Saturday, September 20, 2008

Make time for life

Over a month since my last post...

It shouldn't get to me. It's no skin off my gluts if I don't write a thing or two for a while. But I get so frustrated when people don't update their blogs. This is the only way I keep in touch with some people, and seeing a new blog posting is like Christmas. I just about jumped up on my chair, screaming (nut-bag-Tom Cruise-on-Oprah style) when I saw that Crystal had updated her blog after moving to Florida. Granted, the woman had other priorities for a month and a half, but I was dying for any word on how she and her little family were doing. And TA-DA! One day, there it is.My dilemma? Life. It just gets in the way. That's interesting to me, how there are 30,000 students here on campus, and probably half of them hate what they do. You almost never hear school referred to in a positive light. People ask, "So how are your classes goin'?" And others respond with a look of death on their face. Why?!! Why the hell to we do this?!! It seems so stupid. We all only get one life; so why should we let one minute go by doing something that doesn't particularly make us happy? Somehow, we think that there's a trade-off. We have to slave away at school, trading our peace and health for a degree--a ruddy bit of paper and calligraphy. Those who think the trade-off is an acceptable one might end up doing the same thing for the rest of their lives: "I have to work this crappy job so that I can network and get a better job." Well, I'm done with it.

I felt so good about skipping class the past two days. On Wednesday, I woke up a little later than I wanted to. I had just enough time to shower, shave, and run out the door to class. Usually, I get up, get showered and dressed for the day, have a warm breakfast and hot tea while watching Frasier or The Golden Girls or Bargain Hunt, then I do my two and a half hour harp practice before leaving for classes. It's that unhurried morning time that gives me peace during the day, that leaves me feeling fulfilled with what I've done with my life. Now, when I have to rush out the door to make it to class in time, I just don't feel satisfied. I leave the house with anxiety, not hope.

I decided after a few minutes that there just wasn't time in my schedule for school, and I didn't go. Well, I did go to harp ensemble rehearsal yesterday, but that was only because I really wanted to.

It was so lovely. I gave my being what it needed in order to feel fulfilled. Perhaps on other days, school's not such a bad option--but only if I've taken care to give myself the essentials, and if I can be interested in the material.

How do you tell someone that you love "no?" Any suggestions? I would love to have them.

So, three weeks ago, I took my grandpa to have some minor, outpatient surgery. When we got him home, he was so loopy from the anesthetic that he ripped out his catheter and gave himself a near-fatal blood infection. We got him to the ER just in time to save him, and I threw my back out in the process of trying to lift him. He's been in rehab for the past three weeks trying to learn how to walk again.

This is the part where you think less of me, everyone. We'll just acknowledge that between us so there's no pretension in the rest of my post.

As a young person, I just don't have the time or energy to take care of these people like they want. It's not that they need everything done for them. They just want everything done for them. It's easy to see why; they think there's a big, strong man in the house that can pick up the slack. But, I have FMS, I'm going to school, I'm trying to work on my music. Young people are trying to establish lives for themselves so that they can support themselves financially and be very secure and happy occupationally. I just don't have what it takes to do everything that they want. It would serve them well to do more for themselves.

But could you say "no" if your grandma was asking you to do something for her in a desperate, weakened voice? See, it's just not that easy. It's a hole I've dug for myself that I have to get out of before it buries me alive.

My little boy weighs 48lbs. That's twice as much as he weighed when I got him. The family tells me that he no longer chews on his food; he just inhales--literally. He eats at three times the pace of his cousin, then he goes over to Tristan's bowl and starts eating his food too. I need to go home for a bit, just so I can see his face. I usually don't dream, I just nightmare. But when I do dream, he's always in them lately. I love my Pistol.

I'd like to always have posts that are upbeat, where I make especially clever jokes about how people are idiots, I write precious little haikus on the changing seasons, and I make observations that bring out the supraliminal in life. Be patient with me. We will get back to those.