Wake Up Call

These last few mornings have been especially hard to pull myself out of bed with the dark gloom and rain outside the windows. Still, I managed to get my act together and get to work on time even though I'm still thinking about my cozy bed back home, the freshly washed sheets and blankets and my nice, poofy pillow. When the sheets lose that first-washed scent, I have this wonderful lavender and vanilla linen spray I use - the stuff practically lulls you to sleep.

Anyway, I got into work and started my usual routine: turn on computer, put lunch in fridge, check my hair in the bathroom - actually I pretty much wait until I'm at work to do anything more to my hair than the quick combing I do at home - and then start reading email. Delete, delete, delete, mark as read, etc. Then comes the favorite email of the morning, a "Hello" message from Mom. Today is her and my father's 32nd wedding anniversary, which makes me proud of them and also hopeful that my marriage will be as successful as theirs has been. It also made me think of the reading I just did for my British Literature class. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley argued in the 1800's that women needed more education, which would make them better wifes and mothers, which would make better fathers and children, which would make a better nation as a whole. She argued that in order to make a marriage successful, it can't all be about sex - that eventually the relationship would be sexless and what are you left with? Friendship, of course! But how can you be friends if one of you has no education and cannot hold an intelligent conversation? Interesting, huh? By the way, she also wrote Frankenstein.

Anyway, as I read Mom's email further there was some bad news - actually quite a bit of bad news. Poor health, family drama, things not going well with so and so, and I realized that getting up this morning wasn't such a hard thing after all. I could get up. I could go to a job. I could bring a lunch and read my email and be happy for my parents who are healthy and still married and who I love dearly. So, today is good and tomorrow when my alarm clock starts bleeting at me to get up, I'm not going to grumble. I'm going to thank God that I have another day.

God

Note to my readers: I hemmed and hawed about making this note, because I feel that I shouldn't have to point it out, but I know that some of us are more sensitive than others and may be easily offended. So, before you read this, know that it is entirely farcical and has nothing to do with my personal religious beliefs. It's creative writing! Okay, now go ahead and read. Hope you enjoy it!

God

He has been called so many things. God, Allah, Christ, The Messiah, The Big Man Upstairs. But who is God really? Is he a hard-working man, up at 6 am every morning, ready to toil over mundane human troubles – droughts, wars, sickness? Does he iron his own pants or does he have Peter do it for him? Maybe he doesn’t even wear pants – maybe he lounges around in cloud-printed pajamas all day, chomping on popcorn soaked in butter as he watches his latest manifestation – a magnitude 6 earthquake. This time it’s in San Francisco and as the Golden Gate bridge collapses he elbows Peter exclaiming, “Dude, did you see that?!” which makes Peter spill beer on his lap and reply, “Jesus, Christ!” To which God replies, “Chill out, Pete!” and wipes his greasy fingers on a white silk towel that appears out of thin air.

Actually, God is probably more of a diva. I bet he wears red lipstick and Gucci and has a down-right tantrum if he misses an episode of Sex and The City. He spends his time organizing dinner parties and carefully selecting the next celebrity to join the “Forever 27” club as the guest of honor. Perhaps Kate Bosworth? The menu consists of the finest caviar, succulent lobster, the most tender lamb, and juiciest duck. Yet the driest bread and woodiest wine are served with every course. When asked why, God responds with a confident smile, “Because no matter what you eat at your next meal, you’ll remember me.”

Then again, it’s possible that God actually is a woman. A woman named Tina who tried to reveal her true identity on Oprah but was topped by a seven-year old who could juggle knives while reciting the names of all 50 states in alphabetical order. Maybe if she went on a reality show like Survivor, people would recognize her and make her famous again. She would turn her tribe’s rice into heaps of mac-n-cheese and her rival’s into writhing maggots.

Or, maybe God is just a brittle old man whose tired of hearing the same prayers over and over again - “make me rich, make him love me, show me a sign.” He sits in a rocking chair, but doesn’t rock. His eyes are yellowed and milky. He smells of stale urine and his mouth is full of cobwebs. He stares silently ahead, watching, waiting, and hoping that there really is a God.

 

Coffeehouse Barbie

Coffeehouse Barbie sits quietly in a dark corner of the Pink Tulip Café. She pretends to be deeply engaged in reading the Mattel News and sipping her caramel macchiato, but she’s actually trying to build up her confidence. Tuesday is open mic night and the last time she counted, there were five people in the place – five! Three girls and two guys including the server whose real name was Chris, but everyone called Ziggy because he had a blue zig-zag on his forehead that the evil neighbor kid with the creepy, red kool-aid mustache drew on him with permanent marker last year.

Ken is on the stage right now, droning on and on about his love for Bicentennial Barbie, every line rhyming - A B, A B - love and dove, heart and smart while Bicentennial Barbie slides lower in her seat as if she were melting into a soppy puddle. Of course the rest of us know it’s really because her knees don’t bend like ours. The only thing holding her up is the stiff white netting under her shiny blue ball gown.

Ken finally takes a swift bow and returns to his seat. Now is her chance! Coffeehouse Barbie stands up and makes her majestic march toward the front. Her long, Harry Potter cape swooshes as she bobs by the others. At least I’m dressed in something regal, she thinks. She taps on the mic customarily – testing one, two, three. She starts to recite her poem, “Ode to Quidditch” when someone’s ringtone interrupts loudly with “Girls just wanna have fu-un!” Suddenly Beach Barbie springs up in her sparkly purple bikini, her bleach-blonde ponytail swinging excitedly. “Hey, everybody! Surf’s up!” she shouts. “Midnight beach party at my place!” And with one great “Wa-hoo!” everyone hops out of their places to join the fun.

With a great sigh, Coffeehouse Barbie steps off the stage and heads back to the dark corner of the café. Tuesday nights are always the same after all. Maybe someday she’ll have an opportunity to show them how talented she really is. If only she had free will, she would punch Ken and Beach Barbie right in their cheesy plastic faces. She picks up her purple surfboard leaning in the corner and wishes Ziggy a good night. “See ya tomorrow, Coffee.” “Yup,” she answers. “Tuesday all over again.”

Mandertherapy

Listen up, readers! I have some Mandertherapy for you that I also recently shared with a co-worker of mine. She's easily stressed, frazzled, overwhelmed, whereas I am quite the opposite. It takes a lot to stress me out or run me down. I go with the flow, the mojo, the okay - let's go. So, the lovely lady tells me about a difficult client she is working with and asks for my feedback. I give and she then asks me, "Mander, how do you not worry about something like that?! Doesn't it make you want to pull your hair out?" To which I ask the following questions: Dear friend, is this something you have any control over? (She shakes her head no.) Have you provided said client with all possible options, answers, advice and/or instructions? (She confidently says "yes!") Well then, I say, why in the world would you waste your energy on someone elses problem? Don't you have enough of your own? "Huh!" she replies. "Yes, I do. I guess I never looked at it that way."

You see, friends, if you have no control over something, why spend valuable time and energy on it when it will repay you with nothing? That time and energy can be spent on something much more fulfilling. Even if you spend it on learning from the situation for your own personal gain. Doesn't that make more sense? Let it go and get going!

Inspiration

Tomorrow is the last day of my first week of classes and I must say, I am extremely excited about this semester. I have fantastic instructors who are wonderfully inspiring and I can't wait to really dig in. (I'll remember I said that when mid-term comes around!) Even the class I was expecting to be brutal is interesting because of the professor's teaching style. I seem to go through these cycles of inspiration and then blankness, but I'm hoping I can keep the momentum going.

I feel really good lately. I've been doing a lot of reflection and self-evaluation and although I'm a firm believer that you can never totally achieve happiness - as humans, we always want or desire something more - I   am   happy! I feel motivated and ready to tackle anything. I hesitate to admit that out loud (or in writing rather) only because I'm afraid I'll cast a spotlight on myself for bad luck. Here I am! Come and get me! Everything is going way too smoothly for this to be my life. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, but I've set some goals and I plan on reaching them. Wish me luck!