Coping Mechanism: Cycle Commute Pondering Time.

Alright, so cycling to work has been awesome. It’s let me work on my legs, which I’m pretty sure I’ve been neglecting for what seems like years [which has probably been actually about eighteen months, max]. For the first couple of weeks of cycle-commuting, my legs would start burning after just a couple of miles, as if battery acid were coursing just underneath my skin. Now, my legs tire less easily [if even slightly so]. I have started to feel less-worn after my commutes, to bounce back more quickly and completely. I find myself wanting the ride; this weekend, I wanted the ride by mid-Sunday, and was sad I didn’t have work to ride to [or free time to take a ride] on Monday, and was almost-mad that I had to drive in today [to make it to other engagements after work on time].

But cycle-commuting has more than just positive physical externalities [ha] for me. Cycling to work gives me between twenty and thirty minutes of time for whatever thinking I’d like to engage in. No music, no phone, no others to talk to [except for quick "heys" said to other passing cyclists and walkers/joggers]. I used to have regular commutes that ranged between forty-five and seventy-five minutes that I took in my car. I can confidently say that I could not reliably think as much as I do now during those lengthier commutes, probably due to distractions [music, mobile phone, passengers].

The commute time is my own personal time, where I haven’t anyone else to focus on. I can think about whatever I’d like to during the rides, even if that whatever is actually nothing. I’ve thought about lots of innanities. I’ve thought about plenty of hefty things. [The $64,000 Questions don't stop coming, don't stop jockeying with each other to occupy my mind for stretches of time, stretches of road; from 49th to Nasco, all along Shoal Creek, between stopsigns, during those laps I take when the thoughts won't loose their visegrip hold.]

More about this later, as Cycle Commute Pondering Time makes more headway on my innanities and my $64,000 Questions.

Upheaval.

I never experienced the veracity of the saying “bad things come in threes” until just recently. Glynn and Dr. Hime were far enough away from Vinny that I didn’t count them as three; instead, it was two and one. My previous breakups were usually all by their onesies, though I think one might’ve been accompanied by a short illness around the same time.

This time, I think I understand. While it isn’t three “bad things”, per se, it is three major stressors all colliding at once and running me down like a string of defensive linemen [I'm not much of a football fan, so I hope that analogy holds]. Work has been difficult in ways that I didn’t plan for it to be, as well as in the ways I did make mental preparations for. Sister just left for college. A relationship I was in just ended [or, if we want to get all metaphysical, changed forms/energies].

Life is Filling with Win.

Life has been good to me, as of late.

Transitions.

There’s a reminder that I heard a lot at the school while I worked there [I suspect that I'll be back there once the new school year kicks off]; transition periods are hard. For some students, that meant Mondays after returning to campus from a weekend at home. For others, it was time spent in transit or switching from one activity to another. Regardless, some students require what is politely deemed “more support” during transition periods. This extra support can range from leading a student through processing hirs feelings [without explicitly naming the processing as such, since many students are reticent to use coping mechanisms that are openly labeled as such], to lowering expectations, giving more time to transition, and being generally more understanding of any irritability or anxiety on the student’s part. Sometimes we all need “more support”.

New President Day 2009.

Happy New President Day! On my Facebook profile, I have my political views listed as “Ambivalent”. The roots of that word are “ambi-”, which means “both” or “many” and “-valent”, which means “attracted”. I am attracted to many political ideologies, is all that means. “Ambivalent” is not analogous to “apathetic”, which would imply that I don’t give a rat’s ass. I do. I just wanted to clarify that, on this quite historic day. Too frequently people have confused the two, and I’m really quite tired of it. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m just as politically involved as the next person [if not moreso], though not necessarily through the most-recognizable channels.

I witnessed this historic event the best that I could, watching a live feed from some news agency projected on a wall in a giant room. The place was pretty packed with people getting really into everything. Some were quietly tearing up; some were crying more visibly; Ella was cheering and pumping her fists exuberantly.

It was a good speech. A good series of speeches, even. Extremely poetic. But in the end, of course, it was just words. I will move beyond cautiously guarded optimism as I start to see more than patriotic heartstring-plucking videos and images and montages with beautifully-crafted speeches reverberating concurrently. It’s not that I hate the guy. It’s not that I loved the last guy. I just take politicking as just that; politicking. And it is great if politicians actually believe in all the lovey-dovey bipartisan let’s-work-together schtick that they’re throwing out there. However, as the saying goes, it takes two to tango, and so adversaries must, as Obama said, unclench their proverbial fists for anything to happen. And in these situations, my experience rails on my hope, guffawing loudly and proclaiming my optimism the fool for having the wool pulled over hirs eyes. So, in commemoration, a haiku.

politics, my dear| burns have left me cynical | the burns are from you

Stretch.

…that’s what today is, at least to complete The Meme.

Compensatory Damage.

I’m starting to burn out on facade maintenence.

Stream-of-Metacognitive-Conscious. [Metaconscious?]

I can feel the march of time pull my feet in lockstep beat slowly down the path of madness. Or at least I could. I had a meltdown yesterday, and I feel so much better from that. Poor Meredith O. had to put up with me the day before that and the day of, and I do feel bad about that. Of course, we had the very predictable discussion about why I bottle-up and then explode repeatedly. Still-predictable-but-not-quite-so-much discussion also ensued, including what I’m afraid of, why I feel the way that I feel, and how to “deal” with it.

Reaction Blogging: 30 Days- “Same-Sex Parenting”

Morgan Spurlock decided to cash in on his Super Size Me fame and make a series with FX in which he puts people in situations for 30 days that would make them uncomfortable and then see what happens. In “Same-Sex Parenting”, Kati, a staunchly anti-gay-adoption woman, lives with two gay men [Tom and Dennis] and their adopted kiddos. [For this post I will ignore the "experts" over which GLADD had a minor heart attack. You can read about that here.]

Stir Crazy Cabin Fever.

I had gotten excited about assuaging said condition[s] with a couple of dives, but Dad was feeling like crap today. I was also feeling a bit under the weather, otherwise I would’ve lobbied hard for Sister and I to go all by out lonesomes. Of course, he would have freaked out and panicked and forbade us from going alone. I totally understand that; this is one of the times where I can understand his paranoia and desire for control. Anyways, hopefully we’ll actually be going diving tomorrow. I am really hoping that this is not as bad as the last time we went on Memorial Weekend; our second dive, we got down to about twenty feet, realized that the one-and-a-half-foot visibility wasn’t going to improve, came up, and went home. Seriously, when we started our descent, we held onto each other, and even then, I could only see Dad’s hand and wrist, and Sister said she could only see my hand and wrist.