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Still trying.

Things are slow sometimes; sometimes it's hard to see any changes at all. It's especially easy to overlook them when you doubt them regularly. But how much does worrying get you?

I like talking big changes. Sometimes I'll break them out and talk myself into thinking it's all terribly easy, then let myself down anyway with a monumental lack of motivation. I've had better luck with aiming for smaller changes.

Like, I've had "job look" in my to do list for an age and a half or so now, roughly meaning "look for/at job possibilities". Granted it can be pretty simple depending on interpretation--like, look on craigslist and see what there is that sounds reasonable. I've even done it a couple times and felt both bucked up and let down. Because even then, but especially in more broad implementation, there are other steps in "job look" that I have to get organized.

And that can be scary. But even in that, I can try marshalling it along, a step at a time. Like, I put on my to do list today "work on resume". There are some steps I could worry about there, too, but maybe I can break it down, and work on each of them at a time. I can try, at the least.

It's still tough--when I start getting down on myself over this stuff. Over everything, usually. Routine is a drag, a rude disguise for malaise. Maybe I'm still fighting too much. Maybe I need to aim more for balanced efforts and pragmatic attempts than dreaming of some grandiose bucking of my day to day. I feel like I already try to do that, though, and it doesn't feel like it's gotten me anywhere. Maybe it has; maybe it's my same old doubts creeping in.

You know, I look forward to the day I'll have mostly moved past these mopey, dragging emocrapsicle posts. To when I can post about the successes of my day, the interesting thoughts I want to share; to when I no longer only ever blog to angst & think out my dysthymia aloud. Case in point, eh?

But I do think, somewhere in me, that there's been change. I was looking over the 4th step inventory I've been working on for over a year, and I realized that although still perfectly flawed and fucked up, I'm a lot less drastically maladjusted and screwy. Like, my resentments are much less frothing and free-flowing than they were; I'm so much less anxious and so much less concerned about things beyond my control.

My main problem these days is doing the next right thing; I usually know or have some good idea what that often is but actually doing it, mustering the momentum to, overcoming the self-indulgent if momentary laziness...that usually escapes my abilities somehow. I mean, as I said, it's self-indulgence and laziness (and likely some amount of fear and worry lingering about) that's keeping me from doing what's right and from moving forward as I'd like to see myself doing.

Well, I might as well keep trying, one little, bitty thing at a time. At the least, the sum of many very small things usually completed is probably still greater than a scant few large things basically always unfinished. How's that for commitment? Ah well, it's a start.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…