In other words, the world is f#$%ing with me again.
It has become apparent to me, in no uncertain terms, that the world and other people have not learned the Lyralen Kaye Rules of Order. The extent to which they have not learned them is truly mind-boggling, since on some level I obviously think I’m God. Or should be. Or was once.
What is clear, as I’m driving down Route 28 to Stoneham yesterday behind a woman going 5 miles under the speed limit, is that things are not going according to plan. And then I arrive at the theatre and everyone has a different opinion of the piece we’ve created. And then, through no fault of her own, someone I’m supposed to meet is late. It kind of goes this way, one thing after another, from birth onward, as the fact that I am not in charge becomes something that no amount of denial or obsessive control will change.
I wonder why no one else seems to have the same rule book? And don’t they all know I’m right?
And then, because I am now officially a pseudo-Buddhist, I notice that I think these things and experience a moment of complete awe at my own insanity.
Then, because someone is late, I take a nap. I love naps. Yesterday, a day of relentless busyness, had no room for naps until someone was late.
I did, however, rudely pass the woman driving so slowly and weaving left and right so no one could pass. I mean, I’m not a candidate for pseudo-Buddhist saintliness.
Then I go to yoga teacher training and it’s all on ahimsa (non-violence) and satya (honesty), asteya (non-stealing) and brahmacharya (celibacy). That’s a great way to realize that you yourself are not exactly following the Eastern spirituality rule book and to fall, splat, into a nice pond of humility as you realize you’re unkind to yourself if not others, that you project an image when you want to be real and that you steal, covet, use your attractiveness and charm in a multitude of ways in order to get what you want and basically are a lower life form.
Then I came home and looked at the pink Cadillac convertible my partner bought me at Graceland last weekend. This made me feel unexpectedly better. Unexpected because I’ve been playing my favorite game with her (that is in no rulebook whatsoever). The game is called, “If you really loved me, you’d….” For about 10 years, the end of that sentence was, “Buy me a pink Cadillac convertible.” (I always go for the gold.) She won this round of the game by being very sneaky and getting me an Elvis-like toy instead of the real thing, so I’m working on a new version of the game, which, no doubt, any couples therapist would point out as extremely dysfunctional. If they knew about it, that is. But they’re not going to find out from me, satya or no satya, and my partner is so happy with herself for figuring out the Cadillac thing, I bet she’ll keep quiet, too. Besides, I like this Cadillac. If she got me the real thing I’d have to drive it around and look like an idiot (so I guess I set up this game pretty poorly, underestimating her craftiness in all ways).
Anyhow, in the Lyralen Kaye Rules of Order, manipulation in the pursuit of pink Cadillac convertibles must have a place. I feel guilty saying this, because I got many of my rules from my German mother, and I know she would find the whole Cadillac thing ridiculous, garish and in poor taste.
New rule: break all the German mother rules.
My epiphany for the day.