Thursday, December 16, 2010


Hello again.
I would like to point out that I tried. Allow me to come to my own defense and direct your attention to the numerous times I tried to write in the past few months.
- October: 4 times
- November: 3 times
- December: 3 times

If all the posts I started were published, there would be a lot more for you all to read. Sadly, I have the unfortunate inability to release anything that hasn't been entirely finished. And what with my lack of time these days, I rarely get around to finishing anything.
For more reasons than one, too...

Slowly but surely, my imagination and my creative spirit are dying. I don't have much faith in anything these days. People are all horrible (myself included), we're messed up, constantly failing, using every minute to pursue useless endeavors that will inevitably result in nothing at the time of our expiration.

So what is worth pursuing? What, at the end of the day, is really worth my effort and dedication?
After all this time asking the same question, I still don't know. I still cannot quite figure it out.
But I think I'm getting closer.
Of all the things I have done thus far, all the things I have tried to learn, tried to devote myself to, the only endeavor that ever seems to feel right is helping other people; if what I do benefits someone else, even if only in a very small way, the hours spent working and sweating seem worthwhile.
Which always leads to the next question; what can I do with that?
What job or career can I involve myself in that will let me accomplish what I want? People have suggested that I become a teacher or something akin to that, but I don't know if I'm up to the challenge.
Which I suppose might mean that I am not really dedicated to helping others. If I can't put in the work necessary, I must not really want to help anyone.

But I don't know.
I don't know what I'm doing, where I'm going, or how anything makes sense these days.
I made the mistake of believing that life would come together like a puzzle over time, with more pieces being filled in as I learned and experienced. Unfortunately, it seems to be the other way around; I had a picture of life, but the longer I'm alive the more the picture doesn't make sense and I keep removing pieces, hoping that I'll be able to put them back together in a way that makes sense. But more choices present themselves as more pieces are removed. Now I don't even know what picture I'm trying to build. There's just a pile of pieces that belong to some fragmented picture of a once concrete view of life.
There was less as a kid; less stress, less money, less worry, less care, less consequence. The world existed on  a much smaller scale and so the input on my picture of life was minimal.

At this point I just want to put the pieces down and go take a walk. Maybe if I come back in a little while, the picture will be clearer.

Over the course of the last few days, I have been working on seeing things. Not just looking at them, but seeing them. There is a massive difference between viewing the larger scene and observing the details within it. It is brilliant.
It makes me want to take pictures again because there really is so much to be seen.


Friday, December 10, 2010

All The Beautiful People

The world is full of beautiful people. Or so we perceive. Beautiful faces sprawl across sides of buildings and beautiful bodies lounge on billboards, looking down at the rest of us with that better-than-thou look of superiority. Beautiful people even exist in the flesh, walking down the street, ordering coffee in front of us, sitting across from us on the bus, etc.
Those of us who do not possess the natural (or even feigned) beauty of these individuals feel inadequate. There is such pain and want in the looks of those people who read the magazines filled with the "beautiful" people, and for what reason?

I know I feel inadequate. Not so much compared to the people I see in the magazines, movies, and billboards, but compared to the beautiful people I see walking down the street. The men I know champion these beautiful women as something particularly special, as if the rest of us are some secondary class of woman.
In order to quell these deep feelings of inadequacy, we tell ourselves that these women must not be as funny as we are, or not as intelligent as we are, but when a beautiful women shows up who is everything we are except better, it scares the living hell out of us.
Most times, I feel like I have a limited number of things going for me. I'm not the prettiest, the nicest, the most talented, or the most fun. I'm pretty run of the mill; there aren't any defining parts of my character that make me special.
So when a beautiful person comes along who is funnier, smarter, and nicer than I am, I become immediately secondary.

At this point, I'm wondering why I care. In some ways, I know why. I am not where I should be at this point in life. I am a child surrounded by working professionals; people who, for all intents and purposes, have everything figured out.
And right now, I have nothing figured out. Not a single thing. I feel utterly and completely lost, totally unsatisfied with my life, and confused beyond belief. What is the next step from here? Where am I going? How do I start?

I know myself well enough to know that my most immediate reaction to this overwhelming wave of reminders is depression; I want to lay down and not get up. I want to hide, be forgotten, and fall apart. For the past two days, I've been doing a mediocre job of avoiding this. I've managed to do a few things and stay in a relatively good mood (not without the help of a wonderful boyfriend).
But as I head back to another week of work, I can't help but wonder why I'm doing everything I'm doing. My life is devoid of any meaning or purpose at this point, and it is devastating.

Some large life change is imminent. I don't know what that means exactly, or what it entails, but something has to move forward. Not just change, but change for the better, change in the forward direction. Otherwise I will fall apart.
I am teetering on the edge of a very vast and bottomless chasm, debating the pros and cons of simply falling off.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

New Habits Are Hard To Form...

Habits are difficult, all around. Old ones are hard to break, new ones hard to form. The easy ones are the ones you don't need, and the hard ones are the habits that'll change your life.
A long standing habit of mine is doing everything according to the "all or nothing" philosophy. Do it all, or not at all; accomplish everything now, or wait until you can. Unfortunately, this has never worked out nearly as well as I would have liked, and often causes more problems than it alleviates. I remember times (a lot of times) when my parents were totally dumbfounded by my antics; instead of writing part of my paper and getting partial credit, I would write part of my paper and turn none of it in, because I was going to give them a whole paper or no paper at all. Stupid? Yes. But it made sense in my head.
Finally, after so many years of being totally aware of this problem, but postponing the date of fixing it (hurray for procrastination being another favorite pastime of mine) I am addressing it. Everything in my life is piling up because I want to start it and finish it in one fell swoop, rather than spreading it out across several days, weeks, and so on. Thus far, this logic has prevented me from starting two (possibly more) books, sewing the tablecloths at work (I've been avoiding that one for a good month now), getting my driver's license, registering to vote, and an alarmingly large amount of other things.
So. It is time to adjust my behavior. I must start doing little things, little chunks of things in the hopes of actually finishing something in a timely manner. I don't know where this habit came from, or what subconscious experiences it is tied to, but I do know that it needs to change.

Thus far, as anticipated, my new method of operating my life has worked out well. I started one of those books. I started a return on a shipment of herbs that, even though I can't finish it today, is now partially done so that when I come in on Saturday, I will not have to do all the work. Huzzah for improvement.

And instead of thinking up more things to say, as I usually want to, I'm going to leave it at this.
Its a horribly boring "update" for all of you who still read on occasion, but thank you anyway.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

The Passage of Time (10/5/10)

The passage of time dulls the pain and bitterness felt in the worst days of one's life. Rage turns to minor annoyance and crushing grief becomes nothing more than a saddening memory. In the midst of those days though, the height and intensity of one's emotions are such that we cannot imagine a time when we will not feel as strongly. But with each passing day another coin is moved on the scale of reason until finally balance is reached. Then, days or weeks or years down the road, those most distressing and angering of moments become just another piece of the puzzle. However, one can seldom cope and understand while still experiencing those things which they despise. It is only the fact that those things lie in the past that provides solace. Knowing that those experiences will never have to be repeated allows one to place them in the back of their mind, where they have little chance of stirring the bearer's mind.
It is an unfortunate scenario though, when those bad memories are given the chance to resurface, fleshed out with all their orginal intensity.
It is times like these, when I hoped to God that everything would work out and I wouldn't have to put up with this same crap again, that I remember why I left as soon as I did. Over the course of a year I had forgotten how absolutely painful these interactions were, and I let myself believe that they had never been quite as bad as I had thought. Yet here I am an entire year later, and we still get along no better than we did before. Still, every word he says makes me want to pull out my hair and scream in anger. I didn't even know it was possible to get along so poorly with any one person until now. I am not perfect, but I find it hard to believe that my behavior is worthy of such treatment...
The hardest part is that nothing can be done. I am in the same position as I was one year ago and every year before that since I was 5. Helpless and controlled, forced to respond well to the only voice that makes me feel such anger. I don't want to have this kind of relationship, but again I am reminded that it can be no other way because regardless of the effort I put forth I am rewarded with chastisement.
I have had about all I can stand and I know that I have not even received the worst of it yet.

The Body and The Mind

As I watched for the umpteenth time the graceful bodies grappling, each struggling for dominance in a passionate dance of power and will, I could not help but admire it all; the sweat, the blood, the love and addiction that is each man's jiu jitsu. These men, all of them strong and able-bodied, seemed to do so well against one another. Regardless of skill, their inherent drive to be the better opponent, to be the victor, to demonstrate their ability, provided each man with a certain vigor that transformed each roll from a game to a contest.
Over the past several weeks I have felt as though my own game was going nowhere. I felt that I was missing something, some understanding or key piece of information that would fix all of my problems. I was expecting the answer to emerge from my game; I needed to properly understand some principle of jiu jitsu in order to pull out all the stops. However, while watching these men roll tonight, it clicked. It is not a physical dilemma, but a mental one. Several months ago I identified a lack of aggression in my game. There was no fierceness, no drive, no reason to win. But the solution was not simply to be more aggressive.
The mind is responsible for many of our greatest feats, though we often overlook it and thank our bodies for performing well instead. Our mentality has a great deal to do with the level of our accomplishments; hopelessness produces inadequacy, indifference produces mediocrity, and ample faith produces greatness.
The best example I can give is that of climbing. Climbing involves a certain amount of physical commitment but is very much a mental sport. Sometimes the only difference between reaching a hold and failure is your state of mind. We always called it "psyching up" when I was growing up, that small moment of time where you tell yourself you've got it, take a deep breath, and heave your body towards that same hold you failed to reach seven times before.

Most times we let our bodies take complete responsibility for their own performance. The more I think on it and the more I experiment with my own frame of mind, the more I find that this is wrong. Our bodies are only capable of so much by themselves. After a certain point, they need help to reach their greatest potential.

Friday, September 24, 2010


Tomorrow marks the beginning of yet another stretch of incredibly long days. In some strange way, it is enjoyable. I would like to think that working so much gives me a sense of purpose, but it doesn't. Really, its just an impressive way to use all my time.

Climbing was a good choice. I have been trying to go climbing for months now, but things always come up for either me or my partner and we end up cancelling. Finally, I had a few hours of free time and the only worthwhile thing I could come up with to spend it on was climbing. My arms are tired, my brain is at ease, and my eyes feel heavy. Nothing puts me in a more perfect state of rest than climbing. I may not be the best, I may not even be that great, but I climb nonetheless.
The act of climbing forces me to focus only on what is in front of me - where to place my foot, the best way to reach that next hand hold - and allows my mind to relax. But good company multiplies those effects. To laugh and climb and enjoy those few hours of simple good times is priceless.

While we were climbing, I couldn't help but remember how seemingly pointless it is on the surface. If you take climbing at face value, what you get is a bunch of people shimmying up a wall simply to reach the top. That's it. Its not like we do anything once we get up there. You touch the top, you come back down, you go somewhere else and do it all again. There is a physical and mental challenge in climbing, as with any sport. But really, once you have conquered that route and reached the top, what was the point?
Of course, this is looking at the skin of climbing. Underneath (again, as with most things) is the real value, the real point as to why anyone climbs.
For me, I realized that one of the important things in climbing is relationship. When you climb, you interact with your partner and/or group, often talking and laughing and getting to know one another. Other things are the same. Sometimes the action itself seems devoid of value, but in reality it presents an opportunity to get closer to people, and also to challenge oneself; to prove that you are capable of physical and mental feats beyond what you thought you could achieve.

Climbing is a little bit of those for me. Mostly it just helps me to forget about my life for a moment and do something I can do...climb some rock.

Saturday, September 18, 2010


I was hoping it would be easier than this. Quitting my job was rough. I had imagined that I would be nervous until the deed was done and then an immense weight would be lifted from my shoulders.
Instead I am left to wonder whether or not I did the right thing...I haven't felt this bad since Darren and I were on the rocks. The job itself is something I could live without. It was fun and I liked making coffee, but I could do other things. The thing that makes my stomach churn is leaving all of my coworkers behind...Amanda told me that I am her favorite and her "go-to" girl. I believe her. We are already short one person, and now because of me, its two. I wish desperately that I could work the two jobs and call it good, but it isn't a reality.
Amanda is going to give me massive amounts of crap for the next few days for quitting. I know this. But its okay. She's even going to get hammered on my behalf tonight...which makes me feel even worse.
Dammit I wish this was easier...
I just hope and pray that this new job is everything I need it to be for me to justify leaving.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

My Life in Review

For the first time, I understand why we were told to outline and brainstorm before writing essays. I'd like to think that when my life becomes busy, my brain organizes everything, whips it into a single file line and keeps it all in check. Unfortunately, I know that that is not the case. Instead, my head becomes like a bowl of rice noodles, sticky and utterly inseparable. All the ideas, thoughts, complications, and tasks pile onto one another and fight for air like so many fish in too small a pond.
So as I sat down to write several nights ago and not a single thing made its way to paper, I gave in. Fine Mr. win.

Forefront on my mind these last few days is simply the unexpected.
Almost a full year ago, I moved to Seattle. I had my heart set on working at a tea house or coffee shop, because it was something I had never done and seemed to be something I might enjoy. I gave my resume to several tea houses in the area, one being Teahouse Kuan Yin. The owner called me a week later and told me he was impressed with my cover letter and would love to have me on staff, but he had just hired two new employees. I continued my job search, ultimately ending up with my current job as a barista at Tully's. I mostly forgot about Teahouse Kuan Yin and moved on.
Almost four days ago, I received a phone call. It was the owner of Teahouse Kuan Yin, Marcus. At first I thought there was no way he would be calling me. There was no reason at all for it. But I answered the phone and it was him. Asking me if I was still looking for work. I said yes (which was a lie, because I already have more than I can handle), because if this could really work, I wanted it.
We scheduled an interview and he hired me no more than twenty minutes later. My first training shift was today. My second is tomorrow. I have two more on Thursday and Friday. If all goes well, I will be closing alone on Saturday.
When was it ever this easy? When does a year old resume ever land anyone the job they want? When does showing up to an interview and not trying get anyone a dollar an hour raise? Thus far, I am still shocked that things have unfolded the way they have.

I thought that I would be able to keep my job at Tully's and fit in some extra shifts here and there at Kuan Yin. Unfortunately, within a day it was clear that I was going to have to make a choice. Teahouse Kuan Yin or Tully's?
This is my dilemma: Tully's is short staffed as it is, and I know I am more valuable now than I have ever been there. It is a good job and I like all of my coworkers...but do I pass up this long awaited opportunity in the name of courtesy, or stay at Tully's simply to keep everyone else from suffering the loss of another employee?

After several days of tossing that thought around, and after my first day of training at Kuan Yin, the choice seems clear. Although it will be difficult to deliver the news to my manager, it would be a shame to waste my chance at the teahouse in the name of politeness.
This is a new chance to prove myself as capable and willing. It is difficult for me to develop a sense of self after so many years as a people pleaser, but now is as good a time as any. The door is wide open. I have to rise to the challenge.

Wish me luck.

(P.S. Thanks for keeping me accountable, Griff.)

Tuesday, August 24, 2010


There's just not a whole lot to say today.

Except that all I want to listen to are seventies and eighties classics. Rush? YES. Cyndi Lauper? YES. Eurythmics? YES. Motorhead? YES.

For the last few days my head has been filled with things...mostly things that need to be done, not said. So until I can clear my head by accomplishing a few of the things I need to get done, I may not have a whole lot to say.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Life Thus Far

As the day crept by, it seemed less and less likely that I would coax some noteworthy thought from my mind. Thankfully, something has surfaced at the eleventh hour.

I sat in front of my computer at the kitchen table, caught again by the grasping hands of those who would wish to get in touch with me. Inevitably, any time I make myself slightly available, any time I open the door just enough to see sunlight, all the people who have not heard from me in whatever they consider to be "too long" come rushing forth, crowding what little space I can provide. Of course they never mean ill...what else can I expect when I only make myself available once in a blue moon? And I love to hear from everyone...I enjoy the companionship of my friends and family. But the difficult part comes in facilitating four conversations at once five hours from when I have to wake up for work...I shouldn't gripe. Its my own fault.

As my conversations came to an end and the opportunity to sleep could finally be seized, I set my alarm. Thankfully, mine is not the kind that makes horrible noises to force me into a state of disgruntled is the kind that lets me pick what I want to wake up to. Some mornings Monolith by CFCF is the best. Other mornings Untitled by Interpol is top of the list. But tonight, I know that my ears will want to hear Summer Skin by Deathcab for Cutie as the sun rises. Placing my Ipod on the proper song and then setting the alarm itself, the song triggered some sort of momentary lucidity, allowing me to remove myself for just long enough to really take in what I had made for myself.

Look what I have. Look what I have in this little room. Lying on the beige carpet is my nest; my wonderful creation made of thermarest and too many blankets, where I spent my first months as an independent seventeen year old. The big printer box just next to it is still what I call my "desk"; it is more like a nightstand, though, only ever home to my numerous hair clips, ties, and pins and the occasional book or tea cup. The big window that takes up the full length of one wall. The heater just below it that spans the same length of wall. Between the two, the entire wall becomes a huge expanse of unusable space, expect for drying my gi. There is the small wooden table, gifted to me by my cousin Margie and her husband Neale who were so kind to let me stay with them before I knew where I was going or what I was doing. On top of that is the printer from my "desk" that has jokingly become my small home office. It has printed few things that weren't somehow related to helping me get a job. Also from Margie and Neale is a wonderful wooden chair that sits in the corner between the printer and the heater. Lastly, there are the cubbies I built for myself to keep my clothes in. Target actually provided me with something useful.

Everything in my room, every last hair tie, power strip, cardboard box, and piece of clothing has something attached to it. It means something, and carries more weight than just its own.

In that one minute of removed observation I looked at myself and everything I have made since the time I got here eleven months ago. Though it is small and unimpressive, it is my greatest achievement yet.

Friday, August 20, 2010


It took me all day to come up with something. Anything, really. A lot of time has lapsed since I last wrote...but it has not been for lack of material. There is plenty in my head, but the undeveloped vastly outweigh the developed.
But, as I stood in front of my door, keys in one hand, Sprite in the other, it occurred to me in one fleeting moment how horribly addicted I am to sugar. And as I put the key in the lock and set my Sprite on the window ledge, I thought about how I had eaten almost nothing but sugar for two days straight in some effort to try and satisfy my craving for sugar. And for another moment I thought it was funny. Just quickly though, before I realized how much that actually meant. I try to watch how much crap I shovel into my mouth if only because I don't want diabetes when I get older. But occasionally I slip up and say "screw it. I'll eat well tomorrow. Today, I need to get my sugar fix." But at the end of the day, I am no more fulfilled than I was the day before...despite the fact that I doubled or tripled the amount of nasty crap ingested.
This conclusion, in a moment of rare clarity, brought me to the following conclusion:

Its like that with all addiction. You up the dosage to try and get your fill, try to kill the craving by having just enough. The problem is...enough is never enough. No matter how much more you indulge, you will always want more.

And so I realized that that summarizes my relationship with sugar. I will always want more, regardless of how much I eat so it is pointless to seek a "stopping point", a point at which I will be satisfied and no longer crave sugar. Instead, I need to have self restraint and discipline, realizing that eating more won't help.
Well, that all sounded a lot more philosophical in my head than it does written out. Damn.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010


My body is sore. Jiu jitsu is kicking my butt lately...
Jiu Jitsu is the first "sport" I have ever truly involved myself in. Prior to jiu jitsu, I had no idea what it meant to rise to the physical and mental challenges of...well, anything really. I am constantly playing tug-of-war with my body and my mind in jiu jitsu, fluctuating between love and frustration. It has been...not necessarily a "struggle" to keep going, but definitely a struggle to push myself and learn and not brickwall all the information being presented to me.
After a month and a half of inactivity, I am finally back on the mat, thankfully. My body already hurts, but I guess that's jiu jitsu.

On a different note, I am frustrated. Mildly. Or, I suppose more accurately...let down. I have a hard time with being stood up, no matter what the occasion may be. And as I write this, I am in the process of being stood up. Not cool. At least it will give me an opportunity to work on my inability to healthily deal with these situations, because in my recent exploration of self, I have discovered that that is in fact one of the more pressing problems I possess...

Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Parade

This time alone really does call nostalgia and deep thought from their cool, dark corners. Though sleep would be most welcome, he never visits until after I've put pen to paper for a moment or two, as if to say that I am not allowed to see him before divulging some confession or revelation. Only after the many secrets of the day are laid bare does he see fit to close my eyelids and shut out the last pale light. Now, inspired by the prize of sleep, words form, warm and pressing against my fingertips.
Solitude and silence walk hand in hand, nostalgia and deep thought following close behind. Always, whenever these two emerge for their nightly stroll, their cherubs trail at the tails of their shadows.
Tonight it is a warm melancholy that fills the air, a thick quiet that embraces the heart and spreads its inky solace throughout the body. As the sun of the day's ambitions set behind silhouettes of wish and want, that small parade strolls quietly, contentedly across the horizon.
That solemnly blissful pair, Solitude and Silence, lead a quietly playful Nostalgia and Deep Thought as Sleep trails a little farther behind, bringing the close of yet another day lived.

Friday, July 23, 2010

FNAs and Life Insurance?

About a week ago, I served coffee to a couple I forgot as soon as I turned around. Later the same night, they called my workplace to speak specifically with me. Of course, the woman on the phone began by telling me that her and her husband had been in earlier. I, of course, couldn't begin to imagine who they were. She complimented me on my friendliness and warmth towards customers, and then switched gears and offered me a job at the financial advising company where she and her husband worked. I agreed to join them for a cup of coffee (at Starbucks of all places) the next day. It turned out that they were employed by a large company called Primerica, an absolute beast of a financial advising corporation.
Suffice to say, after two coffees and a trip to their office in West Seattle, I am now a part-time Primerica representative.
I would never have pictured myself doing FNAs and debt consolidation. But this could prove to be an incredibly interesting opportunity for me.
I suppose I never pictured myself doing anything like this partially because I didn't believe that I was capable. Only now am I beginning to understand that the only reason I can't understand and embrace certain challenges, is because I do not fully let myself. Several days after my realization, this opportunity (seemingly a gift of some sort for my revelation, as if to say "congratulations, you finally got it.") dropped right into my lap.
Being a natural skeptic, I am eager to find the catch, the flaw, the lie in all this. But thus far, I have found now. So, in light of my new perspective, the next step is to embrace this challenge laid before me and see how I do in the days to come.

Saturday, July 17, 2010


At the tender age of eighteen, I often forget that these are the times to be bold. My fear of failure and embarrassment keep me from progressing, from moving toward what I want. In recent days, I have found myself harboring feelings of jealousy at other people's accomplishments and skills. But why? I do understand that jealousy is the most worthless sentiment and results in nothing more than self-pity and bitterness, but I could not keep myself from sliding down that slope. And so, in my effort to discover the root of these ridiculous feelings, I remembered that I have been trying too hard. I want so badly to be good at the things I try, and not only that, but be good at them within the first several attempts, that I don't have patience for my own mistakes. Yet, how I am to get good at anything if I am constantly giving up?
I had this same mental block as a child learning to draw. I would see the picture of the horse in a magazine and set about drawing it, intending for my picture to come out exactly like the one I was copying. When I finished my rendition, I was almost always disappointed that mine was so much less than I had wanted it to be. So instead of going back to the drawing board and figuring out what I had done differently and what needed fixing or adjusting, I would give up and decide that I was bad at drawing.
Learning anything is a challenge, and it takes work. Often times I underestimate the real meaning of that challenge, and thus set myself up for disappointment again.
When I see someone who plays an instrument well, or is particularly good at making small talk, or performs well at a sport, I feel a small pang of inadequacy, because I have nothing like that. And the only reason for it is my own unwillingness to take my failures in stride. It takes a lot of effort for me to swallow a if everyone involved thinks of me as so much less because I couldn't do something right.
So I the weeks to come, I will have to make a concerted effort to step to the challenges I have undertaken. Coffee, jiu jitsu, writing, and humbleness. These things don't come naturally for me, and improvement is impossible without first realizing there is change to be had.
And so the search for the better me continues one step at a time. Maybe one day I'll have it together...

Friday, July 9, 2010

Hurray for Me

Rita, you're a tactless ass.
Contrary to popular opinion, you have no consideration for anyone but yourself. You'd rather open your asinine mouth than hold your tongue for someone else's sake.
If falling off the face of the earth again will keep you from wrecking other people's lives, then do it. Please just do it.
Because if you haven't learned by now that decisions are best made using thought and restraint, then you're an idiot. Which I already believe you to be.
After all, it only took twenty-four hours for you to obliterate your so-called "reconciliation", and here you are again feeling like an ass. A complete ass.
Have fun at work tomorrow, you selfish bastard.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010


My dad came to visit me tonight. His visit was unexpected, but so very welcome. What with my situation being as messed up as it is, I need all the distractions I can find.
When I called him in response to his text about having dinner tonight, he said he would be at my apartment in around thirty five minutes. The first thirty of the those minutes were spent sobbing in despair and writing the last post, because it would have been nearly impossible for me to maintain my composure without a little release.
Sadly, my period of catharsis left little time for cleaning, and I had to present my father with a dirty apartment...shame on me.
Thankfully we didn't spend much time in my home. Instead, we visited my favorite local pho place and ate. It was good to see my dad, and good to hear the stories of his life turning out so wonderfully for him. Perhaps all Van Briesens are doomed to live most of their lives in struggle and short coming, only to live the last bit in near perfect bliss.
My dad is such a wise man. Tonight, he proved yet again to be the messenger of my Father's words. Everything I needed to hear came from his lips, and suddenly...things are a tiny bit better.
That his visit finally worked out is a miracle in itself. I am glad to have him here, and the races to take my mind off my own life.

Day Two

I'm falling apart.
Today was spent half-heartedly trying to keep my composure in front of people I had no interest in being around. Last night was considerably more hellish...spending six hours in a room with myself took its toll.
I hadn't cried when I left that night. I knew that at some point, the tears that hid deep in my chest would well up and spill forth as only they could. There was nowhere else for them to go. When they find that home in the empty cavity of my chest where warmth and hope and self-respect once were, they stay. They settle in like an angry, bristling beast, sensitive to the most delicate touch. And all night I fought those tears, feeling them rise up only to somehow lull them back to complacency again.
But the moment I laid down, that moment I pulled the soft pink blanket up under my chin, I fell apart. The tears squeezed themselves out and filled the corners of my eyes, running down my temples and getting caught in my hair. Those hot, salty tears felt like an admission of guilt, as if me telling myself what I had done was wrong was not enough. I needed to cry to truly understand the weight of my actions.
I couldn't convince myself to sleep. All I could do was turn back and forth and back and forth...
Every time I opened my eyes, there was no more than a second or two of normalcy before that bitter, horrid feeling would shake its way through my entire body and remind me...yes, you are wretched.

Work felt like hell today. I had to quell the urge to cry every time I was alone, and around every corner I just hoped and prayed to see a happy man, not one who was disappointed in me. My phone seemed always ready to ring, though no one ever called. I wanted so badly to answer the phone and hear a warm "come back home", but nothing.
When I escaped work, all I could think about was him. I forced myself to drink some juice earlier that morning, and forced a bagel into my stomach later...nothing seems appealing. All I can focus on is not messing this up...

And tonight, as I left jiu jitsu each step brought forth more sadness and hatred for myself. Those tears kept pushing and pushing and pushing, until finally, with my hand on the doorknob to my apartment...I let it out.
There is no one in my apartment to see me cry. No one to ask me why I am crying. No one to tell me to stop. All there is is me and my tears and my regret.
All I wanted was that phone call from him.
And I couldn't think of anything else...
So, against all the rules I have for myself, against all the rules of dealing with people who need space...I called him.
As the phone rang, I hoped that he wouldn't answer...I hoped that I could leave the message I so desperately wanted to leave..."I miss you...I probably shouldn't be calling you, but I need you know how important you are to me...I miss you so much..." and hope that it would somehow make a difference in my trial.
But he answered.
Each word was strained and unnatural, forced through a wall of choked back sobs...he sounded alright. He was with friends. I didn't want to keep him. We said goodbye...
I fell apart again.

All I know is this...he answered.


Here I am. Lying in my own bed for the first time in months. And sadly, it is not by my own choice.
I am such an ass...
One small lie...that turned out to be bigger than I thought it would be, has left me heavy hearted tonight, sitting sleepless and worried about the future. If I am to learn anything from tonight, it is that lying has never helped me.

For some reason rooted deep within my subconscious, I felt that for a split second it would be a good idea not to tell the truth. In the past I have had similar problems. But now I can't keep myself together enough to even tell a lie. Because I already know that the truth is the better route and there is no reason why I should not go that route.
And tonight is yet another testament to that logic. I lied through my teeth on the way out the door, already knowing as the words were coming out of my mouth that it was wrong, wrong, wrong. And then I disappeared for 75 minutes, only to come back and know that I had no other choice but to tell the truth.
The first words out of my mouth were, "I have something to tell you...but you have to promise not to get mad."
And then I took a moment to consider that statement...Knowing what words were going to follow that statement, there was no way I could make him promise not to get angry.
So I followed with a quick, "Nevermind, I can't make you promise that."

And I had hoped, oh I had hoped, that he would not react badly...but he did. The irritated pacing and exhales of disbelief radiating from a man who has just discovered an awful truth make the stomach turn sour.

My only qualm now is that I didn't do anything wrong. Aside from my unnecessary and reckless lie, I did nothing. My actions were carried out with good intentions...and the only part where I screwed up is when I decided not to be straightforward.
Damn me!
I have such a wonderful man...he has been so gracious and tender to me, so supportive and genuine. He takes  better care of me than any other man I could hope to meet. He gives me perspective on my own life and mind, which few people can do.
And I messed it up. The damage done tonight is irreparable, and all I can do is wait. The ball is in his court, and I can do nothing but try to sleep and hope that he finds it in himself to forgive me.

Please, God...don't let me ruin this.

Friday, July 2, 2010


Ever since you said that its been so long since I wrote that you stopped checking my blog, I've been thinking. Thinking that I do, in fact, need to write more. It means a lot to me, but apparently it means something to a few others as well.
There has been so much going on. When I fell behind with my own life, it made it difficult to find the time to sit and put it all on paper...
But if I am to start anywhere, it should be at the beginning.

When I moved here, to Seattle, all my time was my own. I planned my life around what I had created and nothing else. And I wrote a lot during those first few months. September, October, and December were pretty productive months for me. But then came Darren. Our relationship didn't take away from my time or my writing at first, but then I shifted. I shifted from my apartment, to his house. My laundry became our laundry, and time became our time.
And so I fell behind in my own life. All the empty spaces, my precious empty spaces, were filled with other things, other obligations, other noise. Primarily the pass from one atmosphere to another, each filled with voices and faces and breath and bodies, took its toll on me. To wake in the morning next to another warm body and hear their sleepy voice as you slip from beneath the covers...immediately noise. To appear at work where the volume of bodies is highest and maintain the mask of absolute perfection...noise! To return from work to the waiting lips of the man from that morning...Noise!
And it is not the man that bothers me, nor the work. I like my man and my job...but it is the lack of emptiness, silence, slowness that my mind cannot handle.
Now...I am sitting in my little empty room where the bulk of its space is filled with thoughts rather than things. My roommate is gone and so this apartment is silent. And perfect.
Because I can find nothing more consoling than silence these days. When every day is filled with something, it is the empty spaces that mean the most to me.

Saturday, June 5, 2010


There is a certain amount of comedy in the periods of my life when I forget that I know nothing. Somewhere amongst the amoeboid criticisms that multiply uncontrollably, my humbleness is swallowed and replaced by a false sense of superiority. Slowly but surely, in that ever so exponential way, I lost control of my ego and it puffed up like a man with a fancy suit and expensive watch. And so in eight months I have tiptoed backwards, blindfolded and cocky, into the warm arms of delusion.
And because of this, I had to take a moment to laugh at myself. The bubble burst and I found myself standing wet and awkward in the vacuum of my misconceptions, as though I were a naked adolescent standing embarrassed before a laughing audience.
What am I to do but laugh at myself for my folly and find a better fitting shroud for my nakedness?

At the end of the day, I can do nothing more than return to infancy and relearn what it is to be righteous.

Because after all...

Who am I to criticize?

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

April's Wasted Potential

Not just April, but every month before April and every month after April...had and has the potential to be a good month; to be a productive, movement-filled, focused month. Perhaps I should have listened to my teachers when every progress report I ever received told me I wasn't living up to my potential.
"You have great potential, but you're lazy," they said.
And they were right.
And I knew it.
But at the time, it didn't seem worth doing anything about because the areas in which they wanted me to excel were areas I simply didn't care about. Now that statement bears much more weight and I wish I had learned a little more about it when I was in school.
I am still told that I have potential, but I am also told in the same breath that I am wasting it. Hence the reason the words "potential" and "expectations" have become my two least favorite words.
Whatever I do, I want it to be because I knew it was what I had to do.

I suppose now that I have once again discovered this vital piece of the puzzle, I need to put it in its proper place...instead of closing my eyes and throwing it over my shoulder so I can pretend I've lost it and keep myself from having to look at it.

In the end, I am the only one who can really answer my own questions. Every one I speak to and every sight I see is knowledge to be gained...The key is to dwell on it, figure it out, slow down and take a few moments to pick it apart.

Now, to move on and outward, upward and downward all in the same motion. Expand and progress and rediscover some things I have forgotten.

Monday, April 19, 2010

A Summary of Events...

I am tired. I thought that going to the Pan-Ams would be a good some ways, it was very much so a vacation; no customer service, no mopping floors, no cleaning bathrooms. But in many other was not. This complex, multifaceted vastness that is life is so heavy. When I was little, nothing meant quite as much as it does now, but everything was so much more important. With each passing hour, I find that my longing longing to return to a simpler time when nothing was quite so complicated. But I am not the first or the last to say those words. Which I suppose is an even sadder many people have lived and died and never felt completely content in this world? A fair many I would guess...
One of these days I'm going to have it all figured out. Idealistic; yes. Possible; yes. As I have said many times  before, I refuse to let society get the best of me. I want the best of me so I can do what I like with it.

The extent of my loss of independence showed itself to me today. I realized that I am a lot less independent than I should be...and I need to do something about it. I am still looking for a second job and am about to step it up a notch. If I am to right the things in my life that have been causing me stress, then I need to have the financial capability to deal with it.

That, and some faith. I never want to forget that it is not the dependence on money that gets me through the day, but the knowledge that I belong to a God who provides for me. After all, were it not for Him, I would be dead.

Hopefully in the days to come I will force myself to sit down and write more, because it is the only time when I can sit and not do much of anything...where my brain can settle, unwind, and remember that life is best taken slowly and in deeply ponderous spoonfuls.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Our Baleful Demons Subside

Today's day is one not fitting unto itself. My reality is one of countless caught beneath the blanket of implacable strangeness that weighs heavy on the day. It is a day in which deep, somber thoughts lope forth from the thickest shadows of one's emotions to be dwelt upon in relative safety. Were it any other day, they would be liable to spring forth from their melancholy guise and tear our delicate inhibitions to shreds, or devour them slowly with creeping dolefulness.

Yet today, the overwhelming sense of lostness confuses even our own demons, rendering them still baleful, and harmless.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Dearest Friday (Validus Mos and the White Belt)

Consider this an extension of yesterday's frivolous updates...
I introduce to you Validus Mos. She is (as stated by the tag) a Sempervivum 'Proud Zelda' (and mother to several pretty chicks, I might add). Jim the Succulent Man provided an ample selection at the Ballard Farmer's Market, but she caught my eye from beneath one of the tables amongst her sistren and brethren. He told me that when the seasons change, the succulents follow suit and dawn new and astonishing hues. Succulents are also known for their ability to thrive in harsh conditions; the less hospitable the climate, the happier the succulent. And thus, I named her Validus Mos, meaning 'mighty will' or 'strong-willed' in Latin. In the words of Succulent Jim, "they thrive on benign neglect"...what better plant could I have purchased? She only needs to be watered every one or two weeks and even then she doesn't need much. Soon she will have a bigger pot with more room for her and her chicks to grow. Beautiful, isn't she?

While Validus Mos is not particularly new, my third stripe is. I was promoted a little over a week blue belt is not so far off as it once was. There is still a great deal of work to do, though.
To me, I do not deserve my stripes yet. Maybe I have remembered enough to warrant the first or even the second stripe...but not the third. In some ways, though, it serves as a reminder of how hard I need to work to actually deserve that stripe. Because when I arrive at my blue belt, I want to feel that I have earned it.
Six months move by quickly. Six short months ago I was standing at the end of a line, dozens of people outranking me; I was literally the lowest on the totem pole. Now, I have outranked people who started before I even arrived...then again, I spend every possible minute outside of work playing jiu jitsu.
All I know now is that I love it. Not as a sport or as a hobby, but as jiu jitsu...just jiu jitsu.

Thursday, March 25, 2010


I could feel the sickness coming on Sunday night. Sitting on the couch, watching the UFC, I tried to remove what I thought was a piece of popcorn skin lodged in the back of my throat with copious amounts of jaw breakers. As the night progressed, however, the scratching spread farther down my throat until I had to concede to the fact that I did indeed have...a cold. Sunday night I hardly slept. My mouth was so dry it hurt to breathe. Monday morning I woke up with less of a sore throat, and it continued to lessen throughout the day...moving instead to my sinuses and filling them with nothing other than oodles and oodles of mucus. Hurray! Tuesday saw me drinking abnormal amounts of fluid in an effort to drown my body's invaders. That night I slept like a spluttering old man on his back, snorting and gurgling in between absurd subconscious tries to take in oxygen through clogged nostrils. Wednesday was like Tuesday on repeat, though I slept a little more soundly (save for the dream involving a small girl afraid of an even smaller imaginary girl and a knife fight with an old man and his dark, math-studying son).
And so here we are, arrived at Thursday and still not a clear nostril in sight. I'd hoped to be back on the mat by now, but my sinuses won't have it.

In addition to my illness, I now have what is most easily explained as the equivalent of three weeks "off". Yesterday marked the delivery of my fourth write-up concerning cash handling. Doomed as I am in the math department, it figures just as much. My manager has graciously given me a fifth chance to rectify the problem. As a disciplinary measure, all my shifts have been hacked away, leaving me with one "register training shift" and one closing shift in the next two weeks before leaving for the Pan-Ams. In the meantime, I will be searching for a second job to "pass the time", if you will. At $8.75 an hour plus tips, I need more to keep myself alive.

So now I sit, sipping (or rather, gulping) my third consecutive cup of tea in the last half hour, waiting anxiously for my return to the mat and a lovely dinner with co-worker and manfriend later this evening.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

The Beast

Some days I get in my car and the strange sensation that this life is not actually happening washes over me, and just for a moment my perception of myself and everything around me is radically altered. Everything that I have ever done or have thought about doing is stripped of its value, and in the very same moment all things are possible. As if the thought of an action would be enough to bring it into existence. And in the same vein, the doubt of existence would be enough to unmake me.
Some days its hard to believe that this life is "mine". I see with increasing clarity why it is often asked how one ended up where they are. Time is a thing perceived as quantifiable; It is unchangeable, therefore I can measure it and measure by it. However, the tables are most undoubtedly turned. Time is a man who laughs at our false grasp of him and all his vastness, who quantifies and measures us by our unchanging nature and ceaseless folly.
How arrogant a race are we, to think that time is in our hands, and we control our own lives!
To think that any aspect of one's existence is solely in their own hands is asinine.

Tonight it is not time that has me reeling, but change once again. Change is back to force me to do the things I need to do, but do not feel prepared to do. A new job may be in order tomorrow, as the odds of me getting fired are high. And even if I end up keeping my job, I will still need a second job to make ends meet. Though the Jiu Jitsu Pan-Ams are coming soon and the vacation is much needed.

So, for tonight, I exhale and surrender my worries for tomorrow is another day and all things are possible. A Wednesday is a perfect day for a new beginning.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Intelligence and Language

The internet is both a source of great inspiration and great disappointment. To be able to research the history Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in one tab, where I can train in another, and book my flight to the Pan-Ams in a third is brilliant. To be exposed to the masses' inability to spell and use proper grammar is another thing entirely.
In days past, it would have made me angry. Now, I suppose I just feel disappointed and dumbfounded more than anything...
Seriously? "Relationship"? I'm pretty sure that one is a word you should be spelling right by the eight grade at the latest. I suppose not everyone is "good with words", but it makes me cringe a little to see "relationship" become "realashionship" and "spider" being spelled "spyder" by ninth graders. I mean, for heaven's sake, by high school you should at least be able to spell the words you use frequently when you speak! And with today's technology, if you aren't sure how to spell a word, the click of a button or five seconds of research will set your straight!
Perhaps some people just don't care as much as I do...those "math and science" people have their priorities organized a bit different than the "art and language" people...but it would be nice, even if you can't spell correctly, to try and form a semi-intelligent sentence every once in a while.
If anything, writing well at least makes you sound a little more credible. Or a little more together. Even if you aren't. And I suppose the ability to do really difficult math problems and spew scientific facts does, too. But writing is something done on a regular basis, whether it be a cover letter for a resume, or a post in a forum.

Sometimes the internet makes me want to retire and never look at it again. Sometimes I like it just enough to keep trying.
Now, I just wish there was a larger body of people spelling things correctly.

And, of course, its mostly just me...I can't say that anyone is less of a person because they can't spell well. Its my pet peeve, and I have a hard time letting it go without a momentary grimmace or a longwinded and empty complaint. There are definitely loads of intelligent people who can't spell to save their lives, but hey...give me an easy subraction problem and I'll get it wrong three times before finding the answer.

So who am I to talk?

Sunday, March 14, 2010

The Past Is The Present Is The Future

I suppose that the pattern of life never can be learned...perhaps because it has no pattern. Life is so extremely unpredictable that no two scenarios will ever play out exactly the same. Several days before, my life was seemingly in mental and emotional shambles. Last night I fashioned a desperate entry concerning my relationship with Darren; how it is nearly inevitable that he will become bored with me and decide that I was a bad choice. I suppose much hasn't improved in that area, no thanks to my inherently self-deprecating nature.
But, an old friend wrote me yesterday night as well. I haven't heard from her in at least a year and last time we did, she was into some pretty bad stuff. So I was surprised to hear from her...partially surprised that she was still alive. Whenever we used to talk, I was excited that she still remembered me and called me a friend. But at the same time, there was always an underlying tone of sadness...I was scared for her and her life and where she would end up. Turns out that she is marrying her boyfriend of three years, moving to Hawaii, and starting life anew. Which makes me happy and nostalgic all at the same time.
Any time a friend contacts me from a previous era of my life, I can't help but remember the things we used to do when we were five, twelve, fourteen, etc.

So, it brings me relief from my own struggles to hear that she is doing well. And all I need now is a reprieve from my own head. I need to simply lay and think awhile about things unrelated to rent or my job or money completely. Though I have taken some very large steps backward, I think its not too late to save some face.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Days and Days and Days and Days...

Everything seems to be shifting to a different plane these days. As if when I began to let money mean so much, life somehow changed. I don't like this unsupported struggle. There is a vast difference between a struggle in empty space and a struggle with some faith. Currently, my struggle resides in the most expansive of voids, floating like an astronaut lost in the blanket of space.
Life is too much and not enough.
Because I've made it so.
Why is it that the most important things are the hardest to keep?

Monday, March 8, 2010


Change is the ever present threat. Regardless of circumstance or preparation, Change charges blindly (yet with such great purpose) into the plans of man. He commands flawless tact, moving with grace and guile to win his prey, yet possesses the brute force and immovability of the will of God.
Though disruptive and chaotic, he is wise beyond reason and sits at God's right hand.

Change has taken an interest in me today. He has tied me to a pendulum and swings me to and fro, this way and that, commanding my direction as easily as the wind commands the grass. My mother came to visit, and it was a success. I have the money to go to the Pan-Ams and will be buying my plane ticket today. I was written up for the third time for cash-handling problems. Next time I screw up, there is a good chance I will be fired. Two of my shifts were taken away. There are still many more hours in the day...there is still much more time for Change to redirect my momentum entirely.

We will see.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Things To Come...

My mother comes into town tomorrow morning. 9:30 a.m., to be exact. Due to uncontrollable circumstances, she was not able to make her original flight, scheduled to come in tonight, and had to reschedule for tomorrow morning. However, I can't complain. I'm simply excited to see my mom! Its been six months since I've seen her in person, a few months since I've seen her face at all. Thanks to the miracle of Skype, I was able to "see" her once.
I wish I could say that there has been so much going on, I haven't had time to write. The truth is, I'm a "high-class writer" and lead myself to believe that I need certain circumstances in order to be able to write well. For example, I can't be standing up and writing, or typing on a keyboard with a stubborn period key. I find that sitting here, at my own kitchen table, in my own quiet apartment, with my own Tarquinius (my computer) is where I am able to write "best". Or so it would seem. Sadly, I am almost certain that I've made myself believe these things because I am having difficulty writing lately. It seems to be a repeating complaint of mine lately. Somewhere along the way in the last six months, I have forgotten how to write properly. Or write at all.

That fear of the blank page, the overwhelming thought of the infinite possibility of words that could find their way on to the is cripplingly present and disappointing as ever. When writing is all I really have, it is like severing my limbs from my body when I do not have the ability to write.

Perhaps the drought is nearing an end. My brain has had flickering moments of clarity, signs of life that have not appeared in quite a while. It seems that normal life has a knack for destroying one's ability to focus on anything other than paying rent and working.

Pish posh.

I can still live life the way it is intended to be lived, and rise above the common denominator of broken souls. Hopefully pull a few up, as well to join the ranks of the living.

March will be a month of writing for me. Every day, I will write something. A basic exercise, but hopefully a worthwhile one.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Anxiety Fills The Mushroom's Empty Space

Okay...the mushroom problem has been solved for the time being. After several days spent in mental turmoil over the continuing growth of flora in my truck, I was able to find a fix for the situation. Some little device called "Dri-Z-Air" from the local Fred Meyer has provided me with least I hope so. Despite my slight annoyance at its ridiculous and painfully incorrect name, I am pleased with it thus far. By means unknown to me, it sucks the excess moisture from the air and deposits it into a small reservoir. The trick now is to keep it from spilling in my car, thus bringing me back to square one. Wish me luck.

Now I stand in my manfriend's "office", freshly showered and fatigued beyond belief, my brain working overtime to try and think the recent past through.
I feel like I need a vacation.
Work is dramatic. More so than it should be.
Money is a constant worry.
I should be reapplying for school soon, filling out the FAFSA, redoing scholarships, etc., etc....All the wonderful stuff I had so much fun with the first time around.

I suppose life can only be lived one day at a time. Tomorrow, my money may be gone, though I think I've saved up a bit. Tomorrow, my job may disappear, I may lose my apartment, and my truck may be totaled. Who knows. Maybe I'll be dead tomorrow.
I would rather these things not happen at all, but really...I'm not the boss am I?

I am beginning to understand now why people living in the city are largely so callus. Despite how nice I try to be, despite the good things I try to do for two or three people in a day, despite all the happiness I try to pour into the world...every time I walk down the street, all I see are grimaces and drunkards and crazies. People who couldn't change if they wanted to, people who could change but don't want to, and people who just don't give a damn. It really makes me wonder why I try at the end of the day. When I see all the same faces in my little neighborhood, and not one of them dares to recognize my face.
It would be nice for a period of time without so much stress...without worries and without voicemails to be returned.

I refuse to believe that this is what life is like. Call me naive, call me what you will, but life is more than this.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Habitats for Mushrooms...

Oh, its beginning to be a long life...I am a little closer to understanding the midlife crisis now. Realizing that every week is going to be the same is a little bit saddening...realizing that I will have one or two days off here and there with no real change is...disheartening.
Most of my current "crisis" is magnified by the fact that I found a mushroom growing in my car. A mushroom. WTF?! Mushrooms don't grow in cars. Its wrong. The more I think about it, the more unsettling it is. Every time I relive its discovery, I feel a little bit more disgusted. I hate fungus. Mushrooms outside are fine; pretty, in fact. Mushrooms in my truck...well, that's a different story entirely. Seriously, just knowing that mushrooms are the flowering part of a vast network of fungus is very, very disturbing. Then applying that knowledge to my CAR makes the whole thing...revolting. Simply revolting. There must be some gnarly chemical solution on the market that will kill every living cell of fungal matter in my truck and restore it to normalcy. I'm living in SEATTLE for crying out loud! If something like that doesn't exist, I'll make it exist. Because fungus WILL NOT eff with my car.
On a deeper level, this entire situation has resulted from a long-standing inability to accept the facts of any given problem and deal with them. I somehow believe that by simply turning a blind eye to an existing issue, it will go away. I am keenly aware of the fact that this logic makes no sense and makes matters worse. But I do it anyway.
When I got in my truck a week ago, I thought to myself, " truck smells a tad bit musty. There's the possibility that it could be growing some mold. That's not good...that's probably going to be hard to deal with....ugh." So I tucked that information away in my mind, parked my truck, and forgot about it until the present. Then, getting in my truck today to move it, my nostrils were greeted by the same lovely scent...only a little more pungent this time. Not really wanting to, but having to out of sheer necessity, I looked  over my shoulder and took a general survey of the back half of my cab. Little wonderful spots of mold were growing pretty much all over the place. The mats on the carpet, the back seat belt, the carpeting on the floor...pretty much everything. It wasn't terrible, but it was enough to make me want to cry a little. Mold is a stubborn S.O.B. and I just want it FREAKING DEAD. Dead and dead. Not growing all over the inside of my poor truck. The final straw was the mushroom. I pushed my seat forward so I could at least try and clear some of it up. As I was cleaning some spots off the carpet, I noticed a little orange round looking thing. At first I thought I had dropped some food. But upon looking closer I realized that it was not food at all.
"Is that...a freaking...mushroom?!" my brain asked in disbelief.
I poked it, prodded it, tried to pick it up. When I tried to pick it up, it split in half to reveal the inside of a FREAKING MUSHROOM.
At first...I laughed. And then, as I had to try and dig the remains out of my carpet, I wasn't really laughing so much anymore. I was beginning to realize what I mentioned above; that it is the flowering part of a large network of fungal matter. NO. NONONO! That's bloody disgusting.
Now every time I think about it, I kind of want to pass out. Fungus growing on things other than the ground and any kind of nasty disease are really the only things that sincerely provoke my gag reflex.

So, due to this mushroom thing, my reactions to minor situations are slightly heightened and therefore slightly more irrational. Small problems in my life are turning into immovable obstacles.
I just need some sleep. And some protein. And some fruit....yes, fruit.

Sunday, January 31, 2010


Its been exactly two weeks since I last wrote. Anything. I have not sat down and written in fourteen days. How sad it is when I have no time to do what I love most.

I've fallen out of the habit of, as my English teachers always called it, "showing, not telling". I've forgotten how to tell a story...and write dry, empty words instead.

Come to think of it, my mind has been rather devoid of any meaningful thought as of late. Actually, it has been devoid of all thought completely. I asked myself what was on my mind, cocked my head and looked up toward the window...and couldn't find anything. Not a single thing. I suppose more than anything else...I just want to fall off the face of the planet for a little while. Shed my responsibilities like clothes on the way to the shower. Leave a little trail of chores and concerns and schedules and errands. I think in a little while, everything will calm down. In a bit, I'll have some time. Maybe I'll remember who I am and why I am here and what it looks like to actually be myself.
I'm tired of complaining when I know I don't have to, simply because those around me insist on doing it.
I'm tired of pretending that my humor is not as it is, simply because those around me are older and perhaps more "mature".
I'm tired of getting frustrated at others for minor infractions, simply because those around me insist on doing it.

I want to do things the way I want to do them, without fear of consequence. Because I know the way my heart works and the way my brain corresponds with it. It doesn't harbor resentment, it doesn't spread hate. I don't have bad intentions or ulterior motives. I simply want to help and to love and help others see who they are as well.
Too much time is spent dwelling in the shadows of people who are doing the exact same thing as me. Most people are searching for themselves, hoping to find it in someone else...but in the end, everyone ends up lost, wondering how it is they never found themselves, when all they needed was to stop...take a moment...and invert themselves.
Its here, I know it. Because I've found it before...and it was beautiful. The city is a big, big place, filled with lots of people. And they're a bit confusing and distracting sometimes, but I'll find it again.

Its just a matter of time.

Sunday, January 17, 2010


Sometimes I feel paralyzed...lying on the floor, eyes focused inward, surroundings blurred by an overwhelming lack of reason to focus on any of it.
Perhaps this most recent bout is the flower of deep rooted self-disgust. I am disgusted with me...then again, has there ever been a time when I was not? When I could take a step back, look myself up and down, and step back inside thinking, "yes. everything is alright with you."? Not that I can remember.
It is amazing how much and how little people can know about one another.

Friday, January 1, 2010


Yes. New Year. Happens every year. Right about the same time as the year before. And the year before that. And the year before that. And the year before that...
Every time the suffix of the millennium changes people get this notion that this year will be better than the last.
But they had the same expectation last year about this year. And in 2007 about 2008. And in 2006 about 2007.
Resolutions and unfounded optimism about the new year have completely stopped making sense to me. Resolutions, because we can hardly ever keep any of the ones we make. By the time the year ends, we've forgotten that we even made a resolution at all. Unfounded optimism, because it sets us up for failure. When we expect the year to be absolutely fantastic, it almost inevitably won't be.

Perhaps its negative. But realistically, I'm pretty sure all of this is...well...realistic.

This year will be another year, just like the year before it, and the year before that, and the year before that...Time will continue on as unshakably as ever, and the positives and negatives of the timeline will balance each other out once again.

Beautiful things will happen this year.
As will unfortunate things.

And it will be just another gorgeous, multi-faceted, addition to the pages of our lives.

The 3rd Annual Flushing of Something Down the Toilet

Standing above the toilet bowl, I held in my freshly showered palm a Ferraro Rocher chocolate, a pile of granola, an small rubber o-ring, a penny, and a small length of purple string.
I dropped each in, one at a time in the order I picked them up. Each let out a distinct and individual cry as it met with the water's surface, preparing to bid 2009 goodbye forever.
I saluted the bearers of 2009's memories as they disappeared in the swirl of toilet water...
"Goodbye 2009..." I said, sadly.

There it goes...
2009 is gone, and in its place arrives the freshly born babe of 2010. Good luck, kid.

profundus sententia ex cunabula.