Today is definitely one of those days where I'm more poo than wife.
I have zero energy. Actually, more like negative amounts of energy. Nothing; all of my reserves are tapped. I'm exhausted, and all I want to do is sleep. When I get like this, everything goes out the window--chores, creativity, exercising, socializing. What energy I have is concentrated on: being up on time, bathing, getting to work, doing a good job, being nice to Himself, scooping kitty litter. Really. That's all I'm good for right now.
And this depresses me.
It's just that this nasty, insidious thought lurks at the back of my head: what's the point?
Why bother to exercise every day? You have to keep doing it, you don't really enjoy it. Why bother to clean the house? It just gets dirty again and you're usually the one who has to clean it and that takes away from the time you could be spending doing crafting or writing. But what's the point in that, either? Nothing you make is original. And what's the point in getting up, going to work, running errands? There's always more work, more errands, always in this infernal heat and sunshine.
No one likes whining in the blogosphere. It's so...well, bourgeois. This is all I have to fuss about, the dissipated ennui that comes along with a solid middle class existence where the worst problems I encounter are not forging for nuts and berries and game, or avoiding marauding bands of rapists and pillagers, or worrying about religious persecution, but rather, high cholesterol, budget cuts, the desert weather, and my painful cracked toenail. No, no one likes whining. And I try not to do a whole bunch of it, especially here. But there's no point in being anything other than authentic, and right now, I feel authentically crappy.
But at least I'm present.
And tomorrow's another day.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Creatin' Ain't Easy
Here's another dirty little secret of mine:
I don't like to try new things.
My sisters Thing One and Li'l Odie have this same problem. We've discussed this at some length and have come to the determination that if we want to learn some new task, we don't want to actually go through the learning process. We want to be GOOD at it as soon as we try our hand at it. We don't like to fail; we don't like the practice runs and the messy screw-ups. We're scared of the crap that will get produced in the learning period.
_______________________________________________________________
On a side note, about 6 weeks ago I went to my first cropping meet-up. The hostess was lovely and gracious and all things awesome, and when she showed us her scrapping space, she apologized for the mess, but added, "But you know...creativity isn't clean."
______________________________________________________________
Then, right after Himself and I got back from the weddingmoon, I cleaned the kitchen. And then proceeded to cook in the kitchen. As I was cooking, I was talking on the phone with Thing One (talking on the phone when making dinner? this might be why my cooking sucks. Note to self: investigate this hypothesis) and quietly bitching about how the kitchen was getting dirty all over again. Thing One, an experienced and talented cook, simply said in the half-amused, half-exasperated tone she has perfected after 30 years of dealing with her neurotic baby sister, "Well, Sassy, if you use the kitchen...it's going to get dirty."
______________________________________________________________
Now, to tie those two little stories back into my silly little revelation...I like to create. I am getting a total charge from all these ideas percolating in my little Gemini brain. I haven't got a bloody clue what I'm doing, but I like to create, dammit. And creating means learning, trying, failing, making messes (often the latter two are one and the same)...I'm not going to sustain this creative bliss if I'm not willing to get past the fear of sucking. Maybe I'll always suck at whatever I try my hand at...but at least I'll have a creative high while I'm sucking!
I guess one has to be bad at something, or at least unskilled, before one can get good at something, especially if there is not an innate talent or originality in the creator. But I am willing to make messes, I am willing to try, I am willing to fail, and even fail publicly: I am willing to blog about this process.
Here's one of the projects I've tried my hand at; it's my first piece of jewelry.
It's just a dinky pair of earrings, but I will give them to my friend Gail with the little Mexican flower twisted around them. It just may be a thank-you for her taking care of a friend (NOT me, oh no, why would you think that? *cough cough*) who may have had too much to drink last night.
Anyway. Moving along. I think I've had all the creativity I can take for one evening. Happy Sunday!
I don't like to try new things.
My sisters Thing One and Li'l Odie have this same problem. We've discussed this at some length and have come to the determination that if we want to learn some new task, we don't want to actually go through the learning process. We want to be GOOD at it as soon as we try our hand at it. We don't like to fail; we don't like the practice runs and the messy screw-ups. We're scared of the crap that will get produced in the learning period.
_______________________________________________________________
On a side note, about 6 weeks ago I went to my first cropping meet-up. The hostess was lovely and gracious and all things awesome, and when she showed us her scrapping space, she apologized for the mess, but added, "But you know...creativity isn't clean."
______________________________________________________________
Then, right after Himself and I got back from the weddingmoon, I cleaned the kitchen. And then proceeded to cook in the kitchen. As I was cooking, I was talking on the phone with Thing One (talking on the phone when making dinner? this might be why my cooking sucks. Note to self: investigate this hypothesis) and quietly bitching about how the kitchen was getting dirty all over again. Thing One, an experienced and talented cook, simply said in the half-amused, half-exasperated tone she has perfected after 30 years of dealing with her neurotic baby sister, "Well, Sassy, if you use the kitchen...it's going to get dirty."
______________________________________________________________
Now, to tie those two little stories back into my silly little revelation...I like to create. I am getting a total charge from all these ideas percolating in my little Gemini brain. I haven't got a bloody clue what I'm doing, but I like to create, dammit. And creating means learning, trying, failing, making messes (often the latter two are one and the same)...I'm not going to sustain this creative bliss if I'm not willing to get past the fear of sucking. Maybe I'll always suck at whatever I try my hand at...but at least I'll have a creative high while I'm sucking!
I guess one has to be bad at something, or at least unskilled, before one can get good at something, especially if there is not an innate talent or originality in the creator. But I am willing to make messes, I am willing to try, I am willing to fail, and even fail publicly: I am willing to blog about this process.
Here's one of the projects I've tried my hand at; it's my first piece of jewelry.
It's just a dinky pair of earrings, but I will give them to my friend Gail with the little Mexican flower twisted around them. It just may be a thank-you for her taking care of a friend (NOT me, oh no, why would you think that? *cough cough*) who may have had too much to drink last night.
Anyway. Moving along. I think I've had all the creativity I can take for one evening. Happy Sunday!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Making on Mondays, A Little Late: My First Craft Project!
It is time.
Enough living in shame. Enough denial. It's time I admit something.
I have...a sickness. Perhaps affliction is a better word. And I thought I was the only one who had it. I thought I was all alone.
And then, by sheer happenstance, I discovered that others have this problem, too. These women were brave enough to admit it, and they gave me the courage to bring it out into the light. No more hiding. No more silence.
I...I have Craft ADD.
Char, over at Crap I've Made, came out of the craft closet about this sickness. Being all new to this crafty shit and all, I didn't realize that I would become so swamped, so quickly, by so many great exciting creative ideas. And not just about crafts, but art and writing, too. What's worse, I'm a Gemini, and so even if I were not predisposed to being fickle and inattentive, years of people saying "Oh! You fickle Geminis!" certainly rendered me thus. So for the past six weeks, my attention, time, and bank account have been pulled into about 35 different crafty creative directions. I felt frustrated and overwhelmed as much as I felt charged and excited. I thought, "Geez, how am I ever going to get any one project done? I'm an EPIC FAIL before I ever got started."
But Char acknowledges it--the inability to finish a project, the multiple projects she has going at once, and of course, the overwhelming compulsion to swing by the local craft store.
Thank god I'm not alone.
But I am going to make a concerted effort to nip this affliction in the bud. Which is why I present to you, Dear Reader, my first project, The Gimpy Crafter's Goal Board:
(And my messy craft desk)
The idea is simple. The current creative projects are written down and clipped to the board. Evert time I finish a project, a space will become available. I will reach into my stash of ideas that I've written down, blindly grab an idea, and add it to the board. Every time I find a creative idea (or come up with one) that I want to try, I will write it down on a piece of paper and throw it into the stash. Until I pull it out, I will not allow myself to think about it again. I will only focus on the ones that are on the board.
This little project was essentially a small spin-off from the Menu Planning board project that I found on the All Things Beautiful blog. I basically zoomed out to the Dollar Store, picked up a whole bunch of their cheap corkboards, took some Modge Podge, acrylic paint, ribbon, scrapbook paper, decorative punches, and a couple of pretty stickers and went to town.
I used jewel tones (teal, purple, fuschia) because I absolutely love them and I don't care if they are a hideous combination because it's my durned goal board, kthxbye!
So, that's my first project! It got the creative juices flowing, and hopefully will help me curb my...compulsion...too!
Enough living in shame. Enough denial. It's time I admit something.
I have...a sickness. Perhaps affliction is a better word. And I thought I was the only one who had it. I thought I was all alone.
And then, by sheer happenstance, I discovered that others have this problem, too. These women were brave enough to admit it, and they gave me the courage to bring it out into the light. No more hiding. No more silence.
I...I have Craft ADD.
Char, over at Crap I've Made, came out of the craft closet about this sickness. Being all new to this crafty shit and all, I didn't realize that I would become so swamped, so quickly, by so many great exciting creative ideas. And not just about crafts, but art and writing, too. What's worse, I'm a Gemini, and so even if I were not predisposed to being fickle and inattentive, years of people saying "Oh! You fickle Geminis!" certainly rendered me thus. So for the past six weeks, my attention, time, and bank account have been pulled into about 35 different crafty creative directions. I felt frustrated and overwhelmed as much as I felt charged and excited. I thought, "Geez, how am I ever going to get any one project done? I'm an EPIC FAIL before I ever got started."
But Char acknowledges it--the inability to finish a project, the multiple projects she has going at once, and of course, the overwhelming compulsion to swing by the local craft store.
Thank god I'm not alone.
But I am going to make a concerted effort to nip this affliction in the bud. Which is why I present to you, Dear Reader, my first project, The Gimpy Crafter's Goal Board:
(And my messy craft desk)
The idea is simple. The current creative projects are written down and clipped to the board. Evert time I finish a project, a space will become available. I will reach into my stash of ideas that I've written down, blindly grab an idea, and add it to the board. Every time I find a creative idea (or come up with one) that I want to try, I will write it down on a piece of paper and throw it into the stash. Until I pull it out, I will not allow myself to think about it again. I will only focus on the ones that are on the board.
This little project was essentially a small spin-off from the Menu Planning board project that I found on the All Things Beautiful blog. I basically zoomed out to the Dollar Store, picked up a whole bunch of their cheap corkboards, took some Modge Podge, acrylic paint, ribbon, scrapbook paper, decorative punches, and a couple of pretty stickers and went to town.
I used jewel tones (teal, purple, fuschia) because I absolutely love them and I don't care if they are a hideous combination because it's my durned goal board, kthxbye!
So, that's my first project! It got the creative juices flowing, and hopefully will help me curb my...compulsion...too!
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Computer is Ill, I am keeping vigil...
...Since the little laptop decided to stop working, I will be on hiatus for a few days, as I don't like posting at work. But in the meantime, please console yourselves by entering
THE BEST BEAD GIVEAWAY EVER!!!
Check out this lovely giveaway here at Denise Yezbak Moore's blog!
See you in a few days!
THE BEST BEAD GIVEAWAY EVER!!!
Check out this lovely giveaway here at Denise Yezbak Moore's blog!
See you in a few days!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Acorns and Trees
Tonight, while buzzed on a gin gimlet (okay, two) I was scrolling through my Google Reader. It's the night before Father's Day, and in my collection of Mommy/Homemaker Blogs, that's a BIG DEAL (who knew?). A lot of ladies are blogging about Father's Day crafty gift ideas, and more power to them. I should, in fact, do something for my husband Himself. He's a dad, twice over. And I will call my grandfather, and email my ex-stepfather, and call my ex-partner, the beloved Mr. Indiana, who is a fairly new father.
But that's all.
You might notice the factor missing from this equation: my biological father.
In recent years, when referring to him, I've taken to referring to him by his Christian name.
Jim.
Not Dad.
He and my mother divorced when I was very young, like 6 months old or so. He was not consistently present when I was growing up, and from years 9-14, he was not present at all. That he became a presence in my life from that point on, I owe to his father, my fraternal grandfather. He engineered a reunion, and for years, my father and I stayed in touch. He became involved, more or less. Certainly emotionally, more or less financially. I have to give credit where it's due: he helped fund my summer in England when I was 19, and he made my first year of grad school a little bit easier. But he also gave my maternal grandparents a lot of grief when they asked if he would be helping out with my college tuition, as they were. I still remember how upset they were--Mawga and Boppa never repeated whatever he said to them, but the look in their eyes was enough.
The time came, almost four years ago, when my father decided he no longer approved of me. He thought I was immature, selfish, disrespectful, ungrateful, insolent...and who knows? Maybe I was. Maybe I am. Probably I am. But it's worth noting that he "cancelled his subscription" (his words, not mine), and since he did that (and also, before) no one else has laid those accusations at my doorstep. He sent me a very curt card, cutting off communication, and his wife my stepmother did as well. And I've not heard from him since.
And I must say, life is a little bit easier.
He doesn't like me, Jim doesn't. He doesn't approve of the person that I've become. And you know what? That's okay. I'm the one who has to live inside my own head and wake up and go to sleep with myself every day, and you know what? I like the person I have become. More or less.
Anyway, I've been reading all these "Yay! Father's Day" posts, and it's a little foreign to me. And then I encountered one where the author made the remark about the how the "apple doesn't fall far from the tree"--all of us are a product of our parents.
And I began to ruminate.
If that was the case, that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, considering my parents, I'm screwed. If that's the case, I have my father's assholish, selfish mannerisms, his belligerence and skill at brow-beating, his coldness. If that's the case, I have my mother's hoarding tendencies, her slightly vindictive streak, her foul mouth, her particular brand of illogic, her self-survival instincts which trumps everything, even filial and maternal duty.
But then I stopped with the negative and asked myself--why do I only have to have inherited the bad? If the apple stayed close to the tree, couldn't it also have been an apple which had the flavorful juices of my father's artistic talent and creativity, his sense of adventure, his sometimes-spot-on logic? Couldn't it also have been an apple which had the nutrition of my mother'sunfailingly unconditional love, her sharp but true sense of humor, her stringent honesty with her own failings?
We are the sum of our parents, and so much more. We have their failings and their strengths, and remarkable qualities and weaknesses that are unique to us. And in the absence of a loving and supportive biological father, that is what I will celebrate this Father's Day.
But that's all.
You might notice the factor missing from this equation: my biological father.
In recent years, when referring to him, I've taken to referring to him by his Christian name.
Jim.
Not Dad.
He and my mother divorced when I was very young, like 6 months old or so. He was not consistently present when I was growing up, and from years 9-14, he was not present at all. That he became a presence in my life from that point on, I owe to his father, my fraternal grandfather. He engineered a reunion, and for years, my father and I stayed in touch. He became involved, more or less. Certainly emotionally, more or less financially. I have to give credit where it's due: he helped fund my summer in England when I was 19, and he made my first year of grad school a little bit easier. But he also gave my maternal grandparents a lot of grief when they asked if he would be helping out with my college tuition, as they were. I still remember how upset they were--Mawga and Boppa never repeated whatever he said to them, but the look in their eyes was enough.
The time came, almost four years ago, when my father decided he no longer approved of me. He thought I was immature, selfish, disrespectful, ungrateful, insolent...and who knows? Maybe I was. Maybe I am. Probably I am. But it's worth noting that he "cancelled his subscription" (his words, not mine), and since he did that (and also, before) no one else has laid those accusations at my doorstep. He sent me a very curt card, cutting off communication, and his wife my stepmother did as well. And I've not heard from him since.
And I must say, life is a little bit easier.
He doesn't like me, Jim doesn't. He doesn't approve of the person that I've become. And you know what? That's okay. I'm the one who has to live inside my own head and wake up and go to sleep with myself every day, and you know what? I like the person I have become. More or less.
Anyway, I've been reading all these "Yay! Father's Day" posts, and it's a little foreign to me. And then I encountered one where the author made the remark about the how the "apple doesn't fall far from the tree"--all of us are a product of our parents.
And I began to ruminate.
If that was the case, that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, considering my parents, I'm screwed. If that's the case, I have my father's assholish, selfish mannerisms, his belligerence and skill at brow-beating, his coldness. If that's the case, I have my mother's hoarding tendencies, her slightly vindictive streak, her foul mouth, her particular brand of illogic, her self-survival instincts which trumps everything, even filial and maternal duty.
But then I stopped with the negative and asked myself--why do I only have to have inherited the bad? If the apple stayed close to the tree, couldn't it also have been an apple which had the flavorful juices of my father's artistic talent and creativity, his sense of adventure, his sometimes-spot-on logic? Couldn't it also have been an apple which had the nutrition of my mother'sunfailingly unconditional love, her sharp but true sense of humor, her stringent honesty with her own failings?
We are the sum of our parents, and so much more. We have their failings and their strengths, and remarkable qualities and weaknesses that are unique to us. And in the absence of a loving and supportive biological father, that is what I will celebrate this Father's Day.
Satisfied on Saturday: Happiness Is...
On this Saturday evening, happiness is composed of several things:
1. Not once, during this entire day, did I have to set out in the wicked desert heat.
2. (So far) Making good on my promise to use the exercise bike every day
3. Cleaning and organizing the craft studio
(Sadly, these pictures were taken AFTER I organized the Crap--er, Craft Studio)
(The base of operations, kinda. That sounds much better than "where I d-ck around on the computer.")
(My sister, Thing One, will recognize some of the books in the bookcase. Lordy knows she helped me pack up enough of them throughout the years. Sadly, they've only spawned and multiplied since she last saw them.)
And the fourth and final definition of happiness on a Saturday night is...
4.) A lovely, strong gin gimlet in one of my martini glasses after I am done organizing the Craft Studio
(Maybe I should have made it PRIOR to the organization project!)
Tomorrow we're escaping the desert heat and caravaning down to the beaches of San Diego. There, despite my girly-girl ways, you will find me boogie-boarding in the surprisingly chilly 70-degree waters. And then...a big ol' International Film Fest is going to take up all of the time and energy of Himself this week, so this is his last period of fun and relaxation before all the movie industry divas and diva-wannabes descend upon the desert.
Makes my line of work seem downright stress-free in comparison! Maybe I'll be more wife than poo this week and cook some dinner and bring it to his work.
Happy Saturday!
1. Not once, during this entire day, did I have to set out in the wicked desert heat.
2. (So far) Making good on my promise to use the exercise bike every day
3. Cleaning and organizing the craft studio
(Sadly, these pictures were taken AFTER I organized the Crap--er, Craft Studio)
(The base of operations, kinda. That sounds much better than "where I d-ck around on the computer.")
(My sister, Thing One, will recognize some of the books in the bookcase. Lordy knows she helped me pack up enough of them throughout the years. Sadly, they've only spawned and multiplied since she last saw them.)
And the fourth and final definition of happiness on a Saturday night is...
4.) A lovely, strong gin gimlet in one of my martini glasses after I am done organizing the Craft Studio
(Maybe I should have made it PRIOR to the organization project!)
Tomorrow we're escaping the desert heat and caravaning down to the beaches of San Diego. There, despite my girly-girl ways, you will find me boogie-boarding in the surprisingly chilly 70-degree waters. And then...a big ol' International Film Fest is going to take up all of the time and energy of Himself this week, so this is his last period of fun and relaxation before all the movie industry divas and diva-wannabes descend upon the desert.
Makes my line of work seem downright stress-free in comparison! Maybe I'll be more wife than poo this week and cook some dinner and bring it to his work.
Happy Saturday!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Five on Friday: The Freaky Fabulous Life of an Un-California girl (Along With Thoughts on Thursday: Living the Life of Someone Else's Dreams)
A little bit of photography detailing the freaky and fabulous things that can be found in the deserts of Southern California.
The tram that takes you from the 100-degree desert to the 65-degree mountaintop in 15 minutes:
The odd things people think it's acceptable do to their undersized dogs:
(This poor little guy does not belong to me, by the way)
The view where I work:
The sun-drenched beach trips:
The patriotic Drag Queen Shows:
So, early Thursday morning (like, early early) I had one of my occasional epiphanies.
Himself and I have this dream...not too long ago, we hatched this plan to someday (like, NO TIME soon) move to Asheville, NC. And it's a thought that's been taking root ever since, gaining nourishment from our bad days, our stressful days, my homesickness, Himself's desire for change. We're going to start looking at property there next year.
Already, I am trying to mentally prepare myself for the very far-off day in which we can make that transition. The latest preparations took the form of me doing a blogger search by location, looking for interesting bloggers who live in Asheville.
In my typical Gemini manner, I got fairly distracted very quickly. The blogs that I found weren't what I was looking for; didn't quite capture the fabulousness that must be felt when living in a place like Asheville, NC. Holy crap! I thought. These people live in Asheville, North Carolina, one of the most awesome places on Earth, and they can't even really depict their fabulous life in their blog. I could cheerfully strangle them right now.
And then it hit me--brutally, suddenly, and deservedly, as it usually does. I somehow had a moment of insight beyond my own little life and briefly wondered if somewhere in this country, some young girl is sitting here, daydreaming about a future fabulous life in Palm Springs, searching for blogs which really capture the life that she wants to have some day.
And here I am, epically failing to fulfill her desire.
So, can't promise anything, but Sassy's going to try to inject a little bit of Palm Springs funk into her blogging style. Can't hurt, right?
Oh! Bonus Shot:
The Liberal Pet Policies in Public Buildings:
The tram that takes you from the 100-degree desert to the 65-degree mountaintop in 15 minutes:
The odd things people think it's acceptable do to their undersized dogs:
(This poor little guy does not belong to me, by the way)
The view where I work:
The sun-drenched beach trips:
The patriotic Drag Queen Shows:
So, early Thursday morning (like, early early) I had one of my occasional epiphanies.
Himself and I have this dream...not too long ago, we hatched this plan to someday (like, NO TIME soon) move to Asheville, NC. And it's a thought that's been taking root ever since, gaining nourishment from our bad days, our stressful days, my homesickness, Himself's desire for change. We're going to start looking at property there next year.
Already, I am trying to mentally prepare myself for the very far-off day in which we can make that transition. The latest preparations took the form of me doing a blogger search by location, looking for interesting bloggers who live in Asheville.
In my typical Gemini manner, I got fairly distracted very quickly. The blogs that I found weren't what I was looking for; didn't quite capture the fabulousness that must be felt when living in a place like Asheville, NC. Holy crap! I thought. These people live in Asheville, North Carolina, one of the most awesome places on Earth, and they can't even really depict their fabulous life in their blog. I could cheerfully strangle them right now.
And then it hit me--brutally, suddenly, and deservedly, as it usually does. I somehow had a moment of insight beyond my own little life and briefly wondered if somewhere in this country, some young girl is sitting here, daydreaming about a future fabulous life in Palm Springs, searching for blogs which really capture the life that she wants to have some day.
And here I am, epically failing to fulfill her desire.
So, can't promise anything, but Sassy's going to try to inject a little bit of Palm Springs funk into her blogging style. Can't hurt, right?
Oh! Bonus Shot:
The Liberal Pet Policies in Public Buildings:
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