wrong turns

It has happened several times now in the past week: While driving, my mind wanders (there's a lot for it to wander around in right now). Thinking through circumstances, wondering about actions made and decisions coming up...
When suddenly...
I realize I've taken a wrong turn. I'm on a street or highway I hadn't planned on being on (and am not sure how I got there.)

******
I used to be the sort of suspicious individual who would see all sorts of signs and messages from the universe in this sort of thing.

Now a days, I just think I need to start paying more attention while I'm driving. Leave off pondering for when I am not behind the wheel.

anti-aging ads suck

Why yes Avon, I DO remember when my eyes looked younger. Thank you for asking.

$$$ (or, career-fail insecurity)

one cause of significant insecurity and occasional bouts of panic/frustration/sense-of-failure: i attach huge emotional value to the dollar worth of 'what I do'.

and 'what I do' has no practical dollar value (ie, brings no money to our coffers).

i feel it like a chain, my little creative 'hobbies' that i, as a pampered housewife, indulge in. (god that almost made me sick to write it. but that is how it feels sometimes)

for added weight of guilt/failure; the fact that other people, DO get practical dollar value for those same indulgent creative 'hobbies'.

(NOT GOOD ENOUGH NOT GOOD ENOUGH NOT GOOD ENOUGH NOT GOOD ENOUGH NOT GOOD ENOUGH NOT GOOD ENOUGH.)

as a related segue... i sabotage all opportunities to get practical dollar value for my creative hobbies.

does this even make sense?
(pay this post no mind, it has merely been a bad day, requiring a rant and an outlet)
(i will most likely delete this. it's pretty humiliating.)

the Tree House

[a few thoughts while spending time at an extended family gathering during Gen Conf weekend (Sunday's 2nd session playing in the background right now)]

Let's say there's this Tree House. All the cool kids go to this tree house. There they have special games that are played only in that Tree House, plus you get special green and yellow socks that you are always supposed to wear after you have gone to the Tree House. Oh, and Brussels sprouts are forbidden, anyone who plays at the Tree House must NOT EAT Brussels sprouts. Lots of stories surround the Tree House: how important it is, that if you do not continue to play in the Tree House and live the Tree House rules your hair will fall out and your pets will get sick and bullies will always be stealing your allowance. That in order to be a Really Important Person you must be part of the Tree House club. Also, stories about how COOL you will be if you get other people to come play in the Tree House, to be part of the Tree House club.

Sometimes, a member of the Tree House club may wonder if all of those stories are true; about the hair falling out and pets getting sick and being a Really Important Person (etc). Sometimes, that person may stop believing those stories (and may have issues with the manipulative nature of the stories).

Then they must make some decisions.

They could keep living the Tree House rules so that no one will know better and things can continue they way they were.

OR, they may decide to STOP wearing the special green and yellow socks (they like blue socks better) and decide to EAT Brussels sprouts (they really do like the flavor) but they only do these things in secret so that none of the other Tree House club members will know.

OR, on the weekend in which all their Tree House family and friends get together to tell more stories about the Tree House and it's rules, they decide on THAT weekend to wear shoes that reveal BLUE socks. And they pull out some Brussels sprouts during snack time.

They are not sure what will happen.
But what they are hoping for is that they can all still be friends without having to hide the color of their socks and hide the food they like

We shall see.

keeping a record.

[also posted at The Exponent]
I am an obsessive journal-keeper. Always have been. For most of my life, the record I kept was pretty banal: the minutia of daily life turned into faith promoting stories. There came a point several years ago when my journaling changed, I was working out serious life questions and no longer had what it took to write out nice safe faith promoting endings. It all became very raw. There were no answers (definitely none of the expected, prescribed answers one was supposed to find when 'searching'). At a certain point, I realized my journals were... dangerous? Meaning, I was no longer safe if anyone happened to pick one one and snoop. Well, I never would have been too thrilled to know someone had snooped in my journal, but now it was full of deep dark secret questions that I felt I really wasn't supposed to be asking. That I didn't want anyone to know I was asking. Dangerous.

The typical Sunday School line about journal keeping is that it is for posterity's sake, we are to keep records like Nephi kept records; faith, testimony, guidance for future generations blah blah blah...

I keep a journal as the last line of defense against insanity. I cringe at the thought of others reading these raw, misspelled, grammatically incorrect ravings of a mad woman, utterly un-prep-ed for public consumption.

Also I journal much more during my low times, therefore my book has very few of the puppies and unicorns and rainbows type entries. Mostly gloom and pain. Reminds me of a quote from The Hobbit:

".. but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much listened to; while things that are uncomfortable palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale and take a good deal of telling anyways."

I joke about having these dark dangerous ramblings all burned when I die. But truth be told, I love these books so much, I don't think I'd have the heart to. It's all part of the weird narcissism that urges me to record these things in the first place. Which reminds me of another quote, one by Simone DeBeauvoir that I have inscribed on the first page of my journal as a sort of warning/reality check to myself:

"Her Memories become fixed, her behavior stereotyped; she reiterates words, she repeats histrionics that have gradually lost all context, hence, the poverty of many diaries and autobiographies written by women; wholly occupied in burning incense to herself."

Anyhoo.... that's me. Do you keep a journal? What purpose does it serve in your life?