Velveteen Mind

Because I'm a Joyful Girl

I see pressure mounting online.  Pressure to be popular.  Pressure to be seen.  Pressure to get published.  Pressure to be cool.  Pressure to be known.  Pressure to prioritize.  Pressure to understand.

Pressure to answer the question:  Why do I do it?

I've made no secret of the fact that I am busy right now.  I am spread thin.  But I am addressing these pressures and I am watching you as you do the same.

I have so much to say about this and want to say it all right now right now right now.  But until BlogHer becomes just one more thing in the distant past of 2008 and the distant future of 2009, I still have things to take care of first.

And yet...

I can answer these pressures just a little bit right here and right now.  I can tell you why I do it.  And you may choose to believe me or not. 

Listen to this song.  Read the lyrics.  And believe me when I say that I do it for the joy it brings.  I do it because I'm a joyful girl.

Joyful Girl - Ani DiFranco
  i do it for the joy it brings
because i'm a joyful girl
because the world owes me nothing
and we owe each other the world
i do it because it's the least i can do
i do it because i learned it from you
and i do it just because i want to
because i want to
everything i do is judged
and they mostly get it wrong
but oh well
'cuz the bathroom mirror has not budged
and the woman who lives there can tell
the truth from the stuff that they say
and she looks me in the eye
and says would you prefer the easy way
no, well o.k. then
don't cry
i wonder if everything i do
i do instead
of something i want to do more
the question fills my head
i know there's no grand plan here
this is just the way it goes
when everything else seems unclear
i guess at least i know
i do it for the joy it brings
because i'm a joyful girl
because the world owes me nothing
and we owe each other the world
i do it because it's the least i can do
i do it because i learned it from you
and i do it just because i want to
because i want to

© 1996 ani difranco / righteous babe music

Joyful Girl from Canon and Living in Clip

*Feed readers and email people, you are missing out because I've got your song right here!  Must come visit and listen.

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I Am Your Very Own Dichotomy.

Occasionally, I just walk out of the house and leave the family to fend for themselves.  I grab my purse, my phone, and my keys, yell something like, "Good luck, suckers!" over my shoulder, and hit the road.

I am a road person.

The other night, I did just that.  It had not been a particularly difficult day, but it had been a long couple of weeks.  Maguire came home from work and my heart unexpectedly slipped out the door behind him as he entered.  I had no choice but to follow.

I haven't mentioned this, but I have a new car.  A "new to me" car.  Guess what it is?  You'll never guess.  Moosh?  You might know.

It's a white Volvo V70 wagon.  My dream car. 

Of course, it is not new.  I bought it for very close to an even trade for the land yacht that was my Dad's old emerald green Lincoln Towncar.  I suspect there is a hamster in the engine running around frantically taping everything together, laughing in a bewildered way about how I could be so blinded by the boxy loveliness so as to not notice that I was being taken...  but it is mine.  I finally have my own car again.

And I work it hard.  In particular, I work the CD player.  Haven't had one of those in years.

The soundtrack for my solo escape road trip along the Mississippi Gulf Coast beaches the other evening was Ani DiFranco's Canon, a 2-disc compilation of some of her best songs.  My husband introduced me to Ani DiFranco in college and I was sold immediately and ever since.  One of the only performers I never tire of, and I get tired of music shamefully fast.

Fueled on by Ani's voice berating government, penises, and Righteous Babes who have their panties on a little too tight, I made my way along the scenic beach highway.  One thing I love about the Mississippi Gulf Coast is that from Gulfport to Bay St. Louis, there are almost no structures built on the beach-side of the highway.  Drivers are afforded unobstructed views of the water for miles.

This makes for a fine brainstorming environment.  I busy part of my mind with driving, just enough to keep the random, distracting noise at bay, and leave the rest of my mind to solve solve solve.

On this particular evening, I was unaware of any unresolved issues for which I was setting out to solve.  However, an hour into the drive, just as I was making it across the Bay St. Louis bridge from Pass Christian, the tears began to fall.

They were those hot tears, those silent tears, the ones that just drop drop drop.

The ones that surprise you.  The ones that have been waiting, silently, patiently, and of which you were too busy to be aware.  Until they find the break.

I would love to be able to tell you why I was crying.  I do not know.  It was our internal release valve, I think.   No one thing in particular, it was just time to relieve some pressure.

So I drove.  And I cried.  And I listened to Ani DiFranco.

I thought about how I never listen to music anymore.  Since living in New Orleans, I have become an avid talk radio listener.  It started with the New Orleans station WRBH, Radio for the  Blind and Print Handicap.  They would read books on air, as well as magazine articles, but my favorite was the show on which they read the drugstore ads.  Literally.  It was hilarious.

The best show was on a day when a little old lady was reading the Rite Aid ads and said, "Let's see, you can get 300 count Vitamin C for...  let me see...  oh, shoot, I can't read that small print.  Just go in and tell them you want the Vitamin C deal."  The irony was so sweet, I can't even tell you.  I just wanted to kiss her.

Nevertheless, it hooked me on talk radio.  Now I listen to shows like Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh.  They are on when I am in the car during the day, so they are my guys.  I don't always agree with their politics, but I am never disappointed in the discussion.  I welcome the questions they force me to consider.

Ani DiFranco is a master at that.  She does not disguise her politics and pleads for you to open your eyes.  She makes me face social problems I might otherwise not consider.  She invites me to question my beliefs.

Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh might be two of the most conservative voices in the media today.

Ani DiFranco might be one of the most liberal voices in the greater media today.

They share my ear equally.

They propel my voice equally.

And their opinions could not be more disparate.

“The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.” 
F. Scott Fitzgerald

I see the discussions in my comments sections regarding politics.  You ask each other, "Is it possible to be socially liberal and fiscally conservative?"  "Are not conservativism and liberalism mutually exclusive?"  "How can you straddle this fence?"

These questions can easily apply well beyond the political boundaries.

When I posted the photo of my shoes in Summer Shoe Choices:  I Am a Punk Rock Florida Retiree, I wasn't really asking you what shoes I should wear to San Francisco.  I was sharing with you the dichotomy that is me.  That is all of us.

We are so much more than labels.  We are so much more than conservatives and liberals, Rebublicans and Democrats, mothers and wives, bloggers and writers, consumers and marketers.

So I listen to Glenn Beck with ears wide open.  And I savor the moments when I listen to Ani DiFranco, as I feel her words physically enter my heart.

"I use my dress to wipe up my drink.  I care less and less what people think." 

Ani DiFranco, Dilate

I drove along the beach as evening turned to night, and I watched the wind blow thin streams of sand across the road.  My headlights illuminated the sand as though it was fog.  I was driving through time itself. 

I drove along the waterline of Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, and I experienced all that is splendor and desolation.  Two years after Hurricane Katrina and one lot will be filled to the property lines with a magnificent reproduction of a Southern plantation home while the next lot will hold a FEMA trailer with a spray-painted plywood sign near the road that reads, "AllState and State Farm:  The Axis of Evil."

This is not my political statement.  This is not about that. 

This is about the complex labyrinth that is us.

And sometimes it makes me feel as though I am split down the middle.

Sometimes it makes me cry.

Sometimes it makes me rejoice.

Today it makes me reach out.  For no reason other than because I can.

*********

Related Posts:
Glenn Beck's Responsibility Bead-Down.  I'm In.
Who's Afraid of the Queen of Spain?
Camille Was a Lady.  Katrina Was a Bitch.

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What do you have on *your* plate?

I received no less than three emails today from unrelated people saying more or less the same thing:

"You know the [fill in the name of project here] we discussed?  We need to move forward on that soon.  Hello?"

Look people, in case you haven't caught on, yet, I will say "yes" to anything.  Want me to write for your site?  Sure, send me the access code!  Want me to help you redesign your blog even though I have no design skills?  Absolutely, let's brainstorm!  Want me to give birth to your baby?  No problem, I shoot 'em out like a bazooka.

Okay, I'm actually a little more picky than that, but you get the idea.

Inevitably, however, some things slip through the cracks.  Conference calls, for instance.  Um, could you all just call me?  Yeah, the entire conference.  You call me as a group.  No?  That's not the way it works?  Humpf.

Wait, you wanted that contract signed?  I still haven't unpacked my printer.  Could you just sort of forge my signature?  This email can serve as my permission for you to do so.  What?  Legal who?  Grrrrr.

Who is supposed to pay taxes again?  I think I paid those last year.  What?  Every year?  Um, let me get back to you on that one.

What do you mean you haven't eaten lunch today?  Didn't your 20 month old brother prepare a nutritious meal for you from the one cabinet he can reach?  What?  It only had an empty box of cereal in it and an old cereal bar wrapper?  Didn't you go grocery shopping, my dear sweet 3 year old?  What exactly do you think that tricycle is for, kid?

Maybe I am exaggerating a bit.  But that's how it feels sometimes.

...Good God... (rereading this post so far...)

I think I've just written a textbook mommyblog post.

I am Mommyblogger.  Hear me snore!

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

A post about overextending myself.  Huh.  That's original.

Did I mention I've only been sleeping three hours a night?  Not for lack of trying, either.  And I was actually entertaining the idea of having a third child.  I am one cah-ray-zee lady.

So, consider this my open letter to all of you to whom I have made promises since signing back online in March.  I have received your emails.  I have received your calls.  I have received your contracts.  I have received your psychic messages wishing me focus and drive and the ability to follow-through.  I hear you.

I'm on it.  And I really do mean that.  I meant it when I said I wanted to [fill in whatever it is that I said I wanted to do].  I've just gotten a little distracted. 

But now?  I'm on it.

Right after I take a nap.
Love,
Megan

PS-- This whole over-extending ourselves thing?  That is precisely why I have begun the launch of Blog Nosh Magazine.  I want to reward all of us for keeping something of value on our own blogs.   Even if that means writing something brilliant that only your audience of 20 will read.

That's where Blog Nosh Magazine will come in.  Make it good.  Make it solid.  Make it for yourself.  We'll help you find the audience.  Just do it for you, first and foremost.

That's why I overextend myself.  At the end of the day, I get something of great value out of every single project to which I commit, even if that something is helping others. 

It is just that today was one of those really long days.

And I could have sworn it was Friday.

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Less Than Zero

We ran out of money yesterday.

Just plumb ran out.

I know my husband won't like me writing about this, but I also know how much comfort I find in reading about the non-June Cleaver-esque lives of so many other moms online.  I know that shining light on the reality of today's family is a healthy thing, albeit painful.

So, yeah, we ran out of money.  Ever happen to you?

We usually keep enough cash in our checking account to cover two months' bills, then another three months' worth holed up in an online savings account that is none too easy to access.  In addition to that, I have our checking account backed up with an overdraft plan that bleeds over to a credit card, just in case.

We'll see just how effectively that overdraft plan works now, won't we?  Man, I want to be sick.

How did this happen?  It's actually quite simple. 

We had a handful of unusual expenses this month, including paying to have the interior of our house painted.  Usually, I do that kind of thing myself, but I've never tried it with two toddlers hanging off of the ladder beneath me, so I only made it as far as the bedrooms and one bathroom before I had to hire professional help.  That professional help asked to be paid before the job was finished (I know, I know) and when he went to cash the check yesterday, the bank wouldn't honor it.

Because there was no money in the account.  Less than no money.

What the? 

I checked our account online and was surprised to see that two automatic deposits that should have posted had failed to post.  What would have cushioned our account with a reasonable amount of money had failed to appear, leaving us caught having cut it far too close this month.

And that is the point.  Not that two deposits didn't show up, but that I let us get into a situation where two deposits not showing up could leave us in the red.  Literally.  There is red color glaring at me from my account balance page.

Good grief.

So I now find myself spending my weekend readjusting our budget and reassessing our financial lives.  Hunting down all of our latte factors and fighting every tendency to reconsider our choice for me to be a stay-at-home mom, although sometimes I think I do qualify as a work-at-home mom.

Sacrifices are to be made.  The altar is being readied.  I am just doing my best to keep myself from donning the virginal white dress and being the sacrifice.

The irony is that this pinch actually feels good.

With cash in our wallets for everyday expenses having been replaced by a debit card, I think we lose sight of how much money we are spending day in and day out.  For a while now, I have been considering creating "cash envelopes" designated for specific weekly expenses, like my husband's work lunches or my all-too-frequent stops at Sonic for a Diet Coke with cranberry juice.  Or, even more effective, an envelope of a very specific amount of cash to take to the grocery store.

I can't even imagine going to the grocery store with a strict budget in mind.  Perhaps arriving at the checkout and not being able to pay for that extra box of cereal bars would open my eyes.

Therefore, I sort of welcome wake-up calls such as this.  Yes, it is painful.  It is absolutely embarrassing.  But we have made it through much worse than this and we will learn from it.  I insist on that.

But, in the meantime, this so sucks.  I am dreading opening up all of my budget files and analyzing where our money has been going.  I am fearful of the almost-certain realization that we are spending too much.  I hate admitting when I've made a mistake.  Yeah, I'm that girl.

And I've made a mistake.

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Related Posts:

I Am a Have but I Happen to Have Not

Hierarchy of Suffering.  Who wins?

 

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Death Defying Acts

Three months of silence.  More like four.  No explanations.  Just *poof* and this site went silent. 

Breaking the cardinal rule of blogging:  Thou shalt not cease to blog less your hands fall off and your toes lose their dexterity.

Tempt the gods and thou shalt lose all subscribers and BlogHer Ads will begin to ask, "Why do we advertise on a stale site that is getting less than 100 hits a day, again?"

Yet, I shook my fist at the blogging heavens and dared shout, "I need to live an inarticulate life for a minute!  Feedburner be damned!"

A death defying act for a blogger.

Yet I needed to breathe some life back into my life there.

And I needed to catch my breath because it had been knocked right out of me.

~~~

November.

After almost exactly two years of living in my parents' guest house, rebuilding our lives from the post-Katrina foundation up, we stumbled across a little house with our name on it.   By the grace of God's long finger that was Katrina insurance claims, we happened to have a savings account big enough with our name on it, as well, and decided to buy that house.

Welcome to the whirlwind.  My life is defined by the winds.

We found the house on a Saturday night, on the way home from a family pizza night in Ocean Springs, Mississippi.  A fluke, we took one street home differently, mere blocks from my parents' home.  A "For Sale" sign that couldn't have been there more than a couple of days made us stop.  With nothing more than moonlight to illuminate the house, I stepped into the backyard. 

I exhaled. 

I did not realize I had been holding my breath.

For how long had I been holding my breath?

Years.

Death defying.  Hope.

We made an offer on the house less than 24 hours later.  Two offers later and we have the house within hours of first seeing it. 

The wind howls under the eaves of our new bedroom window. 
Had I known that, I could not have negotiated so fearlessly.

Death defying.  Courage.

We need a mortgage.

Time to reopen my eBay store.  Welcome to online holiday sales hell.  Where's the coffee in this joint?

~~~

December.

Work.  Work.  Work.

The United States Post Office is my best friend and my worst enemy.

The eBay logo is beginning to make me nauseous.  However, for some reason, the eBay logo makes our mortgage company happy and we get the loan.

Time to celebrate.  My birthday is December 16.  I'm 31.  Is that right?  When did that happen?

The morning of the 16th and the boys go out to buy me a present because, hey, who knew it was my birthday?  Anxiously anticipating the glorious choices Pants and Goose are sure to make at Big Lots (holla!), I wait on the couch with a cup of coffee.  My eBay store will be closed in a couple of days so as to ensure timely holiday package delivery and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The light at the end of another tunnel has been extinguished.  As I wait for my gifts, my mother walks into the guest house to tell me that our friend has killed himself only hours before.

Death defying.  No, not after all.

A friend.  A brother.  A son.  A father to a son only months older than Pants.

When I was pregnant with Pants, we used to visit from New Orleans and our friend used to bring his baby boy over so that I could just hold a baby, damn it!  The patience of a pregnant first time mother is thin when it comes to touching the soft reward of baby skin.

Now that baby boy has lost his father.  His mother has been absent for years, more or less.  The family asks if I will keep that baby boy while they try to make sense of this sudden void.

He is three.  He does not know nor understand.

So we play.  What else can we do?

Death defying.  Faith.

I fear every day that he will ask about his dad.  Every time Pants or Goose talk about their own dad, my stomach drops and I look at this baby boy whose father let me hold him, horde him, while I waited for my own baby boy.  While I felt my own growing boy kick this loving young father's son as he squashed my straining belly under his delicious baby weight.

Death defying.  Love.

The weeks pass.  The computer falls away, literally and figuratively. 

~~~

January.

We are home. 

That baby boy, that father's son, is gone now.  His mother has whisked him away.  Justice must be blind, after all.

I inhale my own life.  And the days pass.

Death defying.  Fortitude.

~~~

February.

No television.  No internet.

Words that have not crossed my mind in months:

Stats.
Feed count.
Technorati.
Social networking.
Rank.
Meme.
Google.
Links.
Incoming.

Death defying.  Silence.

~~~

March.

Life is green. 

The soles of my sons' feet are dirty.  Their faces are smeared.   Their smiles are clear.

There are birds in our yard.  We welcome them, feed them, beg them to fear not.  We will provide.

I turn the computer back on.  But only for a moment.  My priorities are different.  My needs are different.   My goals are different.

Yet I can't help but notice that there are birds of a different feather in my computer.  Looking.  Pecking at the piles of debris.  Wondering if anyone lives here now, after all this time.  If anyone will provide.

I am home again.  I will provide. 

But life is green.  And I have lavender, rosemary, ivy, and a Bottlebrush tree to plant today.   

Death defying.  Life.

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