Well, there it is, out in the open. I’m Not Funny. Ergo, therefore, I don’t write much. I wish I was witty with panache and shebang, but I really I’m quite shebang-less at the moment. However, my dear Planet Teenage Boy citizen did write in a construction paper card that not only am I the best mom in the world, I am also magical. Pause for appropriate effect….. So how many of you moms out there are jealous, eh? Not many of them PTB’ers are capable of using such adjectives, much less appropriating them toward the One Who Gave Them Birth.
So I’m not funny, just a little bit magical.
So I saw I hadn’t posted in over a month and took down my “I’m A Part of Post A Day” button, as it seemed rather silly at this point. I need a “I WISH I Was With It Enough To Post A Day” button, that would be more accurate. So what is my lame-o excuse? Depression. Relentless, annoying, can’t “snap out of it”, overwhelming, walking thru molasses everyday, depression. It sucks the life out of you, you can’t remember what it felt like to feel “good”, “energetic”, “happy”, or any of those kinds of words. But you can’t let on to people that you’re depressed, because then everyone takes it upon themselves to a) Become Your Shrink, b) Cheer You Up, c) Tell You What Diet/Exercise/Prayer/Nutritional Supplement Will Make You All Better or d) Tell You They “Understand” Because They Felt Lousy Once When ________.
Really, all I want is somebody to “reboot” my life and possibly give me a mainline IV of Rockstar, Monster, Red Bull, or whatever high energy drink is popular at the moment with all those tired teenagers. Doesn’t help at all that my particular version of Depression Hell comes with an extreme lack of finances or health insurance. So I can’t even afford the shrink, the meds, or the case of high energy drink I need.
Well, at least I can whine about it on my WordPress.com blog for free. 😉
Moms of teenagers do not like being in the passenger seat when our beloved Planet Teenage Boy (PTB) citizen is driving and decides that he “has” to cut someone off. If you are a mom with a PTB/PTG citizen and feel I am taking liberties with this statement, please feel free to express your willingness to get yourself killed by teenage offspring in the comments. I will update this post as necessary. I am still unsettled about my helpless position during my brush with death this morning on the way to school. Helpless beyond the screaming and yelling at the top of my lungs, that is, but I remain confident my input was somewhat effective if only to equally scare the bejeebers out of my Newly-Licensed Teenage Boy in the moment.
Of course, my PTB Citizen found the nastiest old guy (yeah, I know, who’s talkin) with the shortest temper on Earth to cut off. Thus we had war between the Old Guys and the Teenage Boys occur on our normally peaceful roads this morning, with me and all of my Mom-ness literally a captive audience. Let’s see, first OG flipped off TB, which TB found shocking, then OG chased us down, cut us off and tried the I’ll-teach-you-a-lesson-by-suddenly-slamming-on-my-brakes-in-front-of-you thing twice, allowing TB to show off his “skills” by swerving and testing the limits of our Minivan’s Antilock Braking System. Fittingly, OG’s license plate proudly states he is a “Dad,” and I must say the maturity level verified it. While I’m exceedingly grateful that OG’s wife didn’t let him pack the gun this morning, the whole flipping/chasing/lesson-teaching thing was not an effective example of mature conflict resolution skills for my citizen of Planet Teenage Boy. “Whoa, that guy has a temper!” was foremost in our debriefing.
Choosing not to go with either of the moral puppy dilemmas presented in today’s Post A Day question, I have been re-energized in my crusade to save the Earth, one teenager at a time. I came across Bridget Baker’s post where she mentioned a saying of her’s, a revolutionary one in my opinion, that “Responsibility is sexy.” While this has motivational pull for my own life, I immediately thought “Well, duh!” How did I miss this beguiling approach with my dear citizens of Planet Teenage Boy and Planet Teenage Girl? (PTB/PTG) Advertisers know the key term to motivating their gold mine 18 to 24 yr old male segment of the population is via the word and or concept sex. While they use this to get young guys to eat more hamburgers, I am wondering why no one has turned this little gem on it’s head for the Betterment Of Mankind In General? No one, that is, until Bridget Baker.
Teenage boys care about 3 things: girls, food, and sports. Not necessarily in that order. Moms of teenagers everywhere want one thing to occur on Planet Teenage Boy: maturity, civilization (ok, so that’s more than one thing, but it’s closely connected.) Why not create a win-win situation by marketing responsibility as a Sexually Desirable Trait? “Chicks think responsible guys are totally hot.” Can we get one of those video game makers to have those type of statements subliminally flashed across the screen when someone plays their game? I’m in. If I actually had any capital to venture, I would quickly sink it into a product which could simultaneously satisfy both teenagers and their parents. Forget the “Carl’s Jr. Burger Break” at halftime, replace it with a scantily-clad, flirtatious hottie lamenting the serious lack of responsible and mature guys to satisfy her needs. Can anybody say “Superbowl ad”??
Creatively productive. There’s the holy grail. To express the fullness of my potential as a unique individual and somehow do it well enough and often enough to get paid for it. Which is more important? Caitlin Kelly blogs about this and points out some of the beloved irony of us creative types — she won a Canadian National Magazine Award for humor for an essay about her divorce. Humor and divorce really don’t seem to go together, but that’s probably what made it work. I will spare you all the make lemonade with the lemons of life metaphor (whoops, that didn’t work.) In Real Life we must be productive, but do we put the cart in front of the horse with our focus on quantity? I am fascinated by Austin Kleon’s advice not to wait around until you know yourself to make things. Just make things, which leads to knowing yourself and thus the well of human creativity.
People tend to be amused by my eccentric creativity, but where is it’s value? That’s the big question. What makes a painting created by random slinging and splattering worth thousands of dollars, or not? I’ve got some pretty amazing metaphors and word plays up my sleeve, but what makes it marketable? Austin Kleon’s work, Newspaper Blackout, is a smash hit, but does the monetary value lie in the use of markers on newspaper? Would people value the same poetry if it were just typed out on regular ole paper? People are funny like that. Some things are perceived as wickedly cool, while others are relegated to lame gimmicks. I happen to think Austin’s work is Wickedly Cool, by the way. Does anyone care about the monetary value of Mom-ness? Is my in-depth research on the citizens of Planet Teenage Boy and Planet Teenage Girl significantly marketable? I have lots of creativity, but creating productively is the heaven to which I aspire.
Image via Galerieopweg
Image via Wikipedia
My tenacity is fragile. Finally noticed today that I hadn’t gotten one of those annoying Post A Day prompts in my email for a while. Somehow I was missing the annoying-ness. Went to the Daily Post blog, and found out I have been out of the loop for 8 days now…. Whaaaat? Could’ve swore I was subscribed to the Daily Post blog, and went to login and There It Was: Incorrect username or password…. Did you forget your password? Click here, you moron….. or something like that. Then it told me my Browser Was Blocking Cookies. I would never block cookies– they might be chocolate chip! Not only was I wrong about my username and password, I also had pending charges of assault against my favorite junk food companions. Life was bad. Considered changing my username to WonderlandAirhead, but was immediately reprimanded by: You Cannot Change Your Username. I don’t know what is worse, that I got cut off from the loop, or that I didn’t realize I was cut off from the loop. Cut off from daily blog post “prompts” (aka Demonic Demanding Arbiters of Anguish (DDAA)), I conveniently just didn’t notice and wantonly participated in vain distractions and……. something. Ask my teenagers, I’m sure they would have noticed my criminal behavior towards baked goods.
The most extreme, risky insane moment of my life occurred Today. With gasoline at $4 a gallon and nary a salary in the house, I live on the edge by pushing the limits of functional capability of a minivan. According to my on-board logistical probability screen thingy, I have been driving with zero miles left on my less-than-a-gallon “filled” gas tank for at least 24 hours now. Brazenly throwing caution to the wind, I once again set out to prove the legendary risk taking of which I am indeed capable. I drove to work…. fully aware that on-board technology had informed me I could drive Zero More Miles on the gasoline in my tank, and work is, uhhhhh, 8 to 10 miles or so away. This type of risk taking behavior can quickly improve your spiritual life (“Help me get there, Lord!”) Seriously, this is white-knuckling, heart pounding, extreme risk taking of epic proportions. Did I make it?
Has anybody seen my muse? Post A Day wants to know how I find it. Gotta tell you, I don’t find my muse– it find’s me. I have no idea from whence it comes, but it suddenly descends and a torrent of words comes Pouring Out My Fingers. Many times, if writing on actual paper, I will sit and stare at it in awe after I’ve gotten it all out of me. Where did that come from? I’ve been told I “Have A Way With Words.” The truth is words have a way with me. I don’t go searching for them, they come at me and I link them, absorb them, try to communicate them and Share The Joy I Experience with others. I love play on words, bizarre acronyms, bilingual word plays, and epic metaphors. They give me life, they make my world colorful and exquisite. Apparently, other people don’t experience this, which I think is very sad. Ha, I have an extensive vocabulary, yet I choose to use a simple description “very sad.” Maybe my vocabulary is a big part of my muse, the delight in finding a way to express something in an unexpected way. Then play with even that by incorporating the extremely simple, everyday, colloquial, slang. If there isn’t any appropriate slang laying around, make some up! Likewise with grammar, speaking inside out is a blast, if even for all the confusion on the listener’s face. Don’t even get me started on punctuation…..
“Anxiety, depression, fear, anger, and joy all emanate from this region.” Third paragraph, second sentence of my nearest book, “Essential Oils Desk Reference” by Essential Science Publishing.
What region is it? The region where all this stuff is emanating from, that is. That would be the limbic system of the brain, which the sense of smell is directly linked with, and the emotional center of the brain. Thus, inhaling Essential Oils directly affects your mood. No hocus pocus, just brain structure. This is why women often put on perfume when they need a little “lift” in their spirits. This is why Disneyland has the smell of vanilla wafting thru Main Street to make the Happiest Place on Earth a little more happier. This is why savvy bed & breakfast places have either bread or cookies in the oven when guests arrive.
I know, I’m a day off on the Post A Day thing, so sue me. “Plan B: What Do You Do When God Doesn’t Show Up the Way You Thought He Would? by Pete Wilson (no, not that one, another one) changed my life because it challenged the idea that somehow we are “suppose” to have easy carefree lives without any troubles, mean people, tragedies or conflicts. While most of us will say we don’t expect life to be perfect, I don’t see a long line of people to sign up for the hard stuff. We don’t deserve exclusive blessings, nor do we deserve a certain quota of tragedies. Why do babies die? I Don’t Know. If I knew everything, I wouldn’t be sitting around blogging. We are simplistic beings, like 2 yr olds whining because they can’t have a cookie, or worse, because they have to eat vegetables. However, God is more like a Rubik’s Cube Kind of God– there’s a lot of complicated stuff that affects other people which affects other people, and so on. Did I want to be in a major car crash with a permanent injury so that my friend could mention the name of Jesus in a country hostile to Christians because he was only repeating what one of those “American people” had told him? Glad it blessed somebody in some other country where it’s way harder to survive than my struggle not to drive across the street to get a soda, but I still really hated physical therapy. This book taught me to stop fighting what’s actually happening and let Someone who actually has a clue about managing the universe handle it. Stuff is gonna happen. Usually it does. Be ready for the “Plan B” and recognize that just because you feel out of control doesn’t mean He is out of control.