what sandra thinks

January 27:

Where do you go when you need solitude?

What the fuck is solitude?

I’m kidding. Of course I know what solitude is.

I am unemployed, but my husband goes to work and my kids to go school. I have alone time (until summer break). But is that solitude? Most of the time, it doesn’t feel like solitude. It feels like isolation. Reclusion. Loneliness.

“Our language […] has created the word ‘loneliness’ to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word ‘solitude’ to express the glory of being alone.”
—Paul Tillich, The Eternal Now (I know nothing about this man or this book. Found the quote on Wikipedia, the source for all reliable information.)

“In solitude, […] I am ‘by myself,’ together with my self, and therefore two-in-one, whereas in loneliness I am actually one, deserted by all others.”
—Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (As above, I know nothing about this woman or this book. Wikipedia.)

To sum up:

“A distinction has been made between solitude and loneliness. In this sense, these two words refer, respectively, to the joy and the pain of being alone.”
—Wikipedia again

At times, being home alone is solitude-like. But I think to truly have solitude, I need to get out of my house. Where do I go? I have no idea. I don’t go. But even if I did, my brain would come with me, filled with all my worries and fears and anxieties. I can’t turn it off. I don’t think solitude is a thing for me.

(If anyone wants to take me away to some island paradise, though, I’d be willing to give that a shot.)

Meditation is where I need to begin. I found a sense of peace and relaxation while having an MRI. (I know, that’s fucked up.) That was back in October. I haven’t felt peaceful and relaxed since then. That’s on me, to some extent, because that MRI made me realize that meditation could/would help me, yet I still haven’t done it.

I’m back to the mystery that is my fucked up brain. Why, when I’m pretty damn sure something will help me (meditation), do I not do it? What stops me? And again I land at the only explanation I can come up with. I don’t think I deserve it. I don’t think I deserve to feel better, happier, relaxed, peaceful. I don’t think I deserve solitude. And I need someone to convince me otherwise. I shouldn’t need someone, I know, but I do. Because I don’t believe I’m worth it.

So where do I go when I need solitude? I guess to get an MRI?

—

   
Mr. Left looks like he may be on some island paradise. I should go there.

p.s. — I probably wrote the longest answer to this question, yet I didn’t even really answer it. I think I know step one, though—find a place to meditate (and do it). Then I might find solitude. 

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 26:

What is your favorite part about yourself?

First of all, that question sounds wrong. Like, gramatically speaking. It should either say “favorite part of yourself” or “favorite thing about yourself“. I lean toward the latter because the first one sounds like it’s asking for a body part. Which is a totally valid question, too, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the intention here.

Anyway.

My favorite thing about myself?

It’s definitely my inspiring positivity.

*laughter* *wipes tear from eye*

Seriously, though, this is a very difficult question for me. I hate myself. I have trouble finding anything good about myself. To to pick a favorite, honestly, I’m choosing from nothing.

My usual fallback answer to questions like this is my intelligence. But when I think about that, I realize that I have more book smarts than life smarts. I wouldn’t want to be less great at math (or grammar), but I wish I was better at life. So I don’t think my intelligence is my favorite thing about myself. It’s flawed.

Maybe it’s that I’m open. But I sometimes think I’m too open, so that’s out.

Maybe it’s that I’d do anything for my kids. But I think I fail them too often, so that’s definitely out.

Maybe it’s my creativity/artistic ability, but when I look around, I see so much that’s better than anything I could do, so this is also out.

Oh. I’ve got it!

It’s my sense of humor. And my sarcasm (which I think is the basis for much of my humor).

I’m sure not everyone gets me, but I know I’m funny. Sometimes, I feel like it’s all I have. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. Granted, I often cry, but I still can laugh. I’ve said this many times: if my sense of humor ever disappears, then you’ll know I’m really in trouble because that means I’ve got nothing left.

—

   
I can’t speak to their character, but my favorite part of these guys? Arms and abs.

p.s. — My favorite part of myself would be my eyes. I also like my hair. Most days. 

p.p.s. — I have managed to turn what should be a positive post into, um, something else. I don’t love that about myself, but I suppose it’s a talent. “Able to make anything depressing!” I’m a fucking superhero. You’re welcome.

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 25:

Write about something that makes you feel strong.

I should probably just leave this space blank.

The only time I feel strong is when someone tells me that I am. But that feeling doesn’t last. I could theorize that that’s because the feeling didn’t come from me, and maybe that’s true, but I’m not sure I believe that. Maybe I don’t want to believe it because that means I have to find something within myself to make me feel strong. And if that’s the case, see above.

People say I’m strong because I’m dealing with so much while having (and also dealing with) depression and anxiety. But the way I see it, I’m weak because I let things get to me (very easily), I panic about things that shouldn’t cause panic, I can’t find a way to do things that might help me (even though I can list several), I fail all the time, and I never seem to feel better. I’m weak because I’m really not dealing with anything.

My original answer stands.

—

   
I bet they are strong. They could probably pick me up and throw me on the bed.

p.s. — Not even consuming copious amounts of coffee makes me feel strong. 

p.p.s. — Maybe punching something would make me feel strong. Or it would just hurt my hand. 

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 24:

Write about a dream you remember.

It would be difficult to write about a dream I don’t remember.

*sarcastic bitch mode off*
*just kidding—it’s never off*

Ahem.

I have a recurring dream that started years ago (well before my seventeen year old son was born). It appears in one of two versions, but they’re very similar. However, I’ve written about it before so I’m not going to share it here.

I thought of another dream I have had several times, starting when I was five or six years old. But as I sit here about to share that very fucked up dream, I feel a sense of déjà vu. And I did a little search. I already posted this dream, too.

I learned something about myself from each of those dreams.

1. I’m desperate to go back to the past.
2. I’m afraid of being abandoned and left in danger. (Or I really like Frosted Flakes.)

Maybe you’ll follow those links so you can read about those dreams.

I remembered another dream, and I don’t think I’ve ever shared it. There’s not much to it because it’s pretty much a nightmare for me, and it startled my eight-ish year old self awake pretty quickly.

I walk into the bathroom to take a bath. I pull the shower curtain aside and in the tub is a giant ant. Giant. It takes up the whole tub. I scream and run the fuck away.

The only meaning I can think of behind this one is pretty simple. I do not like ants. Or any other insects. Or spiders.

Sorry Ant-Man. Sorry Spider-Man.

—

   
Perhaps you were hoping for a sexy dream starring one or both of these guys? Apologies. Some things are best kept secret.  

p.s. — I think I may have been oddly fucked up even as a young child. Who the hell dreams of a gigantic ant? 

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 23:

Interview a fictional character.

I found this one to be difficult. Maybe I’m not feeling overly creative since I’m upset. I did think of a bunch of fictional characters I’d like to interview, but I’m at a loss for questions to ask.

Hell, I even googled it—creative interview questions. I got a bunch of crap about job interviews. When I added “fictional character” to my search, I got instructions on how to interview your characters before you write your book. None of this was helpful to the matter at hand.

But finally, I chose someone and wrote the interview. I’m not particularly happy with it and it’s a bit short, but whatever. I’m tired and I have a headache.

sandra: Thank you for coming back from the dead to meet with me Mr. Stark. I know you only have time for a few questions, so let’s get started.

Tony Stark: The pleasure is all yours.

sandra: It certainly is. *can’t help but smile* Speaking of pleasure, does your previous reputation as a playboy bother you?

Tony Stark: Bother me? Hell no. I earned it.

sandra: Do you see yourself as a role model?

Tony Stark: Of course. I don’t have superpowers. You don’t need them to be a hero. But you probably need to be a billionaire genius. Study hard, kids.

sandra: Noted. If you could be any superhero, who would you choose?

Tony Stark: Is this a trick question?

*laughter*

sandra: Okay. I’m going to be serious now. What’s Thor like?

Tony Stark: *gives a look that could kill* Fat. Next question.

sandra: Would you want Morgan to follow in your footsteps?

Tony Stark: What I want doesn’t matter. What she wants matters.

sandra: Aww. What a sweet dad moment. While we’re talking about kids, my daughter insisted that I ask you for Peter Parker’s number. Your thoughts?

Tony Stark: You didn’t get this from me. *whispers* ###-###-####. Need anything else? You want a suit? I’ll make you a suit.

sandra: No thank you, Mr. Stark. I’m afraid of heights. But you can make one for my son.

Tony Stark: Done.

[Interviewer’s Note: I didn’t choose Thor because I love him and all, but if I had him in front of me, I wouldn’t be talking.]

—

   
These guys aren’t fictional. Although they kind of are to me. I wouldn’t get through an interview with either of them. I probably wouldn’t even be capable of speaking.

p.s. — Here’s that list of possible interview targets I came up with, in case you’re interested.
Flynn Rider (Obviously he is the first one who came to mind.)
Chandler Bing
Doctor Strange
Indiana Jones
Gregory House
Lorelei Gilmore (Oh my god! There’s a female on the list!)
Willy Wonka
Lloyd Dobler
Eric Cartman
Tweek Tweak
Homer Simpson
Charlie Brown
Sterling Archer
Spike or Angel
Daria Morgendorffer
Rick Sanchez

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 22:

What is your favorite quote and why? 

I’m not sure I have one. I don’t have, like, words to live by or any other philosophical or inspirational quotes that I’d call favorites. And even if I did, those favorites would likely change based on my mood.

Honestly, though, most of my favorite “quotes” are song lyrics. But I don’t think that’s what I should use here.

Thinking of a quote that means something to me on demand is pretty much impossible. Maybe I should just let you know the next time I come across one?

No? I have to pick something? Okay.

*thinks for many hours before returning to this post*

I came up with a couple that I did actually save when I saw them. (I’m screenshot-happy.) Are they my most favorite quotes ever? I don’t know. Probably not. But I agree with them. And I had to give you something.

The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special, too.
–Ernest Hemingway

and

I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up all alone.
It’s not.
The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone.
–Robin Williams

I bet now you’re feeling as cheerful as I am. Which is not at all. Sorry.

—

   
I’m thinking anything that comes out of their mouths would become my favorite quote. 

p.s. — This one sucks. But tomorrow’s might be worse.

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 21:

If you could, what year would you time travel to and why? 

Time travel has come up quite a few times lately.

To recap: I chose time travel as my (stupid) superpower. I’ve also written a letter to my younger self and posted it more than once.

However, this question is different to me. I’m interpreting this question as: What time period would you like to live in? 

I’m not going to say I want to go back to the year I was thirteen to fix all the fuck-ups I’ve had since then. I think I’ve covered that. Extensively. I’m going to use this question to talk about the year I’d like to visit—and stay. No connection to my past self or my future self. Just the year I’d love to be living in right now.

This is me thinking. Although that’s not actually a picture of me.

I have zero interest in the future. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to be there. Nope.

I don’t even want to be in the present. I hate how things are today. Social media. Reality TV. Constant competition to see who’s best based on money and possessions. Too much pressure. And… So. Much. Technology.

People are overstimulated and stressed the fuck out. Many (so many) are intolerant, rude, selfish, and just generally not nice. Kindness is rarer than it should be. Human interaction has steeply declined (and not because of the pandemic). People talk less (literally talk, not text), and people see each other less (literally see each other, not facetime, etc.). Kids don’t play outside. School shootings happen. A single donut at Dunkin costs $1.39 (and they’re smaller than they used to be, too). (I am a donut connoisseur.)

Get me the fuck out of here!

Crank up the DeLorean, Doc!

I’m going to 1975.

I don’t even care what’s going on in the world. In 1975, life is so… not 2022. It’s quiet. Relaxing. Mellow. I have no computer, no internet, and no cell phone. But I can call my friends on the rotary phone and make plans to get together. Like, in person. I can invite them over to watch tv. I’ve got five stations—ABC, NBC, CBS, PBS, and the local one—and that’s plenty. Oh—and they all sign-off at midnight.

It’s a time of mood rings, Happy Days, trips to HoJos for hot fudge sundaes, kids riding their bikes everywhere (and kids doing all sorts of other fun things outside), BeeGees 8-tracks, 44¢ per gallon gas, and a Dunkin Donut for about 25¢.

Look how happy these random people are. [Aside: If you are these random people and want me to take your picture down, let me know!] Those party hats. The pickled eggs (okay, no). That amazing wallpaper.

I’d totally eat a pickled egg if it meant I could go to 1975. It was a simpler life. And that’s what I need. And love.

[Yes, I did quite a bit of research. It was fun. I think I actually like this question!]

—

   
They would even look hot wearing leisure suits.

p.s. — I struggled a bit because the 50s and 60s appealed to me, too. But I went with the 70s because they had the best wallpaper.

©2022 what sandra thinks