The Beauty of Today (Blog #529)

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Recently my friend Elisabeth, a fellow blogger, challenged her readers to list ten things every night that they’re grateful for. And whereas I’m not officially accepting the challenge, here’s my list for today:

One. Muscle relaxers. After three days of manual labor (cleaning), my body felt like crap last night. But thanks to some drugs, a little time on the foam roller, and a good night’s rest, I felt much better when I woke up this morning.

Two. Books. In one of my first blog posts, I wrote about gifting myself with two books after I found a Barnes and Noble gift card while cleaning out my belongings. This morning I “finally” finished one of them, What the Bee Knows by PL Travers. Over the last year-and-a-half, I’ve mentioned this book here a number of times (and also spilled coffee on this book a number of times). Anyway, it’s been a long journey, but it’s done. I know I often bewail not finishing books that I start, but in light of the fact that so many people in the world, both historically and currently, CAN’T READ, I’d like to be clear–I’m grateful that I can.

Three. Wasp spray. This afternoon my dad and I tried to jump my antique car, Garfield. My birthday is coming up, and I’d like to celebrate by cleaning him up and getting him out of the driveway. Since he didn’t respond to the jump, getting a new battery may be tomorrow’s project. Anyway, in the process today, we disturbed some wasps who had made their home in Garfield’s bumper. Thankfully, we had some spray. (Bye, suckas.)

Four. Service with a smile. Again in preparation for my birthday, I messaged my friend and hairdresser, Bekah, this afternoon to see if I could get my hair trimmed tomorrow. “What about now?” she replied. It was that easy.

Ask and it is given.

Five. Friends in deed. In order to get my friends’ house ready to sell, we have to get new carpet installed in one of the rooms. However, the room still has some furniture in it, since they didn’t take EVERYTHING with them when they moved. (I’m trying to sell the furniture on Craigslist.) Anyway, the carpet installers are coming next week, so today I called my friend Justin and asked if he could help me move the furniture to another room. “What about now?” he replied. It was that easy.

Ask and it is given.

Six. My voice. This afternoon I ran to Walmart for a few supplies and asked a lady in the Garden Department if I could “donate” a few propane tanks from my friends’ house that they were unable to take on their move. “Sure,” she said. Well, when I went back this evening the lady was gone, and no one was in the department. Not wanting to “bother” anyone, I almost left. But then I thought, I don’t want to drive around with these propane tanks in my car for the next week, so I ended up approaching two different employees until I found one who could help–who was actually GLAD to help.

The lesson: It’s okay to ask for what you want.

Seven. Rainbow vacuum cleaners. Tonight I finally finished the inside of the house I’m cleaning (except for that room that needs new carpet), a task made MUCH easier by my parents’ Rainbow vacuum, which is designed to suck all the crap on the floor into a bowl of water. (When you empty the bowl after vacuuming, it looks like it’s full of drowned rats.) Anyway, someone had to invent this miracle contraption, and some door-to-door salesman had to sell it to my mom all those years ago–so thank you both.

Eight. My health challenges. (I can’t believe I’m saying this.) For quite a while, I blogged about an issue I was having with body odor. The problem, I’m assuming, was the result of a lot of antibiotics I’d taken while trying to get myself out of sinus infection hell. This situation has come and gone for almost two years now, but I feel confident saying that it’s FINALLY under control. (In order to get to this point I had to try more deodorants, soaps, and creams than you could shake a stick at.) WELL, a friend of mine that I haven’t seen in nearly ten years was having a similar problem, EXCEPT the bacteria causing their odor was apparently EATING THEIR SKIN. (Ick.) But get this shit–a while back I told them about all the products I tried and recently found out that one of them ended up SOLVING their problem. So today I thought, Would I go through ALL THAT AGAIN if I knew it meant that I could help keep a long-lost friend’s armpits from rotting out?

Yes, yes I would.

9. Running water. When I got home tonight from working, I took a hot shower. It was glorious. I feel so much better now. So often I get caught up worrying about almost everything, and yet I never worry about whether or not I can take a hot shower. To me, it’s a little thing. And yet a hot shower is considered a luxury by plenty of people in the world. So the little things are the big things.

10. The seasons. Y’all, the march toward winter has begun. I hate the winter. I’m already concerned about how cold my feet will be for months and months. BUT–I’m trying to have a good attitude as the days get shorter and the nights get cooler. Because I do love THIS TIME of year. It’s when I was born, after all. As I drove home tonight, the weather was simply stunning, the perfect mixture of brisk and refreshing.

Yes, each season, each day, has its beauties.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Of all the broken things in your life, you’re not one of them–and you never have been.

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On Barely Making It (Blog #453)

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Already in a foul mood yesterday, I planned to take my antique car, Garfield, out for a spin when I finished last night’s blog. But after jumping the battery, I discovered that it was leaking–pouring–fluids onto the driveway. (Who knows why?) So that didn’t happen. Still, I needed to get out of the house, so I took my other car, Tom Collins, for a drive. With no destination in mind, I pointed Tom in the direction of Siloam Springs, up winding Highway 59. I drove this road all the time in my twenties, back when Dad used to work at a local chicken plant and they paid me like forty-two dollars to deliver chicken samples to their lab up north.

I’m not sure why I was pissed off last night, why I still am. Probably something to do with sitting in my feelings every day or the fact that I want my body and my health (hell, my life) to be different than they are. Talk about a recipe for a bad mood–want something you don’t have. (Just add water.) And the antique car thing didn’t help. Driving Garfield is one of the few things that never fails to make me happy, and there he was, spilling his guts all over the concrete like I’m currently spilling mine on the internet, making a big, damn mess. Then I started thinking about how much money it would take it fix him, how I’d probably be better off selling him anyway because I could use the cash. And I hate that thought.

Being desperate.

Driving up Highway 59 last night, I was probably going 45 miles per hour when the deer ran out in front of me. An honest-to-god Bambi. I’d come around a corner, and she darted from the other side of the woods into my lane. Slamming on the brakes, I slowed to maybe 30. It all happened so fast, it’s hard to say. The next thing I knew, the deer was gone. She made it–I made it. I swear we came within two feet of each other, maybe less than that. I could see her head, but not her legs. Talk about a close call. It felt like one of those roller coasters, where you think you’re gonna die or at least be wrecked, but then you don’t, you aren’t.

When a close call happens on a roller coaster, my reaction is to laugh. But last night after I barely missed the deer, my heart jumped into my throat. Not when it happened–there wasn’t enough time–after. It’s so weird. During the thing, there were no choices, no time to calculate. The deer ran out, my foot hit the brake. I thought, Shit, I’m going to hit the damn thing. But I didn’t. And then the fear came. I thought, I’ll laugh about this later, like, I made it!, but I didn’t. I drove for an additional two hours worried something else terrifying would happen.

By the time I got back to town, my bad mood hadn’t gone anywhere, so I went to Taco Bell because feelings taste better with cheese. I had to “pull around to the front,” since “your chalupa won’t be ready for two minutes” and the guy didn’t want me holding up the line even though I was the only one in it. So that pissed me off, just like it pissed me off that I ordered a meal box and it came in a sack (“we’re all out of the boxes”). Then when I got home and picked up my iced tea, the lid came off and the tea went everywhere in Tom Collins.

Which pissed me off even more.

I’d hoped that sleeping last night would improve my mood, but it really hasn’t. Taking a nap didn’t even work. Maybe getting things on the page will. I could go for a walk, take another nap. (I’ll try anything.) I wish I could convince myself to be grateful that I didn’t slam the shit out of a deer last night, but I can’t. Every near miss just feels like life is fucking with me, like I can’t calm down because what’s going to jump out of the woods next? I’m so tired of barely making it. That’s what it feels like–just getting by every month, just being healthy enough–one near miss after another. Like your heart never comes back down from your throat.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things become ripe when they’re ready.

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Me and My Ship (Blog #452)

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Earlier I spoke with my therapist, and when I told her how tired, worn out, and frustrated I’ve been lately, she asked about the blog. She said, “You can tell me to go fuck myself, but what if you took a break from it for a while–maybe a couple weeks?” I said, “I know that I won’t blog every day for the rest of my life, but I’m really proud of my unbroken chain. I’m not ready to give that up.” Still, my body needs a break. My soul needs a break. I can’t keep pushing-pushing-pushing myself, pouring my guts out every night for two or three hours when I’m already exhausted. I can’t keep running on empty.

So we decided on a compromise–shorter posts–earlier in the day–lists instead of full paragraphs–limericks even.

There once was a boy from Nantucket
Who had a blog and said, “Fuck it.”

Things like that.

I’m going to try. Now it’s seven in the evening–instead of one in the morning–so that’s a start. When signing on, my internet was slower than my sex life. I got so frustrated I wanted to spit. That’s how I feel a lot lately–frustrated–like things aren’t moving as fast as I want them to. My therapist’s advice today–“You can’t push the universe. Don’t hustle. Rest instead.” Along these lines, I’m going to try to listen to my body and my spirit. Right now all they want to do is hit “publish” and go for a ride in my antique car, Garfield. I haven’t gotten him out since last year, though he never fails to make me happy.

I told my therapist I worried how other people would respond to shorter posts, since that’s not the pattern I’ve established. She said, “It’s your blog, for your pleasure, for your personal growth. And no one’s paying you, so fuck what anyone else thinks.” She talks like this a lot. Like a sailor. I adore it because I don’t. Sure, I cuss, but I’m often too concerned with what others think of me and my ship to say, “Up yars” or “Go play the plank, Matey.” But I’m working on it. Because she’s right. This is my ship, and I’m allowed to take ‘er out to sea or let ‘er rest in the harbor if I think she needs it.

So this is me saying, “Fuck it–I’m done for the day.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are surrounded by the light.

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