Haiku for a Tuesday

I wake up on the
wrong side of the bed on this
and ev'ry morning

Haiku For A Monday

I don't realize I'm
lonely until I do my
laundry by myself.

My So-Called Blog

I recently watched the entire series of My So-called Life.  I think it is 19 episodes.  My best friend and I were discussing it and she said, "Every little thing was so tragic on that show."  To which I replied, "Every little thing is tragic in life, I think."

And I do think that.  I completely identify with the characters on this TV show about high-schoolers.  I don't feel any different.  I still feel incredibly awkward, confused, frustrated, embarrassed, over-confident...any and all the things I felt in high school.  And honestly, every last little thing has a great effect on me.  This all makes me wonder, am I supposed to feel different? As we grow and become these things called "adults" we are supposed to act differently, accomplish certain things, and, it seems, think and feel differently.  We are supposed to think and feel like "adults".  How in the world am I supposed to know what that feels like?  Adults, apparently, do not react dramatically to every little thing.  We ignore little things. We start thinking and caring only about our careers, mortgages, cars, insurance, water heaters, lawns, plumbing, mates, children, electric bills, gas bills, annual performance reviews, income taxes, retirement, and all manner of things that mark us as grown-ups and not children.  When I look at various adults I know, these are the things they have in common.  And they do not spend their time thinking frivolous thoughts.  They must get home to their families and children and make dinner and wash the car and put the laundry away.  They must rush home on the early train because it is date night, but they only have the babysitter until 9pm.  And they become unconcerned with minor things, that I think formerly, were major things.

What all of this is really about is me figuring out whether or not I have to figure life out.  Must I have a long term goal and a career and a Roth IRA account (or whatever the hell they are called)?  Is my success diminished by the fact that I was married at 23 and divorced by 27?  Am I less successful because I don't know what I want to be or do with my life? Because I don't have children? Because I don't want to do mundane things, like laundry, with someone else? Because I don't want a mortgage? Because I secretly still believe that I will be well-known, if not out right famous, and that what I do will effect people in a positive way?  Does this all make me less successful? Immature?

And really, do I have to figure life out to be happy? Honestly, I don't even know how happy or unhappy I am, or whether I'd recognize happiness if it hit me in the face.  I spend most of my time trying to figure out where I fit on the miserable to exceedingly happy scale.  I am bothered by people who believe they are happy.  I want to ask them what the hell they are so happy about.  I want to tell them that their lives are average and boring.  I want to know how that could make them happy. At the same time, I want to learn to listen and not judge. Perhaps its my judgmental reactions that contribute to my perceived unhappiness.

I wake up every single day, get out of bed, go through the motions of getting ready for the day.  I take the same train to work, sit at my desk, follow an established pattern.  I struggle with pre-existing social circles, I alternatively hate and love my city.  I am here on this planet and I find my self wondering, what the hell for?

Creep by Radiohead

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
You're skin makes cry
You float like a feather
in a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fucking special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice
when I'm not around
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here...

She's running out again
She's running out
She runs....

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here...
I don't belong here.

Fall is Falling

I don't have much to say here, except that autumn is my favorite season.  I was cranky this morning, but I walked out of my apartment to crisp, fresh air, bright, clear sunlight, and a feeling of lightness.  Everything could have been falling apart but the smell of fall on the air would have made me feel better.  This is a time for throwing a football or baseball in the park, consuming pumpkin flavored items, getting back into warm, hearty comfort foods, breaking out the sweaters and layers I've been dying to wear, sipping from a flask to keep warm during brisk fall evenings, enjoying football games, going to state/county fairs, waiting for the leaves to fall, preparing for Thanksgiving, spending time out walking, enjoying the outdoors without being overcome by heat and humidity...and if you got someone, this is pretty good snuggling weather, too.  My kitty will do the job just fine.

Sometimes things feel like they are all wrong, and sometimes they feel like they are all right, but however they feel, this is the time for them to be felt.

That's all the rambling I have.

For now.

Sleeping, Sleeping...

"Sleeping, sleeping. Dreaming, dreaming" from "Motherly Bluster" by Ghost.

Although the vocalist has some issues with "sleeping" and ends up saying "sreeping".  Let's not mock him for that.

I had an extended text conversation with a friend many miles away about dreams.  I made it into one of his dreams where he couldn't get into the house I was beckoning him into.  The same night I had a dream in which I was being chased and only narrowly escaped what was sure to be certain death.  We came to the conclusion that maybe we had had the same dream.  That I was running from him.  Had I known it was him, I wouldn't have been so damn concerned with my life.

But this leads me to consider all of my dreams.  As of late, say...the past few years at least...the majority of my dreams are frightening, terrifying, frustrating, malicious, bad, bad dreams.  I'm being chased all over the place, putting all my effort into running and feeling like I'm stuck in a foot of mud.  Or I'm attempting to complete a task and no matter what I do, my efforts are foiled.  Or, worst of all, I'm dying or soon to be dead.  A recent dream had me not only running for my life, but in the company of a friend who was able to see our future, and he informed me that we were goners. Dead. Kaput.  Nothing to be done about it.  In another dream I had been shot twice in the back and hit once in the spine.  I could feel the hot, thick blood soaking my clothes, I couldn't move and people were saying their goodbyes.  In yet another dream, I sacrificed myself to save my family from government terrorists.

What gives? Why all the bad dreams?

Just to end on a positive note, I had a "good" dream last night. I was with a friend in a foreign country in which I wasn't technically allowed, but somehow we had forged some documents for me, and as long as I smiled and didn't say a word, I would make it through border security just fine.  The border entrance was outside, our passports were bright red.  We made it through and the scene swiftly changed to take us to a celebration outside.  The ground was dusty brown, the trees had young bright green leaves on them.  My friend's grandparents were celebrating an anniversary, and we were arguing over who should take the photos as the grandparents were cutting their anniversary cake. Switch scenes to evening and an outdoor assembly place.  There is a large group of people surrounding a group of trained elephants and one trained giraffe.  The animals are in some sort of hypnotic state and the only way for them to become active is for all of us in the group of people to yell "All awake!" in unison.  We yelled once and it didn't work. The animal master scolded us for not believing in our words.  The infantile elephant looked like a large, fat 11-year-old human girl and she did all things girl-like except talk.  We all commented on how odd it was for young elephants to look like humans.

Then I awoke. And I consider that a good dream.

In Reality

I think I've realized that, at heart, I am really just a very silly little girl. This leads to many complications in adult life, and several frivolous tears.