Life

The funny thing about life is it’s hardly funny at all.  You have to look for the humor.  You have to learn to laugh at the things that aren’t funny because it’s never fair, it’s never logical and it’s never easy.

I have a choice.  I can leave.  I spend at least five minutes of everyday dreaming recklessly leaving without any intentions to actually do so.  Or I can stay.  I have been trying to redefine my comfort zone lately so staying would give me that opportunity.  Think about it I’m told and then I leave the office with a heavy heart and mind and sit down in my own office to make a decision.  I write out a list of pros/cons because that is how we’re told to make a good decision.  The funny thing is I’ve made these lists before and I’m sure I’ll make them again, but I never go with the logical choice of the one that has the most bullet points under its header.  Sometimes I flip a coin and other times I just blurt out what I want to do while trying to feign ponderance so it appears that I have made a logical, sound decision.  In reality, it’s much easier.  I listen to myself.  We always know what we want to do, it’s just a matter of figuring out if we can or should do it.  It’s not always plausible, but where there’s a will there’s a way.  Usually financing needs to be taken into account, family and friends, jobs, responsibilities.  We can never just get up and leave because of all the things we are attached to like our comfort zone, which is called that for a reason.

My list goes something like this:

Pros:

-Money (tax free, that might give away what this decision is)

-Pride and honor

-Adventure

-Time to take online classes and enough time to earn another degree?  Do I really need another piece of paper saying I had the patience to do so?

-Vacation at the end – I could go back to the jungle

Cons:

-400 days away

-Just started a new job in October, don’t want to be gone for a year

-400 days … didn’t you read that!?!

-Wearing a uniform for 400 days. 

-Hair product build up and breakage from pulling hair back (yes this is something to take into consideration)

-Pride – I signed a contract and still feel an obligation to fill it even if I don’t believe in most of the circumstances.

-Four hundred fucking days!

I want to stay.  I want my relationship to work and I want to go home in March to see Les Miserables with my sisters and mother.  I want go somewhere over Memorial Day – maybe camping at the Grand Canyon?  I want to celebrate the Fourth of July, I want to learn my job and do well at it, I want I want I want.  At the same time, I signed a contract.  I have an obligation to fill.  I need the money.  I need I should I could.  So, what do I do?  There’s also the risk that if my status changes I could get called back for an even longer or worse deployment. It’s a gamble either way and as we all know, in gambling the house always wins.  What do I do?  Will the US still be standing in a year?  Can I afford to leave for an entire year?  Can I afford not to?  Fuck.  I hate this.  I hate trying to make a logical decision based on a system that isn’t rational.  This is Russian roulette and I have to decide take my turn now or wait until later to see if time runs out before my number comes up again.  How do you laugh at that?  How do you laugh when the big guy in the sky is saying fuck you?  You say, “Wow, big news and I haven’t even had coffee yet,” followed by nervous laughter because you know it’s your turn to draw the proverbial short stick.  You go home and tell your boyfriend the news and wait for his response.  You make jokes that god hates you and blame some made up deity for your problems because that’s easier than the reality that it’s all random.  You hide the fact that you don’t want to go now or later because it makes you look like a bad Marine.  You cry when nobody is looking and throw yourself a pity party because nobody else will.  If someone catches you, you tell them we don’t sustainably grow chocolate and you’re really upset that we won’t have any of this delectable treat in twenty years.  You scream obscenities to nobody as you drive home furiously.  Finally you pray, you pray and you hope more than anything in the world that you were wrong about all your conclusions of god.  You hope he/she/it/they are good, kind and reasonable and they’ll help you out just this once. 

A therapist once told me I can’t second-guess myself.  I just have to make a decision to the best of my ability at the time and live with it.  No need for regret, I made the best decision with the information and tools that I had at the time.  I can’t change what has been done.    She agreed and told me nobody is perfect and I would have to learn to live with this fact.   

Today I’ll make a decision.  I won’t second-guess myself no matter how many Marines tell me to go or not to go.  When other officers say, “I hate to see officers leave, especially when they have so much potential,” I’ll say thanks, but it’s my decision and it’s what’s right for me.  This is my decision to make with the information I have today, not all the what ifs of tomorrow or the next day or the next ten years.  I will not let pride get in the way of what I want in life.  I will not let false promises fool me this time around.  I will not feel bad for making a decision that is best for me, not the Marine Corps.  Yes, today I will make a decision and I will pray to every idea of god, fate, randomosity in the world that this will remain my decision to make, because we all know with the Marines they make it look like your decision, but really they do what they want.

Bring on the Apocalypse

I recently became obsessed with the apocalypse.  It's been something I've been interested in at other times in life.  I have always loved end of the world (especially Kevin Costner post apocalyptic flicks) and zombie movies (I'm very anxiously awaiting Resident Evil 4), but recently with the economy in the dumps, questionable wars raging on, and my own life situation (soon to be unemployed again), the obsession of movies has turned into an obsession of awaiting.  I've started to dive into all the books I should have, but never read before, 1984, Blindness, Brave New World, The Postman, World War Z, to name a few currently sitting on my "to read" shelf.  I am catching up on all the post apocalyptic movies I somehow missed.  The difference now is I watch, read and study these circumstances to mentally prepare myself.  Of course people think I'm crazy.  A "doomsdayer," a "gloom and doomer" so I've been called.  Is this what modern technology and society has done to us?  Killed the basic instinct for survival.  Is fight or flight instinct now sit and die?  During the Great Depression 90% of Americans were self sufficient.  I don't even think 9% of Americans could become self sufficient in a time of crisis today.  I'm sorry, but if Paris Hilton had to fend for herself to get food, shelter and water my money is that she would sit on the side of the road and give up along with a lot of other people.  So, am I really that far off the scale of normality to prepare myself for such incidences?  Yes, a zombie or vampire virus released to the public to spread world wide is unlikely, but what can we learn from these movies?  The modern day warrior plays video games and watches movies to prepare for war, is it so weird to read 1984 and take into account that we have the technology and in most cases have already been set up for a Big Brother take over?  There are now video cameras at most traffic intersections and as we transfer over to e-books are we creating the power to erase and alter history?

Sure I might be taking things to the extreme when I daydream about building a bomb shelter in the middle of the desert, but if there was an earthquake in California that disrupted the flow of food to our local grocery store is it a bad idea to have a week or more rations of food in the garage?  With Russia burning down and 1/3 of the world's wheat crop destroyed, is it wrong to prepare for food shortages mentally and physically?

Yes, it's a bit ridiculous to take notes while watching movies about alien invasions, but do you really think it's out of the realm of possibilities?  We live in a society that lives preparing for a hypothetical future on paper.  We plan our retirements in Florida and how to make money off fake economic systems all the while paying for insurance on our cars, houses, property - life itself.  Now, do I really sound that ridiculous preparing for an earthquake or nuclear war by storing food in the garage (which, unfortunately, I haven't had the time or money to do) opposed to investing money in a fiat money system with nothing but bank statements to back it up?  Maybe the apocalypse isn't going to be one huge event of massive death and destruction with a few survivors left to struggle and find one another and create a new world from the ashes.  What if the apocalypse is a slow take over of our mind and will to survive against all odds without our laptops, IRAs, automatic driving cars, wireless internet and Facebook.  What if we are in the apocalypse now?  What if this was the beginning and in another ten years we will find ourselves roaming the roads of what was once called America trying to find food so we won't have to eat one another.  Of course on the flip side what if the economy picks up and in another ten years we have regular shuttles for vacations on the moon?

Maybe I'm just daydreaming about the end because then interviews, careers, retirement, loan payment plans, housing markets and all of the other things that bogs down our life in adulthood wouldn't matter anymore.  Maybe it is a bit fucked up that instead of looking and applying for work I'm sitting here daydreaming about the end of the world.  If the world does end tomorrow then none of this bull shit that gets in the way of, but is essentially what makes up life, would also cease to exist.  Then again, "On a long enough time line the survival rate of everything drops to zero." (Chuck P.).  Maybe we shouldn't sit around and wait for Superman or a global leader to come rescue us and start preparing ourselves.  If the apocalypse was tomorrow how long would you survive?  2012 is right around the corner after all.

Well, in case the world doesn't end I should probably work on life plans again.

MFA Senior Reading at Antioch University from Lisbeth Prifogle on Vimeo.

On Quitting

"Don't do that you'll regret it," my mom says over the phone. 
"No, actually I won't," I tell her in regards to the latest bad idea I have.  "At this point I regret not quitting a year ago.  At this point the only thing I am loosing is my time."

We're talking about school.  Again.
"You're so close, Libby.  Just finish it." 
"Fine, if I get everything done on time I'll do it, obviously.  If I don't get everything done I'm done.  I can't do this any longer."

I've been working on my MFA for almost three years.  It's a two-year program, but between a deployment to Iraq and time in Peru I had to extend two semesters.  I'm exhausted and for two semesters I have grown to hate, despise, loathe and whatever other verb you want to add, reading.  I want to burn every stupid book I own.  Now, I'm starting to resent writing.  I try to sit down and do work, but it makes me angry.  I'm pissed off I haven't graduated yet, I'm mad that I don't really have much of a manuscript, just lots of pieces that don't quite connect.  I'm tired and frustrated that I spend everyday of my life so worried about all the work I have to for this program that I can't ever get anything done.  It's a vicious cycle and I fear that school might stop me from writing altogether.  I have done exactly what I was trying not to do - force myself to write.  I went into the Marines because I didn't want to write for a living.  I believe any creative outlet done for money looses its value to the creator.  Apparently, doing it for professors and deadlines ruins it too.  The funny thing is I never studied writing with the goal of publication or a career.  I write for the same reason I play the piano when nobody is around to hear - I enjoy the act.  If someone came to me and asked to publish the crap I'm throwing together as my final manuscript would I object?  Of course not, but I also don't need a book to validate what the value writing is and has been for me.

What am I trying to say?  I had a professor ask me after every piece I sent to her, "What are you trying to say?  Figure that out and say it."  It was the most important lesson I have learned in the many years I've spent studying writing.  What I'm declaring right here, right now to whomever comes upon this post is this - if I don't finish the things I need to finish by the deadlines of this semester I'm done.  I'm not going to regret not finishing this even though I'm so close.  In many ways I think it will free me.  I spend time at school and online talking about writing with very competitive, adult writers and it has stripped the joy out of the task.  In June - one way or another - I'm going to be done with school.  Do not call, write or try to convince me otherwise.  I'm telling you, not asking for encouragement, this is over.

In the last week people have tried to encourage me.  It's useless.  Mark Twain once said, "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do."  Well, I'm in school for writing and I no longer write.  I think twenty years from now I'll be more disappointed that I did not have the courage to follow my heart so I could continue doing what I love rather than focusing on getting a piece of paper that I don't need in order to write.  Off and on for the last ten years I have been in school for writing asking permission from professors, administrators, financial aid directors to write.  I don't need permission to write.  I need freedom to write.  We teach our children to follow their dreams and not to quit what they have started, but what happens when one is in the way of the other?

"Do one thing everyday that scares you." -Eleanor Roosevelt

I tried my first acupuncture session last week.  Western medicine can't seem to figure out why my body is acting the way it's acting so I'm trying alternatives.  Besides having an elementary-school-girl crush on my doctor, I like it.  I can't really feel any immediate miracles, but I like the philosophy of treating the entire body, not just fixing the symptoms.  I think Americans can learn something from this philosophy since we seem to be in the business of throwing money at the symptoms and hoping the problem will fix itself in the long run. 

I tried hypnotherapy this week as well.  A friend of mine has a practice and I decided I had put off supporting her business long enough.  I told my boyfriend, "It was awesome and you're probably going to say it's all in my head."  Many of my friends and family seem to think I'm a hypochondriac and my problems are psycho-sematic.  Well, if I am than hypnotherapy was created for me.  "Because it IS all in your head," I told him.  It was an interesting and positive experience that will hopefully help me start writing again and end the horrible nightmares I've been living with for ten years.  Some say we only use 10% of our brain potential.  If you're skeptical of this statistic try looking at it from another angle, what if we have 90% of brain potential TO use?  What could you accomplish then?  I'm not sure where that myth/fact comes from, but I think the average person is capable of so much more than they realize. If it takes hypnosis to reach my potential I'm willing to try.

Why am I doing all of this?  Why not.  Somewhere on the road to adulthood I am afraid I lost the fearless spirit of my youth.  Isn't this the sad truth in life?  Instead of jumping in my car for spontaneous road trips, I curl up on the couch to watch a movie with the man I love.  Some nights this seems like a fair trade-off, other times I want to grab that man and take him on a road trip to anywhere.  I used to live by the quote "Do one thing everyday that scares you."  Stepping outside my comfort zone was the only way to grow.  I still believe that, but now I find my comfort zone, well, comforting.  At what point do we trade the care free days of our youth in to worry about careers, and loans and all the things we swore we'd never worry about?  Was it a day?  A moment in time?  Can it be stopped if we traveled through time and tell a younger version of ourselves not to fall for it?  We all swear we will be the one to stay young forever and then it passes through us like a gentle, fall breeze and we become mature enough to know better.  Maybe it's my health problems, maybe it's the relationship I'm in, maybe it's the fact that I have been stable for more than six months. I don't know why but lately I feel like I gave up the exciting freedom of my youth and I'm not sure for what?  I suppose I'm happy and this seems to be the natural progression of life.  It's in my nature to fight - even if it's myself I'm fighting.  The weird part is I am happy.  A different kind of happy, but happy. 

But, happy or not, I'm challenging myself to do something that scares me everyday!  Tomorrow I'll stand in front of Marines and teach a class about writing and even though this is the third class and I spent three hours preparing my class it still scares the hell out of me!

Sunday Paper

I started getting the local newspaper about a month ago. It was late one night when I ran to the grocery store for one thing. I don't remember what it was, but I remember seeing chocolate and deciding that was an acceptable buy and before I knew it my arms were full of crap. I seem to remember buying toilet paper, so maybe that was what I had actually gone to the store for. Anyways, I was tired and in a fury to get out of there and into bed when a man politely asked me something. Now, it is important to note that I'm a sucker. I'm the person at the mall who gets stopped for jewelry cleaning, mineral make-up, fancy hair straighteners, dead sea scrubs, etc. They must love seeing a single woman walking in a complete daze (just for verification I probably look stoned, but I do not do drugs). They grab my arm, wave their hand in front of me, call me beautiful, something that triggers me out of the perpetual daydream I live in. Here's the product and here's the sales pitch. I've gotten better at saying, "No" and being unemployed definitely helps the impulse to buy, but on this particular night when this nice gentleman asked me, "Would you like to save ten dollars on your groceries?" I didn't have the energy left to say no to his pitch. Now, for the first time in my life I get the daily paper.

I don't watch the news. I used to listen to NPR in my car on my way to and from work and in my office. Usually by the time I got home I had every news story at least twice. I never read the paper. On occasion a headline will show up when I open my Internet browser and I click to read, but lets be honest when it comes to news I'm generally apathetic and lazy. Now, I get the paper. At first it was exciting. I had something waiting for me outside the door every morning. In a waking dream I crept down the stairs in slippered feet to a freshly printed bundle just waiting for my eyes. I even read it for a few weeks. I was up to date in current affairs. I could follow what was going on in the ridiculous world of politics. I followed the horrifying story of a local high school runner who went missing. Maybe this was what ended it all? Chelsea King was a high school senior, cross-country runner, honors student, probably counting down the days until she graduated and left for college. She went for a run and never came home. A few days later they found her body, a true tragedy for San Diego or anywhere for that matter and an awakening for me. Sometimes I carry a knife when I run. If I get a creepy feeling or think the sun might beat me on a run. It's not convenient, but the thought of getting mawed by a mountain lion isn't very convenient either. Now, I have Chelsea to think of when I run on long, empty trails alone. The thought "that could have been me," has crossed my mind more than once in the last week. The thought, "If this is was anyone but a young, beautiful, white girl from a moderately wealthy family, bound for success would it be the headline for a week?" has also crossed my mind, but this should not take away the fact that it is a tragedy and it easily could have been me. When I train I run trails just a few miles from the same area. When I run I zone out and more than once have almost stepped on rattle snakes or have had mountain bikers sneak up on me.

Well, it's Sunday and they have a suspect in custody who was a convicted and registered sex offender. People are questioning the safety of their children and the effectiveness of sex-offender laws, but life moves on. Above the headline "The Chelsea King Case: It can and does, happen here," there is a picture of two local police officers saluting a motorcade of police cars on the way to a memorial service for a local sheriff's deputy who was killed trying to intercept a driver going the wrong way on the interstate. In the section Our Region there is a picture of three scuba divers looking for clues to another case of a different local girl who went missing over a year ago. "Pond yields no new clues in Amber Dubois case," the headline reads and along the side is a column reading "Missing kids is a sad fact of life in county."

I flip through the headlines reading the first couple paragraphs and not really finishing any article. By the end of it I'm depressed and scared and remembering why I don't pay attention to the world around me. Ignorance is bliss.

Am I better off jumping straight to the comics? Am I better off skipping the story about what's going to happen in Iraq now that elections are over and the US had pulled most of the troops out. Do I want to know about a female Navy Commander who was relieved of duty because of her language and maltreatment to her crew. Never mind the fact that five other Navy Commanders have already been relieved of duty this year, this is another strike against women in the military. Way to go, ma'am! Thanks, really appreciate it. I scan for uplifting stories, but like everyone else my eyes are drawn to the tragedies and tyrannies. Eventually I make it to the Sunday comics and my world somehow seems balanced again. It's only $10/month to get the Union Tribune, but is it worth it? Am I single-handedly saving the art of printed news or am I just killing trees daily? Should I call and cancel my subscription and just go back to my bubble of news that only pertains to me? Decisions, decisions. Maybe I should keep my subscription until the introductory deal runs out (6 month subscription at $10/month), but I'm on such a tight budget. Am I in a better mood when I don't get worked up over a headline about an event in the wold I have no control over?! Does any of this matter anyways? The world is doomed! Do I want to know that the apocalypse and end of mankind is scheduled for tomorrow! Perhaps the paper is bad for my health, but then I get to Garfield. Maybe it's because he's from Muncie, Indiana and my mom once drove us to Jim Davis' house in a very stalkeresque manner to show us how close fame and fortune was. Maybe it's the juxtaposition of Garfield's pessimism and Odie's blissful happiness that seems to mock me the debate of whether or not to keep my subscription to the paper I don't really read. Then again, what else would I be doing on a rainy Sunday afternoon?


NOTE: I recycle the paper.

A day of days

It's been a long week without any real accomplishments. Why does it feel like life is just that - day after day with nothing to show for it. My mom used to have a picture in her sewing room that had a very frazzled woman that said,"The hurrier I go the behinder I get." Maybe I'm rushing too much or maybe I just don't have any concentration. Like now I'll start this and think I need to call the doctor to schedule an appointment. Then after I get up I'll see the pile of laundry on the bed and I"ll think I really need to put my clothes away. After that I'll come back to the kitchen table and see the newspaper I didn't read this morning and think I should read about the missing girl in Poway. I used to run in that alone in that same area where she was running alone. That could have been me. And so it goes, if you give a Libby a cookie ... Today however was one of those days that topped all the other one of those days. I overslept after a bout of insomnia last night. I am going to teach a creative writing class at the Wounded Warrior Battalion and was supposed to start today. Well, I wouldn't have been that late except for the long line at the gate to the Naval Hospital. Of course I chose the slower moving line of traffic and of course when it was my turn to show my ID I was conveniently selected as the random vehicle inspection of the day or hour or however they randomly choose it. I pulled aside wondering if I had anything suspicious in my car (like the K-Bar I keep under the passenger seat just in case). I tried to find my registration frustrated because I was already late and as I pulled out junk from the glove compartment I realized how many parking tickets I have received in the last six months and haven't paid for. I finally found my registration, but the overweight and hideously ugly Navy MP needed proof of insurance as well. "I can bring it up on my phone and show you an electronic copy," I offered as a much more fit and attractive female cop walked up talking about her husband. I searched for the needed document some more even though I know it's not in my car. "I'm sorry I don't have it," I finally surrender to the fat MP.
"I'm sorry you can't come on base."
Fuck
"It's up to you if you want to give her a ticket or just give her a warning," Pudgy was now telling the cop.
"No, that's okay she looks like she's already having a rough enough day," the cop who suddenly looked like an angel sent from the heaven's said to the nasty, overweight, ugly pig woman who is a disgrace to the uniform.
Disgusted Pudgy told me to park up by Balboa park in some public parking lot and go in the back gate. I did as I was told, thankful not to have a ticket on top of being inconvenienced and late. I walked in the back gate and up to the Wounded Warrior barracks. We had decided on a time late last week and even though my little intro and talk with the Marines at their Friday formation generated some interest in a writing class I wasn't sure if it was enough time to add to their schedule. So later than ever, now frazzled and flustered I stood in the lobby waiting for the section leaders to explain to me why the class had to be postponed for a week.
"We can find some Marines if you want to start today, ma'am," a tall, handsome sergeant tells me.
"No, that's okay we can start it next week," I tell him a bit relieved.
"We emailed you last night to tell you they had a financial seminar that was mandatory to attend today," the other sergeant tells me.
"Really, it's fine, but I did not get an email."
They assure me they sent it and don't see that I'm more concerned about future correspondence than the debauchery of my day. I left defeated with the intentions of crawling back into bed and starting this damn day over again. Of course that didn't happen and after running errands and getting a little control over my life I'm finally sitting down for the first time all day. Sigh. I'm sure tomorrow won't disappoint me as another chain of events that are unplanned and inconvenient, but hey what can you do? You can look life in the eyes and growl, "YOU will not defeat me. Not today anyways!" And so it goes, a day of days.