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2011: Year of the Restrictive Rabbit

>So far, 2011 has been the Year of the Restrictive Rabbit. I gave up drinking (nearly) entirely and with a few devil-may-care weekends, I’ve been following a very strict diet six days a week. I’m even forcing myself to exercise, which goes against the very core of my lazy being.

And now it looks like I will have to add spending to my list of things I have to get under control, which means restricting what I can buy. I made that decision this month, when my pay somehow ran out by the seventh.

The seventh. I didn’t even make it to the mid-point of the month. Sad.

More restrictions. I can feel my inner six-year-old starting to rebel. Something has to give. I’m bad at self-parenting – I’m too cute to tell me ‘no’ for very long. I sense an imminent bad-behaviour explosion unless I let something go.

So I’ve voted to lift the drinking embargo. I made the resolution in the first place to show myself that I don’t need to drink to have fun or to deal with my life. And I’ve proven that to myself. So I’m tossing out the resolution.

But not entirely.

You see… I’ll still have to restrict the drinking. Drinking goes against the diet. Which will be in full effect still from Sunday to Friday.  So the only day I will be able to have a drink is Saturday (plus the exceptions, should they fall during the week).

I have a bad habit (just one – ha ha) of going to extremes. Eat “better”? NO! Eat perfectly! Do “some” exercise? NO! Run 5km every lunch! Drink “in moderation”? NO! NO DRINKING.

The trouble with that is how hard it is to maintain. Now, don’t get me wrong… I could finish off the year without drinking. But I worry if I hang on to that one I may let one of the others slide, and the others are more important to me.

This doesn’t mean I’ll see you in the pub this Saturday. But if I do… feel free to buy me a pint and help celebrate my newly discovered moderation.

Is there sand in your craw?

I don’t THINK so…

Does your doorbell ever ring?

Rarely. And when it does, it isn’t for us.

We live in a block of flats and when meter guys or delivery peeps want access to another flat, they always seem to ring our flat first. Douchebags.

And here is the worst part: Our door phone thingie doesn’t work. So when they ring, I have to go to the front door. Which I do, because what if… WHAT IF… it is actually for me? Like, a surprise delivery or something. I don’t want to send something like that away. But every time I have to put on fucking pants and answer the door and it isn’t for me early on a Saturday morning, I feel compelled to work on completing my plans for utter global annihilation.

If you are relegated to last place in every category are you bothered enough to struggle out?

I don’t think you have to worry about being in last place. Chances are you aren’t going to make it to first place no matter how hard you struggle, my friend. And there is no point in struggling to be in second-to-last place. There is no glory there either. And people know how hard it is going from last to first. So if you are in last place, there is no disappointment or pressure from anyone if you give up the race. You weren’t even close to winning anyway.

It’s the middle that sucks. The average. The mediocre. If you know that you are good enough to give it a try (whatever “it” might be), but not good enough that you will ever be the best at it (or even very good)… what then? Do you keep at it or do you give up? And why does it feel so much worse to give up from the middle than it does from the bottom?

That’s my thing. I’m average. Somewhere right in the overlooked middle of the group. Looks? Average. Smarts? Average. SkillZ? Mad. Nah… just joking. Also average.

I’ve actually wished that I could have the part of my brain that is so fucking self-aware lobotimised. If only I wasn’t aware of my own mediocrity, I think I could be happy with not being better than I am. Instead I get to be tortured by my own brain that somehow, for some reason, I will never get to be good enough because I won’t ever be in that top percentile when it comes to anything. No matter how hard I struggle. So should I struggle? Or should I find peace in being lost in the crowd?

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Did you love your mother and father…

>…and do Psalms do it for you?

I’m really uncertain how the two halves of this question go together. Really uncertain. This is probably in large part due to my largely secular upbringing and current theological stance. I know that there is a commandment about ‘loving thy mother and father’ somewhere in the Bible along with a bunch of other rules about humping your neighbour’s ass and how taking the Lord’s name in vain is a bajillion times worse than any of the cuss words I could invent. I even know there are plenty more commandments than the ten that Moses harped on about after talking to the burning bush of burning bushiness. But I have no idea where in the Bible they are. The commandments aren’t in Psalms, are they?

I KNOW that’s Charlton Heston… but doesn’t Moses look a little like Will Ferrell?

I love my mother and father very much. And not just did (as the question puts it), but do. And although there were times in my young life when I was very, very angry with them both for reasons I don’t feel like blogging about… I am not any more. And I’m so grateful for that.

I’m grateful that I was able to not just repair my relationship with my moms, but to actually come to love her and appreciate her even more than I did when I was a kid and she was all-powerful and all-knowing (she would, of course, argue that she still is). She means the world to me, and sometimes it frightens me that we may have been lost to each other forever. That would have been a real tragedy. She’s my rock.

I’m grateful that I was on very good terms with my dad before he passed away… before the time came when I wouldn’t have the chance to forgive him, stop being so angry, and get to know him as an adult. He was never a perfect TV dad, but he was my dad, and the best that I could ask for.

Dr. Jason Roland Seaver = great TV dad. Fact.


AH HA HA HA. Okay. I thought I knew at least some of the Psalms. And I do… the ‘Lord is my shepherd that makes the death valley grass green and stuff so I don’t have to be afraid’ bit. Which is Psalm 23, if you are curious. But the way I remember it? Mashed together with bits from Ezekiel 25 (I CLEARLY don’t go to church)….


Seriously though – love my moms and dad. Not so sure about Psalms. I’m sure they’re alright once you get to know them.
PS: The commandment about yer ma and pa is in Matthew 19:19, if you care.

Could you lie down and take a rest on a sidewalk?

I have been tired enough that I have felt like I *could* lie down on the sidewalk and sleep (I mean, to the point where I’ve seriously contemplated it), but I haven’t ever done it. And I don’t think I could. Even exhausted, I think I would be jumpy about trying to sleep in a place like that.

Shoot. I’m bad about getting to sleep in my own bed (exhausted or not). I don’t think I’d be able to shut down enough to ever sleep on a random sidewalk.