This morning, as I quietly stood on the landing, I heard someone below fail to realize I was standing above, listening to the sounds of the insects and watching the infrequent traffic. My cat Güino stood next to me, sniffing the air.
A series of staccato flatulent blasts interrupted the nature sounds.
They weren’t mine, in case you’re pondering.
One, two, three, four; the toots almost echoed against the cheap vinyl siding and the wooden platform above the anonymous performer.
I couldn’t help it.
I laughed.
Below, a single word was uttered: “Oops!”
If you can’t even fart outside at 3:30, nothing is sacred.
What a delight it is to watch two small children scampering in this heavy rain. They are squealing with happiness. But I’m also confused because they’re wearing raincoats! .
My sister posted an affirmational meme, and it reminded me of something I wrote a few years ago in response to people’s addictive or destructive behavior. Including my own.
“Fill your life with people who reflect who you are and who you want to be, not with those who are a reflection of who you once were and no longer wish to be.
If you’re a fuse, don’t stand near dynamite, as the results are inevitable. You start to believe it’s your purpose and inalterable. Abnormality begins to normalize patterns that aren’t ones you’d otherwise choose.
And if you are a fuse, choose to stand elsewhere. Proximity to undesirable people and behaviors infects you incrementally.
You end up with a life you didn’t choose and don’t want, and you wrongly assume, “Well, I am a fuse, after all.” That’s garbage thinking.
Every change commences with a choice.
Stay away from the fire and those who need or want you to be a fuse.
This post isn’t for you. You know who are, favorite DNA person. 🙂
Most of us live in our private nests.
Pretty much everyone feels like they need to clean more, reduce more, and spend more time in the bureaucracy of keeping their nest aligned with an arbitrary level of cleanliness. That’s okay, too. Each minute spent to do so should not be at the expense of your moments, your friends, your family – but more so, at the cost of your mental well-being. Time spent concerned about how your nest looks is time not spent being creative or enjoying even simple pleasures. You become too focused on the “ought to and obligation” of keeping your nest perfect.
Stacks of mail in the kitchen, dust everywhere it can be. Clothes to be washed, clothes to be put away, clothes that don’t fit inside the closet, dressers, and on the floor. Books to be read, magazines you will never read. You don’t have a crazy drawer, you have an entire crazy room, garage, or storage space filled with miscellaneous everything. Most of us do. Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there! People keep their nests largely unhidden, so we wrongly assume they don’t have the same problem as we do.
You can’t triage the physical space. Look around. For the most part, whatever condition your house is in right now, it’s probably the default. That might bother you to accept. It shouldn’t. You can fight an agonizing fight to spend a lot of time and energy temporarily fixing your space, or you can yield and do the best you can and let it go at that. Homes and nests are meant to be lived in, and you will always have to make choices to keep it pristine or lived in. You can’t have both without wasting a lot of your now moments.
The same is true about your job, your diet, your vices, and your mind.
Each person’s best is variable, fluid, and often contradictory. And that is okay.
If you have precious things, keep those that are tied to defining moments and memories in your life. The rest? Sell what you can to have the things that add value to your life.
Donate, discard, disown.
We hoard and clutter partly because it makes us feel like our place is a home, a nest, and our place to be. But we also do it because we don’t see the arc of time getting shorter and shorter.
For a later day, I might need it, it’s valuable; these are all valid reasons to keep things. But it is not things that matter. Not if you don’t use them regularly, not if they don’t light you up, or if they fail to make your life fuller and more satisfying.
“Treasures that aren’t treasured, admired, or used aren’t treasures at all. They are anchors, ones that keep up from enjoying the here and now and the people in our orbit.” – X
Out of sound, out of mind, trinkets, and treasures stored for no witness or participant.
Things are to be used or admired. Everything else? It not only clutters your nest, it clutters your mind.
Simplicity is the toughest goal. It requires herculean effort to overcome the urge to keep, to store, to accumulate.
As someone smart once told me, “Ain’t nothing you got that can’t be taken except for your peace of mind. This world honors nothing with permanence.”
There are a lot of bad men out in the world, whether they physically dominate or mentally degrade their wives and children. The smart ones are fiendishly clever in concealment; their masks in public are often adorned with a suit and tie, a quick smile, or an engaging personality. Growing up, I had to endure abuse. A lot of people knew it was happening. Few ever attempted to intervene. I understand the complicated issues at play for their failure. That kind of abuse, however, leaves most people with a shaky faith in their parents, their god, and of their ability to leave such trauma behind.
With that in mind, even though I am a liberal, I have always been drawn to the concept of southern justice. When someone does the right thing, even when the right thing is also terrible. It’s not revenge. It’s taking the light back from someone who isn’t worthy of its possession.
I’m not advocating violence.
I’m advocating action.
Sometimes action yields a terrible consequence yet remains the lesser evil.
Someone I know whose life suffered due to the presence of a human monster sent me this song.
Preface: I wrote what follows this morning…almost as a coda, on the way to the apartment after work, a black Camaro zoomed impatiently into its left lane approaching me from the opposite direction. The driver was going too fast and over-corrected, sending him into my lane and luckily swerving wildly into the far lane next to me. I had no time to react, not even to stomp my brakes, which would have certainly resulted in a multiple-car pileup. As I passed without time to feel my heart accelerate, squeals, honks, and braking behind me filled the air. The driver of the Camaro managed to gain control without being hit. He stopped in the right lane facing oncoming traffic. The capricious and erratic symmetry of just living reared its head and whispered to me. . . .
All of these are true none inscribed to change your hue
An undiagnosed cough ended on the kitchen floor her love and life abruptly no more
Expert pilot fell to the ground his loving sister to conjure the sound
A cluster of cells aligned with malignant intent those around her yearning more time had been spent
The unbearable yet unbeatable beckon of alcohol those who loved him clutching and watching his fall
A 92-year-old beloved woman took her last breath a life well lived, met with welcomed death
An aneurysm unseen and unfelt and then all rendered past tense no warning no reason no sense
Careless driver through the sign leaving one with an unfaithful spine her arc of life flattened to a baseline
You worry about how you sound or look how you sing, how you dance, how you might be mistook any given moment, the universe can close your book
You have this moment to scribble your notes to construct and imagine needless moats
Kind heart, clear eyes, and curious mind make sure that you leave something meaningful behind
We are all preterit
This can both energize and immobilize, this insight into truth beauty and love are in the eye of the beholder
May you live your life just a little bit bolder no guarantee of life or that you’ll become older
Seize the day, come what may otherwise, it will seize you even if you do everything to perfection these words are no mere early morning reflection affection, expression, introspection of these words, there is no question
Oh, it is a serene enough scene now. An hour ago? Had you casually turned the corner, you would have witnessed a 55-year-old man kick off his sandals, peel off his shirt, followed by his pants, leaving him with a pair of underwear covering his body and nothing else.
Except for several hundred allegedly harmless ants.
I’ve been periodically deconstructing the drug shed behind my apartment. To avoid overpiling the dumpster, I split up my 40 or 50 trips back and forth hauling the contents of said shed to the dumpster. I should have done it last year, along with the cleanup and all the tree cutting. In winter, I mean, to reduce the varmint probability.
This afternoon, on a foolish whim, I went back there with a screwdriver and a small cutting tool. Yes, I had on a pair of rubber sandals. I realize that they are not on a construction workers list of advisable shoe wear in those conditions. All I can say in my defense is that I had a couple of major head dramas when I was younger.
Spiders? Check. Snakes? Check. It wasn’t until I was crammed up between the side of the drug shed facing the old wooden fence that I realized I was itching. I’d seen a few ants pour out one of the seams of the metal siding. A few were on my hand. Much to my surprise, I looked down at the mass of trash and leaves and realized I was standing on top of thousands and thousands of ants. Undoubtedly there was a colony underneath the steel and rotted wood platform, one which extended out into the untouched confines between the shed and the fence.
It took me a few seconds, I will admit – to connect my itching to the probability that I might be covered with ants underneath my clothing.
When I peeled off my shirt, I was covered in them. Which led me to the conclusion that my legs and nether regions were probably being invaded too. Because these weren’t flying ants, they had to have used my legs as a ladder to get up there right?
I jumped several feet away from the shed and began undressing like a music fan at a Phish festival. I used my hands for several seconds and then grabbed my shirt and began hitting myself.
Had anyone looked out the windows facing the back side of the apartments, they would either be shocked or just assumed that it’s another typical day where I live.
Tomorrow I will get my vengeance.
I’ll go out there with my professional strength insecticide and drown them. Please don’t feel sorry for the ants.
They got the last word today.
I guess it could have been worse: 10,000 spiders, a pit of snakes, or two dozen managers trying to have a meeting with me.
We all have nicknames for our neighbors, ones we often substitute even when we know their names. After work I came out on the balcony to let the cat roam.
The sourpuss lady on the end exited her apartment. I waved and said, “Hello Karen,” before catching myself.
I woke up slightly after midnight this morning and stayed up.
It wasn’t that the man standing there with his small bicycle outside the convenience store looked dangerous. His clothes were nice and he had a small backpack behind him. I watched to see as he approached someone who parked in front of the store. The woman exited her vehicle. Although I could not hear what was said her body language communicated that she was very uncomfortable. The man continued saying something to her and his body language wasn’t nice. As the woman walked hastily into the store, I exited my vehicle and darted in behind her. When I came out, his body language was off to me. He spoke quickly and the way he talked in combination with his body language made me uncomfortable.
That’s rare for me. I love convenience store interactions! Since I’m both weird and often unpredictable, it’s a great way to meet people. Even if they are weirder than I am.
I took two steps back and asked him to please stop as he of course he walked toward me.
I think he’s unaccustomed to people being direct. He took a step forward and I held my left hand up.
“Why you got to be like that?” he asked me.
“It’s barely 3:00 a.m. If you need money for something urgent, I would more than likely help you. But I saw you make the woman going in uncomfortable. Don’t do that.”
“Eff you,” he said and took another very small step towards me.
I laughed, even though I didn’t want to.
“Three things,” I began. “There are cameras literally everywhere. Second, you have no idea who has a concealed carry permit on them or a gun without one. Finally do I look like I’m in shape. Or do I seem nervous? I think it’s time for you to stop hanging out in front of convenience stores. And I hope whatever is going on in your life gets better. I really do. But this is going to end badly for someone because you’re making people uncomfortable and people are not quite sure what you’re up to. Fear causes a lot of needless reactions, the least of which is people calling the police.”
“It’s not a crime to talk to people,” he replied.
“Loitering is. Unless you have demonstrable evidence that you’re conducting business inside the store, someone is going to call the police and you’ll have to explain it to them.”
He stood there a second and I did wonder if he was going to threaten me or lunge at me.
So I ignored him and turned to walk to my car. I half-expected a hand on my shoulder. When I opened the door and sat down inside my car, he was already peddling away furiously on his small bicycle.
The convenience store I went to is one of the nicest, safest, most brightly lit ones in the area. It is immeasurably better than Wild Bills over on Garland. That place is a magnet for crazy. That’s probably why I like it.
I’m certainly no badass and I have yet to implement the new self-defense moves I learned last year. I rely on the fact that all but a very small percentage of people are either good-natured or have enough sense not to threaten other people. The biggest danger to me is still pepperoni or potato chips.
A very small sliver of me would like to know what I would have done had the man reacted differently. That little piece of Bobby Dean in me makes me nervous!
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 