Recognizing forces greater than myself
I believe I shall forgo the return to coffee in the morning in favor of tea. With my co-worker requesting a day off, I covered his morning duties. By morning, I mean before the butt-crack of dawn. Ugh. I dug one of the last tea bags labeled "Awake" from my desk drawer and dunked in a mug of boiling water. Five minutes pass. I finish off by removing the bag and adding Palm honey. Delightful. I am far more relaxed this morning than I have been on a typical day.
My birthday has started early. On the The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, Lewis Black announces a new special on the History Channel to air on my birthday. I cannot tell you how deliriously happy this make me. Also, Craig made Lewis Black giggle. I have never heard Lewis Black giggle before in my life. It was cute and disorienting at the same time.
Speaking of disorienting, if you've given up on Project Runway like I have nearly have several times this season, you missed Tim peeved. He made a face I was certain would be followed by the wrath of God smiting contestants dead. Surprisingly, no one died on the show (expect of Heidi's fashion sense - what the fuck happened?). Of course, the contestant I liked didn't win.
A few minutes ago, a young freak (and I mean that in the best way) brought me over the entire fourth season of Psych on DVD. He stopped by a few weeks ago. I don't know how we dropped on the subject, but we sat with him in the bullpen and talked about our favorite shows. He and I bonded over our devotion of Psych right away. It surprised me because his appearance gives the impression of being a hard-core, acid-rock, whitey supreme. He has nice jewelry in his ears and around his neck. His hair is buzzed and his mustache and half-beard neatly trimmed.
He has tattoos that he keeps covered with a long sleeve shirt (in Florida, remember, year around). As soon as he walked out of work, his ball cap goes on backwards. But the old adage, "Don't judge a book by it's cover", applies. He has been devoted to the same woman for years. He saves money as much as he can. He owns his own home. He has the best sense of humor. As far as I can tell, he doesn't have a racial bone in his body. He admits to being OCD, but has worked for years to control it.
Anyway, he brought me a copy of Psych on DVD. Happy birthday to me.
Last night, as I was trying desperately trying to fall asleep so I could wake up this morning and get to work on time, I realized that I am the type of the person who defines themselves by what they can't do. I agree with Captain Jack Sparrow, "The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do."
I am the type of person who tends to see all that she cannot do in favor of seeing what I can. What I can always seems inconsequential. Yes, I can tie my shoes. What adult can't? Yet, shouldn't the simple act of tying shoes be a reminder of how blessed I am: I have the use of my legs, arms, hands, feet, and fingers. I have the money to buy shoes. I have places to go where I am welcome and people who will welcome me.
Huh. I wonder what kind of person I could be if I saw first what I can do instead of what I can't.
My birthday has started early. On the The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, Lewis Black announces a new special on the History Channel to air on my birthday. I cannot tell you how deliriously happy this make me. Also, Craig made Lewis Black giggle. I have never heard Lewis Black giggle before in my life. It was cute and disorienting at the same time.
Speaking of disorienting, if you've given up on Project Runway like I have nearly have several times this season, you missed Tim peeved. He made a face I was certain would be followed by the wrath of God smiting contestants dead. Surprisingly, no one died on the show (expect of Heidi's fashion sense - what the fuck happened?). Of course, the contestant I liked didn't win.
A few minutes ago, a young freak (and I mean that in the best way) brought me over the entire fourth season of Psych on DVD. He stopped by a few weeks ago. I don't know how we dropped on the subject, but we sat with him in the bullpen and talked about our favorite shows. He and I bonded over our devotion of Psych right away. It surprised me because his appearance gives the impression of being a hard-core, acid-rock, whitey supreme. He has nice jewelry in his ears and around his neck. His hair is buzzed and his mustache and half-beard neatly trimmed.
He has tattoos that he keeps covered with a long sleeve shirt (in Florida, remember, year around). As soon as he walked out of work, his ball cap goes on backwards. But the old adage, "Don't judge a book by it's cover", applies. He has been devoted to the same woman for years. He saves money as much as he can. He owns his own home. He has the best sense of humor. As far as I can tell, he doesn't have a racial bone in his body. He admits to being OCD, but has worked for years to control it.
Anyway, he brought me a copy of Psych on DVD. Happy birthday to me.
Last night, as I was trying desperately trying to fall asleep so I could wake up this morning and get to work on time, I realized that I am the type of the person who defines themselves by what they can't do. I agree with Captain Jack Sparrow, "The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do."
I am the type of person who tends to see all that she cannot do in favor of seeing what I can. What I can always seems inconsequential. Yes, I can tie my shoes. What adult can't? Yet, shouldn't the simple act of tying shoes be a reminder of how blessed I am: I have the use of my legs, arms, hands, feet, and fingers. I have the money to buy shoes. I have places to go where I am welcome and people who will welcome me.
Huh. I wonder what kind of person I could be if I saw first what I can do instead of what I can't.