Here’s some pictures of my recent vacation with Kayphore and her family. That’s their boat. And we were in Puget Sound and the San Juan Islands. Dolphins, Orcas, Bald Eagles, Seals, High-speed Dinghy Adventures, Beautiful Sunsets, Awesome Fireworks, etc.
I understand. I’m angry, too. I’m grieving, too. I love you.
But please, please, please….stop. Breathe. This cannot help.
I know the title of this blog sounds like some sort of emocore band’s disappointing sophomore release. I know it, and I’m still not going to change it. Because it’s true. I am really amazed that I’m not screaming. Frequently.
I’ll be the first to admit that I basically suck at life. Well, not all of life, really, but just relating to most of the other people on this planet. But the thing is, I don’t think it’s just me. I think we’re all just wandering around blindly bumping into one another, stepping on each others’ toes, pushing in on one another, pushing each other around, and making asses of ourselves. And it’s so often way too much for me, pushing and being pushed, and it seems like I would feel so much better to just let it out in a blood curdling, gutteral, primal scream.
And I honestly don’t know how it is that I’m not just screaming my head off out of pure frustration.
Screaming because I’m not being heard. Screaming because everyone stands too close. Screaming because I just want everyone to stop moving for a minute. Screaming because I want everything to stop for a minute. Screaming because everything and everyone are being too loud. Screaming because it’s too quiet. Screaming because I’m lonely. Screaming because they’re scaring me. Screaming because they don’t understand. Screaming because I don’t know how to explain it. Screaming because it doesn’t make any sense. Screaming because I messed it up again. Screaming because I just want to be left alone. Screaming because I don’t like it. Screaming because I do. Screaming because they’re not listening. Screaming because I don’t matter. Screaming because they won’t leave me alone. Screaming because they’re hurting me. And screaming because I just want to be myself. Screaming because I want a little space to myself that is my own.
But I’m not screaming. I’m just sitting here in my room, feet under an electric blanket, listening to A Fine Frenzy, writing this blog. Maybe that’s what we’re all doing. Maybe I’m not the only one fighting off the urge.
Or maybe I’m just nuts, and it really is just me.
I doubt it.
Just sayin’.
I took this online quiz/personality test, and apparently I’m not a geek, a nerd, or a dork…..I’m all three. I think I knew that.
Your result for The Nerd? Geek? or Dork? Test…
52 % Nerd, 61% Geek, 61% Dork
For The Record:
A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia.
A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one.
A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions.
You scored better than half in all three, earning you the title of: Outcast Genius.
Outcast geniuses usually are bright enough to understand what society wants of them, and they just don’t care! They are highly intelligent and passionate about the things they know are *truly* important in the world. Typically, this does not include sports, cars or make-up, but it can on occassion (and if it does then they know more than all of their friends combined in that subject).
Outcast geniuses can be very lonely, due to their being outcast from most normal groups and too smart for the room among many other types of dorks and geeks, but they can also be the types to eventually rule the world, ala Bill Gates, the prototypical Outcast Genius.
Congratulations!
Thanks Again!
OK – so I’m trying the online dating thing, again. Why? Well, two reasons, really. No, scratch that – three reasons. #1 – why the hell not. #2 – Sitting around moaning about a guy who already has a girl isn’t getting me anywhere and #3 – more than one person recommended I give it another shot, just, you know, Not Craig’s List. I’m also window shopping for kittens on the internet….. and honestly, those two things are virtually the same activity, except that the kittens have the common sense to avoid the following blunders:
Shoot me. Seriously. In the head.
Just sayin’.
It’s not her birthday, or anything, but I was thinking about Mrs. Roosevelt today. I have a refrigerator magnet that shows a picture of Eleanor Roosevelt, and a quote from her: “Do something every day that scares you.”
That’s not such a hard philosophy for me to follow. I’m usually pretty scared of everything. I’m scared of everything staying the same, and I’m scared of things changing. I’m scared of my past, and I’m scared of my future. Hell, I’m scared of sock monkeys. I just need to remember that if some decision I face or some circumstance frightens the daylight out of me, well then I’m probably doing something right. Life shouldn’t be too easy.
Momser read me this quote once, where she said: “Remember always that you not only have the right to be an individual, you have an obligation to be one.”
I can only be myself. I cannot be what people need me or want me to be, unless what they want and need me to be is just myself. I struggle with being myself. But I know that I, myself, sometimes have to do things that other people don’t understand or wouldn’t do. And if there’s something in the way of me being as me as I can be, well I guess it’s my duty to break it down.
That all got me to thinking quite a bit more about Mrs. Roosevelt, and so I started going through collections of her quotes, and here are a few more that have some meaning to me.
She said: “A little simplification would be the first step toward rational living, I think.”
I need to take a step back, and look around. Nothing needs to be this complicated. It is. I am.
She said: “Do what you feel in your heart to be right- for you’ll be criticized anyway. You’ll be damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.”
I need to stop worrying so much about what others think of my actions. I have to do what I have to do. There will always be someone who disagrees or who would do it differently. They’re not looking my reality in the face.
She said: “I have spent many years of my life in opposition, and I rather like the role.”
I should try to find some more pleasure in being different. I can’t always agree, and I don’t want to. It wouldn’t be much fun. Life wouldn’t be as much fun if we all agreed about anything. From the big things to the little things, I need to find a way to say, “I don’t agree with you.”
She said: “Life must be lived and curiosity kept alive. One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life.”
And finally she also said: “Happiness is not a goal; it is a by-product.”
So I’m going to live my life, be myself, cut the fat, voice my unpopular opinions, scare the crap right out of myself. And if I do this, if I follow the advice of Eleanor Roosevelt, well, I think I might not be too bad off. And I think if Eleanor were here, she’d give me an encouraging smile and tell me to get to it. Because …”It takes as much energy to wish as it does to plan.”
And as always, I’m just sayin’.
I’ve had enough of this weekend. It’s a good thing that it’s now going on midnight Sunday, so I can put it behind me. Have you ever had one of these where everywhere you go, everyone seems to be under some enormous pressure to be as weird as possible? Maybe one of you will tell me there’s some astrological event happening, and I’ll think it’s a coincidence…..or maybe not.
It all sort of started with me deciding to try to put Object of Crush behind me. At this point, it seems pretty clear that it just ain’t gonna happen. I’m ever more aware of the fact that he’s seeing someone else, and I just don’t do that “steal them away” thing. So, Friday night, out with friends, seeing The Phenomenauts, and there’s this adorable guy that I’ve known for some time, and well, I went for it, only to be slapped with the cold hand of rejection.
SIDE NOTE: I would like to take this opportunity to tell all of my friends who tell me that I just need to let guys know more bluntly that I’m interested and I’ll suddenly be getting my pick of the litter to Eff Off Real Hard! I now have proof that you are wrong. I will now go right back to chatting with the bean dip.
Any rate, top that off with a dessert of old friend telling me that some day he wouldn’t be so wrong for me, and when that day came, he was going to come for me, and I better watch out. (paraphrasing) He was kind of very drunk, so I don’t know how much truth there was to that, but it was sort of adorable. And then there was a whole lot of odd directed at Kayphore as well.
In between all these ups and downs, we danced, and that part at least was good. I still say that dancing is my favorite thing ever. Moving my body in a rhythm can almost always save me from anything. Also, sometimes I forget myself, and I dance like no one is watching and that is probably the most free I have ever felt.
Anyway, as I was saying, the evening was weird, so Kayphore and I didn’t waste any time in Busting a Move out of there, and made sure to fall asleep back at her place before any more “fun” could find us.
Saturday evening was even more fun, and involved some serious forced attention on someone dear to me who didn’t want it, some false information being spread about me, and then some bullshit guilt trip forced on me because once again, I did not know where to stand or what to say to just about anyone. I can’t say it was all bad. That bit about comparing making out to me with my new braces (oh yeah, by the way, I totally have a mouth full of metal and look even more like I’m half my age now. Score!) to kissing a toaster was genius.
So, today Kayphore and I decided to make that all up to ourselves with a shopping spree to Ikea.
And then we ate Indian curries, because that’s our idea of comfort food.
So, yeah, so glad that’s over with, and now I get to go back to work tomorrow.
Just sayin’.
I think I’ve mentioned before that I have a narrator. This voice in my head that tells me what’s happening to me, usually in real time. (Is it just me?) Most frequently the voice mimics Jane Austen. One too many re-treads through Mansfield Park, I think, did me in. However, the voice does shift from time to time from different influences. A book I’m reading, a song I like, or a movie I’m watching. Or, perhaps, the kinds of movies I’ve been watching.
Being as I am spoiled digital rotten, I have a Netflix account with a full DVD and Instant Watch queue. Lately I’ve been trying to make my way through all the films that were nominated for Oscars that I never did get around to actually going out and seeing. Also, I’ve sort of become obsessed with documentaries, because you have no idea how much stuff I don’t know.
So, I’ve been sitting here over the last few weeks – and by sitting here, I of course mean laying in my bed – watching lots of poignant shit. All the while with this Object of Crush in my head and all the ups, downs, and intrigues of a single girl’s life with single girl friends, and the well-intentioned but off-base remarks from male buds swimming in my overactive imagination. Well, wouldn’t you know it, but that voice in my head, well it’s a mix of some sort of indie movie heroine and, well, Morgan Spurlock…you know, the guy from Super Size Me, except this is more like his television series 30 Days.
And it’s like there’s a hidden camera crew following me around for a month while I trip, stumble, start, sprint through my life, which though very mundane and not a very good plot for a movie, is somehow being turned into the next best thing since (500) Days of Summer. (Similar sort of soundtrack, actually.)
But are you ready for the twist? (There’s got to be a twist, right?) In my indie-movie-life-documentary, my role….well, I’m certainly too clumsy to be the hip ingenue, aren’t I? It’s like the bumbling sidekick suddenly became the focus of the film.
It’s totally whacky and zany. It sure as shit ain’t gonna win an Oscar. But maybe, just maybe, it could be a darling at Cannes.
Probably not though, I mean, shit the only thing that happens in this movie is the lead character lies in bed on a Tuesday night, while her friends are out bowling, and types on a laptop about the voice she hears in her head saying something like “For the Next 30 Days, PeggyLuWho will toil under the burden of infatuation and anxiety, lose sleep, write more numerous and self-deprecating, naval gazing blogs than she has in the last two years, while trying to keep up with the endless adventures of best mates. Will she find true love and everlasting frienship? Will she listen to Regina Spektor or The Shins or Vampire Weekend on her iPod tonight?”
Why does this all sound so much more lovely when it’s happening in my head than it does in black and white on my macbook screen?
Here’s a list of things I don’t want to hear from people who have read this here blog:
Today I went and did something I swore I would never do. I went to a record sale. That’s right, vinyl people.
Now the reason why I wouldn’t do this before, is two-fold. First off, I have spent the last six years of my life trying to de-clutter and make my life smaller. Vinyl seems like the kind of thing to collect, and I don’t want to collect much of anything. I have been loaning out books with the thought that I am fully OK with not getting them back.
And for music, I have started downloading albums instead of buying CDs, because my CD collection weighs too much. My entire music collection is housed on the same hard-drives that I write my blog on. I can grab this laptop, my passport, my credit card, and a few photo albums and be gone in an instant….if I was so inclined to do that.
The other part of the reason why I haven’t ever gotten into vinyl was just that I sort of feel like I missed a boat somewhere along the line. My parents were never big music fans. Growing up, I think there were all of 25 albums in the house. And less than a dozen 8-tracks. In contrast, I have 376 albums on my computer. So, I think a lot of people who collect vinyl are people whose parents had cool collections. I’ve heard lots of my friends talk about inheriting their folks’ records. I just never was introduced to it, and I never had an in.
However, at work, there’s a ton of my friends who are collectors. And they’re all at work talking about their new finds. Truthfully, most of them try to discourage anyone else from picking up the habit.
Now, I don’t know that I’m going to become a record collector. The whole experience was kind of intimidating, to be perfectly honest. I don’t know anything about records, or what any of them are worth. I don’t really have any idea what kind of cool stuff is out there and what’s random and rare. So, today I was just hoping something would hop out at me that I must have. That didn’t happen. But it’s an interesting new thing that I’m checking out, and you never know what might happen. I could get totally swept up in this.
But there’s something to the flipside…. I hear something on Pandora, and I want to check out, I look on Amazon, and hear more of it, and if I want it real bad, I can download it and have it in my collection in moments. I guess i’ve become spoiled in that regard. If there was something that I wanted on vinyl, best case scenario, I’d order it and have it shipped to me. I guess I’m just spoiled. Spoiled digital rotten.
Just sayin’
Peggy Lu Who's Just Sayin' 