Technology: Making it easier to break your heart

It makes sense, right? Now with the forever-reach of the interwebs, breaking your own heart is not only easier, but more efficient. 

Have you ever Internet-stalked your ex? Re-read your own blog from years ago? How about plotted horrendous events on your Facebook timeline?

Listen. I'm pretty good at snapping my black heart to bits all on my own. I don't need visuals. Or the aid of some Internet spiders spinning the web of my life into a tragedy. 

The gossip train just gained some ground. And practically everyone I know has a story about it. 

Apparently this post has no real point. Maybe a lesson somewhere. Such as: what if we extended all of our energy only on the things in our lives that give back: jobs, friends, family, hobbies. Enough with the soul-sucking white screen of the Internet. Namely, the entranced way we end up on pages and profiles we needn't be. 

Talk about epiphanies. 

mt

Doctor's office blues

Ah. Is there anything more obnoxious than waiting in the lobby of the doc, only to be taken into a room by a nurse, cuffed up, poked at, questioned... and then left for like 20 minutes in the small, sterile, plasticky-smelling room waiting for the doctor (i.e. your fate)?

Listen. I'm not expert on home decor or medical solace, but these posters haven't changed since I was 18. There's nothing glaring at me but the see-through jar of oversized Popsicle sticks, a "Cover Your Cough" poster printed out on an 8.5 x 11 and the ugly, scribbled on "What Is Your BMI?" chart reminding me, disappointingly, that I am "overweight. 

So. With all of this in mind, by the time doc gets here, I'm ready to jump ship. Fuck. 

To add to the glamour of this visit, coming here to switch anti-depression meds, I get asked if I want my "living will." Hahaha. Talk about being faced with my own mortality. I say. Do not recessitate! 

How much does a hipster weigh?

Yesterday's Photo-A-Day May prompt was: Someone who inspires you...

My first reaction is always: ATWOOD! So I was creepin' (as usual) on the great interwebs and found this stellar interview with her. I like it. I like the questions and her short, quirky responses. She's loveable in most every way.

Not only was I inspired by her answers, but I was inspired by the questions, and so... like in the old days when questionnaire-type blog posts were socially acceptable, I decided to answer for myself. See what the lovely Atwood and I have in common. (:

This interview first appeared in The Guardian on October 28th, 2011. The author: Rosanna Greenstreet.

MY INTERVIEW

When were you happiest?
Who's to say? Life just keeps getting harder, and so life always seems best or happiest in the past. Maybe.

What is your greatest fear?
Losing the marbles I have left.

What is your earliest memory?
Waddling about with a cast up to my hip, trying to get on the couch.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
My restlessness. Not the productive kind, the other.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Contagious, jealousy-laden self-loathing.

What is your most treasured possession?
Just one? I suppose my jump drive (with all my writing!)

What would your super power be?
Saving all the people. Or invisibility. I'd love to watch people. Creepy.

What makes you unhappy?
Being bombarded.

Image thanks to: blogs.discovery.com

What do you most dislike about your appearance?
Chubs.

If you could bring something extinct back to life, what would you choose?
Woolly Mammoth. Hell yeah.

Who would play you in the film of your life?
Someone sassy. And awkwardly cute... until she opens her mouth. Can it be a cartoon? Daria.

What is your favourite word?
"And/&"—which is oddly enough, Atwood's favorite word. CRAZY! It's nearly infinite.

What would you wear to a fancy dress party?
A tux, duh. With a bowtie. Black. 

Is it better to give or to receive?
To give. I'm bad at receiving. In all ways.

Which living person do you most despise?
I don't know, actually. I suppose I'm annoyed primarily by conservatives and their ignorant hatred. But a single person? Nah.

Who would you invite to your dream dinner party?
Shakespeare, Margaret Atwood, Tina Fey, Hilary Clinton, Maura Tierney, Tori Amos... shit, I gotta stop somewhere.

hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com —best EVAR!!1

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

Um... "all the things." As in: "Yes, I do all the things." Or... "Have you cleaned all the things?" And... "I want to buy all the things!"

If you could go back in time, where would you go?
Civil War era. The Underground Railroad fascinates me. Go, Harriet!


How do you relax?
If you knew me, you'd know this is nearly impossible. But the ocean does it sometimes.

What is the closest you've come to death?
Geez, I don't know. When you're sensitive, near-death experiences are a weekly occurrence. Hm. A wheelbarrow flying at my car on a back road, 2009.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Probably becoming a professor. Mostly because I was absolutely terrified and had planned on spending my life just dreaming of teaching. Otherwise, losing 70 pounds. Maintaining a mostly healthy diet/exercise routine.

How would you like to be remembered?
Clearly I'm not famous, but I'd like to remembered for being passionate, funny, selfless and determined. That's kind of generous, huh? Ok. Someone just remember I liked ice cream.

What is the most important lesson life has taught you?
To swim. Every struggle is a wave. Just keep remembering that it'll pass. Oh, and CoCo Wheats—no matter how catchy the ditty—does not taste as amazing. Hardly. Cocoa.

Where would you most like to be right now?
Nags Head, NC. Familiar but foreign. The Atlantic always sounds good.

Tell us a joke
How much does a hipster weigh? An Instagram.

Feel free to post and respond. Would love to hear some responses!
mt

Patience.

Sometimes it's the small victories. For sure. For me. I find it hardest to be completely calm, especially when I'm frustrated or annoyed.

I always relate myself to this one Post Secret post card. I think of it often. It's a picture of a dog, jaws nearly unhinged revealing its teeth, jumping out of the water, which dramatically splashes all around its face. The caption is something like:

I'm envious of those who can hide how they feel.

It's one of those things I've wished on stars for... since I was old enough to realize that playing the "cool" routine would keep people off my back. Still, to this day, I can't get away with much. Whether it's the tone of my voice or the wrinkling of my eyebrow, my state is hardly opaque.

Now, don't get me wrong. It makes me honest, and I've grown to be a bit more in-control than say... my 6th grade self. I've also learned to embrace it most often. Both the excitement and the stormy me.

But today! I realized how much more patient I've been. Especially over the last few months, when shit has really hit the fan. I know it's a small step, a small victory, but I'm proud of it. Even just in this moment.

Less impulsive. Less reactive. More careful.

mt

Betrayal.

Some days are more beautiful than others for having your guts ripped out. You know?

National Poetry Month Loser

SLACKER!

Ah, I must say, I've been slacking on keeping up with so many poems. I'd like to blame it on the barrage of death, illness and the end of the term. Also, my newly rabid ukulele addiction. Any down time seems to be devoted to strumming and singing and pretending I know what I'm doing. Still, I'm not giving up on the poems. I think this bout of "Writer's Block" has come at a lame time, but I continue to push on.

Bukowski said: "Writing about writer's block is better than not writing at all."

Not sure if I agree... but I thought in honor of the month, I'd share a poem I've written during this mission. This was Day 12: A Broken Poem.

THE BILLIONTH BREAK-UP POEM

Clicking copy/paste

back-brain replaying how

she left me, left

the zipper down on us             too much

this deep-space kind of silence. Maybe

we didn’t need the finale, or

sitcom-grief of all those years

not-saying        counts, maybe,

for something. The same curtains

hang neon in windows where we

don’t sleep now. I don’t know

why I drive by, but some nights

it’s easier than trying to get

around it.

In the meantime, my assignment to all y'all poets and writers: write a poem today. Even if you aren't doing the challenge. My prompt to you, if you care to play...

Write a sonnet, or simply a 14-line poem, with the theme of "something you love too much." We all have one of those things—whether it's a person or a video game or a imported red wine. Go!

<3 p="">mt

Short. Sweet. But alive.

So after some nutty health issues and loss, I'm alive. Just sayin'. Through the events of the last few days, I've still been keeping up with this poem-a-day extravaganza.

Today's poetry prompt was to write a "tentative poem." I got hit with this image, you know. Sometimes I do that. I get a clear picture. It doesn't often make sense, but it's something. Like shadow puppets in my brain.

"Somewhere someone dreams of ellipses..."

I couldn't get it out of my head. I guess it's about fighting the routine, the mundane... keeping one eye out for a detour. Something jarring. Because if you catch a sip, even, of those sparks in between the layers of "filler"—days and days of work and obligation—it just might be enough to make it worthwhile.

I spent my whole life waiting impatiently for the next page, something to look forward to. I needed it to stay sane, to motivate me to fight. I needed that reason, remember?

Sometimes people fight the daily. Sometimes vanilla isn't enough. It's ok to need a detour. But. Patience.

That's what I need. That's what it's about.

Sleep now.
mt