‘Pronoia’ p.271 #1: Have you ever had permission to indulge in a marathon of braggadocio? Have you ever gotten an invitation to bluster on endlessly about your own charms without feeling even a touch of guilt or inhibition? I hereby grant you such a license right now.

To whet you imagination, read an excert from the boast of Eric Baer, a participant in a Brag Therapy session hosted in Milwaukee. “I have opposable thumbs, ” Eric exulted. “I can read. I breathe all the way through the night even though I’m asleep. I have access to emporiums where I can choose from 25 different brands of toilet paper. I know how to turn food into energy. I live where knuckleheads run everything and yet nothing ever blows up.”

NOTE: I’ll be honest, it honestly took me a couple days to muster the gumption to do this exercise. But what the hell? You only live once. Here we go:

I sing rock songs done originally by men so well that I don’t have to pay a bar tab at most karaoke bars, and not just because I don’t drink alcohol. I put brown sugar in my tea which makes it more awesome than usual. I have the prettiest, healthiest, thickest hair of anyone I know - and the color is divine. I was curvy before it was trendy. I can say the alphabet backwards. I have hitchhiker’s thumbs. I have a soul and believe in helping people who can’t help themselves, which means that I may have to sacrifice some of my luxury to do so. Sometimes when I get on a roll I’m funny as shit. I can win debates with about 85% of people and I can level those people with calm, stealthy rhetoric. I’ve sampled more types of chocolate than most people my age. I have unbelievably dark and long lashes. I’ve rung up a $50 tab on sashimi all by myself. I can alternate reading the same 5 books and still remember where I was and what was happening in each of them. I believe in changing energies and the Law of Attraction and perform rituals to do so. I can do the best Ethel Merman impression you’ve ever heard. I can dance like a fiend. I only get about 4 zits every year. I can eat a whole gallon of chocolate ice cream in one sitting. I wrote my first piece of erotica at 12 years old. I can sing every song on Styx’s “Paradise Theatre” and “The Grand Illusion” albums by heart. I’m not allergic to ANYTHING. My child literally uses manners in her sleep because I rock at setting an example. I spoil my friends with presents, even when I can’t afford them. Actually, I love giving people things in general and have been known to make myself broke by making donations to charities, people, bums on the street, etc. I waited until I was totally ready to lose my virginity and, no, I don’t think I was too young and, no, I won’t be upset if my daughter loses hers at the same age. I’m more introspective and proactive about changing my dysfunctions than at least 70% of the rest of the people in the society in which I was raised. My nose piercing has looked the same since the minute it was done - no swelling, no infection, no redness, just adorableness. I’m the biggest ‘Sesame Street’ nerd I know. I have a fantastic alias/nom de plume. I totally pick up on social cues even though I choose to ignore a lot of them. I have five short stories I’ve been working on for a year now. My body magically knew to provide me with too much seratonin and dopamine during my pregnancy as a defense mechanism against my chronic depression. My eyes change color every day. I know how to spell. Every time that I’ve done something that someone else has perceived as psychotic, I’ve been fully aware that that was what was going to happen and I went ahead and did it anyway - sometimes just to freak people out. I’ve never ever cried to get myself out of a ticket. I look adorable in earmuffs, a furry hat, pincurls, dreadlocks, kitty-cat ears and 1950’s style A-line housedresses. I’ve had over 20 diaries and journals since I was 5 and I’ve kept all of them. I know exactly how to be annoying and I can cite the minute it happens with anyone I’m targeting. Oh yeah, and I annoy people I don’t like but have to be around because it’s totally fun and I’m thoroughly amused by it… and because I have to let my inner brat out from time to time. I pwned the 12 Steps and tools of therapy. I’m so irresistable I’ve had to put out not one but two restraining orders on people. I won a multiplication bee when I was in the 3rd grade and, because the teacher preemptively knew I’d win it, she bought me some Sherlock Holmes books ’cause she knew I loved reading them. I’m fully aware when I say things that make me look dysfunctional. I was the only one giggling when I saw both “Titanic” and “The Notebook” (I was dragged) in the theatre. Despite what my high school drama teacher (”facilitator”) said, I got my own paragraph-of-glowing-praise in the public reviews from the only two community theatre productions I’ve ever been in… and in one of those productions I didn’t even speak. I make ideal pancakes. I have over 40 mix tapes and CDs that were made by friends in the last ten years. Oh, and I make arguably better mix CD’s than most people. I saved at least $1,000 by buying all my textbooks from Amazon.com and teaching my family how to do the same. I work every day on self-betterment, even if I don’t have time for it. I didn’t marry an idiot. I have my own desk, my own computer, my own filing cabinet, my own Etsy store, my own three domains and my own two blogs. I get gifts from across the planet every year. I make the most artistically badass scrapbooks I’ve ever seen. I’ve played a 200 year old piano located at Juliette Gordon Low’s house after the tour guide said, “We only let one girl do this every year.” I’m so irresistable I’ve had not one, but three “stalkers” (crazy people who won’t leave me alone and keep calling/harassing me because they’re in love) and have had handfuls of people I’ve heard can’t/won’t/don’t stop talking about me even years after I’ve forgotten them. I live in North Carolina. I know a real enigma. I survived both jr. high and high school. I’m not a bigot. I’m a neo-feminist which means that I can enjoy baking, sewing, knitting, etc without feeling some sort of guilt that I’m backsliding or being a slave to societal patriarchy. I look awesome in red. I also look awesome with purple highlights in my hair. My guitar was given to me by a Grammy winner and Top 40 recording artist. My top half is two sizes smaller than my lower half. I can recite every line in “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” The Movie. I’m no longer envious of, threatened by or hateful to beautiful women (and not just because I’ve embraced the fact that they turn me on.) I have a Pick of Destiny. I get more excited about autumn than most [Christian] kids do about Christmas. I’ve never seen an episode of “The Hills”, “Laguna Beach” or “Jersey Shore”. I won/earned a Girl Scout Silver Award before anyone else in my troop did and I earned every Try-It that Brownie Girl Scouts could in the early 90’s. I’ve traveled abroad and have been to all but 15 of the United States. I’ve learned how to cut needy idiots out of my life once they’ve screwed up too many times instead of staying emotionally invested and draining myself for no reason. I stopped biting my fingernails. I have the cutest child on the planet who also happens to be polite, selfless, sociable and giggly. After years of apologizing and making amends for all those years I was a terrible, awful person, I’m finally in the clear and don’t owe anyone anything [for the moment]!!! I had the best wedding I’ve ever heard of in my entire life.

I honestly haven’t forgotten; I’ve just been out of time in the last couple days and, when I do have a moment, I don’t have it in me to do some sort of writing “assignment”. Plus, I’m finding that I’m enjoying the physical Pronoiac exercises more than the written ones.

And also also, I’m bummed because I just found out that Breszny reissued a new and improved (how can it be both? honestly…) “Pronoia” last year with 55% more material and, while I want it, I know that that’s just silly because I have the original and it can’t be that much different and I don’t really have money to spare on something so silly… So I’ll just live with the one I’ve got.

So yeah, I’m getting back to this. Just not today. Because I baked and wrote and cleaned house and played with a fidgety, antsy Bear all day and I’m tired and just want to go meditate and sleep. Probably at the same time.

Pronoia pg.234, #18 “Anyone who says he knows what God is or isn’t, doesn’t. Confess what you don’t know about God.”

Note: In this case, I’m just going to use the word “God” instead of the Universe or the Divine Presence or the Booming Ha-Ha, just because that’s how Breszny phrased it.

I don’t know if God has created a third or twelfth or 7,005th gender. I don’t know if God toys with people just for fun. I don’t know what my purpose is in God’s immediate equation. I don’t know if God thinks any religion has gotten it “right”. I don’t know if God is capable of more emotions than the ones humans are limited to. I don’t know if God has put life on other planets. I don’t know if God has ever had the need to do some soul searching. I don’t know if God has more notes or more colors or more verbal sounds or more temperatures than humans have discovered. I don’t know if God has ever tried to explain Everything to any one being and given that being the capability to understand It All. I don’t know if God had a number of blueprints for humans before he created us. I don’t know what other life forms he/she’s capable of. I don’t know if God is angry and damning of some people and compassionate and forgiving of others. I don’t know if God has any more of a tangible form than what I see before me in everyone. I don’t know if God has clearly, audibly spoken to anyone. I don’t know if God arrives in human form just to mingle and hang out on a daily basis. I don’t know what or who God thinks is stupid or pointless. I don’t know how many levels of consciousness God is capable of. I don’t know if God has preferences of any sort. I don’t know whether or not God plays favorites. I don’t know if God gets lonely being the only being who is all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-present. I don’t if God laughs at the times humans try to argue or personify him/her/it. I don’t know if God is sentient or somehow even more omniscient than that. I don’t know how much God orchestrates and how much he/she allows humans to conduct. I don’t know how many other options God has other than “Good” or “Evil.” I don’t know how God possibly concocted the notion of time or space or infinity. I don’t know if God is actually affected personally by the things that happen in this world/reality. I don’t know if God minds being simplified into various forms so we can communicate and try to understand him/her better. I don’t know any more about God than he/she/it wants me to. I don’t know if humanity and this world and this universe is just another file in God’s massive workload. I don’t know what God’s favorite song-of-praise is. I don’t know where God is the most present in my day-to-day. I don’t know how to find and totally vibe with God’s intended rhythm. I don’t know what other things about God I don’t or won’t know.

Look, I fully realize and accept that everyone has character flaws and that part of life is learning to accept each other (and ourselves) despite them. I’m okay with that. What I’m not okay with is when people are dominated by those faults and see no need to change their terrible demeanors/dysfunctions. And this is why I hate Winnie the Pooh’s friends.

I know that they’re supposed to be caricatures of personalities and perhaps there’s supposed to be some underlying message about learning to love each other, but, frankly I think that that whole moral is missed on the audience that the Disney cartoon version of A. A. Milne’s work was targeting.

Let’s look at the group:
Rabbit is a staunch traditionalist micromanager and misanthrope who borderlines on OCD and manipulates those around him through the implementation of guilt.
Owl is a pompous windbag who pays no attention to the needs of others and, instead, dominates all his relationships by rambling about himself and the lifestyle that he no longer has with people he no longer sees.
Tigger is ruled by his out-of-control ADHD and his overwhelming insecurities, which lead him to grandstanding, invading others’ personal space violently and rarely accepting humility and responsibility for the completely self-centered lifestyle he leads. (Also, he’s a bit of a pathological liar.)
Piglet is a wimpering coward who hides behind his feeble excuses (”I’m a small animal.. waahh.”) and general fear to prevent himself from having a life of his own. Instead, he has committed himself to a completely codependent relationship with Pooh, relying on the bear to provide him protection and to think and perceive the world for him, instead.
Gopher is an annihilistic workaholic with no regard to anyone around him.
Eeyore is just a fucking drag who has resolved himself to the lazy comfort of being miserable and whining about how horrible his life is when he does nothing to make it better or to turn his mentality around.
And Pooh, while sweet and genuinely good-hearted, suffers from an overwhelming eating disorder that he refuses to treat even after his actions have had negative repercussions on his friendships. (Getting trapped in Rabbit’s doorway for a few days after inviting himself over to eat all of Rabbit’s honey, for example.) He steals from his friends, he cannot function without turning to honey as a source of comfort and his every action is driven by his desire for food. Gross.

The only tolerable one of the whole group is Kanga (and Roo) who is having to do the single-parent thing and has nobody to hang out with but this group of self-absorbed idiots. She either has a raging drinking problem she keeps in secret or has found zen.

All of them have their moments of hope. They have moments of peace and compassion and genuine care and joy for each other, but most of their interactions are dictated by their utter dysfunctions and it is EXHAUSTING to watch.

I’m glad I was never one of those kids who identified with any of the characters, although I’m sure the things I hate about their respective personalities somehow reflect things I don’t like about myself or some psychoanalytical crap along those lines. But when I take the time to invite fictitious characters into my life, I like to find people and personalities that I can relate to, whose quirks and flaws seem real and ever-evolving, whom I would enjoy hanging out with in real life. Because, if you think about it, that’s really what you’re doing anyway by taking the time to get invested with their personal stories. And, just like the characters from ‘Sex and the City’, I find the inhabitants of the Hundred Acre Woods to be insufferable and annoying.

Recently I’ve gotten a little gross and self-pitying and borderline obsessive about the things I don’t have or can’t do or whathaveyou instead of my usual focusing-on-all-the-good-things-going-on-and-that-I’m-lucky-to-have mode that I’ve learned to rely on. With frustrations of money and time and having a sick child at home for 3/4 of January, it’s been easy to get a little wrapped up in the “poor me”s and general martyrdom that always seems to set in during this time of year. (And ALWAYS makes me feel worse and even stupider for subscribing to it in the first place.)

Something has to change [or I'll keep doing it until March and, by then, it will have become more of a lifestyle than a habit and we all know what that's a gateway for.]

So I thought I’d spend this month revisiting Rob Breszny’s Pronoia, as it always gives me incredible insight into my current realities and it challenges me to push myself creatively and spiritually. Don’t hold me to this [because we all know how well I do with long-term commitments] but I’d like to do one of the exercises recommended in the book for every day in February… or at least 4 times every week. I think it’ll help me flush some things out and help with this whole rewiring-of-my-brain thing I’m in the throes of.

So here’s #1:

Pg. 194, Exercise #9 “I was never the class clown. I am not a troubled but devilishly handsome wastrel living on a trust fund. I’ve never beaten up anyone, have steadfastly not aspired to write like Raymond Carver, and have never played strip Scrabble with a junkie violinist on a leaky waterbed in a Key West penthouse. There are so many things I am not and will never be and I’m glad I know about them. It helps me stay focused on exactly who I am.

What about you? Who aren’t you? Fantasize about all the things you never were and all the paths you will never take. Put it in writing.”

I never aspired to be a mathematician, a paleontologist or an orthopedic surgeon. I’ve never hustled anyone at billiards. I’ve never deliberately killed an animal. I’ve never made out with anyone (male or female) at a frat party. I was never given limitless money to spend on name brand clothing/vehicles/cosmetics/etc and I was never left home alone for the weekend in high school. I was never a coke whore living on the streets. I will never be a teenage bride or teenage mother. I was never a bigot and have never hated someone based on their creed, sexuality, race, nationality or general demographic. I will never be a prom queen. I will never be a sweater-set-and-pearls-wearing soccer mom. I have never knocked anyone unconscious. I’ve never attended a professional wrestling match and will never attend a professional boxing match. I have never had the desire to climb Mt. Everest. I’ve never been in a bitch-fight with anyone’s ex-spouse. I’ll never burn a cross while wearing a white hood in a field with a bunch of other dudes. I’ve never been a cartoonist for an animated series. I’ve never taught an aerobics class to senior citizens. I’ve never wanted to drive a pick-up truck. I’ve never apologized for saying things that I genuinely meant. I’ve never built a house of cards. I’ve never been valedictorian, student body president or spelling bee champion. I’ve never and will never made/make a solemn pledge to marry Jesus and live in a nunnery. I have never and will never stop overanalyzing the meaning of life, the meaning of my life, my purpose and the basis of reality. I’ll never be a workaholic. I’ll never pay to attend a NASCAR event. I have never been the subject of tabloid ridicule. I have never plowed a field only using an ox and a homemade plow. I’ll never have Tweety bird tattooed to my body. I’ll never attend a Motley Crue concert. I was never on a boat with a band of pirates. I’ll never and have never obsessed about my wedding day. I will never have any form of plastic surgery unless it is imperative to my health to do so (post-wreck/fire reconstruction, mammography, etc.) I will never allow my family to keep me on life-support longer than two weeks. I will never settle for mediocrity. I have never had a perm. I have never won a DDR tournament. I will never take fertility drugs. I will never play WoW. I have never tasted toe fungus. I will never work as a greeter at Wal-Mart. I will never major in philosophy and I will never listen to and believe anyone who believes he or she knows the absolute Truth. I will never be trendy enough to be incessantly angry/offended/argumentative. I have never had the desire to buzz-and-bleach my hair. I will never get a tattoo in a language that isn’t my native tongue. I will never refuse to learn from anyone, no matter how much I hate their personal beliefs or lifestyle. I have never worked as an indentured servant. I was never drafted. I was never a guest on the “Jerry Springer Show”. I’ve never been launched out of a catapult. I wasn’t conceived at a ren faire, a music festival, a car wash, a demolition derby, a public bathroom or while either partner was on the clock. I have never attended a dog fight or a dog race. I will never join a police force, a military service, or the SWAT team. I will never convert to any religion for the societal benefit of someone else. I never attended the Royal Academy of Ballet. I never hunted wild boar. I’ve never amputated someone’s arm after sedating them with brandy. I never installed a gunrack in my car. I’ve never dated a quarterback (nor have I ever had the inclination to.) I never smeared fireflies all over myself to make me glow in the dark. I’ve never had an illicit affair with a college professor. I’ve never watched an episode of any daytime soap opera. I will never be a contestant on a reality TV show. I’ve never thrown a Molotov cocktail. I’ll never voluntarily get a tongue, back, bellybutton or nether-regions piercing. I’ve never had the desire to board a submarine. I’ll never get cornrows. I never smoked a cigarette in the bathroom at school. I never travelled to Mexico to get a sketchy medical procedure from a doctor I found on the internet. I never collected farts in a jar. I’ve never played an electric banjo solo with Carlos Santana. I’ve never been attracted to “a man in uniform.” I’ll never stay in an unhappy/unhealthy relationship again. I’ve never painted the outside of my house yellow or pink. I’ve never worn khaki capri pants in public. I never dropped anything off a skyscraper. I’ll never serve as Prime Minister of anywhere. I’ve never swallowed a sword or breathed fire. I’ve never attended an execution. I’ve never mined for coal. I’ve never cleaned a septic tank. I’ve never hurled myself off a national landmark. I’ve never mauled a grizzly bear. I’ve never been to a sperm bank. I’ve never spoken in rhyme for a day. I’ll never have my own ventriloquist act. I’ve never owned a pair of clear heels. I’m never going to be a pop superstar.

I feel like these could go on forever and I’m starting to get to menial, obvious things. Maybe I’ll revisit it later. For now, this is what I’m not.

I mentioned in my last post that I was doing a full-body-and-mind rehab of sorts to hit the reset button on pretty much everything that has to do with my life, my mentality, my habits, my productivity, etc. (I have a real problem doing things Day by Day, apparently.) And I made the declaration that I was going to do a Master Cleanse. And I realized I was just setting myself up for failure.

So, under the advisement of a couple friends I am, instead, doing a 30-day raw foods/vegan cleanse. Not only do I think this has a far better chance of success on my part (I do love veggies. And fruit! Whee!) but, ultimately, it’ll give me a good foundation for healthy eating habits in general, which is something I’ve let drop by the wayside as of late.

And I realize that those crazy hippies out there will insist that I go organic but it costs an arm and a leg to do so and, frankly, we’re cutting pennies where we can so I’m just going with raw fruits and veggies where I can and not tacking on another thing to stress about like money.

So yes! 30 days of yummy instead of 7-10 days of psychotic misery. Yes, please!

In order to get my Chapter III off to a strong start, I’m hitting the “reset” button on everything and putting myself through a 90-day rehab of sorts. Due to external conflicts, I couldn’t actually start this on my birthday, mostly because I intend to incorporate a lemon-and-cayenne-nastiness Master Cleanse fast for the first week and my whole little family has a disgusting case of the Ick that I needed to tackle first.

(Also, NO, I’m not doing the MC in hopes to lose any weight; I know I’ll gain whatever I get rid of right back after the week is over and I’d never want to lose weight through starvation anyway… Losing hair, muscle mass and skin luster is gross. I honestly just have so much gunk from the last two/three months in my system and I really want to get myself to a healthy, balanced state to work from. I’m even doing the salt-water flushes, but I draw the line at colonics… and not just because I can’t afford them.)

I don’t intend to go into great detail in public about my motivations or intentions with my DiY rehab but I really want it to be a means of flushing everything out (physically and mentally) and building my daily life from scratch, which will have a great ripple effect on the Bigger Picture. Frankly, I think it’s a change that’s long overdue and I’m excited to see where I am on April 25.

So anyway, I thought I’d give everyone a heads-up since I’ve heard the Cleanse does crazy stuff to one’s mind and, although I’m going to try really really hard not to, I may be prone to spouting some insanities publicly.

Maybe I’ll just make a rule to keep to myself for the 7-10 days.

The Bear has gotten to the age where she’s no longer speaking gibberish, which makes communicating with her a completely different experience. Now I actually have to listen to what it is that she’s saying, translate it into an entire sentence, and respond accordingly. (This is important if I want to encourage her language skills. Which, um, I definitely do.) Often, there are times that she’s been saying something for a very long time that I simply cannot understand until she has the opportunity to physically demonstrate it, which has the potential for hours of frustration when she wants so desperately to get her point across and cannot enunciate whatever it is she desires.

So anyway, I thought I’d include a short list of her most frequent vocabulary uses. Many of these she has been using for about 6 months, but about 60% of them were just developed in the last couple months. Also, when the definition has slashes, it means that this word has multiple definitions that are used contextually. Reeeally keeps me on my toes.

Here are the words that actually mean whole sentences:

“Dosdos” ~ I’d like to go upstairs/downstairs now.
“Ewwwwww!” ~ Someone pooted!/I just pooped!/One of the cats just barfed!
(My hubs had an incident where he was just out of the room a couple days ago and heard one of our cats making the “Guh, guh, guh” pre-vomiting noise. There was a moment of silence and then he heard, “EEEEwwwww!”)
“Sjoos?” ~ May I have some juice?
“Muck” ~ May I have some milk?
“Chose?” ~ May I have some Cheerios?
“Kek!” ~ Someone is having a birthday so there must be cake! (She says this during birthday parties even if there is no cake in view.)
“Tekyu!” ~ Thank you! (I have to brag about this one for a minute because she always says it anytime anyone gives her something. The other day I went in to check on her in bed and I pulled the covers up over her while she was sleeping. Barely conscious, she said, “Tekyuuu.” I was so proud.)
“Bye Bye!” ~ This one seems self-explanatory, but she says this when she wants someone to go away, like a needle-wielding nurse.
“Co! Co!” ~ It’s cold! (She always says this while wrapping her arms around herself and making her jaw chatter, even if she’s just describing ice cream. It’s hilarious.)
“Deddee buck!” ~ I want to look at the wedding-photos book you gave Daddy for your anniversary.
“Waigo?” ~ Where did it go? (This is almost always prefaced with a gasp and a palms-up shrug.)
“Cuws” ~ I want to color now.
“Seet seet!” ~ Have a seat next to me.
“Huuuuug.” ~ Pick me up and hold me. I don’t feel well or am tired but won’t admit that. I just want mommy. (Admittedly my favorite.)

Because we’ve been stuck in the house battling bronchitis and lethargy-inducing fevers for the last week, we’ve been subjecting ourselves to a lot of movies. She only has about five she wants to watch ::sigh:: ad naaauseum. Here’s the list:

“Teek!” ~ The Tinkerbell movie or its sequel. She MUST wear her wings (”Weegs!” or “Veegs!” or “Sfy”) and skirt every time we run these movies.
“Pooh” or “Piggit” or “Teega” or “Rabbie” ~ The Pooh Movie
“Doggies” ~ Lady and the Tramp
“Muwmuw” ~ The Little Mermaid (although this isn’t her favorite, much to my chagrin)
“RAAAR!” ~ Monsters, Inc.
“Sessie” ~ Sesame Street OR the “Bare Necessities” Sing Along Songs DVD
“Miggie” ~ The godawful “Disneyland Fun” Sing Along Songs DVD featuring Mickey Mouse
“Piggie” ~ The Muppet Show. I’ll discuss it more later, but “piggie” actually has multiple meanings, which I think is pretty cool.

And then here are just the basics:

“RAAR!” ~ Monster/dragon/dinosaur. (She’s not afraid of any of these. Also, when little boys have tried to jump out and scare her with roars on playdates she giggles at them and then runs after them, doing the same. Awe. Some.)
“Ticky ticky!” ~ Tickles
“Achoos” ~ Tissues (this is one we didn’t teach her but she just started identifying on her own.)
“Cowds” ~ Clouds. (Another we didn’t teach her.)
“Ah-pay” ~ Airplane
“Hawsie” ~ Horsie(s)
“Cows” ~ Cow(s)
“Buds” ~ Bird(s)
“Caw” ~ Car
“Tuck” ~ Truck
“Piggies” ~ Toes/Pigs/Miss Piggy.
“Toes” ~ Toes (she actually recognizes that there are two words for toes and that one is a colloquialism! Coool!)
“POOPP!” ~ Poop. (This is the one word she overenunciates every time. Loudly.)
“Cowck” ~ Clock. (It sounds filthy when she says it out loud. We must remedy this.)
“Cackee”/”Gaggee” ~ Cookie
“Schoo-choo” ~ train
“Kack! Kack!” or “Dack!” ~ duck/goose/swan
“Uggut” ~ yogurt
“Chickychicky”/”Bok!Bok!” ~ Chickens (this is always accompanied with bent-elbow flapping gestures)

I could ramble on for a while about basic vocab, but I think after a while it starts to get mundane (”Doew” = “door”, etc.) But that’s what I have for now. And that’s pretty much all the language I get on an average day. I wish there was a device that people could wear that would translate everything everyone else said into basic toddler language so I could see how they’d do after a week of that. I’m sure their nerves would be as frayed and their sanity as wrecked as mine after just a couple days.

Recently, I gathered all the mix CD’s and tapes I’d been given since 1999-ish just to see what sort of crazy compilation I could throw together from them. Standing in mesmerized awe, I realized that I own more than 40 customized mixes, not even including the dozen-or-so I’ve collected from significant others. (I’ve tossed most of them but still have a few CD’s I keep meaning to transfer to MP3’s so I can be rid of the tangible reminder.) That’s roughly four every year! For a decade!

A little less recently, I whittled down my Facebook Friends List from 900-ish “friends” to [an ever-increasing] 350-ish friends I find worthwhile enough to keep up with. (Once I achieved my petty quota of validation from learning that the douchenozzles who tormented me in jr. high grew up to be bloated, drunken, bigoted trust-fund kids, there was really no need to keep them anywhere close to my present life.) I took that time to look at the people I’ve been lucky enough to know personally and then back up and look at the whole motley crew objectively. I found myself laughing out loud at the absurd joy of my life as evidenced solely in the company I keep.

One of my friends is a singer/songwriter/siren who dominates rooms, disables jawhinges and makes people feel validated as humans simply by looking in their general direction. I have a friend who is an artist/performer/genius who lives in an old post office that he’s converted into a palace where he throws lavish, bohemian parties and plays his musical suitcase. One of my friends is an international celebrity who’s televised in dozens of countries on a daily basis to the amusement of 3-6 year-olds who cheer wildly as he steps off private planes. Two of my friends are writers who legitimately have the potential to revolutionize modern literature. One of my oldest friends is a gorgeous chemical engineer who listens to punk rock and plays alongside guys in male-dominated sports. A friend I’m sure I’ve known for a couple lives is an empath/healer with a cutting, brash tongue, a vast, uncompromising soul and a giggling mischief that pulls the disguise off his undeniable compassion.

Ooo! And I know an enigma! A real one! She’s beautiful beyond reason and quirky and complicated and when she laughs she opens the soul of the room she’s in and turns it over in her palms and hands it back to us. And she’s wild with passion and love that’s infectious and controversial and makes people love her emphatically [unless they’re scared of that sort of person and then they often choose to hate her for no reason.] I can remember a point in my life when she had three suitors who were all close friends and who lived for her every word and she knew it but she didn’t realize it and she held it all in a way that you couldn’t really envy her as much as share in her giddy, confused, confident laughter. And for God-only-knows what reason, she loves me and when she goes out of her way to let me know it I smile for weeks and feel unique and safe and special, unlike with anyone else.

I have an ever-self-sufficient friend who is a Republican bellydancer with a laugh that’s infectious and a rapid wit that is hilarious to watch [but hell to suffer] when in “Attack Mode.” (Despite her political leanings, we have yet to have a conversation where we don’t agree with 90% of what the other is saying… so she still has a perfectly-intact soul.) I have a wildly-creative, artist friend who is an effortless medium and who was everywhere that was awesome in the 1960’s (except Woodstock; she was in Daytona that weekend) and loves and knows me better than I know myself most of the time. I have three friends who look like tall, curvy, dark, bold-faced goddesses and would be terrifyingly powerful/dangerous to men and women alike should they ever meet. (Two of them live in NYC and I’m positive they should become besties, like, immediately.) I know world-travelers and political aides and a pure-hearted genius/prodigy who cleaned dishes with me with the same intensity that he implemented while working in international think tanks.

I know brilliant musicians and gorgeous models and driven geniuses (with souls! Those are the best kind of geniuses!) and revolutionary comics/playwrights and refreshingly unique entertainers and groundbreaking visionaries and neo-feminist SAHmothers and fucking phenomenal chefs (two are quite successful and both are female! score!) and recovering addicts/alcoholics with the craziest stories I’ve ever heard and bohemian artists who’ll never be understood but don’t seem to mind and incarcerated convicts who send me the condescending Christmas cards their relatives send them every year, marked with hilarious commentary and a stripper who is now teaching home ec in a schwanky jr. high and daring, colorful Burners (oh, how I long to be one of those) and crossdressers of both genders (both non-professional and professional) and founders of incredible non-profit movements and Broadway singer/dancer/actors and farmers/hardcore gardeners who make me want to sell everything and live off the grid starting tomorrow and the male, punk rock version of Mama Cass and feminista bloggers and quite possibly one of the greatest actors on the planet at the moment and two aerialists and a documentarian (who’s putting together a project that’s just going to be epic once released internationally) and the guy who was ranked one of the top trumpet players in the nation and a female bodybuilder and a powerhouse editor who fights for small businesses with a daily news syndication she runs by herself and young, rad, relatable missionaries who are going to revolutionize how the world sees American Christians and DIY crafters who are going to clothe the world, one hand-knit sweater at a time and people with the balls to immigrate to where they dream of living and a sweet Muslim model who very patiently answers all my idiotic questions about Islamic holidays and schoolteachers who are going out of their way to challenge the status quo (and call attention to the rampant apathy that rules our public school system) and freaking triathlon addicts and a designer whose stuff is now sold at Nordstrom and opera singers and a gorgeous, free-spirited woman who has been inadvertently and gradually coaxing me out of my shell by her inspirational lifestyle and mindset and…

And I get to be in the middle of it.

I honestly always thought that I’d have to be wildly famous or insanely wealthy to know as many uniquely radiant people as I do. And if I were ever to be surrounded by so many unnaturally dazzling characters I would never have assumed that they’d be the types to call themselves my friends.

And I’m not saying all the above-mentioned are in the “Nearest and Dearest Pile”. In fact, only about 3/4 of those could be considered “friends closer than acquaintances”, but I’m glad to be important enough to these busy people to have garnered at least one greeting in the last year from each of them.

However, I’m still unbelievably humbled when I review the list and realize how many I can call honest-to-God “close friends”. (You know. The ones who don’t ever judge and will take a phonecall from me at 2 a.m. and will blatantly tell me when I’m being an a-hole but don’t use that as a means of flat-out rejection and who’re happy for me and my little accomplishments.) So, it looks like my mom was wrong about that whole “You’ll only be able to count your close friends on one hand.” by at least a couple hands.

Anyway, To Whom It Concerns: Thank you so so very much. I hope I’ve let you know how much I appreciate you being in my life.

I realize how weird it sounds to be freaking out about turning 27. And, although a lot of my favorite musicians have joined The 27 Club, a fear of keeling over in the next year isn’t what’s driving my hyper-anxiety.

The reason for my general thematic weirdness is two-fold (and don’t worry; this isn’t going to be one of those “Wahhh, me.” posts. It has a positive spin. I’m getting to be pretty talented at those, actually. So here’s Exhibit Seventyleven.) although they’re directly correlated, so I’m not going to break them up, bullet-point-style.

The thing is that a LOT of the people I admire were doing great things by this point in their lives. Yes, okay, I know I’m not supposed to live my life based on what everyone else is doing, Mom. And I’m definitely using this as fuel to propel myself forward. (My friend said something to me that I’ve plastered to my mental bathroom mirror: “Don’t get jealous; get better.” That’s now one of the twelve mantras I repeat to myself every morning.) But there’s a big part of me that’s wondering what it is that’s causing me to take so effing long to get started already. And then I start to worry that I am “started”, which really bothers me because I simply don’t want to settle on a life that’s just mediocre.

Please don’t take that last statement to mean that I somehow loathe my present lifestyle or that I’m ungrateful for all the things that’ve been given to me - I’m certainly not. On a personal level I’ve been given such an incredibly rich life full of awesome people and experiences that I still have trouble believing that I deserve it. However, on a much larger scale I’ve started awakening to the knowledge that I just may not be One of Those People who revolutionizes anything or changes anything or makes any sort of permanent mark on humanity. I know not everyone can be Gandhi or Jim Henson or MLK or Mukhtaran Bibi but there’s always been a part of me that really believed I was going to be some sort of incredibly world-altering human when really, I’m far more likely to blend in with the status quo. I do my best to be great in that role (I help people, I work on bettering myself, I give outwardly, etc.) but something about being nondescript in The Grand Scheme and eventually forgettable really has started to bother me. And I could clamor around and make a bunch of noise and try to make myself important or outstanding but that’s ultimately hollow and demoralizing. The truth is, I feel like I’ve never had an original or revolutionary thought or action in my life and it makes me wonder what the hell my life’s effort is going to matter at all.

However, I’m not going to use my complete lack of unoriginality as a means to hide out and not make any use of my life; if anything it gives me more freedom from Fear of being misunderstood or flat-out rejected [which - again, I know - shouldn't dictate my actions to begin with but onethingatatimepeople.]

The other thing that I’ve gotten so caught up in during this pre-27 era is the realization that I’ve wasted so much tiiiime. 26 was an incredibly revolutionary year in terms of liberating myself from the mental lurch I’ve been lodged in since I was 13 but now, just after resurrecting myself and finally rinsing off all the slop I’ve been carrying around for ages, I’m aghast at how much tiiiime I wasted. I wasted time hating myself and hesitating because unimportant people told me I should. I wasted time sitting around being depressed because I didn’t have the balls or the knowledge to get treated (something I’m hoping to help combat publicly in the next few years… more on that later). I wasted 6-ish years being completely monopolized by an on-again-off-again abusive relationship with a genuine idiot who was never worth a second look (all realized in retrospect, of course.) I wasted years and thousands of dollars on substances to cloud my mind enough to suspend me in that miserably comfortable mental state and prevent me from moving forward. And that’s just the big stuff I wasted that pretty much manifested in a mind of mush and a rearview muddied with carnage that I’d have to waste even more time in therapy and sobriety trying to salvage and repair. All of that instead of actually getting out there and having a damned life.

I’m trying not to waste time being embarrassed by all that wasted time. Or kicking myself for what I “coulda” been doing instead. (Writing, getting better at guitar, getting into shape, traveling, getting my Master’s degree, avoiding mental hospitals, etc.)

So the way I’m [choosing to] see(ing) it is that my life is being played out in [rough] 13-year cycles. The first 13 years were pretty amazing with the ideal childhood in the blissfully adorable small town. Then the next 13 years were spent with soul-draining bullshit (some external, most internal) that I got to wade through and destroy myself within and then dig myself out of and rebuild my Whole Self in the wake of. And, at the end of 26, everything is miraculously in place to start the next real Chapter. All the loose ends are tied up, all the years of psychotherapy have produced permanent functional tools to combat my chronic chemical mental problems, while my self-inflicted mental problems have been sufficiently quashed, and, finally, all the inner turmoil and self-denial that has just been an inherent part of my identity since I was 13-ish has finally (FINALLY) dissipated.

I’m in a really really good place. Finally. Emotionally, spiritually, physically, mentally… I am well. And I am happy. And I think that’s the first time I’ve been able to say that for a very very long time.

So I’m taking this renewal and this bag of tools I’ve picked up in the last decade-and-change and using it to fund Chapter Three. Oh sure, I’m still going to have a handful of neuroses and Fears (who doesn’t?) but I’m using those to drive me forward instead of sitting around dwelling on a past that I’ve already cured. (I did say “FINALLY”, right?) Those Fears and neuroses are the ones I’m choosing to keep in my pocket instead of ones that involuntarily anchor me in place. I think that’s healthy. Natural, even.

In Chapter Three I want to be strong and healthy. I want to have clear goals and actually achieve them. I want to stay true to the principles I know in my heart to be Right and motivated by Love. I want to live a life I’m proud of. I want to continue to keep myself motivated by Love and I want to continue to recognize the things that have made and continue to make me genuinely Happy. I want to remain grateful and gracious. I want to continue to pursue a lifestyle of serenity.

For my 27th birthday, I am giving myself the daily pledge and reminder to “Be Better Today.” I can’t wait to see where that puts me for Chapter 4.

Happy Birthday to me!