So last night I had planned to go out with a good friend in town from Nashville. He is also a good nephew and had spent all day “gutting” his Aunt’s bathroom, which is evidently a horrifying term that means doing construction that renders you exhausted and behind schedule. He took a rain check (or “gut check” -if you will, and I think that you will), and I found myself the proud owner of a Saturday night to myself. Not just any Saturday night, this one was deliciously devoid of distraction and my little house was decadent with quiet and dripping with sweet, sweet silence. (I realized as I was writing this that it was getting way too dramatic, so I just went for it. Now is when you picture me dramatically tonguing my silence a la one of those hyperfit moms in the commercial making the O face at her light-and-fit yogurt. Really burn that image into your mind. Hard).
The point is- this was great. Because as much as I love my friends (basically how much that lady likes yogurt but also very much not like that) I also really love puttering around the house, which is my main spiritual practice (St. Anne of Lamott).
My girl St. Ani Fucking Difranco has a song about being 32 flavors and then some. I don’t know exactly how many flavors are inside me, but I am coming to understand that the two big contenders are a fierce introvert who plays all day in the playground of her own imagination and a fierce lover of people without whom the introvert’s playground would be a sandbox and a stick. Now, obviously, this gets complicated. This is a lot like being an agoraphobic who loves to go grocery shopping and hit-up flea markets. (It is so sad that my clinical education has come to this. I literally sat around for fifteen whole minutes thinking of a non-clinical comparison and agoraphobia was the only thing I could call up. Chalk one up for you, UTCSW/Freud/Yalom/DSM/Dr NooePattersonCombs-OrmeBradshawandReneeDelapp). Much like our bargain shopping- hermit friend, these different “flavors” do not come without a battle (and the occasional compromise) between the introverted imagination playground and the rest of the wide world outside.
The point is- this was great. Because as much as I love my friends (basically how much that lady likes yogurt but also very much not like that) I also really love puttering around the house, which is my main spiritual practice (St. Anne of Lamott).
My girl St. Ani Fucking Difranco has a song about being 32 flavors and then some. I don’t know exactly how many flavors are inside me, but I am coming to understand that the two big contenders are a fierce introvert who plays all day in the playground of her own imagination and a fierce lover of people without whom the introvert’s playground would be a sandbox and a stick. Now, obviously, this gets complicated. This is a lot like being an agoraphobic who loves to go grocery shopping and hit-up flea markets. (It is so sad that my clinical education has come to this. I literally sat around for fifteen whole minutes thinking of a non-clinical comparison and agoraphobia was the only thing I could call up. Chalk one up for you, UTCSW/Freud/Yalom/DSM/Dr NooePattersonCombs-OrmeBradshawandReneeDelapp). Much like our bargain shopping- hermit friend, these different “flavors” do not come without a battle (and the occasional compromise) between the introverted imagination playground and the rest of the wide world outside.
Let’s introduce our opponents:
....... In one corner, we have Jennifer Smith. Standing at 5 foot 2 inches tall, she appears to be a girl child but is actually the closest thing to an adult in this situation. She is technically funemployed, not counting 30+ hours of grad student free-labor as a public pretender. Jennifer’s likes are: therapy, eating Chickfila “hate meat”, asking people questions that usually pertain to her (was it weird when i said that????), and procrastination. Jennifer excels at making quick exits from lack luster social situations, which is almost every social situation. Dislikes: therapy, people who won't answer her questions, large parties, her own stutter, and most everything on TV. She gets tipsy after 3ish beers, is reluctantly responsible and occasionally organized. She self-medicates a significant amount of social anxiety with a steady smoking habit, and is currently giving her talents to "the real world" which she so far is finding to be the lackest of the lusterest. She has a significantly less amount of power than her girl-child counterpart. Everybody give Jennifer a hand!!!!!!!
In the opposing corner …. we have a girl-child who appears not have bathed in days. There are crayons in her hands and all matted in her hair. She can usually be found running from one thing to another causing quite the hullabaloo and sometimes even some brouhaha. Nothing in her world is lack-luster, in fact everything is chalk full of luster, the veritable Mount Vesuvius of luster, towing-up-our-stock-with-plummet luster. She cannot learn enough. She could not be more distractible. She doesn't talk without yelling. Likes: luster, pontificating, learning things, remembering things, coloring, curiosity, brouhaha. Dislikes: clean walls, using her inside voice, following directions. This creature excels at quoting lines from poetry and fiction by keeping a record of nearly everything heard, said or read on the walls of her brain using her handy crayons. These walls are covered with layers of wallpaper with quotes from books, faces of characters that have only existed in novels and highly developed scenarios that have only existed in her extensive network of daydreams. She has only colored enough when she's sweating all the colors in the Crayola 64 box and proudly displaying the new synapses and “wallpaper brain pictures” she has to show for her effort. She sticks her tongue out of the side of her mouth like Father Ragan when she’s thinking of something exciting, which is basically all the time. Let’s hear it for the lustered-up girl child!!!!!!!!!
....... In one corner, we have Jennifer Smith. Standing at 5 foot 2 inches tall, she appears to be a girl child but is actually the closest thing to an adult in this situation. She is technically funemployed, not counting 30+ hours of grad student free-labor as a public pretender. Jennifer’s likes are: therapy, eating Chickfila “hate meat”, asking people questions that usually pertain to her (was it weird when i said that????), and procrastination. Jennifer excels at making quick exits from lack luster social situations, which is almost every social situation. Dislikes: therapy, people who won't answer her questions, large parties, her own stutter, and most everything on TV. She gets tipsy after 3ish beers, is reluctantly responsible and occasionally organized. She self-medicates a significant amount of social anxiety with a steady smoking habit, and is currently giving her talents to "the real world" which she so far is finding to be the lackest of the lusterest. She has a significantly less amount of power than her girl-child counterpart. Everybody give Jennifer a hand!!!!!!!
In the opposing corner …. we have a girl-child who appears not have bathed in days. There are crayons in her hands and all matted in her hair. She can usually be found running from one thing to another causing quite the hullabaloo and sometimes even some brouhaha. Nothing in her world is lack-luster, in fact everything is chalk full of luster, the veritable Mount Vesuvius of luster, towing-up-our-stock-with-plummet luster. She cannot learn enough. She could not be more distractible. She doesn't talk without yelling. Likes: luster, pontificating, learning things, remembering things, coloring, curiosity, brouhaha. Dislikes: clean walls, using her inside voice, following directions. This creature excels at quoting lines from poetry and fiction by keeping a record of nearly everything heard, said or read on the walls of her brain using her handy crayons. These walls are covered with layers of wallpaper with quotes from books, faces of characters that have only existed in novels and highly developed scenarios that have only existed in her extensive network of daydreams. She has only colored enough when she's sweating all the colors in the Crayola 64 box and proudly displaying the new synapses and “wallpaper brain pictures” she has to show for her effort. She sticks her tongue out of the side of her mouth like Father Ragan when she’s thinking of something exciting, which is basically all the time. Let’s hear it for the lustered-up girl child!!!!!!!!!
Here’s a little picture of getting us all ready to go out.
adult-child: hey, listen … jen, okay, can you, like, stop that … for a second …
girl-child: (wildly waving crayons) IM LEARNING THINGS ON THE INTERWEBS.
a-c: I see that. well, I thought we could go out with some people later …. people we like, from school ….
g-c: I’M BUSY.
a-c: … with what?
g-c: COLOR STUFFS. BEIN DEEP. HEY LETS GO TO HODGES LIBRARY LIKE WE’RE STUDYING AND READ EVERY COOL BOOK WE CAN FIND EXCEPT WHATS ASSIGNED FOR SCHOOL!!!! (she smiles proudly as if that would be the first time we ever have done that).
a-c: …. yeah, well I don’t see why we can’t do that tomorrow … but, you know, you were busy last night with-
g-c: I WAS THINKIN’ ABOUT BOOKS
a-c: and the night before that-
g-c: EXISTENTIALISM
a-c: and the night before that-
g-c: STARING AT MY OWN BLOG. HEY, INSTEAD, HOW BOUT WE WATCH GOODWILL HUNTING AGAIN AND CRY?
a-c: No. we are going to wash that crayon war paint off your face and go be with people. that we like
…...
Adult, 1 hour later: He cancelled.
g-c: OHHH MYYYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!! IMMA READ WENDELL BERRY AND MARY OLIVER!!!! THEY’RE BOTH SPIRITUAL/NATURE POETS WHO SHOULD GET MARRIED AND HAVE LIKE 3 BAJILLION POETIC SPIRITUAL/NATURE BABIES. FEED THAT BABY TREE BARK.
adult: … you’ve told me that like 200 times. for the 201th time, Mary Oliver is lesbian. And Wedell Berry is married. Both of them are way too old to be reproducing. and babies don't eat tree bark. even poetic ones.
g-c: WHATEVER, IMMA GO READ SOME POETRY TO DANDELIONS. I’LL SEE YOU WHEN YOU COME OUT TO SMOKE AND TALK TO YOURSELF.
adult …. mk, now. byebye then.
And a typical Saturday night comes to close.
g-c: WHATEVER, IMMA GO READ SOME POETRY TO DANDELIONS. I’LL SEE YOU WHEN YOU COME OUT TO SMOKE AND TALK TO YOURSELF.
adult …. mk, now. byebye then.
And a typical Saturday night comes to close.
