Infighting, Gin-Texting

My id has a binge mentality — food, alcohol, Netflix — the more the merrier.  I could moderate, but, I can’t ever think of a good reason to, so I just end up doing it.

Ego

My super-ego, on the other hand, keeps a balanced checkbook.  Has a budget.  A list of alternative activities to binge eating and/or drinking — take a shower, walk my cat, learn a language.  She believes that one day…maybe even tomorrow…she will convince the id and the ego to take her well-researched-reasonable-practical-rational baby steps.  And she also believes she can convince the other two to take the steps over and over again into oblivion.  The id and the ego think she’s a super naggy constipated bore.

She is delusional, and my id and ego want to throw their beer cans at her.

My ego…I don’t know.  I never seem to be the same person from day to day.

On a related note — gin is my kryptonite.  I try to lay off, because it’s hard for me to just have one, and when I have more than one, I start gin-texting.  Nasty texting.  Or emailing.  For some reason, last night I wrote out a gin-fueled email, the first in a long time, correcting the spelling and getting the jabs just right, and then I deleted it without sending it.

That may not sound like too much of a feat to you, but believe me, it is.

One for super-ego buzz kill!  Way to show up just at the right time, for once.

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three things…

  1.  Gotta admire those who choose to follow my blog when I’m not writing regularly.  You are a Bad.  Ass.  (Meant to be a compliment.)
  2. WTF kind of word is “executrix?”  Actresses should be known as actors.  Executrix-es should be known as executors.  No need to call out genders, especially if the female one contains “trix.”  DISCUSS.
  3. And, the new copier at work says, “Recovering from sleep mode,” when it is gearing up from economy mode.  Whoever wrote that, please find me with your technological prowess.  We need to be a couple.  Seriously…”recovering” from “sleep?”  This person gets it.

The end.

Letters are feminine and numbers are masculine,

Or, letters are cats, and numbers are dogs,

Or, letters are spoons, and numbers are forks,

Or, letters are socialists, and numbers are communists.  Fascists?  (I’m not versed on this…) — the opposite of socialists.

Letters love each other and cluster together — the more the merrier — (See supercalifragilisticexpialidocious).  However, there are certain letters who will only associate with others if their sidekicks can tag along (looking at you Q and U).  Or, they ride in a posse, like the “ing” gang.

In what they are trying to do, however, they are forgiving.  They make words you can string together correctly or not correctly, spelled right or spelled wrong, clear or not clear — speaker’s choice — but they all agree to endeavor to communicate a basic message.

Numbers are not having this nonsense.  There is no “not correct.”   The message is a success or a failure.  They add up or they don’t.  They’ll indiscriminately pair with any other number, and even letters if you’re not careful, but if the outcome is not “right,” the whole equation is scrapped.  Besides, numbers can be so….negative. th77SLVCUB

 

 

What do u think re this topik?

See, even though the question above should be, “What do you think about this topic?”, you still get the basic message.

That’s why letters can be so fun

and numbers can be so buttoned up…thR90UBOBF

 

Okay, new topic.

I had an energy healing session yesterday.

I thought it might be like a “reading,” with auras, and questions like, “Where does the Q name come in?”  Don’t get me wrong; I love me an insightful reading.  I told her I have a lot of autoimmune issues.  She said she could sense that about me.

It turned out to be so much new, interesting information, that I’m practically speechless.  As she asked a little bit about why I was there, what I wanted to accomplish, I, for the first time, regarded my life through a certain filter.

That filter was fear.

th1BI6FWERI was surprised I said that.  I grew up in a small town in the middle of the US, went west after college, then east for more college, and lots of other places.  Sometimes alone.  I never thought of myself as fearful in light of the challenges that presented — new cities, new customs, new people, new jobs, new schools…

But, I started kindergarten in that small town where my family and I had just moved.  All the kids seemed to be friends — and largely related.

I remember thinking when I received a sort of an icy reception, that I had to ditch myself, no offense, and do what I had to do to fit in.

This worked pretty well as time went on.  On the outside.  I had friends.  I got good grades.  I was a cheerleader eventually, played in the band, sang in the auditioned choir, had many suitors, and even gave a speech at my graduation.

I married someone I thought I could sit back and watch manage control things for us.  He was VERY good at that, in a VERY bad way.  As you know, if you’ve been here before.

When that all fell apart, all the other issues I put aside, from 6-years-old on, have come back for a second chance.  Not all at once.  More at the pace of a smoothly running deli line.

After hiding my true feelings all those years, and wearing different masks for different people and situations, the energy healer and I agreed that I now had a mess of physical manifestations on my hands — psoriasis, IBS-C, migraines, reproductive problems, weight management issues, low self-esteem, recurring depression (beginning at 9), a crazy sister (sorry sis), an estranged brother (sorry bro), super religious parents who didn’t really know me (not their fault), anger management issues, and on and on.  She told me our cells “remember” how to be liver cells, or brain cells, but they also remember our emotional paths and behave accordingly.  I think.  The phrase “quantum mechanics” was used.  At least quantum something.  It was a lot to take in.  I looked some of the stuff I couldn’t remember up on line.  It’s there.  Where have I been?

The actual healing session was shorter than planned because we talked so long.

All my body did was lie there, but my internal experience was that I was having some creative, exciting ideas, and some new insights.

She asked me a few questions.  She jostled a few body parts around.  She told me a few things my body was saying to her.  She gave me her card.  I paid her, we hugged, she told me I did great work today, and to email or text her with any questions.  I went back to my unfulfilling work.  Another issue.

I was jazzed for a couple of hours after that.  I felt better.

I am hopeful that this tool, like talk therapy, and tai chi, could really help me decide that I’m okay.   I could be myself.  My authentic self, is the buzz phrase.  I’m so trendy.  But, who the F am I?

Turns out, a pretty scared 6-year-old, who is trying to manage my grown up world from under the bed.

I’m trying to help her take steps to grow up.  I’m  here.  I can strive to be helpful.

Because ditching yourself is more than offensive, it’s dishonoring.  It depletes the faith you should have in yourself.

I can do better than that now.

 

 

 

 

My “Plans” are to be “Plan-less”

The word “Plans” have kind of an 80s ring to it.  Maybe that’s because I was a young adult in the 80s and having “plans,” especially “weekend plans,” was a must.

What are your plans?
Do you have any plans for the weekend?
Any fun plans coming up?

I’m not a plans kind of person.  Not in the way this is meant, anyway.  What are my plans?  You mean to get an education, raise a family?  No?  I don’t know about plans for “fun.”  I only have life plans and resolutions, which are almost always not fun-related, but require steady work.

Do I have any plans for the weekend?  Not yet, and I’m hoping to keep it that way.  Plans are “to dos.”  Getting up later than a weekday, lazing around with a pot of coffee and a cat, and puttering around have to happen first.  I may check for happenings in my area after that, but usually it’s too late to make them, which is just fine with me.

I’m not competitive with anyone about their plans.  I don’t want my plans to outshine your plans or win a prize.  Plans on my part does not mean I am more popular, or more needed than anyone else.  I don’t have a list of mountains to hike or river rapids to conquer.

Are people who run around amassing constant “plans” running FROM something?  Keeping busy?  Or are they just exuberate about life?th

Doesn’t matter, I guess.  My plan is to be blissfully plan-less.

 

 

 

 

 

The Magic of Words, or a Tale of Emergency and Forgettery

Words are the most powerful drugI was coming out of a dream when the word “emergency” came to mind.  Specifically, whether its root word is “emerge.”  This was sort of like when you realize you’ve stumbled upon the meaning of life in a dream, but by the time you wake up fully, it’s left the tip of your tongue and is traveling through the universe to the place where you’ll die, which is the next most likely opportunity to know the meaning of life.   Like I said —  sort of like that.  Not that dramatic, actually, but the magic of getting a solution in an altered, calm state was the same.

I went to ask the internet about my emergency/emerge question, but by the time I read an article about three things never to eat for breakfast, and checked my horoscope, I couldn’t remember why I was there.

It’s like the kitchen.  I walk in there and think, “What was it I going to do in here again?”

I did, eventually, make it to Dictionary.com a few days later.  After I looked up the word of the day, “forgettery,” which I admit I had never seen before, and which means “a faculty or facility for forgetting; faulty memory:  a witness with a very convenient forgettery,” and for which Spell Check says, “Go ahead and type it all you want…I’m not ever going to recognize it as a word.” 

And, look at that…emergency’s root is from, “Medieval Latin ēmergentia, equivalent to ēmerg- (see emerge ) + -entia -ency. See emergent.”

So, yes, I was right about it’s root being emerge or emergent.  Why had this never come to me before?  When I think “emergency,” I usually think “Emergency Room” and focus on the trauma, not that the trauma suddenly emerged.

Tomorrow, when I go to the internet for answers, but stop to read about how I can lose 5 pounds in 4 days, will my forgettery force me to look up emergency again?  Or, will I remember its magical property of coming from the root word emerge?

Yes, it is magic.  At least to me.

 

 

 

Jasmine Eloise — Escape Artist

jazzyI’m $65 into cat harnesses.

Cat. Harnesses.

$65 is what I spend on food per week.

My cat is so much a part of my life, I want to take her places with me and give her some much-needed stimulation.  (We share four rooms, counting the bathroom and storage alcove).

Cat harnesses are not very good.

Or, my little Houdini is very good.

She can wiggle out of nearly anything and I end up chasing after her with grocery store cooked chicken saying, “Jazz-E…chicken.  Chicken.  Jazz-E, chicken.”

She immediately dropped in the dirt wearing the harness above and scrunched her shoulders up and out of that collar.

Disclosure:  This harness is made for a dog, but look at it.  You’d think it would container her, but no.

She has also sprung herself from a harness of straps and buckles made for cats, but not before she caught a mouse after 15 seconds outside.  Did she spot it from the window?!

But, I think I have found a good one.  It’s called a Kitty Holster.  I don’t have a picture of it, but it’s more like a vest and has Velcro fasteners.  My cat does not have the patience for buckles looking for their docks and my fussing with the snugness of the straps.  She says so by biting me.

One of my Facebook friends says I post way too much about my cat.  If everything I post is about my cat, then yes, I post way too much about my cat.  I was telling another friend about this and I concluded, “I guess I’ve turned into a cat lady.”  She said, “So?  What’s wrong with that?”

Yeah, other Facebook friend — what’s wrong with that?

If I want to buy cat harnesses I can use just once instead of food, I can.  Besides, you post way too much about baseball.