A Chair to Sit in (Blog #868)

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It’s nearly two in the morning, and I’m having a tough time focusing. Today has been a busy day, and I guess I’m having trouble winding down. This morning I finished a room I started painting a few days ago, then came home, ate a sandwich, and took a shower. Then I headed to Fort Smith for a meeting, a meeting that got postponed while I was on my way to it. And whereas this normally would have bothered me, it didn’t. For whatever reason, I’ve been in a fabulous mood all day and have been impervious to irritation. This is extremely ironic, since yesterday I was covered from head to toe in frustration.

Sometimes life throws you a bone.

After I had my estate sale a few years, the only piece of furniture I owned was a small bookshelf. Then last summer when my aunt had a yard sale, I doubled my furniture collection–by adding an old leather ottoman. And whereas I was set on only acquiring new things (because I was in the middle of starting a new life), I fell in love with this ottoman because it belonged to my grandparents. It even has one of grandpa’s famous cigarette burns on it. Anyway, for the last year the ottoman has simply sat in my room in front of my window. Mostly, it’s given me a place to tie me shoes.

So get this shit. Today on a whim I went to an antique store and found a lovely leather chair that matches my ottoman–for the bargain price of $24. Talk about a steal. So I bought it.

Then I bought a pillow to go with the chair.

Because when you’re my age you’ve got to think about lower lumbar support.

I can’t tell you how excited I am about having this chair. Now I can read in my own room sitting up instead of lying down. I can listen to music while sipping tea. I can have company (not everybody at once!) and offer them a place to sit instead of insisting they share my twin bed.

Boy was that getting awkward.

Now it’s three in the morning, and I keep getting distracted by other things. Plus, I’m tired. So although I hate to be abrupt, I’m going to wrap this up. Last night I mentioned that at the end of a rough day (yesterday) I got excited about a new creative idea. This idea, I’m sure, has much to do with my good mood today. This fascinates me, the idea that one’s mood can turn around just like that by thinking about something that excites you, something that gets your creative juices flowing.

And all the better if you have a chair to sit in where you can think about these things.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever.

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Enough (Blog #867)

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Yesterday I blogged about feeling generally irritated and frustrated by my situation in life, and today I talked to my therapist about my feelings. “Let’s just call it like it is,” she said. “You’re fucking pissed.”

“Okay, I’m pissed,” I said.

“That’s all right,” she said. “Be pissed.”

“OKAY, I’M PISSED!” I said.

So now that that’s established.

My therapist asked if I’d ever blogged about just how frustrating it is for me to be 1) living with my parents and 2) trying to “make it” as a writer or a creative. Like, what’s it like to be a starving artist? (Well, you go hungry a lot.) And whereas I told her that I have blogged about these frustrations a number of times, I also said maybe I needed to give it another shot. So here I go.

It’s frustrating as hell. (How’d I do?)

Okay, fine, I’ll dig deeper. Today my therapist said she thought part of me wanted life to wave a magic wand and make my dreams come true. Well, yeah, of course I want that. Who wouldn’t? At the same time, I know it’s not realistic–for each goal a person has, there’s work to be done. For me, it’s not that I’m afraid of the work. It’s that I’m often paralyzed by what step to take next. With a hundred creative ideas in my head, I’m not always sure which one to pursue. Also, I’m scared that whatever I do pick won’t be THE ONE. In short, I’m scared to fail. Of course, as my therapist said, “What do you have to lose?”

“At this point,” I said, “Really nothing.”

My pride, you say?

Honey, I lost that a long time ago.

Getting back to what’s frustrating for me, sure, part of it is that my life doesn’t look like what I want it to right now. However, a good deal of my frustration is due to what I’ve done internally with the facts of me life. That is, I’ve blamed myself for my situation. Like I have this dream and have taken steps toward it, but the steps I’ve taken OBVIOUSLY aren’t enough. So that means I’m not enough. I’m a failure. This is where the frustration really lies, the feeling that I’ve done my best and it–clearly–isn’t sufficient.

This thinking, of course, is recipe for misery. Normally therapy puts me in a good mood, but I spent this afternoon in a pretty significant funk. I did a lot of–what’s the word?–wallowing. Not that I donned sackcloth or anything. I actually donned painting clothes and continued painting the room I started yesterday. I listened to several podcasts. In short, I was productive. At the same time, however, I gave myself a good deal of grief. For not having my act together. For not being “a success.”

Thankfully, this evening while I was taking a shower, the weight of the world fell off my shoulders. I remembered that my therapist said that as many as one-in-four people (Google says one-in-five) live in multi-generational households. “There are a lot of people like you,” she said. Then I started thinking about some steps I could take to reach my goals–and actually got excited about them. My therapist said, “Do you ever talk about how irritating writing is?” I said, “It’s not writing itself that’s irritating. It’s that it’s not paying the bills.” This is the thing about creative projects. Inherently, there’s joy in thinking about them, doing them. But you can suck the joy right out of them when you put pressure on those projects to put food on the table.

In the moments when I’m most clear, I’m proud of myself for listening to my soul several years ago, closing my dance studio, and beginning to work on a new life. I’m proud of this blog, regardless of who does or doesn’t read it, regardless of whether or not it ever makes me a dime. I get hung up on success as the world sees it, but the truth is I already consider myself a success when it comes to what really matters to me–what’s on the inside, not what’s on the outside. Do I want the outside to follow the inside? Sure. It would make a lot of things easier. But until that happens, I’m working on being okay right here, right now–irritated, frustrated, pissed off, or joyful. I’m enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t pick and choose what you receive from life, and you can’t always accurately label something as bad.

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Embracing My Animal Nature (Blog #85)

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Here’s a picture from when I was in Austin that I’m affectionately calling “Dasher and Dancer.” Get it? (I’m a dancer.) The photo was taken at a vintage furniture store, and I was a little sad that Dasher had a broken antler, so I gave him a hug. (Notice he didn’t return the favor. Of course, he doesn’t have arms.) Anyway, I’m back in Arkansas now, but I’m still sharing this picture because I always start each post with a picture and Bonnie sent me this one this morning.

This afternoon I spent well over an hour in the backyard, reading. Half-naked. In the hot sun. I’ve been doing this for the last couple of weeks, hoping to ease myself into an even tan, erase some of the lines I’ve acquired from hanging my arm out my car window and walking around Austin in a tank top. Well, I didn’t think I was outside too long, but maybe I was. Maybe the sun was especially pissed off today, like it had a fight with the moon last night and decided to take it out on me. Either way, I roasted like a marshmallow. My skin keeps getting pinker and pinker.

Here’s a picture I took a couple of hours ago. Something must be up with my camera or the lightbulbs in the bathroom because it doesn’t look like I’m sunburned at all. But everything that looks tanned in the picture (my stomach) is actually medium rare in real life.

First, while I’m partially nude, I’d like to say this. I don’t look nearly as bad as I think I do. I mean, I just spent three days in Austin eating tacos, fried chicken, and donuts the size of flying saucers, so I haven’t exactly felt svelte. But I stood on a scale today, and I actually lost weight while I was in Texas. Go figure. Metabolism, like Rob Lowe’s skin regimen, is a mystery. But back to the sunburn. I just took another picture, in a different room, and here’s what my skin really looks like.

Obviously, good lighting makes all the difference. Also–OUCH.

As the day has gone on, like my skin, I’ve progressively gotten more and more irritated. This evening I saw a lovely play in Fayetteville, but I kept remembering that I was alone, which almost never bothers me but did tonight. Then I went to Walmart, checked out, and got back to my car and realized I’d forgotten something, so I had to go back in, which made me want to spit in someone’s face. I’m guessing my bad attitude has to do mostly with coming down off the high of a wonderful trip to Austin, not getting enough sleep last night, cutting back on sugar today (where’d all the donuts go?), and burning the shit out of my stomach in the name of vanity.

But that’s just a guess.

This afternoon while I was frying my skin like a slab of bacon, I was reading a book about psychology and fairy tales. The book said that animals in fairy tales almost always represent our instinctual, animal nature (the id), and that the goal of becoming an adult is not to rid yourself of your animal nature, but rather to tame it or integrate it into your whole personality. For example, frogs (as in “The Frog Prince”) often represent one’s growing sexuality, the changing from a pre-pubescent child to an adult. In that particular example, rather than banishing the frog, the princess ends up kissing it, symbolically welcoming the change she is going through.

If a feeling is present, it’s probably there for a reason.

I’m not exactly sure what animal(s) would represent my irritation best, but probably a mosquito or a flock of shitting pigeons. Either way, I really like this idea of integration. I used to think that getting irritated, frustrated, or angry was bad and “not spiritual,” so I worked to avoid feeling those emotions as much as possible. (Television, whiskey, and nicotine often helped.) In fairy tale terms, I thought of those emotions as inhabitants of my kingdom that needed to be banished forever. But now I’m coming around to the idea that all the ups and downs in my mood are part of me. No one feeling should get to run the show, but everyone has a right to live here. Plus, if a feeling is present, it’s probably there for a reason.

When I think about my irritability that way, I realize that I’ve been “dashing” about a lot lately–making a whirlwind trip to Austin, sacrificing sleep in order to write, burning the candle at both ends the way I burned my skin today. And I guess my animal nature, which I’m now picturing as a white reindeer with one broken antler (because life’s a bitch sometimes), is simply telling me to gently apply some aloe vera, slow my roll, and go to bed.

Whatever you say, Dasher. (Also, Dancer loves you.)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance is a lot like gravity--it's everywhere.

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