Traveller 1

I am amidst a hundred different feelings and I think my sanity will emerge once I know how the night is going to go.  Are we going to trivia?  Am I going to do the laundry, I had ought do?  Am I going to futz with my poor ukulele who doesn’t deserve my cruel, but sincere ministrations?


The night has progressed and mainly I know I’m tired.

It smells like a gross combination of weed and beer and skunk outside.

I am considering not washing the blue out of my hair for tomorrow.   My boss will be flying overhead when I turn up to my desk and while people will comment, at the moment I don’t give shit one about comments.   It’ll probably be too faded by then to see, anyway.  The smallest doses of revolution and anarchy are warranted right now and I’ll take my two-week sip before trying my best to re-lace the corset.

Here’s the thing I think I know today.  I’m a creature of joy.  Sometimes a rather gluttonous, self-involved creature, but I genuinely believe our purpose as humans is to feel.  As an empath, sometimes that overtakes me a bit, but when I lock myself down to that ebb and flow, it’s like giving up food and just intaking pre-processed nutrients through a tube in your belly.  You can live that way, you can survive on that, but oh, how can that be considered a choice for a healthy person with working teeth and a palate?   Let’s not paint all the walls white, please.

So, we sucked terribly at trivia.  A, in her infinite wisdom or whatever, decided not to go which was, ultimately the best decision.   Sitting there, trying to recall eight vice presidents behind Dick Cheney, my resolve to be there started to waver.  My younger sister had a headache and we left early as our possibilities for victory were mathematically insignificant.   And I’ve paid my cell phone bill and am getting my tickets to fly to Nashville and back in August.  Or at least half of them, so that I can double, double check that my ride will be able to get me when I’ve set myself up to arrive.  A bit important, though I think I’ll have a little bit more downtime, alone time, exploration time on this trip.  I don’t know how the timing will all work and if the internet friendships and acquaintanceships will transmute well into real life friendships, etc, but I’m relatively unconcerned.    It’s hilarious to me that driving three miles on major roadways gets me absolutely shaken, but throw me thirty-thousand feet into the air and shoot me hundreds of miles from home and it’s an adventure! It’s a magical journey that cannot be bound by the simple anxieties of the likes of me.  I really love that about myself.

The soundtrack that ITunes is giving me as I type this is making me rather logey.

I did also want to say thank you to the new followers, before I close this window and forget, bless your souls for wanting to put up with this madness.


Man of Action

So, first things first, dear readers, dear kind, like-clicking readers, you should ask me a question.

I have been so long in writing this blog – seriously, it’s two years and some months of writing it every single blasted day – that sometimes I lose my sense of it.   I have said before and it still holds that I don’t write it for an audience, but sometimes in your life you hear the echoes, the very pins dropping, and you wonder about your presence or impact.  I think from time to time that perhaps I’ve lost perspective and then, moments later, I feel like I understand the frame of everything.   The reality, per usual, falls right about down the center.

So ask me a question or tell me your name.   Let’s go, let’s go!

Music: Man of Action, Matthew Good Band

Today, I peeled myself out of my little bed and did the necessary preparations and brought myself to work on this blessed Saturday.  The weather, I am happy to note, I noted.   Glorious, bright sunshine filtered through deep, kelly green leaves.  The chlorophyll in full bloom.  Cottonwood flittering about like we were caught in the pleasantest of snow globes.  I can say this because I don’t have terrible allergies.   I got 99% of what I needed to do at work done and then I drove about trying to buy the things my boss asked me to buy before the festival project tomorrow and of course, store one, had unfeasibly costly USB drives (please don’t arrive here having searched for USB drives and be mad at me, it actually was what I was looking for, creepy random search term arrivals) and no little squeeze bottles for moistening the adhesive on envelopes so I felt a bit defeated having driven out of my typical driving realm to check it out.   Empty-handed, I went to my parents’ house – where they have a working stove and oven which is another story (yo, A, we should get our stove fixed)  and had a very low-carb lunch with asparagus and chicken once again.  And watched Law and Order: Criminal Intent [a Mike Logan episode, luckily enough] and an episode of Gilmore Girls which was just enough regular tv to sate me.  But I still needed to get the USB drives and the moisteners.  Ahem.   So I figured, grown-up girl that I am, despite the fear of panic attacks that my anxiety always produces, that I should try and drive to the Target that is ridiculously close to my house.   And huzzah, USB drives purchased, but another goose egg on envelope moisteners.   Kind of proud of being mildly human.  Trying to do mildly adult things spontaneously.  Wash the dishes, maybe?  Also got a pedometer.  Maybe I’ll even exercise.

So I’ve returned home to you.  Not sure what the rest of the night will bring, but I am going to try not to spend it all staring at this screen or waiting for your call.  And not, certainly, on fuckin Tumblr.

Dinah, blow that horn!

Betty Jean and the Moral Panic

If I had a band, that would totally be the name of it.  A Grand Canyon of a void of musical talent notwithstanding, I’m pretty sure we’d cut a striking image on the minds of middle America with our lyrics about Communism and wayward girls wearing skirts above the knee going crazy in front of the student union with boys who knew better but were forced by these rebel females at gunpoint to strip and Twist for their very lives.

You could easily get an album out of that.  Not a great album.  But definitely an EP.

Sometimes, when you’re sort of faintly dissociative, you just sort of watch yourself spin out into weirdly mild and inoffensive, but still bad behaviour.  Sometimes you find this clever, sometimes you find this frightening, sometimes, mostly, you find it a very strange little show.  I’m glad that I’m home now and I haven’t done anything too wrong as of yet.   I’ve decided that I can start low carb which basically means I can go grocery shopping tomorrow and leave tonight to the last scratch of the seemingly unending itch.   Yes.  12:00pm tomorrow, I will have willpower.  Wouldn’t you think I was awesome if that were true?  I certainly would.

Intermittent rain kept me away from an unexpected bluegrass concert I sort of wanted to see.  I’m ill-prepared to begin with…no chair, no food, nobody to go with.  But it was really the rain, torrential and decisive all on its own, that kept me away.  It’s pouring again right now, savage and verging on hail, and even as it rages fading into softer drops and rising into winds and birdseed in a drum head.  Like someone is throwing the rain at the skylight in a fit of pique.  It’s the second night of this monsoon weather we haven’t had here for years and you can’t help but be sort of terrified by it.

Oh, wow.  Wow.  Yikes.

Reporting this hail in real time for you, folks.  This is a scary son of a bitch.  It sort of feels like an unexpected end times, one that might crop up just when you were heading to graduation or some other moment where you felt secure and proud of yourself and whoops, we’re just going to turn out the lights and take you out, too, pellet by pellet.

Ah, but now it’s just an exhaustive rain, a fire sale rain where everything must go, and all gutters must flood and the earth, our ever-loving earth, must take what is offered and what it cannot take must go to the sea and into the air so that we can never really be surprised when one friend decides to shift their great burdens onto another.

Feels like so much of my life is hailstorms and then the fading rain and then the sunlit sky.  I rage, I swell, I recede.   Manic-depressive, only, I guess, still functional.  Makes you sort of wish you could either get better or get worse just to not always be waiting for the shift.  Really, it’s just the raain