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Jenny Lawson

liepa 19, 2016 m Pusryčiai,
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Po vienu balandžio mėnesį publikuotu įrašu apie mano skaitomas knygas skaitytoja Audrė paprašė, kad aš paviešinčiau daugiau knygų rekomendacijų. Ta proga noriu Jums parekomenduoti mano ypatingai mylimos memuarų autorės Jenny Lawson naują knygą: Furiously Happy. A Funny Book About Horrible Things.

Tai trumpų esių rinkinys apie autorės asmeninį gyvenimą, jos pirmojo memuaro Let’s Pretend This Never Happened toks beveik tęsinys.

Jenny Lawson aš galiu skaityti kasdien po kelis kartus per dieną: jos tinklapį The Bloggess ir jos abi knygas. Galiu skaityti tą patį per tą patį, į sąsiuvinį nurašinėti citatas, paskui jas visas išmokti mintinai, ir man jos tekstai vistiek niekada nenusibos.

Jenny rašo tiems ir apie tuos, kurie niekaip nepritampa, jos pačios žodžiais tariant, prie pastelinius gyvenimus gyvenačių, žvilgančių žmonių (shiny people), jų intelektualių pastelinių kalbų, jų sutvarkytų namų, pavyzdinių tarpusavių santykių, darnių šeimų su besišypsančiomis mamytėmis ir tėveliais, ir dailiai aprengtais bei sušukuotais vaikučiais pabiručiais, su jų ekskliuzyvinėmis piknikėlių pintinėmis ir iškrakmolintomis staltiesėlėmis. Jenny knygos yra tiems, kurių gyvenime buvo visko, kurių kasdienybė toli gražu nežvilganti ir nežurnalinė, su gana tamsiais ruožais, apie kuriuos kam nors pasakoti tiesiog nėra prasmės; nes tikriausiai visitiek niekas nesupras.

Knygos pailiustravimui norėjau Jums parinkti kelias citatas, todėl skaitydama ėmiau kaišioti popieriukus į tas vietas, kur galima būtų kažką pacituoti. Po tam tikro laiko pastebėjau, kad tų popieriukų prikišau jau porą desėtkų. Aš galėčiau šitą knygą Jums tiesiog visą perrašyti, galėčiau cituoti vos ne kiekvieną pastraipą, nes vos ne kiekvienoje pastraipoje yra koks nors esminis perlas. Bet kam perrašinėti, jeigu Jūs patys galite ją paskaityti. Taigi, labių labiausiai Jums rekomenduoju abi Jenny knygas. Būtinai paskaitykit, o paskaitę būtinai man papasakokit savo įspūdžius.

Ačiū, kad skaitot šį mano tinklapį.

Aušra

This year my doctor prescribed me antipsychotics.

“To … keep the psychotics away?” I asked, jokingly.

She was not joking. She promised me that this did not mean I was psychotic but assured me that in small doses this drug – made for schizophrenics – could decrease the length of my depressive episodes if I used it as a sort of side dish to go with my antidepressants.

So of course I took the drug. Drugs are magic. You take a pill and feel happy. You take another and feel less hungry. You take another pill and have a minty breath. (That last pill was actually a Tic Tac, but you get the picture.)

There is nothing better than hearing that there is a drug that will fix a terrible problem, unless you also hear that the drug is for treating schizophrenia (or possibly that it kills fairies every time you take it).

Frankly, I think it’s the word that scares me. Antipsychotic.

Victor and I have different ideas about what we should do in our spare time. In my spare time I like to stare at shit. I mean, not literally. I like to stare at the TV, or the internet, or a book, or cat videos. There is a lot of sitting very still and not moving involved. I suspect in a former life I was probably a statue because I am profoundly good at it.

Victor, on the other hand, spends his spare time creating new businesses, writing reference books, gleefully finding errors on financial forms, and telling me how I should spend my spare time.

I think it has something to do with the fields we work in. For most of our marriage Victor has been a workaholic entrepreneur or an executive of successful companies. He really enjoys it, which makes him dangerously questionable, or at least mildly sociopathic. He easily fills empty time with specific tasks that have a defined start and finish. His e-mails are always answered in a quick, smart, and often vaguely condescending directives that make people want to never e-mail him again, so he’s always caught up with correspondence.

My unopened e-mails often number into thousands, and once every few months I’ll panic at how far behind I am and send a form letter to everyone that reads: Hello. I totally suck. I’m just now opening this. Do you still need me? I’m so sorry. I am not to be trusted. Hugs, me”. Then I declare e-mail bankruptcy, delete everything, and start a whole new e-mail account and never ever go back to the last one. It’s a ridiculous and assholish system but I’ve found that it works for me and I’ve never received a single complaint. Victor says that’s because it’s impossible to receive a complaint on an account I never check again, I but I suspect it’s because everyone is equally behind and they appreciate my honesty.

My father is constantly trading, nursing and releasing animals into the wild, so the limpy bobcat he had last week is usually a rescued peacock the next week and will be replaced with a three-legged iguana the next time you visit. However, it’s been years and he still has dozens of carrier pigeons, who wiggle out of their enclosure and sit on their roof, staring pointedly at you and waiting to be fed. I was a little impressed by my dad’s dedication but then I realized that you probably can’t get rid of homing pigeons. They just keep coming back. Basically it’s like having a child who never leaves home and shits everywhere, and then you’re all, “Go. Be free!” And they’re like, “Nah. We’re fine here, thanks. Where’s the food? Need me to pass a note?” My dad loves them though and keeps tying notes to their legs.

“Have you never heard of e-mail?” I asked him. “It’s very fast and there’s so much less bird flu and feces involved. Usually.” But he just smiled and went back to mending the doggy door he’s made for the birds.

Someone once said that if you make something no one hates, no one will ever love it either, and that’s true. The same goes for art, writing and people. Especially people. In fact, most of my favorite people are dangerously fucked up but you would never guess it because we’ve either became adept at hiding it or we’ve learned to bare it so honestly that it becomes a new normal. There’s a quote for The Breakfast Club that goes: “We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it.” I have it on a poster board but I took a Sharpie to it and scratched out the word “hiding” because it reminds me that there’s certain pride and freedom that comes from wearing your unique bizarreness like a badge of honor.

I have had a very odd and strange life, filled with more ups and downs that the average woman could shake a stick at. (Which would be weird because it’s been my personal experience that average women hardly ever shake sticks at anything. Normally it’s strange women like me shaking sticks against windmills, and cougars, and bushes that you thought were cougars because you’ve had too much amaretto.)

When I look at my life I see high-water marks of happiness and I see the lower places where I had to convince myself that suicide wasn’t an answer. And in between I see my life. I see that the sadness and tragedy in my life made the euphoria and delicious ecstasy that much more sweet. I see that stretching out my soul to feel every inch of horrific depression gave me more room to grow and enjoy the beauty of life that others might not ever appreciate. I see that there is dust in the air that will eventually settle on the floor to be swept out the door as a nuisance, but before that, for one brilliant moment I see the dust motes catch sunlight and sparkle and dance like stardust. I see the beginning and end of all things. I see my life. It is beautifully ugly and tarnished in just the right way. It sparkles with debris. There is wonder and joy in the simplest of things. My mother was right.

It’s all in the way you look at it.

I judge myself by the shiny pretty people I see ant parent-teacher meetings, or on Facebook, or Pinterest, who seem to totally have their shit together and never have unwashed hair. They never wait till Thursday night to help their kid with the entire week’s homework. They don’t have piles of dusty boxes in corners waiting to be opened from the move before last. They have pretty, pastel lives, and they are happy, and they own picnic baskets and napkins and know how to recycle, and they never run out of toilet paper or get their electricity turned off. And it’s nor even that I want to be one of those people. I fucking hate picnics. I just don’t want to feel like failure because my biggest accomplishment of the day was going to the bank.

Stop judging yourself against shiny people. Avoid the shiny people. The shiny people are a lie. Or get to know them enough to realize they aren’t so shiny after all. Shiny people aren’t the enemy. Sometimes we’re the enemy when we listen to our malfunctioning brains that try to tell us that we’re alone in our self-doubt, or that it’s obvious to everyone that we don’t know what the shit we’re doing.

Hell, there are probably people out there right now who consider us to be shiny people (bless their stupid, stupid hearts) and that’s pretty much proof that none of our brains can be trusted to accurately measure the value of anyone, much less ourselves.

Jenny Lawson | Furiously Happy

Avižinė košė su burbuline arbata

Recepto šaltinis: Two Red Bowls

Burbulai:

½ stiklinės stambių tapijokos grūdelių, nevirtų

1 stiklinė vandens

½ stiklinės cukraus

½ stiklinės rudojo cukraus

Dideliame puode užvirinti didelį kiekį vanens. Suberti tapijokos grūdelius ir virti 15 minučių. Nukelti nuo ugnies ir palikti dar 15 minučių pastovėti.

Vidutinio dydžio puode išvirti sirupą: užvirinti 1 stiklinę vandens plius abiejų rūšių cukrų. Gerai išmaišyti, kad cukrus pilnai ištirptų. Į sirupą sudėti nukoštus tapijokos grūdelius. Palikti pastovėti 15-30 minučių.

Arbata:

2 stiklinės vandens

4 šaukštai arba 4 pakeliai arbatžolių

4 šaukštai saldinto kondensuoto pieno

Vidutinio dydžio puode užvirinti vandenį. Suberti arbatą (arba įmesti pakelius), puodą uždengti, ir palikti 5 minutėms, kad arbata pritrauktų. Nukošti (arba išimti arbatos pakelius). Sudėti kondensuotą pieną ir gerai išmaišyti.

Košė:

1 ¼ stiklinės avižinių dribsnių

Avižinius dribsnius suberti į karštą arbatą su pienu, išmaišyti, palikti, kad atvėstų. Uždengti ir dėti 6 valandoms į šaldytuvą. Tiekti šaltą, su saldžiais tapijokos grūdeliais, su pienu arba su kondensuotu pienu.

Norint paruošti karštą košę, arbatą su pienu užvirinti, suberti avižinius dribsnius ir virti ant silpnos ugnies, dažnai pamaišant, kol dribsniai suminkštės, ir košė taps pageidaujamo tirštumo. Nukelti nuo ugnies. Tiekti tuojau pat, su saldžiais tapijokos grūdeliais, su pienu arba su kondensuotu pienu.

Bubble Tea Oatmeal

Recipe source: Two Red Bowls

Bubbles:

½ cup uncooked black tapioca pearls

1 cup water

½ cup sugar

½ cup brown sugar

In a large pot bring large amount of water to boil. Add uncooked tapioca pearls and cook for 15 minutes. Turn off the heat and leave the pearls in the hot water for 15 more minutes. In another pot bring 1 cup of water and both kinds of sugar to boil. Remove from heat.

Drain tapioca pearl and add them to hot syrup. Let sit for 15-30 minutes.

Tea:

2 cups water

4 tablespoons loose leaf black tea or 4 teabags

4 tablespoons sweetened condensed milk

In a medium pot bring water to boil. Add tea. Cover and let steep for 5 minutes. Strain the tea, add sweetened condensed milk and stir.

Oatmeal:

1 ¼ cup old-fashioned rolled oats

Add oats to hot milk tea. Cover. Let cool to room temperature then refrigerate overnight. Serve cold with sweet tapioca bubbles and more condensed or regular milk.

For hot oatmeal, cook oats in milk tea, stirring occasionally, until oatmeal reaches desired thickens. Remove from heat and serve right away, with sweet tapioca bubbles.