Giving thanks and feeling cranks

In my adult years, the holidays are somehow always plagued by ailments, warring family members, work or my period. I've been secretly coveting a severe case of PMS this Thanksgiving. Good food and laughs have helped. The game Cards Against Humanity is like the devil's version of Apples to Apples... if I believed in the devil. So more like the naughtier, funnier, adult version. You can print it out for free, I believe.

To enlighten you on some of the shenanigins that took place this eve with Abbie's brother and dad and brother's girlfriend... some of the "answer" cards read as follows: "Justin Bieber," "trying to pick up girls at the abortion clinic," "Taint: grundle, fleshy fun-bridge," "Daddy issues," "inferiority complex," "Rush Limbaugh's soft, shitty body," ...ah. HAHAHA

So aside from those fun times, I've been slacking on the blog deal; honestly, it's because I can't say much on here. I refuse to speak about either of my jobs, because I mean... it is the internet and it's all up for grabs. Just frustrated with the state of things. I'll leave it at that.

About the Poem-A-Day November contest (with prompts provided by Poetic Asides on WritersDigest.com): I've been keeping up fairly well. I've been writing about strange topics that I haven't thought about in years. It's like finally realizing why your shoes have been a little sticky after miles of walking. Like you just noticed it. So you stop and find there's a piece of someone's chewed up Big Red stuck under there or something. Maybe it was time to stop and figure out what's been sticky for me—namely, things from my distant past. No one wants to confront that garbage.

Today's prompt is to write a "bird poem," whatever that might be. So, you know, if you like to write for any reason at all... consider this your reason to write today (whenever you stumble upon this blog.) Stop EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW! And write a damn bird poem, ok?

And, of course, I can't have Thanksgiving entry with some sap tangent on what I'm thankful for. There is so much to be thankful for; I wish there was more than one day a year to remind me of it. So... in the spirit of Thanksgiving:

• I'm thankful for my family. I'm thankful for my friends and my roommate. I'm thankful for my friends who have stood in as family, with whom I have shared countless holidays and meals and bonding time.

• I'm thankful for warm socks and boots and soft scarves. I'm thankful for the snow that makes me feel cozier. I'm thankful for my bed and all the things in my room that I have been meticulously making and designing and "perfecting." I'm thankful for my tiny tree.

• I'm thankful for my time. I'm thankful for the time with people that matter. I'm thankful that I got to spend time knowing someone super special, even if she passed away this year. I'm thankful that it's given me a new perspective, importance. I'm thankful that I ever met her. I'm thankful that I got to be a part of the last year and a half of her life.

• I'm thankful for getting to know who is true this year—more than any year yet. I guess I realize how crazy my life has been, and always seems to be, really. I hope that it gets better and I can get better for everyone. I think I'm on the right track. This has been, by far, the worst year of my life, as far as tragedies and betrayals and ahhh. Just so much. And the people that you think will be there for you forever... are gone. Everyone needs to hug each other rightthissecond.

• ...but you know what? I'm the best me I've ever been. And it's because of all this. So. Thank you. Thank you for hard times, somehow. And strength that I don't ever believe I have. And thank you for those that have helped me see things in a clearer way. My friend Kelly and lady Abbie in particular. And thank you, Mister Dexter Doots for supportive, understanding cuddles and soft paws and letting me dress you sweater vests and hankies.

• I'm thankful for not needing anything material-wise, for being self-sufficient and for accomplishing so much in such a shitty year: finding a love, having an art show, getting a book published, sorting so much of myself out, not jumping off a bridge.... ah, for reals on that last one. I can't say enough: thank you, thank you, thank you for believing in me, everyone that has.  We'll make it through somehow. <3>

I'll stop blabbing. Maybe I had too much to drink... (;

Much love to you all,
mt

Ain't nobody got time for pain

This is what I do know:

It's nearly 5:00 p.m. on Friday, payday Friday, that is.

Binging on Halloween treats makes me feel like a trash bag.
My life feels a lot like Tetris.
It's November. Bring it on, November. Can you believe that?

The only super exciting thing about November, besides the true death of everything colorful outside (I kid), is the November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2013. If you don't know, it's a little poetry challenge. You're given a prompt every day for a poem. SO YOU WRITE ONE POEM A DAY FOR A WHOLE MONTH. You can do it; I dare you.

It's inspired by the more well-known, NaNoWriMo. This challenge is actually where you attempt to write a WHOLE NOVEL in a month, since November is apparently National Novel Writing Month. (Get the acronym-ish title now?) But I don't know about writing 50,000 words in a month—unless I was suffering from verbal Dysentery.

Anyway.

Ain't nobody got time for that [pain].

I had this very serious post in mind. It was about pain. The kinds of pain, reaction/action... etc. I sat in my car before class on Tuesday, before I even went to the hospital to see my mom, writing about it. "Pain is subjective." "No pain, no gain!" "You're a pain in the ass!"  "I haven't got time for the pain..."

Wait. That last one is a Carly Simon song.

I guess what I'm getting at, or what I was attempting to get at, is that we accumulate pain, maybe, like scratches on a wall. But it's not just one type of pain; there are so many shapes that pain can take. Some are more triangular, some round and heavy like an oversized marble. And each pain, then, elicits both a reaction and an action. The reaction being more of the "involuntary" sort—auto-spat. The action seemingly becomes a way to cope.

Example:

John's dog dies.

Reaction: He cries and loses his appetite.

Action: He doesn't tell anyone, and he never gets another pet.

See what I mean? For me, this helps me to look at my pain. It's good to find the source, of course, but also define it in my terms—the "subjective" part. I like to examine what has changed because of it. Perhaps, I am doing this because so much of me has changed—not just my living sitch, my relationships, my creative endeavors, but my core. For the better, I hope. In ways. It's just been a dynamic (geez, that's being kind) two years. YES, TWO. It's like an obstacle course. Maybe, just maybe, making it to the other side is what has changed me and not the events specifically. Maybe this will show me that, not matter what, I can do obstacle courses.

Except for rope climb activities. I suck at that.

Happy Friday/Weekend/November, everyone!
Oh, and don't forget to write your poem!

mt

Triumphs and wrecking into walls

Ugh. I'm ok. Everyone is all right.

Life continues to test me... Maybe? If I were religious, I'd fall back on the solace:

"God doesn't give you what you can't handle."

A friend said this once, and though, I don't subscribe, it stuck. I'd like to believe it. Hell, I'd like to believe there is nothing I can't handle. And after this year (the past two years, really), I'm thinking something otherworldly is going on. Or I'm being Punk'd. And Ashton Kutcher is about to pop up at any moment to apologize and laugh. We can all laugh. I'm already laughing...

So last Wednesday (Abbie's birthday, by the way) whilst parking, I rammed my car into someone's retaining wall. Up over a sidewalk, bending my wheel and flattening my tire, then SMACK...er CRUNCH. Like I said, everyone is ok; it's being handled. Still, the money and the nuisance of it are enough to have me thinking I've got some kind of curse going on. Abbie tells me 25 and 27 are transitional years and planets are shifting and rocking their orbits. Something. I don't know. I'm now 28.  The jig is up, Universe.

But along with the grief and the loss and the changes and the confusion and the theft (yes, there was some credit theft thrown in there too)... there have been good things. Great things even. 

This weekend was my art show at The Headkeeper in Greensburg. I'm always so humbled by the turnout—the friends and acquaintances from every part of my life coming together for me and my paintings. I find that after two shows, this one being my second, there is no greater feeling than that type of appreciation. Who knew people would come to like my scribbles?

I'm lucky. 

That's what everyone wants to hear. And they are right. I am. It's not that I don't appreciate it all, because I do, but all of my good fortune seems to be overshadowed by (or at least in battle with) some really grey clouds.

I come here to bitch. I come here to ask WHY of the world. Who knows. I'm blogging today, you know, and I'm reminded to look up this "Job" character from the Bible. Kelly keeps telling me to read about him. I did. I don't know... I mean, we know how I feel about religion. But I like the gist—I like what it's telling us, according to some author trying to analyze:

If the Book of Job reaches across two and a half millennia to teach anything to men and women who consider themselves normal, decent human beings, it is this: Human beings are sure to wander in ignorance and to fall into error, and it is better — more righteous in the eyes of God — for them to react by questioning rather than accepting. Confronted with inexplicable injustice, it is better to be irate than resigned.

—William Safire, The First Dissident^[3]

Irate! iRate? iResign?

Listen, everything is going to be fine. I keep saying it. I keep saying it to tell myself. Assure.

On another note, I finally got my moon phase tattoo... on D's birthday. She hated tattoos. She hated the idea of my inking myself; however, she grew to love my paper plane after some time. And since she always said I was the moon... I think it's ok to have something that reminds me. That I am. I didn't get it solely for her or because of her, but I got it FINALLY after over a year of loving on it.






I'm phasing. I swear... this has to turn out on its upside, yeah?


Be good,
mt

Are we there yet?

I decided to splurge.

Chinese food, in particular the Chinese food buffet, is a horrible idea for someone like me. Not only do I have issues with indulging in tasty food until my stomach feels like it's housing a village of overweight ninjas, but eating anything fried and delicious tends to kill me—no matter the amount.

But on Sunday, for the hell of it, I decided it was time to partake. The point of my story, leaving out the proceeding belly rumbles and loosening of my belt [and food coma], is that I received this fortune:

Thanks to Instagram!

You are almost there.

At any other point in my life, thus far, I might have tucked the greasy scrap into my wallet and called it a day [I collect fortunes], but I think maybe this Asian voodoo is onto something.

Last year, as I've spoken about before, was a helluva roller-coaster ride, mostly stemming from my lack of sleep and sustenance. Still. There are down days and broken moments—shit, I wish I could say I've completely "recovered." But you know what? I think I need those days; we all do, maybe. It makes the sun brighter on the flip. I got it. Cliche or not.

I've been thinking a lot about balance and "getting there," so it comes as no surprise that this fortune hit me. Almost. The punchline of my life lately: while most of my friends and coworkers consciously work on trying to be more organized, more on top of things, more responsible, less sleepy and less lazy... I'm trying to do the opposite. What do I mean?

• I see a piece of lint or two on the floor. My gut reaction is to fall to my knees and begin a 10-minute journey across my bedroom floor, with an eye at floor-level, picking up fuzz and hair until I acquire a mass large enough to be a tumbleweed. And now? I try to ignore it. I pretend it isn't there, reminding myself I can run the vacuum cleaner when I am not in a rush to get somewhere or do something. Take that, OCD!
• My roommate asks me to watch a movie. While I typically decline or say "yes," but gather up 900 things for me to do as the movie plays... I've been trying to do it. You know. Watch TV, just watch... not attempt to do 19 other things simultaneously. This is still in the works. I've noticed, though, that I have been actually attentive enough to understand the gist of movies lately. So there's that. Suck it, Oppressing Need for Productivity!
• It's 10:00 p.m. and I'm yawning. No! This is, perhaps, my worst fear! Becoming one of those people who go to work, go home, eat dinner, watch TV and go to bed...at 9:00! The typical me might have brewed up some coffee began a late-night regime of caffeine and cigs, but instead, I've been trying to listen to my body; you know, get more than four hours of sleep per night. See, there are things I like to do in the eve, namely creative ventures. Now, I haven't been closing my eyes at 10, but I have been settling in before midnight. This is a start! Go fly a kite, Self-Induced Insomnia!

So I'm almost there, huh? I like it. I really do. I feel like a freak for trying to relax, trying to be lazy sometimes... but. It's nice [and necessary!]

Any resolutions/goals for you all coming to fruition in 2013? Tell me I'm not the only one who picks lint off of my carpeting!

Best,
mt