Budget

There are moments, whether personally tragic or adorned with beauty, that we examine who we are. We retrace the steps taken and roads traversed that have led us to this junction. The place, this condition, is rarely permanent. Conditions can shape us, become habit forming, and either improve our well-being or degrade those once unique attributes that defined our sought after character.

However, as mentioned earlier, conditions are seldom permanent. Under a hearth of self- awareness, reflection, or empathy, one can re-condition his prior altruism. One can sew a patch over the worn-out knee in his or her jeans or alter that belt by knifing another hole through it. Every moment of frustration can easily be a teachable moment, which then translates into a experience. 

Permittance

I’ve learned that you can learn a lot about the pathos of an individual, their standards of living, what they will tolerate or expectations,  or what values or wisdom they wish to impart to the world around them, by how they parent or dispense guardianship. 

You spare the rod….you over-season the stew.

No one likes over-seasoned stew.

I sure don’t.

 

 

Ex-Girlfriends

It shouldn’t have to be said, as anyone who knows i fully believe that personal growth is either regressed or flourishes based upon those we interact with. This philosophy being wholly acceptable, the admission to follow isn’t arbitrary, but more of a “lessons learned” morale testament.

To my Ex-girlfriends, I thank you all. I’m better now.

See it through

Try as you might, winter will come. The cold will come creeping, and all things natural or unnatural, will freeze or die. This bodes the same for relationships, friendships, unions and marriages. In time they too freeze, caught in the drift of sameness or in a purgatory of unrepair. Frozen. Forgotten by all, save the souls affected. But what is also true in this cyclical system of ending, is that winter does not last.

No world stays frozen forever

No organism ever dies.

Winter does ends. Too.

It takes a readjusting of orbit. A catalyst of attention, of interest. A spark of warmth, to push winter away for a season or a lifetime.

All relationships end, their discontinuance at times brutally inevitable. But what doesn’t end is the human will, the longing to enjoy life. To journey to find the spark that is hiding or in full perview within the frozen.

This will never end.

Return(enter)

I don’t have a living philosophy when it comes to unfriending someone Facebook. In fact, it’s more a work in progress. A real-time, measure-the-moment-for-what-it- brings standard of sorts. When I unfriend I take into account not the amenities, but what will be loss in the transaction(or subtract). I ask myself “Will I regret this response? Is this a knee-jerk move, one that needs to be deliberated over a protein shake or afternoon run?” I’m sure those of you reading this have your own tried and true philosophies on when to unfriend. Of course, if you’re a friend-whore, someone who accepts all invitations in an attempt to build your own social media Branch Davidian, then stop reading.

This isn’t for you. You’re your own version of pathetic.

I personally unfriend when my face to face interactions with an acquaintance or friend begin to resemble our online interactions.

If stale is stale, then no layering of condiments can mask the taste. Often times I look at friend requests as “continuing the great interaction or relationship we have”. You know, “more to come.” But, if I find myself rolling my eyes to your updates and images; disagreeing with you trying to 1-up my friends or me or simply being a hypocrite for the sake of the word, then it must be said the relationship needs to end. I can’t belabor any relationship, real or contractual. I just can’t.

My online activity should come with a level of peace of mind and gregarity. I shouldn’t writhe in pain over comments left, images of me tagged, or updates posted by selfish, myopic people(who at one time or another weren’t so).

Aside

Is it a dastardly move to intentionally block updates and photos from your friends on Facebook? I’m often asked by friends “Did you see that picture I posted?” or “Hey, what do you think about so and so’s comment to my status update?” It used to bother me when to hear the utter shock in their tone when I inform them I’ve since unsubscribed to their “content”.

It used to.

Is it a douchebag move, to watch a friend attempt to share a seemingly happy or auspicious event with their Facebook community, only to inform that person their “event” isn’t event-worthy by my standards. I mean, I’m not an arbiter. I know all content is worth an immeasurable amount of “big deal” to someone. Right?

I make sure to check my ego and super-ego at the door. Why am I blocking this particular person, and not everyone? Why is this person incarcerated to social media prison, for a term no more than “until I say so”? The simplest answer I can relate is that I just don’t care to see that stuff. I love my friends, my true friends, and will never prohibit their summer vacation in Maine update or that album of pictures showing how much fun they had in California. But the colleagues or fair-weather lot, I just can’t seem to bring myself to sustaining more than a furled eyebrow to their…stuff. With the latter group, we’ve come together because of an employer, an event, or that time in NYC. I don’t think that’s enough shared experience to warrant you seeing my gym-selfies or me hearing about your child’s second bout with ringworm. 

Douche-y move? No.

Asshole move? Eh, post a status update on the subject. if I see it, and respond, then you know my answer. 

As is, as it should be.

Over the weekend my mom and I somehow wound up on the topic of personal privacy. Not the online kind or the kind that occurs between a human resource representative, a corporate contract, and an employee, but the personal kind of privacy.

The sort of privacy that rears its head just around puberty, and depending on the household, and parental flexibility, either lessens or reinforces itself through on to high school.

My mom remarked that my brother and I weren’t the sort to flee into our rooms and lock, barricade or close our doors as kids(of course later this invitation was rescinded the moment my brother and I started talking to the opposite sex, or more to the point, the day after we were allowed to have a telephone in our room).

Still, we were pretty liberal. We would hangout with our friends, play video games, or spend an afternoon doing homework, and depending on our noise level, which was pretty normal, the door would always be part of the ways open( just enough for my mom to poke her head in and ask which of my friends were staying for dinner). Of course when we were changing for bed, school or practice, we would respectfully close the door. No one wanted to see all that. Still, I just never thought about “closing my door” when I was a kid. I liked that it was open. That my mom could ask my brother or myself a question or carry on a conversation without a physical barrier in place.

We were kids, not angels or robots, but trusting kids. We never gave our mom, or grandparents, or supervising adult any reason to suspect our middling action to wonder what the heck we were doing. Paranoia aside, I just never felt as if someone NEEDED to assume I was up to no damn good.

But I said before, that all changed…later. In High School.

So, I’m at the office, listening to Massive Attack’s “Girl I love you..”, and I’m steadily trying to ignore the two inevitable tasks I have to complete before week’s end: my HTML5 project outline and a new short story.

Both tasks, overwhelming; vermin in the crawlspace of my complicated mindset, and yet, are doubly necessary to my creative procreation. I’ve found that with any immediate onset of inspiration or radical thinking(in terms of a storytelling or narrative), one must either succumb to these often rewarding impulses or suffer calamitous regret.

I have a tendency to be a histrionic at times.