Stealing Saturday

There are a number of things I should could be doing right now. Dishes. Laundry. Cleaning. Preparing for the oncoming onslaught that will occur when my boys get back from their dad’s and force me into holiday décor submission. Something. But, I’m not. Obviously. I’m not alone, it would seem, for Avitable actually created a survey on this post-holiday Saturday. And, since I’m procrastinating anyway… well, you get the idea.

Just pick the first word that you think of when you associate yourself with that category. Don't overthink it.

If I was a/an _____, I'd be ______.

TV show: My Boys
Song: No Rain by Blind Melon
Movie: Bend it Like Beckham
Book: Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
Fictional Character: Lara Croft
City: London
Verb: Regret
Color: Black
Animal: Cheetah
Emotion: Torment
Article of Clothing: T-shirt
Flavor: Sour
Food: Curry
Vice: Doubt
Plant: Flame Tree
Mythological Animal: Sphinx
Letter: Q
Inanimate Object: iPod
School Activity: Yearbook
Positive Attribute: Stubbornness
Negative Attribute: Stubbornness

That’s that. I’m off to find something else to do in an effort to not do what I need to do.

Procrastination is the thief of time. ~Edward Young

Conscious Treasures

I don’t do well with thanks. Seriously. I am not as grateful as I should be and I don’t accept gratitude very graciously at all. Usually, on this most American holiday, I post a tangent about my general dislike for the day. It isn’t that I don’t have things for which to be thankful… I simply don’t care for a holiday reminding me that I need to give thanks. I like celebration holidays not reminder holidays.

It’s been a particularly rough year for me. Griping about what I need or don’t have has been rather predominant. It’s easier than trying to recognize one’s treasures. My cache is so small that when I perch on it like a proud dragon my fat ass covers it all up and I have trouble identifying what is there. Let me move. Let’s see. I have …

My boys. They keep me sane… in a fashion. They also keep things crazy. We are quite insane together.

My parents. I received word that a friend of mine lost her father in a car accident yesterday. I am still lucky enough to have both parents and if something were to happen to my father the world might actually get to see me fall completely apart. He lives hours away but I still need him. Daddy’s little girl and all that jazz.

My sanity. Sigh. I tried.

My job. It isn’t my passion. It also isn’t where I prefer to spend forty or more hours of my week. But, it pays most of the bills and in this lovely economy I actually am grateful to be employed. Not to mention, we have the greatest crushed ice machine in the known universe.

My sucky apartment. It’s a roof and walls. Whew! Considering I don’t have a decent working vehicle right now… it would be no good for us to try living out of a car and I hate camping.

My health. For the most part, anyway. I don’t have cancer or any other form of terminal disease (that I know of). That’s a plus.

My plants. No need to call the Houseplant Rescue Team. I’ve managed to keep three plants alive for more than a year now. This is no small accomplishment for me.

My fat. No, not really… but winter is looming and I’m freezing and something has to keep my equatorial blood warm. Since I can’t seem to lose the fat I might as well find a reason, regardless of how retarded, to be thankful for it.

My music. Tunes drive away the demons. Granted, my purchased off eBay four years ago iPod chose this year to stop holding a charge and I’m too poor to replace it. I still have music. It merely is no longer portable. Damn it.

Treasures counted. I feel no more alive for this little exercise. Better? Maybe. Alive? Not so much. Hell.

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. ~Thornton Wilder

Dear Beth

I refer to the last two years I spent in high school as “my glory years.” It is an oddity. Most people seem to remember high school with a mixture of love and hatred. Me? I have nothing but fondness for those years. Junior high through ninth grade… not so much, but my junior and senior years were pretty awesome. Yes, even in hindsight. If I could pick a point in time to go back and start over… that would be it.

When I was tapped by Mo for yet another virtual game of tag, this one challenging me to write a letter to myself at age sixteen, I couldn’t fathom what I would say to her. I turned 16 the summer prior to my junior year of high school… a year of my life that I loved. After a bit of thought I discovered I did have something to say. It would seem I always do. There was only one major decision to make… a decision that would shape every facet of my letter: Do I assume I can warn her and change my path or do I accept that my life cannot be changed and simply give her guidance? My impulse is to alter my existence. I’ve chosen to go against that desire. A miracle, I know.

Hey Chick-a-dee!

Yeah, I just called you Chick-a-dee. Get used to it. Sometime in the next few years you are going to develop this habit for nicknaming just about everyone you know. I know this because I am you… a really long time from now. Don’t give me that skeptical laugh thing that you do. I could convince you with tales of what we were doing our final weekend in Louisiana a couple of months back. Ha! See? You know what I’m talking about. So… sit down, shut up and read.

Happy Birthday! I know you didn’t expect your 16th birthday to begin this way, but I’m quite sure you will adapt. You’re good at that. Also, Welcome Home! Please take a deep breath of Kenyan air. It’s been a while for me. Don’t take it for granted. Ever.

I’ve decided to not reveal too much about our future to you. Don’t bitch about it. I’m not here to blatantly change events. If I do, however, change your …. our… (whatever) attitude or thought responses and subsequently you make different decisions than I did and change our mutual course then I’ll live with the outcome.

I do have some general advice and I would love it if you listened to me for a change. As this is your sixteenth birthday, I’ll give you sixteen things to think about and that statement leads directly into one of the things you need to know about yourself:

1. Learn to set limits… like me only telling you sixteen things. If you don’t set limits you’ll just keep going on and on and on and spending your energy on non-beneficial stuff.

2. Write more. Start compiling all those scribblings you have scattered around into a more central location. Journal a lot. Trust me. You can thank me later.

3. Speaking of the written word: Keep every note and letter you receive. Every. Single. One.

4. Think twice before consciously setting someone up to be hurt even if you think they are one of the cold, hard, unfeeling ones.

5. You’re beautiful. I realize you have no clue. I remember. That’s why I’m telling you: You are beautiful! That junior high scrawny ugly duckling phase is long gone.

6. Don’t settle when it comes time to choose a college/university. Push for what you want. It’s your future.

7. Boys. They are worth it. Truly. But, don’t settle on one of them either. You’re allowed to be picky.

8. You know that “I refuse to be assimilated into any group and just want to be friends with everyone” vibe you have going on? Good decision. Go with it. Don’t second guess yourself on that one.

9. Study harder.

10. Swahili fluency is highly suggested.

11. Sunscreen. Wear it. You live on the equator and have blonde hair and green eyes. Girl, use your brain.

12. Your humanity dictates that you will make mistakes. Learn from them, but don’t dwell.

13. Never beg. Never grovel. Ever.

14. Get your right knee x-rayed. No, not now. You’ll know when. Swallow your tough girl play through the pain attitude and just do it.

15. Cherish every memory.

16. Love yourself. Always.

Are you listening? I hope so. You should listen to us more often and trust our instincts. I look forward to discovering who we’ve become in about eighteen years.

“You are sixteen going on seventeen, baby it's time to think. Better beware, be canny and careful, baby you're on the brink.” ~The Sound of Music

If you like this idea... consider yourself tagged.

Photo from: We Heart It.

Finding Fuel