Frick and Frack

Things have been less than stellar lately. I've been doing my best to manage and not lose my shit on my coworkers or loved ones. Therefore, I've been spending more time alone-though I'm not sure it's helping. A long weekend away was supposed to help, but ultimately, it didn't. I came home feeling a bit more stressed out and wound up than when I left.

It's strange to realize your attitude sucks and keeping it in check, as opposed to being freely angsty and telling others off at any given opportunity. I'm currently at an impasse. I don't know what to do other than bide my time and ride out the bullshit, even though the bullshit seems to keep piling up.

I'm still able to realize and appreciate the good around me and enjoy the little things as they come up. A hug from a friend today watching my Seattle Sounders stomp the Portland Toothpicks into the ground tonight helped immensely. That will always help.

However, I'm still angry, and I'm working really hard on not being angry anymore. I'm definitely attempting the, "Do no harm, but take no shit" approach. Let's see how it goes.

Never Read the Comments

I posted this story the other day on my Facebook page and the subject line as, "Holy.shit."

I know Jonathan Harris. Scratch that...I knew Jon. I knew him for years, and it has been 10-11 years since I've spoken with him or his family. I used to date his older brother. Things obviously never panned out, I bowed out of their lives and they out of mine.

For a few weeks there was a story of a missing mother of 2, and her friends and family were desperately searching for her. Her body was found wrapped in a tarp down in a ravine...

I watch the news every morning before work, between 5:30 and 6am. I'm usually not fully awake. Wednesday morning was no exception. The first news story, I was more concerned with my cup of coffee than the news, a photo of a man kept flashing on the TV and they kept saying they had a suspect in custody and said his name numerous times, but I didn't really notice due to early morning grogginess- also, Jonathan Harris is a very common name. As the story was wrapping up, his photo flashed on screen again and I said aloud, "That looks like Jon". Then they said his name again and I realized it was him.

Instantly my stomach turned to knots. Regardless of how long it's been since you've talked with someone, the feeling that you personally know someone who is/was capable of doing something so horrible brings a range of thoughts between remembering when he was in my house, who he was when we last spoke, that poor woman and her children, and the hell all familes must be going through. 

I've been following this story pretty closely and you know, never ever read the comments. I will not defend Jon or his actions, but the things people say about his mother are deplorable. She didn't raise monsters. I remember her being loving and active in their lives, always concerned about their well being and always supportive as a mother tends to be. I can't speak for her now, but I'm sure she, like so many, never saw this coming. 

To be attacked as though she intentionally raised a killer breaks my heart for her. While I won't directly reach out to her, as I don't see that being a beneficial move, I will post this and ask that people stop putting blame on her. I know my blog doesn't get a lot of traffic, and not a lot of folks will see it, but a little compassion goes a long way. 

I wish justice for Nicole White and her family/friends and peace for both the White and Harris family. 

This Is Trivial.

I was never tasked with reading Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. in high school. It has always been deemed a classic in the literary world and usually found in high school English class curriculums. Let me start by saying I adore Kurt Vonnegut, his dark, twisty satirical sense of humor has a way of pulling you in and resonating in your brain. I felt a complete connection with Jailbird and remember the impact it had on me so vividly. Jailbird isn’t one of his more highly praised books, and it wasn’t the first book I read by Vonnegut. Honestly, I don’t remember which was, but as long as I can remember inviting Mr. Vonnegut into my life, I have always enjoyed his company. A gal I know once told me she was going to get the Vonnegut asterisk tattooed on her and I paused, just staring at her, wondering if she knew it’s not really an asterisk. For those of you who have not read Breakfast of Champions, here’s an excerpt with the “asterisk”:

 

This is where you leave me. 

Overall, I did not like Slaughterhouse Five. There. I said it.

It was so strange and at times hard to follow. There were definitely parts of the book I loved as it was written by someone who knew how to write well and grab my attention, but when I finished reading it and put it down, I felt a sense of confusion as to why it’s regarded as highly as it is. Whenever I don’t like a book, there is an amount of guilt that comes with it. How can I dislike something I love so much? This time it struck all the chords in me that maybe there is something wrong with my perception, or I read it incorrectly. Whatever it is, it had to be my fault that I didn’t fall in love with this book, by this author I think so highly of. I also realize this maybe the most trivial thing I ever write about. 

I started to think more about it. Not so much about Kurt Vonnegut in a secular way, but how people perceive him. Anytime I hear his name being thrown around, it’s almost always followed up with how much he is loved/adored/appreciated. Except once! One time a friend and I were talking and in complete honesty, I was told that my friend didn’t get it. Didn’t get the hype around him or his work and we talked at length about it. I so appreciated the candor of the conversation, because it does sometimes feel like a fad to be a fan of Vonnegut. I realize I started this post out praising the man and his work, and I also find that I don’t appreciate him any less solely because he wrote a book I’m not on the Vonnegut bandwagon with everyone else. I probably would have failed this portion of my English class if I had been subjected to reading and writing a report on Slaughterhouse Five. 

I might be a little more pensive when I hear someone say they love Kurt Vonnegut and all of his works, I have yet to read them all, but I know not every single one of them is a winner for me…I didn’t really like Cat’s Cradle either if I’m being honest. It’s kind of a humbling experience- coming to the realization someone you admire shouldn’t be idealized. So it goes. 

Sunsets and Strangers

I've been having a rough couple of days. I'm trying to move past some life obstacles and hiccups that I can't seem to shake, and I took today for myself to do things I neglected over the weekend, as well some self reflection...and catch up on Walking Dead. On a side note, I've realized that if you're having a rough go of things, watching the Walking Dead might not be the best idea, as the possibility of turning into a crying mess is just too great. I lucked out today. There was no crying to be had.

Chug and I just got back from our early evening walk. I live pretty close to the water and there is a great view point in the park we walk that looks across the Puget Sound out to Vashon and Blake Islands. The sun was about to kiss the Olympic mountains, and we sat at a bench to take in the sunset. A couple walked up the path and asked to join me, so I shoved over to make room for them. There we sat for 10 minutes, not talking, just enjoying this incredible view. As I was sitting there, I remembered that this is why I live here. As the sun disappeared, I looked at the couple and told them that was pretty good, thanked them for joining me. They thanked me for sharing the bench with them, said goodbye to Chug, and we went our separate ways.

Next time I'll take my camera. This time I had a quiet connection with both people and nature which seems to have helped quite a bit and no camera can capture that.

Not for lack of trying

Tomorrow is my 33rd birthday. I've looked at it with apathy for the most part, but birthdays are weird. When you're a kid, you meet your "special day" head on with as much excitement as you would for Christmas. Even those of us who have the birthday where you were essentially ripped off growing up. A January 6th birthday falls right after 2 weeks of solid holiday time and more times than not, it's the day you have to go back to school or work and people sometimes forget. When you're older, this is the time of year people start their recovery from the holidays. No one wants to spend money- I don't want to spend money, I just spent cash flow on things I don't get to enjoy for myself- yes, I enjoyed the whole gift of giving, not to downplay the holiday spirit blah, blah, blah...humbug. Plus there's this new thing of Sober January- whaaat?

I get it, I understand it, I accept it. Except the sober January thing. Don't be ridiculous.

For the month of December in 1981, I gave my Mom hell. I tell her it was fair warning that I wasn't going to be an easy child to raise, half joking, half serious. My Dad was upset I wasn't born in '81 because of tax reasons...half joking, half serious. That's the way it worked out though. I made them wait a whole tax season before they could claim me as a dependent. 33 years later, sorry about that folks- as an adult anyway, I get the whole taxes thing now even though I don't have kids.

I like celebrating my friends and family's birthdays. I want them to feel my appreciation for them being alive. As for my birthday, it's no big deal, we don't have to make a to do about it- especially if it's not on a weekend as I get up at 5am and by 9pm I turn into a pumpkin. George Carlin doesn't want me to care about my birthday anymore since I'm not 5 (it's 5 right?). I don't want to care about my birthday anymore either- but try as I might, I do. Why?

As a society, growing up birthdays are made out to be a big deal. They are instilled in us as something to be celebrated. The whoopsie-dasiy surprise I was, turned into the family I completed. Riiiight, Mom??

One year, I think I was 8, I got bed sheets and a jewelry box. Not to sound ungrateful, but what kind of shit is that? Where were the toys? Also, in our household it was tradition to pick out your birthday dessert and I remember finding the most beautiful pie I had ever seen. It had giant, luscious strawberries on it. I vividly remember picking it out with my Mom and she looked just as excited about it as I did. That evening, after dinner she cut into it, giving me the first slice and as I took a bite of this beautiful pie that I had waited all day for, it was the most bitter, foul tasting thing I had ever eaten in my young life. I wanted a do-over. But there were no do-overs. My folks did the best they could and getting a 2nd birthday dessert because the first one was disappointing wasn't going to happen.

There's no real underline meaning to any of this. I certainly don't mean to complain about turning another year older. It is what it is and honestly, I'm ok with that. There are few of us who look forward to getting older- I for one cannot wait for my AARP membership for $7 car insurance. Seriously. Those people are hounding me now. Maybe they know my love for knitting and Jeopardy? I swear I'm going to be 33, not 80.

So there are are no do-overs and there are no take backs. I'm in a spot in my life right now where my story is getting good. My career is taking off, I'm excited about what I do and I get paid for it. How cool is that?! I have the most amazing people in my life and they want to be apart of it. All and all, 33 doesn't seem so bad. Life is well enough to not get discouraged about age. I just need more books and time to read.