Attention Deficit Disorder

I must have A.D.D. I'm sitting here at my desk with the sole intention of preparing for classes next week (after a week of not being able to get to my computer thanks to my being essentially locked out of my office by my older son), but I'm not working on that. I'm reading blogs that I've neglected and writing my own.

Sad about Peter Jennings, isn't it? I'm reminded a bit of my father because we used to always watch the Evening News over dinner.

Speaking of dinner, I've no idea what to cook tonight.

Where was I? Oh yes, several things have been on my mind. Like television. As in the death of Nate on Six Feet Under and the end of Queer as Folk. Once again, I'm faced with my now-getting-ridiculous hatred of endings, separation. I practically sobbed when the creators killed their main character in SFU and cried all through this last episode surrounding the funeral. I'm extremely sorry to see QAF go especially in this current day of anti-gay sentiment. Queer Eye for the Straight Guy does NOT cut the mustard.

Don't say it, I'm a complete fool for fiction, I know. I won't argue the point. I truly enjoy the ongoing story - love the characters, the plots, the escapism, the reflection. Sadly, there is no comparable drama on the air right now. There isn't any dramatic series as focused on interpersonal relationships as those two have been. There's lots of murder going on now, lots of reality crap, lots of sitcoms and news programs...but the complex adult family drama? If there is one and I'm not aware, please enlighten me.

Moving a bit inward...to an itch on my belly button. I have an innie. My sister's an outtie. I think the spelling's wrong on those. Wait, I need a coke. Make it a Diet Coke...I've gained another five pounds over the summer, damn it. Too much lying about. Oops...M needs me to fiddle with Eye Toy on the playstation. Be back.

Back.

What bothered me about the death of Nate was the sense of the incomplete life. The character constantly struggled to be happy, to reach a state of personal peace, and he never got there other than through death. Both my parents chased similar states throughout their lives and were about as successful as the character of Nate. Both died...incomplete. I vowed at each death to do more to satisfy my own personal goals...and here I am, feeling incomplete. Undone. If I die tomorrow or a year from now or even five, what then?

What is it I'm trying to accomplish, really (other than how to stretch this last week of summer into a month - scanning my girlfriend's Civ Pro notes will be a help)?

This past weekend brought up the same query (the above query about my accomplishments, not the query as to how to stretch out my week) as I attended with D his high school reunion. He's quite a bit older than me, so don't fall over when I say it was his forty-year reunion. We were teased mercilessly because my husband was the only one there with a four-year old child that wasn't his grandchild. While he chatted with everyone, I felt like I was in a bit of a time warp. Next door to us was Class of 1985 reunion, only a few years off my '82. When I walked out to call our babysitter, I could hear on one side the music of Berlin and on the other, the music of the Beach Boys. At my huband's reunion, there was a table with the names of people who passed on, their high school pictures, faces ready to battle the world. How fast it all goes! How little time we have to figure out what we want, get out there and get it done!

I'm frustrated with the fuzziness of my job...a writer? A teacher? A mother? Is a little of everything okay with me? Will I end tomorrow, sorry?

Today, I had lunch with my sister-in-law at her Christian Women's Club. I'm always happy to go to be with her, but can only take it in small doses because of the testimonials. The message is always the same: Ask Jesus into your life and you will be saved from awful things. The speakers mean this quite literally. God will put clothes on your back, save you from car accidents, burglars, failed businesses. I always, always, feel the compulsion to bite my tongue during these statements, I always want to argue (let's go for the obvious...were there NO Christian individuals who died tragically in 9-11? Nobody who'd let Jesus into their life and begged for their lives to be saved? What about the millions who die each year from disease who are Christian?). I'm just floored by the silliness of literal beliefs.

Oh nooo...the drums. I must move them. Out...out...

I've just handed off those Civil Procedure notes to D - forget scanning. Go to the copy place down the street. I'll give you a big hug and a kiss!

Back to the Christian Lunch. I chose (instead of biting my tongue, one that has strawberry tendencies, that is, it gets splotchy when I eat high-acidic foods, oddly enough making the picture of me sticking my tongue out, sort of a risky one) to listen to the speaker and apply the theory of "positive thinking" or "light" to her message. In the end, I saw that the idea of "Christ" can be the same as "letting peace into one's heart." To free oneself from stresses (whether they are serious childhood trauma or the temporary stress of children demanding too much) can lead to better circumstances, to more healthful living. Through voluntary willingness to let difficulties go, to accept difficulties as a fact in life, to choose joy over sadness, one can reach a state of peace.

In listening to the speaker, I believe such a goal can be reached through prayer, through tapping the meridian points, through meditation. Buddhism has comparable precepts, the idea of zen, the idea of accepting suffering as part of life in order to focus on happiness and joy (also part of life) as a means to ultimate peace.

I enjoyed the lunch, enjoyed as always the company of my sister-in-law, MW. I'd decided to accept my suffering and be at peace rather than bite my tongue.

Now, now, I must go back to work. After I read some more blogs. After I play around with my music. The more I write of work, here, the sleepier I'm getting. Perhaps I'll take a nap...that is, if the kids will leave me alone for an hour or so. Now that I mention it, the last thing I'm thinking of as I draw to a close, is how much I'd like to spend a weekend alone. I haven't felt this way in a long, long time. I think it was before my mother died. How nice to not be asked of anything for a few days.

Breathing in...breathing in...pretend M and A are not fighting over the playstation...what was I writing about to start with? I can't even remember. I think I'll buy tickets to the King Tut Exhibit today. Ouch, criminy, I just banged my elbow on the desk...