Life as Game

I've been reading Reality Is Broken. For gamers this book is pretty rockin' but it is also pretty cool for those of us not immersed in the game culture. What I like about it is this idea of structuring reality in a way that intentionally sets goals and challenges in achievable ways. It's designed for social play and it makes doing hard work fun. Those are the selling points of all game play. Do hard work that you can see results in and enjoy it. So I decided to try and take a cue from them and build my life into a game. It isn't a great one, mostly because I'm the only one playing and don't have anyone else to play along with or compare points to, the social and community element is missing, but i'm still hoping it will encourage me to reach for regular goals.

Here's how I broke my life up, some of my regular goals, some things I normal accomplish with varied success and somethings I imagine mostly impossible. Hopefully as I go I can make adjustments while I learn. I'm also aiming to want to beat each weeks points the longer I play. I'm hoping that it will be a better way to live. If nothing else it's helped me visualize my goals and attach a difficulty level to each. So it was worth it, regardless of how it turns out.

Life of Game

Object: To live a more social, successful, structured, goal oriented life, thereby achieving happiness.

Rules: Points are gained in four main categories: FINANCIAL, SOCIAL, DOMESTIC, AND CREATIVE. These are scored based on difficulty level. Points can be removed on grounds of CONSISTANT NEGATIVE ATTITUDES, POOR PHYSICAL CARE, and ANTISOCIAL BEHAVOIR.

Gaining Points:

FINANCIAL:

Pay all bills for the week on time +1

Pay all bills for the month on time +1

Have no debit card rejections +1

Set up direct deposit +2

Set up an appointment for budget meeting +2

Set up all major bills to automatically withdraw from primary account +2

Set aside money for new car weekly +3

Set aside money for student loans weekly +3

Live according to budget weekly +3

Live under budget +4

Tithe to a local church or nonprofit +4

Make payments on new car +4

Make payments on student loans +4

Save for future +4

Cut coupons +1

Shop at Savealot, dollar store, Aldis +1

Find a cultural or social event that’s free +2

Find a cultural or social event under $10 +1

Save and return pop cans +1

SOCIAL:

Call a parent once a week +1

Call a friend once a week (to ask about them) +1

Set aside time to just listen to someone +1

Invite someone out to eat or to a cultural event +1

Make some laugh +1

Compliment someone +1

Talk to a stranger +2

Invite someone to my house +2

Cook for someone +2

Help someone with a project, work, or task +2

Participate in something someone invites me to +2

Research volunteering +2

Talk to a guy for a full conversation +3

Host a dinner party, game night, book club +3

Go out alone and meet a new person +3

Set up meetings to volunteer +3

Dance with a stranger +3

Give a guy my phone number +4

Invite a stranger to do something else with me +4

Volunteer +4

Go on a date +4

Commit to a month or more of regular service to something

DOMESTIC

Dishes +1

Clean Bathroom +1

Vacuum +1

Water plants +1

Dust +2

Clean, fold, laundry +2

Stocked fridge, freezer, pantry +2

Clean bedroom +2

Organize one “trouble spot” +2

Clean car +2

Cook a new dish +3

Work on sewing, knitting, or something decorative that improves the home +3

Finding a refurnishing items for my apartment +4

Creating a “happier” environment +4

Building long term home supplies +4

CREATIVITY:

Thumb nail sketching +1

Journaling +1

Taking pictures +1

Designing outfits to sew +1

Meal plans +1

Reading +1

Posting on life asylum +2

Full page sketches to be developed +2

Viewing, commenting on, interacting with others arts/art community +2

Researching painting styles, publishers, or art events +2

Attending art events +2

Writing full length short stories, plays, essays +2

Cooking new dishes +2

Sending my art to others +3

Participating in writing groups +3

Completing full canvas paintings +3

Learning new mediums +3

Working with Photoshop +3

Creating a themed dinner party for guests +3

Submitting my writing to a publisher +4

Entering a painting in a competition or for viewing +4

Auditioning for a part +4

Completing related group of paintings over several canvas’ +4

Losing Points:

CONSISTANT NEGATIVE EMOTIONS/ANTISOCIAL BEHAVOIR:

Allowing myself to dwell on past and/or future -1

Dwelling on jealousy -1

Self pity -1

Unkind words to others -2

Time spent in fantasy worlds -2

Unkind thoughts to/remarks about others -2

Excess time on social networking feeds -2

Outbursts of anger -3

Shouting at others -3

Intentional malice and harm -3

Choosing not to use tools such as meditation, positive thinking, and the resources of others to let go of poor attitudes -3

Violence -4

Lies -4

Destruction of property -4

Threats -4

Gossiping -4

POOR PERSONAL CARE:

Heavy caffeine use -1

Poor nutrition -1

Poor sleeping habits -1

Avoiding physical activity -1

Extensive time alone -2

Regular drinking -2

Excessive tv or films -2

Drunkenness -3

Smoking -3

Feelin' Tonight

I don't want their stories. My love story isn't theirs, my career isn't theirs, my path isn't theirs. I don't want their stories, I just want mine to move.

Serenity

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

Officially I am not an addict. This is because I have cleverly avoided the things that people notice others being addicted to, such as booze, smokes, drugs, video games, sex, rpg, online forums, gambling, etc. Not that I've never done "x" from said list, just that I am very careful with those types of things. I'm careful because I am in fact an addict.

Obsessive.

And I've been trying to let go of my white whales. Because I've really been coming to terms with the dangers of whaling. Did you realize they get in these tiny little row boats with pointy sticks and chase something so large that even when it's dead it nearly flips the ship over when tied to it? Stupid.

So, trying to live in the moment, God give me serenity to let go. And in failing to give me serenity, pry my hands off these lifeless corps' of whales so I don't sink the whole ship. Let's live in the now.

Cocktails and Broken Hearts- Jack Vettriano

December

I missed November. I have been posting once a month (if that) for ages. I am a blogging slacker. I'm also in a goal setting mood tonight. So I am going to try to write more often.

Review Wicked:

Last night I went with a coworker to see Wicked. It's an off Broadway musical being performed in the Miller Auditorium from December 1-12. We took a gamble and made the drive without tickets assuming that half way through the run time, on a Wednesday night, the crowd would be light. We were wrong.

The show opened at just a little after 7:30. Having read the first two books in the Wicked trilogy and heard many of the songs from the soundtrack a few years prior I was familiar with the story. Within the first song, I was impressed with the content expressed both in song and the dance. The set was unbelievable. Even from the grand tier, where we were seated, the richness of everything sparkled through.

The two songs which made the greatest impression on me were the songs "Popular," done my Galinda and "Wonderful," performed by the Wizard. Both songs dealt with the topic of image and how a person can create an image for themselves as well as how public opinion can create a person. They were humorous, often causing a roar of laughter to catch through the crowd. The cast felt as though they enjoyed themselves and the audience was thrilled to be let in on all the fun of learning how to toss their hair. "Toss, toss, heeheeeheee."

The show is a treasure both visually and in content. If you have the chance, take a whirl of an adventure and try to get tickets for yourself.

How To Be Alone

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7X7sZzSXYs

Kiss Me There

The first challenge is the desert. Narcissism, vanity, show, pride, oblivion, self interest, selfishness, unseeing and uninterested eyes. Overcome the vast miles of nothingness that dismisses him as he travels them. He must be willing to look through empty sands that say, “We care nothing for you, if you come or if you stay at home. This place was not built for you, this place was built for me and me alone. Your comfort and ease is not a consideration, the challenge was not placed here for you to endure. This space will go one being what it is as though you never were.” First he must travel through and believe there is something. I want him to kiss me there.

Once the deserts have ended there are the gates. Walls of fire, rage, hostility, violence, and death. Here he must past through, fight, bloody himself in my furry, here he must show strength, tenacity, endurance, and power. I will breathe fire, from my heart spears will pierce him ever time he reaches for me, my fingers will pull the trigger time and time again. He is my enemy, a danger to the perimeter of my world, a threat to all that is me. At the gates he must hold his ground and in my fierce rage I want him to kiss me there.

Beyond the gates lie a garden. Always spring, everything is fresh, fragile, and new. My insecurities dash about like rabbits, my fears, anxieties, and hopes tremble at the rawness and vulnerability. In this place he must watch his boots very closely, each leaf, every blade of grass must be handle with care, dedication, and utmost devotion or all will die. Even in his weary, wounded state not a single drop of blood may spill on the soil here. The innocence is to be preserved. In my gardens of inexperience, I want him to kiss me there.

Coming in from the garden he will wait in the library. Each wall filled, ceiling to floor, rows and aisle of books. The texts are filled with stories from my life, memories, histories, legends, and myths. There lie the building blocks, each text book I’ve studied, theory I’ve pondered, scene I’ve seen acted out scrawled on the pages. Handwritten, typed, penciled, bookmarked, the files are listed of my family history, dating back through my genetic make up centuries ago. Every scrap of paper I’ve scribbled on, the nonsense, the profound, the childish, the games, the reminders, the shame, and the pride. Every moment of education, culture, and understanding. He must know them all. Every line. He must contend with them, trade them for his, deposit his wealth of books and know how they merge to form one beautiful body of works. In every text, line, and word I want him to kiss me there.

With this new found knowledge perhaps he will want to step outside. Open the backdoor and there is a spinning colliding mass of space. Darkness and light spiraling wildly about. Here is God. My personal God. He must open the door and meet the chaos and logic of my God. As he steps out back to breath deep he must gather the complete and total size and complexity as well as the simplicity and beauty of my God. The breath of relaxation should become a gasp of awe. In that moment he must understand all of my faith, fears, and struggles with this deity. The massive mess and lengthy saga that has spread its way through my life, swallowing my being whole just as the back yard threatens to swallow the entire castle. He must understand, he must fail to understand, he must be inspired and dreading and worshiping and fleeing and he must bring his very own saga into that moment. To this God he brings the deserts from which he entered, the fires at the gates, the tenderness of the garden, and the knowledge of the library, as his very own. In this moment he asks for help. At the feet of God I want him to kiss me there.

When he gently shuts the door behind him he should walk into the living room. Here we will sit, recline, and be still on the sofa. The doors will close, silence will trap us, lock us in, being to suffocate me. No words will be spoken and time will pass slowly. Shrieks, sobs, and anguish will emanate from me while I battle my own demons in this stillness. Terrors will pass my face and body from places no knowledge or understanding can reach. Nothing will bring him into these battles, these silent horrifying battles of the soul. In these moments he will battle his own helplessness, a sense of futility, the pain of watching a loved one suffer while immobilized. His mettle will be tested in staying, remaining immobile, not lashing out while the doors stay locked. Instead he will hold a struggling body, pray for the ravaged mind, encourage in everyway possible and at the end he will not bare the grudge of having seen such a time. In those moments of darkness, I want him to kiss me there.

When the locks fall off and the clouds roll on their way I will pull him into the kitchen. Here the mood will lighten. The music fills the space, dancing and spinning, I cook and serve and play. Dish after dish of the best foods are served, his favorites, meals he’s only dreamed of, each with an outpouring of show. Smiling and laughing there is a parade that I perform, each mask and it’s purpose explained, each one removed. Gems and glitter, lights and noise, chaos and beauty, dancing about him. Drinks, food, merriment. I bring the carnival to his feet, my joy to serve him, to love him, to create magic in front of his very eyes. Here we share the heights of friendships play, the magic of children, the belief in Neverland. In the rollick of good times, I want him to kiss me there.

After all of this, after he has crossed my deserts, walked through my flames, approached my fears, read my stories, met my God, held me in the darkness, and ate at my table, then I will take him into my bedroom. He knows me completely, has kissed my every scar, has loved my every face, has stayed through every kind of trial and joy. He knows me and loves me. In my bedroom, I want to kiss him there.

Umbrellas and Blues

$14.99. That's what my last umbrella cost me. Back in the spring of 2007 I was away from home on average 16 hours at a time. Life like that means the bag on your back is your bedroom, closet, and kitchen and the umbrella you carry is the roof over your head.

My roof was a wooden handled, three foot long, black beauty. With a steel tipped point it doubled as a walking cane and twirling rod when the skies cleared. Classic beauty and perfect pragmatism, I had style and elegance in hand to counter balance the soaking wet second hand sneakers and mud splattered bluejeans.

Umbrellas are my dreams lately. Even while awake the image of that open umbrella resting on the floor... are these the storms? That temporal roof is a comfort in a transitory world. I'm not trying to convey some big message, there are just images I can't shake and my black umbrella has been following me around in my head for the last week. I'm not Mary Poppins, I don't sing in the rain, I'm not found by the gentleman waiting to save the wet damsel, so why is my umbrella stalking my brain?

In other news, Cindi Lauper has a blues album called the Memphis Blues. I know, right? That's what I said too. Anyways, I heard it on the B&N playlist, reviews will follow once I get comfortable with the album.

Steel Compartments

The elevator was a normal standard kind of of transportation. In all of the regularly ways it was completely impersonal to try and limit the need for the persons it transported to be any more personal with each other. An elevator stresses the need for the anonymous. Easy listening jazz music playing just above the roar of silence, keeping wagging tongues and nosy neighbors for jabbering on during the brief interlude between the floors; non committal colors on the floor, tans, browns, beige, mauve, not ugly, not interesting either; steel walls, steel ceiling, steel lined hearts. Welcome to your ride.

We piled in at the bottom. Just an ordinary elevator, in an ordinary city, somewhere in the northwest. Faces you'd never recognize when you got out. Mine included. Going nowhere, just up, all of us just going. There were nine of us in the small moving room. Crowded, but unwilling to acknowledge each others presence. Taking cues from our world, our lives, our culture, we were as nondescript as our portable closet. Until the accident.

Somewhere around the fifth ding, indicating another floor, everything went to pieces. For twenty, maybe thirty seconds there was nothing at all. In that time I am at a loss, I know that's the climax, the moment they'll all want to record when they tell the story, but those are the moments I've lost.

What I do remember is finding my way out of the shock. In the mist, in the grey filth suddenly we weren't so irrelevant to each other. There was debris everywhere, blood, dust, tiny broken pieces of things I didn't even realize were in the elevator. Looking around, seeing before I began to hear, I noticed how much stuff there was. Stuff is the best word I can find. Plastic pieces, shards of glass, buttons from clothing, electrical wires, all the little things you forget about. Then I began to hear, screams of anguish from those silent mannequins who had boarded moments before. No longer we were individuals ignoring each other for all the polite and social reasons, we now felt each others every emotional and physical pain. We came together some time in those few moments I lost. With the dust unsettled still these were my brothers and sisters.

We tried to heal each other, save each other, comfort each other. Together we reached through our broken surroundings trying to communicate with the outside world. What had happened? There were no answers. Only chaos. It wasn't an elevator of nine, it was a train of 500, maybe it was the whole world. Our steel lined hearts had been shattered.

A soft comfort

This week I'm sick and tired. As per status quo relationships are hard and confusing, work is stressful and unending, the days are too long, the nights are too short, and comfort is hard to come by. But there has been a constant comfort in my life that I would like to tell you about tonight.

Most everyone has something from their childhood that they've always loved. A blanket, a stuffed thing, tattered and in ribbons by the time they've struggled into their high school years. Often families encourage discarding or storing such familiar sources of comfort as a sign of growing up. My family however did not. They encouraged me to hold on to my bear Duncan. In a scary and unfamiliar world built on unending chaos my family understood that there must be a source of constant comfort. Tonight I want to tell you about the little bear who warms my heart.

I'm sure that Duncan used to look different. In fact my grandma and mother will sometimes point at the kind of fluffy teddy that Duncan used to resemble. However, he is actually one six full months older than me, an early Christmas present given to my mother the Christmas before my birth. He spent six months with me prior to birth and nearly every night since. For a 26 year old teddy bear, he's holding up just fine.

He's average sized. In hight hes maybe a foot, foot and a half. He used to be plump, however I like to sleep on top of him, literally, all my weight crushing down on the poor little guy, now he's more of a flat than fat. When I was young they used to make bears without any thing sewn on. His eyes are marked by a darker fur around the nose, which is indicated by a slightly less flat part pushing out of his face, also marked at the end in black. Although his black nose has been colored over and worn down from years of kisses. His ears are also mostly black as well as the palm and soles of his feet. Everything else is tan. It's more of a light brown when he's clean but lets be honest, teddy bears are not washed weekly.

I love the way he smells. Like laundry soap, like bar soap, like clean sheets, like me, like my house, like all the places I've ever called home. He smells like safety when I'm away, like the salt of my tears, like years of secrets, like a fellow solider. He is my prince charming, my king, my make believe hero and my real life companion.

Maybe I should have out grown the silly old bear. These days I don't stay up all night, keeping everyone else up, searching for the lost toy. I no longer cry or demand that the half hour trip from mom's house to dad's be made again so that I can sleep with my bedfellow. I don't fuss when he isn't near me when I wake up and I don't panic like I used to. But tonight, because I'm sick, and tired, and the world is still a big chaotic mess, I'm going to crawl into my big queen size grown up bed, in my one bedroom apartment, and before I set the alarm for my 14 hour day tomorrow to pay the bills, I'm going to snuggle with a great bear, and read him fairy tales. Read me fairy tales. Because life is easier when someone you love is always there.

Meet Duncan. He's pretty much the best guy I've ever known.

The Battery Died

Because the battery died in my camera I am going to "verbalize" the photo I most wanted to take at the carnival last weekend. Kaper says everything is art, this is me making a mess of several kinds of mediums, I'm also making his point in saying "Everything is art, just not good art."

From nearly a story off the ground the view comes into focus. Lights flashing, spinning, winding, screaming, and shinning on all the peripherals. The left side of the page begins with lines forming the trashy wooden bench. Draw the lines back at a 37 degree angle. 37? Who knows. Back. Towards the center. Away from the game with the basketballs and the giant stuffed monkeys. Closer to the thing that looks like shed, blocking the bumper cars. The line goes there. Paint it green. It's not important now, later on an arm will be slung across the back of it. I'm getting ahead of myself. No, too detailed. Let's try again.

Sitting on stage right and center there's a couple. Backs to the audience. The bench is turned as to face the back right wings. We barely see their faces. Only the Hispanic man as he rubs his wifes shoulder while they eat and watch the people passing. They're only the background. This is just the set up. Meet my props, mom and dad.

Behind them I want to sculpt the little girl. She's our dream, goal, light. A little four year old stands there, unattended to, about five feet behind her parents. The shot from above shows her in a soft light. Soft! In a carnival where nothing is soft and gentle. But here's this little wisp of a girl all dect out in her yellow sun dress and white sandals. She's playing, standing, watching. A picture of innocences is there before us. Just to the left of the riot and noise, just under the screams and ballyhooing of the carnies; here is a soft innocence in a land of cons and wildness. Family and love painted right there in front of me. I mentioned the dress is yellow right? At her feet, at our angles feet, she is standing on six or seven empty water bottles, a small disarray of garbage that has managed to spill forth as collateral for the even mayhem.

I wanted to photograph it. There is something that has always appealed to me about innocence and damage. Destruction and beauty standing side by side fascinates me. I want to show you, this is how I feel about the world. My world isn't made up of everyday mediocre "good/bad" when I think of how things are I see flowers and trees growing in the wake of volcanic eruptions, I see lovers holding hands in war, I see children being born next to people dying at the hospital. The world needs to see both, both at the same time, in one fell swoop, because each image must be held in our head at the same time. Let us not forget either the great beauty, wonder, and glory that allows us to fly, or the devastation, destruction, damage, that occurs when we fall. This is what it means to be human. To look both square in the eye and live.

That's my shot. The one I couldn't take because the battery died. I wish I could show you.

Under the Influence

This is a John Jurries influenced post. That means that he is both the primary motivating factor (something about goggle being angry and knowing where I live and needing updates) and the major directing force on the topic which I shall be discussing this evening. So, Kudos John, you have altered someones original course of action today. Check that off the list. Also, tell goggle to chill a little.

On a few of my "mix tapes" John has given me in the last year there's a band called Over the Rhine that sometimes pops up at just the right time. The two songs I recall hearing on the mixes were "I Don't Want to Waste Your Time" and "The World Can Wait". The songs certainly capture a particular mood that hits me at points in my life. Normally a song I love will immediately go on the repeat track and from time of acquisition to one week in I will have played the song 75+ times and it is suddenly at the top of my ipods "most played" list. These songs weren't like that, which is probably why it took me several months until the mood struck a deep enough cord to prompt me to purchase "Discount Fireworks" on my ipod account.

It's a collection of some of the most popular Over The Rhine songs, or so I gathered from the $1.29 price tag on all the songs. I got it after playing the samples from the first three tracks for about ten seconds each. It was just enough time to confirm this was the band, this was the mood, this was the sound I thought I wanted.

The first song is "Last Night On Earth Again." When I recommended the album later to a friend I used the song to explain why a band that seems such an unlikely fit for me is now among my collection. Generally I prefer much louder sounds, pop rock or classic rock, I'm a big fan of alternative, mostly I like to move, this band isn't much for jumping around or rockin' out. Also, I tend to have a male vocal dominated music collection. The lead singer of Over The Rhine is female. My friend was skeptical. I told her that there are occasionally things in life that a woman needs a woman to say for her. "Last Night On Earth" begins the process of telling those stories beautifully.

Both the sound and the lyrics remind me of a wayward southern girl who always fit in better with the good ol' boys. I can connect with the character painted when she says lines like, "I've been living this so called life since I can't remember when" or "someone said the best we can hope for is to make a beautiful mess, I put my soul up for sale and the whole world asked could you take any less?" Or on a spiritual level "I told Jesus he could have my heart he said what kind of shapes it in?" I can feel the pull of acknowledging who she is, what life is, and the beauty and flaws in both. There is a sense of mirth in the last night of earth. A bittersweetness that I find creeping through the album.

Songs like "Give Me Strength" also shock me with the emotional reaction. Lyrically I feel as though I would normally be repelled by something with a title or theme like this, as though it was weak and self help ish. But for some reason, in combination with the sound, which reminds me of something between a church hymn and something you sing or hum on a dark, rainy night where there is magic in a personal solitude, it validates all the lyrics. This tone and mood is what I enjoy most in the band, a sense of spiritualism and holiness in darkness and reality. As though the mood being set allows the girl in "Last Night" to meet a God without all the flippant attitudes she throws around in that first song. "The World Can Wait" and "Ohio" also give me the same sorts of impressions.

Two other tracks on the album have caught my attention this first week. "Latter Days" which is hauntingly beautiful. It opens with "What a beautiful piece of heartache this has all turned out to be, Lord knows we've learned the hard way, all about healthy apathy" Which is a line that simply breaks my heart. There are so many important things represented and so many ideas and discussions I feel like are presented in this song, that opening line walks me right into that discussion and heartbreak."Nothing much here but our broken dreams" So much of the song feels the weight of a relationship, of all the relationships we have, "They've taken a toll these latter days" The piano playing softly in the background only emphasis' the feeling of loneliness as though we two were the only ones talking in the empty, smoke filled bar. The blue light bathing the singer, the darkness filling the room, the smallness adding to the heaviness of the words. We are all tired and lost in the simple, universal feelings presented. "I just don't have much left to say."

The final title that capture my heart is on out of pure selfishness. "All I Need Is Everything" aches of my own personal story. "Slow down, hold still, it's not as if it's a matter of will." The song presents the tension, both in the quicker (for this band) pacing and in the lyrics themselves between wanting so much more and having no way of gaining all the things needed. It's a waiting, learning, and acceptance of what we have and of what God will give us. "I tense up, my mind goes numb, there's nothing harder than learning to receive" is so true, while constantly begging for more and still having no sense of what we have or what it is we truly need we push for more, begging, and struggling in vain. Also, I find the attitude about being unwilling to accept merely anything just as important, "time to get up off my hands and knees 'cause if I beg for it it won't come, I find nothing but table crumbs" It is here, in these sorts of lines, the tension feels strongest to me. The song challenges the listener to view the powers to change things, what is worth actually receiving and what we must reject so that we can wait for better things. Its a gentle reminder that we have time to wait for the truly good, powerful, and wonderful gifts. The song feels like a representation of the kind of living relationship between God and his people. How we learn, what we can do, and the realization that we can't do everything. We really do need everything, but we have time, and life is about getting there, with God.

Again, maybe that's just me. The band certainly hits me in a mood. Somewhere in the darkness, where there are deep blues, darkest purples, and primarily blackness across the screen. All the things I imagine it would be like if the moon had a "sunset" kind of color. Pulling the deepest parts of night into the horizon before the dawn approached. That's what the songs on "Discount Fireworks" remind me of, our struggles, our nights, our connections with God and our private moments with each other. It'd a deeply personal album. If that mood has been striking you, if the hour is approaching midnight, if you want to stay in that place so you can think, pray, and grow, I suggest that the wayward southern girl, who's always been more comfortable with the southern boys, who is more than a little dirtied in a soul kind of way, I suggest that girl takes this album and uses it. Find something more in the night than what you had before.

"Mess me up for old times sake"

This isn't about Valentines day, it just happens to fall that way. It's about personalities and world views colliding.

I schedule from the time I get up in the morning to the time I fall asleep at night. I allot for screwing around time, tv time, how much reading I'm going to get done, what phones calls I need to make, what errands I need to run, who I need to see, what shifts I need to work, and what will most probably come up along the way. I take into account the plans for the rest of the week, what I can push back, wait on, reschedule; the other people it will impact, influence, or demand. I plot out the most efficient routes to each destination, taking into account the time driving will take, what each task will require (both physically and emotionally), and I do as little futile work as possible. In short, I plan to do, and do a lot. Normally I am very successful in these endeavors.

He is easy going. It's relaxing to be around someone for whom time truly is secondary. There are things to be done, but he does or doesn't get to them when things fall into place. People more or less will either work around where he is or he can simply do without. They will, or won't, show up for trips that he takes across the state on the spur of the moment, and when six hours later he is late for a completely different engagement three or more hours from home, he adjusts to it as a fact of life. There is no dwelling, no worrying, no anger about the waste of time. He merely accepts each moment and situation as they come without actively trying to force his will on the peoples or objects in his life.

Honestly, I really do think both of us have something amazing in how we deal with the world. If we could find a way to make it click and bring the best of both worlds into our lives I think it would be magic. Mostly its just a frustrating train wreck trying to learn though. Relationships are painful learning experiences which make future days easier, more wonderful, and give us a foundation to build on. Today, that sucks a little though.

If things had gone different, if I had known that I wouldn't be seeing him until more like 10pm today I would have:

Gotten up and gone to breakfast with Kristy at 9:30am

-I turned down the invite at 11 pm last night when I still didn't know if I would be seeing him late that evening or early the next morning. (He told me at 2:30am I should go to breakfast because he would be in Newago on a photo shoot in the afternoon. Later at 4:40am said that the shoot was off and he'd talk to me in the morning.)

Made plans to have my sister color/cut my hair at my moms while she did mom and grandma's

- I turned down that invite on Friday because he told me we would be seeing each other on Sunday and I didn't know when that meant (in the past anything from very early in the morning to very late at night and anywhere in between)

After that I would have gone to the store and bought food, travel stuff, and turbo tax

-At 2:30 pm today he told me that he had some errands to run and we would see a movie when he finished.

Once that was finished I could have worked on my dress. Which I would have been more likely to do because I had already been productive. Or pushed though more reading. Worked on some of my art projects. Cleaned the house. Done laundry.

-I heard from him at 6:30pm. He asked what movie I might want to see.

-At 6:40 I asked if that meant he wanted to go "soon". He said he still needed to stop at his moms. What time did the movie we were looking at see start? 7:10 (not going to make it) and 9:50pm.

There goes getting to sleep at a reasonable hour for work tomorrow. There goes a whole day of barely getting things done and waiting for someone else. There goes wasted time, wasted life, wasted worth. I wasn't me today, because I was put on hold. I don't know how to make it work. What is the compromise between allowing him room to be comfortable and relaxed and stress free and letting me be productive, effective, and purposeful?

It's just a bump along the way to better things, just something to iron out to make us stronger, but today it feels like it's taking a lot out of me. This doing nothing pressing against my temples and makes everything inside feel too tight.

It's been a while

Funny how much can change in such a short ish period of time. I'm moved in, semi part of a community, an on again off again member of a very nice apartment gym, I am teaching myself several hobbies that really require more of my time than I have (and more that I'd like to add to that list), I have a new boyfriend (although the term itself feels awkward to describe this relationship), and in general I've been working on "growing up".

Mostly today I'd settle for learning how to find the files the geek squad supposively transfered to my computer for $99.00 to get my music and photos and docs back. Or to figure out how to work the built in camera and recording devices on this computer so I can see the upside of this $600.00 purchase I'm still not comfortable with.

In other news I've read lots of books. I can review a bunch of them for you but someone needs to say "Please" (I really need the ego stroking to do backwards book reviews.)

More "Happy" Art

This is going to be better right?

Tonight, if all goes well, will be the last night I sleep in my apartment. Moving is an emotional experience for me. One residence to another represents on situation or phase of life transitioning into another. You pack your things, sort through what you hope will be useful in the next stage, discard what you fear has been holding you back, and you put faith in what's ahead.

Mostly over the years, moving has been a kind of running. Escaping from one bad situation to another, from one rough relationship smashing onto the rocks into a tiny lifeboat with only hope as my compass, one fear forcing me through the pain and into the next, these are my experiences in the fine art of a wandering life. This time it isn't like that. Choice marks this move in ways it hasn't the past. There's no fearful fleeing. I am moving in hope. I am moving in faith.

When I say that I am moving in hope and faith I ask that you realize two things. One I take neither of these concepts lightly. Two, I mean more than the physical move, I rarely do physical things for even primarily physical reasons. So, I'm scared. It's easier to move when you have to, when you have a cliff behind you and certain doom edging towards you, take your chance with the cliff and jump. Jumping for fun? Jumping just hoping that it will be better? Crazy talk.

I don't have much luck with cliffs. There are some major ones I've crashed off in the last two years. I'm not really remembering any flying going on, a few awkward flaps of wings on the way down maybe, no real flight though. With each chance and choice we write our stories, tonight, on the eve of another cliff, the beginning of another stage in life, I put what little faith and hope I have in the dream that my someday is coming, that there really are brighter days, fuller moments, and more love, in an increasingly closer future.

Tonight I don't want to be nostalgic, I really didn't have the best of times in my first home. It meant a lot to be here, it was a safe haven and a comfort, it was everything I needed, but it wasn't full of memories of love. Tonight is about hoping that my next home will incorporate that element. And with it a purpose will grow for my life.

This is what I do for a living

Stuff

Okay, so neither of these uploaded as well as I would have liked. The second one is actually a copy of the original scanned into the computer. Which is lame that it required me to make a copy of something so I could scan it but whatever. Anyways, it's more art, for the fans.

Quotes

"Albert Camus wrote that the only serious question is whether to kill yourself or not.

Tom Robbins wrote that the only serious question is whether time has a beginning and an end.

Camus clearly got up on the wrong side of the bed, and Robbins must have forgotten to set the alarm.

There is only one serious question. And that is:

Who knows how to make love stay?

Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to kill yourself.
Answer me that and I will ease your mind about the beginning and end of time.
Answer me that and I will reveal to you the purpose of the moon."

-"Still Life With Woodpecker" by Tom Robbins

Tweaking

So this is the newest thing I've done. It has also been one of the better of what I would call "happy art" projects for me. It isn't what everyone might call happy but this is something I created that doesn't exclusively draw from the darker regions of my mind. Usually those tend to produce results I find easier to put into art. This piece feels at least up to par with some of my dark arts though. ;) Tell me what you think. I love comments. I am after all a drama queen at heart, just dying for your applause.