crazy – Page 178 – hannah ananas

Squeaky Clean Time

I really don’t get what it is about showers, but they always get me. Without fail, – at least, I think it is without fail – every time I shower, I end up singing. Even in the middle of the night, as was the case just now, with people sleeping in the next room, there I am, singing.

This is not to say that I am belting a out-of-tune, almost unidentifiable, somewhat annoying tune in the middle of the night (or ever, really). I am certainly an adequate singer for the things I end up singing in the shower, and I also keep them to a reasonably low volume, no matter the time of day or night. But, in the middle of the night, after I catch myself for singing, and am in the middle of going through the reasoning that I need to be as quiet as possible, no matter how loud the shower may seem to me, because any extra sound means extra noise and an increase in the likelihood of disturbing the sleeping folk, I suddenly notice that I am already singing again(!). I’m in the middle of “scolding” myself for the act, and I’ve already started it up again. I’m like a little kid or something. Put me in that shower, and I guess my brain gives up regular function, preferring instead a song-filled youthful path for the time being.

Anyway, I’m just sharing this, because I think it’s silly that I can’t seem to stop myself from singing in the shower, even when I actually want to be quiet (like tonight). I truly love the whole idea of singing in the shower, and I love when people do it. There is just something unique about showering that almost always leads to song, and I find that miraculous and beautiful. So, embrace your singing when you shower. And get some lessons, if you’re concerned that you don’t sing well enough. I know that Incertsinly have done that, and I loved the lessons.

Anyway,… sing away, and stay clean!

Post-a-day 2017

My side of the bed

I sleep in the middle of the bed.

For the past few years, I’ve had a queen or full bed (the size adjective, not as any other adjective). Unless I have a sleep-over, which has become quite the seldom occurrence since college, I sleep right in the middle of my bed. At any hotel, I always end up in the center of the bed, when sleeping alone. Sure, I move to a side and make space when needed, but that is only every so often, and often rarely. I like my space, I guess, and I usually get it.

It all just makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able really to share a bed with a spouse/partner. Even when I want to snuggle up to someone or cuddle, I never seem to last very long before I break away and require my own space.

… Well, I always like just barely touching the person next to me – it is like a verification of the person’s presence, without invading anyone’s space…, like when the dog used to sleep up against me, but not on top of me. That kind of thing. I guess I am okay with sharing a bid after all – I just need a bed big enough to give me plenty of space to spread out, while still being able to make slight contact somewhere near the middle of the bed.

But that all wasn’t the point. The point is that I like sleeping in the middle of the bed, and preferably a large one. I don’t mind sharing too much, but I just don’t understand how people must sleep on a specific side of the bed (the middle is my side), nor when they do it when not in the middle of sharing the bed with another individual. Why waste half the space like that, and crush up into oneself? Oh, well…

Post-a-day 2017

Today’s “ugh”

You know when people seem to ignore the question you ask, and instead answer a different one, one they assume you meant? And you know how you asked that question on purpose, because you wanted an answer to that question, not some other question? Yeah, I kind of want to punch people when they do this to me.

My mom and my best friend are the only ones who have a real shot at guessing whether and where I am going with an idea and questions I am asking about something, and they don’t even get it right all of the time. And they know this, so, if they think I might be leading somewhere specific with my question, they ask if I am doing that, and still answer my question. Other people don’t do that. And it makes me kind of want to punch them for it. Kind of…

Also, I can’t stand when people seem to be incapable of being straight about something. I ask a question, because I am seeking the answer to that question (see aforementioned explanation). Avoiding the answer or making up bull when the true answer is of actual importance is just plane crazy, and yet people like to do it a lot of the time, it seems. Ugh!

Also, when highly educated people misuse basic points of grammar, I have a sort of desire to throw a drink in their faces (the bad-grammar users), and rush away, disgusted. It’s dramatic, sure, but it’s a feeling that shows up somewhat often, nonetheless.

Anyway, I’ll go to sleep, now. I’ve had an annoying time with these few thoughts today (in addition to what felt like a million others), so I guess I just wanted to get them off my chest, in a sense…

Post-a-day 2017

A man’s bathroom

What’s the deal with guys and hair in the bathroom? Any time I have been in a guy’s bathroom, no matter who he was, his bathroom has had short, little black hairs all over it. Countertop, sink, toilet, even the shower seems to have these little hairs all over it. I used to think it was just facial hair, but I feel like that would end up restricted to the sink area. These things end up all over the bathroom. And it is revolting. I know I have a sore spot for bathrooms in the first place, but come on, guys… Really?

Ugh. It’s just gross… clean up after yourself.

😛

Post-a-day 2017

The end of the day

At the end of each day, I have my alone time. It is not an intentional act of mine, this alone time. It just happens. And I think it is necessary for me as a person… even though it isn’t intentional.

Whenever I am with people overnight somewhere, and we all head off to bed around the same time, everyone is usually surprised the next day to discover that I was awake close to an hour after we had all parted ways. My mom, I think, is accustomed to my going to bed later than she does in the first place, and so she doesn’t really notice it until we travel together. When we’re staying in the same room, she usually complains a good amount, until she finally goes to sleep and lets me finish my bedtime stuff.

Which brings me to my bedtime stuff. I would call it my bedtime ritual, except that it isn’t actually a ritual. And it isn’t exactly a routine either, because the order and timing change around, depending on the night. It’s just what I do before going to sleep. This includes, but is not limited to flossing and brushing my teeth, using the bathroom, washing my face, changing clothes, and reading. Such has been the case for the past few, possibly even several, years. This past year has added to it my showering, cleaning and irrigating my ears, and writing for my weblog (if I haven’t yet done it that day (which is most days)). Sometimes, I stretch after my shower, too, but I usually forget that one.

These things don’t necessarily take all that long under normal circumstances. Ask me to do them all in the middle of the day, and I’ll be finished quite quickly. But having me so they all at night, just before bed, means having them take around an hour, possibly longer. Like I mentioned, this time is my alone time. Perhaps it is a subconscious act, taking so long to do it all, my mind giving me a chance to unwind after whatever the day brought me. Some nights, I am utterly exhausted, and yet I still take around half an hour to get everything finished and actually turn out my light to sleep. Sometimes, I just find myself standing or sitting somewhere around my apartment or room, waiting… I suppose I must be waiting for the unwind to finish, or something to that effect…

Whenever I travel to dance events, there is usually someone already asleep by the time I come in to go to bed, and definitely by the time I am finishing my bedtime stuff. So, I usually find myself sitting on the bathroom floor (or next to a cracked-open bathroom door, if there isn’t really space to sit on the floor in the bathroom) in my pjs and with my hair wet, reading from my two books.

The first book is always the same. I began reading from it daily over three and a half years ago, as part of my desire to read the whole thing. I have kept to my word on it (although there are two or three days where I honestly couldn’t remember the next day if I had done my reading or not, so I read extra to make up for what might have been missed) since I began, and have read at least a little bit every day. I didn’t want to give myself a set amount that would burn me out, so I just said that I had to read something. That could be as little as a sentence. Some nights, it has been. Some nights, it has been pages. Usually, it is a few sentences or a little section within a section. One day, I will finish it. In the meantime, I am learning all sorts of outdated French words as I read through this Bible.

The second book is a different story. It isn’t even a requirement. I began the requirement to read each day several years ago, before the Bible thing began. Back then, I would find myself reading messages on envelopes or greeting cards as I was going to bed, because I needed to read at least a whole sentence in that day as part of my goal to read every day (which, in turn, was part of my goal to read lots and to read often). Now that I have the Bible required for every day, the second book is just for pleasure. For days when I’m at a particularly boring part in the Bible, I wanted to have something else to make the reading exciting and worth doing – extra encouragement, so to speak. So, the only requirement of the second book is that it be something I like reading. Right now, it is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. The last one was Catch 22, and the one before that was a Sophie Kinsella. What exactly it is changes with each new book – just whatever’s next on the list, and also feels right for my nighttime book (gotta have something positive before bed, because those thoughts go with me into sleep). Another rough requirement for my nighttime book (Bible included, actually), is that it be only my nighttime book – I don’t carry it around and read it during the day, too. When I did in the past, I would rush through it so quickly, I’d be without a nighttime book again in only a couple or few days, and the whole purpose would be lost. So I have daytime books now, in addition to my nighttime ones. They’re usually on my Kindle (which is super cool), for easy transport. My nighttime books are always real books, because I don’t really have to haul them around. When I do take a trip, I usually just photograph the pages, if I’m limited on packing space/weight.

Anyway, I made it through the rest of my stuff too quickly tonight, so I had to spend more time on this than I had intended – I’m exhausted! Going to read now (and we’ll see if it happens quickly, because I’m really liking where I am in Zen right now) ad get to sleep as soon as possible! Sweet dreams, world.

Post-a-day 2017

Diving boards and rains

I never appreciated rain so much as when I was a lifeguard. I enjoyed that I was wonderfully trained and fit, both mentally and physically, and I liked the honor of the job, as well as the decent pay and good tan. However, I felt like a bit of a nervous wreck when it came down to it. If there were only a handful of people at a pool, it was all right – it felt like just a normal day at a pool. When there were several people, a party, even, I was okay, actually. The only time I was actually a nervous wreck, now that I really think about it, was when we were waiting for people to show up. When the pool was empty, my imagination worked my anxiety to the roof and beyond. Even before I arrived for a shift, I would be a mess inside, somewhat terrified of what might come at my next shift. I knew I didn’t have near the likelihood of beach lifeguards of having to save someone or having to treat a swimmer with any First Aid skills (or dealing with a shark), but it only comforted so much to know that the chances were merely lower than likely, as opposed to being near zero.

Somehow, I made it through that summer, though. I never did go back to lifeguarding, riding on the excuse that the company for which I had worked had closed, and so all of my credentials and paperwork disappeared with their closing (ignoring the fact that the owners of the company were parents of a friend and schoolmate).

Speaking of that friend and schoolmate, we only really became friends after that summer, but we were in band together before then, and so were loose acquaintances. We had our first one-on-one that summer, lifeguarding. He was all about making money, and so he showed up to lifeguard what seemed like every time somebody had to cancel on a shift. We only worked together once, but I remember it clearly still. Well, I remember most of it clearly, anyway.

No one showed up to swim that day. (This is the part where I’m unclear. There might have been one or two small groups who did show up eventually, but it was only a short while, and somewhere near the middle or end of the day.). It sprinkled some during the day, warding off swimmers. We, however, did do some swimming of our own.
It was during this swimming that Inwas confronted with a fear of mine: diving boards. I really am uncertain as to how the fear developed, but it did somehow. When I was little, I would run and/or jump off of any diving board around, even the long, tall ones at public pools. But by this time, high school, I was terrified of a board that had too much spring. Most public pool diving boards would go down a good couple or even few feet when an adult sprang from them. And my faith in the boards not breaking, as well as the jumpers not slipping, was low. This applied to anyone as the jumper, even myself, and even the most advanced diver. I think I was just panicked that the board would break off, and smack the jumper in the head, knocking out him/her, and resulting in serious injury. I once attempted a cartwheel off a home diving board at the neighbors’ house, and I ended up grabbing on to the end of the board, and falling legs first into the water, scratching my stomach on the board as I held tight to it with my hands (think of jumping out of a pool in reverse, and scratching your stomach on the side as you do it). But that never had anything to do with the spring of the board; that one was rather solid and non-springy. Plus, I kept using boards for years after that specific incident, though I was aware of potential danger from there on out.

Anyway, on that particular day, working together, this fellow lifeguard and school mate convinced me to jump off the diving board. It took me a while, and I was really reasoning with him against doing it, even as I stood atop it, but I eventually did it. I might even have done it multiple times, actually. All I remember about that part was that I finally did jump off, and I was okay about it.

And, I believe, I have been ever since. I still have to go check how much bounce awaits me before I actually do whatever jump I do, but I can do it, and I don’t feel like I am going insane each time.

Post-a-day 2017

Without a purpose

Have you ever lived without a purpose? I’m doing it right now. I almost feel even more like a crazy person than I ever have. I find myself wondering the point of everything I’ve done in my life, seeing it all as useless, as though I am somehow at the end of my productive and useful phase in life…, as though there is nothing good left to come.

I don’t actually believe this, but it is my experience right now. It is the result of having no purpose, I think. And yet, I am almost terrified of finding what I could call a low-level purpose, for fear of being stuck in it. I worked at Starbucks for a while a few years back. I was quite good at it, and I occasionally miss parts of it (like interacting with all the nice people, and making people’s days and such). However, I want to do so much more, that a job like that makes me sad for all the unused potential within myself. And yet, every day feels a little bit worse on the confidence front (not for confidence in myself, but for confidence in my future). These goals and desires I have for my future seem so unlikely to align, I am beginning to feel desperate and hopeless. Why bother?

I suppose it might be time to talk to Jude a bit, and to try out something new.

Post-a-day 2017

Mr. Right

I’ve been thinking tonight about my Prince Charming, my personal one, my desired future. It all started with thinking about musical theater as I showered. As most shower stream-thoughts go, I ended up on a very loosely connected tangent. Do you know the song by Chris August called “Stranger”? It’s a beautiful song, and I fell in love with it several years ago. A lot happened related to that song, but let’s not go there now. While some specific lyrics rolled through my head over and over again, as song lyrics so often do, something struck me.

I dreamed you.
Now, I’ve found you.
Call off the search,
’cause I found my stranger.

Those were the specifically inspiring words tonight. Though I have listened to the song more times than I know, and I know every word still, despite having stopped listening to it years ago (for reasons I won’t mention just yet), I have never had the thought that followed those words as they repeated in my head tonight.

“I have never dreamt you.”

Though I have wished and wished, and even hoped and prayed and asked for my partner in life, I have never dreamed him up. I have begun ideas before, but I have never come up with what my partner in life actually is. You could ask me now, and I would have no idea what to tell you about the partner I want. Sure, there are plenty of things I know that I don’t want, but everything else seems to change with how I feel each day, each time someone asks me about it.

Now, I don’t exactly see this as a bad thing. I just happened to realize that I have never dreamed him up. So, I can never have Chris August’s song become a reality for me – I can’t find my stranger. I don’t even have a vision in my head of what it looks like being with someone. Every time I have dreams where there seems to be a sort of partnership, I always seem to be the one taking care of someone else – the traditionally male role. Or, perhaps it is the mother role I play. I already seem to do that all over the place in life. It’s the reason I have always wondered if I can ever find someone to take care of me. But I digress…

I realized in the shower that I have no image of a person. I don’t know if I’m looking for someone tall, dark, and handsome. I don’t know if he is foreign or domestic made. I don’t even know what kind of skin he has. Again, I don’t necessarily see this as bad. I am just noticing it. I also notice how so many others seem to have dreamed up their partners years before they even have begun dating others. I mean, they seem to know what they want. By having that idea of what they want, they are able to seek it out. Sometimes, when they find it, they realize they didn’t want it after all. And sometimes they find something better along the way. But they have something to pursue. I don’t even have an idea to seek out, a type of someone or something to pursue. Perhaps that is an issue with being so open to the world and to new ideas, and for knowing that what I see or think isn’t always the best that the universe has to offer.

Post-a-day 2017

Swiping Nuts

My mom steals nuts. She really does. Well, sort of, anyway… She doesn’t actually steal in the traditional sense…

Every time we go to this specific grocery store, I somehow forget about this fact. That is, of course, I forget about it only until my mother walks up to me and offers me some nuts. “You want some nuts?” she’ll ask, and proffer me a handful of mixed nuts. The first time she did it, I didn’t understand. Where had she gotten a handful of nuts? Did she bring them in with her, and I just hadn’t noticed? But it quickly hit me.

“Did you get those from the …?”

“Mmhmm,” she cut me off, and then offered me the nuts again.

Naturally, I accepted. They were a bit old that first time, but that was it. Today, they were actually quite good. I really enjoyed them.

Perhaps you are wondering how it is my mother gets these nuts in a way that I do not feel any guilt or obligation in eating them. Well, you could call it a sort of recycling, in a way. You know how some stores have the pull-down dispensers for nuts, and sometimes even for cereals and other grains and such in the dried bulk foods section? And you know how there are almost always those same dried bulk foods spilled around on the little shelf below all of the dispensers? Do you see where this is going?

Hopefully, you aren’t entirely repulsed by this idea. It isn’t as though there is anything else on the shelves – they are cleaned constantly, as is required for something in such proximity to unpackaged foods.

Anyway, this particular store has a sort of tricky system for making those shelves look nice all of the time. Instead of just having it be a shelf to catch the falling dried foods, it is a sort of grate on top of the shelf, and the grate allows the foods to fall through it and onto the shelf, while leaving the appearance of a totally clean and clear shelf, free from food spillages.

So, as I went to get another bite of nuts after we finished what my mom brought over to me today, I had to enlist the help of my mother, because I did not yet know the last piece of information I just shared here. However, she happily showed me her secret means of stealing nuts destined for the trash, and I got my other desired bite of fresh nuts, and I felt good about helping prevent that extra bit of unnecessary waste.

Next time you’re at a grocer with some nut dispensers, perhaps you’ll consider helping prevent waste, eh? ;P Or you could just imagine my mother showing up and saying, “Want some nuts?”

Post-a-day 2017

Water on my mind

I am unnerved, and I don’t know what else to share. I feel false even considering any other topic, as this is at the forefront of my mind. This storm is scary. Period. The winds were so weak, it hardly felt like a hurricane as it flew above us, spinning along at its loping pace. And the rain has reached such an amount that I might just forever be afraid of rain from here on out. Water is powerful. It is truly powerful. Oh, how I would love to be the kid with the water ring from Captain Planet right now… or that guy from Twilight…

Post-a-day 2017