8-9-05 Blogging to you live....

"3,419 miles to touch down at Edwards Airforce Base. Banking to the left with wings angled 80 degrees horizontal. 24 minutes to touch down."

I live in Texas. I recall the last Shuttle re-entry. I thought I would not watch this one. I find it is not morbid fascination that peaks my interest this morning. It is prayer. It is hope. Fingers are crossed and I am watching the NASA screens.
This is something my father has always been fascinated by. I have watched in the past, in my own sort of awe. However, this always makes me reflect on the fact that my father remembers the very first space launches. How amazing that must have been.
I suspect he is reminded of that boyish excitement each time we do this now.

6:48a.m. CST "Discovery's speed 15,000 mph. Altitude 43miles." (Seriously. Let that sink in!)

6:53a.m. CST "Discovery's speed 13,600 mph. 1,450 miles to Edwards Airforce Base."

6:57a.m. CST "speed is mach 17 (11,500mph). Descending through 194,000 feet. 1,000 miles from E.A.B. 13minutes to touch down on runway 22"

7:00a.m. CST "Banking back to the left, the third of four banks Discovery performs to dissipate speed. 470 miles to touch down"
"Discovery Houston Ground Track is all "GO"."

7:05a.m. CST "As the shuttle begins it's aproach to E.A.B it will perform a right overhead 196 degree turn to align with the runway. Now 155 miles out.
-21miles 3,200 miles p/h. Forth bank. En route to the 50th landing for a space shuttle at E.A.B. 7.5 minutes to touch down. (From the naked eye it is a flaming white ball in the night sky)
-"Discovery Houston, take air data." Speed 2,000 mph 81 miles to touch down. Altitude 80,000 feet. (Beginning to take shape. A bright white triangle.)
-Mach 1.5 at 7:07a.m. (We have clear visual of the wings)
-Just over 4 minutes to touchdwon now. 28 miles out. Pilot Jim Kelly piloting the Discovery as it goes sub-sonic.
-7:10 Now at 30,000 feet. Descent to the runway is 20 times steeper than that of a commercial airline descent.
-7:11 22,000 feet
-7:11 Discovery has the runway in sight. (the nose is bright white)
-7:11 7,000 feet
-seconds later 5,000 feet
-then 3 miles to touch down
-1,000 feet Landing gear down and locked.
-Main gear touch down.
-Drag chute deployed.
-Nose gear touch down.

And discovery is home. Welcome home friends.
Whew.

8-8-05 Peter Jennings

Goodnight Mr. Jennings. We have seen so much through your eyes. Thank you.

8-6-05 Another perspective

I was watching a show about some 60s political protesters and where they are now. One very important protester was sharing her current views on the Iraq war. She said something that struck me odd.

"I don't believe that I've been told everything about our policy in invading Iraq. Saddam Hussein was on OUR side. We supported and identified him as the leader of Iraq. And now, we've come into Iraq to liberate the people for their freedom. We don't want Iraq. We don't want their oil. We just want their freedom. We have never done that really. Before. That way. I have to remember that I know that, even as I listen to everything that they're telling me.

I am not "for" this war. I believe that what we are trying to accomplish could have been done on a much smaller scale than this. When this war started, I watched the body count and mourned our soldiers (my family, my friends). I had to stop. I had to stop looking for the faces of loved ones to come across the tv screen, but I wait for the phone call and I fear it. So many others wait too. So many people's sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, wives and husbands...ours...and their's.
I hope that the above is true. I hope we are there to give freedom. I hope that we accomplish some good from all this bad.

8-6-05 Social Masks...Who am I REALLY?

"Due to having many parts there is no unity,
There is not anything without parts.
Further, without one, there is not many.
Also, without existence there is no non-existence.
-Nagarjuna, "Precious Garland"

There are people who set out to "find themselves". I wonder what that means. Maybe I am doing that here.
The circumstances of this blog and it's viewers have made me increasingly aware of the masks I wear in the world.
To see me at home, I am responsible and loving. At work, I am socially acceptable, professional, happy, friendly and sort of sarcastic-cynical. With family I am giving and caring. With each friend I am different.

But who am I REALLY? If I were left alone for days or months, who would I be? The answer is too easy and yet it shakes me to the core to realize it.
In my mind I am an artist. I am content in long quiet days. I am bathed in music. I am flowing love. I am not concerned about anyone's ability to give back.

I am a pierced, tatooed punk kid with funky hair and odd fitting black clothing and mountains of angst to describe on canvas. I am politicaly, socially and ecologically involved. I am growing into an old hippy woman in bright flowing clothes and beads and long gray hair. I meditate my faith and I hope for humanity.
I am proud. I am free.

How is it that I know all of the above and yet, I am not that person? Why do we hide behind these masks? Why do I not embrace the person I want to be and just be damned with the opinions of others?

Through the Looking Glass 

8-2-05 Tuesday

Tuesdays. I've never been good at Tuesdays. Lots of people don't like Mondays. Me, I'm good with Monday. I'm optimistic on Monday. Hopeful about the week. Tuesdays....so little hope in Tuesday. It's very mundane really. Not hump-day. Not getting on toward the weekend. Tuesday just sits there, full of too much to do. No way out of Tuesdays. Blech.
*******************************************
And now, an even sillier rant:
Does anyone remember this poem?

'The time has come,' the Walrus said,
'To talk of many things:
Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax --
Of cabbages -- and kings --
And why the sea is boiling hot --
And whether pigs have wings.'

Sure you do. It has always been one of my favorite stanzas. It is something, oddly, quoted about our house and throughout my life at opportune moments.
I know that I read the whole poem when I was a child. I didn't remember much of it though. So...I looked it up.
It's evil. I didn't remember it being evil. It's really a cruel story. Worse yet, it was in a book of nursery rhymes. WHY would we read this to our children??
Here it is, to quell your curiosity: The Walrus and the Carpenter
*************************************
Now - My current internal rant:
My mother always had problems when money was tight. It's a learned behavior that I have acquired. Tight money makes me unhappy. Hard to live with even.

Money. "Money is the root of all evil." "Money is power." "Money changes everything."

18 months ago I had all the money I needed...and then some. It was nothing to drop a few hundred dollars on a weekend. We ate out more than we ate in. Downpayments on cars barely made a dent. Airline tickets were no big deal.
BUT...every penny I earned cost me in trade. I had no life. I was on-call 24/7/365. No holidays. No weekends. Angry customers with 3 a.m. problem phone calls.
Read my first few posts to get an idea of the tragic mindset going on at that time.
Worse yet, regardless of title and status, every job was contract. There was no promise of longevity....ever. A nasty way to live.

So I changed that. I took longevity over money. Now I work regular hours. I don't even own a cellphone. (I'm very Kazinsky about the cellphone thing now.) I accepted less than half my previous income and NO title.
NOW, I have a life. I spend time at home with my significant other. Lots of time. Too much time. Why? BECAUSE I'M BROKE!
Now I'm afraid to spend a dime. We have no spare cash. We don't go out to eat. We won't go to the movies. Trips to see family are few and far between. We have racked up debt like crazy.
I feel that fear welling up too often. That bitter anger my mother had. I fully understand Mom.

See the comment in my profile "never satisfied (or even content)"? I meant that. That's probably the best definition of me that could be put in words.
I need a hobby. I wish I could afford one.

7-30-05 Much Ado About Nothing

Inner Sanctum: (or My Twisted Perspective with Regard to Perspectives)
The question to be answered is: Why Blog? (please feel free to post your own perspectives)

I received an e-mail from my friend. It was very angry. The tone was offensive (or offended, I'm not sure which.) The e-mail requested "Why would anyone want a blog?!!" She then began to describe blogs as stupid, horrible, waste-of-time creations. I merely laughed and replied "I have a blog". Thus ended the conversation.
I do not know the back-story of why she felt blogging to be an insane act, nor did I bother to offer her my url. I know that she lives in a different reality than I. In her reality the internet is not much more than a very current encyclopedia and phone book. Cyberspace does not exist to her.

Blog creation is based on individual perspective. This means that there are a couple of billion reasons to create a blog. Consider this; If 500 people go to the same church service, each of them will hear the same words yet they will each leave with a different interpretation of those words. That interpretation is based on life experience. (i.e. perspective)
No two people have the same life experience. My brother and I can sit and talk about things we did together as children. We were at the same place, at the same time, doing the same thing and yet our stories will be vastly different. Our interpretation of the experience is unique to each of us. Our perspective of the world is different. (His is about 6 inches taller than mine for starts.)

I recall a writing professor in college stating that "All written word is biased". It would have to be. To find evidence of this, read a history book written in Germany and then one written in America. Suddenly history is not the same. We are biased by our life experiences. (Anika was taught that there was a society of humans on the moon. Who wrote that book??)

So, why blog? One man blogs his paintings for sale. A Painting A Day
Another blogs political interests, and another blogs sports interests. People blog to provide information on the home softball team or news or How to be a Muslim in an American society. (I find these very interesting.) Some people blog fantasies. (Fantasy blogs interest me. I often wonder if the pretty college girl writing the "Hustler Magazine" smut (with photos no less) is actually a 50yr old guy sitting at home in his underwear. ICK!) In many ways, cyberspace allows us freedom. Often, too much freedom. There are no obligations in this particular vast universe. There are no rules of social acceptance. Anything goes.

The greater percentage of blogs are just journals. Our lives written out from our perspectives. (there's that word again). My blog is a journal. It's sole purpose is to offer me privacy. This is where reality begins to spin off into sci-fi. Hold on to your seats. I'm about to eradicate all human existence.

For this rambling essay, the word Reality* will refer to the tangible world. Physical, material bodies and objects only. People exist in reality. You exist, your chair exists, your keyboard, monitor etc. All real and tangible. Reality: the place where you wake up, relate to human beings, consume living things, return to sleep. That is reality. It existed long before Cyberspace.

Cyberspace is not reality. There is no chair in Cyberspace. There is no keyboard. There is no human being. No one is running about or shaking hands. None of it is real. Cyberspace is a consistently moving electronic field. It is only slightly more than nothing at all.

My family and friends and husband are not aware of my blog. (as far as I know) This allows me to drivel the thoughts in my head. By that explanation, I have sent information from my head into cyberspace. These thoughts do not exist in Reality. I have not shared them or written them. They are electronic impulses...squared. Synapses of the brain into pixels. Zeros and ones.

Conceivably, the internet could vanish in an instant. (Pause a moment and consider how mortifying that would be.) If the internet went away, or even just the server where my blog is stored, all of these thoughts would be forever lost....as if they never existed at all. Ah, impermanence, one of my favorite concepts.
Anika describes bloggers as "Imaginary Internet Friends". This is the best description I can find so far for my purpose here. THIS is all imaginary.

I blog, therefore I am not.

*A few notes on Reality:
 Edgar Cayce studied and wrote a great deal on the topic of bending spoons and walking through walls. The spoon and the wall do not really exist.
 Uri Geller bent the spoon. Or did he bend his perspective of the spoon? Or did he bend YOUR perspective of the spoon?
 Einstein spent the better part of his life trying to explain that we (Reality - the chair, the spoon, the keyboard, you, the grass) are nothing more than electronic impulses. (The Matrix?)
 The entirety of Buddhist principles are based on the idea that we are, in a way, only one amazingly large mass-hallucination. (Ok, that's over-simplifying, I know.)
 Ruth Shelton felt that we could overcome the existence of the chair by no longer believing that the chair is there. She also felt that we all see a different chair.

I blog, therefore I am not? Maybe none of us are at all anyway.

7-28-05

Relationships - the big ones anyway - do very odd things to people. When you live with someone for a long time you tend to take on similarities. The one that makes me most bonkers is "baby speak". If you have pets or children between you, the people in the house begin to take on a form of communication that includes cartoon voices and "w"s where there should be "r"s and silly things like that.

So, I'm standing alone in my kitchen this morning, sort of talking to myself and I have the sudden reality-fix realization that I am talking out loud, in babyspeak, to NO ONE. I also realize why I'm doing this and I think, "Rats, I'll probably be saying this one dumb phrase, in the same dumb cartoon voice, for the rest of my life."

I have proof of this. There is a phrase from an ex-roommate (15+yrs ago) that I cannot stand...and yet, it still plays in my head from time to time.
Wouldn't it be grand if we could delete certain bits from our brains???!!!
"ooo ungowa, you need a showa"
There. I told you it was stupid. Now it's in your brain too. Muuuahahaha.

(Sidenote....my blog has lost that whole "internal" vibe. I am now playing to an audience. Ah, my self-concious conscience is easily altered, is it not?)

OH - and Deadman, if you're watching, congrats on the baby thing. What's the relation?

7-25-05 An odd place to be...

I am in an odd place. I have a friend, who I adore, and I am seeking compassion for her. It is odd because I am finding it difficult to be compassionate. It is as if I have to work at it.
I have been contemplating the cause of this a great deal lately. Is it me? Have I built the wall so high and thick that I can no longer feel? Is it her? Has she desensitized me to her plight?

They say, when a person is likely to commit suicide, they talk about it a lot. It is a cry for help. This particular cry, although louder these past months, has been going on for years. It is hard for me to discern if this is truth or a need for attention. Either way I am lost. I can play shrink but I am not a shrink. I am not qualified to handle this. Besides, even if I were, I am far too emotionally involved to be objective. And to be quite honest, I don't want the job for fear of failure.

And what if I'm the only one? What if she doesn't say these things to anyone but me?
What if I do not act on this? HOW do I act on this?
It is greater than me...and so I wait. I struggle with myself. I worry and fret and pray and hope and get frustrated and bitter.
Equally, I want to save her and I want out.

I feel as if "out" makes me a bad person.
What to do?

7-23-05 So much to say...so much to say...

And where to begin?
THE GOOD STUFF: 1) The blog is expanding and I have plans for at least two more pages. This has become a true joy as I am working the code on the other pages instead of just adding posts. Colors and shape and soon to be backgrounds. I LOVE creating from code. This fills my analytical and artistic needs all at once.
-There will be a page of "World News" (relevant only from my perspective of the world, twisted as it is) and a page of art. I've been blogging about just to see what's out there and found so many beautiful pages of art. Ahh. Can't wait to get that back.
2) The house is clean. Baby-proof-clean. ;)~
3) I am quite happy and content at the moment. Take note!

THE NOT-SO-GOOD STUFF:
Sometimes something happens that lays one big kick in your rear-end and begs you to get a clue. Consider the clue gotten.
Here is the kick:
A young man, my age, made a lot of bad choices. They weren't entirely his choices, or maybe they were....but I think they were a culmination of twisted perspectives that resulted from a very confusing childhood.
 He lost his father in a tragic car wreck when he was young. Not too young to know what had happened.
 He suffered the abuse of his mother, physical and mental. Likely brought on by her own suffering.
 He escaped to drugs.
 He abused others.
 He redeemed himself and cleaned up his life. He found and kept a good job. He had a strong, intelligent girlfriend. He was no longer addicted. He had been clean for a long time.
 He had a surgery. Minor, but it required pain killers.
 He became addicted.
 He became abusive.
 He faced jail time.
 He lost his job.
Last week he killed himself.

He was loved. He just didn’t see it.
He could have escaped but he feared so deeply that he couldn’t see the door. Fear of the future, of paying the consequences, was far greater than just quitting.

I can see this a bit more clearly because I was not emotionally tied to the young man. He was the cousin and friend of my husband.
My husband will take quite a bit longer to reach closure….if ever.
My dear husband states that he has never considered suicide even once in his life. (and let me tell you, he’s seen rock bottom so that’s a pretty amazing thing.) I am thrilled to have that knowledge but it hurts me to know that my husband might never comprehend what has happened to the person he loved. My husband will blame himself and bear guilt for many many years.

LET’S STEP BACK A MINUTE:
Life is perspective.
Self-pity is annoying.
I have so very very much to be grateful for in my life. So much. How dare I ever waste one moment on self-pity.

THINGS I AM GRATEFUL FOR:
I have a wonderful family. I am aware that I am loved. I never, ever suffered abuse within my family or my home.
My parents have been married 40 yrs. They are the sun in the universe of our extended family of cousins, grandparents, aunts, grandchildren. They have been the greatest role models of our lives. We are eternally blessed.
My sister and brother and their families share the love and commitment we learned from our parents…and we try to pass that on to those around us.
I have a wonderful, kind, compassionate husband. With him I feel safe. There is nothing at all wrong with that.

I could go on with blessings like “I am an American and a Texan. I am intelligent. I am talented. I have a good job. I am surrounded by people I enjoy.” etc. I need not. I am blessed. I am aware. The clue has been gotten.

SIDEBAR

On "My Other Blog" (see above), this is the first quote because it means a great deal to me.
"Before you speak, ask yourself, is it kind, is it necessary, is it true, does it improve on the silence?"
-Sai Baba

I broke that rule. I apologize to all who need apologizing to.
In my defense, I never actually spoke. I only thought. To myself. On the internet.
There's some sort of odd oxymoron in those last few statements.

Post Editing

Ok. That last post was harsh. Downright mean. I even deleted it. Then I got this e-mail from a girlfriend (to follow) and I put the last post back. The e-mail convinced me that I am not alone in my thinking. Here it is:

***Q: How many women with MENOPAUSE (or PMS) does it take to change a light bulb?

A: One! ONLY ONE!!!! And do you know WHY? ?Because no one else in this house knows HOW to change a light bulb! They don't even know that the bulb is BURNED OUT!! They would sit in the dark for THREE DAYS before they figured it out. And, once they figured it out, they wouldn't be able to find the #&%!* light bulbs despite the fact that they've been in the SAME CABINET for the past 17 YEARS! But if they did, by some miracle of God, actually find them, 2 DAYS LATER, the chair they dragged to stand on to change the STUPID light bulb would STILL BE IN THE SAME SPOT!!!!! AND UNDERNEATH IT WOULD BE THE WRAPPER THE FREAKING LIGHT BULBS CAME IN!!! BECAUSE NO ONE EVER CARRIES OUT THE GARBAGE!!!! IT'S A WONDER WE HAVEN'T ALL SUFFOCATED FROM THE PILES OF GARBAGE THAT ARE A FOOT DEEP THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUSE!! IT WOULD TAKE AN ARMY TO CLEAN THIS PLACE! AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON WHO CHANGES THE TOILET PAPER ROLL !! . . .

I'm sorry. What was the question?***

See. We (women) think this is funny because we have all had these exact same thoughts. GAWD I wish men were hormonal instead. It sucks to be a woman. Just sucks.

7-15-05

First: I fully realize that the following rant is entirely irrational.

The sick, inner workings of a hormonal mind:
AAAAAAAARRRRRRGH! I am a housewife! When TF did that happen?!! I don't want to be a housewife! I am sick and freaking tired of never ever catching up on the f*&%ing housework! Dishes, linnens, clothes, carpets, dust, stacks of crap everywhere. THROW IT ALL AWAY.

When I was young and single, I could clean the house - and I mean BABY PROOF CLEAN - in a couple of hours tops. I moved every six months or so, so I threw all the crap away. Stupid, worthless momentos, dead plants, papers etc. But now....now I live with a pack rat. (Don't say you're not. That's pure denial on your part!!!) Now I live with someone who can actually stack s*&t where the laws of physics say s*&t can't be stacked. And WHY don't you see it???? WHY do you not care that you live in this mess?? AAAAaaaaa! It reeks havock on any hope of creative force entering my brain. There is always something to be done. Something to be cleaned.
When I am lying on my deathbed and someone asks "Do you have any regrets?" Oh buddy, am I gonna go off then!!! I regret that I didn't stop the freaking obsessive-compulsive collecting. I regret that I lived in it. I regret that I ever ever wasted my time trying to clean it or to clean around it. I regret that it made me this f(*king nutso. I regret a LOT. YES I DO.

(and the Buddhist Monk says "abolish material possessions". If I only could.

Chit. Time's up. I could have gone on like this for weeks.
Well, one week I suppose. It's probably just PMS.

7-15-05 Astrology or Astronomy?

Ok, I don't buy into this stuff entirely but I was spammed by tarot.com and I like what it said so here it is:
"This week Saturn – the planet that throws personal growth challenges our way – moves from emotional, security-minded Cancer into fiery, self-expressive Leo... quite a dramatic change! The manifestation of your Heart's Desires may have been quietly flowing along the past few years (Saturn moves slowly) but now it's time for creative sparks to fly.
The courageous sign of Leo rules the heart. Saturn makes us tow the line. As these two pair up, you are called to get clear about what it is going to take for you to manifest your deepest desires, whatever they may be. And you will also be offered the confidence to achieve them."

I read it and I thought "Well it's about danged time! Maybe NOW I can get the studio set up." Apparently, my lack of muse was just a planetary alignment problem.

Is planetary alignment astrology or astronomy? Hmmmm.

7-14-05 argh

First, let me say that "back in the day" when all webpages were built in java and html, typed out...longhand...it was insanely easier to find one silly little animated graphic that said something like "updated" in a flashy, fiery, way.
Not so anymore. Deeeep muddy waters to tread for that little trick.
I'll do it when I have time.
I never learned "Front Page" because I learned the longhand. I'm better for it. Really. (You silly kids!!)

Second, I've updated (flash, spin, twinkle) MY SPIRAL NOTEBOOK. New snippets of unfinished poetry. I should attempt to make something of them soon.
It would be nice to finish something this year.

7-12-05 Gershwin

I had the most exquisite experience last night!!! I went to bed early after a very long day at work. I decided to drown out the day with a bit of classical music to fall asleep by. I switched on our local station and found myself quickly drawn into a radio broadcast of Hershey Felder's George Gershwin Alone.
The performance was so moving and the music, overwhelming. "Porgy and Bess", "Summertime", "Where or When", and, of course, "Rhapsody in Blue". The dialog was brilliant and humorous. I was overcome.

I'll be buying a copy (2CD set) for Mom. The entire time I was listening to the show, I was thinking of Mom and thanking her for bringing an appreciation of classical music into our lives. Radio shows; Gershwin, Glenn Miller, Smothers Brothers, Martin and Lewis, Liberace even.....it takes me back in time. I'm so lucky that we shared these things.

Along those lines, I finally got a copy of Song of the South. Finally. So many years of trying. How great is that? I bought one for Mom too. She watched it twice.
I'll add to that the movie she sent to me - The Tango Lesson.
It's a shame that it has taken me so many years to really start appreciating all the blessings of Mom.

Isn't it funny how we forget all the bad stuff? I'm starting to believe I had a wonderful, carefree childhood. Maybe I did. It was a damned sight bettter than most, I'm sure of that. ;)

7-11-05 Strange dreams

Last night was a rough one. Barely any sleep. Tossed, turned, got up and played games til 2:30, tried again, tossed, turned again. Ok. That's the drift.
Here's where it gets strange.

I am now barely an hour from waking. In that strange fog that comes between asleep and awake I dreamt. I dreamt of a man. I knew him...when I was young. 14 or 15 years old maybe. I do not recognize his face in my awake state. I knew him clearly in my sleep.
He was tall. 6ft or more. He was lean, dark haired, dark eyed, chiseled face. He wore a strange suit. Silver-grey with a diamond pattern (that might have been purpleish). Odd.
My sense was that I adored him. He was a friend. I saw him standing, kissing a woman and I felt panicked. "No. Love me. Don't love her."

Awake I am straining my memory for this person. Who was he? I don't recognize him. I clearly recognize the feeling and I can almost associate it with someone....almost but not quite. Who was he??

7-9-05 Cynical

Today's word is: Cynical.
For a week now, I have obsessed about that word. Rik called me out on it. I thought, "I am not cynical? I am the one who finds hope. I am the one who turned an angry mob into a compassionate group with one short post." And then I re-read my own recent post and went "Holy smokes. When did that happen?" OMG. I am cynical. Yick. Somebody get me some soap and a sponge.

I'm over it.

But....lookie at all the changes a year can bring. Let's paruse, shall we?
One year ago I was so involved with her problems that I barely paid attention to my own. Her illnesses. Her daughter. Her needs. Her suicidal phone calls. Her moving. Her divorce. Her pain. Her hopelessness. Her neeeed for therapy. I was her shrink-friend.
One year ago my sister's son was 4 months old and she and Mom were finding their footing in the "who's right, who's wrong" child rearing battle. I was their shrink-sister-daughter.
One year ago my husband lost his job, got very ill, got very depressed. I was his rock. Shrink-wife.
One year ago I lost my job after a loooong, painful, drawn out dread of that impending doom. I had a shrink. He was a freak.

I cracked. Hell, I broke into tiny peices.
Then I stopped.
I stopped being everybody's shrink. I started putting up the infamous "boundaries" (Thank you Dr. Phil. Apparently, I was the one who needed the shrink.)
I did it with a vengance. I not only put up boundaries, I built great big, 6-inch-thick, reinforced steel, impenatrable WALLS!
THEN I dug underground and began what my friend now refers to as "My Hobbitdom". Ahhhh, it is nice down here in the dark. Nice and peaceful. No conflict. No problems. Nothing here but the voices in my head. Suh-weeeet.

Now I live my life in short blurbs, blogs and posts. I communicate with people online. People I will never see. People who will never need ME to be their backbone. I have torn up my shrink-license.
I do not get emotionally attached to my co-workers. I do not meet the eyes or start conversations with strangers in malls or stores. Hell, I don't even leave the house if I don't have to.

I have no patience for the problems of other people. ("I did not cause it. I cannot change it. It is not my problem.")
Is that cynical? Yes. Cynicism has saved me.

Do I like who I am becoming? No.
I feel that I am missing out. I feel un-loved and lonely. How sad is that? I used to hate that I would spend an hour on the phone listening to the whining of others, and when I wanted to whine, they conveniently vanished from earshot. Was THAT my definition of love??? Were their boundaries just better than mine?

Well, I do like my extremes. All or nuttin for me, man!

I think the next step is to figure out what I like about me.
I have got to get busy setting up the studio so I can draw. If I can get that back, I can find my confidence and maybe hang some lights in this hobbit hole. Maybe then I can invite them back in.....on different terms though. No more whining. This is a no-whining zone.

I was a very funny person once. I've lost that humor. I need it back.
The only person who never whined was Dad. Dad and I have a different relationship. I want that relationship with everyone else.
I need to spend more time talking to Dad.

6-4-05

How time flies.
Saturday, June 4th, 2:15pm - no resposibilities. Time on my hands. Turn on some music and type a bit. "My Weekend Music" playlist on the WMP. First song, randomly chosen by the player, is "In My Life" by John Lennon. That'll do just fine. It's right where my brain is. Spot on.

I'm searching. Searching for my muse. A sad thing to have no muse. Sadder not to look for him/her/it. I thought it was Rik, but that has run it's creative course I 'm sad to say. In the interim I am clinging to thoughts. Pulling words and phrases from sentences, songs, commercials, internet. Never bothering to write them down though. I'm painting the walls just to have an excuse to paint....and that desire dried up post-completion as well.
Where are the words? Where are the dreams, fantasies, hopes, interests, attempts... Ah, where is my muse?

Acrophobia came back...and where are my words?? I was brilliant at that game 6 years ago. I can't come up with words that begin with 'R' anymore. I feel like a woman who raises children. I have no more adult words. So little adult conversation. Like I turned something off when I took the "easier" job. Like I flipped a switch to the side that says "Don't have to think logically anymore." I don't analyze except in the minor sense. A little spreadsheet with logic no one else will bother to even acknowledge. Creativity...no, the desire to be creative...has died there. Ah. I was good. I was freaking amazing. Couldn't fail. Impressed everyone. Worked HARD. DEFINED myself by it. But I always knew life was about more. I always knew I was stiffling my dreams.......

Was I wrong? No. I'm just... complacent.

1-30-05

I have waited my whole life for the end of vanity.
I believed there would be a peace to find. A solitude.
I saw my grandparents, beyond their prime.
I have equated their joy and the love we all had for them with life's winter years.
I have believed there would come a time when lust would leave our hearts and greater things would replace it.
I have looked forward to that time.

And then it came.
It came too soon.
It came too suddenly.
Only yesterday I looked in the mirror at a face pretty enough to turn the head of a twenty-five year old boy.
And, although I would not have acted on that attention, I'll admit it was quite flattering.
Ahh...I was twenty-six a breath ago.
I was thirty-seven yesterday.
I am....
...I am broken now.

I walk forward wondering if I will ever turn another head in anything other than morbid curiosity.
I move through the days, head held high and I have not changed. I am me...
...but I hear my own voice screaming those words..."I am me!"...and I fear no one hears.

Vanity.
Vanity is for the young.
I am a hideous person to belive that I am less without that face.
I have been blessed these thirty-seven years.
I have humor and talent and intelligence.
I have unconditional love. (or do I?)
I am lucky.
And yet, that thought creeps through my mind every time I meet someone new...and every time someone I've known forever flinches at my crooked smile.
They say, "You'd hardly notice." and then they mimick this disfigurement without knowing they're even doing it.
Oh, how it cuts through me.
I never knew I was this vain.

I longed for the days.
I longed to be The Woman in Purple.
I longed for the time when I could be fat and wear no makeup and not worry about washing my hair every day.
I longed for a time when people would accept me "as is".
I thought that came with age and I fell in love with the grey hairs I refuse to hide.
Those greys mean that I am moving closer to that time.
That time of peace.
The days without vanity.

But they came too soon.
And they came too suddenly.