The chronic malcontent feng shuis the crap out of her desk

You know things are heading south when feng shui-ing your desk seems like a solution. Today as I was avoiding writing an article I'm not sure how to start, I ran across a video by a blonde white woman who wanted to feng shui her desk so she could be more productive. I thought, Hey, I want to be more productive. Is that all I need to do, feng shui my desk? What the hell is feng shui, anyway?

As I started writing this post, I suddenly wondered, Hey, have I already written about this? I did a quick search on my blog, and sure enough, back in 2013 when I was whining about waiting for my Chair to tell me to resubmit my wretched massive tome for the umpteenth time, I wrote about feng shui-ing the Love Shack. Did it work? I finished the dissertation, if that means anything.

This time, I just want to write a short article. Maybe I don't have to do the whole place. I'm thinking just my desk. Like the rest of the place, my desk is swamped with clutter and detritus. Sticky notes, toothpicks, half-empty ballpoint pens, used tissues, unfiled papers... Is it hampering my productivity? Probably. I will apply feng shui principles to fix my desk qi. Chi. Whatever.

Where do I start? I guess with the Bagua. Okay. I'm imagining my desk divided into nine quadrants. Tic tac toe. Right ahead of me is the career quadrant. What do I see there? My keyboard. The color for this quadrant apparently should be black. My keyboard is black! Right on, sister. I'm feeling more energetic already. What's next? The lower right quadrant is for attracting helpful people and travel. Hmmm. Right now, that quadrant is occupied by my desktop scanner and a beat up cardboard box of pens, sticky notes, highlighters, and binder clips. What does this mean? Maybe that I'll soon be traveling to the office supply store for more paper clips and tape? No doubt that is where the helpful people will be found.

The next quadrant is for creativity. Uh-oh. Another box placed to control the clutter, this one larger, made of clear plastic. This box corrals my mother's checkbook, my digital camera, postcards I never sent advertising my book, and miscellaneous pamphlets. Maybe with the exception of my camera, I don't see a whole lot of creativity going on in this quadrant.

The upper right quadrant should have something pink, for attracting love. I'm not seeing any pink. This is where I keep my receipts, stacked up on a dinky chest of drawers that holds stamps, erasers, and other miscellaneous office supplies. Behind the chest are the local phone books. Every year I get new phone books. I use them once or twice a year, but I can't say I love these phone books. No love going on here that I can see. Well, my mother's receipts are stacked next to mine. Maybe that is evidence of love.

In the upper middle quadrant, we have fame. The color for fame is red, and this is where the light should be placed. Yay, this is where my clip-on gooseneck lamp leans out over my computer monitor. Finally, something in the right place. But my lamp is black, not red. Darn it. Maybe I should change the bulb out for a red bulb? That would be creepy. Can't see how that would bring me fame, but who knows how this feng shui stuff works. Maybe I need to be willing to work by eerie red lamp light in order to become famous. Do I want fame? Maybe not that much.

The upper left quadrant is for wealth. Gold, purple, green... nope, I see the monster black tower of my computer's processor, taking up the entire quadrant. I guess I could call it a wealth black hole... I recently upgraded my computer's brain. It runs much faster now, but I am somewhat poorer. Maybe I can line up some gold trinkets along the top of the box, that might help.

The middle left quadrant is for family. Half of my printer takes up that entire space. My cordless phone sits there too, my lifeline to family. Okay! Color should be green. Sigh. Moving on. The lower left quadrant is for knowledge. The rest of my printer takes up that space, and no, it is neither green nor blue, it's black. But it prints in blue or green on a good day, does that count?

Finally, the middle quadrant is reserved for health. My computer monitor sits solidly in that space. Where else would I put it? The color should be yellow or earth tones. Once again, I fail. My monitor is black, although it can show yellow and earth tones, on occasion. It's just black around the edges, right? Do they even make yellow monitors? I know, I can arrange a bunch of yellow sticky notes around the edge, like a frame. That oughta do it.

I'm feeling a bit disappointed that my desk isn't easily feng shui-able, until I remember, hey, feng shui is magic! I don't have to see these colors to make them fix my qi. I can tape colored paper under each quadrant, under my desk! I know, how cool is that! It's kind of like think and grow rich! Do what you love and the money will follow! Visualize world peace! We all know those work like a charm. Just knowing the colors are there is apparently enough. It's like taking vitamins. it's all about faith.

Okay. Did feng shui-ing my desk work? Do I feel more energized? Am I more productive? Hey, I wrote a blog post, does that count? What about that article, you say? Well, it's lunchtime. I'm hungry. The sun is shining. I need to get my laundry out of the dryer. Maybe I'll take a nap. Maybe feng shui takes some time to work. Oh wait, I forgot. I need to clap my hands in all the corners of the room to dispel negative qi. Back in a moment.

Okay. Wow, suddenly I feel so tired. Too much sorrow, too much feng shui. Exit, stage right.

How to know if there is a vortex in your bathroom

My sister came to town for a long weekend. The fun began Friday evening when I picked her up at the airport, and ended this morning at 7:00 a.m. when I dropped her off. She travels light, like the veteran globetrotter that she is. We were lucky to see her: Portland was just the next destination after Boston, en route back to Europe where I suspect she left her heart. She graces us once a year, if she can. She looks better than ever. Every time I see her, I wonder how she manages to remain young while I am speeding into old age.

Speaking of perplexing occurrences, I am not sure, but think there might be an energy vortex in my bathroom. I'm not an expert. Maybe it's a tiny black hole, or an electromagnetic event horizon. Or a really small localized Bermuda Triangle. I checked a map of energy vortices and it appears that the nearest one is Sedona, although many people claim Oregon has an energy vortex of its own. I've never been there, so I can't say. But I have been to my bathroom, many times, and I'm here to tell you, something wacky is going on in there.

It's not a big bathroom. The tub runs across the end of the room, under the window, where I have built a large wooden window seat for the cat. The sink is on the left-hand wall, the mirror is on the right-hand wall, and the toilet is behind the door. The original taupe ceramic-tiled floor was amateurishly covered before my tenure with black and white linoleum squares (same as is in my kitchen), which are now spotted with kitty litter and paint splatters from many coats of dingy ivory enamel. Overhead is your typical mold-spotted, pock-marked, spider-infested ceiling. It's a nondescript room, despite my attempt to describe it. The vortex appears to be on the wall just to the left of the toilet.

Time out while I go rescue a house fly. He looks a little groggy, like he's been batted about the forehead one too many times by a deceptively lazy cat.

Ok, now I'm back. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Energy vortex. My sister managed to survive three nights in the guest room at my mother's condo (which might be sort of like a small black hole, considering how it sucks life energy from visitors foolish enough to linger). She would have been welcome here, vortex or no. Maybe she wanted to avoid going home covered with cat hair and dust mites. Can't blame her. Maybe she just wanted to avoid hurting our mother's feelings. Whatever the case, she decided to brave the condo. The first night she was attacked by fleas. At least, we think they might have been fleas. Or maybe just one really energetic flea. I think a linen change resolved that issue.

My mother's condo gets only evening sun through one living room window. The master bedroom has one east-facing window smothered by huge pine trees. The rest of the place has a few small north-facing windows. So, what I'm saying is, the place is a cave. Maybe that is why my mother resembles a mole: She stays up late reading by one dim lamp or playing Castle Camelot in the dark. She sleeps late, swathed in fleece and slippers, buried in the dark depths of her huge bed. If she didn't snore occasionally, you wouldn't know she was there.

Maybe energy vortices run in my family. I never thought of that before. That could explain my mother's condo. Maybe that also explains the problem in my bathroom.

Here's the deal. I've had a battery operated clock on the wall next to my toilet for several years. I installed it while I was still working, when it was important to keep to a schedule. Now that it's not so important, I pay less attention to time, although I have battery-operated clocks in every room. One day a few months ago, I happened to notice the clock in the bathroom had gained time. Like, a lot of time. Twenty minutes of time. It's just a cheap battery-powered clock; I figured it had lost its clock mojo or something, although it seems to me that clocks usually lose time, rather than gain time. But what do I know about time? I installed a new battery, moved the hands back to the proper time, and hung it back on the wall. Within a few days, it had once again gained 20 minutes.

I took the clock off the wall and set it on the toilet tank, propped it against the wall. Weeks went by: It kept perfect time. I hung it back on the wall. Within a few days, it was 10 minutes ahead. That's when I started to think there might be something odd going on in my bathroom.

I'm guessing the neighbor also has a vortex in her bathroom, right on the other side of the wall. I know by the sound of her toilet flushing that not much space separates our facilities. Maybe she's hung a large magnetic bathroom ornament on the wall, directly opposite my clock. If I see her, I'll ask. In the meantime, I'm going to hang the clock on a different wall and see what happens.

I just Googled "battery-operated clock gaining time" and found out I'm not alone. Other people have encountered the mystery. A few offered some lame explanations. The last commenter said, "Maybe you are at the nexus of the universe or something." I like that idea. Maybe my bathroom is at the nexus of the universe. Or something. I can think of worse places to be.

If you can't beat 'em.... eat 'em

The ants in my kitchen discovered a flaw in the security system I devised to protect my compost bucket from marauders. I did not realize that the lid of the bucket, open to the back of the bucket, extended past the dike of diatomaceous earth I had erected. Thus I inadvertently left a convenient drawbridge for the army of ants, who wasted no time exploiting my carelessness. I entered the kitchen in the morning, bleary-eyed, to find a long trail of laborers marching from the bucket, to the wall, along the bottom of the cupboards (out of my sight), to some tiny opening behind the microwave a good ten feet away.

I made coffee and drank it, mulling over my strategy. For some minutes, I watched the trail and considered doing nothing. I felt like god must feel, watching the little critters trooping along the edge of the bucket. I could almost hear them gloating to themselves: Apple cores galore! Banana peels! It's the motherlode. We're rich! Our children are saved! Even as I imagined raining carnage down on their tiny heads, I admired their relentless persistence. I am pretty sure these little buggers will outlast me. Long after I'm gone to the big compost bin in the sky, the ant armies will be industriously scouring the earth for apple peels and rotten bananas.

Humans are bigger and (arguably) smarter, but we don't play a long game. We get distracted by the day-to-day, we lose our focus. Once you lose your focus, you lose your drive. Forward momentum dissipates along myriad pointless paths. The ant blows by you while you are gaping at the stars. And that is why ants will inherit the earth. Hmmm. Inherit? They already own it. We are just renting month to month.

Eventually I went with the nuclear option and rained carnage on the unwitting trail of ants. First, I took the compost bucket out to the green rolling bin and dumped the startled diners out on their heads along with the kitchen scraps. Then I moved everything off the counter, napalmed the trail with alcohol which I keep in a handy sprayer bottle for just this purpose (why else would you put rubbing alcohol in a sprayer bottle?), and wiped up the carcasses with paper towels.

Since then, my strategy is to go Hannibal Lecter any time I spot something moving. I hunt the nooks and dig into the crannies. I stand vigil with the rubbing alcohol AK-47. After shooting intruders, I carpet bomb with the diatom dust. I told my friend V. about the episode. She shared some similar experiences. For an insane moment, we cackled like a pair of Hitlers.

Do I sound like I'm having fun? I'm not. I don't want to kill ants. If there is a hell, I'm going there. After the most recent Ant Armageddon, I'm sure there's no hope for my soul. My karma is ruined for a thousand lifetimes. I used to care. I used to try to save scouts if I could, or at least try to flick them in a direction that would save them from drowning or frying. I strive to live and let live. I rescue flies, spiders, moths, and yellow jackets. With ants, however, I admit I'm engaging in size discrimination. Ants are just too damn small to save. And when they congregate, which is sadly their nature, it triggers a fear that I will lose my living space to tribes of tiny squatters. And I go ballistic.

Now I don't care anymore. I'm overwhelmed by sheer numbers. And it's frustrating to discover they don't go gently into the good night, these ants. They petition me constantly, in protest for my heavy-handed Hitler management style. They climb up my shirt (never down, always up, aim for the head, get her!). They bite my neck, they self-immolate on my stove, they sponsor tours to gaze at my toothbrush. I swear they dive-bomb out of thin air to infiltrate juicy targets. The only safe place is in a tub of hot water, and even then they rage at me from the shore.

I don't always notice their protests, which must be so frustrating for them (and maybe why they feel they must bite me.) For example, I'm usually unaware of the brave volunteers who infiltrate my salad bowl. My cat won't eat ants: He knows they bite. But my nose is useless and my eyesight is terrible, so I don't see the ants in my food, waving their little protest signs at me. Freedom from tyranny! Stop the bombing!

Should I abandon my kitchen to the ants? Well, do we really own our kitchens? In a metaphysical sense, you could say our kitchens own us. I mean, I don't know about you, but I spend a lot of time worshiping at the big white box. Whatever. Anyway, it would do no good to abdicate and let them have the kitchen. Because they aren't just in the kitchen. As I've noted, they are in the bathroom, the bedroom, and the living room. Last night they were mining something on the couch. If I looked real close, I bet I could see them wearing tiny helmets equipped with flashlights and waving little pickaxes. I guess I should be thankful they are happy to clean up after me. I just wish they would do it at night, after the picnic, and then fade with the light, like some of their insect brethren.

Well, if given a choice, I'll take ants over cockroaches or bed bugs. Any day. I guess I should count my lucky stars. One....two....I'm counting now.

The chronic malcontent feng shuies the crap out of the Love Shack

The umpteenth time I checked the course room today, there was a message from my Chair: “Unexpectedly out of office. Back Monday.” After a stab of disappointment, I felt oddly relieved. For the rest of this week, I don't have to fret about receiving feedback on my dissertation submission. I mean, I can fret if I want to, but even I am able to recognize the futility of fretting. So I did what any self-respecting adult would do when faced with an unexpected delay: I feng shuied the Love Shack.

I mean no disrespect, and I'm sorry if I offend you, but it's the perfect time to take my housecleaning one step further. I've vacuumed, I've dusted (in places), I've washed the curtains (you know that is a big deal if I keep mentioning it in post after post). I started really looking at the amount of crap I have on my shelves (and I have a lot of shelves)... I mean, really looking. Wow, there's a Microsoft Office 97 book. Really? PowerPoint 2002? Two copies! Who knew!

One thing led to another and the next thing I know, I'm looking up feng shui on the Internet. Score! I found the Bagua, that diagram that divides a space into nine zones. I sketched out a floor plan. Wait, should I make my back door the entrance wall or my front door the entrance wall? Hmmm.

While I was pondering this mystical question, someone pounded on my front door. I froze. Curiosity almost made me go move the curtain to see who was there. But I held very still, like a rabbit in a burrow, and whoever was there went away. People who know me know to come to my back door. The only time I open my front door is to collect my mail. Okay, that answers my question. The back door is the entrance wall.

I returned to my diagram. Darn, it's not to scale. Oh well, close enough to find out what my feng shui condition is. Uh-oh. Looks like Zone 4, Wealth, is in the empty space by the front door. That's not good, is it? Maybe if I switch the diagram and let the front door be... oh, no, that's even worse. Now Wealth is in the bathroom! I'm flushing my prosperity down the drain! I knew it! I switched my perspective back to the back door as the entrance wall. Maybe I can put a money tree by the front door or something. Or a mobile made of Monopoly money.

My analog TV, converter box, antenna, and old-fashioned DVD/VHS player circa 2005 sits in Zone 9, the Reputation sector. This zone also contains the cat tree, a wondrously shaky multilevel contraption I built myself. Wonder what that has to do with Reputation?

Love and Marriage (Zone 2) is in the bedroom. I guess that isn't so bad, except I've been happily single for 10 years. Maybe this refers to my cat. He's sacked out on the bed right now. We're like an old married couple, mostly. He sleeps a lot, farts occasionally, and I do all the work. Yep, sounds about right.

Health and Family (Zone 3) is occupied by a long stretch of heavily laden lime green bookshelves. I wonder what that means. Maybe it means I will get a good workout if I get rid of some of these books. And whatever is left will go to my relatives when I die? I fail to see how that is helpful.

Uh-oh. Creativity is in my bedroom closet. I guess that explains a few things. What goes in the Center? Some of the Bagua maps put Health in the middle, some just say Earth. Get it straight, you feng shuists. Hey, the center is where I sit right now, typing this post and trying to figure out what the center is all about. Oh, man, this is getting too meta.

Zone 8, Knowledge, is where the cat food sits. Career, Zone 1, is where the back door opens. There's nothing there except a fire extinguisher and an umbrella (not to be used together, I don't think). The last zone is Zone 6, Helpful People and Travel. And that is in the bathroom. Well, the bathroom has to go somewhere. It's better to put Helpful People in the bathroom than Wealth, right?

I don't know what it all means, but I'm pretty sure my feng shui score is crap. No wonder my life is shite! I need to boost my feng shui rating. Okay, what should I do? Going to the Internet again... okay, according to one site, in my living room, I need to have family photos (check), harmonious colors (check), and a comfortable chair for every family member (check). The cat has an abundance of comfy places; in fact, the whole damn house is decorated for his pleasure. Seriously. I don't even take showers so I don't have to move his favorite window seat in the bathroom. Uh-oh, the feng shui tips say to hide my TV and electronics. Then how would I watch Scandal and Once Upon a Time? Nope, the TV stays put.

The tips for the bedroom warn us not to have photos or religious icons “watching” us while we sleep. I don't know why not, I don't do anything interesting while I sleep, do you? Avoid cluttered views. Oh dear. The walls in my bedroom are covered with shelves, no lie. Books, tools, sewing crap, clutter. And yes, the closet door is open and you can see piles of laundry and mismatched, outdated, thrift store clothes hanging on wire hangers (I know, I know). Let's see, what else am I doing wrong? Don't put your bed under the window. Nuts. Well, it's only the Love and Marriage zone, who cares? Not me.

I'm more concerned with the Wealth zone. Let's see. I need to correct the subliminal messages in my home that are detracting from abundance. And I need to start a gratitude journal. Really? Argh. And I need to stop feeling and acting needy. Ahhhh. I knew it! It's all my fault! If I just weren't so damn needy, everything would be hunky-dory! Abundance and prosperity would easily and effortlessly flow to me and through me... if I weren't such a greedy, grasping self-centered loser!

Okay, I've had enough of this feng shui shite. I don't need my furniture and accessories berating me for my bad attitude. I'll just get one of those laughing buddhas or something. Wait, is that a different religion? Is feng shui a religion? Now I've probably offended the feng shui gods. Oh man. Let me hunker down in Zone 6 (the bathroom) and wait for some helpful person to come along and rescue me. I'm so screwed.