Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.


I am composed primarily of spleen.

So, my suck fatigue is ongoing, and my attempted media fast and bullshit vacation....well, it's harder to bury my head in sand than I expected it to be. Apparently my radar just doesn't like to go down without a fight. I keep stumbling into new things to get pissed about - like this "shocking" finding that - gasp! - body size isn't necessarily a good indicator of health, or this bullshit from the George W. "I Hate Animals and the Environment" Bush and his cronies, or this nonsense about corporations not paying taxes (Chuh. Big surprise there.), or this ridiculous jackholery where the Olympics told a seven year old girl she was too fat and ugly to be seen performing in their opening ceremony....and don't even get me started on the John Edwards affair thing.

Yeah, not really unplugged the way I want to be. I tried working my ass off (bathroom: painted! kitchen table: arrangements made! apartment: totally cleaned!), hacking my hair off, distracting myself with musical pursuits and good books, and letting myself get a little obsessive over a dude (which may or may not have been or indeed *be* productive)....yeah, none of that worked either. Le sigh.

This is all aggravated for me by various life circumstances that have inserted themselves into my head and reminded me that no matter how much work I do on myself, my history never leaves me. Shitty life circumstances can be ameliorated to some degree, but even the very best tools can only shift things so much. Sure, I can make choices that help, I can try to stop reactive behaviors, I can breathe and recognize the line dividing what I can and cannot change and have compassion for myself and the people around me....but that's cold comfort sometimes. I want my issues to come with an off switch, dammit.

Anyway, since I'm not having much luck keeping my head down, I've decided to shift from a Media Fast into a Bliss Blitz, a la Rob Brezsny:
In response to our culture's ever-rising levels of noise and frenzy, rites
of purification have become more popular. Many people now recognize
the value of taking periodic retreats. Withdrawing from their usual
compulsions, they go on fasts, avoid mass media, practice celibacy, or
even abstain from speaking. While we applaud cleansing ceremonies like
this, we recommend balancing them with periodic outbreaks of an equal
and opposite custom: the Bliss Blitz.

During this celebration, you tune out the numbing banality of the daily
grind. But instead of shrinking into asceticism, you indulge in uninhibited
explorations of joy, release, and expansion. Turning away from the mildly
stimulating distractions you seek out when you're bored or worried, you
become inexhaustibly resourceful as you search for unsurpassable sources
of cathartic pleasure. Try it for a day or a week: the Bliss Blitz.

This weekend, I am headed home to see the family, drink some beers, eat some pig, and spend some quality time (hopefully) in a hammock under an apple tree (please, weather gods, let the sun shine on me, and tell the bugs to go to hell, yeah?). When I get back, I plan to embrace indulgence in as many ways as possible: a trip to Lush, a mani-pedi excursion, a massage, a picnic dinner on a blanket to the tune of Holst's The Planets, maybe a trip to The Art Institute to see that Benin exhibit I've seen ads for, maybe I'll coat myself in DEET and brave the insect-filled insanity of the backyard (and potential rude assholes) and treat myself to a couple nights of playing music to the plants....we'll see. All I know is, if I can't turn off my awareness of the world's sucktasticness, then maybe I can turn up my awareness of the world's delightfulness.

Here's hoping.

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