Musings from the Laundromat: Two things
I’ve been sad again. And while examining the ‘sad’ I narrowed the root cause down to a need for two things.
Consistency and authenticity.
These are things I need.
To be able to count on someone or something.
To be told the truth, and never left feeling confused and worried due to lies or omission.
I can handle the truth.
I can move on with truth.
I keep getting told how strong I am, so it must be true.
I need truth.
If I’m willing to do the work – whether it be at home, in the workplace or within my relationships with people, I need it to be reciprocated.
I’m loyal to a degree of ridiculousness.
I’m consistent – you can count on me. I’m honest, (sometimes too honest, I know this.)
I need those things in return.
My mom offered me some advice the other day: “They don’t care about you, you need to look out for yourself.”
I won’t say who ‘they’ are, but she had a point.
The problem is, I still care about them. I care about the time and work and heart I’ve put in.
I’m never going to abandon a place or person until I’m sure I’ve tried my very best. Because I have to live with myself after they’re gone.
Ubiquitous
Ubiquitous
I’ve had this word in my head for days.
I have no clue when or how it popped into my subconscious – but it obviously felt too crowded in there and made space in the forefront of my brain.
I didn’t know there was any room left, what with all my other tenants: Tangents, imaginary problems, over thought real issues, and daydreams.
But, there it is.
Ubiquitous.
Moved in and unpacking its belongings – wondering if there’s enough space in the dumpster to dispose of the boxes and newspapers it had its fragile things wrapped in. (Probably then it felt a little guilty for considering just tossing its packing debris and not recycling.)
The wind in the desert has been ubiquitous of late.
It’s an icy wind that slaps you in the face, waters your eyes and has you hugging yourself tightly. (I like the hug part. I haven’t had a hug from another human being in a very long time.)
Every time I walk outside my office – I think of that fable about the wind and the sun. Which one could get the man to remove the jacket. The wind boasted it could – and tried first – of course, the man only drew his coat tighter – the sun shone and the man, too warm, removed his jacket.
Every time!
Then I go off on a tangent in my head about the metaphor and think of similar ones . By the time I’m back in my chair I’m focused on being kind – knowing people respond to kind. (Or maybe it would be easier to just turn the central heat up?)
The thing about this wind: the first time I came to this area to visit my parents, I encountered it and I remember thinking, there’s no way I could EVER live in this area.
I knew the wind would drive me bonkers.
You just get relief from temperatures in the 120’s – then you can’t enjoy being outside because the wind is ready to bite at you and push your patio furniture into the pool. (I don’t have a pool but I’ve seen it happen first hand and thought I’d throw that in there … much like the wind does.)
Anyway, I was NEVER going to move here … Yet here I am.
The other thing is – I might be the only one that remembers that the wind happens every single year, because the complaints about the wind are ubiquitous too.
“It’s windy outside!”
“It’s cold out there!”
“That wind has been blowing for three days straight!”
“Wish that wind would lay down!”
“It would be nice if it weren’t so windy!”
This is from people who have been in the area long enough to know that this happens every fucking year.
(I needed to say that. Sometimes I crave the feeling of a shocking word leaving my mouth.)
Anyway, Stop it.
We know.
It’s windy. It was windy last year, and the year before that.
I’m taking an educated guess that next year, ‘round this time … it’s going to be windy.
Hopefully Ubiquitous will have disposed of its packing material responsibly, or there will be packing peanuts in my imaginary pool and tumbleweed boxes smacking up against my tangents.
A Heretics prayer at Christmas
I pray.
I pray because it feels good and it feels right.
It feels right because I’m saying ‘thank you’ without a human audience, and that feels authentic.
It feels right because I’m taking a moment to reflect and ask for guidance – and not things.
It feels good because I pray for positive energy – I ask for blessings for others.
But, I am not a Christian.
I tried to be. I’ve asked ‘the’ question in the past – with an open mind and willing soul: “Jesus, please come into my heart.”
I tried because it felt like the right thing to do, but mostly because I didn’t want to go to hell.
Then I felt hypocritical asking out of fear.
I wanted so badly to believe – but not at any cost – not because I was afraid not to.
I even convinced myself to some degree that God might actually appreciate an honest heart that at least tried. Although, probably I am going to hell. If there is one.
I had to be honest with myself though. I don’t believe. I do not believe the stories in the bible happened.
And it’s not just Christianity, every religion to me, seems as if a game of ‘telephone’ (Or ‘Chinese Whispers’) has been played with it.
If there is any one and only ‘right’ religion, man has dipped his hands into it over time. As a result, I just don’t feel like what was original, authentic or intended is among the current selections.
I don’t trust man.
But I do have Faith.
I believe in a higher power. Something bigger than me. Something I’ll never understand and am not completely meant to … because wouldn’t that be counterproductive to the concept of ‘Faith’?
I do believe in the power of prayer.
I believe there is a source of good – and of love.
And for all intents and purposes, I call that God.
In two weeks it will be Christmas Day.
Although I’m not Christian, I can appreciate a day selected to celebrate the birth of a child that represented love and forgiveness. I can get behind that.
In fact, I usually adore this time of year. The extra love and kindness that the Season tends to bring from others.
The lights and the music – the joy and the hope that warms Winter.
I’m not feeling any of that this year.
I have knots in my stomach where excitement should be.
I’m looking away from lights and avoiding the holiday music.
I feel like a deadline is beating down on me that I can’t possibly meet.
I love giving.
I especially love being able to grant a wish – be able to witness a smile that reaches the eyes of someone I love.
It’s been a tough year financially.
I know I’m not the only one – but I can’t write about what other people are feeling.
I only know how I am feeling.
I know that presents aren’t ‘the reason for the season’, but I don’t want to let my son down.
I’ve always found a way.
Always.
Somehow managed to grant a material wish for the boy I would lay down and die for.
I am falling short this year.
And it hurts.
And it makes me wish Christmas wouldn’t come.
I need to pray on that.
Pray on why the need to give is so strong, that I feel ‘less than’ if I can’t do it.
Because that’s a lot different from needing to give and not wanting to do it.
I need to pray on why it upsets me so much to think I’m letting someone down when I can’t provide things they want.
Because that’s a lot different from not providing things they need.
I don’t ever want my motives to be driven by fear.
I will pray they are driven by love.
I’m quite certain they are.
It is Christmas after all, the one time of year when it’s traditional to show love by offering gifts. To indulge in a few material tokens of our affection.
American Horror Story, Christmas party and a hooker
I’m not musing from the laundromat today – AND my weekend job hasn’t been done yet. I’ll do both later today.
I had a Christmas party to attend yesterday and very little motivation to do anything other than that once I saw that ‘American Horror Story: Asylum’ was finally on Netflix!
The only kind of marathons I’ve ever, or will ever be a part of – are series on Netflix.
This is true. This is how I watched Breaking Bad, Orange is the New Black, Derek and the first season of American Horror Story: Murder House.
I was just 3 episodes shy of finishing the whole season when it was time to get ready for the party.
Speaking of Christmas parties – Sister Mary Eunice’s tree decorations really had me in the holiday mood …
Back to my horror story …
I’ve mentioned before that I’m not really that ‘girly’. I don’t like to call attention to myself – but on occasion, I do enjoy the ritual of dressing up for a ‘dressy’ event.
I had the perfect dress. It didn’t look like much on the hanger, but when I wiggled into it in the dressing room – it actually rendered me wide-eyed.
It fit as if it were tailored for me, simple little black dress with a satin bust area. It was also really comfortable.
I took a shower – did my hair – grimaced as I put more make up on than I am used to and put on ‘the dress.’
I stood in front of the mirror and wondered when my dress had shrunk. Oh, it still fit me, but the length … there was a LOT of leg that I don’t recall being there in the dressing room months ago.
I threw some shoes on and asked my date, (my son Nicholas) for his opinion.
“Do I look like a hooker??”
“A little bit.”
(Ug.)
“What if I wear my hair back?”
There was no hairstyle that was going to magically turn a really short dress into anything I was going to NOT feel awkward wearing. It was already hard enough having lashes that felt like glamorous spiders and lips the color of a candy apple.
(Or … should I say “Ravishing Red” Oh Sister Mary Eunice …)
This was the make up. And the funny thing is – I can look at this picture and it doesn’t look like too much. Not when I compare it to any photos I’ve seen in any given magazine.
But it FELT like too much! I can assure you. Which, makes me wonder about celebrities and models … how much make up do they flipping have on?!?!
Nothing seemed to feel right. I ended up wearing a skirt UNDER my dress, adding length,and a cardigan over it all.
From hooker to cat lady in two simple steps.
The party was nice – the food was great – then home to Netflix. A close friend on Facebook had the following status today: “The best part about getting all dressed up for a holiday party? Putting your sweats on afterwards.”
Yup.
I managed to get Nic hooked into American Horror Story before we left, so we both sat in the living room glued to the screen.
Until I fell asleep. Probably the weight of the mascara had just been too much for my lids …
He graciously filled me in on everything I missed from ‘Continuum’ when I woke up from my unplanned nap. (Spoiler alerts Nic! Spoiler alerts!)
Luckily, I was too tired to retain all of the information he shared. I went to bed then watched it this morning … (I also watched the last episode without him. Not sure if I’m going to lie about that and watch it again with feigned surprise, or wake him up and tell him everything that happened.)
I hate when a show is over. Much like when I finish a book. I’m not done with you! I’m invested now! I get so attached to my fictional characters.
Must say – it was a great ending though. None of that Sopranos ‘fade to black’ crap. Yes, I have an imagination, no – I don’t want to use it after investing so much time in a story YOU created.
(I never was a Sopranos watcher by the way – but I think I’m the only one, so that was the best example I could think of for you.)
So, before I spend another day in my pajamas, I shall wrap this up with some of my favorite quotes and moments from American Horror Story: Asylum – and get my arse into gear for the rest of the day.
On a serious note, one of the more disturbing scenes … Dr. Arden and the ‘Ruby Earring’ test. I was conflicted about whether I felt any compassion for him, given his past and his continuance of inflicting pain. Pure evil – but, evil yearning for purity and innocence. Why am I always looking for some ‘good’ in monsters?
Having said that – the fact that once he sees there is no purity left in Sister Mary Eunice and decides he’s still ‘with her’ … (after such an amazing speech too!) was a twist I didn’t see coming. He lost any shred of sympathy from me – and I was disgusted when he took it upon himself to burn with her.
But, lest we forget …
Imaginary pie
My boss brought quiche in today. (Besides being a loan officer, he’s a restaurateur – which really works to my benefit considering I like to eat.)
My piece didn’t stand a chance – I heated it up and poured my small ramekin of hot sauce on the side of my paper plate and devoured.
A while later, after he’d just eaten his, I went into his office and sat at his desk to discuss a file with him.
Now, I KNEW he had eaten quiche. But, in the split second that I caught a glimpse of his empty paper plate, stained orange from the sauce – topped with his crumpled napkin, my mind saw something completely different.
____________________________
Me: Want to hear how my mind works?
Him: (Audible eye roll)
Me: I KNEW you had quiche – but when I glanced at your plate, what I saw was remnants of pumpkin pie with a mound of whipped cream
Him: You need help
Me: No, I have an imagination
Him: No, you really need help
____________________________
I kept smiling – but inside, I was frowning and I actually allowed myself to wonder for a moment if perhaps I really am a little teeny-tiny bit crazy. (I even asked my best friend – who assured me via email I’m not. Then again, birds of a feather …)
I left clutching the file to my chest and wanting to smuggle his plate out to serve as ‘Exhibit A’.
I would then have been able to show it to other people in the building. I needed confirmation that it wasn’t just me. After all, it was only this week no one could see my snowman’s arm!
Instead of giving more people reason to believe I need help of the mental kind, I have reenacted his plate using mine. (Which isn’t weird at all … okay, it’s totally weird, but it was the lesser of two weirds.)
You can’t tell me this doesn’t look like pumpkin and whipped cream! No? Squint.
Debauchery Soup 