End of Boredom. Day 4: World Coloring-In Day

Day 4's task was to take a map of the world, and color it in according to my desire to visit a particular country. Green was to indicate a place I've been, Blue is a place I intend to go this year, Yellow for those places that I want to visit before I die, and Red for places I'd be happy to never set foot in.

At the start of this task, I anticipated coloring in most everything as yellow. For one, I haven't been to too many places. For two, I can't afford to go very many places during this year. That meant I expected to color in most of the map as Yellow. As I started looking at the countries, though, I realized that there were a lot of places that I'd be happy never visiting. Don't get me wrong, if someone offered me a free trip to travel, I'd happily take it. I'd love to see the whole world. But as far as whether or not it would make me happy to not go somewhere... the world is too ridden with war to make some places less than desirable to visit. Here's a rather bad pic of the map I colored:

As you can see, much of the world is red. I'd love to visit some places in South America, Europe, a few in Africa, and Australia. I wouldn't mind visiting Asia, not at all, but I'd be just as happy not visiting those places. I have no doubts that they are beautiful and would enrich my life. However, I'm under no illusions that I'll be able to see the whole world, and so I needed to pare down the countries I'd really like to see. If I manage to visit all of my yellows, then I will definitely visit some of the reds. 

Changes: Made me realize three things: 1. While I love traveling, I'd be content not seeing the whole world. This was a surprising thing to learn about myself. 2. I need to travel again soon. I miss it. It's been too long. 3. I need to refresh myself on world geography. More than once I had to google a map to see which countries were where prior to coloring.

End of Boredom. Day 3: Throw Something Away that you Like

Day three's challenge/activity/whatever was to throw something away that you like. This task ended up taking me much, much longer than I expected. Immediately after typing the second day's review, I read Day 3 and thought, "This will take two seconds. I'll do this tomorrow." Weeks later, I finally do it.

So what was the problem? Basically it boils down to my inherent need to attach a HUGE amount of significance to intangible objects. That, and being broke. Being broke means that I do not have items in my house that I don't, at a bare minimum, "like." On top of that, I have a wonderful family who loves showing affection by giving gifts. That means that even little, seemingly stupid "junk" that I have, it now attached to that family member and object. I also have an uncanny memory for remembering where each and every object has come from AND when, and sometimes even what I was doing, wearing, and what the weather was like, even if I received it years and years ago! So the thought of throwing something like that away was a major obstacle.

A separate issue that come up was that the instructions were to throw the item away. Not give it to someone who could use it. Not donate it to charity. But throw it away. Like it was trash and unusable.

Accepting this book as my challenge, I knew I had to go threw with it. And that's when I realized another issue... one of semantics. What counts as something I "like" but not "love?" And if I picked something that seemed a bit too easy to throw away, does that mean I didn't actually like it enough to count? Is the challenge here to become more minimalist and less attached to objects?

At any rate, after many days fretting over this, I have finally decided. I threw away one of my stuffed animals. It's Dilbert's dog, from the Dilbert comic strip. This dog was given to me by an ex, while I was in my master's program in North Carolina, as a motivator. I've kept him in my office forever, as a reminder that school, or any job, that I do not want to end up in a cubicle, and that people in my life are rooting for me no matter what. There are no lingering feelings of love for that person (outside of friendship) and also no animosity, so I've retained my like of it without any additional emotions being projected onto it. But I suppose it's time to let it go.

Day 4: Success
Changes: None... but I really do need a healthier, lesser attachment to objects...

End of Boredom. Day 2: Love of Your Life

"Day" 2 has been completed. The day's task was to gaze at everyone wondering whether there were my one true love, and act in consequence. I did this task on Saturday, purposely chosen so that I would have to go to work (I didn't want my co-workers to think me any stranger than they already do by gazing at them). The day was spent at home, a little bit of shopping, and travelling to Knoxville to play a show at a gay bar.

I have to say that the overall experience was interesting, and not nearly as entertaining as I thought it might be. As I thought about my task, I expected to have people pay more attention to me (in the same way I paid attention to them) as well as have them perhaps feel uncomfortable as I fixated them in my gaze and pondered their qualities. This was not the case. Most of the problem, I think, is that I'm already incredibly self-aware and have an excellent idea of the type of character my "true love" is. The other problem is that I've already met the person I intend to spend the rest of my life with. For the sake of this exercise, I was more than willing to gaze at people to see what I'd think if they, also, could be a "one" for me, but I found it to be work. It was near impossible to not compare them to my known "one", and every time these new people fell short.

The other hiccup was that I was surrounded by homosexuals for much of the duration of this task. That knowledge in advance, and knowing that I personally don't swing that way, put up an additional barrier for my gazing. Really, the end result was that I merely glanced at people, gave a smile and attempted to consider their potential as a life partner for myself. I estimated that that activity would take at least a minute for each person, but in reality it only lasted a few seconds.

I also disliked how it changed my perspective of these individuals. As I don't normally meet people with the intention of sizing them up to see if they're my long lost true love, I almost always immediately like everyone I meet. This exercise, however, caused me to view new people slightly more negatively, as I was immediately finding them to not be "the one" for me.

Day 2: Success
Changes: I have a greater appreciation for my normal way of being. I'm glad that I don't gaze at everyone I meet to see if they're "the one."

End of Boredom. Day 1: Warm-Up

Boredom has struck again. Despite how busy my days seem to be, I constantly find myself dissatisfied, unchallenged, and flat-out bored. A few friends of mine have taken to doing monthly or daily "things" to take a picture of, or post about, or simply experience on a regular basis. I don't fancy myself an artist, but I do like the idea of being given ideas for things to do, especially things I've not done before.

So that's how I arrived here today, on this blog, with a book called This Book Will Change Your Life. Epic sounding, I know. When I first glanced at the title, I assumed it would be a common-sense, self-help-esque pile of boring things that wouldn't change my life at all. And besides, I'm not out to change my life. Just looking for things to do to cure my boredom. Curiosity took over, though, and I began flipping through it. And I must admit that I'm intrigued. The book is essentially 365 tasks for you to do and then write about your experience. But they're not just any old simple task, or tasks that seem to be couched in psycho-babble. In fact, it's rather humorous, and I immediately decided to buy the book and give it a try.

The ground rules: The book is laid out in such a way as to do a different task each day and write about it. The idea is that by the end of a calendar year, you'll have changed, and in the process documented those changes. I'll not be following the "every day" requirement. If I were to do that, then I'd be more likely to cut corners or simply not accomplish a task. And not doing tasks defeats the entire purpose. The deadline will also add stress to this activity, when all I want it for is my personal amusement. So my rule will be that I will do these 365 tasks to the best of my ability, as close to in order as possible, when I have the time. I'll read step one, and then do step one at my earliest convenience. I will then write about it on here, thus documenting and reflecting on the experience.

This is the beginning. Day 1. The Warm-up.

Today a list was given of a variety of things to choose to do that are considered "easy." They are. And, in fact, I've already done most of the options given, so I chose: Decide which one of your toes is the prettiest.

Deciding which toe was prettiest was difficult!! At first I thought it would be the big toe on my right foot, but the more I looked, I began to find beauty in all of them. I've never been a huge fan of feet, and at present, my toenails aren't trimmed and are looking rough, but the more I looked at them, the more I liked them. In the end, I've decided that the middle toe on my left foot is the prettiest. It doesn't have a weird angle to it like some of the others, it's not too big, it's not too small, and it also looks the happiest. If that's a thing. 

If I could figure out how to put an arrow to the middle toe, I would. But you can still see it here in all its glory.

Day 1: Success.
Changes: A greater appreciation of my toes

Writing.

     I've picked up writing as a hobby. Mostly fiction, and mostly short or flash fiction. I may try to write a novel someday, but there's something satisfying about writing a story and finishing it in the same day. Ever since I "snapped," dropped out of school, and abandoned my very well planned out future, having deadlines, or even things on a "back burner" to finish/edit later drive me absolutely bonkers. I now need things to be done and off my plate. Period. But the writing process... it's such a relief for me! It amazes me how much better I feel after allowing myself to enter the strange worlds in my head. As a reader, I crave fiction that takes me to a world outside of reality, yet filled with characters that could be my best friends. And I prefer that they have a quest; a great, epic adventure that takes them traveling. The stories I write don't really offer that, at least nothing that lasting, but in my head... those little snippets that I type out feel like I've just purged myself of creativity that's been hidden away and dying to get out. What's even better, is that while it gets purged, it leaves a seed behind allowing me to create again and again. 

     I make no claims that anything fictional I write is good. I will say it's better than the writing in this blog, but that's as far as I'll go. I don't really do it for praise or money, though. I do it for the way it makes me feel while writing, and how great I feel afterwards. This is especially the case on days I feel like a lazy, useless human being who can't even keep the dishes clean. Writing completes none of those chores, obviously, but for some unknown reason I feel like I've been just as productive as if I'd spent the day cleaning. This makes less sense when you consider the fact that most people never even read what I write, preventing me from using the "it's productive because I'm providing entertainment for others" rationale. This line of thinking works really well when I practice my bass... as people eventually do hear me. But writing? Most of it is just on my computer, that will disappear when the computer dies. But this doesn't sadden me. It's about the process. The journey my head takes while I write. The absolute best part though, is the moment when the story takes over my thoughts and I feel like I have lost all control. It's as if the story is writing itself. There are even times when it seems as if the story already exists, and I just happen to be able to hone in on the signal and put it into text. Silly, I know, but that's how it feels experientially. Is that a word? Spell-check is telling me that it isn't, but I don't care. I like it and so am leaving it. Take that spell-check. I am the master of my own vocabulary. 

     At any rate, I'm starting to send my stuff out to see if it'll get accepted. I could use the extra money on the off chance people like what I write. And really, the worst that can happen is that my work gets rejected. A small shot to the ego, sure, but that's really it. And the benefits are the exuberant feelings that come with an acceptance letter, and hopefully one day, money. In the meantime, though, I'm going to keep plugging away at it. Even if I suck now, it's bound to improve. One of the few consistent pieces of advice I've been given about writing is that you improve with frequency. Here's hopin'. 

More libraries for all!

I came across this article today while stumbling on the internet. While I realize the reason this building is free is because Wal*Mart upgraded, I can't help but smile and have the smallest feeling of hope in knowing the old building was turned into a library. If we always use resources and abandoned buildings to further intelligence and creativity, the world would be a better place.

Poop

I never considered myself a fan of the Beat Poets. When I am in the mood for poetry, I usually turn to Yeats. I've recently discovered, however, that despite my dislike of most beat poetry, I love a number of Charles Bukowski's poems. My favorite of all time from him is a poem entitled "Poop." It's amazing. I even find myself craving to read it from time to time. The problem here is that I can't seem to find it anywhere online! Many poems by many many poets can be found somewhere in the interwebs, including most of Bukowski's catalog. Poop, however, cannot. I imagine that part of the reason is because it went unpublished for quite some time. As to why it's never made it online since being published, I have no idea. I finally found the book that contains it, and so for my future enjoyment, and for any others who love this poem and can't find it, I'm going to list it here. It can be found in his book called The Pleasures of the Damned: Poems, 1951-1993 published by HarperCollins in 2007, pages 189-193.

Poop by Charles Bukowski

I remember, he told me, that when I was 6 or

7 years old my mother was always taking me 

to the doctor and saying, "he hasn't pooped."

she was always asking me, "have you

pooped?"

it seemed to be her favorite question.

and, of course, I couldn't lie, I had real problems

pooping.

I was all knotted up inside.

my parents did that to me.

I looked at those huge beings, my father,

my mother, and they seemed really stupid.

sometimes I thought they were just pretending

to be stupid because nobody could really be that

stupid.

but they weren't pretending.

they had me all knotted up inside like a pretzel.

I mean, I had to live with them, they told

me what to do and how to do it and when.

they fed, housed and clothed me.

and worst of all, there was no other place for

me to go, no other choice:

I had to stay with them.

I mean, I didn't know much at that age

but I could sense that they were lumps

of flesh and little else.

dinnertime was the worst, a nightmare

of slurps, spittle and idiotic conversation.

I looked straight down at my plate and tried

to swallow my food but

it all turned to glue inside.

I couldn't digest my parents or the food.

that must have been it, for it was hell for me

to poop.

"have you pooped?"

and there I'd be in the doctor's office once again.

he had a little more sense than my parents but

not much.

"well, well, my little man, so you haven't pooped?"

he was fat with bad breath and body odor and

had a pocket watch with a large gold chain

that dangled across his gut.

I thought, I bet he poops a load.

and I looked at my mother.

she had large buttocks,

I could picture her on the toilet,

sitting there a little cross-eyed, pooping.

she was so placid, so

like a pigeon.

poopers both, I knew it in my heart.

disgusting people.

"well, little man, you just can't poop,

huh?"

he made a little joke of it: he could,

she could, the world could.

I couldn't.

"well, now, we're going to give you

these pills.

and if they don't work, then guess

what?"

I didn't answer.

"come on, little man, tell me."

all right, I decided to say it.

I wanted to get out of there:

"an enema."

"an enema," he smiled.

then he turned to my mother.

"and are you all right, dear?"

"oh, I'm fine, doctor!"

sure she was.

she pooped whenever she wanted.

then we would leave the office.

"isn't the doctor a nice man?"

no answer from me.

"isn't he?"

"yes."

but in my mind I changed it to, yes,

he can poop.

he looked like a poop.

the whole world pooped while I

was knotted up inside like a pretzel.

then we would walk out on the street

and I would look at the people passing

and all the people had behinds.

"that's all I ever noticed," he told me,

"it was horrible."

"we must have had similar

childhoods," I said.

"somehow, that doesn't help at all,"

he said.

"we've both got to get over this

thing," I said.

"I'm trying," he answered.