We all know someone like this: "I know I I haven't put the hard work and effort into it; hell, I haven't even lifted a damned finger, but I want that thing, give it to me." Or maybe someone like this: "She asked me to clean up the house and have dinner started by time she got home but I just couldn't get the energy up to do it and ended up sitting on the couch watching re-runs all day." We've all had our moments of laziness, usually it is well deserved after months of hard work, stress, and overtime, but after a day or two we get back to work. Then there are those people who are chronically lazy and regularly cause added work and stress to the lives of those around them. Doesn't it just make you want to slap them? They're too lazy and irresponsible to get off their ass and do their job. So we, the dependable and responsible ones, have to pick up their slack.
It is no doubt that laziness is an epidemic of huge proportions. There are as many causes of laziness as there are lazy people. Maybe these lazies were "just raised that way", they learned the behavior from someone they grew up around. Or their parents always did everything for them and they never learned independence and responsibility and how to work for what they need and want. It could be a side effect of illness. Depression, chronic fatigue syndrome, PMS, diabetes...there are a million illnesses that could cause one to become characteristically lazy. A poor diet can cause laziness, and a lack of exercise can cause it as well. It becomes a vicious cycle, energy begets energy therefore laziness begets even more laziness. Or maybe these lazies just don't give a shit about anyone or anything but themselves and they are self important people with delusions of the entitlement to not have to lift a damned finger.
We can't escape the horrible effect these lazy people have on those closest to them. When you have to share a home with a lazy person, or have a co-worker who is profoundly lazy, the resulting negative emotions and psychological effects can be downright murder inducing. The carelessness and disregard lazies indicate through their actions (or lack there of) that leave more work and stress for their fellow man can cause a loved one or co-worker to feel used, unloved (or just disliked in the co-worker instance), and disrespected. Inevitably these thoughts and feelings lead to a meltdown, confrontation, or other painful reaction or retaliation.
How do you cure laziness? It seams the cure lies within the lazy person. Only they can cure themselves. One must develop the ability to care and the desire to move. One must realize their importance to others, that they are relied upon to pull their own weight as well as to support those around them. One reason we are social beings and go through the trouble of coexisting is so we can help one another, not so we can have everything done for us.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Stress, That Bitch
It is a strange and annoying phenomenon how every stressful requirement comes due all at once. The need to deal with such things as appointments with government departments such as EDD or the DMV, work and/or school projects, cleaning the house and other important tasks and errands, all come and weigh on us at the same time. Is it a psychological reaction to stress itself, "I need to get this one very important thing done."- leads to thinking and stressing about everything that needs to get done? Or is it that everything really does just so happen to rain down all at once?
The feeling of utter relief and a sense of accomplishment sets in almost immediately when we realize we were able to get everything done. This doesn't always happen though; sometimes we can't get it all done or something goes wrong that complicates and ruins all our hard work. Or maybe it just doesn't seem to ever end. Once we make a little headway in our long list of get-it-done-nows, another task or two gets added to the list. The desire to just give up, it will never get done so why even try, is a strong one. Most of us persevere despite our depression and sense of dread and overwhelming exhaustion. We all have our reasons for not giving up: pride, family that relies on us, the fear of the consequences for not fulfilling our duties...
Some people thrive on stress while others crumble under the weight of it. There is always that one person we all love to hate who seems to holler "Stress? Oh yeah, baby, pile it on some more! I can handle it!" God, we'd just love to deck that overachieving try-hard...mostly because we envy their ability to actually handle the stress and get it all done. Most of us fall into the other category. We silently suffer and scream to ourselves, "Please, God, just make it all go away! I need a break!" No matter which of these categories we might fall into there is still one more category that both the handle-it-wells and the sufferers hate even more than each other, the "Stress? what stress? I have never experienced this thing called stress." kind of person. They seem to have never had to try or be responsible for anything in their lives. Everything good just falls into their lap and God forbid anything unfortunate should come their way. I think we all agree, those people need to die in a fire.
There are a million different quirky coping mechanisms that people use to deal with their feelings of stress. Smoking, fits of rage, drinking, exercise, drugs, nail-biting, nervous talking, crying, hot baths, sex, pacing, twitches, music, gaming, gambling, eating and/or cooking, cleaning, cutting...well there are just way too many to list. It is interesting to sit back and watch people in public places, you can so easily pick out the different quirks that manifest when they are under a lot of stress. Try it sometime.
The reality is that stress will always be in our lives, there is no ignoring it. There is no escaping it. In the end all we can do is sit back and take a deep breath. Take it one day at a time, the stress we feel today, the problems we face right this moment honestly, probably, most likely, may not last forever.
The feeling of utter relief and a sense of accomplishment sets in almost immediately when we realize we were able to get everything done. This doesn't always happen though; sometimes we can't get it all done or something goes wrong that complicates and ruins all our hard work. Or maybe it just doesn't seem to ever end. Once we make a little headway in our long list of get-it-done-nows, another task or two gets added to the list. The desire to just give up, it will never get done so why even try, is a strong one. Most of us persevere despite our depression and sense of dread and overwhelming exhaustion. We all have our reasons for not giving up: pride, family that relies on us, the fear of the consequences for not fulfilling our duties...
Some people thrive on stress while others crumble under the weight of it. There is always that one person we all love to hate who seems to holler "Stress? Oh yeah, baby, pile it on some more! I can handle it!" God, we'd just love to deck that overachieving try-hard...mostly because we envy their ability to actually handle the stress and get it all done. Most of us fall into the other category. We silently suffer and scream to ourselves, "Please, God, just make it all go away! I need a break!" No matter which of these categories we might fall into there is still one more category that both the handle-it-wells and the sufferers hate even more than each other, the "Stress? what stress? I have never experienced this thing called stress." kind of person. They seem to have never had to try or be responsible for anything in their lives. Everything good just falls into their lap and God forbid anything unfortunate should come their way. I think we all agree, those people need to die in a fire.
There are a million different quirky coping mechanisms that people use to deal with their feelings of stress. Smoking, fits of rage, drinking, exercise, drugs, nail-biting, nervous talking, crying, hot baths, sex, pacing, twitches, music, gaming, gambling, eating and/or cooking, cleaning, cutting...well there are just way too many to list. It is interesting to sit back and watch people in public places, you can so easily pick out the different quirks that manifest when they are under a lot of stress. Try it sometime.
The reality is that stress will always be in our lives, there is no ignoring it. There is no escaping it. In the end all we can do is sit back and take a deep breath. Take it one day at a time, the stress we feel today, the problems we face right this moment honestly, probably, most likely, may not last forever.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Dead Men Do Tell Tales
One thing that I can say is a wonderful and exciting part of my life is the fact that I have extremely vivid dreams. My dream life is almost as real to me as my waking life, I have had many a moment where I thought about a memory and had to stop and think about whether the memory really happened or was from a dream. My dreams often tend to be what most people would describe as nightmares. They are murderous, zombie filled, violent, and many a dream is filled with heart pounding, muscle straining, hair pulling fights. I wont even mention the sexual content. Dreams are just the minds way of defragging, we all must dream in order to stay sane; this doesn't mean we have to remember our dreams or be able to make sense of them. Also, we experience something like a major dream an hour while we sleep. I simply tend to have more vivid dreams than most people, for instance, let me tell you about one of the dreams I had last night...
It all started in the haunted apartment. Joel (my brother) and I were investigating my new home. I have no idea what happened to Lee (my husband) in this dream, but here I was alone, moving into my very own adorable apartment in the tower district of Fresno. It was a corner apartment in a Victorian style building with it's steeple roof, textured shingles, asymmetry, bay windows, and a turret. I was giving my brother a tour as we chit-chatted about family and work. We noticed doors and drawers around the place were opening and closing seemingly at their own whim. When the lights began to flicker I decided to put my foot down.
"OK, that's enough. Show yourself or go haunt someone else!"
Behind Joel, appeared a translucent man floating about three inches above the floor. When Joel saw the refection of the ghost in the bathroom mirror he turned around and ran through the ghost, leaving a ripple effect through the specter and a trail of blue smoke in the wake. With my brother scared off, I was left to face the ghost myself. I felt no fear but more annoyance and decided it would probably be best to try and live peaceably with the dead man than to try and get rid of him. I started by asking a series of questions in an attempt to better get to know the ghost and my situation. His name was George Sides and he died in this very apartment back when it was still a mansion in 1940. George informed me that he had been murdered by his brother-in-law and that the murderer was never brought to justice. Come to find out, the murderers son now owned the home and was living on the premises.
"Hello." A man called from the front porch.
Speak of the devil. George didn't speak so much as project his thoughts.
My landlord, Mr. Wallace, had come to see how I was fairing with the move-in. I let him know that all was well but that I had not expected to have a roommate. As we walked into the kitchen area he asked what I meant by roommate. I recounted my mornings discoveries to him, as I spoke his expression turned from curious confusion to horrified anger.
"In all my years of renting this apartment, you are the first to learn the truth." He grabbed a steak knife from a packing box and came at me. I first dodged the man and came about behind him and grabbed his weapon wielding arm. He yelped at the pain of having his arm twisted behind him and released his grip on the knife. I caught the falling knife and stabbed it into the back of his neck. He gargled blood as he fell to the floor and died.
"Oh my God; oh, my God; oh, my God." I trembled from a combination of adrenalin, shock, and terror. I thought somewhere deep in the clouded mire of my over stressed mind that I should call the police. Before I could bring myself to move, George decided to complicate matters.
Why did you do that? This was not a calm question, but one lathered in anger.
Even if I could have brought myself to look him in the eye, George was not materialized. I tried to rationalize my action, it was self defense, he came at me with a knife, he was trying to kill me so I had to kill him first, right? George was not buying it and made this clear by causing the entire apartment to rumble. I asked with a trembling voice why he was mad, this was the son of the man who had killed him, shouldn't he be happy?
He was my nephew, not my murderer!
At this moment I decided I did not want to live there anymore. I ran from the apartment and found Joel sitting in the drivers seat of his car. I leaped into he passenger seat and told him to get us the hell out of there. As we sped down Olive avenue everything seemed to become darker as if the mid morning sun was being eclipsed. I tried to ignore the darkness as I told Joel of what I had experienced in the apartment. I lied and told him that George had killed Mr. Wallace. We drove out of town and up into the mountains of Yosemite. During the entire drive I felt as if George was still with me but every time I asked him to make himself known there was no response.
Joel and I hiked around Yosemite for several days, too frightened to go home. I can't speak for Joel but I was more frightened of the police than of ghosts. I knew that George was with us, I could feel his presence looming over me like a bitter child. It was nearly five days before we decided to buck up and go back to town. Along the walk back to Joel's car I came across a little black and white kitten; scared and damp from the rain, it cried out in a tiny pitiful voice. I picked it up and cuddled it in my shirt. It would be months before I learned that the kitten was harboring the spirit of George.
It all started in the haunted apartment. Joel (my brother) and I were investigating my new home. I have no idea what happened to Lee (my husband) in this dream, but here I was alone, moving into my very own adorable apartment in the tower district of Fresno. It was a corner apartment in a Victorian style building with it's steeple roof, textured shingles, asymmetry, bay windows, and a turret. I was giving my brother a tour as we chit-chatted about family and work. We noticed doors and drawers around the place were opening and closing seemingly at their own whim. When the lights began to flicker I decided to put my foot down.
"OK, that's enough. Show yourself or go haunt someone else!"
Behind Joel, appeared a translucent man floating about three inches above the floor. When Joel saw the refection of the ghost in the bathroom mirror he turned around and ran through the ghost, leaving a ripple effect through the specter and a trail of blue smoke in the wake. With my brother scared off, I was left to face the ghost myself. I felt no fear but more annoyance and decided it would probably be best to try and live peaceably with the dead man than to try and get rid of him. I started by asking a series of questions in an attempt to better get to know the ghost and my situation. His name was George Sides and he died in this very apartment back when it was still a mansion in 1940. George informed me that he had been murdered by his brother-in-law and that the murderer was never brought to justice. Come to find out, the murderers son now owned the home and was living on the premises.
"Hello." A man called from the front porch.
Speak of the devil. George didn't speak so much as project his thoughts.
My landlord, Mr. Wallace, had come to see how I was fairing with the move-in. I let him know that all was well but that I had not expected to have a roommate. As we walked into the kitchen area he asked what I meant by roommate. I recounted my mornings discoveries to him, as I spoke his expression turned from curious confusion to horrified anger.
"In all my years of renting this apartment, you are the first to learn the truth." He grabbed a steak knife from a packing box and came at me. I first dodged the man and came about behind him and grabbed his weapon wielding arm. He yelped at the pain of having his arm twisted behind him and released his grip on the knife. I caught the falling knife and stabbed it into the back of his neck. He gargled blood as he fell to the floor and died.
"Oh my God; oh, my God; oh, my God." I trembled from a combination of adrenalin, shock, and terror. I thought somewhere deep in the clouded mire of my over stressed mind that I should call the police. Before I could bring myself to move, George decided to complicate matters.
Why did you do that? This was not a calm question, but one lathered in anger.
Even if I could have brought myself to look him in the eye, George was not materialized. I tried to rationalize my action, it was self defense, he came at me with a knife, he was trying to kill me so I had to kill him first, right? George was not buying it and made this clear by causing the entire apartment to rumble. I asked with a trembling voice why he was mad, this was the son of the man who had killed him, shouldn't he be happy?
He was my nephew, not my murderer!
At this moment I decided I did not want to live there anymore. I ran from the apartment and found Joel sitting in the drivers seat of his car. I leaped into he passenger seat and told him to get us the hell out of there. As we sped down Olive avenue everything seemed to become darker as if the mid morning sun was being eclipsed. I tried to ignore the darkness as I told Joel of what I had experienced in the apartment. I lied and told him that George had killed Mr. Wallace. We drove out of town and up into the mountains of Yosemite. During the entire drive I felt as if George was still with me but every time I asked him to make himself known there was no response.
Joel and I hiked around Yosemite for several days, too frightened to go home. I can't speak for Joel but I was more frightened of the police than of ghosts. I knew that George was with us, I could feel his presence looming over me like a bitter child. It was nearly five days before we decided to buck up and go back to town. Along the walk back to Joel's car I came across a little black and white kitten; scared and damp from the rain, it cried out in a tiny pitiful voice. I picked it up and cuddled it in my shirt. It would be months before I learned that the kitten was harboring the spirit of George.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Getting Off My Ass
I've been thinking of doing this for a long time, writing a blog, and considering how I have been feeling about myself and what the hell I am doing with my life as of late, I think it is time to push my fat ass across the line that lies between thinking and actually doing. A blog is just one of many of those things I have been thinking about doing for years but have not made the commitment to put into action until now. Really, what is it that makes me such a thinker but not much of a doer?
I am one of those people who thinks for ungodly amounts of hours about things I would love to do, learn, discuss with others, places I want to go, achievements I wish I could reach, blah, blah, blah. But I rarely go any farther than just dreaming about them and mulling them over in my mind. Why? Am I afraid of failing? Not really, I am one who understands that failure is a part of life and the process of mastery. Am I afraid of change? I don't think so, I constantly complain about how unhappy I am with my current place in life. Do I just not have the time? Hell no! I have way too much time on my hands to just sit around and think, so why not to do... OK, I lied, I am afraid of failing, but not at everything, just at those things I love. I love to write and I can't bear the thought of being told I am no good at it. I never claimed to be any good, (just look at all the screw ups in this blog alone) I know I have a lot to learn and that is precisely why I decided to start a blog, to practice and perfect my writing skills.
So what will this blog be, other than a tool for writing practice? What will I blog about? I plan to blog about everything; I foresee a lot of reviews of movies, shows, music, restaurants; talk about politics and religion, and throw in some bitching about life in general. Oh, and some fictional writings, maybe even a short story now and then. I'm not sure how often I will post, being a newb I have no idea how often the fancy will strike me. I could force myself to write on a regular basis but if you saw me in person you'd understand that I don't have an overabundance of will power or self discipline. One thing I can promise is that even though this is my blog and my opinion, I will make a strong effort to not be narcissistic, self centered, or one sided in my writings...this post aside, of course.
So, why did I chose to title my blog Cinnamon? I love cinnamon and over the years it has become the spice of my life. This spice has so many good properties, just a few are: lowering bad cholesterol, blood sugar and fat metabolism, improving cognition and memory, and it can help to eliminate headaches and migraines. Facts aside, cinnamon smells wonderful and tastes like heaven and is a wonderful spice to enhance and improve so many otherwise hum-drum dishes. I recently started using cinnamon with many pork dishes I cook. I never cared much for pork but when you add cinnamon, OMG, flavor to die for. All I'm trying to say here is that cinnamon is a spice, cinnamon is everywhere and used in many different ways; cinnamon is variety and this is what I hope my blog to achieve. So sit back, read, and hopefully enjoy this journey with me.
I am one of those people who thinks for ungodly amounts of hours about things I would love to do, learn, discuss with others, places I want to go, achievements I wish I could reach, blah, blah, blah. But I rarely go any farther than just dreaming about them and mulling them over in my mind. Why? Am I afraid of failing? Not really, I am one who understands that failure is a part of life and the process of mastery. Am I afraid of change? I don't think so, I constantly complain about how unhappy I am with my current place in life. Do I just not have the time? Hell no! I have way too much time on my hands to just sit around and think, so why not to do... OK, I lied, I am afraid of failing, but not at everything, just at those things I love. I love to write and I can't bear the thought of being told I am no good at it. I never claimed to be any good, (just look at all the screw ups in this blog alone) I know I have a lot to learn and that is precisely why I decided to start a blog, to practice and perfect my writing skills.
So what will this blog be, other than a tool for writing practice? What will I blog about? I plan to blog about everything; I foresee a lot of reviews of movies, shows, music, restaurants; talk about politics and religion, and throw in some bitching about life in general. Oh, and some fictional writings, maybe even a short story now and then. I'm not sure how often I will post, being a newb I have no idea how often the fancy will strike me. I could force myself to write on a regular basis but if you saw me in person you'd understand that I don't have an overabundance of will power or self discipline. One thing I can promise is that even though this is my blog and my opinion, I will make a strong effort to not be narcissistic, self centered, or one sided in my writings...this post aside, of course.
So, why did I chose to title my blog Cinnamon? I love cinnamon and over the years it has become the spice of my life. This spice has so many good properties, just a few are: lowering bad cholesterol, blood sugar and fat metabolism, improving cognition and memory, and it can help to eliminate headaches and migraines. Facts aside, cinnamon smells wonderful and tastes like heaven and is a wonderful spice to enhance and improve so many otherwise hum-drum dishes. I recently started using cinnamon with many pork dishes I cook. I never cared much for pork but when you add cinnamon, OMG, flavor to die for. All I'm trying to say here is that cinnamon is a spice, cinnamon is everywhere and used in many different ways; cinnamon is variety and this is what I hope my blog to achieve. So sit back, read, and hopefully enjoy this journey with me.
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