Category Archives: Thoughts

Me, ranting opinions on my opinions

Posted on by 19 comments

Ehhh, I don’t even think this counts as a poem. It’s just me venting again. It hurts to post! I should have a “hurts to post” category.

 

 

 

 

My own personality exhausts me.

I’ve had it up to here with myself.

I know all my tricks.

How can anyone give a shit what I’m saying?

Maybe I’m trying too hard.

No, that’s not right

Maybe I’m retrospecting too hard.

Blah blah blah all I have to offer are opinions

Ten day sale only! SO CHEAP SO FREE

If that doesn’t make you want them then try this on for size

Free baseball cap with my face stamped on it

Free t shirts also with my face

This one is of my cats, got a lot of merch related to that.

Merchandise. Mercenary. Merch. Merc.

Buy my shit

Take my shit free

What I’m selling

Is charisma

Long lasting brand

It’s guaranteed to smell up your living room

For a full six hours.

 

Haha… I have a Boring Complex

Is this why I write?

No… when I don’t write, this is the reason why

Because of my Boring Complex

This is why I write when I’m alone

This is why it’s hard to share my stuff

And the funny thing is I know I’m not boring

I’m super weird

But I still have this fear

Just like I know that the harness will catch my fall

But I’m still afraid to rock climb too high.

Phobias

Phobias are stupid.

There are so many things in life

Which are stupid.

 

I think I wore myself out yesterday trying to impress

I had my good poem posted and reposted and complimented and discussed

I was on my best behavior

I can be really good when I need to

But OH MY GOD I’m exhausted

New people, compliments, this and that

Let me put on my big fake face and say how I love their compliments

But I don’t love compliments

I am too crazy for that

I love them as people for making the compliments

I love their sweet intentions

I love that the poem touched them

But noooo compliments make me crazy

See? Look at me right now. Crazy.

 

I decided when I started this blog to be brutally honest

To practice who I am

My writer side which I always hid

My emotional side which frightens and confuses me

My opinionated side which risks being wrong

All the gooey parts.

 

So I got a few new followers

They’ve seen my magnum opus to date

I WILL disappoint

But if I’m not allowed to be a hack

The writing won’t be fun anymore.

 

Oh god I’m gonna make myself post this aren’t I.

Well, new followers. Consider yourself warned. Hopefully you enjoy the smell

 

 

 

Who We Respect

Posted on by 23 comments

Who is your hero? Who do you really respect? Family, friends, historical figures, celebrities, bloggers… me…

What quality is it about that person that you love? I guess most people I admire, is for their kindness and compassion.

When I think of people I respect, I imagine their qualities as miles beyond my own capacity.  There is no way I can match Audrey’s kindness, or dad’s generosity, or Jessica’s ability to draw someone out.

But this is the thing that I’ve noticed. Our heroes are who we are. The things that we love most about our heroes and try to emulate, are the things that we already are.

I feel very small when I try to imagine myself as extra generous, or kind, or approachable. I may not feel that I have achieved their level, but to an outsider it must be clear.

How can I back this up? Get this: people will compliment others on the things they want to be (and probably don’t realize that they already are). When they genuinely compliment someone, they probably already have that quality in spades. That is how they are able to recognize it in another.

For example, my sister Audrey will mention, with some despair, that she wishes she could be as kind and considerate to everyone as I am. But she always thinks to do the dishes and sweep the floor so our parents don’t have to, she is always the first to notice if someone says something cruel, she is the one that animals love. And she says she admires MY kindness, what a laugh, right?

Jessica has complimented me as being a self-assured, eye-catching woman who doesn’t give a shit. Of course, she is this very thing. She turns heads, she has no problem telling people off if they need it, and she is more empowered by her gender than restricted by it.

Dad always seems impressed at my communication skills, how I can spot a flaw in an argument. He thought I would make a good lawyer. Guess who I’ve never won an argument with.

Of course, there are moments when Audrey gets snippy, or Jessica has a crisis in confidence, or words fail Dad. I also have chinks in what I suppose to be my strengths. Nobody is perfect.

I think, when it comes to our personal values, we have higher standards for our own behavior. I am always trying to watch my tongue, because I have hurt people’s feelings before with unthinking, rough remarks. But maybe I am actually very good at not hurting people’s feelings. Maybe I just have such high standards for myself that when I mess up, I am devastated and feel I should redouble my efforts.

Just food for thought. You might not be as inadequate as you feel.

Journal – I don’t belong here

Posted on by 20 comments

I have Imposter Syndrome so bad today. I am not cut out for office work. I keep waiting for someone to notice.

I send emails with incorrect data, retract them, send them again. Leave stuff to the last minute. Oh look another typo on some vital spreadsheet. Sure I took care of that email yesterday… oh wait I’ve been neglecting them for three days why do I have no sense of time?? Basically I seem to get away with murder. Then a supervisor gives me a piece of candy and goes, “Thank you for your hard work!” and I’m like, “Oh they are so sweet, fuck I don’t belong here.” I feel like a horse in an aquarium. I’m waiting for someone to gently shoo me out of here. It’s exactly what happened to me at my last job, I got gently shooed out. They were like, “You are the nicest person but we need someone who will sacrifice their soul to this place, secretly put in extra hours, you know. Not you. We don’t want to fire you but it would be nice if you left.”

The funny thing is, I think I was better at that job than I am at this current one. But the current job, they care about their employees and try to make them feel valued, which has the strange reverse effect of giving the crazier ones Imposter Syndrome. What can you do?

I just need to go for a run. Everything is better when my blood sugar stabilizes. Until then, poetry is my only recourse.

 

I don’t belong here.

I watch everyone smile

and talk about the weather

like it really is fascinating.

Everyone seems so stable.

Everyone is caretaking dying people

Yes, you heard me right

and they still manage their lives pretty well

and their work gets done

and they fi gi===

Okay. I know this isn’t true.

I know that the one who is caretaking a dying person

Is stressed out of her mind.

And the other one

has withdrawn deep into himself.

I know that the really beautiful ones

who eat organic food out every day

and are probably in debt

and lie with the smiles on their faces.

And there are several here

who are just as crazy as me.

But it’s hard to talk myself out of my crazy.

I’m just as human as they are

They are as human as I am.

I’m very grateful to have a job.

I’m too grateful to have a job.

Dear god make the gratefulness stop

 

 

 

 

Spam Folder Rundown

Posted on by 9 comments

I realized I’ve been neglecting my Spam folder, and was pleased to discover a heap of nonsense messages. I can’t be the only person who finds spam, clickbait, etc, hilarious. Some of these messages were so confused I couldn’t even figure out what they wanted from me. Apparently I need a LOT of personalized handkerchiefs (I actually have a thing for handkerchiefs but I prefer to shop for them at places where they won’t steal my credit card number, thank you very much).

I also like clickbait. Scientifically engineered to trigger your curiosity. The perfect people-lure: curiosity killed the human. At the very least, curiosity slogged down the human’s computer with adware.

“Lose weight when this one weird trick!” Included with this intriguing caption is a picture of something confoundingly inapplicable to weight loss, like a hand holding a mysterious sea cucumbery seed pod, or a person shucking corn, or somebody slathering their toes with excessive gobs of Vaseline.

I am also fond of, “You won’t believe number 13!” The funny thing about this line is that it discredits the whole article, implying that number 13 is the only one worth reading, and even that isn’t going to be especially credible.

But I digress. Some of these comments take the element of mystery so far, I don’t even know what the hell they’re trying to say. I can tell they’re trying to flatter me but the English is an unnavigable maze.

“Its like you learn my thoughts! You seem to grasp a lot approximately this, like
you wrote the e-book in it or something. I feel that you just can do with some p.c.
to drive the message house a bit, but other than that, this is great blog.
A great read. I’ll definitely be back.”  *suspicious link*

If I were more politically correct I’d be a more effective writer? That might actually be good advice… should I be swearing less? This comment appeared on a repost by the way. I didn’t say a damn word, but I’m apparently such a master of that subject matter (namely nothing), I’m on equal footing with e-book authors. I’m honored and humbled to be included in that illustrious and exclusive crowd.

This one’s brilliant:

“An upright bicycle is not cardiovascular intensive. Exercise enthusiasts will consider the phenomenon of
a strength plateau. Purell hand sanitizer can really be a variety of sizes.” *suspicious link*

They covered so many bases, surely they must have hit a target somewhere? No?

How about this?

“Choose a topic in the neighborhood . very in-demand.
What advice does Leil offer for writers? “What you write has to be something which comes from the gut. Drink protein shake before exercise acquire enough vigour.”  *suspicious link*

They started off well but somehow it all keeps going back to physical fitness. If writing comes from the gut, it stands to reason that improving your gut health will improve your writing. Maybe if I drink more protein shakes I’ll be a better writer.  Who am I to argue with Leil?

This one’s actually cute:

“Garage floor tiles come in varied colors, designs,
and sizes. The dads can talk and make merry while barbecuing.
This creates a setting where people actually relate with each a few other.” *suspicious link*

I appreciate the adorable image of dads barbecuing and making merry. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to fill the garage with drunk dads and then light up a smokey grill in there, but maybe some people do it. That aside, it’s good to know that all the awkwardness and unrelatability between them will be fixed if I tile my garage floor.

I think this one is also trying to flatter me but it’s turned out deeply insulting:

“I simply needed to appreciate you once more. I’m not certain the things I could possibly have followed without these techniques contributed by you directly on such problem. Certainly was a traumatic dilemma in my position, however , finding out your specialized technique you processed that made me to jump for gladness. I’m happy for your help and then trust you find out what an amazing job your are getting into instructing the mediocre ones using your blog post. I am sure you haven’t got to know all of us.” *suspicious link*

I am truly impressed at this person’s ability to blather on without saying anything of substance. However, this was on my post Stupid Addictions, which was about being addicted to likes. It’s upsetting to imagine that this person was in a traumatic dilemma over being addicted to likes.

I guess my “specialized technique” to solve this traumatic dilemma was to put down my phone for the day. Please, please… don’t thank me. It’s my duty to instruct the mediocre ones. And you are correct, I certainly am too much of a dick to get to know all of you.

There you have it. Now we know a lot of things which we have never before dared to imagine.

Life without spam would be a safer life, but a less interesting one. Thank you spam.

At My Sister’s House

Posted on by 21 comments

For some reason my subconscious is full of dragons, and that’s all that seems to end up on my blog. But make no mistake, I love my life. I guess the following is closest to a journal entry.

 

8/14

At My Sister’s House

“Sarah’s here!” Three little voices sound off. “Sarah’s here, Sarah’s here!”

The dog comes bounding over with a smile. The kids run up to hug me, their enthusiasm just as pure.

The house is warm and comfortable. Sean keeps it clean; Jessica keeps it colorful. There is always something fragrant sauteing on the stove. On the counter are homemade pumpkin muffins, chocolate covered espresso beans, a bottle of wine.

As we cook, we make fun of her old and busted food processor. We laugh, giving it a hazing that a sentient being could not endure. She has little interest in technology; her kitchenaid mixer is the only food gadget that gets any respect. I ask her to taste my pie filling. She swipes a finger through and licks it. “More sugar,” she says. Of course she’s right.

The children pop by occasionally for hugs and samples. They’re young but these kids already know their way around a spice rack.

Friends file in. Every person brings a dish, and a story about their day. Each familiar face gives fresh warmth to my heart.

Two rules in this house: everyone gets a hug regardless of their comfort level, and they must taste everything at least once, regardless of their comfort level.

The people distract Jessica. She starts talking, gesturing, telling stories. She focuses her whole self on this, usually waving a spatula or fork instead of using it to stir. This is my time to shine: I prompt her for directions and finish up what she has started.

The craft beer and wine make everyone’s faces bright. Neighborhood kids wander through: “Did you get permission to be here? Use my phone, call your parents.” We shoo the dog out of the kitchen repeatedly, the children’s fingers must be extracted from the chocolate batter, the cat lays on the floor in the center of the chaos, unconcerned. And what a beautiful chaos it is.  We laugh until we cry. “Anybody want tea?” “Is something burning?” “Come see what we drew today!”

Usually the food gets prepared and consumed at different times, but this time, every dish is ready at once. Dishes pack the table: chocolate pie, angel food cake, roast vegetables, tacos, olive cheese toast, dip, salad, bread, cajun shrimp, cheese biscuits. We stare at the spread, impressed, unsure how to begin. “Anybody religious?” Jessica quips, hoping to give this gorgeous meal a proper sendoff. I propose a toast after our family tradition: “Good health and happiness, for the rest of our lives!” People circle the kitchen island, grab random beverages so they can join in, until everyone’s glass (bottle, cup) has tapped everyone else’s.

We eat until we can’t eat anymore. We laugh until we can eat again.

We finish our food on the porch in the evening summer air. There is a cage with two hairless rats out here; they are the subject of some snuggling and much ridicule. Careful not to pet the ball python after you pet the rats.

Things are quieting down. Guests leave. Everyone gets some leftovers to take home.

Sean and the kids put on YouTube. Jessica and I linger in the kitchen, clean up a bit, talk some more, mull over the events of the day. What were the best dishes, did that thing you cooked turn out like you expected, how is homeschooling coming along? We eventually join the TV crowd and work our way underneath the warm heap of animals and children, where we comfortably enjoy the company and let the kids show us what they’re most excited about.

At some point I must reluctantly extract myself from the couch, say my goodbyes, and drive home. But the warmth lingers in my bones. Deeper, even, than that.

« Older Entries Recent Entries »