I wonder what this one will be like. It's got to be better than last year, right? Maybe absolutely wonderful things will happen. That'd be nice. I'd appreciate it- but then, who doesn't appreciate good stuff?
This year didn't start so good, and it's not looking like it's gonna end so hot either. But, hey, there were good parts, right? You can't forget the good parts. Like they say, "Don't squander time, for it's the stuff life is made of."
Skittles was attacked Christmas Eve by a dog. She's got two very large holes in her throat now, but neither are in a life-threatening area. They're just huge and quite frankly gross to look into. I have to clean them three times a day, so looking isn't optional. Poor girl- she has no idea she's little with the heart of a lion.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Christmas Stories
There's always the good moments and bad moments of every year that people always remember, and this year will be no exception for me. But I think this will be one of my favorite Christmases.
First, I got a text message this morning from a boy I know that went north for the holiday. Well, more correctly, it was a picture message of snow on huge old fir trees. The caption below said "It makes me think of you." It made me smile. Living in south Alabama, if you get a white Christmas, it's because someone dumped washing powders all over your yard....or toilet papered your house.
But last night was most special.
There's a friend of mine who has two young boys. Her husband is ex-military and works at Sears. She just recently was able to find another job, and so they've fallen on some lean times. So lean in fact, they really weren't going to have a Christmas this year to speak of. So, I called up a friend of mine, Charlie, and we concocted a plan to "Christmas" them. We bought them a tree, two boxes of 100 light strings, 100 ornaments, a stand, and presents for her kids. The plan was to deliver it on Christmas Eve. Charlie got called away, and I got terribly sick, so I had her come to my house (and leave her kids in the car because I was burning up with fever and wanted to minimize exposure). First, I handed her the presents, and she thanked me profusely. I could feel the grin on my face when I told her "Wait a minute, there's more". And then I took her to the garage, where the tree and the lights and ornaments were. The look on her face was priceless. I helped her load it up, and her kids, sitting in the backseat, were like "Wow, she got us a Christmas tree! Thank you so much!" Some other friends had gotten her boys presents, too, and they were laying in the back as well. And so, I sent them on their way as "Christmased" as they could be. She texted me later and told me one of her boys said this was his favorite Christmas ever, and honestly, I couldn't have been more pleased. I was so glad to do it.
I went over to my parents a little later, and I told them what we had done. I had already told my dad earlier because my dad had questioned why there was another tree in the garage. His reply was this: "Okay, little Jude. You know, she found someone to do that to every year." I didn't know this, actually, as my Aunt Jude had died when I was nine- but I'm constantly told how much like her I am. And my father, being THE quintessential storyteller, launched into his favorite story about one such time that they'd done the very thing we had done.
This woman dropped off her four year old daughter at her grandparents house. They lived in a two room shack at the back of a man's property, and the man that owned it let them live there for free because they were so old and frail and it wasn't really the kind of place that you could actually rent out anyway. There was a single bulb in it, hanging from the ceiling, and two electric outlets. Because they were so poor, they could not afford to do anything for Christmas, and they told the little girl that there was no Santa and that they couldn't afford to do Christmas. Well, Jude would have none of this. She went and got the old folks and the little girl on Christmas Eve and brought them to the family dinner, and my grandmother (who was a hair dresser) kept them occupied by fixing the old lady's hair and the little girl's hair. My Aunt Jude gave the little girl a frilly red dress to wear. Daddy said she looked just like a little princess doll. And while they were diverted, my dad and Jude's husband Jimmy, took a tree, ornaments, lights, and a boatload of presents (including a tricycle) over to the house and set it all up. When they were done, Jude loaded them all up again, and brought them home. When they walked in, my dad plugged in the lights on the tree, and being as it was dark, that's all you could see. The little girl's eyes lighted up, and she looked up at her grandparents and said "See? I told you there was a Santa!"
One of the best Christmas stories ever.
Jude did this every year for a family, apparently. I didn't know it, but it's nice to have yet something else that links her and I together. That story was one of the best presents I got.
First, I got a text message this morning from a boy I know that went north for the holiday. Well, more correctly, it was a picture message of snow on huge old fir trees. The caption below said "It makes me think of you." It made me smile. Living in south Alabama, if you get a white Christmas, it's because someone dumped washing powders all over your yard....or toilet papered your house.
But last night was most special.
There's a friend of mine who has two young boys. Her husband is ex-military and works at Sears. She just recently was able to find another job, and so they've fallen on some lean times. So lean in fact, they really weren't going to have a Christmas this year to speak of. So, I called up a friend of mine, Charlie, and we concocted a plan to "Christmas" them. We bought them a tree, two boxes of 100 light strings, 100 ornaments, a stand, and presents for her kids. The plan was to deliver it on Christmas Eve. Charlie got called away, and I got terribly sick, so I had her come to my house (and leave her kids in the car because I was burning up with fever and wanted to minimize exposure). First, I handed her the presents, and she thanked me profusely. I could feel the grin on my face when I told her "Wait a minute, there's more". And then I took her to the garage, where the tree and the lights and ornaments were. The look on her face was priceless. I helped her load it up, and her kids, sitting in the backseat, were like "Wow, she got us a Christmas tree! Thank you so much!" Some other friends had gotten her boys presents, too, and they were laying in the back as well. And so, I sent them on their way as "Christmased" as they could be. She texted me later and told me one of her boys said this was his favorite Christmas ever, and honestly, I couldn't have been more pleased. I was so glad to do it.
I went over to my parents a little later, and I told them what we had done. I had already told my dad earlier because my dad had questioned why there was another tree in the garage. His reply was this: "Okay, little Jude. You know, she found someone to do that to every year." I didn't know this, actually, as my Aunt Jude had died when I was nine- but I'm constantly told how much like her I am. And my father, being THE quintessential storyteller, launched into his favorite story about one such time that they'd done the very thing we had done.
This woman dropped off her four year old daughter at her grandparents house. They lived in a two room shack at the back of a man's property, and the man that owned it let them live there for free because they were so old and frail and it wasn't really the kind of place that you could actually rent out anyway. There was a single bulb in it, hanging from the ceiling, and two electric outlets. Because they were so poor, they could not afford to do anything for Christmas, and they told the little girl that there was no Santa and that they couldn't afford to do Christmas. Well, Jude would have none of this. She went and got the old folks and the little girl on Christmas Eve and brought them to the family dinner, and my grandmother (who was a hair dresser) kept them occupied by fixing the old lady's hair and the little girl's hair. My Aunt Jude gave the little girl a frilly red dress to wear. Daddy said she looked just like a little princess doll. And while they were diverted, my dad and Jude's husband Jimmy, took a tree, ornaments, lights, and a boatload of presents (including a tricycle) over to the house and set it all up. When they were done, Jude loaded them all up again, and brought them home. When they walked in, my dad plugged in the lights on the tree, and being as it was dark, that's all you could see. The little girl's eyes lighted up, and she looked up at her grandparents and said "See? I told you there was a Santa!"
One of the best Christmas stories ever.
Jude did this every year for a family, apparently. I didn't know it, but it's nice to have yet something else that links her and I together. That story was one of the best presents I got.
Monday, December 13, 2010
It'll Eat You
Seriously, how do people have so much time on their hands to be soooo miserable? Better yet, how did I do it for so long? It's more than annoying to me when every little thing annoys someone else and they feel the need to tell EVERYONE about it. It's like, "really? You have NOTHING better to do with your time?"
In beter news, I got an amp for Christmas- well, pre-Christmas anyway. Apparently my father couldn't contain himself. I'm excited- it's not anything like what I was looking for, but I'm still excited. And I'll never tell him that. But...I wanted a 2x12 guitar amp, or a 1x12 with a minimum of 50 watts. What I got was a 35 watt keyboard amp- no 12 involved. I'm grateful anyway. I'll just get a MIDI cord and hook my keyboard up to it (because a guitar at a very moderate level overloads it) and continue looking for a guitar amp. I'll just hide the new one when he comes over. He was so proud of himself, I didn't have the meanness in me to go "Dad...this isn't going to work." It will work, just not for what I had originally intended to buy an amp for.
In other news, my nephew is slated to arrive at my house January 3rd. I had no intentions of living with anyone ever again, but he is family and he's coming to work and go to school. I'm hoping this goes well- it'll be nice to split the bills. I'll have a lot more cash unharnessed for things I'd like to do with it- like save and spend some. :)
In beter news, I got an amp for Christmas- well, pre-Christmas anyway. Apparently my father couldn't contain himself. I'm excited- it's not anything like what I was looking for, but I'm still excited. And I'll never tell him that. But...I wanted a 2x12 guitar amp, or a 1x12 with a minimum of 50 watts. What I got was a 35 watt keyboard amp- no 12 involved. I'm grateful anyway. I'll just get a MIDI cord and hook my keyboard up to it (because a guitar at a very moderate level overloads it) and continue looking for a guitar amp. I'll just hide the new one when he comes over. He was so proud of himself, I didn't have the meanness in me to go "Dad...this isn't going to work." It will work, just not for what I had originally intended to buy an amp for.
In other news, my nephew is slated to arrive at my house January 3rd. I had no intentions of living with anyone ever again, but he is family and he's coming to work and go to school. I'm hoping this goes well- it'll be nice to split the bills. I'll have a lot more cash unharnessed for things I'd like to do with it- like save and spend some. :)
Friday, December 3, 2010
Mmmm, The Rock n Roll Snake
I've spent amazing amounts of money on music lately- not amazing because it's a massive amount, because it certainly hasn't been that. It's amazing that I've gotten so much for so little, actually. I bought every Red Hot Chili Peppers album that has ever been PLUS 4 Widespread Panic CDs for 7 dollars at a yard sale. SEVEN DOLLARS. Fantastic! Then, on a whim I went to Barnes and Noble, and lo and behold, they've got a sale on CDs. I got a Coheed and Cambria CD for (strangely enough) 7 dollars. As I mentioned, I also went legal with iTunes, and I've gotten a good number of songs from there as well. Music, music, music. Everywhere in my life.
I've recently been looking at buying a new amp for my guitar, also. I think it's time to go back electric. I love my acoustic, but I think it's time for a little bit of a change. Plus, since the neck of an electric is slimmer, I can do more chords on an electric. God shorted me in the finger department- meaning that my index fingers need to be about an inch longer than they are so that I could do any chord on any guitar. Sadly, when I try to bar chords on an acoustic with a thick neck, it sounds more like...pain and suffering. Not like pretty pain and suffering- there is no blues in it- just the ineptitude of a short finger pain and suffering. I suppose lofty goals of playing everything I hear is to blame...ah, probably not.
I come alive with music. I feel it sneaking, writhing even, coming up my spine like some kind of snake. And I can't help but move, to smile, to scream sometimes, drive fast. Sometimes, I can feel the strings of a guitar waaaaaay down deep in my belly, like my soul resides there and every note resonates perfectly....It's so hard to explain something like this. I wonder if there's anyone else who ever feels this. Anyone's mood can be altered with notes and phrases of sound- but can they literally feel it the way I do? I don't know- no one's ever said so. I'm sure the "greats" do- I watch them on stage and I can see it. But, I'm not a "great"- I'm a normal, everyday girl that's so in love with sound that I wonder if there's any room in that part of me for anything else.
Another musical memory:
I was 19 years old, getting divorced, back at home with my mother, working at a seafood restaurant, going to school, and struggling hard to keep it all together. The feeling of failure was huge, a magnificent beast that just wouldn't let go of my jugular. The air show had come to town (like it did every year), and I had watched the Blue Angels practice manuevers over my house, but it had done nothing for me. I was on my way to work and dreading every moment of it. "Change" by Blind Melon was in the deck, and I was holding on to the lyrics like a security blanket. As I came down the road, the Angels were coming toward me at high speed, and as the words came from Shannon Hoon "keep on dreaming boy cause when you stop dreamin it's time to die", the Angels broke their perfect formation, and two went to each side, and one went straight up into the sky- and I whooped and hollered like something crazy, and "the beast" let go, and I knew right then and there that I would be okay. Shannon Hoon and the Blue Angels said so.
And they were right.
Sometimes it just takes Angels and a junkie to be okay.
....And sometimes it's necessary to be bitten by a snake.
I've recently been looking at buying a new amp for my guitar, also. I think it's time to go back electric. I love my acoustic, but I think it's time for a little bit of a change. Plus, since the neck of an electric is slimmer, I can do more chords on an electric. God shorted me in the finger department- meaning that my index fingers need to be about an inch longer than they are so that I could do any chord on any guitar. Sadly, when I try to bar chords on an acoustic with a thick neck, it sounds more like...pain and suffering. Not like pretty pain and suffering- there is no blues in it- just the ineptitude of a short finger pain and suffering. I suppose lofty goals of playing everything I hear is to blame...ah, probably not.
I come alive with music. I feel it sneaking, writhing even, coming up my spine like some kind of snake. And I can't help but move, to smile, to scream sometimes, drive fast. Sometimes, I can feel the strings of a guitar waaaaaay down deep in my belly, like my soul resides there and every note resonates perfectly....It's so hard to explain something like this. I wonder if there's anyone else who ever feels this. Anyone's mood can be altered with notes and phrases of sound- but can they literally feel it the way I do? I don't know- no one's ever said so. I'm sure the "greats" do- I watch them on stage and I can see it. But, I'm not a "great"- I'm a normal, everyday girl that's so in love with sound that I wonder if there's any room in that part of me for anything else.
Another musical memory:
I was 19 years old, getting divorced, back at home with my mother, working at a seafood restaurant, going to school, and struggling hard to keep it all together. The feeling of failure was huge, a magnificent beast that just wouldn't let go of my jugular. The air show had come to town (like it did every year), and I had watched the Blue Angels practice manuevers over my house, but it had done nothing for me. I was on my way to work and dreading every moment of it. "Change" by Blind Melon was in the deck, and I was holding on to the lyrics like a security blanket. As I came down the road, the Angels were coming toward me at high speed, and as the words came from Shannon Hoon "keep on dreaming boy cause when you stop dreamin it's time to die", the Angels broke their perfect formation, and two went to each side, and one went straight up into the sky- and I whooped and hollered like something crazy, and "the beast" let go, and I knew right then and there that I would be okay. Shannon Hoon and the Blue Angels said so.
And they were right.
Sometimes it just takes Angels and a junkie to be okay.
....And sometimes it's necessary to be bitten by a snake.
Friday, November 26, 2010
It's the Weekend....
It's so nice to have the weekends off. So. Nice.
I can't say it enough- I'm loving my life. I knew the pendelum would swing the other way, eventually...nothing is forever, right?
I'm more "me" than I've been since I left Michigan. No apologies anymore. Not one. And no more prisoners. There's peace here. It comes from an unburdened heart and a peaceful soul. I surprise myself sometimes, because instead of being angry and "doom, doom, doom", like I have been for a while, I'm like "it's all gonna be okay. It'll be over soon", and I cheerfully smile and go along my way.
I've got so much good in my life, and it's no longer being overshadowed by a looming foreboding. I always knew that there was good, but it sometimes gets clouded by massive shitstorms, ya know?
I got a special hug today. My friend Amber is not much of a touchy person, EVER. She always looks uncomfortable when I hug her goodbye, but I do it anyway, because I love her, and in the event that I never make it home or something happens between that day and the next that I'm supposed to see her, I always make sure she'll know I cared about her. (Side note, I don't leave my parents without hugging and kissing both, and telling them that I love them- and no friend gets left without love, either). If there's going to be a last memory of me, I want it to be a loving one. Anyway, she texted me a few days ago, and it said "We've got a problem." And when I tried to call her back, no answer. No answer for three days, and I couldn't track anyone down that had talked to her. So, today after work, I drove to Headland to see about her. I knocked on the door, and she threw it open and said "You DO love me! You're the only one!" and hugged my neck ferociously. I laughed and said "of course I did. I didn't know if you were dead, in jail, crying in a corner, what. I came to see you. Now, why the hell don't you answer your phone?" Turns out, her boyfriend was trying to do something nice and did the laundry...and laundered her phone at the same time. But, she's safe. And she knows I love her. :)
I love all the women in my life. They're super amazing- I'm constantly in awe of them. I understand why men think we're magic because, hell, I am a woman, and I think we're pretty damn magical too. I meet new amazing women everyday, too. It's so awesome. It makes me giddy. I love my men, I do. And there's a great many of them that I wouldn't trade the world for- but there's something about women that can just make you say "whoa". I'm so glad I am one of them.
I'm grateful for my life and the people in it every day. Thanksgiving seems rather blase to me because I remember everyday that it doesn't have to be good, and by good fortune I have great people in my life, and my dogs, and a home. I have love, friendship, food, and a roof over my head- this is so much more than so many. I'm truly lucky and humbled by the favor of the Universe.
I can't say it enough- I'm loving my life. I knew the pendelum would swing the other way, eventually...nothing is forever, right?
I'm more "me" than I've been since I left Michigan. No apologies anymore. Not one. And no more prisoners. There's peace here. It comes from an unburdened heart and a peaceful soul. I surprise myself sometimes, because instead of being angry and "doom, doom, doom", like I have been for a while, I'm like "it's all gonna be okay. It'll be over soon", and I cheerfully smile and go along my way.
I've got so much good in my life, and it's no longer being overshadowed by a looming foreboding. I always knew that there was good, but it sometimes gets clouded by massive shitstorms, ya know?
I got a special hug today. My friend Amber is not much of a touchy person, EVER. She always looks uncomfortable when I hug her goodbye, but I do it anyway, because I love her, and in the event that I never make it home or something happens between that day and the next that I'm supposed to see her, I always make sure she'll know I cared about her. (Side note, I don't leave my parents without hugging and kissing both, and telling them that I love them- and no friend gets left without love, either). If there's going to be a last memory of me, I want it to be a loving one. Anyway, she texted me a few days ago, and it said "We've got a problem." And when I tried to call her back, no answer. No answer for three days, and I couldn't track anyone down that had talked to her. So, today after work, I drove to Headland to see about her. I knocked on the door, and she threw it open and said "You DO love me! You're the only one!" and hugged my neck ferociously. I laughed and said "of course I did. I didn't know if you were dead, in jail, crying in a corner, what. I came to see you. Now, why the hell don't you answer your phone?" Turns out, her boyfriend was trying to do something nice and did the laundry...and laundered her phone at the same time. But, she's safe. And she knows I love her. :)
I love all the women in my life. They're super amazing- I'm constantly in awe of them. I understand why men think we're magic because, hell, I am a woman, and I think we're pretty damn magical too. I meet new amazing women everyday, too. It's so awesome. It makes me giddy. I love my men, I do. And there's a great many of them that I wouldn't trade the world for- but there's something about women that can just make you say "whoa". I'm so glad I am one of them.
I'm grateful for my life and the people in it every day. Thanksgiving seems rather blase to me because I remember everyday that it doesn't have to be good, and by good fortune I have great people in my life, and my dogs, and a home. I have love, friendship, food, and a roof over my head- this is so much more than so many. I'm truly lucky and humbled by the favor of the Universe.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Rockin It
I recently went legal- that is, I started using iTunes. Why? Because limewire is under attack from the Feds. I'm not upset about it- I mean, I just bought a bunch of songs I like. I don't mind spending 99 cents- I do mind buying an entire album with one good song and fourteen fillers.
Oh, changes.
I'm still enjoying my job, still having a good time. I'm not getting ahead of myself. I'm more relaxed than I've been in a long time. I get to go out on the weekends now- and I don't have to listen to bitching. Single suits me sooo well. I get to have fun when I want to, I don't have anyone to clean up after or cook for besides myself. It's good stuff. And, I've got time to make new friends, which I've been doing in abundance lately. I may as well face the fact that I do have as much of a natural inclination to be social as I do to be alone. I love to be around people- when I actually want to be around them. Lol, go figure right?
I bought silk thigh high stockings today. Why? Because I've always wanted some. And it feels good to treat myself like that- even though I don't know when I'll ever wear them....but then, I do have a pencil skirt and red high heels. It may have to happen. I love flirting (and I've missed it sooo much), and there's nothing better for an ego than to walk into a place and watch everyone watch me. It's not insecurity, it's just a love of attention.
Oh, changes.
I'm still enjoying my job, still having a good time. I'm not getting ahead of myself. I'm more relaxed than I've been in a long time. I get to go out on the weekends now- and I don't have to listen to bitching. Single suits me sooo well. I get to have fun when I want to, I don't have anyone to clean up after or cook for besides myself. It's good stuff. And, I've got time to make new friends, which I've been doing in abundance lately. I may as well face the fact that I do have as much of a natural inclination to be social as I do to be alone. I love to be around people- when I actually want to be around them. Lol, go figure right?
I bought silk thigh high stockings today. Why? Because I've always wanted some. And it feels good to treat myself like that- even though I don't know when I'll ever wear them....but then, I do have a pencil skirt and red high heels. It may have to happen. I love flirting (and I've missed it sooo much), and there's nothing better for an ego than to walk into a place and watch everyone watch me. It's not insecurity, it's just a love of attention.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Swing Swing From The Tangles of My Heart
I decided a while ago that I was going to live with dignity, clean up my act, and quit letting my more animalistic side have so much free reign in my life. Basically, it's been an exercise in being "civilized" and trying to be more restrained- you know, quit letting my mouth run away with me (what I fondly call "word puke"), quit letting my "drives" take over. Become cerebral.
What I've found is that this is harder said than done multiplied by eleventy billion. I am not good at not saying exactly what I think, I am not good at saying no to things that I want sooooo bad. But, I've done it. And I deserve a goddamn cookie.
Here's why:
1. There's this man, you see, that has more than picqued my interests (if ya know what I mean :p). And, despite every fiber of my body screaming "you want it, have it", I listened to my brain, and I spoke my mind, carefully. I told him no- because I don't want to be a number and I deserve better than that. I want something more meaningful in my life than a good memory of what happened once upon a time.....and delayed gratification is one of the juiciest things in the world. :) See? Still managed to sneak a tease in there....
And he said "I don't want you to be a number either."
Gold star for me! And a gold star for him, too.
2. While walking across the street in Abbeville, a really gross guy came walking up, wanting to know if I was married, and, hesitantly, instead of lying and being mean and giving him a lesson in pick-up etiquette, I said "no", and continued on my way. Then he said "then put your number in my phone", and held it out to me. And, instead of unleashing on him, I said "Um, no. Thank you and goodbye". Waaaaaaaaaaaay nicer than anything I would've done two months ago.
Gold star!
3. I have restrained myself from doing any illegal activities, buying CDs or movies, or clothes. I've put my money away for bills and savings. This isn't new- but I've been wanting all these things for so long.
Gold star!
And, as we all know, three gold stars means a cookie.
I've made a new friend at work. Her name is Kat, and she's awesome. She's sooo pleasant, so nice, so much fun. I enjoy her company every single day because nine times out of ten, we're experiencing technical difficulties and we can't do anything but sit and wait. We mix very well and we're very comfortable with one another. She's one of the rare souls that I immediately liked and trusted. Apparently, we also favor physically, because most of the people that we work with think that we're sisters or cousins. She's got long brown curly hair like mine and we share skin tone, but that's about it. But people keep saying we favor in the face...and we don't see it. But whatever. Maybe she's a sister in soul. :) It is good to have a new friend.
What I've found is that this is harder said than done multiplied by eleventy billion. I am not good at not saying exactly what I think, I am not good at saying no to things that I want sooooo bad. But, I've done it. And I deserve a goddamn cookie.
Here's why:
1. There's this man, you see, that has more than picqued my interests (if ya know what I mean :p). And, despite every fiber of my body screaming "you want it, have it", I listened to my brain, and I spoke my mind, carefully. I told him no- because I don't want to be a number and I deserve better than that. I want something more meaningful in my life than a good memory of what happened once upon a time.....and delayed gratification is one of the juiciest things in the world. :) See? Still managed to sneak a tease in there....
And he said "I don't want you to be a number either."
Gold star for me! And a gold star for him, too.
2. While walking across the street in Abbeville, a really gross guy came walking up, wanting to know if I was married, and, hesitantly, instead of lying and being mean and giving him a lesson in pick-up etiquette, I said "no", and continued on my way. Then he said "then put your number in my phone", and held it out to me. And, instead of unleashing on him, I said "Um, no. Thank you and goodbye". Waaaaaaaaaaaay nicer than anything I would've done two months ago.
Gold star!
3. I have restrained myself from doing any illegal activities, buying CDs or movies, or clothes. I've put my money away for bills and savings. This isn't new- but I've been wanting all these things for so long.
Gold star!
And, as we all know, three gold stars means a cookie.
I've made a new friend at work. Her name is Kat, and she's awesome. She's sooo pleasant, so nice, so much fun. I enjoy her company every single day because nine times out of ten, we're experiencing technical difficulties and we can't do anything but sit and wait. We mix very well and we're very comfortable with one another. She's one of the rare souls that I immediately liked and trusted. Apparently, we also favor physically, because most of the people that we work with think that we're sisters or cousins. She's got long brown curly hair like mine and we share skin tone, but that's about it. But people keep saying we favor in the face...and we don't see it. But whatever. Maybe she's a sister in soul. :) It is good to have a new friend.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
It's Been a Long, Long Time....
Life has changed so much recently, and all for the better. I moved into a nice three-bedroom, two bath house with a big fenced in back yard (perfect for the puppies). I started a brand-new job that I like, I live a little closer to my parents. I don't work on the weekends. Good stuff. Thank God. It needed to happen.
I'm always grateful for change, honestly. And I'm humbled by the Universe's gratitude- and my parents. If it hadn't been for them, this could've turned into an absolute nightmare. But it's all good.
I'm doing my best to become a better person, still. I'm trying really, really hard to become really even-tempered. Like, so chill that I'm almost comatose. And I'm living with some dignity. I have more self-respect for myself than I think I've ever had...probably because I'm making it all by myself.
There are few things I love more than coming home to an empty house and happy dogs. It's lovely. I don't have to cook or clean for anyone but me. Call me selfish, but I love it. I have friends that come over all the time, so I'm not alone if I don't want to be. My friend Nicole has started staying with me every Saturday night- which is soooo much fun. She comes over after work, we get ready, and we go out somewhere, sometimes a bar, sometimes just dinner. We go home to my house and fall asleep to a movie, and the next day we get up and go to my parents' house for breakfast. This weekend, she's coming over and we're making hair clips and going out. It'll be awesome. It's been sooo long since I've had a friendship like this- and I've missed it. My friend Amber is the coolest, though- she and I level in a really awesome way. I've missed her a lot- between work and working on my home, and Nicole coming over on Saturdays, I haven't seen her in two weeks. It's all gonna change this weekend- I'm gonna take her out to our favorite restaurant and treat her to some good quality chill time. Can't say I'm short on men these days either- but I'm maintaining a respectful distance. I'm having too much fun to get involved, and I'm sick of being involved anyway. It's time for a break, a respite from male bullshit. I'm enjoying life too much to be lonely.
I'm always grateful for change, honestly. And I'm humbled by the Universe's gratitude- and my parents. If it hadn't been for them, this could've turned into an absolute nightmare. But it's all good.
I'm doing my best to become a better person, still. I'm trying really, really hard to become really even-tempered. Like, so chill that I'm almost comatose. And I'm living with some dignity. I have more self-respect for myself than I think I've ever had...probably because I'm making it all by myself.
There are few things I love more than coming home to an empty house and happy dogs. It's lovely. I don't have to cook or clean for anyone but me. Call me selfish, but I love it. I have friends that come over all the time, so I'm not alone if I don't want to be. My friend Nicole has started staying with me every Saturday night- which is soooo much fun. She comes over after work, we get ready, and we go out somewhere, sometimes a bar, sometimes just dinner. We go home to my house and fall asleep to a movie, and the next day we get up and go to my parents' house for breakfast. This weekend, she's coming over and we're making hair clips and going out. It'll be awesome. It's been sooo long since I've had a friendship like this- and I've missed it. My friend Amber is the coolest, though- she and I level in a really awesome way. I've missed her a lot- between work and working on my home, and Nicole coming over on Saturdays, I haven't seen her in two weeks. It's all gonna change this weekend- I'm gonna take her out to our favorite restaurant and treat her to some good quality chill time. Can't say I'm short on men these days either- but I'm maintaining a respectful distance. I'm having too much fun to get involved, and I'm sick of being involved anyway. It's time for a break, a respite from male bullshit. I'm enjoying life too much to be lonely.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Call My Name
Perhaps the most powerful motivator in the world, next to the trappings of survival, is love. It may be love for love's sake, love of cake, love of power, love of torture, love of G.I. Joe, or anything else- but it makes people do things that they would never in their right mind do. Love drives people to madness. It turns otherwise normal people into veritable the veritable puddle jumpers of life. Sometimes, you will land in clear and calm water...other times, you're shit outta luck and it's every person for theirself.
I think I've well navigated every single one of the puddles that needed a warning label. I don't think I've left one unexplored. I've haphazardly jumped from one to another since before I had any business doing so, and I feel it's all just added up to a calamity. What happened? I can't really say...I'm still fuzzy on the details. I'm not sure that you can say, though, that I can boast so good a thing as to proclaim "it was all for love". I've haphazardly fallen into the majority of things that have happened to me. By making no choice, I still made a choice, and thus whatever befell me was just as much my own fault as it was no one's. Am I still mired in shit? Absolutely. But I've decided to make a decision about it instead of calmly taking it all in.
I think I've well navigated every single one of the puddles that needed a warning label. I don't think I've left one unexplored. I've haphazardly jumped from one to another since before I had any business doing so, and I feel it's all just added up to a calamity. What happened? I can't really say...I'm still fuzzy on the details. I'm not sure that you can say, though, that I can boast so good a thing as to proclaim "it was all for love". I've haphazardly fallen into the majority of things that have happened to me. By making no choice, I still made a choice, and thus whatever befell me was just as much my own fault as it was no one's. Am I still mired in shit? Absolutely. But I've decided to make a decision about it instead of calmly taking it all in.
Friday, October 15, 2010
You're Pissed about WHAT?
The French people are apparently hoppin' mad and have taken to the streets. Why? Because their government wants to change the retirement age to 62 (still three years before the average American, and something like 7 years before most people actually attempt retirement), and (gasp!) they want to change full-time work status...to 32 hours a week. Now, in America, once again, we aren't considered full-time or eligible for ANY benefits unless we're working 35 or more. But, worse still, we work even more than that if at all possible because we can't live otherwise. I'm not entirely sure what they're pissed about. That equals out to be only 4 days a week for an average 8 hour shift. And working two more years isn't going to kill you. From the American perspective- and especially from an American of the working poor socioeconomic class- this sounds like an absolute DREAM. The average British citizen thinks Americans are nuts because they don't take or are not allowed "holiday"- they get, on average, at least 6 a year, including a long term vacation. In Italy, they shut everything down in the afternoon, and every one gets a nap before they get up and go to eat their evening meal- mind you, they also got an hour for lunch, and the day doesn't start until 8 or so for the average city dweller. Europeans have faaaaaaaar more luxury time than any American that isn't filthy rich. I'm thinking they get a pretty sweet deal, but this is obviously not a shared viewpoint. I'd love it if life could work any of those ways. I mean, the only "holiday" most Americans get in a year is when they have a family emergency. We don't get to flit all over the place and have lots of fun. We're nose-to-the-grindstone. We are a 24 hour, 7 day a week nation, and we're tired. The French shouldn't bitch. They've got a really good deal. I wish Americans cared enough to get out and protest the ludicrous amounts of bullshit that happen on Capitol Hill every day.
A senator from Nevada had some shit to say about Dearborn, Michigan, and it's largely Muslim population. She speculated that, because of its large demographic of Muslims, that Sharia law is practiced there. First of all, why is she worried about Dearborn, Michigan? They're not her constituents. Second of all, Sharia law is most definitely NOT practiced in ANY part of Michigan. But- "she read some articles that made her think that it was happening, and she felt it necessary to address it because no law should be practiced other than American law". Really, lady, really? How about we protest stupid people being allowed to run for Congress? I mean, the only rules regarding running for a senator or representative position are that you are an American citizen and own a home in the area that you are trying to represent. Why don't we demand IQ tests, or even better, that they are rigorously tested to make sure they have a highly functional knowledge about economics? Why don't we demand that the electoral college, an archaic institution that has little to no value to a public that is so accessible such as ours become, be abolished and that the popular vote be the ruling voice? Why don't we protest that WE, the people, have no voice at all anymore?
Then there's places like Africa, when there are problems such as inaccessability to clean water, rampant epidemics of non-curable disease, female genital mutilation, and in fact, genocide. There's still race wars there- thousands of women in the Congo have been raped and killed just because they lived in the wrong village at the wrong time. The problems in Africa are so enormous that one can't possibly list them all.
I'm happy that the French believe they are entitled to things and are willing to take steps to get what they want. But, seriously, in light of everything else in the world, I'm not sure why this made the news. And I'm not sure why it is that they feel they're being cheated. Two more hours a week, and working two extra years seem like a drop in the bucket. Only if everyone else were so lucky that this was the worst that happened to them.
A senator from Nevada had some shit to say about Dearborn, Michigan, and it's largely Muslim population. She speculated that, because of its large demographic of Muslims, that Sharia law is practiced there. First of all, why is she worried about Dearborn, Michigan? They're not her constituents. Second of all, Sharia law is most definitely NOT practiced in ANY part of Michigan. But- "she read some articles that made her think that it was happening, and she felt it necessary to address it because no law should be practiced other than American law". Really, lady, really? How about we protest stupid people being allowed to run for Congress? I mean, the only rules regarding running for a senator or representative position are that you are an American citizen and own a home in the area that you are trying to represent. Why don't we demand IQ tests, or even better, that they are rigorously tested to make sure they have a highly functional knowledge about economics? Why don't we demand that the electoral college, an archaic institution that has little to no value to a public that is so accessible such as ours become, be abolished and that the popular vote be the ruling voice? Why don't we protest that WE, the people, have no voice at all anymore?
Then there's places like Africa, when there are problems such as inaccessability to clean water, rampant epidemics of non-curable disease, female genital mutilation, and in fact, genocide. There's still race wars there- thousands of women in the Congo have been raped and killed just because they lived in the wrong village at the wrong time. The problems in Africa are so enormous that one can't possibly list them all.
I'm happy that the French believe they are entitled to things and are willing to take steps to get what they want. But, seriously, in light of everything else in the world, I'm not sure why this made the news. And I'm not sure why it is that they feel they're being cheated. Two more hours a week, and working two extra years seem like a drop in the bucket. Only if everyone else were so lucky that this was the worst that happened to them.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Free-dom
Cool things happened, or will happen soon:
1. I got into my new house and started cleaning and painting it this week.
2. A customer of mine paid for lunch for my friend and me yesterday without me knowing it. He's a nice man anyway, but I just thought it was the sweetest thing ever.
3. I made some new friends.
4. I bought cheap gerbera daisies and violas. I'm intending to have an Alice-in-Wonderland garden so that I can justify singing "Oh the flowers....we could sit and talk with them for hours...in a world all my own" while I garden. (You know, from the Disney film!)
5. My oldest brother and my nephews are coming down this weekend to help me with cleaning up my house and laying the new floor.
6. My friend Nicole bought me a candle as a housewarming present, and according to her its so awesome she wishes it were hers. Can't wait to see it.
7. My landlord is going to PAY ME to paint the outside of the house. I'm excited for this.
8. I saw Kindal last week, whom I haven't seen in a few months. That was a happy moment.
All in all, not bad huh? I'm kinda glad. I needed an upswing in life. :) And a sign...and I'm getting them. :)
1. I got into my new house and started cleaning and painting it this week.
2. A customer of mine paid for lunch for my friend and me yesterday without me knowing it. He's a nice man anyway, but I just thought it was the sweetest thing ever.
3. I made some new friends.
4. I bought cheap gerbera daisies and violas. I'm intending to have an Alice-in-Wonderland garden so that I can justify singing "Oh the flowers....we could sit and talk with them for hours...in a world all my own" while I garden. (You know, from the Disney film!)
5. My oldest brother and my nephews are coming down this weekend to help me with cleaning up my house and laying the new floor.
6. My friend Nicole bought me a candle as a housewarming present, and according to her its so awesome she wishes it were hers. Can't wait to see it.
7. My landlord is going to PAY ME to paint the outside of the house. I'm excited for this.
8. I saw Kindal last week, whom I haven't seen in a few months. That was a happy moment.
All in all, not bad huh? I'm kinda glad. I needed an upswing in life. :) And a sign...and I'm getting them. :)
Monday, October 4, 2010
A Letter to Divinity
Dear God-Person,
I'm never quite sure how to address you. You've got so many faces- atoms, flowers, rocks, etc. So, forgive me if I got it wrong. We're cool, though, so I'm sure you got this.
I got a favor to ask. I'm floundering around again, trying to figure out what to do. This is very exhausting- kinda like treading water for long periods of time. I would like to do the right thing, even though I'm not entirely sure what the right thing is. I would like to be a better person, and once again, I'm not sure how to do that. I'm hyper aware of the dangers down here. Please, please, help me find some peace. I know that I'm being prepared for things down the road...but a respite from so much training would be lovely. Basically, my favor is to help me out here. I know signs are for the weak, and I'm okay with being weak and needing them. Just give me something to show me I'm doing the right thing. I'm never sure anymore.
I'm never quite sure how to address you. You've got so many faces- atoms, flowers, rocks, etc. So, forgive me if I got it wrong. We're cool, though, so I'm sure you got this.
I got a favor to ask. I'm floundering around again, trying to figure out what to do. This is very exhausting- kinda like treading water for long periods of time. I would like to do the right thing, even though I'm not entirely sure what the right thing is. I would like to be a better person, and once again, I'm not sure how to do that. I'm hyper aware of the dangers down here. Please, please, help me find some peace. I know that I'm being prepared for things down the road...but a respite from so much training would be lovely. Basically, my favor is to help me out here. I know signs are for the weak, and I'm okay with being weak and needing them. Just give me something to show me I'm doing the right thing. I'm never sure anymore.
Re-Sanctifying Sunday
Toward the end of the movie "Diary of a Mad Black Woman", there's a 10 second shot (more or less) of a table loaded with Sunday dinner. It's apparent that it's Sunday dinner only because the shots before it were in a church. There's fried chicken, greens, corn bread....all kinds of good food. And it made me think of Sundays, well weekends in general, at my house when I was younger.
My grandmother was very much alive and well then, and she lived with my parents and I. My mother had gone back to work when I was nine and we were in Iowa, and from that time until we moved to Michigan when I was fourteen, she lived with us. She cooked breakfast in the morning- eggs, sausage, bacon, biscuits from scratch, and gravy also from scratch. If we had left over mashed potatoes from the night before, she would make potato pancakes, and I swear that I could eat a baker's dozen of those even when I was nine. They were heavenly! For dinner, we'd have absolutely scrumptous soul food- fried chicken, black eyed peas, green beans, okra, squash, things of those nature, and always a pone of cornbread, and at least once a week a from-scratch peach cobbler.
When I was 11, we moved to north Alabama, the Motherland. My mother's entire family has lived there for generations untold, and my brothers and their families had chosen to live there as well (of all the places they had traveled, mind you). My house became a constant hustle and bustle of people- young nephews, sister-in-laws, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, my friends, long-time family friends, my paternal grandmother visited often...everyone. And the kitchen became even more important, and there was always something being cooked. As time went on, a number of these people actually came to live with us- my nephews became permanent fixtures. The oldest two and I shared a bed, the baby slept in a crib at the foot of that bed, and he was my responsibility mostly.
Saturday morning breakfast was my responsibility as well. As I had made sure my nephews were well-read at their young ages, they had a love of Dr. Seuss. So, green eggs and ham- which was usually bacon- was the menu for the kids (colored with food coloring of course), and then the adults got their requisite coffee, biscuits, gravy, and bacon. But Sundays...
That was always my mother and grandmother's doing. And it was a spread the likes of which I'm sure few families know. There was so much food that we'd still be eating it on Monday. There were so many people to feed, usually somewhere around 20 or 30! So, Mama and Granny made heaps of fried chicken, potatoes, okra, green beans, greens, and the corn bread was made in the biggest cast iron skillet we owned- coincidentally, it is also the biggest one made. Sometimes, there was fried fish, steaks, meatloafs...sometimes it was Cajun fair, the likes of which no one can explain because it's the best stuff you could ever put in your mouth.
I remember being so whole and complete then, and especially on Sunday nights. The weekends always brought so much work- this is when heavy duty cleaning was done, any repairs that weren't of an emergency nature, all the laundry and ironing was done, and there was entirely too many children to keep up with and to keep away from the stove. There was football in the backyard, or baseball, skateboards in the front, music blasting, so much laughter. Weekends were special- the time of total togetherness. But Sundays...they were special, sanctified.
I can't remember the last time I sat down to Sunday dinner....it's been years. And it's been well over a decade since we had togetherness like that. Madea reminded me of them. And I've decided that, upon starting my new job this coming November, that I will jump start the tradition. I'll have everyone I can over for Sunday dinner, ever single Sunday. I miss it. It was well worth all the effort, and it'll be worth the effort to have it again. I will re-sanctify an almost archaic tradition, especially in American society. We live in a country where time equals money, and time spent not working is money lost instead of enjoyment gained. It's time I gain something that can't be spent, but is invaluable. I'm taking back Sundays.
My grandmother was very much alive and well then, and she lived with my parents and I. My mother had gone back to work when I was nine and we were in Iowa, and from that time until we moved to Michigan when I was fourteen, she lived with us. She cooked breakfast in the morning- eggs, sausage, bacon, biscuits from scratch, and gravy also from scratch. If we had left over mashed potatoes from the night before, she would make potato pancakes, and I swear that I could eat a baker's dozen of those even when I was nine. They were heavenly! For dinner, we'd have absolutely scrumptous soul food- fried chicken, black eyed peas, green beans, okra, squash, things of those nature, and always a pone of cornbread, and at least once a week a from-scratch peach cobbler.
When I was 11, we moved to north Alabama, the Motherland. My mother's entire family has lived there for generations untold, and my brothers and their families had chosen to live there as well (of all the places they had traveled, mind you). My house became a constant hustle and bustle of people- young nephews, sister-in-laws, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, my friends, long-time family friends, my paternal grandmother visited often...everyone. And the kitchen became even more important, and there was always something being cooked. As time went on, a number of these people actually came to live with us- my nephews became permanent fixtures. The oldest two and I shared a bed, the baby slept in a crib at the foot of that bed, and he was my responsibility mostly.
Saturday morning breakfast was my responsibility as well. As I had made sure my nephews were well-read at their young ages, they had a love of Dr. Seuss. So, green eggs and ham- which was usually bacon- was the menu for the kids (colored with food coloring of course), and then the adults got their requisite coffee, biscuits, gravy, and bacon. But Sundays...
That was always my mother and grandmother's doing. And it was a spread the likes of which I'm sure few families know. There was so much food that we'd still be eating it on Monday. There were so many people to feed, usually somewhere around 20 or 30! So, Mama and Granny made heaps of fried chicken, potatoes, okra, green beans, greens, and the corn bread was made in the biggest cast iron skillet we owned- coincidentally, it is also the biggest one made. Sometimes, there was fried fish, steaks, meatloafs...sometimes it was Cajun fair, the likes of which no one can explain because it's the best stuff you could ever put in your mouth.
I remember being so whole and complete then, and especially on Sunday nights. The weekends always brought so much work- this is when heavy duty cleaning was done, any repairs that weren't of an emergency nature, all the laundry and ironing was done, and there was entirely too many children to keep up with and to keep away from the stove. There was football in the backyard, or baseball, skateboards in the front, music blasting, so much laughter. Weekends were special- the time of total togetherness. But Sundays...they were special, sanctified.
I can't remember the last time I sat down to Sunday dinner....it's been years. And it's been well over a decade since we had togetherness like that. Madea reminded me of them. And I've decided that, upon starting my new job this coming November, that I will jump start the tradition. I'll have everyone I can over for Sunday dinner, ever single Sunday. I miss it. It was well worth all the effort, and it'll be worth the effort to have it again. I will re-sanctify an almost archaic tradition, especially in American society. We live in a country where time equals money, and time spent not working is money lost instead of enjoyment gained. It's time I gain something that can't be spent, but is invaluable. I'm taking back Sundays.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Changing
If it seems to you that my life is forever in flux, you'd be right. Most people's lives are such, but few get to see such a balance of extremes. Things go from very good to very bad, and I try to catch up. When it's good, I prepare for the pendelum swing, and when it's bad I remember the good so as to combat it. Change is inevitable, and it's as constant as the seasons- we have little control or choice in the matter. The only alternative to change is stagnation, which is like death and devolution. So, I choose life and change.
Now, I do not pretend that I love all the changes that take place in my life, because I certainly do not. But, I accept them and hold to the belief that all things "come out in the wash", as the saying goes. One may not be able to choose all the things that happen in life, or even when it happens, but one can choose to celebrate instead of mourn. In midst of all the erractic things of life, this is one thing that you can have and hold for your own.
You may mourn the death or celebrate the life
You can sit down and weep or stand and laugh at strife.
I talked to a boy today that has an immense amount of talents and abilities at his disposal. He's in school, only a year away from graduating and becoming a substance abuse counselor. He wants to join the navy because he feels an immense pull for him to do so- who can argue with that? But he wants to quit school now and join. I urged him otherwise: go in the military if you want, but go in after finishing school so that you can be an officer. He told me he didn't want to be an officer because he didn't believe he had the skillset to be an officer. I became slightly exasperated- "what is it with people thinking everything should come so easily and naturally?" was the thought- and told him: "i'm sure Patton wasn't PATTON in the beginning. There's a learning process, even if you have the natural ability, just like with music." (He's a drummer, so this was very applicable to him.) He laughed and said I made sense (which I'm aware of). Let's see if my words were enough to encourage him to postpone going into the military at least long enough to get his degree. My other piece of advice was this:
"do what's going to cause you the least amount of regret. You will never regret having a degree but one day you might regret that you don't." I for one, think that he'd make a great officer- he's no Patton, but he could be someday (even though I'm very well aware that Patton was Army, not Navy). Why not dream when you can?
For me, it seems times of dreams are over. Reality has a firm grasp on me, and it only becomes more apparent every day. My mother had to have emergency surgery last week (thankfully, she's fine now). My father, honestly, can't handle a crisis. He is very much not in control of himself as a general rule, but when things get crazy, he flies to pieces. When I got to the hospital, he did calm down ever so slightly, but on the phone he sounded absolutely crazy. My mother is his "rock"- without her, my dad doesn't do well. My brothers, however, didn't even make it a point to call until days later- despite being made aware of the situation. It's very evident that I cannot entrust my parents to my brothers, and that, as they age, that their care will fall on me. While my parents are in relatively good health, despite the fact that they're nearing 70, it is inevitable that they're going to need help, especially my father. He worries me most of all. His mind seems to be slipping- he's so forgetful of everything, he's extremely volatile emotionally. My father, who has been engineering all his life, can no longer accurately make measurements, and this is most troubling of all. So, in looking down the highly possible realities of life down the road, I have decided that I will stay very near them. Staying here is, quite frankly, an awful prospect, but worse is the idea that my parents, who have remained my faithful cavalry my whole life, may need me and I will not be around to return their unfailing love and care. So, here I stay. And I begin the process of building a permanent life, instead of transient one, which is something I've never known in my entire 25 years. I'll do my best. I'm very thankful that while I was not blessed with being the most beautiful or the most athletic, I was blessed with immense personal strength and conviction and sense enough to know how to use what has been given to me. I feel that eminently it will be put to the test.
Now, I do not pretend that I love all the changes that take place in my life, because I certainly do not. But, I accept them and hold to the belief that all things "come out in the wash", as the saying goes. One may not be able to choose all the things that happen in life, or even when it happens, but one can choose to celebrate instead of mourn. In midst of all the erractic things of life, this is one thing that you can have and hold for your own.
You may mourn the death or celebrate the life
You can sit down and weep or stand and laugh at strife.
I talked to a boy today that has an immense amount of talents and abilities at his disposal. He's in school, only a year away from graduating and becoming a substance abuse counselor. He wants to join the navy because he feels an immense pull for him to do so- who can argue with that? But he wants to quit school now and join. I urged him otherwise: go in the military if you want, but go in after finishing school so that you can be an officer. He told me he didn't want to be an officer because he didn't believe he had the skillset to be an officer. I became slightly exasperated- "what is it with people thinking everything should come so easily and naturally?" was the thought- and told him: "i'm sure Patton wasn't PATTON in the beginning. There's a learning process, even if you have the natural ability, just like with music." (He's a drummer, so this was very applicable to him.) He laughed and said I made sense (which I'm aware of). Let's see if my words were enough to encourage him to postpone going into the military at least long enough to get his degree. My other piece of advice was this:
"do what's going to cause you the least amount of regret. You will never regret having a degree but one day you might regret that you don't." I for one, think that he'd make a great officer- he's no Patton, but he could be someday (even though I'm very well aware that Patton was Army, not Navy). Why not dream when you can?
For me, it seems times of dreams are over. Reality has a firm grasp on me, and it only becomes more apparent every day. My mother had to have emergency surgery last week (thankfully, she's fine now). My father, honestly, can't handle a crisis. He is very much not in control of himself as a general rule, but when things get crazy, he flies to pieces. When I got to the hospital, he did calm down ever so slightly, but on the phone he sounded absolutely crazy. My mother is his "rock"- without her, my dad doesn't do well. My brothers, however, didn't even make it a point to call until days later- despite being made aware of the situation. It's very evident that I cannot entrust my parents to my brothers, and that, as they age, that their care will fall on me. While my parents are in relatively good health, despite the fact that they're nearing 70, it is inevitable that they're going to need help, especially my father. He worries me most of all. His mind seems to be slipping- he's so forgetful of everything, he's extremely volatile emotionally. My father, who has been engineering all his life, can no longer accurately make measurements, and this is most troubling of all. So, in looking down the highly possible realities of life down the road, I have decided that I will stay very near them. Staying here is, quite frankly, an awful prospect, but worse is the idea that my parents, who have remained my faithful cavalry my whole life, may need me and I will not be around to return their unfailing love and care. So, here I stay. And I begin the process of building a permanent life, instead of transient one, which is something I've never known in my entire 25 years. I'll do my best. I'm very thankful that while I was not blessed with being the most beautiful or the most athletic, I was blessed with immense personal strength and conviction and sense enough to know how to use what has been given to me. I feel that eminently it will be put to the test.
Life and Its Choices
The possibilities are endless. Humanity limits itself in such a way so that life isn't so huge and more manageable. For me, I do what I can deal with in my soul. I have the thought, "now, in ten years, how well is this going to sit with me?" In other words, I will not burden my soul with something that I don't think I can deal with in the far future.
As we grow older, we become limited by fear and a lack of resources- whether these are real resources or just the capacity to figure out a way to circumvent an obstacle is irrelevent. I understand the logic of this. But, as Spock in Star Trek learned, the logical decision is not always the best one to make. So what if there's only a 4% possibility of success? If it's the right thing to do, then that is what must be done.
As we grow older, we become limited by fear and a lack of resources- whether these are real resources or just the capacity to figure out a way to circumvent an obstacle is irrelevent. I understand the logic of this. But, as Spock in Star Trek learned, the logical decision is not always the best one to make. So what if there's only a 4% possibility of success? If it's the right thing to do, then that is what must be done.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Stir It Up
To You, "Beej"- I tried to tell you that shrimp dish sounded awful. I'm sorry it actually turned out that way, especially since it took so much time and effort. I can't comment on your blog for some reason. So, I'll comment on your blog...on my blog? Lol. It'll be all good.
I just finished reading Before the Legend: The Life of Bob Marley. Marley has always been one of those iconic people in my life, someone that's so magnificent in a way that it becomes acceptable to know nothing about them but still find them to be amazing. I decided it was time to learn a little something about the man that wrote songs so good I attached memories and smells (yes, even smells, and not just that of ganja) to them. And there's nothing like reading about a man before he had anything at all, because it's what we do when we have nothing to lose that really exemplifies our character.
Nesta Marley (Bob's first name) was a truly remarkable man in so many ways- known for fabulous work ethic while being absolutely baked, the strong silent kind, the post-conventional thinker, and, quite frankly, a smooth seducer. I figured I would read all of these things- being a musician, and furthermore actually making it in the music business (and maybe even moreso, making it out of Jamaica) requires extraordinary amount of work and talent, and his songs are so seductive that it is hardly befitting for them to come from a man without the skills. Rita Marley, his wife, though, has an interesting story- I'd love to hear her side of things. Bob brought to Rita the various children (living proof) of his various affairs to live with them in their home- because he wanted all his children to live together. I wonder if he ever thought of how this would make her feel- and furthermore, did the other mothers ever actually agree to this? And how tortured was Rita to take these children of her husband that were not hers? I infer that she's a woman of saintly virtues- because, fantastic musician/lover or not, I would've done terrible incapacitating things to his penis in his sleep after he brought home the first child. If there's anything I learned from Greek stories and myths, it is that every hero has a flaw, and I found Bob's. But, I half expected it, so it wasn't as disheartening as learning that my beloved Gandhi regularly abused his wife when they were young.
I can accept the errors of my heroes because they did such great things otherwise, and we're human- so we're going to fail at something. I do not, however, have the same forgiving nature of those in the inner sanctum who haven't proven themselves, and especially not myself. I expect more from them and me than I will ever expect of anyone else....I suppose that's why I'm rarely impressed with anyone. But, at the same time, while I ruthlessly expect more, I easily forgive shortcomings (except my own) when someone has truly done all they can do (by my measure). It's because I believe we all have the capabilities of being Gandhis, Marleys, Claptons, Sabans, Ritas, Laylas, Chanels, etc, if we just try for it. It's like the old saying "I'd rather shoot for the star and miss by a mile than shoot for the stump and miss by an inch". That's how I live. Everyday. No exceptions.
But, I'm listening to Marley. If there was ever a sound of "not working", it is this one. This is the sound of "have a good time"- which is something I've forgotten how to do. It's time to go remember how. Now.
I just finished reading Before the Legend: The Life of Bob Marley. Marley has always been one of those iconic people in my life, someone that's so magnificent in a way that it becomes acceptable to know nothing about them but still find them to be amazing. I decided it was time to learn a little something about the man that wrote songs so good I attached memories and smells (yes, even smells, and not just that of ganja) to them. And there's nothing like reading about a man before he had anything at all, because it's what we do when we have nothing to lose that really exemplifies our character.
Nesta Marley (Bob's first name) was a truly remarkable man in so many ways- known for fabulous work ethic while being absolutely baked, the strong silent kind, the post-conventional thinker, and, quite frankly, a smooth seducer. I figured I would read all of these things- being a musician, and furthermore actually making it in the music business (and maybe even moreso, making it out of Jamaica) requires extraordinary amount of work and talent, and his songs are so seductive that it is hardly befitting for them to come from a man without the skills. Rita Marley, his wife, though, has an interesting story- I'd love to hear her side of things. Bob brought to Rita the various children (living proof) of his various affairs to live with them in their home- because he wanted all his children to live together. I wonder if he ever thought of how this would make her feel- and furthermore, did the other mothers ever actually agree to this? And how tortured was Rita to take these children of her husband that were not hers? I infer that she's a woman of saintly virtues- because, fantastic musician/lover or not, I would've done terrible incapacitating things to his penis in his sleep after he brought home the first child. If there's anything I learned from Greek stories and myths, it is that every hero has a flaw, and I found Bob's. But, I half expected it, so it wasn't as disheartening as learning that my beloved Gandhi regularly abused his wife when they were young.
I can accept the errors of my heroes because they did such great things otherwise, and we're human- so we're going to fail at something. I do not, however, have the same forgiving nature of those in the inner sanctum who haven't proven themselves, and especially not myself. I expect more from them and me than I will ever expect of anyone else....I suppose that's why I'm rarely impressed with anyone. But, at the same time, while I ruthlessly expect more, I easily forgive shortcomings (except my own) when someone has truly done all they can do (by my measure). It's because I believe we all have the capabilities of being Gandhis, Marleys, Claptons, Sabans, Ritas, Laylas, Chanels, etc, if we just try for it. It's like the old saying "I'd rather shoot for the star and miss by a mile than shoot for the stump and miss by an inch". That's how I live. Everyday. No exceptions.
But, I'm listening to Marley. If there was ever a sound of "not working", it is this one. This is the sound of "have a good time"- which is something I've forgotten how to do. It's time to go remember how. Now.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
"What We Have "Chere" His..."
a constant rate of poor judgement and failure. Albert Einstein once said that insanity is engaging in the same acts repeatedly and expecting a different outcome- by his standard, I am indeed insane. I certainly feel that way. Apparently I have no capacity for making good choices with men- and I'm sadder about that than I am the waste of time.
My father told me this morning that I need to get a life. He said "all you've done is work and go to school. Go get a life, get a social life. Go have some fun. Leave off school for a while." Nothing like having a father's blessing to be a slack ass for a few months, right? In response, I'm going out tonight with a friend that I've been promising time to for a long time now.
Then I come home to relax and pack up my stuff. I'm moving back in with my parents. I'm tired of these personal revolutions. Really, I am. I'm ready for life to quit putting me through the spin cycle. I've decided that, in an effort to derail this vicious spin cycle, I'm going to go monastic- meaning that I'm not going drink, smoke, or have any dealings with mankind. I'm going to try really hard to drop "fuck" from my vocabulary totally and meat as well. In short, I want a clean life with less hassles. I'm going to make an effort to do 10 minutes of meditation every day, because surely to God I can afford to give myself 10 minutes a day. I'm planning and dreaming and scheming...hoping that life will become better soon. Hoping that I'll learn the error of my ways even quicker.
My father told me this morning that I need to get a life. He said "all you've done is work and go to school. Go get a life, get a social life. Go have some fun. Leave off school for a while." Nothing like having a father's blessing to be a slack ass for a few months, right? In response, I'm going out tonight with a friend that I've been promising time to for a long time now.
Then I come home to relax and pack up my stuff. I'm moving back in with my parents. I'm tired of these personal revolutions. Really, I am. I'm ready for life to quit putting me through the spin cycle. I've decided that, in an effort to derail this vicious spin cycle, I'm going to go monastic- meaning that I'm not going drink, smoke, or have any dealings with mankind. I'm going to try really hard to drop "fuck" from my vocabulary totally and meat as well. In short, I want a clean life with less hassles. I'm going to make an effort to do 10 minutes of meditation every day, because surely to God I can afford to give myself 10 minutes a day. I'm planning and dreaming and scheming...hoping that life will become better soon. Hoping that I'll learn the error of my ways even quicker.
WHORES!
They make my life better. Why and how? Because, despite what my mother always told me, trash will indeed bond with itself and take itself out. Fabulous, really, this trash.
So glad I use high quality bags, or else I may worry that I'd end up with trash on me. But, I do put forth the extra effort. That's what keeps the palace clean, you know- efforts and good bags.
By the way, I'm trash free.
So glad I use high quality bags, or else I may worry that I'd end up with trash on me. But, I do put forth the extra effort. That's what keeps the palace clean, you know- efforts and good bags.
By the way, I'm trash free.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Muskegon, MI
I miss home. I talk about it all the time, honestly. It's a beautiful place, especially where I lived in Michigan. I lived in Muskegon, which is like having box seats at the Super Bowl- you're in exactly the right place to be comfortable, you can see everything, and it's beautiful. I was never more than 5 miles from the nearest beach, and our beaches are amazing. They're so amazing in fact, that they take tons of sand from the west coast of Michigan down to Florida to rebuild everything that the Canadians and retirees fuck up by building their stupid condos and ruining the beaches' natural defense against hurricane erosion. True story. So, next time you're in Florida, really, you're walking on my homeland. :) Also, something really cool about Michigan sand is that it's actually smoothly rounded like river rocks. It is glacier cut, meaning that tons of ice basically ground rock into submission and produced tiny, tiny round grains of sand. That's why it makes a funny "scuff" sound. Another thing: the sand in Michigan (and "Florida") contains magnitite, which is highly conductive- meaning, lightning loves to strike the beaches.
In addition to the beaches of Lake Michigan (where you're NOT a part of a food chain), there's also rivers and smaller lakes that are just gorgeous. Just don't go in the Grand River or White Lake or Ruddiman Creek. Otherwise, you're fine. There's mountains, too, and lots of wildlife.
There's also a million bars and three million bands to see. There's Skelletones, the Blue Note, Pints and Quarts, and the Rosebud (all within 20 minutes of each other), places like Lakeside Emporium (where they still sell penny candy and make their own fudge), homemade ice cream shops, and a million other cool little places.
Also, there's festivals. There's the Muskegon Summer Celebration, which has all kinds of big names (I've seen Stepphenwolf, Boston, B.B. King, Ray Charles, and Earth, Wind, and Fire there, for example- they've got newer acts, too, but I'm never interested in those). There's also the art festival, and my favorite is the Irish Music Festival. There's tons of Irish in Muskegon (so as you can imagine, they love to party), and this is just an excuse to get Irish bands out on a big stage, dance, eat, and drink, and sell Irish linens and wool and such.
Can you see why I miss this place? It's amazing.
In addition to the beaches of Lake Michigan (where you're NOT a part of a food chain), there's also rivers and smaller lakes that are just gorgeous. Just don't go in the Grand River or White Lake or Ruddiman Creek. Otherwise, you're fine. There's mountains, too, and lots of wildlife.
There's also a million bars and three million bands to see. There's Skelletones, the Blue Note, Pints and Quarts, and the Rosebud (all within 20 minutes of each other), places like Lakeside Emporium (where they still sell penny candy and make their own fudge), homemade ice cream shops, and a million other cool little places.
Also, there's festivals. There's the Muskegon Summer Celebration, which has all kinds of big names (I've seen Stepphenwolf, Boston, B.B. King, Ray Charles, and Earth, Wind, and Fire there, for example- they've got newer acts, too, but I'm never interested in those). There's also the art festival, and my favorite is the Irish Music Festival. There's tons of Irish in Muskegon (so as you can imagine, they love to party), and this is just an excuse to get Irish bands out on a big stage, dance, eat, and drink, and sell Irish linens and wool and such.
Can you see why I miss this place? It's amazing.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
How The "Phantom" Kicked My Ass
One of the world's most beloved and longest running plays is "Phantom of the Opera". People who don't even enjoy or know about "theatah" love the music from "Phantom". As for me, the Phantom has long been a part of my life- first in high school choir, when we did "Music of the Night" and the main theme in a concert performance. Then, it followed me to my home, and I had to sing it for a solo performance. Now, as a piano student, I'm now playing "Think of Me".
I have been working for hours on perfecting this piece. I have to play it tomorrow morning at 8 AM. It doesn't sound so hard- until you realize that just me has to play all the parts that you hear in this rendition.
I am the strings, the woodwinds, brass, and vocals- all in 8 fingers, two thumbs, and the right foot. It's now 2 AM, and I've only made it to 3 of the 4 pages of music. I'm tired. But, a good piece is nothing without a good ending- you can start weak and flub in the middle as long as you have a stupendous finish. So....here I go back to the keyboard. Maybe by performance time, it'll sound amazing.
I have been working for hours on perfecting this piece. I have to play it tomorrow morning at 8 AM. It doesn't sound so hard- until you realize that just me has to play all the parts that you hear in this rendition.
I am the strings, the woodwinds, brass, and vocals- all in 8 fingers, two thumbs, and the right foot. It's now 2 AM, and I've only made it to 3 of the 4 pages of music. I'm tired. But, a good piece is nothing without a good ending- you can start weak and flub in the middle as long as you have a stupendous finish. So....here I go back to the keyboard. Maybe by performance time, it'll sound amazing.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Colors on Trees Remind Me..
I have nothing more to say. It seems that it is in my best interest to start being and remaining silent, for my own self-preservation.
I shall write again when I can.
I shall write again when I can.
Dreams
I dream of things, like anyone does. Sometimes, I dream of making breakfast like I used to. I'd have oldies on the radio, dancing, and frying bacon and eggs while from-scratch biscuits baked in the oven. Sometimes I dream of having a family again. I don't really have one anymore. Sometimes I dream of working a day job that I could have the weekends off to watch football with my mom and dad. Always, I dream of peace.
I'll have it someday. Watch. It's closer than I think.
I'll have it someday. Watch. It's closer than I think.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Vestiges of Former Falls
Living in south Alabama, one will quickly learn that there is one-and-a-half seasons here. There's the summer season, which lasts about 10 months of the year, and 2 months of the summer season having an identity crisis. It's disappointing to some degree- I loved having four seasons. Michigan has a real winter, spring thaw, an awesome summer, and a beautiful fall. There were rituals for all of them, but my favorite, by far, was fall. I always knew when fall had officially rsvp'd for the year- I would wake up and just know. I had extra determination and more energy, a greater drive to do things now because there was no waiting until later.
Living at my parents' house, we had a fireplace. I would start collecting kindling in August, about once a week go out and find tiny sticks that had been broken off trees. By September, I would do that every day so that I could guarantee we'd have enough for the winter. (Yes, we knew they make those starter stick things, but why buy what you can get for free?). There would be a huge pile by the time the cold weather actually hit- magically, i always got enough, too. I would clean out all my living spaces and clean them well. I stacked mountains of firewood. Mom and I would start to make hats and food- chili, chicken brunswick, vegetable stew. There was this lovely feeling in the air- electric relief, what some people call the "crisp" of fall. I remember it so well. I miss it greatly.
Here, there is no need to put up food, make hats, or gather firewood, really. It get chilly enough for a hoodie, that's it. It has snowed the past two years- once each identity crisis season- and I'm thankful for it. I think it's the Mother's way of making me feel better. She sure is good at that.
Living at my parents' house, we had a fireplace. I would start collecting kindling in August, about once a week go out and find tiny sticks that had been broken off trees. By September, I would do that every day so that I could guarantee we'd have enough for the winter. (Yes, we knew they make those starter stick things, but why buy what you can get for free?). There would be a huge pile by the time the cold weather actually hit- magically, i always got enough, too. I would clean out all my living spaces and clean them well. I stacked mountains of firewood. Mom and I would start to make hats and food- chili, chicken brunswick, vegetable stew. There was this lovely feeling in the air- electric relief, what some people call the "crisp" of fall. I remember it so well. I miss it greatly.
Here, there is no need to put up food, make hats, or gather firewood, really. It get chilly enough for a hoodie, that's it. It has snowed the past two years- once each identity crisis season- and I'm thankful for it. I think it's the Mother's way of making me feel better. She sure is good at that.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Saucy Ladies
Women always have those days when they've got a particular "thing" going on with them. They wake up, and it feels like a snake has climbed up their spine. Its head creeps all the way up into their head, and it whispers "give me the attention I want...I crave it so badly..." Since it's awoken and moved up the spine, the woman's hips have been freed so that they can swing in such a way that it almost looks like a careless invitation...but believe, it's all control. There's a twinkle in the lady's eye, but it's not hers: it belongs to the snake. But on these days, it doesn't matter. They are one in the same. They're looking for victims, maybe several, to fall to their charms and submit to their whims and desires. These are the days when they look so good in their clothes that men can't possibly see how they could look bad without them. She smiles like she knows something you don't. Her every move, every sound is carefully monitored and unleashed at exactly the right time to get her exactly what she wants....whatever that may be. Some are looking only for the attention that the snake tells them to go for, the kind that makes them believe they are indeed conquerors of men. Some women look to become goddesses in the eyes of men....and still others intend to vanquish the world between their thighs.
Monday, August 30, 2010
There's People I'm Thankful For, and Things I'm Glad I Did
This is indeed another one of those "shit's gotten bad, so I'm going to remind myself that there are good things" posts. If you don't want to read it, don't. This blog is more for me than you.
1. I'm glad Ben and I sat in the parking lot of work until 3 AM listening to music.
2. I'm glad Gavin is such a good friend; he always reminds me that he's always there for me- and actually follows through with his word.
3. I'm glad my dogs are so concerned with my happiness that they will persist doing silly things until I smile and love on them in a happy way instead of a sad way.
4. I'm glad I fought for Lilly.
5. I'm glad that I have enough stories that people find me interesting- yesterday, when I walked into work, a man said "So, anymore interesting stories today?" and looking genuinely excited to hear them.
6. Strangely enough, I'm actually glad for one of my co-workers, Kristen. She's got this way about her that makes me feel better, and like I have a "sister" again, in a way. She reminds me that someone is indeed watching.
7. Here's to long-lost classmates- they make me feel better, especially when they tell me that they had the biggest crush on me in 7th grade.
8. I'm glad that I've had such an education- and I don't mean school so much. My travels, my mom, watching other folks, etc has taught me so much more than I bargained for.
9. A man told me yesterday that my skin reminded him of coffee that someone had added creamer to. Score. How often does a woman get complimented on her skin color, especially when it hasn't been faked through tanning or bleaching?
10. Thank you California Raisins and Marvin Gaye. You forever changed the way I think about the rumour mill....
11. I'm glad I have a mother and father that love me unconditionally and are willing to go as far as they need to for my good. What sweeter love or higher compliment is there than someone believing that you are indeed worth every little bit?
12. I'm glad for my friend Amber. She's just awesome, and I wish I could show her that I love her more and be a better friend to her. I'm trying to fill a void that is impossibly amazing.
13. I'm glad for my friend Brennan, and I miss her terribly. True story, though, she does still come visit me. Last night when I was on my way home and feeling so sad I could've crawled under a rock, I heard her say to me (irritably) "Why do you want to die when you have the chance to live? I'd do anything to be you."
14. I am glad that i have learned that I am not simply a race, ethnicity, or any other adjective. I am human. I have been liberated from the confines of a broken society.
This probably would seem to be a silly idea to most people, but it is good therapy. It's a form of "count your blessings" that isn't so fucking irritating. I can't tell you how much I hate smartass people that go off on a self-righteous rant about how spoiled you are because you have more than the kids in Africa and usually end with some sage advice like "so, eat your peas". I've been doing this for years- sitting down and writing out the good things to counteract the bad. Nothing gets rid of darkness better than the rays of daylight.
1. I'm glad Ben and I sat in the parking lot of work until 3 AM listening to music.
2. I'm glad Gavin is such a good friend; he always reminds me that he's always there for me- and actually follows through with his word.
3. I'm glad my dogs are so concerned with my happiness that they will persist doing silly things until I smile and love on them in a happy way instead of a sad way.
4. I'm glad I fought for Lilly.
5. I'm glad that I have enough stories that people find me interesting- yesterday, when I walked into work, a man said "So, anymore interesting stories today?" and looking genuinely excited to hear them.
6. Strangely enough, I'm actually glad for one of my co-workers, Kristen. She's got this way about her that makes me feel better, and like I have a "sister" again, in a way. She reminds me that someone is indeed watching.
7. Here's to long-lost classmates- they make me feel better, especially when they tell me that they had the biggest crush on me in 7th grade.
8. I'm glad that I've had such an education- and I don't mean school so much. My travels, my mom, watching other folks, etc has taught me so much more than I bargained for.
9. A man told me yesterday that my skin reminded him of coffee that someone had added creamer to. Score. How often does a woman get complimented on her skin color, especially when it hasn't been faked through tanning or bleaching?
10. Thank you California Raisins and Marvin Gaye. You forever changed the way I think about the rumour mill....
11. I'm glad I have a mother and father that love me unconditionally and are willing to go as far as they need to for my good. What sweeter love or higher compliment is there than someone believing that you are indeed worth every little bit?
12. I'm glad for my friend Amber. She's just awesome, and I wish I could show her that I love her more and be a better friend to her. I'm trying to fill a void that is impossibly amazing.
13. I'm glad for my friend Brennan, and I miss her terribly. True story, though, she does still come visit me. Last night when I was on my way home and feeling so sad I could've crawled under a rock, I heard her say to me (irritably) "Why do you want to die when you have the chance to live? I'd do anything to be you."
14. I am glad that i have learned that I am not simply a race, ethnicity, or any other adjective. I am human. I have been liberated from the confines of a broken society.
This probably would seem to be a silly idea to most people, but it is good therapy. It's a form of "count your blessings" that isn't so fucking irritating. I can't tell you how much I hate smartass people that go off on a self-righteous rant about how spoiled you are because you have more than the kids in Africa and usually end with some sage advice like "so, eat your peas". I've been doing this for years- sitting down and writing out the good things to counteract the bad. Nothing gets rid of darkness better than the rays of daylight.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Mhm
Ready for the picture of irony? Okay, here it is:
Girl driving to her parents' house to present them with her double Honors Associates Degrees and her Certificate of PTK, it's raining, "Rocketman" by Elton John is playing, she has 42 dollars to last her 2 weeks, and she doesn't have a job to speak of.
Did she cry? Absolutely.
Girl driving to her parents' house to present them with her double Honors Associates Degrees and her Certificate of PTK, it's raining, "Rocketman" by Elton John is playing, she has 42 dollars to last her 2 weeks, and she doesn't have a job to speak of.
Did she cry? Absolutely.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Heartbreaker....
I've been thinking about Layla a lot lately. She is an Arabic heroine of ancient times, famed for her beauty, notorious for her steadfast refusal to follow her father's orders. Everyone wanted Layla- she was everything any man ever wanted, but she had nothing for them. See, she fell in love with a poor man that her father didn't approve of. He fell for her, too, and there would be no one else for him. They were the original Romeo and Juliet of sorts....they died for the sake of their forbidden love. I'm not sure if theirs is a cautionary tale or one of inspiration...perhaps both. If you're going to die for something, make it a worthwhile cause...
As Priam says in the movie Troy: I have fought many wars. Some for land, some for glory. I guess it makes more sense to fight for love."
Isn't it the truth?
My new job isn't what I expected it to be- at all. I have to admit, it has fallen from grace. My boss is an excellent salesman; in fact, one could say I've been duped by my own kind...what sounds like one thing really is another. The most astere example of this: he said "I want you in this particular job"....which sounds a lot like "This is what you're going to be doing". What you aren't necessarily hearing is the rest of the second sentence, which is: "if you jump through all these hoops for 30 days, first." I, like an idiot, accepted what he said at face value. I didn't realize he intended to start me at the bottom and move me to said "wanted" position in 30 days. So, now, I have to do something that I swore I'd never do for 30 days......be a salesperson. Not even a clerk- a salesperson. I won't lie, it's a little heartbreaking to have my little glass palace shattered so quickly, but whatever......it's more money that what I have been doing. I can't complain about that. There are such perks, such as I'm rediscovering what it's like to be social again. I've hung out with someone I know- without doing homework- TWICE this week.
Ah, such is life. Nothing is rose-colored but the dreams of children and teens....
As Priam says in the movie Troy: I have fought many wars. Some for land, some for glory. I guess it makes more sense to fight for love."
Isn't it the truth?
My new job isn't what I expected it to be- at all. I have to admit, it has fallen from grace. My boss is an excellent salesman; in fact, one could say I've been duped by my own kind...what sounds like one thing really is another. The most astere example of this: he said "I want you in this particular job"....which sounds a lot like "This is what you're going to be doing". What you aren't necessarily hearing is the rest of the second sentence, which is: "if you jump through all these hoops for 30 days, first." I, like an idiot, accepted what he said at face value. I didn't realize he intended to start me at the bottom and move me to said "wanted" position in 30 days. So, now, I have to do something that I swore I'd never do for 30 days......be a salesperson. Not even a clerk- a salesperson. I won't lie, it's a little heartbreaking to have my little glass palace shattered so quickly, but whatever......it's more money that what I have been doing. I can't complain about that. There are such perks, such as I'm rediscovering what it's like to be social again. I've hung out with someone I know- without doing homework- TWICE this week.
Ah, such is life. Nothing is rose-colored but the dreams of children and teens....
Sunday, August 22, 2010
I Tried to Tell You.....
I try to warn folks- you know, the whole don't-make-the-same-mistakes-I-did thing. Sadly, people don't listen. For some reason I have yet to figure out, people seem to think I lack the credentials to know what the fuck I'm talking about. For some, it seems to be because I'm "young" (by the way, there's a ridiculous amount of old fucks out there that don't know what they're doing or talking about- look at Fox News if you don't believe me) or because I'm female, or something. Don't know what it is, but I've decided if you're unwilling to listen then you aren't worthy of the fucking time it takes for me to talk to you about some stupid shit that's probably going to at least fuck up your day, if not your entire life.
I tried to tell someone the other day that people engage actively in two activities that keep them from living in the present moment to see what they're doing to themselves. 1)They're overly concerned over what happened in the past and how past events and decisions have shaped them- so much so that they seem to miss that they're just self-perpetuating a vicious circle because tomorrow they're gonna do the same shit- look back and go "what the hell just happened?" instead of living in the moment and stopping shit from getting bad right now. OR, 2) They're overly concerned over shit that hasn't even happened yet.
Now, I ask you, what's the point in worrying over milk you haven't even gotten out of the fucking refridgerator, much less spilled?????
Think about it, then tell me I don't have any fucking sense or any credentials. BUDDHA TAUGHT THE SAME LESSON.
That being said, I am guilty of having a very hard time following my own commonsense. I worry about what's going to happen to me, to my dogs, and I wonder what the hell happened to me. I used to be someone else...this person I am now didn't exist. I have been reinvented, reimagined, revamped, downgraded, something. But, I am smarter. I became what I am because life happened to me- that makes me a goddamn expert of looking out for bad ideas. And these days I think I'm so damn important that I can't unwrap myself out of my own little life to give a damn and two hoots about someone else. But, once upon a time...I dreamed of something better, and I lived it everyday, not caring about what happened, forgiving. How does Life justify itself when it reaches in and rips out all the good shit in someone?
I tried to tell someone the other day that people engage actively in two activities that keep them from living in the present moment to see what they're doing to themselves. 1)They're overly concerned over what happened in the past and how past events and decisions have shaped them- so much so that they seem to miss that they're just self-perpetuating a vicious circle because tomorrow they're gonna do the same shit- look back and go "what the hell just happened?" instead of living in the moment and stopping shit from getting bad right now. OR, 2) They're overly concerned over shit that hasn't even happened yet.
Now, I ask you, what's the point in worrying over milk you haven't even gotten out of the fucking refridgerator, much less spilled?????
Think about it, then tell me I don't have any fucking sense or any credentials. BUDDHA TAUGHT THE SAME LESSON.
That being said, I am guilty of having a very hard time following my own commonsense. I worry about what's going to happen to me, to my dogs, and I wonder what the hell happened to me. I used to be someone else...this person I am now didn't exist. I have been reinvented, reimagined, revamped, downgraded, something. But, I am smarter. I became what I am because life happened to me- that makes me a goddamn expert of looking out for bad ideas. And these days I think I'm so damn important that I can't unwrap myself out of my own little life to give a damn and two hoots about someone else. But, once upon a time...I dreamed of something better, and I lived it everyday, not caring about what happened, forgiving. How does Life justify itself when it reaches in and rips out all the good shit in someone?
Sunday, August 15, 2010
An Evening Alone
I won't lie, I love nights when it's just me and the dogs, a glass of tea, and some good music. I know Significant Other reads this thing from time to time, so the word to him is this: Don't be pissed. Normal people like time to themselves. It's not about you. It's about me getting my reset without having to smoke a doob. Leave it be.
I'm currently sitting on my couch. The dogs are in various states of relaxation all around me. Norah Jones "What Am I To You?" is playing from the laptop. The only thing I wish for right now is a window open and there be some rain. Really, that's optional. Right now is perfect just how it is. No joke.
Is it terrible that I get a great deal of satisfaction from knowing that my ex-boyfriends all ended up with terribly ugly women? Is it also terrible that I laughed out loud when I looked at pictures on facebook of my most recent important ex (from two years ago), and he's sitting by this terribly hideous Jabba-the-Hutt type creature that is his girlfriend and he looks absolutely miserable? Even if it is terrible, I don't care. I'm still gonna laugh and have my moment of satisfaction that he apparently can't do better. It's great for the ego.
I'm currently sitting on my couch. The dogs are in various states of relaxation all around me. Norah Jones "What Am I To You?" is playing from the laptop. The only thing I wish for right now is a window open and there be some rain. Really, that's optional. Right now is perfect just how it is. No joke.
Is it terrible that I get a great deal of satisfaction from knowing that my ex-boyfriends all ended up with terribly ugly women? Is it also terrible that I laughed out loud when I looked at pictures on facebook of my most recent important ex (from two years ago), and he's sitting by this terribly hideous Jabba-the-Hutt type creature that is his girlfriend and he looks absolutely miserable? Even if it is terrible, I don't care. I'm still gonna laugh and have my moment of satisfaction that he apparently can't do better. It's great for the ego.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
A Laundry Breakdown
I did laundry for ten hours yesterday, after a marathon of housecleaning. Why would anyone ever subject themselves to this? Because neither had been done in about a week. I go to my parents to do laundry because my washer/dryer unit died...last year. And I've never had the money to replace either since. I had to take care of my parents' dogs (they had to leave on some emergency business), so it was super beneficial. And then I looked at the stack of Rolling Stone magazines that I've neglected for the past four months...and thus, my day was filled. I fed and played with a brother-sister pair of Jack Russells, changed loads over every hour, and read two Rolling Stones.
I'm usually a fast reader, but with an RS I like to take my time, savor it slow. It's a combination of my greatest loves- music and reading. I got my first issue when I was nine years old, and I'm pretty sure that if a nine year old girl could cream her pants over something, then I would've over that magazine. It was such a novel idea to me- an entire magazine devoted to music. All these years later, I'm still reading them, slowly, usually with a glass of tea or some coffee- I used to lay in bed, smoke, drink coffee, and read them. Why? Because it sounded as luxurious as it was ludicrous.
But about 10:30 last night, a wave of sadness washed over me as I realized that I'd spent my entire day off working, and sneaking in moments of happiness....further into my pity party, I had the thought that this was all my life was going to be: working my ass off for long periods of time and sneaking in happiness. It was a terribly sad idea. What ever happened to enjoying life? I still haven't decided that there isn't a great deal of logic behind my mini depression moment. I guess I just get to choose how much thought I allow it to consume. And all this happened because I spent the whole day doing laundry. Then one of the hoses on my Jeep's engines blew, and the night became just a little more annoying. I guess it wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't wanted to celebrate graduating. I've worked so hard for it. But, no one would ever respond to text messages....so I guess it wasn't that important to them. *sigh Whatever. I'll just let it go....like I do everything else.
I'm usually a fast reader, but with an RS I like to take my time, savor it slow. It's a combination of my greatest loves- music and reading. I got my first issue when I was nine years old, and I'm pretty sure that if a nine year old girl could cream her pants over something, then I would've over that magazine. It was such a novel idea to me- an entire magazine devoted to music. All these years later, I'm still reading them, slowly, usually with a glass of tea or some coffee- I used to lay in bed, smoke, drink coffee, and read them. Why? Because it sounded as luxurious as it was ludicrous.
But about 10:30 last night, a wave of sadness washed over me as I realized that I'd spent my entire day off working, and sneaking in moments of happiness....further into my pity party, I had the thought that this was all my life was going to be: working my ass off for long periods of time and sneaking in happiness. It was a terribly sad idea. What ever happened to enjoying life? I still haven't decided that there isn't a great deal of logic behind my mini depression moment. I guess I just get to choose how much thought I allow it to consume. And all this happened because I spent the whole day doing laundry. Then one of the hoses on my Jeep's engines blew, and the night became just a little more annoying. I guess it wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't wanted to celebrate graduating. I've worked so hard for it. But, no one would ever respond to text messages....so I guess it wasn't that important to them. *sigh Whatever. I'll just let it go....like I do everything else.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
"What Happened To Her?" Answer: "Life."
Today was a good day. I had my last exam (which I posted about earlier), and now I can look forward to figuring out what to do with my life. I'm not entirely sure where to go from here. I stand in sharp contrast to most everyone I know that is my age. Most of my generation, and especially among those that I know) has settled with (or settled for) children, possibly a spouse. They've locked themselves into a very clear future- they will live in this place, with these people, have children, and work in this profession.....for forever.
As one girl said to me earlier today: "I still live on West Street. I'll probably always live here, and I'll die here." She's lived on West Street since she was three months old, first with her grandparents, now with her husband and son. She's going to business college. She thinks it's wonderful- and I do too, honestly. That's a great deal of security in a very, very insecure world. It must be great to look out upon the vastness of time and know that it's gonna be a pretty good ride- maybe not the most thrilling, but nothing that you can't handle. She is doing what millions, perhaps billions, have done before her- there's nothing wrong with that. But still, for me, it means that I have one less role model. I do not walk the path of certainty. I never have.
Life to me is fluid. That means that one thing will lead to another, but that I'm not guaranteed a meandering stream...when storms come, it can become a raging, out-of-control river.
I have recalled many times this moment in my life: I was sixteen years old, and I fervently prayed to God that I would be allowed to really live, to please not let me just be passing through, but let me see it all. Well, I would say that my prayer was answered. I have not gone the way of the herd. But I find that going my own way is daunting- not because I'm afraid of it, because I'm certainly not. But I don't know what to do or where to go next. Picking and choosing destiny is a perilous activity, and therefore I give a lot of pause to making decisions, and I won't lie, I wait for signs...someone will know better than I.
I'm not so smart that I don't know that I'm secretly stupid, that my mind, for all it's sharpness and mountains of facts and logic and processes, is inept at grasping the true magnitude of possibility.
So, while everyone follows the prescription for a happy life, I'm left standing in a somewhat less certain position. What I am sure of, while we're all going this way and that, is that we're all going to go wanting for something someday. I also know that my life will be an adventure, and that upon my death I will be able to smile.
As one girl said to me earlier today: "I still live on West Street. I'll probably always live here, and I'll die here." She's lived on West Street since she was three months old, first with her grandparents, now with her husband and son. She's going to business college. She thinks it's wonderful- and I do too, honestly. That's a great deal of security in a very, very insecure world. It must be great to look out upon the vastness of time and know that it's gonna be a pretty good ride- maybe not the most thrilling, but nothing that you can't handle. She is doing what millions, perhaps billions, have done before her- there's nothing wrong with that. But still, for me, it means that I have one less role model. I do not walk the path of certainty. I never have.
Life to me is fluid. That means that one thing will lead to another, but that I'm not guaranteed a meandering stream...when storms come, it can become a raging, out-of-control river.
I have recalled many times this moment in my life: I was sixteen years old, and I fervently prayed to God that I would be allowed to really live, to please not let me just be passing through, but let me see it all. Well, I would say that my prayer was answered. I have not gone the way of the herd. But I find that going my own way is daunting- not because I'm afraid of it, because I'm certainly not. But I don't know what to do or where to go next. Picking and choosing destiny is a perilous activity, and therefore I give a lot of pause to making decisions, and I won't lie, I wait for signs...someone will know better than I.
I'm not so smart that I don't know that I'm secretly stupid, that my mind, for all it's sharpness and mountains of facts and logic and processes, is inept at grasping the true magnitude of possibility.
So, while everyone follows the prescription for a happy life, I'm left standing in a somewhat less certain position. What I am sure of, while we're all going this way and that, is that we're all going to go wanting for something someday. I also know that my life will be an adventure, and that upon my death I will be able to smile.
I'M FINISHED!
I just completed my last final literally moments ago. I can't tell you the amount of relief I feel right now. I'm not sure what to do anymore- school has been the center of my life for a long time. But, damn it feels good to be done...at least until I decide to go back.
So, now, I'm going to go home and crash. I haven't slept in a few days. Then, I'm going to get up, clean the house, and cook dinner for my friend Amber, who is coming over. Then...I don't know what I'll do with myself. Maybe I'll go to the beach Thursday. Maybe I won't do anything (gasp!) at all. The point is that I don't have to do school work- and that's the most important point I can make.
But, thank God, the Great War of the Grades is over. It's time for a new beginning.
So, now, I'm going to go home and crash. I haven't slept in a few days. Then, I'm going to get up, clean the house, and cook dinner for my friend Amber, who is coming over. Then...I don't know what I'll do with myself. Maybe I'll go to the beach Thursday. Maybe I won't do anything (gasp!) at all. The point is that I don't have to do school work- and that's the most important point I can make.
But, thank God, the Great War of the Grades is over. It's time for a new beginning.
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Signs of an Age
I can't tell you how often I'm told I'm an old woman trapped in a young woman's body. I can tell you it happens more than once a week, usually not more than once a day. Someone will tell me I'm far too wise to be so young, that I'm like their grandmother or mother...a friend of mine always said when she looked at me out of the corner of her eye that she always saw an old lady's face. In short, it seems that no one thinks of me being 24, not even me, and despite the fact that I look like I might be 20 at the most. Apparently, I don't believe myself to be so young either. As I looked through an Avon catalog last night and came upon the "anti-aging" stuff, I announced out loud that I needed some of that stuff.
Now, you must know, I'm the anti-beauty campaign poster child. I have three, sometimes four habits that one could consider vain.
1. I, on a rare ocassion, will wear makeup.
2. I use olive oil to remove that makeup, but I also use it around my eyes to repair the skin.
3. I wax my eyebrows like some people go to church: fervently and on a regular basis.
4. I buff my nails every week, but it's mostly to keep them from constantly breaking. The sparkle is just an added bonus.
Otherwise, anything i do is basic hygiene, and there's nothing vain about that. In fact, I forget about beauty all together unless it smacks me in the face, like when I look at catalogs or magazines. It is only then that I am reminded that I am not a supermodel and that in fact, I fall way short of their glory (these thoughts happen enough though the saner side of me says "this isn't real anyway...they're all airbrushed). It is thus that I live the power of the almight advertisement empire.
I wonder sometimes how so many of us girls/women make it through life with any self-esteem left intact. I mean, I was a slave to it as a new teenager: I ended up with an eating disorder (mainly that I just didn't eat...ever), an endorphin/exercise addiction, a cigarette addiction, a love for diet pills, and a very unhealthy idea of how to live because of the image industry- all by the time I was 14. And even though I did all these things in an effort to be beautiful, it was so I could be "more beautiful"...it wasn't that I wasn't pretty to begin with, I just wanted to be prettier. I hated how much work it was, but I did it, because there was nothing my ego wanted more than to know every man was looking at me and wishing....And sadly, this is because I was overrun by hormones and misguided by pop culture. As a side note, I never dressed like I was a hooker...I did take my mother's sage advice that I should always leave things to the imagination, because a prize behind the door is much more exciting than the one in your lap already. By 15, I had snapped out of most of it. I quit exercising obsessively, I started eating again, I quit taking diet pills (except when I needed to stay up to study, and it wasn't a habit I dropped completely until I was 20), and I began a slow steady climb out of the abyss of mass media generated beauty hell.
I am glad that I have no children. If I had a daughter, I would worry about what the beauty industry would do to her, too. I would worry that she would feel like she needed that appreciation from men to have a boosted ego. I would worry that she would do terrible things trying to live up to a standard that is fake and furthermore perpetrated by men, who will never be enslaved to its many habits and rituals, but will further enslave their sons to believe that the pictures of women in magazines are the epitome of beauty.
Where does the cycle end? And will I ever be free? I, who at the ripe age of 24, decided I needed anti-aging products?
The rationalizing process was awesome. Here's how it went:
Significant Other: You really don't need any of that. I mean, when I met you, I figured you were probably 18, definitely no more than 20. I was shocked when you told me you were 23. "
Me: "Yes, so, if I use this stuff, I look like jailbait now, avoid some hassle, and when I'm 70, I'll look freaking awesome." Then it dawned on me: I wouldn't avoid hassle, I would just trade one set of problems for another. And, more importantly, 70 years old is 46 years away. I'm not ready for that kind of commitment. I can't commit to dinner at a certain time or even shaving my legs everyday. I won't commit to be with someone until I'm 70- why would I give such a commitment to a product? I won't. I'm too lazy for all that, and too free. Besides, I'm going to age. Might as well look awesome at 70 because I use olive oil to clean and repair my skin instead of 90 bajillion chemical products that could harm as much as help.
Eh, we'll all get old and ugly on the outside someday. May as well be beautiful on the inside....it lasts longer.
Now, you must know, I'm the anti-beauty campaign poster child. I have three, sometimes four habits that one could consider vain.
1. I, on a rare ocassion, will wear makeup.
2. I use olive oil to remove that makeup, but I also use it around my eyes to repair the skin.
3. I wax my eyebrows like some people go to church: fervently and on a regular basis.
4. I buff my nails every week, but it's mostly to keep them from constantly breaking. The sparkle is just an added bonus.
Otherwise, anything i do is basic hygiene, and there's nothing vain about that. In fact, I forget about beauty all together unless it smacks me in the face, like when I look at catalogs or magazines. It is only then that I am reminded that I am not a supermodel and that in fact, I fall way short of their glory (these thoughts happen enough though the saner side of me says "this isn't real anyway...they're all airbrushed). It is thus that I live the power of the almight advertisement empire.
I wonder sometimes how so many of us girls/women make it through life with any self-esteem left intact. I mean, I was a slave to it as a new teenager: I ended up with an eating disorder (mainly that I just didn't eat...ever), an endorphin/exercise addiction, a cigarette addiction, a love for diet pills, and a very unhealthy idea of how to live because of the image industry- all by the time I was 14. And even though I did all these things in an effort to be beautiful, it was so I could be "more beautiful"...it wasn't that I wasn't pretty to begin with, I just wanted to be prettier. I hated how much work it was, but I did it, because there was nothing my ego wanted more than to know every man was looking at me and wishing....And sadly, this is because I was overrun by hormones and misguided by pop culture. As a side note, I never dressed like I was a hooker...I did take my mother's sage advice that I should always leave things to the imagination, because a prize behind the door is much more exciting than the one in your lap already. By 15, I had snapped out of most of it. I quit exercising obsessively, I started eating again, I quit taking diet pills (except when I needed to stay up to study, and it wasn't a habit I dropped completely until I was 20), and I began a slow steady climb out of the abyss of mass media generated beauty hell.
I am glad that I have no children. If I had a daughter, I would worry about what the beauty industry would do to her, too. I would worry that she would feel like she needed that appreciation from men to have a boosted ego. I would worry that she would do terrible things trying to live up to a standard that is fake and furthermore perpetrated by men, who will never be enslaved to its many habits and rituals, but will further enslave their sons to believe that the pictures of women in magazines are the epitome of beauty.
Where does the cycle end? And will I ever be free? I, who at the ripe age of 24, decided I needed anti-aging products?
The rationalizing process was awesome. Here's how it went:
Significant Other: You really don't need any of that. I mean, when I met you, I figured you were probably 18, definitely no more than 20. I was shocked when you told me you were 23. "
Me: "Yes, so, if I use this stuff, I look like jailbait now, avoid some hassle, and when I'm 70, I'll look freaking awesome." Then it dawned on me: I wouldn't avoid hassle, I would just trade one set of problems for another. And, more importantly, 70 years old is 46 years away. I'm not ready for that kind of commitment. I can't commit to dinner at a certain time or even shaving my legs everyday. I won't commit to be with someone until I'm 70- why would I give such a commitment to a product? I won't. I'm too lazy for all that, and too free. Besides, I'm going to age. Might as well look awesome at 70 because I use olive oil to clean and repair my skin instead of 90 bajillion chemical products that could harm as much as help.
Eh, we'll all get old and ugly on the outside someday. May as well be beautiful on the inside....it lasts longer.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Lovely Finds
I love sales in stores. I adore them, really, for so many reasons. I love to peruse the stacks of things on clearance- the hunt is half the battle. I also love not paying full price. In fact, I do everything possible to never do such a thing- this is accomplished by hunting the sales and by making friends in the stores that I want things from. Yesterday, though, I came across a particularly good find at the local Kirklands- a cherry wood etegere. It was sitting in the back corner, like a misfit toy, with a sticker on it that said "$25 AS IS". I checked the original price- $100. I further examined the piece- the wood is in good shape, nothing is broken...then I give it a shake and it almost falls over. A-ha. So, I examine further and find that there are no pieces missing, it was just put together terribly....nothing that I couldn't fix. In short, I took it to the front counter and told the lady that I wanted it. She looked at it and said "well, we have one in the back that's in excellent shape", to which I replied "nope, I want this one." Apparently there was enough resolution in my voice that she didn't try to argue. I happily brought it home in two pieces (because it literally was put together that badly), and today I put it back together (with a little help from Significant Other)....and it's as sturdy as it should be, and beautiful. It is seldom that one can profit from another's laziness or ineptitude (whichever was the reason that it was so shoddily put together), so I consider this a super find. Beautiful and cheap because of human error.
I also found flowers made out of wood shavings for two dollars- wild roses, to be exact, and a really pretty iron candle holder that has been made to be a working ferris wheel! To top it off, I found some really pretty wall art for entirely too much....so I went to Michael's and surprise! Five 16x20 canvases for $20. I bought those, too, and a bottle of acrylic gesso....there are now two canvases in my house properly gessoed and just waiting for finals to be over so that I may paint to my heart's content.
All of this, as silly as it may be, makes me kinda happy. Yay for retail therapy!
I also found flowers made out of wood shavings for two dollars- wild roses, to be exact, and a really pretty iron candle holder that has been made to be a working ferris wheel! To top it off, I found some really pretty wall art for entirely too much....so I went to Michael's and surprise! Five 16x20 canvases for $20. I bought those, too, and a bottle of acrylic gesso....there are now two canvases in my house properly gessoed and just waiting for finals to be over so that I may paint to my heart's content.
All of this, as silly as it may be, makes me kinda happy. Yay for retail therapy!
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Eat, Pray, Love
I just finished this book by Elizabeth Gilbert. Amazing story. I want to do what she does. I want to walk away from a life fallout and go to Italy and India and Indonesia. It would be amazing. This book affected me in ways that I can't exactly explain at this moment because I don't really have the words to describe such a feeling. Something shifted...that's about all I can say.
I've started learning some new songs on the piano. I've decided to quit school for a while so that I can get myself together...I can't take anymore of life as it currently is. There is no sweetness in this spot, and hasn't been in a long time. I'm going to look for a yoga instructor somewhere around here and take up the practice again...I left it off when my life fell apart last. I've resolved to have peace around me. I'm thinking of selling everything I own, giving the important things to my parents, and the dogs and I hitting the road until we find somewhere to be. I probably won't do it. I just have to do something....because if you chase life this hard for this long, eventually it will kill you.
I've started learning some new songs on the piano. I've decided to quit school for a while so that I can get myself together...I can't take anymore of life as it currently is. There is no sweetness in this spot, and hasn't been in a long time. I'm going to look for a yoga instructor somewhere around here and take up the practice again...I left it off when my life fell apart last. I've resolved to have peace around me. I'm thinking of selling everything I own, giving the important things to my parents, and the dogs and I hitting the road until we find somewhere to be. I probably won't do it. I just have to do something....because if you chase life this hard for this long, eventually it will kill you.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Blasts From the Past
You know, Facebook is not a bad thing.
I have recently been looked up by two people in particular that I haven't spoken to in years- literally years. One girl is from Iowa, and we were friends when we were in the third grade. We haven't spoken until today....SIXTEEN years later. It's nice to know that I made such an impression that I'm worth looking up after so much time. The other is a guy I knew when we were just coming into teenagedom- he's a really nice guy, always has been. It was lovely to talk to him, too.
So, while I sit here and wonder away at what to do, the past comes to me. What does that mean?
I have recently been looked up by two people in particular that I haven't spoken to in years- literally years. One girl is from Iowa, and we were friends when we were in the third grade. We haven't spoken until today....SIXTEEN years later. It's nice to know that I made such an impression that I'm worth looking up after so much time. The other is a guy I knew when we were just coming into teenagedom- he's a really nice guy, always has been. It was lovely to talk to him, too.
So, while I sit here and wonder away at what to do, the past comes to me. What does that mean?
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
The Blues At 2:30 in the Morning
This is what I do at this time of the morning:
I love the blues. Goes good with a breezy full-moon night, cornbread, and beer.
I love the blues. Goes good with a breezy full-moon night, cornbread, and beer.
Ave Maria
If you know me, you know I'm totally consumed by music. It is one of my life's greatest passions, to be put quite simply. I used to sing when I was a teenager (opera and classical, if you can believe it), and I play a number of instruments.
I quit singing when I was about eighteen, even though I was good. I quit because it was so terrifying to me to sing in front of people...despite that I loved it. I would sing in the car, in the shower, when I was walking somewhere, anywhere, any time. I got disheartened by my sound, though, as I continued to smoke....you can't sing the "Phantom of the Opera" score and smoke a half pack a day, that's for sure. So....I stopped all together.
Two days ago wasn't unusual- I had written a paper on the Bhagavad-Gita, and I was getting ready to go to work. I was getting a shower, actually, and per usual, I had my mental iPod on random. "Ave Maria", one of my all-time favorites to sing popped into my head. I hadn't sung it in a number of years (despite remembering it perfectly) because I didn't feel that I made it sound beautiful enough to do the song itself justice. But, I'd quit smoking....so I thought "what the hell? You're in the shower and no one's home to hear you suck if you do. Try."...so I took a breath, opened my mouth, and sang the first bars. To my surprise, it was loud and clear, good tone (vowels needed work). So, all in all, not bad...and it made me smile. It's time to get the Schubert sheet music out and start practicing again.
I do wonder why I don't become a music teacher. I know a great deal about music- playing, listening, biographies, theory, etc. I love it- it moves me in ways that nothing else can. (I'm the only person I know that bawls uncontrollably when I watch Mr. Holland's Opus.) I do love science, but it doesn't bring me the peace and set me free the way that music can every single time. Science fulfills my need to contribute, to work my mind, to look at the magnificence of Divinity- and fills me with foreboding as I watch humankind march itself into oblivion, knowing that if they knew what I did, things could be better, and that science could validate me, and maybe...just maybe we could save ourselves and everything else. But, music does something to me that I can barely describe. I can literally feel my soul leap out of my chest when I listen to some songs, and I can feel imaginary strings being pulled from deep down in my belly when I listen to Prince play the solo on "While my Guitar Gently Weeps" at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction of George Harrison. I'm sure I sound possessed- and thankfully I'm not trying to describe this phenomena during the time of the Inquisition. But, sound literally does this to me. I understand what Beethoven meant when he said that music was man's highest moral authority- it can bend you in ways nothing else can, and there are songs out there that one literally must make themselves worthy of because they are performed from somewhere deep in the primitive soul.
Try it, listen....really, truly sit there and listen- especially to Prince.
And just feel your brain undulate to this:
I quit singing when I was about eighteen, even though I was good. I quit because it was so terrifying to me to sing in front of people...despite that I loved it. I would sing in the car, in the shower, when I was walking somewhere, anywhere, any time. I got disheartened by my sound, though, as I continued to smoke....you can't sing the "Phantom of the Opera" score and smoke a half pack a day, that's for sure. So....I stopped all together.
Two days ago wasn't unusual- I had written a paper on the Bhagavad-Gita, and I was getting ready to go to work. I was getting a shower, actually, and per usual, I had my mental iPod on random. "Ave Maria", one of my all-time favorites to sing popped into my head. I hadn't sung it in a number of years (despite remembering it perfectly) because I didn't feel that I made it sound beautiful enough to do the song itself justice. But, I'd quit smoking....so I thought "what the hell? You're in the shower and no one's home to hear you suck if you do. Try."...so I took a breath, opened my mouth, and sang the first bars. To my surprise, it was loud and clear, good tone (vowels needed work). So, all in all, not bad...and it made me smile. It's time to get the Schubert sheet music out and start practicing again.
I do wonder why I don't become a music teacher. I know a great deal about music- playing, listening, biographies, theory, etc. I love it- it moves me in ways that nothing else can. (I'm the only person I know that bawls uncontrollably when I watch Mr. Holland's Opus.) I do love science, but it doesn't bring me the peace and set me free the way that music can every single time. Science fulfills my need to contribute, to work my mind, to look at the magnificence of Divinity- and fills me with foreboding as I watch humankind march itself into oblivion, knowing that if they knew what I did, things could be better, and that science could validate me, and maybe...just maybe we could save ourselves and everything else. But, music does something to me that I can barely describe. I can literally feel my soul leap out of my chest when I listen to some songs, and I can feel imaginary strings being pulled from deep down in my belly when I listen to Prince play the solo on "While my Guitar Gently Weeps" at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction of George Harrison. I'm sure I sound possessed- and thankfully I'm not trying to describe this phenomena during the time of the Inquisition. But, sound literally does this to me. I understand what Beethoven meant when he said that music was man's highest moral authority- it can bend you in ways nothing else can, and there are songs out there that one literally must make themselves worthy of because they are performed from somewhere deep in the primitive soul.
Try it, listen....really, truly sit there and listen- especially to Prince.
And just feel your brain undulate to this:
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
I'm Plagued By Doubt
"God does not guide the wrongdoers."
-The Koran, Sura 62
I'm not a Muslim, Christian, Jew, Witch, or any other person of religious affliliation, but I still read all the holy books; in fact, my previous knowledge of these works has been very beneficial as we've studied them throughout most of my literature course this summer. The Koran was the last that I had to read, and while doing so I had the question of what to do with myself mulling evermore in the back of my head (and the raven said "nevermore). I envy those that have things laid out in front of them, those that do not wallow in a quandry as I do. Such is not the state of my life, nor has it ever been, and I wonder why. Is it because I have the attributes to live in uncertainty without going absolutely crazy and many do not? Is it something I did or didn't do? I pray to the Universe to smile upon me, to shine on the way in front of me, and still she turns a blind eye. I am not angry about this- I just figure I deserve it. I do not believe that I know better than the Cosmic Order, and so I entertain the idea that maybe I'm not supposed to do anything I think I'm supposed to do. Maybe I've been doing it all wrong, and God has thrown up H(er/is) hands in disgust and said "okay, then, asshole, you figure it out if you think you're so awesome and don't need to listen."
I do not know what to do with myself- I do not know whether to be a farmer or a doctor, I do not trust my temperament, I do not trust my judgement (because I really don't think I have a damn clue), and I don't know how to best satiate my desires and do what is best for the common good (not that the common good has ever been aligned with what would be good for me especially). I was raised to have a tribal mind, and thus I live in such a fashion- but the tribe has all but dissolved, and I know not what my place should be.
It disgusts me to confess this, but I envy my cousin her happiness, the simpleness of her life. She is married to a man that holds her in the highest esteem and has always treated her exceptionally well, who served in the military. They have a baby girl they love beyond all things. She works a 9 to 5. They enjoy Sunday dinners together, and they never work on major holidays, but instead get to enjoy each other as a family. They have a nice life.
I do not want to be a mother or a wife, but I miss having a family. I don't really have one of those anymore, and without it, I wander aimlessly. We have broken and scattered, like heavy pottery dropped too hard on the floor. Never before have I seen us in such a state- things got bad, and instead of banding together as we have always done, we flew apart like atoms with the same charge instead of reciprocal. And without them....I have no place in my world.
So, in conclusion, God is not guiding me, but it's not because I am a wrongdoer. God does what God is supposed to do as it should be done....so I guess it's time that I play the waiting game. I just really wish God wouldn't make me pass my life by working such a terrible job and wondering how to feed myself and my dogs. And I really hope God will not always keep me in such a position that I can do nothing for the people I care about- there are few things more wretched that watching suffering and being able to do nothing about it.
-The Koran, Sura 62
I'm not a Muslim, Christian, Jew, Witch, or any other person of religious affliliation, but I still read all the holy books; in fact, my previous knowledge of these works has been very beneficial as we've studied them throughout most of my literature course this summer. The Koran was the last that I had to read, and while doing so I had the question of what to do with myself mulling evermore in the back of my head (and the raven said "nevermore). I envy those that have things laid out in front of them, those that do not wallow in a quandry as I do. Such is not the state of my life, nor has it ever been, and I wonder why. Is it because I have the attributes to live in uncertainty without going absolutely crazy and many do not? Is it something I did or didn't do? I pray to the Universe to smile upon me, to shine on the way in front of me, and still she turns a blind eye. I am not angry about this- I just figure I deserve it. I do not believe that I know better than the Cosmic Order, and so I entertain the idea that maybe I'm not supposed to do anything I think I'm supposed to do. Maybe I've been doing it all wrong, and God has thrown up H(er/is) hands in disgust and said "okay, then, asshole, you figure it out if you think you're so awesome and don't need to listen."
I do not know what to do with myself- I do not know whether to be a farmer or a doctor, I do not trust my temperament, I do not trust my judgement (because I really don't think I have a damn clue), and I don't know how to best satiate my desires and do what is best for the common good (not that the common good has ever been aligned with what would be good for me especially). I was raised to have a tribal mind, and thus I live in such a fashion- but the tribe has all but dissolved, and I know not what my place should be.
It disgusts me to confess this, but I envy my cousin her happiness, the simpleness of her life. She is married to a man that holds her in the highest esteem and has always treated her exceptionally well, who served in the military. They have a baby girl they love beyond all things. She works a 9 to 5. They enjoy Sunday dinners together, and they never work on major holidays, but instead get to enjoy each other as a family. They have a nice life.
I do not want to be a mother or a wife, but I miss having a family. I don't really have one of those anymore, and without it, I wander aimlessly. We have broken and scattered, like heavy pottery dropped too hard on the floor. Never before have I seen us in such a state- things got bad, and instead of banding together as we have always done, we flew apart like atoms with the same charge instead of reciprocal. And without them....I have no place in my world.
So, in conclusion, God is not guiding me, but it's not because I am a wrongdoer. God does what God is supposed to do as it should be done....so I guess it's time that I play the waiting game. I just really wish God wouldn't make me pass my life by working such a terrible job and wondering how to feed myself and my dogs. And I really hope God will not always keep me in such a position that I can do nothing for the people I care about- there are few things more wretched that watching suffering and being able to do nothing about it.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Just a Quick One
I've been "quitted" from cigarettes for one month and one day. It only bothers me when I'm around an exorbiant amount (like, if I'm around my mother, who literally will light one off the other). I feel better. My bank account feels better. Life is better without it. How did I ever have the time to smoke anyway? Or the money?
Friday, July 23, 2010
Some People
You know, sometimes folks come along in life that are there for a reason. Sometimes they're there to help, sometimes to serve as a reminder....sometimes you're the one that came along to do something for someone.
For instance, I reconnected with a girl I haven't really talked to since high school. She moved to Boston right after graduation, attended Emerson, got a degree in Film and American Sign Language, and now works on Harvard Square as a bartender. She also "came out" as they say, and is happily living her life as the most authentic version of Kim I've ever known. (Yes, I knew she was homosexual in high school, even while she was bouncing around trying to avoid it.) Normally, this is a woman who will spend hours bullshitting with you before she gets down to brass tacks....but apparently, this has changed. She went right for business after years of a lack of communication. She told me to read The Secret. It's a book about positive affirmation, and she really believes I need that in my life, and she urged me to read it. Mind you, she really knows nothing about me anymore. She just felt the need to tell me to read this book. *Sigh So I guess I'll break down and do it...sometime. I just feel really weird picking up New Age books- it was something that I long ago decided to put down...and here I am back to it.
But, I am waiting for a sign and for intelligence I don't have. I'm waiting for the Universe to point me in a direction because this is one thing that I don't have. I almost look at Kim as the future, though....I could have her kind of peace.
And then there's this man-friend of mine that reminds me of my past and present. He's beautiful inside and out- and my emphasis is not on how he looks, but his brain and his soul. He's a good person, it's fairly evident, and in being a good person, he invites the wolf in because he feels bad that it's out in the rain. It's a mistake I've made countless times. Compassion doesn't seem to work so well anymore; I think Gandhi would be saddened if he saw the price that's been placed on compassion in this world. It seems that if you're a kind and compassionate person, you are going to be slaughtered in this world.
But, you know, sometimes you have to be willing to die to stay authentic to your being. My desperation to stay alive has deadened me. But, dead things provide the compost for new things to grow in....it's springtime in the day of my soul. I hope the buds can make it through the frost.
For instance, I reconnected with a girl I haven't really talked to since high school. She moved to Boston right after graduation, attended Emerson, got a degree in Film and American Sign Language, and now works on Harvard Square as a bartender. She also "came out" as they say, and is happily living her life as the most authentic version of Kim I've ever known. (Yes, I knew she was homosexual in high school, even while she was bouncing around trying to avoid it.) Normally, this is a woman who will spend hours bullshitting with you before she gets down to brass tacks....but apparently, this has changed. She went right for business after years of a lack of communication. She told me to read The Secret. It's a book about positive affirmation, and she really believes I need that in my life, and she urged me to read it. Mind you, she really knows nothing about me anymore. She just felt the need to tell me to read this book. *Sigh So I guess I'll break down and do it...sometime. I just feel really weird picking up New Age books- it was something that I long ago decided to put down...and here I am back to it.
But, I am waiting for a sign and for intelligence I don't have. I'm waiting for the Universe to point me in a direction because this is one thing that I don't have. I almost look at Kim as the future, though....I could have her kind of peace.
And then there's this man-friend of mine that reminds me of my past and present. He's beautiful inside and out- and my emphasis is not on how he looks, but his brain and his soul. He's a good person, it's fairly evident, and in being a good person, he invites the wolf in because he feels bad that it's out in the rain. It's a mistake I've made countless times. Compassion doesn't seem to work so well anymore; I think Gandhi would be saddened if he saw the price that's been placed on compassion in this world. It seems that if you're a kind and compassionate person, you are going to be slaughtered in this world.
But, you know, sometimes you have to be willing to die to stay authentic to your being. My desperation to stay alive has deadened me. But, dead things provide the compost for new things to grow in....it's springtime in the day of my soul. I hope the buds can make it through the frost.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
It's Hard Work to Give a Damn
I had a terrible day on Monday. It was supposed to be a good one- and it turned into an epic battle on so many fronts.
I got up at 6 AM (after getting to bed at 2:30), cleaned the house, did the bills, medicated Lilly, got the laundry together to go do at my parents, ran to my parents to get my cash for my podiatrist appointment, got gas, went to the podiatrist. He told me my foot is healing quite nicely- I magically hyper-extended the ligaments, tendons, and muscles in my left foot- re-braced it, and sent me home.
I called my parents to tell them the good news, and after doing so, my father says to me "Why are you calling to tell me this?"
I was a little taken aback, and I said "well, I thought maybe you'd like to hear that I'm getting better, that something good is happening."
"Well, you need to get your ass here. Your mama's decided to take Granny back to north Alabama. She thinks she's dying, and she wants to take her to where doctors that know all about her condition. And you need to drive."
"Wait, if she's dying, shouldn't she be in a damn ambulance or something? What happens if she dies on the goddamn highway? What then?"
"Then you pull over and call 911. I can't afford the three thousand dollars it will take to transport her in an ambulance."
"This makes no goddamn sense."
"Well, it's not your decision. Just get your ass here and drive your mother and your granny."
This was the stupidest goddamn idea I've ever heard. But, instead of fighting, I went along with it. My father was absolutely freaked out. So, I went home, got my toothbrush, called work, called school, etc, and let everyone know I was going to be absent. And I went to my parents' house.
My father was a complete wreck (he doesn't handle any crises of any kind well at all), and my mother's blood pressure was through the roof. My grandmother had her up all night, screaming about how she was falling and "having a party with dead people". So, I did what I had to do- I loaded my grandmother in the back of the Le Sabre, loaded my mother, had my father follow me in my car so that i could drive home when I could, and took off for north Alabama. The trip should've been about 5 and a half hours. I made it to the hospital in four. While fighting traffic in Birmingham at 4 in the afternoon, I was doing my best to keep my grandmother talking (she would routinely stop breathing and get wall-eyed- the only way I assured that she was still alive was by forcing her to talk about all the things she was "seeing") and calm my mother (I believe she was really close to having a stroke). I also fielded all the phone calls from my nephew and my father. I stayed in the hospital room with her, and then- "we can't find anything wrong with her, so we're releasing her. Just make her comfortable." My grandmother hadn't drank or eaten in almost 48 hours, had been hallucinating for at least 24- but there's nothing wrong with her?! Once again, crisis ensued as we scrambled to find a hospital bed to be delivered to my grandmother's house and an ambulance came to get her to transport her. The bitch of a nurse nearly wore my handprint as she "explained" to me how "irresponsible it would be for them to allow her to get in a car". When I told her to hold off on the ambulance phone call for five minutes while I figured out where I was going to get a bed from- she didn't. She went ahead, and maybe one minute after I had secured a bed to be delivered to her house in 15 minutes, that bitch nurse came in, all smiles "well, the other girl had already called- sorry, I guess you'll just have to make do". Then, the EMSes literally dumped her on my brother's bed and walked out- and the rest of the family had just driven up.
Then, to make my crazy-ass father happy, I drove us back home that very night.
Honestly, I can't believe all this shit happened. It sounds like the worst white-trash story ever. It's an epic fail on the medical field's part, it's crazy as hell on my family's part. It's stupid on mine. It's hard work to care, even harder work to deal with the kind of crazy I've dealt with this week. Seriously.
I haven't stuck to my plan at all. I'm going to try to start tomorrow. Who knows- I give up. Every time I try to get ahead, the Universe puts me behind. I may as well accept the tremendous amount of "effing in the A" that is going to happen to me, brace myself, and hope there's some lube in the mix.
I got up at 6 AM (after getting to bed at 2:30), cleaned the house, did the bills, medicated Lilly, got the laundry together to go do at my parents, ran to my parents to get my cash for my podiatrist appointment, got gas, went to the podiatrist. He told me my foot is healing quite nicely- I magically hyper-extended the ligaments, tendons, and muscles in my left foot- re-braced it, and sent me home.
I called my parents to tell them the good news, and after doing so, my father says to me "Why are you calling to tell me this?"
I was a little taken aback, and I said "well, I thought maybe you'd like to hear that I'm getting better, that something good is happening."
"Well, you need to get your ass here. Your mama's decided to take Granny back to north Alabama. She thinks she's dying, and she wants to take her to where doctors that know all about her condition. And you need to drive."
"Wait, if she's dying, shouldn't she be in a damn ambulance or something? What happens if she dies on the goddamn highway? What then?"
"Then you pull over and call 911. I can't afford the three thousand dollars it will take to transport her in an ambulance."
"This makes no goddamn sense."
"Well, it's not your decision. Just get your ass here and drive your mother and your granny."
This was the stupidest goddamn idea I've ever heard. But, instead of fighting, I went along with it. My father was absolutely freaked out. So, I went home, got my toothbrush, called work, called school, etc, and let everyone know I was going to be absent. And I went to my parents' house.
My father was a complete wreck (he doesn't handle any crises of any kind well at all), and my mother's blood pressure was through the roof. My grandmother had her up all night, screaming about how she was falling and "having a party with dead people". So, I did what I had to do- I loaded my grandmother in the back of the Le Sabre, loaded my mother, had my father follow me in my car so that i could drive home when I could, and took off for north Alabama. The trip should've been about 5 and a half hours. I made it to the hospital in four. While fighting traffic in Birmingham at 4 in the afternoon, I was doing my best to keep my grandmother talking (she would routinely stop breathing and get wall-eyed- the only way I assured that she was still alive was by forcing her to talk about all the things she was "seeing") and calm my mother (I believe she was really close to having a stroke). I also fielded all the phone calls from my nephew and my father. I stayed in the hospital room with her, and then- "we can't find anything wrong with her, so we're releasing her. Just make her comfortable." My grandmother hadn't drank or eaten in almost 48 hours, had been hallucinating for at least 24- but there's nothing wrong with her?! Once again, crisis ensued as we scrambled to find a hospital bed to be delivered to my grandmother's house and an ambulance came to get her to transport her. The bitch of a nurse nearly wore my handprint as she "explained" to me how "irresponsible it would be for them to allow her to get in a car". When I told her to hold off on the ambulance phone call for five minutes while I figured out where I was going to get a bed from- she didn't. She went ahead, and maybe one minute after I had secured a bed to be delivered to her house in 15 minutes, that bitch nurse came in, all smiles "well, the other girl had already called- sorry, I guess you'll just have to make do". Then, the EMSes literally dumped her on my brother's bed and walked out- and the rest of the family had just driven up.
Then, to make my crazy-ass father happy, I drove us back home that very night.
Honestly, I can't believe all this shit happened. It sounds like the worst white-trash story ever. It's an epic fail on the medical field's part, it's crazy as hell on my family's part. It's stupid on mine. It's hard work to care, even harder work to deal with the kind of crazy I've dealt with this week. Seriously.
I haven't stuck to my plan at all. I'm going to try to start tomorrow. Who knows- I give up. Every time I try to get ahead, the Universe puts me behind. I may as well accept the tremendous amount of "effing in the A" that is going to happen to me, brace myself, and hope there's some lube in the mix.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The First Step
So, in honor of finding a new direction and a new, more wholesome future, I've decided to do three things a week to get me to...well, being whole and well. It's been a long time since I've been in that state of being- I'm just hoping I'll know what it is when I get there.
Starting tomorrow my three things:
1. Drink 20 ounces of water a day- no exceptions.
2. Read the Majors book and return it by Friday.
3. Do 1 thing a day I like.
The first thing is going to be continuous and is related to my physical health. The second thing pertains to my future. The third is about my errant mental health. The only thing that will change in this list is the goal toward the future. That will change week to week- but the rest will remain. I may add, but never take away. And I'm going to start small...maybe I'll stay there, maybe I'll move on to doing something bigger. Who knows.
I can't say that I understand why the past events of my life ever happened. I will probably never get it, and endlessly asking why and punishing myself has to stop. It is clear that I am not clear at all. I dreamed of the things I thought sounded glamourous, of what I should do- and that was wrong. I should've all along been dreaming of what was right for me. That is why everything has fallen through- everything I ever wanted became a total disaster and led me directly to this point, at which it is my turn to say "okay, I get that...now, what?" and proceed the way I am. It's been so hard...and sometimes I look at what is, knowing that it is out of my hands, and it hurts. But it is something that must be accepted.
True Story:
When I was 17, I left Michigan for six months and came to North Alabama to care for my grandmother. To me, this was the apex of the Promise Land. My childhood best friends lived there, my family was there, everything good I could remember had happened there. What I remembered was no longer the reality of the situation. I found my nephews lost, my brothers concentrated elsewhere, my granny supporting all of them. In fact, while my mother and I were there, all of us- mother, grandmother, brothers, me, and their children- lived in a tiny two bedroom house that was smaller than most apartments I've been in. My friends had changed. Once brilliant, energetic. and lighter than air they were now being sucked into the vortex of drugs and impending doom that they've been running away from ever since. My best friend was the worst to watch this happen to.
He was beautiful in everyway. He was beautiful to look at, beautiful soul, beautiful laugh, beautiful talent, beautiful brilliant mind. The cage created by the stifling "Christianity" of North Alabama was suffocating him. I believe at first he was self-medicating, and then he just became addicted. I knew then, at the beginning of his long road downhill, that he couldn't be saved from himself, and indeed, it would be up to him to drag himself out of the abyss he was entering. I'd had addict friends before- I knew this was the way. But, I couldn't help but try anyway. I begged him- we'd run West, get married, have a great life camping and finding odd jobs all over America. One day, we'd have enough money to go to college, and we'd be the spitting image of le vie boheme. It would be beautiful, I said. He turned me down, said he had other things to do. And I knew he was right. That was not our way- I would be taking one road and he another, as that was what must happen or he'd drag me down with him. I packed and left for Michigan the next day. We didn't speak again for five years.
I'll tell the rest later. It's a hell of a story. But, I wonder why it is that I could've been wise then and somehow end up being so stupid later. I guess it doesn't matter- I'm fixing it now. And being an addict to self-destruction through action/inaction is just as bad as shooting jet fuel into your veins. My best friend and I....we did the same thing. His track marks are on his arms, and mine are on my soul.
Starting tomorrow my three things:
1. Drink 20 ounces of water a day- no exceptions.
2. Read the Majors book and return it by Friday.
3. Do 1 thing a day I like.
The first thing is going to be continuous and is related to my physical health. The second thing pertains to my future. The third is about my errant mental health. The only thing that will change in this list is the goal toward the future. That will change week to week- but the rest will remain. I may add, but never take away. And I'm going to start small...maybe I'll stay there, maybe I'll move on to doing something bigger. Who knows.
I can't say that I understand why the past events of my life ever happened. I will probably never get it, and endlessly asking why and punishing myself has to stop. It is clear that I am not clear at all. I dreamed of the things I thought sounded glamourous, of what I should do- and that was wrong. I should've all along been dreaming of what was right for me. That is why everything has fallen through- everything I ever wanted became a total disaster and led me directly to this point, at which it is my turn to say "okay, I get that...now, what?" and proceed the way I am. It's been so hard...and sometimes I look at what is, knowing that it is out of my hands, and it hurts. But it is something that must be accepted.
True Story:
When I was 17, I left Michigan for six months and came to North Alabama to care for my grandmother. To me, this was the apex of the Promise Land. My childhood best friends lived there, my family was there, everything good I could remember had happened there. What I remembered was no longer the reality of the situation. I found my nephews lost, my brothers concentrated elsewhere, my granny supporting all of them. In fact, while my mother and I were there, all of us- mother, grandmother, brothers, me, and their children- lived in a tiny two bedroom house that was smaller than most apartments I've been in. My friends had changed. Once brilliant, energetic. and lighter than air they were now being sucked into the vortex of drugs and impending doom that they've been running away from ever since. My best friend was the worst to watch this happen to.
He was beautiful in everyway. He was beautiful to look at, beautiful soul, beautiful laugh, beautiful talent, beautiful brilliant mind. The cage created by the stifling "Christianity" of North Alabama was suffocating him. I believe at first he was self-medicating, and then he just became addicted. I knew then, at the beginning of his long road downhill, that he couldn't be saved from himself, and indeed, it would be up to him to drag himself out of the abyss he was entering. I'd had addict friends before- I knew this was the way. But, I couldn't help but try anyway. I begged him- we'd run West, get married, have a great life camping and finding odd jobs all over America. One day, we'd have enough money to go to college, and we'd be the spitting image of le vie boheme. It would be beautiful, I said. He turned me down, said he had other things to do. And I knew he was right. That was not our way- I would be taking one road and he another, as that was what must happen or he'd drag me down with him. I packed and left for Michigan the next day. We didn't speak again for five years.
I'll tell the rest later. It's a hell of a story. But, I wonder why it is that I could've been wise then and somehow end up being so stupid later. I guess it doesn't matter- I'm fixing it now. And being an addict to self-destruction through action/inaction is just as bad as shooting jet fuel into your veins. My best friend and I....we did the same thing. His track marks are on his arms, and mine are on my soul.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
So Late..and Still So Awake
I worked tonight, which is not unusual, and I worked on my hurt foot- yet again, not unusual. But, I had the thought that this sickness shit is a manifestation of doing the wrong things (granted, it's a terribly archaic theory, but ocassionally, it still holds water, if you know what I mean) churning in my head. And Lord, did my foot hurt, worse than ever before. And it came to me: I am not meant to work on concrete floors. I don't have all these problems when I work on the earth. I am, in no way shape, form, fashion, made to work in retail.
It's time to accept destiny. I am not made for high powered, absurd amounts of money and materials. I am not made for high heels, diamonds, or rayon. I will not find happiness in all these supposed marks of civilization. I find it stressful, depressing; it stirs a deep anger within me. Most of the people I meet are a waste of good material and breathe up good air they don't deserve, who believe they have an entitlement to absolutely everything.
I am made for the Earth, for animals, for plants. I am made for rain, dirt, and soft cotton. I am made for rainshowers without umbrellas and feet without shoes. I am made for the deep sigh of watching the land settle for winter, not the churning of engines.
This is who and what I am. I can dream of being someone else all I want- or I can be interminably happy with being just what I am, no apologies.
I think it's time I bite the bullet and do what I'm scared to do. I'm going to apply to Green Mountain College. I've been avoiding it ever since the crushing blow from Tulane. I don't know how I'm ever going to pay for it. I didn't know how I was going to pay for Tulane, either, but I believed God would get me through that one. Well, God is talking- it's time I listen. I must step off of square one and onto two. The Universe will deliver. I will have faith. It's taking me back to my Mother, my Earth, my rich brown life-giver....and I will follow. For there is nothing I Love more than the natural wonder of all that truly lives...I care nothing for the hollow existence of people.
It's time to accept destiny. I am not made for high powered, absurd amounts of money and materials. I am not made for high heels, diamonds, or rayon. I will not find happiness in all these supposed marks of civilization. I find it stressful, depressing; it stirs a deep anger within me. Most of the people I meet are a waste of good material and breathe up good air they don't deserve, who believe they have an entitlement to absolutely everything.
I am made for the Earth, for animals, for plants. I am made for rain, dirt, and soft cotton. I am made for rainshowers without umbrellas and feet without shoes. I am made for the deep sigh of watching the land settle for winter, not the churning of engines.
This is who and what I am. I can dream of being someone else all I want- or I can be interminably happy with being just what I am, no apologies.
I think it's time I bite the bullet and do what I'm scared to do. I'm going to apply to Green Mountain College. I've been avoiding it ever since the crushing blow from Tulane. I don't know how I'm ever going to pay for it. I didn't know how I was going to pay for Tulane, either, but I believed God would get me through that one. Well, God is talking- it's time I listen. I must step off of square one and onto two. The Universe will deliver. I will have faith. It's taking me back to my Mother, my Earth, my rich brown life-giver....and I will follow. For there is nothing I Love more than the natural wonder of all that truly lives...I care nothing for the hollow existence of people.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Humpty Dumpty Pharm House
In the matter of two days, my house that I keep devoid of all drugs, even prescriptions, has been overrun by them because we've all fallen apart.
The mailman ran over my dog on Wednesday- the sweet girl named Lilly. She lived, thank God, but now she's on all kinds of medication to deal with her pain and trying to make her heal faster.
Skittles had to be re-medicated for hemmorhagic gastroenstasis.
And me....well, I fell apart from top to bottom. My wisdom teeth are threatening to break my jaw (on both sides) and in fact has pushed the right side a little out of place. I went to the dentist originally because the back of my mouth was so swollen that I couldn't close my mouth- and they tell me this. Then they want to schedule me for surgery immediately- which is impossible because I've got finals coming up and I have to give notice at work...it was just a mess. I finally got into a podiatrist to see about my chronically swollen foot- and he tells me that I have "a pretty good amount of soft tissue damage"...whatever that means, I'm in a temporary brace until Monday morning, at which case I have an evaluation and probably will get a cast.
I'm taking this as a sign. I'm living wrong. Sicknesses manifest in otherwise healthy people oftentimes because of bad life choices. Well, I'm typically healthy- except not now. So, it's time to get that way again.
Either way, the only things in this house that are fine are the male specimens. Maybe the males are killing the females- who knows. It's something to ponder.
The mailman ran over my dog on Wednesday- the sweet girl named Lilly. She lived, thank God, but now she's on all kinds of medication to deal with her pain and trying to make her heal faster.
Skittles had to be re-medicated for hemmorhagic gastroenstasis.
And me....well, I fell apart from top to bottom. My wisdom teeth are threatening to break my jaw (on both sides) and in fact has pushed the right side a little out of place. I went to the dentist originally because the back of my mouth was so swollen that I couldn't close my mouth- and they tell me this. Then they want to schedule me for surgery immediately- which is impossible because I've got finals coming up and I have to give notice at work...it was just a mess. I finally got into a podiatrist to see about my chronically swollen foot- and he tells me that I have "a pretty good amount of soft tissue damage"...whatever that means, I'm in a temporary brace until Monday morning, at which case I have an evaluation and probably will get a cast.
I'm taking this as a sign. I'm living wrong. Sicknesses manifest in otherwise healthy people oftentimes because of bad life choices. Well, I'm typically healthy- except not now. So, it's time to get that way again.
Either way, the only things in this house that are fine are the male specimens. Maybe the males are killing the females- who knows. It's something to ponder.
Monday, July 12, 2010
A Poor Folks Country Home
This is a good portion of my front porch. The large green plant by the support is actually a pineapple sage plant that has basically turned into a bush. The purple flower closest to it, up top, is a peacock phlox. Beside that is what people down here call a "blue Jew", and beside that is black eyed-susans. Below is an aloe plant, rosemary, and a box holding begonias and a flower I can never remember the name of.
This is the flower I can't remember the name of. Isn't it pretty?
And, as every poor person knows, anything can be made into anything else. Necessity is the mother of invention. 
They may look a little ragged, but they've been on there for weeks now. It's allowed.
These black-eyed susans are on the other side of the porch that you can't see.
These flower boxes were made by me out of shipping pallets that a hardware store didn't have any other use for. Once again- the genius of being poor.
This isn't a very good picture, but this is Augustus, my Venus fly trap. I heart him.
And this, honest to God, is what my front yard actually is composed of- dandelions and purple clover. I have more bees, butterflies, and dragonflies than I know what to do with. But, it's nice that my yard needs no beautification. Mother took care of all that. :)
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