More isn't always better, sometimes it's just more

In one of my favorite movies of all time Sabrina, Harrison Ford plays a character named Linus, a workaholic, stoic man with a less than dry sense of humor. Linus takes Sabrina by jet out to his family’s cottage in Nantucket. On the way, Sabrina is marveling at the plane.

“Do you ever look out the windows?” Sabrina asks.
“I don’t have time to look out the window. I’m working,” Linus replies and looks down at his work.
“What about all the time we saved by taking the helicopter?”
Linus shrugs and smiles, “I guess I’m just saving it up”
“No you’re not,” Sabrina replies.

I think about all of the ways things have been streamlined and made more efficient in the past century. I remember reading in my history books about how things like vacuum cleaners and dishwashers changed American culture, and that for the first time people had free time. I think about how nowadays we have faster, more efficient everything: faster cars, faster internet, faster food. And what do we do with all that extra time?? Where the hell does it go? I really have no idea how more + faster somehow = less, but it does. I find the older I get, the more anal I am about my time. I think that’s why I get so pissed when I get stuck in traffic. I’m thinking to myself “You assholes are stealing my life away because you can’t drive a damn car correctly.” It’s kind of the same thing with my work. Sometimes I think I work because I like to work. Sometimes I think it’s because I like what I do. Then sometimes I sit back for a minute and realize that I work 8 hours a day so I can come home and hang out with my husband from 6:30 when he gets home until 9 when I get tired because I’ve gotten up so early to go to work. That’s 8 hours a day I spend at work so I can enjoy 2.5 hours doing what I really want to do. Where did all the time go?

If you like 1984, or just dislike George Bush

Check this out.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!!!

Didn't fire-fighters used to put out fires?

I started re-reading Fahrenheit 451 last night. I read almost 60 pages in a little over half an hour. It was very intense to read and I felt very sad afterwards. The whole beginning is the blossoming of a ‘friendship’ between a firefighter (Montag) and his new neighbor Clarisse who is “17 and crazy”. Clarisse challenges everything Montag has ever known. At the end of their first encounter, she asks him “Are you happy?” and then runs off to her house. Montag laughs it off, but as he walks into his hosue he realizes “No, I’m not happy,” A moment later he catches a glimpse of an empty bottle of sleeping pills on the floor and his wife, pale and unconscious on their bed. He calls 911 and they send out two workers to pump her stomach and filter the drugs out of her blood. Montag thinks to himself as he is watching:

Did it drink of the darkness? Did it suck out all the poisons accumulated with the years? …The entire operation was not unlike the digging of a trench in one’s yard.

And then afterwards:

The bloodstream in this woman was new…someone else’s blood there. If only someone else’s flesh and brain and memory. If only they could have taken her mind along to the dry cleaner’s and emptied the pockets and steamed and cleansed it and reblocked it and brought it back in the morning. If only…

The pain in their marriage is so heavy from the very beginning. You can tell that he really hates the way that their marriage is and really wants to change it, but Mildred (his wife) is very shallow and seems incapable of engaging about anything painful. The next morning he tries to talk to her about the incident.

“You took all the pills in your bottle last night.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” she said, surprised.
“The bottle was empty.”
“I wouldn’t’ do a thing like that. Why would I do a thing like that?” she said.
“I don’t know,” he said.
She was quite obviously waiting for him to go. “I didn’t do that,” she said. “Never in a billion years.”

I know I've said this before, but I am so prone to shutting down when things get tough. Just the other day I was on the phone with Clint and he brought up a touchy subject from back when we started dating- totally not a big deal anymore, water under the bridge – and I got pissed and shut the conversation down. I hung up the phone and sat there for the next ten minutes trying to figure out what in the hell was my problem. And then it hit me: I didn’t want to be reminded of a time that I was in the wrong. I didn’t want to think about how amazingly ugly I had been. I had totally erased the painful memory from my mind and having it brought up made me go into a sort-of denial. It was like: if we don’t talk about this, then it never really happened…

I was talking to some friends last night about a girlfriend of mine that couldn’t be in my wedding because she checked herself into an eating disorder clinic. When I asked her why she abused herself so, her answer was all at once clear and surprising. She said that she had been in a terrible car accident years ago in which her little brother died, her sister was paralyzed for life, and her mother suffered a shattered jaw and she was miraculously untouched. She said she had so much guilt and no way to get it out that she started starving herself, or purging, or exercising impulsively to feel like she had any kind of control. A month after she had been in the clinic and had managed to combat her eating disorder, she confessed that she had taken up cutting herself because she felt so out of control. She had never gone through the painful process of dealing with her past, instead she denied that she needed help carrying her burden and took to hurting herself to get out the emotions instead.

What I want to know is: how is it that we can be a culture that can endure pain for all manner of cosmetic/esthetic/purging purposes (did you read that they re-approved silicone breast implants this past week?) and yet when it comes to emotional pain, we avoid it by any means? I was reading in the NY Times today about a man who started taking Wellbutrin (mild anti-depressant or SSRI) years ago to quit smoking and continues to take it to this day because “it makes him feel good”. The man has never actually suffered from depression. How is it that we can get botox, piercings, tattoos, plastic surgery all damn day long, we will starve ourselves to death , we will take drugs but when it comes to willingly entering into emotional circumstances that could benefit ourselves or our relationships with others- we opt out. We have grown up in a culture that tells us to bury our feelings deep inside, to take a pill, and that denial is survival. But what so many of us find out sooner or later is that there is no burying, and everything comes out in time. It’s up to us how we deal with it when it comes to the surface- whether we’ll push it back down for a few more years until it becomes insurmountable or deal with it now while we still have our health, our wits, our sanity.

I read this on the Psychology Today website and was really struck by what it said.

"Viewing marriage as a process that unfolds in stages … gives couples cause for hope even in the midst of misery, relieves some of the anxiety that they are not happy now, and gives them an agenda for working out their problems. In addition, it affords couples a realistic perspective of duration—that relationships don't happen overnight but take time. And it helps people abandon the idea of instant gratification. It clues them that you need to go through life making changes."

We're just ordinary people

We don't know which way to go

Cause we're ordinary people

Maybe we should take it slow

Ordinary People- John Legend

Anybody have a copy of Jayber Crow they want to let me borrow?

So I’ve picked up smoking since Clint’s gone out of town. This is terribly hypocritical of me because I’m always harping on Clint about smoking too much (he has heart disease in 3 out of 4 grandparents). My friend Amy tells me that it’s my way of dealing with…tension. She's probably right. Anyway, I find that the only times I want to smoke are when a) Clint’s out of town or b) I’m drinking. And you know what: I like menthols. There. I said it. I.like.menthol.cigarettes. I have no idea why but I do and I get made fun of by like every other smoker I know.

I went to orientation yesterday at UAB. I made two new friends while I was in line and we did everything together the rest of the day. Funny, I don’t think of myself as making friends easily, but I’ve made a lot of them lately. *Shrug* Anyway, it was pretty boring all in all, kind of a dreary, rainy day, but I registered for my class and lab (woo-hoo!). Sooo glad to have that done with. Now I just have to wait until January 4th to roll around to get this party started.

In other news, Clint and I are moving (again) to the Virginian Court across the hall from Cal & Heather. It’s going to be so kickass I can’t wait…except we’ll probably be moving the week before Christmas and that kind of stresses me out but it’ll be aight. I think we’re going to hire movers this go around because every time Clint moves our stuff we acquire a whole new set of dings in the furniture. We might also be getting another dog of Clint’s choice. That may or may not come to fruition but there have been talks of getting another one. We’ll see.

Alright that’s it for now. Got a long night of doing hair ahead of me. Peace out. Effers.

"Maybe he's lonely", "No, YOU'RE lonely"

So we have crack heads in our basement. They’re renting out the apartment on the first floor and they think they’re being so sly and clandestine but everyone knows what they’re up to. I mean, they’re all strung out as hell, the lights are ALWAYS on, there’s always a group of people coming in and out every 15 minutes to an hour all day and night, and every morning the same guy comes by at 7:30 to pick up a package. Well, there’s this one crack head that LOVES to sit in her car and honk her horn to get whoever it is she’s picking up to come out and it DRIVES ME CRAZY. I’ve tried a couple times to run outside to give her a piece of my mind but I never get down the stairs in time. Well the other night I was hanging out on the balcony with my neighbor Erin and I finally saw the jerk, stopped right in front of the apartment. She rolled down her window and honked once. Nothing. Honked again. Nothing. Honked a Third time, and I finally lost it and screamed “SHUT THE F*** UP!” Much to my surprise, she leaned out the window and said “Oh, sorry.” Erin and I looked at each other and started cracking up.

Clint’s out of town and I hate it. I dread every time he goes on the road. The first few days are usually ok, but after that it just gets taxing. I’ve been really lucky this time around though because all of our friends are calling me to hang out and it’s keeping me so busy that I don’t have time to sit around and think about how much I miss him. Except at night, that’s the worst, but this week Kelly and Andrew are going to come stay with me and I’m SO excited. I think my sister-in-law might come stay too. And Bonnie. Can’t forget about Bonnie = ).

Friday night I actually went out to a bar without Clint. Definitely haven’t done that in a while. My neighbor Erin and her boyfriend were going to a b-day party at Iron Horse for two of her co-workers and invited me to come along. At one point we were all standing up in front of the stage (and let me clarify that I was NOT dancing), and I looked over and saw the lead singer of Loose Stone (the cover band Clint plays in). We both kind of stopped and he goes “Hey, you’re cheating on Loose Stone!” and I looked at him and said, “Well so are you!” and we both kind of shrugged and laughed. It was actually pretty fun. The band was pretty decent, although the guitar player was a little over dramatic for me. After watching Clint play all the other guitar players I see just look silly to me.

Saturday night I made plans to do another photo shoot with my friend Amanda who is extremely pregnant. I have done one other shoot with her about a month ago (you can see two of the photos on my flickr) and the pictures turned out great. After a couple days she decided she wanted to do some more photos but this time with her husband Daniel. We made plans for them to come over at 6:30 and at 6 I was kicking myself for not going to Wolf Camera earlier to get another battery charger to replace the one I left at the CG retreat ‘cause my camera was out of juice. So I called BTM and asked if I could borrow his. Well, turns out that as long as I use a shitty camera I take great pictures. Brian’s camera is a SUPER nice Nikon with all the bells and whistles that I totally do not know how to work. I spent ten minutes just trying to get the lighting right and it still didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to. I think I got maybe 3 good shots out of almost 100. Ugh. Oh well.

Last night I went and saw Superman at the IMAX last night with the Woods and the Westerholds. Such a cool place. While the credits are rolling at the beginning and you’re ‘soaring through the galaxy’, you kind of feel like whatever you ate might just come soaring out of your stomach- it’s that real. Butterflies and all. Came home, got in bed, drank a beer, talked to Clint, and finished reading 1984. Good book. Scary. I really hated the end, but will spare you details in case you haven’t read it. And if you haven’t- go get it and remedy that immediately. It will definitely make you feel differently about freedom, war, and ignorance. In a good way, I hope.

I realize that this was a completely boring and vapid post but it’s a boring day at work and I’m not feeling inspired to write any poetry just yet today so this is all I got. Take it or motha f***ing leave it, f***ers.

Younger Still

Why do you hate
More yet, despise
That he could love
Or empathize
With one so crass
One so far
From what you want
And what you are
Or is it you?
Your cause for ire
That in your heart
There is desire
To learn to rest
Learn to breathe
Remove the barbs
To be free
To fall and stand
Back up again
To know the need
For gentle hands
I do no know
But wish I did
For peace I’d bring
And hate be rid
But always has
And will be
One like you
And one like me.

I am constantly amazed at how Christians want to make Christianity about everything but Jesus

And how fucking incredible my husband is for having patience for all of those people. I definitely have none.

"And I'm more than just a little curious how you're planning to go about making your amends to the dead... with your halo slipping down to choke you now." The Noose-A Perfect Circle

I think sometimes I make myself listen to certain music because it’s the only thing that can draw emotion out of me- or open me up to let it in

I have realized more and more lately how much pain there is in the world. Part of it I’ve always known, and part of it I started thinking about this past weekend at the Community Group Leaders retreat. The question was asked: what draws people to Red Mountain? Forgive my assumption, but I feel like most people come to Red Mtn because they carry so much pain that most churches won’t acknowledge whether it’s church baggage, family baggage-whatever, there’s more than enough to go around. The point is: Red Mountain Church is a church that is very aware of the pain in everyones’ lives and the struggles we face every day as long as we’re on this earth because of the fall. Yes there are people that go to Red Mtn that seem to “have it together”, yes there are people who think very differently about grace and feel differently about moral issues than say, me, but I really think the allure is the same and is predominant: People need to admit to themselves and others that every day in this world is hard, and that all of our joys here will forever be mixed with grief. It just so happens that some days are harder than others.

It seems lately that the pain of those around me has been very deep and of the despairing sort. The kind of pain you hang your head when you talk about. Or hear about. The kind of pain whose only solace is empathy, community, honesty, and sometimes just some good art.

My grandfather passed away almost 4 years ago. I loved him dearly. He had a voice like sandpaper and a face to match. He used to sing old country songs and hymns, and I swear he sounded just like Johnny Cash. When he died I didn’t cry. I was entirely too numb. It wasn’t until almost 2 years later that I shed my first tear for him. My parents had ordered a box set of Johnny Cash Hymns. I listened to all of them and wept. Well, when I got American IV: The Man Comes Around, I totally lost it. He does a bunch of covers of really great songs, but the two that kill me are the Beatles ‘In My Life’ and Nine Inch Nails 'Hurt'.

I sat in my car on my lunch break yesterday and listened to this record and wrote in my journal. It was really therapeutic and kind of helped me face some of the things I knew I’d be talking about in counseling last night. Yes, I go to counseling. On a regular basis.

Anyway,somehow listening to certain music helps me open myself more readily to painful situations that are going on in my life so that I can move around inside them and find some kind of clarity. Do any of you feel this way? It even helps me when I’m mad at Clint to listen to some of the mix cd’s he made for me when we were dating and remember that yes, I do love him for a reason, and yes he’s the same man I fell in love with. I’ve even made his ring tone ‘Beautiful Boy’ by John Lennon so that when we’ve had a spat and the LAST thing I want to do is answer that damn phone, it somehow calms me down to hear that song and remember that I picked it because it’s true- even though it may not feel like it at the moment.

I don’t really know what I’m trying to say. I guess what I’m trying to say is, sometimes art (being music, books, poetry) helps us deal with pain better than so many other things out there. There’s something disarming it, in feeling like maybe someone out there feels the way that you do. I guess that’s why I write on this blog. I want to feel like I’m not alone, and that maybe someone out there is experiencing the same things I am. So I guess in some respect I'm saying that good art leads us toward a shared experience, or in other words community. And a community like Red Mtn, well, that's a community that loves good art, is exeedingly honest about pain, and loves some good wine. Man, no wonder I love my church...

There are places I'll remember

All my life though some have changed

Some forever not for better

Some have gone and some remain

All these places have their moments

With lovers and friends I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life I've loved them all

Though I know I'll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I'll often stop and think about them

In my life I love you more

In my life I love you more

Indifference

Scattered feet upon the ground
Awakened silence, fear the sound
Torments softly for some time
Forgiveness weeps in tangled vines
Faulty sorrow, weakened strength
I feel the anger deep beneath
Nothing here but skin and bones
My shadows haunt- a torpid soul
The thought to reconcile with you
Would be to die and death pursue
That which passed a time before
When we were younger so less sore
These trials do try and pull apart
And take the feeling, take the heart
But right has faded into dark
And here I’m left in sopor, stark.