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.