couchkitten

2010-11-18T05:50:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I lied about the sleeping in thing. I'm still in that OCD making lists of crap that I either REALLY have to do, or at least my reptilian brain tells me I REALLY need to do it. It's a crap shoot as to whether or not anything REALLY needs to be done at 3:00 AM, but there you have it.

Funny thing. I was reviewing my severance agreement, and they laid off the oldest two employees on the team. Almost makes me wonder. But then I know what we did for a living, and know the logic behind it all. Basically what keeps me from going all conspiracy theory on it is that they made the right decision for the situation. And that does kind of bite a bit.

Meh. I'll get over that though. There's always my URGENT work on my farm. On Facebook. Because that is very important...

Sweet Jebus.

2010-11-17T17:28:00.000-08:00

Yeah it's official.

Out the door. With a gentle nudge, a pat on the head, and some very nice farewell emails from people I have grown very fond of.

So something about tomorrow being the start of the rest of my life....sure.....

I do know I'll be sleeping in.

2010-11-17T01:39:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since I've been up in the middle of the night writing, instead of just rolling over and going back to sleep. But tomorrow looks like it's going to be a big day. I fully expect to have plenty of time in the near future to write a lot. A lot.

I had the pleasure of getting the odd calendar request for earlyish tomorrow morning. With my manager. When I connected the dots a bit, I also discovered that the HR director is in the room. This spells one thing. I am getting laid off tomorrow morning. My spidey senses were tingling all afternoon yesterday, and believe me- if I could deny this, I would.

There are a couple of things that make this a real shitty problem to have. First off, it definitely ends the house buying process. Since it is a short sale with a few more weeks to go before their bank signs off on it, we have time to get the hell out. That appears to be necessary. Sad though. It is such a nice house.

The other really shitty issue is the whole job hunt begins again. For those of you who played along at home the last time around, I know that I'm in a much better place, but it still sucks.

The interesting thing about where I currently work (until tomorrow AM, that is), is that there hasn't been a boatload of opportunity for me to advance anyway. That is the upside of this situation. It offers me a way out and up. They have this system, see. They provide you with a level. That level determines what your pay scale is, and stock awards, and certain other HR relevant things about you. My current level (again, until tomorrow AM), is rather low. Painfully so, actually. It inhibits hiring managers from considering me for positions that I would be quite good at. Because it is too much of a leap in levels for them.

But apparently that won't be an issue for me any more.

Now, because it is almost 2:00 AM, and I consumed the better part of a bottle of wine earlier this evening, I am feeling an odd sense of calm. Not despair. Not even close. It'll be sad as hell to say goodbye to the people with whom I have been working. I really, really like them. That was the part I enjoyed, and what got me out of bed in the morning with regularity. The job itself was rather a drag in the last few months, as it had devolved into a real grind. But the people have been lovely. I hope that at least a few of them remain in my life in some capacity.

I will miss the company itself. I have enjoyed being part of the environment. It's a surprisingly creative place in many ways. Yes there are the frustrations of dealing with a bureaucracy that is more firmly entrenched and larger than most small towns in Montana, but overall I have had so many opportunities to grow that the place provided. I cannot complain about that. I can't complain about the FABULOUS benefits package that I have had for all of these years. Free medical care is something I will miss tremendously. Luckily I am pretty healthy overall.

Sadly I was also supposed to start a new fitness regimen last night, with a personal trainer and everything. Since the company paid for the health club membership, I canceled out of that right quicklike. I'll just have to do with finding the motivation within. Or something.

But overall, it will be different. I have been lying in bed thinking my way through this. I have contacted a few friends who can assist in resume crafting, and who might have leads for me in the short term. I have been mentally listing friends who I can contact after I get the official news, and get further leads.

I have avoided posting anything on Facebook about this, as the main players in this drama are all there. They don't need to know diddly squat about what I have figured out. Let them lose some sleep over this too. I like them, just fine, as I totally understand that this isn't about me personally. But I still want it to be difficult all around. Changing a person's destiny, potentially for the worse should NEVER be easy.

I keep trying to figure out if I'll cry. Not yet. And yes, the wine has worn off. All that is left is a slight tummy ache. And wakefulness. I haven't had one of these kinds of nights in a very long time.

I guess to sum it up, it'll be an adventure, no?

2010-11-08T07:45:00.000-08:00

Truly, I have been trying very hard not to make this a diary of my dissatisfaction. There is always something for me to bitch about. Check the archives, if you don't believe me. I just think it's boring after a while. Imagine being stuck in my OCD-inclined head, and listening to the same crap on lather-rinse-repeat cycle. I just doesn't end, just changes incrementally.

So interesting cycle though. Things HAVE to change for me to be happy. I can't just stay in the same place for an endless time. If I'm not learning something new, I get cranky.

Thus the current job scenario. It is secure. It isn't arduous. I DO make the least of the entire department of 130+ people, with no hope of that changing. Makes me a little tonky on occasion, but I can cope, as it's pretty cushy otherwise. But the boredom is starting to set in, folks. Thus the trouble emerges. I've got irons in the fire aplenty, but haven't followed up on those diligently, since we're in mid-house-purchase. Doesn't seem like the kind of thing a loan officer would really be pleased to deal with. Yeah, changing jobs might make that difficult.

But yes, it's time for a change. It is time.

Day of the Dead

2010-10-31T10:31:00.000-07:00

This last year has been in many ways preoccupied by death. Death in its most tangible form, with the loss of several loved ones, and death in a metaphorical sense in the transformation of areas of our lives beyond recognition.

So traditionally tonight the veil between the worlds is supposed to be very thin, and communication between them can occur with relative ease. I am having a hard time deciding whether or not I would really want to have a conversation with my newly dead. There really isn't much to say to any of them, including the 16 year old cat we lost. Though it would be very nice to snuggle with him again for a while. But then it would be that much harder to say goodbye again. So that's not a great idea. My Grandmother left mentally so long ago that the final goodbye was merely a formality in a sense. I said what I needed to say to her a few weeks before she died, and have no real sense of unfinished business there.

My father-in-law had a more troubling death. I think it would be nice to say goodbye to him properly. I know that my husband would love to have one last conversation with him, as there wasn't any chance at all for them to talk. By the time that he had arrived to the hospital, his dad was in a coma. And they never had the chance to talk. It was fast, horrible, and as ugly a reminder that life is finite as you get. I would dearly love for them to have the chance for one last discussion. But there again, saying goodbye would likely be harder afterward. So it's a mixed blessing of sorts, I suppose.

I rather like the Mexican tradition of going to the grave, setting up a picnic and celebrating the dead where they lie. I think it has a lovely mixture of reverence, irreverence, good food, and pagan sensibilities thrown in. It makes me smile. Unfortunately I come from a place without the temperate weather. Having a picnic at the cemetery where my dead lie would be chilly, likely windy, and not horribly private, as the highway is next to the cemetery. Oh, and the rest of the family might think it was a little strange. Not that me being strange is really such a stretch of their imaginations, but seriously, why give them the ammunition?

So tonight, I think we will toast our lost family members, think happy thoughts about them, and hope that the ghosts of the newly dead don't linger. They belong someplace else, and I wouldn't keep them from more important things.

2010-10-01T19:58:00.001-07:00

Memory is a funny thing. I've been thinking lately about an evening from long ago. I was likely about 10. I might've been younger. Hard to say, really- memory isn't quite that precise.

We lived at the small house on the dirt road, that was later paved with delicious, bike-loving blacktop. It was summer. It was very late, because it was totally dark. That doesn't happen in the summer in Montana until around 11:00 or later. The temperature drops incredibly quickly at night there, most nights. Then you see the stars, smell the damp from the grass, and feel the chill starting. It's quite delicious, really.

That particular night, I was on the front steps. The concrete was still warm from the day, and I was in my pajamas. The light was on, the front door was open, and I could hear the TV through the screen door.

More than anything, I didn't want to come inside. I wanted this night to stretch on forever, only I lacked the language to know this. I saw the stars. I felt the heat of the day beneath me. I saw the water from the sprinkler sparkling in the light of the porch. I also saw the green of the grass, almost black in the darkness all around. It was likely one of the most magical nights of my life.

I keep finding myself on that porch in my mind. I'm much smaller in the memories. I'm much more impressed by the magic of the moment. I'm much more transfixed by the colors of the night and the smells of darkness.

I've been thinking about this night a lot lately for some reason. I suspect that I would love to resurrect that sense of magic and mystery in the night. But with the tethers of safety behind my back, linked to me by the sounds of the TV through the screen door and my parents inside the house.

But then, there really isn't any going back now, is there. I'll just have to soldier on, using this memory as a foundation for new dreams of magic and mystery.

2010-08-09T19:38:00.000-07:00

I haven't spent a lot of time thinking about and dealing with redemption. But I got some this weekend and it was a sweet experience.

Back story: I have a sister with whom I have a very troubled history. She has more challenges to basically deal with life than I will ever imagine. But she is not a very pleasant person. Not even close. It is much like being with a thunder storm. About as peaceful, and the threat of explosion is constant.

This isn't a new situation in her life. It was that way for as long as I can remember. But my coping skills are much better. I had a very hard time with her when I was a teen. It was an ugly, volatile situation, and I have carried a ton of guilt about it since.

The redemption came in the form of a weekend visit. It was good to see her. And to see that she doesn't still push the buttons. And that her attempts to push those buttons hasn't changed. And to know that once upon a time, I didn't have the adult skills to deal with her rage and problems. That helps me forgive my own transgressions.

Better than a crapton of therapy.

And I can still deal with her. Just fine.

2010-08-06T07:30:00.000-07:00

The house thing continues- we have had 2 THE HOUSEs, and neither has worked. The second one had an insufficient well. Sounds very odd for Western Washington, but there you go. Thanks geology. The builder was a total tool about it and tried to bullshit us as to what the yield was, despite the well report that HE supplied. We passed on that one. It was beautiful, though.

Hope remains alive.

The best part of this whole thing is that Kman and I are doing well as a couple throughout. I can see where this process could destroy a marriage. It's bloody hard to define what you want in the first place, and gets more difficult the deeper into the details you go. We definitely have some different parameters, but overall it has been very respectful and supportive. I like that.

I have some rules for this. I'll even share. Because that is how I roll.

1. Don't buy a house to end the fucking ordeal of buying a house. (I have teetered on this one more than once. Just. Don't.)
2. Don't fall in love until the paperwork is signed. (Failed this one on THE house #1, not on THE house #2- that was just a crush)
3. It may be a deal, but it can be someone else's deal.
4. It has to be at minimum 85% ready to go- otherwise it's a fixer-upper. We are NOT in the construction business, so walk quickly away. Nothing to see here, folks.
5. We each get a veto. It may be painful, but it is important.

So we have another batch of about 20 listings to dig through, and I will start vetting the options for Kman, and let him see the best of the bunch. Some day we will have our very own home. But for now, our rental is lovely, in a great area, easy to access, cheap as hell, and ours for the duration.

2010-07-23T07:40:00.000-07:00

There has been so much happening that it's hard to keep it all straight. We are tying up loose ends all over the place. And saying goodbye. This weekend I say a final goodbye to my grandmother. On a mountain. In Montana.

Last week we said goodbye to Kman's home. We moved his mother to Oregon. We emptied his childhood home. Only the ghosts remain. I hope they are content. It was harder than I thought it would be.

We are also in the middle of a house hunt of our own. We found the perfect house. Then there was a bidding war, and we were no longer in the hunt. So now we sit and wait until another perfect house arrives on the scene, and hope for the best.

I am also in the hunt for another job. At the same company. But would love to find something else. Something overall more rewarding. More money too. But that is another topic for another day. I try not to let my bitterness show, but it's there just beneath the surface. I hate that it is this difficult. I can only hope that if and when it happens, it is worth the effort. Otherwise that would really, really suck.

It has been quite the summer so far. That is really about all. Just no time to catch my breath and really reflect on it all. So I keep moving forward and hope for a clean moment of time here and there to figure things out.

Saying goodbye

2010-07-10T12:12:00.000-07:00

We're getting ready to move my Mother-in-law out of the house they lived in for over 30 years. I've had 18 of those years. It is sad. I'm not looking forward to driving away with all of her worldly possessions in the van. It not only means a concrete and irrevocable end to that part of my life and hers, but it also means that things will never revert back to normal. There is a new normal. And we get to deal with that.

It also means that I have aged, and am not who I once was. Recognizing that is generally not traumatic. But when it means walking away from people and places that have significance, there is pain.

2010-06-03T17:35:00.000-07:00

Day 2- still not giving in to the paranoia. It's not fun, mind you. But I'm not as tense. I'm hoping that this "facing my fears" thingy gets a little easier.

If not, I'm in for a really nasty time of it.

Oh, and my legs hurt a bit. Excellent that- means stuff is happening.

2010-06-02T17:14:00.000-07:00

Day 1- address the fear, keep breathing.

So I went for a walk. That might not sound like much, but when you're borderline agoraphobic, and apparently have been since your teens, it is kind of a big deal. Not that I walk in sketchy neighborhoods late at night, either. Very upscale community with a lovely rainforest park. That I have walked through with Kman many times. It's just the alone part. I have never been to a movie in the theater by myself either.

This was a big deal. I hate treadmills. They bore the crap out of me. I like being outside. I just am afraid. Not sure of what, really. It wasn't an issue when I was little. I would ride my bike anywhere and everywhere. I would walk to the school 6 blocks from home and play in the playground. I would walk downtown by myself and visit my mother at work.

Then something happened. Not sure if it can be only one thing. I think it was cumulative. Mainly because there was no traumatic event to attach to this fear. Just...time.

When I was in college, I just got used to driving everywhere. Especially at night. And having someone with me when I went for hikes in the mountains and parks. But I still went skiing alone, and walked to school. It wasn't a big deal.

Then came Tempe. Not long after we moved there a woman was found headless in a canal not far from where we lived. That scared the hell out of me. Angela Brosso. I don't think they ever found her killer.

There was an unsolved murder in my apartment complex.

My friends were very upset that I went to the grocery store alone after dark.

Nothing ever happened.

But the fear grew.

Seattle was fine, I could take the bus around town. I could drive anywhere. But walking in my neighborhood alone was beyond me.

So my fitness has been at the mercy of the ability to go for a walk with Kman. And not my own.

This doesn't please me. I don't like being afraid of things that don't exist. So I figured that I would go for a fucking walk today. And if anything happened, I would have something tangible to fear. Which I would prefer.

I got home just fine. Saw several rabbits. Decided that I don't want to be like them. Fearful and jumpy. I'm too old and too out-of-shape for that.

2010-05-31T19:11:00.000-07:00

Ah memory.

It's memorial day. Appropriate.

Last night was a meltdown. I predicted it. I knew it would happen. If the right triggers were pulled. And I knew exactly what they were. And it happened. No one should be surprised, but someone was.

"Up" was on. That, my friends, was the trigger. I saw the movie when it came out. Loved it. Thought it handled love, loss, regret and aging remarkably well for a big-budget animated movie. Loved the humor. Loved the whole damned thing.

Then we lost my father-in-law before his time. Then we lost my grandmother long after hers, but still a loss. Then we lost our oldest and dearest cat. All within 6 months.

And apparently that is all too fresh for me to face "Up." I rather figured that would be the case, and have avoided it assiduously since it came out on video. But Kman thought it would be fun to watch. Until I broke down at about the 10 minute mark and had to go upstairs, as far from the movie as I could get. I do have a hope. I hope that some day, not too long from now, I can face the movie. And not lose it. And not succumb to what I think is the devastating combination of regret that I imagine the humans we lost dealt with. I don't think the cat would be overly worried. But the Father, yes. Too young. Too many unfinished beginnings. The grandmother, yes. Too lost too soon. Too many unfinished endings. It's just horrible to encounter this many ghosts via the simple act of sitting on the couch and watching a movie. Just horrible.

So there is the Memorial day. Spent remembering, all right. But sadly not spent moving on quite yet. I'm hoping that can happen soon. Ghosts get heavy.

2010-05-23T12:19:00.000-07:00

Again with the patterns. They haunt me. And hunt me.

Right now I am thinking about times when creativity wasn't enough to inspire me to act. Yes, the skills were there. But the incentive wasn't. It just didn't matter enough. And from an objective standpoint (if such a thing is possible), there wasn't really anything that was lost by not acting. So, I didn't make art at some point or other. So I didn't write something. What was really lost? Well, the world lacks some stuff. Is that really so bad? When all I wanted to do was something else? Good question. That's the kind of thing I castigate myself with. It's all a big session of shit or get off the pot. Do I want to write? Well, it doesn't drive me to put words on the page with a focus beyond all else. It is fun. I'll give it that. And I'm pretty good at it. But it's not something that wakes me in the morning with the compelling urge to write. It's just something that fits around other things.

And probably the saddest admission is that there isn't anything else that is all that compelling. Nothing wakes me and fills me with the urge to do whatever-it-is. I find that a relief, in a way, as I have experienced that kind of urge, and don't find it conducive to being content and happy. It just feels like wearing an overly itchy sweater all the time in a very hot room. I don't like that.

So, what to do? What to do? I think the best course of action is to wait this one out. And see what transpires. I have found in the past that flexibility helps. So does the lack of the personal accusatory voice. So does plenty of sleep. So does not drinking too much wine. So does walking away from the computer. So does putting down the tv remote.

It'll happen. Or it won't. I'm not convinced that either will be a tragedy.

2010-05-14T07:40:00.000-07:00

Today is meant to divert and play the role of a palate cleanser. Or to be more specific, this afternoon. Because enough, already.

It's never enough, though. Funny, when I didn't have enough to do, it wasn't enough. And now that I have too much, it's not enough. There seems to be a problem with either my definitions or my aspirations. I am going to personalize the problem, mainly because I don't know how else to tackle it mentally. If it's not me, it's you. And if you're some anonymous internet user, that's pretty presumptuous of me. So I'll own this one, and try and figure it out.

I suspect that it's the balancing act that is thrown off a bit. Lately it's been me on the head of a pin, spinning plates with a blindfold on. Funny how that works. Not very well, and there tends to be some noise involved.

2010-05-11T08:15:00.000-07:00

For the last two weeks I've been immersed in my job. Almost to the exclusion of everything else. It feels a bit odd- like I need to struggle through and find myself again. But the weekend helped. So did an odd exercise that we did at work last week. It was strangely personal, and I brought it home.

We did a values exercise and determined from a stack of cards with words on them what our values are. Mine did NOT include Power, Influence or Accountability. But they did include Knowledge, Reflection and Family. Big shock there. Kman did the cards this weekend and had a totally different outcome. We didn't share any of our words. But the funny thing is that I predicted 3 of his 5 words, and ours were compatible and complimentary to a scary degree. It's cool to come to those kinds of conversations and have them confirm our reality.

Not to feel smug, or anything. But I might've felt a little smug. Then I was just tired. And then I slept.

2010-04-21T20:40:00.000-07:00

I haven't said much about life in general- the lockdown on revealing diddly squat on Facebook has apparently extended to this forum. Likely a safer option. But things have been ... interesting. I still have a job. In fact, more secure than ever. But it is stressful.

In the last month and a half I have:
-put together a series of roundtable events across the country for about 150 participants
-put together a meeting that included our company CEO and CFO (yes, I met them. Yes it is very glamorous).
-put together a team offsite in Chicago for 30 people
-put together another team offsite here for about 40.

Overall, it resembles being a wedding planner. Something that I had absolutely no aspiration towards becoming. And still don't. So the hunt begins. I started today. We'll see where THAT goes.

2010-04-18T18:35:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about influence. And aging. How things that didn't seem to matter at the time can have repercussions decades later. And how things that were perceived in one way look totally different later. This was all in the context of thinking about songs. Songs that meant something to me, and still do.

The first adult song that I remember being important was "Age of Aquarius." Yes, I was under the age of 5. But it still makes me smile to hear that song. I'll explain.

I remember a sunny summer day. It is morning, and the sun is shining. Dad has the top down on the convertible, and we are driving to Grandma and Grandpa's house. I presume I am going to spend the day there. The radio is on. We are at a light, I think that it is the one by the old National Guard armory on Euclid Avenue. That's how I remember it, at least.

The song is playing, and my hair is whirling in the wind, as I slide around the white patent shelf seat in the car. I am singing along to the radio at the top of my lungs. I only know the chorus, but I remember the feeling. I remember the day. It has been decades, and that day still matters. Later life would take some of the wind out of me, and I have never recaptured the ability to sing in public with quite that freedom, but I remember that day.

I still don't know the words to the song besides the chorus, and sure as hell can't hit the high notes, but it is the song of the 1960's for me.

2010-04-15T08:01:00.000-07:00

I've been re-reading books that I loved when I was very young. I am looking for where my writing sensibilities came from. So far there have been some dreadful books that I couldn't finish. There have been a couple that were fun. Overall, though- apparently I naturally gravitated towards feminist writers. Who'da thunk.

On that theme- I'm growing increasingly irritated by the folgers coffee commercial with the woman who runs into her father and they discuss her proposal. It annoys the hell out of me that the boyfriend already talked with the father in that archaic permission thing. I would break up with a man who spoke with my father before asking me to marry him. I am not and never have been my father's property to give away. I cannot express how much I hate, hate, hate that whole idea. Well, I can express it. I just did.

2010-04-10T09:30:00.001-07:00

So let's get this straight. Traditionally subverting healthy sexual appetites and functions, with the expectation that God will make that ok- check. Throwing the men with the allegedly suppressed appetites into positions of absolute authority- check. Ignoring signs of problems and covering up molestation when it happens- check. Incriminating records indicating that the corruption spreads to the highest authorities in the church- check.

So where in the FUCK is the proof that the church keeps whining about that this is some kind of fraudulent attempt to besmirch a blameless Catholic church? Right. Nice try, boys. I don't think anyone outside of zealotdom buys it though. So shove those shiny PR happy commercials that you are blasting the airwaves with "inviting" me to revisit my lapsed faith up your sanctimonious, lying asses. Fuckers.

2010-02-21T19:22:00.000-08:00

I dream of shelves with jars.
In the jars are drifting glittery pieces of me.
They catch the light like dust motes.
They sparkle.

The jars stretch on and on,
well past what I can see from where I stand.
They glow and shimmer and change.

When I look at my body,
I see where the pieces came from.
Where there would be my own skin,
is a carapace of darkness, with some glimmer.
It's a hard shell of dark.
Housing a core of light.

Yes, there are some regrets.

2010-02-11T03:03:00.000-08:00

So am trying something new for this insomnia thing. Just got up. Instead of struggling against the weight of all of the crap spinning around in my head. Just milling there. Like one big clusterfuck of a Russian grocery store circa 1975- when all of the broad-shouldered grandmothers would mill around waiting for the cigarettes and toilet paper to go on sale. Shoving and angry. That is my brain. Imagine if you will. Just the smell alone is deafening.

So the thoughts. They carry me along. Career stuff. Life stuff. The lyrics to songs that I thought I had forgotten. Sadly, I did not forget them. They are still stuffed up there, waiting for a weak moment to emerge and torment me. Yes, Genesis, I remember you well.

Also visiting me are the twin glories of fear and doubt. Love you guys, wish you would come by more often! It's great to entertain old friends in your head. Not crazy-making at all.

It's enough to inspire a colossal drinking round. But enough of that. It's 3:00 AM. Sooner or later, the sun has to rise on all of this, right?

2010-02-10T07:57:00.000-08:00

I've been spending plenty of time thinking lately. Because that apparently is what I do. Mull crap over. Cogitate until it's dead and rotting. Zombie philosophy. Or something like that.

I haven't been overly fond of a trend I am noticing. It's something about uncompromising. I see it internally, and I see it displayed all over my work and around me. Hearing, "that's just unacceptable" just inspires me to a cold rage. Because that is one of the main symptoms. Yes, darling, it is acceptable. Because we don't always get what we want. And bad things happen. And people can be shits. And people can be nasty and difficult. And most of all, people can fuck thing up royally. And guess what! You have no choice but to accept it. You don't have to like it, but it is part of life. And biting that little tirade back on a daily basis has become my biggest struggle.

Because it all boils down to the idea that every mistake is to be taken personally, and that you are that bloody important. Somehow, somewhere, someone decided to fuck you the hell over. Well, reality check. It ain't about you, sunshine.

Now I feel a little better.

2010-01-30T20:17:00.000-08:00

-sometimes I miss the feeling of a porcelain bowl forming under my hands. Mostly not. The act of creation almost destroyed me, and I don't trust it.

-I still wish that I knew how to blow glass. But I lack the motivation to invest time in that. I have enough excuses in my life and unfinished projects.

-There are days I ache with wanting so much. I don't even fully understand what exactly it is that I want. But it hurts. Like a bone-deep bruise. And it floors me.

-I often put myself to sleep with stories that I tell myself. Sometimes I star in them, sometimes not. And I always convince myself that they are only meaningful to myself, and I won't share them. I get to keep these ones.

-when I re-read my dream journals from 10 years ago, I can still visualize the dreams themselves. I'm not sure if it's comforting or alarming to revisit these dreams.

-I am fearless when I cook. My mother raised me to play in the kitchen with food. My father is an excellent cook. It rubbed off, and I am very lucky.

-I can't be a pot head. It would be lovely, but all I ever want to do while stoned is eat salty foods, be alone and listen to Led Zeppelin. That is hardly related to productivity. I hate feeling like a 14 year old boy, and being that lazy.

-I have always wanted to travel, but am so very afraid of disappointment that I refuse to do it. It would be supremely heartbreaking if the destinations of my dreams weren't what I have fantasized about for years. And since this is inevitable, I stay home. And pine.

-the smell of violets reminds me of being a child. I had a doll with hair that smelled like violets. She was my favorite. Until her little head popped off.

-I used to cut pictures out of books and magazines in order to collect them. I added them to my paper doll collection, and fashioned elaborate and intricate stories about them. I regret the books, though. And wish that I had kept the dolls.

-I am grateful and honestly pleased not to be a mother. I have never desired motherhood. I have never been comfortable thinking of myself like that. I never imagined myself with children of my own. Never. I am grateful that I live in a time that allows me that choice. I needed it. I would've made a horrible, resentful and selfish mother. I am a fabulous aunt.

-I love to drive. I have always loved to drive. I wanted my license more than anything else. I wanted the freedom. I wanted the ability to go wherever I wanted without telling anyone. I loved having my own life, independent of my parents, and belonging only to me. The only restriction was gas money.

-intense privacy is one of my foundations. I don't share some things with anyone. I keep them. I dole out information on a strictly need-to-know basis for the most part. I don't trust that what I have inside will readily translate. The people I share most of my days with would not understand. I have let enough out of the bag to know this for certain. It's just not worth it.

2010-01-21T09:47:00.000-08:00

The downside? Feeling inauthentic. That is hard. Harder than I would've expected. But with authenticity comes responsibility. That is another kettle o' fish entirely. Not sure if I'm up to that one. Not that I think it's important to be some kind of zen master or the like. But still- it's harder to compromise your ideals and personal institutions if you are being all adult-like and authentic. It's also harder to convince yourself that it really doesn't matter, and that none of it touches you. Because once you make that stance permanent, there you go.

So I guess this points to a general lack of commitment. Oh, my. Shying away from decisions. Oh, my. These are the words of nightmares. Indeed.

2010-01-20T07:59:00.000-08:00

So taking the persona idea a bit further- there is the stress it induces. It's really part of life in general- there's always the strain of meeting expectations. Of being who you think that others expect you to be. That isn't new. It's just keeping it all straight that can be a little confusing. In my case, it slips sometimes. And then people give me 'the look'. It's usually amusement plus a bit of shock. They didn't expect what came out of my mouth. And I am generally a bit nonplussed. Because the control slipped. And that's not the most comfortable thing in the world. Small wonder I don't drink around my co-workers.

But it's more than that. It's the feeling of being the odd man out in a deeper sense. Like there is a subplot that I am totally missing. But then I realize how many of the people around me aren't all that deep. So the subplot isn't anything deep- it's more of an appearances thing. And yes, I am missing that. And that's just fine. I don't think it'll inflict lasting damage on my soul. Just a bit of discomfort. Which is also fine. Discomfort makes me explore things, and learn.

But I tell you what. I am not interested in several of my old personas. They have been retired for good. And that is a large comfort. The goal ultimately is to feel like I belong in my own skin. And that I like it there just fine. It's a work in progress.

2010-01-18T07:46:00.000-08:00

I know that I've discussed personas before. It just keeps coming up. What is required and expected and from whom. It's complicated.

Work demands a certain me- usually good humored, and professional. Never the grumpy me. Never the bitter me. And certainly keeping the sense of humor well in check. They just wouldn't get it.

I should qualify that a bit. Work in this case = people in my immediate circle. There are others at work who know me differently, including the sense of humor fully intact. It's a big place. There are many circles.

Home demands something different and more authentic. Sometimes it is a strain to dump the work persona and be the person who is expected at home. Ditto with the friends and family in general. It is like unwrapping a package. Many layers of that clear tape with the fiberglass fibers in it. Not easy to cut through, and impossible to tear.

So in the morning, much like today, I gird myself with the armor, and get ready for the psychic wars that are work-related. That is overly dramatic- most of those occur at a level that I am oblivious of, by design. I have developed a thick skin when it comes to the kind of crap that develops at work- if it's not overt, I ignore it. I might know it's there, but I choose to ignore it until someone is open about it. Works fine for me so far.

And now I must go put on my professional face and face the madness.

2010-01-17T10:51:00.001-08:00

I have been reminded today that I have apparently forgotten my blog out here. It's kind of funny really- not in a particularly ha ha way- that these words are just hanging out here, incomplete and just abandoned.

So there it is. I have been feeling very beaten down of late- it has been a long, cold, and difficult winter hereabouts. We have dealt with a heavy burden. Together, luckily, and I will always be thankful for that. But it has seen death of two family members, a very sick big kitty, a nasty head cold or two, job travails that continue to annoy, two trips to Montana, distractions provided by an overloaded basement full of boxes, and plenty of other day to day things.

But I am nothing if not a Fire Horse (according to Chinese Astrology). Fire horse girls were traditionally exposed at birth, as they were trouble. That sounds accurate enough. But also, there is a bit of the fire burning in the belly that I can't attribute to whatever I have eaten. And therefore, I won't let it all get me to that place of utter despair. So I keep moving. Just keep moving.

Part of that process has been a total re-evaluation of a lot of things. I took about 8 boxes of old stuff to the goodwill yesterday as part of this process. I donated a bunch of art supplies to the high school in my Mother's small hometown as part of this process. It's important to me to examine all of this and decide what I want to carry forward in my life, and what it's acceptable to leave behind.

While liberating, the aforementioned process is difficult. I am trying to be relatively gentle about it, but there are regrets. Mostly regrets for past behaviors and the ability to just carry around a bunch of shit I don't either need or want. And the thought that it was all very important to me once upon a time. This leads me to believe that the things that are currently very important to me will likely face a similar fate some day. That is a hard-earned but good piece of perspective.

On other fronts, I have been trying to heal my sad and heart-sick husband through cooking. I am an excellent cook. Just let it get out of habit for a while. I learned how to roast a chicken. Then I learned how to use that chicken for chicken soup- I made up a recipe that is now demanded with some frequency. So I suppose that is a hit. Then I made up a chicken enchilada recipe that is also in high demand. It'll get made tonight. The effort has made him a bit happier, and we understand what he needs a bit better.

So in summation, it has been a season of growth, despite all of the blows. I would rather not have had these learning "opportunities", mainly because they have come at a tremendous cost. But there isn't a box for me to check that will allow for a do over. It's done. Pactum Factum.

2009-11-18T08:13:00.000-08:00

Playing a waiting game- don't know if I need to hit the road and attend a death watch. Am seriously hoping that it's a no. I haven't done one of those since I was a child, and that wasn't the same kind of thing. I wasn't there for the bitter end. Just close. And I knew. I've never forgotten. I likely never will, without some kind of brain trauma.

So waiting. And waiting. And hoping that it won't come to that.

In the meantime, just marking time. Wish that the concentration levels were more adapted to creating stuff- writing, other projects that are sitting on the dining table waiting for me, anything really. But no, too many nerves. Too much agitation. So it's drinking a glass (or 2- not more) sitting in front of the tv, and vegitating to HGTV. For some reason renovation shows are soothing. Not that I'm a homeowner to indulge. But it shows other people's lives, not my own. And it's creative. And I can disagree with their choices on occasion without feeling mean.

And that's pretty much a summation of my glamorous life. Waiting.

2009-11-13T06:46:00.000-08:00

Oh, it gets better. Just when I had resigned myself to the normal course of affairs, it all changed again. Well, some of it changed. Not all. I am exaggerating.

I have a new boss. They shifted me over. Which is a shame, really, as I like my current boss an awful lot. But there you go. The new one is great too- I know her. But it'll be different. And there is apparently no significant stability in my work life for me to count on. But I am planning on leaving anyway, this just kind of confirms that I am doing the right thing.

It'll be a great job for the next person.

2009-11-12T07:49:00.000-08:00

Had a conversation last night with a couple of old friends. It was one of those amazing conversations that wove through and around all of us, with different emphases and ideas. I haven't had one of those for a very long time. I seem to have forgotten how very smart my friends are. Mainly because I haven't spent enough time with any of them lately. Just hibernating and recovering from the attack of the pig-that-tried-to-kill-me. But there is a new sheriff in town, so to speak. When fun is offered, I will now take it. Because the alternative wasn't doing much for me, to be honest.

And we discussed Joseph Campbell, Project Management, Japanese religion, work, babies, cars, beer, and things that don't immediately come to mind. And I LIKED it.

2009-11-11T07:33:00.000-08:00

This is not the voice I wanted to have here. I didn't intend it to go this direction. I wanted it to be something different entirely. But then things changed. And it was a natural progression. But that is more of an excuse for something that might qualify as laziness on one of my bad days. But it is also an indicator that something was lost. The words just don't come easily any more. Not to despair, but just to make the statement. Too much second guessing and too many political debates. Internalized. And criticized.

Enough already. Nobody should think I am miserable. Because that is not the point. But overwhelming happiness? Forget about it.

2009-11-07T17:10:00.000-08:00

OK, so there have been distractions. We have a cat with cancer. Cancerkitty is doing well. Surprisingly well, given that he is old and has the dia-betus. But he is responding to the chemo like a trooper, and has lost his icky head bump an no longer smells like feet.

I am working on getting another job. Within the company. But hitting my network hard. And it is yielding pretty good results so far. But it's early stages. Finally had the moment of truth talk with my new manager. Found out that despite the fact that my current job has expanded from one manager to coverage for four of them (yes, 4. Not one, not two, and not three. But 4.) that there is absolutely, positively no hope of a promotion or raise. None. Full stop. That was good information to have. Gave me something to think about, certainly. Ok, I'll admit. I pouted for the first day. But then it was a good galvanizing force. Made me decide with certainty that I need to change career paths. And that is a good thing.

I am now working on the technical writing path. It's going to be a stretch to get there, but that is plan A. Plan B is the project management path. I am going to work my ass off to investigate both, and decide on the best fit and the most easily obtainable at this moment. Because I am not given the luxury of sitting around and discussing theoreticals any more. I gotta move. And sooner rather than later. Because what I am doing is fine, for a short duration. But over the long run, I will simply combust. And that would leave an icky mess.

2009-10-22T07:32:00.001-07:00

Wow. So this is still out there.....and I have said nothing for sooooo long.
Blame the Swine. And the job. And the economy. And if you listen to my father, Vista.
I'll try and get back here in a couple of days for some real content. Because this is merely a
ring and run.

2009-09-19T11:03:00.000-07:00

Been seriously incommunicado lately. Just trying to get things done. Still unsure what the work situation will wind up amounting to- but have been assured that I WILL have a job. That is good news. Just have to keep breathing and not worry about it. Yeah. That works. So does wine. Copious amounts of wine. But haven't resorted to that yet. Nice to know that it's an option, though.

Finally started sleeping again- after a week of fits and starts. Woke from an amazing dream (don't worry, I won't share- BORING!), and am getting rolling very slowly. Kind of like that- dreamy edgeless morning sans sunshine, but with plenty of rose-scented tea. From a golden mug that I purchased last time I was home. Reminds me of my mother's house in the sunshine. No, I am not a romantic at all.

But back to the creativity aspect of my life- it is time for some deep dive writing. It has been another lengthy hiatus, and I hate those. Getting momentum and then having life intervene sucks. I have hope though. It is starting to really look good, and the bones are firm. So that is a plenty good way to get started. Seems others are in the same mode- hunkering down and getting things done.

And that's all there is news wise that I don't post on FB- no need for the co-workers and casual friends to know about all my inner shite- that is for here. Where I hide.

2009-08-27T09:27:00.000-07:00

Still in professional revamp mode. It....just....keeps...dragging....on. As more people weigh in on the whole thing. Not a bad thing, really, but getting tired of having my future decided by committee. Nothing I can do though. The good thing is that I have an excellent advocate in my corner with the authority to say no.

It's all pretty exhausting and stressful- apologize for whining, just explaining why I haven't been very good about communicating lately. I come home and collapse, and just veg in front of the tv, or computer. And try my best not to obsess about it all and try to talk about something else with Kman- just to keep him from dying of boredom.

Another week or so, and things will be firmed up. Maybe. Or they won't.

2009-08-23T09:37:00.000-07:00

Taking a moment to just breathe.

And stop making compulsive lists. Lists of lists. Lists of tasks. Lists of things. All of which added together, show just how I handle stress. By breaking it all down into small, tangible things. Making less of it than the whole. And driving myself to distraction to get it all done.

At risk is the big picture. It's hard to see right now, because I just haven't gotten everything digested properly yet. So, that is what today is for. To think. Perchance to figure some more things out.

But first, a word with the lungs. Just to breathe. And to collect myself before plunging in again.

On a practical side, I spent the last week subbing for someone else, and working directly with my boss's new boss. It was good, but stressful. Add in the complete audit of what I do for a living, and the accompanying philosophical discussions with basically EVERYONE, and you have a recipe for mayhem. And then there was the rest of the team- the ones who are in the field, and have no actual way of knowing how things are at corporate. They needed reassurance that nothing in their world was going to drastically change. Who are they gonna call? That's right. Me. So I get to be the voice of reason. When inside, there isn't much reason pouring forth. Just controlled mayhem.

Small wonder I didn't get a migraine from it all. I tried yesterday, but didn't succeed- hit it too soon with the wonder combo of caffeine and prescription medication. Gotta love that.

The sad thing is that I haven't been writing much. Did a burst of work immediately following the vacation, but not much since. It wears on me. I want to see how my story ends. I want to know who wins. No such luck= unless I find something in me today that isn't immediately apparent and can buckle down and focus. But right now, it's all spinning in different concentric circles. Appears pointless from the outside, but inside is going someplace.

2009-08-18T07:26:00.000-07:00

"meet the new boss- same as the old boss..."

Um not really. Yesterday my boss quit the company. He had been there for 14 years, and was being primed for a big shift upward. He is moving his family to Africa, where they will work with a group of their friends on a business incubation foundation in Rwanda. I can't criticize that- it is a lofty goal.

I however, have a lot to think about. There are a lot of unanswered questions. But the good news, and why I am not panicking and looking for a job is that they have lined up a bunch of supporters (including a VP) who are working on recasting my job and keeping me on the team. I can only feel flattered by their efforts- it really does mean something when it would be easier to just get rid of me. I get to meet with my new manager (who I have known forever, not who I would've chosen necessarily, but a good surprise choice nevertheless), today and we will begin this thing.

Interesting times, no?

2009-08-15T11:23:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about obsession. Something I am familiar with, unfortunately for the most part. Not the most constructive kind of obsession, usually- the kind that spurs creativity and drive and determination. Mostly the kind I am thinking of, and usually experience operates around the idea of having something. Collecting something. Or just something. Over and over. Patterns actually. Drowning out everything else in my head, and just repeating over and over and over. Keeping me from sleep. Keeping me from a lot of things, actually.

Usually the obsession is finite- not eternal. It goes away after a while. I attribute this to boredom, and an obsession with novelty (did you see what I did there?). But it keeps on. And keeps up. Luckily the obsessions haven't been unnecessarily destructive. Just time-consuming. And money-consuming. Some of them bring me joy, like plants. Some bring me sorrow, like some memories. But over and over. We go round and about.

To change my metaphor, it is like those old-school Bozo the clown toys. Inflate and punch. Then they bounce back to be punched again. I had one when I was about 3. I loved it, even though it scared me. Then it got punctured, and became a smelly latex bag with sand in the bottom. One of life's first little disappointments. To be continued, certainly. But obsession. Like that. Over and over and around and about. A labyrinth in my head. That I keep treading. And hoping for a different outcome most of the time. Hopeless, likely. But I continue on, because I really don't know how to stop. And am afraid of what would replace the obsessions I know if they weren't there. It might be a very bad thing.

2009-08-11T07:40:00.000-07:00

Ok, we are back- and slogging through it all. Yesterday I had the first real bump at my job- came home hating it. This hasn't happened in over 2 years. Positive spin= I should be so lucky. Negative spin= time to think about what comes next. Both I can deal with. Neither are horribly fun, though. Especially since I feel like my boss totally threw me under the bus, so to speak. But there you have it. My natural inclination to charge ahead was really a large part of the problem- I have never understood the "fools rush in where angels fear to tread" dictum. Seemed excessively cautious. Now I have an inkling as to why it might be more appropriate sometimes.

Not that I want to deal with it today. Or anything work-related really.

2009-08-01T07:30:00.000-07:00

Am embarking on a trip. Vacation season. This time it's different. Not just Kman and me- this time we travel in a pack. That will be unusual, but I'm game. Mainly because we will be on a large boat. Traveling to the vast north. Then seeing many things. Not going to announce this outside of this space- we'll share pics there afterwards. Just so you understand, this time the silence, it isn't heat related or personal. It is distance and lack of access.

2009-07-29T07:33:00.001-07:00

It's fuck all hot here. We are not sleeping well. Crankiness is profound and wide-spread. No reported deaths yet. That is the good news. My boss lived in Paris during their tens of thousands of roasted-alive dead people heat wave last decade. It sounds grim as hell. Hope we don't get anything like that. Kind of doubt it, since the medicos don't take the months of July/August as a national holiday.

Cranky pants needs to go get ready for work, where it is cool.

2009-07-27T07:18:00.000-07:00

Apologies in advance. I am going to discuss the weather. One of my least favorite conversational topics, by the by. I absolutely loathe small talk. I think it diminishes people and makes real communication impossible. Mainly because it passes as communication, when all it is is a bunch of coded words meaning basically nothing establishing a context.

So it's bloody hot here. Not something we are used to. So not sleeping horribly well- I hate sleeping with a fan. It keeps me awake with the noise. I have never been able to sleep with music in the room. It keeps me awake following the songs. With the sole exception of Sigur Ros. I suspect that is Icelandic magic at work, but can't follow that up with a scientific study.

I have also determined with certainty that I could be broken quite easily with sleep deprivation as the instrument of torture. Scarily easy. So I start the week feeling a tad....volatile. They are lucky. So very lucky.

2009-07-16T08:58:00.000-07:00

My mother did something unusual when I saw her in May. She assigned me some reading. She told me I wasn't likely going to like it. But she wanted me to try. It's that book, "The Shack." And she was right. I am not liking it. Kind of a slog. But not for the reasons she might think.

My issue with the book is more about style and writing ability than content. I am not all that put off by the Christian message. I can read that stuff all day and not be put off. I just don't necessarily agree. It doesn't bother me- I took enough comparative lit and religion classes in college to read without taking it all to heart.

What bothers me is the hamfisted abilities of the author. The man cannot make a point without smacking the reader in the face with it. No subtlety and no style. That is offensive in my eyes. I demand more from my religious texts! Seriously- I enjoyed C. S. Lewis's theories- mainly because he was such a master of the language. Ditto St. Augustine. And yes, I know that Augustine is a translation. But the language sings. That to me is important.

And I am likely to disappoint my mother. Mainly because I think it's nice that she believes this stuff, and am truly happy for her, but am not enjoying the book. I think she imagined a debate over the theology, or at least a discussion. But what I can offer up is a criticism of the man's lame-assed efforts to tell his tale. And the struggle to read it. Or I can just thank her, and not be an ass about it. She IS my mother, after all!

2009-07-15T08:58:00.000-07:00

Was thinking about the concept of truth. Mainly in regards to the current Supreme Court nominee hearings. And how the truth can change - abruptly and completely- depending on context and history. Was thinking about truths that I have told that I either later contradicted through actions, or that later information rendered into lies. I was thinking about how those times tend to weigh heavily on my, despite their often not being within my control.

And there is the key item in the equation. Control. Some in my world think I am overly-enamored of the concept. Some think that it's a problem. I am not sure. On some days I see their point. And concede. But other days, it seems the only thing between me and chaos is to stamp my foot, and wrest control over the situation before it gets any worse. That might lead to hard feelings, but it feels like the right thing to do. And later, see above about the changing circumstances and cause and effect.

Another issue about control- it seems to come into play when trust is an issue. And I suspect with me, trust is generally an issue. Let's call it politics in play, shall we? Mainly I don't generally take people at face value. Nor do I usually trust that their interests an mine dovetail completely. That doesn't mean that we can't all be happy- it simply means that I am likely unaware of the full spectrum of their interests and agendas. So it's best to remain cautious and not assume that they are going to do me a good turn. It might happen like that, but if not, I should be prepared.

So it works at the job. It doesn't always work at life. And if I were to be completely honest for this moment, basically the only time I can guarantee that it is complete honesty, as conditions can change rapidly- see above- it would likely be much easier and happier to just trust everyone, and hope it will all come out fine in the end. I just don't have that kind of energy. Not today, anyway. Check back later.

2009-07-13T09:41:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking for days of how to tell this story. It's hard, you see, since I am not objective in the least. I have a judgment, oh yes. And it keeps playing itself out. The morale of the story, up front, is that there is no resolution. Things last forever, or at least longer than mortality. They just keep coming up. Presenting themselves, and smacking you in the face. Not delicately put.

So, there was a lady who bolted. Nancy Mitford wrote all about bolters. The nice thing about Nancy's bolters, is that not only were they veddy, veddy English, but they tended to bolt before serious complications set in. This lady didn't bolt before that. She produced an abundance of complications. Three to be exact. She bolted, and effectively abandoned three young children. Never saw them again. Ever.

So years and years go by. She has a new family. New child. She hides the existence of the previous family from him. She keeps him ignorant despite protestations from the rest of the family. The grandparents hold on to the other three until they are dropped. Then there is nothing. Vast silence.

She dies. She dies in a rather horrible way. But she dies. And the hunt is on for the abandoned. Because in the opinion of the family, they deserve to know. The NEED to know. I am not sure if I agree about the necessity. I think it is more of a Pandora's box than that. But there you have it. When family elders decide, that dictates things.

The abandoned are found. And they aren't exactly enthusiastic about the online reunion. But they listen, hear the news and then revert to silence.

So then plans are afoot for a visit to the abandoned homeland. And contact is made. And contact is rather severely rebuffed. And hurt feelings result. And I can't help but think, well, it's to be expected. Because 40 years of being abandoned has to have a lasting effect. And the temptation of scoring points off of the dead, even inappropriately is likely too irresistable.

Besides, it's easier to tell a total stranger to go to hell than it is to the ghost of a mother who you carry around inside. She will always be with the abandoned, whether they like it or not. She is there.

2009-07-08T07:37:00.000-07:00

And now a word from the salt mines: Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.

Mine didn't change. But the boss's boss did. Suddenly and without warning.

Strange goings on afoot.

But best to blunder on, ignoring omens and portents that could be imagination run amok.

Because that is how to get things done, or so I'm told.

2009-07-06T07:50:00.000-07:00

Note to self- when it is breezy and you are going to bed, take down the windchimes, idiot.

Guess who is cranky because she didn't sleep for shit?

That's right. Me.

All I can say is, fuckity fuck fuck. This oughta be a real laugh riot.

Man.

2009-07-05T09:53:00.000-07:00

I think we have revived an old tradition. The night drive.

When we lived in the horrid Valley of the Sun, we would drive at night all over said valley. It was too fucking hot to sleep, and we lacked air conditioning in our apartment. We had it in the car.

We discovered wondrous things. We found out that at night in the outskirts of the suburbs, the orange orchards smelled of orange blossoms in the late spring. We discovered that there is a church in the north part of the city that looks like a beached UFO at night. We discovered that there are an amazing array of hookers on Van Buren at night, and you'd best lock your doors. We discovered that the Papago Park freeway is an oasis of cool and green in the middle of the summer night. We discovered that you can drive through thunderstorms and enjoy the lightening display and flash flooding. Those are things we loved.

Last night, we were agitated and not willing to sleep. We were bored, and not willing to watch fireworks on TV, despite the invitation to do so, very kind. So we drove. As Kman put it, we circumnavigated. We saw a man tailgaiting us to the point of absurdity. We saw an adorable modified Honda Civic with a right-hand drive. We saw fireworks on the water of Lake Washington as we drove by. We saw the city from the 99, which we love. And will lose eventually. We saw fireworks right by the road when we approached Lake Union. We smelled the night air, damp and full of gunpowder. We saw trees shadowy against the night sky.

We returned home ready to settle in. Full of a strange sense of accomplishment. It was still warm, for here, but not opressive. The neighborhood was still in full swing, and the sky sounded like it was farting, and the cats were hiding, but we were home.

I cracked a bottle of champaigne- the one that we didn't drink on election night, as two bottles would've been regrettable, and we sipped a bit in celebration of our epic drive. I hope we do more of those.

On horror movies

2009-07-04T11:14:00.000-07:00

There is an advert for the latest and greatest horror movie that currently has heavy rotation. I just cannot watch the thing. Kman thinks this is funny. He thinks the movie looks silly. It points out the difference between what we find horrifying.

Kman gets spooked by movies heavy on psychological horror. It gets under his skin. I don't have a real problem with these ones- I just pull apart the logic trail, the plot devices and the general story to the point where it is an intellectual exercise, rather than something scary. I enjoy seeing what the authors were trying to do. If successful, so much the better.

I get freaked the fuck out by slasher pics. I have such a low threshold for violent imagery. I even get screaming nightmares from video games- just from observing someone else play. Resident Evil was a real revelation for me. The first one. Back in the mid 90s. So I just have a difficult time pulling myself out of the visuals. Any more I am careful of what I see in the theaters. Because of this. I hate being stuck in a movie that makes my skin crawl. It's unbearable.

Some artists have this effect- but I don't mind because I can take my time to visually digest their art. It's not overwhelming in quite the same way. Francis Bacon, Joel-Peter Witkin, Egon Schiele, Kathe Kollwitz, Matthias Grunewald and even El Greco in person (when size really does matter) fall into the category of artists whose work haunts me. I suspect that in large part this is because they don't and didn't produce pretty art. They produced art from the gut, and didn't hesistate to show ugly reality and nightmares. I could probably go off in a discussion of artistic intent and differences and similarities of artistic content and style, but nah...

Just don't expect me to hit the theaters any time for one of those movies. Ain't gonna happen.

2009-07-03T09:21:00.000-07:00

Was particularly adept at that childhood cruelty known as ingratitude. Just didn't understand the effort involved. Just took it all for granted. Sincerely hopes that those involved understood on their end. Children are mean little wretches. To others mainly. Amongst themselves, most assuredly.

Some of those involved are gone, however. This makes amends impossible. So there is only the hope that it doesn't matter. It doesn't to them, obviously. But it does to me. It's sometimes more comforting and convenient to carry guilt around. Because the devil you know is preferable to the devil you don't know any day. Any time.

That's the questionable nature of continuing on. Carrying the baggage. Which accumulates. While lacking the sublime discipline to cull unnecessary things. Just the facts, M'am. Chucking the baggage up the hills, and even worse on the knees, down the valleys. In the rain. Both ways. All the while lacking the glory of the Sir Edmunds to keep focused.

Only the wine and the song to provide respite. As Mama famously said, "I love wine." And then we sang.

2009-06-28T10:22:00.001-07:00

Apparently it is open season. Kman and I joke about 4 horsemen showing up in acid-washed jean jackets and assless chaps (a redundancy there), and calling themselves Apocalypss. They would bear guitars, and hammer out Poison guitar solos. No one got the memo that the '80s are over. So they are all pissed the hell off at Pestilenz. He was responsible for the outfits.

And it's open season. While their guitars gently weep, celebs are dropping like flies. We should've known when Mr. Kungfu died. That was a sure sign. Next up, well, not my job to predict. Don't want a reputation as a crow. Or something worse. Accuracy doesn't need to happen here. Not this kind of accuracy. Don't want to play in your dead pool. It's surefire way to catch the attention of the aforementioned band. They don't play nice. Or particularly well. You'd think that they would be taking lessons from Hendrix or something.

Probably ADHD, and they lack Ritulin up thereabouts. Practice isn't their strong suit. Understandable, really. There are bigger fish to fry. Those are still in the making, and with the King dead, there has to be another crowning. Not sure with what. But there again, not my job to predict. Only watch Macaulay Culkin. There has to be a child star out there to pay for the sins of the fathers and the sons. Turgenev would have it no other way. Neither would Tolstoy, truth be told. He was always about the morality play. But he hid it better. Far easier to play the Pater Familia card. You get further in society that way.

Again, not going to predict anything. But keep an eye out for the vulnerable train-wreck ones. Roll call early and often. Courtney, Lindsey are you there girls? Better watch the Twitter deck. Because something is gonna happen. It always does. And if you can scoop your co-worker, so much the better. Those horsemen need the PR machine. They aren't Santa and can't do it all overnight.

2009-06-22T07:40:00.000-07:00

Again with the good intentions. Wanted to write a ton. Wanted to do lots of little things. But got sidetracked by actual people. And I will admit that is more important anyway. But still. The writing needs to be done. And the little things. So a tad frustrated, but will certainly get over it. Because it's not worth being pissy about, when there was more fun to be had than not. And the writing will get done. Because it must.

2009-06-19T10:39:00.000-07:00

I may call it my annual festival of self-indulgence, but it is actually more than that. Much of it is introspection. It's my solitary day away from most people, and not doing things for others. Just for myself. I call it re-connecting. And recharging.

Thinking about what it was like. When these days were surrounded by surprises and birthday cakes. When the presents weren't overly expensive, just perfect. Because I wasn't picky. I wasn't all that aware, really, of what was out there in retail wonderland. Just that I liked paper dolls and Barbie, and the hand-made Barbie clothes were just as nice as the packaged ones. Especially if there was glittery fabric involved.

I did get to choose the shape of my birthday cake. That was an annual ritual that I miss. I would love to have a birthday cake baked by my mother. But since I live 12 hours away by car, it's not going to happen. And I really don't need the cake. I did spend an ungodly amount of money purchasing the birthday cake cookbook that she used from an online retailer. It was a bitch to find. But now I have my own copy. Ah, nostalgia. Helping me spend my money since time immemorial.

It helps that it's a rainy day. The first in about a month, so no complaining. But it is a rainy day. And that makes me think.

Generally the summers at home were sunny with perhaps an afternoon thunderstorm blowing through. But the heat was there. And the sun. And the sprinkler. And the flowers. And the raspberry bushes. And the green grass under my bare feet. Do I miss all of that? Not in my current form. As a 5 year old in my swimsuit, sure. But now? Not really.

In my inexpert way I am trying to sum up the odd feeling of sharing my skin with other selves- other me's. It's an odd feeling. I don't often go there. But those other me's are fun. They were full of life and joy. They were full of themselves. And they are still in there. Relics of when I was more of an essential self- before getting diluted by the world. Not sullied, but diluted by influences outside myself. There's probably a Freudian term for that. Something about developmental stages. But I don't know it. And I really don't care. It is just an interesting day visiting my ghosts. Overall, I like them.

2009-06-12T07:38:00.000-07:00

Watched parts of the very plodding "Benjamin Button" last night. Glad that I didn't sit through the whoooollllleeeee long and interminable thing.

But there was one quote at the end that got me. It got me badly. Benjamin looks at the love of his life, Daisy and says something like, "I think I had a life before, but I don't remember it." I paraphrase because it's not out on Imdb, and I don't feel like watching it again. Actually it's sealed up and ready to return.

What got me, though is that I thought about my grandmother, who sits in a grey fog in a home with others in the same state. She was a vibrant, funny, rather mean woman, who hid her smarts and had a few wonderfully subversive moments. All that is pretty much gone.

My greatest fear is that she has those glimpses of her past, and knows what she has lost. That slays me. It got me last night. I cried for her for the first time. Because even if she doesn't know what she has lost, I sure as hell do.

2009-06-11T07:50:00.000-07:00

While falling asleep last night I was thinking about regret.
Not in a harsh way, but in a generally accepting way.
Realizing that over time there is a catalog of regrets
that get carried around and mulled over and trotted out
in festive bows and bells on special occasions.
Nothing bitter about it, really.
Just realizing that the cause and effect that I have had
hasn't always ended well.
And that those effects might've been better served if
I had thought through things better.
But that wasn't my nature.
And it wasn't my nurture.
So that list of regrets slowly grows over time.
And I get to catalog the list and recreate it in the night.

2009-05-30T13:00:00.000-07:00

Haven't done much writing at all lately- things just have taken over. Life stuff, like work, travel, family, friends, and sunny weather. It's eating at me a bit, though. I would like to just kick back, drink tea and write. But am finding it hard to fit all of everything in. And add to the conundrum allergy medicine that makes me tired, and shake it up. It's a snowy globe of combined optimism, pessimism, and good intentions falling awry. In the center, holding court and immobile is the project itself. It isn't going anywhere, luckily. Just patiently waiting for everything to settle the fuck down, so I can get some work done. In the meantime, distracted by shiny things.

2009-05-28T07:45:00.003-07:00

Not clear on why
most things in my life that have been following me
around and about
and under and through
have all been colored purple.
I don't like purple very much.
But there you have it.

2009-05-18T06:47:00.000-07:00

Going on a short vacation- home to be with family- and to do some family stuff. Don't know if I'll be online much (like that has really been a habit lately), but still. Will be there, not here. And out of the general work mayhem. They can take care of themselves for a week. It'll be good for them. Absence will make their hearts fonder. Or they'll think I screw up more than I do. We'll see. But first I need to figure out how to unhook my email updates to my phone. Because I will NOT be reading email from work. Uh uh.

2009-05-14T18:24:00.001-07:00

I turn the corner and in the trees
I see his face, lurking
in the green darkness, watching
not interested in me, waiting
wanting darkness when he can run
and play in the yards of suburbia
and eat the rabbits who are unfortunate
enough to cross his path
when he smells the breezes in the morning
and hears the birds start to chuckle, knowingly
in the trees at dawn.

2009-05-06T07:35:00.000-07:00

I made the second cut yesterday. That one was harder. They set up a bunch of conference rooms in my building and spent the day telling people they were no longer needed. Two of my team got the axe. I felt a sick sense of relief when I found out I could keep my badge. And combine that feeling with guilt. Because I get to keep my badge.

Overall I hope it's done. And that the remainder, if any, are onesies-twosies. Because these days of mass attrition are really horrific.

2009-05-02T16:26:00.000-07:00

Smelling the orchids all week, while they bloom.
Reminding me of Grandma orchids from then.
Only not mixed with the smells of industrial laundry
gas station
dust
undercurrents of loss and other emotions
that I was unaware of at that age
they did a good job of protecting
until later, when it all happened anyway
things have a way of doing that.
Falling apart despite the best intentions
and the determination of the dead to outlast
their life
and control beyond the grave.
Never works, really.
The living have a way of selectively following
and justifying the variance.
And choosing for themselves.

2009-05-01T07:37:00.000-07:00

Ok, so the guilt got to me. Well played, sir.

While others are concerned with global politics, pandemics, keeping a job, making a living, etc. I have been in another place. Just dealing with a large writing project. Never tackled something like this before, but am not feeling bad about it at all. Actually the opposite. I've gotten a large proportion of it plotted out in outline form, and the first 8 chapters written. I want to finish the outline this weekend, or come damned close. Then I can swing back into it and do the writing part. It is a shitton of work. I feel burdened when I think about how very much it is. But then I remember Annie Proulx's Bird by Bird, and keep perspective. I got some amazing pointers about the process from (of all people), J. R. Ward, of the vampire book fame. If you like that sort of thing, her vampire books are quite a lot of fun. Her last one was a compendium of material, including some serious writing tips and info. I liked that. Mainly because I have no interest in writing about vampires right now, but can definitely appreciate a look into the world of someone who does it for a living.

I am still on the fence about the writing thing, though. I don' t ever foresee a day when I could happily hole up at home without any personal interaction. I think I would become quite addled, and cause my poor husband undue hardship. I am, however, pursuing a different career track- one that will lead to more income, and more contentment overall. I have been going through a series of informational meetings across the company to see what kinds of options are out there for my skills and interests. I am in no huge hurry to vacate my current position, as I do like it, and it doesn't tax me too much- I enjoy having sufficient mental real estate to come home and function like a human. New jobs at that company don't lend themselves to that at all. Part of the culture.

Anyway, I think I have settled on technical editing. There is much, much to learn before even trying for that goal, but it is a start, and I have a couple of supportive contacts who have offered to help me get there. It is a relief, really, to know that I am not stuck. And that I will get somewhere eventually. And that I know where that somewhere is, so to speak. It's actually a new feeling. Prior to this, I generally had to take what came, and just leap. If I was lucky it worked. If I wasn't there was misery all around. But the infusion of hope into the mix really does help.

So now I'm in a revision state with my resume- it takes so much time to evaluate and really dig into the content with the intent of showcasing a set of skills that I have never really emphasized, but have relied upon heavily. There really is no rest. But that is fine. I can always rest when I'm dead, right?

Otherwise, all is well. All is fine. The sun is finally shining, the cats are happy, Kman is sleeping in, and I am facing a relatively quiet day at work. All the better for a Friday.

Nothing profound. Just the facts.

2009-04-12T10:15:00.000-07:00

Been sidetracked by a more demanding writing project lately. Things here are likely to slow down more- got to get more headway on that before I feel that blogging is a priority. Only so many hours...you get the point. Peace out, yo.

2009-04-06T20:30:00.000-07:00

Am finding the balance a little more difficult lately. Mainly because the time is just slipping away from me. And I am letting it go. Willingly.

And am finding discretion more difficult lately. Discovering many things about people in my life, and basically ignoring that information. Because I told a couple of people last week, "No one likes a tattle tale." And I include myself in that. Keeping my big mouth shut. Willingly.

Am trying to eliminate the taste of bitterness from my mouth. Figurative, not literal. Just to be clear here. But there seems to be so much loss. So much difficulty. And so much wasted. But then it's all about the hope. Keeping that in mind. I am not dead yet. I keep getting out of bed. Willingly.

2009-04-01T07:47:00.000-07:00

Listening to some ass on the Today show discuss saving money. I didn't put the Today show on, by the way. I would never do such a thing. All of the polished, enforced good cheer does me in. First thing in the morning, even. Wears me out. I don't know how to deal with all that. Is it expected? That I induce that kind of cheer in my own life? I don't think I can live up to that expectation. Not really.

Not this early in the morning.

2009-03-29T17:57:00.000-07:00

Had an interesting time at the park. We go there to feed the ducks. Evidently this is forbidden. We have never stopped at the kiosks and read the sign saying it is forbidden. We just go and feed them stale bread, and are all happy.

So today, whilst in duck heaven, two children- a boy and a girl, who looked alarmingly like the twins in "The Shining," came up to us and told us that feeding the ducks is forbidden. We saw their parents at a bench nearby watching. We listened to the children, and then Kman did something odd. He walked over to the parents and discussed the duck feeding moratorium directly with them. They were very put off that we would approach them directly. That is why they sent their children to do the heavy lifting. Kman was very nice about it, despite being rather pissed off at them using their children as tools. And the parents were pleasantly uncomfortable.

We then had a very animated discussion about parenting, and putting children into the role of being informers/policemen. I suspect that these folks come from another land, and don't realize that that kind of behavior can cause some serious ramifications in some places. Like parks in other parts of the area. Where the people being told not to feed the ducks might be a little less conciliatory about it. I dunno. It was ballsy and icky. I feel sorry for the kids. And the ducks. Who went hungry.

2009-03-28T11:01:00.000-07:00

Oh my. These writing muscles aren't getting the workout they need. Bits and bites of words just don't lend themselves to anything besides the odd quip. Not all that satisfying.

But have been unable to sustain more than a casual relationship with thoughts lately. All the deep thoughts synapses have taken a break. I suppose that isn't too horrible. But it isn't great, either.

So, I just finished a crappy book by a woman who hates her mother. Take that back, it's more than hate. And what I thought was particularly pathological about her, besides the fact that she has children, is that she had so little insight into herself to recognize that she could use a heavy dose of therapy, and needed to lose the narcissistic self-absorption. I can only wonder what kind of train wreck she is inflicting on her children. Oh, and she was also chock-full-of smug self-satisfaction. What a toxic combo. I hope I never run into her when I visit old home town. The urge to punch her in the throat is pretty strong. Which I guess, means her book was successful on some level. It inspired me to hate her. I think that's a strong reaction. Augusten Burroughs didn't do that for me- just thought he was kind of pitiful. Ditto most of the other revelatory memoirs that I have ingested. They tend to have that unfortunate tone of payback rather than anything remotely resembling insight. I also have very little patience for what comes off as a bunch of whiney complaints- when they come from the keyboard of an adult, that is. From children, it's a different story. But I always thought you were supposed to grow out of whiney crap like that.

I am jealous. That she got a book deal in the first place. It doesn't hurt that her father is one hell of a well-connected man in the publishing world. It doesn't hurt that she comes from the kind of old money that Gatsby was so horribly fond of. Nope, doesn't hurt at all. And I am full of toxic sour grapes about it.

I guess this is one of the primary reasons I have always preferred biography to the auto kind. I like the filter of another person's perception. And the illusion of objectivity. Because I did read a long time ago an article by a biographer. The obsession needed to pull off the stunt of researching another human being and writing about them, and becoming an expert on them is something unusual. I don't share it. But I think it is interesting. And I do enjoy trying to parse out what the fixation of the author is. If they are an apologist, or an analyst, or what kind of filter they are trying to apply to thier view of the subject.

I also have always considered autobiographies to be lies. I see them as craven attempts to sway public opinion, by selectively telling the truth. I am not horribly interested in reading PR attempts. Not in my personal time, or in my professional time. I see them as manipulative and sort of crass. If these folks were all that interested in being honestly remembered for posterity, they would leave all of their archives of data to an institution and leave it at that. Let others interpret. Because by the basic premise of being in thier own skin, they aren't able to do so without prejudice.

There have been several autobiographies that I will admit are interesting- mainly because of the side-story that they tell. Julia Phillips in "You'll Never Have Lunch in This Town Again," gets the feeling and texture of Hollywood in the 70s down very well. But I didn't like her. And found her actual writing to be torturous. So in that sense, she got in her own way.

Probably the best of the bunch is Dominick Dunne. He is a star fucker, and always has been. I think he would annoy the piss out of me in real life. But he is very good at the roman a clef, and does a great job of reporting celebrity legal strife. I think that as a recovering addict, he has a better sense of humility in a way than a lot of them do, but still figure that he's up to something when he writes about himself.

I guess that this can serve nicely as my Declaration Not to Write a Memoir. And if I break it some day, anyone who reads this has my full permission to call me out.

2009-03-17T07:43:00.000-07:00

I've been wearing my art school shoes to work. I haven't shined them- they are still smudged and scuffed from loading kilns and kicking debris out of the way. They are still in pretty good shape though. I have been trying to remind myself that this is part of my reality too. That it's not all business class and sunshine in a high-rise building.That there are bone deep realities that I can't just ignore and hope will go away.

There is the feral cat issue. Because at core, that is what defines a large part of me. It just is. I am ok with it, but can't spend a lot of time thinking about it or I get sad. Sad because so much is gone. And I miss the ferocity. I miss the passion. I miss the ability to just do things without worrying about cause and effect. I miss the ability to not worry about self-editing all the time.

The pressure mounts, the decisions get postponed, the actual work gets jettisoned in favor of being busy. And tired. Tired all the time. If Charlie Kaufman is right, it's likely cancer, and I will die. But then that is no surprise, really. I expect to end some day. And I don't know if it's really worth the effort to try and accomplish everything first. Futile, indeed. Ah, ennui. Welcome to the club. There are some very nice couches over there. Make yourself at home.

2009-03-12T19:51:00.000-07:00

Another good one. There is a friend of ours who plays hockey every winter. He is a tough guy. He survived a plane crash, wherein his friend, the pilot, wound up simple for life, and he had his back broken. His main complaint was that the morphine drip made him horny, and his wife wouldn't accommodate him in the hospital while he was in a body cast.

So, he is playing hockey. And during the game, his hand gets smacked by the puck. He continues to play, until the bitter end. He pulls off his glove, and blood pours out. The puck had taken off the tip of his pinky finger. He went home and washed it, and put on a bandaid. His wife made him go to the doctor and get stitches. He was out for the season.

The following season, he was getting ready to hit the ice, and he put his glove on. The same one, of course, because it was only blood. But there was something in the finger. He shook it out, and something resembling a raisin hit the ice. It was, of course, the end of his finger from the previous year.

We love him.

2009-03-07T10:54:00.001-08:00

I've been pondering something for several days now, with varying degrees of anger and perplexed confusion. I have several friends who are all behind the Facebook initiative to provide forgiveness for student loans. And I find myself bone-deep opposed. Just viscerally opposed. It is on such a gut level that I am actually amazed- that something that would benefit me and Kman would inspire such venom in my soul.

Here's my issue. I am not in need of a fucking government handout. I do not want the loan that I signed the promissory note for to become an additional burden on the American taxpayer. I budget to afford the payments, and don't really mind that, as it was part of the overall cost when I signed the papers. I will repeat myself. I don't need a fucking government handout. I understand what that would mean, and think that it would be a travesty. I would prefer that the money goes to people who deserve and need it more.

My interpretation of the effort, which to be fair, is probably a tad jaundiced, is that these are a bunch of college-educated middle-class kids who believe that they should be allowed to re-allocate their loan payments towards something more to their liking. And if it is a true financial hardship to make the payments, ought to consider coming up with a budget, or getting another job. Because no one put a gun to their heads and made them sign the promissory note in the first place. No one said that they had to go into debt to get an education. Plenty of people work their way through school, and yes, it takes one hell of a lot longer. But they do it. Others attend cheaper colleges to afford it. Something about keeping the long-term goal of living debt free in mind seems to have escaped some of these folks. And it pisses me off. Fucking whiners.

Now that I have vented, I know that I am probably being unfair. If so, please educate me. Tell me why it's a priority to provide loan forgiveness and a larger tax burden. Tell me why these college-educated people need money that jobless people also need. Tell me why. I want to understand, but my emotions keep getting in the way. I don't want a fucking government handout. That's what resonates in me right now.

I am unsure how far their efforts will go. I kind of doubt that congress can get this one passed- it seems like a really tough pill to swallow. Especially if there is an across-the-board examination of what these people bring home pay-wise. I suspect that the money would be better spent providing scholarships to kids whose parents have lost their jobs. Or to spend the money on a boosted unemployment system, perhaps. Or to assist people who have lost their jobs in paying their house payments/utility bills, etc. Or to bolster the budgets of local food banks. All more worthy in my opinion than a bunch of people who don't want to be bothered to pay for their own fucking educations.

Ah, and there I go again. Getting all worked up. Nice. I had hoped that writing this down would temper my ire a bit. But I don't think it's going to happen like that. I think I am going to keep getting pissy. So seriously, if you have a differing opinion, please share. I want to understand. And I promise to keep my temper under control and listen. Or do my best to try.

Following my own damned advice

2009-03-01T10:28:00.000-08:00

There was a little girl named Poppy. I love the name Poppy. It sings. It reminds me of food.

She stank. No one knew why Poppy stank, but she stank. (full disclosure- Poppy is the cousin of a childhood friend of Kman)

So Poppy stank. The teachers called her parents, and told them that Poppy stank. Her parents, mortified, did everything that they could think of. They bathed Poppy. They perfumed Poppy. They watched what Poppy ate. Nothing worked. Poppy still stank.

Rather than raise a permanently stinking daughter, they finally took Poppy to the doctor. The doctor was perplexed. Finally the doctor had an idea. He took an xray of Poppy's head. Then he operated on her head.

Seems that months and months ago, Poppy had stuck a couple of paper drinking-straw wrappers up her nose. There the wrappers had rotted in her sinuses. And made her stink. The doctor removed the wrappers surgically and treated the infection that had caused the prodigious smell.

Poppy didn't stink any more.

2009-02-26T07:53:00.000-08:00

I got reconnected with some old friends recently. You can figure out the social network device that I used- no need to belabor the whole thing. But interestingly a few of them have stayed in their hometowns. Not necessarily the same as mine anymore, but they have lived in the same place for decades. I just can't fathom. I just can't. Like my father, who lives in the town he grew up in. The town where his father was born (or actually 10 miles East of there, if you need precision). I just can't fathom.

I needed to escape. It's a lovely place, really. Hard to imagine being smothered by a place so thoroughly when you go there. A huge valley, surrounded by mountains, and more sky than expected. But still. It smothered. It constricted. I needed to escape. I didn't go far at first- just to another valley. Narrower, with mountains that were closer together and a river. But it was enough for a while. Then I escaped further, to a desert valley, where the mountains shimmered whitely in the distance, and the landscape lacked all signs of life and hospitality. But I did come back. And it was familiar and strange at the same time. And still, after a few days, I feel the walls closing in. And I need to leave.

I just can't imagine knowing a place where I live to the extent that my friends do their hometowns. I just can't. I wonder if they see new things anymore, or if they just muddle on and do the regular. I don't actually really want to wrap my head around it, as the idea of being a resident of a place for that long just makes me shudder. I have become a nomad in my older age.

2009-02-21T14:22:00.000-08:00

Ok, interesting side effect of the cold. I am having more vivid dreams. Not VIVID dreams like the porn studio. But the kind that I can parse out the next day and get interesting ideas from. One in particular solved the main issue that I was having with my writing project. So now I have to take a bunch of notes and get rolling on that project again- which is probably the best news I've had in weeks.

And in other news, we get to keep the kitty. Sanity in the form of the husband with the firm stance took over and overrode the momentary lapse. I am relieved, because it is now a love match. But I am still sad for her. She is not really happy about the whole thing. Which I can understand- I think a large part of it is a sense of being out of control of something important. She is one of those mover and shaker kinds of women, and not being able to solve this one seems to really bother her. I can sympathize. Being jobless for so damned long a few years ago kind of solved that for me. Had to assume a more Zen path or go batshit. But that doesn't mean that I don't go there myself on occasion. Just to visit.

2009-02-20T07:41:00.000-08:00

More convoluted dreams of the past, present, and things that never happened posing as history. In a way it's like being in my very own personal Terry Gilliam movie. But the disturbing thing is the discombobulation upon waking. The photo albums I was looking at with my father in one of the dreams don't exist. The photos aren't real. But they felt like it.

I guess I should credit being sick and kind of jittery when I go to bed. Does something no doubt to the synapses. That or I am finally losing my mind. Could be. Could very easily be. There has always been a rather tenuous feeling of grasping at my sanity- just one little step in the wrong (or right) direction, and everything will alter. Or that's what if feels like. Very good reason to leave unprofessional pharmacology alone. And I do. But I wonder.

We have seen two movies in the last week that had Edie Sedgewick in them. Not like I should view that as some kind of omen, just cause for comment. Both examined her maybe relationship with Dylan. Only not using his name. Because of lawsuits, I am guessing. Betcha he has some very mean attorneys. I am guessing. No one gets that famous and lives that long without some line of defense. He seems like a cagey man anyway. Never have been fond of him. Not likely to develop an affinity at this late stage.

And now on with it. Gotta muster up some enthusiasm, put on the game face and proceed onward, as though it all matters.

2009-02-17T16:56:00.000-08:00

So the fun of groggy thinking and feeling unable to string a coherent sentence together is in full force. Just because I have the cold that is going around hereabouts.

Otherwise, it has been nothing to write home about. Nothing.

2009-02-14T10:52:00.000-08:00

It has been a couple of days of feverish dreams, without the fever, achy bones and sniffles. And at the heart of it, the realization that I haven't left some things behind very far.

I have always had trouble calling in sick. Basically because as a child I faked it a lot. In retrospect these were mental health days. I hated school. Absolutely loathed it. I loved learning. But hated my classmates. They were horrible little beasts. And all I wanted to do was escape. It was so much easier to convince my mother that I was feeling sick and avoid the whole thing. But I knew that I shouldn't be home. That I should be in school. Enduring them.

To this day, it is hard to call in. Mainly because even if I feel horrible (like yesterday), I still hesitate. I feel guilty for the time spend not working. I feel guilty for the time spent at home. I feel like I am goofing off, even though it feels necessary at the same time. And I certainly don't hate my co-workers. I gave up on keeping those kinds of jobs years ago, when I realized that life was too bloody short to endure that kind of self-inflicted misery. (In your face Financial Aid Department at major PAC 10 school- you fuckers).

Frailty isn't my strong suit. But there you have it. Gotta just give in. And not feel integral to the machine for a day. Because in the end, I would feel worse infecting others with this one. Oh, and the cats want me to return to bed. They love the large warm thing that just lays there. It's better than the bed alone.

2009-02-12T07:47:00.000-08:00

Yeah. All is sort of well now. But it's a holding pattern. And I think that no matter what certain things will end in tears. Not sure whose, but they will happen. But then there's nothing overwhelmingly unique about that. Lots of tears out there.

And now I am listening to the news people savage the scary, crazy lady who has too many kids. I think that the whole point of it is that she wants the attention. But giving it to her is bad. I say ignore her. She'll go away. And eventually the state will step in and take over the children. Or not. I really can't muster up more than apathy about the whole thing anyway. Just don't really care. It's just sad. And sordid. Whatever.

Some rapper dude beats the tar out of his girlfriend. Who also happens to be famous. Oh well. Just shows that domestic violence happens to famous people too. Again. Sad and sordid. Whatever.

Don't quite know when I got all jaded. But it happened. And right now I'm fighting a cold, and feeling unusually passionless about this crap. Whatever.

2009-02-04T07:44:00.000-08:00

Sweet Jesus. I am listening to the news. They are discussing cost cutting whilst going out to eat. "Choose an appetizer as a main course." "Don't pick up the tab, share the cost." "Drink water."

How about this, just eat at home if you can't afford to dine out? Ya think?

I am getting frustrated by the whole economic thing. I get very full of rage (chock full o' rage) when I think about bailing out people who don't have the sense to not spend what they don't have. Especially when that sense of entitlement is involved.

Oh, now see, here we go. All up in the judgment space. This is where I am very comfortable, feeling all superior. But I don't really like this place. Not really. Because I know that it is mean. And I know that it is transparent. The same scrutiny that I pull on others doesn't look so good when I apply it inward. Oh my, yes.

Now since I haven't achieved my Zen master state yet, these are the pitfalls I get to fall into on a daily basis. Like everyone, no? And I will admit that I haven't been knowingly working towards Zen master. Looks a little unlikely.

Now Jedi master, maybe. There are a couple of Jedi mind tricks that I have up my sleeve. But just talking about them makes me so very not a Jedi.

And this is getting stupid. I am going to work now. Where I can put on my game face, spread joy and sunshine, and polish up the Jedi mind tricks on the unsuspecting populace.

2009-02-03T07:37:00.000-08:00

No I haven't forgotten you. The original wordspace is always in the back of my mind. Mixed with guilt, I should be writing more. But then. There has been a lot to deal with.

A death in the family. Unexpected. But still sad, nontheless.

A layoff round at work. Not as unexpected, but changing the course of things for many forever.

A leaper at my workplace. The 28th floor is very effective at stopping the heart. And no, he wasn't laid off. Just messed up.

A round of dentistry. The right side of my mouth is fixed for a very long time, I hope. This week we tackle the left. Then we are done.

Work issues for Kman- his boss quit suddenly. And now there is a lot of change in his air too.

And over it all, just tired. Very tired. Felt like it took everything in me just to get out of bed in the morning.

Ah, but putting on a happyish face in the other outside land of words and friends and coworkers and whateverthehell you call them. Because the walls have ears, and the friends aren't always as bedrock as you would like. But there you have it. The danger of networking. And mixing the metaphors. And mixing the worlds within which you roam. But I am not really complaining. More like explaining.

But you likely know all this already. Because you patiently wait for me to find the words. And take the time. And express whatever.

2009-01-25T08:49:00.000-08:00

Had a rough week- and wasn't up to writing much.

Still like that- trying to follow the golden rule about nothing nice to say=keep your trap shut.

But it's hard. Nothing and no one rises to the occasion, and there are so many cracks in the firmament. All I want to do is point them out and fix them. But it's not my job. It's not within my capacity. And in some instances, it is none of my business.

So I keep it to myself, and let it roll. Figuring that I'll either get over it, or accept it, and move the hell on.

But it takes time.

And layoffs suck. Even when you get to stay. Mainly because there's not any guarantee that it'll last. Now both of us have experienced it, and neither of us is going to be much beyond hunker down mode for a while.

So, yeah. That's where it's at. January appears to be the culmination of a ton of crappy shit. Hope February goes a little further in the positive direction. Feh.

2009-01-17T10:00:00.000-08:00

I was thinking about writer's block. And, yes, it's personal. And I have it. But the reason makes sense to me, and will be summarily dealt with.

Years ago, I was in art school. I loved it. I was committed. And then I hit the wall. I came to understand that in order to continue, and be an artist I had to deal with two very difficult issues. The first was that the art world is chock full o' assholes, and I would have to kiss many of their asses to get ahead, and thus bury my self respect in a deep hole. The other was that I would have to fully embrace where my art came from. To be honest, it is not a very pleasant place. Or wasn't at that point in my life. I would have to let the dark side really out of the mason jar in the upper shelf of the closet and use it to create those pieces that needed to be created. In the meantime, I knew that I was becoming more and more difficult to live with. Both inside and outside. And I made a choice. I chose to take a sane road and leave the art thing behind. It was not easy, by any estimation. But I don't regret it for a minute. Not being batshit crazy, living alone and dealing with art world assholes is just fine with me.

So the writing. The problem comes from a similar place. Not the mason jar of goodies, exactly- that has been opened in a safe place and dealt with accordingly. But more of a place of fear. I am at the place where I need to get the hell out of the way of the story and the characters and let them live and breathe. And the process scares the hell out of me. Being (oh surprise!) somewhat of a control freak, letting those voices just flow is really unsettling. Funny thing though, that was the part of creating art that I loved the most. The flow when it hit. I remember those times the most. But I am having a little trouble allowing it back. And need to just step aside, and trust that the infrastructure that I have built as my life in general will be just fine. Ah, there is that tricky word- trust. Never a strong suite in my deck. But I suppose it is better than faith. Because that suite is not represented at all. Trust. Feh.

So there you have it. Time to face the demons that remain and let the dice roll (since I am misusing gambling metaphors all over the place- I'll just throw them around like pixie dust). Because the story is a good one, and the characters have a great story to tell. They depend on me, and I have to man up and do this. Or I guarantee that I will have regrets over this one.

2009-01-16T08:55:00.001-08:00

I've been thinking more and more about how very interesting the whole choices as destiny thing is. I can't help but fixate a bit on how one choice, that might seem inconsequential, can have the momentum and ability to shift a life forever. Not just the "driving down that road on that day" like in "Adaptation". But more like the decision that a person can make that basically dooms them through the resultant choices. The one tipping point that creates a downward spiral. The one that just can't be undone. I think that prisons are full of those kinds of realities. And in a less dramatic sense, lots of unhappy lives are part of that decision process.

Just been thinking about it a lot.

And as a postscript to my poor aunt's tale, seems that they found undiagnosed and untreated MS when they conducted the autopsy. Fuckers. Fuckers. Fuckers. Oh, and she died of pneumonia. Ah, the rage is building...

2009-01-15T07:30:00.001-08:00

I always thought of my aunt as the glamorous one. First off, she was not my mom. That adds a certain luster. And she was fabulous. She and her husband were dynamic and fun. They played all the time. It was only much later that I was able to apply the Aesop's fable about the ant and the grasshopper to the situation, and be quite thankful that I am the product of ants. Versus the sad son of the grasshoppers. Not sure what he does with his time, but from what I hear it is generally kinda underachieving.

So she died yesterday. The first of that generation in over 20 years (the other death was shocking and an aberration of sorts). This one was natural causes, but my mother maintains that Canada killed her. She has good reasons for her bitterness. About 15 or so years ago, a mounty ran over my aunt and broke both of her legs and threw her through the windshield of the parked truck next to her. She never fully recovered from those injuries, and subsequently lacked both PT care, and developed arthritis in both legs. She also developed osteoporosis, and was in great pain for the last several years. I guess her death was hastened by a flu virus that was under-treated by the 3 different doctors that my uncle took her to in the last week. She was too weak to withstand it, and died in his arms yesterday. After 38 years together. He is just crushed. We are all sad. And my mom is angry as hell. Her direct quote, "she would've had another 10 years down here with proper care." No one can understand why the hell she wasn't in the hospital in that condition. It makes no sense.

But there you have it. The woman made fabulously poor choices with dramatic consistency, but lived a truly genuine life both despite and because of those choices. She was kind. She was pretty. She was funny and fun. And I wish that I had been in touch with her more in the last few years. Always with the regrets, no?

2009-01-14T07:43:00.000-08:00

She ran around all the time. Outdoors and indoors.
She was barefoot all summer in the grass.
She killed bugs and spiders with delight and satisfaction. She thought it was heroic.
She tried to catch butterflies, but only to look, not to hurt.
She got into everything.
She liked raspberries the best.
She liked the smell of the dog.
She was slow to learn how to ride her purple bike.
She wanted everyone to like her.
She was full of ill-contained passion.
She picked everything up, but rarely broke anything.
She thought that everything was fun.

2009-01-11T10:23:00.000-08:00

Got some words of wisdom from my mentor at work. She is really good. Comes from a different place professionally and personally, and I really value her insights. She told me to calm the hell down. I was in a dither about not having clearly defined goals, and slipping on some of the ones that are already established. She told me to stop it. Be good. Give it a month or so and reevaluate what is important.

Perspective, I think it's called. Been lacking around here in my head, lately. Just because I have slipped into the element of immediate. Everything appears important. Everything appears to be imperative. And it's good to have someone call me on that and tell me to knock it off.

I think that part of the problem is where I work, and with whom. It is merely a huge chunk of the culture there, and with them. That's not going to change any time soon, and sure as hell isn't going to be prompted to change by me. I am a small cog in a very large sprocket. And I don't think that I can totally pull out of the collective madness- it's just the way the place works.

But the personal stuff can be evaluated differently. As is appropriate. I push Kman to evaluate and make choices and pursue goals and develop dreams. I push myself too. But I am thinking that it might not hurt to relax. Just relax. And carry on. Wayward son.

2009-01-05T17:16:00.000-08:00

It's not what I expected. I just realized this after all of these years. I'm not complaining, mind you. But it's not what I thought it would be, once upon a time.

I thought that the first ever would be the last. I thought that those feelings of immolation and annihilation would endure forever. I thought that it would be perfect. I thought that every day would sustain a level of intimacy and exquisite agony. I thought that it would consume me, and that I didn't matter as an individual in the equation.

Then I grew up. I had at least one that fit the bill. And then I saw the side effects. And I saw myself disintegrating into something lesser than myself. I knew the frustration of always being wrong. I knew the frustration of giving more than should justifiably be asked. And I grew up.

Part of me still yearns for that feeling though. Even though I know that it is very, very wrong. I want to be consumed. I want to be overwhelmed.

And then I remember. I remember and I forget. And then it is all different. And it is just fine.

2009-01-04T20:36:00.000-08:00

So while it snows again, I was looking outside and remembering.

The best snow day ever. Was at my Great Grandmother's house in East Helena. I was dropped off early in the day, not sure why- don't remember. I was under the age of 5, and it was a very snowy day. My cousins were around. We played in the yard in the snow. I remember not wanting to come inside. I remember building a snow fort, and throwing snow balls. I remember it getting dark and wanting to stay outside in my little red snow suit. And continuing to build the snow fort. It was the most important thing in the world. My mittens were soaked. I couldn't feel my fingers. But that didn't matter. I needed to build that fort.

When my parents arrived, I had to go inside. I remember the blast of warmth when I entered the living room. It was a pretty small room, packed with adults. The heat register in the floor was blowing hot air upwards. There were many voices speaking at once in a tumult of noise. It was all so different from the silence punctuated by the laughter outside.

I remember the ache of my fingers. It was the first time I remember thawing out from the cold. I remember my Uncle Jack playing the player piano. I thought he was wonderful. I don't know, in retrospect if this all occurred on the same day. Childhood memories are like that for me. Vivid as hell, but kind of dicey on the details.

I miss those days more than I can ever describe. Mainly because they were the time of my life that I felt safest and warmest. And to this day I am so thoroughly grateful to have had them. I will love that feeling forever.

2009-01-02T21:22:00.000-08:00

In reference to the aforementioned DRAMA, it wasn't really anything personal. Just more situational than anything else. Someone else's really.

It seems that I have a habit of enraging a certain kind of man. The kind of man who typically likes to maintain some sense of personal gravitas, and doesn't cotton to the kind of outspoken nature that I tend to exhibit naturally. And since we were among family, I pretty much had my guard down and didn't feel the need to be overly political for a change.

So then I pissed the old lion off. And he attacked. But it was more of an invitation for me to debate than anything else in my mind. But the person in the room with the full-blown daddy issues decided that I needed a champion. Needlessly, it turns out, but I think that it made her feel much better.

The funniest thing is that I didn't care. Not really. The whole bloody thing really left me just kind of bored and longing for my own bed and the kitties. Like I said, someone else's drama, not my own. I just didn't have the energy to devote to getting fully engaged. Nor did it seem necessary. I am perfectly content to let someone else make an ass of themselves in public- it happens. So there you have it. DRAMA. And silly as hell.

2008-12-31T11:31:00.001-08:00

It has been a while. I needed a break. Mostly from the endless repetition of whatever is going on in my head. And with that accomplished, thanks to a change in scenery, and some remarkable displays of family friction and DRAMA, all is back to a nice, quiet normal.

So today is kind of a day for reflection. Mainly because it is that artificially generated new year eve. I consider most calendar constructs to be artifice- I really don't see much use to them- kind of like the fiction we call money. An agreed upon game of pretend, really. Like religion. But I don't really feel like going there right now. Too fraught. Had enough of that over the break. See DRAMA above.

Mundane things that have an effect: moved the computer that I write on downstairs so that I can be part of the life of the house. Moved my work station upstairs, so that when I work from home, I am more secluded. Shifted all the furniture in the living room around and now have much better flow. I can watch the squirrels in the trees and on the deck eating peanuts while I write. And while I play online.

The foot of snow that we got has pretty much left us. I am guessing that there will be another baby boom in 9 months. Not in our lives, but overall. It was bogged down here badly. The mayor of Seattle had the stupid audacity to give himself and the city's response to the storm a "B" grade. I would contest that. With under 30 snow-plows, Seattle is under equipped for any storm of merit. And for it to take over a week to dig people out is just not a "B" effort. Hell, I understand the dynamics of hills. But seriously, there is really no reason that those plows aren't getting to bare pavement when it's soft snow. I have never seen such feeble snow-removal attempts. It's rather sad, really.

Kman has another week off- he had to take 2 weeks off as the company is having some financial difficulties. The round of layoffs is still fresh, and I'm pretty sure that most of the employees there have morales in the gutter. It's a real shame. But he's cool with staying home. He has been futzing around on the computer, playing in his man cave, and overall shovelling snow.

And I have been trying to come up with some lauditory resolutions. And nothing really stands out. I was already working on stuff that needs to be done, and plan on proceeding in those areas. No, I am not saying that perfection needs no polishing. Far from it. See the artificial construct comment above. I don't see the need to all of a sudden declare new and interesting ways to change my life. I've been doing that for a while. And it appears to be working. So no real necessity for the DRAMA of brand-spanking-new resolutions.

Now I think it is time for more coffee. And maybe a light snack.

2008-12-18T16:26:00.000-08:00

Oh, been so quiet here. Not because I lack a lot to say, perish that thought. But mostly because life on the outside got off-the-charts hectic. And it was fun, I must say, for the most part. But soon I will be breathing deeply again, and will have time to account for some of the above. Viva time off!

2008-12-08T07:19:00.000-08:00

Started something new today. Not that I am enjoying it. Bloody well hate it. I am getting up an hour early and going to the fucking gym. It's about the only way I can make myself do the right thing, fitness-wise. And this way I have Kman as a coach getting my ass out of bed. But it sucks. And there you have it.

Last night I watched Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten. It was interesting as hell. I had tried to read that really, really bad bio about the man that was written recently by some hack who knew him. It was all about the hack, and very little about the man, himself. So I returned it to the library. The documentary, on the other hand, was quite a lot about the man, himself. And despite glossing over his prodigious drug use (by my standards, any wayz), I think it really captured a time and a mentality. Some of which I was very interested in experiencing, as I didn't get it the first time around. Not like a London punk scene didn't hold its charms for a Montana girl from the middle classes, but I sure as hell didn't understand fully the underlying ethos. No fucking way, man. I was too safe. Too secure. And that is not something that lends itself to being part of the scene. So yes, I had some of the clothes, which I intersperced with more moderate rocker wear. But I didn't have the anger at the same things. Mine was more personal. And more internal. Because all teenagers are angry, doncha know. Only some make music happen out of it.

2008-12-03T07:34:00.001-08:00

So somewhere along the line there were a few things lost. Not necessarily missed, though. Just lost. In a couple of cases certainly for the better. Like the sense of entitlement. That won't be missed. Nor will the angry uncontained outbursts. The anger still percolates, but there is editing.

What will likely be missed is the sense that anything is possible. That dreams are accessible, and that they will be easy. That is stupid, no doubt. But it does make the attempt that much more rational and desirable. Creators always say that they never would've tried if they had known how bloody difficult it would be. So that kind of ignorance is a good thing within this context.

Also to be missed is the sense of invention. That helped with trying new things. Ah, experience. My friend and foe. My teacher and my enemy. Gotta love that.

2008-12-01T07:39:00.000-08:00

Am mostly through Malcolm Gladwell's new book, and am finding myself depressed as hell. Read it and figure out why for yourself. It's all about success. And currently, I am not up to my own standards. It happens, right?

Ah, the weight of years. Heavy, heavy. Ditto the rain and the cloud cover. Connected? Perhaps.

And there it is. Time to step away from the computer and get things done.

2008-11-30T09:08:00.000-08:00

On the subject of stars:

Back in the day, again, we had a good friend who designed and built his own observatory in the back yard. It was a 16" telescope, computer driven, in a shed with a retractable roof. He was damned good at spotting with it. Could hone in on a constellation without a chart, just by eyeballing it.

In Bozeman, unlike Seattle, there isn't often fog or clouds in the night sky during the summer. It gets cold as hell, compared to the daytime temps. Huge swings of temperature, when you think about it. From the 90s or even on occasion the low 100s down to the 50s and 40s. Often.

We were in his back yard, with another friend's dad and his 15" telescope. It was one of those clear, crystalline chilly Montana summer nights. And dark out there in the Four Corners neighborhood where he lived. We waited while the guys set up the telescopes, and waited. The dad had his chart. Our friend was swooping between self-named constellations, and showing us cool stuff. Like the "teapot constellation" aka Sagittarius. And the "cheerio galaxy"... um, I got nothing scholarly there to report- only it did look like a cheerio, and was cool.

The dad had some really amazing stuff to show us, and then the whole conversation bogged around telescopes and equipment. Which figures. But was boring. It was late. The beer was gone. I wanted to go home. So we did.

2008-11-29T13:26:00.000-08:00

I realized last night that I haven't told a story in a long time. That this has become more of a journal than I had originally intended. So here is a story.

Back in the day, because Once upon a time is a little worn out, we would drive. When it was dark, and we were bored, and it was too hot to sleep, we would drive. The car had broken air conditioning, so the windows would be rolled down.

The city had a roar to it, despite being extremely spread-out. There was a constant roar. Only when we moved away, did I notice it fully. Mainly in its absence. The roar was cars, air conditioners, people, just noise in general. There was a heat too. Cement holds the heat almost better than anything else. And then at night it radiates. We would drive through cool patches, like the zoo area and where Papago golf course is. It smelled green there. Not dry and dusty like the rest of the place. Broken glass glittered in the gutters, and little tufts of dust would shift across the road when a breeze stirred.

The further out towards the suburbs we went, the cooler the air got, as we got beyond the miles and miles of buildings and apartment complexes. We knew where the old orange groves were, and loved to drive by them in the spring when there were blossoms. I'm pretty sure they are what made me sneeze, but they smelled so pretty, and it was cooler there.

We drove by the cotton fields. We drove by the corn. We drove as far as we could, in an attempt to see the desert stars. But the glare of the city lights made this impossible. Until the night we drove north. After about 40 miles, the hills cut the sky off to the south. And we saw the stars.

When I was a child, we went to Phoenix in the summer. I remember driving into the city at night, while lying in the back seat, looking out the back window. And seeing an endless expanse of stars. So very close. So incredibly bright.

When we drove north, we saw this. It is breathtaking, and unexpected. It was also chilly there. We weren't used to normal evening temperatures. And we got cold quickly. But it was worth it, because we now know what it is like to see stars. More stars than anywhere else. More stars than is possible. With a dull orange glow in the southern sky. Where home lay. And the heat. And the dust.

2008-11-27T09:26:00.000-08:00

Watched the most AMAZING documentary last night. I cannot recommend it highly enough. It is one of the reasons I love Art History, and History in general. The impact of a few individuals on generations of people....

"The Rape of Europa." All about the impact on art of WWII. Not a cheery tale. But certainly one of hope, and one of remembrance. It was amazing. Just fucking amazing. I think that several people on my Christmas list are going to get a copy. None of them read here, so I'm not ruining any surprises.

But seriously, it was worth watching. The sheer impact of the war, and the catastrophic losses that happened versus the contributions of hundreds are just riveting. Bloody amazing.

And now I have another installment of the documentary PR series on the Queen to watch. I love it mainly because it is cool as hell to see the palaces, etc. in HD, and I think it's really interesting to see the spin on it all. Notice I called it PR? Right. I'm under no illusions that every frame is deliberate and on message.

I just don't understand how people can visit the woman without being drawn to the art on the walls. Just some amazing stuff. Much more interesting than the little lady with the incredible pearls.

On that note, I want a really nice graduated set of pearls now. Nothing on the Queen's scale- those suckers are worth more than the combined value of my family's houses. But something nice and elegant. That I can then wear with my signature v-neck t-shirts and jeans.

2008-11-26T09:48:00.000-08:00

News item: Barbara Bush has ulcer surgery. Pity. That's too bad, really- especially around the holidays.

The item that I think is so ironic/funny/etc. or just worth mentioning is that in the MSNBC article (look it up yourselves, I am too lazy to link), they call her a "sunny" presence. WTF?! Barbara Bush is about as fucking "sunny" as a sulfuric acid laced Bloody Mary. I think that she is one of the scariest women ever to inhabit the White House. She produced two presidents, and basically was the force to be reckoned with in the family. Nothing "sunny" about that. I think she has more in common with Rose Kennedy than anyone else, and I have never heard old Rose called "sunny."

Makes me wonder about the age of the person who wrote the article. It would make sense if he/she hadn't been around during the first Bush presidency. Then they have a good reason to be ignorant.

Fucking "sunny"??? Sweet Jesus.

2008-11-25T07:31:00.000-08:00

The other night we had dinner with old friends. We have a history with these folks. They have been good to us, and they have inadvertently been bad to us.

And now it starts again. Seems one extended an offer to Kman to be partners in business. That is fine in theory, but then the nightmares started for me. Quite literally, and I can't completely blame the Thai food. More like my subconscious telling me that this is an extremely bad idea. At least at face value.

Many questions need answers. Many decisions must be made. The irony is that we are now at the point in our life where finances aren't a tremendous struggle. And we can breathe. I don't see any sense in returning to another reality that way. Just none. But I have to fight to be open to alternatives if they are ... reasonable. And not let my nightmares get in the way of Kman's dreams, if that is the inclination. Just have to keep the level head and make sure some safety nets are intact.

But that is all ahead of myself. Nothing has been determined. Nothing has been offered. Right now it is just dinner talk. Perhaps I'll get lucky and that is where it will stay.

It was a very nasty dream, by the way. With very, very clear messages that even a neophyte dream analyzer could parse out.

2008-11-21T07:38:00.001-08:00

so the plan is to confront the demons before they hatch any more nefarious plots.

I love the word nefarious. It reminds me of 19th Century serial novels. The kind that
people waited years to finish. They stood by the banks of the rivers waiting for the packet
boats to deliver the mail, hoping that the next issue of the paper with the next chapter
would arrive today.

Nefarious plots. Right. Part of my general persecution mania. Didn't know I had that? Well,
you haven't been paying attention, have you. There's the persecution problem. There's also
the general feeling of unease. It happens. And I have learned to place it under protective custody
and ignore it. My own personal Guantanamo, if you will. Only with candy. Because that would
be inhumane. Denying anyone candy.

Seriously, it all is just fine. And will be fine. Mainly because big perspective says that this too
will pass, and I will likely not remember any of it in 5 years. Or sooner if there is a head
injury involved. Not that we're hoping for that. No, we are not.