Education.

People spend years focusing on one thing at the expense of everything else. Including, and especially, common sense. Then, they get their wonderful, money-grubbing job, and throw everything into it, so they can be rich and respected by their fellow educated idiots. They go to work, focus for eight plus hours, interrupted only by the need to eat or use the restroom. At the end of the day, as soon as they walk out that door, they check out. They drive like imbeciles, completely neglect their personal lives, explode at defenseless waitstaff in expensive restaurants, and operate totally and completely in a state of reaction, never thinking before acting. And they think they spent all those years and money getting smarter? No! They just specialized. If they were hunting cats, it would be as if they grew their claws to such an enormous degree and lost the ability to run.

Obviously, there are exceptions to every rule. My husband, an amazing individual, does check out after work. However, unless he is extremely rest broken, he operates at an elevated level of consciousness. He thinks on a regular basis, in fact, and I love him dearly. I do know for a fact, though, that someone like Jeremy is precious and very rare. I wish folks would place education into a better perspective, and stop putting so much damned emphasis on it.

I've been doing quite a bit of pondering lately, and decided to be brutally honest with myself. I made a list of strengths, weaknesses, and their respective polarities. I tried to be as objective as possible, and knowing that each attribute would have a rebuttal made doing so just a little easier. So, here goes:

Weakness
~Pride - Confidence
~Stubborn - I won't give up
~Obsessive attention to detail - I care, I pay attention
~Intolerant of weakness - I see potential, and expect more
~Temper - I stand up for myself
~Seek approval - I want others to be happy
~Resent authority - I think outside the box
~Bossy/dominant - Strong personality
~Cynicism - I'm careful, cautious

Strength
~Self-analytical - Lean towards self-centeredness and self-indulgence
~Individuality - Sometimes at others' expense
~Hopeful - Naive
~Appreciate the moment - Can live in the moment without regard for the future
~Not judgmental - Enabling
~Charismatic - Manipulative
~Smart - Snobby
~Caring - Vulnerable
~Loyal - Sometimes at my own expense
~Open-minded - Can seem wishy-washy or fickle

Some of those really go back and forth often enough to have been put under both headings. Often, when I go into my self-improvement-obsession phases, my focus on myself becomes selfish. While I do consider that a necessary evil, I know good and damned well that I would hate it if someone else put themselves before me. I try to do my indulgent soul-searching in concentrated doses, when I am alone. I would be such a stinking hypocrite if I were to close myself off to those I love, then demand that they pay attention to me when I want them to. That's just unreasonable. I want to be a pleasant person to live with. I want my husband to enjoy my presence more often than not. I know that I will be awful at times, but I want to be able to warn him. I've come pretty far. I can recognize fairly early when I'm PMSing. When I'm in this state, and Husband starts to talk... incessantly... I'll give him a "look" and say, "I'm PMSing." He gets it, and will usually come back with something like, "Translation: 'You're talking too damned much. You need to shut up, or I'm gonna cut your face off.'" And he's right, but I didn't have to say it, and everyone's safe and happy.

I don't think guys really understand the intensity of PMS. I'll be walking, perpetually angry. Not, the kind of anger one experiences in an acute phase, but a low-level animosity that is constantly being redirected at anything that pisses one off. Someone laughs, and it just grates raw nerve endings. The back of someone's head just begs to be back-handed. My improperly-made steaming hot beverage becomes a very tempting projectile to be lobbed at the idiot who screwed it up. Smiles make me wince. Being polite is painful. Children should be muzzled and put on leashes. Vapid imbeciles should be banished from self-checkout lanes. Do not provide me with any weapons of mass destruction at this time, because I will use it. Then, I will cry. I will cry until my eyes fall out, because I am horrible, ugly, and will never amount to anything. Then, I will want nothing more than to screw your brains out, because I am the Queen of Sex. Then, while you doze in the aftermath, I will plot your slow, painful death in undetectable ways. And, when all is said and done, I will look back and say, "I need to avoid all human contact when I'm like that."

I am alive. I live. Therefore, I can only understand things that have a beginning and an end. Polarity. I see it in everything. Every blessing has the potential to become a curse. Every strength can atrophy. Every good thing, if misunderstood, can be seen as harmful. Hope's shadow twin is naivete. Strength, whether physical or mental, can be twisted into violence and abuse. Sympathy and understanding can devolve into enablement.

Six years ago, I commenced a journey into my darker self. I wanted to understand what I could be, devoid of a lighter side. Six years ago, I operated almost completely from my Id. Sex, anger, bitterness, suspicious, doubtful, all of these and more, hidden in a charismatic shell. I had reached a crucial fork in the road of my emotional maturation. I could have continued simply reacting to my environment, growing more and more detached from myself and my inner workings. I could have become hateful, full of rage just under the surface. I was almost there. I scared myself. What I was capable of doing without remorse. Six years ago, I could have become evil. I sat down at that fork, unable to move in any direction. I was on my own. My parents were thousands of miles away, and I had to make this decision for myself. I decided not to make a decision, but to conduct an experiment. I wanted to know where this anger was coming from. I wanted to know if I could change my reaction in just one area. I wanted to see where the other path led.

Instead of attempting to move the mountain that was my shadow box, I waited. I waited for the first shadow to show itself. When it did, I studied it. Its history. Its lighter side. Its hold over me and the way I operated. Its desires. I studied that shadow as if my life depended on the answer it would give me. To be accurate, my quality of life did depend on the answer. When I found this shadow's source, I was able to understand why I allowed it to become dark, and I was able to change the way I looked at it. When this shadow appeared again, I was able to wrestle it down. The next time, wrestling this shadow was a tiny bit easier. Again, and again, putting this shadow away became easier. Until one day, it was not a shadow that appeared, but its polar twin. Its light. Its strength. My strength. So, I waited again. For the next shadow. And again. For the next one. Each time it was easier. Until I realized that I was walking, and not waiting at the fork.

I still struggle often with my strengths and their shadow selves. But I know them, now. I know their history. I know where they began, and how to wrestle them down. I continue discovering more shadows, but watching them has become natural, instinctual. I embrace that which makes me human. That which makes me weak. That which makes me strong. I embrace it all, because it is all a part of me. With each shadow found, watched, wrestled, I become more whole. I embrace my polarity, because I have a beginning and an end.

I have come to believe that my purpose for being here on this earth, as of late, is to produce copious amounts of mucous. I have no shame. I am beyond it, now. I'm sitting here with tissues stuffed up my nose, so I don't have to blow it one more bloody flippin' time!

On a slightly different note, I watched an amazingly beautiful sunrise this morning. Er. Well, I didn't watch the sun rise, as it was behind me. However, comma, I watched a depressingly greenish sky oh-so-gradually shift to pale blue. Trees, houses, and the sky all took on that "7 o'clock Blues" shade, as my husband calls it. Then the sun took a quick peek at the world and, just like that, all of the changing leaves took on unbelievably vibrant hues. You know how, when it's kinda gloomy, red, yellow, and orange colors sort of brace their shoulders and stand a bit taller while everything else mopes around? This happened today. The green muck clouds I had been eying warily decided they wanted to wear pink, instead. It was amazing.

On yet another note, I just recently decided to embark on a journey into the mysterious land of making things yourself. I am probably in the top 25% of people with sensitive skin, worldwide. I'm not kidding. I got a cheapo necklace one time, because it was actually pretty nifty. When I woke up the morning after wearing it, however, there was a bright red, itchy, hot rash in the exact shape of the necklace around my neck. So. Because of this, I started making my own beauty product. Pretty awesome, actually. No more store-bought crap that doesn't smell quite right, stops working after two weeks, or worst of all, gets discontinued the moment you fall in love with it. Grrrr. I really hated Bath and Body Works for that. I never bought their brand, but they had some sinfully delicious smelling things making guest appearances there. After the fifth item I had fallen in love with got discontinued (not kidding, either), I decided to discontinue Bath and Body Works.

But wait. My adventures in the land of Making Things do not stop here. I have a bit of the "pack rat" gene in me, so I'm constantly saying things like, "Don't throw that away!! You never know when we might need one!" This gene has earned me (among other things) a sinister mountain of cardboard boxes from our move that I just couldn't bring myself to recycle. Every time I pass that mountain, I think to myself, "I need to do something with those things." Nothing happens. They just sit there. Until a few days ago. My product-making supplies were halfway to complete domination of our dining area when I finally admitted to myself that I needed a good little set of drawers. The ones made of wood type materials were $60, and you had to do all the work by putting the stupid thing together yourself. Nope. I'm trying to steer away from plastic, but if the price is significantly lower, I'm all over it. But it wasn't significantly lower! Is this because it was all put together?? *grumbles* Sorry, I'm not gonna pay $5 for something that A) cost about 5 cents to make, and B) wouldn't fit a can of tomato paste in it. The problem plagued me after I'd come to the conclusion that there was no way in H E double hockey stick would I pay people to over-charge me that ridiculously. Making Things has always interested me, having a slightly independent nature and all. So my mind inevitably drifted to that mountain of boxes. And that's all she wrote. My sister helped me make my set of drawers for all my product paraphernalia, then I made a solo mission with the goal of organizing my pantry.
 
I have a love-hate relationship with pantries. They provide much-needed storage space for the kitchen, and a lot of it. You can never find anything in them, though. They usually consist of four or five evenly spaced shelves, and those stupid, annoying little doo-dads that hang off the front of some of them. There is no love in my relationship with the doo-dads. They're like smudge on your sunglasses. You always forget to clean them, until you're driving while the sun is trying to singe the back of your head through your eyeballs.  Grrr. Anyway, everything is at the same level on their respective shelves. So, unless you memorize exactly where you put everything, you end up rummaging for frustrating amounts of time (pantries were supposed to make things easier, weren't they?) while the people who put their faith in you to provide them with food begin to exibit signs of mutiny. So, I made drawers and labeled them.

Next up: fly swatter (everyone needs one of these, and I figured hey, while I'm at it... ), household cleaning tool belt (I'm trying to figure out how I would go about installing an attack dog that barks viciously and slobbers (no biting. Frustrating as they can be, I do love them) all over whoever it is in our house that uses all but one stinking sheet of toilet paper, and leaves it for the next person to change!!!! Or eats all but one leaf of lettuce, and puts it back in the fridge. I'm not kidding.), a bookshelf (once the skin on my hands returns, cardboard is a nasty bitch when it wants to be), and a few other things I can't think of right now. Oh yeah. Some way to render my black couch lavender without the use of a slipcover, thank you very much. Slipcovers are just... not my style. At all. Period. I think I may have to take a few pictures and ask the folks over in the natural community if they have any ideas.

Just got a new essential oil. I don't know if any description would do it justice. It smells like hot, melted dark chocolate with syrup made from an exotic Hawaiian cousin of pomegranate, spending a night lost in an Arabic market, and everything a woman could ever want sex to be. I'm not going to ruin this by making a crack on men. :) I was taking a chance when I ordered this oil. It was $40 for half an ounce. But an oil that smells like all that doesn't even need the added bonus of requiring about 1/4 the amount of oil normally called for. The description said it was an aphrodisiac, but that doesn't quite cut it. I've been cleaning the house with heightened senses, walking more slowly, drinking in sights, and breathing emotions. It made me write this post, for cryin' in the rain! Davana.