Lifefull

I had really believed that I coined that term...that beautiful phrase, "Lifefull." Until I Googled it and had my reality checked. How about, "Lifeful." Awww....no, probably not. Well, maybe.

I am writing a persuasive essay for my Effective Writing class and the topic I chose was Science and Happiness. In researching it, I came across two poetically useful and well, lifefull blogs.

The first one is The Happiness Project. In particular I find her Gretchen Commandments so very good. I don't hold the same commandments for myself. But I will be adding my own version to the right-hand side of the screen soon. I also like the column in which she lists the theories on happiness that she rejects. Refreshing and it helps that I hold the same opinion of those theories.

The second one is 37 Days. If it is your first visit, click on the link in the upper left hand corner, "First Time Here?" as it will explain the idea behind it.

Now, I don't choke up easily as I take two very good medications that keep me from getting down with emotions and anxiety and such. But reading--the background of her blog, the idea behind it, her process with it--made my eyes well up and my nose start to sting in anticipation of a mucus onslaught. In addition, she is a writer. A dreamweaver of words. The type of writing that takes you so fast that you don't even realize that you left reading a few exits ago and are now feeling the words. Musical. Vibrant. And as I said, lifefull.

Enjoy.
Lifefully,
Jen

Wabi Sabi

I've been, for lack of a better term, "called" to Wabi-Sabi lately. And as I've researched it more and more I find that myself saying, "YES! YES!" Although....because I am of extremes,(i.e. I love it or I hate it because I simply don't have room in my life for lukewarm feelings) I have to say that there is a time and a place to strive for perfection, as long as we know that it is unattainable. Yes, I'm sorry to break the news to those who still think perfect is possible.

See, that's the deal with being human...perfection is not possible. Just not. Not, I tell you. But it is possible to practice something into near perfection. I don't believe in practice makes perfect. I do believe in practice makes better and better. But when is "better" good enough? At what point do we put down the novel we are writing, the picture we are painting or the room we are decorating and say, "Close enough?" And how can we accept "close enough?"

I know that being drawn to Wabi-Sabi is an action of my own creative core who is sick of being stifled by my inner perfectionist. Reading about Wabi-Sabi makes me want to write (well, at least I'm blogging), paint, draw, stitch and well, CREATE something and stop giving such a monolithic shit about how it turns out.

As I study it more and more I can almost hear my more creative side saying, "See, so shut up inner critic, shut up inner critic, shut up inner Martha." <--Oops...did I type that out loud?

At what point though, can we be satisfied by our efforts? I guess it is when we say, "This is the best I can do. Later I will be able to do better. But for right now, right this second, this is my own brand of perfect." And then being okay with that. As hard as this sounds, it does feel freeing.

Epiphanies: Day Two

Alright, so today is Day Two. Day Two of what? Of peeling my ass out of bed at the first alarm that goes off.

Now, those that don't know me irl might think this is no big deal. Well, I hear you out there, but I say to you....THIS IS MOST DEFINITELY A HUGE DEAL.

Now my morning wake-up plan is not for wimps. Because the first step is very hard. Here is what needs to happen to get yourself out of bed if you are sleepyhead-challenged:

1) Show up late to work (2 hours + is a good time) after you've already received verbal warning. Feel like complete shit all day. Worthless, unable to survive as a competent adult.

Have long talk with Mom on phone bemoaning every ill that has ever come your way and question the very meaning of your existence. She knows your morning routine well, knows how positively sleepdrunk you are in the morning. Wax dramatic, telling her, "Mom, I don't even want to go to sleep anymore! I'll never know if I'm going to wake up on time!" And realize sadly that this is actually very true. She advises you to find a way to pull yourself out of the sleepdrunk state each a.m. and everything else will work itself out: Kids will behave and listen to me, I'll be super-productive and get more writing done (See Mom, you were right! Blogging counts right? Right?), we'll all eat better and possibly the kids will stop wetting the bed. But that last one is doubtful.

2) Research sleep disorders. Discover hypersomnia and self-diagnose it as your issue. Because one can never, ever have too many issues. Unfortunately, there is no time in your life to complete the required sleep study.

3) Research alarm clocks. Fall in love with the drill sargeant one (no, this has *nothing* to do with my attraction to military men, no, really....well, I think it doesn't). Although the one shaped like a bowling pin (Nobby) that you have to throttle to make the alarm stop is appealing. But according to husband you can throttle someone in your sleep without even partially opening your eyes so that won't work. Momentarily consider the puzzle piece alarm clock that throws puzzle pieces in the air and you have to find them and put them back into the top of the alarm clock to get the alarm clock to stop. This won't fare well as I live in a house of juvenile kleptomaniacs and one missing piece is exactly what will send me over the edge that I take two medications to avoid going over.

4) Call Psych nurse to see if Remeron can be taken in the morning. Nope, have to take it night. He suggests taking it at dinner time. I excitedly anticipate passing out right after dinner, something I thought I'd only be able to do at age 75+.

5) Look at Spencer's Gifts, Sharper Image, Wal-Mart, Target and any other store you can think to find said Drill Sargeant clock.

6) End up going back to www.thingsyouneverknew.com to put Drill Sargeant in your shopping cart, click on 1-2 business day shipping. Realize that it is Saturday and it clearly says 1-2 BUSINESS days which jets you ahead to Tuesday. No, that won't work, you need something posthaste, and definitely by Monday a.m.

7) Go to Linens & Things. Almost purchase $45 in wall art, but no alarm clock. Put wall art back on rack, demonstrating strength of will (note to self: this asset is most needed in the a.m. as well).

8) Wander in to Circuit City, get ink cartridges. Peruse whole store. Find alarm clocks but they are decidely more bland then the ones found on the web. Although they have one thing going for them. They, unlike the others that will arrive at the earliest on Tuesday a.m., are right in front of me. This is a big factor. Walk away. Get accosted by uber-friendly sales associate, "HicanIhelpyoufindanything?!"
"Ummm...yeah...alarm clocks?"
Get escorted back to alarm clocks and say, "Oh, okay, I was right here but I overlooked these ones."
Sales Associate feels like staying. He likes the one that projects the time on the ceiling. He thinks it's cool. Um, okay. "Thank you," I tell him. He gets the hint and beats feet.

Find PRODUCTS&cm_ite=1%20PRODUCT&cm_keycode=92">IT....an old-school alarm clock with the bell-and-hammer alarm that you jokingly told husband you were going to get. He didn't want you to get it. Said the tick-tock would drive him batty. Figure it's high time you did something to drive him nuts instead of the usual situation where he does something annoying to drive you nuts.

Call Mom excitedly repeating over and over, "I found it. I found it!" Tell her it might send your husband packing and subside into virtual awe as she says the words that you need to here, "Well, the way I see it, if he isn't going to help you in the mornings he shouldn't hinder you either." Wow....so profound. Consider it for your next tattoo.

9) Wake up at 6 a.m. on Sunday. Go to Starbucks and get coffee for yourself and husband. Once again fall into a state of awe of just how quiet it is at 6 a.m. on a Sunday. Quiet. You need quiet. Go to church with kids and parents.

10) Fall asleep shortly after 10:00 p.m.

11) Repeat process.

Epiphanies: What I want to NOT be when I grow up....

I've been pondering a few different career choices and before I set out to become a part-time college student(and by this I mean VERY part-time) I want to know exactly what my major course study should be. The top three are usually: RN, Social Worker or Counseling Psychologist.

The reason I wanted to become an RN is because I wanted to eventually work in the Labor and Delivery ward and help bring babies into the world everyday. But as I observe my behavior, I see that I am ill-suited for a career that requires me to be sympathetic to physical pain.

CLUE #1---I have a high pain threshold. I only started to scream at 8 cm when giving birth to Ornery Tiger Cub and Pebbles, naturally. I kept pretty mellow before then. One of the reasons I cope so well with pain is that I actually shut down and go inside myself and deal with it there. I use my mind alot in overcoming discomfort, whether it be mental, emotional or physical. And those who don't, or care not to try...well, to put it frankly, get on my last damn nerve. And kinda make me want to call them babies. Loudly.

Take for instance the day Phil and I got our tattoos. It hurt like a bitch. It just did. And I had two impulses: a) yank my ankle away, and b) kick the tattoo artist in the face. I couldn't follow through on either impulse so I just sat there, gritted my teeth and tried to tell myself that it was just a vicious papercut. We had a very detailed tattoo artist. Oh yes...very, very detailed. A perfectionist if you will. Which is good in the long run for tattoo longevity but at the time, in the chair, it not only just hurt, it pulsated and sliced and diced.

I got mine first and then it was Phil's turn. He was so excited. This being his third tattoo he was packing a very superior attitude to my tattoo virginity. He chose a tribal band for his bicep. A beautiful one....lots of thin dark outlining and woo-eee a bunch of shading too. Just beautiful.

He was coping well until it was time to do the thin outlining on the underside of his arm. WOW....who knew Phil could turn that red, grit his teeth and close his eyes that hard? I sat there confused. I mean, didn't he know that it would be like this? Afterall, isn't he, like, *experienced* in the tattoo arts? And then it started to bug me....because I knew I could be sitting there with a severed leg and it won't matter when we get home. I realized it was going to be all about how he can't hold the baby or do the dishes or basically do *anything* because his arm was hurting from the new tattoo. My dawning realization with it's accompanying rising anger opened the gate that usually seperates (at times) what I'm thinking from actually becoming what I'm saying.

I look at my sweet husband, in all his agony, and say, "Well you chose this tattoo." Sweet. That was CLUE #2 that maybe, just maybe I shouldn't be a nurse.

CLUE #3 came last night as Phil sat at his computer chair playing his game and coughing his head off. Hack, hack, hack. Cough, cough, cough. Phlegm, phlegm, phlegm. Hack again.

I couldn't stand it. I wanted to kick him. "For the love of pete," I wanted to scream, "Shove a sock in it!!!"

My un-sensitivity isn't related to just Phil (he's just the lucky one to bear the brunt of it since he lives with me, and you know, chose to marry me), it's to anyone who coughs, whines or whatever.

Which almost makes me wonder why the hell I'm also interested in psychology and social work.

Epiphanies: Things 1-10 that make me say, "Mmmmmm"

Technically this could be a "100 Things About Me List" but I don't feel like sharing all my sordid and sketchy life details. It's best that if this is you first encounter with me (my blog) that you do not become overwhelmed and possibly frightened by the wackiness and wildness (dare I even mention the sinfulness?) that is I. So although I like reading others' 100 lists, this one is going to be about the things I love in life from the mundane to the (somewhat) exotic. These things can range from books to music to food to the nonmaterial. So it isn't always "mmmm" in a tasting/eating sort of way, in fact, most of the time it is a "mmmm" of contentment. Here goes:

1. Hostess Cupcakes....because they are just that damned good.
2. Dutch Brothers' Mocha Coffee (oh Oregon, I miss you so)
3. Gerber Lavender Baby Lotion
4. Daisies
5. Body massages from my scalp and hair follicles to the tips of my teeny, tiny toes.
6. Ashland, Oregon ****the only place where my heart and soul felt at home****
7. My handmade quilts from my Great-Grandma.
8. Books by Connie May Fowler (Thanks for the introduction Dragonfly!)
9. Warm sunshine shining on me.....
10. Hot baths scented with vanilla.