Words from a Dancing Fool

Dearest Gentlemen

2012-02-01T06:42:00.000-06:00

*rant

My Dearest Gentlemen:

I am writing to inform you that in the past few days, you have managed, as a gender, to hack me off repeatedly. Oh, I know, I do things that are ungainly, occasionally silly, and sometimes outright laughable or frustrating. I'm entitled, right? Last time I checked, I was still a human being...just like you.

This isn't about those things. This is about the two tendencies you have that are going to get you smacked right straight in the face if you can't correct or restrain them when dealing with me in the future.

First, if I am trying to work on something, whether it is a computer or an essay revision, hell, I don't care if it's a fission bomb, do not come and just try to take the damn thing out of my hands without asking because you think you can do it better. Sometimes I actually do know what I'm doing despite my lack of Y chromosome. Now I know that may be shocking to you. Yes, even though I am a "chick," and an English major chick at that, I can do some few paltry things with computers, especially in the educational technology setting. I make no claims at being a "tech" or a great proficient, but there is some stuff I can do, and I don't just mean change out my desktop wallpaper. (And, no, F., I might not have been able to set that pin the other day in Google maps, but I by God can now....) If I'm working on a problem and you just assume you can do it better and try to take over, that's an insult. When you come up, lean over, lay hands on, try to remove next time, you're going to draw back a maimed limb.

Second, I know I tend to get to my ideas differently than other people. I always have. The best way to describe it is that I don't think in straight lines always. This means that I see too many options sometimes. Just because the way I think isn't the way you think does not mean I'm dumb. I have a CV as long as my arm to prove that with certificates, degrees, and awards if you'd like to see them. The upshot of all that is this: if I ask you a damn question about something, answer it. I can probably keep up. If I don't understand, I will ask you questions until I can see at least the general outline in my head. Don't look at me like, "Oh hell, this woman wants to know about X. How can I ever make her tiny brain comprehend?" Yeah, I know that what I asked you about may be complex. But probably, I would not have asked the question if I didn't need to know or wasn't interested. What is it that you think I should be talking to you about anyway?

I don't get this crap when I talk to other women, guys. You may have noticed that we don't do this to you, either. Well, or not. You may be too busy assuming that we need your help or that we can't understand what you're talking about to notice.

*rant off

I Has Been Quoted

2012-01-30T21:59:00.000-06:00

I noticed a sudden surge of hits to the post about the Birmingham Museum of Art, and I got curious. It seemed they were coming from Facebook of all places. (No. I can't track you. I'm not the Government. And hi, Government. Nothing to see here. Move along. Move along. I can, however, see where my visitors come from through Feedjit, scrolling down the bottom of the page to the right...) Anyhoo, I started wondering if maybe there was some connection between the flood (more like tidal wave for me here in my quiet corner of the e-verse) and the museum, so I looked on their FB page. Look what I found! Awww. Isn't this sweet? Much love to them for the link. They're fabulous. People should give them gold by the boatload. They're absolutely worth it.

Salt on My Tail

2012-01-30T17:09:00.002-06:00

If you don't know the old wives' tale about how to catch a bird, you might need to look it up. Otherwise...well...the title of this one's just weird, isn't it? (by me, today)

___________________________________________
Salt on My Tail

Free again on wide strong wings
and you won’t ever catch me
Hi-lo-ho-ho all you like
Coax low and sweet
hold the lure tempting
in your outstretched hands

But I’m no tassel-gentle
I’ve slipped those jesses
torn away that hood
and now my eyes
are full of nothing but sky

So if you’re determined
all I can say is
Beware the talons
be smart - be fast
I hope to God you’re nimble
because getting the salt on my tail
when I’ve no plans to land at all
is going to be something of a gamble

The Unexpected Open Spaces

2012-01-30T06:21:00.001-06:00

I find myself in totally clear waters for the first time in too long to remember. There is nothing holding me, no ancient anchors I'm dragging behind me, no heavy chains from the past, no attachments of any kind. Even a passing fancy I had sort of been looking at, a shiny object that had caught my eye, has fallen away once I really stopped to examine it closely. It's all gone now.

And that is all good to me.

That may not make a lot of sense from the outside looking in, and I am quite aware that it may sound horribly cold and callous. It's not that I always want to be alone; I don't. I truly don't. This unexpected feeling of freedom from all that, though, the feeling of being on an even-keel, is wonderful. I feel that I can trust my judgments because the past isn't clouding them. I feel that I can look forward to the future because there isn't any anticipation of something ridiculous in them, something I know is less than the best, less than what I need and deserve. There is just peacefulness.

Now, I can open out the wings I've kept folded inside me for so long and glide again in these unexpectedly open and bright, cold, clear skies. I do not know that I will ever find another to share this joy with me. Right now, I am beyond the caring. Just this is good. Just this is better than I've had in a long, long time.

Free At Last

2012-01-29T18:17:00.000-06:00

Today I went back to Moundville for the first time since I was there with D. I had been planning to go for a long time, but since I was passing through on my way back from Birmingham, I decided to stop there and put that ghost to rest.

The air was cool and brilliantly sunny, just like that day so long ago, and when I pulled in and drove slowly around the circle, I expected the memories to jump up and assault me. I walked through the paths and the museum. I sat at the same picnic table and watched a barge push its load of coal down the muddy river.

He wasn't there. Whatever spirits walk there, D. isn't one of them for me anymore.

It was a magnificent relief, especially after the last trip I made to State. I think I'm free. As I sat on the bench and felt the sunshine warming my shoulders, I watched the birds soaring. I felt like them. I like it. It's a feeling I intend to get used to.

Concert Videography and the Golden Rule

2012-01-29T08:53:00.001-06:00

Last night as I was watching the Punch Brothers show in Birmingham, I suddenly became aware of this little white-haired lady sitting on the front row holding up an iPhone filming the whole thing. The incongruity of that stunned me for a moment, and then it made me irritated. There had been, of course, the requisite announcement at the beginning of the performance telling people not to take pictures or record the show in any way. Now here was this person blatantly sitting there recording away in front of God and country. Is this where all those videos on YouTube come from? Somebody's little old Mawmaw?

I don't know why people do that. I don't know why they just assume it's "okay" unless somebody makes them stop. It's not.

First of all, I think it's a distraction to the performers if they can see it, and unless that was Thile's sweet little grandma filming her own true bebe up there, they could see her and knew somebody was just as disrespectful to them as could be. I know as performers they probably develop a thick skin to this sort of thing, but really, does anybody ever get over being shown disrespect? I am a classroom teacher. Every day, I stand before an "audience" and deal with varying forms of attention and inattention, respect and disrespect, and I can tell you that even though some of the bad is expected, it never quite gets "okay."

Second, it's a symptom of a larger whole in society to me. If you're willing to ignore somebody's wishes not to record them in a concert because they've asked you not to but you want to do something differently, what else are you willing to railroad over? It's a form of selfishness. It seems we all want what we want when we want it, and we don't really care what it costs the other person, whether it is a photograph taken in the Sistine Chapel or Westminster Abbey (both places they ask you not to photograph, but MY GOD, watch the tourists "sneak" pictures), a "live" film to bootleg on YouTube or something larger, something with more sinister. It occurred to me as I was thinking about that lady again this morning that it all springs from the same dark root, so maybe we shouldn't treat any of it lightly.

The Golden Rule exists in almost every ethical, moral, and religious system in the world for a reason. It is stated slightly differently, but it is that bedrock principal for a reason. Somehow, though, it seems as if we have gotten away from it, started looking down on it as a form of weakness or gullibility. We've all taken our iPhones out of our pockets and started filming away when the mood strikes us forgetting that this behavior means that there will come a time when that little lens will be turned on us....and we might not like it so much then.

We need to get back to a place where we don't do things simply because somebody asked us not to do them. Their wishes need to be reason enough. There should be no need for bulletproof glass, security guards with truncheons, and searches before you go in. Do to them what you want done to you. That way, when you have your own moment of weakness or pain and you find yourself in need, you can reach out in confidence or close your door in privacy. I think this is the world we'd all rather live in.

Punch Brothers in Birmingham, AL

2012-01-29T00:24:00.000-06:00

The day finally came. My little countdown ticker on my computer finally read "Today is Punch Brothers." Yesterday, my students all were full of questions if I was going to come here to Birmingham and have a good time. I told them with zero hesitation, "Heck, yes." One of two of them said, "You coming back?" I just grinned and said, "Maybe..." They laughed. It's been no secret that I've been looking forward to this concert for a loooong time.

The show opened with Loudon Wainwright. I hadn't heard him before, but I loved him. His lyrics were thought-provoking, funny at times (well, usually), and profound. He had several songs that I really want to get. On payday, I will be looking for his stuff on Amazon to download. He had a song about fathers and daughters that made me tear up thinking about my own father. He had a song called "My Meds" that made me cry for other reasons, laughter. He also had one about heaven being the place where everything that is forbidden on earth is permitted that was also hilarious. There was also one commemorating the passing of Mr. Rogers that was very lovely. He was awesome.

Then, after the requisite intermission, there they were. Last time I saw them, it was in the Riley Center, and I was in my usual seat next to that trusty support pole. This time, though, I was there in the third row, almost dead center. Let me tell you, it makes a big difference in the experience.

I love to watch them play. I don't mean I just like to look at them as a group on stage, or watch Chris Thile do his dances on stage; I actually love to watch what's happening with the instruments. They are all so fabulously talented. After years of being around this musician and that one, making pitifully fumbling and failed attempts at a couple of those instruments, I know quality when I see it, and so I was more or less spellbound just watching them do what they do. They make it look so damn easy when they're doing things that are ridiculously complicated, and I truly believe they're having fun. I love them for both.

The audience was sort of too well-bred to clap much. Sigh. Bunch of professors and doctors. Sheesh. Just once, just once, I would like to see them in a crowd full of people who just holler and scream and cut up because the music moves them. I wonder what IU would be like for them, what the music school crowd would be like for them as an audience? IU is a good audience for everybody. (and I am not prejudiced at ALL.)

Anyway.

Noam Pikelny played a song from his new album (which I now own, thankyouverymuch) called "Jim Thompson's Horse." He started introducing it in that beautifully dry manner he has, and everybody sort of thought he was inventing a fantasy, I guess. I didn't catch it either until he said the name. Then I had one of those slap-the-forehead moments. I knew exactly who he was talking about. I've been to the Jim Thompson house, have a red Thai silk elephant on my guest room bed that I bought there when I was in Bangkok as a part of Volunteer Education Network. I just want to know how he took that story and ran with it. It's the most curious thing to have wound up in banjo land. However, I suspect banjo land is different when he's the king of it, sort of like tsugaru shamisen grooves a little differently in the hands of Agatsuma.

It was all grand. All the songs from the upcoming album were terrible teases. I knew I wanted it before, but to hear them and then to know I can't get them for two or three weeks was just painful. (Yeah. I know. Firstworldproblems.) It will be a great day-after-my-birthday present. I just have to keep telling myself that. It will also help me have SOMETHING to look forward to on That Damn Day.

They finished up with "Rye Whiskey." I'll have that song stuck in my head for happy weeks. It and "Missy" are swapping back and forth right now. I think that's not a bad mix, actually. After the show, they were going to come out and sign, but I didn't stay for that. I bought and pocketed my new and slipped away. You know how I feel about having people write their names on things (nobody but Billy Collins, ever...I fangirl for nobody else but him). I would like to tell them how great the show was, did tweet to their accounts that I loved it, but I don't think they notice things like that. I imagine they are inundated with teh Twittah.

Despite the fact that this weekend got a bit expensive what with the gas and the hotel room and everything, I cannot consider one single dime of it ill-spent. The five of them were just amazing, as they apparently always are. Loudon Wainwright was an unexpected bonus I look forward to learning more about. In short, I'd pay the fare to take the ride all over again. Lately, I haven't been able to say that about much of anything. Thank you, Punch Brothers and Mr. Wainwright, for a grand evening.

Birmingham Museum of Art

2012-01-28T17:24:00.000-06:00

I wasn't really planning to blog until at least after tonight's concert, but I am just so completely blown away by the museum that I went to today that I have to get this down while it is still fresh in my mind.

I decided to come in to Birmingham early today and do something other than just "see the show." There were a couple of reasons for that. Birmingham has only ever been a city I dreaded driving through, a fast blur I cursed my own personal blue streak at as I tried to hit the junction for I-65 N as I headed up to Bloomington or as my parents drove on vacation. I felt like it deserved to have a little bit more than that or a civic center to define it in my mind.

Then there is the fact that I inevitably get lost at least once every trip. Since a concert is one of those things they sort of like you to show up on time for, I didn't want to have to fool with getting lost trying to find the auditorium and be stressed out about it. (For those of you keeping score, I have already taken care of the lost bit and gotten it out of the way as I tried to find my hotel. Hopefully, I'm done with that.)

Therefore, I came to the museum. When I entered, I asked the docent at the desk what their entry fee was. She just smiled and handed me some brochures. There isn't one. For a collection that size and that quality, I almost fell over.

The first gallery I toured was their education section, all of which had been done by local students. Two thoughts crossed my mind: What must it be like to teach at those schools? and Oh, how I wish my darling babies could see this.... We have a strong art program at our school, but some of that work was just incredible. There was even sumi-e.

Every kind of thing you can think of from Wedgwood to African Art to traditional American pottery to Japanese antiquities to pre-Columbian artifacts is in that one building. I didn't see it all. I couldn't. I spent a considerable amount of time with the Asian collection (surprise, surprise), and stumbled across a small but lovely gallery of 14th - 18th century Italian pieces in a variety of media, including some of the prizes of the museum, some terracotta studies of saints Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John that were really amazing.

Three pieces from the whole have sort of stuck with me, though, haunting me long after I left the parking lot and got shoved by traffic onto the onramp for the interstate. (yeah. this was the beginning of "lost.") The first was a painting by a French artist. It was called "The Sorceress." Something about it just grabbed me and pulled me in. I've never seen anything like it. The painting was almost life-size. I am almost certain that woman is going to start showing up in my dreams now. This is not a good thing since she had a little voodoo doll and was stabbing it through the heart with a giant knife. The painting was that...I hesitate to use the word captivating, but that's the only one I can come up with now. It was really strange. Everybody who saw it was pulled to it that way. I can't explain.

The second piece was free-standing ceramic sculpture perhaps seven feet tall by a Bay Area potter whose stuff I saw before at SFMOMA and loved, Robert Arneson. The piece I saw by him in San Francisco was tremendous, but the one I saw today made him one of my favorite artists ever. I have to find out all about him now. It was this fantastic clay self-portrait head which he deliberately disfigured and made a top of a perfectly-formed funerary urn. Carved into it, both the head and the urn, were all types of phrases and reminders that we should not judge because "we are all just dust," and other things. He had adapted a classical form and turned it personal as he was struggling with cancer. It was just knock-you-down amazing, especially when you take the time to consider the skill involved in what he did to create it all.

The third piece was also pottery. I suppose it is inevitable that I am carrying more of it than anything else. I saw another Jomon vase today. I have only ever seen one at the Aichi Prefectural pottery museum, I think it was, when I made my very first ever piece of pottery. Jomon is literally thousands of years old. When I look at Jomon, I feel amazed that we still do that same thing, we still shape mud and try to make it lovely, fire it so it becomes something else, use it in our daily lives. Jomon is beautiful, too. The shapes of the early pieces are lovely and very modern-looking. I guess the cliche about everything old becoming new again is true, after all. I stood and peered into that case surrounded by a whole gallery full of Japan for a long time. It lifted something in my heart, and when I turned away, I felt better than I had in a long, long time.

I'll sit here a while longer, and then I'll go down and find something that will pass for food. I'm not worried about a meal, really. Just as long as it will keep body and soul together, that's fine. I didn't come to eat. I came to be fed with other things, things I can't really get at home. Part one of the "refueling" is more or less complete. I guess you can say I've downloaded it and it has to finish the install (ha). This isn't an easy day trip, but to know there is this much beauty this close might make me come this way again even if it is a heckuva drive home when I'm done. I think it would be worth it.

Holding On and Letting Go

2012-01-27T06:35:00.000-06:00

If I can just make it through today...
If I can just make it through today...

This is my little mantra.

The weekend is going to be chock-full of awesome. Two days in Birmingham and Punch Brothers again await me, but I have to wade through one more day of ridiculous crap. I didn't see it coming yesterday; it blindsided me. All of a sudden, I was awash in something horrid.

I know how to deal with it now, but at the time, it caught me like a riptide and pulled me away from myself. I've been in the situation before. The only thing to do is just get away from the attitude that causes it. It won't be easy, but like I said, I've had lots and lots of practice.

In a way, though, what happened also helps me to let go. That inexplicable rudeness just makes it easier for me to see things objectively, clears away emotional ties to the situation as a whole. Until I can make sure of my direction, I will just stay away from that individual altogether. I can't understand what the problem is there, and to be perfectly honest, I just have too many other things that I need to focus on to untangle it.

I also need to keep telling myself that it is really only one or two people and only one or two little parts of my day. It isn't that much. Into everyone's life a little crap must fall, probably. It was just so unnecessary, so seemingly arbitrary, and, well, so rude. I hate rudeness. Anyway.

Holding on and letting go. It's a paradox, simultaneously contradictory and true. My life is made up of this right now. I yearn for the day when there are not so many contradictions in every hour.

Today Had....

2012-01-25T19:03:00.000-06:00

Sweetness after a long day of things that made me sad -- the fragrance of newly-opened daffodils on a cool breeze as I walked the dogs under a stormy night sky. Since they apparently refuse to repair the air in my classroom, it was wonderful to be in a place that wasn't almost eighty degrees. The scent, one of my favorites in the spring, was just a peaceful bonus.
A big relief -- Roux was able to walk and prance for the first time in a week thanks to her arthritis medicine and trip to the vet today. She's been in such pain, and I was afraid her other knee had gone. One ACL surgery for each one of us is enough, I think. She's bouncy and back to something much more like herself now.
Unbearable irony and probable foolishness -- spending time publicly defending someone because it was the right thing to do even though I'm pretty sure that person runs me down on a regular basis and considers me of little to no worth.
Something that just never gets old -- Elvis singing "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You." Sometimes there is no chance of anyone ever doing a cover that comes close.
The revelation of a Big Difference, apparently -- that "having a man" doesn't define my life. I was asked by a class if I would give up all my traveling, etc., if I got a man. (They were looking at my little countdown timers to all my trips, etc. on my computer desktop projected on the screen at the front of the class.) I told them no. I said that he could go with me, be okay with it, or "get to steppin'." Some of them were appalled. Some of them, especially some of the girls looked sort of fascinated....

Haterade

2012-01-25T16:46:00.000-06:00

I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain. ~James Baldwin

hatred bounces ~e.e. cummings

______________________________

I have had to deal with hatefulness all day long. It's a mark of teenagers to sling insults at each other as casually as breathing. This is a form of basic communication, almost like echo-location, I've decided. Most of the time, there is actually little malice in it. I still don't like it, and for the most part shut it down as soon as it starts in my room. I have lost track of the number of times I've actually had to say, "Don't bring 'Yo mama' in my classroom. We have other things to do." I have a sign that says "Be Nice or Leave" hanging, and I believe in that policy. It is sort of the rule of my room.

Whenever that negativity starts, it seems to escalate and amplify with rabid speed. The whole nature of a room changes. I hate it. There were two separate instances of it today. Although I kept the students after class and dealt with it privately, I still have the migraine traces of it lingering, and I am tired. It sucks the joy right out of a whole class for me. I love these kids, and I want their best, not this other.

I wish I could better show them how their behavior affects others. I know they are young and they just DON'T think, but there are so many cases when people are hurting and hiding it, and comments made are just daggers cutting away at them. I am not necessarily referring to the situations at hand today. I am just thinking now about life in general. Why can't we be more careful with each other? Why does it seem that we constantly choose the jeering ridicule when it would be just as easy to give a word of support? Why can't we lift a hand to support instead of slap down? It's the same hand, isn't it? Don't we control it, tell it what to do? Isn't the gesture equally easy? Wouldn't it actually feel better not to hurt someone, to help them instead? To create a friend instead of an enemy?

One of the worst parts of this job at times is feeling like nothing I do is getting through. When I see them treat each other with such casual contempt and disrespect for the basic humanity in each other, it makes me so very sad. While part of me hopes they will just "grow out of it," another part of me is afraid that they won't. What will society lose, what will they lose themselves as individuals, if that is the case?

To Make You Feel My Love

2012-01-24T18:25:00.000-06:00

So I got my thing from amazon. I have been waiting for about a week, ever since I saw it first in a Paste Magazine article, for the Chimes of Freedom: The Songs of Bob Dylan Honoring 50 Years of Amnesty International compilation to come out. I haven't even been able to listen to all of it yet. It's 4 CDs long (I have the digital download, but still), so it's 5 hours of music. Almost everything I've heard is fantastic.

I'm sitting on the couch, getting ready to read, and iTunes clicks to the next song, and ....Oh Holy Jesus... It's Adele doing "To Make You Feel My Love." Now, let me tell you something about this song. Long before I was "converted" to Dylan, I loved this song. I have loved every version of it I have ever heard. It makes something down deep inside me, that thing I hide in the fortress with no doors and routinely kick in the head for being useless and silly, sigh. The lyrics are perfect in almost every way.

Now put Adele's voice with it. She's just singing with piano accompaniment. This is a song that demands simplicity, a focus on the words, and this cover delivers. It's lovely.

I will probably blog about this whole collection again once I've gotten through it, but this unexpected delight just seemed to demand its own tribute.

Dog Damage and Other Joys

2012-01-23T20:40:00.000-06:00

Something I was dreading today didn't happen. It threatened and worried me for days, and then, inexplicably, it blew away like the last of the bad weather this morning. I have no idea, and I am not going to worry about the whys. I'm just going to be grateful for it and go on. Tomorrow, it may be back....

Some of my students were hilarious today. I had a "buzzard" impression from a kid with three cups of coffee in him that is still making me laugh. It was a good day when I wasn't expecting one at all, the best of all possible kinds of good days. It was the kind of good day that makes certain decisions I've been struggling with recently even more painful.

I finished up a set of papers after school, and I decided that I would, at long last, go get my Strawberry Cheesequake from Dairy Queen. I have been craving one of those things for over a month, and after all the drama of the past few days, I felt entitled. It was fantastic. Not even the massive mobile home blocking the entire interstate could irritate me as I drove home (albeit slowly) with the Cheesequake and some very loud music.

When I got home, I found the remnants of a shredded Amazon envelope in my yard and some pieces of a book cover. I knew exactly what had happened. The book had been Chewie-ized. UPS had not followed my instructions about putting things in a place where he can't get them. I called them, and they very kindly are going to replace it. I will, then, get a copy of Tomas Transtromer's The Great Enigma. It just will be a little later than I had planned on. Hopefully, the next time it comes to my house, it won't be something Chewie edifies himself with.

Now, I'm watching the restored Metropolis. I don't know if I'll make it all the way thorough it since it is so long, but it's such a fantastic film, and i'm getting ready to start teaching dystopia, so it just seemed right. If you've never seen it, it's out there in streaming digital land. Make sure you get the restored version and watch it at least once. I think everybody should see it at least once. It is just so visually amazing if nothing else. The scene with the "Shift Change" was just on, and I always identify with the people shuffling on and off the elevators, head down...

I may finish tonight up by staying up until midnight so I can download a new album I want. I know that's a little silly. It will be there when I wake up tomorrow, but I have been sort of looking forward to it since I found out about it a couple of days ago, and I would like to get it as soon as I can. Isn't that ridiculous? It isn't like I can listen to it a hundred times tonight. However.... I very well may do it anyway. Sometimes the things that don't make any sense at all are inexplicably the most fun.

Well, Metropolis is getting involved, so I'm turning my eyes to the screen. I hope tomorrow is as good as today. That would be wonderful.

Want.

2012-01-22T21:35:00.002-06:00

Sam Clark has been making dragons again.... Everything he does is so fabulous. I want this. If he lasts just a bit longer, he will be part of my birthday indulgences. Love, love, love him. He's small (about 3 inches), so he's a "baby" compared to the other red dragon I have, but the glazes are brilliant and I just adore his detail. Do Want. Will Have. (you know...unless somebody else beats me to him....)

Dragon Year

2012-01-22T16:56:00.000-06:00

THE SIGN OF THE DRAGON

The key to the Dragon personality is that Dragons are the free spirits of the Zodiac. Conformation is a Dragon's curse. Rules and regulations are made for other people. Restrictions blow out the creative spark that is ready to flame into life. Dragons must be free and uninhibited. The Dragon is a beautiful creature, colorful and flamboyant. An extroverted bundle of energy, gifted and utterly irrepressible, everything Dragons do is on a grand scale - big ideas, ornate gestures, extreme ambitions. However, this behavior is natural and isn't meant for show. Because they are confident, fearless in the face of challenge, they are almost inevitably successful. Dragons usually make it to the top. However, Dragon people be aware of their natures. Too much enthusiasm can leave them tired and unfulfilled. Even though they are willing to aid when necessary, their pride can often impede them from accepting the same kind of help from others. Dragons' generous personalities give them the ability to attract friends, but they can be rather solitary people at heart. A Dragon's self-sufficiency can mean that he or she has no need for close bonds with other people.

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There was this painting I wanted but didn't get to buy when I was in Japan going to Nara to the artist shows with one of my friends every year. It was fantastic. It showed an oni (a Japanese ogre), a koi (a prized and expensive carp), and a dragon. The quote said, "Even a small ogre is still an ogre. Even a dead koi is still a koi. Even a sick dragon is still a dragon." It sold before I could purchase it. I have a work by that artist, which is wonderful, but not that one. I still wish for it. I still think of it because frequently I'm a sick dragon. It might be headaches or foolish outside nonsense or sadness, but these things, they happen. However, as the painting said, I am still a dragon.

Tomorrow starts my third dragon year on this earth. I was born in one, passed one in graduate school, and now the third great turning of that wheel is here. In a short time, too, I will have a birthday. Many wheels are coming full-circle.

Normally, I wait for February to begin to start what I term my "Month of Senseless Indulgence." You can find other posts here about that, but more or less, I do lots of little things I enjoy and buy myself a couple of things that I might normally not just because, just to remind myself that life is good. My birthday usually sucks. LOTS. This is my way of ensuring that even if the day itself is horrid and useless, that some sweetness is there to temper it.

I woke up this morning with something (or a couple of somethings) bothering me, and when I saw a post from a friend on FB reminding me that our year (he's a Dragon, too, born one day after me) was about to begin, I made a decision. Why wait? I started my indulgences early.

I took myself clothes shopping, something I don't actually enjoy very much, but I needed to refurbish a couple of things in my wardrobe and I was more or less in the mood for it, so I figured, "Hey, strike while the iron is hot." While I was in the store, I passed by the racks of lingerie. Well, yes, that was on my list. I needed to toss some of mine, and so I headed over, looked at some of the more sensible choices. And then I remembered the Dragon Year. My eyes slid across the rack, and it must be admitted that I grinned to myself.

What came home with me was not all sensible. To hell with it. Life is not always sensible. Sometimes one simply needs leopard print undergarments. (well, maybe not if you are a guy. I don't know. maybe if you are a guy, too.... I'll have to ask one sometime, but I'm betting this does not work for them...) Nobody but me is going to know I have them on (you know, ideally. barring an emergency circumstance. in which case my undies are the least of my concern, quite frankly.) and it's nice to have nice things. Yeah. Think that's going to be my motto for this year's indulgences. What could possibly go wrong with that?

(Oh boy. Yeah. Anybody want to sign up to be my full-time keeper until this current little reckless mood passes? This sounds like something that could end BADLY.)

It Had to Be

2012-01-22T10:02:00.000-06:00

it had to be
it had to be until
the end of the year.

~ Basho
_______________

A thought for the Chinese New Year. The Year of the Dragon (my year. I am a Dragon.) begins tomorrow. Tomorrow, perhaps, then begins the change of many things. You know us Dragons......

Suitcase Days

2012-01-22T09:01:00.004-06:00

The fog is so thick this morning that even the pecan trees in the front yard are ghostly, misted, hard-to-see. I had bizarre dreams, so waking to this just continues a trend.

It's a Suitcase Day for me. That means that more than anything in the universe today, I want to put everything that's important to me in a suitcase and get the hell out of here. And when I say "out of here," I mean so far away that nobody can ever find me. I don't even care where. I just want to run.

I can almost feel the itch between my shoulder blades where the imaginary wings might be, and if I had two nickles to rub together here at the end of the worst month in the already-stupidly-crappy teaching pay year, I would just do it, just get in my car and go. I feel so claustrophobic this morning, even standing out in the yard with Roux on a leash under the wide sky, that I can hardly breathe. I can feel things pressing down on me (and no, I won't be specific here. get over it) like a thick, sopping wet cloth over my face that I can't peel away.

This is not an "oh-how-nice-it-would-be-to-see-the-world" moment. This is an "oh-how-f'd-up-this-all-is-here" moment. It started Friday afternoon and has snowballed on me. Some of it is beyond my control. Some of it is totally, utterly, and completely my fault, but I can't fix it now. I need to be away, away, AWAY, in a place where nobody knows me, where I'm just another person, ignored and unknown, totally uninteresting.

Better yet, if I had the power to be somewhere where even the language was not mine, and the sound could flow across me with no meaning and no demand... I am thinking of the Toyokawa Inari shrine for some reason, the oddly peaceful local train ride to get there, the glade of stone foxes in the back. I have obligations tonight that I must fulfill; I cannot pawn them off on somebody else. But until it is time for that, I may find a way to disappear.

Losing My Words

2012-01-20T08:29:00.000-06:00

I wrote this because of something that happened to me this morning. I suspect, based on the current state of my head, that I am pre-migraine. It might just be the good old Topamax. This happens to me a lot, though. The names of things go wandering. It is more frustrating than I can tell you as a person who lives in and loves language and words. At times, it is highly embarrassing. Imagine looking at someone you have known a long time and not being able, literally not being able, to call that person's name. This is my world.

Losing My Words

I am standing in the kitchen
with this bright red not-a-spatula in my hand
spreading the last of the Nutella
on the last of the wheat bread

My mind frantically digs and scrapes
like this nameless flexible rubber tool
trying to get into the edges
and find that which has been left behind

But the word I need, the name has gone
ducked into dark corners
like a child playing hide-and-seek
at an inopportune moment

It will reappear long after
my need for it is done
shout “Here I am!”
smile appealingly and try to crawl into my lap in apology

But for now, I’m left searching
muttering dark incantations
to force meaning to object
“Does it start with an F?”

Meanwhile, my hands, undaunted and serene
continue their confident labor
having lost no part of their skill and function
because the thing they use is currently anonymous

The Day in Review

2012-01-19T19:37:00.002-06:00

a list

Today I:

fought totally unexpected and major plumbing problems first thing in the morning.
used up all my Nutella. This is a tragedy of epic proportions.
was accosted by a little white slip of paper bearing a phone message as soon as I got to school. DO NOT WANT.
inexplicably got "historical" and "mythological" switched every single time I needed to say them.
once again fell in love with Hamlet. This happens every time I open the play. He's such a magnificent smart-ass.
made a decision to extend a little mercy to somebody. It will probably get kicked in my face and taken for granted or ridiculed.
woke up from freaky dreams in which one friend helped me move stuff around in a crumbling apartment in Japan we lived in together while another one kept showing up and messing with my hairstyle and laughing. (That would be you, Clip, for the apartment, and you, Faustus, for the hairdos, respectively.) No. I don't know why. Maybe it was something I ate?
got asked several times if The Great Gatsby was a good book. Oh YES. Oh YES, my children....
also got asked what the Kama Sutra is. Answered. Was asked if I had a copy.... (sigh)
taught my second Comp class. Loved it again.
got a wonderful comment on this blog referring me to a new poet to explore. Fantastic.
craved and didn't get a Strawberry Cheesequake from Dairy Queen. This is like two weeks running I've wanted one of those stupid things. TOMORROW IS THE DAY.
have only nine days until Punch Brothers.

Now I'm going to watch a little TopGear, maybe a movie, and then I'm going to bed. After a week in which my students have thought another teacher was hitting on me because he came into my classroom and asked me a question and have also asked me about the Kama Sutra (different classes altogether, mind you), I probably need to be on top of my game for whatever tomorrow has up its sleeve. O.o

Now

2012-01-18T08:57:00.002-06:00

I should have stayed last night. I knew it when I put the car in gear, when I backed out and saw the others in my rear view mirror headed into the building. I just couldn't do it. I had a curiously hollow place just under my heart that forbade it. The normally-loud interior of my little Cruiser was quiet; I hadn't even hooked my iPhone to the stereo. I made the necessary automotive contortions to get out of my space, and I drove away. I did not look back again.

I didn't have to go to know what was going to happen. It's been happening again and again for so long now that I probably could have scripted the dialogue for it ahead of time, just another kind of horror fiction. To be honest, I am not sure it even hurts anymore. Should it? Maybe. But increasingly, the part of me that used to be hurt, scared, alive enough to react has been stabbed so much that it just can't react to new injury from that particular stimulus now.

I was told that I would know when the end of a thing had come, and as I sit here now gazing over my precious little space, once again, I feel the rightness of that. What that truly means remains to be seen. The direction is still unclear. I only know that what is, is unbearable. What is, is unmaking me. So many people who know me and care about me have been telling me this for so long now, but I have been ignoring that, have been pretending that it isn't true, that I can be stronger than all of this for so long. The simple truth is that I'm not. Nobody is or can be forever. Water wears away solid stone; look at the Grand Canyon for proof if you need it. Before all the things that I hold most precious are gone in me beyond the point of reclamation, I am going to make a choice. I can't help anybody else ever if I myself am destroyed and wrecked beyond use, and that's the point we're coming to quickly.

But there's always another way.

It's time to find it.

Surreality

2012-01-16T19:36:00.002-06:00

"Your life may have a surreal quality to it now..." ~ Daily Twittascope for Aquarius, 1/16/12

Well, who knows what the rest of it said because I didn't open it up and read it, but this part of it, at least, was dead-on. Today has been odd. I sort of feel like I am trapped in a de Chirico painting. Everything is put together just a little wrong, all the angles are wrong, and there is always something lurking in the wings that hides if I try to look at it straight.

I slept really late for me (8:30), and when I took the dogs out for their morning romp, I heard something rustling in the edges of the woods. I remember thinking foggily had a unicorn stepped out of the woods, it would have just fit my mental state perfectly. Of course, my luck does not tend to gravitate toward unicorns. Usually, if I get surprises, they tend to be more of the killer slasher beast variety....

There has been this oddest and totally inexplicable sense of the world being shifted just slightly to the left today for no good reason that I can come up with, almost like it was holding its breath and waiting for something auspicious to happen. I can't tell you why. There is nothing auspicious that I know of that can happen to me. Maybe it's that my routine is thoroughly fried. Maybe it's the Murakami I'm reading. Maybe if I'd read the rest of the Twittascope, it could have told me, and the answer was in some mystical conjunction of the spheres (ha).

Tomorrow will probably take care of it with the crushing return of routine and all its accompanying joys. Right now, though, I'm just going to keep reading, listening to Billie and Ella, and go with it. Who knows? Maybe there is a unicorn in the woods after all. I'll keep my eye out and let you know.

The Onslaught of Cupid

2012-01-15T15:34:00.000-06:00

Love is being stupid together. ~Paul Valery

We're all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness - and call it love - true love. ~Robert Fulghum,True Love
__________________________________

Valentine’s Day is starting to fill every conceivable space. The red and white menace is creeping like some horrid form of kudzu into retail space both real and virtual. The front page of Etsy screams at you every time you log on, reminding you exactly how many days it is until that most hellish of holidays.

Sigh. Great. One more year when I won’t get flowers. One more year when I won’t have anyone to buy anything for myself. One more year alone.

It’s enough to make somebody my age start to think about options, settling, just finding someone, ANYONE, and getting it “over with.” I think a part of me would just die, though. If all I wanted was just a ring, even I probably could have managed that at some point in the past. Granted, I am not beautiful. No line of guys has ever stood outside my door hopefully waiting for my notice, but probably, I could have found somebody if I were diligently looking. (This is my story, and I’m sticking to it.)

It’s always been about more than this to me, though. I don’t want just somebody. I am looking for something specific. Oh, I don’t mean some sort of magic, eyes-meeting-across-the-room moment. I did that once, remember? It went very, very badly, and I don’t think I’m particularly interested in going through it again. What I want in a man is something a lot more complex and apparently a hell of a lot harder to find. Who knew that the electric rush, the magic, Disney scene was the easy thing to get hold of? (Okay, so T. shouldn't be classified as Disney. He was never G-rated, not even that first look he gave me...)

I want someone I can talk to. I don’t mean that in the trite sense. I don’t need an audience. I mean I want someone who can keep up, participate. He doesn’t have to be an expert in the things I love; I’m not looking for a twin or a mirror. I don’t want us to wear matching outfits. I don’t want him to give up who he is and what he loves for me. I just want to find someone who is interested in at least some of the same things as me. I want compatibility. I want a friend. When I say, “Oh, that’s awesome,” I’d love it if he were right there beside me saying, “Too right. Let’s go.”

That’s the core of it in a nutshell. Oh, there are all kinds of little physical attributes I gravitate toward. If you can’t tell from my comments and the pictures of “pretty men” I post here and on Tumblr on rare occasions, I seem to like them tall and blue-eyed (no real hair color preference), built strong but not bulky, like a swimmer or a soccer player. Personality-wise, I like them brilliant, into everything, cynically funny, musical, and just a little (or maybe more than a little) dark. None of this is really the key, though. The essential thing, the thing that matters, is that connection of the minds, those threads of commonality.

Ultimately, then, I guess I’m looking for somebody who will go on adventures like I went on yesterday to take pictures and protect me from myself when I’m not paying attention and who I can also depend upon to pin me against a wall and kiss me senseless when needed. Somebody who is passionate about the world and all this wonder there is in it, wants to see it with me, and is also passionate about me, can be passionate with me. I’m looking for a best friend I can wake up next to every morning, can come home to every night.

I don’t think this will make everything perfect. I do not expect any relationship to be a rainbow of hearts and flowers. After all, even with the friends that I have now, disagreements still occur. Even with my very best friend, the one I’ve had since I was five, there have been hard times and moments when the two of us didn’t connect very well, and she knows almost literally everything there is to know about me. She’s also a girl. There’s not that gender barrier that is bound to cause crap between us. I can’t imagine, though, any sort of relationship with a man being of any use or worth wasting a minute over if it wasn’t this. Anything else would be something so inferior, something so obviously doomed to fail, something so tremendously less than what it could be. Why would anyone ever settle for that?

I suspect that waiting for this, the ideal of this, is why I’m still alone. I may never get this. Maybe it’s unreasonable. I’m going to keep waiting, though. The alternative, occupying myself with people I know don’t fit the bill just to pass the time, is every bit as grim to me as simply being alone. Therefore, while it’s going to be so hard to watch the rest of the world “bill and coo” this Valentine’s Day, I guess I’ll just turn my head and hope for better in the future. I don’t really know what other option I have.

The Spirit of a Place

2012-01-14T20:16:00.000-06:00

(Or, Ambitious but Rubbish)

Today, I got to go take some pictures at a place I've wanted to shoot at for a long time. It's an abandoned amusement park in a nearby town. I've been hearing about it for years and years. It's been on my "Holy Grail" list for a long time now, but it's in a place that I should not really go by myself, secluded and lots of trees, possibly also inhabited by the homeless, so I have never been able to get in there and get any pictures. Today, though, one of my friends came home from DC, and she decided that it was on her list of things to do as well, so her sister, she, and I hatted up and went to see Royal Land.

It was both oddly wonderful and oddly sad, which, I suppose, is to be expected of an abandoned amusement park. We could find no equipment left in the complex. All we saw were signs of others' presence, an eerie abandoned doll, wrecked and burned furniture, a child's shoe. Clearly someone had been living there. We didn't go all the way to the back, and we didn't stay inside the gates long.We took a lot of pictures outside and left. As I drove home, I thought about the experience.

The town where I go to take many of my pictures has a pervasive problem. Maybe it isn't unique to that single place. It seems that all too often big projects get undertaken and abandoned; important things are allowed to decay and disappear; instead of preservation and appreciation, a great deal of quick, cheap replacement occurs.

I keep thinking about the general state of repair of things around town. For a very long time, one of the great jewels, a movie palace from the heyday of film, was being allowed to fall into ruin. The ceiling is spotted from leaks, the plaster on the walls of the stairwells is in need of repair, and nobody was using it at all. Finally, someone came and saved it. It is starting to recover at last. Performances are being held in it once again. Films are being show in its lavish walls. While the restoration process is slow-going, it is no longer being lost.

Then there was the opera house. There was a gorgeous gem hidden away, locked up, and forgotten. Almost nobody cared. It was out of fashion, like a diamond in a setting nobody wanted to wear. Despite the efforts of a few local people, it took people coming in from outside to see its true worth and save it. Now, it is a wonderful place to go and see concerts again. We have world-class shows coming in to something that even ten years ago was still a dusty memory in the minds of most.

I photograph so many other things that are on the verge of being past reclamation, a skyscraper that has deco details that put it on the National Historic Register; an old train car that is a remnant of this city's legendary status as a rail hub without equal. Some of what I've shot is actually already gone or beyond recall, an old hotel they waited too long to try to save, an amusement part that was never very good in the first place. How many other things will join them in the pile of cast-offs and left-behinds?

What a city builds says a lot about it, what it chooses to create. I think, though, you can also tell a lot about a place by looking at what it chooses to save, by whether it chooses to reclaim or destroy and start again. Then there are the things that can be learned by what a place chooses to neglect.... I wonder what these choices are saying about this town?

Thinking

2012-01-13T06:20:00.001-06:00

I taught my first college class in a long, long time yesterday. It happened in my own little high school room with students from my school. It's a dual-enrollment thing offered by our local community college so they can get early credit for the core classes they'll need regardless of where they're going.

As I was standing there going over the class syllabus, I was amazed at how different it felt to be doing that again. It was the same place, the same student population (although none of them are actually mine during the day), the same equipment surrounding me. How I felt behind that podium was completely different.

I know that I am different with AP than I am with my regular classes to some degree because they have to be pushed harder and faster, but they are still high school kids in a high school world. High school rules apply. High school rules are all too often about giving about a million chances, about taking anything that is turned in. Even though I have a reputation for being one of the "harder" teachers (as in students flee my class in droves at the beginning of the year), I know that I, too, frequently err on the side of mercy because they are still kids. Not every time. I won't get into my philosophy on this here. It's long and it's complex, and it would be a whole blog by itself.

College is another ballgame. I had forgotten what it feels like to be able to tell people to their faces that you will not take any assignment they turn in to you that has those stupid little edges that come out of a notebook without perforations because that's NOT PROPER PAPER. I had forgotten what it is like to be able to tell people on the very first day of class that after the second time you have to say something to them about their cell phones they will be dismissed from your room (not sent down to the office, blah, blah, blah) and told not to come back until they have a conference with you. Then they can be readmitted to the course at your discretion. The ability to tell students that after they are absent I get to decide whether or not they CAN do makeup work for me is at my discretion based upon their explanation of their absence is almost totally foreign after so long in K-12.

It's not about power tripping. Maybe it sounds like that. I don't mean for it to be. I will likely never have to use that cell phone rule. Actually, I really don't care if they slip them out of their pockets to check the time, if you want to know the truth. Everybody has done it. Most likely, I will allow anyone who is absent (unless they tell me "Uh, I just didn't come because I didn't want to" to do makeup work. What this stuff gives that I don't have in my current environment, maybe, is the sense that what is going on is important. It brings a maturity and a focus to the learning. The stuff in that syllabus says, "You are here for a reason. You are going to be doing something that matters. If you can't get on board with that, get out. The rest of us have important stuff to do. We don't have time to waste with trivial shit." I wish there was more of that intensity in high school education.

It's just a little thing, just a little class, just a little hybrid comp course. But it's got me thinking. I can't say that it doesn't.

Athena and Me

2012-01-11T15:33:00.001-06:00

(here there be stupid stuff. you have been warned.)

Don't ask what started me chasing this rabbit. I don't even know. But now I'm deep into it, and it's turned into a full-on blog. If you have something better to do, well, you know...

Probably it was this morning when I was getting ready. I pulled my owl necklace out of the box and put it on, the one I got at the Parthenon in Nashville. It's a little silver replica of Athena's owl, and I smiled when I fastened the clasp, thinking that I had at least a few other things than my fondness for owls in common with the mythical lady. I started running those over in my head.

Then I got curious. I don't know that I've ever really looked up stuff on just Athena. I've researched background for stories in which she is a major character, and I know her basic aspects, but now my little research monster was hungry, so...

It's sort of funny and frightening. The owls behind me are looking on in calm amusement. Yeah. I have one or two things in common. For instance:

War Goddess -- She's not into the stupid raging bloodlust side (that's her brother Ares) but rather strategic butt-kicking. She is, and I quote, a warrior maiden. Check. Where's my sword?
She Likes Her Men Smart -- Who does she support/mentor/back/pick? Not the Achilles/Ajax crew. Nope. Odysseus. Jason (before he gets dumb and dumps his witch wife). Heracles. She goes for the smart ones. Check again.
Good with Her Hands -- The metalwork of weapons is in her hands. So is weaving. She can make stuff. Lots of stuff. Have you seen my work room?
Forever Alone -- No men at any time. Not even those smart, pretty ones. (HITTING TOO CLOSE TO HOME.)
Competitive -- Too much so. Over the top so. She made a freaking olive tree to win a competition. (Yeeah.... Don't go there with me. I like to keep that side of me in a nice little box even if I can't whip out any olive trees on you.)
The Owls -- Enough said.

They say you only need three points of comparison to have a legitimate argument. I think I have more than three. Hmm.... Well. I suppose it could be worse.

Everything Is Broken

2012-01-10T22:12:00.000-06:00

Broken bottles broken plates
Broken switches broken gates
Broken dishes broken parts
Streets are filled with broken hearts
Broken words never meant to be spoken
Everything is broken.

"Everything Is Broken" ~ Bob Dylan
_____________________________
Broken seems to be the theme for my recent life. First my thermostat on my heater did its little song and dance. Then my car decided to have its thousand dollar crisis. Now my big freestanding freezer in the laundry room has gone to its final reward. Objects live their lives, give out, need repair or replacing. Parts fail. Cracks develop. Flaws that were there all the time surface.

The material things are a nuisance, something to be worked around, absences to be endured. They aren't the things that take the joy from the days. It's brokenness on a larger scale that does that, broken relationships, broken ties.

I feel a little adrift right now, disconnected. I keep looking for a person at work who isn't there anymore. There's a great emptiness where she used to be, sort of a dullness. My biggest hope for her is that she's happy now, having a good time, peaceful. I miss her being around, though. There is a definite lack. It's strange how her absence has made me feel that I am somehow gone in some way, too. I don't know how to explain it. It's like some part of me got packed up, too, when she left. This is not a good explanation, and I know it, but it's the best I can give.

And then there's the thing I wrote about on Saturday....

I keep thinking there is going to be a day when I wake up and everything is repaired or whole. I'd settle for a day when there were no new emergencies. I don't think you get to wake up to that as a magic gift, though. Probably work and effort are involved. The big question is, though, how to do it. How does one fix all this stuff? I'm not so good at the fixing, to be honest. I'm much better at the avoiding, at the ignoring and pretending like nothing is wrong, at the praying that all things will be well instead of the hands-on maintenance.

There is no remedy for some of the things that are broken. They were cut off clean, over and done. They have been carried out, carried away; they are finished. Other things, well, they are broken, but I am not sure they wish to be repaired. I can't be sure one way or the other, and so I'm leaving them alone. That's all I know to do with them. I'm afraid that anything else will just destroy whatever shards may still stand if anything can be said to be left standing at all.

All I know is that as I sift through the jumble that's left, I get tired of bits and pieces. I miss the things that they used to be. Everything disappears with time, I guess. Some things, though, I really wish weren't gone.

The Car

2012-01-09T18:17:00.003-06:00

I got my car back today, finally. The damage to my pocketbook was as serious as the damage to all the moving bits and pieces under the hood. The final bill was almost a thousand dollars. Nowhere in my budget did I have that, but if it won't go without it....

I cannot express how happy I am to have the vehicle back. Or at least how happy I will be, at any rate, once the shock of having to write that check has worn off. There was nothing like having to coordinate borrowing or using one of my parents' vehicles for every single thing I wanted to do to make me feel dependent and horrible. It was miserable.

Even though I know I was very lucky to be in a situation where there was some other form of transportation available, all I could think of was how..."unfree"...I was. I could feel it like a hand holding a bird's wings down. I did not feel free to go anywhere or do anything except the most necessary of things.

I know I've noted this before, but it's worth repeating. It's amazing how much of our personality is reflected in our vehicles. I did not feel like myself behind the wheel of either of my parents' cars. I felt somehow altered, like I'm pretending to be somebody else.

Maybe tomorrow everything will settle down some. It would be nice to think that just having my vehicle back will be a magic panacea, that all the things that are screwed up in my life will be fixed. Unfortunately, as silver bullets go, I don't think this one has much power behind it. Somedays, though, I guess you just sort of take what you can get.

Remembering How Much You DO Have

2012-01-07T22:01:00.000-06:00

...and letting the rest go.

Yesterday, somebody looked right through me. As in, no recognition. As in, just another stranger standing there instead of somebody I talk to fairly often, somebody I had thought was my friend.

I don't know why it happened. I just looked up, and quite unexpectedly there it was. It caught me off-guard so badly that I just stood there, and then it was over. There was no time to talk. It ate at me. And it took me back to places I didn't need to go.

That's the kind of shit D. used to do. I'd be good enough for all kinds of things...until I suddenly wasn't. I was a friend when I could do something for him, when he wanted somebody who would listen to him, when there wasn't somebody more interesting around or when he'd pissed all the others off, when he felt like it was my rotation in the harem for the glorious gift of his attention. It was never really me he wanted. It was only some reflection of himself. I don't feel like playing those games ever again with anybody on any level for any reason.

It's alright. It hurt, but it's alright. God knows, I've been kicked down the fucking stairs before. It's not new. It was just from a direction I was not anticipating. Whatever.

One good thing did come from it. It made me think about what I do have, people who will never do that to me, and how blessed I am with them. It's humbling. So to all of you who routinely have a roll in putting your hands on this fractured surface and holding me together despite all odds, thank you. I love you. I don't say that enough, probably.

I need to just let the rest of it drop away. If it's a lost cause, if I've been that wrong this long, then I need to just forget it. I'm not going to keep holding onto a razor-sharp blade just to watch it cut deeper into my hand. That stopped being my idea of fun a long time ago.

What I Already Knew

2012-01-06T16:55:00.000-06:00

I forget this from time to time, so maybe I need to have it tattooed on the back of my hand so I will see it constantly.

Everybody is going to hurt you. It's just a matter of when, how much, and the degree of intentionality of the act.

Maybe if I saw that every minute of every day, it wouldn't keep coming as such a shock. Maybe if I repeated that as a mantra, a meditation upon waking, then I could be ready for it, maybe I wouldn't bleed when it happens.

It's just a matter afterward of deciding if you keep going with that person despite the pain or if you walk away. What are they worth to you? Are they going to do it again? (Be honest here.) If so, can you keep living with it? Should you?

I don't have that answer right now. And you know what? I'm tired. Screw it. And quite frankly, just at this moment, that individual, too.

A List

2012-01-05T22:37:00.000-06:00

What it says on the tin.

Today involved:

Waking up from a night of truly horrible dreams, in one of which, in fact, I died. (And yes, I know you're not supposed to do that in your dreams, but there you have it.) It may be one of the worst and most profoundly disturbing dreams I have ever, ever had. That's how I started the day, folks.....
Another delay in the car repair. It *might* be ready tomorrow.....
Another big migraine and pill to repel it. I managed to hide in my room for lunch and clutch my head in the privacy of that 20 minutes. I was probably written up for that, too, by my new administrator.
A big sort of dead numbness inside where my emotions ought to be. I do not know if this is the Maxalt (I'm hoping) or if I'm just finally gone. And if I am finally just gone, I do not know of one single thing I can do about it.
Driving my Dad's vehicle which actually has a V6 and tops out at 160. No, I didn't quite get it up to that. That would be highly illegal.
Wearing Gatsby hidden under my plain black jacket again. He didn't stop the headache, but he was a hint of blue, and he made me smile. I was hoping against hope that my new The Sun Also Rises shirt would be here for tomorrow, but no dice. I might wear 1984 instead. The red will be nice, and that is the January required reading for AP.
One of my students asking me about a Murakami novel. God love him, he sort of made my afternoon. He may be the first AP student I have ever taught who knows who that is. I think I might adopt him, put him through school, just on the basis of this alone.
Assorted piles of sleeping doggishness on my floor. Which, with the greatest of reluctance, I must disrupt to walk and crate for the night so I don't find all things in the living room destroyed in the morning.

I tried very hard to put in good things here because I know I put in bad. I don't want to be bad all the time. Maybe I balanced it some. I'm trying. I need good dreams tonight. I need my car back tomorrow. I need....I don't even know what else to ask for. At least it will be Friday. That's something.

Bits and Pieces

2012-01-04T19:30:00.000-06:00

I've had a big migraine pill, so if I wander, forgive me. I didn't have enough food in my system when I took it, and so I'm sort of untethered.

Today was better than I expected it to be on several fronts. I'm not worried about some things anymore. The thing that had been giving me nightmares resolved itself. I think I will be able to live with it. Only time will tell if it will be better than that. I don't want to be any more hopeful right now than this.

I found out that not only is the power steering out in my car, but it also apparently has a coolant leak, too. The coolant leak may have caused the power steering problem, in fact, as the leak has been dripping on the power steering pump. They discovered the leak this morning since it was making a tidy little puddle in their garage. They called me and gave me the $200 tidings of great joy to start my day. What can you do? It's not like I can knit a new one. I told them to fix it. It meant at least another day without my car. Hopefully I'll have it back by the end of tomorrow....

The headache took me midday. I tried to ignore it, never a good idea. I don't know why I try. It was a product of stress, too much for too long, worrying about the car and the day. It was a product of being corralled in meetings, which, no matter how pleasant they were, I do not sit through with any sort of ease. I keep thinking to myself, "Can we not just say what needs to be said and go?" I have no patience for it. I am an abysmal "meeter."

Mom had to come get me both because I had no car and because of the medicine. She kindly took me through Chick-Fil-A and got me dinner which is helping to mitigate some of the worst of the fog. I didn't even remember what day it was when she got me. I kept thinking it was Monday... I am going to get a brownie from the kitchen (if there are any. I think there were brownies. I don't think that was a cruel illusion...) and keep sitting here watching TopGear for a while longer.

It was just a day of bits and pieces. I didn't get done everything I needed to do. I will have to try to play catch up tomorrow. It's probably about where I expected to be.

Tomorrow

2012-01-03T22:43:00.000-06:00

I need to be grading, but I can't focus on it. I have that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I'm out of distractions. I have done everything I possibly can to put tomorrow out of my mind, but there's nothing left.

I did intricate, tedious computer stuff. I took apart my MSI Wind, put in new memory, shifted around a whole bunch of files, made it work right again. I set up my new 2 TB external drive, got it synced. I moved my iTunes from one drive to another on the netbook which, of course, destroyed a bunch of crap, and so I fixed, and am fixing that. While I was doing some of that, I also talked to one of my friends on the phone for awhile. I talked to one of my others online earlier.

But I'm out of stuff to do. It was all worth the doing. It all needed to be done. My netbook works right now. It is not just a ridiculous memento.

When I run out of things to do, though, I have to start thinking. Thinking about what tomorrow is going to be like since what has happened has happened. And I really, really don't want to think about it.

I wish I had another distraction, something else to take apart, put together. If I had my car, I would be sorely tempted to get in it tonight and point it in a random direction. It's as good a time for running as I've seen.

I'm going to put this laptop back down so the netbook can finish pulling music off it. I'm going to pick back up the red pen and the papers from the floor. I'm going to do my level best not to pick up all the horrible little shouting demons of worry that are clustered there with them waiting. It's been such a nice two weeks. I wish it could just keep going.

Drama

2012-01-03T20:21:00.002-06:00

I've been exceptionally self-conscious all day as I've written things, said things. All I've been able to think of was a comment yesterday said in passing by a friend in conversation. A phrase I'd written was called "dramatic." Maybe it was. I didn't intend it to be. It was just an ordinary garden-variety comment for me. Maybe I'm so steeped in the drama that I don't even see it anymore.

God knows I can go there quickly enough if I want to. I can elevate anything, even getting a fork out of the kitchen drawer, to an epic quest when the whimsy takes me. Words are amusing and pretty. They tumble together nicely, make a lovely sound as they click together. They are the tools of my particular trade, and I can wield them to different ends as I choose. Sometimes taking the mundane and making the mighty is a lot of fun, too.

The response just caught me off-guard. Oh, I know I do tend toward hyperbole in my speech and in this particular type of blog writing as well. I turn fancy phrases and play with images, trot it all out on parade. I am aware that sometimes I turn out gaudies that more properly belong in something like Carnival, that it frequently lacks an elegance and grace that I might wish it had. I just never had the sensation of myself as a "drama queen."

Of my kind, the English Literature folk, as in every profession, there are several "types." Nobody is a perfect fulfillment of those archetypes, of course, but we do tend to fall into big categories. One of those stays over-the-top or in another world, eccentric for the sake of it, dramatic for the joy of the shock of it. This comment made me worry. Have I crossed that line? If I did, when did it happen? Is it possible to become that and not know?

I guess I know how to play that role, sure. I could put myself into hysterics and "the vapors" if it were called for. I grew up in the Deep South. I have seen it done by certified experts. I just don't really think of myself as someone who actively seeks drama in my daily life. In some of my current environments, it comes and drags me out of the foxholes I've dug for myself, pulls me into the fray....

But maybe that's the kind of language we're talking about here that's over-the-top. I don't know. It's confusing.

However.

The longer I sit here with it, the more I am convinced that I don't think I'm going to worry about this a whole lot more, actually. I am who I am. I write the way I write (and this can be expanded to "talk the way I talk" as well). I have hands that fly like a flock of startled sparrows when I teach; I'm gesture-happy. This is just me. I know that is not a pleasant thing for everyone. Well, lo siento. Gomenasai, ne? If I'm not mistaken, there is a door right over there....

Sad

2012-01-02T18:44:00.000-06:00

I am desperately seeking something to cheer myself up and failing miserably. The sadness is creeping in like a slow fog rolling in and covering everything. I just wrote a goodbye letter to somebody.

I did not want to write the letter. I did not want to say goodbye. This situation is so STUPID. I can't even wrap my mind around it. Every time I think about it, about the circumstances of it, I just feel a little more ill. I had been hoping against hope that I was mistaken, but today everything was finally confirmed, every last shred of carefully tended hope was knocked away, and I was forced to face the truth of what is going on.

All that was left, then, was to say a few final words and press send. And feel sick. And wait for the next horror.

The Sun Also Rises

2012-01-02T16:03:00.000-06:00

After watching Midnight in Paris Saturday, I was struck with the desire to reread some Hemingway, specifically The Sun Also Rises since there is reference to Zelda going off with a bullfighter in one of the scenes. I got it on Kindle Sunday, and I finished the reread just now.

I guess I haven't read it in two or three years now, not since I took that course in Hemingway where we read all his works together. I had forgotten so much of it. I know that the last time I read it I didn't respond to it as I did this time. There was something in it this time that hit just like a ten-pound sledge.

Maybe it's that I'm older now, and I have seen more of the nastiness people are capable of dishing out to each other as they are scrabbling to fill the empty spaces inside them. Maybe that same aspect has allowed me to come to a place where I know a Brett, a Cohn, a Mike. Perhaps when I was younger, I thought these people unrealistic. I seem to remember my students saying something like that when we studied it together. They're wrong, though. I think that Hemingway has captured types fairly well. Maybe we were all just too young to have encountered them yet. I see horrible shadows of myself at times in Jake, willing to give up my own happiness for the happiness of the one I love and suffering because of it.

As for Hemingway's prose, I love it more now than I did even a few years ago. I am not one of those people who say that his style is the only way to go, but perhaps because I do deal with developing writing so often (and you can consider that a euphemism if you like), I find the stripped-down sharpness in TSAR like a minimalist painting or traditional Japanese architecture, good because it is clean and strong, powerful because there is nothing to detract from its focus.

I have been rereading The Great Gatsby off and on routinely for years, but for some reason, TSAR hasn't been in on that rotation. The last time I left it, I did not have this feeling of bittersweet love for it. It might have been because I was teaching it at a stressful time. Sometimes that colors a work for me. For whatever reason, and for whatever reason my feelings toward this work have changed, I suspect this will now be one I go to more often.

(This is not to say that I love all Hemingway. I still hate Catherine with a passion. She doesn't get off that easily. I can't forgive any woman who apologizes for the inconvenience of her own death or any writer who creates her.)

Waking Up

2012-01-02T08:29:00.000-06:00

I'm trying to wake up. I can't get the cobwebs to clear away this morning despite application of Diet Mountain Dew. This is probably because of the freaking bizarre dreams I had all night.

They were mostly school related. It doesn't take a genius to tell I'm anxious about going back.

I dreamed I had a room full of things other teachers had been looking for but that I had somehow overlooked and had not given to them, thus failing in one of my supervisory capabilities. Somehow their stuff had gotten mixed in with my stuff, and I had not found it. They had needed it, asked for it, but I hadn't found it in time.

I dreamed that they asked me to move my classroom again. This time, impossibly, the move was somehow to the room my old AP teacher from high school had. I do not teach at the same school I attended, yet, somehow, by the magic of dreams, the two schools melded together, and I could walk down the stairs, turn a corner, and there was a version of that room, that hall there. I do not even know what to make of that.

As I was trying to move my stuff, I dreamed that students from last year showed up to take an exam they claimed they had missed. They had been told they were permitted to take it now. They did not understand the material, and they sat in front of the test blankly for a long time. They just became shadows in the desks.

I also came downstairs with a load of stuff and was for some reason outside in a courtyard area our school does not have but my old high school does, and a principal I had never seen came running past me on a walkie-talkie (all the admins at our schools carry these) with a set of keys. He went to the door I was using and he locked it. Then he came back to me, telling me he'd locked the building down and that it was my responsibility to find a way to get back in. He walked off even though I was standing there with my arms loaded.

The scene switched and for some reason I was having my AP class on a football practice field. I had all my stuff in a car. I was missing half of my class. I had no idea where they were. I had all these kids in my room that I had never seen before who were earnestly scribbling things down. At the end of the period, one of these kids I didn't know (he looked like he was about 12) came up and asked me for an essay topic handout to take with him. He said that all my other kids were in the gym at a protest because the coaches were trying to cut a kid off the track team midseason and they felt like this was unfair. The students I didn't know had been sent to cover their classes during the protest. It was a system they'd worked out.

It just kept getting progressively stranger. I finally got in my "new" classroom. I had windows on both sides of the room, even the one with the interior hallway. I could see the mountains of Japan out the hallway side.... People I know, colleagues, friends, former students, people dead and gone, dropped in and out of this thing like it was a major motion picture. It was not a horror movie because there were no monsters or gore, but I have rarely felt so glad to wake up or so happy to be in my own little bedroom when I did.

I hate it when my brain gets cute with the things I'm worried about. I can trace back a lot of what I saw. Not all of it, but much of it. I miss harmless dreaming.

Happy New Year to You

2012-01-01T00:06:00.000-06:00

Found on Neil Gaiman's Tumblr. It says everything I think probably needs to be said. I love you all and wish you the best.

New Year's Eve

2011-12-31T21:33:00.002-06:00

Another New Year's Eve. I made homemade pizza and brownies, and I'm watching movies as I'm waiting to bring in the new year. There are assorted dogs passed out in the floor and assorted cats passed out on the back of the couch. It's a pretty good evening. I could wish for some company, but that's not a part of my current reality (unless somebody just shows up in my yard...well, that might be fun, too), and I'm content.

I de-Christmased the house, and as nice as it was to have all my doodads out and around, it's also good to have everything back to normal and all cleaned up again. I like to have all the order restored.

The mild weather today allowed me to go out and hang up the hammock for awhile this afternoon. It felt strange today to be out in short sleeves in the back yard on New Year's Eve. Only in Mississippi....

I didn't get around to my computer stuff. I might try to install the memory tonight, but I suspect I will wait until tomorrow. It just wasn't a priority for me today. All the other things mattered more even though my mind was clear enough to do the work today.

Well, I think I'm going to finish up this movie, fight off the temptation to eat another brownie, and then maybe read and listen to some music as 2012 comes into my neck of the woods. I hope that as it finds you, wherever you are, you are happy, healthy, and at peace. Happy New Year, everyone.

Midnight in Paris

2011-12-31T21:10:00.001-06:00

Oh, it's lovely. Lovely, funny, smart, and wonderful. It's what movies so rarely are. I laughed. I clapped my hands in delight. I loved it thoroughly. In one viewing, and not even all the way through that first viewing, Midnight in Paris made it onto the list of my favorite films.

I already know that I will be getting the DVD version from amazon next month as a part of my birthday indulgences. I might watch it again while I've still got it as a 24-hr. streaming rental. I'm sure I missed things while I watched it that first time.

I loved the way they drew the characterizations of the famous artists and writers. Some of it was caricature. Hemingway talked exactly the way he wrote. I freaking loved that, though. I wanted to hug him for being wonderful. Some of it was sort of dead on. I loved the whole thing with Scott and Zelda, Hemingway and the bullfighter whose name I can never remember. All I could think about was THE SUN ALSO RISES!!!

I also loved that they kept bringing people in. I felt like Gil did when he saw Josephine Baker, sort of gobsmacked and then sort of giddy and willing to go with it. It was glorious.

I wasn't quite sure where they were going to go with it, and I won't spoil that here, but I thought it was perfect. The bit with the detective was one of my favorite parts. If you watch it, let me know what you think about that.

All in all, it made a couple of very good points, but not necessarily the points I've heard other people say about it. This isn't a movie condemning dreamers at all. It's a movie that shows that there is magic in the world after all, but that one needs to be cautious about where one's eyes are focused. That is something I can totally agree with.

Thinking (Badly)

2011-12-30T22:28:00.001-06:00

I've a bit of a migraine, so this may not flow well. All day long, I've been trying to fight it off, and the world has been fuzzy. As I was going to Jackson to see my best friend, I heard Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" on the radio and I laughed. Yeah. Appropriate song was appropriate today.

Anyway. I'll be keeping this short. Besides, Shaun of the Dead is on, and that's about where my brain is at right now.

I decided (quite wisely, I think) not to try to install my new internal memory although it came today or perform the transition of the external hard drives. I shudder to think what sort of crapped up mess that would have resulted in. Hopefully tomorrow, this little ache and all the fog will be gone. Maybe this won't be a three-day headache. That will give me some New Year's Eve plans anyway, since I never have any.

I found something the rest of the universe has probably known about forever tonight (IFTTT) and got it set up. I only need about four recipes from it, but I like the concept. It's a nice way to tailor the e-universe and connect all the separate services one uses together. I like things that do that.

I also installed the new FB Messenger standalone today. This means that I will be "on" FB Messenger all the time whenever I have it running but I don't have to dedicate an open tab to FB unless I just want to. Since it seems that I use FB Messenger more than email to talk to my friends and family, this solution works for me. If I don't actually happen to be at the computer, it will just archive the convo as usual, and I'll get to it. I've already used the interface, and it's okay. It's a no-frills sort of thing, exactly what it says on the tin.

When I got back home from Jackson, I watched MSU play football, and it went surprisingly well for them. They managed not to choke. I was rather astonished. They did try. They threw the ball to the other team and made shocking fouls. However, they got far enough ahead to win it. Plus, they weren't playing another SEC team.

Well, it occurs to me that it's 10:30 and I never ate anything tonight. (This is bad. The Topamax will wreck me, not that I'll be able to tell much right now... It might be AWESOME. Maybe I should try it?) I think I'll go microwave a Hot Pocket or something and enjoy the zombies for a little while. Oh WOW, my exciting life.....

For What It's Worth

2011-12-29T22:31:00.002-06:00

I've never been one to cut out pictures of gowns or plan floral arrangements. I only ever looked at rings once. That was a TOTALLY screwed-up trip to a jewelers with D. I won't get into it. It was a nightmare. I had taken a ring of my own in to be repaired, and he went with me since we sort of went lots of strange places together. Somehow we wound up at the ring case looking and the lady behind the counter made assumptions. You've never seen two people get away from each other so fast. Probably it was comedic from a safe distance.

Anyway.

If it should ever come down to it. If a little box should ever come out of a pocket or be presented to me creatively. If there should ever happen to be some ~~poor brave fool~~ wonderful man out there who decides I am the one (and I just can't see this ever happening but I'm going to say this anyway), this is the ring. I've never seen any other diamond ring I liked at all. I suppose there may be vintage pieces out there I'd like, but this one has...something different to it.

It's a raw diamond, like my earrings, and I have already talked about why I like them so I won't belabour that point here. It's also white gold. I prefer the white metals, silver, white gold, or platinum, to the yellow. The style is also to my tastes, simple and elegant. I would feel ridiculous with something ostentatious on my hand. I am not a fancy jewelry person unless it is old jewelry, and then not all of it. Somehow, this just sort of seems like me.

Anyway, you can take this for what it's worth. If you like it too, you can find this and other lovely things made by the Etsy maker masaoms by clicking through the link.

Hats

2011-12-29T21:30:00.000-06:00

I have a thing about hats. I sort of love them, especially when they are ridiculously fancy and ornate. I don't know when this obsession started exactly. Maybe back in high school when my friend and I began to wear "Easter bonnets" every year on Easter Sunday.

In reality, though, it might go back further than that. I have, somewhere, a Goofy hat with floppy ears from DisneyWorld, a giant Mad Hatter's hat from Six Flags. Maybe this addiction to ridiculous headgear has been a lifelong thing, then.

I started finding old hats in antique malls, and their styles, colors, fabrics seemed to demand that I put them on. They were like little windows into other ages. Some are classy and elegant. Some of them were utterly dramatic. Some of them were completely over the top. I suppose it's a little like playing dress-up. When I see them, I always wonder if the women who wore them originally wore them in times of joy, if those hats went to social functions or parties where the ladies felt happy. I like to think so.

It also makes me feel sad to see them cast-off in the shops, especially the ultra-dramatic ones. To me, they almost seem to cry out for someone to love them. I can't resist them. I have only a few of these; it's not like I buy every one I see, but the ones I do get have definite personality.

I don't know where I'll ever wear these. I would like sometime to get all my friends together and for all of us to wear an odd hat and go out to eat. My friend who went shopping with me today when I found my latest "rescue" suggested that I wear it to Winn-Dixie on a Tuesday just for the hell of it. That made me laugh and laugh. Some horrid Tuesday, I just might. For the time being, it's enough to have them, take a silly picture in them that I might use for my FaceBook or Twitter profile photo, and then hang them up on my wall. It's a harmless enough thing all the way around, I think, and a way of reclaiming something old and giving it new life.

Tech Crap

2011-12-28T23:38:00.002-06:00

It's been a day of fixing technology on the fly.

Chewie started it by biting partially through the power adapter for my laptop. Unlike the other electronics and cords he's destroyed, this one had current running through it. Aww. How sad I am! He yelped and ran away, looking at me with those big sad eyes. I just said, "GOOD. Now maybe you'll leave my stuff alone." He only got shocked, not hurt. I have no real hope that he will really learn from this. I've already had to throw out a sync cable for my iPhone, a non-plugged-extension cord, TWO USB connection cables for my wireless music system, and he has torn up countless non-electronics things. He doesn't get a lot of sympathy from me. I got the damage mended. Black electrical tape is a wonder.

My parents called next. I bought them a Roku for Christmas, and they'd gotten it connected as far as plugging it in and getting the RCA cables attached. Past that, they needed me. I went up, fought with their wireless router which had never been set up for things to connect to it since nothing they have is wireless, added their Amazon account to the Roku and reactivated a defunct Netflix account and generally got the thing up and running for them.

I tried to use their computer at first, but something was using all the memory on it. I took a few minutes to take care of that problem, cleaned off some old programs they didn't use, purged their startup folder, and tried to help speed up their machine a little. I couldn't find what was eating all that memory even though I looked, closed some programs through Task Manager.

I'd brought my little netbook up to take care of the Roku setup since I knew from previous experience it's easier to have a computer in front of the screen to put in codes and so forth when setting one up. My netbook, though, has serious issues because the hard drive is almost completely full of music, etc., and the memory is insufficient. It started acting up and then it just began to shut down. I guess it ran its batteries out and didn't warn me. I was so afraid it was just dead from some kind of hardware failure, but once I got it home and back on the charger, it did finally load again.

I've been wanting to upgrade my external portable hard drive for a long time since the one I have currently is almost full, and I take pictures all the time and need space to put those fairly large files. I have a plan to make my old 500 GB external my iTunes library for my netbook and take the load off its internal HD. Friday, the 2 TB external and some new memory for the netbook will arrive, and we'll see if I can figure out how to make all that happen.

I'm not much by way of tech support. I am hoping that I don't have to do much more of it in the near future. I can only do the most basic of things. With any luck, I will be able to get my netbook working like it should before I have to start travelling with it, though. In its current state, it's a real pain. Maybe I have enough geek in me to manage this, at least.

Empty Hearts

2011-12-27T22:52:00.000-06:00

So save all of your light
For those who can't sleep at night
And who can't even sing to their shadows

Oh they ride into town
And they throw the shots down
And they save the last round for the windows

(CHORUS)
Singing don't let me into this year with an empty heart
With an empty heart
Don't let me into this year with an empty heart

I'm inside with my friends
We build fires and pretend
That the night could just bend on forever

While outside in the frost
Are the wolves and the lost
And we sing to the dogs or whoever

Chorus

There's a friend that I have
And for her I'll go back
You see all of these empties that I'm holding

They're too much for a man
Empty arms, empty hands
And she'll know me by the sound of my hoping

"Empty Hearts" - Josh Ritter

_____________________________________

More musical meditation on the new year ahead. This song made me think more about the situation again after the last blog went up. Having an empty heart means so many things.

Of course there is the romantic implication. Who wants to be alone? I would certainly love to have someone in the year ahead. The thought of having to spend another year by myself is discouraging. Just the thought just of not having someone to kiss on New Year's Eve....AGAIN...is discouraging. (I mean, come ON. Is this really too much to ask?)

To be honest, though, if all the ones who show up to fill that space are as self-consumed or as willing to put me dead last as the ones who have been around in the past year, then maybe what I need to fill up that space is a contentment with being alone. I am tired of being something less than an afterthought or a part of a collection. I deserve better than that. Maybe being happy with being alone is a safer thing to ask for.

I don't want to go into the new year with an empty heart, though. I want it to be full again of enthusiasm and excitement. I want it to be full of love and joy. I want to believe in the positive not as a dim miracle that breaks through sometimes despite all odds but as the thing that is there all the time if one will only look for it. I used to be that person. I want that person back.

I want to let go of the "empties that I'm holding." I want to let go of the things and the people that I lavish time and care on that only turn around and hurt me, either intentionally or through neglect and indifference. These empty things break me, empty me in turn. I think they do nobody any good. I want to replace them with things that mean something, are worthy. I want full arms, filled not necessarily with romance but rather with the people that I love, family, true friends. I want busy hands, engaged fully with things that are meaningful and not just idly twisting together waiting for the next disaster to fall down. I want to be able to hear the sound of my own hoping again. I love that line in this song. I think that's beautiful.

Nobody, no mortal man, can fill up an empty heart, can mend a broken one. I've known that for a long time. This song does remind me, though, of how important it is to refocus priorities and assess the condition of my heart, to take care of the internal house cleaning, as it were, as the old year fades away.

What He Said

2011-12-27T22:10:00.000-06:00

And it would take a miracle
For her to break my fall
Cause she don’t care at all anymore
And I don’t know why I still do
and why I’m telling you
~ "Stay Away" - Chris Thile
______________________

Thile always says it best, doesn't he? Reverse the genders, and you have the situation exactly. The End. Oh well. It was not enough. Maybe I wasn't. Maybe he wasn't. I am curiously indifferent now. It was never more than something pleasant, anyway, and now it isn't even that.

This is the end of a year, a particularly long and bad one for me. I think it's time to let several things end with it, either just let them fade away of their own volition or take up arms, and by opposing, end them. (And yes, for those of you paying attention, that was a Hamlet allusion...) I am determined that next year, by hook or by crook, is going to be better.

Yes. Better. Even if I have to pin it down and rip the goodness out of it with my teeth.

Found

2011-12-26T23:42:00.000-06:00

Awhile back, I very cleverly hid some things from myself. Actually, I wasn't hiding them from myself at all. There were thieves in the area, and since my parents' house had gotten broken into fairly recently, when I heard about them, I took some of my favorite pieces of jewelry and put them in places where they'd be "safe."

Then I promptly forgot where I put them.

Skip forward several months. I started to want those pieces to wear. It was always early in the morning as I was getting ready to go to school, and I would always be frantically pawing through the place where I keep my accessories looking for this or that. The desired item was never there. I would go to see if I'd perhaps removed it in my bedroom and left it on the small secretary in that room. Nope. No dice. One morning, I even took out the luggage I took to Louisville to see if I'd accidentally left it packed from my trip to the AP reading. I simply could not remember where I'd put the items I wanted.

Today, as I was getting dressed to go somewhere, there was a particular item that I really wanted. It had been a gift, and it bothered me that it was now gone. When I got home, I decided I would systematically tear the house up until I either found the missing things or finally convinced myself that I had left them somewhere and they were gone for good.

I looked for about twenty minutes, pulled things out of cabinets and drawers, emptied all the places I thought I might possibly have placed them, and finally everything I had been so frustrated over was back in my hands again. It took pulling things out of dark corners and making a huge mess, but it's done.

I thought about the whole process as I gently sorted through the little box that held all the pieces I'd been looking for for so long. Fear had made me look for what I'd thought of as safety. I'd taken something precious, something I treasured and enjoyed the use of and had hidden it away because I was afraid that it would be taken by those who were cruel, those who only sought to destroy. In that quest to protect it, I'd come very close to losing it. I certainly had gotten no pleasure from it, no use of it, nothing good from a good thing during the time it was supposedly "safe." It simply sat idle and worthless even though it was filled with things of value, things capable of bringing joy.

I know I'm an English teacher and we're terribly, almost chronically, prone to seeing symbolism under every rock and shrub, but I don't think it is really much of a stretch here to see the bigger trend. How often do I shut other parts of me away, hide them to keep them from harm, so worried about them getting broken or misused? How much of me is sitting like that silver in the dark, well-protected but of no use to anybody? As I ran the thin chains of a necklace with a quote by Emily Dickinson with words about hope on it, I couldn't help but think about these things. I suppose finding a couple of pieces of lost jewelry might not seem like much of an impetus for soul searching, but it's odd the things that will bring on a moment of introspection.

What I Want for Christmas

2011-12-24T22:31:00.001-06:00

(a slightly mixed list)

I haven't felt much like blogging in the past couple of days. I have been on Tumblr and Twitter instead much more than usual, but I sort of feel like I need to put something up here, so.... Needless to say, you probably should not expect deep ruminations.

All my favorite authors to come out with new books next year. Even the ones who just came out with something last year. Especially you, Jim Butcher. Now would be good.
To find out a certain situation has been magically reversed and wiped away when I go back to school. I have no hope that it will be, but if this is my list, I can ask Santa for it, right?
A version of the Kindle Fire with 3G.
If I'm wishing for impossible things, then....well... (Okay, so no, not really. First, Santa is probably not going to stuff him in a sack, right? There are laws and things. He also seems like he would probably put up a fairly decent fight. Also, I don't really know him. I enjoy the character he plays on the show, but I have no idea what he's like in real life. Based on the few things I've seen about him here and there, he seems like a decent person, but who really wants a perfect stranger stuffed under their tree for real? I know that joke comes around every Christmas, but come on.... That little shallow, jesting Santa list item was based on one criteria only. He may be one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen in my whole life. I'll go back and feel really terrible about myself as a human being in a few minutes.) *I love how he's so amused in this gif by this entire blog. I wish there was one where he walked off at the end, maybe even sort of shaking his head.

In reality, if Santa is bringing me men, then he and I need to have a serious confab. I have a couple of definite ideas on the subject and a slew of DO NOT WANTS. But you know what they say about beggars and choosing. And I DEFINITELY fall into that beggar camp, darlin'. (sigh)
Stability with my students. There are one or two issues that I left school with them still up in the air. I don't want to walk back into those same things in the new year.
A way to see/talk to my friends more. Maybe I need one of those time turner things from Harry Potter. Maybe we all do. Maybe he's got a set of those he can just pass out. We'll all be good. Promise.
A way to go live in Europe for about two years. I'm thinking Germany, but Italy or England are also fine with me.

Maybe there's more, but I'd hate to be greedy. You know. I'd hate to burden the good old man by asking for more than my fair share. (ha) I think I'll just let the incredulous gentleman above say it for everybody and go do some reading or something.

If I Asked It...

2011-12-22T09:06:00.002-06:00

I'm about to have to go do something exceptionally uncomfortable for me. I won't get into it a lot. There are reasons. (Heh. That's almost a meme.) I have to go alone, as always. If I had somebody I could take, it would be better. I wish I had somebody I could call up and say, "Hey. I have to go to another one of these things. If you're not in the middle of something, can you go?" Then at least I wouldn't have to feel like I'm going to be feeling for the next little while. Just the thought of it has a migraine brewing.

It's probably wrong to use another person that way, though, as a human shield. It's more than a little selfish. I don't know. I suppose situations like this are what God made iPhones for. I will get through it with what dignity and grace I can muster.

Punch Brothers AND Josh Ritter?

2011-12-21T21:40:00.002-06:00

WARNING: Total fangirl squee in progress

Just found out that Punch Brothers will be releasing their third album on Feb. 14th and that Josh Ritter co-wrote two of the songs on it. TOTAL FREAKING SCORE. This makes me utterly happy. I have long wanted something they both worked on. And. AND. This release date is one day after my birthday. How supremely thoughtful of everyone involved to give me such a nice birthday present. I mean, gentlemen, I did NOT know you cared. (and yeah. I know Thile's birthday is also creeping around somewhere in there, too, if I am not badly mistaken....we will not recognize or reference the red and white frilly devil holiday of the blind bow and arrow boy as any sort of influencing factor...) Now I just need to get tickets for the January concert in Birmingham so I can go see some of them (oh how grand it would be if Josh Ritter were there, too!) live.

Riveting Statistics

2011-12-21T17:46:00.000-06:00

I just opened up my Last.FM page and looked at some of the statistics there. I never remember to go to the page with all that stuff they keep track of. I don't know why. I suppose I could take advantage of it somehow, but well, I just never think about it. They track my "top songs" and "top artists" by week, month, year, of all time, etc. That's kind of interesting, I guess, to see how my listening trends change over the course of time. The "scrobbler" doesn't work all the time since frequently it's blocked by a firewall at school when I'm working in my room and listening, so I'm not sure these are entirely accurate, but I suppose proportionally, they are representative. According to their record-keeping, my top ten artists of all-time are:

1) Josh Ritter
2) The Black Keys
3) The White Stripes
4) Maroon5
5) Calexico
6) Wilco
7) The Tallest Man on Earth
8) Bob Dylan
9) Pink Floyd
10) The Rolling Stones

This, of course, is based on number of plays. I am profoundly surprised not to see Ella Fitzgerald or Chris Thile/Punch Brothers in my Top Ten. (I just clicked "more" to see who else made the big list, and Thile is 11. Fitzgerald is 20. Who knew? If Punch Brothers and Thile were combined, they'd be at number 4....) I guess I listen differently than I think I do. For some reason, I didn't perceive the White Stripes to be that high up my list. Either that, or they are in EVERY SINGLE PLAYLIST I've ever made. Heh. Jack would be so proud.

Looking at this list, another thing strikes me. F, if you're reading this, you probably have noticed that your little fingers are all over this. I would imagine that you are especially amused by number eight. Yeahwell. So be it. Nobody has managed to convert me to James Taylor yet. On that point I hold resolute.

I never think about having true "favorites," so it's a bit odd to see these as a top ten list. It depends entirely on my mood and current kick or obsession as to what I listen to. I could just as easily swing into a country kick tomorrow and listen to nothing but Patsy Cline and George Strait for the next six months. I wonder what my top ten list would look like then. Hmm.

And now, I have to get back to listening to more stuff. Maybe I'll look at Last.FM in another six months or so and see if anybody else has edged out these. If I think about it again. Maybe. Because I know you'll be on the edge of your seat waiting.

The Need to Dream Better

2011-12-21T09:55:00.001-06:00

Okay. Those of you who know me and know what's been going on will get some of the symbolism involved in some of these things. Other parts of this stuff, I won't pretend to tell you from where my mind dragged it. Last night, I dreamed:

1) That I went back for my PhD and got chased by a psychotic killer. He was also apparently a magician or monster or something. He decided that I was a good recruit for his cause, whatever it was, I don't remember, and also, oh yeah, that he was in love with me. There was a lot of running away. I got chased through dorms, libraries, and campus streets. It would have made a good movie, maybe. Clip, you were there, too. Sorry. I guess if I go back, you do, too, honey.

2) Just before I woke up, I was running away from and fighting a giant crocodile. Maybe it was an alligator. Does it really matter? It was not good. It kept coming again and again. There were other people with me, but who is vague. We kept trying to hit it and shoot it, but it kept coming back. Weapons we had that should have killed it failed us or just plain did not work on it. We finally had it pinned down (don't ask me how) with a stick, and it was supposed to be dead, but it got loose, and it came after me. I had a gigantic wooden cutting board of all things, and I kept bludgeoning the thing with it, and almost beat it to death (again, no reality here), but then the cutting board fell apart in my hands FOR NO REASON, and it started coming back to life again. When my 5:00 alarm went off, I was backing away from it with an even more ridiculous weapon in my hand, a slotted wooden cooking spoon with a handle as long as a sword. (WONDER WHAT THE CROCODILE REPRESENTS)

3) I keep dreaming about the same house over and over again. I have never been to this house. I have never seen this house on TV. What is this place? Last night there was a garage and all these guys I do not know working on crap. I don't even know what to make of that. Is my brain randomly channeling satellite feeds now?

There was more, but blessedly, I can't pull out more than fragments. I think I almost miss the Topamax blocking my dreams out entirely if this is what my brain manages to come up with.

All the Foolish Little Things

2011-12-20T18:09:00.001-06:00

Then her face starts to set and her hands start to fold
And one day the dried fig of her heart stops its beating

"The Curse" - Josh Ritter

________________________________________

Today, all my usual little frivolities are gone. It is true that I am wearing a Doctor Who shirt composed of owls dressed as the various regenerations of the Doctor, but I have no levity to accompany the attire. In fact, I don't know when or if my general supply of levity is going to return. I feel completely levity-free. It's been quite a little run I've had here lately.

I have enough vicious battle wounds from this situation and that one, quite a few deep ones in my back, to account for this emptiness that resonates through me. I want to (and probably will in a few minutes) go fold into a small still ball in the middle of my bed under all the covers and just let the warmth and comfort of it wrap around me until I am no longer conscious. I may opt for a stupid movie and mindless hours of Tumblr instead.

I don't know how to explain what has happened because the feeling is so new. I'm not surprised by any of it. My capacity to be surprised went away a long, long time ago. But there is this new feeling, not a particularly good one.

Increasingly, I become aware of my lack of worth. (And no, this is not where I want, expect, or need you to jump in with a pep talk or a chastisement. I would just like to express honestly how I feel.) Everything I do is of nothing. So many of my students barely seem to pay attention or blatantly throw away what I offer. Therefore, my profession, that which matters most to me, is of nothing. Recently, it seems every human and institution imaginable is reminding me that "at my age" I am making choices that will condemn me to be alone and childless for the rest of my life, and therefore in the eyes of society, apparently, of nothing. (And if you don't believe that's true, you try being a single woman my age for just a few days. Just a few. Then you come talk to me again about it.) All the situations and battles I try to resolve come unraveled almost as soon as I remove my hands from them. All my care and effort, then, is of nothing.

Maybe I'm just tired. I suspect this goes somewhat deeper, though. This feels like a more permanent alteration. I do not want it. I do not like it. It feels like something is dying inside me.

A Day of Music

2011-12-18T20:29:00.000-06:00

Today has been all about music.

I woke up and started listening to my new Josh Ritter album, Live at the Iveagh Gardens. I like it more every time I hear it. This sort of surprises me because I am not usually a big fan of live albums. It's incredible to me that almost every song on the entire thing is a beautiful reinterpretation of something I already love. Somehow, some way I must find a way to see Josh Ritter live. Just based on the recording, he must be fantastic. There's a new version of "Long Shadows" with Celtic drums in it that whets my appetite for Ireland (that trip CANNOT get here fast enough) and reconfirms that song as one of my very favorites by him. The previously mentioned "Moon River" gets sweeter with every playing. I could just keep going on and on, but I'll stop because either you don't care and wish I'd shut up or you love him, too, and you already have the album and you know what I'm talking about for yourself.

Wednesday night, I got "drafted" to sing the special music this morning. I don't do that very often, but the song is one that I love, "What Child Is This?" so I agreed. I am not a strong singer, but when I love a song, I do okay. I love this one, and I think it came off alright this morning.

We thought the organ had died for a little while, but we managed to find the problem (something got unplugged behind it when things were getting moved around). I felt such relief. Last time the organ needed major repairs, it was out for about three months. It was terrible to be without it for so long. I played Christmas hymns tonight, and enjoyed the sound of them, the feel of them. There is always something special about it.

And then there was the "special music" that our music director put together. He basically just drafted a bunch of people and put instruments in their hands tonight. It was hilarious. Some of them could play them, some of them could SORT of play them, some of them just strummed along. We had a mandolin, a banjo, a violin, a bass guitar, a dobro, and a guitar, and then he randomly started pulling singers up to the front. It was a glorious mess. We did two songs that way. It came off really well and we all had a good time. He does stuff like that, and it always magically resolves itself in the end. I love it.

Now, I'm relaxing and watching some TV, but I know tonight will end with music, too. I'm going to return to Josh Ritter probably before I go to bed. Maybe I'll have "Moon River" dreams that way. All in all, I'd say it's been a good way to spend a day.

Interesting Invitation

2011-12-18T19:54:00.002-06:00

“I’ll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours.”
~ Bob Dylan

And Now My Life Is Complete....

2011-12-17T22:42:00.001-06:00

....because I just downloaded Live at the Iveagh Gardens by Josh Ritter from amazon, and it has him doing "Moon River" on it. Yes. That is indeed all it took. I love that song. I love that man. I love the notion of it being played live in Ireland. I am now going to wear a hole in that portion of my hard drive. What are you doing with your Saturday night?

The Act of Cleaning

2011-12-17T19:51:00.001-06:00

The trouble with living alone is that it's always your turn to do the dishes. ~Author Unknown

If the shelves are dusty and the pots don't shine,
it's because I have better things to do with my time.
~Author Unknown

Don't cook. Don't clean. No man will ever make love to a woman because she waxed the linoleum - "My God, the floor's immaculate. Lie down, you hot bitch." ~Joan Rivers
________________________________

Many parts of my life right now are up in the air or broken. Since I can't control them, I am falling back on an old standby, imposing Type-A-ism where I can. I cleaned out my classroom thoroughly yesterday afternoon, throwing out three trashcans full of old papers and projects, putting away misplaced objects, and generally neatening the accumulated mess of a semester.

Today, I turned my attention to the house. I washed all the bedding, sunned the feather mattress. I washed all the dogs' blankets and sunned their beds, too. I did regular laundry, vacuumed, did fixtures, emptied the dishwasher, cleaned up the kitchen, put out the trash, mowed the yard to shred the old pecan leaves and the last of the dead grass, and started working on the endless piles of things inside. I put away about a million coats and sweaters, countless books, and migrated all my shoes back to my closet. I threw out tons of junk mail, but I am not done. I feel better, though. It does not embarrass me to live here now.

I wish I could keep my house like this all the time. It gets sacrificed, though, to other things. When I come home in the afternoons, I usually am in survival mode with stuff like daily chores. It's patch and feed and wash what has to be done right then. I don't like it so much, though. I wish I could have a more gracious home sometimes.

Then I look at some of the other things I get to do instead, and I sort of don't worry about it so much. I think that I really need to clean out some things on a permanent basis over this holiday, though, do a big purge of things I don't use at all. Simplifying will help me keep everything neater and less stressful. The more of that I can do in every area of my life right now, the better.

When Did It All Become War?

2011-12-16T08:54:00.001-06:00

All I do these days is put out fires and wage war. This is not what it was supposed to be. This is never what I imagined doing with my life. It makes me physically ill, this running from emergency to emergency. There are these deceptive periods of peace when the klaxons are silent, and I think, "Wow. Finally. I can put away these weapons at last. The last of the enemies has been vanquished. It's done. It was hard, but maybe it was worth it now that we can just move on and all the stupidity is over." That's when the bottom always drops out.

I get lied to directly. This makes me unable to trust...well, anybody really. I keep looking for the hand that will come with a slap behind the complement. Because let me assure you, friends and neighbors, in my experience, it's always, always coming. Everybody hurts you eventually. They just do it for different reasons at different times. It never gets any easier. Some of it is forgivable; some of it is not. The decision to pick up the pieces and go on or throw out what's left is just another kind of fight.

There are other battles, too, ones I probably created for myself, others caused by misunderstanding, pride, and a lack of communication, but I am too tired to untangle the Gordian knot of it all. Then there are the fights I can't win at all, the ones where everybody involved just loses and loses and loses.... It hurts. It all hurts unbearably.

I would like a storyline where when the thing is defeated it stays dead. I am tired of reoccurring villains.

I would like a storyline where I have some sidekicks or a co-hero. I am tired of fighting it all always alone.

Screw it. If I'm wishing, just give me a happy ending already. Much more of this, and all you're going to get out of me is pure Shakespearean drama, no kisses or crowns, just that pile of corpses left at the end....

Red Ink Burnout

2011-12-14T08:49:00.001-06:00

I need to be grading, but this would make about the fifth straight class day of nothing but that, and I'm starting to hate the sight of red ink. It's starting to make the think of battlefields, corpses on operating tables, and other horrible things. I need more than a weekend away from this.

Or even getting back to the joy of delivering information and facilitating discovery would be good, the part of teaching I actually love. This holding pattern I'm in right now waiting to be able to give exams is a little slice of Purgatory. The kids are understandably bored (the ones who are bothering to come), and I am just trying to stay productive.

However.

There are only so many papers one can grade before even the sight of a pile of them starts to make my skin crawl. But it's not going away, is it? Therefore....

Discipline! Hand to sword! Another repetition! Again!

(somebodybreakmeoutofhere,K? iwillgiveyouacookieorsomething...)

Patience, Please

2011-12-13T20:53:00.000-06:00

I close my eyes for a while
And force from the world a patient smile...

"I Gave You All" ~ Mumford & Sons

___________________________________

I'm afraid I must call on your patience and your gentleness tonight. If you were here with me, I might even go so far as to sit down beside you, take your hands in mine, lean on your shoulder, invite closeness instead of sitting across the room, instead of keeping the space that I'm more comfortable with between us.

It's been one of those weeks, one of those times when I hurt. When I'm tired. When the spring inside me is at low-ebb.

My precious students have been trying to make me laugh today, and I love them for it, but that's not really what I need. What I need is stillness and that uncanny understanding that you have of me that lets me take off all my masks and lay down all my swords for just a few essential moments.

Starting the Day

2011-12-13T06:25:00.002-06:00

Nightmares all last night. It's not hard to know where they're from. They were filled with endless bits of the situation from yesterday that I could not resolve. I woke up several times, something I do not usually do, and this morning, I don't feel especially rested. I'll manage. At least the heat, which was being coy last night at one point, stayed working well all night.

Today, though, is a new day. I want it to be a good one. I'm going to put on my Great Gatsby shirt, have a pineapple and yogurt smoothie, hook my iPhone to my car stereo, and go face whatever the day brings me. I don't have a better way to armor my soul these days. It will have to be sufficient to the demands of the day.

Broken Feathers

2011-12-12T14:14:00.003-06:00

What do you do when you can't save them? When what you are by your nature is a builder of nests and a strengthener of wings and you have to stand by and watch them plummet instead?

Is this what Daedalus felt like when he saw Icarus falling? I feel like am reaching out and grabbing nothing but handfuls of feathers when I need to be pulling a body to safety somehow.

Yet the choice to fly to safety is not mine to make. Though it breaks my heart, I know some not only have to singe the tips of their wings but also to lose them altogether before understanding comes.

It's just that I've seen this happen too often, and I know that not everybody survives the fall. The ocean that waits down there is not soft when the crash landing happens. It just wants to swallow down, cover over. It is relentless. As that old painting by Bruegel shows, all too few bystanders will turn away from their own little pursuits to extend a hand, either.

I don't want them to fall at all. I want them to turn away from this madness, this futile and destructive insanity, this pretend command of things that are as destructive and unstoppable as hurricane winds, that will rip through their fragile, beautiful wings like a typhoon through a paper kite and start learning how to soar again.

My heart is broken.

Moooooon

2011-12-11T20:56:00.000-06:00

Have you seen it? That moon is insanely beautiful out there tonight, like something you could reach up and pluck from the sky with your hands. It's the thing that has been making my kids nuts the past few days, I guess. Right now, it's doing the same to me. I totally understand the dogs running around in the yard at top speed and barking at things and the cats staring out into the dark with bright shimmer-saucer eyes. It all seems like a good idea to me.

Crazy moonlight somehow increases my need to go, to get out and move. I went to Jackson yesterday for no good reason, just because I couldn't stand to be in the house and that was the grand plan I devised. I literally went, bought some Christmas ornaments at Pier 1 (my excuse for going...and I did need them for this and that, ornament exchanges I am involved in, etc.), ate at Kismet's, and drove home. I felt better for the travel somewhat, less like I wanted to shred things with my invisible claws. Right now, though, that feeling is back.... I would get out and just go drive around and see what there is to get into, but in this neck of the woods...well...that's probably not a good idea. And. I don't feel like having to shoot rednecks by the light of the silvery moon.

I wish I knew somebody else who had this same lunar weirdness. I need a playmate.

After a Lot of Sleep...

2011-12-10T09:23:00.001-06:00

There is such a thing as counting chickens before they hatch. Or before the eggs have even been laid. Or before you even buy the setting hens.

There is such a thing as building fortresses so strong and protective that you forget to put in doors to let yourself out. It's true you're very safe that way, I guess, but you also starve to death very slowly, comfortable in the righteousness of your safety....

This is not D. again. No matter whatever else it ever does or does not come to be, no situation will ever be exactly that again. The person in question is not him. Once the panic has passed, I can see that. The similarities are there, but they are superficial. I can't keep judging everybody by that yardstick, assuming everybody plays by his rules.. If I do, then...well...I suppose the past always wins.

The other side of the equation is not the me that I was in those days, either. I don't know that this is a good thing all the way through, but I think for the most part it is. I know myself more thoroughly than ever I did then, what I want, what I will and will not endure, what I need and what I can offer. I regret some of what is gone, some of the sweetness I think I probably used to have, some of the trust that is never coming back.

In any case, I have to start allowing whatever amount I have left to be the thing with which I lead. I have to stop looking for demons in the dark before I have seen positive signs of the cloven hoof. While everything inside me is screaming that this is going to get me slammed through the floor, is begging to run back inside and brick up all the remaining doors and windows, I'm tired of living this way, and the air in there is stale and dead.

So.

(God help me.)

Maybe I will try to choose to start to trust somebody after all.

Maybe.

(did I leave enough wiggle room in that? ...yeah...)

Cyclical

2011-12-09T19:09:00.001-06:00

The worst fault you have is to be in love. ~ William Shakespeare

You're an angel, and I'm gonna cry

'cause I can't have you

and I'm not gonna try.

"You're an Angel and I'm Gonna Cry" ~ Chris Thile

And I'll throw you in the current that I stand upon so still
Love is all, from what I've heard, but my heart's learned to kill
Oh, mine has learned to kill
"Love Is All" ~ The Tallest Man on Earth

______________________________________________

I have suddenly awakened and found myself in the middle of an unexpected nightmare. It's like a rerun of something from years ago, from the old bad days of D. When the realization hit me, I almost literally couldn't breathe. I felt the walls all closing in on me. It had come on so gradually, you see, that I had not felt it closing its grasp around me until it was nearly too late to do anything about it.

Oh, it's not love, not yet. That takes a long, long time and much more. However, that doesn't stop me from knowing it's full of danger. All the signs are there. All the archetypes are on the stage and costumed appropriately. Everybody is mouthing the right lines, me included. I can see that idiot with the wings and the bow trying to sneak around in the rigging.

Right straight to hell with that.

I made a promise to myself a long time ago, and even if it means ripping my heart right out of my chest and stomping it into shattered shards on the floor, I will not walk down that road again. Not to worry, though; my heart has learned all too well how to kill. It was taught that lesson at the hands of the master.

What completely flummoxes me is that it crept up on me. Was I just so stupid, just having so much fun that I closed my eyes, or God help me, am I just that much of a fool? It does not end happily for me. Ever. Do I forget my history? Do I forget my scars? I need to put myself in a convent somewhere high in the hills where I will not be tempted by these things. The cycle spins, and apparently I learn nothing. Yeah. I am a fool. The Queen of them all......

Favorites

2011-12-08T16:23:00.001-06:00

I am taking a bit of a break to drink some tea and try to wake up a little. A case of weariness has wrapped itself around me like a big blanket, and I am fighting to stay awake. Even my desk looks like a good place for a nap. In an effort to get my brain doing something, ANYTHING, here are a few of my favorite things. (And I deeply apologize if you now have Julie Andrews twirling around in your head. Unless, of course, you know, that makes you happy....)

Flowers: Gerbera daisies and yellow roses .
Beverage: Unsweetened green tea and Diet Mt. Dew (although at present, I also love an eggnog smoothie....)
Types of cuisine: Mexican, Thai, Japanese, and Italian
Places on Earth: Nara, Japan; my family's pasture and country shack; the high-ceilinged library at Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland
Hymns: "It Is Well With My Soul," "In the Garden," and "Angel Band"
Items (as in, I have them with me all the time): Fountain pen, iPhone, handkerchief
Word: luscious (most of the time)
Sound: rain on a metal roof

I suppose there are more categories, but some things that seem obvious to include would be impossible for me to select. I could no more select favorite authors or musicians than the man in the moon. I have similar problems with movies. I can select a broad range of what I like, but I don't like to try to pin it down to one. It feels wrong somehow. Maybe that seems strange. I don't know.

I guess if there was anything somebody wanted to know in particular, that person could use that little feature down at the bottom and ask me. Trying to fight off the tired with this isn't working. I think I'm going to fold up shop and go home for the afternoon. Maybe that's what I need.

It's Official....

2011-12-07T21:07:00.001-06:00

I got my notification from TGC today. My travel country is BRAZIL. I read the email on my iPhone after school, and I literally squealed, jumped up, ran to the door of my room, remembered that everybody was gone, and had a little moment of panic. There was nobody to tell! Thank God for social media... (ha) Then I called home.

I have wanted to see Brazil for years and years. I have had several wonderful friends from there, been fascinated and enchanted by Portuguese forever (it's just the most gorgeous language...now I have a reason to make myself learn it - YAY), and getting placed there is almost too good to be believed.

This is just fantastic. I don't know all the details, but I am definitely in Snoopy dance mode. Now to the fun part leading up to every trip....the research and the PLANNING. Boo. Yah.

Uh-huh, Okay. Alright, Then.

2011-12-07T15:01:00.001-06:00

It's been an odd pair of days. I didn't feel much like writing yesterday. You're getting a list now. It's the end of the semester, so I'm pressed for time, and I'm running low on sleep. I still feel good, but there's been no shortage of contenders trying to take that away from me. Well. To paraphrase my sage grandfather, "Never, never, never let the b-------s get you."

In the past two days:

I had a student suddenly and unexpectedly opt to do a front roll through my classroom door instead of entering it the normal, upright way. No. There was no reason why. Yes. He did a beautiful roll....
I have been told that I look like a porcelain doll. No. I don't know why. I assume it's because I am so very pale. Apparently it has been much discussed.... (Is this a good thing?)
I was mistaken BY STUDENTS for a student when I went through the lunch line today in an attempt to get a pimento cheese sandwich. (Oh, and the lunch line thing? NEVER AGAIN. I will totally cut up the middle next time. WTF was I thinking?)
My dog Chewie flung his green squeaky duck in a fit of exuberance. I don't know where it is. I am terribly, terribly afraid it is IN the Christmas tree. Sigh. Finding it is this afternoon's project. He looks so sad now that it is missing.
The first person figured out what my pendant is today. I didn't even have to tell her. She just knew. She laughed and laughed.
I have just about worn a hole in the new Black Keys album. God, they're good. They're keeping me awake when I drive, bless them. They're almost better than caffeine. (Well, realistically not, but you know.) I love that the last song on the album keeps saying, "Oh....don't let it be over...." They kill me.
I have come to love my new iPhone even more than my old one. I am trying not to feel like I'm cheating on an ex by saying that. How do we come to have the attachment issues to electronics? It's ridiculous. (But I'm whisper-typing this and tilting the screen so Minerva never knows she's Minerva the Second....)
The hat I bought at Chimneyville has paid for itself already. It's purple and gorgeous, and every time I put it on, I feel gorgeous (if not purple), and I don't hate getting in the car at whatever ridiculous hour it is or going out to stand bus duty. Definitely money well spent.

That's it. I have a little left to do here, and then I'm getting out. I am going to SLEEP tonight. I am just so tired, and it's so cold and horrid outside. This would be a wonderful night to curl up with somebody I love and pretend there's no world outside. Shame that's not an option, really....

Putting a Foot Through

2011-12-06T08:31:00.001-06:00

In this world
we walk on the roof of hell,
gazing at flowers.
- Issa
_______________________

I've been working on student papers this morning, but I had to stop just a minute and write. This haiku by Issa has been a favorite of mine for a long time because I think it says a lot about what life really is. We have no idea about what is going on under the surface. We walk around on a thin crust of what we assume is safety until we accidentally fall in a crack or put a foot through.

One of my students' writings just broke my heart. I so want to just wrap my arms around that person and hug that one. It happens here so often and not on purpose. It is never a deliberate thing. It was just a matter-of-fact revelation that made me come back to Issa again, made me both appreciate the flowers, the fact that we get the moments of beauty, and also made me grieve for all the pain everyone has to endure that creates that gaping cauldron that constantly seethes just beneath them.

Those Who Walk Alone

2011-12-05T19:54:00.001-06:00

“The woman who follows the crowd will usually go no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been before.”
― Albert Einstein

Christmasy

2011-12-04T18:40:00.001-06:00

I finally decided to force myself into some Christmas spirit. Last year, I had none. Double none. I barely got a tree up, and I put out none of my Christmas collections. This year, I decided to try to trick myself into some cheer by decorating the house. I thought if I surrounded myself with the accouterments of Christmas, maybe I would start to feel a little of the spark of it inside, too.

With that philosophy in mind, I went to get my tree this afternoon. I am a hard-core girl power advocate. I can do it ALL ALL BY MYSELF. I can change my own flat tires, jump my own dead batteries, and all that, but by all that is holy, next year, I am taking some hapless man with me to deal with this Christmas tree thing. I don't care if I have to guilt him, con him, ~~marry him~~, feed him, pay him, or what. I HATE trying to cut down my own tree. HATE it. This is the second time I've done it, the first being the year Dad had his heart attack, and it wasn't any better this year. In theory, there are guys with power saws on the tree lot, but they are never within five hundred miles of me and the tree I pick. It took me about fifteen minutes of hacking at the poor cedar I picked (I always get cedar; I like the smell) to fell it, and then I had to haul it to the "sleigh" because Billy and Bubba were still power sawing somebody else. I was not in a "merry mood."

I have been going to this place literally since I was a child, though. My parents have known them forever, and I have run over those hills for things that have nothing to do with Christmas trees, so I wasn't in a bad mood long. I got a Diet Mountain Dew in their new cafe and looked over their gift shop. They had a Santa hat shaped like a jester's hat. Well, you just know that I was going to have to have that... I paid for my tree, had it tied to the top of the Cruiser, and came on home.

I took the time to make a playlist on iTunes that I called "Chrimma" and set it spinning and then I started fighting the tree for the second time today. (Going to find a man next year. Oh yes. Going to find a man. Not for anything romantic necessarily. Just for the freaking TREE. Although, I suppose I could promise him something romantic in exchange if needed if that's what it takes. You can see what I've been reduced to here....) I finally got it in the stand, brought it in the house, and it started wobbling. I lay down on the floor to adjust it, and it wobbled even more. This is after about fifteen minutes of wobbling in the stand outside after I made the required "second cut" with my little saw at home. Then the thing I had been trying to prevent happened. It fell. I shoved it hard when it started going over, so I did not actually wind up with cedar on top of me, but it was a near thing. Again, this is not a situation designed to raise "Christmas cheer."

I finally cursed/coaxed it into a stable position after taking the stand completely off and putting it back on again (easy to do now that it was horizontal). Then I broke out the new big colorful LED lights I bought on sale after Christmas last year. It's just chock-full of lights now, just the way I like my tree. They don't do fancy flashy things, but I found last year that my migraines don't really like the flashy ones anymore. I haven't put ornaments on it yet, but I may get to that later on tonight. To me, the lights are the nice part, anyway. They make the tree. I like to have all the lights off and music on and just look at the tree with the lights sometimes and unwind when I'm tired.

I moved from the tree debacle to putting out the Santa and nativity collections. This year, I didn't put out all the pieces I have. I chose my favorites instead. Many of them are special because either I made them, got them on a trip somewhere (like my Waterford nativity from Ireland), or somebody I love gave them to me. I don't know why I forget how much of a pleasure there is in just the unwrapping and remembering that goes along with these collections. That is probably actually the greatest joy of them to me, looking at them and thinking, "That one came from Mrs. Ruth. I made that one when I still worked at Fleur de Terre...."

I'm going to go now and get my Santa plates out of the cabinet for the first time in two years, put some leftover eggplant parmigiana on one, pop it into the microwave. Then, I'm going to watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation like I do every year the night I put up my tree. I'm going to take my Christmas back from the things that try to pull me out of it, try to destroy it. It is totally my choice if they get to do that. I think I choose, in spite of falling trees and all other difficulties, Christmasiness.

Chimneyville Again

2011-12-03T18:40:00.001-06:00

Every year, I look forward to Chimneyville. Almost from the time I'm stepping out the door and headed back to the car with my arms loaded with my loot, I am anticipating going back, in fact. It is one of the highlights of my year as far as seeing wonderful and unusual handmade things. This year was no exception.

I got up a little late, left my house a little later, and wound up having to fly to meet my friend on time. Once again, I was struck by the fact that frequently it's not how many horses one has under the hood but what one is willing to do with them. I was only about ten minutes late in the end.

My best friend and I ate lunch at a Mexican restaurant we both like and headed over to the Trade Mart. I knew there were three artists I particularly wanted to see if they were exhibiting. They are the ones I go to every year, moon over, and most years, buy from. I also love to look at all the others, though. There is such unbelievable diversity in the crafts presented. New artists come in every year, too, so one never knows just what you will see. It's always a nice mix of new and old. It makes me feel humbled and happy just to know that there are people in the world who can do these things, who can take their hands, apply them to raw materials, and produce wonder. When I come away from a really great crafts exhibition, I always feel just a little more hopeful about the world.

My friend and I are profoundly creatures of habit. We always go the same route through the booths. Today we took our turn to the right, and we started looking. It wasn't long before we came to the first of the three I had hoped to see there, Sam Clark. Sam Clark makes, among other things, these fantastic dragons. They do different things. The most wonderful ones read books. I LOVE them. They always look so clever, amused, and knowing, everything you'd expect from a dragon. I have a small red one I bought two years ago, and a "micro" one I got last year that I keep at school. This year, because of the state of my finances, I knew I probably was going to be in that hellish situation of having to look but not touch with his stuff. It's not that his prices are extreme; quite the contrary for the level of detail on each piece. It's that I'm so obscenely poor right now.

Imagine my delight when he had a new line of pieces that he has added that are functional, bowls and containers, teapots and vessels of all kinds. They have his gorgeous line drawings on engraved into the surface of the clay. And...I could afford one that had a dragon on it. I got my dragon after all! I was grinning from ear-to-ear. It was like fate took pity on me today.

A few aisles over, we found my best friend's friend, the maker of mouth-blown glass beads and pendants. His stuff is fantastic. I already had two of his pieces, but I wanted something blue (school colors and all that). As I looked at the selection, I saw some that looked remarkably like eyes. That looked awfully familiar, and sure enough, when I asked, my suspicion was confirmed. They were a reinterpretation of the charm worn to protect against the evil eye. I love jewelry with meaning; symbolism is sort of my life as an English teacher. I bought one that looks for all the world like a gorgeous blue iris with a black pupil in the center because, well, you know the thing I have with blue eyes... (ha)

The third artist I love, Peter Rose, was further over. I have three of his crows (I call them ravens), already. They make me happy every time I look at them. His pottery is all wood-fired in the traditional Japanese fashion. I love to talk to him every year when I go to see his stuff. It's a little piece of contact with the world of Japanese pottery that I miss so much. I was all ready to get one of his owls this year since I finished out my trio of ravens last year. I even had picked out the owl I wanted to get. Then I turned my head and saw that he has started making "mini ravens." That was the end of that. I had to have it. I will take that one to school. It's just fantastic. Again, since it was a small piece, I was also able to afford it without going broke. It was just a wonderful gift from the craft gods.

As I went through the other booths, I stumbled across another thing I loved: fountain pens. They were all from exotic woods. My best friend laughed at me because I just started making little squeaking sounds as I stroked my fingertips over first one and then another of the lovely polished surfaces. They were exquisite. I could have bought at least five that I saw, but one caught my eye more than any of the others: a "miniature" pen made of a wood called purple heart. I haven't seen purple heart in large qualities since I was in Costa Rica, but I love it. Without being dyed or tinkered with at all, it has a gorgeous dark reddish color. It is going to be my "pocket pen." I've wanted a small one like this for a long time, and it is everything one could ask for.

Chimneyville is just a joy. The quality of everything you see, the friendliness of all the craftspeople, there's really just nowhere else I know like it. I was struck again this year by that personal element. Because I buy from those same artists every year, they have come to recognize me. I was a little amazed by that (you know, old forgettable me), but it was really nice. That's what keeps me buying handmade whenever I can, too. Whether it is from my favorite folks in Jackson every year or the makers I can connect with on Etsy, I just believe that there is something special about this sort of connection that enriches the item itself.

Take It How You Wish

2011-12-02T09:06:00.001-06:00

You're very, very lucky. I don't think you even know it.

I have a Cuchulain-type of temper sometimes, you see, red haze before the eyes, battle rage slipping sandpaper fingers up the spine and all the Morrigan's magic calling for the end of the offender inside me with the rough, harsh cough of a black raven.

And you, you are redlining it.

It's taken me years, painful years of work to get a leash on this thing. I have broken bones in one of my hands from the lessons I had to learn to do it. I view them as both a badge of shame and a medal of honor. They remind me of where I've been and who I am now.

I won't let this thing in me slip its collar for you. Not even when it grins its big game pit grin because you keep stabbing it with a pointed stick. Not even because you won't let it have a minute's rest to recover.

I believe what goes around comes around. It won't be me who dishes it, though. I love myself too much for that.

You can take this how you will.

Briefly

2011-12-02T06:48:00.001-06:00

I haven't had much to say the past couple of days. Old battles renewed and much busy-ness, I suppose. Been elsewhere doing other. I should be at that now, in fact. There's just something driving me here to make this brief contact, and I will follow this urging even if it makes me have to run even MORE than I already am this morning in just a moment.

In the past few days I've been away, then, I have:

Come to value copy paper more highly than gold bullion
Been told that what I love more than anything is worthless
Seen the happiness that can come from mini cupcakes
Been grateful once again that I know how to jumpstart a damn car
Felt the maternal urge ambush me quite out of the blue looking a friend's baby in a frog hat
Been berated and belittled
Actually been able to eat a little
Had moments of pure joy
Kept my temper despite all odds and expectations and refused to give in to the urge to put my fist through someone
Had no migraines
Had songs stuck in my head
Pondered getting ticket for the Punch Brothers concert in Birmingham in January
Graded papers
Missed people

Yeah. So how have you been?

Grenade, or, WTF Were You Thinking When You Wrote That?

2011-11-29T19:41:00.001-06:00

I'd catch a grenade for ya
Throw my hand on a blade for ya
I'd jump in front of a train for ya
You know I'd do anything for ya

I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for you, baby
But you won't do the same

"Grenade" - Bruno Mars

______________

I just heard this song again while I was driving home, and I was struck anew with how much it annoys me. It was popular as a new song when I went to San Francisco, and I remember standing on Pier 39 in the rain listening to it booming through the outdoor speakers thinking how totally asinine the lyrics are. I try not to be overly judgmental about songs. I mean everybody likes different things, and I try to respect that. There's an audience out there for everything, and I know that my own tastes aren't bread-and-butter for all people. That being said, there's just something about this song that pushes all my buttons one after the other.

I think it's the over-the-top-ness of it. It's a bit of the old "the lady doth protest too much" for me. I am all for profound expressions of love, for deep and heartfelt commitment, but despite the intention to express that here, somehow, it doesn't come through. Instead, what I hear is something petulant and immature. I get Romeo and Juliet love instead, all extreme, all impulse. I hear, "Hey! I'm showing how wonderful I am! Aren't you watching?" There is nothing here that is about endurance or survival. Instead, this is all about sort of a glorious blowout finale that is supposed to serve as proof of love.

What about proving that you love someone by sticking out the bad times? What about proving that you love someone by simply picking up the phone and making a call when you know they need to hear your voice? By going to the grocery store when they're sick? By taking care of the daily grind instead of elevating the drama or waiting for the disaster movie? Is this guy going to be there for that? I think not. I don't think he's got the stones for it, personally. That is the real test of a man, and the point at which all too many fall away, unable to have real courage.

So, really, I guess, I don't want to hear any more of these "romance" songs with swords waving. I think, gentlemen, that if a woman is asking you to "throw [your] hand on a blade for [her]," you might want to check that out a little more closely before you make a long-term commitment, too, but you know, hey, whatever works for you, personally. Not my business. I'm still on the lookout for somebody with that true daily courage myself, not courage to die like a drama queen, but the courage to live like a real man.

Corner

2011-11-28T21:06:00.001-06:00

I felt ridiculously good today. Like...Damon-Salvatore-kissed-me-good. (ha. I made a stupid funny. like that.) I don't know why, but I've been grinning all day long. I've had a mental playlist clicking through good songs in my head when I haven't actually had music that I like playing in my room. I've been more like my old self than I've been in, well, longer than I can remember.

It was great. I'm very conscious that I am not exactly that person anymore because that old person would have reacted very differently to a couple of situations I faced today, would have gotten angry when faced with two or three things, would have been distressed by others. The person that I have am at the present has sort of decided that I can't fix every stupid broken thing, looked those issues directly in the eyes and called them what they were (stupid and broken), made the sign of the cross over them, and let them go. I am proud of this. It made me a better person for the rest of the day. I am not going to keep destroying myself over things I cannot control. It betters nothing and no one. I cannot help myself or others in that situation. I may yet chose to throw myself on the pyre someday if it's necessary, but by God, I'm not doing it for nothing. I am going to pick my battles better. I don't have to bleed every day.

I also had moments of pure laughter today with my classes like I haven't had in a long time. One class got off on a brief tangent and I wound up with a "stripper name." It didn't offend me; you have to work really hard to offend me, and they weren't trying. They were kidding around, and it was a random comment that just made me laugh. I'm afraid my new name wasn't fancy or salacious at all. Just the idea of me in that role humored me endlessly. Yeeeeah. Talk about Things That Will Not Happen. I mean, come on.... I'm hardly anybody's idea of that, I think.

I got work done. I put up my Christmas lights in my room and all my little decorations, including my Santa Elvis bear who sings "Blue Christmas" and dances. I stuck the small Santa hat on Shakespeare. I rigged an old Yankee Candle I love so I could use part of it in my Scentsy warmer, and now my room smells like Christmas, too. Every small thing I did made me just a little happier.

I don't know if it's just getting all the rest over Thanksgiving, finally getting that huge thing out of the way with the doctor or other things, but whatever it is, oh how I hope it lasts. The only thing that could actually make it better is getting to see some of the people I love who are so busy and far away, and I think some of that will happen this weekend. That will be great, and I can't wait. I've been looking forward to it for a long time now.

Well, that and if Damon Salvatore actually shows up, obviously, because, well, I mean, DAMN. (don't judge me, okay? he's...he's... pretty....and....and....just don't judge, you....)

okay. no more Damon ridiculousness.
probably. but.... O_O

The Curse

2011-11-28T19:31:00.001-06:00

Long ago in the ship she asked, "Why pyramids?"
He said, "Think of them as an immense invitation"

~ "The Curse" - Josh Ritter
_______________

Josh Ritter's "The Curse" is playing on a playlist of some of my favorite songs on iTunes right now. Every time I hear it, I fall a little more in love with it. It's just an impossible little jewel of music, perfect in every conceivable way. I don't think I know of another one like it.

Of course, I was bound to love it, I suppose, because it has Egypt in it. Since the first time I opened the first illustrated book about Tutankhamen in the tiny cramped library behind the fire department here in Podunk, I have been in love with Ancient Egypt, with the mummies and the beast-headed gods... The pyramids then for me have always been an immense invitation. They are on my "life list," such as it is, of things I must see with my own eyes, go to, be at, lay my hands against the ancient surface of. One day I must stand before them, inside at least one of them before I die so I can say that I have no regrets.

As children, I remember L. and me learning to write messages in hieroglyphics, reading Budge's translations of the tales of the gods and The Book of the Dead. There was a time when I wanted more than anything to be like the woman in this story, spend my days digging in the shifting sands looking for the past.

That phase passed as childhood "careers" do, but my love for Egypt didn't. I guess I've read or watched dozens of variations on this same story....Anne Rice's lush novel The Mummy, the Boris Karloff Universal Horror classic of the same title, the modern film trilogy that takes the same theme and spins it again and again eternally around. Of them all, though, even though at its heart there is still the same supernatural predator, there is still something undeniably poignant and somehow more delicate in this version.

And that, of course, is coming from Josh Ritter. That's his hand at the wheel. He's taking something that has been told as a horror story, as a blockbuster action film, and he's making it somehow as sweet as an old-fashioned waltz. I don't think anyone but he could have done that, and even if I had never heard him before, I would have loved him for that one song. It has everything, longing, imagination, musical magical realism.

The video is fantastic, too, perfectly in keeping with the feel of the song and the story as a whole, sweet and sad. If you haven't seen it, take the time to watch. It's well worth it.

Sharp Edges

2011-11-27T20:34:00.001-06:00

After church tonight, I went out driving. Ostensibly, it was to get the only food that sounded good, a bacon cheeseburger from Wendy's, or at least the fry portion thereof. Right now, if it sounds good, I try to go find it.... Really, though, what I wanted most was the dark, wet two-lane highway unfolding in front of me and very loud music playing. Sometimes, as one of my students is so fond of saying, "it just be that way."

Tonight, I am not in a folksy mood. Tonight I need loud bass and a dance beat. Tonight I wish I had my hands in somebody's back pockets and vice versa on a dance floor. It's just as well I don't live where that's possible or likely. I have sharp edges tonight. Anybody trying to handle me would just come away with blood on his hands. I am not sure I know of anyone even strong enough to try.

Adding to my odd mood is the fact that I've already produced something like forty pages of writing the last three days of this week, two complete pieces, and that feels righteously good. One thing is more a less a throwaway, something I cut my teeth on again because I hadn't written anything in so long, a flexing of the muscles that I like less and less the more I look at it, but the other wasn't too terrible. Both are finished, and I won't lie to you and tell you it didn't feel good to pull it out of my head, shape it by force of my will, and watch it come together. It's more than a little like a form of magic. It's more than a little addictive.

Neither of those was the one I want to be working on. They were just random bits that bothered me, and so I made them, put them where I knew they'd be appreciated. Someday soon, I am going to start the real thing, the story I used to tell L. about when we were kids. It's been sitting up there waiting for all these years, and I think I'm almost done with my journeyman phase. I'm sure it won't be as easy as this other playing I've been doing, but more and more, I think that I want to try my hand at it.

Tomorrow, I will go back into the regular world. It feels like so much more than a week has gone by. I feel like I've been gone from there for a hundred years, like I've somehow slipped through one of those "rites of passage" and wasn't paying attention. I don't know. As I came home watching the headlights of oncoming traffic dance over the wet pavement, I thought about how I felt before I got out for the holiday and how I feel now. Somehow, so much has changed. It's strange. It's as though I was stuck in a place of total stasis before last Tuesday.

Now, I would have to say that is not the case. I still have some serious questions about some things, but last Tuesday was... a log-jam destroying moment, for lack of a better term. Everything is now in a state of change. What remains to be seen is what happens next.

Sweeping Up

2011-11-25T22:22:00.001-06:00

I've come here several times in the past few days thinking that I would have something to say, that if I opened a new post, something witty or clever or even trivial would appear to fill this little blank box, satisfy the demand of the blinking cursor, but each time, I've closed the entry and gone to other things, to Tumblr where I can express myself through images and quotations, to work on a writing project (because, good God, I'm actually producing again...I guess the words just will come out of me somewhere), to read the words of others, because my capacity to put anything here has been as limited as my current appetite for food.

In other words, it seems that I want nothing.

The drive that used to call me here almost compulsively to share my thoughts is empty at the moment. What shall I tell you? What would you have me give? What is there to say that has not already been said? I feel like the janitorial staff coming out at the end of a major production to find that a member of the audience has not departed but is still sitting front row center waiting for another act to unfold. I am standing on stage with my broom, the house lights are all up, and I'm forced to lean across the footlights and whisper to you, "What else is it you expect to see here tonight? Go home. Go home to the people who love you. To the people you love. The show is over. There are no more shocks or horrors left here. All the performers are gone now. All their mysteries are done."

And maybe that, too, would be a kind of performance after all if somebody paid attention, the action of a trouper who had to do double-duty, who had to clean up after her turn in the revels was over. But I'm still a little off-kilter right now, still trying to figure out what to do with what I've learned this week, and while I know that it really doesn't matter to anybody else but me (and maybe to a few precious ones of you who I am more thankful for than I can say), I'm not really up to resuming my little performances here, I suppose.

For those of you to whom I am just an interesting curiosity, just a thing of clockwork and puzzlement, click back in a few days or weeks as your whimsy leads you. I am sure your usual service of loud-sounding nothings, of sound and fury, will resume. For those of you who worry, well... Patience. Patience. As the heart-rendingly beautiful Marco once told me in Florence, "These things, they happen."

It's Never What You Think It Will Be

2011-11-22T16:21:00.001-06:00

(be warned. this is not a happy place. there is broken glass on the ground here. if you are looking for safety, sun, or sugar, go play somewhere else, child.)

As I type this, I am so tired. I'd really just like to climb into my bed, pull the covers around me, curl into a ball, and let the grey half-light of this long afternoon fade away, be in a warm and still and quiet place where nothing is or was for an unspecified length of time.

But as I've already told one person today on another topic, that's too much like a defeat for me, and I don't do those so much. I just keep getting up off the damn floor and fighting, even when I should lay down.

It all went quickly. Once I got there, all my fear dropped away despite the gown and the table. The appointment as a whole really didn't go down the paths I expected, but that shouldn't really be a surprise, I guess. Nothing ever does.... I expected to hear that tests were coming and procedures were urgently needed. I expected him to talk about time limits and endings. That came up, but very gently and briefly only. The physical situation stays hanging in its ridiculous knife-edge balance, apparently. One more year of grace has been, quite pointlessly considering my life and my situation, given.

I also talked to him about the hellish mood swings I've been having lately though, and things went crazy from there. It might be the Topamax. It might be more of the fun my body likes to dish out in little doses for me. I have to call my neurologist and talk to him about the Topamax now since it's gotten scary-ish. I have to have some relief from the roller coaster. This conversation, the one I'm glossing so lightly, that I'm touching with such dainty fingers here, was excruciating. It involved being told that perhaps I was trying to do too much, take too many problems on myself. At one point, I was told that what I was trying to do was like trying to right a wrecked bus all by myself.

This isn't the first time I've been told this. This isn't the second, the third. Hell, I don't even know anymore how many times or how many people now have told me, doctors, coworkers, friends.... What I don't know is what to do about it. That's the part that keeps getting left out. That's the part I need somebody to help me with. That's the part nobody seems to know. There is only the "not this," never the "this instead." (Although if I am fair, he did have a "this might help while you're looking for the this instead.")

And maybe others can't help find the "this instead." Maybe that's asking too much. Maybe I just am so totally screwed up that I don't have any idea about what I want for myself. Maybe it all sounds equally good or equally dull. Or maybe....maybe...

Maybe I do know what I really want and know that I cannot get it, not even in my wildest daydreams, so this is just as good as any other pointless substitute.

I'm so tired. So very, very tired. I warned you about the broken glass when you showed up. If you got cut, well, I love you, and I'm sorry, but it's nobody's fault but your own. I think I'm going to get in that bed now.

Not Running

2011-11-22T11:09:00.001-06:00

This is me NOT running. This is me scared as scared and NOT running. Nervous energy. Lalalala. What time I am afraid I will....

Not run. That's for sure.

Will not get in the car, head it west, crank the stereo, and pretend I can outdrive, outpass, outaccelerate the afraid. Will not "accidentally" miss the appointment (oh SHOOT! That was today? Can we reschedule? Like for the fifth of NEVER?).

Will not shake. Will not cry. Will not betray my image as the great cold queen in the red brick halls. Will not keep turning worst-case scenarios over and over in my head because this doctor, unlike that other one, would never blind-side me with "So, your whole life is over today. When would you like to schedule the surgery, honey?" lightly coated over in slick honey phrased as, "Do you have any children?... No?...I'm so sorry..."

And even if this is the beginning of that end, I will not fall into despair. Okay. That is a lie. But I will try very hard not to go into it in despair, try very hard not to make monsters where there just might not be any, and I will try very hard to remember that for every single stupid hellish thing that has ever happened to me in my life, there has been a reason or at least some kind of thing I could take and use to help somebody else along the way. If this is to come into my life now, even though it will seem like an ending, I have to remember that there has to be some purpose to it.

If I can hold on to that, maybe I can manage not to break into so many pieces that I cannot recover myself. Maybe I can manage not to run so far that I cannot make it back.

Distracting Myself

2011-11-21T23:26:00.001-06:00

You know this thing I have about blue eyes?
So...Yeah....

Tomorrow is the dreaded day. I can't think of anything else when I stop to think, so I'm not thinking. I am distracting myself. To that end, I have immersed myself in more TV. I found The Vampire Diaries on Roku, and it's seriously fun fluffage. It's what Twilight could have been and missed. None of the vampires sparkle, some of them are really dangerous, people actually die, the heroine has a spine, one of the male leads (Ian Somerhalder) is gorgeous enough to burn all your houses right down to the ground and sassy to boot, and the storyline holds together beautifully. I can't believe that this thing is actually written this well. It's not as neatly put-together as something by Whedon or Moffatt, but it's not what I thought it was going to be, vapid teenertainment. There's solidity to it. (Plus...have you seen his eyes? I mean...O_o) I'm in the middle of season 2 right now. I think maybe there are three seasons out so far, so I have a lot more to enjoy.

I'm not exactly sleeping right now, didn't go to bed until 4:30 am Friday night, was up until 2:30 last night, so I am glad to have something to fill my hours. After tomorrow, maybe I can get my brain out of this chasing-its-own-tail cycle of uselessness and do something other than mark time. Because even as nicely as I'm being distracted (oh, and btw, I know what I want for Christmas now people...), this stasis is not what I want to be about right now.

Good Things

2011-11-20T17:39:00.001-06:00

Great, good, simple things:

Croissants, sharp cheddar, and green tea for dinner
The feel of loud, deep bass through car seats
Clean white dogs snoring
The feeling of being clean right after a hot shower
A yard covered in a blanket of gold ginkgo leaves
Knowing that a whole week off waits ahead of me

Things of Nothing

2011-11-19T21:18:00.001-06:00

I've done an astonishing amount of nothing today. Vast quantities of it. Heaping piles of it. It has been a happy blend of dogs, couches, crocheted afghans, and televised costume melodrama.

Crazy, brilliant, blue-eyed, deeply-tormented, and carrying a sword. Yeah. You know that sounds like something I'd like.. O_o

Mostly, I've been immersed in the Roku. I watched most of a series called Borgia and now I'm getting into Camelot. What can I tell you? I'm a sucker for a period drama. ~~Blame it on the pretty people.~~ No, really, though. The guy playing Cesare in the Borgias was sort of...hypnotically gorgeous. You can see him over to the right (or wherever the photo actually appears for you) as he finishes up a season-long bout of soul torturing and sort of says forget it, kills a bunch of people, and has a bit of what I call an "I AM BEOWULF" moment in the middle of the papal audience chamber. He's quite mad and quite lovely. I have to say that like Henry Cavill as Charles Brandon in The Tudors, a great deal of the reason I kept watching was for the pretty smart man with the blue eyes.... Tragically, I am almost always drawn to the monsters and the psychos. Sigh. (Well, Brandon wasn't one. Don't look so grumpy pretty Charles. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.)

Pretty man is puzzled by his own prettiness....

Anyway, I needed the rest and pure facetiousness of today. It's been a real backside-kicker of a week, and I just wanted some distraction. So far, so good, I guess. In the absence of any sort of actual international travel, it's as much escapism as I'm going to get.

My Children

2011-11-18T22:07:00.001-06:00

Today, apropos of nothing, one of my students said, "Ms. _____, you need to have a baby." This alone was almost like someone sliding a piece of redhot wire into me slowly, but I knew there was a logic in that statement somewhere. It was not intended to cause me pain, and there was no way she could know. I dragged up a smile from somewhere, and said, "Umm-hmm. Um. Why?"

"Because you'd make a good mama. Your kid would be interesting. You would make sure they would read and learn stuff. They'd be really smart."

I grinned. (I was dying a little inside. God, how can something be so funny and painful and sweet all at the same time? One soul should not be asked to bend in that many directions at one time. It hurts.)

"I think you're overestimating me..."

"No. I'd want her to, like, be my friend."

"Okay. Fine by me."

"Can I give her a name?"

"Sure."

"I'm going to call her Sarah. She's my imaginary friend. We'd hang out and stuff. We'd be friends."

Stab. Stab. Stab. My heart has so many damn wounds these days, it's almost all scar tissue.

They ask me all the time why I don't have kids, tell me that I need children. God. Soon, I might have that most definitive of all the answers for them for that question, and then what am I going to do with myself? I feel like I'm ready to be balled up and thrown away.....

Didn't I, My Dear

2011-11-17T21:07:00.001-06:00

But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?

~"Little Lion Man" - Mumford & Sons

___________________

I'm afraid that I've hurt some people I care about, and I don't know how to undo it. I think I took something the wrong way yesterday and made a major assumption about something that may not be true at all. I have not been able to be good or kind, sweet or gentle in the past few days. Yesterday was bad. Very. And when I am bad, I make all the devils in hell look like amateurs.....

Regardless of what the original intention of the other person was, what came out of me next should not have. And today was just as bad. I could not put it all aside. I should have. I needed to. I wanted to, badly. I was going to. But then, suddenly, when the moment came, everything inside me somehow froze up, and I couldn't. The smile that was needed to crack the ice wouldn't come. The one gesture that would have made it all good had to be made at the right time, and today, just right now, there is something inside me so bruised and bloody and tired. It could not get up and do the right thing. It simply lay there with hopeless eyes and powerless limbs as the chance to fix the situation died.

And I'm so sorry for it. I'm sure it bothers me much more than it bothers anybody else involved in the situation...

I'm sure tomorrow is another day and all that, but I'm growing afraid of tomorrows. They are not always better. I am not always better. Sometimes, I am so much worse. Sometimes, I don't like who I am at all in my tomorrows....

Four Days Left

2011-11-17T20:18:00.001-06:00

And I want to shut out the whole world. I wish I could fast-forward time just to get it over with. I think I'm losing my mind with the waiting. All I can think about is four days from now, even though I know that it may come to nothing or may only be the start of a longer process. First, physical weakness earlier in the week, and now, the inescapable jackboots of this thing I've been avoiding stomping ever-closer. If you want to know why I'm not writing, you'd do better to ask how I'm still standing at all.

Invocation

2011-11-15T15:08:00.001-06:00

Today, I'd give quite a lot to see you. I've been a little sick, and just now, just this moment with rain spitting from a sullen sky, I'm a little sad. In a perfect world, I'd look up and you'd be there like an antidote to all the badness that slowly creeps through my veins. If I had any magic in me, any power to call forth, I would be tempted to use it. But that's a selfishness, I suppose, an indulgence. I'm sure you're hip-deep in your own battles. Still, I can't help but glance toward the door once in awhile and wish....

I Cannot Brain Today....

2011-11-14T18:49:00.001-06:00

"I cannot brain today...I has the dumb." ~ hashtag seen on Tumblr post
_________________________

This says it all. I have been fighting stupidity and ick all day. It feels like a migraine, but the pain won't come down. I staggered through a day, came home at 4:00, and I'm going to bed. Tomorrow, I'll take another turn on the big merry-go-round, I guess....

Wide-Eyed Blind

2011-11-13T19:52:00.001-06:00

The prelude was fine. I played "In the Garden" fine. I felt a little flutter when the music director wasn't out on time, but that's nothing new, really. He's usually in the back working on one last run through on something, and so I take it around one more time, glance at the little clock I keep on the organ console to see if I need to stretch the piece I'm playing or if I have enough time to shift to a different one. Nothing prepared me for the sheer nightmare that was coming.

It happened during the first congregational hymn which was always going to be tricky anyway since it was one we hadn't done in a long, long time. The music just...went away. The notes were there on the page, but they were practically meaningless, especially those for my right hand. I could only stare in them in panic, reach for bass chords. I felt my face flush, my fair complexion betraying my distress.

"It's just this song," I kept telling myself. "Pull it together. Chord it. Get through, and the next one will be better." I hit the ending notes, sometimes the only ones that matter because if you can at least end on the right notes at least it doesn't sound horrible at the end, and I took a deep breath during the prayer. It had to be better during the next song. I knew that one.

But it wasn't. It really wasn't.

The third, the offertory, was an old favorite, and by that point I was actually shaking. Fortunately, my musical ear and my brain just bypassed my dead eyes at that point and took over. I played it with minimal error, and it sounded like I knew what I was doing. But I can guarantee you whatever I was doing and however it was being done, whatever mechanism was active, ghostly possession by Ms. Sarah, my music teacher who passed away while I was in college; innate rote repetition of that song; divine mercy; whatever, it wasn't sight reading.

I was up for the offertory solo tonight, my pianist friend and I rotating that duty week-to-week. I wanted to laugh, cry, or run away during the prayer beforehand, but I stayed on the bench, set the stops on the organ, slid the music onto the stand, and tried to remember what chords those stupid little blotches represented. I have been playing the piano since I was seven, the organ since I was ten. The piece I was playing was not an elaborate variation. It was an old hymn in the key of C major. It was like I was suddenly made so illiterate that I could not read a child's storybook. I honestly had a moment where I thought I would not be able to play it at all, and then that automatic something went click and my hands moved for me and music came out...more or less.

After the sermon came the invitational, a song I've played probably a million times. It went better, but I could feel the first twinges of a migraine beginning. It's still rumbling like distant thunder on the horizon. I am trying to get all my work done so if it does come down like I think it is planning to, I can take a phenergan and make myself unconscious.

This....this scares me. When it does things like this to me, I don't know if it is the Topamax, the migraines, or something else. Why am I like this? It doesn't make any sense. And why does it take the music? It takes my spoken words, too, sometimes, but as I look at this page, I can read every single line. Will it one day take this from me, too? It's a terrible thing to be afraid of your own mind. I wish I understood what was happening to me better. It makes me feel like I'm trapped in a room with Boo Radley. I never know from day to day if he's going to save me or stab me in the leg with that damn pair of scissors.

"To Darkness"

2011-11-13T15:20:00.001-06:00

"To Darkness / Kripa"

Take my eye

and my wholeheart

in yourhands

and boardthe yacht

as itdeparts

leave me onthe shore

but I willhunt no more

Hold my sinabove my head

and take mehome instead

take me home instead

I will notspeak of your sin

there is away out for him

the mirrorshows that

your valuesare ocean

The door, myheart was floored

I knew myweakness, oh hold,

my hand cansign me not to darkness

You know, myheart was floored

I knew myweakness, oh hold,

my hand cansign me not to darkness

~ Mumford and Sons, on Mumford & Sons, Laura Marling, and the Dharohar Project

_________________________________

So I was cruising through Amazon this morning, and this album came up in my recommendations. I was intrigued by the fact that it was a blend of Indian music (which makes me happy) and Mumford & Sons (which I like because of the lyrics). There are only four songs in this collaboration, and I instantly loved two of them, "To Darkness" and "Mehendi Rachi." The latter has lyrics like "Perhaps I'll be a bird one day/ if I'm good enough," which you know speaks right to my feathered soul. It's great.

This one, though, I am almost positive that this one is sneaking Faustus in. It feels Fausty. It may well be that I have just finished teaching the play and watching the downfall and everything feels Fausty right now, but somebody else take a look at this and tell me if the allusion works for you, too. I know M&S do the whole literary thing, and I think there's a mirror that's important in the Gounod opera (or perhaps even in the Goethe version) of the story.

(I've searched everywhere to make sure I've got the right lyrics here. There are several alternate versions of them floating about. Some of them are clearly wrong. There are still a couple of words here I'm not quite sure about.... The words "can sign" could just as easily be "consign" ...)

Or maybe I'm just seeing Mephistopheles in every corner now.... That's probably not good, is it? I'm going to be super-thrilled if I've found this gem tucked into a corner, though.

Pride Blind

2011-11-13T08:41:00.001-06:00

"Few people can see genius in someone who has offended them." ~ Robertson Davies

True enough, I guess. This directly relates to a conversation I had with someone the other day. Maybe he needs this quote.

40

2011-11-13T07:22:00.001-06:00

(No. Not me. Not yet.... That particular milestone is still a few years down the road.)

This week Led Zeppelin's IV turned 40. I guess I heard a clip on the radio about it when I was on my morning ~~high speed interstate rally~~ drive to work. I don't know why it hit me like it did. I mean I did know the album is older than I am, right? Even when I was in high school and everyone was dividing into the two or three musical camps all teenagers seem to wind up in as they are exploring their musical tastes, those of us who leaned toward stuff with the guitars did know that Zep was older. It is just weird somehow to hear a number put on it, I guess, because to me this is music that should exist without them.

Some music dates achingly fast. It's the stuff that the DJ pulls out at a high school reunion, some of it novelty songs from the your school years, some of it just not very good. You laugh with your friends over it like the old snapshots of you and your friends in bad hairdos or ridiculous clothing trends, and you sort of shudder and think, "My GOD. What were they thinking when they came up with that crap?" Other music never, ever sounds like it belongs to any particular age. It is always good, always fresh. It is an archetype. It sets the pattern, is the mold that everything else tries to follow. It's like an empire-waist gown, I suppose, always in fashion. (And you can tell my mind is rambly this morning because I suspect I've just compared Led Zeppelin to an empire-waist gown... HA! I will leave that there, too, because it makes me laugh....)

This entire album is special to me for another reason as well. This music is my dad's music. So much of my taste in music is his. His album collection would make a classic rock vinyl collector tremble. He's the reason I listen to the Stones, the Beatles, Zep, CCR, and so many others. Riding around with him in his truck to basketball practices, to visit my relatives, or whathaveyou, he'd tell me about this group or that one. There were always stories related to his life that went with them or that started because of them, and so I grew to love the music we were listening to. He would give me his old cassette tapes of them or I would buy them myself. That's how it started.

All these years later, I am still in the process of replacing all my old analog copies with digital ones. "Stairway to Heaven," the most heavily-publicized song on IV (although probably not my favorite song on the album) is rolling through my iTunes right now. I guess as formats change that is going to be a lifelong process of keeping a current library of my favorites. I have to say, though, when I consider how much more than just mere music this is, it's worth it.

Art

2011-11-12T22:27:00.001-06:00

The White Orchard

I am a bit too distracted tonight to read. My mind just won't focus enough to allow me to buckle down for serious homework or grading. I am bored with TV and movies. I am restless, restless, longing to be elsewhere or doing something meaningful or frivolous with somebody who matters. Maybe it's the moon hiding up there behind that layer of clouds....

In my random search for something to do that would not involve getting in my car and roaming the night-dark countryside aimlessly or spending cash I don't have, I glanced over the icons on my Chrome dash. No. Not Twitter. Not up to paring my thoughts down to 140 tonight. Also don't want to sort through the clutter of the streaming feeds which are bound to be full of the stupidity and depressing non-choice of politics. Not a mind-killing game like Angry Birds, either.

What to do? The trip out to the car and the unrolling dirt roads and dodging of poaching rednecks is starting to sound better and better....

Then I saw the unassuming icon for the Google Art Project. Yes. This. I clicked it, and I was taken to an image of a painting from the National Gallery in London called The Ambassadors. It was from the time of Henry VIII and was by Holbein. I looked at it, pulled up its history, read about it, and moved on to other works that gallery had put online. I could feel that thing that howls inside me demanding that I take it out of here, show it something other, let it out to dance and learn and frolic start to grumble less and pay attention more.

I moved from gallery to gallery, ending up as I have before in the Van Gogh Museum. The image above is one of my favorites they have of his. There is something about these trees that makes me think of Their Eyes Were Watching God and springtime and lying under the cherry blossoms in Japan on a day when it is still just a little too cool to be outside but everything is so full of glory that your heart wants to explode with it.

Soon, I guess I'll try to go to bed. I don't sleep well on moon-sodden nights; I never have and I have no idea why. Maybe there's something inside me that needs to be out dancing in it (ha). For a little while, anyway, I have managed to make the unquiet thing peaceful by feeding it art. No small accomplishment.

(if you are running Chrome, I highly recommend the Art Project app. if you are not running Chrome....why the heck not?)

Foiled Again

2011-11-12T12:51:00.001-06:00

I'm too poor right now actually to go anywhere, so despite having gotten up with Gypsy Feet itching, I am having an at-home day. It's just as well, probably. Last week was rough.

Thank God for the internet. I've played on Tumblr for an extended period, something I haven't done much of lately. I love all the things I find there. There are a couple of amazing teachers on Tumblr, and they are constantly showing me new and amusing education things. In fact, I found out about TGC on Tumblr. There are also so many other interesting odds and ends tailored to my interests, book geekery, music, and so on. I can get lost there for happy hours.

I'm now watching the last part of the miniseries Tin Man on the Roku. If you haven't seen Tin Man and you like the Wizard of Oz (either the whole shiny Hollywood epic or the original book), I highly recommend this SyFy (or however they're spelling it these days) retell. It's dark and they've steampunked it up just a bit, but I like what they've added to they original storyline. The actors are some of my favorites (Alan Cummings is always grand), and I think you won't be disappointed.

Books, music, Etsy...I need to go to Wal-Mart, but I probably won't...laundry, a little light decrapifying of the house, homework...this is what I see my afternoon becoming. It's not a grand adventure with the camera, but at least it's peaceful life.

Puppy Life

2011-11-12T08:49:00.001-06:00

This picture is old, but I love it. He's LOTS bigger now.

Chewie, my Great Pyrenees puppy, is a challenge. I love him, but some days I sort of want to drop-kick him. That sort of challenge. Case in point: I just had to stop writing to yell, "What the hell have you got," run over and take something plastic/electronic and inappropriate away from him. He's now barking at one of the cats again, a habit I'm breaking him of with the use of an aluminum pie pan. (Just. Don't. Ask.)

This is Puppy Life. It's been so long since I've had a puppy or even a young dog around that I have forgotten what it's like. It's a constant circus of clean up, run around, take away, hide, and throw out because it's destroyed. Even more so than with a normal puppy with him because he's so freaking SMART. It's not like he's a dumb animal; he's a terribly, terribly clever one. If he sees something he wants, you can't even hide it from him. He watches, notes where you put it, and then goes and gets it for himself later when you're out of the picture with a song in his heart and a cheerful, toothy little grin on his snow-white face.

There's also the fact that he is physically large. He's only about five months old right now, and he's already about thirty pounds. He's almost as tall as my pit bull. He's on his way to being three feet tall and one hundred pounds when he hits maturity. He's built like a football player, all shoulders and chest, lean muscle. His favorite tactic is to walk up to things and smack them with his giant feet, objects, doors, other dogs, my cats (who loathe him), me... He thinks this game is AWESOME. The things he paw-punches, usually not so much. Even Roux, my pit, sort of looks at him with a thinning patience sometimes, and she's the queen of Rock and Roll playing.

It's good that she's here, though, because the two of them do throw each other on the floor with such violence that stuff rattles on the shelves. There's a neverending stream of snarling nonsense when they get going. The cats sit on the backs of chairs and couches and watch, and I keep thinking that for them, this must be some form of modern day feline gladiatorial game. I am almost certain they're silently saying, "One of you just KILL, KILL, KILL." They always look disappointed when there's no bloodshed....

Chewie can be exceptionally sweet, though. He follows me from room to room. I can't decide whether he is herding me or protecting me, but I'll take it either way. His breed is known for its guarding traits, and where I live and since I live alone, that's kind of nice. Even when we're outside and all the other dogs have abandoned me, Chewie stays. I'm hoping with continued instruction, his intelligence and sweetness will be the things that outlive this puppy phase. I do not think I can handle one hundred pounds of frothing white insanity knocking me down every morning and then grinning at the resultant chaos, and I'm almost sure that the feline ninja association will take matters into their hands to prevent that as well.

Music Is a Moral Law

2011-11-11T06:25:00.001-06:00

“Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything.”
~ Plato

_______________
This rolled through my Tumblr this morning, and I'm taking just a second to post it before I go to school because it's fantastic. Music is the thing that keeps me moving most days. Whether I am playing it or listening to it, it is the clockwork keeping the machine going. When I feel terrible, it either helps me work through it or lifts me out of it. When I am rejoicing, it celebrates with me. When I grieve, it pulls the sorrow out of me. I have seen many other quotes about music, and I have some other good ones tucked back, but this one is seems to wrap it all up so well.

Holding On

2011-11-10T12:48:00.001-06:00

Less than four hours of sleep, and I'm clinging to functionality by sheer stubbornness. I'm shaking like a leaf inside. I feel like there's an electric current running under my skin. It's horrible. If everybody wouldn't think I was a basketcase (which, basically, I guess I am, but in my foolish pride I don't want them to think it), I would sit in the floor and cry. My heart feels like it is about to pound right out of my chest, and I'm so cold, like I won't ever be warm again.

This is the side of Topamax that they don't tell you about when you go in to take it for the first time: it's a demanding taskmaster. If you don't manage the dose and your sleep schedule exactly right, it will beat you into a whimpering and useless mass. I knew today would be like this when I looked at the clock last night and it was past 12:30 when I was going to bed. I should have called in for a sub today. The only way I've been able to manage is to stay constantly moving. This and the fact that the students are taking tests, meaning that I don't have to be mentally on top of my game, are the only things that are letting me get through. If I can just get to the end of the day... If... If...

I am sure this period in my life is serving a purpose other than just pointless misery. I just wish I knew what the hell it is.

And It Just Doesn't WORK

2011-11-10T00:18:00.001-06:00

I'm trying for about the eleventh time to get a video converted from wmv to mp4 so I can (perhaps) upload it to the finicky BlackBoard system. I hate this. HATE THIS. Nobody told me there was a size limit for uploads on BlackBoard. I'm sure this was supposed to be a part of "learning by experience" ho-ho-ho. Instead, what it is doing is PISSING ME OFF. The video will not convert (I'm using VLC, and it is, for the first time ever, failing me.) The only version I've been able to extract is choppy video with no sound. If I try to get better quality than that, it pretends to make it but doesn't. I'm exhausted and I need to sleep, but I have to turn this assignment in. I was so pleased with the video I'd made. Now I just want to throw the laptop across the room because I can't turn it in. I'm borderline migraine. I do not need this from something that is not even a job.

Sharp Edges

2011-11-08T21:22:00.000-06:00

A list. I'm tired and this is what you get when I'm tired. I'd like the following, please:

People to be nice or get the hell out. I'm tired of hate and hatefulness. It seems like that's all I hear from every mouth right now....cut downs, mockery, verbal abuse, spite, outright malice, fake smiles that try to hide daggers and fail miserably, actual rejoicing in the pain of others, indifference, intolerance, jokes that carry a coating of crushed glass on them looking for the tender belly to slice. Doesn't anyone care about the other person at all? Isn't there any recognition that that being across from you has feelings any more? I feel a little sick, a little nauseous, a little bruised. Look around you, for the love of God. See what your actions cause. Everything matters. Everything. There are no throwaway moments.
Thought instead of blind obedience. Doesn't anybody think anymore? I'm so disappointed.
Clarity, the path made visible. Actually, I'd like the path lit up like an airport runway and a brass band playing at the end. I'd like a guy standing at the door with a sign with my name on it saying, "Ma'am? Right this way." I'd like flashing neon and air-raid sirens. I would like there to be no other turning possible.

I'm sure there is more I have to say, but sleep is slamming an iron fist against the door, and I am going to have to comply. I'm exhausted.

Something Simple

2011-11-07T21:20:00.001-06:00

I was walking the dogs tonight when I got home since Roux is still quite sick and cannot be let out to run free. The weather was cool but not cold, and the sky was the most gorgeous shade of cobalt as the last of the day faded. The almost-full moon was already up and the first few stars were out, just enough of a handful to wish on. A single gauzy ribbon of cloud threaded all the way across the sky. Around my yard, the little glass orbs of my solar lights were glowing softly like earth-bound baby moons echoing the larger satellite above. It was lovely, really lovely. Even though I was tired from the day and ready to be in and off my feet, it was a good place to be. Something simple, something good. These pockets of beauty that hide quite literally in the back yard are something for which I never cease to be grateful.