Indecision:
And other “I” words in the Alphabytes
I have a whole bunch of “I” words that could be good for the day, so I’ll list ’em off, and write a paragraph or so about each. How’s that?
Indecision
Independence
Immaturity
Imagination
Indecision: I used to be plagued with indecision, but thank goodness I am getting over that one. I’m getting better at making decisions about little goofy stuff, like what restaurant to go to with friends, or what CD to put in in social situations when these things are up for the choosing. I’d rather be up front about these things and go someplace interesting with good vegetarian options, rather than get stuck at some godawful chain with a bagged iceberg salad, and I would rather speak up and get something on the stereo that doesn’t make me have to Clorox my eardrums afterwards. I’m getting better at making decisions about big stuff, too. Having to make some important decisions over the course of the last few years has broken me of a lot of waffling. Whether or not to go to grad school, what to do about our ailing, failing Scirocco, what house to live in…It may tke a lot of thought and deliberation and plotting and planning, but I usually know what my mind is set for, I just have to convince myself fully to go through with it.
Independence: I’ve been functioning on my own, as a responsible adult since I was 19 (I just turned 27 the other day). I spent the summer after my first year at college living back with my parents, and I realized that I was ready to strike out on my own. I spent the next year at college living in the dorms, in a single room, and knew deep down that at the end of Spring semester, I would be apartment hunting. One of the best things about the town where I went to college was that rents are cheap. Todd and I decided to move in together that summer, and at $175 a month, our first rathole apartment was a snip. We were able to work minimum-wage jobs (all that was on offer in Chadron) and still live a pretty respectable life of eating well, going to the movies on occasion, and paying our utilities on time. At various points in time, he’s been out of work, and I have been able tokeep the household afloat, so I know I don’t have to have a man to support me financially, but I must say I do appreciate having him around for moral support. Nobody can talk me down from my narrow and precipitious mental ledges like Todd can.
Immaturity: Well, yeah, I’ve been functioning as an adult for the past 8 years inasmuch as I pay my bills with my own hard-earned money and cook my own dinners and do my own laundry, but sometimes I think I have regressed to preadolescent levels of silliness in other areas of my life. Like today, for instance, when it occurred to me that with one foot tucked under my butt and the other dangling and swinging off my office chair, I could propel myself in circles by hooking my free foot around the support of my desk, then shoving off. I spun my swivelly office chair around and around and around until I felt sick to my stomach, then I stopped and watched the walls appear to wobble and spin. Just like being drunk, but it clears up so much more conveniently.
Imagination: Imagination is probably the main thing that keeps me going. I can get through the most mind-numbing day by daydreaming, doodling, writing stuff like this in Word-Pad, and otherwise creatively dawdling. I’m almost never bored, because I can usually think up something to do, and failing that, I will think up something to think. I’ll amuse myself by imaging conversations amongst a group of fictional old farmers who occupy a part of my semi-subconscious, or by anagramming shop advertisments, or by watching a grashopper very, very closely as it munches a blade of grass, or daydreaming about music I would like to hear. My sister and I used to amuse ourselves endlessly with made-up games when we were kids. A snow-day break from school would find us playing in the basement, rollerskating on the concrete floor, pretending to be express couriers, or creating a scavenger hunt with notes and clues all over the house, or building elaborate playhouses which we hoped would amuse the cat. We drew comics and acted out long, ongoing dramas with a cast of stock characters we had created (see Moosha, Cashay, Mr. MacGroovinally, et. al). We come from a long line of storytellers, inventors, and hucksters, so it just comes natural. In fact, the other night, I was talking to my grandpa on the phone, and he was conjecturing that on a tank of fuel, he could fly his 1950 Avion 4-seater to Columbia and pick up a load of cocaine and become America’s Oldest Drug Smuggler. Simply a flight of fancy, and one of grandpa’s bizarre, oblique, deadpanned wisecracks. Or like the family bullshit sessions I so enjoy when I visit my folks which culminate in such golden ideas as a Tootsie Roll dispenser shaped like a cat’s butt, or an adjustable hydraulic brassiere, so that you could make your boobies dance, just like a lowrider car. Another bullshit session yeilded the supposition that glow-in-the-dark panties under a miniskirt could create the illusion of the neon-tube undercarriages often effected by the flashier species of lowriders, as well. For some reason, the lowrider aesthetic seems to be a great inspiration.
If I were feeling at all inspired, that would be my next “I” word, but alas I am not. So, adieu and goodnight.