I knew I was in serious trouble when my manager called me into his office and asked which type of punishment I’d like: “Biblical or Corporal?” . I did break my pushup record yesterday. I did 1,111 just to have a memorable number. Today’s forecast: ain’t gonna be no rematch. I’m glad I did it but the obsessive component of it is exhausting. . I learned several things yesterday. The problem with learning is that it forces you into cognitive dissonance when you’ve learned but don’t apply it to your life. . Life Tip # 46: If you ensure that you’ve always kept a jar of moonshine nearby, you’ve got both anesthesia and antiseptic. . Edit: I weigh 150 lbs again. I’m eating a lot more; I ate an entire thin crust cheeseless pizza Monday. I’d be happy with 170. Just in case someone tells me they’re worried about me. All my afflictions are mental and I’m keeping a close, albeit crazy, eye on those.
The Law of Increments is such a revelation. A couple Fridays ago I did a thousand push-ups. I used anxiety as a trigger to do each set. It occurred to me Saturday that I could also try to pace myself, using an incremental response. I got up at 3:30 today. If I stay up 18 hours, I only have to do 55 push-ups an hour to hit a thousand. Since I know I can easily do that, I can trick my mind into doing twice that per hour. 110 an hour seems stupid to me now after 10 weeks of pushups. So I’m using today as a test. I’ve got nine hours of incremental sets of push-ups to reach a thousand. 12:30. And If you’re reading this, keep in mind that craziness is contagious. The takeaway is that we can accomplish a hell of a lot if we don’t let our goal wear us out before we even start. I don’t have to do a thousand push-ups. Just 110 an hour.
Note: everyone reading this will have at least one gong go off in their heads. I’m not sure why, but a muse settled in my head this afternoon. Feel free to tell me that I’m wrong. .
The Botany Rule: Love and nurturing are on Maslow’s hierarchy for a reason. If you don’t bring your water bucket and a bit of sunshine to those you love, they will needlessly suffer the absence of that which nourishes; if possible, they’ll find it elsewhere. It isn’t the plant’s fault. Just because we have reason and consciousness should not fool you into thinking that we aren’t wired for intimacy. .
So much of what ignites us in the minds of others is practiced. Take a moment and tell someone that they’d made your day better. Instead of speaking when motivated by recrimination, find a way to say something positive. People’s ears become deaf to love when criticism fills the air. We have only so many minutes in a day and attention to spare. Choose, rather than react. Sometimes, in silence, hug unexpectedly, and whisper in the midst of shouts. . Words fade but attitude invades. . The longer you wait to tell someone an uncomfortable truth, the harder it is to be open the next time you want to. Someone who loves you will respond with hurt, but that hurt will be tempered by eventual acceptance. And if not? They have a disparate image of who you are than you do. .
If you’re in an unequal relationship, and most are, you might as well open yourself and crowd them; the end is as certain as the curtain on Broadway. Take your swing and crowd the plate. Living loosely is a great idea but a terrible way to survive. . Rare is the couple in which one prefers to dance and the other to sit. They exist and if you’re in one, relish it if it has lasted. But if your partner won’t dance for fear of looking foolish, they’ve placed appearance and decorum over you. . Love is foolish and its demonstration is seldom appreciated by onlookers; those dancing don’t count the eyes or ears observing them. . Someone smart said, “Faults are thick where love is thin.” If you find yourself listing grievances, you’ve allowed your inability to honestly communicate to sever a significant part of your intimacy. . “Don’t wear your heart on your sleeve” is a great example of something that sounds reasonable while simultaneously belying the fact that we are emotional creatures disguised as thinking adults. Look around. We admire smart people who care enough to not care about how others interpret their sentimentality. Those people feed my soul. I think they do yours, too. . “I would love you more IF” is a thought that should warn you that either you need to work on yourself – or the unstated expectations of your relationship. . I learned something about myself. If a person can tell me his or her worst secrets, my capacity to love and appreciate them blossoms. If the opposite is the case, it’s very difficult to navigate misgivings as they arise. . We protect nothing by failing to reveal who we really are. . The best truths are written in dirt. The best voices are broken. And the kindest souls have learned to turn off their judgment when others fail them. . Finally, one that is not mine, and I’m sharing it as I found it: “You sit in sh!t too long, it stops smelling.”
I sat on the warm ground, watching the sky grow dark. August had come, filled with angry heat, absent rain, and upset souls. The virus had surged, melting away hope for a return to the normalcy of a troubled world. I whispered your name into the encroaching shadows and silence. Around me, the insects awoke and did the same, speaking their alien language in accompaniment. Until the mosquitoes made their appearance, there would be a pleasant truce between human and insect. I silently sat, struggling to count the emerging stars against the luminescence of the city reflected in the sky, With each appearance, I wished there was a way to find my spotless mind. Because that quiet peace eluded me, I remained seated in the tall grass, knowing that tomorrow’s obligations were racing toward me. My secret place is near a busy road lined with scented honeysuckle. No one could see me as I sat. And I saw no one, except for my own solitary soul. There was room in the grass for more than one. But for now, it is just me, wishing it were not so. Of course, there is hope for tomorrow. Each of us has an unannounced last day and few of us know that during that day, our feet will grow motionless and the future grinds to a halt. It’s why I lingered in this grass, my heart whispering bittersweetly to itself. In the air, honeysuckle. In my heart, a smaller jar of time pulsed with one less firefly. Still, I smiled. Though the moment was unshared, it was mine.
This is the piece of art I finished today, done on a repurposed wood panel picture. In the likely event someone has difficulty reading my writing (worsened by using a paint pen), here’s the inscription:
“Owing no allegiance to who you were, choose. Your thoughts, your time, your own way. As much as you can, banish fear, regret, anger, and embrace the unknown that each day shoves at you. Be your own constant. Be loving, witty, and guided by mirth. Your path is not infinite so take your steps while time permits. Encourage the same, joyfully, in everyone you love.” – X.
I have a roommate now. It’s not what you think. Is it ever with me?
I have a two-bedroom apartment in Fayetteville. Obviously, I don’t use either bedroom; my bedroom is all in my living room. On the other hand, if a bedroom is where the bed is and a living room is where the living is, then I am MORE in compliance linguistically speaking than the rest of y’all neanderthals who conform to normalcy. I looked up “normal’ again in the dictionary and I simply don’t cotton to the concept at all.
Also: judging by the way we’ve warped the world, I think we should try unconventional and baths!t crazy for a while. Convince me I’m wrong.
I had a pixie/fairy door at the house in Springdale. The pixie who resided there was named Crowder. I almost brought the door with me, knowing that Crowder would be obligated under the rules of magic to transport himself with the door. As you already know, pixies and fairies show themselves with less frequency the longer you live them. Humans and pixies weren’t intended to get used to one another. They do, however, get attached to animals and pets. It was with a heavy heart that I left both Crowder and the pixie door behind.
If you don’t believe in pixies or fairies, that’s fair. I just found out a lot of people don’t believe in science or bigfoot; both of these discoveries have left me in what is medically referred to as a “funk.”
This week was a blizzard of interesting things for my apartment. Among them, another pixie-fairy door. I opened it carefully. Pixies are whimsical creatures but don’t tolerate negligence well. For those who don’t know, pixies and fairies are both whimsical creatures; pixies are prone to mischief and wit. I couldn’t wait to discover which type of creature might choose my door.
It didn’t take long.When I entered the apartment this morning, I saw that the pixie door was still on the painted metal sign I left on the bed. However, next to it was scrawled a message, directly on the painted sign: “I’d rather use the door vertically. Don’t be lazy! Regards.” Below these words, the signature: “Larkma.” I’ve never had a female pixie before. And below that, “P.S. Please mark my door with my name?”
Hmmmm.
This apartment is already getting crowded. And because pixies are so damned mischievous, I now have something to blame my misplaced car keys on.
“When consequences come knocking, intentions ring hollow.” – X
Each of us has a personal narrative in our heads, one in which events seem linear and inevitable. We impose meaning and logic on the process of our lives. The truth is often that we are fooling ourselves. Examining our decisions and what we’ve done, it is obvious that we must conclude that we’re likely clueless about what pulls our levers.
I’m 54 and found myself shocked and surprised by some of the things I didn’t know about myself. I’m fortunate, even though I broke things getting to some of the conclusions. A lot of people around me didn’t survive the discovery process of seeing just how badly (or well) they could do things. Even as I grimace in recognition of some of the consequences I’ve caused, I try to remind myself that at least I’m alive long enough to do them. Getting older usually brings that pang of “What was I thinking?” while also shouting “You can’t change the past.” I think that’s why most of us go deaf when we get older. We’ve heard it all before and often at high volume.
An example of a harsh reminder? These fourteen $1 bills, each signifying a year that I was around for Xmas after my wife Deanne died – and when my ex-wife found me again. Talk about the long game! The first year, I saved a dollar bill and told my ex-wife, “Each year, we’ll sign another one, along with the year.” The first yuletide, it was a lonely dollar hanging like a wreath. By last year, it was fourteen. Honestly, even though it was my creative idea, I think it was sublimely fabulous.
That’s how you build a life – one little increment at a time, errors and right choices mixed unequally.
And then, consequences.
I took the dollar wreath with me when I jettisoned into another life. It’s a poignant reminder to find ways to celebrate life, in small ways and large. The last year proved to me that it is possible to be successful and a failure simultaneously. My intentions to find a better way to finish my life also led me to stumble into an alternate timeline, one I hadn’t anticipated. Against the backdrop of what could have been, it is a jab. But it is also an admission that I’m sometimes stupid and incapable.
It’s a little ironic that money, dollar bills, were what I chose to mark the passage of shared time. Money is the illusion that powers so much of what we do, even though we all know that everything that lights us up is intangible and invisible.
Though I’m not sure why I wrote this post, I know someone will find value in the idea. Odds are that someone reading this has a surprising year ahead of them, one they couldn’t predict. They’ll think that they have a handle on their choices.
Life will of course notice them and roll a boulder down the hill for them to remind them that most of this isn’t predictable. If you’re lucky, you will find value in the breaking. That’s your only choice, anyway. Things ARE going to break in a long arc of surprises. Most of us are lucky enough to not have it all break consecutively; we have time between to consider and reassess.
Though I claim not to believe in karma, I also tip each time I buy lottery tickets. It’s brought me a lot of stories and surprises, so in that sense, it has already paid off. It’s a pain to hoard this wreath and it’s also a pain to let it go. But I am a minimalist and know that all these things will soon enough be left behind by me. In an optimistic nod to the universe, I’m going to put these dollars back into circulation by buying lottery tickets. If I win, my promise still stands: I will use almost all the money to surprise other people. And if I don’t win, I am left with the optimism that I could have. It tickles me to think that these dollars will be in circulation, traveling in potentially infinite directions.
Intentions do matter, but we live with consequences.
Don’t read this post and forget that, at its heart, it is optimistic. I don’t understand people who can’t hold the disparate ideas of joy and wistful loss in their hearts, entwined like twin siblings.
I’m writing this after a blissful night of sleep, something that wasn’t always easy for me. And, in theory, I could be a millionaire. 🙂
It’s about 4 a.m. so I have to answer the call of the wanderer. Maybe you’ll see me out on the streets, in the unlikely event you’re wandering, too?
I bought a nice Blink wireless camera. It allows me to watch the birds on my plant/bird feeder balcony hook, as well as the world outside.
When I initially set it up, I was surprised to see that Amazon had somehow sent me the feed from the backyard camera at my old house on Vanleer in Springdale.
Having the camera also opens up a world of creativity, too, such as “Skits On The Balcony,” or “Let’s Look At Humanity” documentaries. (With “People of Walmart” in mind.) I will try not to be intrusive with this. However, that’s the problem with this sort of technology. I’m confident that I’m going to wake up to find I have an hour of footage of the neighbor romping in the parking lot in his skivvies. A few days ago, I stood on the balcony getting cooked in the sun. A car drove in, and a young woman hopped out without a shirt. From somewhere in the car, someone hurled a shirt through the passenger window. The woman caught it and put it on almost one-handed. There’s a lot of inferences I can make with this anecdote, some lewd, some amusing. When she looked up and saw me on the balcony, I gave her my Forrest Gump wave and laughed.
As old as these apartments are, somehow I was surprised to find no security cameras, even in the laundry room from “Nightmare On Elm Street.” They can be installed cheaply and require no monitoring. The type I bought can be used with a USB drive, hidden anywhere – and checked only when a tenant decides to test a flamethrower from the balcony. (Note: this isn’t unlikely.)
Last week, after a long interval of no additional improvements, a small crew showed up with a Bobcat (not the nocturnal prowling kind) and erected the bones of a lateral fence in front of the dumpster. This will ensure that passersby don’t see it, whereas the residents will get an enclosed cauldron of trash and insects. It seems like a fair trade. That fence will also obscure a big portion of my view of the intersection there. That’s too bad, as there are a lot of fender-benders there. Everyone attempting to pull in here runs the risk of getting hit from behind due to the unequal alignment of the apartment driveway versus the opposing cross street. The fence partially quashes my money-making scheme to sell the footage to those unlucky souls engaged in an impromptu demolition derby.
Anyway.
I’m making a list of tomfoolery in which to engage with this camera.
A quick note about our friend Covid, the one who keeps coming home late and drunk.
No matter what anyone tells you, at any given time, someone in your extended circle ‘has’ the virus, even if they are asymptomatic. There is no doubt about this, even if you think you’ve become a hermit. It’s comforting to know that most don’t develop worsening symptoms if they are vaccinated. But you need to know that up to 10% of those vaccinated will get the Delta variant – and a lot more of those unvaccinated will find themselves with it.
You can get inexpensive at-home test kits at your local pharmacy. They are a little less accurate – but that’s why most come in two-packs, so that you can re-test the next day.
I don’t talk about work directly. There’s a reason for that.
Among them: even in the medical field, we’re experiencing a high rate of infection. Not just with the unvaccinated, either. Two people in my inner circle tested positive very recently. I won’t characterize the impact on them personally or on our work circle. Vaccinated people appear to be infectious for a much shorter period than the unvaccinated. Regardless, this virus is akin to a strange version of Russian Roulette. The gun is going off all around me, among vaccinated and unvaccinated alike. Since we’re not testing random samples, we only test those whose symptoms draw attention to the possibility they have it; we’re using a threshold that is too high, in my opinion.
So much of this pandemic hinges on other people’s behavior. Much of it cannot be mitigated without destroying how we live.
IF you have a bout of allergies, or a cold, fatigue, or a prolonged headache, I’m going to say something most won’t: it’s likely as not you have the virus. I personally know a LOT of people who’ve initially shrugged it off as “the sniffles,” or a cold, etc.
Likewise, a lot of us won’t have any symptoms at all.
Welcome to our new reality.
Be safe, be kind, and remember that no matter what people say or write on social media, all of us are full of sh!t about being consistent in our beliefs and behavior. At our core, we want our loved ones to be healthy. We’ll avoid trans-fat or bacon and then smoke, or say no to caffeine and then drink moonshine like it’s lemonade. That’s what we do: we excel at contradiction, hypocrisy, and stupidity.
I of course wish everyone would be vaccinated. I do not envy the government or businesses these hard choices as they look toward the overall public health. One of my favorite people in the world is juggling whether to give up a job she’s had for 22 years. I’m not commenting logically – I’m commenting emotionally.
With this virus, though?
Even if you do everything perfectly, it will likely still affect you in the long run. Vaccinated or not, we are all at each other’s mercy.
I ask each of you to dial back and try to see others as human – and yes, even if we’re looking at each other and mentally calling one another “dumbass.” I can live with that. I want you to live – and live with that, too.
There’s something in the air this week with my apartment. And not just meth fumes and strange candles. I got a new shower curtain earlier in the week. Today, a custom pillowcase arrived. Also, a couple of photo magnets that I put on the inside of the metal front door. The pillowcase is similar to my curtain except with more pictures.
Not to be outdone by the fiercely competitive Jessica, Erika bought me a showerhead as a gift. The one installed in this apartment was installed in ’79. 1979, I hope. I can’t be sure. It may have had bloodstains or demonic etchings on it. Erika suffered the same indignity when she moved into this building thirty-two years ago. Everything was original and not in the excellent way that home-buying shows use the word. The National Historical Society almost decreed we couldn’t change out any of the fixtures due to their historical significance. George Washington may well have showered using those same showerheads.
The showerhead is an AquaDance, “…for the ultimate shower experience.” It sounds iffy, doesn’t it? First, there’s implied dancing on a slippery surface, an activity strongly discouraged by the AARP. Second, the word “ultimate” literally means “last.” I hope it is contradictory yet flowery marketing at work here.
Erika swears that this two-head detachable piece of bling is the best out there for the money. She even printed out instructions written by someone who wanted everyone to have the best installation experience possible. It’s apparent that she’s aware of my propensity toward imbecility. I don’t fault her for it.
Given my track record, I will attempt to be cautious when installing it. I’d rather not be the inspiration for the “Final Destination” reboot. Living in this apartment complex already has me a little bit worried. At any rate, once my neighbors realize that I am using my move as the basis for a lot of snark and satire, they may well acquire pitchforks and march over here.
In some ways, I’m going to miss taking spartan showers. I’ve always loved cool or cold showers, and doubly so when the equipment is impossible to use safely. The water heater and the shower installed as I found it when I moved here assist greatly in realizing these goals.
This new showerhead may well spoil me. Soon enough, I’ll be eating shaved cheese and sporting a goatee. The current showerhead I’m using shoots water randomly, almost maliciously. I’m going to miss it, as it reminds me of my mom’s parenting style.
Anyway, thank you, Erika. I suspect you may have bought this for me so that you and the other neighbors won’t hear so much screaming when I try to use the shower as intended.
I’ll be Aquadancing in luxurious comfort and style.
Also, this might be the most valuable thing in my apartment.
It’s a good thing I have renter’s insurance.
I love joking at the expense of this apartment complex. Anyone reading my stories knows that there are a lot of advantages to living here. No amenities, just advantages.
That’s an excellent metaphor for a simple life. I don’t need much, especially if I remember that almost everything essential to happiness is invisible. I live in my head, not in this place. I’m grateful for both. Nothing is certain.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 