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Notorious

I love a quote, and at the moment I'm searching for the ideal words for a calligraphy piece for an exhibition. I've come across a few quotes, all by Rumi (a 13th century Persian philosopher) that all appealed, for one reason or another.

Here's the first:

Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious. (Rumi)

Ooohh! Notorious! I'd love to be notorious! For (way) more than 30 years the good girl in me has held sway, never allowing me to place a foot wrong: never over-indulging in alcohol (well, not rolling drunk anyway), nor rock 'n roll, nor men, or anything remotely notorious. I think after all that time the good girl's getting pretty tired of holding the fort. Perhaps it's time to let the notorious me out.

But what could I do? Gary's already notorious - to read all about it click here and here. I need something that sounds like it came out of a 1950's pulp novel too. Maybe I could be like the man-eating red-head in Gary's book. Just gotta find me a man to practice on... sounds like fun!

Perhaps I should just concentrate on the 'living where I fear to live' bit. That's easy. I do it every day - living with a 'notorious' man who has no problem creating a mess that he won't clean up, with an 8 year old and a 6 year old that he has passed his genes on to.

Mmmm. Way more joyous to be notorious.

Your life is what your thoughts make it. (Marcus Aurelius)

Just found this quote, and it's so true. I spent a lot of last year dealing with depression. It seemed to be a monthly cycle: two weeks suffering it; two weeks wondering if I was going to get it again. It's been a year since I seemingly kicked it, barring the odd day or two. That year is one I was happy to leave behind.

This year has been more introspective. I seemed to have a need to analyse my past... Have I been going through a mid life crisis? But mid-life is always five years older than you are, and anyway I'm going to get really old, at least 100, so nowhere near it, yet. But in my head I did seem to dwell on my past an awful lot.  It's honestly doing my head in, and I want to be over that, so I'm looking ahead to this next year.

Last night it came to me. This next year is going to be joyous. I want everything I do to be joyous. Even the bad stuff.

Yesterday I had a good day. A joyous day. I went to the gym: love that, so that was easy. Then I rushed home to get ready for lunch with friends for a birthday. All good. A prep graduation in the evening, followed by a dinner with people from the Calligraphy Society. Love those guys. Is it because they are creative? Or because I'm a different, creative me when I am around them? Doesn't matter much... I went home feeling joyous.

It was just that bit in between the gym and lunch. The bit where I was about to back up the driveway, but I couldn't because the neighbours' dog was there, doing a poop in the middle of our driveway. And the neighbour was there too, waiting and watching. He looked at me and just shrugged. So I waited. And waited. Finally the dog was finished, and the neighbour and the dog went next door to their place, presumably to get a plastic bag to do the pooper-scooper thing. I got out of the car just in time to hear their front door slam shut.

I showered and came out to go to lunch. Poop still there. Still there when I got back. Obviously not going anywhere unless I moved it. So I did. I had contemplated leaving it on the neighbour's front doorstep, or in their mailbox. In the end I just chucked it in the bin. Our bin.

I was going to have a little chat through gritted teeth with the neighbour next time I see him, but I've changed my mind now. Don't have to, because I've got a husband. A husband who assured me that he will talk to the neighbour about it. And if it happens again, he will personally see that the poop turns up right where you'd never want to see it in a hot summer - in your swimming pool. Feeling the joy...

Just Wondering

Alexandra: Mum, can we get an addict?

Me: An addict? Do you know what an addict is?

A: Yeah, the place where you put broken things…

Me: Oh, you mean an attic?