Indecisive Peach

I leave tomorrow for Arizona to give my presentation on the ethos of blogging. Currently, I’m huddling in an oversized Afghan-esqe sweater, shivering, and praying to an extensive list of gods of all shapes and sizes that I’m not coming down with a cold. Because nothing says authoritative vixen like a hacking into a hanky.

It’s been a suspicion for a couple of days. I’ve waved it off by thinking that my sniffles must be just a repercussion from the temperature dipping into high 60s. BRRR.

I joke that this is still swimming weather in Germany to J, but my Mom expressed concern the other day. “You know, this is why Germans are depressed. No sun. Cold weather. You’re going to be in trouble,” she murmered. I think she’s right.

While not exceptionally sun-worshipping, I’ve enjoyed the climate in the Southwest immensely. I told her too that I since know the other side of the coin I might even be more prone to depression next year when I look up into a fogged grey sky… for weeks at a time. My American optimism wonders though if perhaps the lack of Vitamin D will help me fit right back in as I become a staid, grumbling member of the umbrella toting population.

Thank god it’s 91 in Phoenix.

There are a lot of times in my life when I wonder how exactly I get myself in certain situations. Sometimes it’s a bad choice; sometimes it’s the haphazard goofiness that I attribute to a glitch in my personality. It teeters on the classic literary fatal flaw.

Take the choreographed belly-dancing that I mentioned a couple of posts down. A couple of weekends ago, I found myself in a small dark basement lighted only by a multicolored semi-strobe light and fog machines. Drink in hand, I sat watching two girls in a faux white trash outfit with Clockwork Orange makeup do a belly dance routine to a strangely remixed, yet supposedly “cool” music.

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Me: I don’t even know where to start.
Me: Choreographed belly dancing is all I can say.
Me: And a points system.
Me: And I’m not even sure where I am on the point system!
E: Okay and…what?
E: Hmm…Well it sounds like a very interesting night.
Me: All I know is that it seemed like a complicated point system.

I could be kicking the ground in slight dismay, but you know, I won’t. But I had an interesting thought experiment today. This blog posted an article about how the writer, as an introvert, tried to revert this clause in his genetic makeup by taking the chance to say, “Yes”, for a change.

Now when I say yes, I don’t mean the “Yes, I will do your laundry” or “Yes, I would love to pick up the dog doo for you” I mean the yes that accompanies opportunities, chances, and experiences that you might not feel comfortable taking on a day to day basis. Basically, you open yourself up to paths you might not see.

Today at work I got asked by my coworkers if I wanted to join them for a trip to a psychic fair tomorrow. I breathed in, mentally debating, and as my lips formed the N – I don’t have the money, don’t really know some of the people going – I thought of this post, and said, “Yes.” I debated the money and figured I would come up with something, swept up in planning the logistics with them. I would figure it out.

I come home to a refund check in the mail from school. The universe says yes, too.

His post not only talks about the positive experiences, which fill him with unexpected pleasure, but admits that it’s the negative ones are ones he learned the most from.

For too long, fear of failure held me back. Failure itself didn’t hold me back — the fear of it did. When I actually try something and fail, I generally get right back up and do it again, but better the second time. I pursue it until I succeed. But often I convince myself that I can’t do something because I’m going to fail at it, so I don’t even bother to try.

Holding on to this theory for the next two days, I will think that I will learn something from the last two weeks too; I’m just not sure I can see it all yet.

A look, a gasp, a quick jab into J’s ribs, returned with a reply gasp. Our gasps were not related.

“Oh man,” I duck into an aisle, suddenly in a Metal Gear Solid mode.

“Where did you go?” is plaintively yelled after me.

One arm reaches from behind a wooden display case and yanks a black t-shirt and its wearer into the aisle.

“You have to trust me.”
“What the -?” is mumbled into thin air.

Turn, lean against display, turn, walk straight toward the door, eyes kept straight ahead, purposeful steps. A slow plodding is heard behind me. “Can you just – “

A snap of the head and a low voice, “Truuuuuuuuuuust me.”
A sigh.

Out of the doors, into the parking lot, sidestep in front of the column, walk against the building, again – with purposeful steps. Normal, casual steps behind me, “What the hell?”

Back in normal operation and with no flashing red lights, “See…that was that guy that I went to coffee with…that online dude. The mullet. The painful sideburns.”
“Oh. Yeah…So?”
“He thought I was stellar…. I…did not return the sentiment.”
“That doesn’t explain -”
“He was the one that told me that drinking was a turn off and proceeded to tell me how wasted he got in Turkey. He then e-mailed me wanting to ‘do dinner’. Heavens to Betsy. So…I, um, ignored him. Repeatedly.”
A blank stare.

Hissing, “This is why internet dating is bad. BAD!”

It has been several weeks since my aura reading was graciously given to me by Pearl and it’s that length of time that degrades something exciting into something that keeps getting pushed off. I have four pages of notes from the hour and half long session which has sat on my shelf and has been glowering at me because somewhere there was a scribble that said, “Blog this.” Cat pictures seemed so much easier.

But now, faced with the voice that says, you should be preparing the conference PowerPoint, or reading about psychoanalysis, or start reading that damned Critical Cyber-culture Studies book, so I might do the review that is due on Friday… blogging this seemed to be so much saner of a choice.

This is a long one. I warn you.
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