They always say, "Don't drink and blog." And as much as I hate the word "blog," I hate the expression even more.
Some of my most revealing journal entries (not from here, but from my super private journal that none of you get to read, ha ha ha!) are written with a minimal amount of alcohol in my system. And I love reading them later - love seeing what I had said and thought and wondered about.
The honest truth is that I am a horrible perfectionist. Even reading through previous posts from months past, I often want to erase them just because I find them simple-minded or silly. Rereading my thesis paper yesterday, I suddenly had the urge to rewrite the whole thing. So much of the phrasing I used was just awful, dreadful stuff. And the real truth is that this perfectionism is inhibiting. I'm always thinking about what others are going to think once they read it. I get so caught up in the syntax, the verb forms, and the exact wording that I end up losing track of the main idea. Honestly, a drink (or four) keeps me from being so hyper-critical; I just write. And say what I am thinking.
Then I can ask questions later.
Today has been a full and wonderful day. K and I went out for a post bday dinner for her and we ordered a pitcher of margaritas. That girl and I are dangerous together. I love her for it.
So what have been the thoughts running through my head since I consumed that last margarita? Tons:
Good friends are the greatest thing in the world. They keep me in check, they remind me of who I really am, they pull me up when I feel weak, they yank me down when I am too proud. If I could tell all of my beautiful, wonderful supportive friends how much they mean to me in words that would do their friendship justice, I would. But I can't. I just hope my actions as a friend speak as words sometimes can't. I have been truly blessed with the most phenomenal of friends.
Keeping my days full has kept me happy. I try to pack them with as much activity as possible. I hate having a moment in the day where the tick-tocking slows down and I drag my sleepy eyes towards the clock in prayer that the minutes pass. That's no way to live. I've come to realize that keeping busy doing things I love is how I function best. I have always been afraid of overcomitting. No more. I love being a busy, busy bee.
You never know yourself as well as you think you do
I saw "The Pianist" today. I urge everybody to go see it. It was a holocaust film, sure. And we're all sort of tired of them. "Schindler's List" probably pushed us over the top. But "The Pianist" is still with me now, almost 12 hours after I saw it. And a whole pitcher's worth of margaritas later, I still see some of the scenes of it clear as day.
Riding home on the train tonight, I started thinking about how ugly human beings can be. Maybe I can be ugly along with them. I'm judgemental, I can probably unknowingly be cruel. But, I cannot see myself acting as some of the German soldiers in the film did today. Yet, just as I thought that, I watched myself walk past the three men sleeping along the benches at the Chatelet metro station. They have nowhere to go, and are utterly alone. They fight everyday to eat. How can I know how hard it is for them? And how can I not have compassion for them? I do - I give when I can. But I can never give enough. Some humans are angels. I want to be one of them. What's stopping me?
It's all just a crazy process - learning about yourself and everything around you at once. Somtimes it's too much. But today, amongst news of the war, amongst the most horrifying images of the wars of the past, I remain optimistic despite my fears. I think this coming war is going to end up being a terrifying one. Call me paranoid, but I think there is far more to it than Mr. Bush has planned. I think there are still plenty of tricks up a certain You-Know-Who's sleeve. I hope for those that have loved ones in Iraq that all works out for the best - and I wish that upon Americans and Iraqis both.
Still, I fear the worst. Overall, I am disturbed by what is an apparently selfish and disgusting side of human nature. Cover your own ass. Don't help others if it puts you out at all. Be a selfish dick. Hurt others to promote yourself. I don't see how this ugly side of us cannot be more evident than in the case of war.
Strangely, I feel that I don't belong amongst those people. Is that naive? I just want to listen to my music, hang out with my friends, read my books, and occasionally aspire to being capable of holding an intellectual conversation from time to time. Violence repulses me. I wanted to vomit in the movie theater today. The current world political scene makes me similarly as sick. Where are all of us that just want to help others? Are we just weaker than those that prefer to walk all over anyone that gets in their way? Maybe we are more numerous, but just less organized?
Nothing beats listening to your headphones on the metro at midnight. When I was a teenager, I used to feel so badass. It was a regular thing. I drove my car fast. I listened to loud music. I rebelled in a variety of ways far too extensive to explore in one sole post. The only remnant I have of that epoque is my music. One song can take me back to that time in a heartbeat. I feel young and alive and crazy and curious all over again. So please, blast it in my ears while the scragglers ride the metro home with me. The doors sound before they close. I still bop to my beat. Stop after stop after stop, until I pop off my train and hop up the steps. One, two, three.
Go see the movie. Call a good friend and tell them you appreciate them. Take some time to do something crazy. Life is passing us by. Live it while you can.
And now, since I have been up for over 20 hours, I am off to my peaceful sleep.
I feel like I've put in my time for my country via social service - did AmeriCorps for two terms, did six years of working only in social service positions, worked with the homeless from the emergency nurseries to the men's and battered women's shelters.
And after all of it, and having been thru some of that myself, I can say that while we all sometimes need a lift, when we can't do it on our own, the only lasting changes are those we make ourselves. If they truly, deeply couldn't stand to be sleeping on a bench, they wouldn't be. But that's in the realm of what they see as possible and allowable for themselves. It's what they'll accept.
It still breaks my heart.
I'm glad you had the lovely margarita day. It sounds perfect and pensive and good.
Exactly. Perfect and pensive and good. Yes.