Did he really say that?

As part of my sanity activity, the one that gives me reason to get out of bed in the morning (and even get paid for the partial time of day I spend at it), I often come across some very interesting articles. Today included one such event. As I reflected upon this article, riding the mass transit home, I found myself shaking my head.

To enlighten all, the article discussed Jim Sinegal (co-founder of Costco) and the flack he is catching over supporting Demotypes, or at least talking at the Demotype convention and not the Repubotype one, and a recent decision from the Costco BoD to accelerate a dividend payment to those fortunate enough to own stock in the company. Throwing the politics of this action as far aside as possible, I just want to focus on a quote attributed to him. "In business, you have to take the shit with the sugar." I have discovered since that this is a popular statement to flow from his lips, though not always with the "in business" add-on.

I like it.

I like it even more when combined with a recent internal conversation I've been rehearsing, one that is destined to be doled out to a certain offspring who is in great need of sage flavored advice, opposed to the usual pepper flavored. This statement flipped into the face of journalists everywhere is so spot on, albeit a bit vulgar, and goes quite nicely with a philosophy of life that many, including a certain offspring, could bear to embrace. It's just that kind of "get real" approach that has finally made my days worth bearing, makes it worth taking meds, makes it worth avoiding all manner of retaliation against a certain group of individuals (but that is quite another post). Let me expand this phrase into my philosophy.

First, a bit of modification. In life, you have to take the shit with the sugar. Look, it happens. Or rather, shit happens. Plain fact. Reality. To everyone. Thing is, some of us were wired in such fashion (or rewired, as a few psychopros could argue), that shit has a profound effect upon us. So, accepting that shit happens, it follows that shit usually happens in piles. Aye, matey, there be piles o' shit about, so watch yer step as ya walk the plank of life. Inevitably, one will step into, and even fall into, a pile of lifeshit. This is when things get fun, or as fun as one can have with shit, which is actually kind of weird now that I think of it, and perhaps 'fun' isn't the right word to describe the situation. Maybe 'interesting' is better.

Anyhoots, let us imagine, for a moment, that we have just slipped and landed smack dab in the middle of a pile of lifeshit. It is now time for action, time for a decision, and the consequences of the decision will impact any future encounters with lifeshit. We can, as some are inclined, flop about in the pile of lifeshit, getting it all over ourselves and anyone who comes in proximity, bellowing our misfortune to all who can hear, and remain in that pile until we became barely recognizable as distinct from it. Having been there and done that at more than a few stages of my existence, I can truthfully say that this scenario stinks. People really don't like to have shit splattered upon them, and will run as far as possible to escape the splatter radius. The smell keeps even more at a distance. We can find ourselves spending an extensive amount of time flopping about in shit in relative solitude. At this point, there will be no hands stretched out to lift us up, so only we can remove ourselves from that pile. This leads to the next scenario.

Let's say we fall into a pile of lifeshit, getting it upon us, and spewing out a few profanities, manage to rise up from the pile. Here we stand, stained. I always wanted to say that. People around us, wanting to avoid getting any of the shit on them (and most likely holding their noses), will express from a distance their joy that we are not flopping about in shit. This joy can quickly be dulled if we choose to remain covered in shit, walking about bemoaning our misfortune, cursing our crisis, and generally creating a stink everywhere we go. Sure, we can meet in lifeshit clubs, where everyone shows off their shit stains like so many battle scars. We can find arenas where everyones shit pretty much smells that same, so no one really notices how bad the room smells. Eventually, we will need to leave these places and move about it the realm of less shitness. Trust me, people do not want to be around those who reek in such fashion. We, who wear our lifeshit like a badge, will be avoided. We will be whispered about. We will be looked upon and bring forth shaking of heads, either from pity or disdain. Again, no hands will reach out, in fear that we will smear our lifeshit upon them, and given that everyone has their own shit to deal with, we will begin to feel quite isolated. So, is there another option? Of course.

We can, as has been known, fall into a pile of lifeshit, and becoming quite alarmed, jump up from this pile of shit, fling off our clothing, and run naked about the place looking rather disturbed as we seek out the nearest puddle, carwash, or worst of all, the end of our lifeplank and the pool of vast postlife nothingness beneath. [ed. note: this is not the time nor post to discuss end of existence events and the belief systems surrounding such events] Running about naked is viewed by many to be a rather unacceptable status, not to mention running naked into puddles or through a carwash. Those puddles might be piss puddles, which hardly helps things. Carwashes hold their own hazards, as many a car aerial can attest. And jumping into that pool of finality tends to be frowned upon. Again, been there, attempted that. While it is more likely that hands will be stretched out in aid, we have to slow down long enough to receive the aid, and we have to be wary of those hands that just want a free grope at our nakedness. Oh, yeah, I said that. Still, a vast majority of people will be too freaked out by our state of naked shitlessness to want to get close. So what to do?

Well, we could always push ourselves up from the pile of lifeshit, say something along the line of "damn, I fell into a pile of lifeshit," proceed to our comfort abodes, shower, toss the shit-covered clothes into the washing machine, and get dressed in a clean set of clothes. Follow this up by having a laugh or two with our closest allies about the lifeshit event, and we will be well on our way to doing it the same way the next time we encounter another pile of lifeshit in our path. This solution, in its utter simplicity, seems to be the hardest for many people to choose. I know, it's a stretch for some to believe it coming from my mouth, but I kind of strive for this solution to falling into my personal lifeshit piles. It's taken a few decades to get here, but at least I can ride the mass transit knowing that I am not freaking too many people out. If they can get past my seat-dancing to my tunes, that is.

So take note, you who were not aware of Costco Jim's utterance and thus my philosophy of life, that we can enjoy the sugar of life so much more if we clean off the shit of life first.

Seriously

Yeah, I paid for another year of domain ownership. Perhaps I will actually commit to actively updating things. Or not. It's sort of strange, given that I began this whole thing with the idea that I would track my progress through a "project" to improve my existence, to see how much my existence had changed. While the One Room project no longer seems to be the primary focus of my days, it is still one of those tasks that haunts my daily routine. I will say that I have made some progress with a few of the rooms in the house, yet I also slid backwards in others, making more of a cluttered mess than was originally found when I began.

Yep, I look around and can smile at the fact that my guest room is nearly in a state of completion, and that my living room almost looks livable. As long as I don't go into the attic or basement, I can have all manner of positive feelings, which is a good thing. I can even pat myself on my back for getting rid of things in various ways, including the local trash can. Still, there has always been a sort of void in the background, and it is not due to the clutter which remains.

As I paid for another year of domain ownership, I came to the conclusion that I was being a bit... OCD? Anal? Pigheaded? Something tough to explain, when it came to topics for posts on this site. Well, maybe not so tough, but perhaps too limiting given the inclusive nature of the beast behind this project. Therefore I have decided to broaden the scope of what I post, in the hope of utilizing my expenditure to its fullest. I will still include updates to the project, maybe even with pictures. I will still investigate the less tangible items of clutter, to perhaps give insight for anyone else who has similar issues. But I now will also expound on other items that invade my life. Psychology, politics, religion. Current events. Even the weather. Stuff that I obviously find interesting, and hopefully others will share opinions.

Well, that is if others become aware of the revival of the newly dressed One Room project. Guess that will all depend upon if I can get word spread.

MPH

Insanity took charge for a bit last night. Net result, a new batch of clutter to which I must attend. Clutter from my car. My old car. The one being replaced by a [drum roll] new car. Not a new used car, mind you. A brand-spanking, off-the-truck, not-a-mile-on-it, new car. A for the first time ever in my many decades upon the face of this planet new car.

Wow.

Naturally, I am a bit excited. Also a bit worried, too. Extra monthly cost, worries about parking lots, fears of other idiot bozo-types on the road, extra monthly cost. Yeah, I am doing some serious mental math even as I type this. Time to empty Mom's storage unit. Time to quit smoking. Time to grow my own food. Time to give up stuff. Time to sell stuff.

Time to take a nap.

OK, so I'll do the dishes first, then sort through the stuff I pulled from the old car, then find a place for said stuff, then do something with the stuff that I will have to move to place the stuff is said place. Ugh. Can my brain race any faster?

Oh, and I have a dollar (from the old car) for the first person who emails me and tells me they read this.

Y, M, D, H

If necessity is the mother of invention, then what is the name of desperation's offspring? Just wondering. Mostly because between hated job, new job, no job, and returning to job, I'm the only one of the immediate bloodline who seems to have stable job. And it's only part-time. Thus, I've been looking around the never-ending project grounds and thinking to myself in very desperate fashion.

Ugly thoughts arise when one is desperate.

I have managed to keep myself from throwing everything out into the front yard and planting a big sign that says, "Steal Me." Why not "Free" you may be asking? Well, because free connotes no value, while as steal connotes value. Who wants to take no value (read 'junk') when they can take value? Ah, yes, the psyche of criminal behavior.

Today I considered taking advantage of weather conditions and setting stuff out to be blown into the yards of neighbors. Without tornado force winds, however, it wouldn't be blown far enough to insure that some neighbor would not recognize it as mine and bring it back to me. Then not only do I have the clutter back, but I also add the disdain of neighbors.

Before you ask the inevitable, let me address the elephant in the room. Goodwill, Salvation Army, et al have retail stores and make money from what they get donated. Granted, they do fund wonderful programs for the less advantaged, but my main objection is that if someone is going to get money for item A, why not me? See the first paragraph, next to last sentence. I don't currently plan to retire. I plan to die before I am required to retire. Thus, all funds acquired now can be used for now. Thus, if anyone is going to get money for clutter from this house, it is me. Of course, that assumes that any of the clutter would sell. Which according to "Hated Job" it won't.

Yeah, one can only hope that desperation is sterile.

D, W, M

It's not like I haven't thought about it. I just didn't do it. So now I am. Thing is, I still have this underlying feeling of "who gives a flying " when it comes to writing things. Yeah, yeah, so my delusions of OFF were summarily squished. So my aspirations of accomplishment with 1RAT have rusted in spots. So my therapist and a handful of others would get really miffed if they knew what I was thinking lately (not planning, mind you).

The only real relevance a person has in this world is that which is self-created. Note to self.

So it's a start, another tiny step in THAT direction. Time to dust off some old trade tools, and while I am at it, see if I can fire up the engine and get the project moving forward again.