It's the shutter-clack rhythm and the seat of sun
makes the taste of grit on my tongue worthwhile
and greasy hair
that breaks combs' teeth
coat of dust on coat of arms
screeching winds with scattered storms

then deafening silence in empty fields
cigarette smoke in the night air of unknown location
where destination is secondary

oh, for a nursery rhyme to soothe a restless heart
rocked to slumber in steel beds barefoot

The conundrum.

I forgot how much I hate commercial work. If I adhere to a rule to work in a field that disregards this, my options will be severely limited. This is when I scratch my head and wonder if I really ought to be pursuing something like animation, instead.

The real secret ingredient, the skeleton key to anything I really want to do at this point, commercial or not, is to draw a fuckload even more than I'm trying to.

Right now I'm mostly fretting over yarn-creations, though, as Christmas is coming up. I hate the holidays. When I have kids, we're going to celebrate post-holiday season. I mean, the same gifts will cost that much less, who cares about some designated day when Jesus was born? (Well, rather, who in my life outside family is really going to give two hoots?) It's such a family holiday, though...I'm crocheting a gingerbread man scarf for my niece at the moment. I have three hats to complete (I lost mine a few months ago), and some armwarmers.

Also, stool is really fascinating. You can learn a lot from somebody's waste. Not that I stare at all the crap I come across, but, y'know. May come in handy one day.

And to wrap up my wandering mind, apparently I'm allergic to nutritional yeast if it's in large quantities. Say, in the gravy recipe from The Grit. I lose.

Food glorious food.

I've never been to The Grit in Athens (though I've been in Athens...one night), but apparently it's one of the best vegetarian/vegan places known to mankind in the United States. I have made this delicious vegan chocolate cake from their recipes before for 6/6/6, but other than that I hadn't really delved back into the cookbook.

Until today. It is heaven. I made the golden bowl, which is tofu fried up a little (I used Bragg's seasoning instead of soy sauce), and this amazing vegan gravy, which I have about four cups of and need to share, brown rice, and some sautéed vegetables.

I have way too many yarn things to still get through, and it's going to make a madwoman out of me. I guess I should stick to the two things I have a deadline for.

The Golden Compass came out today and I am sad to not see it yet. Then again, I'd rather avoid the throng of noisy children who're brought there because it's probably been marketed as a kid's movie.

Giving up on giving up.

I'm not even sure what it is that opened this door that was previously wedged shut in my mind, but somehow I'm doing art again. I mean, really doing art. Not anything epic as of yet, but still. The desire to actually draw -- fervently, even -- has been an alien concept to me for the past few years.

Pretty much since my second year in college I'd lost the desire to really work on anything. Oh, the ideas were there, all right. But there were a lot of personal conflicts at the time that affected my drive to create for the sheer sake of it, which is why I'd enjoyed drawing and writing and such in the first place. One of my biggest problems has always been putting too much weight in the words of others, which holds especially true of people I'm in close relationships with.

In hindsight, I really shouldn't let other people tell me how to think of myself or my passions. If anything, that's the signal that a relationship needs to end. (Unless of course my passions were upsetting and/or violent.) Who the hell is someone to tell me that my love for animals, or writing stories with other people (MU*ing in this case) is laughable and a waste of time? And why should I care, anyway?

All these past years I kept talking about getting my act together, or finally having a sense of work to do, et cetera, et cetera. The saddest part of this is that it stemmed out of my recognition for my abilities and talents, and even my desires that had fallen dormant, but that I hadn't revived my passion for. So much talk and no action -- and sometimes I would try to work on my drawing, but it just felt like a chore. You can only do so much when something feels like a chore, which is vastly different from when something feels like it's too hard -- that's when you're plain old giving up.

I also realized these past few days, while this sudden fascination for life and art and such that I once had were regenerating, was that I'm tired of being apathetic on social issues at large, I.E., humans in the world and how we're affecting it. I still feel changing "the world" is a daunting task, and that protests don't really solve it or are even that effective, but to enter into the political field is even more of a drain of one's life with the great possibility of not really making much of a difference at all. What I have to offer through my talents would be more influential on people's minds. You have to pick your battles.

I should at least care about what's going on around me and not just recognizing it. Being flippant gets me nowhere. ...Depending on the situation. But in this case, yes.

It's also really obvious that the power has always been in the hands of the people; it's just that everyone has to realize that. One person is not enough. But politicians and even the military don't have as much raw power or numbers as the rest of us. These are ponderings for another day, though.

Well, here I am now, at the ready.

Speed of Thought

Over time I become increasingly aware of how painfully limited my point of view is. Granted, I enjoy my point of view, and revel in its overall uniqueness. It can also be a burden, since lately I've realized how much more my knowledge of human nature makes me generally despise this species as a whole. The trick is to know what it is, but not let it hamper you. It's like a very tricky dance you learn; skirt this, step here, it's difficult, but once you have the steps down you just need to master it, not grumble and whine and suffer over the fact that it's hard.

This is one of the reasons why I love Jon. I can talk endlessly and enjoy the company of others, and know that we're on the same level -- or, at least, be on some level which we're in tune with the assumption that we're drawing the same conclusion from the same thoughts. But with Jon, life is for the most part harmonious, but I keep learning something new, gather new perspective on the same subjects simply because we do see things differently, entirely different.

For so much of my life, up until yesterday, I believed that everyone has some sort of talent, or passion that they could hone in on and love and refine until their last days. I carry this idea especially in regard to my art (I.E., painting, sculpting, comics, writing, drawing on and on), with other interests like knitting and crocheting as more of a pleasant and productive distraction, or even therapy. And I do believe I'll be perfecting and continuing with my art until I die, but I feel this way of thinking has really been more detrimental than helpful.

That is, to say, not necessarily wrong. Simply that there is much more to life than one category of thought, one road to choose. When was it ever wrong to do more than one thing? I'm always thinking that I only have one life (or at least, should consider this one the one) that I should live to its fullest, explore as much as possible. And here I pigeonhole myself in one category, and haven't even realized it.

And all I had to do, after all this time, was ask Jon one question about his thoughts on his future in terms of how it will affect us now and then, as he's planning on becoming a certified paramedic now and will continue to go to school to learn other things. I figured, I assumed, that he would be looking for the one job that he could do for the rest of his life, his one passion.

What a narrow path of thinking which made for a long conversation where I tried to follow the meaning of his answer beyond the surface of "well yes, I'm going to school for this now, and I'll probably go to school for other things," the reason why that was his answer.

It may not be a great revelation, but having been raised with the idea that you pick a career that you like and stick to it, it's definitely opened my eyes. Life is writhing with possibilities right now.

I spent the last week really getting back in touch with piano playing while we house sat. Amazing.

...I have to remember that oppression is a state of mind.

In Sickness and In Health (mostly sickness)

Thanks-fucking-giving.

I am going to work on contract to redesign an entire program for a nonprofit. Brochure, decal (logo), etc. About time! I feel like opportunity of the most basic nature usually swings my way, and that I haven't been taking advantage of it as much as I should. Until recently, that is.

And my other job is over soon.

I picked a book off the shelf by the bed this morning called The Holy Man, by Susan Trott. I wish I could stay in this house a little longer if only to read all the books. I took it to work with me, and it is so deliciously simple that I feel that the whole manner in which it's written was especially for me, always trying to find answers even when I'm not conscious of it. Of course, we see things the way we want to. We find the answers we hope to find, in the end. And constantly searching for answers oftentimes reminds me, eventually, by a book like this or some clarifying event that I shouldn't be looking for answers at all, but making answers. (Looking for answers, I've discovered, via mushroom and otherwise, will leave one constantly unsatisfied. And sometimes, finding answers just as unsatisfied.)

I feel like I look too far ahead sometimes, when considering what I want to be doing. I miss free travel for this, for cleansing myself of concern for future success--immediate needs takes over, and just eating can be a joyful event (regardless of being "grateful" for it at the end of a long day, or satisfaction in finding something at last). But if there is one idea I can get obsessed over, it's balance.

That and the trade-offs. I do want to watch fields of golden grain go whipping past my bare feet as they swing off a boxcar. I do want to peer at the frozen landscape and wall of trees as my breath escapes in plumes from a half-open shipping container.

But, how will I manage to work on the things I can constantly improve on -- art, writing, design, what have you? In the short breaths between location? Can't and don't want to give birth to kids and tow them around while hitchhiking.

Questions, questions, questions. But searching for an answer? No.

The Sweet Scent of Lasgana

For the next week we housesit for long-time friends of the family, and it's interesting to be immersed in someone else's life; a house reflects so wholly the personality of its inhabitants.

And they cooked for us! So in the meantime, while I'm sick (yet again; this time I can put blame on the cycle-around of office bugs), I get to read an anecdotal cookbook by Maya Angelou that makes my mouth water with the aromas of cooking lasagna wafting about the house.

Plus a baby grand for me to bang notes out on, which is something I've neglected far too long. There is no sound that can compare to the notes on a grand (baby or not); and grand is by far the most succinct way to describe the richness in the notes. You can feel it in the vibrations of the strings as you play. One day when I have a permanent abode (or permanent enough)...one day...


My position has finally been filled, and training near its end! By December I am free of photocopying and meeting arrangements, though there will be some design work at hand. And who's to complain?

I have Avatar to watch.

I Read the News Today oh boy

I can't even begin to describe how the oil spill in the Bay is making me feel. That's a lot of dead animals out there. Too much political finger pointing involved, and it doesn't really resolve the issue. All Newsom really promises to do is sue whoever is responsible for the accident. Put blame. Moneymoneymoney.

Daylight savings seems to be taking a huge toll on me -- or it could be something else. Either way, my eyes have been burning in the socket as of late, in a dull, nauseous sort of way.

I love humanity, but I hate people. Sometimes I feel like I've come too far in analyzing and understand how the average person works, and it makes me lose respect for people that much less, considering how easy it is to take advantage of everyone. Not that I do, or want to. It's just shameful and disgusting that people are that easy to exploit, and let themselves be exploited. It's their weakness for letting themselves be told what to do that makes it improbable that we could ever successfully achieve anarchy, which from my point of view is ever obtainable in very small groups (and even then human nature and it's need to lead or let lead tends to get in the way). It's taking a toll on my general love for life, and I either need to hermitize, or just get the fuck over thinking about other people.

Probably a little of both. Clarity of mind, and all that.

On the Thrown Stone that Ripples the Water

Headspace gets pretty crazy when you start to contemplate how in the world did you end up knowing the wonderful people you know.

Which is why I don't bother. I definitely am grateful beyond means, though.

On Cowardice

It's been one and a half years since I've corresponded with Pavlov's breeder about his chronic condition and tried to reach some kind of agreement to settle the terms.

As a summary, I bought Pavlov from a breeder who noticed he had some unusual breathing patterns shortly before I got him -- their vet checked him over and noticed nothing, two vets following that when he was in my care couldn't detect any real problems. He had definite breathing problems that we both noticed when he was out and about, and figured it could be that it would go away as he got older.

Considering that he didn't get better because it was due to his trachea not enlarging as he got older -- and it only got worse, and that it was diagnosed four months after I got him at cost, I contacted the breeder to bring up the matter to be resolved. This is not a condition Pavlov will heal from or get over. It will likely shorten his life, and it affects him pretty much all the fucking time. Anything a normal dog takes for granted -- even just fetching a ball, or being happy to see his owner -- is a challenge for my dog. It makes his tongue turn blue. He pants. Those of you who've met him know this. It basically fucking sucks for him -- and for me (but he doesn't suck, just his situation).

Anyway, they had offered as the only terms of settlement another healthy pup from any future litter for absolutely free (barring shipping of course), and even suggested I could sell it! After all, they promised a healthy dog for the payment, not refunds!

Well, how can that be the only means of settling the situation? I can't take in another dog. I definitely can't take in a puppy. I definitely can't take in a puppy just to sell it again, factoring shipping and care costs until its sold. I don't even have time. This isn't even fair to the puppy. It just seems like a really inappropriate, illogical offer that doesn't seem to take in the future puppy or my current situation -- which stems also from owning Pavlov -- into account.

So I brought this up three months ago, now that I'm at a more stable situation to actually follow through and not ignore what's going on around me. Especially because I agreed with them at first. But even through my own stupidity of not thinking it through at first, I still feel they have a responsibility as the breeder to honor their statement and try to rectify the situation. Besides, to them, what difference does it make if I want a puppy or the money I paid for one? Isn't it technically the same for them?

I mailed them a letter last week. They signed for it. I told myself to give them one week before I try to call them.

Well, jittered on coffee which I've not drank until late, and staring at my phone, I'm not even sure what to say. Obviously, I'd rather be babbling about it on an online journal that serves no real purpose except to vent (and maybe entertain or educate people who might actually read this).

It bothers me. I want to call now and get this fucking ordeal resolved once and for all, I don't want to go to fucking court over a stupid situation like this, and yet I'm too fucking cowardly to call. I'll do it...in a minute. Right?

Halloween

Man, I lost so many claws in epic street battles with the two scoops sun and a ghost girl. Amongst other things like climbing a rooftop during a party and having an awkward conversation with the guy hosting the party when we all had to leave.

Awkward is fun. Long live cardboard costumes.

Note for next year: Make it something where I have peripheral vision.

The sweet sting of winter.

I am one of those people who hs a love-hate relationship with late fall and winter, because the changing weather usually makes me a little ill (and once in a while very ill, depending on my situation), but the dead calm usually lends itself to moments of reflection and realizations. I like reaffirmation that what I'm doing currently is what I want to and should be doing; I like discovering that I'm on the wrong path before I'm well into it, too, so I can adjust accordingly.

In a few weeks I will have absolute freedom and absolutely no excuse to prolong my personal work. Currently, even working part-time, there are a lot of other things to divert my attention.

For one, I'll be snagging a place of my own to live (with Jon, little dog, and rats) in the next few months, which will be a relief. I have no longer any of the usual embarrassment associated with having to live with my parents at the time...really, I could have toughed it out on the streets, but that just seems to be ignoring what opportunities are available to me as opposed to "caving in" to something too easy. Either way, it is not easy to live with my parents, and it's not easy for my parents to live with me and Jon, either, or General Stonewall, for that matter, as much as they love any of us.

The past few days have been a strange mixture of heavy, misty fogged mornings and evenings, and clear sunshine in the day. I love this weather. It makes me feel more alive than ever (except when it's sunny with heavy winds that knock me around when I bike).

I wish I hadn't lost my hat on Halloween; it's going to be so fucking cold until I knit myself up one (after the pair of gloves I owe Rushelle, and another hat I owe Jon because the first one was too floppy-feminine). I also wish there weren't so many cops loitering around Castro Street on Halloween. Really, I should have been a cop instead of a dinosaur to blend in and cause trouble, but that's not as credible a costume idea. Either way.

Either way, I need to go to work. The Golden Compass is coming out this winter in the theaters, and it excites me, even if it won't be totally canon to the book (which few movies ever are, and even fewer successful movies are). More on that later.

Unfinished business on the BART

He's at the window seat with his eyes closed and headphones on. His backpack is on the seat next to him. We're crowded in a five-car train, and I sit on the armrest of the aisle seat with my bag slung over my shoulder, my back to him.

Suddenly there's a violent push against my back, where my bag rests. "Get your shit off my shit."

Face Painted Fun

I went to a circus skill share last night, and there renewed both my desire and will to juggle, and also my absolute need to learn how to ride a unicycle.

Sadly, our unicycle resides in Georgia where we had first picked it up, and most likely we won't be shipping it back because the cost wouldn't be worthwhile. On the other hand, the Bay Area seems to always have two or five people trying to sell their unicycles on craigslist.

I have a huge desire to make food right now, but alas I'm stuck at work instead.

Halloween is around the corner and I need a big idea for a good costume. I thought about making myself into a human puppet with some sort of contraption attaching me to a large wire figure (or hand) that would appear to be making me move, only I'd be moving it. An illusion, if you will.

But that would require attention and probably money that I'm not ready to devote. I think I can come up with something better and fun before then.

Sandpapercuts

Out of all of us younger cousins, which rounds to four, the last one expected to get married first was my cousin Francis.

I just attended his wedding on Saturday, and it was a bittersweet experience. I told my boyfriend that I thought this marriage was preposterous (in finer tongue) , that I didn't even want to go. It's been two years since I last saw Francis, and probably a good seven since I really hung out with him.

Things change. People change. It's the hardest pill to swallow, as inevitable as it is, and I fall so easily to forgetting that fact. Welcoming it, embracing its consistency is much easier than coming to terms with the actual change itself.

The last time I remember actually hanging out with Francis, I was visiting from college. We'd gone to eat pizza with my sister and catch up, and he was pushing a sales pitch I couldn't appreciate. Ambition I can admire, but trying to bounce business ethics off me just seemed dirty.

I look back on that now, and realize we all face obstacles and hard paths to pull through on. Sometimes we make wrong choices. Either way, there's the constant struggle to understand ourselves and our decisions -- at least, for most people. Well, at least for myself. I can't relate to what ideas were going on in his head then, but this was still the same cousin I played "submarine" with in our aunt's giant marble bathtub on many occasions, or tag, or robbers, or what have you. He had his own ideas to work out at the time, and seven years is time enough for some of that change to occur.

It took the wedding to remind me. Watching him bob his head nervously. There was no trace of the eager businessman. This was Francis older and beyond his eager bid for conventional success. This might be the Francis who still thinks Natalie Portman is one of the hottest woman alive, but this was still Francis. It felt good to be there, despite my initial misgivings about possible ulterior motives. In the end, those misgivings merely reflected my own suspicious nature. And I'm glad.

Sometimes I think it comes off as too much pride, my opinions and my carriage, but really I feel so wholly incomplete and lost in where I stand in life that my faltering confidence tends to manifest itself that way. Overprotecting a vulnerable part of myself that most people wouldn't even consider attacking me for. Or anyone whose opinion matters to me, anyway. Or that anyone's opinion should matter.

I ended up enjoying the wedding, despite a stomach flu I still hadn't recovered from, being cold, and being stuck in a dress that I actually have outgrown. Somehow I still manage to keep growing...the bodice was literally crushing my ribs. I don't feel bigger. Maybe it's secretly an indication that I should really be buying myself some new clothes. Considering how empty my closet is, and how I wear two items to death, this might not be a bad thing.

At any rate, I cried when they got married. If anything about the wedding was preposterous, it was the amount of Jesus Christ that got stuffed into the ceremony, but as an atheist, agnostic, apathetic, I guess that is a given. I just didn't see the correlation, and it really just sounded like a lot of unrelated propaganda forced into twenty minutes of vows and love.

Weddings as a whole don't really interest me, but after a week of horrible stomach pains, and transitions in my life (and in my mind), a lot of unanswered questions...it's nice to just remember to breathe, to see people so happy, to see people laughing and joking and loving each other, even in the midst of any other kind of suffering personal or other. Life goes on. With me.