I like high horses

As a writer and aspiring successful writer, who paid a lot of money for a title that says I am a good writer, I have developed a lot of opinions about writing over the years. As a writer who has entered adulthood at the same time the interweb roared into our collective consciousness, I have seen my claim as 'good writer' and 'aspiring successful writer' taken up by just about anyone with a computer. Anyone who is anyone can write, nowadays and some people are actually leveraging themselves online in a very lucrative and viable way.

(The sidebar is a commentary on how with the advent of blogs, no one is held accountable for their opinions and professed facts, they do not represent any particular public, nor are they required to stay true to a code of conduct, which many journalists adhere to, take pride in, and follow at the very least out of respect for themselves and their jobs, and at the most, out of respect for humanity and the world at large. Of course, there are many publications that have no standards, and individuals do exist for whom morality does not seem to exist, but by and large, the journalist I know have standards and integrity.)

But what I myself have fallen prey to on occasion, and what many self-professed writers also fall prey to, in the blogosphere, is the trappings of ego. People with intelligence taking a topic and commenting on it in such a way that implies that anyone of a different opinion should be ashamed of liking what they like or doing what they do. I think it can be very hard to express opinion without saying something to offend a person of a different belief, IF that person is quick to offense regardless of how a thought is phrased. But it seems as though those of us that like to expound sometimes just enjoy the sound of our own witty little voices. And as we write our scathing commentary, we imagine the reception of said commentary is in the form of delighted laughter and raw admiration. We imagine our audience as applauding our candor and wit. Or, if we take pleasure in a little darkness, we imagine our audience as being shamed into a change of heart. Either way, there is a lot of ego in writing. And the line between loving oneself and lauding oneself is very thin, indeed, I think.

My favorite poet keeps ego out of the equation and his reception at shows is exponentially different than when the other poets perform. I will take this observation to heart in my writing from now on, as a principle. Let's see how I do!

Spanx...

Using my popularity, I have decided to revolutionize the English language and inspire millions by starting to use the word 'Spanx' in the place of the more familiar and common term, 'thanks.'

In so doing, millions will begin to follow my example and not only will I make the world a more delightful place, but I will also draw untold attention to spandex and the binding, girdle-like clothing brand Spanx, which produces tights, leggings and underwear that are incredibly comfortable and also makes you prettier.

In gratitude for my generous actions, I think that the company Spanx should pay me $75,387.13, which may or may not be the amount of student loans I still owe Sallie Mae.

Spanx,

Leslie

Train musings

I don't like to write about negative things. My fingers hesitate to immortalize a thought or observation that is buried in anger or frustration but mostly because I've grown more superstitious and my extremely gullible self read "The Secret" and has taken the philosophy spouted in that book and established a core belief in certain aspects with a decisive rigidity.





With that as my disclaimer, I begin.





I have begun to despise my commute. For the first time in my time here in the city of Chicago (since June 2000) I find myself on the dreaded red line, day in and day out, during rush hour. Up until now I had always snickered about the red line train. I was a blue line gal, a bus gal, a brown line gal....the red line stank. It was crowded. Overcrowded with an abundance of despicable Cubs fans. But alas, my job leaves me with no other option.





At first, I thought I was being overly judgy. (yes, that is a word. in my universe, where capital letters don't always belong at the beginning of a sentence, judgy is indeed, a word.) But no, I have seen more racism, obstinancy, ignorance, intolerance and stupidity on this train over every other commute I have ever had. And with 6 jobs and an active social life, I've had a lotta commutes.





Anyhoo. (also a word) I actually have to go meet a friend. So....more on that later??? Yes indeed.





This time, I'm a-walkin'...

Overshare?

I only have nine minutes to write this. I have a naseaus belly. If I had had sex, I would think that maybe I was pregnant. Instead, I have been suffering a slight case of food poisoning all day. Which is why I am not at work. I am instead at the public library, where, if I need to run to the bathroom, I can do it in anonymity and shamelessness.

A thought has been growing in my mind as of late. It has to do with the interweb and my own growing ideas of how to treat these blind vehicles of sharing. I say blind because even if my face is plastered all over the internet, you are still not DIRECTLY interacting with me, nor (except in the case of skyping or vlogging) do you have my voice ringing in your ear with my facial expressions to match...which is such AN important and thus far underrated form of communication.

Anyhow. I made a comment to a friend once that making an announcement of FB is like standing in a room with all 600 of your friends, (bosses and grandmas included) and saying what you just said..."I hate my girlfriend" or "Skank ass hoes need to recognize" and so on and so forth. And when you are standing in a room where your boss can hear everything, or that guy you just met at that party that friended you last night....don't you feel a little differently about what information you share? And aren't you worried that your oh-so-deadpan humor won't be picked up on by your slightly clueless aunt who likes to comment on EVERYTHING even remotely interesting that you write?

Just think about it. Ok. 45 seconds to go. I'm out.

Letter to myself, from myself.

Dear Self,

I just wanted to let you know that despite the way things seem right now, they will get better. But it's important to tell you this right now...they will get better because things inevitably do, and then they get worse again. It's the inevitable cycle of growth (we know that), but some of the things that need to get better will NOT get better unless you, yes YOU, do something about it.

See, despite your past, and all the horrible things that happened to you, despite current injustices and things that happened that make it hard for you to believe you are lovable, some of the things that suck are things that ARE within your power to change.

Forget all those bullshit adages that well-meaning yet annoying people spout off to try and make you feel better or feel inspired...."no one will love you until you love you" or "when you stop looking that is when it will happen".....phrases and sayings are often times just bullshit words that only act as a mask to cover up the fact that there is REAL WORK to do here. It's going to be hard. It's going to be hard and yes, you will have to work with some handicaps that other people do not have. Stop looking at those people. Looking at them does not get you to your goal, you do. Those people suck. Sometimes they are fun to hang out with. Leave it at that.

The people you should look at are the ones with handicaps, visible tangible ones, maybe...like that girl who lost her arm and does triathlons anyway. Or that guy who lost his legs and perserveres anyway. Those people do not suck, but they are on tv sometimes and you can watch them.

At the end of the day, and in the beginning, and in the middle, you should be working on taking the next step. Some of those steps will be incredibly painful. Sometimes you will feel ashamed. Some of those steps will be made in anger. But they are steps, and if you keep taking them, the payoff will find you, maybe even before you expect it.

People love you-sometimes they are not good at it. Doesn't mean they suck, just means they are human, like you. Remember that when you are feeling underappreciated at work.

Just keep taking the next step, get the fuck outta bed and have a day. Keep your eyes forward and your legs moving.

Love,
Yourself

Me HONGRY...not really but still.

Maybe it's because the fast begins tomorrow, maybe it's because it's that time of the month, or maybe it's these antibiotics I am taking that make me thirsty which makes me think I am hungry, but I have been thinking about food and about eating food all day.

I'm very conscious of the fact that I am not hungry, and yet my mind is working to convince me I am. I am also very conscious of how self-centered this blog is. All I do is talk about me. I just want you to know that that is to make up for the fact that in my waking, non-interwebs life, I mostly only listen to other people talk about themselves. I swear. My self-obsession is entirely and completely justified. God told me so. (too far? ok. I rescind)

Also, VERDANA is my new favorite font. It makes me indelibly happy. Ok. More stuff of merit or humor or some tiny bit of interest to come soon. I promise.

Brrr.

This cold is making it hard for me to motivate.

Haunted

I've begun to realize that Death becomes increasingly familiar as we age, that a long life means growing comfortable with Death, familiar. I'm guessing Death will become something of a best friend to us, the one that knows us so well, sees us through significant changes. Death makes friends with your friends and makes love to your family; so you begin to accept Death and it's inevitability, not just in your life but in the lives of those you love-those through whom you define yourself.

After awhile you begin to see that each friend or loved one that leaves, that takes a piece of you with them, gives a little of that defining love to Death. You start to see that you are losing yourself and growing closer to Death. That Death looks a little more like you each day, and your ability to accept him in your life is as natural and familiar as looking at the back of your hands.

Over the past few months I have lost 3 friends to Death. Over the years I have lost 6 total that I would count as dearly loved ones. The most recent loss is hard to bear. An old friend, whom I'd lost contact with, went missing for 4 months and his body was found on a beach in Indiana, partially decomposed. Speculation is he went for a walk in the early hours and either jumped or fell into Lake Michigan and drowned. I am so sad for him and his family.

But more than that, I am terrified of more Death. I get that he exists and I love the fact that we all will be together in the Abha Kingdom someday. But I am absolutely incapable of comprehending what that actually means. My love for others resides in their presence and comfort and reflection of friendship, and Death steals this away and forces us to live in the incomprehensible.

I will have peace. I have had it--it comes ever again after enough time has passed. I have been with Death long enough to know this...and should I be blessed enough to live a long and healthy life, perhaps the presence of Death will be to me what a good friend or loved one has always been, a comfort.

FB # 4

I'm closing bidness, beetches!!!