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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

-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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.