"Just Keep Swimming."

2012 is kicking the crap outta me.

My only saving grace?

It is day 10.

There are only 355 more to go, before I can start all over again.

Well, 345, if you believe the end of days are upon us.

(Really? Must I also add this mass delusion to my long list of worries?)

“The only thing I can’t stand is discomfort.” 

~ Gloria Steinem

I have plans.

I have lists of plans.

I have lists of lists of plans.

I have no time for giving up or giving in. 

(Even IF all life as we know it will cease to exist... someday.

Of course it will, my friends. Someday. But NOT Today.)

This is the ultimate irony that is Life, after all.

TODAY I do, however, have pajamas at noon.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, let’s go.”

STAGE DIRECTION:

They do not move.

~ Last Lines of Waiting For Godot ~

Well, it’s not quite noon yet, but if yesterday was any indication of how my Today is going to go, I am almost certain that I will still be wearing my pajamas at noon. Though, I do still have hope. I do have that.

I am now making lists (in my head) of the most mundane variety, such as:

#1 Crawl out of bed. Drag self to kitchen. Pour self a stiff drink to greet the day. Put something, anything other than those three week old cookies you’re staring at, into pie hole.

#2 Prepare thyself for No Writing Today (without the aid of that most beloved four letter word).

#3 And Remember: YOU are the Master of Your Universe. Begin.

“Nothing is so much to be feared as fear.” 

~ Henry David Thoreau

Sometimes, I just wish I wasn’t. Oh, acting as the master of my universe *sounds* great and all. But, if I am the master of all that I see, think and do, then who the hell am I supposed to blame when it all goes to shit when life gets hard?

I guess there is no mystery, as to why I am still sitting here at this keyboard, contemplating this swill, in my pajamas at this hour. This is what it must feel like to give up. Who are you kidding, Miss, you have been here before. You are no novice in the art of denial. You did spend the better part of your thirties trying to wipe that slate clean, after all. And you can wipe that smirk off your brow. You know you’re right.

As I sit here, I realize, shamefully, that I am simply looking for someone else to make the big decisions, the little tiny and seemingly insignificant decisions, and everything in between. I want someone, anyone, to run my life for me.  That’s funny. Not sounding quite so freeing now that I see my dimwitted plan in writing.

“If you want to win anything

–        a race, your self, your life –

you have to go a little berserk.”

~ George Sheehan

See, here’s the thing about lists. They do serve a function outside of providing a, somewhat, true account of both my accomplishments and my failures. By the time I got to #3 this morning, it hit me. Like that three week old cookie stuck to the bottom of my gullet. What I must do is, Just DO IT! Get Off My Buts.

Years ago I read a book. *small grin* It was a simple Guide To Living Your Dreams. I have thumbed through it many times over the last twenty-something years, folding down corners, breathing in the smell of its yellowing pages, searching for the important messages inside that seem to be speaking just to me. I have laughed. I have cried. I have thought to myself, “Right. Now begin.”

“DO IT! Let’s Get Off Our Buts” by Peter McWilliams is my go-to place for that all important, albeit in-my-face ironic, reminder that I AM THE MASTER OF MY UNIVERSE.   

So, I ask myself Here, Now, Today, why is this so hard? And the only answer I can come up with is the age old answer: If Life was meant to be easy, Michelangelo would have painted the floor instead of the ceiling.

I can only hope that my choice of brush, color and composition are complementary of one another, creating one magnificent canvas! I just need to remind my sometimes tired, needy self to get up off my back and Buts every once in a while, stretch my legs, my mind, and my voice, and then begin again.

                           "Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming."

                            "Just keep swim-ming, swim-ming, swim-ing."

                                           

When Life gets hard, as it inevitably will, you can start by getting dressed. That's always a very good place to start. Take a deep breath. In. Out. And when you feel alone, simply look in the mirror. There in front of you, peering into your eyes, is You. 

One-Of-A-Kind, Amazing, YOU! 

There is no other human being in this universe, or any other, who knows you better than you know yourself. Not your mother. Not your father. Not your brother, sister or best friend. Just You. Learn to Love Who You Are. No small feat, I know. But, accomplish this and you can accomplish anything. 

Now go make your list! 

Be generous with your dreams, your goals and your strikethroughs!

Begin.

“Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes. Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for he (or she) who has the vision to recognize it as such.”

~ Henry Miller

"When I Start"

Yeah. Yeah. 

That’s right!

Listen to them scatter.

Ever have one of those moments when your mouth shares, aloud, exactly what’s on your mind? It was suggested to me recently by a trickster, a sh*t stirrer-upper, a woman of both class and crass – that I simply explain my dilemma to the lawn tractor dealer behind the counter, by way of complete honesty, which ironically was neither complete, nor the honest truth. 

“Tell him,” she stated, “that you need that part today – because you’re starting your period tomorrow.”

“But, I’m not starting my period tomorrow,” I replied, giddy with fear. For, I know her all too well.

“That is not the point of this exercise,” she insisted.

“What is,” I wanted to know, laughing now at the absurdity of her suggestion.

“Just tell him – and then say nothing.”

“Nothing,” I aped.

“Nothing,” she replied, insistent. “Just wait for it.”

“For what,” I asked, considering how freeing it might feel to entertain this deviance.

“For the blank stare that will follow when you simply tell him, ‘I need this part no later than five pm today... because I start my period tomorrow’.” 

She grinned.
“What can he, possibly, say in response to that?” “It’s brilliant!”

Now, I’m not one to be so blunt. Shock value is highly overrated. Nor, am I one to mislead a poor, unsuspecting sap by making up lies. But, I found this funny. Not so funny, mind you, that I seriously considered embarrassing, both myself and the unfortunate victim, in the lawn and tractor service department. Enough, I will say, that I can agree the look of confusion, followed by terror, might have been worthy of a small lie, if only I were as deviant as she. 

What is it, honestly, about we women that makes us want to share this most intimate of details with men anyway? It’s a “Sure Thing” with our male counterparts. Ask them to add tampons to the ‘Honey Do Grocery List’ and you are almost guaranteed to see the man before you, morph into the boy he once was, complete with mumbled protestations as he shuffles his feet and lowers his eyes to the floor. You would think they worry the cashier will suspect they are for his use and not yours! 

C’mon people, I don’t know how many times I had to stop into the ‘hardware’ store, with a baby on my hip, to pick up another box of Trojans. You don’t hear me complaining – much. 

Here is what I find fascinating about Men:

They’ll pierce a rusty hook through a wriggling worm with nary a flinch.

They’ll smash their finger with a hammer and talk about how cool it looks for days.

They’ll slice through their shin with a newly sharpened blade on a chain saw without any sign of a whimper.

They’ll scrape the lifeless body of a gnat onto the side of their plate and continue eating.

They’ll turn their underwear inside out and sideways to avoid doing the laundry.

They’ll skin a rabbit and all its kin with the precision of a surgeon and still name their child’s pet, Sweetie Pie.

They will watch as their children are born with tears in their eyes, even as they try to escape the horror of what just happened to their wife. Yet, they will not go along without a fuss, at the mention of “When I start”.

I’m a big girl. I know when I’m trying to lead a horse to water ~ and I know, there is No Way, That Horse is Gonna Fall For Any of My Old Tricks.

I also know I like to talk a lot about me, especially about “…my heart, my brain, my smarts, my medical charts and when I start”! 

A girl can dream.

I didn’t follow through with our little psychological experiment. I do still have to look this man in the eye, when I pick up my part next week, after all.  Though, I do still think, fondly, of her suggestion that I separate myself from my inner monologue, if only once in a while.  A life lived in fear... and all that.

On second thought ~ a little talk of feminine hygiene might be in order, if it doesn’t arrive in a more timely manner.

                            

                            Let's Talk About When I Start!