I mean, I’ve always been told that it’s more important to know WHO you are than to know WHERE you’re going. Yet there I was on a bleak February day not knowing myself OR my path.
So I decided to dig in and determine what superpowers I had. Then I created this list. Perhaps it’s a bit lighter in tone than what Darcy has in mind, but it is who I am. Which I do believe is the whole point of this exercise.
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able to confirm that the color you painted your walls is not the right color.
able to laugh, more often than not, at the absurdities of life.
able to say thank you so many times in a day that it may sound insincere, but it’s not.
able to bring ideas and experiences together in novel ways.
able to determine within minutes of meeting someone if said person is a problem solver or a problem keeper.
able to sit on the curb and clap enthusiastically as the parade goes by.
able to find a way to avoid ironing anything, preferring to delegate that task to anyone with the patience necessary to get rid of wrinkles.
able to remember minutiae/information that doesn’t matter any more.
able to remember to write down minutiae/information that matters now, often remembering where said minutiae/information is after being written down.
able to pick myself up, brush myself off, curse about life’s inequities– and then start all over again.
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Now, I’ve shared my list. What about you, gentle readers? What are your superpowers? I’d love to know.
Going through my files I discovered the following.
Here is The Sociopath Test that I took to determine that I am a functional member of society.
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It’s easy to make light of a test like the funny one mentioned above, but answering the questions gave me insight into what behaviors to look for when I think that I dealing with a sociopath. They are those tedious people who only care about themselves and disregard anything you have to say. Antisocial behavior? Yes. No guilt about manipulating others? Yes. Rude, except when they want something? You betcha.
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According to the Mayo Clinic where sociopathy is a type of antisocial personality disorder:
“Antisocial personality disorder is a type of chronic mental condition in which a person’s ways of thinking, perceiving situations and relating to others are dysfunctional — and destructive. People with antisocial personality disorder typically have no regard for right and wrong and often disregard the rights, wishes and feelings of others.” [More here.]
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To my knowledge I don’t have any sociopaths running around in my life now. Not to say that there haven’t been a few of them along the way– just that I gave them the boot and they are no longer invited into my happy world.
In my experience, once someone with a tendency toward this sort of anti-social, user personality knows that I will call them out on their crap, they disappear forever because the last thing they want is for someone to shine light on them. Of course, I may have only dealt with slightly anti-social sociopaths, so my approach might not work with the really whacked, threatening ones. Don’t know what I’d do then.
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So, my gentle readers, what do you know about sociopaths? Are there any in your lives? Are you, heaven forbid, one of them?
And most importantly, what do you do when you find yourself sitting across the table from one? Avoid interaction OR destroy on the spot?
In one week I went to the eye doctor and the lady bits doctor. They are not on the same page as to what I need to do, henceforth, to stay a healthy and whole woman. In fact, putting together their advice I am left with a math word problem.
I never liked math word problems when I was twelve– and I do not like them any better now that I am many decades beyond twelve. Here is what I have to figure out:
Ally wants to be a healthy person. She is on a train called YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME heading toward the town known as OLD AGE.
According to the eye doctor, who wants the redness and dryness in her eyes to abate, Ally is to take 2 antibiotics each day. These are to be taken on an empty stomach 1 hour before eating OR 2-3 hours after eating. They are never to be taken before eating anything with calcium in it.
According to her lady bits doctor, who wants all women to have strong bones, Ally is supposed to eat 3 servings of calcium-rich food each day. These foods include all sorts of low-fat, no-fat dairy products + soybeans + raw spinach. Also, she is to take 1 calcium supplement each day.
So, how does Ally get to the junction of SEEING CLEARLY and NO BROKEN BONES while riding along on the YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME train without making a major stop at I NEED TO GET MY HEAD EXAMINED? Or before becoming derailed in the ‘burg known as YEAST INFECTION? Or before being stopped by the outlaw gang known as RAW SPINACH MAKES MY FACE TURN RED?
Hmm? How does Ally do this?
And with that question in mind, I shall wander off to solve this ridiculous word problem with a pad of paper + pen, a mug of coffee & a less than enthusiastic attitude. If figuring out word problems such as this is what old age is going to be all about, I’m having a few doubts about my ability to age gracefully. Or to even care about good health. ‘Ya know what I mean?
This year my desk calendar displays a vintage ad above each monthly grid. January’s ad is for a Big Ben alarm clock. The style of the ad is mid-century and the vibe of the ad is cheerful. I smile when I look at it.
Unlike the nature photo calendars that I’ve had in the past, this one inspires me in a more creative way. Suddenly I want to paint something– or bake something– or color something, even. Funny how the imagery on something can influence me in such a way, but it does.
I’ve always been fascinated by what objects people put around themselves. I enjoy knowing what stuff a person finds important enough to keep on his or her desk– or on his or her kitchen counter– or in his or her magazine rack. The little things that make someone smile. Or be productive. Or feel safe.
There’s no way of knowing who put the objects into each suitcase. It might have been the patient or it might have been the person who institutionalized the patient. Or, I suppose, it might have been the nurse or doctor who came to escort the patient to the asylum.
Looking around my home office I see the details that make it mine. Like the calendar that inspires me. Like the colorful Le Creuset mug that keeps my coffee handy. Like the books in the old wooden bookcase that ground me. And I wonder, what would I take with me if I knew I was going to an insane asylum… probably for the rest of my life.
Impossible to know the answer to such a hypothetical question. Yet interesting to ponder. On a Saturday morning.
Today, instead of talking about pulse-pounding razzamatazz, I’m going to talk about the exact opposite, yawn-worthy dullness.
This current dullness has manifested itself in what I believe is a most ridiculous way. You see, here at Chez Bean we are experiencing a dearth of twisty ties. Yes, we have almost run out of those little wire doodads that you use to close plastic bags.
In fact, we only have FOUR unused twisty ties in the house. That’s it.
We used to have about four hundred thousand million of those things floating around in various kitchen drawers. But now they are so rare [and precious] that I even know what color they are: 3 beige and 1 orange. I watch over them as if they were made of gold.
This is sad. And dull. And would not be worthy of note here except that it allows me to ask you, gentle readers, a question:
what kind of yawn-worthy dullness are you currently dealing with in your life?
I’ve fessed up. Now it’s your turn to do the same. In the comments below. If you please.
Here is what was in my mind when I woke up this morning:
DON’T BE KRILL.
What does this mean? I can’t figure out why I was thinking this, but that hasn’t stopped me from spending a good part of this morning ruminating about it. Because, as you know, I loves me a good rumination.
[Plus it’s NaBloPoMo– the time of year when any & all happenings are potential blog post fodder.]
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After rising, I told Zen-Den what was in my mind at 6:00 a.m. when his alarm clock, set on a Mexican music station, jolted us awake.
Being a lawyer he started to cross-examine my testimony.
It was the word KRILL? Not the word SHRILL? Or PILL?
Was there a whale involved? Because you know whales eat krill?
What were you thinking about last night when you went to sleep? Fish?
[Immediately, I regretted my decision to share with him. Can you understand why? Are those way too many questions for non-caffeinated me in the morning? The answer is YES.]
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So what do you think, gentle readers? Why was krill on my brain when I woke up this morning? Explain it to me. Tell me a story from your life. Make something up. Humor me. Just give me a reason why it was there… and then I’ll be happy.
[Thank you in advance for your insightful comments on this topic of vital importance!]