Perception is so untrustworthy. Frequently your perceptions are based on how much your brain and/or your body hate you on a particular day. I’m sure someone with more math skills than myself could come up with a formula.
Getting up at 3am is not that big of a deal. I usually get up at 4am—this is just one more hour. Going to work is not a big deal—I know exactly what I have to do, and I do it. I get home before the rush hour, and if I don’t have a brief appointment somewhere, I’m at home making dinner and relaxing. I go to bed early because—well, I have to get up at 3am.
So, overall, no big deal, right? A little stressful, lots of things to do, but it’s not as if this is something new to my life. However, my brain and body feel very differently about this. According to my perceptions, I’m being trampled over and over again by a team of Clydesdales. And boy, are my brain and body MAD about it. I’ve never felt such anger about absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. John Foxx uses the metaphor of “having your skin scraped off by a lot of nice, friendly people” in a recent interview, in reference to different stresses of public life. I think it’s something like that, but Foxx is English, which means he’s better at hiding his feelings about such experiences. And he remembers to carry an umbrella when he’s out in English weather. I’m bad at both things, and Foxx is nice enough to only scold me about the latter.
But back to perceptions. For all the meditation I’ve done and still do, however many times I tell myself that reality is just an illusion, a game, not to take it too seriously—I am frequently annoyed that I still have to play politics with my brain and body, who do not accept this. They’re like the Tea Party of my soul—I have no choice but to put up with their loud protestations even though they’re idiots.
Speaking of idiots and idiocy, I learned that Bristol Palin, famous for being Caribou Barbie’s daughter and having a baby out of wedlock, is going to command a $30,000 per-event speaking fee. Apparently she’s planning to talk about moral issues like abstinence, which goes to show you that if you fail at something, you can make a killing off of it. I’d mention lemons and lemonade, but I hate old clichés. It also makes me want to put my sign back up with the big “X” in the middle and the instructions “bang head here”. I thought I could put that away permanently when I stopped working for County government.
But seriously—I must be in the wrong line of business. $30,000 per speaking event when your only qualification is being the daughter of a pop tart? I think I’ve lived too honestly and intellectually, and have actually bought the old BS line that suggests I will be successful with both of those things. I guess success in this case means “personal satisfaction” and not “making a ton of money”. In any case, one hopes that Bristol has a better command of the English language than her mother. Not that it will matter to her audience—most of them can’t spell. (Ironically, they are usually the same lot that demands the U.S. be an “English-only” country. They’d have to leave.)
You see? I’m getting aggravated again. This sort of thing goes on all the time lately. Maybe I’m not living a sheltered enough life. Or maybe I’m not drinking enough beer. Of course, I’ve heard that neither of these things is good for you, but I heard that from the same people that said working hard at my academic pursuits would make me wildly successful.
I think I just need to remind myself that life is absurd, that my thoughts about it are absurd, that we’re all crazy, and I just need to remain centered and disciplined.
Eh, forget it. My body wants a pizza.