With the help of the WP blog, I found several new prompt events in which to take part, and in the past 20 minutes, I wrote this, my first submission to the three words a day challenge:
Category: Uncategorized (Yet Still In A Category)
This is not my life
Yesterday was particularly challenging here at work. I went downstairs, away from the eyes and comments of the clients, and cried. I was gloomy on the drive home. It was no fun.
I got home, and I made buckwheat crepes, my new favorite thing in the world. I took a long walk in the trees, read and imagined work I would do on my research. I cleaned my kitchen. I prepared veggies to make another kind of crepe in my dehydrator. I finished a chocolate shake from the freezer. This is my life. All the stuff from work, though it takes up so much of my day, is not my life. I have a life. The prying eyes and shady characters trying to hit on me are not it.
This is something I’ve been meditating on all evening and this morning, and it helps.
Being Thursday and almost Friday isn’t bad, either. 🙂
When maturity pays off…
I’m pretty opinionated, but not always educated about those opinions. Or rather, my education was limited. I imagine that’s normal for someone as they’re growing up, and I was hellbent on making change. I think that’s normal, and maybe even a little bit good to have so much energy to work for something. (Sidebar: My energy has been waning for a while, though, after eight years in my current job, and I afraid I’m so burned out that I’ll need another eight years to recover.)
Several of my social views have not changed, but have actually gotten stronger.
Home of my dreams…
I don’t know if my dream home is big, but it will have enough space for me and Cohiba to be together. It will be really open, like, not a lot of walls. Some protection from the rain, but I won’t need protection from the cold – I’ll live in the warmth. I guess I’d need screens to keep the bugs out, though. My dream home would be beautiful.
Living by a barter system… the dream of
Living by a barter system… the dream of communes everywhere… What would I give in a community like that?
Bicycle around the world
Thanks to today’s daily prompt, I am considering what I would do with my life if I were immortal. As a Whovian, I have learned that immortality is not a blessing, and one is forever saying good-bye to loved ones and things don’t really end.
“I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.”
I read an article from the Guardian about the top five regrets of the dying, and I clicked on it, expecting the read the usual business about following your dreams and bucket lists.
There was a little bit about that, but also the line in the title: “I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.”
Art, bless her soul
Cohiba and I are getting married next year, and he and I were talking about our plans this morning. He doesn’t want to see the dress beforehand; doesn’t even want to see an idea of it, but I realized that his choice of wardrobe may change according to the dress, and I don’t want him to have regret.
We’re getting married at Disney, and I told him that one of the dresses I tried on, with surprising success, was a ball gown. That is just so Disney and princessy, and I said “That is totally not me.” He said, “What are you talking about? That is you. You love imagination and play – why do you think we have so much fun there?”
That warmed my cheeks and my heart, and it is in the spirit of love and imagination that I indulge my thoughts and seek out the pieces of art that speak to me.
Imagination fodder
A daily prompt about history, asking to which period of human history I think I belong, if not the present one. I think I do belong to right now because right now is the summation of all those “agos,” and something I like the most about being part of now is being able to imagine those agos. I like to imagine history; I like to pretend that I’m in a certain place and time, that my life is other than it is (especially when I’m on the road).
I have also thought about past lives, if I have had them. There are certain ages and peoples to whom I feel a particular pull, and I wonder if it’s because my past selves have interacted with them. Holy people in India, or at least my imagining of them as I’ve read. Native American tribes tribes before the Europeans. An academic in England. A family is the Russian tundra. In Andalucia during Moorish Spain. A daughter to Mary Magdelene, to hear stories at her feet.
I can easily learn about all of these things in the 21st century and, for the most part, visit the different places. Which only supplies and feeds further imaginings.
Ever seen a grown man cry?
This really happened, and it was funny.
My fiance were and I were relaxing at our favorite cigar bar downtown, sitting on the super plush seats in the front window. A group of guys came into the bar and sat on the couch across from us. One of the guys was clearly the designated drunk and was still in a happy mode of drunk, talking to everyone. They were firefighters from Queens, members of the first fire academy graduating class after 9/11. They came to town for a hockey game, and were gonna rush back to New York the next morning.
We started talking about their time in our city, comparing things we enjoy about our respective homes, and then they asked about our professions. Right when I told them I’m a drug and alcohol counselor, the Designated Drunk looked at his friends, horrified, and said, “This isn’t an intervention, is it?”
I Didn't Just Wake Up This Morning With A Craving 