What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
Deadline? Oh really?
Last night I watched an episode of a show called White Collar.
Not really my thing but engaging enough to follow along while slathering myself in coconut oil (not weird), and having a casual evening conversation with slightly future me about tomorrow, which is now today (slightly weird).
The title of the episode was Deadline, and it involved this woman from the FBI team going undercover as the new assistant of a journalist who was risking her life following the trail of corruption at a pharmaceutical company.
The journalist was, of course, the typical workaholic mean boss (see the mean boss trope!), who expected nothing short of everything.
Expecting the impossible.
The journalist, who was basically doing Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, hit all the bad boss notes.
But the main one, of course, is expecting the impossible.
In this case it was pretty extreme:
You have a few hours to move my child’s birthday party, notify everyone about the new location, find a bouncy castle, buy the kid a present, do the dry cleaning, finish this report, translate this document into Portuguese, go out and get a smoothie and also make the coffee.
Oh, and all while doing your actual job which is a full-time job of answering the phones, filing, copying, problem-solving, and running the office.
I’ve had that job. Remember? My third-worst job? Not the second time I got fired, though. That was something else.
It takes a village. Or an army. Or something.
The FBI chick basically engaged her entire unit to secretly make all these things happen.
Someone did the translation. Someone’s wife organized the party.
It all got done.
With a staff of maybe a dozen people working their asses off.
The undercover operation was a success, they took down the Evil Pharmaceutical Company, the FBI chick got to reveal her true identity, yadda yadda.
It worked. Yay, teamwork. Or whatever.
Back to expectations.
But no one ever bothered to tell the boss that her expectations were so completely unreasonable as to be inhuman.
That what she thought reasonably could and should be done over the course of a day could not in fact be done.
At least, not without a dedicated staff of at least eight people.
And yes, I get that this is television and that the point of the show was not about the personal process of this particular journalist or her relationship with leadership.
But they let this woman (I know, it’s a character, but yes, I’m taking this personally) go on thinking that there had in fact been someone who could meet her demands. Which she will now keep looking for and not finding.
In this fake world…but really everywhere.
In this constructed world of the television show, everyone this journalist meets will fall short of her expectations.
They already did, of course. But now she will never examine those expectations.
Old pain.
So very often when I interact with past versions of me, I end up discovering parts of myself that are still in pain. Still hurting and angry.
And so very often this hurt is related to encountering someone else’s unreasonable expectations. “Unreasonable” being the mildest word that I can come up with right now.
Part of the pain comes from the sadness that I did not have the self-knowledge and self-awareness — the sense of amnesty and sovereignty — to be able to set my own expectations.
Me-from-now, me-from-then.
Me-from-now could do a lot better in that kind of situation. Though me-from-now probably wouldn’t end up in one. But if she did, she’d be able to recognize things that me-from-then could not.
That she hadn’t done anything wrong. That she wasn’t incompetent. That she gets to have expectations too.
Me-from-now could probably even come up with something to say.
Something like this:
“Hey, I’m sorry. Your expectations seem to be X, Y and Z, and these expectations don’t work for me. What you want cannot be done. Not by me, and quite possibly not by anyone. So if this is going to work, we’ll need to re-define some of these expectations and set new expectations together.”
While me-from-then used to cry in the bathroom.
Of course, it helps that me-from-now has been practicing this stuff. And it helps that me-from-now is not afraid of being fired, because me-from-now remembers all the great things that have come from losing terrible, terrible jobs.
Today.
Today I’m going to think about expectations.
About who I am as a boss/leader/CEO/pirate-queen.
And what my expectations are in general.
And I am going to imagine that the writers of this show have written an intervention scene. Or maybe they force the boss to do the job she thinks can be done. Or maybe they give her a week off to be slathered in coconut oil and rethink her life.
I don’t know. But I have my green Island Time notebook and a pen and I’m going to find out.
And comment zen for the comment blanket fort…
If you want to invent new endings for this episode with me, I would love that!
If you want to whisper reminders and reassurance to you-from-then in various situations, go for it.
As always, I will remind us that we all have our stuff and we’re working on it and it’s a process.
As part of respecting that process, we don’t give each other unsolicited advice or analyze each other’s situations or tell each other how to feel.
Kisses.
Stories about the relationship between money and time. Part 2.
You’re probably going to want to read Part 1 for this to make sense, but let me see if I can sum up:
We were talking about being on (metaphorical!) Island Time, and how crazy, delightful, weird and uncanny it is when you suddenly perceive time to be plentiful and spacious.
I told some stories about living in a period of very extreme money-tightness but when time was the only thing that wasn’t limited. And I think you’re caught up…
Opposite land.
Me-from-then wouldn’t recognize my life today. Where things are basically the opposite of what they were in Berlin.
Instead of the semi-legal life in an abandoned building with junkies on the stairs, I have a just-right-for-me home — which I call Hoppy House — in northeast Portland.
With a garden. And a window seat that looks out on it where I can write.
Instead of having to teaching yoga, Shiva Nata and destuckifying techniques in squatted buildings, I run an amazing studio called the Playground. And I’m the CEO and pirate queen of the crazy ship that is The Fluent Self, Inc.
Same but different.
Those are the parts that me-from-then doesn’t recognize.
In fact, I’m not sure what blows her mind more: the unfamiliar thing that is stability and sanctuary. Or the fact that we totally run a corporation (ahahahahahaaaaaaaa what?!). Even if it is a tiny good-for-the-world one.
But there are lots of things she does recognize:
A life devoted to untangling patterns, deconstructing them and rewriting them. Working in the helper mouse sector. Living mindfully but in a way that is playful and silly as well as conscious and intentional.
Same but different.
Anyway, the point is: the life she knew was one where money was impossibly tight, while time was this wonderful, plentiful, accessible resource.
And at some point everything switched.
I’ve been running this business for six years as of this month.
There was definitely a period where my perception was that both time and money were tight and unavailable. The No Time No Money grumblethrum monster collective did a lot of yelling and teeth-gnashing.
But then things basically reversed. Money became more ease-filled while time became more and more scarce.
Obviously it’s not like I’m rolling in piles of gold coins a la Scrooge McDuck, but things are good.
I run a successful company. It’s been years since we’ve required those vast leaps of faith to trust-hope-believe that we’d make it through the next month. Saying a quiet thank you to here to everyone and everything who believed during the hard times.
And sure, there are still those moments of “Eeeek!” where I suddenly think I’m going to end up living in a cardboard box. It’s just that they’re not a reflection of reality: it’s a flash of poverty-PTSD triggering the monster fear, and then I deal with that.
What happened to my relationship with time?
So. Somehow at the same time that money and my relationship to actually having it was becoming less restrictive, my relationship with time went the other way.
From my perception of time being plentiful and bendy to experiencing it as something limited and rigid. To a relationship that was full of challenge.
It seriously took me six years just to be able to justify stuff like jetting off to a dance class. In the morning?! On a weekday?!
I’m somewhat better at that sort of thing now, having learned — slowly, grudgingly, over time and through extreme trial and error — that taking time actually helps me and my business.
Lots of people (cough, possibly me) tell you that taking creative time, body time, play time and other forms of you-time will feed your work in the world.
But it’s the kind of thing you kind of have to keep learning until it lives in your body as a truth that you remember is true.
You learn it and then you re-learn it.
So I’ve finally gotten to the point where I can make room for a morning dance class. But the time getting there and back?
I’ve really resented it. Driving there takes twenty minutes. The bus takes 45. So double that.
And that’s where businesswoman me goes into resistance.
That’s forty-five minutes times two during which I could be writing copy, brunching a product, teaching a class, solving admin challenges, working on systems, training someone, working with a client.
At some point I realized that I’d unconsciously traded one extreme for another.
I’d gone from one end of a continuum (“Money is non-existent but hey, time is practically unlimited”)…
… to the opposite side (“We’re cool with money but there is never, ever enough of that incredibly precious commodity that is time”).
Perspective.
Of course, either of those extremes is still better than the place (and I’ve been there) where there is really and truly not enough of EITHER of these.
And I don’t mean the sense of no money and no time. I don’t mean the regular shrieking of the No Money No Time fears. Though that’s horrible too, of course.
I mean literally when circumstances and choices come together in such a way that in that moment, time and money are not available to you. Like in Berlin.
Like back when I was doing monk’s yoga in my tiny non-cell. Or when I worked in the factory. When I had to sneakily wake up at dark-thirty just to steal minutes to be alone and breathe.
Anyway, I would like to believe that there is also another place.
A situation or an experience where both money and time are equally plentiful.
This thought broke my brain.
Equally plentiful? Time and money being readily available? Both of them?!?! Not one or the other but both of them.
What would that even be like?
I don’t know! How do I imagine it? Powerful. Like I can be generous with each (money and time). Giving to myself, others and my life as I feel drawn to.
In ways that are sovereign, supportive, conscious, creative and loving.
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah! That was the sound of my mind not being able to contain this idea again.
It’s like at some point I got stuck in this distorted forever-thinking. That because I have no time now (or really, because I perceive that my time is not mine or I perceive that my current choices about time will always be the same), this would always be the case.
Except I was wrong. Twice!
I didn’t take the bus home after dance class. I walked in the sun. I smiled at toddlers in sailor hats and stopped to pet some cats. I paused (paws!) to drink water and breathe.
It didn’t take an hour and a half or two hours to reach the Playground, as estimated. It took 47 minutes. Forty seven minutes.
Just two minutes longer than by bus. But much more pleasant.
But the bigger thing I was wrong about was this:
It didn’t matter.
Nothing had been lost by not giving that time to my business. Nothing had been lost.
It was the same as going on pirate queen vacation or being on Island Time. I’d had business ideas. I’d gotten perspective. It was better than hurrying back to work.
I don’t love being wrong, but sometimes I love being wrong.
Where I’m leaving this.
- Feeling appreciation for me-from-last-week who decided to go on Island Time and for me-from-three-months-ago who wrote the popsicle slip permission slip for me to go to dance class in the mornings.
- Feeling happy that the experience of making time for dancing brought me back to remembering what my life was like when time was limitless.
- Writing a reminder in the Book of Me that dance and Shiva Nata bring me home to time.
- Asking curious, loving questions about this new relationship with time. About what happens if it isn’t either time or money (where both are limited or one is expansive but only so long as the other one gets to be limited).
- Rewriting some internal rules about the way the world works.
- Deciding what the next OOD is.
And then we’ll see.
And comment zen for today.
Talking about time and money, and the lack (or lack-of-lack) of each can be really painful and hard.
As always, if reading about my stuff has reminded you of your stuff, you might need to do some extra things to take care of yourself.
Like taking a deep breath and reminding yourself that things get better and that now is not then. You have internal resources now that you did not have before. You can help sad, scared you from then in ways you couldn’t at that time.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We take responsibility for the fact that it is ours and we remember that it is temporary.
Things that would be lovely today: thoughts and ideas about ways you might experiment with learning more about your relationship with time, with money, with the relationship between them. And more flowers!
Love to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.
Stories about the relationship between money and time. Part 1.
So, as you know, I’m on Island Time right now. Mostly metaphorically.
It’s adding vacation-like aspects to my life this week to make it seem like I’m on holiday when in fact I’m doing much of what I normally do.
On Day 2 of this island thing, I went to my morning dance class. And then headed over to a favorite cafe to eat a beloved and looked-forward-to sandwich. Sandwich! Just as spectacular as I’d remembered.
I sat and wrote for a while in my bright green designated Island Time notebook. Until it felt like I was done with that.
Why not.
Heading to the bus stop, it suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t have to bus at all.
This was a very Island-ey thought, too. It wasn’t: “Oh, taking a cab gets me back to work that much faster!” Nope. I could walk.
It might be an hour and a half. Possibly a bit more. But I wasn’t in a hurry. Yeah!
By chance I was wearing sturdy walking shoes instead of hot pirate queen boots. I had sunscreen on and a full water bottle. Nothing in my bag but dance shoes (super light) and the green notebook.
Plus I’d even brought a skirt to pull over my workout clothes, so as not to be all “Hey Portland, why don’t you check out my ass in these crazy-tight tights!”
It wasn’t that hot out. I didn’t have anything else planned, because ISLAND TIME! Why not? Why not, indeed.
Berlin.
Walking happily in the sun, swinging my water bottle and humming a little hum under my breath, I was transported back to Berlin. To when I lived there.
At that time, money was … tight. And I don’t mean that in the casually always-pinched way so many people I know refer to money being tight. It was different than that.
Here was my life:
An abandoned building in east Berlin. We stepped gingerly over the passed-out junkies in the stairwell. And the needles they left behind.
There was no heat in the winter. Well, you could haul up coal to burn from the basement. But in an empty building with no warm neighboring apartments to seal it in, the heat didn’t last. And when you were out of coal, that was it.
That was it.
My expenses — for getting to stay in the apartment and contributing to food and the occasional emergency — came to maybe a hundred dollars a month.
Which often was exactly as much as I had. Sometimes more than I had.
I taught yoga and Shiva Nata when and where I could.
In a variety of unlikely makeshift locations:
A preschool that was actually a squatted electrical company building. The basement of an old age home for Alzheimer patients.* A dance cooperative. An empty school that had been converted into artist studios.
* With sweetly baffled old nazis who couldn’t remember being nazis and were full of love, but that is another story for another day.
Shaky.
At the time I was still recovering from the bloody, messy inner ear infection that had laid me out for months and nearly been the end of me.
I was pretty much deaf in my right ear for the better half of a year.
Shaky. It was all a bit shaky and I was learning how not to shake so much. Or at least, how to not fight it.
Anyway.
What was it about walking on a sunny early afternoon, water bottle in hand, not being in a rush to get anywhere?
Ah, right.
So I didn’t have money back then. But what I had — in glorious plentitude — was time.
As much as I wanted. And I wanted all of it. I rejoiced in it.
Money was this precious, limited thing, always carefully put aside for the absolutely most vital things: shelter and sustenance.
But time! Time was this expansive, spacious, beautiful currency. And for the first time in years (ever?), no one else had a claim on it.
Here’s the thing.
The truth is — and it pains me to remember this and share it but I will tell you anyway — I had been poorer than this before.
I had lived through tightness. In tighter, scarier and much more difficult circumstances than these.
But this was really and truly the first time in memory that my time was my own.
So the idea that I would even consider spending two whole euros on taking the train across the city to get somewhere was preposterous.
Two euros?! An actual, visible fraction of my rent.
If it took me an hour or two hours or even three hours to get somewhere by foot, what of it?
I liked walking. Berlin is a marvelously walkable city (no creepy neighborhoods, no hills, easily-identifiable landmarks everywhere), and I had time.
Time was for breathing.
Breathing and thinking and making plans.
And I had just … okay, I need a verb here… just received the tiny-sweet-thing germ idea of The Fluent Self:
A comprehensive, creative, personalize-able system of destuckification and learning how to work on your stuff.
I was using it, practicing it, writing it, documenting it, dreaming it and processing it.
It was an incredibly exciting time for me. A very healing time.
And again, I had time.
This work of processing and sorting out could be just as easily done while ambulatory. So I walked.
It didn’t matter.
Before my illness — when I didn’t know that I wouldn’t be able to work for four months — I’d bought a pass to a local yoga studio where I’d hoped to teach. And part of my walking through the city was to help me use that pass.
It took me just over 90 minutes to walk to class. A 75 minute class. And over 90 minutes to get back.
That’s about four and a half hours in order to have a yoga class. Some days I did it twice.
It didn’t matter. I had time.
Back to the other day.
So here I am, in Portland, now, walking in the sun. Invoking Island Time.
Not a care in the world. No rush and no deadline.
And for the first time in the six years since I launched this website and started my company, time was readily available again.
There was this sort of cha-chunking sound reverberating through me as everything switched.
Switch? Like the switch on the train tracks being pulled.
The gears of interaction between that thing that is time and that thing that is money shifting into a different relationship.
Or a different place in their bigger relationship.
I have to stop the story here for now.
Because there is so much more to tell and we’re already long past anything that could be considered a non-ridiculous word count on this.
I will come back and tell you about what happened next and about what I was wrong about (wrong twice!).
And we will talk about the complicated relationship between time and money, between us and our stories, between us and our stuff.
We will remember that just as there are situations of ohmygod-no-time and ohmygod-no-money, and (tfu tfu tfu) situations where both these things are true or feel true, there are also times where it is not either one or the other.
We will explore.
In the meantime….
Comment zen for today.
Talking about hardship (past or present) can stir up pain. It can remind us of so many things.
So if reading about my stuff has reminded you of your stuff, you might need to pause (paws!) and give legitimacy to whatever you’re feeling. Or create safe rooms for past versions of you.
Or take a deep breath and remind yourself that things get better and that now is not then. You have internal resources now that you did not have before. You can help sad, scared you from then in ways you couldn’t at that time.
Or you will experiment and see what you need.
I know you will find a way to meet your pain. And I have love for you-who-has-pain. Being in pain is never fun.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We take responsibility for the fact that it is ours and we remember that it is temporary.
Things that would be lovely today: stories about island time, love and appreciation, a flower.
There will be a part 2!
Very Personal Ads #108: normally I wouldn’t say oodles
Personal ads. They’re … personal! Very.
Each week I write these VPAs to practice asking for what I want. And to get clarity on what that really is, even when asking feels conflicted.
I always get useful information about my relationship with various aspects of the ask. Join in if you like!
Thing 1: Island time may be a metaphor but I still need to get to the island, you know?
Here’s what I want:
Island time is something I got from metaphor mouse, and I don’t really want to get into it, but it’s a thing I’m doing this week.
It involves adding vacation-like aspects to your life when you’re not actually on vacation. It’s part mindset, part system and part practice.
Anyway, island time! It’s all week. And I’m feeling a little anxious that I’ll either forget about it or that I won’t be able to implement it.
So I’d like this week to be full of island time, and for this to happen with joy and ease and good island-like things.
Ways this could work:
Ha. I just remembered that this was my OOD last week, and I actually came up with a bunch of useful lists for this.
Of course I have no idea where they are, so it would help to find them.
I can also do some Shiva Nata on this. And I can use the Deguiltified Chicken Board at my Kitchen Table program — that’s been just astonishingly helpful for me lately.
And I can use my Hello, Day thing.
Also, I’m pretty sure that the anxious bits are well-meaning monster fears — they just want to know that I’ll be okay. So I can do some talking with them. Maybe some safe rooms?
My commitment.
To pay attention.
To maintain — as much as I can — the playful and inquisitive approach. Lots of curiosity, compassion, wonder and exploration.
And to take lots of notes.
Thing 2: Colleen. Colleen!
Here’s what I want:
My friend Colleen is one of my favorite people ever. She’s also watched me eat biscuits countless times. Not even a euphemism.
She’s doing this amazing, amazing thing right now called 50 for 50 to raise money for a VERY worthy project.
Ever since she told me about this a few months ago, I have been excited about her project and wondering what I can do to support her in this.
Ways this could work:
Well, I could make some space and time to answer her interview questions for her blog. Right.
And I could do some sort of fun promotion to raise monies to donate. Like at the Playground? Or an online thing? Or product sales from a certain time period?
I don’t know yet.
My commitment.
To meditate on this, to dance on it and to come up with something loving and creative.
Thing 3: Oodles of OODs!
Here’s what I want:
An OOD, as you will remember*, is an Object of Desire.
It’s kind of like a Gwish, but there’s a specific process for working on it, as opposed to just throwing it in the pot.
And I have so many things!
So many that I forget to do the OOD process.
I would like to come up with a list of OODs, so that I can use this technique with them and start figuring out which ones I might like to play with at Rally (Rally!).
* Not the Dr. Who kind, though that would be kind of awesome, yes.
Ways this could work:
The KT boards again.
Designated time.
Maybe I’ll go to the Playground and give it say, 45 minutes each day. Would that work?
Maybe there’s a way to do that and make it island-ey. I don’t know.
My commitment.
To remember that this is PLAY, and play means I don’t have to take anything too seriously.
It’s about creative exploration and being willing to be surprised.
And maybe making a big mess with glue and construction paper, if I want.
Thing 4: collect some Rally-relevant blog posts
Here’s what I want:
It’s come to my attention that I’ve written a ton of posts that would be especially useful for people thinking of or planning to come to Rally (Rally!).
And I thought it might be useful to collect a list of them.
Posts like fractal flowers and about following the rabbit holes and why it helps to proxy.
Also about avoidance. And the fox who designed video games, of course.
That way we could send people the list before they come or put it on the special secret page or something.
Ways this could work:
Let’s see.
I could ask you guys which posts you think would fit. Suggestions welcome!
And Rallions and Rallygators (still haven’t decided what we’re calling ourselves, apparently) who have already rallied with me.
Could flail on it. And sleep on it. And give it to the trees.
My commitment.
Maybe I can make an Incomplete and Temporary list.
And then we can add to it. That would be good.
Thing 5: Hey Portland people, what are you doing this Thursday?
Here’s what I want:
I really want to go on this walk through Overlook Park.
6pm this Thursday. An hour and half of walking and discovering neat things.
I would love some company! And I could even be persuaded to bring the Schmoppet…
Ways this could work:
Maybe I’ll put it up at the Frolicsome Bar (It’s Facebook but I only go there because we pretend it’s a bar) and invite some likely suspects.
Maybe you’re in PDX and are thinking this sounds like fun.
Maybe some of my neighbors would be into this.
My commitment.
To rejoice in this wonderful thing that is SUMMER. And live it up.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I wanted fun, ease and play for Toozday’s Shiva Nata class, and it was crazy fun.
Then I wanted a happy brunching for Plum Duff and that was great. We sold out of the Gwish Kits right away, and it was a very good time. Very chill. But also with lots of excitement and enthusiasm. Just the way I wanted.
You guys were great when I asked for gushing, rambling incoherent quotes to describe my monster coloring book on the HAT — we used several of them. Thank you!
The next thing was progress on writing projects which both did and didn’t happen. That is to say, it did. Just not on the projects I’d had in mind. So I’m going to re-ask that one.
And I wanted prep for this non-vacation thing. Which was great because that’s how I got to metaphor-mousing it and coming up with Island Time. Feeling good about this!
Comment zen. Here’s what I’d love today.
Things that are welcome! Your own personal ads, small or large. Updates on past ones if you like.
Leave your gwishes! Throw things in the pot!
Things we try to keep away from: the word “manifest”, telling people how they should be asking for things, unsolicited advice.
VPA amnesty applies, of course. Leave yours any time between now and next Sunday (or whenever, really) — it’s all fine by us!
xox
p.s. The First Mate just told me that there’s *one* more spot for the Shiva Nata August series. If you’re anywhere near the Playground, this is your chance. 🙂
Friday Chicken #156: three straight years of the Chicken!
In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of ritual and self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
Is this crazy? It feels a little crazy.
Three. Whole. Years. Of chickening!
Thank you.
To be honest, it still seems insane (to my monsters) that anyone would ever want to read about my week, even as part of a ritual. Yet my grumble thrum monster collective have been proven wrong. By SCIENCE.
Also I love reading everyone else’s chickens, and knowing that people around the world are (silently or with us) contemplating the week that was.
Let’s do it!
The hard stuff
So tired. So very tired.
All I want to do is sleeeeep.
And cranky! Let’s not forget cranky.
Thanks to the Book of Me, I was able to identify premenstrual ridiculousness before I started hating everyone and everything, but bleeeeeeeeeagh.
My joints hurt! I’m wearing like, three sports bras piled on top of each other. It’s so classy. And also everything is ANNOYING.
Let that be stated, for the record.
And do not try to fix it or I will glare at you menacingly.
Way too much going on.
It’s all good stuff but it’s also all happening at once.
I ended up canceling three appointments today, just for sanity-preservation. But I still kind of have the sense that this week was way too full.
Decisions.
And the fact that I do not like making them.
Paralysis ensues.
Etc.
You know when everything starts to get on your nerves?
I am tired of everything I own, everything I wear, everything I do. All of it.
Except the Friday Chicken! And the blog, of course. And the Kitchen Table. And the Rallies! Basically all the work-related stuff is pretty awesome. It’s just the not-work parts.
Sad no-friend mouse, etc etc etc.
Despite having lived here for four years now, I do not have anyone who wants to come with me to a partner yoga class this Sunday.
Or anyone who wanted to come with me to a Very Great Thing today.
This has me singing the poor-me song* and feeling sorry for myself and doing the droopy Charlie Brown Arrested Development walk again.
* I’m a little teapot, short and stout! Tip me over and POOR ME! Out.
The good stuff
The Shiva Nata snack preview class at the Playground!
Ohmygod! It was so much fun.
Twenty five delightful people all flailing around like maniacs while giggling.
The best!
The words they made up for the horizontals: Bliss, Flow, Weird Bird Bike and Wagon Wheel. And for the verticals: Carrot, Rabbit, Punk and Spike.
We ended up with some absurd combinations. Three spots left for the August series, FYI.
And we got just about everyone to over 90 on the Scale of Flail.™
(With zero being “What? I’m not lost and confused at all!” and 100 being helpless stuttering followed by falling on the floor in a heap.)
Bridge tour.
I went on a walking tour of Portland’s bridges and learned all sorts of fascinating things.
But mainly the cool part was that I got to climb up into the bridge operator’s tower on the Burnside Bridge and walk on the parapet and watch the bridge get raised until it was a few inches from my face!
Imagine a five year old boy jumping up and down with glee, gesticulating wildly and yelling BRIDGE BRIDGE BRIDGE BRIDGE. And that was me.
Sunday parkways.
Another three and a half hour walk through Portland, this time through the northwest quadrant, and discovering lots of little places of beauty.
And even though NW is still my least-favorite* quadrant of the five**, I had fun.
And I absolutely LOVE walking in the streets with no cars. Yay for Sunday Parkways!
* As evidence I wish to note the fact that I did not see a single — not one! — pirate on a bicycle. And instead of DIY lemonade stands there were little yuppie kids running … wait for it …. smoothie stands.
** Yes FIVE. Because we don’t understand what quad means.
Lots of happy napping.
Hooray!
Lots of things getting done.
Between the OOD and the Deguiltified Chicken Board in my Kitchen Table program, I have been just insanely productive this week.
All the neat things I saw.
Like the kid who wanted everyone to know that he could do a mexican wheelie. I still don’t know what that is.
And the guys on the futuristic Jetsons bikes. Who waved at me! Probably because I was falling over from delight.
And the cat who laughed at me when I poked myself in the eye.
It was a good week for silly things.
And thank you everyone in our Frolicsome Bar (that’s our facebook hangout) for playing with me.
Pants without holes in them.
I have some.
And … playing live at the meme beach house it’s the Fake Band of the Week!
My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”
This week’s band is a special group doing a special performance for our three years of chickening. Ladies and gentleman, allow me to introduce:
The All-Raccoon Cabaret Ensemble!
They’re all raccoons! Doing the raccoon can-can! Except that it’s really just one raccoon.
Apparently he does the whole thing with mirrors.
And some stuff I read/found this week that made me happy:
- This perfectly perfect protest sign.
- My friend Colleen’s shirt. Get one!
- Go to this website and click on “UNDER 21”. If this doesn’t completely make your day, I don’t know what will.
That’s it for me …
And of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments if you feel like it.
Yes? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?
And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day, a restful weekend and a happy week to come. Shabbat shalom.
p.s. It’s okay if it’s not Friday anymore. There’s complete chicken amnesty — you can join in whenever (or not) and it’s no big deal.