One such guise is the helpful relative that only wants you to be happy while they are holding the leash. I will not be subjugated.
I loved my new job right up until my brother made comments about it. All the years that I have been self employed, he has been trying to tell me that I should have a regular job. He gave me the usual arguments: it's more stable, it's a regular paycheck, you can count on the money, and that it was better than self employment on a resume. So I got a regular job with a paycheck, stable and reliable income and it will look great on my resume. "But it's housekeeping" he said. Yeah, so? "It isn't very artistic, is it?" Yet another part of my life he had tried to get me to relinquish.
No. It wasn't art. And it hurts. There is a lot of physical labor involved. But, They like me. They like my work. They laugh at my jokes. And when we have people who stay for more than three days we develop relationships. I have someone I consider my nephew, another brother, a little sister and a couple of frat boy type friends (if I had been a boy and in a frat) and best of all a sister the same age. I get along with everyone. All of the fears I had in going out to find a job have been laid to rest here. It isn't art. It isn't what I would have chosen for myself... thus the point of a temp agency.
This job threatened to make me happy in ways that brother could not have anticipated and strengthened my resolve to battle him for the rights to my own life that he could not have calculated. By reminding me that it wasn't my destination, he tried to steal the joy. and for a few days it worked. I did not have the desire to be there and it spurred a bout of insomnia. I felt trapped and forsaken by my own desires. It has taken me weeks to get over this.
I work for a great company with a great bunch of people. I don't always like being in charge as the assistant to the head housekeeper, it makes it difficult to maintain a room cleaning groove. But I wouldn't want to work anywhere else at this point in my life.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
If you don't go to class you don't get the degree
Tonight is another meeting to unlock our intuitive selves. We were supposed to watch the Other Boleyn Girl and monitor our chakra's reactions to the movie. The meeting was almost cancelled because two attendees decided not to come. It doesn't matter what the reasons were, both being valid, but it does matter that these two do it all the time and we are all being held up because of it. But it's frustrating because when the class gets cancelled it messes everyone up. This isn't like school in the sense that everyone else has to be in class whether or not someone else is sick or skipping. It's, as i said to Verta, the "Weensiest bit frustrating".
And I need to know why it took me three days to get back to normal, two to quit shaking and one day to breathe. This movie messed me up more than any to date. and I don't know why. It's the damnedest thing. I knew Henry the 8th was an ass. He was beheaded on Jan 27th... my birfday.(smiley face for the day and the beheading) I just didn't know what all went on behind the scenes in terms of the human carnage. And that's exactly what it was. Carnage.
Carnage. Betrayal. Avarice. Deception. Egalitarian machinations. Brutality. Human trading.
Anne and Marie's uncle traded them like cattle at market, or worse, like Africans in Dutch markets. No wonder so many rich people could think nothing of slavery. They sold their own children for houses and seats on privy counsels. They were the worse kind of flesh peddlers. Just thinking about it makes my whole body hurt all over again. I wonder if my aversion to marriage and "official" relationships has something to do with having been sold in a prior life. I certainly was examined by my mother in such a fashion to suggest she had the same social networking goals for us as children. i did not provide suitable raw materials to allow for advancement so I was ignored.
It makes my mother's running commentary about my sister's actions all the more sinister. Had she really thought to perpetrate so devious a plot on her children? Were we really nothing more than raw material with which she had hoped to build her own empire? I am glad that I was not the "Beautiful" child while my mother wielded her checkbook and influence with impunity. I think I can now relish Jerry Hartl's assertion that I was the Gorgon Medusa. I am attractive enough now in my adulthood, despite the rosacea, that I do not feel I should wear a bag over my head. And it comes at an age where I cannot be, as I would have as a child, vain about it. I am what I am, no more, no less. I think I can appreciate me now.
And I am thankful that I wasn't pretty enough to bother with. My sense of identity and purpose would be totally skewed if I had mom's persistent lecturing about the "right" this and that. I might accept these arbitrary lines as solidly immutable and correct instead of transparently unstable and false.
Time may not heal wounds, but its does give enough distance to gain perspective. All the slings and arrows hurt so much because of a past life I didn't know; I am certain of that. In the grand scheme of things, those things hurt less because I had a buffer. I was outside the social circle. And as lonely as it was, I was safer than being part of it.
One step closer to my degree in Cosmic Humanities.
And I need to know why it took me three days to get back to normal, two to quit shaking and one day to breathe. This movie messed me up more than any to date. and I don't know why. It's the damnedest thing. I knew Henry the 8th was an ass. He was beheaded on Jan 27th... my birfday.(smiley face for the day and the beheading) I just didn't know what all went on behind the scenes in terms of the human carnage. And that's exactly what it was. Carnage.
Carnage. Betrayal. Avarice. Deception. Egalitarian machinations. Brutality. Human trading.
Anne and Marie's uncle traded them like cattle at market, or worse, like Africans in Dutch markets. No wonder so many rich people could think nothing of slavery. They sold their own children for houses and seats on privy counsels. They were the worse kind of flesh peddlers. Just thinking about it makes my whole body hurt all over again. I wonder if my aversion to marriage and "official" relationships has something to do with having been sold in a prior life. I certainly was examined by my mother in such a fashion to suggest she had the same social networking goals for us as children. i did not provide suitable raw materials to allow for advancement so I was ignored.
It makes my mother's running commentary about my sister's actions all the more sinister. Had she really thought to perpetrate so devious a plot on her children? Were we really nothing more than raw material with which she had hoped to build her own empire? I am glad that I was not the "Beautiful" child while my mother wielded her checkbook and influence with impunity. I think I can now relish Jerry Hartl's assertion that I was the Gorgon Medusa. I am attractive enough now in my adulthood, despite the rosacea, that I do not feel I should wear a bag over my head. And it comes at an age where I cannot be, as I would have as a child, vain about it. I am what I am, no more, no less. I think I can appreciate me now.
And I am thankful that I wasn't pretty enough to bother with. My sense of identity and purpose would be totally skewed if I had mom's persistent lecturing about the "right" this and that. I might accept these arbitrary lines as solidly immutable and correct instead of transparently unstable and false.
Time may not heal wounds, but its does give enough distance to gain perspective. All the slings and arrows hurt so much because of a past life I didn't know; I am certain of that. In the grand scheme of things, those things hurt less because I had a buffer. I was outside the social circle. And as lonely as it was, I was safer than being part of it.
One step closer to my degree in Cosmic Humanities.
Snooping on a Dream
I apparently have to be much more circumspect in my list making when I am conspiring with the Universe & Everything during the planning stages of what I hope will be a personal construction of colossal proportion, namely The Rest of My Life. As a project planner, the Universe takes everything seriously. I know this in my head. I know this in my heart. But I don't know this, or at the very least, I don't remember this when I am in the middle of the daydreaming. Or rather, I tend to think the Universe isn't snooping on a dream. But there It is, pen in hand, a micro recorder just in case and now a web cam to record everything that goes flitting through my head when I open my imagination to what is possible and as yet not made highly improbable by interfering relations.
For a fleeting moment I had thought "what would it be like to have my own 'Forney Hull'?" The lesson here is either, don't watch chick flicks of any kind. Or don't daydream until you are certain that's it's all off the record. Or... if a wish is a dream your heart makes then you better talk to your heart frequently so that it doesn't mess up your head plans.
No, I haven't forgotten that I put a profile on the Internet. Or that I haven't responded to those people yet. And yes, I plan to respond. But the profile was a knee jerk reaction to something I was completely unconscious of. Lesson #867543978653: Knee jerk reactions still have consequences.
In short: He's coming. I don't know who. I wasn't specific. I just said I was tired of going to the movies alone. And I said I was ready to reduce my Hermit hours to something more on a human scale. The Fortress of Solitude is about to entertain guests.
Would Superman say "Yikes!"?
For a fleeting moment I had thought "what would it be like to have my own 'Forney Hull'?" The lesson here is either, don't watch chick flicks of any kind. Or don't daydream until you are certain that's it's all off the record. Or... if a wish is a dream your heart makes then you better talk to your heart frequently so that it doesn't mess up your head plans.
No, I haven't forgotten that I put a profile on the Internet. Or that I haven't responded to those people yet. And yes, I plan to respond. But the profile was a knee jerk reaction to something I was completely unconscious of. Lesson #867543978653: Knee jerk reactions still have consequences.
In short: He's coming. I don't know who. I wasn't specific. I just said I was tired of going to the movies alone. And I said I was ready to reduce my Hermit hours to something more on a human scale. The Fortress of Solitude is about to entertain guests.
Would Superman say "Yikes!"?
It ain't over
I am not singing. I still don't know what happened to the work I did last week. I only hope that there is enough of it left in my brain that when I have the time to get down to business and write it all over that it will be there... as it was... or better. But right now, technology and I are on the outs.
Yet... I did just buy the cutest little mini cam for 10.00. That's right, I traded ten shiny gold rocks for a digi cam that will take 243 low res pics, comes with a USB cord and software so that I can at least put something onto these blogs. I am hoping that this intro to digipics will blast the technophoebe into the new century. I am a little suspect about my own expectations.
Do I want to go home and try it out? Oh yeah. But I am in office practicing the fine and questionable art of self discipline.
Note to observers: yes, I did just go cheerleader and say "the cutest little...". Yes, I know that it could be considered grounds for revocation of geek/tomboy cards, passes and other nerdy documentation should this become a trend rather than an aberration. And no... it changes nothing. I am still, and will forever be... a geek.
Yet... I did just buy the cutest little mini cam for 10.00. That's right, I traded ten shiny gold rocks for a digi cam that will take 243 low res pics, comes with a USB cord and software so that I can at least put something onto these blogs. I am hoping that this intro to digipics will blast the technophoebe into the new century. I am a little suspect about my own expectations.
Do I want to go home and try it out? Oh yeah. But I am in office practicing the fine and questionable art of self discipline.
Note to observers: yes, I did just go cheerleader and say "the cutest little...". Yes, I know that it could be considered grounds for revocation of geek/tomboy cards, passes and other nerdy documentation should this become a trend rather than an aberration. And no... it changes nothing. I am still, and will forever be... a geek.
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