I discovered For the
Foxes in a rather “basic” way (Pandora’s BORNS station), but I am,
basically, fairly “basic,” so I guess that’s rather alright. I really
don’t even know why it’s considered a bad thing, anyway, to be “basic.” I
am aware the term is intended to be an insult, but by whom, and what is
so offensive to this particular snarky crew? There’s a punchy
competitiveness – and not relegated to females – I occasionally hear the
condescending cutes from men, too – and pressure to be unique and
individualistic. You know what, I’ll let Rihanna shine bright like a
diamond (I still am highly suspect about gross human rights grievances
and exploitation all for the sake of diamonds… “F” I digressed, again –
happens all the time). But, more to that in my next post…. See you tomorrow!


Yesterday's Smarts

***This has been sitting, in draft form, since January 2014; it’s an open secret (such a secret that most people don’t know or have forgotten, altogether, I even have a blog.***

If I had to choose between smarty or party, the day was mostly smarty with a little bit of party. Work is so busy, I’m dizzy by the time the day comes to an end – I’d rather be busy than not enough work; I like to tell myself that’s good for job security (and with so many people I care for having gone through layoffs in recent months and years, that is a reality I’d rather not have be my own).

Physical therapy for my ankle, although is making hella strides in my progress and ability, largely sucks. Thank heaven these guys are not only good but are funny and lively; it makes the pain not such a pain. And they let me think I’m sneakily sneaking treats to the resident labs, Cali and Sailor. Like Pavlov, these pups expect those treats, now, when I arrive. But, this fantastic team of physical therapists are not only are helping me heal my ankle, I laugh and chat through the intense massages and mobility gains. 
I’ve wanted to see La Boheme ever since I fell in love with Rent 16 or 17 years ago…. Arizona Opera Company has produced a few times over the years, but I never had quite the right date to go with me. Something about the shit-show that has been the last few relationships (and even more depressing than my actual love life is the options available for to try new relationships) and epically bad dates, I made a choice last year to stop. Dating. Pretty much entirely (I’m not counting last Saturday’s dinner with the 25-year old cub a serious contender of a date). And I’m in that personal space where that’s what I need. As I explained to someone who was trying to understand my rationale, I continuously make bad relationship investments, and am on the verge of romantic bankruptcy.

So, I’m staring at my AZ Opera mailer with The Flying Dutchman, La Boheme, Traviata all of them teasing me! What could I do? Between double ballet tickets, double symphony season tickets (not that I have “dates” for any of these), I couldn’t budget a season of two opera tickets. Face it; it’s not the most fun feeling to get dressed up, drive yourself downtown, skip dinner, and go to Symphony Hall by yourself to swim in a sea of couples in their finer wear. But Mimi and Rodolpho, and their love affair in the snow filled night of Paris’s Latin Quarter beckoned me. The image of Mimi’s candle. Burned out, relit, and blown out again….. Sigh. So I did it. I bought my own damn ticket (again) and was going to be damned if I let myself miss another experience because I don’t have someone who is going to sit in the seat next to me. 

Mad Ones, Madness, Multitasking Mess

…the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!” ~Jack Kerouac

burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”

I may as well have been a less psychedelic Mad Hatter for any and all of my articulateness and constitution this week. I’m positively amazed that I could put together even a single coherent thought, let alone two such thoughts…. I multitask so much in my life. What we are now learning is that multitasking is not the great work efficiency to which we should strive. Either that message came to me via carrier pigeon or my block stubbornness continues, because multitasking is something with which I still struggle. I see myself doing a lot of work and being incredibly busy. All. The. Time. I’m always “busy.” Minimal rest. Not maximum productivity. I’m working – hard. And, when I’m honest — brutally honest with myself – I’m sort of flying by the seat of my pants for most of all of it.

Which is probably why I love this line I came across in one of my books this evening. In typical working procrastination, the aforementioned book is totally not related to the research I must do (have to do) on parallels between the economy and higher education of the current trend and historical comparisons (blech). I know, who wouldn’t rather cozy up to a young Jack K and day dream about a road trip along the Pan-American Highway through Mexico, camping on beaches, skin soaked with sea salt and sweat when facing such brain pulverizing alternative reading? I need another vacation, already.

…burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.

Isn’t the energy in that line just fabulous? It says so much for me, and to me, in such a small space of language. I think, for a few reasons, but most predominantly so is the reason of the isolation PhD work creates. At least for me.

I desperately strive to maintain a normal social life, and dating life, but when I include my full time job, my adjunct faculty work, my voluntarism, and general adulting responsibilities such as home ownership maintenance and general cleanliness of living space, there’s not much time in the day. I generally feel… tired. To try to maintain two jobs, and a full doctoral level course schedule, alone, is… intense. Most people don’t understand the level of stress, or the reasons why I put myself through the stress. This is especially hard with dating. “He,” is not going to be my primary focus and receiving a majority of my time or attention. Well, you can imagine how well that goes over. As in, it does not.

What I want and what I need are generally, universally, incongruent. I’ve been called a walking dichotomy. I don’t think it was meant as a high compliment at the time. But, I suppose I both want and need someone who has a little bit of madness, too, whether the moments are “AAAAAAAAAAAHHH,” or “aaaah,” or better yet, “awww.”

But that’s not happening today!

…and it’s my final week of class and I must lock myself in my condo this weekend for any hope to tackle this bear of a final assignment in class. My only hope for socializing is a volunteer shift with Junior League of Phoenix for serving as a tour guide at the grand opening of Ryan House. Mass and teaching Catechism on Sunday, and that’s it. NO Spring Training games and NO camping with friends at the Salt River. NO Vincent’s Farmer’s Market! AAAAAAAAAHGH! And, on top of it all, I’m such a rat. My good friend’s birthday dinner is tomorrow night and I have no card nor gift yet.