I could never be a writer because I don't have anything worth saying.

I fail in so many ways, every day.

I fail over and over and over. Like Groundhog Day. Sometimes in the same ways and sometimes differently. Sometimes just for spite.

I'm cranky and irritable and depressive and angry.

I don't pay enough attention to my cat.

I'm more patient and kind and compassionate than I was a year ago, but when will it be enough?

In the land of the blind, the one-eyed woman is crazy.

The Whole World Is My Responsibility

Where did I learn that?

Disjointed Appreciation

You could have knocked me over with a feather when I noticed a Richard had said I was officially cool, on my first post no less.

I'm listening to Randi Rhodes. I don't know whether to finally at long last give up on this country or go on a mad activist binge. A friend of mine keeps reminding me that asassination would be a really bad precedent to set. "We don't do that kind of thing here." Well, okaaaaaaay....

Lunch with coworker asshole is tomorrow. I swear sometimes I think there are two Chloes. One honestly believes that everyone, regardless of how evil their behavior, is deserving of respect and compassion, and the other does not give a fucking shit and would sooner kill that fucker than share a table with him at the local Thai bistro. Watch your newspapers to see which one shows up at lunch tomorrow.

In the scheme of life, it's hard to break even if you're a manager. So much effort and work and struggle, so many lives of others throughout history have gone into making my life the relative bed of roses that it is (compared to that of many others today and the majority of those of the past), and what do I give back? Failing to murder?

If I were a scientist or mathematician I might feel I had something to contribute, but today I have accomplished nothing of significance, have comforted no person in pain, have reassured no one who fears, and failed to stick to my diet. I struggle every day with what I believe is an eating disorder shared by all the women of my country with enough money to buy food regularly. Yet I have not today commiserated with a single one of them. Nor have I donated money to a good cause, reached out to a lonely soul, or washed the dishes in the sink.

Infighting

There are some things that I think are always going to be the way they are, and I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing.

For example, the infighting that goes on among feminists. It's always been that way, it always will be that way, it's the way it is, and I don't think it's bad. What bugs me is the drama over it all. Disagreement is fine. If you think porn is dandy, that's your business, I don't agree and I'll be happy to tell you why. But don't start saying that my expressing my opinion is somehow oppressing you or preventing you from sharing yours. I promise to do the same for you.

There will always be infighting, wherever there are people with different opinions or goals. Hell, wherever there is more than one person, there will be disagreements. No matter where you work, the politics will sometimes drive you crazy.

The key is to stop letting it bother you so much. Note to self.

Half Over

My life is about half over now - meaning at least half of it is left.

I hope nobody minds that this blog is called Old Lady Chloe even though I'm not quite "old" yet. I'd just like to keep in mind that the time is coming and I'd better respect the rest of my life.

How do I want to live that last half?

New Year's Resolutions 2007:
1. Remain vegetarian.
2. Exercise daily. Get up and take a walk every day, and 3 days a week, run.
3. Stop avoiding things that are better faced.
4. Meditate daily for at least five minutes.
5. Quit drinking for the month of January, then re-evaluate.
6. Be more loving, particularly toward Sanford (my husband).

I'm getting older. My skin is less resilient than it once was. I've gained too much weight since I got married. My hair is thinning and my hands are wrinkling. I'd like not to care, in fact, it's one of my goals not to care: to be as healthy as I was when I got married three years ago (I exercised one hour five days a week and weighed 30 pounds less - it was the healthiest time in my life), and to be happy with that.

I know that what matters is how I treat others. I'd like to treat others well. When it's hardest, like when my asshole coworker invites me to lunch, and I really want to say, "It's not my job to be nice to you," is when I want to reach down and pull out that one tiny little bit of compassion that I must have somewhere for him, and accept. Give him the chance.

I want to show Sanford that I love him, even when every cell in my body is aching to be left alone and I can't for one second even imagine breaking out of my resentful longing for oblivion and give him a hug.

I want to conquer my chronic severe depression through exercise and medication and quit fucking around and thinking "I don't really need the medicine," going off it and plunging myself needlessly back into misery from which I must drag myself kicking and screaming over the course of weeks or months. Get a grip. You're depressed and the only things that will fix it are exercise and medication. After fighting it for your entire life, you know this. Give yourself ONE YEAR off the roller coaster.

I want to be honest to myself about the things I want and don't want, and if I don't know (do I want to stay in my job?), try to figure it out.