I just don't get it

The first apartment I lived in seriously confused me. I'm convinced there were gremlins in it, but that wasn't what struck me within the first 10 minutes I'd had a key to the place.

There was a light switch in the living room and another in the kitchen that did nothing. Not a blessed thing. So, I did the Monica thing, only I used noise AND lights. Because I'm cool like that.( No, really, it was because I was in my first apartment and didn't have enough things of one kind or the other to put in every outlet. But, to be honest, I am cool like that.)

I lived in that apartment for 3 and a half years. Never, never, never did I figure out what those switches went to. I don't think they did anything..they were a plant. Someone had designs to drive me crazy. Seriously.

Second apartment I moved into, same complex different building, also had a tricky light switch. This one was right by the door, on the same wall as the cable outlet. Which would be, typically, where one might want to put the TV. Also, by the door might be where one would like to put a lamp. But, because of the amazing lay-out of the place, switching off that outlet meant your TV (and VCR, and DVD, and cable box) were all shut-off as well. Again, because of the layout, you couldn't put the TV anywhere else and not have it look stupid. (Because furniture placement is everything, dahlinks.)

Now, this apartment, which I've lived in for almost 3 years, this one has a switch that only works one of set of holes on an outlet. (you know, they have 2, right? The switch only works the top one.) The outlet and the switch are next to the entry..which is fortunate. Because I actually do use it for a lamp. It's also the wall my TV, etc. are on, but there's a separate outlet for those things. Very handy.

But, it still bothers me that I don't know about those other ones. Frustrates me.

For other things that we just don't get, visit this week's Sunday Scribblings.

Why I live where I live

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because I've been thinking of moving. I've toyed with the idea of moving to Georgia, where my brother is. I've looked at other jobs, closer to here but still far enough away to feel like I'm starting fresh. Even applied for a couple. I've really felt like that, even with everything that here has to offer me, it doesn't really offer me anything.

Anyway, I have been wondering why I live here. I mean, here is a nice enough place, decent schools (which is nice since I work in one), my church is near, I know people. My family is here. Yes, I grew up here, so there's the sense of familiarity and feeling like I am a part of this place, to some extent.

You know, it started because I just didn't have the funds to move out on my own right after college. My hometown likes to see "its own" come back to live and work here, and makes no bones about liking to hire us. So, it seemed natural. I promised myself I'd give my hometown 5 years--this is year 8. I promised myself I'd give my library 5 years--this is year 5. Thing is, I already know I'll be back for year 6 (well, 9).

It is nice being here. It's comfortable, safe. I know who I am here, and people know me. But I do want more. I want to know I can make it away from here, find happiness that meets everything I need. But I won't leave the safe place. Even if I think happiness is "out there" somewhere.


For other random thoughts and writings, check out Sunday Scribblings.

Experimentation

If we knew what it was we were doing, it would not be called research, would it?

--Albert Einstein

Lately (well for a couple of months now), I've been in a state of experimentation. Every morning, I study the idea of getting out of bed. I don't go blindly into the experiment. I don't believe in running about willy nilly (as they'd say) and jumping off of cliffs without ropes on the chance that someone will catch me. No, I weigh it out, pros/cons, factor in the possible outcomes, and what I learned when I performed the experiment the day before (hence the Einstein quote above.)

See, I've been depressed. Now, that's not a diagnosis, just a knowledge that I have. And every day, simply opening my eyes is an experiment in living. I've not gotten so low as to not want to extend the experiment for a long while, but I have wondered about bothering with that day. Yesterday was like that. I got out of bed, had some coffee, walked The WonderDog, checked email and went back to bed. It was mid-afternoon before I bothered dressing and running to the store for food (yes, the grocery fairy had skipped me again. I guess I need to talk to her boss.). I had plans last night, but I begged off. I couldn't convince myself to risk leaving the house again. I really hate that.

What gets me up is knowing I have to go to work. I enjoy my work, so I often forget I'm experimenting. But then I come home, put on my pjs and go to bed. At 5 pm. The poor WonderDog hates it. I don't play, I don't love on him. He's his own island. Not good for a puppy dog. But he's been good, he tries so hard to take care of me, resigning himself to sleep all day on a pretty Saturday, rather than play in the yard.

Now, I know that some of what I've said (i.e. opening my eyes is an experiment in living) is really a commentary of the human condition and life anyway. But I also know that I've never felt like that before. I've felt listless before, but never felt like faking it was so exhausting (and, some days, so pointless). There's a part of me that wonders if I shouldn't go find some tools until I get back on my feet, and off of my face, but I can't even start entertaining that notion right now. It means leaving the house for something other than a dire necessity or work.

And you know what really hurts? The people who I think know me best have no idea. I'm not sure if that's a sign of amazing coping/acting skills or if that means they don't really know me.

For more thoughts on experimenting and experimentation, visit Sunday Scribblings this week.

Do-ti-do-ti-do

Free associations again. The idea is you're given a word and you reply with one word. Don't forget...I can't follow directions well. *grin*

1. Chemical :: allergies (from which I'm suffering a little right now)


2. Poker :: ooo, a tie...face and "red-hot"


3. Federal :: Income tax (waiting on my refund)


4. Mattress :: not so heavenly (the hotel I stayed in had a "heavenly bed" that sucked.)


5. Who am I? :: I don't know..who are you?


6. Investigation :: Roger Clemens


7. In good hands :: D


8. 8:30 :: bedtime


9. Creditors :: damn them


10. Resource :: learning

For other free associations (which happen to be free!), check out Unconscious Mutterings.

I go back....

This week, Sunday Scribblings has their 100th prompt. Happy (sorta) Blogaversary to you guys!

The idea this time is to write about the things that are like a mini-time machine for you. Music is mine. Sometimes smells and tastes, but always music. And then the music brings up the smells, tastes, touches, and the feelings in my heart.



The first time I heard this Kenny Chesney song, I knew exactly what he meant.

I never really thought about, that music is so integral to who I am. I'm not a musician, not really. I can appreciate it at the nut and bolt level. I can tell you when someone's off-key. I even direct an instrumental choir at church. But I just realized that I regularly made sound tracks for my life.

Okay, we all do that right? Make mix tapes? Or, I guess, CDs or playlists now. I've done it for years. I caught myself the other day making the list of that defined love and life with The Man. (I was only doing that because I couldn't focus on the death of my grandfather so I picked something else that made me feel warm. The Man and I aren't together anymore so our sound track is decidedly different now than it was a few months ago, but the warmth is still welcome.)

Songs can reduce me to tears, leave me uplifted. Cure every hurt, and amplify the pain.

I've been thinking a lot about my grandmother this weekend. Next week will be 4 years since she passed. Grandpa just passed this last Friday. These two songs were her two of her favorites (sung by her one of her favorite "new guys" in country music, Alan Jackson.) We sang "I'll Fly Away" at her funeral.



For other time machines, visit this week's Sunday Scribblings.