Secrets in the Dump, and the Universe.

Damned Mundane Reality....BE MORE MIRACULOUS! 

1) We live in the boondocks of the Milky Way, far from the busy center.  We're cosmic hicks.
2) Neither scientist nor philosopher have been able to solve the so-called 'mind-body' problem.  That is, no satisfying description has been given regarding how you can have an idea (mind) that you'll raise your arm, and then actually do it (body). How does mind influence the physical?  
3) Because the light arriving on Earth has been traveling through space for years, to look up at night is to see backwards in time.
4) We awake every morning with memories of events that didn't seem to have happened, brushing it off as mere 'dreams'. 
5) No matter which way you plant a seed under the soil, it will always sprout "upward".
6) Our lives are colorful and noisy tunnels of experience sandwiched between the nothingness before birth and the nothing of death.
7)  Men and women walk the Earth talking of Gods, other worlds, UFOs, gnomes, enlightenment, magic, and even stranger things. Lots of men and women. Mathematicians claim there are 10 dimensions. Quantum physics describes a world too weird for natural language.
8) We are born on Earth with no scroll of instructions, no mission objectives, no game-plan. We're a brain carried around by our bodies and our instincts, making the whole thing up as we go.
9) We don't know if human nature is good. By our own standards & measurements, we're the evilest, cleverest, and most caring species on this planet. 
10) Life is brief, and in spite of the first 9 things on this list, we have the capacity for boredom. 

Things at the Dump:

A rotting zombie-deer head on a plaque. 

Like a dog who jolts to life at the word "walk", I'm all about trips to the dump. Partly, this is because I'm out in the sticks and a trip out is a trip out. Discrimination is for those with options.  But I'm also eager to go because it is a place of fine-dining for bears. Bears: fascinating honey and people eating creatures that are to dogs what lions are to cats. As a child I kept a plush toy (code name: 'brown bear') and loved it sincerely. My great grandfather, around the same time, told me tales of a bear that stayed under his bed. The memories bring back the sense of terror only a 5 year old can feel. And I'm still fascinated by bears.  But I've yet to see one at the dump.  Just this thing:

Notice the eyes? The nose appears to be made of wood. Man-made?

 And this thing.

I don't know if I'd call this art, or even 'sprucing the place up'. It's no longer just a pile of garbage though; mere rearrangement has transformed it into something else. Something without a name. Magic.    

The Proper Sequence of Clicks.

Had I but one, just one, measly million dollars:

For the fifth time, I'm making my way through Tim Ferris's '4 Hour Workweek'. Apparently it takes me five times to notice just how much of the book is dedicated to properly spending the money as opposed to properly making it.

For a reader not initiated into entrepreneurship, falling under the illusion that effortless money is but a few clicks away wouldn't be difficult. After my first reading I created a tarot-reading website.  I charged $50 per reading, had zero customers, and made exactly nothing, minus the costs of setting up and hosting the site. Net: -$400.  Not awful for a failed business venture as a fortune-teller. It fleshes out my resume. 
 

Click on the image and win either a million dollars, or a larger image of a water bug!!!!!!!

One of his exercises in the 'four hour work week' is to 'dreamline'. This means creating a list of things you want to have, to do, and to be within the next 6 months to a year. Write as if money were no object (this is the 'dream' part). Then, calculate how much money would actually be required to do this.
So I lay here, before you all, my hopes and aspirations:

Want to have: Gibson Les Paul ($1500), Nikon wide angle lens ($2000), Nikon telephoto lens ($1000).
Want to do: Spend a couple months training in Muay Thai in Thailand ($2000), shark diving in S. Africa ($1500).
Want to be: Conversational in Korean (free, requires effort), a writer (free, requires effort), self-employed ($2500/month).

I calculate this to be $40,000 dollars spent for the year--and it would be the best year ever. $3500 a month would do it; it's my "target monthly income". 

And now the looking-in-the-mirror part:

Honestly Answer This: Is this a real goal, or is it a reason to throw in the towel and accept wage-working for the better portion of my waking life, taking joy & excitement in small doses if and when it comes?  That's the real existential question. Do you notice that with the better path, there are risks? Not only financial ones, but for me, there is risk in disappointing myself. Since I often live under the delusion that I'm special, not subject to defeat, impossibly intelligent, etc., opting for high ambitions is the sort of thing that will either pop my bubble or line it with titanium and diamonds.

From Nowhere, Spring Cometh:

It's true.

I arrived in Canada mid-April and bore witness to the stoic silence, the lake still iced over, trees naked of leaves and random, quiet eruptions from the fireplace, obedient to the clicks of the thermostat. Rack up on my list of wants, "spring". It goes a few slots under "just one million dollars".

Small buds on the trees surprised me weeks later, as if I had honestly thought that winter were not going to let go. Eying the tiny shoots, I kept thinking, "you know, I ought to take time lapsed photos of the budding branches". I wasn't done procrastinating on this project before spring abruptly summoned not only leaves in full bloom, but the birds, flowers and heat. The frogs croak their laughter in the night, as if they'd known all along about the inevitability of seasons and about the snakes that would abandon hibernation to eat them.

And then I have to deal with it: the sweat beading on my brow, the bugs crawling out from under the rocks. My allergies are in full bloom; beery weekend warriors cannon-ball into the lake screaming, mosquitoes and similar pests eat me as I tote my camera wheezily to the pollen-spewing wild flowers for a picture. This is what I wanted, I say. Dodging the wasps and spitting out spiderwebs I think, "ah. If I only had a million dollars, then I'd be happy".

Confessions of a 5-toed Sloth

1) . "D'ja crack it over your head?" asked my grade 11 chemistry teacher.  I was like, "no" and scoffed. But the on-coming blush was like, "yeah, I sure did".

The object in question was a hardcover chemistry textbook, and actually, I didn't crack it over my head (thank-you very much Mr.Blush). I slammed it repeatedly with enough force that I saw stars as the cover buckled.  I was that confused.

I really wanted to be a genius and this textbook was providing me with evidence that I probably wasn't one, and so I thought, "maybe a little brain damage will give me that extra shove into Einsteinian IQ".

2) So that last sentence wasn't true, it was a sarcastic "joke".  I really broke the book over my head because I have a neurosis that causes me to punish myself and I'm trying to make light of it. OK? Yeah, thanks.   Thanks for making me put it all out there, for all to see and judge me by.  As long as you feel the need for me to bear my bleeding soul, you should know that I don't use blunt objects any more to punish myself. I find words to be quite effectively painful. So there, happy?

3) I'm such a stupid, stupid jerk for being rude to my readers.  They hate me, and they should.

4) I took my expensive camera to the dump to take pictures (OK OK, my dad drove me).

It was nice to get out of the house.  It was a break from the usual (ie. nothing)

5) My daily "to-do" lists these days are sparse:
1) drink morning coffee.
2) wait for colleges to contact you.
3) go back to bed.

Wow. This post is super organized. I could, if I wanted to, refer you to section 5-3, the "going to bed" clause.  

6) But seriously, I'm 33, I'm divorced, I have no job, no house, no car and no clear 5 year plan (I'm also single ladies, and at times I fancy myself a genius. Call me). Instead of seeing this as a world of possibilities, I sit and stew. I'm dancing to the wrong song: Don't happy, be worry. And with a to-do list like that, I've got lots of time to dance.


Sometimes I try to change myself. Here's a method I've used that never works and always provides me a brain hernia:

1) Promise myself that I'll do a 180 degree turn, starting tomorrow.
2) Next day, make an unsustainable plan, fuel myself with coffee and ill-tempered motivation, and throw myself at it.
3) Seriously lose it at the first or second obstacle.
4) Blame them! Become rage.
5) Blame self. Become despair. Crumble.
6) Console with cake and deep, unflinching uneasiness. 

Starting tomorrow (oh, here we go), the agenda will be as follows:

1) Drink morning coffee
2) Examine what is keeping me inactive (fears, most likely)
3) Deconstruct them (are they valid fears?)
4) Wait for colleges to contact me.
5) Go to bed.

It's early in the morning here. Sections 6-1 or 5-1, the 'drinking morning coffee' clauses, will give you an indication of why I'm going to walk away from the computer now.

D'oh Canada.

This is the road home, and I've arrived. 

This post was originally to cover the detailed labyrinth of diligent and hair-splitting bureaucracy I've been wondering through, and with which the auspicious and noble-minded gooberment officials of Canada--duly elected by an educated and discerning populace--generously welcome and process their citizens, returning home from an extended sojourn.  But, as this blog is not politically motivated, my true heart and mind shall not here be revealed regarding the security-laden policies, written in the high-minded voice of learned lawyers rather than one established by time, and in a perceived atmosphere of mutual mistrust, tailored to maximize citizen resource expenditure for the purposes of due diligence in the efforts to avoid losses of their own.

Since I'll not yap about that, I'm almost at a loss of what to yap about, given that most of my time and energy here has so far been directed at Houdini-ing myself out of the locks of red-tape. 

1) Paudash has a lot of trees.

2) A worthwhile goal for me right now would be to enjoy this calm, and maybe root out some of the neurosis and get a clearer perspective of myself.

 3) Find a way to earn my keep, and then give the gooberment the opportunity to tax me their farce share.

4) Accept that the gooberment is what it is and that they can punish me but I cannot punish them. I'm not powerless in the face of them, but I almost am. We all are. Part of living one's life is jumping through their hoops when they hold them, or be punished. 

“The only difference between us and 1984 is we dress better”
--Terence Mckenna. 
. 

Going Home with Poopy Bum.

"Too Legit to Quit"  has been beaming through my head from the moment I got up yesterday.  This has been a spontaneous decision on the part of the weird gray thing in my skull, seemingly uninfluenced by any input. I don't even like this song. Does anybody else hear it, or is MC Hammer my personal prophet?

Perhaps I need medicine for this.
Perhaps I have jungle fever.
Can you get that from a forest?

Oh yes....the forest.
The story about how I find myself miles deep in the lonely sticks of Canada shall be now told:


(Some history: I'm a Canadian whose been living in S.Korea for the last 6 years but traveling home with a few stops---namely Turkey's Istanbul when this story begins).  

To travel is a hardy kind of fun. 
But growing tired of totting around my deflating bank account and constantly vomiting anus, the word "home" began summoning increasingly pleasant emotions. At the same time, my travel buddy, BM, seemed increasingly nostalgic about America. When cheap American-bound flights were advertised in the window of a travel agent's window, the cards appeared to be stacked in favor of return.We'd both been gone so long that the return would be a trip any way.

BM talked me into going to Chicago on my way back.  Deep-dish pizzas, live music, a baseball game, a place to stay, a museum of dinosaur bones, an aquarium with sharks. He made Chicago appeal to the nerd in me.  I was sold. 


The last thing of real beauty I saw in Istanbul was a nurse.  With her killer accent she said, "Please use this to defecate into", handing me a plastic see-through bottle. The doctor would later tell me with a weird robotic enthusiasm that my colon didn't seem to be bleeding. I was glad to leave on such a positive note.

***I've read that a good blog tends to omit bowel problems. If I am offending my readers just know that I'm more delighted to have readers than diligent not to offend them, sort of like a puppy whose excitement to have visitors unduly relaxes his bladder. Strange are the ways we express fondness for one another.***

On the plane to Chicago the next day, I had one of those rare moments with a perfect stranger. It went sort of like this:

Bump bump bump and also, rattle rattle. Turbulence frightens me and there was enough of it that I was actually getting weary (bored, even) of being afraid for my life. 'Oh, *yawn* I'm having those damned heart palpitations again because the plane is rattling its tail off *yawn*'. During one bout, a young woman simply said, "I am SO AFRAID". And my first thought was, "God, repress that crap".  But then my perception abruptly changed (because brains are weird things).  Suddenly, we were some kind of talking monkey (biological truth) sitting in chairs above the clouds (physical truth) fearing our own mortality in a reality we were born into without choice (existential truth). And I admired her simple, honest statement in the face of such complexity. 

We landed safely at Chicago's horrible airport. This is where BM and I parted ways. I decided to forgo fun in Chicago to simply go home and allow my body and rectum some recovery.  After a hand shake and well-wishes with him I bordered a train to Cleveland where my sister lives.


The train represented yet another night spent in transit. 
The circumstances of last week's sleep were like this: 2 nights on a floor, 1 in a bed, 2 in a bus, 1 in a plane, 1 in a train.

Next day: Mike & Ike's (chewable, fruit-flavored candies) isn't a totally unsatisfying breakfast, if you have enough quarters for the dispenser. They also coat your teeth and hence, are a passable substitute for brushing.

Bug-eyed, sleep-deprived, foul-boweled, and ungroomed, I chewed (and chewed) and tried to come to grips with the reverse culture-shock I was being slammed with.  All the open space, high prices, English and cellulite was blowing my mind.

Later, my sister picked me up and took me to her house. There,  my parent's, her, and my brother-in-law and I tried to have a pleasant reunion but their dogs licked me into hives and scratching. Plus I had a "distinct odor". Shower gels and detergent "fixed" it.

Despite being a vegan, she cooked me one of the best meat lasagnas I've ever had. I'd forgotten how much my family rocks.

Cleveland's clouds were pleasantly strange during my stay there

as well as on my way back home, to Bancroft (actually Paudash lake), Canada

and then I arrived...to a bed in a house situated on a quiet lake, with 2 loving parents, out in the sticks of Canada.

I have to figure out my next move. And it's scary. I'm 33 and my skill set seems most marketable in Korea, followed by just about anywhere else but here. But here is where I want to stay. 

Can a year or two of schooling fix this problem? 
It probably can...If I'm too legit to quit.