Because it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
We did it.
The first one hundred chickens.
And thank you for the sweet, insightful things you guys came up with on the 100 Chickens announcement regarding the art of chickening.
That was lovely.
The hard stuff
So tired that half my vacation has just been recovery mode.
Schleepy and out of focus.
Trying to catch up to myself.
And then a long troubled sleepless Monday night.
The timing. It was the wrongest.
I lost my temper.
And snapped at some poor kid.
She was probably thirteen. And had just discovered that when one rubs the edge of a wine glass with one’s finger, one can unleash a vibrate-ey ear-drum-piercing sound that echoes through the room.
And I let her re-discover it four or five excruciating times before I just couldn’t stand it anymore.
That was the first mistake: better not to wait until you’re considering aiming a plate at someone’s head.
Right. The first rule of being a Highly Sensitive Person: remove yourself from situations that cause the crazy.
Anyway, I am highly sensitive. And that unbearable sound was cutting into my soul. So I made her stop.
It was a little harsh. It was not the most sovereign behavior. I felt bad.
I still feel bad, actually.
Because then she was all slumped over and awkward, the way thirteen year olds are anyway, and I felt even more bad. And then the family left.
Sigh. I’m sorry, kid.
What can I say. Nothing that helps.
I’m a fairy, and fairies don’t do well with high-pitched noises. It’s no excuse.
I’m Israeli, and we don’t really censor ourselves. It’s no excuse.
Not long enough.
Stupid addictive vacationing.
I want more nothing!
The good stuff
Actually, I love napping.
So yeah, maybe it was kind of boring to go to bed at 8:30 and spend big chunks of the day in bed, but yay.
And as the week moved along, my strength came back, slowly but surely.
As it always does. Which I know. And forget.
(That sound you hear is me scribbling away in in the Book of Me.)
Deep blue sea.
Nothing to look at but all that blue.
This is what always restores my sanity. Getting my Piscean self across from wherever the water is.
All that water. Remembering. It’s good for me.
Straight into the Book of Me. Again.
All sorts of crazy insights and epiphanies.
As always happens, the act of Intentionally Not Working accidentally launched all sorts of ridiculously great project ideas.
So I’m coming back with an entire notebook of scribbled bits of goodness and newly minted techniques that I’m way too excited about.
The two Mary Russell novels I had on the iPhone.
Were my salvation on a desperate sleepless Monday night.
That and room service. Bless those people.
And bless Laurie King for being such a thoughtful, entertaining writer.
Saw a bald eagle.
And then it landed on a church spire, perched on the top of the cross and looked extremely pleased with itself.
I thought this one was going to go in the hard section, but it’s actually been really great.
The only time I had access to the internet this week was yesterday afternoon for a couple hours.
All the stuff I thought I’d miss? Nope. Not even slightly. The only thing I missed was checking in with you guys.
So I did this one day Shiva Nata teacher training in the beginning of June.
And now all the people who thought they weren’t ready and were never going to actually teach this stuff anyway are teaching it.
One of them even got a gig teaching it at a retreat.
Go go gadget neural-connections! And hooray for more Shivanauts in the world doing fabulous shivanautical things.
100 Chickens, people.
I honestly never thought this little weekly ritual thing would ever be anything that anyone would enjoy other than me.
(And a good from last week that I forgot.)
She said all sorts of smart, interesting, useful things that I’ve been playing with in my head.
Plus we got to talk in gangster voices. Feeling lucky and grateful that the thing I do for a living also gives me an excuse to hang out with people I admire and talk about stuff.
And … playing live at the meme beach house!
Yes, that’s a Stuism too.
My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”
This week it’s that one band.
They’re pretty good, actually. Except that it’s actually just one guy.
That’s it for me …
And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.
Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?
And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day and a restful weekend-ing.
And a happy week to come. Shabbat shalom.