Category Quick Jump
Time for a writin’! Been wantin’ 2 write 4 3 days now, always puttin’ it off 4 paid work$! Which r necessary, but u know, so is emotional health.
What’s the diff btw emotional health and mental health? When I started writin’ the FSB agin, a couple weeks ago, I realized that all the work I was doing was not really healthy: I might have been pullin’ in the Cashes, but my heart – it fucking hurt like hell! I realized that I had neglected my emotional health and that if I did that, all the Money in the world was not going to make my life what I wanted it to be: secure, free, happy and valuable. And I finally understood Andy Warhol’s comment that he was most thankful for his health – he actually wasn’t being sardonic!
I am in a weird place. I’ve been here before. I think, several times: once, when I left my bf of seven years and once, last February when I lost my last job. It’s a place of holding. It’s a Wait and See place – a place where I cannot see into the future. A place of anticipation – a place where I know that I must remain calm at because if I don’t, the dragonflies/people will leave. And the people are necessary for this place to turn into a new home.
What will this home look like? I think there will be more dragonflies/people in it, but I won’t care about them the way I have in the past. In comparison, I’ll be indifferent. That is to say, they’ll have more freedom to be idiosyncratic, irrational and well, human. Maybe they will be louder in my life and maybe they will leave messes in my living room.
They won’t have to be Christian, they won’t have to follow the same political parties or causes, they won’t have to dress the same as me or work in the same field; hell, they won’t even have to speak the same language as me.
Monday, 2 pm. I’ve been up since 9:15 am, but I still have not left the house. I want to hate myself: I want to punish myself for being lazy - undisciplined - but I won't.
Coffee. Turning on computer and backing up files. Checking email. Writing email regarding:
Brushing teeth, eating lunch and doing dishes.
Wow! 5 hours for all that. No messing around either.
The email to dance troupe took some time because I had to research their work and strategize how to frame proposal.
I have a Facebook friend who posts tons of photos of people. He’s in “issue-based” politics, as he says, which means that though his day job is a campaign coordinator for the Wilderness Committee, he’s also active in the Stop the Gateway Project, Save UBC Farm, the Green Party and a host of other activities. He’s also a filmmaker and an awesome and engaging speaker.
Along with his steady stream of newspaper stories, invites to demos and actions and personal commentary on issues and events, Ben posts pictures – lots of them. Often, they are just of people he is hanging around with and his cats. He uses his cellphone and uploads them on the spot to his Facebook page.
It’s an ingenious, simple use of technology and resources. You can buy an expensive fancy camera or spend money on a data plan for your cellphone, take pics as you go about your life and share ‘em. I bet you will get more fun out of the phone camera and data plan than from an additional, heavier unit you’d have to carry around, unpack and deploy whenever you wanted to use it.
There’s only been one thing I’ve ever been good at: failure. Oh sure, I’m good at “graphic design” and “writing” and “organizing” – but really, it always comes down to the same fucking thing: I have no staying power. Scratch that. It always comes down to the same fucking thing: programming.
“Do not challenge.”
“Be good, but not too good.”
“Your reward is in the afterlife.”
So I fail over and over and over again. And other people look good. I, on the other hand, look… less and less like the wild horse everyone wants to tame.
So many plans, so little accomplishment. (God will save you.) So little will power. (God will save you.) Scratch that.
“Make yourself good, but not so good that others look bad.” (Whoops, you’re getting too good, better change focus.”)
If you grow up poor, you are going to grow up very sensitive to lies. At some point, as you're trying to better yourself, you may blame yourself thinking that if you see lies and liars everywhere, it's because you lie and are a liar (birds of a feather and all), but this is not necessarily so.
You see lies everywhere because you grew up a lie. The mainstream - middle and/or upper classes that control media/communications - do not want your reality - your exploitation because you are an immigrant, minority or whatever - acknowledged. Your life is ignored, avoided, and whitewashed; unmentioned in discussions of economies, politics, culture, etc.. In essence, your life and your family's and neighbours' lives are lies, but you all know that they are not. You learn to see lies everywhere.
Image from: dailykos.com/story/2006/11/27/18204/164
The pain will soon pass because I will it to pass. That is, I recognize that a life without pain is more valuable than a livelihood that it hurts to pursue; therefore, I will pursue a livelihood that doesn’t hurt – a livelihood that increases my health, even. It’s one thing to have financially rewarding, somewhat socially and spiritually rewarding work, but another entirely to have financially, socially and spiritually rewarding work.
In the past, I’ve pursued spiritually and socially rewarding work - together and apart; however, it’s always been at the expense of Demon Money. It’s time to bring them all together. Demon, meet Saint; Saint, meet Demon.
Image from: forum.mmosite.com
Sadness. The only constant. The only thing I can count on. Where does it come from? Why can’t I kill it?
I have incredible friends, an incredible partner and rewarding work. Is it hereditary?
My mom was the same, and probably my dad. My sister? Yep. My brothers? Probably my two oldest ones. I don’t know the two youngest ones well enough to say positively; however, they seem happier than the rest of us. They had the benefit of being born 5 and 10 years, respectively, after the cluster of the four oldest. My mom was a bit happier by then. Perhaps the end was in site. She could see that she was finally going to leave the farm.
The miserable, lonely, pristine and haunted homestead. My father’s life's work built on my mother’s strength and connections. The screaming success my mother would have no part of because women are the servants of men. Or so she believed. Or so she tried to believe.
FrogStyle, as loyal readers will note, has been not so happening as of late.
Do you think that's going to change?
Well, not any time soon.
But it will change Some Day!
After FrogStyle changes servers (which will be soon), we are planning, at some point, to do a radical redesign.
You will go to the new look of FrogStyle and be amazed.
But you'll have to wait awhile.
Links of Fondness :
Machine Biscuits :