Tiger. Tiger. I want a tiger. Can I have a tiger? Does anyone know which pet store has tigers?
I want to hold a tiger.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Don't worry, this isn't poetry
It began with a phone message.
But I was digging in the ground, there was a patch
of mud on my leg (dirt mixed with sweat)
when he called back and I said yes
to blindness.
I left the other and showered
brushing hair - he is here
who
your date
and I ran up two stairs
walked the next one
ran up three steps and walked the last four.
Wow.
He has shoulders.
They couldn't find a sitter
so she rode between us in her seat.
She ate my date's finger.
She held my date's hand.
Can I have some?
Croquet is much more fun if you
cheat.
Soccer feet.
Sincerity.
We played.
Laughed and they were laughing at us
too.
And then he tried to remember how to get back
as he drove me home.
And we played outside.
Cold grass and warm air.
I wanted it before it was time.
Tease.
Trust.
Finally.
But I was digging in the ground, there was a patch
of mud on my leg (dirt mixed with sweat)
when he called back and I said yes
to blindness.
I left the other and showered
brushing hair - he is here
who
your date
and I ran up two stairs
walked the next one
ran up three steps and walked the last four.
Wow.
He has shoulders.
They couldn't find a sitter
so she rode between us in her seat.
She ate my date's finger.
She held my date's hand.
Can I have some?
Croquet is much more fun if you
cheat.
Soccer feet.
Sincerity.
We played.
Laughed and they were laughing at us
too.
And then he tried to remember how to get back
as he drove me home.
And we played outside.
Cold grass and warm air.
I wanted it before it was time.
Tease.
Trust.
Finally.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
On Perfection - from the theoretical to the actual
Earlier this week I was told that I lack in common sense, because of my perfectionism. This is true.
Looking at the meaning of the two words, I believe that I have sense, but it is not common to others around me. I do not feel things the way the rest of the world feels, and though this can be said of each of us, some of us vary in extremes. Recently a psychiatrist asked, "so you believe you have more anxiety than other people?" I struggled to answer, the very question provoked an anxious response within me. Do I have more anxiety than others? How am I supposed to know the answer to that question? So I just said yes, give me the medication sir. I suppose it is common to be uncommon, but there are many who unite in their uniqueness, and celebrate their common unique traits together, and these make up the body of the population. And then there are those of us whose sense of sense goes against the community. We are the ones who agree to do the impossible, truly believing we can achieve it. And while we can unite through the common trait of lacking in common sense, think not that the situation is remedied. Two of us only increase the lack of common sense; we jump into a freezing lake because it needs to be done and then walk four miles back to the car in cold wet clothing.
A consequence of existing as a being lacking in common sense is that I don't view perfection as Plato does; at moments perfections exist in our current state. Here is why Plato's ideals can walk on this blue planet:
-Perfection tastes like cracked wheat sourdough, broiled with olive oil, rosemary, tomato, monterey jack, and papaya. It feels like a deep backrub. It sounds like the sound of blades on ice at take-off and the subsequent landing. It smells like a white peach, just split open. It moves like my mom and my dad, walking with my grandpa down to the gate at POG. It ages like a good friend, and each wrinkle on her face is a story well-known.
I have met perfection in the eye. I have sacrficed sleep, friendship, work, school, health, family, and common sense to ride the wave, no cliche here, because wipeout is totally possible, and probable. Because of this I do things that common sense would otherwise have prevented.
But today I cried. I have to stop. I do not know what to do with my dreams, my pieces of perfection. I feel beaten by the flaws in my nature, unable to reach any type of peace. And so I sit here at 2:30am, just trying to work it all out, knowing that in the morning I will cry again. And I see that I am imperfect, and far too concerned with my own self to see the world around me, to connect with people who can lift me up. It only makes me angrier to think that I need people.
My greatest struggle is to give up my desire for perfection and realize that there are many who love me, even several who love me deeply, despite the fact the actual relationships are imperfect. I feel deeply, and tonight I feel great loss in resting alone. I yearn for a relationship in which I can give all, a foundation upon which a family can be built. And I fear that I will demand too much, because I am willing to give until my skin wears off, and I will kill the relationship out of a desire to make it perfect. And because it cannot be perfect, at times I don't even try to build, choosing by default to remain alone. And I am just really tired of this hurt.
Looking at the meaning of the two words, I believe that I have sense, but it is not common to others around me. I do not feel things the way the rest of the world feels, and though this can be said of each of us, some of us vary in extremes. Recently a psychiatrist asked, "so you believe you have more anxiety than other people?" I struggled to answer, the very question provoked an anxious response within me. Do I have more anxiety than others? How am I supposed to know the answer to that question? So I just said yes, give me the medication sir. I suppose it is common to be uncommon, but there are many who unite in their uniqueness, and celebrate their common unique traits together, and these make up the body of the population. And then there are those of us whose sense of sense goes against the community. We are the ones who agree to do the impossible, truly believing we can achieve it. And while we can unite through the common trait of lacking in common sense, think not that the situation is remedied. Two of us only increase the lack of common sense; we jump into a freezing lake because it needs to be done and then walk four miles back to the car in cold wet clothing.
A consequence of existing as a being lacking in common sense is that I don't view perfection as Plato does; at moments perfections exist in our current state. Here is why Plato's ideals can walk on this blue planet:
-Perfection tastes like cracked wheat sourdough, broiled with olive oil, rosemary, tomato, monterey jack, and papaya. It feels like a deep backrub. It sounds like the sound of blades on ice at take-off and the subsequent landing. It smells like a white peach, just split open. It moves like my mom and my dad, walking with my grandpa down to the gate at POG. It ages like a good friend, and each wrinkle on her face is a story well-known.
I have met perfection in the eye. I have sacrficed sleep, friendship, work, school, health, family, and common sense to ride the wave, no cliche here, because wipeout is totally possible, and probable. Because of this I do things that common sense would otherwise have prevented.
But today I cried. I have to stop. I do not know what to do with my dreams, my pieces of perfection. I feel beaten by the flaws in my nature, unable to reach any type of peace. And so I sit here at 2:30am, just trying to work it all out, knowing that in the morning I will cry again. And I see that I am imperfect, and far too concerned with my own self to see the world around me, to connect with people who can lift me up. It only makes me angrier to think that I need people.
My greatest struggle is to give up my desire for perfection and realize that there are many who love me, even several who love me deeply, despite the fact the actual relationships are imperfect. I feel deeply, and tonight I feel great loss in resting alone. I yearn for a relationship in which I can give all, a foundation upon which a family can be built. And I fear that I will demand too much, because I am willing to give until my skin wears off, and I will kill the relationship out of a desire to make it perfect. And because it cannot be perfect, at times I don't even try to build, choosing by default to remain alone. And I am just really tired of this hurt.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Jackson Hole
I went with a group of friends to Jackson Hole this weekend. It was beautiful and charming, and I am in love with the lakes and rivers there. There were 8 of us, four of each sex, and that meant that the dynamics were complicated. We went on a white water rafting trip down the Snake River, hiked to Taggart Lake, enjoyed local restaurants, and drove home. I learned a lot and I want to share, but rather than a travelogue, I am going to give you three vignettes.
1. Our campsite was on a mini peninsula, flanked by the Snake River on one side and a stream on the other. My tent was within 7 feet of either one. It was incredibly overwhelming to my civilized senses and I lost track of all things cemented, regimented, and ....... While this beauty was dazzling, it equated extremely low temperatures during the nights. A sleeping bag rated at 55 degrees is as useful as wrapping up in paper towels. The first night I never warmed up in my covers. I lay stiffly, in and out of a doze, and needing to use the bathroom. Finally, I dragged myself out of my tent and tried to put my rainbo's on. I couldn't tell which way was up, and I fell over. It became easier to know which way was up sitting on the ground - I pushed up and rigidly got my bearings, and switched my flashlight. I found that my joints were frozen, and my knees wouldn't bend. I walked stiffly, sadly, as if I were suffering from MS. My eyesight was sketchy and I rattled along. The bathroom at the KOA was a haven. I ran my hands under hot water for twenty minutes (this is not an exaggeration folks) and finally the color came back. Then I did the same for my feet. I was worried that at some point someone would notice that I was gone and resigned myself to returning to my hell, as described by Dante. When I climbed back into the tent, my friend rolled over and whispered that she had been about to send out a search party. Turns out she was also freezing. When it came time to get out of bed and get ready for river rafting, we literally flew out of our tent and got dressed. Irony: we put on even less clothing than we had on before to go raft down a river fed by melted snow.
2. My first rafting trip was during a summer camp for girls 12-18 years old, a program for the youth in our church. Traditionally these camps have encouraged first aid knowledge and craft-making. One year our leaders wised up, knowing we were always jealous of the scouts' adventures in nature, and took us on a 3-day rafting trip down the American River in California. I was so scared to get on the raft the first day, and I made about five trips to the bathroom before I could leave. After the first hour on the river I realized that riding the rapids is stellar and fulfilling. This weekend I was ready to ride. I sat in the front and took the brunt of the waves, each time experiencing an incredible brain freeze. I gave all I had to paddle through the rapids and propel our raft as fast as possible through the rapids. That is what makes it so incredible, to have this dialogue between my own energy and the energy of the river.
3. The third vignette comes in the form of photos!
The crew!
1. Our campsite was on a mini peninsula, flanked by the Snake River on one side and a stream on the other. My tent was within 7 feet of either one. It was incredibly overwhelming to my civilized senses and I lost track of all things cemented, regimented, and ....... While this beauty was dazzling, it equated extremely low temperatures during the nights. A sleeping bag rated at 55 degrees is as useful as wrapping up in paper towels. The first night I never warmed up in my covers. I lay stiffly, in and out of a doze, and needing to use the bathroom. Finally, I dragged myself out of my tent and tried to put my rainbo's on. I couldn't tell which way was up, and I fell over. It became easier to know which way was up sitting on the ground - I pushed up and rigidly got my bearings, and switched my flashlight. I found that my joints were frozen, and my knees wouldn't bend. I walked stiffly, sadly, as if I were suffering from MS. My eyesight was sketchy and I rattled along. The bathroom at the KOA was a haven. I ran my hands under hot water for twenty minutes (this is not an exaggeration folks) and finally the color came back. Then I did the same for my feet. I was worried that at some point someone would notice that I was gone and resigned myself to returning to my hell, as described by Dante. When I climbed back into the tent, my friend rolled over and whispered that she had been about to send out a search party. Turns out she was also freezing. When it came time to get out of bed and get ready for river rafting, we literally flew out of our tent and got dressed. Irony: we put on even less clothing than we had on before to go raft down a river fed by melted snow.
2. My first rafting trip was during a summer camp for girls 12-18 years old, a program for the youth in our church. Traditionally these camps have encouraged first aid knowledge and craft-making. One year our leaders wised up, knowing we were always jealous of the scouts' adventures in nature, and took us on a 3-day rafting trip down the American River in California. I was so scared to get on the raft the first day, and I made about five trips to the bathroom before I could leave. After the first hour on the river I realized that riding the rapids is stellar and fulfilling. This weekend I was ready to ride. I sat in the front and took the brunt of the waves, each time experiencing an incredible brain freeze. I gave all I had to paddle through the rapids and propel our raft as fast as possible through the rapids. That is what makes it so incredible, to have this dialogue between my own energy and the energy of the river.
3. The third vignette comes in the form of photos!
The crew!
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