I start out this entry by thanking the person who made a tough tissue (such as Kleenex, Puffs, etc.) because it doesn’t fall apart if I wash it with my jeans. As long as it stays in my pocket. The minute it comes out, forget it. I’ll spend an enormous amount of time picking tiny shreds of tissue off everything. Jeesh.
I swear that I searched all five pockets of each pair of jeans I put in the washer – no tissues, no packet of nails (yes, I’ve washed nails and screws before), no coins, nothing. And yet… and YET… my jeans look like they’ve been spattered with bleach there are so many tiny flakes of tissue on them. Shake and pick. Shake and pick. Where did that tissue come from anyways?
If I’m lucky, an unidentified tissue will stay in my pocket. I dry it and voila! I have a usable tissue once again. I want to thank the makers of those tissues. The other type of tissue that I wish someone would make is one that completely dissolves when it hits the wash cycle. If I could have both types of tissues, life would be perfect.
I imagine myself writing a letter to the makers of the tissues because I am so happy when the tissue survives the wash cycle. I try to imagine what it might be like to receive such a letter like the one I’d write. Would it be read or tossed in the trash? Or read and tossed in the trash? Would it be laughed at and shared with employees? Would someone respond? Would it be used as proof that someone cares about the quality of a product?
Suddenly I want to watch Miracle on 34th Street. Know what I mean?
I miss not writing the scifi story I was writing before I began this journal, this journey. I suppose I could fit in both, I just have to figure out how. I’m afraid if I let the story go without attention for too long, the characters will leave me. They’ll abandon the story, just as I have (don’t want to!) and the idea will die out. A couple of things come to mind about writing:
I love writing
I like writing that story, it was challenging and imaginative
I like thinking about it
I like myself when I stick with projects
I like journaling too
Completing my soul contract and writing my scifi story don’t seem very compatible at the moment. I could probably do it, if I could just figure a way to write both “ways” and blog, work, eat, sleep, be with C and our four-legged children and pet fish. For eight out of twenty-four hours, I need to sleep, although I’m doing seven to seven and a half hours now and can get up fine in the morning. I think, though, that I probably need more or depression will easily overcome me. Work takes up another eight hours in a block of time, five days a week. So let’s say that adds up to sixteen hours needed, which means I have eight hours left. Out of that, I walk Polly, prepare and eat meals, spend time with C. Then there’s exercise. Forget it. Not enough time for everything. Isn’t that everyone’s lament?
Maybe I should think of it more in terms of a week at a time. Breaking it down on paper, I could squeeze out three and a half hours per day or twenty-five hours per week for doing the following: Write fiction, journal, blog… wait! I have a loved one who I want to spend time with too! So if I carve out two and a half hours watching TV at night as an activity (not our only activity but a fairly regular enjoyable one), that leaves me with an hour to write. Well, an hour is an hour!
Sitting in my warm house with all our stuff. Made a cup of tea. Looked at all the stuff in the fridge – a full refrigerator – and had the thought that many people don’t have full fridges like this. Many people open a fridge door hoping to see plenty of food only to find that they have the last quart of milk, maybe some kind of meat, maybe some kind of vegetable. If they live where they can get vegetables, that is. Then my thoughts stumble over the look at the elephant in the fridge, er, in the room – that I should be doing something to help people who don’t have enough to eat.
As I write this, letting it grow from a thought to a confession, I feel this guilt about not doing more now, already. The guilt makes me sad. And I know this sadness because I’ve felt it before – it is a sadness whose companion is inaction. Guilt and inaction, really. I feel guilty and that prevents action. Is that causal or concurrent? I feel guilty about many things and still take action, such as eating an entire box of Oreos – I felt the guilt when I bought them, yet I ate them. Truly, the $3.39 I spent on them I could have saved, put with some other money and sent to a hunger relief organization. I could have taken that box of cookies across the street to the food pantry and not opened them at all. Maybe that’s a different kind of guilt? Or not guilt at all, but shame? No shame would be the inaction. Guilt would still be the main feeling.
I don’t need to analyze it to know that there are times when I feel something and I need to take action, and other times when I feel I need to not take action. Helping people – take action. Eating a whole box of cookies – don’t take action.
First tattoo. Ever. Did not hurt so much – I mean, I’ve had mammograms that were more painful! Granted, they were small. The tattoo figures. It only took the tattoo artist – Jess – about twenty minutes to complete. Taken from two ancient drawings on pot shards of Earth- and Goddess-worshipping Eastern Europeans. One is a leaping dog, the other likely a running lion, don’t know for sure…. Thank you, Marja Gimbutas!
Having a dental filling is off-the-scale more painful than getting a tat was. Maybe it was the location just above my breasts. I can see why people don’t stop at having one tattoo. Something changed when I changed my body. I can see myself getting more. Maybe face ink after I retire!
Another topic – we have our Solstice gathering coming up soon. C would like the topic for us to reflect on to be our hope for the future. What do we visualize as the best outcome for ourselves, for others, for the world, for the planet. Near future, far future. What is it for me?
This morning I read an article on Medium as well as the posted replies to the article and am feeling really dumb. It was about math, education, and how it is geared toward “whiteness.” The fact that it was about math isn’t the reason I feel dumb, but the way the article was written and the challenges to the facts in the article through the replies and responses that make me feel like, WTF am I doing thinking I can write a blog??
I don’t feel like I know how to write a convincing argumentative essay, or just plain essay. The author was able to defend his words by pointing out things in his essay and in the poster’s response that made sense to me. Will I be able to write something that is defensible?
I find myself allowing scattered thoughts around a huge to-do list of my own making to take me away from pursuing the meandering thought that I’d like to concentrate on in my writing. I got up this morning with this journal in-hand, thinking that I’d write something that I could later transfer to my blog – something pithy, interesting, would make people stop and read for five minutes.
Thanksgiving Day [not so much for Native Americans!]
But it is Native American Heritage month. But I wrote about that previously. So this morning I think it is appropriate for me to send an email to Sarah thanking her (in the spirit of Thanksgiving) for my soul contract reading. So much, no, I’d say most of what she said based on the “kabbala” of my name is so correct, so true.
Short work week because of t-giving day. I’ve been thinking about the origins of Thanksgiving – what we learning in grade school was a completely white-washed version of what really occurred. The christ-worshipping people arrived on the shore of mainland US and began to consciously and unconsciously exterminate 700-plus native peoples they encountered. That was in 1657 (that date right?) and we continue the genocide. What name do we give a genocide when it is not blatant extermination but through policy and neglect that a country kills off those who came before? Still genocide, right? The Holocaust was preceded by hundreds of years of persecution of many different groups of people. The indigenous people of Australia faced much the same genocide, still do. Not only do we all live on borrowed time, we all live on BORROWED LAND!
But my point was not to recount the horrors of domination and genocide but to bring it up from a spiritual perspective. If I am to be a truth sharer, then it seems that I say or do something when I sense injustice. I’ve felt this before for Native Americans, but I felt it strongly again after watching “Wind River” – a movie that touched upon issues faced by Native Americans. I daydream about having a lot of money to give away to the Onondaga tribe or maybe the Mohawk, so they can buy land next to the reservation since Native Americans can’t own the land on which they live [if it is reservation land] because the government owns the land. That’s just not right. This country’s culture is based on wealth. Land ownership is wealth. Building wealth lifts people out of poverty. Until such a time that the US economy collapses, there is no other real way of moving out of poverty it seems. At least not as individuals. No one lobbies for Native American rights the way the NRA has lobbyists for gun owner rights and guns aren’t even people!
See, I’m going on and on in this journal. If I’m to follow my [soul] contract, I need to be putting it out there. Not blathering it, but with forethought, using my talents, exercising underutilized spirit within me. I read on the web that there are ways to be supportive of Native Americans and there’s also a list someone compiled about authors and poets of Native American descent. Shouldn’t I do something with this information? I need to put it out there.