Chipped Beef on Toast?

Last night I dreamt I was giving Ben Harper a pre-concert pep talk. In the silly little dream, he was a slightly older version of himself, perhaps in his late 40s, and was feeling somewhat uninspired. I randomly bumped into him outside the small venue -- where I had, apparently, brought every single friend I've ever had -- and sensed his mood. I was overwhelmed with a sense urgency to get him cheered up. Watching him climb a tree covered with branches that looked like scaly, brightly colored snakes, I shared how much live music helps me feel like life might actually be worth living and that his concerts were the first to really give me that sense of hope, like church is for some people. He seemed to respond favorably to my pep talk; we parted ways and I went back to celebrate the conversation with my friends before waking up.

There's a great episode of Northern Exposure in which the aurora borealis is going crazy and the people of Cicely, Alaska begin having each other's dreams. One of the characters is trying to figure out the meaning of his dreams, which, of course, were being dreamt by another character. As they're attempting to analyze, someone suggests that perhaps the dreamer is all the characters inside their dream (which then gives us one of the greatest lines in television history: "I'm my mother, I'm my father, I'm chipped beef on toast?").

Wait a second, are they saying that I am an aging Ben Harper climbing a tree of crazy, rainbow snake branches while taking my own advice as to what makes my world go 'round? If so, I think it means I'm feeling pretty damned stoked to be getting myself on down to the church of Ben Harper twice in the next week.

It's Only Natural

I just came across this picture in the computer, Annika took it for me. At the time, the husband and I were into collecting images of "found porn" (well, one never really stops such a search)...you know, advertising and random pieces of furniture and whatnot that -- whether or not they intentionally look naughty -- are awfully suggestive. I remember Annika's comment on this picture was something about how "nature does it best."

Oh, I suppose that's probably mostly true and is deceptively easy to accept when you're looking at a pile of innocent, sun-baked rocks in all their glory. But what about when there's a distant, blurry line between what is natural and what is otherwise?

There's quite a lot to chew on in that question, come to think of it, and frankly, it's got me a little befuddled. I can't say I feel exactly thrilled about accepting things as they occur "naturally" in this world; not so much stoked on the degree of unnatural shenanigans that accompanies existence among the humans, either. But the truth is, we've pretty much been confusing ourselves with what does and doesn't matter ever since they invented social hierarchy so maybe I need to freakin' lighten up around here...like I promised myself I would do....and recognize that it's pretty cool to get live in a world where found porn like these beautiful rocks can be innocently happened upon in nature and shared with others through these truly obscene, distinctly-unnatural cyberspace means.

Abby Normal

Happy Halloween, dammit! Today's mission: to lighten the fuck up. Sure, the world is a crushingly depressing place to call home, but, here I am, at home, giving in with a mere dollup of riteous indignation.

To whatever reasons have been crippling me from being able to make the brain space to write -- both academically and otherwise -- this last week, I say kiss my grits. I don't have to like the reality that there's no easy way out, that we're all in the same sinking boat, that this is all there is to this life business. No need to place blame or try to convince others that humantity is in crisis because they already know it. I merely need to acknowledge what it means to me and continue doing my own thing with in it, continue figuring out how I'm going to process and live with it anyway. BAH! Ready or not, here I come!

Procrastination, Senioritis and Caaaaaaandy

Like so many others I know, I tend to put off completing items from my to-do list for as long as possible. Right now I'm having a hard time directing my attention towards the more academic aspects of my school assignments. Procrastination is so super-fun and carefree at the beginning (making it easy to ignore the inevitable, painful flip side). Mix this in with what's ramping up to be a raging case of senioritis (one quarter too soon as far as I'm concerned) and my uncontrollable habit of bags of Halloween chocolates, and you have Rita: The Reigning Queen of Getting Next to Nothing Done But Having All Kinds of Fun While Not Doing It.

Loss

Kids...I love 'em...they're great...especially in small doses and when you get to send them back home with their parents.

Growing up, I figured I'd have three or four children filling up my days by now. For some reason, it never seemed like there was any other choice but to be a mommy...it's what women do, right? I dunno, do they? When we got married, we agreed to be married for five years before diving into the whole kid discussion. By the time the five years passed, it was pretty clear that having our own kids wasn't going to be our path. Cool, then. I moved on to other things.

Or so I thought.

Impossible as it was for me to believe, there really is such a cursed thing as a biological clock; and, apparently, its role here is to confuse the @#%* heck out of me. For some reason, I was convinced that once I made the "no babies" choice then the body would listen and that would be all there was to it. In no way was I prepared for the surprise attacks of yearning to be pregnant, the daydreaming about telling my mom the big news, and even imagining what it would be like to give birth. In no way did I ever expect commercials with cute and cuddly infants to launch fits of tears and secret longing. In no way did I know this difficult choice is one I must make on a continual basis.

These occasional hormonal fits don't tend to last very long, though. I've observed that this baby fever of mine only seems to include the pregnancy and birthing bits. Never does it venture into the territory of poopy diapers or the terrible twos, and it certainly doesn't take me so far as to imagine the school years. Which leads me to believe that my rational mind must still be correct in its assessment that raising kids isn't what I want in this life. I'm in college, after all, I'm sharp enough to realize that desire for the immediate gratification of the one thing does not equate desire for what the one thing turns into after the first few months of gratification. My logic may be dizzying, but it's logical nonetheless.

Still, though, I experience deep loss over this choice, this profound sacrifice. It's far more challenging than I suspected not to follow the biological and social norms. The questions keep coming up: if I'm not going to be a parent, then what am I going to be? What else could I get up to that might give my life that feeling of worth, purpose, place? What am I going to do with all this love and nurturing I have to offer?

I don't know the complete answers yet...still searching, still settling into who I am trying to be. One thing I do know for sure: I love, love, LOVE being the aunt to my eight nieces and nephews who never forgets a birthday.