Sunday, March 15, 2009 at 12:51am

“I’m so over it.” That’s one of those typical Aussie expressions that’s crept it’s way into my vocabulary, so much so that I can’t remember if it was already there or if it was genuinely introduced while down under. Safe to say it crept right in, it did. Things have a way of doing that. Habits, I mean. Just trucking along and suddenly you’ve picked up this fucking…thing, that’s stuck to you like glue. Sometimes we’re oblivious, but there’s usually that minute where you acknowledge it and make that fork in the road decision – hmmm, well, well, well, what do we have here? Now I can either keep right on with this, or shake it off. Cliché, cliché, cliché, but that old hindsight, eh? How many goddamn times I wish I had’ve just opted for the shake off. With something as benign as this glib expression, I suppose it doesn’t really matter much whether or not I incorporate it, but it’s representative of something, particularly the phrase itself. “I’m so over it.” 

I’ve always thought I didn’t have much of an addictive personality, but if I’m to be truly honest, who am I kidding? I’m not unlike any other human being, I’ve got a penchant for habit collecting, and I’ve come to the end of my tether with them. It’s such upkeep, high maintenance, and I simply can’t be bothered with them anymore. The problem is, admitting you have a problem is merely the first step, but figuring out how the hell to teach the old dog some new tricks is the damn difficult bit. And now I think I’m obsessed with my obsessions. How on earth does one unstick the glue and just “let go…”? Hmm? Can anyone tell me that? Breathe? Chant? Fast? Think? Not think? Run? Stay? Sing? Dance? Cry? 

Seeing as it’s all aboard the honesty train, I’ll keep on for a few more kilometres here and admit that not only am I obsessive, but I’m also greedy. I’m greedy and I’m impatient. I trick myself into thinking that as soon as I’ve learned a lesson, decided what I think I want for myself, I should be able to SNAP my fingers and kazaam, voila, presto, turn into Cinder-friggin-ella leave the step-sisters and swashbuckling {can you just say “swashbuckling”? I’m kind of obsessed with somehow using that word} behind and move onto the ball gracing the place in my glass slippers. Oh, Cynthia my dear, my darling one whose eyes are sparkling and full of fun. Patience is a virtue, my friend, and I daresay it’s the missing ingredient in these visions you’re concocting. So you’ve sussed how you want to be, where you want to go. Guess what? There’s this really crucial part called a journey that needs to take place BEFORE you get to that dangling carrot. There’s no magical potions, no button for omniscience, no “goo gone” for bad habits, just boring old awareness, hard work, patience and the realllly important part of realizing you’re already there. The future is nothing but a mirage. 

Fine, I get it. But despite it being all well and good to believe that everything is as it should be, live in the moment and la la la la that kind of bullshit, on another level, it’s still essential to find a way to kick the bad habits, refigure some new ones, carve out a place for yourself and develop a scheme to push forward while still being present in THIS moment. Unfortunately, even though I know I can use the regretful actions as fodder for the reshaping the future, I’m in a headspace right now where I fucking hate having to deal with the consequences of the choices I’ve made. Trundling along in a haze of dope smoke and distractions got me into a few quandaries, and I’ve managed to attract all kinds of unattractive addictions to behaviours, patterns, and mindsets that I chose to hang on to. Enough already. Out with the old, and in with the new. I’m acutely aware of all (*most*) of the habits that hold me back, yet I just – can’t – seem – to – get – there….Ah, but there it is again…that “there” thinking…where is “there”? Aren’t we HERE??

I visited a psychic during the Christmas holidays of 2007. She gave me a lengthy list of insights into my aura. “You’re home is no longer your home. I see you living far, far away next to the beach, surrounded by desert.” Check! I somehow managed to make that come to fruition. So here I am living in the faraway land, and for some reason her other words are suddenly resonating. (Funny how someone can say something and it just stays with you, oscillating back and forth between your conscious and subconscious mind) “You think that if you fix this and fix that, all will be well, and everything will be good. But you’re missing something. And it’s like you’re putting clean clothes on a dirty body…” My good god I can’t count how many times I’ve tried to figure out what this cryptic comment was supposed to mean for me and just come up short. Nevertheless, I think my circumstances of late and obsessing re my obsessions have put me in greater stead for deeper understanding. 

I have a number of recurring dream themes. One of them I’m in a house and I’m trying to get to the third level. The house clearly represents “me” and the level climbing is demonstrating my quest for consciousness. It’s like I’m trying to “awaken,” but don’t know the way. Sometimes I manage to make it all the way up there, and depending on the dream, different things take place. The last time I got to level 3, I was supposed to see a magic show. The only problem was, I chose a really shitty seat and in the end, I missed the whole thing because I was too busy fiddling with the buckle on my shoe. 

Segway to my other dream theme where there is some sort of major catastrophe or natural disaster. Sometimes there’s a flood, and other times there’s a fire, but in both scenarios, I’m busy looking for my shoes before I can get away from the danger.

Interestingly enough, last weekend, I experienced a real live tremor. It’s a downright insane experience to have the earth move under your feet, but synonymous with the dreams, and speaking of feet, on the cusp of what could very well of been a major natural catastrophe, my instinct was to run into my room and grab my shoes before I got the hell outside. 

What is this preoccupation with my feet and my shoes? The earth is fucking moving and you need your sneakers? Missing the magic show for a broken buckle? Goddamn it girl, wake the fuck up. You’re busy fixing this, and fixing that, finding your shoes and fiddling with fuck all and you’re missing the magic that’s right in front of you. 

Are the shoes representative of the obsessions? Is that what it is that I proclaim to be “over”? In the wise words of my mom, “Give your head a shake.” You can’t expect to clean up your act for real and move along the track with your best foot forward when you spend the whole precious time you’re given worrying about what you put on those feet. Just move em. Just walk. Go barefoot if need be, just get over it.

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