The Point of No Return (Blog #603)

It’s almost midnight, and my body is worn out. I’m not sure why. My energy level has been up and down lately. I’ve been sitting here in the living room for the last three hours, unable to drag myself away from a documentary my mom’s watching about Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. It’s weird, I remember when all that happened, but now all the major players are twenty years older. Which means I’m twenty years older too. Weird how time flies by like that. Recently I told my friend Matt that I started dancing when I was 19; now I’m 38. Matt said, “That means you’ve been dancing for half your life.” I said, “Thanks for pointing that out–I think.”

Half. My. Life.

This afternoon I went to a friend’s house to help them set up a new television that they bought this morning. It was a Black Friday deal. Anyway, I ended up spending the day there, working on their television, eating dinner with them, helping them with a few Christmas decorations. We laughed a lot. It was kind of the perfect thing. Unplanned, but perfect.

Now I’m really ready to go to bed. I wish I had something profound to say, but I don’t. Last night I dreamed that I was looking through the mementoes of a dead blues singer and–earlier in the dream–driving with a friend toward Division Street, a street in Fort Smith that crosses Midland Avenue. I read recently that if you keep a dream journal, you can name or label your dreams in order to help you get an idea of what they’re about. I called this one “Getting My Past in Order,” since it “felt” like what I’ve been doing lately going through old photos, at least the looking at mementoes part. As for the dead blues singer, I took that to mean that I’m working to put the sad events of my life behind me.

I’ve been chewing on the Division Street part on and off all day. On the way home from my friend’s tonight, I actually drove down Midland Avenue and Division Street to see if that would reveal anything profound. It didn’t, but my sense is that Midland has to do with “the middle,” as in balance or a mid-way point. It’s how I feel right now–in stasis–stuck in Mid Land. Like it’s too late for me to go back, but I’m not sure how to move forward. As for Division, I think it’s that “getting my past in order” thing. That is, in any hero’s journey, there must be a line drawn in the sand. A point of no return. The past, with all it’s sadness and limitations, must be left behind you. Because you can’t take it with you wherever you’re going. It’s just too heavy.

And have you seen what the airlines charge for baggage these days?!

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You have everything you need.

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The World Keeps Spinning (Blog #574)

A couple days ago I started a new “fix-it” project for some friends of mine, repairing a piece of wood on the side of their house. At first I thought it would be as simple as nailing a board back in place, but I quickly realized the wood also needed to be “filled in” with wood putty and then painted. Plus, all of the surrounding wood needed to be re-caulked, then re-painted. Shit, I thought, this is turning into work. But what do you do? That day, I screwed the wood back in place and patched as much as I could.

Here’s a picture before the patching. Notice the gaping holes.

Here’s a picture of the mostly patched holes.

Today I finished patching the holes and applied an extremely thick layer of caulk above the wood. Well, two extremely thick layers of caulk. However, since the caulk takes a while to dry, I couldn’t paint it. I could, however, paint the wood, so I did. This was a big deal for me because although the paint technically matched, it didn’t actually match, since the old paint had faded with age and sun exposure. The big deal part is that The Old Marcus would have turned this into a major ordeal and ended up re-painting the entire side of the house, if not the entire house. But The New Marcus thought, Just re-paint the affected board and call it a day.

So I did. (Notice the trash can–that’s what I used for a ladder.)

Now it’s 9:30 at night, and I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to paint over the caulk, after it dries. I’m still at my friends’ house, as I’m meeting a Criagslist contact later tonight in order to sell him a piece of furniture my friends left behind when they moved. This has been another project, getting rid of what they left. But tonight’s piece of furniture is the final one. After weeks and weeks of listing stuff online, it’s all gone. Or, almost gone anyway. I never assume a Craigslist deal is finished until I have money in hand.

Earlier I took a break to get dinner and work on another a project at the library–organizing my digital photos. This is one of my goals for the fall and winter, to get both my physical and digital photos in order. Ugh, talk about an ordeal. The paint/caulk project is only taking up a few days, but I imagine the photo project will take weeks or longer. Tonight at the library I sorted through–I don’t know–a couple months worth of photos from 2014, the year I first began backing up my photos online. And whereas it’s going to be great (super, really) to have my photos organized (like, Family, Trips to Albuquerque, Medical Documents, Remodeling Projects, etc.), it’s slow-going and overwhelming.

But at least I’ve started. That’s huge. I’m telling myself, A little at a time, Marcus. A little at a time.

The other overwhelming thing about this project is that I’m not always sure “where” to put a photo. Or if every single photo (there are thousands) “deserves” to be put into a specific album. Like, what am I suppose to do with that photo I took of a piece of furniture in an antique store four years ago? But again, I’m trying to not get overwhelmed and demand “perfection” of myself. I’m telling myself, Anything is a giant improvement over the current situation, which is everything simply lumped together (by date order).

My tendency when I start these projects is to sit down for ten hours at a time and grit my way through it. It’s difficult for me to work for, say, an hour and walk away. But that’s what I did tonight at the library. Well, okay, I worked for an hour and a half and walked away. One because the library was about to close, two because I wanted to blog. Plus, the project’s waited this long (and no one’s complaining that it hasn’t been done), and it will be there whenever I want to pick it back up. This is a something I’m working on, that the world won’t fall apart if things aren’t just so, that it really doesn’t give a damn if this paint doesn’t match that paint or all my photos aren’t neatly organized.

Like, the world has its own problems to deal with.

Somehow, it keeps spinning.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

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On What You Ask Your Mind to Do (Blog #573)

It’s 1:30 in the morning, and I just got home from a marathon dinner and catch-up session with my friends and old roommates Justin and Ashley. I swear, we just can’t have short conversations. Anyway, it was great; you should have been there. We solved the world problems. Well, Justin and I did. Ashley went to bed. Now that’s what I want to do. Hopefully I will soon. Go to bed, that is. I’ve already brushed my teeth and done all the nighttime things, so as soon as this blog is published–bam!–I plan to be out like a light.

Today–not just tonight–was delightful. This morning I woke up early and started the day slowly. My parents and I enjoyed breakfast together. Then since it’s my sister’s 40th birthday, I put together a list of 40 of my favorite memories/things I like about her. True confession–I got to number 8 and thought, How have I known this person my entire life and CAN’T REMEMBER anything else about them? But then my brain got on a roll, and I ended up having to cut the list down. Anyway, it was the best way to start the day. I mean, my childhood wasn’t pure shit, but it had plenty of challenges, challenges that often get discussed here or in therapy. So it was REALLY LOVELY recalling the best parts of my childhood and the person who’s been there with me through the thick and thin of it all.

But back to the part about not being able to come up with enough things for the list and then later coming up with too many things for it. This has been my experience with other list-making exercises. For example, a lot of self-help books ask you to list 10 things you’re grateful for, 25 things you like about yourself, or even 100 things you’re good at, and I always balk at these exercises at first. Like, I can’t. And yet I’ve always been able to come up with all the things. What this has taught me is that the mind is GREAT at making lists, and it really doesn’t give a shit about what kind of lists it makes. That is, if you ask your mind to find 10 things–or even 100–to complain about, your mind will GO TO WORK and give you what you’ve asked for. (And this is rotten, and this is terrible, and this sucks balls.) But the opposite is just as true. Ask your mind for 40 positive memories, and although it may slug along at first, especially if it’s used to looking for negative memories, it will eventually spit them out. (And that was super, and that was fabulous, and–oh yeah–THAT was the bee’s knees.) And not that the positive memories make the bad ones go away, but they at least bring balance.

In summary: Your mind will give you what you ask for–so be careful what you ask for.

The only thing I’ve currently asking for: sleep.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one dances completely alone.

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Stuffology and the Extreme Whatever (Blog #528)

For the third day in a row, today I spent eight hours cleaning for some friends who recently moved. And whereas I’m grateful for the work, I don’t mind saying this scrubbing walls and baseboards shit is getting old. Or maybe that’s me that’s getting old. Either way, my body is not impressed with this manual labor nonsense and is damn close to going on strike. My neck has already started twitching and spasming. I keep telling it to hang in there, we’re almost done.

I don’t think it believes me.

I wish I could tell you something interesting happened today, but–again–I was scrubbing toilets and washing out dead bugs from the inside of lightbulb covers. I guess that is something I’ve been acutely aware of–all the bugs (both dead and alive) that I’ve seen while cleaning. Spiders, centipedes, mosquitoes, flies–the little critters are ALL OVER the place. And sure, sometimes I squash ’em, but other times I say, “Oh, excuse me, I didn’t see you there” and then keep on dusting.

Cinderelly, Cinderelly.

My friends’ house is about 2,600 square feet, a few hundred square feet south of what The Big House was. (The Big House is where I lived before I had my estate sale and moved back in with my parents.) Anyway, as I’ve been cleaning every square inch of this house the last few days, I’ve been thinking how much of one’s life can be taken up just by home ownership. First there’s the yard, the appliances, and all the other things to maintain. Then there’s putting paint on the walls and decorating the place. Finally there’s cleaning–if you’re into that sort of thing–which can take days if you do it “right,” even WITHOUT anything IN the house.

I don’t think there’s a right or a wrong way to go when it comes to home ownership and possessions. Everyone’s needs and desires are different. (Some people, like my friends, have families and need more stuff.) Personally, at least lately, I’m a minimalist. I could pack up or deep clean everything I own in a matter of hours. I own TWO pieces of furniture (a bookshelf and an ottoman). I wouldn’t recommend this lifestyle to anyone else, but it is simple, easy, and convenient. And truly–I don’t intend to live this way forever. I’m sure ONE DAY I’ll once again own a bedroom suite and live in a space that’s bigger than 10×10.

When I was in my early twenties, I redecorated my bathroom. I was so proud–the walls had been painted, and I hung up shelves and put knickknacks on them just so. Well, I showed my grandpa (who’s dead now), and he said, “That’s a lot of shit to dust.” At the time, I was devastated. No affirmation whatsoever. But that was Grandpa. I mean, he was a dude. He wasn’t going to say, “That’s just fabulous, grandson of mine, the way you arranged and color-coordinated everything. Why, just look at how you alphabetized your hair products!” Anyway, looking back, I can see his point about the dusting. Having spent the last three days cleaning, I can FEEL his point.

There’s a quote by William Blake that says, “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. You never know what is enough until you know what is more than enough.” This idea delights me, since I often beat myself up for black-or-white (that is, excessive) thinking or behavior, but Blake points out the benefit of the extreme whatever–by providing contrast, it can bring you back to center. I know this has been my experience with eating poorly or smoking cigarettes in the past. I had to do these things WAY TOO MUCH in order to realize, Houston, we have a problem. Likewise, I’ve gone to extremes in ownership and “stuffology.” I’ve had a lot of stuff (to dust), I’ve had a little stuff (to dust). And now I know–not because someone told me, but because I’ve experienced it for myself–what’s more than enough, what’s not enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"There are a lot of benefits to being right here, right now."

On Slowing Down (Blog #507)

Yesterday I woke up with a belly ache. This has been happening on-and-off for a couple of weeks now is not AWFUL but is not fun either. It feels like a dull number two pencil has been shoved into my guts. Again, it doesn’t feel like a machete or even a pocket knife, but still–no matter what else I’m doing–it keeps my attention. Anyway, I’m doing the best I can. This morning I ate burnt toast, yogurt, applesauce, and a banana for breakfast while sipping Ginger Ale. Now I’ve moved on to herbal tea and have over-the-counter drugs waiting at the ready.

I’m really close to pulling the trigger.

Actually, I tried some drugs yesterday. Pepto Bismol (Pept Abysmal) tablets, then Zantac. I didn’t notice a difference. Last week I went running to release pent-up aggression, and that seemed to help as much as anything. But I haven’t had a lot of time for running lately, as I’ve been working my tail off helping some friends pack for an upcoming move. Plus, it’s been thunderstorm-ing all week. Anyway, I’m taking it one day at a time, Sweet Jesus.

Yesterday my friends and I started packing at six in the evening and worked for twelve hours straight. The sun was coming up as I drove home this morning. Ugh. My my schedule is so turned around lately. Right now it’s four in the afternoon, and I feel like it’s ten in the morning. Oh well–we’re getting a lot done. That’s what matters. We’re almost there. And whereas I could go the rest of my life without seeing a cardboard box or hearing the sound of a tape gun rip-rip-ripping, we really are having a good time. We laugh a lot. That’s important too. Even when my friends are working in other rooms, I manage to entertain myself somehow. Usually by drawing on their boxes.

Here’s a little cartoon I came up with last night in their laundry room–

But this was my favorite, which I drew on top of a crummy piece of furniture, also found in their laundry room. “Is this keep or trash?” I said. “Trash,” they said.

Okay, I’ve got about an hour before I got back to work again, and I’d like to clean up, maybe read a chapter in a book I picked up this week at the library. I’m learning that this is really important, to slow down and not work-work-work non-stop. Last night about hour nine, around three in the morning, I sat down on the couch and just piddled with my phone for five minutes. Take a damn break, Marcus. So although it goes against my habit, I’m trying. Even now with this blog, this ending, I’m trying to not demand perfection and productivity in every moment.

I’m trying to just–

Stop.

[quotes_and_tips

Extremes in Caffeine and Dancing (Blog #506)

Last week when I got sick for a day, I stopped drinking coffee. For one thing, it didn’t sound good at the time. But I also traditionally drink way-too-much coffee, so I thought, Give it a rest, Nancy. Well, the first few days were a little rough, but I made it. Now it’s been over a week. Look at me! That being said, I’m not smoking cigarettes, getting laid, or doing any other damn fun thing in my life these days, so I’ve noticed The Void. It’s been tough to hold my head up, especially since I’ve been working the last several nights until four in the morning helping friends pack. Even when I sleep past noon like I did today, I just can’t seem to get enough rest or ever really wake up.

And God knows the GREEN TEA isn’t helping.

At all.

This morning while making breakfast and preparing to toast a THIN bagel, I noticed our butter is UNSALTED, our cream cheese is FAT FREE, and our grape jelly is SUGARLESS. This was the final straw. What the fuck? I thought, as I switched on the coffee maker. Why would someone even want to live in an uncaffeinated world where EVERYTHING tastes like cardboard?!

As if life weren’t challenging enough.

So now I’m enjoying my first cup of coffee in over a week. Feel free to alert the media. And whereas the all-or-nothing part of me thinks that I’m a failure for not “sticking it out,” another part of me thinks coffee DIDN’T sound good last week, but it DOES sound good now. I mean, the seasons change, so why can’t my desires and opinions? But seriously, back to this cup of joe. It’s delicious. I’m glowing.

I feel like a virgin. Touched for the very first time.

Who doesn’t like a little drama?

Maybe I could try not to overdo it this time, just drink coffee with breakfast instead of all day long. I’ve heard some people do that. I don’t know–moderation isn’t really my bag. I like the all-or-nothing thing, the extremes. Sure, it’s more dramatic, but who doesn’t like a little drama?

Sometime last year there was a dance move called The Backpack Kid that went viral thanks to Katy Perry’s performance on Saturday Night Live (SNL). The move is a little difficult to explain in writing, but it essentially boils down to swinging your hips from side to side while swinging your arms in the the opposite direction. (The complicated part is that every other time, one of your arms goes behind your back.) Anyway, the move is super fun, and during my last trip to Nashville (and after a few beers), I finally figured out how to do it. Yippee!

Recently I was watching an interview with the teenage kid who made the move famous, and the interviewer asked him why he thought kids could do the move faster and therefore look better doing it than adults. Well, the little shit said something like, “Kids are more agile. Old people are brittle and can’t move as well.” And whereas that’s “sort of” true and SOUNDS like a good answer, I DISAGREE. Think about it. A child is smaller than an adult. Their hips are like eight inches from side to side. An adult’s, on the other hand, are like forty-five. (I obviously exaggerate.) But the point is that the move requires taking your hips from one side to the other. Because a child has LESS DISTANCE to travel, they can bounce back and forth faster than a bunny rabbit can hop across your front lawn. However, since an adult has MORE DISTANCE to travel, the back-and-forth takes them longer.

It’s just physics.

I guess there’s two ways of seeing The Backpack Kid. A shorter distance means a faster movement, which–granted–is fun to look it. There’s a certain “yee-haw” quality about it. It’s flashy. But a longer distance, despite its slower movement, means A LONGER DISTANCE. What’s more, the distance traveled becomes MORE OBVIOUS. (Wow! I went from HERE to THERE.) This is what I like about having wider hips. Maybe they don’t move as fast as a teenager’s, but their movements are clear. They’re distinct. They’re powerful. Likewise, this is what I like about the all-or-nothing thing. It’s easier to SEE MOVEMENT when there are extremes. Not that I’m suddenly against moderation and balance (I’m not), but it is easier to NOTE CHANGE when there’s summer on one end of calendar and winter on the other. And I imagine this is how we all spend our lives–moving from one extreme to the other. Some of us move a little less, faster; some of us move a lot more, slower. But all of us, it appears, are dancing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are all connected in a great mystery and made of the same strong stuff.

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My Right Brain Walks on Water (Blog #497)

Ick. Gross. Crap.

Last night–in the middle of the night–I woke up shivering, absolutely freezing. In an absolute mental fog, I threw on an extra blanket and went back to sleep. Finally, I dragged my weak and weary ass out of bed this afternoon at two. The good news is that I didn’t (and don’t) have a fever. The bad news is that my energy level has been seriously in the red, and my stomach has been–once again–cramping. And one more terrible thing–I haven’t had a cup of coffee the entire day–not one single drop. (It hasn’t sounded good.)

That’s how I know things are serious.

Now it’s ten in the evening, and after spending most of the day in bed either reading or napping, I feel slightly better, a bit more energetic. (A bit.) Like, I can hold my head up without the support of three prayer candles and the Archangel Michael. That being said, I do have a good appetite and am keeping food down, so that’s something. Maybe–just maybe–I simply caught a twenty-four hour bug or ate something that disagreed with me. Maybe I’m not coming down with the flu for the third time this year–or dying.

That’d be really great–to not die just yet.

I guess we’ll see what happens tonight. Honestly, I think it’s a shit deal, the way a person can go to bed–exhausted, sure–but pretty much feeling finer than frog hair, and then the body can wake him (or her) up in the middle of a perfectly good dream by shivering, shaking, and twitching (or throwing up, or what have you). Talk about a rude awakening. Seriously, what the hell? From now on, I’m requesting that my body save all its complaints and dramatic activities for daylight hours.

Of course, I can imagine my body saying, “Hey turd, we TRY talking to you during the day, but YOU DON’T LISTEN.”

In which case I would have to respond–“Valid point.”

The book I’ve been reading today is called The Language of Change by Paul Watzlawick. The book was quoted several times in the hypnosis book I recently finished and is largely about the two sides of the brain (left and right) and how each side “thinks” and “speaks” differently than the other. In short, the left side thinks rationally and analytically, in words and “facts.” The right side, however, thinks creatively, in pictures and generalizations. As I understand it, a person’s world view, or their “this is the way things are,” is developed and held in their right brain first, AND THEN their left brain is used to justify it.

Think about THAT.

The book contends–and it makes sense to me–that since a person’s beliefs (and therefore their “reality”) is held in their right brain, it doesn’t make sense for them or their therapist to try to change or address their beliefs with left-brain language. Think about the number of times you’ve attempted to convince someone logically (that is, with your left brain) that they’re not bad-looking, or not a terrible dancer, or whatever. But if you were to speak the language in which that person’s beliefs were originally formed–well–then you might be getting somewhere. This is why metaphors and visualizations can work in changing beliefs and behaviors–because, like dreams, they are based on pictures, the language of the right brain. Likewise, this is why myths are important–because they use powerful images or symbols to communicate important ideas and ways of being–to your right brain. They’re not INTENDED to be taken as facts or even make sense to your left brain, that part of you that might (logically) ask, “Well, now, how COULD a person walk on water?!”

You can rise above.

Personally, I intend to start paying more attention to both my body’s signals (like, to get more rest) and my right brain’s pictures and dreams. Because, like Sergeant Friday on Dragnet, I’ve got the left-brain thing down. (Just the facts, Ma’am.) I can rationalize and analyze all day long. I can give you a hundred reasons why something won’t happen, shouldn’t happen. And yet there’s this other part of me–half of my brain!–that knows anything is possible, that firmly believes no matter how badly the storms in my life may rage around me, they don’t have the power to bring me down. This is the part of me that says, “You can rise above anything,” the part that says, “You can walk on water.”

[When I originally posted this blog–last night–I got the right and left brains switched up, stating that the left brain thinks in pictures and dreams. It’s fixed now. It’s the right brain that does that.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a lot of magic around you.

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On Life’s Seasons (Blog #484)

It’s nine in the morning, and I’m still in Somewhere, California. I survived the night and actually got some rest. I just went down to the lobby to grab coffee, and this motel appears better in the daytime. Not great, but better. From the looks of it, the only thing this city offers is a pit stop. Just a place to gas up and rest your head on your way to a better place. For me, that better place is San Francisco, which I plan to roll into later this afternoon. I’m blogging now so that I can have time to get there, maybe explore some used book stores, and find my bearings before the dance tonight.

Not last night but the night before, I dreamed that I was in a large, decorated warehouse that was mostly green–green walls, green comforter on the bed, green everything. Hanging from the ceilings were a few orange and red flags. The owners asked my opinion, and I said, “There’s too much green. It needs balance. More fall colors.” Later, I was in a swamp, and several people were carrying a casket. (This is where things get violent.) Then I took out a shotgun and shot the pallbearers. Blew their faces right off.

It was an absolute blood bath.

Frightening, I know, but–upon waking–I actually thought that last part was delightful. My therapist says that dead bodies in dreams represent the parts of your psyche that are no longer beneficial or helpful, and in mythology blood always represents new life. So the fact that I was taking a shotgun to the pallbearers (whom I generalize as “not useful” and just there for looks), tells me that I’m done with being fake (both personally and with regard to others). Give me something new, something real.

I’ve been reading about the stars and seasons lately, and there’s a lot of talk about festivals. In spring we have easter to commemorate new life, and in fall there is (or at least used to be) Michaelmas, a celebration of the Archangel Michael that honors the end of the growing season. In the Jewish tradition there’s Passover in the spring and the Feast of Tabernacles in the fall. But the point remains the same–there’s a time for spring and a time for fall, a time to be born and a time to die. Balance.

Endings are just as important as beginnings.

With this background in mind, I think the two dreams I had were communicating the same thing. In the first one, part of my consciousness was saying, “There’s too much growth (green) in your life. You need more death (more fall colors.)” In the second dream, it was more obvious. Grab a shotgun! I don’t mean to be morbid here. It’s not that I’m celebrating death. But I am starting to recognize that ENDINGS are just as important as beginnings. In fact, they’re necessary for beginnings. If I hadn’t divested myself of most of my worldly possessions, how would I have room for whatever is coming to take their place? How could the spring occur without first the fall occurring and then the long, cold winter?

Primitive people recognized this fact. It’s gross, but it’s why they sacrificed, why they were cannibals. Death makes room for more life. Endings create beginnings.

Sometimes I worry that I won’t get to wherever it is that I’m going. It’s not that I don’t see progress in my interior and external life, but it’s like I get to a pit stop and think, What if I don’t get to my better place? But surely the planets never think this way, wondering whether or not they are in the right place at the right time. I’m in such a hurry to be “somewhere else,” to get to my summer, my sweet spot, but I’m reminded that even the earth couldn’t rush her seasons if she tried. So I’m going to try to follow her example, to stay steady and sure in my orbit, to let my seasons come and go, to give each one its due respect.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If anything is ever going to change for the better, the truth has to come first.

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Taking the Heat Off (Blog #474)

It’s 1:20 in the afternoon, and I’m getting ready to go to work. I woke up this morning tired and sore from yesterday’s manual labor, and today promises more of the same–painting, grouting, going up and down a ladder, hauling shit around. (It’s good to be employed.) Currently I’m in the SAVERS parking lot. I just bought a pair of two-dollar shorts so I’d have something to paint in and get dirty. This is a problem I didn’t anticipate having, needing “work” clothes. A year and a half ago I got rid of all my remodeling attire. I thought, I’m done with that sort of behavior.

You’re never done with you think you’re done.

Since I worked yesterday until 1:00 in the morning then came home, showered, and blogged until 3:00, I want to get this finished for the day. I hate blogging when I’m exhausted, asking my brain to function when all it wants to do is rest. Push-push-push. Earlier while I was eating breakfast, my dad and I were talk-talk-talking about an upcoming trip. (We’re both considering going to see my sister at the same time and are discussing going in one vehicle.) But my brain wasn’t awake yet–I kept getting irritated. It was too much noise, too early. Too much information, too quick.

Push-push-push.

Part of me is thinking about the stars, the way they come out one-by-one as the sun sets. It’s so freaking hot today, especially in this parking lot, and I can’t wait for things to cool down, for the stars to come out. It seems to me they show up as the heat is taken off. Now it’s 1:37, and I have things I want to talk about and process on the page, things that have happened lately, dreams that are rolling around in my head. But I have to go to work. Plus, to push-push-push them onto the page at this moment would be an exercise in self-flagellation. For this reason, I’m choosing to take the heat off myself, to stop push-push-pushing. Surely my own personal stars will come out as I do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can rise above. You can walk on water.

"

 

The Perfect Front (#472)

When I lived in The Big House for a few years, I had a lot of chandeliers, only one of which sold during my estate sale, what I call The Great Letting Go. Since I moved in with my parents last year, all my leftover lamps and lights have been in the garage collecting dust, getting periodically kicked or moved around. A few times I’ve tried to sell them on Facebook or Craigslist, but to no avail. Finally, a couple weeks ago I decided to dust them off and bring them in. Now two of the lights are hanging in my room (I wrote about one of them here), and three are hanging in a spare closet.

All safe and sound.

This afternoon I determined to bring in the final chandelier, my favorite one, actually. I’ve been putting it off because it’s loaded with crystals, and I’ve assumed some of them were broken or damaged during the move or while in storage. Plus, there’s not really a “great” place to hang it here at Mom and Dad’s. Our ceilings are low, and this thing is somewhat substantial and dramatic. It needs a big space. But I thought, Hanging it is better than not hanging it. At least then I’ll get to look at it.

Well–immediately after taking down the old light fixture, I realized I’d have to go to Lowe’s for a few supplies. I’ll spare you all the details, but I needed some hooks to secure the chandelier to the fixture box (in the ceiling), as well as a medallion. (The “hood” of the chandelier, the part that goes flush to the ceiling, is three inches in diameter, but the ceiling hole is four. I figured a medallion with a three-inch hole would solve this problem.) Of course, all of Lowe’s medallions have the standard four-inch opening, still too big for my chandelier’s particular hood to cover up. Shit, I’ll have to improvise, I thought.

For over an hour, I strolled around Lowe’s and then Walmart, looking for something–anything–I could turn into a suitable ceiling medallion. FINALLY I stumbled across a set of small, circular sunburst mirrors and thought, Eureka–I can take out one of the mirrors and fasten the frame to the ceiling!

If none of this makes sense, stick with me. I promise I won’t go all Bob Vila on your ass and tell you everything that happened next, step by step. Suffice it to say, in home decoration and repair, everything is a process. But here’s the most important thing–when I got home from Walmart, I took out the actual mirror part of the mirror I liked the best, then drilled several one-inch holes into its plastic backing. Here’s what it looked like when I was done.

At this point, I was ready to hang the chandelier. So that’s what I did. And whereas I was all worried about the crystals being broken or damaged, not a single one was. In fact, only three of them had slipped off. (So I slipped them right back on.) Here’s what it looks like now that I’m completely finished. (Ta-da!)

This afternoon my inner perfectionist was all a-twitter about the chandelier. Even after my taking out all the extra chain links, it really does hang a bit low for our ceilings. Also, since the mirror wasn’t made to be a medallion, it’s not “exactly” flush to the ceiling. And–I think–it’s a little small for the size of the chandelier itself. But I’ve been reminding myself–1) The chandelier is gorgeous, better than what was there before, 2) No one besides me will notice or care, and 3) A small medallion, in this case, is better than no medallion at all.

Now I’m absolutely thrilled that the light is inside. I really do adore it. While dusting it this afternoon, I noticed that–honestly–there’s nothing perfect about it. (And that’s okay.) Each crystal is hung by a bent piece of wire, and every single piece is different. (I assume they were made by hand.) Also, the carousels that hold the hooks (and therefore the crystals) are all bent. Maybe they were made that way or have just warped slightly over the years. I mean, it is an antique. But really, what a ridiculous idea–perfection. As if there is such a thing.

Whom are you really kidding?

Earlier when I started to take tonight’s selfie, I decided to turn around. There’s a saying in psychology–the back is as big as the front–and since my front gets plenty of attention on this blog (God knows), I figured my back should get some too. I’m being cheeky here (and in the photo), but there really is something to this idea. We all have this face we show to the world–the one that smiles, the one that’s “nice,” the one that lives in the house where everything is “just so.” The Perfect Front. But that’s all it is–a front. I mean, whom are you really kidding? You want your chandeliers and pictures to hang perfectly straight? Good fucking luck. Life is messy and emotional. In fact, it’s damn ugly at times. That’s what The Imperfect Back is–all the things we don’t want to look at, all the parts of ourselves and the world we think are bad or wrong or embarrassing. But these parts deserve our attention too and (like my chandelier) are worthy of being seen. Plus, we forget that it’s not ultimately about The Perfect Front OR The Imperfect Back. It’s never about what’s outside, what’s physical. It’s about what’s inside, the light.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

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