I have an OCD. It has to do with packing, or more accurately re-packing. As in, packing, and then packing again, and then packing again and then, just for funzees, packing again.
I cannot leave well enough alone. See, I am actually not the type to pack a lot, which you might have assumed from the first sentence in this post. No, my problem is that I have an overactive tidy-it-up gene. I want to be as light as possible. This leads to me packing heavily on the first pack, and then slowly tossing out things as “Too much bother” as time goes by. Sometimes to my horror when I realize I took out all my underwear and did not put any back in, or, like I did last time, forgetting my pajamas.
The problem is that my tidy-up-gene, is at all-out war with my “What if the Apocalypse happens?” gene
I am an economical person. I only leave in what I need, what is practical, what is likely to actually be needed as apposed to my imagined needs. (Like, say, a sudden hurricane hits and all humanity relies on whether or not I packed hand sanitizer to clean out their bacteria conducive wounds before they turn septic and eventually kill someone. Tada Bekki to the rescue with her trusty lighter, hand sanitizer and needle kit. What? I am an adventurous thinker.)
I also have a weird habit of packing way too early. I have 33 days until I leave and already I am itching to pre-pack. I even made a list, which is hilarious, because this is my 5th trip to England. You might say I could laminate the damned list by now. None-the-less, I create my happy list of carry-on and luggage needs. The carry-on is crucial for surviving excruciatingly long layovers. (9 hours in Germany qualifies) and I have pared down my initial Save the world! impulse list, somewhat.
Want a peek at what I think will be my final selections?
Mp3 Player. Charged and loaded with a mix of old and new music.
Kindle. Charged and loaded with Audio books and downloaded goodies from Amazon.com (I love Amazon so much. Their customer service is the best in the world)
Digital camera-SD Card/Batteries/Charger
Cross-stitch project (Union Jack is almost done. I plan to work on the US flag next)
1 change of clothing (comfy)
Hard candy/Chewing gum (For plugged up ears)
Small sewing kit
Deck of cards
Mini-lap-quilt/carry strap (Laugh all you want..this sucker has saved me too many times to count)
Deodorant/Light (very light) body spray
Safety pins (3)
Clothing ( 4-5 complete outfits, 1 skirt and nice dressy shirt, and pajamas)
These solemn, black-cloaked reasons
that wing featherless from the sky,
Land, less than gracefully, against my thigh
and yell with ceaseless voices,
about how I should
look for more than momentary
and anticlimactic lurching about.
Meanwhile my practicality
midway between myself
and the door.
He knows me too damned well,
and proves it by locking the window
just in case I look for backup.
I give my sensibilities
the hairy eyeball.
Who asked you anyway.
*Note: I have no idea. Don’t ask. I live in my head and thus, all my thoughts have images. If you think this sounds strange, you should see it from where I am standing.*
It just is. Seriously. Completely hot. A man with this much depth. A man who knows beauty, understands worth, and is articulate to the point of awe. Hot Damn! I don’t look at looks. I could care less about income. A man who thinks for himself, knows what he really wants, and actually likes a woman who thinks and reads? SEXY AS HELL.
I have been plotting my trip to England. (This will be my 5th trip) and this time it appears I will be flying in by way of Germany instead of my usual Amsterdam. Now, I have always wanted to see Germany. Probably has something to do with being part German. From the Surnames: Wolf, Schlafke, Schmehl, in my Genealogy, I can imagine that is pretty easy to spot. (I am also Part Irish, Part English, Part Indian and Part Dutch, but that’s a story for another time. They say mutts are friendlier)
Anyway, my layover is for like 8 HOURS. I am considering something nuts. Something Insane. Something possibly very stupid. I am considering…going outside the airport. I KNOW, but I reaaaallly want to be able to say I ate in Germany. Not in an airport in Germany, but in ACTUAL Germany. The beauty of the thing is that, even though I do not speak German, someone I know lives there. She speaks German (Mostly because she IS German) It all depends on if she feels up to meeting with me, considering she and I have never met in person, this could be interesting. I am determined to go, even if she cannot join me. Might be slightly less scared if someone was with me who understood my innate fear of getting stranded/lost/completely missing my flight. (Yes, I am the worst worrywart ever made)
I want to take photos and hang out for a short period of time and be able to add Germany to my incredibly short list of Countries I have been.
Canada (Since I grew up in Ohio, I can barely count this one.)
Yeah, that’s it. I suck.
I need more culture.
In case you are wondering: this is the list of places I WANT to go:
Australia (I have at least 8 friends who live there. I seem to bond with people from down under, who knew?)
Ireland-Specifically Ramelton, Co. Donegal Where my great grandpa came from.
Korea (I watch to much K drama)
Manchu Picchu in Peru.
India (To visit my Moondoggie Mayank)
Canada (because I want to see more)
I have a lot of desire to go places I have never been. The travel bug hit me in my 30′s but I am not planning on stopping until I am in my 80′s.
36 days to go.
Patience: the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.
Impatience: the tendency to be impatient; irritability or restlessness.
A man who is a master of patience is master of everything else.
I have a lack of trust in impatience. Impatient people hear very little. They see very little. They understand, very little. I use to be impatient in my youth, so I am not superior in my thinking, merely wise, in my lessons. I have lost opportunities to impatience. I have lost connections I might have had. Friends who might not have become enemies, had I only taken the needed painstaking time, to understand them. I have learned that anger is quick. Kindness is slow, it is methodical. It is a thinking pause that flowers into a lasting understanding. Patience, is, and will always be, a gift for those who understand the meaning and strength in it.
I see people impatient all the time. At traffic lights they are the ones that go into the street before the light has changed to Red. That drive faster when the light is yellow. Who cannot understand the people who wait at the light for the correct color to come. They wonder if they do not realize that time is passing them by, and they hurry, to meet up with their fate.
There is a saying “Seize the day” people think it is telling them to hurry. It is not. It is, in reality, telling them to wait. It is telling them to be patient. Being patient is not the same as being slow, or being uncertain. It is not the same as missing out. It is waiting for the right moment. The correct moment, to act. To seize the day.
The first time I learned patience I made a present for someone. It was a huge Pansy cross-stitch, and I chose it, because I wanted to do my first Big project, but also, underneath the rest, was a need to finally get a handle on my temper. I needed to learn how to go slowly. How to think things through. How to allow the things that upset to become things I contemplated, rather than things I reacted to unthinking. My mouth moves too fast and sometimes, I miss things that would make it still. I learned that with each patient stitch I made in the project I had undertaken.
If I hurried, I learned that stitches got placed in the wrong place and whole sections, complete hours of work, would falter under the correcting of a single mistake. I can never understand why anyone would choose to stitch anything but counted cross-stitch. Cross-stitch that is color-coded for you is missing the element of thinking, of focus. The delightful making of something that you cannot just stitch without concentrating on your task is something I cannot explain to others. It is a joy that comes from patience.
As I get older I learn to love patience even more. I am going to be 40 soon and I will look back at my life and think of how quickly it all went. Why hurry? Instead I am learning the joy in paying attention. Pausing. Listening. Having patience. I am not in a hurry. I find so much more living in taking my time.
When I watch the women printing at the Kiosk at work I try to understand their impatience. They wait 20 seconds and are upset that the printer has not already begun the work they have requested of it. They wait 20 seconds more and then generally exclaim in relief saying “Finally!” when it begins to rev up for the printing. I find this sad. 40 seconds seems like forever to people these days. They have done tests to see how long peoples perceptions of time are with the reality of it. Only to find that 5 minutes, to most people feels like 10-15 minutes. 10-15 feels like 30. An hour feels like 2 hours and so on. People have lost the knowledge of the value in waiting. They have forgotten how to be patient, and thus, they lose the ability to know when it is time to act. When the time is right for “Seizing the day” they do not understand that with each thing in this world, there is a time, there is a moment, when everything is waiting for them. If only they could but wait and pass up the things that are not worthy of them. To wait for those things that are. To be patient and know that the thing they need will come. It will find them. They need only ask the universe for it, and it will find them when it is time.
This is not just patience. That is faith.
Today is my day off. I treat my days off like they are ice cream. I never want them to end, but they always do, so I am left staring into the bowl of my day with a frown wondering where all the awesome went. Sigh*
While I love my days off. I never seem to get much done on them. Mostly because I am the type that loves to sleep. I mean, I am champion at pretending that the sun does not exist. What? That thing in my face is not the sun, nope. That is just liquid moonlight. Yuppers. I have lots of time to sleep. What? Do I want to go shopping with you? It’s in the middle of the night, of course not. What? You say it’s 12 noon? Um….zzzzzzz.
Things I noticed about myself today:
I am addicted to tarot sites. It’s kinda pathetic, since any reading I do not like I tend to ignore anyway, but I click on the little buggers compulsively. I apply none of it to my decision making and I don’t really consult it the way some people do before (for example) naming their first born. I just like thinking that the fates have a plan, even if half the time I decide to ignore it when it gives me advice. Kinda like my family.
I really do need to cut back on the rocks. I collect rocks compulsively. I hear it is a Capricorn thing, and I am ok with that, but having 19 of the little buggers is starting to make people look at me funny. Maybe it’s because I have them on my side table where people usually keep their jewelry and other cool stuff. Me, I don’t care for jewelry (Although I like to wear at least one ring all the time) and I am not much for knick knacks (though one could probably state a good case for my rocks being such) Anyway, I have a rock for every place I have ever been. I have considered naming them, but my sister gave me such a disturbed look I pretended it was just a joke. heh. (We might not want to tell her I named my computer after my dad and Pixar Character Wall-e)
Having an active quirky sock collection is expensive. Mostly because my quirky socks get holes in them and then I have to buy a new pair. DAMMIT. Why are these suckers so much less wearable. Is there some clause in the universe that says the quirky socks shall get holes faster than any other socks? I have a couple pairs of those white boring sports socks. Those suckers last 300 years, but my thin cotton ankle socks are gone within a few months tops. (It doesn’t help that all the quirkiest socks tend to be $1-$5 tops in price) What? This is serious. I need these things. Otherwise my life would be an endless repetition of work and home in the same damned clothes every single day. Some women like lingerie in a rainbow of colors. Me? I prefer the quirky sock.
No matter how hard I try to like soup. I hate the stuff. Tomato soup makes me want a taco. Chicken noodle tastes like a metal can. Cream of anything makes me feel like I am drinking chewy milk. I try, because sometimes soup smells delish, but I just cannot see me eating it on a regular basis. Nope. I prefer my potato in the jacket and covered in butter.
Cards from another country beat out other cards. It’s not just the glee of getting something that traveled far away or came from somewhere you long to be. It is the stamps on the front, the card design that is guaranteed to not be anything you have already seen at the local store, and the whole someone sent me a card from England, Australia, Ireland (Insert country here). I love getting mail from anywhere, but getting it from somewhere not HERE. Is just plain awesome.
My daughter is me but even more annoying. At least, that is what I tell myself. She’s cheeky. She’s creative. She makes me roll my eyes and get exasperated by her disregard for her elders (I use that one whenever I can, but it never works. I mumble something about 18 hours of labor and she just laughs. Little brat) You know how mothers curse their kids with that saying? “I hope you have one just like you!” Yeah, well…well. DAMN. I pretend I hate it, but it is soo much fun having a daughter who you get along with and understand pretty much all the time. Although, all my negative personality traits are there as well. Those I pretend she got from her dad.
Lastly, I really do have too many things I am interested in. I love so many things. I want to learn everything. Do everything. See, photograph, write about. EVERYTHING. I am insatiable in my pursuit of the interesting. I just have nothing I am focused on. I am a dabbler. I dabble. I need to pick a life interest, but I am just too interested in everything to pick one I like best. Maybe I should consult the tarot for advice. (Snicker)