Friday, March 17, 2006

see, I got this four leaf clover, it's got to bring a little luck

Last night, when I got home very late, I entered a sweltering apartment, realizing too late that I had neglected to turn the heat off before leaving in the morning. It has been that kind of a week, but the week is coming to a close, so there is no need to belabor that too frequently made point.

As the apartment cooled to room temperature (which makes no sense in this context but from my days of labwork, I really adore saying "I need to bring this to room temperature" because I am a dork), I wanted to do something to occupy myself. Unfortunately, cleaning the hovel did not occur to me, though it really should have. Since it was rather late, and the apartment was already a sauna, culinary dabbling was out of the question.

I ate a gingersnap (shut up, I lurve me some gingersnaps, and I don't care if they're not a good dinner substitute, they work for me) and surveyed my surroundings. A quarter of a sweater has been wasting away on an ottoman for months now, and there it still sat, glaring at me.

When I am dabbling, I often do not plan things out. I figure there is enough structure in the daily grind without imposing it on myself when I am engaged in activities that are supposed to relieve me from the feeling of oppression. Of course, this leads to a whole lot of missteps and failures. This sweater was one such victim.

Failure may be natural and necessary, but it never magically becomes fun. So, I had set the thing aside until I was feeling bold enough to hold my breath and jump into it again. You might have thought that a crappy week is not the time to take a risk. As I am highly illogical, I concluded it was the perfect time, because why not? I mean, could things have felt worse? Could I have felt less accomplished? No. So last night, I started chanting fear is the mind-killer, fear is the little death that brings total obliteration in my head, became comfortable with the fact that this might be another exercise in futility, and went to work.

And, as luck would have it, this time around, I was rewarded. I have not explained all of this well, because the details are both boring and irrelevant. Maybe I have watched too many episodes of Project Runway, but I have come to really warm to the term organic when talking about making things. As a reformed organic chemist, I have to admit that I used to bristle at the use of organic in reference to anything outside of chemistry and biology. Case in point: organic produce. Wha?!? But the idea of a process being organic, in the sense that it unfolds naturally like the development of an organism might- I can get behind that.

I like the notion of not knowing exactly where you're headed, but having faith that it is leading somewhere. I like this idea that starting something is important, and allowing it to unfold with all its fits, starts, stumbles, and do-overs is just part of the process.

p.s. If you really want to assault your senses, I advise you to listen to a children's choir covering Teenage Dirtbag. I do not know how I wound up listening to this today, but it is jarring, in a good way. If it does not at least amuse you, then I am not sure you would really be reading this blog anyway.

p.p.s. Keep voting on the poll. I'll make my decision on Monday, and then we will see if this is a cheer-ocracy or not.

p.p.p.s. Happy St. Patrick's Day! Why are you still reading this? Get out there and have a green beer for me.

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