This typically isn’t my thing, but this works.
This typically isn’t my thing, but this works.
Perhaps it would have been better to say “backward with exploring”. There was a time when I was studying the workings of the Self, but I got caught up and lost in other things, and I stopped. This is the first time in, quite literally, years, that I’m putting forth a good effort to work this stuff out. I’ve downloaded an app on my Android that times and records sessions of meditation, and it’s connected to a community of other users, so it has a support system. It is inspirational to see how many members are actively meditating, and to see their “messages”, which are usually just brief inspirational thoughts.
Today, I didn’t go down to the river to collect River Rocks for hot stone massage therapy like I had wanted, but I did venture into the woods and found some ok woods rocks. I’ve cleansed and sanitized them, and now they are boiling. I’ll get to see which ones retain heat effectively. I do plan on collecting actual River Rocks to use for the Hot Stone Therapy, but unfortunately, I have to wait until an opportunity arises to use the car.
I just checked my boiling rocks and out of the five I gathered, three hold heat really well. The other two were barely even warm by the time I made it into the living room. The other three will be very good for massage and meditating. I just need to figure out the right time to leave them in the boiling water so they don’t get too hot, or to figure out how long they should set before using.
That about sums up myself today. I’ve been busy this past week rearranging this house that isn’t mine and trying to make room for the baby that’s due in about a month. I feel pretty fatigued right now. Too fatigued to really even take more time writing this, but I’m feeling inward so I feel compelled to do something, like write or create. I’d hate to pass this moment up for sleep.
As a child, there was never any emphasis on the importance of saving money. I was never submersed in the world of buying my own toys with my allowance because I never had an allowance. Occasionally, if I had been exceptionally good throughout the week, or if I did well when report cards came around, I’d get five or ten dollars to do with whatever I wanted. I would get the trickle-down pocket change from a meal out or what was left over from that twenty my mom used at the grocery store. These “earnings” were few and far between, and with no real emphasis on the importance of it, not much came from it.
At one point, when I was about 5 or 6, I had a little pink piggy bank that I acquired from moving into our new house. The previous tenants had left it behind, and someone had left just a little bit of change inside. Excited about that, I started adding to it when I could, which was probably more like when I remembered it existed because I’m pretty certain it got shoved in the toy closet with all of my other toys. Years and time went by, and I have no idea what happened to that thing. I can’t remember if it got left behind when we left (like so many other things did), or if the change inside it graduated to my next bank: The coffee-can.
Around the age of ten or eleven, I was keeping these loose “earnings” in a coffee-can, and a couple of times a month, I would count it, just to see what I had. I had no desire to spend it. Money still didn’t hold any real meaning to me. It was a collection, and that was about it. I didn’t think about buying toys at Christmas with it, or buying other people gifts with it. It rested in an “off-limits” part of my brain, just because I wasn’t aware of what it could actually do. We were a low-income family, so I didn’t even need to use money to buy school lunches. I ate for free at school, thanks to assistance programs. That coffee-can just held a number.
It held a number close to 300 dollars when I was about eleven, and then it held about nothing two weeks later.
We were (are) a low-income family. I was bored one evening and declared that I was going to my room to count the change in my coffee-can. This was a time-consuming process, and I was looking forward to it. My mother told me that I should find something else to do, and that I didn’t need to count what was in my coffee-can. Puzzled by this, I asked why, and having the mindset (which I still have) that “because I said so” wasn’t a good answer, I didn’t see why I should listen if that was the only reason. What right did she have? It was my coffee-can, with my money, and if she couldn’t give me a better answer, I was going to do what I had set out to do: Count my change.
Only, there was no change to count. The majority of it was gone. There may have been some loose change rattling around in the bottom of the can, but that was it. Nearly 300 dollars: Gone. We were a low-income family. There was nonsense going on between my mom and her boyfriend that I was unaware of (as I was eleven and still playing with Barbie and Polly Pocket) and she needed money for rent because this time, he wasn’t going to split it with her. I just wish she had told me, sat me down and explained to me that she was having problems and needed to use my coffee-can. Would I have understood the severity of the situation? No, because I still didn’t understand the power of money and the importance of saving it. It would have been better, though, trying to understand, than to have the first thought creep into my head that my mother was a thief.
After getting over being mad at me for not listening to her, she did explain, and I did understand that if rent wasn’t paid, we’d be homeless. And I think over the years, she has done more than pay me back for what was in the coffee-can. I’m twenty-three, and to this day, if need be, she still picks things up from the store for me, helps me pay my bills when I’m in a pickle, and not to mention, she was the one who fed me during my teenage years. Do you know how I much I ate (eat)?
After the coffee-can incident, I never put my change away. Looking back on it, I don’t think it was for fear that it would be taken, but because I had lost any incentive or motivation for trying to reach another 300 dollars. After that point, it just looked like a really big number that I would never be able to reach again, and to this day, I hardly save anything because numbers just look so big, like I will never reach them again, and if I do (and this has happened), something will come up unannounced, by surprise, and there goes everything I’ve saved.
We are still a low-income family, and sometimes that six dollars in the change bottle is just enough to buy milk and bread for the week.
There’s this intangible thing… called time. And time moves on and on and on, watching as our lives change, watching us screw things up, and rarely, watching us get something right. Sometimes, it seems to stand still for us, almost like it’s lending a hand when we fall, or just to linger in a good moment, but even when it waits, we’re asking for more time. We just need more time. We don’t have enough time.
And as we are as we are, we will never have enough time.
Some people are really good with writing about themselves. They can talk about the boring mumbo-jumbo of everyday life and it’s good; they make it not-boring everyday mumbo-jumbo.
Whenever I try it, I feel like I’m just complaining. I’m just desolately babbling on about this thing I like or that thing I don’t, and just how frustrated I am with all of it. If only I could turn it into something productive…
Today I woke up and was still quite tired. (By the way, I’m 24 weeks pregnant now and things are more challenging than they used to be.) So, I got up around 8.30 this morning, separated laundry, grabbed my ToDo List (which is conveniently located on my Android), and headed out the door for today’s work. Here’s how it went:
McDonald’s for breakfast–I was starving.
Wal-Mart for more than what was on my list.
Carwash–The elderly man in the car before me confused the carwash itself and the attendant had to reset it twice.
Laundromat–One of the dryers I used took four attempts at drying and some of those clothes still came out wet.
McDonald’s for boyfriend’s lunch–I had to repeat myself on multiple occasions when the drive-thru girl kept mishearing me and mistook “honey” for “honey mustard” and turned “ten-piece McNugget” into “twenty-piece McNugget.”
By the time I returned home, I was fatigued. I never did take a nap. I sat down and relaxed for a while, which helped, and now my head is telling me, “You will sleep very well tonight.” Well, I certainly hope so. I still have another 7 items on my list, but they’re just going to wait until tomorrow.
My last task for the evening is a simple one: Getting up to reheat my bowl of oatmeal that set here while I typed this, but damnit, it should grow legs and do it itself.
It started yesterday. There were large, dark clouds, and the sun was in increments. Twenty minutes, come and go, it would rain. The birds didn’t stop singing, the cat wouldn’t come inside, and I was very peaceful.
With a slightly different layout, today’s turn of events are much the same.
And the air smells wonderful.
So it is that I’ve been away for the holiday season, but I’m back just in time for the celebration of my 23rd year on planet Earth, which will take effect in approximately 39 minutes and counting. It seems like I’ve seen so much in 23 years, but I feel like I’ve done so little.
As far as New Year resolutions are concerned, I aim to be incredibly productive, and aim to keep everyone updated as some sort of motivation.
I’ve already begun my first project: a solar heater. The one presently in the making is a small scale model, just to gain information and to perform some tests with. Should it succeed, tweekings necessary or not, it will become the real deal, and then we’ll move forward to a similar project number 2. I’ll keep that one quiet for now.
It was about 6 years ago now. I was with this guy and at the time, I thought he was awesome. He was my first serious boyfriend and I was very excited because it was evident that he liked me. I didn’t have to do any type of digging to find that out, but it wasn’t so obvious to the point I wanted to vomit, either. After about 2 years, that relationship ended up not working out, but about a year in:
I was over at boyfriend’s house one weekend. We were lying on the bed and the opportunity came about to go to one of his friends’ house, and I was oddly reluctant at first, but then decided to get on with it anyway. We were just going to lie around all day.
So we show up, and there were many people there I did not know. I went to a different city’s high school, and therefore did not know the classmates of my boyfriend. We were there for a little while, but then things started to get awkward. See, we were actually at the friend’s ex-girlfriend’s house, and things weren’t so good there. I don’t recall exactly what happened, but ex-girlfriend’s mom came home and got into some type of argument with ex, so boyfriend, friend, and myself left to go to friend’s apartment.
Now, I had met this friend one other time. All 3 of us had gone to see a movie together, and friend was not worth paying attention to. He mocked me often and then on the ride home, he mocked my choice of music, and then boyfriend jumped in on the mockery as well. I was beginning to believe that friend was a real arrogant prick.
At the apartment, however, things became different. We were all sitting on the couch, listening to an array of music between Tool, AFI, and Brand New. Friend had been going on about getting his hair cut differently as it was on the longer side, and I volunteered to do it since I typically did my own hairstyles anyway. I wish I could remember the conversations, but I don’t. I know that things were starting to get flirty, and something was said about friend’s rabbit, but aside from that, the bulk of words are amiss.
I cut friend’s hair as he had asked. It just so happened that his fedora at the time made him look amish with the requested hairstyle, but he was oddly growing more and more appealing.
The 2 boys went out for a smoke and I stayed in. I don’t smoke cigarettes and I abhor going out in the cold. It was sometime in February, which is usually the coldest month of the year in NW PA.
They had come back in and positioned themselves on either side of me on the couch. Now at this point, it was probably becoming obvious to boyfriend that something odd was in the air as after a little while, boyfriend went out for another smoke; however, friend stayed inside.
Friend and I had a good 10 minutes to ourselves on the couch and I made sure to use my time wisely. I laid my head in his lap as we talked, and it was one of the most fantastic conversations I had ever held. It was so fantastic, in fact, that I kept my head right there, right on his lap, when boyfriend came back up from his smoke. I kept my head in friend’s lap for almost the remainder of the time we were at friend’s place. Boyfriend sat down at the other end of the couch, as it was the only part of the couch not being taken up by the length of my body, and carried on conversation. He had a look. He knew something was very not right, and yet it was as though I did not know. I felt as though things couldn’t be better. I was wrong.
We left that night and I think I went home because it was a Sunday and we’d all have to go to school the next day. I’m going to move on to another event.
Boyfriend and I were still together, but friend and I were not-so-secretly talking. We had planned on boyfriend not finding out, but boyfriend realized who I was talking to every time he would call me and I’d be on the other line. Not to mention that I obtained friend’s number by asking boyfriend for it. “What’s friend’s number?” “Why?” “Oh, I have a missed call from an unknown number and I thought it might be friend.” PAUSE. “…Oh. It’s (insert friend’s number here).” By the way, I didn’t have a missed call from an unknown number. I didn’t even have a missed call. Friend didn’t even have my number to call me in the first place. I REALLY wanted to talk to him.
Moving further along:
It was some span of time later (couple weeks to a month? My memory is really horrible at times) and I was hanging out with a female friend of mine of the time, and she had just got out of a crappy relationship and was looking to hang out with this other dude. So, she gets a hold of her cowboy type guy, and I get a hold of friend, and we meet up. We took a drive in female friend’s red car, and that was when love was born.
We had just been riding around for hours, me and friend in back seat, female friend and cowboy in front, and friend invited me over to his side of the car to cuddle. We undid our seatbelts and laid down in the backseat, fell asleep holding hands and rubbing each other. My face was buried in his chest as he held me, and the smell of his clothes was absolutely intoxicating. It became a smell I will never forget.
When the ride was over, we dropped friend off back at his place. We expressed the same stranglehold of not wanting it to be over, and when he moved to kiss me, I gave him my cheek. Everything was moving so fast, and not that I didn’t like it and not that I didn’t want it to happen, but I needed a moment to catch up. I wasn’t sure if anything was real and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Everything about that car ride, him holding me and talking with me, telling me how he felt and how astounding it was that he, of all people, felt that way, was breathtaking. I could have died. Right there in the backseat of that old red chevy cavalier, my heart was catching aflame as his was on fire and I could feel it. This was no small flame. This was an erupting, raging wildfire. Simply put, we were falling in love.
But things weren’t always so great.