Sunday, Ordinary Sunday…

Sunday is my least favourite day. It just seems worse than Mondays, because Mondays, at least, are a fresh start. A do-over. Poor Sunday. It just seems to epitomize that droning-meeting-white-noise bored feeling.

But the real issue is that I’m sick. Allergy sick. I got allergy tested (Thank you, Medicaid), and discovered that not only am I allergic to the grasses that make up those dumb turf lawns that are so popular back in my home state, but also a fair bit of trees, certain  kinds of mold, hay, dust, and feathers, of all things. Guess I won’t be going out and hugging any more trees anytime soon. *laugh*

So, when I was cleaning out the art supply closet at work, I got sick. Like almost instantly sick. Within in a few hours, I started to get a sore throat. It wasn’t until a few days later that I found out there was mold growing on some stuff in the closet. By then I was really sick. Lost my voice and everything, but at least it supported the results of the allergy test. But, do you know how BLOODY hard it is to supervise a whole passel of overly excited little munchkins when you can’t even talk? Luckily, the kids are some of the most amazingly sweet kids I’ve ever met, so I was spared a Lord of the Flies reenactment. *laugh*

This morning, I even dreamed I was cleaning out and organizing an artist’s studio. Which would have been really annoying in that I was dreaming about something I’d been doing all week. Except that the studio was an open air one, surrounded by a low stone wall, and real green grass growing everywhere. And it was warm,  but not too hot, the sky was a soft blue with clouds, and there was that wonderful kind of breeze that comes off the ocean–playful and mysterious and reminding you that nature is a conscious, vibrant entity.

And then I got a sense of my muse being present. Not really in person, just a feeling they were watching me (from afar) enjoy the wind blowing all my bad feelings away and tangling my hair. It was too poignant, and too simple to even exploit for a poem, but I just wanted to acknowledge them in some way, in case they are out there reading this blog from an alternate dimension. Even though I know perfectly well they are just my creative mind speaking to me, I haven’t been able to make that connection to the part of my brain/soul that’s epitomized by said muse. But, still, I’ve been missing you, my Muse/figment of my imagination.

And now I have to go clean my own house on this prosaic, ordinary Sunday. While dreaming of an ideal day that was shared over at a blog called “Scotland with the Wee White Dug”. Rain, a quirky museum, and scotch? Honestly, what could be more fabulous?

https://theweewhitedug.com/2017/02/18/hooray-for-rainy-days-in-edinburgh/

Why I Could Never Be a Celebrity…

 

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Photo Source: http://giphy.com/gifs/gary-oldman-sid-vicious-and-nancy-KhV9OTXFatX56

In the town I grew up in Florida, celebrities were ever present, but became like wallpaper–they just blended into the surroundings after a while. I wasn’t really interested in celebrity-hounding, even as a naive-yet-adventurous 20-something alt kid. I preferred just to leave them in peace and ignore any celebrities I ran into while getting my twenty-pack of toilet paper at the bargain store.

So, the whole crushing-on-celebrities seems sort of odd to me. And the lurid celebrity gossip magazines at the local stores really bother me. I mean, why on earth would you want the reality behind the movie/play/song illusion? Why destroy the fantasy–there are plenty of real-life people out there just waiting to rip our most beloved dreams to shreds in regards to love and other affairs of the heart.

(I touched on this in another post, Reading with a Grain of Salt, about being comfortable with the unconsummated magic of non-reality.)

From my introvert’s perspective, I just don’t know how those celebs do it. Constantly being in the public eye, no privacy, every aspect of their selves, their looks, their lives, and everything they do is obsessed over and dissected. Especially with the advent of social media.

It makes me glad I’m an aspiring writer aka nobody. (Even as a nobody, I’ve been stalked, harassed, and threatened multiple times IRL, so maybe that makes me a little more empathetic/sympathetic). Plus, as a writer, you can go insane quietly, behind closed doors, until the day comes that your neighbours begin to notice a strange smell from next door, and call the police. It seems like writers can get away with going mad (*cough* Edgar Allan Poe)–acquiring more delightful euphemisms for insanity (or drug/alchohol habits) such as “quirky” or “eccentric” or “imaginative”. Well, unless you’re a female writer, as history has unfortunately proven. But, I think we writers are supremely equipped to raid the fictional personas as displayed by celebrities, scriptwriters, other writers, poets/poems, and artists–even video games–and, truthfully, comfortably exploit them as muses* to spark our imaginations and inspire our own creative works, without getting lost in the madness where unreality becomes a substitute for reality. (While successfully avoiding plagarism, mind you. *stern schoolteacher look*)

In the words of NCIS‘s Very Special Agent Timothy McGee: “How many times do I have to tell you? The book is a work of fiction!”

I can only imagine how I might be as a public-image celebrity hounded by fans everywhere I went and online as well (Though, in a future reincarnation, I’d be more open to the possibility. Being a starving artist kinda sucks. LOL).

I would probably betray my bleeding-heart-liberal, progressive, grassroots activist belief system about things like gun control and set myself up in a heavily-manned island fortress just for a bit of privacy. And never, ever, go anywhere without a platoon of armed mercenaries. I can see the hashtag campaign now: #fanlivesmatter.

The Chaos Fairy re-imagined as a public-image-based celebrity**:

Fan #1: “Can I have your autograph?”

Celebrity Chaos gives Fan #1 a death glare.

Fan #1: “Please, it would mean so much to me. My dad and I always used to watch your movies together when I was growing up. Until the family bull trampled him to death in the north pasture.”

Celebrity Chaos: “Piss off, I’m in the middle of eating my organic, locally grown, gluten-free vegan burger. If your dad had been a vegetarian instead of a cow murderer, maybe he’d still be alive.”

Fan #1: “You’re an a-hole.”

Celebrity Chaos tazes Fan #1 with her eco-friendly, solar-powered Tazer. Resumes eating her veggie burger nonchalantly.

Disclaimer section for above asterisks:

*Attaining muse status does not mean that you are that person’s true love, soulmate, BFF, boy toy, cougar, or that they would even like you if they met you in real life.

**This only exists in the author’s imagination. It is a completely fictionalized scenario and absolutely does not reflect The Chaos Fairy in real life, nor is it about any existing real people, fans, celebrities, a-holes, restaurants, veggie burgers, cows, pastures, eco-friendly Tazers, mermaids, unicorns, fairies, elves, dragons…