I've been working on this thing for weeks now. This is one of the assignments I was given by my sponsors for the Blogathon.
First up, the list that Klae requested: 100 things that make me smile.
And believe me, this was way freaking harder than I thought it was going to be. :) (Classified as an essay because it's not exactly babble, really.)
1. The wallet-sized picture of my grandparents, which is in a frame, on my desk at work.
2. The set of mood icons that Leon switched to on Livejournal.
3. Any Sinfest comic which includes Percival and Pooch.
4. Tomato Nation, because Sars has an advice column that is flat out awesome (examples: 'I mean, will you wake up and smell the Jerry Springer?' (last letter), and 'What kind of SORRY-ASS FUCKSTICK greets the news that he's having a daughter by STORMING OUT AND LEAVING HIS PREGNANT WIFE TO GET A CAB?' (last letter)), and she writes some incredibly funny, very insightful, and generally kick-ass stuff.
5. When I get to tell development that something really IS their problem after all, not mine, thank you very much.
6. Any song by the Moody Blues, when it comes on the radio (which is rare, for some reason).
7. My car. Yeah yeah, I know it probably sounds silly, but I love that car. I love the way it drives, I love how quiet it is, the color...most especially the color. I just really love my car. :)
8. Our menagerie of critters.
9. And the stores where we've bought said menagerie of critters.
10. Opening the door to my apartment when I've come home from work, or after a long trip. Just that feeling of home.
11. The thought of how far I've come since I was in high school.
12. Hockey!
13. Basketball.
14. Almost every time I remember I retired from my admin spot on PernMUSH.
15. My mom. Specifically, talking to my mom every Sunday. It's become a ritual, and every few calls, my mom always mentions how great it is that we're such good friends. (Mind you, that makes me smile, *and* it makes me all teary-eyed, but it's all good.)
16. Rain storms. The bigger the better.
17. Seeing the names of my friends come up on the WHO list on Pern.
18. TiVo. I don't really need to explain that one, do I?
19. Our wedding rings, and the thought that, soon, I'll be able to wear mine every day.
20. My friend Matt, who knows me almost as well as I know myself. He just...shines, I guess, I can't really explain it better than that. I'm so blessed that he chooses to share a little of that with me.
21. My digital camera, which I don't use enough.
22. Writing. This might sound strange, but even when I write the really raw, emotional stuff, I still get a lift from it.
23. Reading back over my Blogathon posts. It's so interesting to read back over the things I was thinking throughout the course of the day.
24. College! I register for classes on the day we leave for Boston.
25. Mountains. Or, to be specific, *my* mountains, the ones I grew up surrounded by in Salt Lake City.
26. The beach.
27. This comic from Something Positive, pointed out to me by Yashira on PernMUSH. I snickered a lot. :)
28. The pictures I took of our mini family reunion to Toronto in 2001.
29. A memory, from the trip mentioned above. My cousin Emily, who is very much the snotty and angsty pre-teen (gee, like I was), looking at the Martyr card from the Guillotine deck and professing, "I don't like her!" My mother, laughing as she's walking away, and me, left to shrug and say, "Grown ups."
30. User Friendly.
31. Luann, which I've been reading since I was probably 13 or 14 years old. My nana, Mom's mom, used to clip ones she thought were particularly funny, and send them to me.
32. Every time I say something stupid that makes someone laugh.
33. Live CDs where the crowd is singing so loudly that you can hear them through the microphones.
34. My LiveJournal friends list. Even when it pisses me off, it makes me smile. :)
35. The daily chatter in the Farviewer Chamber.
36. Listening to Hemal and Jole (co-workers) give each other shit.
37. Giving Hemal and Jole shit.
38. Occasionally, I'll get a friendly client rather than a pissy client, and that typically makes me smile.
39. Clients who have a sense of humor. ("Okay! I'll try to go break something else now!")
40. The abject look of horror on the development manager's face when he looks at how big the bug list is. Why does this make me smile? It's kind of a 'HA, take that' kind of thing, y'know? :)
41. Go Fish. Found this blog when I was doing the Blogathon thing. She's since changed her layout a little bit, but she still makes me laugh--especially the tag lines. Mine says, right now, 'I like 'em big, round, and juicy.'
42. Mmm. Togo's #24.
43. Mmmmmmm. Coldstone.
44. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Henry Weinhard's Black Cherry Cream.
45. 7th Sea, which I'm really jonesing to play, after watching Pirates of the Caribbean.
46. Shadowrun, which I haven't played for years, but really love.
47. Journey on my radio, woohoo.
48. A song by Greg Kihn called 'Remember.' I'm not really sure why, either, I just love the guitar work.
49. Good, fun RP.
50. bash.org. Most of the time. :)
51. The Chronicles of George.
52. Krispy Kreme. Dammit.
53. My lucky bamboo plant, on my desk at work. It's growing rather well.
54. The good luck red dragon from Basic Brown Bear Factory. They're usually green, the dragons, but this one was made the last time the Year of the Dragon rolled around--he's all red and orange and stuff.
55. My bug! Brett won a stuffed animal that looks like some sort of stuffed centipede for me, while we were at the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz. He hates it. I love it. :)
56. Yay, Two Towers soundtrack!
57. Fry's, but more for the software and music/DVD section rather than for the TOYS section. :) Of course, the smile is fleeting, because most of the people they staff there seem to be rather, um, hm. Intelligence challenged?
58. The picture I have on my desk, my mom and her sisters, taken back in 1996. Everyone who sees that wonders if those are *my* sisters. All four of them love hearing that.
59. The piece of artwork that's in the guest bathroom--Klae, you know the one I'm talking about.
60. Every time I look at a piece of jewelry that I've made. I love that feeling of accomplishment.
61. Shopping for more beads! :)
62. The TLC show While You Were Out.
63. My friends. I'm sure this goes without saying. :)
64. One of the comics that I have printed out hanging in my cube. PC & Pixel, shows a guy with his elbow propped up on the arm of his chair, staring at his monitor. The monitor says: 'System resources are low. Please close all programs you are not using...Come to think of it--just close all the *@$% programs, turn off all the lights and close the door behind you on the way out.' The caption: 'When computers are having a bad day...'
65. Another comic I printed out years ago, back in 1997. Mother Goose and Grimm. Grimm (I think) is flying along, his tail working furiously, and the first two frames show him with this big shit-eating grin: 'Just keep thinking happy thoughts!' The third frame pans out a little: 'Just keep thinking happy...' Fourth frame: 'THUD!' Grimm is spread-eagled against the nose of the airplane. Doh! :)
66. Hearing Brian talk about his baby.
67. Hearing Vicki talk about her kids.
68. The thought that I don't have to have children if I don't want to, even though I like hearing about other people's kids. ;)
69. You know, I was going to put something at this number here, but I decided not to. Yeah yeah. Be quiet, you pigs. :)
70. Another picture: wallet sized, of my mom, my brother, and I, at Christmas in 2001.
71. Watercourse Way. I am so looking forward to my hour in the hot tub followed by a facial.
72. TC, Brett's old roommate--and mine, however briefly. If you've ever met TC, you won't have to ask why. :)
73. (Wow. This was hard early on, but now, much more so! I'm starting to repeat myself.) This'll sound strange, but...my hair. Though, I am oh so tempted to cut it all off. :)
74. Payday, especially since they only come once a month.
75. Flying in to Seattle--sooo green. Beautiful.
76. That first step outside at Mom's house, up in Washington, when you can really smell all that green, and the faintest hint of salt water.
77. The park where we're getting married. I think I'll be a fairly frequent visitor up there, it's lovely.
78. My flat panel monitor at home.
79. Dean Koontz books.
80. Coming up with new and inventive swear words (or adopting them into the lexicon). Asshat and fuckberry come to mind. :)
81. Every time Patrick Marleau's or Marco Sturm's pictures come up, when I go check the Sharks website. Yeah, blah blah. :)
82. Jimmy Buffett in concert. Okay. Jimmy Buffett in general, but wow, the man is amazing in concert, and if you like his stuff even a little bit, you'll LOVE seeing him live.
83. National Museum of the Civil War Soldier. I've never been there, but I really want to go, and DANG, that looks freaking cool.
84. The pathos plant that I have in the bathroom window, which has really thrived since being put in there. It's huge now.
85. Fark. Even when they say that Duke sucks. :)
86. Robin Williams. Course, it's not so much that he makes me *smile* but that he makes me weep with laughter, but.
87. Identifying a client's problem and providing a fix within half an hour. Go me!
88. The thought that, someday, we'll all get those 'I am hot shit' t-shirts.
89. Dry roasted peanuts. My grandpa used to eat dry roasted peanuts when he drank beer (from the can, with a pile of salt at the top of the can, that he'd lick before taking a sip).
90. Chapstick. My grandma had a picture of me, at four years old, standing up on something and leaning toward the mirror, looking very serious as I put chapstick on my lips. One of these days, I'll get a copy of that picture. This is also why I tend to buy the Chapstick brand more often than anything else. (And, you know, that tub o'Carmex is just not the same.)
91. The sparkly Swarovski Eeyore that I bought myself not long ago. A luxury, when we're budgeting and planning for a wedding, but... :)
92. Which, really, leads to the fact that spending money makes me smile. Bad, maybe, but true.
93. The thought of going to Boston again, and hopefully, getting to play tourist some more.
94. White roses, star lilies, and getting flowers.
95. The way my porch looked when I'd just planted a whole bunch of annuals in pots.
96. The look of absolute pleasure on someone's face they open a gift I've given them, and I find out that it was the perfect thing.
97. The breadmaker we got for our first wedding gift, even if I haven't been able to use it.
98. A glass vase my mom gave me--a red/orange/yellow piece that used to belong to my grandma.
99. My blog template.
100. Brett. I'm sure this needs no explanation.
Posted on the 'Just Write About It' ezine, my latest essay, about having gray hair, and my mom finding out about it.
Sometimes, it's just a song that prompts me to write.
It was your birthday, back in 1992, that was the first time I remember that we talked. You'd logged into Lower Lights with 'birthday' somewhere in your name--Birthday Bohemian, wasn't it? I wished you a happy birthday, and we talked, a little. My memory has always been full of holes, and the timing of things gets lost somewhere in the translation, but I still remember that. I still remember, too, the first time I saw you--and how you look almost the same now as you did then...I wish I could say the same for myself.
I remember gaming, and how mortified I was to realize that you gamed with people I'd gone to junior high with--two of whom I'd had schoolgirl crushes on...that I promptly fell back into. How I made a fool of myself more than once in the middle of all that, but I'm probably the only one who remembers how anymore.
I remember Friday Night Coffees, and the time you told me that Indigo Girls had a new album coming out, and I had no idea who they were. I can still remember your face, when I said that--the amused/horrified look. Later that summer, the three of us went to the concert, surrounded by lesbians making out everywhere...or was it Libby and I who found you there? (See? My memory...)
I remember our brief stint at the West Valley Chorus, how self-conscious I was--so much so that I couldn't even sing in front of you...never mind that we'd been singing together for ages before that. How big an idiot I felt afterwards, and how much your voice moved the director, moved me. We were always singing, though--sometimes just the two of us, sometimes the three of us together.
I remember the unheated pool in March (wasn't it March? or was it April?), the need to swim, and the chill that chased us out of the water so quickly, back to the sanctuary of the hot tub. The snow, the music...and the love.
I thought nothing would ever come between us. I remember what it was like, the three of us together, how strong I felt, how much we laughed and shared and enjoyed each other's company. The triumphant triad. All my friendships since then have been measured up against it, and though I wouldn't ever say they've been found wanting...nothing has ever been the same.
And, of course, it was my fault that the trio broke up. Neither of you really liked him, and I couldn't understand until much later. That wasn't the whole of it, but some things are so painful even now that I can't even confess them to myself. He couldn't ever understand why I was so upset--some things, I didn't even tell him--and kept telling me that I'd get over it...which I did, after a fashion. I just learned to live without that part of my life, without the two people who meant more to me than my own family. Oh, how I wish I was a trinity, so that if I lost a part of me, I'd still have two of the same to live. And yet, by my own choice, I was the part that was lost.
It took me a long time to come back to my senses, and even when I did, I was afraid--not because of you, but because of myself. How would things be, now? I screwed up, I knew it, and if the positions were reversed, how would *I* feel? And then I saw you, and you smiled at me--that famous smile, the one everyone who knows you can see in their mind's eye right now--and it was like all that time and space between us had never existed. I couldn't bring myself to reach out to Libby, a mistake which I regret to this very day, but I'd never felt relief quite like I did when I climbed into that car with you and we drove off.
You helped me do what I needed to do, helped me obtain boxes and ferry them to the shipping store to get them sent. Took me to a travel agent to buy my ticket. Helped me escape for a few of those nights when the house was absolutely unbearable. I don't remember how much we talked about it, those years when we didn't see one another, I just remember how much it didn't matter, how much I didn't care.
The night before I left, it was cold, but the top was still off the Land Cruiser. We went to Arby's, because I had a craving, and then we went to Millcreek...which had always been our place (and still is--when I went back this last summer, I swear I could feel the two of you there with me). Still too early in the year for the road up top to be open, so we sat in the car, had our dinner, talked, and looked at the stars. Dark as it was, I was still embarrassed to sing, especially since there was no music for me to fall back on, and I could hear voices coming from somewhere in that night. Even after you started, the fear clutched and grabbed at me, but I joined you anyway. Not very well, but...
It was the best send-off I could have hoped for. My best friend beside me, singing a song we knew by heart, feeling my own heart lift just a little--*heal* just a little. So many years later, I still get goosebumps when I hear the song, and sometimes--like today--the memory is so overwhelming that it makes me cry.
Even though you dropped me off outside, when we came back, he knew it was you, and I almost laughed at the sour look on his face. I had my freedom, I had my friend, and he had nothing. Instead, I went to bed and cried myself to sleep--not with pain, but with the sheer joy of it, the promise of a new beginning, a new life for myself.
We sang again on the way to the airport, shouting really, above the wind in the still-topless 'Cruiser, and that euphoria surrounded me all the way to Washington.
You came to visit me up there once, but it's only because I remember you working for Southwest (was it Southwest?) that I even remember that much. But then...then, there was California.
The first time I saw you was October fifteenth, my company was having some sort of party, so I invited you up for lunch. I was going out later that night with some friends--with the man who eventually became my boyfriend, and I remember being all worked up about that. Amusingly, several of the people who saw us there together assumed that it was you I was so worked up about. But no...we'd settled that between us long before then, hadn't we?
I'll never forget the shock I felt when I realized you knew Brett (and the rest of them) from NERO, and *had* known them for quite some time before then. None of us ever made the connection, not Brett, and certainly not me.
I told Brett about the 'we just fall together' phenomenon, that we start up right where we left off, as if no time at all had passed since we last saw one another. He didn't believe me, until he saw it in action. What a day that was, though--Super Bowl Sunday. I won't forget that one, even though I wish I could.
And now...here I sit, twelve years later. You are my oldest and dearest friend, I can say that without hesitation. The gift of your friendship over the years is a blessing, and something that I won't ever forget.
i don’t know if it was real or in a dream
lately waking up i’m not sure where i’ve been
there was a table set for six and five were there
i stood outside and kept my eyes upon that empty chair
and there was steam on the windows from the kitchen
laughter like a language i once spoke with ease
but i’m made mute by the virtue of decision
i choose most of your life goes on without me
oh the fear i’ve known that i might reap the praise of strangers
and end up on my own
all i’ve sown was a song
but maybe i was wrong
i said to you the one gift which i’d adore
unwrap a package of the next 10 years unfolding
but you told me if i had my way i’d be bored
right then i knew i loved you best born of your scolding
when we last talked we were lying on our backs
looking up at the sky through the ceiling
i used to lie like that alone out on the driveway
trying to read the greek upon the stars
the alphabet of feeling
oh i knew back then
it was a calling that said if joy then pain
the sound of the voice these years later is still the same
i am alone in a hotel room tonight
i squeeze the sky out
but there’s not a star appears
begin my studies with this paper and this pencil
and i’m working through the grammar of my fears
mercy what i won’t give
to have the things that mean the most not to mean the things i miss
unforgiving the choice still is
the language or the kiss
I've had issues with my weight for as long as I can remember, but it hasn't been my *whole* life. No, there was a year or two there as a toddler when I suppose it wasn't a problem. Suffice it to say that my weight has always been a sensitive issue with me.
It made me the subject of many jokes in elementary/junior high ("sorry bubblebutt, I mean, girl, I mean, bubblebutt girl"), and even in high school to some extent, even if, when I look back on those pictures taken during those years now I always think about how thin I look.
I haven't done anything about it, really--I always start thinking I should, and even start *planning* to do something, and I get all motivated to DO that something, but there is always something that stops me. It's always *me*, always something I think or react to, but the end result is the same--I never do shit. I start it, do stuff once or twice, and that's all. Some of it's laziness, some of it's external, but there's always something.
I keep hearing about all this size-positive stuff, and how we are more inclined to change our bodies if we first love and understand them as they are. I say: what the fuck ever. The things that always have me changing my mind or losing my motivation are usually throw-away comments by people, things they never think about after they've said, but always just seem to echo in *my* head.
Today, I had one such moment.
We were at REI, had only gone to get another set of knee pads for me (bigger, go figure), and another pair of gloves for him. I hate REI most of the time anyway--it's all these athletic, outdoorsy types who look at me, the fat woman, as if I'm some kind of alien trespassing on hallowed ground. You can almost see the thought as it goes through their minds: "oh my god, what is SHE doing in here?" They all look at me, and look away quickly, thinking that it doesn't show on their faces if they're quick to look aawy, but...it shows.
So, when this two-item trip turns into 'oh, I want to look at a few other things,' I can't help but cringe. We head over to the sleeping bags, where Brett is looking at a new mummy-type bag he wants. After he's done looking, as we start to move away, we see a conventional type of bag on the 'try before you buy' table. Brett mentions that he thinks he wants to get me something like this "because..........................you know." I look at him, and the silence stretches for a moment before I finally nod. "I know," I said, knowing ALL too well. "I just think," he continues, "that these will be better. I think you'll be uncomfortable in a mummy bag..........because of the way it tapers."
I say nothing, because to say what I'm really thinking and feeling would be to cause myself to burst into tears in the middle of the store. We leave, and hours later, that scene is still in my mind.
And so are the words I wanted to say. "Look, just SAY it, okay? Say I'm too fucking fat to want to be in a mummy bag and have done, jesus christ. The awkward pauses and the 'you knows' say what you really mean all too well, so why don't you just SAY IT. Maybe it'll make you feel better."
It's this sort of thing that makes me lose that motivation that I sometimes manage to get. It's a catch-22, you know. I look at myself in the mirror at work, or catch a glimpse of the shadow of my ass in the bathroom in the morning, and I always think that today, this week, this month, this YEAR will be different. Today I'll ignore the sugar cravings, and I'll get up off my ass and actually go to the gym and walk on the treadmill, or take a walk outside, or start lifting weights...or start skating. Something, anything to change this body image that I am so unhappy with.
Yes, I know the health issues. Yes, I know the self-esteem issues, because I've dealt with that shit all my life. But tell me something...how do you keep that motivation, when every time you look at yourself in the mirror, or every time someone makes what they think is going to be a throw-away comment, or every time something *else* like that happens...how do you keep that motivation when there are all these things going on around you that make you feel as if it's just not worth bothering anyway?
That's always what happens to me, and like I said, it's all on me. I know the comments are throwaway, I know that my reaction to other people's thoughts, or images on TV, or whatever, I know that those are my own problems to deal with.
I just wish I could get myself over that hump.
When I was a kid, I could do anything. *Anything*.
Jump off the high dive and land feet-first in the 12 foot water? Yep, did it, got the tingling feet to prove it.
Flip myself over in a swing? Yep, did it, ate gravel and scraped up my chin.
Push myself backwards off the see-saw when it was at its highest? Yep, did that, too, and spent four weeks in the height of summer in a cast.
Spin myself silly on the high bar? Yeah, all the time, even kept on doing it after I fell off and landed on my head.
Swim in 150+ foot deep water about 500 yards away from a dam, where the water's at its deepest and god knows what's under you? Did that, too.
I've fallen off horses, skied black diamond runs (before there was the double black), had bumps, bruises, scrapes, bug bites, and just about everything else you can imagine. If I felt that twinge of fear in my stomach, if there were butterflies, I ignored them and plowed on anyway.
In other words, I was a typical kid, and there was only one thing in the world I was afraid of...my stepdad. But that's a subject for a different writing.
So when was it, then, that I stopped approaching my life with that 'fear nothing' attitude? Somewhere along the line, instead of being a place of infinite wonder and possibility, the world got big, and it got *scary*. There are all kinds of limits now, all kinds of barriers, and whenever I feel that twinge, instead of plowing on without question, I hesitate, and question.
"Wait, what am I doing?"
"Why am I doing this?"
"Am I going to fuck something up?"
"Is this going to hurt?"
"Am I going to regret this?"
"Will I look stupid?"
I never cared about those things before, or if I did, I didn't let it stop me. Now, they all do, particularly the 'will I look stupid' question.
Take yesterday, for example. While it was great to get out and *do* something for a change, and while I had a lot of fun and can't wait to do it again, I was petrified the entire time. I was scared that I'd fall and hurt myself, but most of all, I was scared of looking stupid. Brett was there with me, and a long time ago, I started caring what other people thought of me. His opinion, naturally, means more than just about anyone else.
I didn't give it much thought until today, when I was talking to some friends about yesterday's whole experience, and that's the question that came up: when did the fear start to mean more than the experience? When did I start to let that fear have a larger impact on the things I chose to do?
Some would say that this is simply part of the 'growing up process,' but I call bullshit on that. Where does it say that grown-ups have to be afraid? Where does it say that grown-ups have to lose their sense of wonder, have to change the way they approach the world? True, approaching things with such reckless, childlike abandon may not be the *smartest* thing to do...or is that just the ingrained 'you are so many years old, you must act like an adult' thing talking?
And, like so many other pieces of writing I've done recently, I don't think I have a good way to end this. I suppose I'll simply say that it's food for thought, and leave it at that.
A jumbled essay on why I haven't shared my feelings about 9/11, why I'm reluctant to do so now. Initially, there was also going to be a discussion about patriotism here, but I think that one's best left untouched right now.
It's been a year and a half since the World Trade Center collapsed into a rush of flame and debris, since the Pentagon lost one of its sides, since some very brave men and women fought back and foiled the plans of their hijackers, ultimately losing their lives in the Pennsylvania country. I remember where I was when I heard--of course I do, who doesn't? In that respect, it's on a level with Challenger, with Kennedy, with Columbia, with other tragedies that touch the heart of a nation. I don't believe that September 11th was a tragedy, however, not by any stretch of the imagination--try *outrage*, and maybe that'll be closer to the mark.
When the first plane hit, I was fifteen minutes away from being officially awake for the day. I was lying in bed, listening to the sound of Brett's breathing, getting myself mentally ready to get out of bed for work. I was blissfully ignorant of everything happening on the opposite coast until sometime on my drive to work, when the radio station that I typically listen to in the mornings went to a news break and started to talk about the situation.
Now, my mom works for Boeing, so when they mentioned that a plane had flown *into* the towers, I was floored. At first, I didn't even know there was more than one plane, the station would just continue to give bits and pieces every now and then, none of it truly informative. The broadcasters sounded as bemused as I felt, as if the whole thing were simply too unreal to grasp, reporting on stories they were getting, but not really *comprehending* them. They didn't break in often, and it was so infrequent enough that I didn't really think the situation was that serious. Surely a plane didn't fly IN to one of the towers...did it? Did a plane fly too close to the towers and clip it with a wing or something? Little did I know.
In the parking lot, I ran into one of my co-workers, and we sat there talking to each other, mostly just echoes on the same theme: can you believe this? We headed inside, where I had my radio set up--and believe me, I have never been happier that I've had it at work than I was that day. I found an AM feed for CNN and checked my email, where I got another one of those 'can you believe this?' comments, this time from my mother. She made sure I was okay, I made sure she was okay, we confirmed that none of our family were traveling, said our 'I love you's, and then... then I did the only thing I *could* do, which was to concentrate on work.
One of my other co-workers was very upset at the situation, and I'm still not quite sure why it affected her the way it did--at least, not then. True, we had field engineers in the area, but they'd all eventually called in to report that they were safe. We heard from a good deal of our clients, too, though that came somewhat later, and we ended up having to replace a server or two because they were destroyed.
We listened as the towers fell, and shook our heads in disbelief. Who? Who could've done this, and why? Casualty estimates started to roll in once the towers were gone--how many people did those offices hold? The planes struck after the start of the work day, even east coast time, so there could've been so many thousands...how many people, after all, work in office buildings that are so tall? At that point, I tried to block out the radio, but I left it on, since there were still people who wanted to hear.
I floated through the day and on back home surrounded by this weird feeling of unreality. On the MUSH, we called a moratorium on the no-spammy knot, and all gathered in a room to just generally talk, and offer support. Life-affirming, sort of, in a weird and geeky sort of way. We waited for news from the NYC-area MUSHers, we thought good thoughts for the girl whose brothers were all in NYC, and we were relieved right along with another of our number when she found out that her parents were *NOT* on the flight from Boston to San Francisco, as they were scheduled to be.
When I got home, I turned on the news, and tried to put my finger on how I felt, but it was quite a bit more difficult than I'd thought. I watched the plane crash into the building, I watched the towers fall, I saw a URL--someone had a digital camera, and was quick enough to take pictures of it, but even then, seeing wasn't really believing. I know a guy who works at ILM, this is the kind of stuff he lives and breathes for, and this is all some big, elaborate movie trailer, right?
That's when I finally put my finger on why I still felt so detached, even after seeing some of the most disturbing news footage I've ever witnessed in my life. I'm a west coast girl--I was born in North Carolina, but raised in
Utah, before I moved to Seattle and then to California. I've been to Boston, I've been to Toronto, I've been to DC, but never to New York, not even to the *state* of New York, not ever. Never been to Manhattan, never been downtown...never actually *seen* the World Trade Center...not with my own eyes. In the setting-establishing shots of TV shows and movies, sure. In pictures, on the news, but never with my own eyes, and *that* makes all the difference. It feeds into that sense of unreality I feel--New York, New York, that's some nebulous place that I know exists, but it's never been a part of my reality. And so, as a result, watching that footage, watching the towers fall, it was the same as hearing about it.
I felt...nothing.
Not sadness for the people who'd died that day, not really. Not anger for the fact that some terrorist group had attacked my country. I felt nothing. And so, after Brett and TC came home, and we *all* watched CNN for awhile, I finally had to get up and walk away. Part of it was just plain and simple information overload--that scene of the plane flying into one of the towers is now etched into the memory of so many millions of people was something that I didn't want to watch anymore. I didn't want to hear anymore about the Pentagon, or about the plane in Pennsylvania that was likely headed for the White House.
I called my mom, who talked about her own anger, and when I told her I didn't feel that, she was surprised. It's just different for me, I said, though I couldn't articulate why at the time. The clap of thunder had already hit me, I was already trying to deal with feeling nothing, because I kept thinking I should be feeling *something*, so I didn't want to share that, even with her.
So many months later, I have to wonder if part of what I was feeling was plain and simple shock. Even now, though, there's still a very big sense of unreality to it all, which leads me to believe that it wasn't. I'm sad for the people who lost their lives and for their families, but that's really about all I can feel about the whole thing.
This, though, is part of the reason why I haven't said anything before--it must be very strange to hear someone say that, even a year and a half later, they still don't really feel much of anything about it, or, at best, feels a very strange sort of apathy. I don't want to belittle what anyone *else* feels, either, by the fact that I just don't feel anything, thus I'm silent.
And I wonder...would I feel this way, had I been there and seen it with my own eyes? Would I feel differently if it was something I knew, like some of the public monuments in Washington DC, or the Golden Gate Bridge, or the Space Needle in Seattle?
Some might say I'm lucky, to feel the way I do about it. I'm not so sure.
1. File taxes as early as possible, or wait until the last possible minute?
As early as possible, typically, because I generally get money back. I filed in February this year, but waited til April to send it off the state return, because I had to pay them.
2. File electronically, or mail paper forms?
Electronically. Much easier.
3. Prepare your own taxes, or have someone do it for you?
Hrm. I guess this one counts as having someone else do it for me, because I use TurboTaxWeb to take care of this stuff. All I really do is put numbers in.
4. Are you a saver or a spender?
*cough* Uh. Spender, definitely, which...well. Let's just say that this question has prompted the essay below. :)
5. Do you prefer to carry cash, or pay with plastic (credit/debit cards), or by check?
Debit card, most often. Sometimes cash, if I've got it. Check only if I have to. I didn't start carrying my checkbook with me til I got my new thing...which is really a purse, I guess, but I hate that word. Can I just say that I hate that word? Bah. :)
6. You're broke and desperately need a job, but the only places that are hiring are retail or fast food places. Which would you pick?
Retail, definitely. The customers suck, but guh, I worked fast food for six months at Kentucky Fried Chicken (or, as Brett says, Come-Fuck-Me Fried Pigeon), and that was enough. ENOUGH. Ew ew ew.
7. Keeping track of your money: are you more meticulous or careless about it?
I'm not exactly careless about it, but neither am I totally meticulous.
8. What do you do if you find yourself with a lot of change weighing down your purse/pocket/wallet? Do you try to spend it to *get rid of it*, or do you put it in a jar or a piggy bank?
I put it in a jar (or, in the case of my car, the little spare change drawer), then when I get a good pile of it, I take it to one of those electronic counting machines at the store and get cash.
9. Which form of fake money do you like better...Monopoly money or those chocolate coins covered with gold foil?
Monopoly money, definitely.
10. Thought-provoking question of the week: You find a wallet containing $5,000 in cash, as well as several credit cards and the owner's drivers' license. Your rent is due tomorrow and you're short $200. Do you take the money (some or all of it) and mail back the wallet anonymously...or do you return the wallet with all contents intact?
Oh, return the wallet with the contents intact. Not saying I wouldn't be tempted, but I'm a strong believer in karma, and I'd be so guilty afterwards that I wouldn't be able to live with myself.
So, that question above, 'Are you a saver or a spender?' got me to thinking on the way home, namely about horoscopes, and self-fulfilling prophecies. See, I was born on July second, that puts me smack dab in the middle of the Cancer sun sign, and there are a lot of predictions and insights on How A Cancer Should Be by various astrologers and books and things. Interestingly, a lot of the 'traits' that a Cancer-born person is said to exhibit are ones that I do, in fact, exhibit. I've got a very strong need for security, I've got a pretty good intuition about people, and I'm moody as all get out.
However, one of the other traits that I'm supposed to have is some sense of financial prudence. Cancers, they say, always know where their money is, they're very meticulous about it, strict about budgeting, always have an eye for sales, and are generally pretty tight-fisted with money.
This is the point at which I diverge from a 'typical Cancer,' because I am really none of those things. I'm not strict about budgeting, and though I do prefer to get things on sale (who doesn't?), I won't *not* buy something I want if it *isn't* on sale. I haven't budgeted my checkbook in I don't know how long--why should I? I barely use it, and I have web access to my bank account, who needs to keep a paper record? So, whatever 'good with money' gene I was supposed to get from my sun sign, it's not mine.
It was that particular bit of internal commentary on the way home from work that got me thinking. Astrology is far from an exact science, though I'm sure the people who practice it would tell me either that it is, or that it's an art rather than a science. They'd also argue, and I've read this for myself, it's rare to find a person who exhibits *every* facet of their sun sign's personality, because there are so many other things that can influence that--rising sign, position of other planets in the chart, moon sign, all that good stuff. I'm not going to argue that, but I still wonder...
How much of someone's defining characteristics are truly because that's the luck of the draw they got by having the sun sign they did, and how much of it is self-fulfilling prophecy? How much of it is them (me) reading about their sun sign and deciding, about themselves, that they exhibit those characteristics, and truly *living* as if they did? Now, it's true, I don't think that anyone would choose to live the life of a moody, crabby, prone to snapping and needing alone time sort of person... :) But still, that's not a thought I can get rid of.
So many other things are influenced by how they're viewed--like mood, for instance. I had a really big perspective shift a few months ago when I realized that, part of the reason I was so miserable at work all the time, part of the reason that I *always* had bad days is because...that's what I expected of myself. I expected to have crappy days at work, I expected to come home tired and cranky, and to always be unhappy, so what did I get? Crappy, tired, cranky, and unhappy. Once I realized that I really do have control over stuff like that, my life at work, and at home, became so much better. Mind you, I still think I've reached that point of nirvana at work: apathy! But the fact is, when I encourage a positive mood rather than a negative one, I'm much more productive, and I come home feeling much better. That's worth the attitude shift.
That's the sort of thing I mean, though, when it comes to horoscopes and sun sign analysis. Maybe I am the way I am, we are the way we are, because we're told that's how we *should* be, based upon our birthdates.
And, then again, maybe I'm off my rocker. That's been known to happen. :)