Archive for March, 2011

Being Ill in the Western World

I have a terrible cold.

I tell you that not to complain or call undue attention to my personal life but rather as the exigence of my dilemma: to take off or not to take off.

Workers get paid for their labor; the old aristocratic wealth of the world got paid for their existence (commissions, honors, shares, etc). I wonder if both mechanisms are wrong. What happens if your value cannot be assessed based on products and revenue? (Which, I assert, is all of us.) What if you think and speak and give love and benefit to those around you, but you can’t run a manufacturing mechanism? Better yet, what if you can run said mechanism and then you get sick one day? And then the one day becomes many?

Beyond all these aggravating questions that delve into the abysses of sociology, economics, philosophy, and more, how do you decide whether or not to call in sick? You could push yourself to the breaking point and go in…but it’d result in another week of prolonged illness as your body wearily drags itself back up on top. You want to be faithful to your responsibilities—and, let’s face it, shit doesn’t happen unless you make it happen—but can your responsibilities ever be faithful to you?

I am beginning to feel they are unfaithful lovers: exacting and demanding but quick to find another warm bed when yours goes cold.

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Rainy Day Yellows

People say they get the blues when it rains. I get the yellows.

Rain mellows me.
Comforts me.
Inspires me.
Generally, encourages me.

The Yellow Brick Road (photo by John Manno)

The Yellow Brick Road (photo by John Manno)

Yes, of course, I’d rather stay in bed and read or stumble around my room in my dressing gown writing poetry. But ultimately, rain brings the promise of something new, a moment of intersection between the world that is (air) and the world that will be (water). It’s like a brief rubbing of shoulders between now and eternity. It enlivens things that are dead and dispenses justice evenly to all.

I’m definitely hyperbolizing and analogizing considerably here.
But what else are rainy days for?

I Dreamed a…Mansion

Had a lovely dream last night—in a mansion filled with many rooms.

warm and delicate

warm and delicate

I love the geography of my dreams.  Many times, I will revisit places I have been before.  And I remember the way, the layout, the smells, the feel of the fabrics.  This one mansion is particular is very luxurious—in a French Louis XV villa sort of way.  It is full of trunks and bronze statues and antique books and mahogany clocks and ash wood floors and chintz divans and gold…lots of intricate, almost Rococo gold detail.

perhaps time does tell

perhaps time does tell

One of the most curious happenings in my dream was my explanation to friends in the dream that we were, in fact, in a dream. how did I know that? Has Inception boggled my mind? Or do we really experience interactions with other people—with the part of themselves that is ours, embedded in our relationship?

When we get to the Hereafter, how many things will we discover we did in other people’s dreams? Do those actions cling to us in the daylight hours?

Work as You Are

Unicorn (photo by Sarah Scotland)

Unicorn (photo by Sarah Scotland)

This week I made drastic cuts in my schedule.  I stripped away things that long held together the center of my world.  I am trying to embrace my Self–the Self that needs at least 9 hours of sleep, 1 hour of reading, 2 hours of talking with family, and 30 minutes of caring for my pets.

I don’t want to feel guilty about work any more.  Guilty about the way that I avoid it, sleep in, cut it short, or ignore it because I’m tired, uninspired, and lazy.

This isn’t who I am.

I love to work—and work hard.  I am inspired.  And I rarely let things simply fall to the ground.  So I’m doing a new thing—working as I am.

2011: The Year of Aquaria

Well, my lovely readers—I flatter myself that you noticed my absence during the lovely holiday months…and the busyness of the “new year” season, which seems to extend from mid-November to mid-March, when it finishes just in time for “finals” and the hurry into summer mid-May.

With sorrow I announce that Psycho and his best mate Sophie are no more.  They succumbed to a terribly frightful disease, the loathsome parasite ich. After an appropriate period of mourning (and practically boiling the water in my tank to purge it of the parasitic pests), I found myself once again meandering down the glorious wall of aquariums at PetsMart.

So, now, I give you:

—-well, now isn’t this frustrating?  I went to upload a video of my new pets, and behold! ’tis impossible without the almighty Video Upgrade! (which costs, apparently, a mere $59 per year per blog).  Hmm…well, I blog on WordPress because it’s free.

While I sort this out within myself and between WordPress and my wallet, I’ll simply give you their lovely names:

Madge

Watson

Josephine

Algernon

Ophelia

Markle

Monsieur Hulot

Emma

 

You’ll have to dream of them until such time as I may enlighten your eyes…

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