Oy Vey! Weekend!

I love those weekends that just fly by so quickly the alarm is going off and you can barely open your eyes and you're thinking, it's fucking Monday already?

That's really all I have to say on the matter. I have nothing to say about the debates, which I heard, but did not watch, because I know who I'm voting for and I know why. No debate is going to change my mind. Presidential debates only serve two purposes: 1) to reinforce your decision to vote for one person; and 2) to provide material for why you're not voting for the other. Plus, they're generally boring.

I cannot comment on any television, as I have had little time to view anything except the most recent Eureka, which I am the only person who watches, so whatever.

Oh, but I did, while listening to the debates (okay so my parents wanted to watch it and I was in the office writing and surfing and short of closing the door and turning on the music - which I won't do because I'm not in high school anymore, you know? - I had no choice but to hear it), finish my most recent story. I am very proud of it. It is also the first time in seven years I have started and completed two stories in a row, so Right on, me.

Great Googly-Moogly! Simon Pegg is all over the place right now promoting How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. The Husband has expressed an interest, so we may go see it this weekend, because...Simon Pegg. I have decided I have to see it for the dancing alone. I love the picture in this article because this is how he dresses normally, which is how he probably dressed when he was twenty-five. And as I dress the same way I did when I was twenty-five that means we're soul mates, right? Right? And no, the trailer does not make the movie look funny at all, but I'm not going expecting high cinema.

Oh, and I realized last night - well...found out is more like it - that I am batshit insane and will always, always assume you are angry at me and hate my guts if I don't hear from you on a regular basis. No, it does not matter if you have been terribly busy and haven't been near a computer because you've been searching for rare medicines in the jungle. If you don't answer that email I sent you a week ago, it's because somewhere in our very brief friendship, I did something heinously wrong and you are punishing me for it. There need be no more said about that. Just know I am aware of my own craziness.

I did this fun book meme on my livejournal. Feel free to steal.

The Politics of Pain

I never thought much about physical pain most of my life. It's not that I wasn't familiar with it; one bad car accident when I was three and chronic strep throat allowed me to experience it on my own, but I never gave too much thought to other people's pain. I sympathized with it, as much as one can, but never understood it as I do now.

I am in my late thirties and I don't feel old by any definition of the word. But catch me in the throes of one of my allergy-induced migraines (thanks, Austin!), monthly cramps exacerbated by endometriosis and uterine fibroids, wrists gone numb and shaky from carpal tunnel, or watching the care I take with my right arm so as not to aggravate the inflamed whatever in my right shoulder, and I feel downright ancient.

On top of that, I feel guilty. Like everyone thinks I'm faking it. No, no, thank you, I don't want to do that fun thing you offered because I'd rather lie here on the couch. No, don't mind me here. I know I stood up and just doubled over, but it's nothing really, just a feeling like someone punched me with a spiked glove in the abdomen. I shouldn't have stood so fast. It'll pass.

I really do say stuff like that. And I sit there at work while feeling like a wombat is trying to claw its way out of my brain and the top of my head and feel guilty because I want to go home. Or I stay home (and work from home), and feel bad because I'm convinced others think I'm making it up.

I occurred to me this morning as I woke up at my usual time for work and thought, "Nope. Not. Gonna. Do. It." that pain is so personal. It's internal. It can't be quantified. There is no set of standards that works for every person. I get a tattoo and go all zen deep into it. Someone else gets the same tattoo and pukes when the needle touches his skin.

I am in pain almost every day now from something that's just gone wrong in my body. And most days I can handle it; most days I just do that grin and bear it thing. Unfortunately that means the days I can't bear it, I feel I've failed somehow. I mean, I worked for mega bookstore chain for three years and I think I called in sick all of five times. I went back to work early after having major abdominal surgery because I was just that bored. Why can't I give myself a break now?

I think for me it's just anger. At my body for betraying me. At myself for giving in. At the world for judging me (in my mind - I realize I am the only one doing the judging). And the frustration of not being able to externally express it without crying. If there were a way I could wear my pain like an appendage so those around me would understand why I am so grumpy, why I seem I'm not paying attention, why I don't feel like doing that thing, I would.

But then I wonder why I feel I have to justify it for everyone else. Why does it matter if no one believes me? I don't care if others agree with me on most matters. I generally don't give fuck all what anyone thinks of my taste in music, clothing, TV, opinions. Why is it so important "They" believe me when I say I'm in pain?

And is it the same for everyone else?

I believe this is how true crazy is made

I feel quite disenchanted with the world these days. Not in one of those everything's shit, our government sucks, and we're too busy killing each other and buying stuff to notice kind of way. It's more like: Everywhere I go I see beauty and complexity that engages me and makes me want to become more of something, but I don't know what that is.

The more I learn about the world, people in it, my own interactions, the busier and crazier my brain feels. It's as if there isn't enough space in there to process all the thinking that's going on. Do I sound crazy? I feel it, mostly because I don't have anyone to talk to about all this. Truth is, if I were single right now, I'd probably be living in an intentional community somewhere, just trying to love my neighbor and practice radical subversive economics. But of course I can't do that. I'm lucky I can convince my (amazing and very sweet) husband we DON'T need most of the stuff he wants. That the things we have are enough (ask me sometime about the Fry Daddy incident - I. could. kill. his. mother.).

And then it occurs to me that I'm a hypocrite. I like stuff. I buy books almost weekly. I just purchased a new set of sheets for the bed, not because we needed a new set of sheets, but because I thought they were cool. But I'm basing the health of my marriage on whether or not I can convince the husband to switch from bottled water to a water filter (I'm almost there). And the one person I felt I could talk to about Jesus just sent me an email with the most disappointing and formulaic anti-feminist crap in it...I responded, attempting to educate, but then I figured oh, what is the fucking point!?!?!? People are going to believe whatever they fucking well want to believe. Isn't that how Obama lost Pennsylvania? Because no one wants to think outside their little comfort zone? And if everyone is so happy there, why can't I just settle in and be happy too?

So on one hand, I'm trying to convince myself to give up. Stop trying to engage the world in my own radical way. It doesn't matter anyway, and all that ends up happening is my own despair when I turn on the TV and see so much horror and apathy. But on the other, I am still engaging, still getting the optimistic shit beat out of me every day, and still waking up the next morning wondering what good I can accomplish; looking forward to the tiny surprising thing that'll happen (as it seems to always) to keep me from giving up.

Sometimes I have to accept that keeping one's mind open is an invitation for all sorts of mischief.

My quote of the day:

A Christian is committed to the belief that Love and Mercy are the most powerful forces on earth.

- Thomas Merton
Passion for Peace