Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Monday, October 12, 2009
My metaphoric blanket of sympathy and forgiveness method is being tested.
Ya know, last year I went though a phase of personal growth in terms of forgiveness. In a matter of two weeks three former boyfriends reappeared in my life, like ghosts from the past, to haunt me. I thought it was odd that these very different people from very different phases of my past all re-entered, or attempted to re-enter, my life at about the same time. I don't go around looking for signs, but even I had to admit that was a little weird.
And weirder still was that I learned a lot about myself and life in general: Forgiveness. It really is divine. Huh. Whaddaya know. More than that, though, I learned that it's a gift to be given sparingly and only deserving instances. Some moron on a drunk dial begging for forgiveness for cheating, lying and stealing from me when we dated? Maybe enough time has passed that I should consider forgiving him. Or maybe not. Because the only reason he was begging for forgiveness was because he was a) drunk, b) wanting me to "give him another chance" and c) he had a good lead on a sales opportunity and if it went through he would earn a lot of commission...but he needed front money. Riiiiight. So much for considering forgiving him.
Now, a year later, I'm walking around handing out metaphoric blankets of sympathy and forgiveness.
Moronic ex still doesn't get one. He was intentionally horrible to me. And he tried to use me, again. And he drunk dialed me to do it.
But. I should be the better person. I am the better person in this relationship. Lead by example and all that, right?
That's a tough one. I'm all positively enlightened and everything, but I'm not Jesus or the Dalai Lama.
So I was pondering that when blam! the Universe threw an ironic twist of fate in front of me.
My ex-boss.
I know. I know. I know. I was out with friends, enjoying adult beverages when into the drinking establishment walks my former ex-boss. I saw her immediately but I don't think she saw me. So I was all, "I'm just going to pretend I didn't see her enter the bar and carry on with my night out with friends."
I was drunk enough to think that plan might work, but sober enough to let the fact that my ex-boss was just a few tables away from me nag at me. While my friends carried on with their lively conversation my mind tried with all its might to wrap my ex-boss in a metaphoric blanket of sympathy and forgiveness. I couldn't do it. I couldn't find it in my heart or head to give her anything. And I wanted to, I really did. I wanted to give her some good thoughts, something, anything, positive. But I just couldn't muster it.
Instead, when my friends suggested leaving for another bar I leaped at the idea and off we went to another bar. I never acknowledged my ex-boss, mentally or in reality. I presume she saw me as we left, she had to have seen me, but she didn't acknowledge me, either.
I liked that mutual enmity between us. It existed when we worked together but we both tried to play nice because we worked together. Now that we no longer have any reason to pretend we like each other we're, well, no longer pretending.
Fine by me.
Though. My positive energy doesn't like it. My inner do-good karma missionary has her hands on her hips and is scolding me. "You were given an opportunity to do something really good for you, her and the Universe. You should have given her a metaphoric blanket of sympathy and forgiveness. You're a bad, bad, bad girl Ms. McMillian and you better believe the Universe has duly recorded this lapse in changes for the positive. You're gonna pay for this, missy."
Yeah. My inner do-good karma missionary is a nagging bitch.
But she has a point. I could have and should have been kinder to my ex-boss. I didn't have to actually confront her, acknowledge her.
In fact there's a strong argument that not confronting her or acknowledging her was the right thing to do. It would have been awkward and weird and difficult for both of us. We would have carried on the charade of pleasantries. It would have been forced and pointless for both of us. Where's the good in that? There is none.
But.
I could have and should have given her the kindness that I'm bestowing on other people, mostly complete strangers for crying out loud. I could have given her a couple seconds of my gray matter. I could have given her a glowy orange forgiveness Snuggie®.
But I didn't. Apparently I'm too immature, jaded, or mean to reach that level of enlightenment. And that makes me feel...well...bad.
I know, I know! This whole positive awareness thing is a real drag sometimes.
Kids have it right, I think. They quickly assess their classmates and choose to play with them or not. "She's mean. And she picks her nose. I'm not going to play with her." They don't think about forgiveness or sympathy or compassion. The truth is that the kid is mean and picks her nose. Unless you happen to also be a mean kid who picks their nose there's no reason to acknowledge that kid. Things may change, reassessments may be made the next school year, but when it's recess the mean kid who picks her nose is going to find herself either alone or with other mean kids who pick their noses.
But somewhere along the line, I think in high school, we develop nuances to our social skills. We don't want to hurt peoples' feelings. We care about what other people think. We develop a conscience, complete with compassion and guilt. Yay us. I guess.
I don't want to play with my ex-boss. She's mean. And I bet she picks her nose. And I'm sure she doesn't want to play with me. She thinks I'm the weird kid. And she wouldn't be caught dead hanging out with the weird kid. It's social suicide. Even for a mean girl who picks her nose.
I'm sure if I rose above that childish take on it I'd feel a lot better, maybe even earn enough karma points to get myself a new job. Or at least an interview. So it's foolish to not just bite the bullet and give up some compassion for my ex-boss. But...I just can't do it. I've tried, oh how I've tried. For three days I've tried.
I watched Wings of Desire. Kind of an odd coincidence there, too. I'm packing up my condo, sorting stuff, donating just about everything to charity and taking the rest to storage. I was sorting a box of DVDs and the bottom of the box ripped open, spewing DVDs all over the floor. Right smack on top of the heap was Wings of Desire. I thought, "I forgot I have that DVD. I love that movie. I haven't watched it in a few years, at least. Huh. Maybe I'll just pop it in and watch a few minutes of it."
So I sat there sobbing at the beauty of the movie. And becoming evermore aware of the parallels in my current life situation.
Once again my inner do-good karma missionary nagged and bitched at me.
"See? See this movie? See this poetry displayed before you? There's more to life than just observing. Those angel men know that, they're angels for crying out loud and yet they know there's more to life than just passively observing. Sheesh, do I have to do everything around here? Oh no, no, don't you dare go in the other room to listen to Nick Cave, I'm not done nagging at you. You need to do some serious forgiving, girly. That ex-boss of yours is hurting and you ignored her and continue to ignore her. No one's saying you have to be friends or pretend to like her. No one's saying you even have to speak to her. But you do have to forgive her."
I'm telling you, she's a nagging goodie-two-shoes bitch, that karma missionary. But she's right. And that's what's so annoying about her. She has valid points. She's right.
Fine. Fine. Okay. Fine. Ex-boss is now wrapped in a metaphoric blanket of sympathy and forgiveness. I don't feel any better, nor have I had any positive results come my way, no job, no interview, but hopefully she's feeling better about "things." Hopefully she is finding a place of peace with what she did to me and my life.
6:08 PM
