The Floor

Last night, I was in so much intestinal distress that I spent the night curled up on the bathroom floor. The bedroom, literally less than 15 feet away, still seemed way too far to travel. It's funny what is important to you when you are lying in a chilled sweat on the bath mat curled up next to the toilet.
I don't know about you, but when I'm in pain, I sometimes play the "if only" game. If only my head would stop spinning, if only I could make it back to bed, etc.. If only ___I'd be completely and utterly happy! I seriously believe that if I could have that one thing, I would want for nothing else.
OK, let's fast forward, I am feeling better, and now I am 100% content with everything in life. End of story.
Right, obviously this is not the end of the story, not true. I am not content. I want more. Is that selfish? sinful? Or is it good to want more, to make more of a difference in the world, to be better at being me? How about this: is it possible to be content and not content at the same time?

My "Laundry List" on laundry.

1. There's a lot of lint that gets collected in the little trap. Really, a lot, lot, lot. I'm considering making a pillow out of all of it. Otherwise, what a waste.
2. I seriously don't get the two socks in, one sock out principle.
3. Laundry involves way too many decisions; water level, one rinse or two, gentle or perma-press, temperature choices, which detergent, liquid or powder, etc...
4. In my laundry "cove" it constantly drips water on my head. Infuriating!
5. Laundry rooms are creepy. Think about it, a whole little room dedicated to your soiled garments. Yuck.

Puff

Puff is the name of my fabulous, fluffy, stained, light blue, tattered and torn American Eagle coat. Yes, you read correctly, I have a name for my coat. It almost has a personality of its own. If I can't easily locate the ratty garment you may hear me yell, "Wait, where's Puff?" or "Babe, have you seen Puff around anywhere?" If the temperature dips below 50, and in Northwestern PA it usually does, you can almost guarantee that you will not see me without my trusted companion, Puff.
I purchased Puff over 6 years ago, and she is surely showing her age. Sections of stitching are unraveling, the dingy fabric is faded and stained, and multiple holes sport flying down feathers, wrangling their way to the outside world.
Because Puff has a difficult fabric for patching and sewing, I chose to repair one of the larger holes with tape. Since then, countless well-wishers have approached me and removed the tape as a "favor." And if I had a nickle for each person who said, "Do you know you have tape on your coat?" I would easily be able to purchase three more Puffs.
What can we learn from Puff? One lesson is that things and people have value far beyond how they look or how much they would sell for on E-bay. This beloved coat is far too ratty to be sold and would even be pitched out by goodwill stores. Another lesson... people don't always want your help. Each time the tape is ripped off the wound of my precious Puff, the cut becomes larger and larger. Sometimes in life what we think is "helping" is actually quite hurtful.
Because of what Puff has taught me, I am going to try to look less at appearances, and I'm going to attempt to think a little more before I speak up too quickly and try to "fix " something.
One more thing, if you see me with Puff, please don't open the wound, just walk away from the tape....

Get thee to a gunnery?

I must admit, I am more than a bit flummoxed by the recent surge in gun runs. As a response to President Obama's proposed policies and the ever-plummeting economy, large quantities of conservatives are rushing out to buy handguns, shotguns and rifles. "Right" minded people are scurrying from store to store frantically searching for a stockpile of unlabeled bullets.
Sorry to pull a WWJD on you, but seriously, can you imagine Jesus frenetically stockpiling weapons and searching for ammo without serial numbers?

Personally, I am struggling with equating "Compassionate Conservatism" with stocking up on ammunition.

Any thoughts?

Awkward

The close talker
The Debbie downer
The giver of TMI (too much information)
The constant interrupter
The "Me Monster"
The overlaugher

All great ways to make potentially awkward situations even more awkward. I don't know about you, but when I witness the above behaviors I have strong feelings of what I like to call 3PE or third party embarrassment.
Unfortunately, I get lots of practice on first party embarrassment as I am the proud possessor of a distinct overlaugh. I don't intentionally pull it out, but sometimes it gets the best of me and has a mind of its own. When I accidentally release it, which happens all too often, I usually get one of three responses.
A. mild to extreme social awkwardness.
B. the ever so common eyebrow raise which denotes, "come on, Jen, take it down a notch, will ya?"
C. sometimes it breaks the ice and gets others laughing out loud for hours

I suppose, sometimes, an awkward situation can remind us to get over ourselves, to be who we are, and just be ok about it. And sometimes, it really is just toooooo awkward.

Does anyone out there have their own socially awkward intricacies, or do you have a good story of someone who does?

Shame

I landed on some disturbing television today while flipping through my viewing options. What was it, you ask. An uncensored movie channel? An accidental glimpse of soft porn? Perhaps some hard core gratuitous violence?
Actually, no, the extremely offending network is probably not what you're expecting. It was, wait for it, Angelone TV, a family friendly "Christian" network.
The particular offending program this afternoon was an extended phone telethon raising money for .. well, to be honest the purpose of all the cash was quite unclear. What was clear was the manipulation, coercive authority, and deceptive promises thrown about by the "pastor."
He yelled and pleaded for viewers to give an "end-time prophetic gift of anointing," claiming the blessing would double if you gave at least x amount of cash money or credit. (Don't worry if you feel you don't have the money, just give.)
It gets better. Next he abruptly ordered the in house audience to run to the alter with their gifts, all the while barking instructions to choir and cameraman. (No, keep the camera on me...closer now.) (Louder, choir, sing it like you mean it.) The audience literally ran, with looks of fear plastered on their heavily make-uped faces. Oh, and throughout his entire "message" he held a telephone in his hand, reminding viewers to call at 30 to 45 second intervals. I could go on and on, but I'm sure by now you get the picture.
I couldn't change the channel. It was a response akin to watching a house fire or gawking at a car accident. As I watched, I felt an overwhelming sense of shame. I literally felt like retching as a physical response to the actions and demeanor of the man who claims to know the same God and faith that have changed my life in such a dramatic way.
I felt shame that people would associate that man's message with the message of the God I worship and follow. I felt shame that people would associate that man's message with me.

The Spin Doctor.

I hate spin. I see it in politics, churches, and even as a form of impression management between friends.

I crave authenticity. If things in your life are a hot mess, I would prefer you wail and shout to the heavens and own up to your pain, grief, questions, and failures. I would not prefer you to unemotionally declare something along the lines of, "the complexity of this situation will allow me unprecedented personal growth, and I welcome the process." Sure, in some ways it's just being positive, and I'm all about personal growth. But it just seems a bit (or a million bits) too inauthentic for my taste.

Are you with me?

I thought so!

But here's the problem.

I'm a hypocrite!
I am using this despicable spin, that I detest, on a fairly regular basis.
Spin has become a necessary evil in my life.

Here's an example of how I'm currently using spin in my day job.

Background:
The high-stakes PSSA testing is coming up, and it's sending teachers across the state into frenzied skill cramming and test-preparation mode.

Spin:
Here's the chant/mantra I wrote for the kiddos as a rev up to the test. Picture a call/response, a shouty pentecostal like vibe. The teacher says a line and they repeat it.



We've worked all year in reading and Math

We know that are brains are on the right path.

We're some of the smartest in the U S of A.

And we're gonna show the world on the PSSA!


Here's what I would do without the spin:

I drill you with skills for most of the day

Cause real learning isn't measured on the PSSA.

My job review is based on the scores of this class

So pick the right answers or I'll look like an a##!



I have become the spin doctor.

The Tyranny of 10,000 hours

Ten thousand hours. Apparently that is the amount of time it takes to master something. Think about it. If you do something 20 hours per week , it will take you ten years to rack up that mastery status. If you work at something diligently for 5 hours a week, you have to consider that you may be virtually obsolete by the time you have truly licked it. It wrecks me to consider all the time passed in my younger years not working toward anything. (To be fair, I do have a fairly cumbersome sticker collection to show for it, and a rather extensive in-brain catalogue of partially complete song lyrics.)
Ten thousand hours. After a particularly frustrating rehearsal yesterday, I had some thoughts. Part of me was tempted to take my trusty Taylor and whack out each and every frustration against some sort of brick wall, or on a concrete stage, or drop the perfectly crafted GC7 into a deep, dark well. I could float it out on some southern unfrozen ocean-type area and watch it slowly fade away in the distance. (Heck, I could sell it and buy who knows how many more stickers.)
Ten thousand hours. Instead, I took a deep breath (or thirty), threw away my tissues, and played. Well, some might not call it that yet. But it certainly kept Andy awake until past 2:00 in the morning.
I am the ultimate late bloomer.. so much passion, so little talent, so little time. But anyhow, knock two and a half more hours off my total.. 10 thousand watch out cause I'm coming for you.

On blogging...

It is extremely busy inside my head. Not that it's busy in a hugely productive way, but busy none the less. I suppose it's time for me to have a blog if only for a place to clear out some space in this head of mine. I must confess, I do have a fear of putting myself out there on the web for all to see. However, the reality is not many will read this and besides, I refuse to make decisions based on fear. (unless that fear involves running from a man with a knife or some type of jungle animal.) Besides, all the cool kids are doing it.. blogging I mean..not running from tigers.
So anyhow, world, you are now officially invited in to the traffic jam located in my little ol' head.