In seven days, I am going to be 29 years old and I feel numb about that. I have heard of tales of people who freak out and radically change their lives, sometimes for the better sometimes for the worst; which is apparently normal and referred to as the Quarter-Life Crisis.
When I first heard of the “Quarter-Life Crisis,” I really didn’t think anything of it. Mostly because it was my ex-boyfriend who enlightened me of this crisis. I can’t remember what he said verbatim, but he did mention his life evaluation, a nervous breakdown, a period of heavy drinking and the many regrets that he will carry in his heart for the rest of his life.
At the time I thought this was a little extreme of him, but now as I get closer to 30, I suppose it’s not that extreme.
The Janis Tree, my favorite tree. This beautiful and wondrous work of nature is located in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco just a few steps away from Hippie Hill. It has been said that Janis Joplin used to sit in that tree and write her songs. I can picture that, I imagine her being barefoot and smoking a couple of joints to help the creative and relaxation process too.
I really need to make another trip up to San Francisco and see that tree again, and revisit The Beat Museum and The City Lights Bookstore, and The Anarchy Bookstore. I love San Francisco.
It feels like a writing night, thoughts are bouncing around my brain and my fingers are feeling twitchy. I can type the creative thoughts or I can write it all down.
The choices, the options, the agony…all good clean creative fun. I just have to stick out the 20 minutes of darkness that is required for the kids to into a deep sleep.
If I stick it out, and fight the sleepiness that will definitely come with the darkness, then I would have succeeded and have a writing all-nighter. If not, then I get some required sleep, but miss out on some much needed creative time.
The choices, the options, the agony…all in the name of good clean creative fun.
As of this moment, the time is 10:21 pm, and I am seriously considering making another cup of coffee. My last cup was at 6:30 pm and if I drink another cup right now, I am probably going to be awake all night long.
Staying up all night…that’s not a bad thing. I have been up all night before, last time I did that was when I was binge-watching Jessica Jones the night before Thanksgiving; that was great. Just sitting there for hours, staring at the t.v. screen.
In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the greatest use of my time. I should have used that time for writing. Oh well, you live and learn.
Me In My Fangirl Glasses
It’s not easy finding ways to make use of your weird talents. I know I can do things, but the things that I can do aren’t exactly accepted by the common world, right now. I suppose that if someone who is an expert on people and style of today, they would describe me as a prude, a geek, a nerd, and just a flat-out weirdo. And, as slutty as most of the women of today are, all sexually free and uninhibited, I am not like that at all. As much as I would like to be like every other uninhibited woman in the world (which is a lie, because I really don’t care), I am not going to be like that. I have tried and changed and it didn’t stick.
I am still the same classy lady that my mother brought me up to be. I am a classy, eclectic, geeky, bohemian, and I don’t think that I am ever going to change. If not for my family, or my husband, then definitely not for anyone.
Washing Dishes: Once Resented Now Respected
I remember viewing dishes as a chore that I would negotiate my way out of when I was a teenager. I remember making deals with my parents to do other chores besides washing dishes, and if that didn’t work then I would con my little brothers into doing them for me. I remember dreading the thought of standing in one spot for a long period of time with a large pile of dirty dishes before me and having to stick my hands in food ridden water and having to scrub each dish clean. I am the oldest of six kids so we went through a lot of dishes and a lot of food, and those dishes were never fun to wash. This went on for a good while, up until I was about 19 and I moved out of my parent’s house. Then when I finally lived on my own and I had my own dishes to clean, just me and my small pile of dirty dishes. It was around that time I actually started to not mind washing dishes; in fact I grew to accept it has a meditative experience.
It’s a weird when you realize that you are beginning to enjoy something that you once despised. When I see dishes now, I see a task that I have absolute confidence in myself for doing. I know that my hands will be cleaned and soothed by the cool, soapy water. Even scrubbing them is fun; I envision myself scrubbing off the faces of those who have wronged me. I trip out sometimes when I’m washing the dishes because I remember so clearly a time where I despised and did everything I could to avoid washing dishes, and now I actually like it. Is this what it means to be an adult?