have that natural instinct? Can they sense that they are trapped or are they just accustomed to it? Does freedom mean little when they are provided with the main elements of survival? What about animals that have been captured from the wild? Do they just view their confines with acceptance seeing that they are provided for or do they long for the places they were born? Many scientists explain that because animals are always on the move searching for new sources of food that it is easy for them to adapt to an environment that provides all of their basic needs. It is almost like relief to them because life in the wild is quite precarious. Captivity being a safe haven where they are guaranteed protection from predators and three square meals. Also, animals generally don't stray too far from a habitat that meets their needs anyway. They don't tend to head off on great expeditions or have sudden urges to vacay in the Bahamas. Perhaps there I have come to my conclusion. This is how I feel today. I do want the all expense paid trip to the Bahamas.
I live in an animated world. I am not making any sense today. :) I am back at my novel but it endlessly pisses me off because it won't fly no matter what. I might just have to start smoking again. I was far more creative when I could just drink a bottle of cheap whatever and smoke until the ashtray overflowed and the sun came up. Voila! My manifesto piled on the table, a tribute to my impoverished lungs.
I have decided to accept the conspiracy. Stockholm Syndrome. Sometimes I write things that make sense to me in my head at the time. I wish I had no boundaries. That is the major difference between writing a journal and writing on here. I wish I had a sparkly clever topic to discuss. But my insides are so dazzled right now that I couldn't write it down even if I took a month of Sundays. Not to do any of it justice that is. What is wrong with me, I need an obscenely large cup of coffee or maybe a jolt cola. Something to wipe this damn grin off my face. Geezus. This is when I regret quitting smoking the most. When I am fidgety and nervous, about nothing. This is also my most vulnerable time of the year and I recognize that. My flighty, agitated state proves it. Spring fever. It's like something in me is fighting me tooth and nail to escape, a giant tiger cat pacing, a ball of liquid fire.
Can't shake this feeling. Damn it, writer's block.
Oprah once said that we should make a list of all of the things that we wanted to experience in this life while we are still alive. I was thinking about this the other day because I have realized that I don't want to leave this world the way that I am right now. I feel unfinished. I feel like you are only given one life, one chance at bat. So here is my list:
1. Take a hot air balloon ride
2. Go snow shoeing
3. Learn how to sail
4. Go snorkeling
5. Visit the tidepools and swim with dolphins
6. Skydive again
7. Make snow angels
8. See the castles of Britain/Scotland
9. Swim in an ocean with white sand
10. Go whale watching in Alaska
11. Learn to tango
12. Go to a luau on the beach in Hawaii
13. See the rainforest
14. Go to Mardi Gras
15. Touch an iceberg
16. Ride a camel
17. Explore a pyramid
18. Paddle the Amazon River (is this possible? I have always wondered.)
19. See the Coliseum and the Parthenon in Greece
20. Visit my friends overseas
21. Go to the Tomato Festival in Spain and watch a bull fight
22. Meet each of my rock star status authors
23. See the Taj Mahal
24. Visit Stonehenge
25. Write a monthly column for a popular magazine/paper.
I don't know how many are supposed to be on the list but these are my top 25 at the moment.
So there you have it. Even with writer's block I can still manage to take up all of the space in the blogroom.
And no, I won't go and undo two years of hard work by starting up with smoking again. This better be worth it though. I had better live at least forever.
There are so many little things that go forgotten but become cherished when a slight reminder suddenly gives the mind a hearty nudge. I love it when you can't tell just what is about to happen next. That is my favorite part of life.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Socks and Baseballs
Quote for today: I want the frosting left off the spoon that iced the Cake of the World.
So we have moved and survived. Life continues and now I can sit on my couch and eat bon bons all day long. Like Marie Antoinette, I mean if I had a couch that is. I thought this quote was appropriate because it explains what I feel right now. I am definitely excited, sort of like a champagne that has yet to pop. That is how I feel. I know, I am weirdly insane or at least on the brink. It is the kind of feeling you get when you are in anticipation of something. I just don't know what it is exactly that I am waiting for. Maybe I am just excited to buy new furniture. I don't know, but my gears are spinning again and that is what inevitably builds up the bubbly in me. I really live in this silly, odd, little world. I am not really composed of the stuff it takes to be serious or worrisome. I have to express myself differently and a lot of the time this comes across as plain silliness, eccentricity and maybe a bit loony bins. I promise though that I am not losing my mind. I am more like the duck that believes in her own rare sanity amidst a world of quacks. And I just can't be serious in this life, please don't ask me to be! Especially in the grip of such a light, giddiness that I can't quite understand. Like the winter that seems to never want to let us go. How is that funny? It's almost like a quirky epic poem. Oh neverending winter!!! The satire is nearly complete. Yet without love, we will never be free of such a turbulent storm!! ha ha! Can't you just see me here? In this tower, sort of like Rapunzel except I cut my hair off and then realized that layers are just not my style because they make my face look really fat. Not really a mad scientist. Although the effect could very well be the same. At least I brushed my hair. Life to me is really just a farcical charade, a play that I did not memorize my lines for and so I deliver them in that same doubled over fashion as though this were the first time around and I were laughing as much as the stagehand. I wish I could be the stagehand, maybe I would have more composure and find my own way in the world. Maybe I could then set the stage for what is meant to be and perhaps then I wouldn't keep tripping over the curtain.
I did make it though, I have moved. And now I live on Planet Suburbia where everyone has matching hot tubs and playcenters in their backyards and the MomBrigade hangs out in the cul de sac watching each other and sipping their coffee like substances. It is as though I have moved right into Wisteria Lane. At least as far as I can tell so far. I am going to try not to judge although I did notice a bit of the Stepford Wife coming on in me before I quashed it directly and succinctly. I love the house though and I am loving the extra room since my baby girl was starting to take over every inch of breathing space available in the other house.
Also, my sister is getting married in October. So now it is my duty as the maid of honor to put on the wedding shower. If this doesn't keep me busy enough then certainly her Bridal Bootcamp will. Apparently we bridesmaids are now all enlisted and we get to sit through torturous hours of scrapbooking, sewing and who knows what all else as she supervises. I have dubbed her BrideKong and this to me is the funniest thing in the world and I actually can't type for a few minutes because I am rolling on the floor laughing so hard at myself. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! I didn't realize this before but bridesmaid has the word maid in it and this does not sit well with me. Especially since I get to be the Maid of honour. Does this sound a bit fishy to you? I guess it is better than being called the brideslaves. I don't really know how I would feel about that although after she shouts, "Again!!!" and "No soup for you!" I think that is exactly what we are going to begin to feel like anyway. Now isn't it ironic that this is the second wedding that I have ever been in and I am wearing yet another black dress.
My daughter is now reminding me that Planet Earth is a good place to come back to and that the real world is waiting impatiently for me to get on with it. In other words, it's lunchtime and that waits for no man. I should think that I would want to live life like she does. All she has been playing with all morning is a pair of her socks and a baseball that she randomly found. I think life should be that simple. Adieu! Adieu all!
So we have moved and survived. Life continues and now I can sit on my couch and eat bon bons all day long. Like Marie Antoinette, I mean if I had a couch that is. I thought this quote was appropriate because it explains what I feel right now. I am definitely excited, sort of like a champagne that has yet to pop. That is how I feel. I know, I am weirdly insane or at least on the brink. It is the kind of feeling you get when you are in anticipation of something. I just don't know what it is exactly that I am waiting for. Maybe I am just excited to buy new furniture. I don't know, but my gears are spinning again and that is what inevitably builds up the bubbly in me. I really live in this silly, odd, little world. I am not really composed of the stuff it takes to be serious or worrisome. I have to express myself differently and a lot of the time this comes across as plain silliness, eccentricity and maybe a bit loony bins. I promise though that I am not losing my mind. I am more like the duck that believes in her own rare sanity amidst a world of quacks. And I just can't be serious in this life, please don't ask me to be! Especially in the grip of such a light, giddiness that I can't quite understand. Like the winter that seems to never want to let us go. How is that funny? It's almost like a quirky epic poem. Oh neverending winter!!! The satire is nearly complete. Yet without love, we will never be free of such a turbulent storm!! ha ha! Can't you just see me here? In this tower, sort of like Rapunzel except I cut my hair off and then realized that layers are just not my style because they make my face look really fat. Not really a mad scientist. Although the effect could very well be the same. At least I brushed my hair. Life to me is really just a farcical charade, a play that I did not memorize my lines for and so I deliver them in that same doubled over fashion as though this were the first time around and I were laughing as much as the stagehand. I wish I could be the stagehand, maybe I would have more composure and find my own way in the world. Maybe I could then set the stage for what is meant to be and perhaps then I wouldn't keep tripping over the curtain.
I did make it though, I have moved. And now I live on Planet Suburbia where everyone has matching hot tubs and playcenters in their backyards and the MomBrigade hangs out in the cul de sac watching each other and sipping their coffee like substances. It is as though I have moved right into Wisteria Lane. At least as far as I can tell so far. I am going to try not to judge although I did notice a bit of the Stepford Wife coming on in me before I quashed it directly and succinctly. I love the house though and I am loving the extra room since my baby girl was starting to take over every inch of breathing space available in the other house.
Also, my sister is getting married in October. So now it is my duty as the maid of honor to put on the wedding shower. If this doesn't keep me busy enough then certainly her Bridal Bootcamp will. Apparently we bridesmaids are now all enlisted and we get to sit through torturous hours of scrapbooking, sewing and who knows what all else as she supervises. I have dubbed her BrideKong and this to me is the funniest thing in the world and I actually can't type for a few minutes because I am rolling on the floor laughing so hard at myself. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! I didn't realize this before but bridesmaid has the word maid in it and this does not sit well with me. Especially since I get to be the Maid of honour. Does this sound a bit fishy to you? I guess it is better than being called the brideslaves. I don't really know how I would feel about that although after she shouts, "Again!!!" and "No soup for you!" I think that is exactly what we are going to begin to feel like anyway. Now isn't it ironic that this is the second wedding that I have ever been in and I am wearing yet another black dress.
My daughter is now reminding me that Planet Earth is a good place to come back to and that the real world is waiting impatiently for me to get on with it. In other words, it's lunchtime and that waits for no man. I should think that I would want to live life like she does. All she has been playing with all morning is a pair of her socks and a baseball that she randomly found. I think life should be that simple. Adieu! Adieu all!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Red Hearts Day
So here we are at Valentine's Day again. I hate Valentine's Day. I don't know about you but this is the worst holiday ever invented. I guess if all you have gotten for Valentine's Day was diamonds, rubies and more diamonds then you might feel differently but after a lifetime of disappointing and borderline ridiculous Valentine's experiences, I have a completely opposite opinion. I feel that this is the most awkward display used to celebrate love imaginable and has no bearing on the reality of relationships whatsoever. Just another false commercial Hallmark moment for the consumer in all of us. Meant to delight and amaze but generally achieving a lot less. Perhaps this is not the case but nevertheless I remain just as bitter and cynically abused by this stupid holiday every year. How does it go? Either, I give him his gift and he gives me a look of complete horror, makes up some kind of lame excuse and rushes out the door, appearing later with an over the top gift, a giant stuffed apology. Or he says that my gift is in the mail and hasn't arrived yet. Or how about this one, "So what do you want to do today?" I have learned that it is really not that exciting and that if he does plan something, it usually ends up as disaster. I remember our very first Valentine's Day. We were dating at the time and he didn't call me the entire day. He didn't make any plans at all with me and so when one of my other friend's called me and asked if I would have dinner with him that evening, I agreed. At dinner time, I was all dressed up and nearly out the door when he calls and asks me what I want to do that evening. I told him that I already had plans to go out for dinner with someone else because I wasn't going to wait around all night for him. Then I went to dinner. And so it goes.
And who can forget standing in the card aisle choosing the perfect heartfelt card for your guy and then you get their card and on the front is a picture of an old, fat, unshaven cupid in a diaper with some cheesy line. So I stand by my sentiment and would love to shout it from the rooftops. I hate Valentine's Day!!!
I was listening to the radio today and discovered to my own amazement that a lot of those radio love songs out there don't affect me anymore like they used to. I now realize that all of this teenage love bebop is really not about love at all. Instead, it is about some weird infatuation that gets mixed up with a passion for swoony croony melodies that perhaps would have made my heart skip a few beats when I was young and naive. I now know what all of this is about; it is a love of the music. However, this gets confusing for a lot of people, especially the young and impressionable. I adamantly believe that this is where a lot of teenage pregnancy begins. Simple, foolish love songs on the radio combined with cheap wine and ending in a moment of weakness. Just had to put that out there. Maybe it is subliminal, a bunch of sappy crappy love gibberish written by boys to help boys get some. And we fall for it, us girls. Hoping beyond hope that our guy would utter the same nancy lines.
Now here's another topic:
Is it just me or are the men of our generation highly lacking when it comes to maturity/responsibility? It is as though now that the women have their own careers these guys don't feel a sense of importance anymore so they are just resorting back to acting like whiny teenagers. Maybe they don't feel like they need to be responsible because we girls do everything anyway so they don't need to do anything any more. Like now that even the financial responsibility has been taken over by the women, they don't have anything else to do, so they just play Xbox all day. I know because mine has absolutely no hobbies and really no other existence besides work. I think that if they aren't the sole financial providers anymore then men don't know what to do with themselves. They become irrelevant.
I just thought that I would post this because it seems to be a major issue. I am really having difficulty understanding why the men of this generation seem so lazy/boring/immature. Where are the brazen heroes of times past who would ride off so debonair to war, the Bravehearts and the Lancelots? Have the men of our generation lost their place? It used to be that the man went out and provided for his family, hunted and gathered, the main breadwinner, where the woman stayed home with the children and never the two would mix. Now the women are working and the men are expected to help out in the home, it is as though his main instincts are being insulted when he has to change a diaper or wash the dishes, so in a way, he is laying seige to this new order in his own semi rebellion, refusing to get up off the couch and insisting on becoming the biggest slob in the universe.
To me, I just think that they have nothing to fight for anymore. I think men are born to rescue and they are in their element when they have to work hard and fight for their beliefs and families. I think that now that the struggle has gone out of it, their fight for life has been disabled and their motivation along with it. So in stark contrast to life in the middle of the dirty thirties and the Great Depression, where men were desperately slaving themselves to the bone in the work camps just to keep their families alive, we now end up with these men who don't really have a sense of themselves as strong, capable and heroic because the women can do all of that for themselves now. Rather than times where the woman wasn't able to find work that would sustain herself and her family, now we insist on doing it all and the man begins to feel not only intimidated but also kind of useless, thereby becoming exactly that. I know that I always see a substantial change in my husband whenever he goes off up north to work in the sub zero temperatures, as though it makes him feel like more of a man. A man off to do whatever it takes to provide for his family while I am here watching the homestead. He would actually prefer it if I didn't go back to work. Of course he would also prefer the double income. :) Who wouldn't right about now.
And who can forget standing in the card aisle choosing the perfect heartfelt card for your guy and then you get their card and on the front is a picture of an old, fat, unshaven cupid in a diaper with some cheesy line. So I stand by my sentiment and would love to shout it from the rooftops. I hate Valentine's Day!!!
I was listening to the radio today and discovered to my own amazement that a lot of those radio love songs out there don't affect me anymore like they used to. I now realize that all of this teenage love bebop is really not about love at all. Instead, it is about some weird infatuation that gets mixed up with a passion for swoony croony melodies that perhaps would have made my heart skip a few beats when I was young and naive. I now know what all of this is about; it is a love of the music. However, this gets confusing for a lot of people, especially the young and impressionable. I adamantly believe that this is where a lot of teenage pregnancy begins. Simple, foolish love songs on the radio combined with cheap wine and ending in a moment of weakness. Just had to put that out there. Maybe it is subliminal, a bunch of sappy crappy love gibberish written by boys to help boys get some. And we fall for it, us girls. Hoping beyond hope that our guy would utter the same nancy lines.
Now here's another topic:
Is it just me or are the men of our generation highly lacking when it comes to maturity/responsibility? It is as though now that the women have their own careers these guys don't feel a sense of importance anymore so they are just resorting back to acting like whiny teenagers. Maybe they don't feel like they need to be responsible because we girls do everything anyway so they don't need to do anything any more. Like now that even the financial responsibility has been taken over by the women, they don't have anything else to do, so they just play Xbox all day. I know because mine has absolutely no hobbies and really no other existence besides work. I think that if they aren't the sole financial providers anymore then men don't know what to do with themselves. They become irrelevant.
I just thought that I would post this because it seems to be a major issue. I am really having difficulty understanding why the men of this generation seem so lazy/boring/immature. Where are the brazen heroes of times past who would ride off so debonair to war, the Bravehearts and the Lancelots? Have the men of our generation lost their place? It used to be that the man went out and provided for his family, hunted and gathered, the main breadwinner, where the woman stayed home with the children and never the two would mix. Now the women are working and the men are expected to help out in the home, it is as though his main instincts are being insulted when he has to change a diaper or wash the dishes, so in a way, he is laying seige to this new order in his own semi rebellion, refusing to get up off the couch and insisting on becoming the biggest slob in the universe.
To me, I just think that they have nothing to fight for anymore. I think men are born to rescue and they are in their element when they have to work hard and fight for their beliefs and families. I think that now that the struggle has gone out of it, their fight for life has been disabled and their motivation along with it. So in stark contrast to life in the middle of the dirty thirties and the Great Depression, where men were desperately slaving themselves to the bone in the work camps just to keep their families alive, we now end up with these men who don't really have a sense of themselves as strong, capable and heroic because the women can do all of that for themselves now. Rather than times where the woman wasn't able to find work that would sustain herself and her family, now we insist on doing it all and the man begins to feel not only intimidated but also kind of useless, thereby becoming exactly that. I know that I always see a substantial change in my husband whenever he goes off up north to work in the sub zero temperatures, as though it makes him feel like more of a man. A man off to do whatever it takes to provide for his family while I am here watching the homestead. He would actually prefer it if I didn't go back to work. Of course he would also prefer the double income. :) Who wouldn't right about now.
Monday, February 9, 2009
In the Event of Losing a Question Mark.
Quote for Today: I completely understand why, after mating, the black widow spider kills and eats her mate.
So I haven't fallen off the face of the planet. I am however in the thick of it, buying a new house, becoming a landlord, baby turned one etc. I have been super busy to say the least. A bit neglectful I know but everything gets crazy that way during Christmas and New Year`s anyway. I am back now and I promise not to stray for such extended periods. Alas, what else to talk about. All I can think about lately is furniture shopping for the new house. I am very excited. I think I am the only girl in the world who goes out and buys a house without telling her husband. What can I say, when he goes out of town, I go shopping. This time I just happened to buy a house. Good thing he likes it. We are set to move in on February 27th. I am not looking forward to the move. I don`t think this crap ever gets any easier as I have moved about 25 times in my lifetime and it never ceases to be the biggest pain in the ass imaginable.
I had a great Christmas and New Year`s. I didn`t make any sordid resolutions though. I think it is because I already know that I am perfect and don`t need any adjustment. You gotta love that. It`s like all of the conceit is intended. :)
I haven`t been keeping up with the political sphere lately which is unfortunate. I have been more concerned with the baby learning to walk. If she would only take those first steps then I would be forever grateful. It would save my spine immensely. She has been 30lbs since she was six months old. Lugging her around everywhere is the equivalent of being in some cruel, neverending, three-legged race with a small kangaroo. To say the least, it is not conducive to my glamorous life and I am beginning to think that this is what a labour of love looks like. Of course it could also mean the 24 gruelling hours of actual labour. Either way, 24 hours of anything, even running around with a small joey tied to your kneecap, is not my idea of fun, practical or even remotely related to love. Say what again nowÉ Ok, that last sentence was supposed to be punctuated with a question mark but apparently this computer isn`t registering that function. Instead of a question mark, I get this (É). What the hell do I need that for anywayÉ I don`t care to figure out why it is doing this at this time though. This will just have to be statement driven. I neither have the time nor the energy to seek out proper punctuation. I will instead believe that I would definitely use a question mark if I could. I will also pretend that you understand that I am highly educated and know the difference between a statement and a question. RightÉ That`s awesome.
Ok, I better be off to bed now. :)
So I haven't fallen off the face of the planet. I am however in the thick of it, buying a new house, becoming a landlord, baby turned one etc. I have been super busy to say the least. A bit neglectful I know but everything gets crazy that way during Christmas and New Year`s anyway. I am back now and I promise not to stray for such extended periods. Alas, what else to talk about. All I can think about lately is furniture shopping for the new house. I am very excited. I think I am the only girl in the world who goes out and buys a house without telling her husband. What can I say, when he goes out of town, I go shopping. This time I just happened to buy a house. Good thing he likes it. We are set to move in on February 27th. I am not looking forward to the move. I don`t think this crap ever gets any easier as I have moved about 25 times in my lifetime and it never ceases to be the biggest pain in the ass imaginable.
I had a great Christmas and New Year`s. I didn`t make any sordid resolutions though. I think it is because I already know that I am perfect and don`t need any adjustment. You gotta love that. It`s like all of the conceit is intended. :)
I haven`t been keeping up with the political sphere lately which is unfortunate. I have been more concerned with the baby learning to walk. If she would only take those first steps then I would be forever grateful. It would save my spine immensely. She has been 30lbs since she was six months old. Lugging her around everywhere is the equivalent of being in some cruel, neverending, three-legged race with a small kangaroo. To say the least, it is not conducive to my glamorous life and I am beginning to think that this is what a labour of love looks like. Of course it could also mean the 24 gruelling hours of actual labour. Either way, 24 hours of anything, even running around with a small joey tied to your kneecap, is not my idea of fun, practical or even remotely related to love. Say what again nowÉ Ok, that last sentence was supposed to be punctuated with a question mark but apparently this computer isn`t registering that function. Instead of a question mark, I get this (É). What the hell do I need that for anywayÉ I don`t care to figure out why it is doing this at this time though. This will just have to be statement driven. I neither have the time nor the energy to seek out proper punctuation. I will instead believe that I would definitely use a question mark if I could. I will also pretend that you understand that I am highly educated and know the difference between a statement and a question. RightÉ That`s awesome.
Ok, I better be off to bed now. :)
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