Creative Waste

Ancient Warlocks

2011-09-06T12:55:00.000-07:00

My significant other is a musician. A prolonged battle with ringworm forced him off the mats (he was a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu instructor at the time) and in to quarantine. Stuck in his house, unable to participate in the most central activity of his life, he pulled out an old electric guitar his brother had given him and learned to play. This was close to three years ago. He now practices every day in the living room, and twice a week with his bandmates.

It didn't take him long to start coming up with material of his own. Soon enough, a friend of his from the local rock scene (also a guitarist) noticed that he was getting pretty good. They jammed and after a few sessions, Ancient Warlocks was born.

Initially, the name was a joke. But it stuck. And two years later, they're doing pretty well here in Seattle with one 7" record already produced, and several more in the works.

I get to hear Darren play guitar all the time. When we first got together, I would sit on the couch and watch him play through each and every song, each and every riff. I'd sit there til he put the guitar down and switched off his amp. Over time, I started doing other things while he was playing, but I still listen. It's always a good time to hear him come up with new riffs, work on old ones, experiment, and just practice the established ones. But it's an entirely different experience to hear all the pieces come together.

From time to time, I'll end up at one of their group practices. There, the whole orchestra assembles; Aaron on lead guitar and vocals, Darren on rhythm guitar, Steve on drums, and Ony on bass. I get so used to hearing Darren's guitar all by itself, just one singular part of a much greater whole, that I begin to think of the songs as flat and simply 'interesting' instead of what they really are. As soon as they strike the first chord on that first song, I remember. A complex body of personality, fine tuned sound, the 'right' equipment, and the spirit of each player produces a wall of sound that always makes me move. Because every part of the musical experience is personalized, no two bands are ever the same. There is no right answer when it comes to tuning, brands of gear, how to play, how many players a band has, etc. Each instrument and component thereof is unique to it as well, so there is no limit to just how one-off a band can be.

I was sitting on the couch on the other side of the big glass window at their practice space, bobbing my head and tapping my feet as they played their newest songs for several hours. Steve always stresses the importance of 'groove', and it is something they most definitely have.

If you have a little time, have a listen.

Ancient Warlocks

The Internet

2011-09-04T14:52:00.000-07:00

The internet is a strange place. It gives us all the opportunity to be anyone we want - absolute anonymity unless we choose otherwise. I'm sure most of us would like to think we're pretty true to self even when we're posting in forums on the internet, but that's not always the case. I know I'm guilty of trying on different faces in different communities all over the web. But no matter how true we try to be, to a certain degree everyone's internet persona differs just a little bit from their 'real world' self. Some people differ quite a lot, though...those are the people who really need to get off the internet and get a life.

I've recently discovered this food blog written by a Seattle woman named Shauna. Her posts are wonderful -- each one consists of a story and a recipe, always beautifully written and a pleasure to read. By weaving together her story and her food, what would normally be just a tasty plate of homemade food becomes soul food. The kind that has had love and joy poured into it and somehow turns out better than anything you've ever made.I loved her blog right away. She fills each post with photographs of her wonderful family and the food they make together. It's a wonderful experience for anyone who loves joyful cooking.

But in her most recent post, she discussed a side of life that she doesn't mention much in her blog. The darker side. Her posts are normally full of cheer and positivity, and with good reason...there is too much hate and misery in the world these days. There is no reason to perpetuate it, and so she simply chooses not to.
Shauna's post discussed something I hadn't even thought about: people all over the world hate her. They hate her blog, her family, her cooking, her weight, her parenting skills. They've come at her from every angle for no good reason. It's as if they can see how completely happy she is, and they want to bring her down into their misery as well. I guess it's an age-old adage for a reason: misery loves company.

After struggling since childhood with her appearance and being comfortable in her own skin, she has finally, in the time since she has started writing this blog, discovered how to get over the heaps of crap people all over the internet are spewing at her and still come out smiling on the other side.

Read this post. It is beautifully written and contains a very important message. You will undoubtedly know what it is by the end of the post. Take five minutes out of you day and read it. (Not to mention you'll also get a kickass recipe at the end).

Warm Brown Rice and Grilled Vegetable Salad

Enjoy.

A Response to Josh K.

2011-08-21T20:52:00.000-07:00

On my last post you asked me a few questions:

Some other questions?

Do you do the things that you are asking of others?
Do you take the time to fInd out how those around you are doing?
Do you set the tone of the conversation, or do they?
Do you care about those around you?

An answer to your question maybe, and that is;

Maybe you're not a people person.
Maybe, just because others feel the need to always have companionship or people around them, all the time, doesn't meen there's something wrong with you.

Go with the flow. Just be.......

Just, my 2 cents,
Josh

My purpose in answering these questions is twofold. Mainly, it is my belief that nothing can be truly understood until it is broken into smaller pieces and digested one bit at a time. By answering your questions, I am hoping to break the greater issue into smaller chunks in order to isolate the root(s) of the problem. Secondarily, since you asked the questions at all, I assume you might take some interest in their answers.

Q: Do you do the things that you are asking of others?

A: What am I asking of others? I do not necessarily think that I am asking much. I am not asking anyone to take an interest who is not genuinely interested. That is not something that I have any control over. Essentially, I figure it must be something that I am or am not doing that makes me less appealing than other people. If I were more interesting or whatever it might be, then they would take more of an interest in me.
For the majority of my life, I have not had to look for friends. They just came to me. I did nothing, and people walked up and made friends with me. Thinking back, there are certainly explanations for it. It has nothing to do with how interesting or uninteresting I was, but the fact that every last one of us at the time was part of a captive audience. In the school system, people who otherwise would not interact with one another are forced to congregate in a space where it is impossible not to meet someone. And because I was and still am a very agreeable person, people seemed to have no problem spending time in captivity with me. In being stuck together, some people got to know me and liked who I was.
Outside of that world people have complete control over who they interact with. Now, I do not even know where to begin. I have no idea how to go about building a relationship because every friend I ever had spoke to me first.
I have thought about what it takes to make a relationship quite a lot in the last couple of years and what it seems to come down to is reciprocation. No one likes to be the one who is always planning things to do, or the one who always calls everyone else. There needs to be effort from both sides. Unfortunately, insecurity sometimes comes across as lack of interest and when I never called anyone to get together, it was not because I did not want to, it was because I did not think that anyone actually cared enough to want me around.
Finally, I have managed to get a little better at that, and people seem to enjoy that neither one of us is doing all the work.
Suffice to say, I feel like I am doing a pretty good job of trying to reciprocate. I care deeply about the people around me and I really do want to get to know them better...but my insecurities make me wonder if anyone really wants me around as much as I want them around.

Q: Do you take the time to find out how those around you are doing?

A: I work in customer service. My last three jobs have been jobs in which I stand on the opposite side of a counter and help every last person who walks through the doors. In some ways working these jobs has helped me to understand how hopelessly flawed we all are. Because no one is perfect, no one is too scary to talk to. But at the same time, I see so many people in a day that it is hard to feel genuine as the one-hundredth "Hello, how are you today?" is coming out of my mouth. Of the people who I see outside my job, I really do try and find out how they are, but as they rightfully should be towards someone whom they do not intimately know, they do not feel the need to spill their guts to me. Again, the age difference paves the way for an immediately parental relationship in which I am no longer on equal intellectual ground.
I honestly want to know people. When I ask how someone's day is going, I genuinely want to hear that story and listen to everything they have to say. It has often been my biggest disappointment that no one is as fascinated by my stories as I am by theirs.

Q: Do you set the tone of the conversation, or do they?

A: When I am at work, it is usually me who starts and maintains the conversation. Outside of work, it is usually other people. I do not have a lot to tell. Other people have a lot to say. I do not mind listening and contributing, but they can talk about whatever they want with me.

Q: Do you care about those around you?

A: Yes. If there is one thing I believe I do too much, it is care for other people. Which is also why it is painfully difficult for me to feel so disconnected from everyone here. If I did not care about the people around me, I would not necessarily need to know them at all because it would make no difference to me. But because I care, I am lonely.

One is the Lonliest Number

2011-08-19T15:30:00.000-07:00

I do not immediately want to address the fact that this is to be my first post since March.

Every so often when I am alone I remember that once upon a time, I used to write nearly every day. I look at my blog and see that with each successive year, I wrote less...and less...and less. This cannot possibly be the source of my problems, but it was undoubtedly detrimental. Writing was something of a sacred ritual for me and I considered it my only reliable catharsis. Now I only write on occasion, an ocean of excuses ready to drown the slightest urge to put pen to paper.
Lately, I have been looking a little closer at the people around me, trying to figure out what it is they are doing that I am not. Most people have a passion...something they are particularly good at and devoted to. These are the people who seem to have a circle of friends and acquaintances constantly buzzing around them, whether in person, through the telephone, or over the internet. There are always people seeking them out.
It seems that in order for people to be wanted, they must possess some quality or skill that draws others to them.

Whatever it is that allows people to make meaningful connections with one another, I do not think I have it.

Next month, I will have been in Seattle for 2 years. 2 years, and not a single person I would call "friend". My significant other is the only person who I really know here, and he has introduced me to most of the people I now know. But, his friends are exactly that...his friends. They say hello, and some joke with me, but the interactions are always surface level. Some of these people I have now known for nearly 2 years, and still...nothing more than a shallow conversation. Of course, there is a massive age difference between me and many of the people I am most frequently around, so it undoubtedly presents some mental obstacles.

After awhile, when no one calls you on the phone to ask you how you are, when no sends you emails asking you what you are up to, when no one except your co-workers, your parents, and your significant other tries to contact you, it gets a little old.
And naturally, I have to start wondering what it is about me that makes me so inaccessible. Do I just not care about any one thing enough to get in with the people who care so deeply about any one subject? Am I not genuine enough? Am I impersonal? Do I converse incorrectly? I just can't understand it, and though I know life continues on and things aren't really so terrible...it would be nice to have a few friends. People who check up on me from time to time and ask me how I am, or invite me to go do something...

What is it?

Aftermath

2011-03-09T17:20:00.001-08:00

Is it sad that I am so drained by my visit that I don't even have the energy to read? I am sitting...just sitting on the airplane looking out the window, unable to bring myself up from this incredibly deflated state. I know it will pass in time, but it shocks me how completely wasted I am after only three full days. It wasn't all bad...but there is such an air of overwhelming stress in that household alone and it wears on a person.

Shame on me for dwelling on the stressful parts of the week, though. Along with the unfortunate state of my family's affairs, you will also soon be seeing some of the good memories I took away from Nebraska this time aroud. Let's just say it has something to do with cigars and high powered rifles.

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Tomorrow

2011-03-08T23:37:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow we're headed home, my brother and I. We will part ways, he to North Carolina and I back to Seattle. We came together from the farthest opposing sides of this country to meet right in the middle;not only in the heart of the country, but also in the heart of our family, its history, and its utterly saddening complexity.
This was meant to be a vacation, a break from the stress and a chance to review my life. I knew when I bought the tickets out here it was going to be anything but, but I suppose I'd hoped I could deal with it better. No such luck.
As I prepare for tomorrow, the only thing I feel is sadness. That feeling arises for so many reasons. Tonight I felt the need simply to write something, anything to ease my newly troubled mind.
I know no one else needs to hear about it, but a break down of this trip is sure to come soon...

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Quick 'un

2011-02-27T23:44:00.000-08:00

Just a short one tonight. I figure its better to get something done than nothing at all.

I wonder if there will ever be another time in my life when I am not constantly going somewhere. Things that never used to bother me are suddenly less pleasant than they once were, and it seems mostly due to the fact that I am on my way to do something.
For example, as I was walking home from the bus stop this evening, it was raining. As I walked, the rain fell harder...and harder...and harder. And every time it picked up the tempo, I found myself getting a little more frustrated.
I find that I am constantly engaged in the battle to not be stressed out. Not because its difficult for me to relax, but because I hardly see a need to be stressed out and so I do my best to avoid it. Unfortunately, I get caught up in the myriad of things I have to do, and sometimes find myself being a little more serious than I'd like. And usually I can tell when I need to simmer down when I start getting pissed off by stuff like rain.
I like the rain. Its part of the reason I moved to Seattle. And I like the clouds that it falls out of, those big dark monsters that always look so full of life. So, when I was on my home from work, and the rain landing on my already disheveled hair started to make my brow furrow, I paused my thought process for just a moment and asked myself why on earth the rain would upset me. I was planning on taking a shower anyway. And its not like I had anywhere special to go. So instead, I enjoyed the rest of my walk getting slightly wet and being shoved by the occasional playful gust of February wind.
Things are nice when you take a step back and remember that life is not all seriousness all the time. In fact, it should rarely be serious. Everything is enjoyable if you let it be.

Moving Forward...

2011-02-24T23:37:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I admit that some of my conclusions were rather hasty.
Let's review:
"There seem to be two groups of people who generally find me "interesting"; very small children and men interested in sex."
That's not entirely true. Several days after writing that, I really analyzed all of my relationships with men and found that there are in fact a wide variety of reasons they associate with me. It is oftentimes the case that when I am most hopeless, everything appears in high contrast, black and white the only shades I see. All the grey that the true picture is composed of is washed out and I allow myself to distort reality.
My life has returned to a relative state of stability for the time being.
When I took a closer look at the past few months and the mounting stress that was enveloping my sanity, I picked out a couple key instigators.
My life had essentially stagnated. I was not moving forward, just working. And I am not to a point where I can devote my life to work and be satisfied. Especially when that work is coffee and tea. Neither are really things I see myself making a career out of. Within the last week I have started looking at a community college in the area, and just that little effort alone has given my life perspective again. Challenge and sacrifice are the spice of life.

Again, when I reviewed my relationships and everyone I know and love, it became apparent that I was tricking myself into believing I had no friends. There are people who love me, and those people are the friends I made whilst being myself. This journey in Seattle has opened a lot of doors within myself, and thus far the most consistent lesson I have learned is that nothing is more important than being myself. Really, I do not have to please everyone, and I can make most of my decisions on my own. I value other's opinions, but it is not them that shape me, but I who shape myself. Separating myself from those around me has been difficult, because I so badly wanted to assimilate when I got here that I lost track of my individuality.
There is incredible vitality in being one, being separate, like one marble in whole bag. There are many pieces that make up the whole, each individual, but all together.

Suffice to say, things don't seem quite as bad these days. I just need to keep moving forward.

2.15.11

2011-02-18T23:30:00.000-08:00

I am tempted to let the positivity of the last two days elevate my mood, but my want of happiness is quickly eclipsed by the steadfast reality that I am not alright. As it so often goes, life responds to my cries of desperation with a grand display of all its best treasures, allowing me to believe for one small moment that there is still a reason to hope. And as I reach up to grasp the hand that will pull me from my pit of angst, it pulls away just before our fingers touch. The delicate Spring bud emerging from Winter's withered remains shrivels and dies, the casualty of a swift and spiteful frost.
I have been left hobbled too many times by my eagerness to trust, more vulnerable in my fresh hope than at the deepest point of my depression; at the bottom of the hole, there is nowhere left to go. It is the slip of a hand or foot, the plunge after ascendancy, that leaves me feeling beaten. For the first time in my life, sleep does not cure my infected psyche of its many and varied demons. There have been less than half a handful of times when I have laid down to rest an absolute wreck and opened my eyes to find myself in no better condition than twelve hours earlier. Those times scared me nearly to the point of panic -- what if this was the beginning of something permanent and irreversible, a constant state of dissatisfaction and utter hopelessness? Thankfully my recovery never took more than a few days and I returned to my condition of relative happiness with nothing more than a couple scratches.
But here...here I am lost and my delicate mind is tossed about like a child in a crowd. The city is not like a small town. These are the places where hearts harden and people lose faith in each other.
In many ways this is my lowest point.

2/11/11

2011-02-11T21:18:00.000-08:00

So for the first time in a great while I am sitting down at my table to write a post. I figure that if I want to achieve any semblance of mental clarity I must sit down with some regularity and hash out these issues. Tonight, I feel the need to address my growing suspicion that there are few people in Seattle who actually like me. I can't figure out what it is about me that people don't like, but no matter how hard I try I just can't seem to get along with many of them. As usual, I blame my age for part of it, because apparently no one wants to be caught in conversation with a nineteen-year-old. Apart from that, I'm not really sure where to place the rest of the blame. This disconnectedness is doing bad things to my self esteem and it seems the only real fix is to go away. All my attempts at friendliness, at caring, at relation have all failed and continue to fail despite my endless attempts. When I'm stuck behind a counter with the same group of people every day, it'd be nice to relate a little. I didn't think that was asking for too much. But, if its not working it must somehow be my fault. If they don't find me interesting, then so be it. I can't make them like me. And in the end, what else am I supposed to do? Can I just clam up and not talk? It might be best that way honestly, since I seem to be better at listening than talking.
I've always made friends passively. Turning the tables has not worked well for me.
I'm convinced that if I just disappeared from the circles I inhabit here in Seattle, there would be few who would miss me. Really miss me. Perhaps every now and again for a month they would wonder where on earth that awkward, round-faced girl disappeared to, but after a few moments they'd shrug their shoulders and move on.
I'm no role model here. Just another girl who doesn't know the first thing about anything, including herself. I've tried so hard here to find other people, other people who I can relate to, who I can befriend, who like me as much as I like them but nothing has panned out. There seem to be two groups of people who generally find me "interesting"; very small children and men interested in sex. The very small children enjoy me because I entertain them. I like the children the best. They don't discern between the ugly face and the beautiful one. There is not much to be said of the men...they come (literally) in all shapes and sizes with all sorts of charming words and feigned interest. To some extent I believe that it is my numerous bad encounters with such men that make it incredibly difficult to create and maintain a normal, friendly relationship with a man.

I found one man in Seattle who likes me. He is now my boyfriend. And of all the people I know, he makes me feel the most inadequate. Not on purpose, but because of how inherently great he is. I constantly feel like I am living in his shadow, my own endeavors and feats eclipsed by his unintentionally more impressive ones. Everyone I know here knows him as well, and he is hands down the favorite.
Darren has not been showing up at jiu jitsu for more than a few months because of a combination of bad events that kept him away. Meanwhile, I was still showing up and nearly every time I would attend class there would be another person asking me where Darren was, when Darren was coming back, how come we never see Darren anymore. They had a right to ask that question, but after awhile I just didn't have answers anymore and those people looked disappointed in me that I couldn't tell them when he was coming back or why he wasn't around. I keep trying to be friendly to everyone, keep trying to ask them how they are, what's up, but no one seems to want to answer. Is it just me? Do people just not want to tell me how there lives are? I like Darren very much and each moment I spend with him increases my happiness, but each moment is also a reminder of my inadequacy. He is so much more than I am, everything I wish I could be and more. But instead of being my own person, I end up walking on a leash in his shadow, tail between my legs, cowering behind him so no one can see how truly inferior I am. Darren doesn't even know he makes me feel this way.

At this point, I can't really try anymore. Its wearing me down too much and I don't have time to maintain the relationships I try to build. Everything needs time, and I don't have time for everyone and everything.
I suppose the only thing I can afford emotionally right now is to remain passive and hope that somewhere, somehow people who care will show up.

Brainstorming

2011-02-02T20:42:00.001-08:00

I'm giving blogging a go on my phone. It's nearly always with me and so it allows me more time to try and write. I had success with it while I was vacationing in Hawai'i, so I see no reason why it won't work at home in Seattle.My teachers used to constantly spout the benefits of brainstorming, but I never believed that it helped. Then again, I never really gave it a chance either. I have since seen its true worth during very rare moments of clarity.So much has happened and is happeningng in my life currently and I have been so completely busy that I have hardly had a chance to write. The less I write, the more the thoughts accumulate, and the bigger the pile, the more stressed out I become. Writing was largely my only emotional outlet for a very long while, and to suddenly be unable to find the time for controlled emotional relief has been unsettling. This whole brainstorming thing is proving helpful, though. By organizing my thoughts and writing them down as they come to me I am actually able to keep myself partially sane.We'll see how this pans out.

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1/13/2011

2011-01-13T23:16:00.000-08:00

The more time I spend around people, the less I trust them. Before I moved to the city, I was sure that I didn't put too much trust in anyone. But now that I live in the city and see just how much trust I really did have in everyone. With each passing day, my faith in my fellow man deteriorates and when I look back on years past, I see how much my cynicism has grown.
Relating to people is harder than ever. Its ironic that my nature is to please everyone, yet I cannot relate to anyone. I realized today that I have no passions. I sat down with a stranger to have a cup of coffee and he asked me what my passions, pursuits, and hobbies are. My first thought was fleeting, but cemented a thought that I have been having quite a bit lately; the truth is that I have no passions. Some people are passionate about sustainability, or football, or painting. I am passionate about nothing. There is nothing that I dedicate my time and energy to without rest. And since I do not have any passions, it is hard to find things to talk about with anyone. I don't watch a lot of movies, play a lot of games, read the latest magazines, or even any books. So far, the most consistent thing I dedicate my time to is work. Not because I want to, but rather out of necessity. And I tell myself that I would be doing other, more important things with my time were it not for work, but really...all I would do is find reasons not to start anything. It seems to me that I don't believe in anything enough to pursue it.
And all of it boils down to the perceptions of others. In my effort to please everyone, I again please no one. Not even myself. So instead of pleasing some and being happy with myself, I choose to ruin everything for everyone. I often consider what my worst fear is, and if I had to reduce it down to just one thing, it would be failure. I am so terrified of failure that I cannot start anything. It is almost inevitable that at some point in learning how to do something new that I will fail at it, and my mind cannot handle that apparently.
So now I find myself at a point in life where I have completely stopped. I am not progressing or growing as a person, but rather standing still and letting life continue on with all its opportunities and possibilities.
Each morning I hope to wake up a better person, more prepared and more tolerant of myself, but each morning I wake up with more questions, less answers, and less time.

And again, I feel so distant from everyone lately that I can barely breathe. Why am I so replaceable? Why am I not important to anyone? Why is it that I push away the people who do think I am important? What is the secret recipe for communication that I am missing?
When everyone I know here can turn their back on me in a minute, how can I trust anyone? People constantly show me their colors and the more I see, the less I like. Yet I still want to get to know them. For me, people are irreplaceable. Each one is their own being and there will never be another like them. Sure, there are six billion people on the planet, but each one is someone different than the last. So to place such little value in the relationships presently in your life makes no sense to me. But perhaps I am not as interesting or as different as I like to think. Because it seems to me lately that I can be replaced by anyone at any time. Really, I am no more special to the people around me than a stranger they saw on a bus once. And so why trust anyone, why put any faith in anyone when I know that my days are numbered?
But my sentiments as of late are like a dog chasing its own tail. I am frustrated that I cannot relate to anyone, and so I withdraw, but withdrawing only makes it harder for people to want to get to know me.
But what the hell...
I don't even know anymore. I don't know why I think about these things anymore. They just make me sadder.

12/16/2010

2010-12-16T21:57:00.000-08:00

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.
Ahem:
- 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.

Hah.

All The Beautiful People

2010-12-10T19:55:00.000-08:00

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.

New Habits Are Hard To Form...

2010-11-17T20:40:00.000-08:00

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.

The Passage of Time (10/5/10)

2010-10-06T13:21:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-06T12:10:00.000-07:00

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.

9/24/10

2010-09-24T22:33:00.000-07:00

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.

Quitting

2010-09-18T14:52:00.000-07:00

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.

My Life in Review

2010-09-14T22:48:00.000-07:00

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. Parsons...you 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.)

08/24/2010

2010-08-24T22:16:00.000-07:00

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.

Life Thus Far

2010-08-21T22:47:00.000-07:00

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 consciousness...it 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.

Finally

2010-08-20T23:20:00.000-07:00

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.

07/28/2010

2010-07-28T17:00:00.000-07:00

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...

The Parade

2010-07-25T00:28:00.000-07:00

Damn.
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.

FNAs and Life Insurance?

2010-07-23T16:12:00.000-07:00

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.

Youth

2010-07-17T23:59:00.000-07:00

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 mistake...as if everyone involved thinks of me as so much less because I couldn't do something right.

So I suppose...in 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...

Hurray for Me

2010-07-09T23:22:00.000-07:00

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.

Respite

2010-07-07T23:06:00.000-07:00

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.
Amen.

Day Two

2010-07-07T19:50:00.000-07:00

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.

...

2010-07-07T01:59:00.000-07:00

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.

GRZA

2010-07-02T15:57:00.000-07:00

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 quickly...my 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 noise...to 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.

Unrest

2010-06-05T23:47:00.000-07:00

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?

April's Wasted Potential

2010-04-28T15:15:00.000-07:00

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.

A Summary of Events...

2010-04-19T22:44:00.000-07:00

I am tired. I thought that going to the Pan-Ams would be a good vacation...in some ways, it was very much so a vacation; no customer service, no mopping floors, no cleaning bathrooms. But in many other senses...it 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 grows...my 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 thought...how 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.

Our Baleful Demons Subside

2010-03-31T22:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Dearest Friday (Validus Mos and the White Belt)

2010-03-26T17:42:00.000-07:00

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 ago...my 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

2010-03-25T16:10:00.000-07:00

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.

The Beast

2010-03-23T23:03:00.000-07:00

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.

Intelligence and Language

2010-03-17T22:52:00.000-07:00

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?

The Past Is The Present Is The Future

2010-03-14T11:46:00.000-07:00

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.

Days and Days and Days and Days...

2010-03-10T16:11:00.000-08:00

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?

Change

2010-03-08T14:24:00.000-08:00

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.

Things To Come...

2010-03-04T23:40:00.000-08:00

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 paper...it 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.

Anxiety Fills The Mushroom's Empty Space

2010-02-12T01:32:00.000-08:00

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 sanity...at 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.

Habitats for Mushrooms...

2010-02-05T22:44:00.000-08:00

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, "Hhmm...my 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.

Transmission

2010-01-31T23:17:00.000-08:00

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.

Oneself

2010-01-17T17:39:00.000-08:00

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.

Yes.

2010-01-01T13:05:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-01T00:13:00.000-08:00

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.

Turning Point

2009-12-29T23:21:00.000-08:00

It seems as though every time I sit down and place my fingers on this keyboard, all the thoughts that were previously settling in my head become so frightened by the prospect of being expressed that they scare themselves back into a frenzied cloud, like so many birds on the beach. Whatever important thing I had to say has completely eluded me, making this yet another post almost completely devoid of meaning.
A bit has come back to me. Irony?

Earlier, it dawned on my for the umpteenth time that I cannot pretend to really know anything. Especially someone as young as myself, having existed for a mere eighteen years, cannot expect to really understand anything in the world at all. Those older than myself generally have more valid insight, but even they do not really understand much of anything. The world changes too frequently to really draw any solid conclusions; our being is too infinite and incapable of understanding itself to actually grasp anything at all. And so the greatest truths of our history have come from men and women who observe the nature of man and our repeated behaviors. But there is such a small collection of predictable human traits that most of what we can solidly deduce about the human race has already been voiced.
And on a general scale, we are too busy in our own times and spheres of being to understand those few truths of human existence and apply them.

Of course, just because a thing is known does not make it manifest. For most truths of human existence go completely unrealized. And even when we have learned something about ourselves, we quickly forget our motivation and reason for change.

______

And so it is with my own life. I changed, putting faith in Christ instead of the world, and it was apparent to me the reason for my change. For a while, anyway. Now all I can do is recite the words in my head that used to spark such passion in me, only to find that the nothing in me moves. I watch sort of disembodied as I take slow, meandering steps away from Christ, following this daisy path to destruction.
The strange thing is, I know none of this can end well. I know I'm setting myself up for failure and defeat and rough times...but I can't seem to do anything to stop myself. I could, of course, I have the power over myself to control what I do...but it just never seems to happen.
The turning point evades me still and I'll be stuck here a while longer, I fear, before I'm able to feel the depth of my own self-destruction.

Recovery

2009-12-28T00:30:00.000-08:00

I am dog tired. Mentally, spiritually, and physically. Tired in every possible area of my being.

Mentally, I am exhausted perhaps simply because of the holiday season. Christmas began for me at work, where a massive line of people and drink orders filled the Tully's. Nonstop eight and a half hours of coffee-inspired mayhem. But a good feast and celebration with my best friend made Christmas worthwhile.
Generally, the holiday feels like one big excuse. The "holiday spirit" everyone talks about, where generosity and brotherly love are the focus of the season, should be something that happens everyday, not just one month out of the year. It feels like one big opportunity for business owners to reach into the pockets of every last man, woman, and child, and a way to make you feel as though you've done something saintly, providing you with a feeling of purity meant to last until next Christmas season. I can't complain about the general overall improvement in people's spirits, but it would be nice if it was more than just a few weeks out of the year we could watch out for each other and smile like we mean it.

Spiritually, I am devastated beyond belief. I remember making a promise to myself, a promise that I was very good about keeping for the first month I lived here in Seattle. That promise was that I would be better than I had been in Incline. That I would seek God more fervently, that I would love Seattle and its people with all I had to give, that I would live simply and selflessly. For that first month, everything was going exactly as I had hoped. I was loving, living, smiling, and becoming more pure than I had felt in years.
However, much to my utter unsurprise, for every step I have taken forward, I have taken five back. In fact, I hardly make time for church anymore...I haven't done a good thing for anyone in weeks...and I've gone farther with a man before marriage than I had ever hoped I would. It absolutely floors me every time I think about how completely ludicrous this whole situation is. Everything. My life in general, my love life, my spiritual life...none of them work in coherence with the other, and I have forsaken the most important of them all...my Spirit. It must be in a coma somewhere deep inside my body, because there is a surprising lack of concern from within at the recklessness of my life in the past two months. There is too much existential haze floating around in my head, and too much thought crusting like hard water to the inside of my veins.
Its a slow death, and a happy one for now.....................................I'm just waiting for that panic to seize my lungs and suffocate my very existence.

Physically, I am at my body's end. Too little sleep, too much work and play and I can't keep up with myself. I would have slept at the manfriend's house again tonight, but I get very little sleep when I am with other people, and he has to wake up at the crack of seven. I intend on sleeping in before jiu jitsu.

Tomorrow...tomorrow will come and go, and I will be no better than I was the previous day, left wondering why on earth I allow these things to happen.

Wish me luck.

Christmas Potatoes...

2009-12-23T23:33:00.000-08:00

Here we are, less than an hour away from the dawning of Christmas Eve and my best friend and I sit across the table from one another. She is drawing, I am writing, the crooning tunes of Muse provide the filler for the lack of conversation. The most surprising and completely understandable part of the whole situation is that we are able to sit here, having not seen each other for three months (an eternity by our standards) and be content without conversation. The simple fact that the other is close by provides comfort and satisfaction.
My only minor dissatisfaction with this portion of the holiday season is that I am not able to spend more time with my dearest friend. Of course, the one time that she comes to visit, I work five consecutive days. I suppose my biggest concern, though, is whether or not I can get the 26th off...if I can't, I won't be able to see her off when she boards her Greyhound for San Francisco.
Oh, its been too long since I wrote...there is so much floating around is this head of mine. It feels like a massive, slippery octopus, tentacles sliding purposefully across the walls of my skull in an attempt to find an exit. It seems I have finally unplugged my fingers from my ear holes, and the octopus has found its exit. Cascading down my shoulders and trickling onto my hands, it spills forth onto the keyboard in some sort of rapid cautionary exodus.
Thank goodness this octopus is a cheery one. My brain has been too happily fatigued to delve into the depths of gelatinous brainmatter and pull out the stringy noodles of important thought that hide at the bottom of all this inconsequential goo.

We have constructed a Christmas Potato. A Christmas tree would be too uncharacteristic of our characteristic weirdness, so, in light of that fact, we had to birth a Christmas Potato. More festive holiday creations are soon to follow.
Despite the lack of time actually spent with my best friend, this is the best way to celebrate my first Christmas away from "home".

What better company than that of my other half and the weird things that result in our being together?

Resurfacing

2009-12-17T22:53:00.000-08:00

This is the first time in a while that I've been able to sit down at the table and just sit...I don't have anywhere to go, nothing to do...and goodness does it feel amazing. I have spent so much time in the last couple weeks doing things with people from work, jiu jitsu, and elsewhere that I have had no time just to simply sit.
My mind is numb and heavy like a large gelatinous fuzzball--much like a white lychee.
Sometime tomorrow or the next day, my dearest friend arrives in Seattle. We haven't seen each other since September...it seems like so much longer than it actually is. She will be staying through Christmas, and I am ridiculously excited about it! Great shenanigans will ensue.

Blarg.

There is so much to write about, so much to say...the general recounting of everyday life, and the underlying significance of it all. Perhaps too much to cover tonight.

But it never hurt to try.

Stories for next time:
My current relationship situation and how it relates to my faith.

Kindred Spirits

2009-12-09T23:27:00.000-08:00

There is something deeply comforting in the thought that there are other people whose minds so closely resemble our own. Even hundreds of miles apart and through various modes of communication, the connection to those people is never lessened.
Oh, so many people...so many different people.
For the last couple days, the only subject my brain has really ingested has been--people. Specifically the way they get along with (or don't get along with) one another. For example; I love my coworkers to death--couldn't ask for a better set. But, quite often lately I feel like my sense of humor, my mannerisms, and theirs...don't quite fit together right. We are all able to tolerate and enjoy each other's company, but really won't ever be fast friends or even interact that regularly outside of work. Conversely, a fair share of my jiu jitsu classmates are people I can truly get along with. My sense of humor and mannerisms fit in pretty well there as far as I can tell...
What makes one person compatible with another? How much of a role do fear, pride and self-defense play in dictating what relationships one initiates? If we were all completely honest with one another, what would we have to say about the people we surround ourselves with?

I suppose it is nice every once in awhile to be that friend that people love talking to because they can't relate to anyone as well as they can to you.

Another good day, slightly on the up side of that neutral line. Maybe tomorrow will be worse, maybe better. Either way, I pray for more "revelation".

Trainwreck...

2009-12-06T00:39:00.000-08:00

Lately words have been a massive dilemma for me...I am stuck between wanting to write incredibly eloquent, long passages and only having the desire (and energy) to write concise, choppy paragraphs.
Whatever happens happens. Hopefully something mildly better than mediocre will come out of this...

I told myself I wouldn't, and here I am. In one line...one single line, I paved a vast stretch of my future. There has never been another time when I have so completely grasped the reality of one decision's consequences. Like standing at a fork in the road, and knowing full well what the outcomes of both paths will be...then choosing the one side just for the hell of it. And once it was said, once those first steps were taken, there was no way to undo any of it.

And now, here I am, laying on the floor, bewildered and completely unsurprised that I've ended up in this situation. God have mercy on me for being so stupid...so arrogant...so ridiculously aware and unable to control myself.

If everything falls apart, I can't say I'll be surprised. I weighed the pros and cons painstakingly and with much thought...then promptly threw them out the window and said "to hell with it. I'd rather see this all go up in flames than play out well."

Ha. After the acceptance of the fact I've screwed up again comes the ironic laughter. What can I do but laugh and throw my hands in the air as that train comes barreling down the tracks?

A Simple Post

2009-12-04T00:06:00.000-08:00

So...tired...
Too many good things happening all at once.
Despite the impending emotional darkness that is winter, joy still prevails. Despite yesterday's heartrending feelings of being replaced and abandoned, I can still say...things have been well.

The overwhelming joy is almost too much to handle. I haven't felt so full in years. I can only pray that it is not a circumstantial joy, but a substantial joy. One that won't fade when things don't go the way I expect them too.

All I can do is thank God that I have a family who cares, friends who are good to me, and that I have everything I need and more. Thanks, Big Guy.

There is too much to say and my fingers are too excited to type it all. And, as I remembered so recently, the best thing to do...is praise my Father for all the undeserved gifts I have received...

Til next time.

Rahab

2009-12-02T01:37:00.000-08:00

I inhale; short, adrenaline-tinged breaths, heart perched high in my chest and my face a worried mask.
Again, the foretelling of my downfall, the magnetic prediction and inescapable future...I see through the thin veil of the present, surrounded by images of a broken miracle. Bridges burned, misunderstanding budding like wretched weeds in the garden of good intention, ties severed and hearts marred.
My body knows...deep in the sinews and veins of my flesh, it is awake. Well aware of that vicious, silent beast, that livid and hungry giant, dripping with pestilence that calls itself my friend. It whispers to my skin, shadows over me and grasps my jaw, putrid lies snaking through my ears, breathed hot and wet from its lowly growling throat.
Beast, o beast! You tempt me so...make me believe that we are one, that you are I, and I am you, and we are one together.
But you have caused me nothing but pain! You took my friends and turned them into concubines, you took my confidantes and made them lustful pursuers. The damage you wreak is without boundary, and its effects everlasting. How many countless rivers of sweet milk have you turned sour? How many gardens turned to ashes?
Each time you twist my intentions, make me believe that I want more, that what I want is not trust but passion. O evil abomination, be gone from me!
I will be damned if I let you burn my Promised Land! Forty years have I walked in the desert, and forty years have I squandered. Now, finally, to be given a garden!
Were I a weaker being, I would fall to my knees and beg for mercy with clenched fists and a furrowed brow.
But I will not. Cowed, you will weep in a dark corner and hide your face from me! Subdued, you will gnash your teeth and snarl in hollow threat! Broken, you will prefer death to my wrath!

I have risen.

consummatum est.

An Exploration of Passion...

2009-11-30T20:49:00.000-08:00

I am amazed...until today, I hadn't fully realized just how jaded I am. I have so far removed myself from everything that I am no longer even connected to myself.
An emotional artery was severed somewhere in the past two years. And just now I realized how devoid of passion and life I have become.

Nothing I say invokes movement in people. No advice I give is really relevant. In some ways, I am so self-absorbed that nothing I do really is of any help to anyone.

When did this happen? I recall being so much more useful at one point...I recall actually providing a service to those around me, and being more concerned about their wellbeing than about my own. This is the way my life still should be.
That ever complex battle between confidence and selflessness rages beneath my skin...and while confidence is winning, selflessness is withering in the dark. This is not the way I wanted it to be.
I never intended to become so detached...

I have not felt true passion in over a year. I have not felt courage or conviction or strength for equally as long. Now everything I do lacks meaning and comes out empty and dry...I feel like a puppet playing myself.

There is nothing in this world worth doing that won't stir the soul to move. Whether it is a move to action or a move to rest, if the soul is not shifting, then something is missing...
My coworker read me some of her spoken word poetry tonight, and for the first time in over a year...I felt that I could be better. I felt PASSION and CONVICTION and importance in my words.
I HAVE A VOICE.

From this point forward I am exercising my emotions and FEELING what it is like to do things again.

Your Views of Friendship Concern Me...

2009-11-26T00:03:00.000-08:00

Last night I penned a post concerning my aggravation with making friends in a different age bracket. I woke this morning to find two comments that didn't leave me feeling any better about my circumstance. The first went like this, and I quote:

"Everyone is caught up going to work and building or maintaining their relationship with their significant other and taking care of their kids and hobby of their interest. People see no real reason to add more stress and work to there life by trying to facilitate a friendship. It plays no essential role in there life right now. A friendship doesn't pay the bills like a job nor provide companionship like a spouse, it doesn't provide joy like a child does, and it doesn't captivate our interest like our hobbys do.

So you might ask what good does a friendship do?

I think a friendship might simply be a barometer for our culture as a whole showing how much we care about ourselves and how little we care about others. How selfish and materialistic we are as a culture. How many people sacrifice a friendship even with their spouse and kids to live in the house "they want" and drive the car "they want" and do the hobbies "they want." When you find yourself alone at 65 with no job to keep you busy and pay the bills. What are you going to do then?"

Wow. If this was supposed to cheer me up in any way, it didn't. In fact, it just brought up a lot more questions about friendship. Whoever the anonymous author of this comment is, he/she has some good points on friendship.
No, a friendship doesn't pay the bills.
No, a friendship doesn't provide intimate companionship
and
No, a friendship doesn't provide that same level of joy a child does.

But all that being said...

Why can't a friendship be as captivating as our hobbies?
Is a friendship really more "stress and work" added to one's life?
Should a friendship have to be "facilitated", like forced labor?
How can friendship not hold a place of importance in someone's life?

A friendship is as much of a hobby as any other hobby we possess. Friends are interesting, fun individuals that we like to do things with. They offer us something, and we in return offer them some attraction, and form a symbiotic relationship. Because friendship doesn't work unless there is output from both sides.
Friendship shouldn't be a job, either. It shouldn't be considered something that adds more work and stress to our lives. If a friendship is adding stress to your life, odds are, you're doing it wrong. And it shouldn't need to be "facilitated" either. The connotations of that word are so...official and stoic. Friendships can be nurtured, but they should not be "facilitated".
Everyone needs friends. Whether or not they are aware of it, everyone needs people they can relate too, people they can laugh with, and people they feel loved by. It is a basic human function to love and want to be loved in return.

And while our society is incredibly materialistic, I refuse to believe that every last one of us would sacrifice friendship for money, status, and personal gain. It makes me sad to know that there are people in this world who would actually do something like that...
It is hard for me to grasp how those things could ever be more important than a personal relationship with someone.

So what will I be doing if I find myself alone at 65 with no job and bills to pay?
I'll have friends, that's what.

Growing Tired of the Age Gap...

2009-11-25T00:21:00.000-08:00

I have somehow managed to throw myself into a world that is not accustomed to people like me. People of my age, more particularly. When in high school, one dwells in a sphere of adolescence, surrounded by people of the same age and therefore the same sphere. Next, one heads to college and is immersed again in an atmosphere of similarly aged folks. And then, somewhere around the age of 23, the individuals are released upon the world to mingle and proceed as they wish.
I seem to have skipped a step.
Or at least have done things a little backward...
In anticipation for college, I've found a place to live and a job to work at, places to hang out with and 'friends' of sorts. All of this is fine and well...except the people I find myself interacting with are all from that final sphere--the group that finished college and began life in the "real world". Which means they are all at least in their early twenties...while I sit here, a mere 18. 18 sounds so little when compared to a 37 or a 33...or even a 22!
I find that more so than the age itself, it is the privileges that accompany the age which make the relationship awkward. Anyone 21 and older has the right to drink legally. And while I don't drink anyway, and wouldn't even if I were of age, it simply makes things weird in both camps when anything related to the issue comes up...
All I want are friends. Ballard BJJ has given me the chance to meet so many wonderful people that I would love to call 'friend'. But I don't know if I can call anyone 'friend' that I don't see off the mat. Which is all of them. A friend is someone who enjoys your company and vice versa, and therefore makes an effort to actually spend time with you.
But everyone there already has friends...they already have established lives and things to do and places to go. They have LIVES. I would like to think I have one of those, too...but who knows. So far, its only just being born.
I am only just being born.

Only time will tell...

Regardless of Intention...

2009-11-23T09:31:00.000-08:00

I was reminded today, via a sore throat and the signs of inevitable sickness, that regardless of my intentions, the day would carry on as it was meant to.
Last night I was foolish enough to buy a pair of four gauge earrings. I have been wanting to stretch my piercings to a four gauge for a couple months now, and so I was excited to finally be able to afford the earrings. However, upon returning home, I remembered that stretching a piercing hurts and then remembered that I have jiu jitsu today. Put two and two together, and it doesn't make sense to stretch a piercing and then roll around on a mat with people constantly touching your head.
So I told myself, "I'll wait until Friday, when I won't have jiu jitsu for four days,"
And I was doing really well. The blue glass spirals lay next to my computer all night, begging me to put them in, but I resisted their temptation. Self-control is a new found skill for me, and so I was proud to show it off...even if only to myself.

But alas...I woke up this morning with a dry, sickly throat, feeling like I am made of more like ninety percent water rather than seventy.
So much for self-control...regardless of the intentions I had, life has changed without my permission.

I suppose I wanted to use this story to illustrate something larger...things will happen the way God intends them to. The means of getting there may not be the best way for it to happen, but the end will always be achieved. For God uses the folly of man and his evil intentions to form good things in his people.
So, in spite of my plans, God has chosen to move in a different way. Hallelujah! It is so nice knowing that I am not my own...He does a much job of taking care of me than I do with myself...like a toddler trying to look after himself, it just doesn't work.

Drifting...

2009-11-20T01:37:00.000-08:00

To preface this newest post, I would like to say that a wave of revelations and resurfacing "knowledge" has hit my brain.
Although there is never a time when I am not philosophizing, now seems to be particularly saturated with heavy thoughts. Thoughts of knowledge, friendship, and helplessness...solitude, isolation, and defense mechanisms.

Jesus has taught me quite a bit. He has made me into a mature(ish) child of sorts, one who understands some things, but also lives the importance of being a little kid. Most of the petty problems I spawned in my younger years are no longer issues to me. Things like men, self-esteem, and responsibility. While, of course, I still mess up (quite regularly, I might add) and play moral hopscotch in reverse, things are much more in perspective now than they were three years ago.
The book of Ecclesiastes says that for all things there is a season. All things happen for a reason, and all things happen in God's time. A colossal lesson. All my anxiety over waiting and being frustrated with whatever my situation may be has ceased.
Worrying never adds a single hour to a man's life. I don't worry anymore, because I know I don't have to. It would take more energy to worry than to simply give up the things I cannot change and leave them in my Father's hands.
Man...having God around makes things so much simpler.

I know that I know nothing...but sometimes, I can't help but feel that I've caught on a little faster in certain paramount areas of life than others have; I've learned things that seem so simple to me, that others have yet to figure out.
And all I want is to be able to tell them the answer. I want to see them learn and understand what life is about...

But most people don't like my answer.

Because my answer is Jesus.

Without him, the world makes a whole lot less sense.
And I can't help but feel utterly and completely distressed at this point...I want people to understand that when the name "Jesus" passes my lips, it is not a religious plug or a sales pitch. It is my genuine answer to all the problems you will ever face and have faced. I can't tell you to go find a self help book, or do yoga, or drink tea. Because those things never really fixed anything. I can only tell you that Jesus, if taken to heart, and really loved and understood will fix every broken part of your spirit.
It crushes me to keep my mouth shut when I hear the problems people bring to me. I know that if I say "Jesus" they will turn away from me, close their mouth, and stop coming to me for help. But if I say the things they want to hear me say, if I tell them to get the self help books, do the yoga, and drink the tea, then they listen and continue to entrust my ears with their problems.

It is better for me to deliver one solid truth and burn a bridge, than to feed a friendship with inane pandering.

Because I would rather see you angry at me, and have one real piece of advice, than to walk away with a bunch of garbage feelgood that maintain the status quo of your self destruction.

Who knows...I don't...maybe my thoughts will make more sense in a couple of days.
Til then, remember that the world is not as serious as you might think. Laugh, and respect the life around you.

Seattle, Birthplace of Men Who Wear Sweatshirts Under Blazers...

2009-11-18T02:12:00.000-08:00

As I sat at the table with my eggnog yerba mate latte and a piece of vanilla cranberry bread after clocking out, I did a bit of people watching. Coffee shops are ever the most enticing places to people watch. Sitting, leaned over a small round table, the heat from the coffee seeping through a paper cup to warm your hands; the mind cannot help but wander. And wander it does, sedated to the point of acute complacency, where the only things it computes are the actions of the people around you.
The man at the table in front of me is writing a novel; I read the Microsoft Document containing his work over his shoulder. He will never know that I have seen his novel.
The man from the ASPCA across the street is cheerfully chatting up the passersby, hoping to get a petition of some sort signed.
The guy running the ClearWire internet booth outside the store is packing up his table in preparation for the coming rain.

Tens of other people sit packed into this Tully's all deeply engrossed in their individual delusions of ownership, which are in turn rooted in the actions of the other people in that same atmosphere. To each and every one of us in there, the Tully's was our own space, where each one of us was king for the time being.

The simplicity of sitting...sitting and taking in, not putting anything out. Just absorbing everything that's going on in a passive, neutral way.
It is surprising, the surge of inspiration that arises from such times. My head hasn't entirely figured out what to do with this new found energy, but I am glad for the fresh air.
My mind was growing a little stale.

Ahhh, yes. Men who wear sweatshirts under blazers. I remember having a conversation with my father lately about how certain fashions one sees in other cities originated here. I couldn't quite place my finger on what the style I was referring to is called, and still don't know if there is a proper name. Today, as I sat in the Tully's, absorbing and doing a bit of simple thinking, I saw a man begin to cross the crosswalk who was wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt with white drawstrings underneath a grey blazer, complete with tightish brown cords and the doublestriped sneakers. To top it all off, the man had a beard.
Viola.
The epitome of the style born of Seattle. It would have been perfect had he been listening to his iPod, carrying a cup of coffee, and toting a messenger bag. Whatever the name for this style, I found it amusing. I rather like it, I must say, but I found my mind thinking quite a bit about the connotations and undertones of this particular statement of dress.
All fashions have something they want to say. I mean "fashion" as a broad umbrella term meaning the things that one wears. I would hardly consider myself a "fashionable" type in the ordinary sense of the word. But the things I wear definitely speak of my character, and so the same is true for a whole genre of style.

So I find myself wondering tonight...what is it about this style that is so inviting? So lovable, like that scrawny kid with glasses playing his heart out on a basketball court in big, thick-rimmed glasses, converse, and a sweatband. What is it?

Nightbeast...

2009-11-15T04:36:00.000-08:00

I am very much a creature of the night. Most of my writing happens in the small bracket of time after the sun has set and before it rises again. I have come to think that the lack of light eliminates distraction and allows my mind to focus purely on imaginative things. That, or it is simply the time of night when I am most out of my mind.
Tonight, I think about the work that lies ahead of me. Work in the most immediate and regular sense (improving my barista skills) and work in the metaphorical sense (what to do with the mountain of stale pastries sitting on my counter).
All things in due time, I suppose. Before I get ahead of myself and start spouting off things I wish I could be doing with my life right now, I will bite my tongue and take a deep breath. Patience is rewarded...patience can go a long way. God willing, in the near future I will be feeding the homeless, building relationships with them, and loving them. God willing, I will do the same for all others I meet on the street. This little district of Ballard is quickly establishing a fond place in the center of my life.

The Good Lord continues to bless me for reasons unknown to me, but either way, I thank Him endlessly for those blessings. What a life this is becoming...

50 Days In...

2009-11-14T03:25:00.000-08:00

The realization has finally dawned on me that I pay rent. I live in a place, far from home, go to work, make money, and pay for everything I do. Isn't this what adults do? Isn't this the kind of thing we see people do, but never really expect to be doing ourselves?
When I say 'we' and 'ourselves' I mean children.
The transition from...what shall we call it? I cannot call it 'young' to 'old' because that transition is many years in the future. 'Young' to 'old' is the physical aging of the body, which is inevitable and slowly approaching. I cannot call it 'childhood' to 'adulthood' either, because I will always be a child. The world gives very poor written definitions for the word 'adult'. An adult is someone who has forgotten what it is like to see the world with the eyes of simplicity, purity, and adventure. A child experiences these things in a way so foreign and intense that it is unlike anything we know. And it is astounding that we were all children at one point. I speak of children as though they are within themselves a different species. In many ways, they are. Yet, it is as if we are born more capable and adept beings but undergo a process of devolution to end up as more internally complex, confused mammals. Watching children play and learn and live and breath is more edifying than any lecture and more enriching than any scholarly text. Whether or not it is a conscious recognition, people are drawn to and intimidated by children because of their unwitting mental and spiritual freedom.
Somewhere along the way we start to, as they say, "grow up" and forget what it is like to operate with such pure and harmless intention. How it is that we forget so completely the ways and rituals of childhood is beyond me. Yet somewhere lodged deep in the cockles of the soul are the tiny remnants of childhood, waiting to be uncovered and looked upon with warm fondness. Sadly, these occasions are too few and often overlooked.
Society has for thousands of years built itself upon the backs of adults, and the tradition continues to this present day. Even those of us who would rather die than live the life of a proper adult are forced into the yoke of mediocrity, ever struggling to maintain some form of identity and simplicity in the self-induced chaos of the modern world.
The thought of a world where one must have a credit card, debit card, and gift cards, borrowing money against themselves in order to live a proper life makes me ill and outraged. I refuse to believe that the world and its people cannot be better than this. It must still be possible to lead a simple and happy life without being a hermit in one of the few undiscovered corners of the earth.

Which leads me again to this transition...this transition from...'immature' to 'mature'? No, maturity is a state of mind. Maturity is a checklist of socially acceptable behaviors that place one in a supposed higher echelon than those who do not abide by "the checklist". Nonsense. I am still immature, as well.
This transition from 'then' to 'now' we shall call it. I was still thinking in 'then' for the past fifty days which I have spent in Seattle. Although I still feel that there is much to be realized, this has been but the first real grasping of a whole new life.
To realize that I pay rent is monumental. I have paid rent for two months. But only now am I realizing the weight that those three words, "I. Pay. Rent." really carry.
I am more entertained than anything else. It is not negative, nor is it particularly positive...simply a new angle on a subject covered many times over.
When I was a child and heard the word "rent", I thought nothing of it. When I was a whippersnapper and heard the word "rent", I thought money; no big deal. When I was a young teenager and heard the word "rent", I thought work for money for a place to live; interesting. When I was a bit of an older teenager just months ago and heard the word "rent", I panicked and thought nervously about the days to come when I too would have to shell out hundreds of my hard earned dollars to live and sleep under a roof that was somehow "mine". The subject has been covered many times over many years, but with each new experience, a new light dawns on it. This new realization is but another bulb added to the already illuminating light show.

Rent.

I am a young, immature child who pays rent for a space to built a fort. What does one do with a place that so intensely reeks of adulthood? Why, build a fort in it of course. After all, that is what children do to escape the terrors of their mind...build a safe place.

It still works.

Introspection...

2009-11-12T02:42:00.000-08:00

There is a time and a season for all things...now is the time for quiet introspection. To speak would only weaken my focus and introduce unnecessary distraction. My roommate may feel snubbed, or hurt by my coldness, but I can't care right now. Perhaps later I will explain. Perhaps not.
After all, it is not my responsibility to apologize and rationalize or even edify others to the motivation for my antics.
But I digress...
Introspection...there is nothing like a shower, taken in the warm darkness of a steamy bathroom. The lack of optic stimulation leaves much of the brain free for lofty and otherwise interesting thoughts.

It is a sad thing when the opportunity for thinking fades. Fatigue mixed with the noise of a Hunter S. Thompson biography being played too loud makes it difficult to think. Initially, I had planned to write about the meaning of things, childhood, purpose, and all kinds of wonderful things. Perhaps I am being to trite.

When the season for solemn thought is not yet upon me, it is very difficult to produce sincere creations. Because the only good writing is writing that does not have oneself in mind; one must be completely separated from self-interest and thoughts of achievement to produce anything of real worth. Writing with the aforementioned qualities is good for a cheap laugh or a quick thought, but the real works of genius are produced by those who thought, thought, and thought some more without any intention for personal gain of wealth or recognition. Henry David Thoreau, Mark Twain, Soren Kierkegaard, Emily Dickinson, William Wordsworth...all men and women of genius who wrote for the novelty of thought and internal discovery, not personal gain.

And while I would in no way equate myself to them, I would hope to employ some of those tactics to my own writing. While it naturally happens in the appropriate season, it is scarce when my soul is not in winter. Spring and Summer produce the lighter, less dense writings. Fall and Winter bring heavier and darker productions.

Ack. The time gets to me. Sleep.

On Being the "New Person"...

2009-11-07T18:24:00.000-08:00

Being the new person sucks. Flat out. No one ever likes being the new person. And with good reason. Every time you have to start a new job, you end up at the very bottom of the totem pole with the least amount of skill and the largest amount of screw ups. What better than this for a person with no self-esteem or confidence?

I am honestly surprised I even have a job at this point...I started off the day by being late. Scott scheduled my first training shift for 8:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m. Four hours, not a big deal. I set my alarm clock the night before for 6:45 a.m. so I would have plenty of time to get ready in the morning. I go to sleep for a bit and wake up to the sound of my roommate crashing into everything in the apartment after what I can only assume was a huge party. He's incredibly drunk. The time is 4:35 a.m. "I have to wake up in two hours. I could just get up now...but no, that would be over kill. I don't need four hours to get ready. I'll just go back to sleep for another two hours."
I open my eyes. Haven't heard the alarm clock. Sit up, look at the LCD, and do nothing for thirty long seconds. As I sit there, barely cognizant, my heart begins to race and I can feel the blood rising in my chest.

11:30 a.m.

I am in utter disbelief that the time is actually 11:30 a.m. Wasn't I supposed to be at work at 8:00 a.m.? I desperately throw myself out from under the covers, checking every other clock in the house, praying that they will have something different to say.
Maybe my clock died and reset the time! Maybe there was a power outage! Maybe its just WRONG!

Nope. It's 11:30. And I'm officially an ass.

I swear to you, I am the most irrational person I have ever met. What would be common sense to most, is anything but for me.

COMMON SENSE DICTATES:
Call your manager and explain the situation. This is the best thing to do.

IRRATIONALITY DICTATES:
Don't call anyone. Sit in your apartment all day and just go in tomorrow. You can come up with some crazy story later to explain why you didn't show up on your first day of training. Yes...this will work.

Rita honestly contemplates Option 2 a great deal more than she considers Option 1. Thank God she went with Option 1. I call my manager, muster up the most apologetic voice I can; not because I am not sorry and don't sound sorry, but because my voice is so hopelessly monotone that most people cannot tell whether or not I am actually being sincere.
Much to my surprise, my manager tells me its okay. Its okay? Its OKAY?! Who says that to an employee they just hired? This has to be the crappiest first impression ever, and he's telling me that its NOT A PROBLEM?!
I don't believe him. Nothing he says during the day will convince me otherwise. Secretly, he thinks he's made a mistake in hiring me and really wishes he had gone with one of the other two candidates. No one could possibly have screwed this up as bad as me.

So I show up at 12:30 p.m., as ready as I will ever be to start my first training shift. The manager immediately puts me to work on the register, an archaic temperamental piece of equipment that has not been updated since 1992. Regardless, I manage to take FOREVER on just about every transaction thrown my way.
Biggest mistake of the day: Forgetting to get pastries for everyone who bought a pastry. Every single time. Someone else had to get them for me because I was so nervous I totally spaced it.

Suffice to say, after this long diatribe, I am scarred, mentally and emotionally damaged, depressed, and utterly self-loathing. Getting out of bed tomorrow may be a very difficult task.
Suddenly remembering that you are a complete and total waste of space with no skills or talents to offer the world is not pleasant. I should have seen it coming though...

Call Me the Chambermaid, Candy Lady, Anything You Like...

2009-11-01T13:06:00.000-08:00

Of all the holidays to restore my faith in humanity, I would not have expected Halloween to be it.

Being from a small town, I had expected droves of children to show up at my door in their varied but wonderful costumes, greeted by the chorus of "trick or treat" every time I opened my door. After sitting at my house for a bit, looking outside occasionally to see if anyone was around, I decided that no one was coming. My first lesson on holidays in the city: Halloween is not the same as it is in small towns. People go to the malls for candy, not to people's houses.

So I grabbed my pot of candy and paraded out the door, determined to find people who wanted candy. At first my goal was to find children who were trick-or-treating, and give them the candy. But I realized quickly that I wasn't going to find many of them. I went down to NW Market St. and, with pot of candy on my head, walked around, hoping that people would want candy. Several people asked me what was in the pot, and it was these people that I tried to give candy to.
Most of these attempts ended in really bad pick-up lines, sexual innuendo, and me getting hit on.
I was a tad bit discouraged at this point.
But, determined to bring candy to Seattle's candiless, I marched back to the apartment and printed out a sign that looked something like this:

I first came across two teenagers dressed up and trick-or-treating. They were surprised and shocked that I was giving out candy, but I believe pleasantly so.

With hope restored, I marched down to uncharted and dangerous waters to begin my candy giving escapade.

Left and right people were smiling. When they read my sign and walked shyly by, they would smile and giggle, or openly laugh. When I asked if they wanted candy, most people accepted pleasantly. As if people's reactions were not encouragement enough, it was even more wonderful to see people that had seen me several times before.

"Okay, I've seen you walk by three times already. I just have to ask: what are you doing?"
"I'm giving out candy. Would you like some?" I said, lifting the pot down from my head.
They laugh merrily. "What made you want to do that?"
"Well, most of us don't trick-or-treat anymore; there has to be some way for us to get candy!"
Another hearty laugh as they pick some Smarties out of the pot.

If people were too afraid to ask, I would simply insist that they take some.

So many people were encouraging and sweet and happy. I am amazed that all the people who I thought might be too full of themselves to accept my offer showed themselves as real and personable humans.

Several people who saw me multiple times would encourage me every time I walked by with words like, "This is such an awesome thing, keep it up sweetheart!" or "I love what you're doing!". For anyone to step outside of their comfort zone, say something like that, and be inspired, is enough for me.

I went home; the people of NW Ballard St. had cleaned me out. Instead of going home with a bag full of candy, I returned empty handed and happier than I had expected myself to be.

The night was a total success.

There are so many individual stories to tell about Halloween night, that I can't even fit them all in here (for fear that I may bore you all to death).

Suffice to say, Happy Halloween!

The Adventures of a Silly Girl in a Room Full of Men...

2009-10-30T11:39:00.000-07:00

Since that first day of walking into Gracie Barra Jiu-Jitsu, which was only five short days ago, a lot has developed.
Before, I watched timidly from the sidelines, enamored with the sport and the skill of the men and women who did it.
Now, I am able to walk into the room, receive warm smiles and handshakes from all the men whose names I accidentally forget, and have a go at it myself.
It already feels like the third branch of my Seattle family. I can't thank God enough for bringing me to such amazing people. A little love and respect goes a lot farther than I previously imagined it could.

I am amazed at what rolling around on a mat with a bunch of dudes can do for my physical and mental state.

I arrived to class yesterday completely stressed out and teetering on the verge of depression. I had had my interview with QFC and the situation was the same as last time; show up, sit in a line of equally nervous candidates, try hard to ignore one another as the thickness of competition in the air killed any urge for conversation, and wait to be called up those stairs to that table. The woman who called me back for my second interview told me that I should bring my social security card, just in case I passed the second interview. If I did, I would move on to a third and meet with the store manager, then take a drug test, and if they liked me, I would be hired. Having had this information when I went to the interview, I was a little distraught after being told they "would call me in a couple days". I left the building flustered and wanting to collapse on the sidewalk like a small child refusing to go to day care.

I just want to work!

Thankfully, I had an appointment with a photographer who has employed my limited services to construct a website of sorts and upload her photos to it. She's paying me twenty dollars an hour to what? To upload photos. Yes. So yesterday I did make a little money. Two hundred and fifty dollars for a good twelve and a half hours of work.
For once, getting stuck in traffic was a good thing. I had nowhere to be for the next three hours, and so while stuck in the terrible Microsoft traffic on the 520, blasted Meshuggah from my little truck's speakers for all my neighbors to enjoy. Frankly, I didn't care if they didn't like it. I did.

Still feeling hopeless and completely discouraged, I folded up my gi and headed to class.

Aaaaah, what better way to spend the next two and a half hours than putting men in armbars and getting choked? Its surprisingly more fun and less S&M than you'd think.

I have recovered (mostly) from the mental chaos of yesterday, and once again push forward in my search for a job. In about an hour, I have yet another interview with the manager of Tully's Coffee for a possible part-time position.

God willing, this is it.

Return...

2009-10-26T17:28:00.000-07:00

So after a brief trip to Irrationaland, I am back; returned from a swirling, melodramatic performance of panic.
I have removed the magnifying coke-bottle glasses of absurdity and returned to a balanced state...as is natural for us Libras.

...take a deep breath, close my eyes, relax my shoulders and let my arms fall limp to my sides. Oh, how easy it is to deprogram after a day of stressful dealings. It will never cease to amaze me how five minutes of solitude can heal the wounds of a busy soul.

Today was my first day of work with the professional photographer. We met at my cousin's house, as she is the mutual friend, and began laying out a plan for her website. Thank goodness my cousin was there, because if there is one thing I cannot do, it is plan. For most of our meeting I sat between the two, swiveling my head from right to left as they talked over me. On occasion I was consulted for input, and, of course, taken completely by surprise, could not manage to utter anything that didn't begin with "uuuummm...yes."
However, things are now well on their way and I am free for the next three days to do my work without social interaction. Yay!

Once the meeting was finished, I sat on the floor with my cousin and her husband and talked about rugs. For about an hour. Along with being continually amazed at the resilience of the human spirit, I am also amazed by the time I spend at my cousin's house talking about things like rugs. Who knew rugs were so complex? Or that I cared so much about them?

When I returned to the domicile it was a mad dash to get my resume, application, and cover letter ready in time to catch the manager at Tully's.
Once again, Panic and Indecision teamed up and did a marvelous job running around inside my skull, shouting completely ridiculous, confusing things.

"Crap! This application is like seven pages long? Do you think he'll even read it? I mean, it is the application after all, so he kinda has to read it...but what if he doesn't? Maybe he'll get bored half way through the application for his own store and then there will be no hope for me! But it was the only thing I could do! I mean, I wasn't going to fill out this application and just let it float around in cyberspace for all eternity!
Maybe he won't get to the back of the packet...which would suck, because that's where my resume is. And that's the most important part!
Okay...I signed the cover letter...
Now how do I keep everything together in one neat, tidy bundle?
Staples?
Clips?
I don't have clips.
Okay, no clips.
Staples?
Staples.
One staple or two staples? Are staples unprofessional? Great Odin's Raven this is ridiculous!"

And thus Panic and Indecision ran rampant through the tunnels of my brain, screaming and waving their arms like wild crazed men.
Yet, in some strange way, the chaos they created inward manifested itself outward as increased productivity.
Figure that one out.

Panic + Indecision = Increased Productivity

Doesn't make sense to me either.

So the application is in. I need to stop by tomorrow to ask Scott if he read that accursed book, and hope that he remembers my face when I introduce myself.
And then proceed to bug the crap out of him for every day after that.

My eyes are upturned on this one.

A Trip to Irrationalland...

2009-10-22T17:38:00.000-07:00

If there has at all been a day when I have felt completely hopeless here in Seattle, this is it...
In spite of my efforts to ignore my reality, it still manages to grind away at me. There is nothing short of a miracle that will get me the money I need to make rent. Unless I miraculously get a job that pays $10/hr and I work at least 28 hours in the coming week, I will not be able to pay my rent.
And my roommate will be pissed.
And I will look like an ars.
And the feeling of failure that is ever present in my life will once again have reason to mock me.

Things sounds so great. Really, I have nothing to complain about. My God is gracious, and provides me with so much. Only...I find it hard to trust Him with finding me a job. I want nothing more than to just say, "Here you go, Big Guy. I know you'll find me work." and then really believe the words coming out of my mouth. But sadly...its a lot harder to say it and mean it. Especially when the future of whether or not I have a place to live is in jeopardy.

Its discouraging when everywhere I go, I am just a little too late.
If I could recount every excuse for why businesses aren't hiring that I have heard in the last few weeks, I would have nearly a full page of BS.

I am almost to the point of begging. Getting down on my knees and begging for a job, any job...because, for as little self esteem as I have, I know that I could do a job well, I know that I would be a good addition to someone's pay roll.

If only they would hire me. Give me a chance.

Hopefully tomorrow Steve will call me with good news. Maybe Parsons is right...maybe Steve can become the first member of my "special sphere of influence", as I have dubbed it.

Or maybe not. Maybe the next thing you'll hear of me is that I'm going to a homeless shelter and will be eating my next meal out of the garbage. Maybe you won't hear anything because I'm selling my computer for the rent money.

Or maybe I'm just a little too melodramatic and need to calm down.

A Visit to BJJ Heaven...

2009-10-22T00:31:00.000-07:00

Its close to one o'clock in the morning and I'm sitting at my computer, waiting for my roommate, who has the only key to the laundry room, to get home so I can wash my massive heap of laundry.

I've never found it so hard to waste time on the internet. No one ever has a problem figuring out how to kill time with the internet. But, the one time I actually want to go to bed before three in the morning, my roommate is nowhere to be found and I'm having trouble finding ways to do nothing.

In hopes that I might get something important done, I click open another tab on Firefox and type in the url to my new found love: http://www.ballardbjj.com.

I need to send an email to Micah, the man who runs Ballard BJJ.

Hello Micah,

I was walking down NW Market St. the other day on my way to the grocery store, and out of the corner of my eye I caught a sign that said something about "BJJ" on it. Over the last couple of years I have become a rather large enthusiast of the UFC and so the term BJJ was not unfamiliar to me.
I recently (as in under a month ago) moved to Seattle/Ballard and one of my primary goals has been to find an MMA gym to train at or to at least somehow get involved with the martial arts.
I did a double-take at the sign, surprised that someone was teaching Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu in Ballard. In all my research of the area, it hadn't come up. Looking around, I tried to figure out what building it was on the second floor of (not yet knowing what the Firehouse was), but couldn't seem to locate anything. I went home, Googled Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu in Ballard, and was discouraged by what I can now say was misleading information. I thought the place had closed, and so I thought the sign had been misplaced.
However, upon further investigation, I found your website and figured, "they must not be closed if they have such a well-maintained website..."
I stopped by today around 1:30p.m. today to see if anyone could answer my questions and/or show me around the facility. But no one was around.

In short, I wanted to see if there was a good time for me to come by and visit/find out some more about what you offer.

I look forward to hearing back from you,
Rita

This ridiculous and unnecessarily long-winded email was what my night time delirium produced. I felt like apologizing when I spoke with him later.

Now, I had this preconception that when I walked through the door, there would be a front desk with a receptionist who would tell me everything I needed to know.

Nope.

I pulled open the door to find a room the size of a small one bedroom apartment, the majority of its floorspace taken up by a raised blue gym mat. The rest of the floor (which wasn't much) had a futon/couch combo, some cubbies, a fridge, and a small display case.

At this point, I almost chickened out and left. There were groups of people sparring on the mat right in front of my feet and I felt like a total idiot for even being there. 98% of the humans in the room were male...there were a total of three women, two of whom were new as of that day and weren't even sure if they wanted to join the class. At this point, I'm so horrifically paralyzed by intimidation that I can barely walk through the door and over to the empty part of the floor.
This room is too small for me to go completely unnoticed. My brain sees its chance to strike:
"Its only a matter of time before someone sees me standing stiffly in the corner like an awkward kid at the school dance and introduces themself. Maybe if I just stand farther back in the corner...No, wait, there are people back there too. Dammit. Maybe if I stand closer to the wall...Oh crap, crap, crap! Here comes that one guy! What's his name?! I saw his picture on the website--"

"Hello" An outstretched hand reaches out towards me.

"Hi..." brief silence, not long enough to be considered awkward. Smile. "Rita. I sent you an email yesterday about coming and checking the place out."

"Yes, hi. Micah, nice to meet you."

And we're off! Phew! That wasn't terrible. His short response to my lengthy email had lead me to believe he was either really serious all the time, or was just lazy and didn't want to respond in an equally lengthy post on his Blackberry. Thank goodness my suspicions of the first had been denied.
He offered me a gi, told me I could take off my shoes and get comfortable, and was off to mingle with his students. A very mild man, gentle, and personable.
"I could get along with him."

I immediately begin taking off my shoes, being the barefoot child that I am.

At this point, I can't help but be totally giddy. The atmosphere, the people, the energy...are perfect. Its everything I was looking for in a training facility.

A man speaks from behind me, though I don't know he's speaking to me.

"What's you're name?" I ignore him, not wanting to be pretentious enough to think he's talking to me.

"Excuse m--"

"Me? Rita" I reply, realizing that yes, he is talking to me. He points to his ear, letting me know that he can't hear me. "Duh..." I think, realizing that there is no way he could have heard me whispering my name from ten feet away. I get up and move closer, extending my hand for the handshake.

"Rita," I say again, this time so he can hear.

"Ian. Nice to meet you. Who are you here watching?"

"No one--" he cuts me off before I can explain any more.

"So you aren't here with anyone?"

I laugh. What else am I supposed to do? Who asks that kind of question in the first ten seconds after an introduction?

"No, I'm not--" Cut off. Again.

"So what brings you here, then?"

Finally. A chance to answer," I'm actually interested in starting training here, so I figured I would come by and check the place out."

A little bit more useless chit chat, and I learn some interesting things about the place.
Several others come over and introduce themselves, are introduced by others, and by the end of my first ten minutes in the room, I've met almost half the people in it. And they're all amazing!

Several minutes later, everyone is doing warm ups and Ian is teaching the two new girls how to go from side control to a full mount. I had no idea Ian was an instructor.
I'm fascinated by the techniques he is teaching the two women, fascinated by how quickly they learn, fascinated by the whole thing.

I'm completely sold.

As soon as I can find a job, I'm paying my $65 a month for unlimited training at Ballard BJJ.

An Interview with Incompetence

2009-10-20T12:15:00.000-07:00

It didn't hit me just how incapable I am until I was sitting in the waiting area, reading a list of dress code materials, and unwrapping my pen from a plastic shell like a straw.

There were three cheap, black fold-out chairs lined against the wall. Me and another man sat on the ends, ignoring each other entirely, both pretending to be deeply engrossed in the lame, official packet we had been handed; essentially a list of things I wasn't allowed to do.

My heart sank a little.

I had somehow imagined that applying for this job, getting this job, and working at this job would be more fun than this. Ha. The longer I sat in that chair, the harder it was to maintain my delusions.

Dress Code:

No jeans

"Dammit..."

No shirts exposing mid-riff or deep necklines

"Cleavage? Check. Dammit..."

No frayed or worn out clothing

"Frayed Xenophobes patch chillin' dead center on my right leg. Dammit..."
No colored or printed undergarments that would show through a white piece of clothing.
"Oh, if they could only SEE the underwear I chose to wear today. Lime. Green. Lacies. Dammit..."

No extreme stretching of ear piercings...

"Crap! What do they define "extreme" as?"

...Up to 5/8"

"Rita- 1, QFC- 4"

Sitting cross-legged, cold and nervous, I couldn't help but think things weren't going to go very well. Men in crisp suits were sitting next to me, briefcases perched officially by their chairs, polished shoes laughing at my well-loved Converse.

Of course, my mind didn't have time between irrational thoughts to calm me down and prepare me for the coming interview.

"Should I button up one more button on my shirt? I can't do that...if I do that in plain sight, everyone will know why I'm doing it. Then it will be obvious that I'm completely unprepared. And if they see I'm completely unprepared, there's no way I'll land a job...and my socks! I can't hide these bright green knee-high tube socks I'm wearing under my Converse. Bad choice...bad choice. Why did I choose these socks? I can't hide my Xenophobes path either. Crap! Those people at the table who handed me this paper must think I'm a complete twit..."

Well done, brain. You've managed to turn a manageable thing into something unsurvivable.

Finally, the woman comes down to get me. We head up a small set of stairs into a room with three other tables, spread out, where various men are interviewing, their ridiculous black business socks the only thing I can focus on. The room feels like its falling over. Even my interviewer can't help but comment on the lopsidedness of the floor. "Awesome. Interviews with permanent vertigo," she jokes. I laugh.

First question.

"So what made you want to apply to QFC?"

Thankfully, We The People has trained me for this. Answer quickly, even if you're talking out your ars. Sound confident, they'll believe you even if you're wrong.

Meanwhile, my brain is backseat driving, "What the hell?! Why weren't you prepared for this question? You should have at least prepared SOME kind of answer while you were sitting at home eating toast. This question was inevitable. You're retarded..."

Round Two.

"Give an example of some time that you gave outstanding customer service."

Of course, the first example I come up with is the coffee example. That example sucks. The words coming out of my mouth sounded okay in all reality, but my ears are hearing them as, "One time, I made coffee for a lady, and the lady was like "this is better than Starbucks!" and she was happy and stuff." Oh, good job. Its your command of the English language that impresses me most, really.

Worst. Example. Ever.

Thankfully, I recovered from this one with a fantastic example of fixing a woman's messed up membership at the athletic club. I think she liked that one.

Curve ball.

"What qualities do you possess that would separate you from the other candidates?"

"Well, ma'am, if you have to know, I'm completely unqualified in any way, shape, or form and would in no way be a benefit to your establishment. In fact, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to take a moment to bash my head into the nearest wall and answer the rest of these questions when I recover from temporary comatose."

"I am incredibly flexible, enjoy working with people (LIE), and am always willing to do whatever my co-workers or customers require of me to ensure the best possible experience and work environment. I am personable, friendly, and really love putting in the extra effort to help others."

Please kill me now.

Somewhere around four more questions that I don't remember, another section to read in some job description booklet, a lecture on the six month learning curve for night crew, and eventually being told they would look to get me into a Starbucks. And that full time as a Checker was really hard to get.

Stand up.

Shake her hand.

Thanked for my time.

Leave.

And yet, somehow, I'm still actually hoping they contact me within the next week for a position. Ha.

Regardless. I can finally go check out the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu place down the street and make a fool of myself there, too.

Brain Exiting Skull...

2009-10-17T11:53:00.000-07:00

Ugh, I'm not gonna lie, my brain feels like its going to fall out of my skull right now. Waking up at 10:45 this morning was the hardest thing I've done in the last month. Remind me not to come home at one o'clock in the morning and make "dinner" for myself. Bad idea.
But after hitting snooze six times, I'm finally up, still yawning, and ready to go to lunch. Need a glass of water. Need to do my hair. Need to "put my face on" as the good friend who called me five minutes ago said. Need to put the icing on the cake...no, literally. I really do need to ice a cake.

But pardon me. I'm distracted.
Over the last few days, I had several ideas to blog about, but none of them came to fruition. One of them involved sidewalk chalk. The other involved the run I took at 2:30 in the morning two days ago. Sadly, I cannot write about sidewalk chalk because I have not yet been able to find any. Apparently Seattle doesn't need sidewalk chalk. Which is crap. And I simply just haven't gotten around to writing about the run yet...which will happen in the next few days, I guarantee it. Not that its of any great consequence to you.

So I'll shut up now.
Enjoy the rest of your day everyone.
You'll most likely be bothered by me again this evening.

Ready...Set...Sleep In

2009-10-14T02:20:00.000-07:00

Sometimes there is so much to write about that I never actually get around to writing anything at all. And sometimes it just takes reading another person's blog to get back into the swing of things.

Again, I woke up at noon. In some ways, its a very disappointing way to start the day; getting out of bed with the knowledge that half my day is already gone and the rest of the world has been awake for hours. When I went to Starbucks and the woman behind the counter said, "Enjoy the rest of your evening," I was more than a little confused. Until I remembered that my "long day" had consisted of only four hours up to that point."

After pounding the pavement, this time in the rain, and returning photo-copied applications to every Starbucks I could find, I made an impulse stop at the Jo-Ann Fabric Store. A wonderful little lady behind the counter informed me that they were looking to fill four positions. Fantastic. Maybe I will work fifty feet away from my apartment in a fabric store.

I somehow ended up driving to Target after I braved the grueling trek back to my abode. Let me just say I have never been in a more confusing Target in all my life. I walked around like an idiot with an empty, red, ergonomic basket for maybe a half hour before I found the printer paper which turned up on the second floor, not the first. One feat down, three more to go. Now...where is the women's hygiene isle? All of a sudden, looking for razors didn't sound so appealing anymore. Again, I ended up doing laps around the upper floor looking for something that shouldn't have been that hard to find. Of course, when I finally found my prize, I didn't do take the logical path, which would have been to pick up a package of my usual brand, throw it in the basket, move on to objective #3; no. I had to stop, peruse the options, weigh the pros and cons of switching to something new. Honestly...shopping for razors should not be this difficult. Just like finding them shouldn't be difficult.

My last feat was to find a receptacle for my clothes...all my clothes are currently living in cardboard boxes in the corner of my unfurnished room. So I found this absurdly heavy shelf apparatus that I would have to put together myself to store my clothes in. I had not anticipated leaving Target with such a heavy item, so I hadn't bothered to park my car anywhere near my current location. Great. No problem.

Putting the thing together has been like a bad episode of Tool Time...but its finally built. Well, mostly. I was hammering an innumerable amount of nails into the back of the thing when I realized the tenants who live above me probably hate me. Hammering nails at 12:30 a.m. doesn't make friends.

All in all, it was a rather mundane day, aside from feeling like I may have accomplished a few things I wanted/needed to do. And sending an email to a good friend.

This blog was supposed to be a great deal more serious, as it usually is, but alas, my roommate insists on making me laugh, so tonight's post is rather lighthearted.

The World Cries Loudest In the Morning...

2009-10-12T23:55:00.000-07:00

What bliss it is to be able to sit with a cup of freshly brewed tea and write about the glories of the world.

There is seldom a prettier sight than the first echoes of light singing into the sky to announce the coming of the sun. It happens not once or twice a year, but every morning of every day this world will ever know. I pity the man who has never risen early enough to breath the sun as it clips the mountain tops and saturates the air.
And it is during this time, when the sun is making its first appearance for the day, that the world cries the loudest. It is during this time of peace and solitude when everything has yet to rise that the world sings its sweet melodies. What better time to appreciate the stillness than now? What better time to grasp the purity of this fragile new-born day? It is during this time that one's breathing, movement, and thought process reduce their speed until they match the tempo of the rising planet.
And so begins a day.
But it is at that time of day when all is alive, all is awake, and all is busy, that the voice of life is most absent...not absent, but inaudible. In the background, behind the constant thrum of soles upon the concrete, little messengers cry out to be heard. They appear as things unseen until we take the time to stop, breathe, and slow our souls to match their heartbeat. A moment such as this never goes unrewarded. It is as if the small majesties of life can feel the synchronization of the human heart to their own, and upon making the connection, jump at the opportunity to make themselves apparent to the individual who has stepped into their world. Often times such an event occurs involuntarily, when one slips into a state of brief contentment or stillness without being aware of the transition. And it is at these times when a small smile will grace their lips, and they will, even if only for one brief moment, remember the purity of life.
For as dirty as this life constantly seems amidst the rank attitudes of our fellow humans and the ever present wash of filth, there is still beauty to be found in all the in betweens.

Look for it.
You will find it, I promise.
And when you find it, remind someone else that it exists.
Because they may need it as much as you do.

Profundus Sententia Ex Cunabula

Exit 38 and Jesus...

2009-10-12T00:48:00.000-07:00

The days here just keep getting more and more interesting...or perhaps just more and more "different".
I went to sleep at two o'clock in the morning yesterday after a long day of garage sailing in my relatives' relative's house, only to woken at eleven thirty by the sound of my telephone vibrating. I knew I was supposed to hang out with a guy I had met at Stone Gardens, a rock gym here in Seattle, but I didn't really know if I was up to it...of course, as is inevitable, although everyone tries to avoid it, I sounded like I had just woken up when I answered the phone. I got ready and forty five minutes later I was in the car and driving to some place called Exit 38. It was cold as the dickens outside, and I didn't know if my hands were even going to work in this temperature.
But, much to my pleasant surprise, they did. We started with a 5.7 right next to a bridge (the concrete was in), and then moved to a series of 5.9's on another wall a little ways away. Those were by far the most fun. It takes a little time to remember how to feel when climbing outdoors. The atmosphere is so vastly different than that of an indoor gym. Everything is a little bit scarier and you aren't quite as bold. After the first few climbs, it all comes back, though...sadly, the temperature didn't improve, so we called it quits after a lesson in cleaning an anchor and a 5.11 variation of the first route. All in all, twas good fun.
Afterward, we headed back into town and ended up in Wallingford at a little place called Kuan Yin Teahouse. My excitement to be in a teahouse was only magnified by the crispness of the day and my inability to feel my hands. Formosa Green Tea was served (an excellent choice, I might add) and I drank my fill while eating little wedges of cheese bread.

However, the most exciting part of my day was what happened after.
At 7:15 on Sundays, church happens! Mars Hill is a large church, much larger than anything I am used to, but I'm trying to squeeze my way into the Ballard church community. It seems there is an incredibly high volume of college students that attend the service. This makes me a little apprehensive, because it also seems in some ways that college students are the least approachable. For all the credit that modern society gives college students for being more mature and more adult-like than they were in their high school years, they don't seem to have progressed much. The majority of the college students I see are the same immature, egotistical, closed-off, tactless adolescents they were in high school.
Although, this has just been my experience...and I am no one to judge. So I'm giving this a chance, despite my initial apprehensions, and seeing if I can't fit somewhere into this massive colony of people who attend church en vogue. (I mean seriously...showing up in high heels with perfect hair and designer clothes? I thought this was church, not an audition for America's Next Top Model)
But I am too harsh...I need to give it time.

On a more philosophical note (now that the mundane has been recorded), I have begun to notice with increasing discontentment that I am incredibly judgmental. Despite my best efforts to control my thoughts, the seven me's seem to just run rampantly around inside my skull, shouting the most obscenely hypocritical they can come up with. The sad part is, I'm not really that critical. I don't like to be. But recently, I can't seem to look at anyone without my first thought about them being something terribly judgmental.
Save for those people who seem like underdogs.
I still like them.
But anyone who seems like they may in any way, shape, or form be a threat to those whom the "average" person would consider "strange" or "weird", my mind attacks.

This is one of those problems that only prayer and obedience will fix. Jesus can only help me as much as I want to help myself, for I am the keeper of my salvation. While Jesus provides salvation, it is up to me to remember His sacrifice and remain weak enough to need Him. Because every time I feel that I can stand up on my feet without Him, it fails miserably and I end up lying on my face in the sand, stretching my hand out towards Jesus again.
And every time, though I don't deserve it, He finds me, places his arms beneath my own, and picks me up again.

Thank God that He is in control and I am not...I make such bad decisions.

Profundus Sententia Ex Cunabula

Too Early to Be Late...

2009-10-09T22:58:00.001-07:00

I took a walk -- my first walk -- around Ballard tonight.
A night walk is so much different than a day walk. Everything is alive in a much more interesting way at night. During the day, people have to be out; they have to be working, and moving, and going places. At night, people go outside largely because they want to. The absurdities of the human race are magnified in such a glorious way...as if when the sun sets, we shed our skins and become whatever manner of beastly creatures we so desire.
Tonight I stayed away from the main drag, NW Market St. Its a Friday, so everyone who worked a long week is out to have "fun" at the bars. I'd rather not deal with that tonight. I'd much rather see and enjoy the smaller gifts of the city that hide on smaller streets...at least for just this night.

The buildings were whispering to me, as well. They said, "Come and climb me," and I wanted to. But city people are a different breed than those who populate small towns. Here, there are no ways to reach the tops of buildings, save from the inside. Although I can't blame them for designing the buildings that way...I'm sure that thousands of times before people have climbed to the roofs, and just as many times its been to do something stupid. I merely want to get to the top and...sit.
The tops of tall buildings are such wonderful places to observe the world. Perches where one can step back from the world for a minute and just look at it. I don't know what others see when they look out upon the great masses of people across the earth, but all I can see is beauty. Though we humans are such a plague to the planet, I cannot help but have hope for us. The thought that each being has the potential to be someone great is too much for me to ignore.
And it isn't that everyone has to be Mother Teresa or Gandhi. Everyone can make a genuine difference in even just one other person's life. And that would be enough.
The joy of giving to someone else emotionally is possibly the most fulfilling thing in the world.

When I left the apartment at 9:30 p.m., I had expected an Inclinian level of desertion to await me outside the door. Much to my surprise, there were people all over the place. I recently discovered that there is a park diagonally across the street from me, and so I was going to go sit under the clouded October sky, breath in this frigid air and think about all manner of things...only to find at least six people still in the park. In Incline, this would never have happened. A night walk could go completely undisturbed at any time of the day, as long as one did not approach town. I forget that this is the city, though.
In some ways it is incredibly comforting to see other people walking around at night. Yet at the same time...I wanted in some small way to be alone at the park tonight. As I was returning to base after other trekkings, I read the rules posted at the park...it stays "open" until 11:30 p.m. Sadly, I was too early to be late, and so I continued the extra twenty feet back to my domicile to await the illegal park visitor hours.
Perhaps then I will have the park to myself.
And if not...there is always tomorrow.

Cardinal Sin

2009-10-08T23:04:00.000-07:00

Am I committing any kind of cardinal sin by posting twice in the same day? Well, its almost tomorrow anyway...

Life feels very colorful these days. Despite living in what most people call the greyest city in the country, I don't feel its like that at all. Moving out and getting started on my own really doesn't feel as jarring as everyone said it would, either. People asked if I was scared, nervous, excited, all those emotions...but really, all I felt was...normal. I got in my car, drove to Humboldt, spent time with my best friend and met some new people. I drove from Humboldt to Seattle, and showed up at my relatives' house. I woke up the next morning and started looking for places to live. I moved in a couple days ago to this two bedroom apartment, which I share with Jake, who is thus far a fantastic roommate. It feels like I'm on an extended vacation, even though I know I'm not.
I did sit down and think about it yesterday and a small pang of sadness gripped my heart as I realized I would never again be living under my parents roof as a child. And though I am still very young, and would not consider myself an "adult" (nor do I hope to ever hold that title), I can no longer consider myself a dependent. Everything is different now, and I can't even feel it.
That's what happens when you travel a lot as a kid. And I can't say I'm not grateful for this feeling. It would make life infinitely more difficult if I felt home sick or displaced.

On a completely different topic, because I digress, I saw one of the most beautiful things I've seen in a while just a few minutes ago. I was washing my hands and picked up the bottle of soap. I squeezed the bottle on accident while it was still upright, and a host of tiny bubbles came bursting out of it. And they just hovered there, all these different sized little bubbles, happily bouncing around in the air. It made me really genuinely happy for some reason. Here I thought I was looking at and admiring the small works of God, but even when I think I am focused on the smallest of them all, He shows me yet another that I have missed.
Thank God He's God and I'm not.

Profundus Sententia Ex Cunabula

Dear Blog...

2009-10-08T15:26:00.000-07:00

Today feels like one of those days when I must address my blog as though it were a person. If it were in fact human, it would be a man. And his name would be Jerry. I'm not incredibly fond of the name Jerry...but it really doesn't matter does it?

I started my day at noon. I had intended to wake up at nine-thirty and start it then, but alas, sleep was more alluring. And thus I was foiled. In fact, I have been sitting, standing, laying, and rolling around in the apartment for close to three hours and forty minutes, telling myself that I am going to the Kragen Auto Parts store to see if I can get a job.
If I had to draw a pie chart to show the contributing factors to my inactivity, it would be comprised of fifty percent sheer laziness and fifty percent fear of failure. I need a job and I know it. But the silly romantic in me keeps hoping that someone will kick down my door, take the hero stance and shout, "The workforce wants YOU!" And then rational me butts in and shatters my fantasies...but probably for the better.
It is a sad existence when "I know" so much, but am never able to act upon it.

Perhaps if I get out of this room any time in the near future I can go to the store, buy thumbtacks, snacks, and go find a job...maybe.

Another Day In the City...

2009-10-07T11:07:00.000-07:00

Its another day in Seattle...the tenth day, to be exact. I'm sitting here in this apartment, hoping that my rental application gets approved. If it doesn't, I'll be loading all these boxes back into my truck and "moving" again. I find myself inevitably stressed out, despite my best efforts not to be...I am amazed at how difficult it has been to find a job. The days pass slowly, as if weighed down by some invisible hand...if nothing else, it gives me more time to think about my inadequacy.
While looking for a job, while eating dinner, while going to church, while being awake, the only thing I can really focus on is trying to find work...but it seems that no one is looking for a high school graduate with minimal work experience. My question still is this: how am I supposed to gain experience when no one is hiring?
But I can't quite say that no one is hiring yet...I haven't looked that hard yet.
Which brings me back to the thoughts of my own inadequacy. I am deeply afraid to go into a store and simply ask if they are hiring; I am afraid that they will all look at me disdainfully and shoot off a bitter, "no," as if the only reason they aren't hiring is because its me and not someone else. I don't see how my meager resume can compete with the others being offered up...it seems less and less likely that I will find anything with each passing day.
And yet, I still have hope. There is a small ball of hope buried deep within my mind's massive darkness. I have prayed, and others are praying for me...and something tells me to keep faith. I still need to look, but I have faith that there is something out there for me.
God willing, I will stay humble and trust in Him to make this happen...

Introduction

2009-10-06T18:37:00.000-07:00

To set the stage:
My name is Rita. I have been "blogging" for some time now, without actually realizing it. My "blogs" are posted on various websites, namely FaceBook and MySpace, but are largely present in the paper media. After much deliberation, I have decided to start one of these official blogs and join the ranks of bloggers worldwide.

Wish me luck, I suppose...

Profundus Sententia Ex Cunabula