Morning meditation:
Relaxing, but not much more. Made me a little mellower for the next five minutes.
I think I'm genetically predisposed to things like 30-day trials. It's all to do with that strange quality I have where everything seems easy in retrospect. I meditate for an hour every morning and half an hour every evening, and during the during, I often get impatient, and start cheating - usually I use telekinesis to make the clocks go faster (not as easy as it sounds, it gets really tricky with all the gears in analog clocks, and telefiddling with the digital clocks requires a signal processing background). But then as soon as the meditation is over, I'm thinking "psh, that was cake." And it's pretty much like that with all the others too. Water, crunches, writing, not cursing, not tripping old people. No matter how hard they were to do, at the end of the day I have no doubts that they were easy. Alas, there are exceptions to this rule.
Irrelevant to the previous paragraph (as usual), but it feels like my mind lacks a necessary part for the awareness meditation/Adyashanti's "True Meditation." A background. All my mind has is a foreground. Every thought that drifts by, takes control of my apparently one and only mental process. I'm like a really out of date computer, pre-multiprocessing era. On the other hand, something is watching this foreground, because otherwise I would never snap out of any thought before its conclusion. I would never get to writing this down. The other explanation is that my thoughts are just as ADD as I am and snap in and out of the foreground easily.
I was browsing people's Favorite Books sections on Facebook today to get some recs, and ended up starting Frannie and Zooey by Salinger, the guy who wrote Catcher in the Rye. Salinger is soooo recognizable. Almost instantly so. He's got this style of deep distaste for all characters present. Or maybe not distaste, but he paints his characters very unsympathetically. The protagonist is no hero. And he does it all in a non-humorous breed of sarcasm. Pretty entertaining though. I'm only like 15 pages in so far, so I can't really say anything about the plot.
More silly jokes from writing hour:
Question: Did you know there's no gravity at night?
Mom: Ha. Ha. Ha. You're sooooo clever.
Dad: of course, it's explained by Maxwell's seventh and eighth equations. Michelle, did you guys study that in school yet?
Mark: actually, the causality is in the other direction. It's because we have no gravity at "nightime" that it gets dark. There's just nothing to hold the light down!
Mario: yea, but don't worry, I got enough magnets to last us a while.
Michelle: first tell me, did you stop drinking cognac in the morning?
Chun: wait, really? I can never tell if you're joking or not. Wow, that's so interesting! Wait, you were kidding? Ugh, I almost made it till lunch this time without falling for anything!
Lucy: duh! Everybody knows that.
Perry: yep, Jesus takes it away at night to punish us. Fear the Lord, ye sinners!
Igor: is this recent? Renata! There's no gravity tonight, maybe we should just stay in?
Tina: Mark, grow up.
Manlin: of course I knew. Did you know that I'm the prettiest person in the world?
Zhang Xiao Yi: in China, we never have gravity. Or night. Americans are sad. That's why you guys have so many divorces.
Pei: gravity...nope, haven't seen that one yet. I'll add it to my NetFlix queue.
Question: How many Earths can fit in the Sun?
Michelle: three? I have no idea!
Mom: a thousand? Am I even close?
Dad: a million? That's what it was when I was a kid. Hold up, let me ask Buddha. Actually, soon this question will be completely irrelevant. Both the Sun and the Earth will be all software, no hardware components.
Chun: a billion? Crap, I hope they don't ask this at the med school interview. Maybe I should pre-empt them and write about this in my essay...
Mark: a trillion? Yea, definitely a trillion, plus or minus 9 orders of magnitude.
Mario: a quadrillion? I am so not even close.
Pei: on what day of the year? Today? Let's see, Capricorn's falling, Aquarius is on the rise, Beetlejuice looks a little angry... No, today the Earth definitely won't fit inside the Sun. Not a chance.
Manlin: one over the number of Suns that can fit in the Earth. Ha!
Perry: I don't think. I know. Seventy two million, three hundred and sixteen thousand, four hundred and seven.
Lucy: at least one. HAHAHAHAHA! Wait, you haven't heard that one? It's by Mitch Hedberg. Ah, he's a doll.
Tina: Google Google Google Google Google! Did you say something? Oh, seventy two million, three hundred and sixteen thousand, four hundred and seven, and one third.
Frank: well, it changes because the Sun expands when it gets hot. I know, I have a lot invested in it. And you have to take into account the Fahrenheit/Celcius/Kelvin exchange rates, those are on wild swings these days.
Zhang Xiao Yi: you mean in America's Sun? About ten times less than in China's Sun.
Igor: ...(whispers) psst...psst...PSST! Renata! It's for you!
(Note: I wrote this one pretending I was Pei writing a joke about me)
Mom and Dad are discussing getting rid of Cable TV.
Dad: we don't need it, we never watch it.
Mom: but I want to be able to watch the Academy Awards. And the Golden Globes.
Dad: I'm sure it's all streamed online. I'll find it for you.
Mom: ...but...but...
Dad: it's a waste of money!
(Mark walks in)
Mom: fine, let's get rid of it.
Mark: are you talking about Michelle? I'll go get the knife.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Q & A
Morning meditation:
Oof. Today was one loooong hour-long hour. I was really impatient for some reason, even more than usually. Maybe it's because today I meditated at ~11:30AM instead of the usual 9:00AM, and my brain had already had time to sink into the afternoon mindset, apparently one of ADD. Also, there were lots of distracting sounds today. Planes, trains, automobiles, humming refrigerators, ringing cellphones, garbage pickups, the walls crackling from minute changes in temperature, pretty much everything you could ask for except for the ice cream truck and carolers. And Santa Claus.
I did have a couple of interesting moments when I felt curiously misaligned with my body, as if I had drifted over a couple of inches, but was also simultaneously in the original spot. It was a tricky feeling to hold onto, because the moment I'd notice it, I'd snap right back into place. The day I can hold it I'll probably end up blaming it on excessive calorie intake.
I was thinking yesterday that God is a lot like the Placebo Effect. It doesn't really matter whether he's a sugar pill or an antibiotic or a big jolly bearded guy in a cloud, riding a dinosaur. If you manage to believe in him, even if you're tricked into doing so, you can extract benefit for yourself. Or harm of course. Let's forget about God for a second, and just think about the Placebo Effect. Basically it says that whatever you believe, happens. Like, if you take a sugar pill thinking it's a cancer cure, you have a 99.99% chance of being cured (Note: figures are not to scale). Or if you jump out of an airplane and believe you have a parachute, but you really don't, then you're totally screwed. Actually...ignore that last one. OK, if you believe in Santa, your parents will give you presents addressed from him. If you believe in a wrathful and vengeful God, I will come shoot you in the head. If my physician tells me my lymph nodes are OK, I will believe her, and they'll stop spraying fountains of blood. So you see that the Placebo Effect is very powerful. And now I forget where I was going with this.
A joke my friend Pei wrote about me:
It happened as mark was in primary school...
teacher : mark, how come u r late again!!
mark: I met a lost 3 year-old kid by the railway on the way here.
teacher: come on... pls use a better story next time.
mark: I did send him home.
teacher: where is his home?
mark: ya when I asked him that, he was pointing to the railway. So I put him on the rails.
teacher: .......
(my reaction)
Mark: that's good!
Pei: when I was thinking of u, I thought, mark, he is a baby-killer... here we go...
A joke I wrote about my friend Pei:
Pei: talk dirty to me, I love it when you talk dirty to me.
Mark: mm...your apartment's so dirty, so dirty, I'm going to go clean it right now!
Pei: yea baby! you know what turns me on!
Yea...that may take some background to understand.
And one more about Pei (we're collaborating on a joke book that only the two of us will understand):
Pei is walking down the street. She sees a 5 year old kid and his mother. The kid must have been misbehaving, because the mother is beating the crap out of him, spanking him like there's no tomorrow.
Pei: ah...I wish I had a kid.
(today, in the kitchen)
Mark is peeling a clementine. Michelle walks up and puts her hand out, demanding some. Mark shoves the whole clementine in his mouth.
Michelle: Mom! Mark stole my clementine!
I tried writing some more jokes today, but in a different style. I tried posing a question and then thinking of responses from different people, with the responses caricaturing the answeree. I can't really tell if it's funny, and you'd have to know the people reasonably well to understand what I'm getting at, but it made me crack up when I wrote them:
Question: You have 24 hours to live, what do you do?
Mom: 24 hours...that's 12 movies!
Dad: 24 hours...that's eight 3-hour meditations. No, wait! Twenty-four 1-hour meditations!
Mark: 24 hours...can I at least get an extra half-hour to blog about it after?
Grandma: 24 hours...do you know what happened in Israel in only the last 3 hrs? No? Well let me describe it to you in gory detail for the next 24.
Boris: 24 hou...(snore)
Pei: 24 hours...that's enough time to try 240 new sex positions!
Manlin: 24 hours...how fast do they deliver chocolate?
Zhang Xiao Yi: 24 hours...damn, my parents are going to kill me when I tell them!
Chun: 24 hours...OK, first 5 minutes - call my Mom and Dad to tell them the news. The next 23 hours and 50 minutes - plan out the remaining 5 minutes. Aha! Not a minute gone to waste!
Tina: 24 hours...wow, life sucks.
Mario: 24 hours...that's time enough to learn 3 new Chinese words, forget 5 Russian ones, and start learning three new languages!
Igor: 24 hours...Renata! What am I doing for the next 24 hours!?
Frank: 24 hours...no problem. I have a business plan just for the occasion! It's a franchise. We're going to have 12 stores open within the first 10 hrs and we should be up to McDonald's scale by hour 24.
Serge: 24 hours...that's enough time to build a successful family, right?
Perry: 24 hours...convert as many Christians as I can to antheism. Now that's time well spent.
Lucy: 24 hours...bull. I bet I can live longer than that.
Question: What will you do when your son's begging you for a new toy he doesn't deserve?
Mom: don't give it to him, but then cry myself to sleep at night.
Dad: don't give it to him. Instead, make fun of him till he develops a serious psychological disorder.
Michelle: I have a son? That means I had sex! EWWWW!!!
Grandma: buy him every toy in the store. Oh, wait! Did you say son or grandson?
Mark: my son? Did the condom break? This is a completely unrealistic situation! Fine, I'd probably go get a DNA test then, see if he's really my son. There's no toy in existence that a son of mine wouldn't deserve. Ah, he's already so much like his father.
Chun: tell him he can have the toy in installments. Get him planning his life early on!
Mario: how old is he? 5? Trade him in for five 1-year-olds. No! Half of a ten-year-old!
Pei: give it to him. I love him, so why wouldn't I buy it? Wait, that's not how you raise children?
Zhang Xiao Yi: Chinese children know better than to beg for toys. I knew I shouldn't have married an American. They're inferior!
Manlin: play mind games with him. "You really want that toy? You don't not really want it? You wouldn't want not to not want to want to not have it?" Hehe.
Tina: toys? Yay! Mine mine mine mine! Phew, OK, sad now.
Igor: oh Christ. Renata!
Frank: wait, how did he get out of his cage?
Serge: buy myself a new car. And a new house. And then work harder and earn more money so I can buy the toy. Man, where does the money go!?
Perry: you know those noise-canceling headphones? What did you say? I can't hear you.
Lucy: beat the little devil half to death. Studies show it's optimal for his development.
Question: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Mom: because we're vegetarian.
Dad: it's a reincarnation of a nomadic tribesman, come on dude, ask me something harder.
Mark: I told you ten times already! Don't tell me any news unless it's good news! I've heard this all a million times. People are dying, there's war and povery, blah blah blah.
Michelle: a chicken? Where?!? I'm scared. Wait, are chickens dogs or insects?
Grandma: a chicken? Do you know that ten people were blown up in Israel today?
Igor: Renata, didn't we discuss this the other day? What did we decide?
Chun: aha! All part of my plan for getting into medical school! Check!
Frank: I don't know, but someone grab that chicken! The chicken/turkey exchange rate is climbing faster than my blood pressure!
Paul: hahaha! Someone saw a chicken! That's so crazy, man, that's so crazy!
Mario: I don't know, but I trust it. I'm getting outta here.
Pei: chicken? Who cares about chickens? Ask me about fish.
Tina: crap, I had this at my Google interview...and I remember getting it right...what was it!?...ugh!
Manlin: mmffhhahmm...sorry, was eating chocolate. Umm... (pause) did you get that? My MSN died. No? I said "maybe there's better Internet connection over there?"
Serge: a chicken crossed my road!? Where is it? Give me that chicken, we have some words to say to each other if you know what I mean. Quickly, before I forgive it!
Perry: don't even get me started. And no, chickens were not created by Jesus, they were created by a little thing called evolution, heard of it?
Lucy: did you know that chicken blood is green? I swear. It's true. Fine, look it up nay-sayer. It's not true? No way!
Oof. Today was one loooong hour-long hour. I was really impatient for some reason, even more than usually. Maybe it's because today I meditated at ~11:30AM instead of the usual 9:00AM, and my brain had already had time to sink into the afternoon mindset, apparently one of ADD. Also, there were lots of distracting sounds today. Planes, trains, automobiles, humming refrigerators, ringing cellphones, garbage pickups, the walls crackling from minute changes in temperature, pretty much everything you could ask for except for the ice cream truck and carolers. And Santa Claus.
I did have a couple of interesting moments when I felt curiously misaligned with my body, as if I had drifted over a couple of inches, but was also simultaneously in the original spot. It was a tricky feeling to hold onto, because the moment I'd notice it, I'd snap right back into place. The day I can hold it I'll probably end up blaming it on excessive calorie intake.
I was thinking yesterday that God is a lot like the Placebo Effect. It doesn't really matter whether he's a sugar pill or an antibiotic or a big jolly bearded guy in a cloud, riding a dinosaur. If you manage to believe in him, even if you're tricked into doing so, you can extract benefit for yourself. Or harm of course. Let's forget about God for a second, and just think about the Placebo Effect. Basically it says that whatever you believe, happens. Like, if you take a sugar pill thinking it's a cancer cure, you have a 99.99% chance of being cured (Note: figures are not to scale). Or if you jump out of an airplane and believe you have a parachute, but you really don't, then you're totally screwed. Actually...ignore that last one. OK, if you believe in Santa, your parents will give you presents addressed from him. If you believe in a wrathful and vengeful God, I will come shoot you in the head. If my physician tells me my lymph nodes are OK, I will believe her, and they'll stop spraying fountains of blood. So you see that the Placebo Effect is very powerful. And now I forget where I was going with this.
A joke my friend Pei wrote about me:
It happened as mark was in primary school...
teacher : mark, how come u r late again!!
mark: I met a lost 3 year-old kid by the railway on the way here.
teacher: come on... pls use a better story next time.
mark: I did send him home.
teacher: where is his home?
mark: ya when I asked him that, he was pointing to the railway. So I put him on the rails.
teacher: .......
(my reaction)
Mark: that's good!
Pei: when I was thinking of u, I thought, mark, he is a baby-killer... here we go...
A joke I wrote about my friend Pei:
Pei: talk dirty to me, I love it when you talk dirty to me.
Mark: mm...your apartment's so dirty, so dirty, I'm going to go clean it right now!
Pei: yea baby! you know what turns me on!
Yea...that may take some background to understand.
And one more about Pei (we're collaborating on a joke book that only the two of us will understand):
Pei is walking down the street. She sees a 5 year old kid and his mother. The kid must have been misbehaving, because the mother is beating the crap out of him, spanking him like there's no tomorrow.
Pei: ah...I wish I had a kid.
(today, in the kitchen)
Mark is peeling a clementine. Michelle walks up and puts her hand out, demanding some. Mark shoves the whole clementine in his mouth.
Michelle: Mom! Mark stole my clementine!
I tried writing some more jokes today, but in a different style. I tried posing a question and then thinking of responses from different people, with the responses caricaturing the answeree. I can't really tell if it's funny, and you'd have to know the people reasonably well to understand what I'm getting at, but it made me crack up when I wrote them:
Question: You have 24 hours to live, what do you do?
Mom: 24 hours...that's 12 movies!
Dad: 24 hours...that's eight 3-hour meditations. No, wait! Twenty-four 1-hour meditations!
Mark: 24 hours...can I at least get an extra half-hour to blog about it after?
Grandma: 24 hours...do you know what happened in Israel in only the last 3 hrs? No? Well let me describe it to you in gory detail for the next 24.
Boris: 24 hou...(snore)
Pei: 24 hours...that's enough time to try 240 new sex positions!
Manlin: 24 hours...how fast do they deliver chocolate?
Zhang Xiao Yi: 24 hours...damn, my parents are going to kill me when I tell them!
Chun: 24 hours...OK, first 5 minutes - call my Mom and Dad to tell them the news. The next 23 hours and 50 minutes - plan out the remaining 5 minutes. Aha! Not a minute gone to waste!
Tina: 24 hours...wow, life sucks.
Mario: 24 hours...that's time enough to learn 3 new Chinese words, forget 5 Russian ones, and start learning three new languages!
Igor: 24 hours...Renata! What am I doing for the next 24 hours!?
Frank: 24 hours...no problem. I have a business plan just for the occasion! It's a franchise. We're going to have 12 stores open within the first 10 hrs and we should be up to McDonald's scale by hour 24.
Serge: 24 hours...that's enough time to build a successful family, right?
Perry: 24 hours...convert as many Christians as I can to antheism. Now that's time well spent.
Lucy: 24 hours...bull. I bet I can live longer than that.
Question: What will you do when your son's begging you for a new toy he doesn't deserve?
Mom: don't give it to him, but then cry myself to sleep at night.
Dad: don't give it to him. Instead, make fun of him till he develops a serious psychological disorder.
Michelle: I have a son? That means I had sex! EWWWW!!!
Grandma: buy him every toy in the store. Oh, wait! Did you say son or grandson?
Mark: my son? Did the condom break? This is a completely unrealistic situation! Fine, I'd probably go get a DNA test then, see if he's really my son. There's no toy in existence that a son of mine wouldn't deserve. Ah, he's already so much like his father.
Chun: tell him he can have the toy in installments. Get him planning his life early on!
Mario: how old is he? 5? Trade him in for five 1-year-olds. No! Half of a ten-year-old!
Pei: give it to him. I love him, so why wouldn't I buy it? Wait, that's not how you raise children?
Zhang Xiao Yi: Chinese children know better than to beg for toys. I knew I shouldn't have married an American. They're inferior!
Manlin: play mind games with him. "You really want that toy? You don't not really want it? You wouldn't want not to not want to want to not have it?" Hehe.
Tina: toys? Yay! Mine mine mine mine! Phew, OK, sad now.
Igor: oh Christ. Renata!
Frank: wait, how did he get out of his cage?
Serge: buy myself a new car. And a new house. And then work harder and earn more money so I can buy the toy. Man, where does the money go!?
Perry: you know those noise-canceling headphones? What did you say? I can't hear you.
Lucy: beat the little devil half to death. Studies show it's optimal for his development.
Question: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Mom: because we're vegetarian.
Dad: it's a reincarnation of a nomadic tribesman, come on dude, ask me something harder.
Mark: I told you ten times already! Don't tell me any news unless it's good news! I've heard this all a million times. People are dying, there's war and povery, blah blah blah.
Michelle: a chicken? Where?!? I'm scared. Wait, are chickens dogs or insects?
Grandma: a chicken? Do you know that ten people were blown up in Israel today?
Igor: Renata, didn't we discuss this the other day? What did we decide?
Chun: aha! All part of my plan for getting into medical school! Check!
Frank: I don't know, but someone grab that chicken! The chicken/turkey exchange rate is climbing faster than my blood pressure!
Paul: hahaha! Someone saw a chicken! That's so crazy, man, that's so crazy!
Mario: I don't know, but I trust it. I'm getting outta here.
Pei: chicken? Who cares about chickens? Ask me about fish.
Tina: crap, I had this at my Google interview...and I remember getting it right...what was it!?...ugh!
Manlin: mmffhhahmm...sorry, was eating chocolate. Umm... (pause) did you get that? My MSN died. No? I said "maybe there's better Internet connection over there?"
Serge: a chicken crossed my road!? Where is it? Give me that chicken, we have some words to say to each other if you know what I mean. Quickly, before I forgive it!
Perry: don't even get me started. And no, chickens were not created by Jesus, they were created by a little thing called evolution, heard of it?
Lucy: did you know that chicken blood is green? I swear. It's true. Fine, look it up nay-sayer. It's not true? No way!
Friday, January 16, 2009
Where are my pants?
For writing hour today, I was too lazy to come up with my own ideas, so I went online and looked around for possible first sentences. I found "Where are my pants?" and decided to go with it. How can one pass up such an opportunity? Here's what I have so far. I'd say it's about a 1/4 of a story, and I haven't really gotten to the main idea (which is not grounded in reality of course), so you can think of your own plots for now:
Where are my pants? I know I put them on this morning. I know for sure because I remember suspending them between two chairs and then trying to jump into them, and ending up putting them on the old-fashioned way. I've been trying to learn that trick for the last five days, but I've allotted a month so it's OK. My only fear is that we'll run out of chairs; I've already broken two, and nearly killed myself both times. But that's not important right now. What's important is that I'm sitting on the bus, and I don't have my pants on. This better be a dream. Maybe I should slap myself.
OK, this doesn't seem to be a dream. I now have two very rosy handprints on my cheeks and still no pants on and I'm starting to panic. At least no one's sitting next to me; maybe if I figure things out before we get to school, no one will have to know this ever happened. I duck and look under the seat. Nothing. I duck even lower, with my face practically touching the floor, and look down the row of seats, first towards the front, then towards the back. Still nothing. "Where could they have gone!? Where could they have gone!?" I yell frantically inside my head with poor enunciation.
Lily Thorns leans over from the seat behind me. I quickly get up on my knees on the seat, shove my backpack in front of me and meet her halfway. I'm praying that everything's hidden.
That's when I notice I'm wearing tighty-whities. I blush immediately. I haven't worn tighty-whities since elementary school. It's just a hazard. You might as well send out invitations to all the school bullies. "Hi, I could really use a good thrashing today. Should I wear tighty-whities, or will you cut me some slack and beat me up even if wear boxers?"
"Something wrong?" Lily Thorns asks. She's a pretty girl, nice too, and she doesn't really deserve quite that caliber of a name. "Thorns." Last names like that should be reserved for hot "Ms. Popularity of Jordan High" contestants. Maybe someone with a unisex first name. Like Jessie. Or Addison. Someone hot and cold, if you know what I mean.
"Uhh...no," I stammer unconvincingly. How long have I kept her waiting?
"I heard you shuffling around, I thought you might have lost something."
"Oh! Ha! No...," I say in my best impression of a million awkward movie scenes.
"I mean, I did, but now I got it."
"What was it?" Lily wonders innocently.
"Mmmmy...My homework. For English. I thought I forgot it at home, but nope. Got it. Here it is." I pat my backpack.
Lily smiles and sits back down. I notice that I've been existing on one breath for a while now and draw in another, walking a thin line between choking and sounding like an asthmatic swallowing a cat. I don't want to draw more attention.
I sit back down and look out the window. The bus is waiting at the entrance to the school; it's a left turn. Prayer isn't getting me anywhere today, but I make a quick one for heavy incoming traffic. Nope. The bus pulls in. There are about thirty seconds left before I have to get out. Not having too many options, I spend all thirty worrying.
Everyone gets up from their seats and starts piling out. It's eighth grade, so it's in that transitional period between the elementary school stampede and the lazy off-beat herd of high school students. Lily Thorns is now standing next to me. I'm holding my backpack across my lap, but my two spaghetti legs are still showing from mid-thigh down.
"Coming?" Lily asks. She still seems oblivious to my situation. I don't really have a choice.
"Yea." I get up. The stink of fear is in my nostrils, but only there; I'm a big fan of deodorant. I start wondering where the smell could possibly have come from. I cruelly hope for a second that it's Lily. That would take away some of the attention I'm about to receive. No, Lily smells strongly of that peach perfume that middle school girls abuse so tastelessly these days. Sickly artificial peach, probably with lots of Blue 9 and Red 11.
Something's wrong. I've been up for five seconds now, and there haven't been any tears of joy, not one elated scream from in front or behind. I look around and spy exactly zero pointing fingers and laughing double-chinned Jakes or Billies. Bullies are always named Jake or Billy. Or Brian. And sometimes Tom. Why doesn't anyone notice?
The bus is slowly decongesting. Lily pulls away, and I follow her, still holding my backpack in front of me like an oversized groin protector. I can't help but look everyone in the eye, when it's physically possible. I get weird like that when I'm embarrassed. I'm gauging their reactions, but so far, no one has noticed a thing. I nod and thank the bus driver as I too go down the steps and off, and receive the same lazy "Have a nice day" that I'm used to. Not a hint of surprise or disbelief. Strange...
I'm slowly getting a little braver with all of this consistent failure to cause a ruckus. I'm walking towards the front entrance, and now I'm really in good position for being spotted, but still nothing.
"Hey! Jack!"
My heart goes from 60 to 120 in about half a second, putting the fastest vehicles of our modern age to shame. I look over to where the sound originated from. It's my friend Vinny, he's walking towards me.
"Sup," he says, pulling up to walk next to me.
"Sup," I say, incredulous.
"You alright? You look dazed."
"Dazed?" I echo. "Nothing else stands out?"
Vinny takes a step back like a cameraman to take in my entire frame.
"Uhh...did you get a haircut or something?"
"Yep," I say, even though I hadn't.
"Weird. Looks exactly the same."
"Huh. I must have forgotten to tell the barber to make it look different."
Where are my pants? I know I put them on this morning. I know for sure because I remember suspending them between two chairs and then trying to jump into them, and ending up putting them on the old-fashioned way. I've been trying to learn that trick for the last five days, but I've allotted a month so it's OK. My only fear is that we'll run out of chairs; I've already broken two, and nearly killed myself both times. But that's not important right now. What's important is that I'm sitting on the bus, and I don't have my pants on. This better be a dream. Maybe I should slap myself.
OK, this doesn't seem to be a dream. I now have two very rosy handprints on my cheeks and still no pants on and I'm starting to panic. At least no one's sitting next to me; maybe if I figure things out before we get to school, no one will have to know this ever happened. I duck and look under the seat. Nothing. I duck even lower, with my face practically touching the floor, and look down the row of seats, first towards the front, then towards the back. Still nothing. "Where could they have gone!? Where could they have gone!?" I yell frantically inside my head with poor enunciation.
Lily Thorns leans over from the seat behind me. I quickly get up on my knees on the seat, shove my backpack in front of me and meet her halfway. I'm praying that everything's hidden.
That's when I notice I'm wearing tighty-whities. I blush immediately. I haven't worn tighty-whities since elementary school. It's just a hazard. You might as well send out invitations to all the school bullies. "Hi, I could really use a good thrashing today. Should I wear tighty-whities, or will you cut me some slack and beat me up even if wear boxers?"
"Something wrong?" Lily Thorns asks. She's a pretty girl, nice too, and she doesn't really deserve quite that caliber of a name. "Thorns." Last names like that should be reserved for hot "Ms. Popularity of Jordan High" contestants. Maybe someone with a unisex first name. Like Jessie. Or Addison. Someone hot and cold, if you know what I mean.
"Uhh...no," I stammer unconvincingly. How long have I kept her waiting?
"I heard you shuffling around, I thought you might have lost something."
"Oh! Ha! No...," I say in my best impression of a million awkward movie scenes.
"I mean, I did, but now I got it."
"What was it?" Lily wonders innocently.
"Mmmmy...My homework. For English. I thought I forgot it at home, but nope. Got it. Here it is." I pat my backpack.
Lily smiles and sits back down. I notice that I've been existing on one breath for a while now and draw in another, walking a thin line between choking and sounding like an asthmatic swallowing a cat. I don't want to draw more attention.
I sit back down and look out the window. The bus is waiting at the entrance to the school; it's a left turn. Prayer isn't getting me anywhere today, but I make a quick one for heavy incoming traffic. Nope. The bus pulls in. There are about thirty seconds left before I have to get out. Not having too many options, I spend all thirty worrying.
Everyone gets up from their seats and starts piling out. It's eighth grade, so it's in that transitional period between the elementary school stampede and the lazy off-beat herd of high school students. Lily Thorns is now standing next to me. I'm holding my backpack across my lap, but my two spaghetti legs are still showing from mid-thigh down.
"Coming?" Lily asks. She still seems oblivious to my situation. I don't really have a choice.
"Yea." I get up. The stink of fear is in my nostrils, but only there; I'm a big fan of deodorant. I start wondering where the smell could possibly have come from. I cruelly hope for a second that it's Lily. That would take away some of the attention I'm about to receive. No, Lily smells strongly of that peach perfume that middle school girls abuse so tastelessly these days. Sickly artificial peach, probably with lots of Blue 9 and Red 11.
Something's wrong. I've been up for five seconds now, and there haven't been any tears of joy, not one elated scream from in front or behind. I look around and spy exactly zero pointing fingers and laughing double-chinned Jakes or Billies. Bullies are always named Jake or Billy. Or Brian. And sometimes Tom. Why doesn't anyone notice?
The bus is slowly decongesting. Lily pulls away, and I follow her, still holding my backpack in front of me like an oversized groin protector. I can't help but look everyone in the eye, when it's physically possible. I get weird like that when I'm embarrassed. I'm gauging their reactions, but so far, no one has noticed a thing. I nod and thank the bus driver as I too go down the steps and off, and receive the same lazy "Have a nice day" that I'm used to. Not a hint of surprise or disbelief. Strange...
I'm slowly getting a little braver with all of this consistent failure to cause a ruckus. I'm walking towards the front entrance, and now I'm really in good position for being spotted, but still nothing.
"Hey! Jack!"
My heart goes from 60 to 120 in about half a second, putting the fastest vehicles of our modern age to shame. I look over to where the sound originated from. It's my friend Vinny, he's walking towards me.
"Sup," he says, pulling up to walk next to me.
"Sup," I say, incredulous.
"You alright? You look dazed."
"Dazed?" I echo. "Nothing else stands out?"
Vinny takes a step back like a cameraman to take in my entire frame.
"Uhh...did you get a haircut or something?"
"Yep," I say, even though I hadn't.
"Weird. Looks exactly the same."
"Huh. I must have forgotten to tell the barber to make it look different."
Adventure Relay
Morning meditation:
I did the same meditation this morning as yesterday, so not too many details are available for retrieval from my long-term memory. I do remember having a plate of light attached to my head at some point, which was pretty cool. It was maybe 5 feet wide, looked like a small UFO, and had a boredom-canceling force field. Hmm...I'll try to remember more things tomorrow, this is crap.
Today was a day of small adventures.
First, I went to see my physician. Let me tell about this woman. She is a miracle. You come to her with your problems - flu, AIDS, an amputated leg (what haven't I had?). She invariably tells you to open your mouth and say "ahh." You do so. Then she rolls her eyes, smiles, and tells you to stop pretending, you're as healthy as a...a healthy person (isn't there some expression for this?). And curiously, as soon as she utters those magic words, you feel cured. "Wow," you think, "my leg doesn't feel amputated at all anymore! And maybe I didn't go to that Free Love party and share a needle with that girl who shared it with everyone else first. And my nose is no longer stuffed!" And then you go home and hit your head against every wall, because doing that doesn't hurt anymore either.
Anyway, last time I visited my physician was three years ago, and for the first time, she broke protocol. A few months before that, one of the lymph glands on my neck decided to upgrade its space requirements, and enjoyed the new freedom so much that it never shrunk back down. My physician fondled it and decreed that I should go try some antibiotics, and that if those didn't bring it down, I should go get a biopsy. I did the first part as she said, but the antibiotics changed nothing. Then I decided to wait three years to see what would happen.
Scroll down to today. Since my rebellious lymph node still hadn't subsided, I figured I'd go get that biopsy, but decided to give wonderwoman a chance to redeem herself. And this time she didn't let me down. As soon as I stepped foot in her office, my lymph node became a figment of an overactive imagination, and disappeared. I got sent home immediately, with orders not to be an idiot and get biopsies for imaginary swellings. See? Good things come to those who wait. Either that or metastasis. Can't remember.
On the way back, I stopped at ShopRite to get some groceries. ...Eh, never mind. Short version: someone stole one of the five boxes of Coco Puffs I had in my cart, before it was even my turn at the cashier's. What kind of a lame crime is that? They could have at least waited until I paid it for it.
Then blah happened for a bit...nope, a bit longer than that...
And then I visited Grandma. Oof. Grandma has an even worse opinion of my memory abilities than I do. Every time I visit her - roughly twice a week - she'll tell me one new thing, and also every single thing she told me the week before. Her stories have no expiration date. Today she was feeling especially energetic, so I got to hear about everything I already know at least twice. She wouldn't stop talking even when I made the usual getting-ready-to-leave motions - stand up, put on my coat, get in the car and drive away. I paused for a couple of minutes between each two steps, but she kept on chattering from her rocking chair without so much as taking a breath. I'm pretty sure she knows circular breathing. Anyway, I guess she wasn't completely oblivious; she did increase her volume as I drove farther and farther away from her apartment.
Actually, now I remember that Boris managed to distract her for a moment a couple of times. The whole time I was making my escape, he was trying to nap on the couch while Grandma ran on. And then, when he finally succeeded and emitted a victorious snore, Grandma turned to him like usual and yelled "Boris! Go to your room and sleep!" Boris, taking this in stride, completely ignored her. Five minutes later, I heard his voice coming in to intercept one of Grandma's sentences. It was a "why?" or a "what?" or something...no, definitely a "what?" because Grandma instantly pounced on it with "What what!? Shut up and sleep!" Ah, gotta love mixed signals.
Gene: when I had scarlet fever as a kid, it was still considered a dangerous disease, so I was allowed to do ANYTHING I wanted. It was awesome.
Mark: cause they thought you might die?
Gene: yep. Though of course I had to stay in bed all day. And not move. And sleep 24/7. And I wasn't allowed to have any ice cream.
Mark: wow. Good thing I'm not allowed to do anything I want.
I did the same meditation this morning as yesterday, so not too many details are available for retrieval from my long-term memory. I do remember having a plate of light attached to my head at some point, which was pretty cool. It was maybe 5 feet wide, looked like a small UFO, and had a boredom-canceling force field. Hmm...I'll try to remember more things tomorrow, this is crap.
Today was a day of small adventures.
First, I went to see my physician. Let me tell about this woman. She is a miracle. You come to her with your problems - flu, AIDS, an amputated leg (what haven't I had?). She invariably tells you to open your mouth and say "ahh." You do so. Then she rolls her eyes, smiles, and tells you to stop pretending, you're as healthy as a...a healthy person (isn't there some expression for this?). And curiously, as soon as she utters those magic words, you feel cured. "Wow," you think, "my leg doesn't feel amputated at all anymore! And maybe I didn't go to that Free Love party and share a needle with that girl who shared it with everyone else first. And my nose is no longer stuffed!" And then you go home and hit your head against every wall, because doing that doesn't hurt anymore either.
Anyway, last time I visited my physician was three years ago, and for the first time, she broke protocol. A few months before that, one of the lymph glands on my neck decided to upgrade its space requirements, and enjoyed the new freedom so much that it never shrunk back down. My physician fondled it and decreed that I should go try some antibiotics, and that if those didn't bring it down, I should go get a biopsy. I did the first part as she said, but the antibiotics changed nothing. Then I decided to wait three years to see what would happen.
Scroll down to today. Since my rebellious lymph node still hadn't subsided, I figured I'd go get that biopsy, but decided to give wonderwoman a chance to redeem herself. And this time she didn't let me down. As soon as I stepped foot in her office, my lymph node became a figment of an overactive imagination, and disappeared. I got sent home immediately, with orders not to be an idiot and get biopsies for imaginary swellings. See? Good things come to those who wait. Either that or metastasis. Can't remember.
On the way back, I stopped at ShopRite to get some groceries. ...Eh, never mind. Short version: someone stole one of the five boxes of Coco Puffs I had in my cart, before it was even my turn at the cashier's. What kind of a lame crime is that? They could have at least waited until I paid it for it.
Then blah happened for a bit...nope, a bit longer than that...
And then I visited Grandma. Oof. Grandma has an even worse opinion of my memory abilities than I do. Every time I visit her - roughly twice a week - she'll tell me one new thing, and also every single thing she told me the week before. Her stories have no expiration date. Today she was feeling especially energetic, so I got to hear about everything I already know at least twice. She wouldn't stop talking even when I made the usual getting-ready-to-leave motions - stand up, put on my coat, get in the car and drive away. I paused for a couple of minutes between each two steps, but she kept on chattering from her rocking chair without so much as taking a breath. I'm pretty sure she knows circular breathing. Anyway, I guess she wasn't completely oblivious; she did increase her volume as I drove farther and farther away from her apartment.
Actually, now I remember that Boris managed to distract her for a moment a couple of times. The whole time I was making my escape, he was trying to nap on the couch while Grandma ran on. And then, when he finally succeeded and emitted a victorious snore, Grandma turned to him like usual and yelled "Boris! Go to your room and sleep!" Boris, taking this in stride, completely ignored her. Five minutes later, I heard his voice coming in to intercept one of Grandma's sentences. It was a "why?" or a "what?" or something...no, definitely a "what?" because Grandma instantly pounced on it with "What what!? Shut up and sleep!" Ah, gotta love mixed signals.
Gene: when I had scarlet fever as a kid, it was still considered a dangerous disease, so I was allowed to do ANYTHING I wanted. It was awesome.
Mark: cause they thought you might die?
Gene: yep. Though of course I had to stay in bed all day. And not move. And sleep 24/7. And I wasn't allowed to have any ice cream.
Mark: wow. Good thing I'm not allowed to do anything I want.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Writing Jokes, Another Path I'm Not In Danger Of Pursuing
Morning meditation:
Today I tried a different meditation. I read some of Adyashanti's book and he suggests a different technique from what I've been trying. He of course calls it True Meditation in order to put a nice rosy blush of inferiority on the cheeks of other practitioners.
The idea is simple: you relinquish control to the highest degree possible. Meditation is traditionally about quieting the mind, getting a grip on yourself, meditating for longer than the person next you to show them how incredibly elite you are, etc. Adyashanti suggests to go in the opposite direction: don't control your mind at all, just let go. At the same time, don't let yourself get sucked in by any thoughts. This tastes a bit like mindfulness/awareness meditation, but even more subtle. So subtle, that having developed a healthy admiration for the idea, I have absolutely no clue how to put it in action. How does one watch the mind without either getting sucked into the one thought or saying "shoo, you bugger!" to another? I mean other than by being Adyashanti. Hmm. Well, I tried it anyway.
An unfortunate aspect of this type of meditation is that I have not a single recollection of the experience. No memory other than that it happened. I might as well have played Heroes of Might and Magic (another experience which leaves no traces in long term memory).
I spent writing hour today trying to write some jokes. Oof. I'm never claiming to have a good sense of humor again. Here's a sample, be merciful:
Mario (the Texas variety) picks up his drinking cup, and looks inside.
"Hmm...old coffee, spoiled milk, crusty oatmeal, three flies, four pieces of gum, twelve cigarette butts...disgusting!"
(pours himself some juice)
"Another month and I'll have to clean it."
Buddha's sitting under the bodhi tree, meditating. A man approaches him. Buddha takes out his laser gun and melts the man into a puddle. "What an impertinent little #$%@," he says blissfully.
Buddha's sitting under the bodhi tree, meditating. A man approaches him and says:
"Buddha, I have a problem, I'm very impatient. I can barely stand a two minute meditation. Will you help me?"
Buddha: "I will help you."
Buddha takes out his laser gun and shoots the man in the head, the man reincarnates as a baobab tree.
Another man comes and says:
"Buddha, I have a problem, I can't get rid of my sexual thoughts. Even that tree arouses me. Will you help me?"
Buddha: "I will help you."
Buddha takes out his laser gun and shoots the man in the head, the man reincarnates in a eunuch colony.
A third man comes and sits down next to Buddha.
"Buddha, what are these bodies doing here?"
Buddha: "you ask too many questions. I will help you."
Takes out his laser gun and shoots the man in the head.
Hmm...I think those last two might only be funny to me.
Paris Hilton decides to become a nun. At the entrance exam, Mother Superior asks her: "child, you know this means no more fornication?"
Paris: even on weekends??
Mother Superior: don't be ridiculous! What would there be to confess on Sundays!?
The others were unfortunately even worse, or unprintable.
Today I tried a different meditation. I read some of Adyashanti's book and he suggests a different technique from what I've been trying. He of course calls it True Meditation in order to put a nice rosy blush of inferiority on the cheeks of other practitioners.
The idea is simple: you relinquish control to the highest degree possible. Meditation is traditionally about quieting the mind, getting a grip on yourself, meditating for longer than the person next you to show them how incredibly elite you are, etc. Adyashanti suggests to go in the opposite direction: don't control your mind at all, just let go. At the same time, don't let yourself get sucked in by any thoughts. This tastes a bit like mindfulness/awareness meditation, but even more subtle. So subtle, that having developed a healthy admiration for the idea, I have absolutely no clue how to put it in action. How does one watch the mind without either getting sucked into the one thought or saying "shoo, you bugger!" to another? I mean other than by being Adyashanti. Hmm. Well, I tried it anyway.
An unfortunate aspect of this type of meditation is that I have not a single recollection of the experience. No memory other than that it happened. I might as well have played Heroes of Might and Magic (another experience which leaves no traces in long term memory).
I spent writing hour today trying to write some jokes. Oof. I'm never claiming to have a good sense of humor again. Here's a sample, be merciful:
Mario (the Texas variety) picks up his drinking cup, and looks inside.
"Hmm...old coffee, spoiled milk, crusty oatmeal, three flies, four pieces of gum, twelve cigarette butts...disgusting!"
(pours himself some juice)
"Another month and I'll have to clean it."
Buddha's sitting under the bodhi tree, meditating. A man approaches him. Buddha takes out his laser gun and melts the man into a puddle. "What an impertinent little #$%@," he says blissfully.
Buddha's sitting under the bodhi tree, meditating. A man approaches him and says:
"Buddha, I have a problem, I'm very impatient. I can barely stand a two minute meditation. Will you help me?"
Buddha: "I will help you."
Buddha takes out his laser gun and shoots the man in the head, the man reincarnates as a baobab tree.
Another man comes and says:
"Buddha, I have a problem, I can't get rid of my sexual thoughts. Even that tree arouses me. Will you help me?"
Buddha: "I will help you."
Buddha takes out his laser gun and shoots the man in the head, the man reincarnates in a eunuch colony.
A third man comes and sits down next to Buddha.
"Buddha, what are these bodies doing here?"
Buddha: "you ask too many questions. I will help you."
Takes out his laser gun and shoots the man in the head.
Hmm...I think those last two might only be funny to me.
Paris Hilton decides to become a nun. At the entrance exam, Mother Superior asks her: "child, you know this means no more fornication?"
Paris: even on weekends??
Mother Superior: don't be ridiculous! What would there be to confess on Sundays!?
The others were unfortunately even worse, or unprintable.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Administer to Combat Excessive Happiness
Morning meditation:
I meditated in Michelle's room this morning instead of downstairs. There were three of us: Ellen, me, and Michelle's boombox. The last of the three, though set to CD mode and on Stop, insisted on being a distraction. Every now and then, it would go into vocal fry with random Morse-code-like rhythms, like when you're searching for a radio station. Being a patient and peaceful meditator, I could only curse the gods (mildly, because of the 30-day no cursing trial) and make silent promises to throw the thing in the nearest river after the hour was up. Getting up and turning it off would be admitting weakness, something 30-day trial meditators never do.
After my arsenal of euphemistic insults ran dry, I decided that since in today's meditation I was practicing mindfulness - being aware of the state of my body and mind - that maybe the boombox was trying to help me. A couple of times I would slip into some thoughtstream that I only planned to be aware of but not take part in, and then the boombox's interruption was welcome. A few times I even thought it was being more than naturally prescient. But towards the end of the hour, the novelty wore off. Instead of "be mindful" warnings, the thing got chattery, more like "pay attention to me, pay attention to me!"
Being mindful is easier if there's a specific thing to be mindful of. Just waiting and being mindful is for the gurus. So I tried to monitor my breathing. The inner dialogue went something like this:
"In...out...in...out...in...wow, I could really use a piece of chocolate right now. Mmm, yea...oh yea, out...(cough)...held that one in too long, in...out...has it been an hour yet? No...mustn't check yet, it'll just be embarassing how much time actually went by...OK, surrender my boredom to Buddha...no, first gotta generate some reverence. I'm reverent, I'm reverent, I'm reverent, OK, I'm reverent enough, what was I surrendering? Wait, shouldn't I be monitoring my breathing? OK, here we go again, in...out...in...out..."
And so on. Funny how the mind is jumpy, and how easily it gets bored when it can't jump around.
Weird distracting sentence that flew by at one point:
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Ms. Odessa has one torn ear."
For writing hour, I wrote a morbid little amateurish poem to help put myself in a morbid mood later on, if I ever need help.
Schizophrenia
Recently I've split into two
One of me's addicted to you
One of me begs to let go
The other can't stand the word no
Ceaselessly they fight for control
One incites, the other consoles
Each demands the seat at the wheel
Neither wants to cease to be real
<1>:
Why are you so keen to forget?
There's still sweeter deeper regret
Pain must be explored to the end
Hide it and it might never mend
Spill bitter tears and enjoy
Doesn't it feel good to destroy?
Blame yourself blame her blame the world
Envy every boy with a girl
<--1>
<2>:
You wake up a quarter to three
Take the reins start pitying me
I hide out until you are done
Take my tired body and run
Sit and clear my mind of all pain
Beg the gods to turn down the gain
Find some peace, dissolve your attack
Quit halfway, I'm gone and you're back
<--2>
<1>:
Me me me, me me me me
I am here, you'll never be free
Go ahead and think you've been cured
You are weak, I can endure
I'll be in each song in each book
Dancing in the words in the looks
You'll run out of things that distract
And when you're alone I'll be back
<--1>
<2>:
Trick myself, donate some time
See a film, find words that rhyme
Tell myself I'm doing fine
Keep busy, stifle my mind
Talk to her, borrow her smile
Feel OK, rest for a while
Slowly heal, slowly make peace
Feel your grip slightly release
<--2>
This is not a battle; a game
These two are cruel, but they're lame
Both are fake, they shrink in the light
Weak, they gum but can't bite
Pity, fear, you cowardly beasts
For months now I suckle your teets
Time's up, I'll show you the door
Love her still, possess her no more
Oof, hope I don't reread that one soon.
I meditated in Michelle's room this morning instead of downstairs. There were three of us: Ellen, me, and Michelle's boombox. The last of the three, though set to CD mode and on Stop, insisted on being a distraction. Every now and then, it would go into vocal fry with random Morse-code-like rhythms, like when you're searching for a radio station. Being a patient and peaceful meditator, I could only curse the gods (mildly, because of the 30-day no cursing trial) and make silent promises to throw the thing in the nearest river after the hour was up. Getting up and turning it off would be admitting weakness, something 30-day trial meditators never do.
After my arsenal of euphemistic insults ran dry, I decided that since in today's meditation I was practicing mindfulness - being aware of the state of my body and mind - that maybe the boombox was trying to help me. A couple of times I would slip into some thoughtstream that I only planned to be aware of but not take part in, and then the boombox's interruption was welcome. A few times I even thought it was being more than naturally prescient. But towards the end of the hour, the novelty wore off. Instead of "be mindful" warnings, the thing got chattery, more like "pay attention to me, pay attention to me!"
Being mindful is easier if there's a specific thing to be mindful of. Just waiting and being mindful is for the gurus. So I tried to monitor my breathing. The inner dialogue went something like this:
"In...out...in...out...in...wow, I could really use a piece of chocolate right now. Mmm, yea...oh yea, out...(cough)...held that one in too long, in...out...has it been an hour yet? No...mustn't check yet, it'll just be embarassing how much time actually went by...OK, surrender my boredom to Buddha...no, first gotta generate some reverence. I'm reverent, I'm reverent, I'm reverent, OK, I'm reverent enough, what was I surrendering? Wait, shouldn't I be monitoring my breathing? OK, here we go again, in...out...in...out..."
And so on. Funny how the mind is jumpy, and how easily it gets bored when it can't jump around.
Weird distracting sentence that flew by at one point:
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Ms. Odessa has one torn ear."
For writing hour, I wrote a morbid little amateurish poem to help put myself in a morbid mood later on, if I ever need help.
Schizophrenia
Recently I've split into two
One of me's addicted to you
One of me begs to let go
The other can't stand the word no
Ceaselessly they fight for control
One incites, the other consoles
Each demands the seat at the wheel
Neither wants to cease to be real
<1>:
Why are you so keen to forget?
There's still sweeter deeper regret
Pain must be explored to the end
Hide it and it might never mend
Spill bitter tears and enjoy
Doesn't it feel good to destroy?
Blame yourself blame her blame the world
Envy every boy with a girl
<--1>
<2>:
You wake up a quarter to three
Take the reins start pitying me
I hide out until you are done
Take my tired body and run
Sit and clear my mind of all pain
Beg the gods to turn down the gain
Find some peace, dissolve your attack
Quit halfway, I'm gone and you're back
<--2>
<1>:
Me me me, me me me me
I am here, you'll never be free
Go ahead and think you've been cured
You are weak, I can endure
I'll be in each song in each book
Dancing in the words in the looks
You'll run out of things that distract
And when you're alone I'll be back
<--1>
<2>:
Trick myself, donate some time
See a film, find words that rhyme
Tell myself I'm doing fine
Keep busy, stifle my mind
Talk to her, borrow her smile
Feel OK, rest for a while
Slowly heal, slowly make peace
Feel your grip slightly release
<--2>
This is not a battle; a game
These two are cruel, but they're lame
Both are fake, they shrink in the light
Weak, they gum but can't bite
Pity, fear, you cowardly beasts
For months now I suckle your teets
Time's up, I'll show you the door
Love her still, possess her no more
Oof, hope I don't reread that one soon.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Day 1 of Many
Day 1 Morning Meditation:
Day 1 is always interesting, unless it's day 1 of being in a coma. At 7:30AM I was wide-awake, though my alarm was set for 8:45AM. I decided to wait for it to ring, and got another hour of fitful sleep in exchange for the return of drowsiness. I washed up and went downstairs. There, Gene was already running around with an incense stick, muttering like a monk in a movie. Ellen was tucked in under eight blankets on the couch, with a blissfully sleepy expression. We got down to business.
Note: I've meditated before, for an hour at the longest, but never regularly. Nevertheless, I've already tried the exercises/techniques described.
An important idea that I've read about concerning meditating is to avoid judgment calls. Saying things like "this meditation sucked," or "this meditation rocked," or "it was soooo hard," or "that was much easier than usual" works against you. Instead, you describe it factually and without a rating/review. Something like "I meditated." So here's how it went:
Lots of thoughts. Perhaps a total of 15 minutes of the hour was spent in conscious meditation. The rest divided up between several modes of thinking. But first about the 15:
I spent part of the time being humble and reverent to a higher power. Today it was Buddha because he's one of the milder Gods. In reverence, I tried to surrender various parts of myself to his omnivorous diet. Lust, possessiveness, laziness, inertia, pessimism, attachment, self-love, self-doubt, self-image, etc. each with its own personal array of associations. Depending on the level of suffering each one associated with, the difference in feeling after I offered it up to Buddha for chomping was more or less tangible. It's an interesting exercise, especially because it is its own remedy for disbelief. Disbelief emerged every once in a while, and when I caught it early, I tried to surrender it. Sometimes though I fell into disbelief and lounged there for a while. Disbelief sure has some quality couches for lounging.
I also spent some time trying to simply be conscious. Simply in the sense of simply-free-your-mind-Neo-and-jump-off-the-building. I watched my thoughts from a distance, only getting possessed by one every two or three seconds, and for no longer than 5 minutes at a time. I also tried to monitor my breathing. When I count breaths, I get distracted by thoughts a lot less, but I feel like that's cheating. When I don't, I end up remembering 5 minutes later that I haven't been monitoring for the last 5 minutes.
And now the distractions:
1. Narrating - my inner writer literally describes everything in complete sentences out loud in my head. He's pretty much writing a blog entry about the meditation, during the meditation.
2. Getting distracted by swarming thoughts - I may be saying in my meditation: "and now, dearest Buddha, I surrender my love for couch-warming," and suddenly I'll be daydreaming about warming couches somewhere in sunny Northern NJ. I'll wake up from the reverie eventually, but that's precisely it - eventually.
3. Thinking about what I'll write about in my writing hour - getting good ideas for writing is the strongest distraction. I start thinking the plot through, the dialogues, etc., and discipline is floating somewhere very far away, or knocking and waving at me through an opaque sound-proof window of the wrong house.
No grades. Just the facts: 2/3 days down.
We watched Vicky Cristina Barcelona yesterday. In every scene, Gene insisted on unveiling the Woody Allen in every character. Scarlett Johansson would whine about something pseudo-intellectualy sexual and Gene would yell: "That's Woody Allen!" then reach into my computer screen and rip off her mask. People would be sexually frustrated and unhappy and Gene would yell "They're Woody Allens!" and they would instantly all drop pretenses and put on an additional 60 years of whining experience. It was a mess. I don't think I heard a single word said in the movie for all of the yelling and flying masks and pretenses.
More compliments in my direction arrived yesterday:
Madelyn: yeah, you just found i was funny
Madelyn: your good at noticing obvious stuff
Day 1 is always interesting, unless it's day 1 of being in a coma. At 7:30AM I was wide-awake, though my alarm was set for 8:45AM. I decided to wait for it to ring, and got another hour of fitful sleep in exchange for the return of drowsiness. I washed up and went downstairs. There, Gene was already running around with an incense stick, muttering like a monk in a movie. Ellen was tucked in under eight blankets on the couch, with a blissfully sleepy expression. We got down to business.
Note: I've meditated before, for an hour at the longest, but never regularly. Nevertheless, I've already tried the exercises/techniques described.
An important idea that I've read about concerning meditating is to avoid judgment calls. Saying things like "this meditation sucked," or "this meditation rocked," or "it was soooo hard," or "that was much easier than usual" works against you. Instead, you describe it factually and without a rating/review. Something like "I meditated." So here's how it went:
Lots of thoughts. Perhaps a total of 15 minutes of the hour was spent in conscious meditation. The rest divided up between several modes of thinking. But first about the 15:
I spent part of the time being humble and reverent to a higher power. Today it was Buddha because he's one of the milder Gods. In reverence, I tried to surrender various parts of myself to his omnivorous diet. Lust, possessiveness, laziness, inertia, pessimism, attachment, self-love, self-doubt, self-image, etc. each with its own personal array of associations. Depending on the level of suffering each one associated with, the difference in feeling after I offered it up to Buddha for chomping was more or less tangible. It's an interesting exercise, especially because it is its own remedy for disbelief. Disbelief emerged every once in a while, and when I caught it early, I tried to surrender it. Sometimes though I fell into disbelief and lounged there for a while. Disbelief sure has some quality couches for lounging.
I also spent some time trying to simply be conscious. Simply in the sense of simply-free-your-mind-Neo-and-jump-off-the-building. I watched my thoughts from a distance, only getting possessed by one every two or three seconds, and for no longer than 5 minutes at a time. I also tried to monitor my breathing. When I count breaths, I get distracted by thoughts a lot less, but I feel like that's cheating. When I don't, I end up remembering 5 minutes later that I haven't been monitoring for the last 5 minutes.
And now the distractions:
1. Narrating - my inner writer literally describes everything in complete sentences out loud in my head. He's pretty much writing a blog entry about the meditation, during the meditation.
2. Getting distracted by swarming thoughts - I may be saying in my meditation: "and now, dearest Buddha, I surrender my love for couch-warming," and suddenly I'll be daydreaming about warming couches somewhere in sunny Northern NJ. I'll wake up from the reverie eventually, but that's precisely it - eventually.
3. Thinking about what I'll write about in my writing hour - getting good ideas for writing is the strongest distraction. I start thinking the plot through, the dialogues, etc., and discipline is floating somewhere very far away, or knocking and waving at me through an opaque sound-proof window of the wrong house.
No grades. Just the facts: 2/3 days down.
We watched Vicky Cristina Barcelona yesterday. In every scene, Gene insisted on unveiling the Woody Allen in every character. Scarlett Johansson would whine about something pseudo-intellectualy sexual and Gene would yell: "That's Woody Allen!" then reach into my computer screen and rip off her mask. People would be sexually frustrated and unhappy and Gene would yell "They're Woody Allens!" and they would instantly all drop pretenses and put on an additional 60 years of whining experience. It was a mess. I don't think I heard a single word said in the movie for all of the yelling and flying masks and pretenses.
More compliments in my direction arrived yesterday:
Madelyn: yeah, you just found i was funny
Madelyn: your good at noticing obvious stuff
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