Short Little Nothings

Hello, readers!

This week has flown by in a burst of unexpected activity. Or rather, the activity was expected, what wasn’t expected was everything else. I didn’t expect loving my classmates, making a new friend, suddenly finding myself a volunteer, feeling completely at home in grad school. I didn’t expect there were people I’d miss so quickly. Mostly I miss my wife.

Grad school has truly felt like starting a new chapter. My hectic schedule means there’s quite a bit I’m giving up in order to pursue this degree. And the weird thing is, I don’t feel all that busy. At the end of the day, when I look back exhausted, I realize everything I’ve been doing. For the most part though, I feel kinda breezy. It’s an odd feeling to have, I realize. I don’t hate it though.

I’m in the process of settling in so I can get back to reading for fun. I refuse to turn into one of those people who stops reading for pleasure. (Although, I’m aware that’s what might end up happening, so bear with me). Once I figure my schedule out, I’ll start posting about bookish things and loving you all literary like. All seduction and poetry. Actually, a short poetry anthology might be good. What do you guys think?

I’m getting back to the books. It’s a short, not about anything exactly post, I know. I just felt like writing something for you guys. #KeepingTheHabit

Until next time, readers!

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Rangent: The Fear of Missing Out

Welcome to Wednesday, you guys! The Sun is out and the sky is blue. Everything is beautiful and so are you. Paraphrasing The Beatles is more satisfying than it should be.

Our generation is constantly afraid of missing out. The term is Fear of missing out or FOMO, as it’s affectionately called. We consume information at an astonishing speed – current events, music, movies, books. We’re so scared of missing out, like being out of the loop will leave us stranded in empty space. We all vibrate with a need to be everywhere, a subconscious desire to separate our particles and scatter them to every corner of the world.

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Hopefully the split would look more elegant and glamorous than this…

I’m one of those people. I feel the need to be everywhere at once, especially when I travel. The months before my trip I spent them combing the internet looking for events. The thought of being somewhere new and missing out on things, not out of disinterest, but because I didn’t know about them was pretty awful. But, the thing I felt I was missing out on the most, was my best friend.

We were traveling at the same time, but in entirely different places. I felt like I was missing out on her experiences, just as she felt she was missing out on mine. It’s a very particular feeling that fear of missing out on someone else’s experiences. Although, I suppose that’s the essence of missing out, isn’t it? Someone else is experiencing things you wish you could be a part of. You feel adrift, instead of feeling anchored to shared moments with someone else.

That’s life, though, right? We can’t be everywhere at once, so we’re destined to miss out on things once in a while. It’s impossible to have it any other way, but that’s ok. Because life isn’t about being at every party, reading every book, watching every movie. It’s about going the parties that matter, reading the books that make us feel something, watching the movies that give us a new perspective or make us laugh.

And for that, there’s a whole host of things you can do! Let’s all breathe a collective sigh of thankfulness for that. Things like social media and newsletter subscriptions are invaluable for that. Two years ago, during my internship in D.C., I found out about Eventbrite and it became my go to for events. In a city that was constantly in motion, bristling with conferences and book readings, Eventbrite gave me access to more events than I knew what to do with. Which meant I ended up going to the events that truly interested me, rather than random events that didn’t make me happy.

I don’t think this generalized anxiety of ours is necessary. We shouldn’t be afraid of missing out on everything, rather we should be afraid of missing out on the things that matter. So, let’s all make the most of Facebook, Twitter, Eventbrite, and as many newsletters as we can get our hands on. Instead of suffering from FOMO, let’s make the most of GOMO! Fight the fear of missing out by making sure you’re always where you want to be.

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Be as happy as Rapunzel going out for the first time.

Let me know how you keep up with events! Have a good one, readers!

Alphabet Soup: O is for Orgasm

This segment titled Alphabet Soup: The alphabet according to someone with very little shame and a lot of time on her hands was inspired by blogger Mandy Wallace and the Writers of Kern A to Z challenge. Enjoy!

It’s finally Friday, y’all! I’m up at indecent hours of the morning like an actual person, what’s that all about?! Work last night was a dud of the biggest kind. We were meant to work 7 hours and instead worked only 3. All I wanted afterwards was a glass of wine and an orgasm.

O is for Orgasm

Orgasms, especially female ones, have this almost mythical quality within sex. How to achieve them, how to give them to other people, is sex good without them. These are questions that people ask themselves and others all the time. And, it’s understandable. We all have insecurities when it comes to sex and the orgasm is touted as the be all, end all of sexual encounters. The idea is that if there wasn’t an orgasm something failed.

I love sex and I love orgasms, but not having one doesn’t automatically mean it was bad sex for me. Sometimes I’ve been drinking and I’m dehydrated or he gets overly excited and goes off before either of us wanted him to. These things happen. They don’t, however, change the experience for me. I’ve had great sex that has ended without an orgasm and I’m okay with that. I’ve never felt like I’m going without, unless it’s a partner who doesn’t even try. Then he can go fuck himself. Literally. Because I won’t ever again.

There’s pleasure in giving and receiving pleasure. Obvious as it sounds. In savoring that moment when your body is alive and electricity is coursing through it. That pocket in time where you’re locked in place with someone else and the rest of the world takes a back seat. The entire world, with its worries and its sorrows and its anger, moves to the back burner as you suck and fuck and kiss your way through someone else.

Sex for me is always such an experience. That moment when kissing changes and you both feel that new intent. Getting to know a new partner, their little sexual quirks. The first seconds of penetration when your entire being gathers at that meeting point. The moving around, the changes, the surprises, the noise. Sex is an experience that is unparalleled for me. And it doesn’t become less if I don’t orgasm.

If sex is a sundae, then the orgasm is the cherry on top. If my ice cream guy leaves the cherry off, but gives me extra scoops of ice cream, I’m pretty much set. For everything else, there’s Visa. And by Visa, I mean vibrators.

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Is the cherry on top essential in your sundae? Let me know in the comments below!

Keep it frosty, readers.

Art, Suffering, & Crafts

IMG_0809Today was meant to be an insanely productive day. Instead, I did nothing. Seriously, I didn’t do any of the things I was supposed to do today. It’s terrible.

On the bright side! I got creative and ended up making necklaces out of old clothes.I’m pretty happy with how they turned out, although I need to work on making them look more polished. Still, for an impromptu activity, I’m fairly pleased. Tickled, even. I have a whole bag full of clothes that I was thinking of selling or giving away, but now I’m thinking of keeping them and making some more necklaces. Who knows, maybe I can sell them and make a bit of money that way.

I’ve been thinking about a scene in St. Urbain’s Horseman. Where Jake, the main character, is wondering about the effects his happy marriage could have on his children…

“Jake feared that a felicitous marriage not only reflected poorly on Nancy and him, stamping them superficial, tin-like, but it was also bad for the kids. Everybody he admired, his most imaginative and resourceful friends, had emerged from afflicted homes. Dad a zero, mum a carnivore. Parents so embittered that they wrote off their own lives and toiled only for the children’s sake. Divorced parents, vying shamelessly for the kids’ affections. Quarreling, lying, but, inadvertently, shaping rebels. Hammering out artists. Whereas in their home there was only symmetry, affection, parents who took pleasure in each other’s company.

What are we spawning here, Jake wondered? Surely from such a well-adjusted and cozy childhood only ciphers could spring. Cocooned and soft-minded dolts, who would grow up totally unprepared for life. Sammy would never shoplift. Molly wouldn’t have hysterics. In a drug culture, they were already tranquillized.”

We always hear about how true Art requires not only talent and dedication, but also a certain amount of suffering. Blood, sweat, and tears have always been touted as essential ingredients in the making of truly great art. It is necessary to to feel intense pain in order to accurately portray it, in order for our art to be relevant. Otherwise, art becomes superficial and meaningless. At least, that’s what people say and it’s Jake’s concern, as well. Will being happy and loved mean that his children will grow up to be adults without dimension, people who lack strength and resilience.

But, is it true? Does a lack of hardship mean a lack of character. Not petty hardships, but true, life-changing ones. The kind that tear your soul, that make you lose your beliefs and hope – death, poverty, hunger, betrayal. All of these demand more than a pound of flesh and it’s thought that it’s this karmic payment that imbues the artist with a greatness that goes beyond merely being talented. When the soul tears in half part of it goes into the artwork or the writing, just like a Horcrux (Harry Potter is relevant everywhere). However, is it impossible to achieve that particular quality without having gone through a similar experience? Can great art be made out of not knowing “real” pain?

Here is another thought. There are a great deal of writers and artists who have been terrible people, far from having suffered, they’ve caused suffering in others. These are people thought of as geniuses and pioneers in their fields, but have also been rapists, mysoginists, even murderers. Not to mention, a lot of artists, musicians, and writers throughout history have just been dicks. People have suffered at the hands of moody, self-righteous, sometimes violent creatives. Does this mean then that art’s relationship with suffering goes both ways? Is it possible suffering is necessary, irregardless of whether one suffers or inflicts it on others? Do we have access to the pain we cause, even if we can’t feel it?

I don’t have have  answers to these questions. I think rather than needing to suffer or feel what people refer to as “real pain”, what we truly need are experiences. Of course, going through difficult and painful situations can definitely breed good art, but I don’t think it’s a guarantee of it. Whether they’re happy and fulfilling or painful and heartbreaking, we need meaningful experiences to shape our lives and, in the process, our art.

Now, having taken this moment to talk very seriously about art, I’m going to leave you with a piece that’s not even a little bit serious.

Sorry, not sorry! Stay golden, readers.