Judgment

Everyone judges.  Everyone criticizes.  “Everyone Lies.”  That was told to me by a boy I knew in high school, a gothic Satanist who happened to have a Christian name, making it extremely ironic. (And before you go judging me for using the word ironic, since everyone seems to think it’s never used appropriately… go fuck yourself.)

I’ve been doing a lot of research on that whole procreating thing.  Before we were married, Hub told me he wanted children. We picked out some nice names, I dreamed about how many we would have and what their rooms would like and what activities I could do with them if they were interested (because I’m not about forcing anything I find enjoyable onto a child who doesn’t feel the same.)

Anyway, I was in heaven, figuratively speaking of course.  I found the perfect man, he loved me, I loved him, AND he wanted children.  After we married, he told me he changed his mind; he doesn’t want children.  Now, that doesn’t make him any less perfect (at least in my eyes, he’s perfect).  I’m not saying I’m in an unhappy marriage or that I love him any less or that I judge him for not wanting children.  I understand why people don’t want children.  I understand they want their freedom.  I love my freedom, too.  And there was a point in my life where I considered not having children (when I still thought Hub wanted them) because I thought I would miss my freedom, my finances that I would have to spend, etc.

I read some things about men who don’t want children.  It seems everyone takes a side.  People who want children claim people who don’t are selfish, and vice versa.  “How could you want a child?”  Argument:  “How could you NOT want a child?”

Let me just set the record straight:  Do whatever the fuck you want.  It’s not harming me if half the population doesn’t conceive.  I’m not going to be here when the human race goes extinct because everyone decided not to conceive, and frankly, maybe it’s better if we do because humans just plain suck.  And if I wasn’t clear before, this is all my personal opinion.

I respect other people’s opinions and choices as long as they don’t interfere with mine.  So now you’re probably wondering “But your husband’s choice not to have children DOES interfere with your wanting to have them.”  You are correct.  So what is the answer to this dilemma?  Well, not having children isn’t going to kill me.  I am not in any way “conforming” to his decision.  Of course I hope he changes his mind in the future when we are settled and have bought a house.  But if he doesn’t, oh well.  If I have a child, he might resent him.  He might not be a good father because he never wanted the child.  Why would I want to do that to the child?  Why would I want him to grow up with only one parent who loves him unconditionally?  If the situation were reversed, I wouldn’t want him forcing me to have a child.  And yes, I would probably resent the child.  Hey, I’m just being honest.

But alas, people still judge.  People without children (some of them) say that people with children do it to “have a carbon-copy of themselves” or to get tax breaks or whatever bullshit reason they can come up with.  First of all, and again, this is only the way I feel–I can’t speak for all the shitty parents who do it to conform to societal norms and gain status in their community or the picture of perfection they think they can achieve by popping out a baby–I don’t–I repeat, DON’T–want a carbon-copy of myself.  Gross.  I don’t even want to know what a male version of me would look like and I certainly don’t want a girl that looks like me.  And tax breaks?  Hey, that’s cool if I’m going to get them, but I would never have a baby simply to get some extra money back at the end of the year.

So why do I want a child?  I just do.  La Madre may feel she failed me in a lot of ways, and she may feel that she wasn’t a good mother, but she loved me to death and I know that.  I want my child to feel the same.

I don’t party.  I don’t go out a lot.  I don’t have any friends.  (Well, I have Bud, but that’s it.)  I don’t like going out, actually.  I’ve had my fun at clubs and drinking and smoking pot when I was a teenager and for the first couple years or so of marriage.  I’m done with it.  I’m settled.  I enjoy cleaning.  I enjoy taking care of things.  I like doing dishes.  I like cleaning up messes.  I like cooking.  I like doing things that benefit other people, things that make other people happy.

I am well aware I might go without sleeping for a year after the baby’s born.  I’m aware that there might be times where I can’t get him to stop crying.  I’m aware that he’ll get sick, that there will be doctor’s appointments, that there will be unexpected expenses, late night runs to the drugstore, diaper rash, toothaches, teething, interrupted television shows, and all that other shit.  But you know what else there will be?  Laughing, kisses, hugs, learning, first steps, first words, a room decorated with Winnie the Pooh, play dates, packing the diaper bag to take him to the park or for a ride in the car, fascination by all the little things that we, as adults, forget about as we grow older, like butterflies, caterpillars, bugs, snow, rain, the look on his face when he opens his Christmas gifts while I snap thousands of photos per second, his excitement as he digs into his first birthday cake, his first time trick-or-treating when he picks out his costume or I make him one if he wants.

Then, yes, he will get older.  He’ll have his first day of school.  He’ll make friends.  I’ll be home all day and possibly grateful for the peace and quiet, but at the same time, I’ll be wishing he was home with me.  I’ll be watching the clock for the time when I can go pick him up.  He’ll tell me about his first day.  I’ll help him with his homework.  I’ll teach him whatever he’s having trouble with.

Then, he’ll get even older.  He might become rebellious.  All kids do.  I did.  But then I got a little bit older than that, as he will.  And he’ll realize that through all of his late night sneakouts, door-slamming arguments, screaming matches, phases, I was there for him.  I still loved him.  I still made sure he had clean clothes and meals on the table, even if he didn’t always come home for them.  And then maybe, he’ll grow up into a wonderful young man (I’m not ruling out the possibility of a daughter, either, but I’m keeping to one gender to make it easier to write) and maybe someday he’ll graduate from college–or maybe he won’t, maybe he doesn’t want to go to college.  That’s fine.  I’ll let him make his own choices.  I never graduated college, why should I make him do it?

There might be things he’ll do that would upset me, make me angry, make me want to slap him upside the head to knock some sense into him, but he would never disappoint me, and I would never ever stop loving him.

So, that’s my thought on it.  Those are my opinions and you can agree or disagree, but don’t judge me for it.  I don’t judge you for the way you raise your children because they’re your children.  I might disagree, but I would never tell you to do it differently.  And if you don’t want children, good for you.  You’ve made your choice and don’t let anyone make you feel like shit for it.

New Tattoos!!!

I haven’t been able to post lately as I’ve been swamped with work.  I still have two hours of audio left to transcribe for Thursday, but I figured I’d take some time to post Hub’s and my new tattoos.

We were supposed to get these a couple weeks ago, but our guy bailed on us and never called us back.  We ended up finding Guy, a dude who came into my husband’s work to buy some paint and ended up giving Hub his card and telling him to call for tattoos.

We were majorly impressed with his setup.  Our last guy was clean and used all new stuff, but the act of tattooing took place in his bedroom on his bed.  When we walked into Guy’s shed turned into a tattoo parlor, our jaws dropped.  He had all the medical and tattoo supplies needed to run a real shop.  He had a tattoo chair, a massage table for tattoos that are in less than easily accessible areas, inks lined up on the table, drawers of all different sizes of packaged needles, cleaning sprays and ointments, gauze pads, everything necessary for the perfect tattoo.

During our ‘intro session’ he held nothing back.  He showed us the places online where he buys his supplies, previous tattoos he had done, including the ones from when he was just starting out.

After all that, and for a cheaper price than expected, we scheduled our tattoos for last night.  I went with a Latin quote meaning “the stars incline us, they do not bind us,” as a tribute to the free will that I have over my life.  Hub is going for a sleeve on his left calf detailing a collage of all the album covers of his favorite band, Coheed and Cambria. It’s been in the works for a while now, and he had the first piece done, the Coheed and Cambria keywork, on his shin.

Here’s a picture of mine:

The dragon was already there, which is why it’s kind of faded.  I will be getting it touched up in the near future.

Here’s Hub getting his done:

And here’s half of the final product.  Keep in mind this is mostly only an outline.

The rest of the graveyard will be filled in.  The roman numerals on the side will be red and the crows will be different shades of red.  The lines at the top will become clouds.  You can’t see it in this picture (I suppose I could just take another picture, but I’m too lazy for that) but the dragonfly from CandC’s Neverender is on the back of the leg and the guy from the cover of No World for Tomorrow is on the right side of the leg.  It’s going to look awesome when it’s complete.  I’ll be sure to post some photos for those interested.

The next tattoo I’m going to work on is a Winnie the Pooh sleeve on my right leg. I already have Eeyore;  now, I have to gather the pictures to turn it into a sleeve.

Guest Post from Tristan Nagler

Tristan Nagler, who comes from a country that I do like to call my own even though I live in New Jersey (hooray…), wrote the following guest post (yay!) which I am way excited to share with everyone.  I’d like to give him an awesome little introduction, but his post says it all, and I hope you all will join me in supporting him and his endeavors.  Enjoy!

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This post is in response to the very first “Living in Love Award” every awarded. As part of the prize, I have written a post just for Now is the Beginning. I have been asked to clarify the Alternate Economy’s goals, and help everyone to better understand what I am all about.

Daring to Live in Love

Imagine owning an entire planet.

Sounds kind of ridiculous doesn’t it.

What about a forest? Can someone really own a forest? How does one claim ownership of that forest? Does that make the animals in the forest yours? What about the birds that only come for part of the year. Are they yours as well? Will you build a fence around it to keep what is yours in? Will you stay up nights thinking about how best to guard it?

What about a diamond? What do we gain when we own a diamond? We have a new rock. We are able to show it off to others. But we know of their greed, and so we must secure our diamond somewhere safe when we cannot watch it. What does owning this diamond bring us? Health? Does it fill our bellies, or enlighten our soul?

Now, think of owning a home. First of all, how many people even have the opportunity to purchase a home? And of those people, how many actually own their property, with no strings attached? In my experience, it is usually the Bank that owns our homes. And how is owning a home any more real than owning a forest? When we buy our home, we also take on all the responsibilities of being a homeowner. There is maintenance, heating in the winter, making improvements and cleaning. Not to mention the occasional disaster. What is it we own? Does buying a home bring us peace of mind? Would buying a forest, or a diamond…

Daring to Live in Love is realizing that we live in an Economy of Greed. Our society follows a set of rules. These rules all center around the idea of ownership. From marriage to grand theft auto, almost all laws pertain to ownership in some way. We define ourselves by our possessions. We are what we own. Maybe we don’t own our husband. But no one else can have him. It says so on paper.

When we begin to Live in Love we see that ownership is meaningless. Ownership implies control. We wish to possess things so that we may control them. “It is mine and nobody else can have it, unless I say so.” That is the root of possessions. When we begin to Live in Love we see that possessions are meaningless. You cannot control anything. Certainly not another person. Nature doesn’t often co-operate either. So what is it we are trying to control? What is it we desperately need to possess?

Love. That is all anyone is really looking for. But what is Love? It is not control. It is not ownership. Love is something that is created, when we move closer to the Truth. Love is simple. It can be expressed in six different ways: Generosity, Compassion, Hope, Passion, A Spirit of Receiving and Joy.

All of these forms of Love, or emotions, have an opposite expression as well. In remorse Love seems to be a bad thing, while in Joy Love feels good. In a spirit of loss Love is difficult, while in a Spirit of Receiving Love seems easy. In hatred Love is repulsive, while in Balanced Passions Love is beautiful. In fear Love is leaving us, while in Hope Love is always coming to us. In judgment Love is earned, while in Compassion Love is given freely. In greed Love is mine, while in Generosity Love is everyone’s. When we dare to Live in Love we come to see that Love is good, Love is easy, Love is beautiful, Love is coming, Love is given freely and Love is everyone’s.

The tricky part is dealing with the world. If Love is so easy, and is always coming, why is their so much hardship in this world? Why all the suffering? Why does it seem like Love is so hard?

Because we are living in an economy of Greed. An economy that promotes all of the negative aspects of Love. Our very laws revolve around hampering Love. Our entire society is poised against Love. But mostly, our leaders do not Live in Love, and have no motivation to do so. In our economy of Greed, the more cut-throat you are the more successful you become, on an economic scale. The more you swindle, the more possessions you can own. The path to gaining the greatest number of possessions seems to involve inciting fear, dividing with rage, and stealing property out from under people with greed.

Living in Love is realizing that we are not our possessions. We do not need to control things in order to find Love. Possessions are meaningless, because it is equal access that we truly crave. We are not looking for exclusive access. It brings us fear and anxiety and shame. We are looking for equal access. If we have equal access to resources, we no longer need possessions. Equal access brings us gratitude and generosity and Love.

So what is the conclusion?

It is all a game…

In this game the rich do anything to maintain their power, and the poor do even more to try to move up the ladder and sit with the rich. There are only a limited number of seats at the top, however, and this is how the game has always worked. You are expected to play alone. And you are expected to lose. What would happen if you stopped playing this game alone? What would happen if you started playing the game as a team?

It is time to start playing the Game. Daring to Live in Love is realizing that all possessions are illusions. You cannot truly own anything. But you can contribute to a group by sharing your production with them. You can ask for the same in return. You can live in a world with equal access to resources. You can survive without a single possession. Your children could grow up never touching money.

But how do we get to a point where the dream becomes a reality. Where a second option appears. Today there is one option. Participate in the economy of greed, or starve on the margins of society. How do we create a second option. How do we create an economy of Generosity?

Believe it or not, I honestly feel our best bet is to play the Game. If you can’t beat them, join them. Then do it better and beat them that way. It is my opinion that the best way to secure our freedom from this economy of greed is to form a Bank of the Alternate Economy.

Banks are currently heavily advantaged in the realm of money manipulation and creation. Thanks to the Fractional Reserve Banking System Banks can quite legally use peoples deposits as new loans without removing any of the deposits from their accounts. By forming a Bank and changing the motivations for these loans, we could change the world. Imagine now, if everyone who lived in Love deposited all of their savings into the same bank. And then that bank used those deposits to create loans to purchase resources for the community. None of the deposits will be touched, and it will be business as usual for all of the members… at the beginning.

The key to forming a bank is securing a certain number of assets. In most States, the required amount is $10,000,000. The first goal for the Alternate Economy is to reach 250,000 people ready to take this leap of faith. $10,000,000 is a lot of money for one person. But for 250,000 people it is only $40 each. By asking everyone to donate $10 per month to a community account we could have enough to form a bank after only 4 months of saving.

At first the Alternate Economy will be a community of thought. It will be people from all around the globe, united in their desire to live in Love. We will put our savings into one bank and do our banking electronically, just like most people already do today. We will use those savings to fund projects approved by the community of thought. At first, we will concentrate on securing resources. Lumber, fresh water, agriculture, steel production and glass. Everything we need to begin creating our actual community.

Every member will be allowed to propose projects to the community. Every member will be allowed to vote on every proposal, if they choose to. Only projects with a 65% approval will move forward. By my calculation, 250,000 people donating $10 per month and depositing their savings into one bank (an average of $700 per person) will be able to secure enough resources to begin construction of a city within 3 years of forming the Bank.

Once we have secured all the necessary resources, like cement and copper and brick production, it will be time to create a community in reality. Time to build. Time to come together in one area. Time to leave our current economy of Greed.

In our new community we will no longer participate in this economy of greed. We will leave money behind. Leave the rules and laws. Leave the governments and religions behind. Leave all our possessions. We will not need them anymore. Because now we will establish an economy of Generosity. In our new community every member receives a home, because they are contributing to the community and so they deserve to be housed. Every member has equal access to every resource. Every member pursues their passions and contributes to the community in that way. We embrace our unique differences and remember that those differences are what make us equal.

And then we wait for them to come. And they will come. En masse. They will see what we have built and they will be amazed. We will show them how to build one of their own and they will. Right next door. They will want to share with us. They will open the dialogue. They will want our recognition. And we will share with them and tell them we Love them. For we Dare to live in Love and we realize that even those once considered our enemies can change.

Imagine owning an entire planet.

Doesn’t sound so ridiculous does it.

Dare to Live in Love!

Emptying My Soul of Anger

Yesterday I started writing a post–which remains in my drafts as of this moment–and while writing it, I finally realized the effect anger has on my life, the hold that it has on me while I think I’m fine carrying it all in my head.

The post was about all of the things that anger me.  I needed to vent.  I needed to tell someone what was going through my head, what was keeping me indoors and filling me with hate.  I was having a great day yesterday, before I started that post.  I tried out a new recipe for tuna salad, which came out so great I made it again today.  I made fried chicken for dinner and I did some cleaning.  While writing this post, I was forcing myself to remember everything that made me angry.  I wasn’t focusing on the things that made me happy, only what made me angry.  I started to feel anxious, annoyed, and irritated.

Hub called to tell me he was on his way home.  I don’t remember what we spoke about for those couple minutes we were on the phone, but I know I snapped at him.  It wasn’t until after I got off the phone and got back to writing the entry that I realized it was the irritation I had from thinking about everything I hated that made me snap like that.

When he got home, I apologized and explained why I had snapped.  He chuckled and said, ‘That makes sense.’  Then we enjoyed our fried chicken and tuna salad and played Guitar Hero.  I left the entry in my drafts.   I’ll probably delete it soon, or maybe I’ll keep it there because if it’s written down, it helps to push it out of my head.  Even though no one can read it, it’s still out of my system. I haven’t thought about any of it since I wrote it down, and I can’t even remember what I wrote.

My point is, anger is a horrible thing.  I never realized how much it can truly eat away at you.  I admit to being a very revengeful and spiteful person, and will hold a grudge for the rest of my life if it hurts that much.  My mom always told me that holding a grudge was one of the worst things you could do to yourself, and now I understand what she meant.  I’ll probably always have a hint of bitterness inside me, and maybe some anger somewhere, and I’m not saying I won’t ever get angry again because I doubt that’s possible, but I’m going to stop living in hate, stop living with anger, and stop letting regret and revenge dictate my life.

It’s time I start living in love.

Procrastination and Motivation

Today I got up at 7:00 a.m. and finished the rest of my work by 9:30 a.m..  I was happy–I had the rest of the day to chill and do whatever I wanted, at least until I got a call for some more work, which I didn’t.  I took a nap at 10 because I hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep and then slept through my alarm, awaking at noon.  I suppose the fact that I was out of half & half (meaning no coffee) contributed to my lack of energy.

I wanted to write today, just like I want to do right now.  I wanted to work on one of my books.  I wanted to start working toward my ultimate goal:  becoming a full-time author.

Instead, I procrastinated.  I cleaned off my armoire in the living room that we are going to get rid of.  I rearranged the pantry.  I did everything except what I really wanted to do today.  Every time I get a new job to work on, I think, ‘after this job, I’ll get right down to work on my book, even if I can just get a few hours in on it.’  It never happens.

Self-motivation is a huge problem for me.  You’d think I’d be motivated by achieving my goal some day, but that doesn’t do it for me.  Instead, I think ‘I have my whole life to write.  Let me just take a nap and relax today.’

To my credit (although, I’m not sure if this really means anything) I do think of my books constantly.  I come up with new ideas, jot them down, fill notebooks with things that I want to some day write about or include in my next book.  While I shower, drive, shop, lay in bed, watch television, I think of ways to go about certain things in my book.  But as far as some good hardcore writing goes?  Hasn’t happened in a loooooong time.

I used to think it was writer’s block.  But now I know that’s not it.  Maybe I’m just being lazy about it, thinking I have my whole life to do something that I could do today.  I want to do it with every fiber of my being, but I want to do it right.  Maybe I’m scared of failure.  My first book was such a piece of shit that I don’t want that to happen again.  I want an agent this time, a reputable publisher.  Someone who will make sure I don’t fuck it up this time.

What is Love?

I’ve asked myself this question many times, as I’m sure many people have.  Everyone experiences love differently, I believe.  Some parents show their love by overly protecting their precious children.  Some parents show their love by leaving their kids in jail for a night when they screw up just to teach them a lesson (Hub learned that the hard way.)  Some parents make their children text or call them every time they get where they’re going.  Other parents don’t give a shit what their children do, but those aren’t the kind of people I’m talking about.

Some girlfriends (or wives) show their love by leaving notes for their boyfriend (or husband.)  Some men send roses to their girls on their birthdays or Mother’s Day (if they have children) or just randomly to show how much they care.  Some just give them cards with something special written inside (despite the obvious embarrassment they get from having done so.)

Hub claims to not be sentimental.  “I have memories,” he says.  “I don’t need things to remember all the good times in my life.”  While reorganizing our bedroom yesterday, I came across a small box Hub kept in his side of the bed.  Some papers were sticking out and getting destroyed, so I opened it to shove them back inside.  When I opened it, I realized the note on the top was a note I wrote for him when he started working at PetSmart with me while we were dating;  it wasn’t a love note, it wasn’t a list of things we were going to do when we started our life together as a married couple.  It was notes I wrote for him on how to operate the cash register because I knew there was a distinct possibility that the guy training him wouldn’t train him correctly.  I wrote it out of love, and he saved it out of love.

He gave me a card for our first anniversary–he’s not a card-giving type, and when he does give cards, he writes at the top the person he’s giving it to and signs his name at the bottom, but he knows I love cards so he got me one.  The envelope is addressed to ‘My Baby’ and the front of the card reads:  “Happy You and Me Day.”  What he wrote inside is for my eyes only (get your minds out of the gutter, it’s nothing like that!) but he did write something, and I cried reading it.  I recently came across it after celebrating our third anniversary (all of my cards staying in a box) and I put it in my purse.  Because whenever I need a pick-me-up, I read it, because mine and Hub’s love for each other makes me happy.

Whenever I do something stupid, which may or may not result in a minor injury, Hub laughs at me and says, ‘Way to go, honey.’  And I scowl at him and call him a dick.  But then we laugh together.  And he checks to make sure I’m all right.

When Hub and I were living in our first apartment and he was working a second job delivering pizza, he brought me home breadsticks one night.  There was a big hill that led from the stairs of the parking lot to our apartment.  He was carrying the breadsticks in one hand and his cell phone in another, calling me to let me know he was coming down the hill and to unlock the door.  I stepped onto the porch and watched him come down the hill.  “I seeeeeee you,” I said, smiling because my love was finally home. Then, he slipped.  Sideways.  Which I didn’t think was possible.  I couldn’t stop laughing.  Even now, as I write this, I can’t stop laughing.  It was such a sight.  And through it all, he managed to keep the breadsticks in his hand and without them barely moving.

Yesterday, while moving some old furniture out, we made another funny love-filled moment.  It was too heavy for me to help him with (I don’t have the best back, even at 24) so he was trying to move it across the grass in a very…awkward fashion.  I sat in our car on the backseats we had put down waiting for him so I could pull it in while he pushed.  But the whole time he was maneuvering this furniture across the grass and looking back at me to make sure he was on the right path to the car, I couldn’t stop laughing at how funny he looked.  “I hate you,” he said, which only made me laugh harder.  “You’re a dick,” he said.  Again, more laughing.

At the end of the day, we lay in bed, surrounded by our new awesome furniture and fist-bumped at our immense coolness for having gotten so much done in one day.

That, to me, is love.  Love is enjoying each other’s company, making fun of each other, laughing at the other when one of us does something stupid.  And then cuddling up, talking about sports and who signed who, me getting him to read a funny blog or cartoon I found online, and him playing a song for me that he heard for the first time on the radio at work that day.  Playing Madden on our PS3 and him yelling “Ha! Take that!”  when I fumble or throw an interception.  Him not calling when he leaves work because he wants to surprise me when he gets home, and getting mad at me when I come home from shopping and try to carry all the bags to the front door at once instead of asking him to come outside and help me.

We don’t lead the most exciting of lives.  We’ve only been to a bar twice and both times was on our honeymoon (once was the bar in the hotel where he had our reception after all our guests had left and the second was because we wanted to go bowling but the lanes were closed so we figured we weren’t going to make the drive for nothing, let’s go to their bar.)  We’ve gone to a few Yankees games and we’ve gone to the movies bunches of times, most of the times with Bud and his girlfriend.  But the best times we have are the times where we’re at home planning our future together, making our future the present, and enjoying each other’s company.

That’s love.  If you don’t have it in your life, go out and find it.  It doesn’t have to be a significant other.  It could be a parent, a friend, a cousin, a sibling.  There’s someone out there who loves you and someone you love.  Make memories with them.  Save mementos if you feel so inclined.  Don’t spend hundreds of dollars for a romantic night out when one of the best romantic nights can be done at home, ordering Chinese or pizza and playing video games all night or doing whatever it is that you like to do with your loved one.

And most of all, remember that you don’t have to limit your love to one person.  Giving it out to more than one person does not diminish the love you have for the first person.  The more love you give, the more you receive.  And the best feeling in the world is giving and receiving love.

The Art of Giving

Post two of my three post quest for the Living in Love award given out by fellow blogger Alternate Economy calls for a post about “sharing your excess.”  Well, thanks to the internet, Hub and I find that easy to do in our home.

There’s a wonderful group on Yahoo that I joined years ago after La Madre joined it.  It’s called Freecycle.  I believe it is a group that runs across the country.  If you haven’t heard of it and you have a ton of shit lying around your house that you don’t need, join this group.  It’s arranged by county, so I joined the group for Ocean County.  People post things that they are looking for or giving away and others respond to give away or pick up their items.

Donating to a charity or a thrift store is a great idea.  But for me, someone who doesn’t like to go outside much, I always felt like I was never sure if my items were going to good use and sometimes getting out is… difficult.  Using Freecycle, I know crap I don’t find useful anymore is going to be useful to someone else.  I’ve had the pleasure of giving away books, clothes, kitchen appliances and movies.  I don’t care if I could sell them somewhere for more–or if the people who I give them to eventually sell them–as long as someone gets a use out of things I can’t use anymore.

Not only have I gotten rid of a lot of stuff on Freecycle.  I’ve made a couple of friends.  Just before Christmas, a woman contacted me about some hotel soaps I was giving away–I had about three bags of them.  I told her I had given the ones away that I had already, but my mom had some and I would pick them up from her to give to the woman.  She was so grateful.  I found out that she was using them to put into shoeboxes along with other items to give to needy children.  I kept her e-mail address and told her I’d contact her as it got closer to Christmas this year so I could give her more things that I collect throughout the year.  Another woman I met I gave a Christmas sweater.  She e-mailed me when she got home and told me it was the most beautiful sweater she’d ever seen.  I got teary when I read that, knowing that I made someone so happy to have said that.

If everyone joined Freecycle and gave out their stuff they didn’t want/need anymore, so many people would be helped, money would be saved, and I’m sure there’s something eco-friendly about it.

Let’s Face It…

I’m angry and I’m bitter.  I prefer staying home to going out.  I prefer being alone to having company (with the exception of Hub).  When I do have to go out, I get angry because a lot of the people around me are just immature and aggravating.

Yet, I do have to pick myself up and go out sometimes.  The store, the mall (when Hub drags me along to get new video games) or shopping with La Madre.  And when I do go out, despite my aggravation and that itch to be home working or writing, I am nice to (most) people.  I hold the doors for people, I pick up things that they knocked off shelves (dishing out a rude comment when they know they dropped it but refuse to pick it up) or clean up when someone spills something (like the idiot in Burger King who spilled her drink and then walked away.)  Some of it makes me feel good, other times I’m just more annoyed at their lack of respect and consideration for other people that happen to live in their little bubble of a life.

Sometimes, something happens–something small, usually–that makes me feel like I am a good person.  The only witness to these events is myself and the person on the receiving end of this kindness (although sometimes even they are not aware it was me, and I prefer to keep it that way.)  I don’t like to draw attention to good deeds because I think it’s a personal thing, something that will be acknowledged by the Universe in the form of kindness coming back my way–besides, I don’t want people thinking I’m going soft or anything!!

Anyway, something happened recently–I don’t remember when it was exactly or what else I bought that day, but I was at BJs with La Madre, one of those warehouse stores where everything is in bulk.  Need toilet paper or paper towels? 7,000 rolls in one package! Cereal?  Twelve boxes at once! Meat?  Buy the cow!  Okay, they’re all exaggerations, but you get the idea.

Point being, I go with La Madre everywhere she goes because it’s awesome to hang out with her plus her health is not wonderful and I’m terrified she might fall or someone will run into her into the store, or she’ll have an accident while driving.  Among other things, she has a bad back.  She fractured it afterI asked for her help pulling something out of the car three years ago.  One more heavy lifting experience or a fall and she might be paralyzed.

Again, that’s not the point.  Let me get back on track here.  I was at BJs with her and we were in the water aisle.  They sell 32 bottles of water in one case.  It’s kinda heavy, especially if you have a fractured back.  So, I was lifting it to put into her cart for her.  There was an elderly man next to me, pulling at a case of water.  He was by no means weak and probably would have had no problem lifting the case himself, but I was feeling good that day… and I already had the case in my hands.

“Need a case?”  I asked him.

“What’s that?”  He asked, as if surprised that there was another human being on Earth who could be helpful nowadays.

“Do you need a case of water?”

“Oh, yes!”  He was smiling.

“Here ya go,” I said as I placed it gently in his cart (okay, actually it kinda just slipped out of my hands and fell in, but hey, it made it into the cart!)

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at me.

I then walked over and grabbed a case for La Madre.  “That was nice,” she said.  She always acknowledges these things.  I just smiled.  Maybe it was nice, maybe it was kind, but I wasn’t thinking of that when I did it.  I was just thinking ‘this man could hurt himself.  He probably won’t, but he might.  I’m going to help him out. I’m young and not that strong but if I get hurt, it’ll heal.’  No offense to the older generation, but sometimes injuries don’t heal as well as they do in younger people.  So, I was thinking that it’s no big deal if I sprain my wrist or hurt my back, at least someone else will be able to avoid the injury and go on with their lives.  Besides, he probably has grandchildren that want him to pick them up and I’d hate to be the reason that couldn’t happen if I just stood by and watched him do it himself.

I don’t know if I’m ‘living in love’;  carrying out my anger and bitterness probably doesn’t help.  But I can say this:  when a person is in need, I help.  If someone is trying to reach something on the top shelf, it doesn’t matter that I’m only 5’2 and probably shorter than the person reaching, I’ll climb those damn shelves to get it for them if they can’t do it.  Or I’ll use my mom’s cane to smack it down.  (Yeah, I’ve done that, and it was amusing for all involved.)

If only everyone could be as kind as the many people on this Earth who don’t hesitate to do a good deed once in a while.  Believe me, it feels great.  Try it!

A Book About… Something

My goal is to have my book ready for query by the end of the year.  That’s a pretty good goal considering my original goal was to finish it by the time I die.  Not even query it, just finish it.

There is one book I really want to write that I think would be the perfect one for my first one, but now I’m wondering if I should save it for later and work on one of the others.  None of them have really any background, any characters, any anything.  They need to be fleshed out (ugh, I hate that phrase) and notes need to be done–I love notes!!!–but I’m not sure if that’s the way to go about it.  I haven’t really found a way of writing that works for me, which is precisely why I am still not an author.  I’ve tried notes, charts, mind maps, freewriting, prompts, blah blah blah, and still nothing.  No focus.  No inspiration.

Bud once told me, in so many words, that he thought being a writer was not my ultimate “calling,” that perhaps it was meant to just be a side job for me, something I never really made it big on.  I was shocked by that.  He himself is a writer, and I think that perhaps he is either projecting his own feelings onto me or he actually believes that.  And I don’t have a strong belief that it’s the latter.

Bud writes screenplays.  He’s been in touch with producers (or maybe directors?  I don’t know.  I’m not in the film industry.)  He was offered a contract, an advance.  Supposedly, from what he tells me, writing is what he wants to do.  Yet, the last time we spoke about this contract (which was at least a few months ago) he was considering turning it down.  (Seeing as he’s still without a contract and no movies on screen, I assume he did turn it down.  I never bothered to ask.  I know, pretty sad.)  Anyway, my point being that maybe HE is the one who isn’t sure he wants to write for the rest of his life.  I, on the other hand, know that’s exactly what I want to do.

Let’s face it.  I’m not a sociable person.  I can’t work behind a register or waitressing or behind a desk for the rest of my life (unless that desk is in my own office surrounded by shelves upon shelves of awesome books with a really sweet couch for me to lounge around on when I should be working.)  That being said, if I could get away with strictly working from home–especially writing–for the rest of my life, holy shit, I’d be down for that.  I work from home now, sure, but I’m also (in case you haven’t read previous posts) on social security, which, as I also stated previously, I don’t want to be on for the rest of my life.  Yet, I really (for personal reasons) cannot work outside of the home.  I need to work at my own pace.

Also, I need deadlines.  I live for deadlines.  I get the most motivation, the most inspiration, out of deadlines.  If I were an author, and an agent gave me a deadline (’cause I think they’re the ones who do that?  Ugh, see how much I know about how it works?)  I’d have that shit done in no time.  But, alas, I have no agent.  I have no deadline.  And thus, no motivation.  It’s sad, I know.  You would think my motivation would be that I would get published at some point if only I could actually finish my book(s).  But, I can only work under pressure.  That’s the bottom line.

I am not naive to the pressures of being an author, believe me.  I am not saying it’s all glamor and riches.  I know there’s other shit that needs to be done.  And I’m all for it, just as long as at the end of the day, I can still sit down and knock out a few pages without being interrupted by… whatever.  I don’t care if I become a millionaire off writing.  I’d like to make a few bucks, sure.  Who wouldn’t?  I want to live comfortably.  I want to maybe have a nice savings slowly building up.  I’d like to have a little house somewhere in the country, perhaps.  I’m not greedy.  I don’t want a three-floor mansion with maids and all the other rich people shit.  I might even start a farm.  Raise some pigs and grow corn.  Or something.  Or maybe not.  Maybe I just want to enjoy sitting on the porch with my husband sipping lemonade and talking about our day while our pup runs around the yard.  Maybe I want to laugh over an awesome dinner I cooked because I actually had the money to go and buy some real ingredients and the time to spend making it.

The rich shit couldn’t hurt, though. But, like I said, all I really want is to be happy and make a modest living doing what I love.  Hell, I don’t even want my real name or identity out if I could help it.  I just want to write so people will enjoy my books, or criticize them, whichever makes them feel better.  But as long as they’re reading them, that’s all I care about.

I don’t think that’s really too much to ask.

Why Am I Me?

I was standing in my kitchen making coffee when I started to wonder how I became the way I am.  How do people develop quirks and… whatever.

For example, I’m terrified of heights.  Absolutely horrified.  Can’t even stand on a step stool.  Flying?  Out of the question.  Will never do it.  I might consider it if it’s to Ireland, fully paid for out of someone else’s pocket and I’m drugged out of my mind on Xanax and… whatever else calms you down.  But other than that, never.  But why?  What caused the development of this fear?  I’m sure there is some scientific explanation that someone could come up with, and someone else will rebut that with another explanation, ridiculing the original explanation, but I just don’t get it.

The earliest experience I can recall with heights was when I was just a baby, couldn’t even walk yet.  My family and I were in a lighthouse. La Madre was holding me.  We were on the bottom of the spiral staircase.  She didn’t want to go up because she was scared of the heights as well.  I remember thinking that I was so glad she didn’t want to go up because I didn’t want to either.  I couldn’t even talk at that time because I was so young, but yet I was thinking clearly that I was terrified of going up there.

Years later she shared that with me and said she hoped it wasn’t her fault that I was scared of heights because of that incident.  But, I knew that I had been scared all along.  It had nothing to do with her.  And her fear is nowhere near as bad as mine.  She’s flown a few times in her life, hates bridges but is willing to drive over them, etc.

Anyway, that’s my rant for the day.