Voracious Vs Vulnerable

A few months into blogging and my unpublished list grows and grows. I get a feeling for a blog, then an idea fills in the spaces and I start tap tap tapping away enthusiastically. It flows and flows, from my brain to my fingers to the page. Baring my soul. Revealing my life away from cyberspace. Stripping away layers and layers of me, for once you peel away the surface, it’s the inner bits that hold all the passion. The passion gets me writing.

And then I stop. Reread what’s written. Wonder just who reads this blog amongst the millions out there. Ponder on how much of ‘me’ the virtual world needs put out there, among the dotsam and netsom. The blush rising up my cheeks is usually a good indicator I’ve gone one layer or more too deep. Too too much. It happens in real life too, but it’s teary eyes that indicate my vulnerability then, much to my horror.

Once again, my voracious need to communicate, in whatever medium suits, comes into direct conflict with my urge to lurk in the shadows. To “not let the bastards see your pain”. Though who these bastards are and why them seeing my pain would be so awful remains a mystery to me. Somedays I think this is paranoia, other days it feels utterly sensible. Nurture versus nature? Hormonal rushes? Or good old common sense?

I’ve always thought (hoped!) there’s a book to be written hiding inside of me. In my brain sits a tiny 1950’s style stenographer, taking notes and organising the information flowing in and out, taking details of my phone calls, sorting the wheat from the chaff, all the while managing to look as fabulous at the end of the day as she did in the morning (like I can never manage). What a huge job! If there is ever a book, she’ll get thanked first.

If only the battle between voracious versus vulnerable within ends with a white flag swung by both sides.

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Doing the Dewey

So the next Very Important Thing I have on my list, besides feeding the family, doing the school run, making sure they all have clean clothes…oh gawds I’m putting myself to sleep… feeding the pups and doing my actual homework, ya know, the usual, mundane but no less worthy than the extraordinary, realities of life as I know it, is – memorising the Dewey Decimal Classifications. I’ve gotta tell y’all, I am ridiculously excited about this!

Excited enough that I raced home from class and printed off a list of the Dewey Decimal System (by tens) from http:/library.mtsu.edu/dewey/dewey.htm and popped it on our kitchen table, which seems to be the hub of our home (for me, the rest of the family merely park there for food or to place notes from school requesting money). Thus I had no choice but to notice the Dewey list. Genius idea! Every time I walked past it (about a hundred times in one afternoon/evening), I’d work on a mnemonic to help me memorise the tens.

As a long time book and information lover slash library lingerer, I figured I’d have this all important for Librarians-to-be list stored to memory quicksticks. From the very first moment I stepped into a library I’ve been drawn to the 100’s – Metaphysics, Epistemology, Paranormal, Philosophical, Logic, Ethics, Ancient, Medieval, Oriental and Modern Western Philosophy’s. The 460’s take my fancy every time I decide I really should learn Spanish (that’s once every five years or so, so far, ugh, ¿por qué hago esto a mí mismo?!?).

Ever since my brood discovered Masterchef et al, I’ve been hanging out in the 640’s, desperately searching for something that will “plate well” and be loaded with hidden healthfulness, for a family cannot live on croquembouche and macarons alone, no matter what the kids say! Then there are the 700’s – for me, the kids and my sanity. Ooh, it’s school holidays for the next six weeks? Let’s go borrow some craft books from the library to keep us entertained. And sane. Did I mention that?

And don’t get me started on the fiction stacks, or as I call them, “My Idea of Heaven”.

I thought it would be a cinch to pop the Dewey Decimal Classification’s in my memory. But of course it isn’t; I wouldn’t be studying Library and Information Services at all if it was that simple. But my brain loves mnemonics so I’m sure it won’t take long before it will be selected and ordered in my brain. Then it will be acquired, accessioned, catalogued, end processed and shelved in, you guessed it, my brain. Perhaps also in the 020’s, 160’s, 370’s, 410’s and perhaps the 650’s (I’ll look into that).
I absolutely love big-thinking-able-to-make-mnemonics-and-memorise-things brains, they are THE coolest thing about being a human being.

In case you’re wondering, here’s where I’m at on my mnemonic Dewey Decimal tens – “General Phil Chology is Religious about Social Sciences and Language”. Which translates out of my brain into the world as – Generalities – 000; Philosophy and Psychology – 100; Religion – 200; Social Sciences – 300; Language – 400.

Only six more to go…

The spaces between us

What do married couples argue about when there’s nothing really to fight about but tiredness and the witching hour that kids thrive on? In our home it’s the dishes. And we don’t even do them! That’s the kids chore. Well, the older two. We’re still training the youngest to get his stacked at the sink, empty of food and toys.

It’s amusing (admittedly mildly at first, then immensely once my temper cools) at how many ‘discussions’ my beloved and I have about ‘the dishes’. Such a mundane thing. Yet the one topic guaranteed to spark off a blazing row. The kids slink off to their rooms, wisely. And we, the grown ups, keep trawling through our minds for that one reason to be crankier than the other. Museums of memories will be un-vaulted. I’m busier/tireder/more run down is a constant banter between us.

Life would be easier with a dishwasher. But then who would stack and unpack it?

The commonsensical thing to do would be to admit to tiredness and easy irritability at once upon arrival home. Our upbringings, long may they hold us hostage, beg to differ. There is infinite beauty in the differences between us all. I exalt in cultural differences, adore learning new customs and I wouldn’t be the cook I am if I couldn’t use pasta or whip up a stir fry. The wonder of humanity lays in the spaces between us. The celebration of the other. The learning of tolerance. Wonderful things!

Unless it’s about the dishes.

Ridiculous really

My New Years challenge this year (’cause resolutions never work for me, I’m not disciplined enough ugh, so I changed the wording) was to forego fiction for a year. A whole long year. I have shelves full of non fiction, I devour books, this should be easy peasy.

Except it’s not. Only four months in and I’m aching for anything but reality in my reads.

Fiction is a thing of wonder to me. How magnificent is a mind that can make up imaginary worlds. Whole lives. Conversations. Generation after generation in one book, from one mind! I’d like to be an author. Wouldn’t we all? To know that something out of my imagination sat on bookshelves all around the world. Simply wondrous.

For once I’m in tune with half the world. I’m enthralled by the show ‘Game of Thrones’. One teeny tiny problem ~ I must read the books! My NY challenge is about to get thrown out the window. I’m ok with it (that lack of self discipline again, I guess ‘resolution’ and ‘challenge’ aren’t really that different blah) but I cannot get through another week without a fantasy world conjured up by a fiction writer soothing me into my sleep.

George R. R Martin, I’m all yours.

Divine discontent

“I grow weary of this place” screams Magenta in my all time favourite movie The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I can recite the lines almost word for word. A whole movie! Who has the time….

But that one line floats into my mind more than any other. I feel that line more than any other. Take me home! It resonates deep within me. I’m a grown up, I’ve made my own homes for over 25 years. So where is this ‘home’ I long for? Why so weary with this place? And ohmygawd, please, do I have to pack everything again before I leave?