Author: Meredith

I find myself comparing my achievements to those of my peers and feeling rather unaccomplished in life — for example, a peer working in an office in the next building over has a crisp website layout, a fresh and concise résumé, and several clips under her belt already. I have this stale, old site, a relatively bland résumé, and no listing of my clips. I feel like my web-presence should be presented in a better manner, not to mention my occupational status. I’m still non-benefited (sadly, even the free food one can snag around here doesn’t quite count as an actual benefit). I slink back in my chair feeling less than worthy of recognition.

Then I realize there are glaring differences between me and my peers — I just so happen to have a family of my own to raise and care for. While my peers have plenty of time to climb the clichéd ladder, I spend much of my free time teaching my young children how the world works. It may not be even remotely as glamourous as my schoolmate from high school’s interactions with Hollywood’s biggest names, but I certainly do derive a high level of satisfaction from watching my children grow and change as individuals. Who says you really have to keep up with your peers in order to succeed?

Each day seems to bring a new adventure for my generally groggy self. Some days are obviously better than others, but life can be a serious challenge from time to time. Of course, we all experience challenges in our lives — without challenging, we most certainly couldn’t grow as individuals. Growth is a regular occurence in all aspects of life, and life could not exist without growth. I hope to successfully grow as an individual, even if I am the only person who is affected by that growth. I cannot grow taller. I would prefer not to grow wider. I would love to grow in wisdom and knowledge. I would love to grow in grace and dignity. Here’s to hoping for the sake of hope. Sometimes, hope is all you need to go on.

Hemingway was once challenged to write the shortest story ever. He came up with this six-word gem — “For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.” In those six words, he successfully tells you that someone is selling a pair of never-worn baby shoes, allowing the reader to speculate as to why those baby shoes were never worn. His success has led to numerous attempts at writing a six-word story. At one point, I took up the challenge myself and came up with this — “I drank tea today. The End.” While I doubt my attempt lives up to Hemingway, I do rather like it. It would seem many stories can be told with a mere six words.

In the past ninety days, I’ve posted eighteen times — not including this post. I apparently need to reach the lovely number twenty before I can be approved to make a bit of cash off my writing. I suspect that Tuesday will be the day I resubmit for a fourth try. Yes, my fourth try. Of course, I’ve not even stopped to take the time to redesign my blog. I must reiterate the purple layout just doesn’t seem to suit my needs at this point. While I could switch back to the default layout, I’m reluctant to do so because I’m almost positive I’d need to customize that as well. If I’m going to customize a layout, I might as well make it count.

In other news, it seems my spam filters aren’t even picking up very many spambot comments these days. Perhaps one of the zombie networks has been raided by the authorities, to which I would rejoice. Granted, it doesn’t take too much effort to rid myself of the filthy little things. 😉

What’s a woman to do when the forecast calls for severe weather overnight? “Be prepared for tornadic activity.” Excuse me? Are you telling me that I could be sleeping peacefully in my bed one moment, then hurled to my death the next? Are you telling me I should remain conscious throughout the night, cowering in the closet under the stairs? Are you also telling me it’s a Thursday night, meaning I still have one more work day to complete? Please pardom me while I have a meltdown. I live in a townhouse on the corner of my building. Said townhouse occupies the second and third stories of the building. My bedroom is on the third story, which is the top floor. Above my ceiling? The roof. I suppose the doppler will determine my courses of action for the evening. For now, excuse me while I shut down the office for another night.

I’ve begun to formulate a very detailed, thoughtful post that I’d like to publish within the next few weeks. I’m absolutely ecstatic that I’ve finally gotten some inspiration to write. Writer’s block plagued me for much of the past several months, so much so that each post I’ve done in the past few months feels forced and lack-luster. I’ve felt like my writing hasn’t really meant much, nor have I felt it warranted attention. I feel refreshed to have an idea again.

I would also like to express my disdain for April Fool’s Day. I suppose you can mostly chalk it up to a “prank” someone played on me five years ago today, but this “holiday” never really sat well with me. Playing horribly cruel jokes on your loved ones and friends? That’s absolutely mean-spirited and hurtful. I don’t care how funny you think you are — it still hurts those people you’re fooling. If anyone wants to argue about worthless holidays with me, I will always say that April Fool’s Day is the most worthless waste of a day. You think Valentine’s Day is a commercial deal? At least it’s a day for celebrating love. April Fool’s Day doesn’t have any warm and fuzzy feelings involved. You don’t get into the spirit of giving, you don’t get creatively spooky, and you don’t give thanks for what you have. No, the whole day revolves around tricking and spotting tricks. It’s disgusting.

The time spent waiting for events to occur can generally be more stressful than the events themselves. While awaiting for company to arrive, you agonize over the details of the event — is everything taken care of? When expecting medical news, you worry how your tests will come back, whether you’ll need to take medications or alter your habits. Granted, I may be attributing my own anxieties to other people who find my concerns to be of little consequence. I potentially fret over the silliest of details over minor events. I suppose it might be better for my stress levels to allow for detours in life every now and then.

I never had a slice of bread,
Particularly large and wide,
That did not fall upon the floor,
And always on the buttered side.
– Huron Reflector (November 23, 1841), reprinted in Shapiro, Fred R., ed., The Yale Book of Quotations 668 (2006)

It seems like my bread keeps falling butter-side down straight onto the sandy, gritty dirt outside. I’ve heard refered to as the “snowball effect.” It always seems like bad things begin to spiral out of control, and I begin to realize that I really can’t control every aspect of my fate — much to my increasing dismay. I’m positively a control-freak. I need a sense of order and control in my life to feel secure and stable. When the cosmos proves itself more powerful than me, I begin to crumble. I feel helpless, insecure, trapped, and incapable. Those feelings in turn are highly inconducive to progress. I also curse the name of Murphy at every chance I get — him and his stupid law.

How then does one regain a semblance of control over one’s life? Do we look around us for the answer, or is the answer we seek inside ourselves? Do we philosophically pour over books and materials focused on this subject? Do we meditate in total silence? Perhaps the answer lies within that “happy medium” that seems to pop up in every instance. Perhaps we must consider all possibilities — inside and out — in order to regain order. As for myself, pardon me while I attempt to pull myself back out of the rut.

Apparently, I like to write about the weather. Just reference most of my recent posts — it’s a common denominator in my writing. In keeping with that theme, let’s enjoy more weather musings.

Today has been overcast, cool, and wet. I feel like I’m in Seattle, rather than the Sunshine State. I don’t mind the cloud coverage. I don’t mind the mid-60s. I do mind that mist that somehow manages to find its way under my umbrella and into my face, hair, clothing, bag, and electronics. Beads of water build up on my mp3 player, and I panic as I quickly wipe away the potential for a hardware malfunction. I suppose I generally just don’t care for rainy weather when I have to go outside. While I didn’t mind getting stuck in the rain a few times as a child, it quickly loses its luster when you find that your notes became nothing more than smudges on tearing paper and your sneakers begin to feel like miniature pools. Have I mentioned the unpleasant feeling of clothing soaked to your skin as you enter an overly air-conditioned building? Nothing says “pneumonia” like a good, sopping outfit!

And me without my tea…

The sun glowed extra warm that pleasant afternoon. She stretched out her front legs, curving her spine towards the floor, then let out a sleepy yawn. She straightened herself back, kneeded the carpetting under her toes, and peered out the window. A bird flew past, catching her attention. She sat down in front of the sliding glass door, her tail swishing softly against the floor. Her eyes darted back and forth at the birds twirling through the air. Just as quickly as they flew into view, they flew away — perhaps knowing the vicious predator that eyed them in the window. Bored, she circled the carpet, choosing a cozy, sunny spot. She curled up into a furry ball in the bright sunlight, gently tucking her tail under her legs. She lay quietly for a few moments before she heard the television flicker on. She sprawled across the carpetting, warming her belly with the radiant sun. She began to purr happily. The small cat drifted to sleep.