Inaugural Blog Post
I wanted to wait until I had something really amazing to say before I made my first post. Then, I read something regarding creativity that said, essentially, that the more you create, the more likely you are to end up with something good, even if you fail at a lot of it. I don’t want to censor myself. You know? Plus, I paid enough for this damned domain name, so, I’m letting this happen…
Anyway, I want to share something. Ok? I just got back from my Ballet-for-Grown-Ups class. As I’m walking down the street to go to class, I noticed a clown making balloon animals. “Charming,” I thought to myself. I smiled. I kept walking.
After a long torturous class, I head back down the street. I see the clown again. I look over, and I see a grown-ass man, with a beard, giving him shit. He said something like, “Do you feel successful? Are you making it happen?” I wanted to punch him in his fucking face.
The clown answered, “I’m trying.”
I don’t know. Maybe the clown is really out there because he loves making balloon animals and being taunted by hipster assholes on the street. My strong feeling, however, is that he’s just trying to make some extra cash.
Anyway, that was troubling.
This whole weepy weekend has been troubling for me. Welcome to my world, friends. I have a uterus and ovaries, and I’m ovulating.
On Friday, I had a meltdown in the waiting room of the staffing agency I’m working with. I may not be able to recover from this fiasco. I was supposed to sign a set of documents (13 pages in total). I had this intense feeling that I could not sign the papers. I’m not sure what the apprehension was about. The recruiter kept pressuring me, so I went off on this tangent about my previous job, and the HR lady at the new job….yada ,yada, yada. You can imagine what a graceful beauty I was sitting there crying. I didn’t hold back. I couldn’t. It was a train wreck. I wish I had a picture of the recruiter’s face…she was puzzled. The aftermath is going to be pretty interesting to watch unfold. What an adventure.
I had another crying episode today. I went to meet a group, and after lunch, as I’m walking toward my car, I see that I have a flat tire. I didn’t start crying right away. I took care of some practical stuff first: cancelled plans, called for roadside assistance, etc. I didn’t start crying until I tried to find the spare tire. I look at the manual, I lift up two covers in the trunk of the car. I see an empty spare-tire-shaped space. That’s when I lost it. I call the dealership. This car is barely a year old. Where the fuck is my spare tire?!?!?! I spoke with several people on the phone. I guess one of the service people didn’t like the tone of my voice, so he passed me along to his manager. I guess he couldn’t handle female anger. It probably frightened him. You know? Scared of what’s inside. Yes?
Anyway, I spoke briefly with the manager. I told him what I was looking at, and he, because he bothered to listen to me, and ask the right questions, was able to show me where the secret compartment that held the spare tire. I’m still discovering more about my car, everyday.
“May all beings be happy. May all beings be blissful. May all beings be in peace. May there be peace in all worlds. Samastha Loka Sukhino Bhavantu. Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.” Sri Prem Baba