Normal things made dirty

"Can I have some almond milk?"
"Of course. You can have as much of my nut milk as you want. Straight from the tap"

From Fullness Fullness Comes Out

I just had a tremendously long poop. It was fascinating, realizing how much poop can be inside of you.

Just a friendly reminder: most people, yourself included, are actually full of shit.

Spyder

Two days ago when I went to shower at my aunts, I found a spider there, chilling in the tub of the shower. One of those common garden spiders that's got a lighter brown pattern strip down it's middle that people always worry if it's a violin shape and thus a brown recluse (it's not.)

I used to be terrified of spiders. I would see them everywhere. Like that kid from the sixth sense. Like Peter Parker. I had a spidy sense too. Only it was more literal. I would come into a room and immediately start scanning corners, under tables, and a list of other places, checking for spiders. I found spiders where no one else thought there were any. I was like a bodyguard securing the area. If I found one, I would break into a cold sweat. I would edge away from wherever it was, as far as I could get without backing into another spider. I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else until it had either been killed or removed from the premises. And if it ran away before it was removed, I would be on even  higher alert, eyes constantly darting from danger zone to danger zone, ready for attack.

I couldn't kill them myself either. The feel of them squishing beneath a tissue or the sight of them curled up was frightening in itself. Mainly I made my mom do it. She tired to get them out safely, but sometimes, like when they were behind my bed, she knew she had to kill them, because if they dropped and got a way, I wouldn't be able to sleep in my bed without pulling the covers over me to the point where they nearly smothered me and staying awake for hours, violently twitching and spasming whenever I felt the tickle of a leg hair moving, afraid it was the spider come back for blood.

Though I wasn't always afraid of spiders. When I was really young, I would pick up spiders and scare my babysitters with them. Though I did have a healthy fear of the enormous wolf spiders that were semi regular appearances around he outside of the house, under the porch and in the garage. Those things are bigger than gerbils and to a little kid they look about as big as god. So when I got locked in the crawlspace with some dried up husks of the behemoth spiders to remind me who I was being forced to share the space with, hiding somewhere in the shadows, it made me uncomfortable.

I wasn't technically locked in the crawlspace. I could have gotten out at any point. But on the door of the crawlspace was a black, big butted web spider that I thought might be a black widow. So I called out for someone, parent or sibling, to help me. And called. And called.

Apparently we had good floor insulation, because I was screaming and crying for probably a good 45 minutes before anyone came to get me. That's a really long time when your little. Triply so when your frightened for your bodily fluids being devoured like cherry Slurpy by dog sized hell spiders.

I eventually got out, but not without scars of the psychic variety. However, I guess one time wasn't enough, because I did the same procedure at least two other times, before realizing it was a bad idea. (I think the last time, I actually was doing it to try and show myself there was nothing to be afraid of. Backfire.

This is all just to say, I was afraid of spiders for most of my childhood life, growing into physical maturity (I'm still growing into emotional maturity.)

The fact that I eventually mostly got over that fear is testament to the power of the meditation I did, and perhaps the other processes I engaged in for self growth. I don't know of any better encouragement or advertisement for picking up a good meditation. It won't make everything in your life perfect, but it will improve things, seemingly at random, that nothing else has been able to touch.


So, the story today: I stepped into the shower, noticing the spider. "Hey bud, I think your gonna want to get out of here. It's about to get a bit hairy for someone like you." no response. "OK, I warned you." Turn on the shower, trying to aim it away from the spider. Spider moves, seemingly at random, more into the shower. then tries to move away, but ends up moving into a big puddle and held their by surface tension. "I warned you." I feel sorry for the bedraggled spider and gently pick it up with a brush and deposit it on the shower mat to dry.

After the shower, I inspect it. the brush I used has hair in it which is tangled around the spider a bit. I know he's not gonna want me messing with him even if it is to free him from his hairy prison, so I leave him to dry and rest. When I come back later that day, he is on the other side of the bathroom, and I am happy he looks to be alright. Next time I check, he's gone.

Today I wake up, check my cell phone (in my awkward blind manipulations I had knocked it onto the ground so it fell on it's edge onto a bookshelf) for cracks, because I had a dream that I wasn't sure was a dream, where I checked my cell phone, twice and it's screen was cracked. (one of the most mundane dreams I've had. Mainly memorable because it's one of those dreams where you really want to do something but you are too tired to actually wake up and do it so your brain dreams you doing it and tells you it's real, so you'll shut up and go back to sleep.)

Then, I sat up, and....
the spider falls off my head.
.
...
I take a moment to appreciate both the silliness of the situation, and the fact that I am totally calm and slightly amused, rather than across the room, shuddering uncontrollably  in a sweat, with nightmare fodder for the next week. I tell the spider that I'm going to take it outside, because I can't guarantee it's safety in here. I tell it to get on a piece of paper, and stay put till I get it outside.

This time, it listens.

The Desert Assasin

[Idea for a story from a sticky note I found, covered in cobwebs and dust bunnies, as I cleaned and re-arranged my room]:


The Dessert Assassin

"I've got a problem with a certain... vanilla ice cream.  He gives me a headache.  I need him... taken care of."

"I can do that."

"I want to see panda porn.  It would be great because they'd be so reluctant."

-Me

(if this doesn't make sense, additional information: pandas, especially in captivity, but even in the wild, are going extinct as a species because for some reason they don't want to have sex any more.)

Conversation Fragment

"...ok, I'll wear the wig next time they're all over, but they can't take any pictures, and I have to wear my bathrobe as well.  That will be awesome"

"nooooo. you can only wear the bathrobe around them if you're decent underneath it."

(thinks for a moment) "yeah, I'm pretty decent.  I work out you know...."

Cosco and the ultimate power of the universe.

The husband of the couple who I'm renting my place from offered to take me for a trip to Cosco. I didn't understand why that would warrent a trip, but I couldn't find a good reason to say no, and I I think he's pretty cool, so I went along.

Turns out Cosco is really a secret Cabal, mainly for old people. I've never seen so many handicapped parking spots in my life. At least thirty or forty.

The shopping carts were twice as big as normal shopping carts, and there were also... what to call them, something you might use to transport large crates of things, or a lot of luggage. You need to present your Cosco membership at the door, where it is carfully checked. Inside is a space to rival Super Walmats. It's a huge, high cealinged warehouse, with tall stacks of giant boxes of kleenex, wide screen tv's, a food section with lots of free samples, and just about everything else. Kind of a Shopping center for giants. You have to use your cosco card to check out, and at the door, a lady looked at our reciptes and counted how many items we had in our cart, to make sure we weren't stealing anything.

I've never seen such high security at a shopping center. I can only guess that old people are an especialy high demographic for shoplifting, because they just don't care/feel they're old enought that they can do what they want/realize they're going to die soon so who cares what other people think of them.

Oh, and they had partial sky-lighting, which made me happy.

Also, the periodicaly move around were items are, in an obvious attempt to mess with the old people and make them think they're getting alzheimers, to try to send them into a buying frenzy.

(reminds me of a comic someone told me of: an old dieing man is lieing in his deathbed, family gathered around him. his last words are, "I wish... I'd bought...more crap...")

In other news: I just got an interesting suggestion, that I function on a shame based (in this definition shame = feeling like I'm bad) system rather than a guilt based (guilt = feeling like my actions are bad) system, because I feel like I am incapable of change, of improvement. I feel like I have no power to change things. So, I do something I feel is crappy, and I don't make amends, rectify my guilt, and so it sticks around and starts being shame.

Malcolm mentioned that the rule of karma means, if you work on something, that action will absolutely have an effect. If you practice a sport, you will get better at it. Cause and effect. It may happen slowly, it may not make you the best in the world at it, but it will definitly have an effect. And in the moment, the current moment, I stand at the head of my previous karma, with the free will choice to create whatever current karma I want. I have to start from where I am, but if I don't make different choices, I won't change.

So now the old program has been brought to light, and a new, more attractive program has been introduced, or activated. Now they have to battle it out. My job is to lean as much as I can into the new program, because that is much closer to how I want to be functioning.

And it starts with this belief that I'm just fundamentally not a good person. And it starts with the realization that I can change my destiny through my current actions.

There are a lot of people in the town of fairfield, and a lot of my close friends, who espouse my original program. They say, "you have no free will, it's all predetermined." And they are good talkers, so they can argue there point very well. I kind of want to scream fuck you at them, but I realize the problem is with me, not them, and speaking harsh words is something I long ago realized has very strong and often immediate negative consequences. It's amazing how much you can wound someone with a mere word.

Really, any viewpoint is just that, a viewpoint. Whether you really think there is free will, or not, what is important is the consequences of your beliefs. Because they create your world. For me, my belief in no free will has the consequence of great suffering and inertia. It leads to me feeling powerless, and thus acting powerless. And the truth is that's bullshit. Man is not powerless, Man is incredibly powerful. We have the ability to shape the world we live in, and we have huge control over our personal reality, via our beliefs. This old belife fails my simple, effective test, and so is up for changing.

That simple test, by the way, is this: does this create more light in my life, or darkness? Said a few more ways: Does it inspire radient feelings or constricted ones? Does it inspire me towards purity, joy, growth, or discourage me and depress me? Is it of the light or darkness; your heart knows this, in it's simplicity. Suffering, ignorance, confusion... or love?

Now comes the longer part, where I have to feel through all of this. Where I have to stand in tearing winds of doubt and fear and old patterns and begin to create something new. Where I take my first, unsteady steps, unsure if I can do it, unsure of what is going to happen, of where I might end up, if I do succeed..

Shitfuck. as the old philosophers and saints-in-training say. Too bad I can't buy determination at Cosco, cus I could sure use a wholesale box of it.