Spare Change

Redundancy scares me. I feel like if I get into a pattern of routine, then I’m predictable and once predictable, people then figure me out. Not that I avoid being figured out, but I feel that if I’m predictable, too predictable, people can use that against me.

My mom is a person of routine. Has had the same job that has started at the time on the same day of the week for the last 10+ years. Lived in the same neighborhood for nearly the same amount of time. They have a security system set up at their home. One day, someone broke into a truck at their neighbors home so they asked if I could come over and check out the camera system. Watching the security footage over the week I watched my mom each morning walk around the yard in the dark, go out to her vehicle, fumble with her keys at her truck door, and sit in her vehicle to heat it up. Every. Single. Day. At the same time. I confronted her about this. “Mom! Change up your routine! You can’t go out there every day at the same time and not pay attention to what you’re doing! Have your keys ready! Don’t sit in your vehicle. Stop walking around in the yard.” Here I am sounding like the parent. She laughs me off, feeling secure in her routine. “That’s the fucking problem,” I scoff.

Perhaps this is the issue in my own life. I don’t spare change. I use up every moment it comes into my life. I seek it. I don’t settle. I don’t stick to one thing. My attention span is so short that even it has issues staying focused. I change the furniture in my home around just to see a change. Work experience? Fahgettaboudit! I’ve got a resume as long as my leg. Never been fired but I can say that I’ve stayed and then left because of boredom. Growing up with this “free spirit”, as I call it now, was not easy. Mom was pretty hard on me for not having a routine. Wake up, work, pay bills, come home. Repeat. For the rest of your life. My heart races with anxiety just thinking about that type of restriction. I’m not judging those that need routine. For some, it’s very important to their everyday lives. It helps to keep them focused and on track.

Even if my mother doesn’t understand my freestyle of living, what’s important is that I feel the freedom of living it – and I do. I often look at her and wonder if she feels free. I feel like she is locked in her life of routine. Every day another day like the other. I’ve asked her about it and she laughs, shrugs and says she’s fine with it, but is that because she has done it for so long that’s it’s familiar and easy and change would scare her? She doesn’t even know. That’s robotic to me. I DO NOT want to be that confined in life. Maybe I need to spare some change for my mother.

Image: Victoria Kerr Art
http://victoriakerrart.blogspot.com/2009/01/three-blind-mice-11-high-sold.html

After Midnight

I find solace in the city after midnight. The hustle and bustle of passerby’s and tight traffic. The smells of late night taco trucks and stale beer.  I inhale deeply and exhale with a smile. Encircling me are skyscrapers that seem to go up into space, their lights shining, showing life. The moon has been replaced with neon signs and the sound of traffic fades into the background as bar chatter erupts. Couples walk by arm in arm talking and laughing without a care. The city is a fast-paced world that I envy. The energy, romance, and wonder bring out an electric feel and I feel at home.

After-parties at high-rise apartments go on into the morning. Glow sticks and bright drinks brighten unfamiliar faces. Plush couches and chairs surround natural gas fire pits. Music fills the air and tickles my ears as I rise to dance. The surrounding glass patio gives way to life below, forgetting that there is another world on the top floor. As my chardonnay kicks in, my head starts to spin and I know my night is coming to an end.  I smile at the twinkling lights and give thanks to city love.

Just as the sun begins to rise, business suits and taxis fill the streets. The night has been tucked away like a hidden gem but I know the city’s secret opens after midnight.

 

*Hi everyone! I just wanted to let my readers know that I will be now posting blogs every 2 days. Keep an eye out for the newest blog at 10 am this Saturday! Thank you my supportive readers!*

 

 

Past Life

In the search for myself, I often wonder what I was like in a past life. Do you believe that your past life shapes the life you have now? Enter: Soul Searching.

I’d like to think that I was a descendant of Alice Ivers. A poker playin’,  cigar smokin’, witty old woman. Yeah. That sounds like me. Although I know NOTHING about poker. Go Fish is more my style. So back to what I was saying. Past life. Where am I going with it? I’m not so sure. Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know me? Strange as it sounds… I mean you are you so you should know you. Right?

Where to begin? Hell. I have no idea. I’ve mentioned before that I’ve been told to leave the past in the past but I’d rather not. I really don’t think that packing up and moving on is what’s better for my future. I have a hard time letting go of anything really. Resentment, anger, trust issues, judgments…you get the point. I wish I could just. Let. It. Go. *Insert Frozen movie soundtrack* C’mon. You knew that was coming.

So did my past life self have hobbies? My hobbies don’t last long enough for me call them hobbies. Was I male or female? Every time I think about it I picture the old west, say late 1820s to 1880s, and I’m female. Perhaps between the ages of 25-40. The hem at the bottom of my long dress stained muddy from years of walking through the dirt road town and not having proper equipment to clean it. No Oxi Clean here ladies! My house was small and consisted of a small cast iron stove, a fireplace, and a wooden table. The home smelled of butter and campfire. I see people come and go from the house but I don’t really see a family. Which is odd, most females in my age range, were married and had children then.

The next question is, how does that relate to who I am today? I’m not entirely sure. That’s where the soul searching comes in. I think your soul gets recycled, for whatever reason, when you pass. I can see God up there now, in Heaven, standing on a cloud, pushing people out of the Pearly Gates. “Next stop, 1876. Tonia? Is there a Tonia here? Ah yes. You. Off you go!” I’m really hoping He has a plan. What if my past life self was mean and crazy? Well, I guess that would explain many things now.

So if past lives really do exist, can you imagine what our future generation is going to think? Two words. One name. Dennis Rodman.