Paying attention to life.
I’ve been slacking off again and I have no valid excuse. Reasons? I got a million of them but valid excuses? Well they’re just nothing but that, excuses. And I’m kinda getting sick of excuses. I want to grab myself by the cuff of my neck and give myself a stern talking to followed by some sort of punishment….
Wait. I should stay on topic. And that would only be funny if you were me.
Ok so everything is piling up as far as my To Do List is concerned and do you have any idea how exhausting it is to fake your way through every day as if life actually is a bowl of cherries? And did I already mention all the cherries in my bowl have worms inside them? Metaphorically speaking.
I have a screaming toothache I’m desperately trying to ignore because I have a dentist appointment next week and I’m determined to tough it out till then. I have an earache that is playing tag with my toothache, another thing I’m toughing out since I know they’re related. My stupid fibromyalgia has decided now would be a good time to rear it’s ugly head without consulting me first and all of my go-to people aren’t here to go to anymore. Mostly.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve been truly all-the-way 100% happy and yes I’m well aware that it’s my own fault.
I know I need to grab the reins and steer myself back onto the right track, wherever that is.
And I get that I have to do this myself, that nobody else can do it for me, but…
There’s that word, “but”, because there’s always a “but” and that’s just another word for excuse so I really shouldn’t use it, but, I kinda have to.
Because the but here is this: it’s really hard to yank yourself up when you’re so far down you can’t even see yourself anymore. When, for the most part, the role of The Go-To Girl normally played by me is now being played by An Imposter who doesn’t care about anything.
I want my life back.
I want the pain to go away, all of it. The outside pain and the inside pain.
And I know none of it will go away until this me, the real me who isn’t an imposter, does something more than avoid everything on my To Do List and instead, you know, does something about it.
Maybe I should start with actually making a To Do List.
“Here she goes again,” says practically everyone who knows me for any length of time.
I have been accused,
repeatedly on occasion, of having an obsessive personality. If something peaks my interest I always sometimes tend to give it my all. I jump in head first and soak up every little detail, even the tiniest bit of information having to do with whatever my latest obsession hobby may be gets filed away somewhere in my big fat brain alongside all my previous obsessions interests.
I’m not fickle but depending on which way the wind is blowing I’m capable of slamming on the brakes and switching
obsessions gears in a heartbeat if given the right bait circumstance.
Let’s go with a ‘for instance’ or four submitted for
my humiliation your review:
The Underground Dance Scene in NYC:
1.Ok admittedly we have to go into the Wayback Machine for this one but I begrudgingly admit my way-underage self was shaking my booty (I did not just say that) at many of those private parties of the early Studio 54 kind with my gaggle of gays when I should have been paying attention to my studies sophomore year. There I was in all my 15 year old glory surrounded by all my gay friends keeping me safe and showing me off. I was their ‘project’, long before What Not To Wear was even a thought in Stacey and Clinton’s mind my self-appointed Fairy Godmothers plopped me down in a chair, waved their magic wands and Poof, I was strutting my stuff through the halls of Sayreville High School clad in the latest fashion and next years haircut.
Enter Punk Rock and:
2.Apparantly the handful of punk rockers in Sayreville saw the potential in the blooming wallflower I’d become and lets face it, in 1977 there weren’t too many girls in school who took to wearing red lipstick and sunglasses. Somehow the line was blurred between the gay contingent and the punk rockers, solidarity in our outcast status probably but for an almost 17 year old wide-eyed skinny girl who’d never been asked out on a date, there was a big difference between hanging with the gay guys and hanging with the punk guys. Suddenly I was cool. I embraced the punk rock scene wholeheartedly and it wasn’t too long before this previously virginal wallflower was deflowered by one of the biggest punk rockers in the New York Rock Scene, a casual relationship that lasted for 3 years. The last time I saw him I was hanging with the band at the Diplomat Hotel and snuck away when he wasn’t looking (for no good reason); it wasn’t long after that I got the phone call telling me he was now a true dead boy after being hit by a car in Paris France. Punk rock flows through my veins to this day but my obsessive self took a left hand turn somewhere and found me entering Phase III.
The Rock Star Years:
3.It happened when I wasn’t paying attention. One day I’m doing my usual sitting at the studio watching my husband’s band rehearse with my girl friend singing. Only problem was, she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life. Oh she had great stage presence but stage presence doesn’t cut it when it’s time to record a cd. It took a lot of convincing but I finally agreed to sing some vocal tracks for the recording. That was it. There was no way in hell I had any intention of singing in front of anyone. I’d run out petrified auditioning for the school play, I was so terrified at the thought of singing in front of even my chorus teacher I ditched the audition and signed up for stage crew.
But I digress.
They begged me to please just sing backup vocals for one gig. Just one gig and they’d leave me alone. Since it was a Halloween gig I figured I’d dress up like a rock star and play pretend. That backfired on me to such an extent that before I knew it I was the lead singer for my own band, singing songs I wrote myself. 4 cd’s later (and one more in the studio waiting for me to finish my vocal tracks) I had to put my rock star days on hold when Hurricane Irene knocked down our house. Needless to say I jumped in, determined to get that house rebuilt for my Parents even though the insurance company refused to pay anything for the ‘natural disaster’. After numerous phone calls including a conversation with Governor Christie, a benefit organized by an angel named Angel including some local legendary musicians (thank you forever Snake Sabo, you are the real hometown boy who made good, unlike our old buddy who declares himself the hometown boy while lining his own pockets and coming ‘home’ for a photo op, and no I am not bitter) and despite an unscrupulous club owner who pocketed the bulk of the money raised, we, with a lot of help from The Home Depot Foundation proved that you really can go home again.
Simultaneously, I discovered my current and forever
obsession interest which leads us to:
Buffy The Vampire Slayer And/Or The Joss Whedon Years
4.Rehearsal nights were always on Tuesday. One night, rehearsal was cancelled and I was flipping through the channels only to land on what would become my favorite episode of Buffy, “Once More With Feeling” the Musical episode. It had everything I loved; vampires, singing, humor, and, since it was Season 6, a lot of depression and sex. What more could I ask for? Well I asked for nothing and in return became so
obsessed intrigued with the mind of Joss Whedon I discovered Angel, Firefly, Dollhouse and anything that had the slightest connection to the genius that is Joss.
Now I have to admit, I do have a tendency to go overboard when I discover something I love. That
sometimes to my dismay includes people. And I do tend to jump full force into whatever it is I’m jumping into.
But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Every little obsession that touches me leaves a trace of evidence behind, a wealth of experience combined to make me the exact me I am at this exact moment.
Over the last decade or so, unbeknownst to me, there was a new obsession building, only this one was coming from inside me for a change. It started out so small I only really noticed it in retrospect.
I was, and am, obsessed with words.
Sure I always loved to devour books, reading anything I could get my hands on anywhere I went.
But I didn’t know I liked to write.
I didn’t even know I could write.
Like everything else, it was something I fell into with the songwriting stuff until I realized I was pretty much writing really short stories in song form, and then I remembered this psychic astrologer I went to years before, after winning a reading in some newspaper contest.
He did my chart and spent well over an hour explaining that I was born to write and it was something I would be successful doing.
I just hmmm’d him through the session with an occasional “really?” thrown in and went on my merry way.
I’d never written anything other than a letter so I certainly didn’t imagine myself checking off the ‘Writer’ box on any kind of survey.
I think my imagination has expanded quite a bit in the last decade or so.
Although I’m still in the initial phases of this latest
obsession interest of mine I have a feeling this one’s going to stick around for possibly ever.
I’ve become obsessed with writing.
It’s like I need it to get through the day.
Like if I don’t write for even one day something feels off, something is missing.
I’ve just realized, my dearest ones, that I have rambled on so long this may indeed be my longest post so far.
Admittedly it did take me all day to write since I was waylaid by my Father’s insistence that I drive 20 miles to move my (sob) ex-car (a sad post for another day) from the driveway to the street now followed by an unplanned trip to ShopRite who, by the way, does not have the answers.
Something else I just realized is if I continue to babble like this I better learn to become obsessed with the art of editing.
5 Ways To Survive The Inevitably Approaching Zombie Apocalypse
2. Make your home a fortress. Your home is your castle, if time allows, prepare a moat. Use piranhas and/or alligators if possible (depending on your location), or consider gasoline. If gasoline is not an option, try anything flammable (e.g. cooking oil, alcohol). When zombies fall into the gasoline-filled moat (and they will, zombies are very clumsy) shooting flaming arrows at them is recommended. Not only will this burn zombies but also, fire pretty.
3. Pick your battles. You may have to spend a lot of time with unfamiliar non-zombies if you choose to run (safety in numbers and all that). Try not to waste energy and strength fighting amongst yourselves (unless you are a disgruntled spouse who never bothered to divorce, this could be a perfect opportunity to end an unhappy marriage).
4. Think like a Girl Scout/Boy Scout and always be prepared. Have plenty of water and canned food stored away. Remember, there will be no weekly trips to the grocery story during a zombie apocalypse, better to serve boxed macaroni and cheese to your friends and family than to serve your own flesh so keep your pantry stocked and avoid strangers at all cost.
5. Keep a journal. If you don’t make it you’ll help future survivors know what not to do, if you do happen to survive you can start a publishing company, make a fortune, and possibly rule whatever is left of the world.