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How did the not interrupting people or finishing their sentences go for you women? I found it excruciatingly hard. Not finishing others' sentences was especially a challenge; I discovered that I love to find words for people to describe their feelings (the writer in me), and if they're struggling, I jump in with a "labryinthine!" or "robust" or whatever. But if I think about it, finishing other people's sentences probably also ties to my anxiety. If I weren't anxious to please and move the conversation along, I would be much more likely to relax and wait for the other person to complete her or his thought. I will definitely keep working on that one.
<b>8. Do Something Nice for Someone Else--and Don't Tell <i>Anyone</i> About It</b>
While many of us frequently do nice things for others, we are almost certain to mention our acts of kindness to someone else, secretly seeking their approval.
When we share our own niceness or generosity with someone else, it makes us feel like we are thoughtful people, it reminds us how nice we are and how deserving we are of kindness.
While all acts of kindness are inherently wonderful, there is something even more magical about doing something thoughtful but mentioning it to no one, ever. You always feel good when you give to others. Rather than diluting the positive feelings by telling others about your own kindness, by keeping it to yourself you get to retain <i>all</i>the positive feelings.
It's really true that one should give for the sake of giving, not to receive something in return. This is precisely what you are doing when you don't mention your kindness to others--your rewards are the warm feelings that come from the act of giving. The next time you do something really nice for someone else, keep ti to yourself and revel in the abundant joy of giving.
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Dear Ankle Wound and Ankle,
Ankle Would: Wow, has it already been over two months since you arrived? It's hard to believe since part of you is still a scab that sticks out from the surrounding and healed skin! But I know that you were serious business; the regimen and pills I was given are evidence enough of that. And I don't want to dwell on the negative anyway. I'm here to thank you, Ankle, for getting me through this.
You are the epitome of human elegance and grace. You fought off two infections and an allergic reaction to an antibiotic. You hardly complained except to warn me that you were literally on fire trying to beat the bacteria that had festered on you. You even brought a little humor by resembling a bloody yolk sitting within the lesser red albumen of skin. Or simply looking like a bullet hole wound to impress young'uns who think violence is cool.
I am blessed and extremely lucky to have a body that cooperates with me through all the shit I put it through. You have not been the first to receive such treatment, Ankle; no, there have been countless burns, bruises, scratches, and a concussion brought about by smacking my head on a stone fireplace after falling from a fort made of cushions. But you fought the strangest and in some ways deadliest of fights for me, and I want to do you good because of it.
Sincerely,
The Rest of Your Body (aka Molly)
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Seven years old, I take the Kansas record from a plastic crate and stare at the cover. There is a picture of an old man writing something, his head aching in frustration. I am riveted by the familiar cartoon imagery, but I don't understand what the hell is going on. This is my first memory of discovering music.  For God knows what reason, I started listening to these records. My favorites were Joe Walsh's Seems to Me, to which I made up a dance, and this particular dark and scary Steely Dan album:  I loved Black Cow the most. Music, to me, is pure bliss. I don't like the work of discovering music, but I enjoy the experience of listening and especially singing and dancing. It makes me happy to think back on how much music was a part of my childhood experience. For instance, singing with Joanna and Ben in Joanna's room, perfecting the harmony to "Let's Go Out to the Kitchen." When you are with people you love, making something beautiful that is uniquely your own, that is bliss. Or calling in to radio stations to sing and laughing hysterically over how my voice would crack on the Beatles' "If I Fell." Or singing Boot Scootin Boogy with the sibs, only to have the radio announcer say, "Nice job, ladies!" Probably the longest stretch of music came from spending time in our basement with records and the Super Nintendo. This is the definitive Joanna/Molly/Ben album:  My God, so many hours of hearing "Strawberry Fields," "Penny Lane," "Sgt. Peppers," and everything else. But it was wonderful to have your heart be carried away by music day after day. It was lifesaving, in fact. Current Mood: creative
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