dianaschnuth

Every time I see Dan, I am impressed by his motivation, his drive, to do more and be more and live life to the fullest. This time, though, it occurs to me that I have several friends and acquaintances with a similar drive. Every time I see you, you’re always excited about what you’re doing in life—otherwise, why would you be doing it, after all? You’re bubbling over, it seems, not just with untold stories, but with untold vibrance for your current passion.

Usually I can say, “You know who you are,” but in this case, I don’t think I can. I don’t think you can see yourselves this way, as a direct function of the selfless vibrancy you possess. But on the off-chance that you might know…

Where do you get your Fire?

When I was an adolescent and a teenager, and was a stolid churchgoer, I was told that the Light had to come from within—you couldn’t be like a wind-up toy, being motivated and then losing steam after a while. And that’s how I’ve always felt: some event motivates the shit out of me, be it a religious experience, a personal epiphany, a change of scenery, or energized companions—and after that, I feel the Fire. I devote all my free waking hours to The Cause… for a time. After a while, though, I lose my motivation.

Sometimes I think I’m too hard on myself, or that maybe I’m spreading myself too thin. There are so many things I’d love to devote so much time to: mellophone practice (OK, maybe not so much), candle-making, updating my various websites (including my horribly-neglected drumcorps alumni site), my houseplants, photography, not to mention exercising and taking some walks outside when the weather gets nice. But I can only be passionate about one or two of these things at a time, it seems, before all my oomph leaves me. The only thing I’ve managed to maintain for a long period of time is this diet I’ve been on for six months now, and that’s only because Aaron’s doing it, too, and it’s become almost second-nature to eat this way. (And because there’s nothing to cheat on in the house, which helps…)

So, what do I do? How do I get my Fire going without getting burnt out? I’ve wondered and tried for years, but it never quite happens. Any comments would be appreciated—except Aaron’s standard, “You’re overanalyzing things again…” 🙂

I have that weird feeling in my brain. The one that precludes either a stint of creative writing or a long intellectual conversation with Amy. I swear to God that I feel different in my brain when it feels like it wants to think. Aaron thinks I’m crazy.

Thing is, I don’t really have any pressing tales of fiction to tell, no poetry oozing from my fingers. I had contemplated busting out the Kay and strumming a few chords, but I don’t think that would do it for me. As for writing, I’m tired of writing simplistic me-disguised-as-hero stories. I’m also tired of reverting to my junior high days and writing soft porn (yes, ladeez and gents, Diana has a libido, frightening as that may be to you).

I wish I could be like Isaac Asimov (lofty, I know) and plunk out a decent short story in 20 minutes flat. Hell, I wish I could write a decent short story at all. —OK, maybe that one was pretty alright, but besides that… *shrug*

Maybe I just need to write more often, instead of maybe once every four months. Write fiction, I mean; I write in my LiveJournal (or, previously, my main blog) nearly every day. My eighth-grade English teacher once told me that, like a world-class athlete, a writer like me should practice every day.

…

Whoa. My intelligent train of thought was just completely derailed by Sir Mix-a-Lot making an appearance in my random mp3 playlist. My brain is now filled with images of a big black guy in shades dancing on a giant peach, surrounded by black chicks with much booty.

Is it wrong to be amused and emboldened by the misfortune of others?

Now, some people have problems in their lives, and I just genuinely feel bad for them. Like Beth needing to give up her ferrets, and her employer’s impending business collapse. But there are others whom I will not name, both online and off, whose plight makes me feel smug on some level.

There are those who think their life is good, and don’t realize how truly fucked up it really is. And there are those who had quite a chip on their shoulder after college, and thought they were the proverbial shit, who now live back at home penniless and jobless (or close to it). And part of me feels horrible for my attitude toward these people who probably once thought or currently think they are a better person than me. More successful, more worthy, more talented, more driven, et cetera.

It’s not that I need to put other people down to make myself feel good. I’m finally coming to terms with the fact that I actually don’t mind my job, and am starting to like it. This despite the fact that it’s not what I’d originally wanted to do, nor is it what I have my degree in. I enjoy steady hours, a definite annual raise of about 4% (coming up in March!), opportunities to post for different and better jobs within the company, semi-annual incentive (bonus) checks, and having my own little cubicle that I can decorate as I please. 🙂

I’m also quite happy with my personal life. Aaron and I are still kickin’ it after about nine months of wedded bliss, and are hoping to close on our house this Friday. So, we’ll move in at the end of next month (anyone who wants to help is more than welcome—maybe we’ll buy you dinner or something). We’re contemplating starting a family once we get settled in, starting with a cat and moving to something a little more substantial (like a small human being) in a couple of years.

And in between that are my hobbies and avocations. Once it gets warmer out, I intend to go photographing more often, since it seems that nature is one of my favorite subjects. I’m reading a lot more these days, and as soon as I get Dreamweaver on my damn Mac, I’ll be webpaging more, too. (Not that I can’t hard-code, mind you, but I’m quite spoiled by wysiwyg editors that actually do what I want them to.) I also have an apartment-full of plants that will fill out our new home nicely, and I’m still enjoying making my soy candles on occasion.

So, long story short, I’m happy. I think all this gratuitous me-ness goes under the category of “Count Your Blessings.”

So why do I feel so smug at the downfall of others? It seems evil to me… but I can’t change the way I feel.

I was living at Mom and Gary’s place in Parma, but my step-brother Philip and my cousin Michael were there. In the dream, I was 18 and a Senior in High School, Philip was an underclassman (age 16?), and so was my cousin Michael (age 14?). This is totally skewed from real life, where I’m currently 27, Philip’s 17 and Michael’s 19.

In my dream, it started out as late evening. My glasses were broken, and I knew I had to go get them fixed; The left lens had a clean horizontal break halfway across. But Gary informed me that I had to drive Philip to school, and bring Michael along (who, in the dream as in real life, had some mental/behavioral issues). I argued that I would be late for school if I did that; and besides, it was my car and I was an adult and shouldn’t have to ferry everyone around, etc, etc. My arguments didn’t fly, though, and I was stuck with the job.

Michael was taking a bath, and I checked in on him to make sure he was OK and getting clean. (No, I don’t think I’d have to do that in real life, FYI.) I explained to him that he’d be coming with me to the eye doctor’s and to take Philip to school.

Suddenly, the scene shifted to morning. My glasses were worse: both lenses were cracked and the glass was bent and curled, like melted plastic, with white opaque stripe-like sections along the breaks. But I had to drive with them, because I could see better with them on than not. I considered my strategy: my first priority was getting my glasses fixed, which I figured would take no time. I’d bring Michael along to that, leaving Philip at home. Then I’d swing back and get Philip and take him to school.

Unfortunately, we got a late start. It was about 10:00am before Michael and I got to the Optometrist’s office—partially from wrangling Michael, and partially because I could barely see to drive. I had expected the fix to take five minutes, after which I could swing by and get Philip to school late. But, after turning in my glasses to be fixed, we sat in the waiting room for a good half-hour (by the dream-time internal time-lapse clock, of course). I finally went up to the desk to check on when my glasses would be done… and saw two pieces of corrugated cardboard on which were written each patient’s last name, time in, and estimated time out. I found my last name, Schnuth, and saw that my glasses had been received at 10:15am. My replacements weren’t expected to be complete until 5:00-5:30pm. I was pissed that I’d just wasted half an hour, and just as pissed that I’d have to drive home with no glasses. Around this point, I think I woke up.

During the course of the dream, Michael was actually good company, and we had some "normal" conversation. This is something I didn’t really get to have with him much in real life, as I didn’t spend much quality time with him once he reached a good high school age where we could talk on the same level. Even at that, he has (or at least, I assume he still has) a bit of a communication issue where he speaks very loudly and broadly, although he has a big vocabulary and tends to use long words. He always sounds like he’s amazed (or thinks you should be), has his eyes wide, and uses broad gestures to explain himself. He’s also a bit nervous-seeming, due to his hyperactivity—he tends to fiddle and fidget and be physical, which is sometimes unwieldy at his current height of 6’6″, but was even so back when he was shorter than me. 🙂

He and my aunt moved south several years ago—I don’t think I’ve seen him since he was 16. Michael is now 19 and lives in a group home with other… well, other people like him, I guess. He’s high-functioning autistic. According to my aunt, he’s currently enjoying a part time job at a computer repair shop, where he’s well-liked. He’s also lost weight and is down to 250 (from 300+).

Last I heard, he still worshipped the ground I walk on, too. 😉 I’m not sure if that still holds, since I lost touch with him for so long, but it was intense enough before to be disconcerting, if flattering. I need to write him a letter and let him know I miss him.

What’s the opposite of a fair-weather friend?

Some people complain about friends and acquaintances who disappear at the first sign of trouble. I seem to have nearly the opposite problem: some of my friends only come to me when they have problems. I don’t hear from them for months and months, especially if they’re in a fulfilling relationship; then, as soon as they have a major issue with their Significant Other, or they’re at an impasse about their next career move, a message from them shows up in my Inbox.

Don’t worry, it’s probably not you. Those few people I’m referring to don’t read my blog very often, I don’t think.

Anyway, I miss my friends. I wish I had more contact with everybody, and I’ll take what I can get. Hell, some people don’t even communicate with me at all anymore, not even to bitch. Some people I thought I’d become friends with—or at least close acquaintances—barely even give me a synopsis of the last few months of their lives when I catch them on IM. Which isn’t often, since I get such a lukewarm welcome anymore that I rarely log on.

I sent out Happy New Year e-mails to a bunch of people (those of you to whom I didn’t send Christmas Cards), and only got a few replies in return. I actually still need to respond to some of those replies… Oops. And here I am bitching.

But anyway, I’m going to continue plugging away at my little blog, hoping that my four hits a day are meaningful ones. Maybe some of my anti-fair-weather friends will read this and tell me how great their lives are right now. Don’t make me name names.

And here’s the quotable of the day, regarding Dick Gephardt dropping out of the Democratic presidential race following his fourth-place finish at the Iowa Caucus:

There wasn’t the enthusiasm for Dick.

—anonymous
labor source

Democratic Caucus? Sounds more like a lesbian convention to me.