Have you ever made eggs and bacon? At 1am? After a night of disappointment and angst? (Did I really just use the word "angst"? Yes. Yes I did. To my shame.) Then you know how glorious it is. You start the bacon in the skillet, obviously heating it up well and good before putting it on, then turning it down to low. It sizzles and pops on the hot surface. You get ready for bed, carefully listening to it hiss its' last on your stove top. You thank the pig for its' brutal sacrifice. But at 1 am, you're just tipsy enough not to care enough to really dwell on the horror that is factory farming (no doubt where your food has come). As you wait and listen, you feel the bitter pang of disappointment - of the evening, of people, but mostly, of the non-openness of the Chinese restaurant upon which the hopes and dreams and full stomach-nessed of your evening rested. You head towards the bathroom to do your night's ablutions as the fat in the pan steams and wisps your way. Your keen sense of hearing can tell it's juuuuust time to turn the strips of pig-flesh over to ensure proper done-ness. Again, you try to ignore the factory farm horror-story. Instead, you play with your cat, who has missed your presence all day and can be no happier than to be in your arms, purring, and licking your face. Finally, oh, finally, you know it is time to add the golden egg. You walk to the stove and see the near doneness of your pig-fat and flesh. You take a cool, oblong shell out of the case, feeling its weight in your hand. Mercilessly, you bring it down on the edge of the pan, hearkening forth its golden glory. Cold, wet, it falls into the hot, sparking hell that is the skillet, doomed along-side the stripes of bacon. The pan is so hot, the golden-white nugget starts cooking before you can even grab your tool of ultimate destruction: the blue spatula of doom. You swiftly grab your weapon and set to work, decimating, seasoning, and stirring your foe and food. Before you quite realize what has happened, it is over. Your instrument of glory is covered in the golden gore that is your egg. The pig-fat oil has effectively sizzled your food to perfection, and you plop it delicately on a red plate - symbolic of your hard-won conquest, is it not? At last, you retire to your abode, to enjoy the ministrations of your attendant and enjoy the meat and egg of your labour. As you shovel it hastily, unashamedly, and perfectly into your mouth, you realize, everything is a little bit better...with bacon grease.
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I've always thought these quotes were a load of bollocks. But (as seems to be happening increasingly lately) I find myself changing my mind. How apropos.
I don't like how I've been thinking (and consequently, acting). In my own eyes I've become whiney and a real complainer. How very unattractive, not to mention utterly unappealing. I made a decision I thought was the right one; an opportunity dropped into my lap, so I seized it. I thought I could work and work and work and not need a break. Turns out, I'm actually not a machine. Honestly, that was news to me. Saturday night I found myself in a funk for no apparent reason. I figured it was just because I've been in such a great mood for the past month or so, I was over-due for some storm clouding. But that was me simply reverting back to an old mindset. I have been doing so much personal growth over this past year, and even though it's often a struggle, I know it's a healthy change. So, I let myself delve into what was making me upset; every little thought or desire, no matter how "stupid" or "trivial" I had unconsciously labeled them. Instead of tamping them down and pretending they don't exist because they're "not important" or "idiotic", I need to recognize and accept them for what they are - for who I am - and, either, let them go, or realize it's ok to live with them. And I've realized it's ok to dwell on the good. I have a habit of always looking at things with a slant eye, expecting the worst (how I won the "Optimist" award in 8th grade, I have no idea). It's a defense to keep myself from being hurt by disappointment. But in protecting myself from disappointment, I'm also keeping myself from complete joy in any endeavor I undertake. Yes, I made a decision that turned out to be a lot tougher than I expected. That happens - maybe I just haven't experienced it much in my life yet, which is why it has been so jarring. Good decisions can still have consequences or negative side effects. But I need to stop focusing on the pain and hardship and enjoy the blessings, for they are myriad. I never understood how one could "pick their thoughts". I always believed you thought what you thought. How could you choose what popped into your mind? I now imagine it's not so much picking what thoughts you have, as selecting which thoughts you choose to entertain for any length of time. Say I have a negative thought that pops up. I should acknowledge and accept it, then let it go, instead of stewing in it and letting it color all my thoughts and actions for the rest of the day. You know what's going to be REALLY fun? Sticking to this when I'm drunk. |
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June 2017
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