Thursday, July 31, 2008

It is I, Mo-Dean! (The "Fight Back Fun Martina" mix)

Where have I been, you ask? Funny story...

So, there I was out on the Ave, waiting for the number 99 bus. It was Friday (a payday) and, as I am wont to do, I was making a run to the store to pick up a celebratory repast of veggie hot dogs and cheap wine. Anyway, I'm waiting there, kinda pissed off, because Tri-Met is always late, when suddenly the wind kicks up something fierce and I am blinded by a bright light. Long story short, the next thing you know, there I am in the belly of a big old UFO!

What? Those are the lyrics to a B-52's song? The hell you say! It all seemed so real...

Okay. So, really, the month of July has been really rough. Work has been insanely busy, my old lady cat was diagnosed with kidney failure, I've been broke, and (worst of all) grossly neglecting all of my friends. I'm surprised I have any left. Crap, I hope I have some left! To cap it off, somewhere around the middle of last week I came down with the mother of all bronchial infections. It is finally starting to ease, but the husky voiced viral residue is still skulking about like a thug under one of those creepy, yellow Long Beach street lights. I've managed to share the "love" with a family member who is now sick too. Like I don't find enough things to feel guilty about. Suffice it to say that things have not been going well. If I had balls, I'm sure someone would have delivered a swift kick to them.

More insidious, however, is the rut I've felt stuck in even before the frightful fortnight began. I know I'm not alone. This feeling seems to hit everyone somewhere around my age. When I look into my heart (and, most days, even in the mirror), I don't feel so old. Then, I look at my birth certificate and think "Crap, what the hell have I been doing all this time? What do I have to show for it? Where did the two roads in the wood diverge to become this dead end???"

Don't get me wrong. I have a good life. I have incredible family and friends, a good job, a nice enough place to live, and I am now (almost) debt-free. But what mark have I made? What will the world remember of me when I am nothing but a pile of dust? What will I remember when I am old and looking back at my life? What kinds of fabulous stories will I have to tell? I know they won't be all about work deadlines I've met or how I saved my company a gajillion dollars in temp costs by designing a (if I do say so myself) kickass new system of book distribution that involves uploading and auditing macros, but very little actual manpower. God, I hope not!

I want to remember that I was happy, that I had fun, and (as pollyanaish as it sounds) that I contributed something that in some way left the world better than it was when my short life found it. It's not going to matter how skillfully I climbed some corporate ladder I never really cared about anyway. I may be too old to be trustworthy, but I'm not too old want more. And, so, I have made a resolution to make the rest of the year my own personal happiness project.

I've been thinking for a while that this blog needs some kind of overhaul or structure or something. I'm not yet sure what that will ultimately mean. Maybe it just means writing about the things that make me happy, but I really do think that (for a while at least) that may mean exploring what it really means to be fulfilled and focusing on the positive sorts of things that foster growth, creativity, play, gratitude, well-roundedness and (as hokey as it sounds) joy. Maybe I'm just still high from an earlier Yoga Bootie Ballet sesion, but the time has come for fun Martina to fight back. So, from here on out, it's all sunshine and unicorns. Oh, and rainbows. And butterflies and kittens. And probably candy (but not from strangers - unless it's Halloween - on Halloween all bets are off). And, just so you know, I will begin dotting the "i" in my name with a smiley face, which of course, you won't be able to see, because everything here is typed. But don't worry, you can still picture it that way in your head. See, imagination! We're getting creative already and a creative brain is a happy brain, right?

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I've started writing at least one "pocket of joy" every night in a calendar. Some nights are harder than others to think of something, but the discipline is good. The other thing I like to do some times is think of 6 impossibles before breakfast...a queen of hearts thing.