Home....and Soul Improvement

Sometimes when you least expect it, the air gets let out of the room.  Like someone leached the color from the sun and knocked you to the floor.  I’m left gasping and wondering how dark the bruises on my knees will be from the landing.  Life isn’t fair.  It isn't even polite about it.  How we handle these times...how we grab the rail and drag ourselves up, frayed robe soaking in the tears.  Heave a shuddered breath.  And then another. 

How we do this, is the ink of us...writing our story.

I work.  Utterly cliché, I realize this; but when the world has fallen off its axis, this is how I cope.  My emotional realm is a minefield somehow tacked together with spider webbing, treacherously fragile and perilous to enter.  And thus, in the name of self-preservation, I pick up a hammer.  Lug the ladder to the second floor.  Gallons of paint and three trips to Home Depot later, the bedroom has been refinished.  Stenciling added, wrought iron hung, the fireplace in it given a face lift. 

Exhaustion temporarily erases memories.

The next day it begins again.  Only now in my studio.  Rip apart the desk and a hundred times down the stairs it seems, to haul its broken pieces to the curb.  Halfway through I realize I have streaks of dust and grime smeared across my dampened cheeks.  I scrape at them angrily with the rag I used to wipe the sink, adding green paint to the mess.  Everything is a mess.

I don’t answer the phone.  I know that I push everyone as far away as I can, hiding the ache.  I run from friends, family...even strangers.  I hide behind closed doors and glib comments.  Texts that end in “lol.”

I press an ice-pack to my swollen eyes before the boys come through the door.  Again.  Wash my hands and put cookies on a plate for them to have with homework.  Cookies can distract anyone.

I find myself wondering as I spend hour upon hour working on my physical world; sweat and blood, blisters and a missing knuckle...do I somehow think this is going to mend the other?  Is this the result of too many hours of home improvement television?  Do we really believe that a new kitchen can restore a marriage?  A backyard makeover can rebuild a relationship?  The home-improvement movement has hit a jackpot of staggering proportions.  It seems rather delusional.  But then again, a delusion or two, or just a distraction to keep from thinking…could be worse. 

Sometimes simply moving, moving at all, keeps us from the edge.

I don’t know how anyone else does this….gets through.  My rational mind tells me there is another side to get to, waiting.  My emotional one doubts.

In the meantime, I’ve ripped off two nails and scraped the skin from my knee.

But the studio looks great.

Avatar Befuddlement

Isn't "befuddlement" a smashing word?  I attempt to use it at least twice a week....to befuddle someone. (hah, I slay me!)  But in all seriousness, (can you tell this is going to be one of my more thought-provoking posts?) what the hell is up with avatars?? 

No, not the blue people in space with a glowing tree, "The Picture That Represents You."  In a virtual world where you can be anyone--anyone at all--we have to choose a visual snap that all will forever associate with your name/persona/bewitching (or possibly vapid) expulsion of repartee and endowment. (ahem, I meant that as in "competency," but take it any way you wish)

From Facebook to Blogland, Mylife and Linkdn--there is a jpg file that embodies you.  A mere casual glance and the Click-er has an idea already forming about the Click-ee...  So why in the name of a monkey's ass (wow, does it have a name?) does one pick a GREMLIN?!

I AM NOT GOING TO HIRE YOU TO DO MY ROOF!

*deep breath*

Men.  Ah yes, the prismatic minefield that is the mind of a man.  Torn between his masculinity (hence the shot of his maxed out Thunderbird with the old school leather seats and the fuzzy dice) and his professionalism (represented by the serene headshot sporting a checkered tie) all the while warring with the 15 yr-old that is perpetually present and screaming to use the two oranges with the banana in the middle.  May the better man win.  Which is the better?  Well a simple rule of appropriateness should come into play here, please don't let Juvi pick out your Linkdn pic.

Women.  *sigh*  Here is the swamp of emotional slush that one must carefully wade through, hoping to find enough solid ground to stand on....only to have it change a week later.  Do we choose a pic of our kids being cute?  Being stupid?  The one of the new baby or of hubby when he fell asleep with his face squelched against the window drooling?  How about fluffy chicks or the cat or the neighbor's goat.....  A flower? (does that mean she feels pretty?)  A giant eye? (I think that means she's really deep)  And while I am all for this artistic expressionism of the meaningful parts of our lives, (the neighbor's goat is questionable) I am so confused because I just want to see YOU. 

I know there are privacy issues, (for those of you with your millions of zealous followers that scour your posts for references to grocery stores they will then haunt--I feel for you, really) and the rare case of tragedy that encroaches into reality--I firmly believe all stalkers/abusers of children and whatnot should be penned for life.  Additionally we have the very shy, ah love--we all are just enjoying your BRAIN--that's the magic of this intangible world.  I doubt we'll ever share a cup of tea, so release your inner Madonna.  (strike a pose, there's nothing to it--vogue!)   I also personally know people who--even in real life--would wear a costume every day; I admit--dressing up is fun.  I do have a soft spot for fun.  (I mean who doesn't want to deck out as Abby from NCIS and casually go to the office?)  Perhaps it all boils down to not being judged for your appearance...but then, I'm left looking at a flower and wondering if you're a redhead too.

It would really make for an interesting thesis, don't you think?  Some study researching the avatars we pick and correlating the personalities behind them.  How they influence the business world (does a pony-tailed jogging suit Linkdn pic get more traffic than the brunette in glasses?) and virtual success.  Besides, it's all smoke and mirrors in the long run, right?  I certainly realize even as I'm smiling back at a handsome fellow on screen named Bert--that it could quite possibly be Bert's son....or cousin....locked up now for three years after smuggling opium into the country in his bum.

It's all conjectural, isn't it?  I'm just as guilty--this is my fb pic:

However, the reality that my husband and neighbors see on a much more regular basis is this. 

Me in drywall dust, stained hands, flecked with paint, smelling of sweat and sawdust.

Maybe I should use a Gremlin.
 
.