Life is weird.
Life is weird.
I love lists. I have so many to-do lists. I have a little notebook dedicated to lists. Lists of songs to listen to in order to get myself pumped for the day. Lists of fruits and vegetables I’d like to try to grow someday. Lists of really cool artists. Once (HUGE nerd alert), I would open the dictionary at random, find interesting words, and write them down in a little notebook (mixed with words I didn’t know from books).
But my favorite list right now is my clothing do’s and my clothing don’ts lists. See, I used to shop a lot. An unhealthy amount. Product of my raising. Product of my culture. I had an unbelievable amount of clothing. My mother would try to be helpful, if it isn’t completely satisfying when you try something on, then don’t get that. But I fell prey to other people thinking things looked good on me.
Also, I’m working on being a part-time minimalist. I hate thinking too much about what I’m going to wear. It stresses me out. How about I just look nice all the time (unless I’m working and messing up my clothes)? I know VERY well, now anyway, that there are certain things that I will refuse to wear, no matter how much I liked it in the store. Why waste my time and money? Also, why not make my life super easy and make all of my clothes match? I can just grab things at random and just automatically look good! That’s all I want in my life.
I make my lists based on me. On my body shape, on my skin tone, on what makes me feel comfortable, on what makes me feel nice. I think everyone should personalize lists like this to themselves. It’s a little bit of work to make so much of your life easier.
My (personal) clothing don’ts:
My (personal) clothing do’s:
I would love to see other people think of something like this. I mean, you go shopping, you find something you think you like, but it has something on the don’t list? Don’t get it, you won’t wear it. You know you. You do you.
Today, having just enjoyed 2 hours in the kitchen making some ridiculous cheesy potatoes, I realized that I love taking my time on things I enjoy.
I enjoy actually shredding the cheese myself. I enjoy chopping the potatoes on my own time. I enjoy folding laundry with my own hands. I enjoy making spreadsheets that are easy to understand and foolproof. I love drawing and making pictures. I even enjoy learning about drawing.
The jobs worth doing, are worth doing well. If your work is what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. Other platitudes.
But legit. There are some things I really enjoy, and today I just want to relish in the fact that I can find some joy in the mundane.
Life is about the journey after all.
I decided to read this lovely blog and found myself crying. I was already planning on writing about our much-loved Storm. Our beautiful, 80 pound, black lab.
Storm doesn’t quiver at lightning or thunder or honking cars. She doesn’t gallop for comfort when the sweeper comes her way. She stands bravely at the door, warning those who knock that she means business (unless you’ve come to pet her, then you’re welcome anytime). The only word that frightens her is the word BATH. Her tail goes straight between her legs and she cowers.
Her ears perk up and she jumps a few feet in the air (pretty impressive for a 10 year old dog with graying chin and belly) when the words CAR, RIDE, or WALK are mentioned in even the politest of conversation.
As soon as I exit the bed to get ready for the day, she’s immediately in it, curled up next to her boy, my husband. She follows him around like…a puppy. And when he’s not around, she follows me.
She drools whenever food is remotely near her. She lays by the oven in anticipation, endangering everyone carrying hot, heavy objects and not looking where they’re going.
Storm is the best alarm clock; she works in stages. Upon discovering she is hungry (never before 7), she starts to cry ever so quietly. If that doesn’t work, she nudges us gently with her wet nose. If that doesn’t work, she resorts to wrapping her paw around whatever arm she can grasp and attempting to shake us awake. That always works.
When times have been hard, and they have definitely been hard, she sits still and lets you hug her. She’s been known to lick up a tear or two. Storm always sits still for hugs. She knows when to comfort. She never says I told you so. She never refrains from loving you. She loves anyone who is willing to give her butt scratches or food.
Storm has the most impressively awful farts. They can clear multiple rooms of the house at once. No one else’s farts have ever been mistaken for hers. Silent but deadly rings true. But as she’s gotten older, stairs make her fart loudly. Nothing can make us laugh like Storm “toot toot tooting” all the way up the stairs. She does not seem to get the joke.
Storm is getting old for a lab. She gives us slightly annoyed looks when children play a little too rough. She sighs when she lays down. More and more white appears, contrasting with her black coat. Two lumps are slowly growing in her armpits.
I’m so scared of losing Storm. I know that when you get a dog, that they won’t live as long as you. I know that you should give them the best possible time in their short lives. But I’m still scared. There’s no replacing Storm. No other dog could possible be like her. I wouldn’t want to replace her either.
Our Storm is beautiful and loved.
I work so hard to fight my anxiety. To fight feeling out of control.
Authority figures terrify me. I’m not sure why because I pretty much never get in trouble. Talking to teachers, I’d literally bit my tongue to hold back tears. When I got pulled over for speeding (the one and only time), I cried uncontrollably. Just thinking about confronting someone will eventually leave me sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth, trying to remember how to breathe.
I hate how stupid it is. I know, logically, that these things are survivable. I know that. But my body tenses up. My chest tries to strangle my heart beat under control. My brain won’t slow down. It thinks and pushes the thoughts and feelings further and further. Then I’m doubly frustrated, first at whatever situation calls for a confrontation, and second that I can’t get myself under control enough to actually do what’s necessary.
So I plan. I put systems in place so as few things as possible upset me. And that works, sometimes. But life is unpredictable, uncontrollable. People misunderstand and their intentions aren’t always clear.
In order to survive, I’m putting better systems in place. Seeing a counselor. Exercising. An app on my phone. Challenging myself.
I can’t avoid me forever.