Life

“Let’s go for a ride.”

Opening line of the pilot to the two-season television show, “Dead Like Me”. I’m now on the second (and final) season and I must say that this show rules. The main character is an eighteen-year-old girl with an attitude, cutely named George. She was killed by a toilet seat from outer space (don’t ask) and instead of going to what might be considered one’s “Heaven”, she becomes undead. Those undead are called the Grim Reapers, but they don’t kill people; they simply take the soul of a person that’s about to die so that the individual would not feel any pain and be guided to his or her destination, wherever that is. Among the undead are Roxy, Mason, and Daisy (“Daisy Adair“)– all a unique personality that is always entertaining to watch. Her boss, Rube– who is plainly made out of awesome– gives her, and the rest of the gang, post-its with a name, address, and ETD (Estimated Time of Death). Their job is to find the person on the post-it and to take the soul of that person he or she dies. Color me h-o-o-k-e-d.

An episode I watched the other day has been something that my mind keeps revisiting. In it, George and co. are given the task to organize each person’s last thought into piles. There were the piles of Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda. There were ones of expressing loneliness and ones of feeling pain. It made me wonder if it was really true that there are so few final thoughts that are actually happy. Why is happiness so hard to achieve when it is truly the ultimate goal in life? I recently read a quote that said it was your choice to be happy. I think I believe that.

This morning, I felt like I suddenly had a revelation: I wasn’t doing enough with my life. Sure, it’s supposed to be my break from school, but I had a long list of things I thought I’d be doing all the time by now. Baking all sorts of desserts, reading poetry in the sunlight, writing all the time– everyday, catching up on every intelligent and life-altering film since 1980… But truth be told, it’s shocking how so very easy it is to be lazy. I will wake up at nine and have breakfast, be finishing my coffee while reading the Internet until past eleven; clean up a bit, go out for groceries and errands, and come back to lounge around before making dinner. And then it’s night before I know it. I always thought college sped up time, but that’s a laugh. A day still has the exact amount of minutes in it, and the hours are just as short. I wasn’t being productive enough with my time away from school.

I don’t know if I believe in signs or listening to the universe, but later in the day, I read an article about an American woman who gave birth in France and then wrote a book on why French mothers are superior to American ones. Maybe it’s got to do with my love-obsession with Paris (it began ever since I watched “Paris, Je’Taime” and increased majorly after I saw Woody Allen’s latest work, “Midnight In Paris”, but that’s a whole another blog post), but that certainly caught my attention. So, turns out the core of the reason the author claims French women make better mothers is because they simply don’t believe in guilt. American mothers are often too hard on themselves, adding stress to their lives by feeling guilty when they give their kids fast food or plopping them in front of the television. French mothers, on the other hand, feel that it is important to have time for themselves and that a house centered on the kid(s) would be “wildly off-balanced”. The result? Infants that sleep through the night and non-tantrum-throwing toddlers. Fascinating, I thought.

And then it hit me. I have been too hard on myself. I’ve been feeling guilty for not being as productive as I have been with my daily doings. Damn it, I’m on a break and this is my time to be as lazy as I want to be! But really, you want to know the funniest thing? I haven’t been lazy. I’ve been making dinner almost every night. Tried a couple of recipes that took me over two hours to prepare and cook, which I of course messed up somehow– too dry, not enough sauce, et cetera. I also got a part-time job! I start tomorrow, actually. I had to go to Human Resources for my paperwork and to safety orientation, and I get my own locker. It’s really a real job, you know? Oh, I tried Bikram yoga. I’m going to buy the two-week pass and see if it ends up being a permanent thing. I had a SSI meeting and a GRE test. I made friends, too.

Most importantly, I’ve been having “me” time, even if I’m only browsing (and drooling over the impractical but adorable kitchen supplies) at World Market. So, it was true. I felt guilty. Well, fuck guilt. I am now giving myself permission to be lazy happily. I had this huge slice of pie in the afternoon that I haven’t attempted to work off yet, and I’m not going to feel guilty about it. Although we need balance in our lives and those lazy-pie days cannot happen too often, I’m changing my mentality so that I’m now looking forward to going for a morning run instead of feeling negatively about having eaten too much and not exercised enough– things of the past, which I cannot change. I will be excited for better things tomorrow (not that the pie wasn’t good, because it was probably the best pie I ever had).

I’m going to hit “Post”, turn the lights off and curl up to “Dead Like Me” until I fall asleep. I wrote a blog entry tonight. I had my perspective altered for the better today. I had really good pie before that. I feel… rather happy.

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