5 of my last 6 blog entries have been published on a Wednesday. This is unacceptable. I'm becoming predictable. If someone wanted to blog-stalk me, it would be too easy. History will remember Effulgent13 as "that Wednesday blog". I can't let this happen. I blog according to whimsy, not according to the days of the week.
I accept that I require some level of predictability in my life; I am, after all, strongly introvert with obsessive-compulsive tendencies and a slight retentiveness in the anal region. But I still need some spontaneous recklessness in my life. For example, yesterday I didn't eat any vegetables and had a bowl of cereal for dinner (don't tell my mother). It was a wild ride. "Nutritional balance be damned!", I screamed (I was feeling a little on edge by the end of the day). I want to continue this edgy behaviour - I'm even thinking about having a fruit-free day next month - and having 5 out of 6 (that's 83.3333333333333333333333333...% ) blog entries published on a Wednesday is not helping. I may as well re-name this blog, Wednesdayfulgent13.
So, in order to counter this Wednesday blogging depravity, I am publishing this post on a MONDAY.
Monday 31 May 2010
Wednesday 26 May 2010
The synaptic impulses lumber through my head like something really slow and... LUMBERING
Am experiencing brain fuzzy at present. Can't form thoughts. Can't make words. Can't make grammatically correct sentences. The rain falls but the trees still weep. Can't make coherent sentences. When I was six, pink was my favourite colour. Appear to be experiencing non-sequitur-itis. Normal services will resume eventually. Probably. Don't trust the elephant, it's the caterpillar who dances at sunset. Can't make coherent paragraphs.
Wednesday 19 May 2010
Multitasking is Not an Option
As someone who tries to fit the least amount of activity into her life, I was very excited to discover I'm not the only person who likes to just hang out. I've discovered The International Institute of Not Doing Much - a website devoted (when they can be bothered) to slowing down. They live by the "slow manifesto":
"...Some are born to slowness - others have it thrust upon them..."
I have to confess, I used to be a busy(ish) person. I was a skilled, and motivated, multitasker. In fact, I often enjoyed seeing how much I could get done in the shortest amount of time. Apparently, being that I am of the female persuasion, this is quite normal, even expected. There is some thinking, out there in the 'thinking ether', that women are better equipped for the task of multitasking - something to do with their (our) brain structure; blah, blah, blah. I'm not convinced. I've seen men get crazy (ie accomplish) doing many tasks and I've seen women barely able to complete the one task in an allocated time (currently, I would fall into this latter category :). I believe the human brain is reasonably malleable; we can train it to do a thing we really want it to do, and, conversely, not allow it to be trained to do something we really don't want it to do. (Obviously within reason - I mean, sometimes I would like to move heavy objects using only my brain or connect with people telepathically...which doesn't mean someone would want to return my telepathic connection...I'd also like to control people, so that they want to connect with me telepathically!...I don't care how immoral that sounds or, indeed, is...okay, I care a little bit...OKAY, controlling the world to my liking is really, really evil).
I will admit that I've probably taken the "slow down" decree very seriously in recent months, occasionally a little too seriously, but I'm okay with that - it's a lifestyle I'm comfortable embracing right now. But it's not for everyone. For some, too much down time might actually be stressful; extroverty and/or high energy people usually need some degree of tasking to keep them calm, even if they've decided to take things slower. And, to be honest, I also need some activity, if only so I, and others, don't think I've died.
Note: This blog post was written without haste, as are all my blog posts, even if sometimes they read as though they have been.
"...Some are born to slowness - others have it thrust upon them..."
I have to confess, I used to be a busy(ish) person. I was a skilled, and motivated, multitasker. In fact, I often enjoyed seeing how much I could get done in the shortest amount of time. Apparently, being that I am of the female persuasion, this is quite normal, even expected. There is some thinking, out there in the 'thinking ether', that women are better equipped for the task of multitasking - something to do with their (our) brain structure; blah, blah, blah. I'm not convinced. I've seen men get crazy (ie accomplish) doing many tasks and I've seen women barely able to complete the one task in an allocated time (currently, I would fall into this latter category :). I believe the human brain is reasonably malleable; we can train it to do a thing we really want it to do, and, conversely, not allow it to be trained to do something we really don't want it to do. (Obviously within reason - I mean, sometimes I would like to move heavy objects using only my brain or connect with people telepathically...which doesn't mean someone would want to return my telepathic connection...I'd also like to control people, so that they want to connect with me telepathically!...I don't care how immoral that sounds or, indeed, is...okay, I care a little bit...OKAY, controlling the world to my liking is really, really evil).
I will admit that I've probably taken the "slow down" decree very seriously in recent months, occasionally a little too seriously, but I'm okay with that - it's a lifestyle I'm comfortable embracing right now. But it's not for everyone. For some, too much down time might actually be stressful; extroverty and/or high energy people usually need some degree of tasking to keep them calm, even if they've decided to take things slower. And, to be honest, I also need some activity, if only so I, and others, don't think I've died.
Note: This blog post was written without haste, as are all my blog posts, even if sometimes they read as though they have been.
Wednesday 12 May 2010
We Have Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself
CRAP!!!
I don't know who came up with this ridiculous statement/axiom/maxim - whatever - but it's a load of shi...untruth. For years now I've been wanting to get my anger about this saying out of my system and today is the day this happens. And I'm not even going to look it up on the internet to find out in what context it was used, instead, I'm just going to mouth off - blog off? - about something of which I may not have complete understanding.
I do not accept that I have nothing to fear but fear itself. There are numerous things on this here planet earth for which to be fearful. And my fear makes me wary of them, such that I might elect to get out of, or not get into, a situation in which I fear something bad will happen to me. And, thus, I remain healthy and intact. For example, if a man with an axe starts chasing me down the street I AM GOING TO BE FULL OF FEAR and probably RUN LIKE HELL. And I think my fear is going to make me run faster. I think this is a good response. It could be the difference between an out-of-breathe me or a maimed and/or dead me. I guess I could ignore my fear and stop running and talk to the axe-wielding man. It might be the case that he's not actually chasing me in an effort to maim and/or kill me. Perhaps he wants to maim and/or kill someone else, someone who lives in the same street, and maybe he was running after me (with an axe) because he wanted to ask me if I knew which house this other person lives in. Maybe if I can direct him to the correct house he'll give me $5000. If only I'd just feared fear, and then ignored fear, instead of fearing a rampant, axe wielding man, I might be $5000 richer, and an accessory to a crime. Perhaps, perhaps, maybe, perhaps. I'm not convinced.
So I am going to continue to believe in, and listen to, my fear. And act accordingly. My fear has been good to me so far. It has always offered me wise counsel and has kept me from doing things I really shouldn't be doing, like jumping into the lion enclosure at the zoo (to play with the beautiful kitty-kats) or speaking in public (to tell all the people my beautiful thoughts).
I don't know who came up with this ridiculous statement/axiom/maxim - whatever - but it's a load of shi...untruth. For years now I've been wanting to get my anger about this saying out of my system and today is the day this happens. And I'm not even going to look it up on the internet to find out in what context it was used, instead, I'm just going to mouth off - blog off? - about something of which I may not have complete understanding.
I do not accept that I have nothing to fear but fear itself. There are numerous things on this here planet earth for which to be fearful. And my fear makes me wary of them, such that I might elect to get out of, or not get into, a situation in which I fear something bad will happen to me. And, thus, I remain healthy and intact. For example, if a man with an axe starts chasing me down the street I AM GOING TO BE FULL OF FEAR and probably RUN LIKE HELL. And I think my fear is going to make me run faster. I think this is a good response. It could be the difference between an out-of-breathe me or a maimed and/or dead me. I guess I could ignore my fear and stop running and talk to the axe-wielding man. It might be the case that he's not actually chasing me in an effort to maim and/or kill me. Perhaps he wants to maim and/or kill someone else, someone who lives in the same street, and maybe he was running after me (with an axe) because he wanted to ask me if I knew which house this other person lives in. Maybe if I can direct him to the correct house he'll give me $5000. If only I'd just feared fear, and then ignored fear, instead of fearing a rampant, axe wielding man, I might be $5000 richer, and an accessory to a crime. Perhaps, perhaps, maybe, perhaps. I'm not convinced.
So I am going to continue to believe in, and listen to, my fear. And act accordingly. My fear has been good to me so far. It has always offered me wise counsel and has kept me from doing things I really shouldn't be doing, like jumping into the lion enclosure at the zoo (to play with the beautiful kitty-kats) or speaking in public (to tell all the people my beautiful thoughts).
Monday 3 May 2010
Magic Mountain Count: Page 200
I'm having trouble deciding how to write this blog post - well, you could use the keyboard and type in some words - yes, THANKYOU, annoying and sarcastic voice in my head. What I mean is, I'm not sure how to capture the essence of pages 100 to 200 of The Magic Mountain. In fact, I'm not entirely sure what "the essence" is but I think that's okay since the book is 700 pages long and would probably be classified - to an extent - as a novel of ideas, which means it's unlikely to be easily accessed. Okay, what I really mean is: I don't know what the hell this novel is on about. Yet. I suspect I'll need to read at least another 100 pages, or even the entire novel, before it starts to reveal its true intentions.
Nevertheless, I will summarize what I have discovered so far. The events in the novel take place in a sanatorium in the Swiss Alps, in the years before World War I. The main character is Hans Castorp, a young man about to begin his career as a ship designer, who has taken himself to the sanatorium for a 3 week holiday/rest, and to visit his cousin, Joachim, who has tuberculosis. During this time Hans takes part in the daily routines of the sanatorium; walks in the alpine air, resting times ("rest cures"), lectures, music concerts (weekly) and numerous, and generous, meals. Hans begins to become acquainted with some of the other residents (mostly patients) as well as spending time with his cousin. He also begins to notice unusual aspects of his own physicality; his cheeks are frequently flushed, his cigars have lost their taste. Towards the end of his stay he senses that he's developing a cold. He takes his temperature - an activity the other residents conduct with great regularity and devotion - and discovers it is alarmingly high. A visit to one of the sanatoriums doctors reveals that Hans has a "wet area" on one of his lungs. Hans is ordered to stay at the sanatorium for another 3 weeks.
I think I've inadvertently chosen a very apt novel for myself to be reading at this point in my life - "for myself to be reading at this point in my life"; the essence of this sentence is grammatical violation. I'm kind of living the life of a confined person, although, thankfully, I'm not sick (especially with a life-threatening illness like tuberculosis) and I have the option of not being "confined". What I mean by "confined" is that I spend alot of time in my flat. A large reason for this is that I'm not employed, but also I choose not to "go out" very often. Most of the activities I enjoy doing I can do in my flat, eg reading (although I do sometimes "go out" to the library or the bookstore), sleeping, eating (occasionally I'll "go out" to eat), surfing the internet, watching dvd's (which means I have to "go out" to the dvd rentals store or the dvd shop), contemplating, exercising (sometimes I "go out" for a walk), studying my cat, writing this blog, staying in touch with friends (via email or phone - most of my friends don't live nearbye or have time-constrained lives, but I do enjoy "going out" to catch up with them when it's possible). I have to admit, though, that having the internet is a huge contributor to my being able to spend so much time by myself in my flat. I always look forward to logging on and finding out what's going on with the world - big and small. I think, despite my introverted and non-social ways, I'm not an island.
I've slightly veered away from comparing my current life to the lives of the residents of the sanatorium in The Magic Mountain. I think the similarities lie in both the reflective, retreat-like quality of our lives and the being outside of "conventional" life. In the novel, the residents refer to the towns below the Alps as "the flatlands" and speak of the flatlands as though they were a different, and, perhaps, less privileged, world. The "slowness" and "boredom" of life in the sanatorium provide a unique perspective. For myself, at the moment, this is something I really enjoy about not having a job. But I also enjoy not having work responsibilities, ie having to be at work on the required days and at the required time, having to present in a work-mode frame of mind (whatever the hell that means, maybe not being in a psychotic state - which is A LOT to ask of your average human being), being able to do the required work and continue to do the required work until the required time has elapsed, even though my every human fibre longs to be somewhere else and mortal life is short. (Yes, me and work are not affable companions at this time).
So, in conclusion...actually, there won't be a conclusion, more of a: I've waffled on enough and would like to end this blog post before my brain implodes.
Nevertheless, I will summarize what I have discovered so far. The events in the novel take place in a sanatorium in the Swiss Alps, in the years before World War I. The main character is Hans Castorp, a young man about to begin his career as a ship designer, who has taken himself to the sanatorium for a 3 week holiday/rest, and to visit his cousin, Joachim, who has tuberculosis. During this time Hans takes part in the daily routines of the sanatorium; walks in the alpine air, resting times ("rest cures"), lectures, music concerts (weekly) and numerous, and generous, meals. Hans begins to become acquainted with some of the other residents (mostly patients) as well as spending time with his cousin. He also begins to notice unusual aspects of his own physicality; his cheeks are frequently flushed, his cigars have lost their taste. Towards the end of his stay he senses that he's developing a cold. He takes his temperature - an activity the other residents conduct with great regularity and devotion - and discovers it is alarmingly high. A visit to one of the sanatoriums doctors reveals that Hans has a "wet area" on one of his lungs. Hans is ordered to stay at the sanatorium for another 3 weeks.
I think I've inadvertently chosen a very apt novel for myself to be reading at this point in my life - "for myself to be reading at this point in my life"; the essence of this sentence is grammatical violation. I'm kind of living the life of a confined person, although, thankfully, I'm not sick (especially with a life-threatening illness like tuberculosis) and I have the option of not being "confined". What I mean by "confined" is that I spend alot of time in my flat. A large reason for this is that I'm not employed, but also I choose not to "go out" very often. Most of the activities I enjoy doing I can do in my flat, eg reading (although I do sometimes "go out" to the library or the bookstore), sleeping, eating (occasionally I'll "go out" to eat), surfing the internet, watching dvd's (which means I have to "go out" to the dvd rentals store or the dvd shop), contemplating, exercising (sometimes I "go out" for a walk), studying my cat, writing this blog, staying in touch with friends (via email or phone - most of my friends don't live nearbye or have time-constrained lives, but I do enjoy "going out" to catch up with them when it's possible). I have to admit, though, that having the internet is a huge contributor to my being able to spend so much time by myself in my flat. I always look forward to logging on and finding out what's going on with the world - big and small. I think, despite my introverted and non-social ways, I'm not an island.
I've slightly veered away from comparing my current life to the lives of the residents of the sanatorium in The Magic Mountain. I think the similarities lie in both the reflective, retreat-like quality of our lives and the being outside of "conventional" life. In the novel, the residents refer to the towns below the Alps as "the flatlands" and speak of the flatlands as though they were a different, and, perhaps, less privileged, world. The "slowness" and "boredom" of life in the sanatorium provide a unique perspective. For myself, at the moment, this is something I really enjoy about not having a job. But I also enjoy not having work responsibilities, ie having to be at work on the required days and at the required time, having to present in a work-mode frame of mind (whatever the hell that means, maybe not being in a psychotic state - which is A LOT to ask of your average human being), being able to do the required work and continue to do the required work until the required time has elapsed, even though my every human fibre longs to be somewhere else and mortal life is short. (Yes, me and work are not affable companions at this time).
So, in conclusion...actually, there won't be a conclusion, more of a: I've waffled on enough and would like to end this blog post before my brain implodes.
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