Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

When you learn there's a baby that looks like a baby in your BFF on Facebook, it's safe to assume that your relationship status has officially changed to "friend."

Also, To Jeremy, Jason, Sushi, Deacon, I miss you.
Melissa and Suzanne, you were just wee babes, I'm sorry I never got to meet you.
Kyle Aaron Huff, I don't have anything left but sorrow for your family. I know that no matter what I feel, their confusion and anger and grief at what you did will always be greater. I pray that they find peace, and that when the next time comes around, you can get what you need with compassion, grace and beauty. I wish that I had met you before you broke, before you decided that there was nothing but pain in the world. I don't know that it would have changed anything. I wish my friends were still alive.

Life at home....

Him: I need to shower. I'm covered in invisible hospital cooties

Me: well if they ever become visible cooties, we're fucked

Him: we'll just have to train special attack rats to kill the giant cooties.

Me: You're just trying to get back into breeding sentient raccoons again, aren't you?

Him: they don't have to be sentient.

Me: have you ever tried to train a rat dear?

Him: No, but if we want to train them to do anything but fuck and escape it might not work.

Me: *facepalm*

Quote of the Day

"I find that as I get older, my brain requires as much stimulation as the rest of my body.

So, yes, when I say talk nerdy to me? That's fucking foreplay. Do it right."

Back in the bread line

My contract ended yesterday. Was going to go until June, but later that day I found out that the thing needs to be tweaked so the other thing can work and use the things we've been doing (does this violate my NDC?)
So I'm trying to get in gear around the house. I felt less lonely in a quiet cube farm because I could talk to people online. My house is empty. I like having people in it. I like it when people come over and just do their thing and chat while I clean. It makes it more fun. I used to do things like drunken house-cleaning but then I eventually forgot to get around to the second part.
------

It's a bit more under control at the moment. back and forth with the chatting and the getting things done seems to work. I know my brain is happier when I have less clutter, my house seems ot reflect my inner state, and the other way 'round.
Tomorrow I'll be updating my resume and availability with the temp agencies, applying for any jobs on my usual haunts and praying that something comes along before I have to deal with the dicks at unemployment for too long. I'm not working at the school this quarter for a few reasons, among them that the job costs me more than it made me last quarter. I have to pay back ~$600 from winter break because I had a "promise of the same work next quarter" and thus, though I'm making paid claims during the quarter as I work, when I'm not getting paid by the school I don't need to get paid by unemployment either, right? They can't seem to figure out how the jobs with education work, esp in the ad hoc grader/PT tutor department, so I'll just leave it for now. I need to look for something full time with weekends anyway.

I had something profound I was going to say on the matter. alas, all my give-a-shit has been sublimated into domesticity and there's none left to make with the pretty words.
I want a garden this year, with proper beds.
I want a clean shed and house without loads of extra baggage reminding me of all the things I've never gotten to.
I want my home to reflect the mindset I want to have .
I want to stop being paralyzed by the things that should/could be and live what is.
I want the stories in my hands to make it onto a page.

With both hands open.

I first heard the phrase "with both hands open" in the movie version of "The Joy Luck Club." Something about the stories of women struggling to survive in other countries through radical culture changes and then coming to this country to make a new life, only to see their children who never knew the old life scoff until it's almost too late tugs at my soul. Maybe it has to do with how I grew up, and how little people understand of things unless they happen to be members of the "hellish nightmare of childhood" club. We're not having jackets made. A few knowing remarks and an unspoken sense of relief that someone knows, not imagines or sympathizes but *knows* the true depths that cheeky hyperbole and flippant remarks really indicate.
In the film, one of the mothers is watching her daughter desiccate in a loveless marriage that bears too close a resemblance from the very thing she fled China to escape. The mother urges her daughter to leave this cold gray house and her cold, gray man and not to give herself over until she finds a man who loves her with both hands open.

This phrase resonated with me, and does to this day. I started with this idea before I'd actually seen the movie when I came ot the realization that I should not lend out books that I could not afford, financially or sentimentally to make a gift. This prevented me from getting cranky at having given out something precious without laying out clear terms and just expecting that the other party would naturally see things the way I do.

A good scientist cannot afford to be attached to outcomes.

I do consider myself a scientist, and not just because I like science and finding stuff out. in my hallucination of the world, the universe is a conscious entity, and it is learning about itself with every experience we have. I don't believe we are heading toward any predetermined goal, no heaven or hell, but that we are simply seeing what we can learn and where that takes us.

Part of my experiment is figuring out where I fit in all of this. I know that I'm here to interact with other humans, and here to be acted upon. I know that my experiences have given me a ceratin outlook on things, that I have tools and tricks for getting through life that can be helpful in a number of situations. I have, for as long as I can remember, stood up for my friends against greater odds than I probably should have, spoken for those who were too timid to speak for themselves, and finally stopped when I realized I was doing it to keep from noticing myself. When Middle School Me is focusing on her friend's step-father rape, the beatings pale in comparative importance. And yet I know I did make things better for others. I know I did help, and often by taking over at least part of the problem and going into 'stage manager' mode. Years later, I would acutally become a stage manager, and be damn good at it.

Now I'm an adult, and one of the most important cards in my deck is the "no rescuing" card. That doesn't mean no helping, it means that I can't whirl in and take over, that my bossy-pants have to stay in the closet as I let people do their thing. I still haven't figured out where this crosses the line into 'witholding'. See, I also believe that we were each put here with a certain deck, a certain set of gifts and views and words that others are here to bounce off of and benefit from. I believe that if we try to be less than we are, if we let guilt or shame or doubt or fear make us smaller, then the people we encounter who are here for the "full delta experience" are not getting it. And that is a disservice to them. And I also believe that we are all exactly where we are supposed to be at the time we are supposed to be there, and that if things should have happened any other way they would have.

So am I supposed to help or not? Do I go with what I know and what feels right, or with what I think is the right thing to do? Do I let them flounder and wait to ask for my help? How can they ask if they don't know what I have to offer? It might surprise you to learn that I've grown rather accustomed to having one or both boots jammed firmly in my mouth, and just set a place for awkward moments at the table, because they're going to stop by anyway. Much like I came to terms long ago with the fact that I am Newton's bitch, I also surrender to the fact that I'm going to fuck up more times than I can count in life, and the best I can do is try to learn from it and do better next time.

And now we return to the title theme. The line I walk now is an attempt to give what I have to offer without trying to hold on to the outcome. I think this is the best I can do at the moment, and sometimes....often times it feels like it's not enough or I've done something I oughtn't. I have to trust that I'm not that big. That I have influence and sway, but that everyone I encounter has their own ship, their own guide and their own agency to make their life go the way they need to.

I have to give what I have to give with both hands open, for the greatest good of all involved, and trust that the thing that keeps me out of the dark places is strong enough to help us all.

No Context Theatre Presents:

A lament for my Pony

Oh God of infinite wisdom and mercy
who made the heaven and the earth
and filled it with adorable
and delicious
creatures of meat and hair.

I question not your actions,
for surely, they are right
I question not your methods,
for surely, they have meaning
I question not your intent,
for surely, you are loving

I know that I shall live, as we all do,
and every living thing under the sun
to the existence of the very rocks and stars
Only as long as we amuse you.
But in this life, brief and pointless as it might be,
but for worshiping you,
Why did you let my pony die?

My one earthly joy
that brought me closer to peace
My one corporeal friend
whose warmth and companionship reminded me of you
My one mode of transport
as walking is difficult with this bum leg since my last pony exploded but,
I'm sure you had a good reason for that too.

You do things I cannot understand
For my mind could not encompass your meaning
The ways of the world are a mystery to me
and I must live in wonder
I must trust that you will care for me always
for you know me
You know my weakness, my frailty, my affinity for hyperbole.

People were jealous of my pony
her eyes a sparkling brook at twilight
her hair a field of ripe grainstalks
her temperment gentle as the first of June
Her strength as the storms of September

Please smite my enemies who caused her pain
who fed her too much candy
who caused her to run amuck
who left the gate open
who let her get away

I know that you have a plan for me
and a plan for them
Let me be around to see it
that I may know that you are mighty and just

I miss my pony terribly
my cart is very heavy
I know that you will set things right
that you will ease my burdens and fill me with joy

And when you have answered my prayers I will profess
your love from the highest mountains
when wrongs have been righted I will shout
your justice in the village square
when my pleas have been heard I will sing
your mercy to the wicked and goodly
When you have made my life livable again I will declare
that my Lord has given me, a pony.

I'll take painful realizations for $200

Much of my anxiety is really hubris.


Yes, that's going to leave a mark.

And some days the "fuck you" cake has frosting.

Today I discovered that what was, isn't.

What could be, won't.

What I want, I can't.




For John.

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.
---Henry Scott Holland

Ninjas

Me: so, new topic. unicorns and puppies!

Not Me: And the BEAUTIFUL BABIES THEY CREATE.
(Setting aside the obvious inter-species sex difficulties.)

Me: that's where the power of SCIENCE! comes in if we can make glowing monkeys, we can make baby unicorns with big puppy dog feet and waggly tails and wet noses. and they stab you accidentaly when they come snuggle

N.M.: But, see, being unicorns, they can turn off the stabby when they come to snuggle someone that they love, and they turn it back on when attacking hippies, mimes, and Wall Street stock brokers. For instance.

Me: no big thing. in fact, it's a feature. teaches the kids to be quick.
oh
my
god.
ok, so my brother was going into this pet store right? and as he's approaching the door there's this kid, like 4-5, who's standing just inside the automatic doors.
just standing there.
still.
until they forget that he's there, and close
*cleek* kid locks the door.
his mom is like "OHMYGOD I'm so sorry blah blah"
B is like "dude....that's genius, your kid's a Ninja!

N.M.: *snort

Me: then... as B is looking at rodents and they have that island of cages, the kid is tearing ass around the store, speeds round the corner and stops MILIMETRES from my brothers knee....looks up, takes off.....
mom again "OMG I'm so sorry etc."
B, "umm....my knee would have totally won that, and two, your kid has got lightening reflexes.
he totally wanted to be like, "when your child is 6, bring him to the stairs at the foot of the mountain that I might teach him the ways of the Ninja"


N.M.: I dunno. I might have been a little upset, but good for your brother for being Zen.

Me: no...dude.....you CAN'T be pissed at that. The small person figured out the auto door and how to hack it. that's AWESOME!
He shows problem solving and reasoning skill beyond his years, and the knack to use them for evil.
one of us, one of us

N.M.: Except that, in his zeal to hack the door, he's preventing me from smoothly performing my daily tasks.
I'd initially be upset.
Is all I'm saying.

Me: if smoothly performing your daily tasks prevents you from seeing and appreciating brief moments of awesome.....your daily tasks are totally running
your life
is all I'm saying


The End

It's almost like real life.

My cell phone wakes me up. I hit snooze a few times and check for messages. Eventually I get out of bed, stumble into the rainbox, dry off, put clothes on and apply minerals, pigments and pastes to make my face look like something else.

I go to the bus, tap my card, electrons and radio waves turn into permission. I get to work, take the pills that make me sit in my chair and pretend to be interested in the button mashing that occupies the next 8-8.5 hours of my day. I drink out of a cup so I have to take breaks to get more water so my legs don't forget they exist. I poke the buttons on my phone to send messages to people whose faces I would rather see, but I have to get by with their disembodied thoughts.

I turn the boxes full of information from people I'll never meet and places I'm not at off, push in my chair made of dinosaurs that supports this awkward phase of being, and walk back out to the bus stop. Sometimes I walk two miles to my second bus stop. it's a lovely walk along the water, I feel breeze, smell water and dirt, see sky and people doing things pass me by and sometimes even see me. On my walks I feel real. When I don't have 40 minutes, or energy, I take both buses, shuffling and swaying along with the others like pieces on a chess board with no winner.
tap the card, electrons and radio waves. The wages for my button mashing get zapped into my designated number, written on my piece of plastic.

I get home, turn my smaller box of unseen people and places on, punch up the configuration of on and off that signals the place out there somewhere to bring me food, because I can't focus enough to cook. I have to hit the keys of my idea box to make an 6-10 pattern than explains a thing to a professor I will never meet, who lives a theoretical life in some other state. I give them the numbers, they transfer other numbers across the network of encrypted mathematics and eventually a stranger comes to my door with a bag full of protein, carbohydrates, fats and chemicals made, not under sunshine but fluorescent lights, not in earth but in vats and pipes and tubes.

I sit on my secondhand couch from a warehouse of identical, practical and fleeting goods next to my partner as we both live in our laptops, the TV playing to pretend humans are talking while we work and eat and poke around until I can't keep my eyes open, I stumble back to the bedroom on my foam mattress and my pillow full of plastic thread, plug in my phone, check my alarm, and wonder why I cannot get to sleep....