provervial Country Song in pocket

so I found this in the Notes archive about an unusually inconvenient, incredibly pain-in-the-assy move that I had to do. (it was worth a chuckle NOW from a detached place, devoid of the pain.):P


Dec. 27, 2010
Someday I'll write a country song, about the shiteous day I've had (make that a series of conjoined shiteous daze), which will include my shoulders and back screaming, "HOLY F*N MURDEROUS HELL!! My shoulders are like ROCK! a massage therapist NOW and I'm going to need the once-over!!"

This *country song* would also include a musical sampling of a Benny Hill sequence (that becomes funny if played very quickly and, even better backwards). That bit would represent how due to pathetically poor communication (PPC) I wound up packing and hoisting heavy, awkwardly packed stuff, dragging it along a dolly with a broken leg, effectively a 3 legged dolly (country song material, I tell you..), holding doors open with my chin, elbows, t*ts and ass, crouching to lift the dolly's broken leg side, as I simultaneously attempted to roll loaded dolly over uneven door frames and lumpy floors...only to have the contents (precariously perched) slide off and tumble to the ground. Numerous Times. ("count to 10...one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand...I shall not kill another human being today...three-one thousand..."). I would include these elements in the song. Yessir, I believe I would.

Well, due to ensuing PPC I can no longer get into garage of old apt without remote control thingy..to get in old apt, pick up stuff..and finish cleaning. Worse, since there is no phone at old (& mostly empty) apt, I cannot call or "buzz" the other person to come and let me into said garage. WELL!

I finally manage to get INTO garage, and INTO building, only to discover I have a wrong set of keys which do not open apt door (locked changed after break-ins. Ahh..how could I forget). Well, reader I will spare you the dirty curses I shared with no one in particular. (Note: I ultimately entered apt..but it cost me a couple of new gray hairs!).

After loading up and transporting a new load of shite from old to new apt (note: new apt= only 1/2 size of old one!). At the new place, it gets terribly fun when I have to roll the fully loaded, hobbling dolly up a whole parking lot level because there is no elevator at HELL LEVEL (2 down from the street level...way, way, downtown...this is what Tom Waits sang about). So I have to push hobbling dolly up unreasonably steep hill to next floor where there IS elevator (using t*ts and elbows again to hold doors open & roll ole Hobbly Legs). I have to enter into a concrete mini-maze (I am not exaggerating) to FIND elevator. If mini=maze was a pain in the ass, the elevator is the boil developing ON that ass! Neither I nor Hobbling Legs care for these elevators too much with their narrow doors and uneven floors, which jiggle and jolt everything to where shit falls off dolly again. ("five-one-thousand...peace and love...thou shalt not kill whoever constructed faulty elevators and constricted entries and walls..oh Happy Place, Happy Place..")

Onto other things! So I bring stuff down to new storage area. I get to storage (also at Hell Level) and realize I do not have new storage room keys (yet another key??). I"m going to need a grid soon of all the keys and trinkets I need to keep track of for both apts!

Keys are not at new apt as agreed upon (yep, PPC again). *Oh happy day*. So I go on hunt for grounds-keeper and upon semi-pleading and offering to buy him a Coke, he nicely lets me into storage. I shove my shit into a nearby empty locker in the interim (since I do not have a LOCK and KEY with which to lock our LOCKER. (..."six one-thousand, seven one-thousand...All you need is love...la laa laaa".)

Fast-fwd: slap peanut butter on orphaned piece of bread, chug two glasses of water, dribble on shirt, then off on another long drive to get 'nuther load. (Note: we DID use a van for moving, but there was SO much shit left over - none of it mine- that several car trips were subsequent!)  

So now I'm driving back to my Vancouver, hell, I'm even productively singing songs (Note: car radio suddenly incapable of  FM reception or of playing CD's - excellent country song elements too)! I get to old apt garage, then by the luck of the gods, someone is going into the garage, so without a remote control for garage door, I 'piggy back' and sneak in. I go upstairs, with now *correct set* of apt keys...but...ok, where is the other person now? left the bldg? No note..very mysterious. Said person so hell bent on "finishing up today!" is nowhere to be found, and was apparently not counting on my return to continue loading. My phone which sat so charmingly on a chair being charged, has also been taken. So how can I CALL to see wtf is going on? Alone. Again. Naturally. That could be the title of my country song perhaps. or maybe "The Cheese Stands Alone".

In the end, I would up packing the rest of the *stuff* (ladylike expression for "shit that's not mine") alone, unscrewing the last of the annoying shelves, dragging 3 legged dolly down halls - and as before, holding doors open with limbs, t*ts and ass, contortioning body into unnatural positions to leverage ole Hobbly Legs over lumpy frames, uneven elevator entrances, all that good shit! Things tumble, and fall. And fall. And fall. Deja-friggity-vu.

Two more trips like this: ENDLESS doors and entrances. nooks and crannies, twisty, narrow hallways, KEY SETS for everything!, pushing hobbling dollies uphill, swipe-y cards to enter, missing elevators, pinching my fingers, making new bruises in strange places. The drive-through Timmie's effect is wearing off, I'm getting tired. Some help? Anybody? ("Bueller...? Bueller..?"). 

Then it gets dark. Starts to rain (yes, just like in the movies to heighten the Drama). And it IS getting dramatic. I can no longer see what I have in the car, so have to load dolly in the dark, mumbling various dark thoughts under my breath. The lack of sleep now wearing my patience transparent, so tired, bloody achy, and in a general state of grumpiness at the major inconvenience of...fuckity EVERYTHING for days on end! "Gaaahh!!" I curse the skies in dramatic Charlton Heston manner.

Now my country song is nearly at an end. Don't worry, reader. I know the world is already polluted from mass musical mediocrity so I shant contribute to this murky pool. If I wrote a country song, it would be too depressing to be played on the country stations anyway.

But good to rant about. haha well, keeps me from causing injury to others.  (I guess that is a good thing.)

Nothing is going on right now!

I’m excited at this time, because nothing is going on right now! That's right: Nothing.

Which means only one thing! In the absence of current Stuff…new Stuff is bound to happen (only one way to go there)! In colloquial terms: this shit is gonna happen, yo.

It feels like I’m peering over the precipice of a valley of promising things. Yes, I’m sober, I slept a decent night, I am not under medications (discounting the usual friendly toxins like coffee, etc.), no, I’m not in love, nor I have won any lottery. In fact, I’m a bit sore from a slightly over zealous work-out, but otherwise in my right frame of mind. I have not one cool thing going on - at all! And I’m happy.

Bizarre, I know!! What a wonderful strangeness.:)

I feel like the young year offers promises: to be outrageous, to take chances, to be uncomfortable (a little) again, to find out what other stuff can make me happy, and retain & enjoy what DOES make me happy.

Having a clean slate is great because you can let your imagination wander and envision ‘possibilities’. It may be a little “Billy Liar” of me in easily losing myself in daydreaming, but the trick is to not get sucked into the escapism of these wonderful worlds of make-believe, but to connect the dream with the dream of reality and manifest something that comes awfully close to that ‘thing’. I love having a clean slate.

“Keep it in the show!” as I’m fond of saying. Those who don’t know me well, will wonder if they’ve met with a crazy woman when I throw this out there (they may be *partly* right..). The joke is that, no matter what kind of fuck up occurs along the way, no matter what Unexpected Things rear their ugly heads, and no matter how inappropriate or deviated from the original intent or ‘plan’, find a way to work it in to the existing content. Like in improv when a new scenario occurs; it didn’t go where you were thinking it was going to, where you were prepared for it to go to. “Um, I didn’t know THAT was going to happen. What a giant fuck up. Totally didn’t expect that. Oops! Fuck it: Keep It in the Show!” I feel like a triumphant circus master, amusing a surprised audience, when the lion jumps off the pedestal and begins instead to do cartwheels. Grin like you’re winning, “Oh, yeah. That was MEANT to be in there all, along. Yeah…that’s right.” Keep it in the show! "We'll be here all week!" ;)

Maybe it’s the honeymoon phase between your beloved author and the appealing youth of 2012, or the endorphins coursing through my tattered little body from my booty-licious work-outs lately, or feel-goody chemicals from the mass quantities of chocolates consumed over the holidays. Who knows! I dunno why I feel this way. It doesn't "make sense" on paper...and yet...it feels correct.

It is strange to feel happy for 'no apparent reason', but I am content. I know that feelings are fleeting, so I am embracing this moment, this fuzzy little feeling of trust in the world and the world within myself…and hope that it is opening a door from which more such moments will come fluttering out through the course of the year. 

The writer in me thinks: "Maybe I’m losing my 'edge'?". It was miniscule to begin with, but served me well where it needed to. (pause here for effect.) Naaah, Little Irish will be back in another scathing, pseudo-comedic rant but all in good time, all in good time. 

For now, I feel good, I feel clear, I feel strong, and brave. I’m ready to play and am thus calling to the tides which ebb and flow, "Merry Meet and Merry Part, and Merry Meet again!" 

Loving the Alien

The Alien in yourself - 

I once had a spiritual teacher say that as we became healthier, dropped old patterns, brought toxic stuff to the surface to deal with it and clear it, it was not unusual to feel "like an alien in your own life". I experienced this. It was a source of shock to see which people I quickly annoyed or repelled when I became healthier, more honest with myself, and, as an extension of that, with them. Some accused me of not 'being a friend' because I moved away from my previous "sounding board" or "doormat role". My body told me quickly who I felt good around and who I didn't. I listened. Some people were upset or confused, yet I did not compulsively feel the need to make things be alright for them. It felt very counterintuitive, and it felt odd, like this Alien the teacher had been talking about. It was lonely for a time. People drifted away from me, others were drawn in. I became cautious, even wary to sense those who wanted something from me. I figured unless it was a two-way deal, I was no longer interested. It was an odd feeling to have a sense of knowingness about truths before they had even been spoken & gently trust in that. My spiritual self was growing, and along with it came growing pains.

To be an Alien in your own life, or more accurately stated, in your old life, can be a lonely business. Yet I was disposed to doing that in the hopes of being happier & healing from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. A few times I went back to my old ways, my old habits, my old comrades because I was afraid of being too different (read= alone).

These are all lessons. Today I know I have the choice to work on sustaining a higher energetic vibration which will resonate with certain people and possibly turn off others. There is a certain comfort in the familiar and the tendency is to move toward that, yet the choice is there. I can 'clear my aura' (for you aura types) or clean my shit up (for you colloquialist types), to find a clarity and feel better, find an honesty, a purity in an unencumbered, stronger version of myself. This strangeness though, is sometimes squirm-inducing, and very  disconcerting. You are not sure if you feel like laughing or crying, you are no longer sure of what you feel, but you are just BEING, and it feels weird not trying. You are not compelled to force something to be admired or liked and you are happy in the Being, not in the doingness. Period. No agenda, no expectation, no role playing. And it feels bloody fecking odd at times. I have been that Alien in my own life.

I unwittingly alienated old friends, and supposed friends who no longer related to me ("What? You're sick with CFS? What is that? Well, call me when you feel like partying again."). It sucked for a while, yet I knew I was doing the right thing. The great thing was that this loneliness gave me time to get to know myself and hell, I'll say it, LOVE myself when I had nothing to offer anyone, at my lowest point (poor and chronically ill). Some parts of me cried, some raged, some sweated, meditated, philosophized, some twisted in turmoil, others sat for hours on end pensively in the dark. It was the tumultuous time between the shedding of my old skin, and being reborn, with renewed inner strength. For the sake of survival, I had to learn to love her. Loving the Alien I had become took a lot of work and a more than a bit of courage.

With every new year, there is a new incarnation of her, though not as drastic as the previous ones! She lives another year's worth of experiences, she sheds her skin, each time becoming a slightly modified version of herself. What will she look like in 2012, I wonder...


The Alien on Earth - 


Nothing is a pure or permanent constant. All is susceptible to change. Change is alien. What is alien is unknown and change is greatly unknown, therefore we must adjust to the Alien. The ever-present Alien is a part of life, whether we accept it or not. 


The end of the year inevitably marks conclusions. It encapsulated a series of experiences and events bookmarked within the first and the last month of the year. Everything is tidily measured by the span of these two guide posts: Best of 2011, Best Films of the Year, Notably Moments of the Year...and so on. This measure prompts me to also wonder about the next installment that is coming my way. That I must look back & see: what worked, what didn't, what lessons were learned, what successes I achieved, what changes occurred and so on.  

I don't believe in making Resolutions at this time in particular, considering it as bad an idea as "dieting". It sets up too high expectations which can lead people to run in the opposite direction in rebellion, or desperation, cracking from the self-imposed pressure. Ambition: yes, Castigation: not so much, thanks. Why do that to ourselves? On the other hand, if setting goals in stone helps you lose a stone (for the Brits), then go to it! Whatever floats your boat.

Resolutions for me are kind of a small, tightly compressed dinghy, which makes me not want to board in the first place. So I opt to think about how I can manifest what I want in the ways I can, as the year rolls along. (Admittedly, my strategy may need work as I tend to see how things 'pan out', then adjust my game plan, and the Game Plan of late has been relatively weak. "Five Year Plan"? I couldn't tell you because I don't have one.)

I said that everything was susceptible to change and change is in great part, inevitable- sometimes even unforeseen. Last year for me, was more about me responding to changes and then adapting, rather than steering the boat and manifesting what I wanted. I'm not sure how this Strategy (lack of), really worked for me. It was a pretty drab year, save for one success in my creative life, which was greatly satisfactory, and instilled new confidence in me creatively. That was probably the highlight, but the rest of it...maeh. It's good to be adaptable, but it seems that there was a bit too much of that. I'm not sure where being adaptable was wise (ie. "Survival of Fittest") and where I may have been too passive; receptive to change but not proactive as I could have been. (I suppose some of that is ensconsed in fear.)

For the coming year, I think I want to tack a different approach: that of conscious manifestation. It's been a long while since I have actively applied this concept, or had much faith in it (or had much faith in anything, truth be told) figuring that life was so fickle and unpredictable anyway, that there is not much point in Planning.

But I wonder. It's making me want to take a look at what I DO want in my life, see what I have and see what I am missing. Not all changes bring you what you need, but for the most part the things I have wanted have not changed drastically. They mostly consist of small goals (good job, nice place to live, good social life, etc.), while the Big Stuff (career, love, a sense of purpose & personal satisfaction) I have left to the Big Guy (or Gal), or more accurately, to "It"; Universe, Source.

I feel I have not done a proper job of manifesting since I have not set clear Intention, and specifically for things. I have wanted and hoped for, and tried my luck, but without impeccable intention and discipline toward it. The word impeccable has often been used in my spiritual learnings, to refer to a clarity of manner, of holding yourself. It is a good word and 'tidies' things up, so I am choosing to use it.

Staying in indecision is a bit of a stall tactic I have nearly perfected. I know because setting an Intention takes courage. It means having to back up what you are made of, what you actually want (not 'say' you want to appease others) and what you are willing to do to attain a certain goal. It's not just praying or wishing really hard on something and hoping somebody throws you a bone. It is making a deal with yourself in your spirit, body and your mind, and setting a specific goal. It is tuning yourself up so that when you connect to Source, Universe, etc. you will be receptive to finding and seeing what you need, to attain this Thing. It's sounds complicated, but is plainly easy in that it requires you to have integrity. To honour a sort of contract with yourself, and only for yourself, whereby your mind, heart, spirit, are harmoniously in synch for wanting this Thing, and so attune to nature & the world around you in a stronger way to find it.

I once had my wise brother in his succinct way say to me, "Your spirit is in disarray" as I asked why I was so sick (before being diagnosed with CFS). He hit the nail on the head. I was terribly unhappy in many facets of my life, and tried to live my life the way I thought others wanted me to. I hurt myself by not being authentic with who I was, what I wanted or needed, and resisting just about all that made me feel joyous. (Another lesson from the School of Hard Knocks, where I graduated with Honours, naivete cum laude. Still attending night classes;)

I have come to believe that much of what we choose are things that either 'resonate' with us or do not, and we grab them based on our needs at the time. For example, we may know that taking a certain job or dating a certain person will not make us happy, we have a certain 'feeling' about it but we do it anyway. We all have our reasons: to prove something to ourselves, for survival (money!), to complete unfinished business, fear of failure, fear of success, and other tapes. To use the lexicon of the Good (face)Book: It's Complicated.

This coming year, I aim to steer the ship more and consciously manifest, yet also to embrace the unforeseen, the Alien. I will not only welcome it, but make room for it in my livingroom and have snacks ready. "Dear new greatnesses, you sparkly little Aliens, I wanted to invite you in to my life, and now I have you here! And I am ready."

Welcome 2012, I have been expecting you. Now, we need to have a talk about a few things...

phlemboyant & conspicuous 'offerrings' I could do without

aka. Spitters of the world...unite and get off my sidewalk!

Dear gob-collector, what makes you think I am remotely interested in witnessing the refuse from inside your phlem-laden body? I am no more interested in that than I am at looking at your artistically deposited excrement, no matter how 'impressive' a feat it may seem to you. 

 

NOTE: the exception being, unless I was at an unconventional art show for which I had paid tickets to, or willingly subjected myself to.

The Philosophy of Bullshittism

Friday night I was feeling philosophical while waiting for a bus on a chilly night.

I stood around for 20 minutes, and during that time it occurred to that I might be slightly more entertained at this moment if I was a smoker. I could do more business with my hands and manage to look cooler, like the punk-looking bunch smoking close by. Instead, I jammed my Oliver Twist-esque mittens - complete with holes in fingers - into my coat pockets, and shifted my feet from side to side, trying to keep warm.

Bus "A" finally came around the corner. I hopped on then quickly realized that it was actually not going the route that I had intended. Dang! I mentally reconfigured the plan to get home. A few stops later, I spotted a bus ahead that WAS going to route I had originally intended. When bus A caught up to bus B (the one ahead), I made an executive decision to quickly jump out and to run my ass off toward bus B (which was momentarily sitting there). I ran with the speed of one who has a heavy, awkward knapsack bouncing on her back, and just as I was gaining on the door, the bus veered away. I called out, "Hey! Wait!" but in vain...Vroom. Bus "A" had taken off too. Some dude looked at me sympathetically. I shrugged & smiled. It was a risk I had taken and missed it by seconds really. I thought, "Fuck it. Maybe I needed to walk anyway, burn off some of those cookie calories," then trudged along.

As a trudged another *test* presented itself onto "Grasshopper" (yes, a Kung-Fu reference). I spotted another bus (bus "C") that also followed the route I had originally intended. I watched it roll up to the stop, happy that I was finally at the right place, at the right time. Once on it, I realized this could take me all the way to the ultimate destination with no skytrain to take, no other bus transfers, just another 40 minutes or so of riding it in patience. As the "sure thing" bus C ambled along, it stopped by a skytrain. I quickly did the transit math: if I hopped off now, I would walk to the skytrain, the train would be @ 15 mins, then I'd walk another 10 to get home. Bus C would take a bit longer and was a safe bet- but the trip would consist of only ONE thing with no variation, a long trip on an old bus that felt warm already, which would require a bit more patience.

But I like variety. And I lack patience. I'd rather have the exchanges, the dashing for the bus here and there, the awkward transfers. These little extra efforts to get somewhere make me feel more alive somehow. "Road Less Travelled"? I have probably taken it out of stubbornness, a sense of adventure, or curiosity. I need to feel I have earned what I have manifested, and I like to see the trail of work I have put into something, leaving a veritable popcorn trail of sorts along my travails.

In the transit decisions I made, I realized I had rarely taken the 'safe bet' bus to anywhere, usually opting to take risks and move toward the unknown bus with a certain commitment (the kind of commitment it takes to run for a bus that's leaving any second!). Every opportunity offers some pros and cons, different options to consider, different connections to make to ultimately get to the same place. But what kind of trip do you want to take? That is the key to the kind of traveller you will choose to be. 

So I hopped off comfy but tedious bus C. Walked to skytrain, sat waiting on a cold metallic seat, took train, and walked home, kept company by some MP3 songs which made me happy.

moral of this story: Traveler, go which way you will, be prepared to think on your feet, and... always have your ticket handy ;)

Drunken Loutings

To that drunkard who said and did louty things. I see you lashing out at the world so the world hurts you right back. most people react to you accordingly and throw curses or angry glares your way when you act like a drunken asshole. It is what you have become a master at. But I see through you to spot a mechanism of instinct and survival: dog eat dog. This is what you have come to know of a reality, and perhaps at the root, you may be right.

Well Sir, I may frustrate you when I treat you with quiet dignity despite your hostility. I feel it's pain that speaks through the lashing out. You became lost a long time ago, perhaps & this is what is left, your Survival self. I see many people who make their livelihoods out of survival, becoming Survivalists, more than merely survivors. You show your agency that way and to that I pay my respects, in earnest.

Although you may not be shown much respect day to day, please do not abuse my kindness, I do not advocate violence nor am I trying to justify yours. I am no better from you and do not hold myself at such an esteem, but I do try to understand where you might be coming from, and counter your behaviour with kindness if i can (but I'm not perfect either). Do not abuse the gentle who cross your path, for sometimes they are but few in between. Do not confuse me with a doormat that wants to be yelled at, purged onto or kicked.

When you swatted my arm what hurt the most was my heart. I felt a bit shocked, then confused as to how you did not see I would be no threat to you when I asked if you were ok. In a fit of misdirected anger, you purposefully knocked the drink out of my hand and though my arm gave a sting, my feelings hurt more somehow. At that moment, in my naivete, it seemed that you had broken the contract between human beings, the one that I have come to know whereby there are no perpetrators, no victims, no abuse, no attacking, no retaliation without any 'just cause'. It's an attempt at instilling a sense of order from chaos in an irrational world, at least in theory, so sometimes I clutch to it.

Then I realized you & I did not share the same 'rules'. We could not. We share this world but are somehow planets apart. Your rules are of survival, hand to mouth and moment to moment living, subsistence, where each 'Survivalist' has a tactic: some try to disappear, some to recoil, some to escape, some to lash out, some to bark louder so the world does not bite first. We each do what we have to do and we do it with the best tools we have been given.

Still, I crossed your path & learned a humbling lesson from you. I modestly hope is that if you were not taking lessons from anyone that day (as is your perogative), that you at least had an exchange with a stranger who for one minute saw you, the human being. I know it may not be much of anything to you, but it is what I was willing to give to a stranger that day.

Wherever you are, I hope your needs are met for this day. I hope the chill doesn't find you too deeply and I wish you some solace in a cup of tea or a bottle of your choice. I wish you a quiet moment where you feel like you might have felt back in a time when there was a little happiness somewhere. Perhaps it was short, perhaps someone had cared for you. I wish for you a warm place somewhere in your memory, of your past if need be, if there isn't any room for such things in your present.

I wish you small moments of light should you need them, fleeting, flying, swatting back at you, perhaps, whatever love looks like to you.


Sincerely,
just a stranger

Ash Tuesday

the succinct simplicity of sentient sentiments...sends sounds of a serpeant sea soaring skyward...
into moons unborn laughing, softly into the night. 

(Oh, what it means to have clarity of emotion in your heart/body/spirit! See it expand and breathe like a jellyfish lung, its burden yet unseen. Pity for you, Seer/Feeler, pity for such pittances preyed upon you...and the paradoxical weight of ash you have to carry.)


Ash Tuesday
With every tear I shed, with every worry worn, and with every scorn ...I am getting older. With every dissappoint, with a lost glance where I never stood a chance...I am getting older.

Whereas "growing" older be a positive, horizontally defined expansion of Self, the "getting" is a cruelly vertical unidirectional arrow of irredemption. Here moments are lost forever.

I see Her in a mirror with foreign frowns, once-delicate features hardening, tiny roads and thorns and stars for eyes undulating over dark crescents. I do not know Her at first. This sad little Stranger.

With every stress, with every pain, with every heartbreak, big, small, a minor stumble or a major fall...where a heart might grow to bruise so ripe, where scrapes might turn crimson, where the pussing of protection might churn so thickly it can grow its own vine - from such machinations, I get older still.

The cells that compose of my being are scorching up, drying quickly, flawlessly, like tiny timbers, curling and burning away, ashes from a fire. Cells cried out until empty and dying, flying then dissipating into air, whispering themselves away. They leave me forever and I become smaller.

Endless bits of me dissipate, die then fly with each soul-wounded cry.

(I fear sometimes, that I am made of snowflakes.)