It certainly is bedtime. I have those heavy 'things' creeping about in my head.
I am a bit irrationally angry with the wealthy. I do not aspire to be one of them, though "sour grapes" is often the comment one receives in this conversation. I can't help to feel like they are greedy. I am also irritated with the ignorant. That is a better received complaint, but harder to organize around.
This is a subject for a different time.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
I will remember you. WIll you remember me?
Loney. Every little thing is falling away. Just dropping off. All of the little things we count on are not offered.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Collected and Counted
Foolishly, I am writing from my desktop. I know that anything I write can and could be used against me. Somehow, that is not daunting at all.
Everything we say can and could be used against us now. I used to roll my eyes about people that worried over their privacy. It seemed paranoid and quaint. Now, we know that we are just a computer server away from having our entire lives laid bare for anyone who'll pay for the privilege.
I fly near this radar assuming and hoping that I am not nearly interesting enough to spark interest. I don't even say that with my tongue in my cheek. I honestly do not want to be interesting any more.
Writing this note here and now is sloppy. I am doing it only because of my fatigue from a work day and then a night of meetings. I am too mentally tired to do more work at work. This little episode is like a yawn.
Because I find myself between a rock and a hard place, I will go on to not say too much about much of anything. Ultimately, that is my little feet stomping act of defiance here; my circumstances mute me.
It is the opposite of "You complete me." It is learning not to give much away.
I have been reading about parental education levels, income, and outcomes of children. It seems that this ability to smoothly transition through work and school is the ghost in the machine. Children from many diverse backgrounds 'act up' for many different reasons. These children create problems for themselves and for others, later they are adults and citizens that 'act out' as well.
It seems to me, in a crude and rudimentary form here, that the goal is to create as little conflict as possible. Sliding from one subject to the next, from work to home, from one place to another without drawing attention leads to prosperity. We are gazelles on the savanna. Don't be an outlier.
It seems like a nasty little lie. We believe that our culture wants us to be independent. We are individuals. We are voters. We are citizens. We are workers. But, when you look under the false back of the drawer you find out that silence is, indeed, a virtue. There is a code of invisibility.
All of this makes me wonder why we don't just tell children, workers, students, voters, and on and on that no one wants to know and that it is absolutely in their best interest to keep quiet. It seems like this is an unfair secret that only some have the fortune to figure out or be taught.
Everything we say can and could be used against us now. I used to roll my eyes about people that worried over their privacy. It seemed paranoid and quaint. Now, we know that we are just a computer server away from having our entire lives laid bare for anyone who'll pay for the privilege.
I fly near this radar assuming and hoping that I am not nearly interesting enough to spark interest. I don't even say that with my tongue in my cheek. I honestly do not want to be interesting any more.
Writing this note here and now is sloppy. I am doing it only because of my fatigue from a work day and then a night of meetings. I am too mentally tired to do more work at work. This little episode is like a yawn.
Because I find myself between a rock and a hard place, I will go on to not say too much about much of anything. Ultimately, that is my little feet stomping act of defiance here; my circumstances mute me.
It is the opposite of "You complete me." It is learning not to give much away.
I have been reading about parental education levels, income, and outcomes of children. It seems that this ability to smoothly transition through work and school is the ghost in the machine. Children from many diverse backgrounds 'act up' for many different reasons. These children create problems for themselves and for others, later they are adults and citizens that 'act out' as well.
It seems to me, in a crude and rudimentary form here, that the goal is to create as little conflict as possible. Sliding from one subject to the next, from work to home, from one place to another without drawing attention leads to prosperity. We are gazelles on the savanna. Don't be an outlier.
It seems like a nasty little lie. We believe that our culture wants us to be independent. We are individuals. We are voters. We are citizens. We are workers. But, when you look under the false back of the drawer you find out that silence is, indeed, a virtue. There is a code of invisibility.
All of this makes me wonder why we don't just tell children, workers, students, voters, and on and on that no one wants to know and that it is absolutely in their best interest to keep quiet. It seems like this is an unfair secret that only some have the fortune to figure out or be taught.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
And when the fog horn blows I want to hear it: I don't have to fear it
Everything that's old is new again. I need a fresh place.
I have longed to be separate and hidden since I was a little girl. My life can get crowded; sometimes you wanna go where everyone doesn't know your name. It is not so much that I am not willing to share thoughts with the blogosphere, but that I want space without all of the trappings of my life attached. Somewhere were I share without being noticed by the eyes of the too close.
I have heard so much news these days about transparency in our lives and the after effects. Well I propose something quieter. Something to share in the quiet corners. There are vast expanses of self that are muted.
With all of the unmasking my mystery has stopped. My face feels lost, my body is somehow less powerful. I am a bit lost in all of this. I was in a fog of pain, grief, loss of control; I have been stripped down to nothing. I have lost almost everything. The security that I had fell away like leaves.
From nothing, no pride, no plan, I have had to start over and build everything alone. There is no can't in my world now. There is nothing but myself to stop the big bad world. I have recreated as much as I could for the children. It is the price. It has been more than I expected.
This song has always brought me solace. Come here, my star has faded. My star has faded. I am some much smaller and older than I have ever been. Who is the person that I have become?
I have longed to be separate and hidden since I was a little girl. My life can get crowded; sometimes you wanna go where everyone doesn't know your name. It is not so much that I am not willing to share thoughts with the blogosphere, but that I want space without all of the trappings of my life attached. Somewhere were I share without being noticed by the eyes of the too close.
I have heard so much news these days about transparency in our lives and the after effects. Well I propose something quieter. Something to share in the quiet corners. There are vast expanses of self that are muted.
With all of the unmasking my mystery has stopped. My face feels lost, my body is somehow less powerful. I am a bit lost in all of this. I was in a fog of pain, grief, loss of control; I have been stripped down to nothing. I have lost almost everything. The security that I had fell away like leaves.
From nothing, no pride, no plan, I have had to start over and build everything alone. There is no can't in my world now. There is nothing but myself to stop the big bad world. I have recreated as much as I could for the children. It is the price. It has been more than I expected.
This song has always brought me solace. Come here, my star has faded. My star has faded. I am some much smaller and older than I have ever been. Who is the person that I have become?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)