Every once in a while, it’s important to stop thinking about work and chores and news and start thinking about what it would be like if we all had to ride giant tortoises to work or if all our food was available in pie form alone. How fast would these tortoises go? What would a spaghetti pie taste like? These are the things I think about when I’m supposed to figuring out my life.
Last night I wrote a post about watching the first episode of the Bachelorette and how it forces two contradicting aspects of myself against one another. I’m a sucker for pop culture institutions and an uber feminist. Unfortunately, these two things rarely overlap. Although we’re being gifted with more and more amazing feminist entertainment, the majority of pop culture is sending us messages that make the tiny Gloria Steinem inside my brain cringe.
Anyway, I wrote a whole post about it and then my blog deleted it. I think that means the internet hates women. Just kidding, we all already know the internet hates women. Even though I feel strongly about the need to recognize the contradictions we live with regard to our beliefs (and forgiving ourselves for them), I also feel strongly about getting in some quality relaxation before bedtime.
Instead, I will leave you with Dave’s response to me after I tried to explain a particular scene from a past Bachelor season. He looked me straight in the face and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I love you.” So that’s basically my life in one sentence.
We’ve been busy celebrating excellent, joyful events these past couple weeks, so I feel like I haven’t had a chance to relax. I’ve been using all my energy to cheer on and laugh with and hug tightly all the people I love. It’s wonderful and also very very exhausting. Plus I had to wear heels on Saturday, which I make a concerted effort to do no more than six times a year, so that was a big deal.
I’ve been running from place to place with my brain on overdrive, and it’s starting to putter out a bit. It feels like a tiny motorboat lazily floating back to shore because someone forgot to fuel it up. That someone was me, since I was feeding my brain cupcakes and pancakes and mostly just different kinds of cake. I actually got distracted thinking about napping on my drive home yesterday. I’m lying. That was just a nicer way to say I almost took a nap on my drive home. I am in desperate need of some peaceful rest.
Dave and I were thinking about what next weekend, one of our rare free ones, will hold. We made some really major plans. His first response to the brainstorming session was to look over at me and pronounce, “We’re gonna be home for so long. We can make so much soup.” We like to think big and we always go hard. You’d think you could make soup any time, but no, not me. Whenever I make soup, I make it for an army. I think it’s cause it’s mostly water. Also, I’m trying to recruit an army of well-fed, ladle-wielding soup lovers to take over the Seven Kingdoms.
I really wanted to write a nice post about how great it is to achieve a goal toward which you’ve been working hard, but I spent all night making virtual soup. I hadn’t realized I needed to be the greatest soup distributor in the universe, but once I started down the path, I knew it was the right fit. So there’s gotta be a lesson in that.
In this new game I was playing, you have to wander around strange and new planets, colonizing them with your soup factories and warding off rival alien soup thieves. It’s a little stressful because you have to carry mushrooms around an oxygen-deprived landscape, but it’s also meditative, because you get to simply carry mushrooms around an oxygen-deprived landscape.
It just goes to show you that you have to accept opportunities as they come. I didn’t set out last night to become the market leader in soup sales across the galaxy, but I’ve earned it and now it’s both a gift and a burden I must carry.
I know those of you who read my post last Friday were waiting with bated breath to see if I would make it back to civilization alive. I did. And here I am.
We had a few moments of near-maiming in the haunted house, but nothing I couldn’t manage. I think the ghost-sisters were out of practice, since it’s just the beginning of haunting season for them. They still put in a relatively good effort.
First, I stepped on a nail that was sticking up from a stair and almost fell down the steps from the shock. Then I misjudged the bottom step late at night and almost fell up them. The stairs were definitely a big source of danger, but they didn’t take me down—literally or figuratively. That meant I was healthy enough to almost drown from a chemical coma in the hot tub (which did exist!).
Most dangerously, the timer on the gas fireplace in my bedroom was broken. At least that’s what someone less tuned in to the haunting would think. I know the ghost-sisters just wanted to set the room on fire while I was sleeping. Luckily, Dave outsmarted them and turned it off while I was cluelessly dozing away.
I’d deem this weekend a success, since I ate a lot of snacks, wore my swimsuit, and laughed at my friends’ jokes. Plus, bettering a pair of ghosts is an accomplishment all on its own.
I tend to have strange dreams that stay in my mind long after I wake up. It’s probably because my brain never stops, which is a blessing when I need to come up with nicknames for river otters at the zoo and a curse when I am sitting in a low-key yoga class.
Last week’s dreams did not disappoint. A couple days ago, I woke up at 5am and said to Dave, “You can swim without arms if you have to.” He just said, “What are you talking about?” I repeated myself and then went back to sleep. I also had a dream where I needed to swim through very shallow water over the bones of a thousand long-dead tiny sharks. It was scary, but not nearly as terrifying as it sounds. I was mostly concerned about my belly rubbing against the jagged skeletons. Yesterday morning, I woke up and asked Dave, “Have you ever ridden on a metro car that turned into a boat?” He responded by standing up, announcing, “Good morning, metro riders. I’ll be your captain today,” and tipping his imaginary captain’s hat to me. I responded by throwing the sheets over my head.
I’m beginning to see an aquatic pattern here. It makes sense. Summer is on its way, which means I’ll be wishing I’m at a lake for the next 4-6 months. If I dream about mermen tonight, I’ll let you guys know.
It’s Monday—the start of a brand new week. An arbitrary division of time, but that doesn’t make it any less real. Lucky for all of us, these weeks just keep on coming. Every time one disappears, another arrives. They’re kinda like cockroaches and glitter in that way. Hopefully more like glitter. Besides the fact that glitter can get in your eye and scratch your cornea, so it’s not really a safe craft supply. (At least, this is what my grandfather told me as a child. I’m not sure if it’s true, but the warning worked, because I always avert my eyes when looking at extra-festive birthday cards.)
If last week didn’t treat you so great, shed it the way a snake slips out of its skin. You think a snake cares about that paper-thin remnant it leaves behind? No, it’s moving on to the rest of its life. It’s setting out to scare someone in a field of tall grass or find a little mouse to eat. There’s not much reason to be envious of a snake, but I think they’ve got us beat in the moving-on moments of life. So take all of last week, strap it on a tiny worry-raft like a Viking funeral director, and let it float away. Maybe don’t try to catch it on fire with a lit arrow though, because it’s important to know these weeks exist and are out there somewhere in the world.
If last week was wonderful, remember what it gave you and put it on a safe shelf in your mind. You can look at it to remind you that sometimes life is amazing. Fill your good-week jar with the people that smiled at you and the warm cookies you ate straight out of the oven and the rays of light that shone onto your desk that one beautiful afternoon. Tie it up with a ribbon made of that compliment you got from a long-lost friend. Set it on your shelf and remember where it is, because in a few weeks or months or years, you might need it.
Today is Monday and its going to be great. Or maybe it will be less then great. But, either way, we’re going to get another one soon enough.
What do people in LA talk about on the elevator, since the weather is always the same?
I’ve had a lot of time to think about this really important question, since I ride the elevator at work and am constantly being asked about the weather. Based on my one short trip to the city years ago and a lot of reality television, this is what I think small talk consists of in LA:
- a recent pilates-yoga-meditation-tai chi class on the beach
- how many kale juices each person drank that day
- which crystals will resolve a particular emotional ailment
- fusion cuisine in unsatisfying portions
- the weather always being the same
My one friend in LA will probably tell me they actually discuss astrophysics and world hunger while waiting for the little numbers to ding and the doors to slide open, but it’s likely she’s been brainwashed by Scientologists, so whatev.