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.

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'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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. :)

Why I Enjoy....

See, I envy the birds their freedom
Their swoops and dives and barrell rolls.
I envy the scope of a cat's kingdom
and how everything falls into the folds.
I envy the dog his loyalty and happiness
And how his God is so nearby
I envy the fish their simpleness
Even their ability to stupefy.

The New Day

Everyone has a different "wake up" ritual. My father, who is almost always the first up, brews a pot of coffee (that honestly looks like really weak tea), and sits on the back deck and watches the dogs play as his wake up ritual. My mother isn't nearly so chipper- she wakes up and sits in the darkest corner she can find with a cup of coffee and at least five Marlboros. While this happens, she will not speak. Ever. And you better not speak to her either. A friend of mine wakes up and goes to the gym in his pajamas- at 4:30 in the morning. And so on- the point being that everyone has their own thing to do to wake up.



My days start this way: I open my eyes and stay perfectly still for about ten minutes. My dogs somehow know the difference between "awake" and "asleep" movements, and I want a minute for me. Then, I'll look down at my feet on the right side, and inevitably, my littlest dog, Skittles, is awake also, her big brown eyes all a-sparkle and tail a-wagging. She army crawls- she knows how important it is not to wake up the bigger dogs too- up to the crook of my arm. I scratch her back profusely- her favorite scratch place- and then she rolls over so I can do her belly too, and she munches on her two front feet. By this time, the other two have been alerted that I am definitely awake. Little Boy comes first, and he stretches out the length of me (literally) and kneads at whatever body part he can find, and I scratch him down. Lilly, who sleeps at my back, flops her big head over my hip and waits for a while until she's had enough of being patient. Then, she slithers on over, knocking everyone out of the way. She lays down on the opposite side of me and rolls over for her belly rub, which I receive numerous soft lick-kisses for. When I'm done, I say "Okay, that's it! Lets go outside", and like a flash they're all at the backdoor ready to go do their thing.
Is there any better way to start the day than with unconditional love?

Granny

Last night, while I sat with my grandmother and talked, this happened:

"Oh, I wish I could go see your little house and meet your dogs," she said.

"Why, Granny? You don't like dogs."

"But they're your dogs. And you thought enough to rescue them and make 'em healthy and give 'em a home. Now, that's something worth taking a look at."

A Late Night Obsession

It is 4:42 in the morning, and I'm still awake. Why, might you ask? Well, I have midterms this week. Instead of going home after class today, I dutifully stepped up to the plate and went in to work when they called me for help. Which puts me reading The Odyssey until sometime this morning. In a few hours, I will take a test on all this literature, go to work, come home, study for another midterm, go in the morning to take that, go to class afterward, come home, and promptly fall out somewhere.
But, I have a confession. Half the reason that it takes me so long to study is that I'm so easily distracted by my piano. It sits in another room, where its dark, with the door shut, and still I'm drawn to play. If I'm at home, I do this all day long: I will do some menial task, such as cleaning the kitchen, and then I will go sit down at the piano and play for about thirty minutes. Then, I'll get up and go do something else...only to come back and play again. When I'm doing homework, I will read for an hour or so...and then trot off to the piano to play for a while. It's nearly five in the morning on the day of the midterm, and what did I just do? Sat down to learn to play a new piece of music, when really I should sleep.
But playing the piano is so much more fun, so much more stimulating than sleeping sometimes.
I'm relying heavily on my Korean Ginseng to get me through this week, as sleep has not be plentiful. It's partially my fault, though, for being so obsessive about the piano- one could say that she's like a Siren and I'm a sailor, drawn helplessly to her and my ship crashed on the rocks for the sake of the song- but that would just mean that I've spent a great deal of time on Homerian epics of late.
I wish I didn't have such a crippling case of stage fright- I'd love it if all I did was play a piano for the rest of my life. Hell, if I never get out of Alabama, that is all I'll end up doing- there's no other choices out there.

Two Weeks

Tonight at 1:26 AM it will be two weeks since I last had a cigarette. I'm extremely pleased with myself. It's gotten easier as time has marched on. I think I'm going to go all the way and just leave off all my bad habits. My new year's resolution was to live healthier- I think I may have actually already accomplished that.
Thank God for will power, perseverance, and a good stock of food.

The Pancake Flopper

Now-

I can cook numerous "exotic" dishes, all kinds of international cuisine, soul food, Northerner food; I can bake cakes, bread, make butter- whatever you want.

As long as you don't want pancakes.



For as long as I've been learning to cook, the pancake has been my nemesis. The first time I tried to make pancakes, I was seven years old. That pancake was perfectly browned on one side....and perfectly adhered to the skillet on the other. Mama had to scrape it out with a putty knife it was so glued to the spot. She banished me from pancake making for a while. I tried again when I was nine- we were living in Iowa, and it was an absurdly cold morning in December. I poured in my batter- and five seconds later, the pancake had spread to such epic proportions that I couldn't get it out of the pan. Then, it started to burn and I panicked- during my mad rush to avoid my previous mistake, I gave the pancake a good shove right onto the next hot eye. Once again, pancake destroyed, huge mess, pancake banishment. Again, I tried when I was eleven- not so epic, they just fell all to pieces. All through my teen years, they fell apart, got stuck, burned to the point that they could've been used in a discus event (because they looked at if they'd been flash fried)...then, I reached an apex when I was twenty-one.

Now, to set the scene here, so that you may truly understand how epic this was: I was living in a studio apartment on (technically, as there was a basement, and you entered the building on the basement level) the fourth floor, overlooking a dismally huge parking lot. There were a few big oak trees on the strip of landscaping that was covered in snow at the time. I had one window, and it looked almost directly into one of those oak trees. My boyfriend had stayed the night, and we'd gotten up to a blizzard. We weren't going anywhere, so I proposed breakfast from my tiny, tiny studio apartment kitchen. He requested pancakes, and sat on my couch watching the news. I swallowed my pride, said a prayer, and commenced on making pancakes. The batter turned out great, the first pour, fantastic. I'm starting to believe that God is on my side with this one. The pancake is perfectly round, perfectly centered in the pan that has been heated to the perfect temperature. I go for what I think is the point of no return- the flip. SHE SCORES A PERFECT FLIP! And then....FIRE. The f&*king thing literally had flames coming off of it- they leap off of the pancake, a pretty yellow and orange color that makes my failure just a bit prettier. I try to blow them out frantically, I pick up the pan and wave it, and then...I make a mad dash for the window. My boyfriend at the time stares in disbelief as I run to the window, throw it open, and throw the conflagrating pancake outside. But, I haven't just thrown it, I've hurled it- somehow I miss the massive oak tree....and it lands, not in the snow, but on someone's fairly new red car- and it's still in flames.

I closed the window, turned around to look at what may have been the most stunned boyfriend I've ever had, and say (with a smile) "well, that was close. How about eggs and bacon?"

"Or cereal," he says. "I think it may be safer, as you can't get an arson charge with milk."

"When We Get to the Ocean, We're Gonna Take A Boat to the End of the World...."

I've decided that this fall, I'm going to take music lessons at college. That's all. No science, no math, none of that. It brings me no happiness these days, and I need a break from doing all the things that I don't like. Don't get me wrong, I love science- but I hate how science classes are conducted at Wallace Community College. I hate the way they give busy work and act as if it's the most important shit you'll do all day long. Music always makes me happy, even when I'm working on a piece that's frustratingly hard. I feel a great sense of accomplishment with every bar of music I master.

I wonder if maybe I shouldn't change directions. I don't have a clue how I'd ever make it in music- I'm neither the most experienced or the best at what I do. But...stranger things have happened, right? Shit, if people will consider Britney Spears a musician, I've got more than a snowball's chance in hell- because there's not tellin' if that girl can even get out the gate in the mornin', if you know what I mean.

It's time to take a trip into Enjoyment Land, and quit doing all this shit "cause I have to". I don't really have to do shit. No one does- we just impose all these rules on ourselves and overcomplicate the hell out of life.

"We aren't supposed to sit in little cubicles all day long"

-Office Space

True story. And we're not supposed to be slaves, either. So, one by one, I'm removing a link out of the chains. It'll happen someday. Freedom is what all these people have fought for, right? Well, it's time we claim our rights.