Every Rose Has It's Bush

Aloneness.
Today is the first day back to normal life since Grandma died exactly one week, one hour, and 24 minutes ago. Since then it’s been family, and mourning, and Thanksgiving, and driving, and acquiring Katie for a month trial period. Today it’s life as normal until Christmas time. Work, reading, dog park, etc.
I think life as normal is the hardest thing there is. If there is nothing else to distract you, you are forced to confront yourself.
While cruising back from Houston earlier today, I realized that for the first time as an idea unto itself.
For so long I struggled with my jealousy. It was my biggest source of negativity, suffering and self-loathing. It’s a miracle James’ and my relationship survived And now, while I on occasion relapse, but more often than not, only begin to relapse, I am fixed. That bud has been nipped.
I can’t even begin to tell you the anger, the bitterness, the feeling of unfairness I’ve felt toward Dad and Ruthie over the years for the difficulty of my adolescence. For not actually doing their best, and for, even if they were, if not being good enough. But now, as my Grandma’s already diminished health, deteriorated so rapidly and completely, I began to make amends in my mind. I began to forgive.
I saw all of the long kept resentment, grudges and blame between my Grandma and her first born son, Scott. I saw them not over come those feelings, ever. They never spoke before she died. Now they never can. I saw the life long sibling animosity my Dad holds for my Aunt remain solid and in tact, even as my family came together at my Grandparents house to mourn just hours after Grandma’s death. She tried to hug him, to let him know that despite all their differences over the years, he was still her brother, and she still loves him, and as she did, he just stood there, unresponsive.
I saw these things and realized the pettiness of it. The reasons are unimportant. To shut your family out of your life and to let your anger fester inside of you. There is not a good reason for that. I saw I had to understand and to forgive and to rise above. I will not one day be my Uncle Scott. That bud is holding on by one browning, fibrous string.
There are smaller things. I have to come into a zen-like balance with my work. I do not cry before going. I respect myself. And I do not put up with any shit. That bud has been nipped.
(On a side note about work, I realized that your life will be spent however you spend it. So I am not satisfied with my job. It is not what I will be remembered as, whether by my survivors, or by my elderly self. I can do better. I can do something I love. Anyway. Back to the buds.)
I can cruise (see aforementioned description of driving back from Houston), instead of stressing myself, hurrying to wherever I’m going. I’m able to not feel like I’m, as I’ve been so fond of saying in the past, “wasting my life” while driving. I throw on the autopilot, and enjoy myself. Another bud nipped.
I eat more slowly, enjoying my food more. This seems like a stupid thing to mention, I know, but you should have seen me eat before. Jesus.
So, I’m finding a new balance in all of these different areas of my life. All of these buds nipped. All of these symptoms and distractions removed.
But without all of these buds and blooms clouding my vision, distracting me, I am now acutely aware of the bush. The source. My self. My life. And it is overwhelming.
Now with out all of the death, and mourning, and traveling, and old dog adoption, I am left again, to stare at this thorny and formidable bush, to formulate and to attempt, all while nursing each new prick.
And in comparison, the jealousy, resentment, and bitterness all seems like little fireball breathing flowers in the Super Mario of life. I’m just now to King Koopa.

My brain keeps wanting to think about tomorrow. To imagine my responsibilities. When I’ll work this week, cleaning, dog park, all that. It keeps trying to incite me to consume. “Don’t you want a special treat Candice?…How about a coffee?…You also need groceries…Treats for the dogs….Don’t they deserve them?… They’ve had a hard day.”
And so on. But I’m stopping that. I’m letting myself feel good about spending time alone. When was the last time? Two weeks ago.
I have Zero 7 playing, my red Chinese paper lantern and some candles lit, and I’m writing. I don’t have to do anything else. I don’t want a coffee. I am not hungry. The dogs are sleeping. I am fine.
Maybe I won’t solve the conundrum that is life, not even my own, tonight. Probably not after many nights like this. But it is such a good feeling, a long transient feeling since my first serious boyfriend came along, and I am glad to have it tonight.

It’s occurred to me recently, that I hardly ever spend time doing just exactly what I want. I sleep when I think I should sleep, eat when I think I should eat, work when I think I should work. When I wake up, I always jump out of bed, and brush my teeth. I never wake up, and lay there, reading for a couple of hours. I never don’t brush my teeth. I never sing when there are people around, even if I feel like it. I shower when I really don’t want to. I drive because I think I have to hurry. I don’t linger at the pool of whirling leaves in the creek for long if there’s anyone around. I don’t stay up later than I “should”, listening to music, drinking wine, alone. I’ve never gone downtown dancing alone. I’ve never gone into work at 10.
Starting now, I’m going to do what ever I feel like, even if it’s a “waste of time,” even if my teeth will rot, even if I won’t be productive, even if I’ll be drunk alone, even if I’m coloring in my Lion King coloring book for 5 hours.
I feel like beinsg myself and forgiving myself for it.

Lizzie McGuire = Big Mac

I know know know that I would write more if I had my own computer con internet. Every time I'm in Houston, I'm writing.
Needless to say, I'm in Houston. Richmond to be specific. James and I are at his mom's for second Thanksgiving visitations. We had first Thanksgiving at my mom's on the 24th.
Whatever.
That's not what I came here today to talk about.
I came here to talk about nothing in particular. I guess I just wanted to listen to myself type.

Am I wrong for finding Hilary Duff revoltingly annoying?
Marilee, my common law sister-in-law, is watching the Lizzy McGuire movie. It just started and I felt little curds of revulsion jiggling in my tummy while watching her trite and so blatantly rehearsed "I'm singing and dancing alone in my room and no one's watching" fiasco.
I ain't a hater.
She's cute, and I'm sure she's a sweet person, but she's, as far as I can see, talentless and her work is unoriginal.

Do movies like Lizzie McGuire fall into the Arts category?
To be sure, all film, including both movies and television, have their origins in theatre, an art in which I'm not too well versed (it's never been my thing), but I know is a display of people in exaggerated situations, exaggerating emotions in order to bring them to the front of our consiousness and look at them, both on a stage and in ourselves. But come on.
It's like trying to call a Big Mac a product of the culinary arts.
There's garbage mass produced for mass consumption, by people with less discerning tastes.
And then there's creation.
To create is to push beyond our mere animal nature. It is to become divine. It is evolution.
It is as beautiful as birth. It is the same thing, only it comes from our mind and soul, not just our bodies. It is pushing our potential. It is transcendence, the transcendence of ourselves.
To create is to acknowledge that which is God-like, that which is divine in all of us.
To mass produce is succumb to the instinctual fear of famine, which translates itself in our modern times as greed. When we must have as much as we possibly can, for fear there may not be enough, or difficult times may come. Capitalism.
(No, I'm not a communist. I'm a Candice-ist. I can think for myself, thank you.)
So, in summary, Lizzie McGuire is not art. It is a Big Mac.

That hurt my brain, all that thinking I just did.

Thanksgiving Thanks

Thanksgiving Day.
I wish I could say I'm feeling warm, fuzzy, thankfullness this morning, but I'd be lying.
I guess these things have to sometimes be induced.
So, in an attempt to both be in a more appreciative state of mind today, and to elevate the situation of my life to someting not so desperate, I think I'll try and list a few things I'm greatful for.
I know. How trite.

*James, who probably is the only person who really knows me, understands me, agrees with me (mostly). I love him so much.
*Auntie, whose heart is as big as her weight in gold. Wait, does that make sense?
*Mom, Pa, and Bra, for being the normal, relatively, part of my family.
*Zoe, my pup, even though she likes James better than me.
*Toni, my oldest and closest friend. Probably the only female who gets me.
*Fo the people who bring out the goofy in me...Crazy Kathy a.k.a. Alex, and Vanaynay.
*Those moments when I really understand. When I know everything is not just going to be, but actually is, okay.
*For magic, imagination, fantasy, subjective reality, and it never being, necessarily, better to grow up.
*Good books, and Tom Robbins.
*Creativity
*Food, and despite things I don't like about it, the fact the I am lucky enough ot have been born in a country of abundance, where I can have so much of so many different foods to try.
*Me, my good looks, cleverness, wit, occasional clarity of mind and understanding, and super hot body. Also that my brain isn't completely retarded.

I don't want this to just turn into a list of things that I like, although that would be a positive contribution to the lightening renovation of my blog. But, another entry.
In reality (subjective of course), there are many other things, small things, I know I am thankful for, but don't realize, like maybe global commerce, which allows me mangos year round, and electrticity, and scientists who take the trouble to figure out things that benefit me but I don't really find interesting enough to bother with myself.
This is my shoutout to all of those innumerable things, which are too many for my not completely retarded brain to even concieve of. HOLLA!

Any how. Life is good, lovin' rocks, money doesn't matter...Erleichda!