Brains...must eat brains

Really, my head hurts and I'm tired. But I am going to write some crap because a while back an acquaintace decided to post a blog for 100 days (straight) in order to fuel her creative side and get herself doing something consistantly. I liked the idea, and still do. So here I am; writing something. And not even going to spell check.

My dog stinks.

Minds Meanderings

Have you ever complimented someone, and you just kinda new that they didn't really take it seriously? Sure they accept it and say "thank you", but they don't know that you really mean it. There is this weird thing that goes on where either people don't stop and appreciate one another, or they are full of these perfunctory compliments. And yes, these compliments are nice and give the illusion of us having a civilized social order, but then how is it that when someone has really touched you that you can really let them know?

And of course there is the other side of that which is accepting...whatever it is, graciously. My Sifu (Tai Chi Teacher) discussed this idea at the end of class...that by not being gracious when someone gives us something, whether a compliment or a material gift, that we are being selfish (I've probably grossly misquoted him, but it's the thought that counts, right?). And I know I have been guilty of this believing that I 'don't deserve' anything good. But I do. We all do. Love begets love, generosity begets generosity, kindness begets kindness. The same can be said of 'negative' emotions and actions.

So anyway, back to my original thought. How is it that we let people know that they truly are in our hearts and minds? I'll let you know when I have the answer. One thought I have had over the years is of my high school english teacher. She was one of the first teachers who recognized that I was indeed smart AND LET ME KNOW. She was a wonderful support and indeed pulled me from the brink of self-destruction. And I have told her on a couple occasions that she made a difference in my life...but then some teachers hear this often and don't think much of it. Maybe she does, I don't know. But my dream for letting her know that she really was a big deal in my life is that when I write my first book, I will dedicate it to her. The only problem is that I actually have to finish my first book. But I hope in the mean time that she knows how much she rocks without the book. And hope that all of the people who I really care about know that I really care about them.

Life's funny lessons

Mica sat back in his chair, set his jaw in his most serious look and said to me "It's good to be here" nodding once for emphasis. Mica wasn't speaking of the party we were at. It was a much more profound statement than that. He was speaking more in the Buddhist sense of Being HERE (and now)...or perhaps it wasn't quite that profound, but that is where I went.

I was at a going-away party in Santa Fe for a friend who is moving to Portland. It was one of those partys where I haven't met most of the people, other than the moving-away person. Said person who I am now very sad that I didn't make more effort to spend time with while she was here (and here we are again, back to 'being here'). I had met two others once, but only spoke to one. And there was Mica and his dad, of course. In one of the brief conversations I had with going-away-person, I told her that "I forget how much I hate partys until I go to one." See previous post, that should give you some clues as to why I hate partys. When I have a mate, it's so much easier to navigate social gathers, cuz you have a built in person-to-mingle-with. Partys are the worst part of being single for me. But I have digressed.

Mica is an expert at navigating social gatherings. He is at ease with talking to new people, he is confident enough to speak his mind, and he is all about being present. Funny how one of the most Buddhist people I know happens to be a 5 year old...and a mormon.

Getting over it

Part of my motivation for starting a blog was to have a place to put all, well, some of the thoughts that rattle through my head. More specifically, I have all of the short clips stored in my head of friends and lovers angrily confronting me for not talking enough, and I wanted to do something about it. For those who have confronted me, this may not be the solution they were thinking of, but it works for me, so what the hell.

In my defense, some of these people who have complained about my non-verbosiveness, are in my mind people who don't shut up long enough for me to actually gather my thoughts to speak what it is I might be musing about. And in some cases I might be in the presence of someone who I find to be extremely judgemental, or they might be the type of person who seems to always find a way to turn what I am saying into something negative. In those cases, I don't feel safe enough to speak my truth, and I see no reason for me to apologize for that.

Now, there are admittedly instances (many, as a matter of fact) that I have just not opened my mouth, and there are no excuses, just my own fear of "sharing"...of being vulnerable. So what better place to practice saying whatever the hell I want, than an impersonal blog? So here I am, spilling my guts to a select few individuals who may or may not swing on by to see what it is I might have to ramble on about today. Anyway, I figure it is good practice for the 'real' thing.

I don't know if any of the folks who I interact with have noticed, but over the last 6 months I actually have started to speak my mind, even tell stories un-prompted. Sometimes in the middle of a conversation in which I feeling particularly chatty (and wondering if I might actually be talking too much) I wonder if the person I am talking to realizes that they are now talking to someone who is actually having a conversation with them. I often laugh aloud when this thought pops up, and I hope they don't think I've lost it because I'm laughing for no apparent reason. But then I get over it.

Dad

Today I had a customer who reminded me of my dad. He looked much like him, only about 18 inches shorter, and he had the same mannerism of taking long pauses when speaking. Something that annoyed the crap out of me about my father. But because he did remind me of my father, I paused and reminded myself of how much I love(I intentionally use the present tense despite of the fact that he is dead) my dad, and brought that love to the moment of being with this customer.

As I paused to think about my father after this gentleman left, I realized that I couldn't remember what dad's voice sounded like. Over the years I know that there are little things I have forgotten about my father, but for whatever reason, not being able to remember the sound of his voice has hit me hard.

I can vaguely remember his deep-drunken 'hello' like a distant echo. That I only remember because of the distinctive way he pronounced it, like a gruff 'ha-o', with a sharp drop at the end. He also had his own special way of saying shoulder as 'cho-lun-der', but I can't hear him saying it. And I certainly can't remember what he sounded like sober. I think if I tried hard enough, I could remember what his voice sounded like the last few weeks of his life when he drifted in and out of a coma as he lay dying in a hospital bed, his brain being poisoned by the ammonia in his system, but I don't want to remember that. I want to remember the strong cowboy I longed to emulate, not the man who lost everything in his life to his drinking, except for me.

I'd rather be having a cinnamon roll

Last night as I was driving home from work I was thinking about why it is so hard to find a mate. For some reason I thought of my professor, Dr H. He has been married to his wife for some un-godly amount of time. Which lead me to think about all of the older (think 'white hair') couples who manage to stay together, forever and ever, amen. Now certainly, these folks grew up in a time where a) divorce was unacceptable, and b) during times when you really needed a 'family' to make it by (of course, in this instance I'm thinking more of the rural type dwellers, but it may still apply to the more urban folk)...and in particular I am also thinking of the folks who grew up during The Depression.

But those weren't the things I was really pondering upon. What I got my brain in a knot over was gender roles. Regardless of orientation, gender roles are whacked these days...I'm sure that was much more articulate yesterday. Anyway, I remember a time (and lets face it, I'm not THAT old) when men would hold the door for women. These days the men are racing to get in the door before anyone else including women and including their Elders. I also remember a time when men took their hats off when they entered a building, particularly someone's house. And, identifying more with the male gender role, I still do these things. I still do these things in a world where people don't do these things (with the exception of the Dr. H's out there), and it just makes me feel that much more like I am in a world where I just don't belong.

Things do get more complicated, because even though I am an old fashioned sort of gal, I'm certainly not looking for a little house-wife to stay at home and cook, and clean, and have babies. I want a gal who is independent, who wants to have her own life (autonomy), but I would also like to find a gal who still respects her Elders and thinks not only of herself, but also of her community.

I see all these personal ads for 'butch' girls or 'femme' girls. And I want to know who the hell is defining these things. The idea of 'butch' and 'femme' is as frakked up as Albuquerque driving. Everybody comes in with their own set of rules, and refused to adopt the generally accepted rules of engagement and so you have mass chaos; you never know what the hell anyone is going to do, what direction they are going to go in, because everybody is practicing their own set of rules. I am butch, am I femme, am I andro? Hell, I don't even know because there is no known agreement on these things. Hell, I'm just an ol' fashioned (displaced) cowboy looking for an ol' fashioned cowgirl...that's the only label I need.

Thoughts from the shower

Years ago a friend of mine was working with a woman who was dying from vulva cancer. And I always think to myself "what a horrible way to go". And then of course I have this brief panic of "what if I get it". And I am a firm believer in 'what you put out there is what comes to you', and of course that fear calls out to the powers of the universe.
And then of course I start this dialogue in my head about how most of us women in this culture don't have a very good relationship with our vulvas. We are taught that we shouldn't want sex, that we shouldn't enjoy sex, that we are dirty, that our crotch is supposed to smell like a lemon (just in case there is any confusion here: it is NOT supposed to smell like a lemon)...so it's a miracle that any of us manage to break free and be sex-positive, body-positive, and of course vulva-positive.
Studies have indeed shown that the people who make lists of the things they want in life, are more likely to get those things. So, get out your purple pens and your fancy stationary and write down how much you are going to love your vulva, girls!

uh. yeah.

So, still haven't touched that paper since the one line I wrote at 7am. Fortunately the paper doesn't need to be turned in tonight, but I do have to do a presentation on said paper tonight. The one line I added this morning was very poignant...to me. Not sure dr herman would appreciate it so much. See for yourself:

I believe that therapeutic isolation leads to bacterial growth.

Think of a pool of water. Not that we have many of those here in NM, nor that many back in ND (I've decided btw, that I will only live in states that start with the letter N). A pool of water that has no movement becomes stagnant and green and slimy...and the smell. Just thinking about the smell makes my lungs hurt. Anyway, without movement, without fresh 'water', the pool become poison to itself, and to any thing that comes to drink from it. The same can be said of the therapist who lives and practices in a vacuum. We need to keep ourselves and our ideas fresh by sharing with and listening to our colleagues. Regardless of whether one is a 'therapist' or not, I think this sentiment holds true.

Why write a paper when you can start a blog?

The other day I was out to lunch with TokyoRosa and Dave-Bear, and for some reason I decided that I wanted to have a blog. I don't remember why. Perhaps because of the enjoyment that I have gotten from reading T.Rosa's blog, or perhaps something completely different. But here I am, skipping Tai Chi to work on my ethics paper, and instead starting a blog.

How very american of me. I AM a patriot.