New goals :)

Vintage framed oil painting - dated 1952

1. Walking a marathon
2. Climb a mountain - Be on top of everything
3. Kill honeysuckle in yard
4. Find a new project to immerse myself in :)

Right now, I'm particularly thinking about #4. I feel like I have huge chunks of time that are filled with me being tired, but not sleeping, not working, just tired. And something can be done with this time, and I don't think it's finishing Anna Karenina. I don't know what it is. I don't know if I'm going to start painting large canvases with abstract nudes, paying more attention to my victory garden, or finding a way to open my MCC thrift store.

Graduating without plans to pursue a PhD means I will eventually have to figure out a way to fill the time I once packed to the gills with papers that made no sense, working like a fiend, and occasionally feeding myself with bowls of raisin bran.

I'll let you know what I come up with :)

Old sweatshirts

CVC Tuscon - Roadrunner mug (great color, huh?)

I always have good thinking time when I'm out walking around my neighborhood. It helps me get rid of nasty bad feelings, and start to dream a little bit. And then when I walk in my front door, it's all in the past, and I move on with my day, leaving all those dreams undone, ready to be picked up at a later time.

Tonight, I was thinking about old sweatshirts, you know, the sweatshirts you wear all the time when you're at home? The ones that are faded and holey? Well, I was always trying to get my hands on these when I was a kid. I dreamed of the day that I would have old sweatshirts that felt familiar and homey. I would take sweatshirts from my parents, but they hated that, so I was always left wanting more, my own hooded sweatshirt. Twas only a dream...

Anyhow, I was thinking that the reason for this wish was the familiarity of something old, something that had been around for a long time, something tangible that crossed over from place to place, that traveled with me through time. I wanted something to hold on to.

Anyhow, I now have sweatshirts like this, that are faded and torn. I remember the moment that I tore one particular sweatshirt. I remember where I was, what I was doing, and what I was feeling. It has history. As I get older, my things age with me, become more a part of me.

Thoughts of the day. Whatever. Peace out :)

My writing career

I just finished reading a memoir by Jennifer Lehr, Ill-equipped for a Life of Sex, and am stuck in a moment wondering if I'll ever have a book in me. I desperately want to write a memoir, but I don't know what I'd write about (i.e. which topic, among many, I would even choose), and I don't have the motivation to write one. I write a lot, but it's mostly just messy complaining combined with trying to figure out the crazy mixed-up mind that I have. There are no stories in me save the stories of my own life. There are no vibrant characters I'm longing to bring out, just me.

But where do I begin to tell stories that involve other people? Where do I begin to tell stories that are, and always will be, unfinished? And how do I do those things, and keep doing my job(s), and paying the bills which I always seem to be behind on? And who will read it?

Olympic Swimming :)

French Lead Crystal Goblets - Pompadour Pattern

I am having so much trouble watching the Olympics. It makes me really sad. I had to have a talk with myself this afternoon to get over the disappointment. I had to figure out why I was sad.

When I was a kid, let's see, over the past almost 30 years, I have seen many Olympic games. It was always a beloved thing in my family, and every four years, we sat together and enjoyed the solidarity and beauty of the games. As an adolescent, my swim coach brought a television to the pool and we'd watch in between sets. National-level swimming got me through high school, in a way. The idea of somehow rising to that level kept me motivated to train for years on end. The Olympics were like some far-off dream of all that swimming was meant to be. They inspired me to think big, even when those who believed in me most told me I'd never measure up.

And I didn't. I was a mediocre swimmer at best. I was the hardest worker in the pool, and certainly formidable as a high school swimmer in a small country pond, but as a year-round club swimmer, I was always in the middle of the pack, usually on the slower end. The Olympics make me sad because they represent the idea that we each have greatness inside of us, that we each have the capacity to be "The Best" at some thing. But now that I'm an adult, and my competitive swimming days are done (and I'm glad about that), I don't know how I'm gonna find greatness in my life. I don't know how I'm going to prove to myself that I'm good enough. I thought those letters after my name would help, but they really don't.

I imagine that at the end of the day, gold medals aren't that awesome anyway for those who win them. I imagine that they feel amazing for a while, as well they should, but then life goes quickly back to normal, and the winner still has to face their own humanity. That's how life seems to work out for me anyway.

There was a time, a moment in time, that I was crazy fast (crazy stupid fast). And when that moment passed, I was done swimming. I proved to myself that I had it in me, and then I was done. I got out of that pool, and never looked back. So when I have moments like this, like I'm having right now, wishing my life had turned out differently, I remember that moment, and it's all worth it.

Ack! I had a good night's sleep!

I swear these look mint green in person, but now I'm unsure.

Omg. My psyche was on OVERLOAD last night. I had this dream about massive flea markets and past and future selves meeting eachother. It was super cool. Andy from Weeds and Liam Neeson were there, along with massive mafia/drug gang action. My brain is a cool place.

I have been living without Earth Balance for a couple weeks, and it is not a happy place to be. I miss it so much. But I still have my Daiya cheese, so that makes it somewhat better. I am such a vegan. What can I say?

So there's been an unplanted pot of tomatoes in our backyard, just waiting to be planted, and it's been so stinkin hot, that I've just been watering them a lot. I figured that heat + relocation wasn't a good plan. Anyhow, finally, this morning wasn't crazy hot, and I feel like a tornado with the amount of energy that I have, so I just dug a big hole, coated it with compost, and stuck that darn thing in the ground. I'm a rock star.

Someone commented on yesterday's post requesting an eBay button for my store. A suggestion is one thing. A request is another. I respond to requests. I ponder suggestions. Just a friendly tip. If you want something from me, I guess the trick is to just ask for it.

I did something yesterday that makes me feel like the best version of myself. If I remember, I'll write about it tomorrow :)

Post flea market meltdown

I feel so bad right now. The flea market was so much work, and not worth the time and energy in the end, which makes me feel like I can't keep doing this reselling thing. I'm fooling myself to believe that I can continue to support myself this way. I couldn't pay my rent this month. I had to ask for help, and now I feel like this thing that I love so much has quickly become the thorn in my side.

I feel like my needs are exponentially greater than I can possibly meet. I need a job with health insurance, but I don't qualify for jobs that offer it. I'm stuck with a masters degree and now I'm almost thirty and my body is falling apart, and I need health care more than ever, and I'm less able to get it every day. I have less than three months to solve this problem, and now it feels like the sky is falling.

I need to eat, but my body doesn't want to eat because it's hot and I feel sick, but my mood is directly related to my food intake.

That's all for now.

Actual Postscript: Um, I just looked over my posts over the last week and it appears that I am having a total breakdown. I'm not. I'm functional, but graduation has taken the wind out of my sails. This too shall pass, I assume, as it always does.

Thrift Share Monday :)

I just want to give the world more beauty :)

 

Do you know that there are innocent people in prison? I just watched the documentary, The Thin Blue Line, and it reminds me why I wanted to go into law when I was a kid. I wanted to make sure that no one suffered for a crime they did not commit. I was a dreamer - I still am.

Are you a helper? How did that happen? What is the difference between a person who lives life committed to peace and justice, and a person who lives life for money and power? I guess that's one of the reasons I ended up where I am today as an adult, definitely not a lawyer. I wish I could understand why people decide to work for good, then I could pass it on.

I've named these "The Star Trek Shoes"

My newfound acceptance of science fiction and fantasy is evidence of my ability to dream a little more, to incorporate a little bit more un-reality into my life. I think dreaming is a really important thing. Sometimes we scold children for telling stories, and sometimes we need to be encouraging them to dream more instead of less. There has to be a time where imagination is fostered and nurtured. If we do not dream, we can never hope for something different.

Every one needs something big to dream. Dreaming keeps us alive.

Still linking up with Apron Thrift Girl :)

My heart is in the jungle.

 

For a moment today, I had an intense rush of longing for the jungle. I longed for simplicity, and candles, and the river. I saw my own bare feet, and the emptiness of the day. I saw myself alone, and it was lovely. To think of it makes my heart ache. To think more makes me want to cry. I left my heart in the jungle, but I really don't know why.

A great idea.

 

Today, I was sitting in church, and for some reason, I had a great idea. My senior paper is all about dwelling where you are, blooming where you're planted and all that. So in an effort to prepare for the presentation of my paper on Wednesday, my brain has been throwing around ideas to save my city, to encourage people to stay (to encourage myself to stay as well).

Here's the idea: I create an alternative sentencing facility where people can come and live and work and get better. There's an organic farm where people can work, and a dorm facility with industrial kitchen where people can come and eat. Maybe there will be a restaurant, or dining hall or something on the property. Maybe I'll need two kitchens. Every one will have a job. It will be communal living, and there will be therapists and a doctor on-site. I don't know if I'll be able to have it in town, or if I'll need more property. I imagine that it would be a good idea to have animals, but I don't see animals in my dream right now.

Gosh, I'd have to get grants, and I'd have to get permission from the city and county courts. It'd be a huge project. There would have to be permanent employees to give the place structure and consistency.

I like to dream.

Anne Shirley on love

“For a moment Anne's heart fluttered queerly and for the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert's gaze and a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face. It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one's life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one's side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps...perhaps...love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath. ”

L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

Did you know I love dogs?

I saved a dog's life this week. It was a big black Labrador, late at night. He was standing in the middle of a dark street. I was also walking a black lab, which was strange, so I let them sniff eachother. Then the male dog ran into the street and got hit by a car.

I screamed. The dog walked away like nothing had happened, but the sound of the impact convinced me that he had some sort of internal injuries. I figured if I left him behind on the canal, he'd run into the street again and get killed (he insisted on running in front of the cars-so scary), so I hooked him to my leash and tried to walk the two beasts together. That lasted less than a minute, so I just hollered at him every time he went near the street and he walked home with us. It was awful. Walking one beast is enough of a job. Worrying about the other dog just made my heart race faster. I was exhausted when I got them both home in one piece.

The dog slept with me, so as only to keep him from being shot by an exasperated neighbor in the backyard after he howled with sorrow from 12 to 5am. I didn't get much sleep, between the howling, and the sleeping with a beast. But it was all worth it. In the morning, my mom called animal control and thirty minutes later, the owner was at the front door.

I know it's a simple silly story, but I felt like a hero that night, and saving a life is good for the soul.

My lovely dreams

This morning, when I woke up, I thought, "Today, I will do something different. I will get things done." And do I did. It's amazing how much I can get done in a short period of time when I put my mind to it; it's the mind-putting that is so very time-consuming.

My back is feeling a tad better. I am working on very deep breathing and dreaming. The deep dreaming helps me get adequate amounts of REM cycle, to allow me to fully recuperate during the night, something I am very lacking in. I don't know where I tend to hang out most of the time, but it's not deep, and it's not REM; I think it's somewhere between dreaming and being awake, the worst option of the bunch, in my opinion.

Sometimes I have difficulty in fully coming out of a dream. It seems like a bit of my life has changed when I wake up in the morning; something is different-I am different. Do other people experience this?

I most worry about this when I dream about a person who I don't have a lot of contact with, and I wake up and want to call them, but they probably weren't dreaming about me, and might find it a tad weird that I call out of the blue (and maybe they don't like me as much as my subconscious likes them?). I also wonder if my subconscious is creating an alternate reality that is beginning to seep into my conscious brain and delude me into thinking that my life is different from what it actually is.

If you ever dream about me, and it's not gruesome, you can call me in the morning, and I won't think you're weird.

Ah...sleep :)

Have you heard how wonderful sleep is? I've just gotten back on the train, and boy it is fantastic! Those dark circles? Gone. The hallucinations? Also gone. And the dreaming is wonderful again. No more wandering in dark forests. Sleep: It's a beautiful thing. I think I'll start an ad campaign. I am still watching Mad Men. After my "Get Sleep" campaign, I'll start my awesome "Get Insulin" campaign. Insulin? Do you have it? Because if you don't, you're really missing out. Insulin: It's a beautiful thing.

Peace out. I'm off for coffee with my favorite sleeper extraordinaire.