To My Jaded Pursuer,
I am you villain. It never occurred to me until I saw your face that I was a memory you were yet to erase. I could not deny the discontent lurking in your diverted stare, when I am at fault for your scorn and despair. I may have been yours for a moment in time, but the plans that you made were yours and not mine. In the heat of the moment I was swept away, head over heels for a dream that was here to stay. Try as i may I cannot confess remorse, when I have no regrets for my scandalous course. I still wish you the best but since my presence inspires desire, the only promise to you I can make is next time you won't see my escape.
Your Great White Buffalo
~This was my homework this week. The instructor does not like that I rhyme, but we will be criticising this one next week even though it's not my turn. I'm personally fond of this work. Can you tell what it's about?
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Too Many Boxes
Dreamboat once heard a theory about the sexes and boxes, he's a believer and I can see some truth to it. It goes something like this.
If you were to hypothetically tap into a mans brain there would be a warehouse full of boxes. There would be one guy with a forklift and a table sorting through all of the boxes. Next to the table there is a sign that says "Open One Box at a Time". That is exactly what this man is doing. He gets a box labeled food, takes care of it and goes back for the next box, T.V., and takes care of it, and puts it back on the shelf. The guy is taking his time and handling one thing at a time, not worrying about everything else, not worrying about what comes next, he's dealing with what's in his box.
If you were to tap into a women's brain it would look something like a box war zone. They would be all over the floor with contents spilled like victims of the fight. I am in no way saying that women are unorganized, this lady is most likely the calmest under fire of anyone you know. In her mind you're lucky if you only find one version of her with her hands in three different boxes. Nothing is lost, she knows where everything is and she's dealing with it all at the same time. She is handling her career, her family, girls night, the groceries, where her life is going, where she's been, does she have time to go to the gym, the theater, the cleaners, is that dress to young for her, what is her lover thinking, wouldn't Paris be nice in the fall, how many days are left till Christmas, is Rachel still happy with Ross, will she ever retire, then what, and this list will never end. Boxes will eventually be put away, some will be returned to numerous times before they find a shelf, and others may be moved after they were put there. New boxes will be opened and closed but the lady is always moving.
I was considering this theory today and where would my hypothetical box lady be up to. I started classes again this week. I need something to do while Dreamboat spends the next two years in another country. Finishing my degree seems like a great pass time, except I've switched my degree from Chemistry to English. Only a minor change. I was so nervous going back on campus, I remember being twenty, life was crazy, so many dreams and time seemed to crawl to get there. I was also easily distracted. Now I'm excited just to not be the oldest member of my class.
I feel like I've lived a lifetime in five years. Granted I've only been out for two, but four years ago I started a career that some Grad students might fight to the death for. Three years ago I made more money than most of my professors. That same year I realized it just wasn't worth it, and moved on with my life.
Today compared to the days before my lady doesn't have many boxes. I've placed old careers and aspirations on the shelf. I've sorted through some fears and filed them safely away. I've buried old boyfriends in the back, I've out grown my old grudges, changed my mind about a few and returned them to the sender. My lady is sitting in between about four, no five boxes, casually shifting through them all. There are a few more waiting to be opened, but for now the bulk of the insanity is waiting on the line. I'm kind of worried that I don't have enough boxes, but at the the same time I think I'll enjoy it and wait until it changes.
If you were to hypothetically tap into a mans brain there would be a warehouse full of boxes. There would be one guy with a forklift and a table sorting through all of the boxes. Next to the table there is a sign that says "Open One Box at a Time". That is exactly what this man is doing. He gets a box labeled food, takes care of it and goes back for the next box, T.V., and takes care of it, and puts it back on the shelf. The guy is taking his time and handling one thing at a time, not worrying about everything else, not worrying about what comes next, he's dealing with what's in his box.
If you were to tap into a women's brain it would look something like a box war zone. They would be all over the floor with contents spilled like victims of the fight. I am in no way saying that women are unorganized, this lady is most likely the calmest under fire of anyone you know. In her mind you're lucky if you only find one version of her with her hands in three different boxes. Nothing is lost, she knows where everything is and she's dealing with it all at the same time. She is handling her career, her family, girls night, the groceries, where her life is going, where she's been, does she have time to go to the gym, the theater, the cleaners, is that dress to young for her, what is her lover thinking, wouldn't Paris be nice in the fall, how many days are left till Christmas, is Rachel still happy with Ross, will she ever retire, then what, and this list will never end. Boxes will eventually be put away, some will be returned to numerous times before they find a shelf, and others may be moved after they were put there. New boxes will be opened and closed but the lady is always moving.
I was considering this theory today and where would my hypothetical box lady be up to. I started classes again this week. I need something to do while Dreamboat spends the next two years in another country. Finishing my degree seems like a great pass time, except I've switched my degree from Chemistry to English. Only a minor change. I was so nervous going back on campus, I remember being twenty, life was crazy, so many dreams and time seemed to crawl to get there. I was also easily distracted. Now I'm excited just to not be the oldest member of my class.
I feel like I've lived a lifetime in five years. Granted I've only been out for two, but four years ago I started a career that some Grad students might fight to the death for. Three years ago I made more money than most of my professors. That same year I realized it just wasn't worth it, and moved on with my life.
Today compared to the days before my lady doesn't have many boxes. I've placed old careers and aspirations on the shelf. I've sorted through some fears and filed them safely away. I've buried old boyfriends in the back, I've out grown my old grudges, changed my mind about a few and returned them to the sender. My lady is sitting in between about four, no five boxes, casually shifting through them all. There are a few more waiting to be opened, but for now the bulk of the insanity is waiting on the line. I'm kind of worried that I don't have enough boxes, but at the the same time I think I'll enjoy it and wait until it changes.
Friday, August 5, 2011
A little Piece of My Past.......
This is a excerpt from my journal from 5/17/07. I wrote it as the sun went down on my sisters balcony after a phone call from a old friend. It was a moment when I realized certain people needed to live in my past and with this inspiration I wrote this entry that I love to reread and felt like sharing.
The Man of My Dreams.
The man of my dreams wears Levi's, sometimes white t-shirts, and possibly the occasional ball cap.
He will be my fishing buddy; complete with glow in the dark bobbers, my drinking buddy; even if it's with all his boys, and my best friend so that we can talk till all hours of the morning. He'll be able to handle it if I beat him at darts, pool, poker, dice, ping-pong, tennis, air hockey, bowling, checkers, or hopscotch, but he'll give me a run for my money and win sometimes.
He won't try to fix me when I'm mad. He'll fight back because he knows it won't matter tommorrow when we'll talk about something else. He'll know that "I love you" doesn't win arguements. He may possibly cry when he hurts, but this does not include: "my daddy didn't love me enough", "you're such a bitch", or "I'm a little pansy boy with emotions".
Romance will be sitting out on the porch wrapped up in a blanket listening to the night, or out on a river bank on the tailgate of a truck with a six pack, just laying on the couch watching movies, fishing or frog giggin after dark, spending the afternoon floating in a intertube, muddin, and watching bonfires, sunsets and stars.
I don't care if he plays a instrument. I like fast cars, but boys usually drive them. Men work on old cars can afford nice Harleys, and appreciate a nice four wheel drive. I don't care if he went to college, but he dream and a job. He needs to atleast be able to support himself. It's okay if he want to take care of me, my Dad likes that, but he needs to know that I can take care of myself. I have my own dreams and ambitions and nobody tells me what I can and can't do. I'll do the same for him because I'm not looking for a pet I need a partner.
I have come to understand all boys lie. It's some type of protection mechanism. He should never have to lie about a girl or where he's been. Cheating is unforgiveable. It's something you can only do if you don't care and I need him to give a damn. with that said flirting is NOT cheating.
He must love animals and babies. That's not because I'm ready to have them I just want that door to be open for someday.
Above information is subject to variation but pretty much holds true.
Three and a half months later the above described man walked into my life and promised never to walk out.
The Man of My Dreams.
The man of my dreams wears Levi's, sometimes white t-shirts, and possibly the occasional ball cap.
He will be my fishing buddy; complete with glow in the dark bobbers, my drinking buddy; even if it's with all his boys, and my best friend so that we can talk till all hours of the morning. He'll be able to handle it if I beat him at darts, pool, poker, dice, ping-pong, tennis, air hockey, bowling, checkers, or hopscotch, but he'll give me a run for my money and win sometimes.
He won't try to fix me when I'm mad. He'll fight back because he knows it won't matter tommorrow when we'll talk about something else. He'll know that "I love you" doesn't win arguements. He may possibly cry when he hurts, but this does not include: "my daddy didn't love me enough", "you're such a bitch", or "I'm a little pansy boy with emotions".
Romance will be sitting out on the porch wrapped up in a blanket listening to the night, or out on a river bank on the tailgate of a truck with a six pack, just laying on the couch watching movies, fishing or frog giggin after dark, spending the afternoon floating in a intertube, muddin, and watching bonfires, sunsets and stars.
I don't care if he plays a instrument. I like fast cars, but boys usually drive them. Men work on old cars can afford nice Harleys, and appreciate a nice four wheel drive. I don't care if he went to college, but he dream and a job. He needs to atleast be able to support himself. It's okay if he want to take care of me, my Dad likes that, but he needs to know that I can take care of myself. I have my own dreams and ambitions and nobody tells me what I can and can't do. I'll do the same for him because I'm not looking for a pet I need a partner.
I have come to understand all boys lie. It's some type of protection mechanism. He should never have to lie about a girl or where he's been. Cheating is unforgiveable. It's something you can only do if you don't care and I need him to give a damn. with that said flirting is NOT cheating.
He must love animals and babies. That's not because I'm ready to have them I just want that door to be open for someday.
Above information is subject to variation but pretty much holds true.
Three and a half months later the above described man walked into my life and promised never to walk out.
Friday, June 10, 2011
The Worst Day of My Life.
I thought it was a Thursday, at least Grey's Anatomy was on. It was the week that Mr. G deployed to Saudi Arabia. My nerves had been frayed for a month. My anxiety was to the point of needing medicated and I had spent the better part of this day in bed. The extreme climate change had messed with my allergies, I hadn't got in touch with old friends, I hadn't looked for a job, and I had nothing but time. To make matters worse I had missed the first call Mr. G had tried to make since he was overseas. I had found a reason to get up around noon and I was laying in bed surrounded by Kleenex and little Debbie wrappers when my sister(C) came home at five. It was a bad day. C sat by me like I was on my death bed as we watched Grey's on the T.V. in my room. As I drowned in my misery I thought to myself, "if this is the worst day of my life I could live forever".
It was a bad day, but I was going to survive the pain that I felt in that moment. It would not destroy me, and somewhere there's a little red headed girl singing about tomorrows sun. There are worse things that could happen and somewhere someone has a heart that can't be fixed. A little time will cure what ails me.
I've always considered myself a optimistic pessimist. Bad times will happen, but they must to make you grateful for the good. There's a quote that has stuck with me for eight years now. "Falling flat of your face is still moving forwards." The average human being will never achieve their youthful aspirations. While I'm a fan of the far from average, some of us change like the weather. Like this post is about to.
Today is the day we discovered that my four legged love Tater has epilepsy. I know your thinking it's just a dog, but while I did not bring him to life or carry him within my body I love him. Imagine holding something that you love in your arms as it shakes uncontrollably, appears not to breath, and chokes on it's own saliva. Sounds like he's in immense pain Hugh. That's not the case at all, even though he's trying to run in my arms he's unconscious and can't feel a thing. He's some place far away and can't even hear my voice, as I wonder if he's going to come back to this hull in my arms. I woke up to this. We went the vet and did blood work. Seven hours later he crawled into my lap cause he knew it was going to happen again. He came to, we played fetch, and three hours later I was holding him again in the kitchen. It's scary to say the least. If you need a example google exorcism, then think of your family pet experiencing that.
Well that's been today. It's been a bad day, but if today is the worst day of my life I could live forever.
It was a bad day, but I was going to survive the pain that I felt in that moment. It would not destroy me, and somewhere there's a little red headed girl singing about tomorrows sun. There are worse things that could happen and somewhere someone has a heart that can't be fixed. A little time will cure what ails me.
I've always considered myself a optimistic pessimist. Bad times will happen, but they must to make you grateful for the good. There's a quote that has stuck with me for eight years now. "Falling flat of your face is still moving forwards." The average human being will never achieve their youthful aspirations. While I'm a fan of the far from average, some of us change like the weather. Like this post is about to.
Today is the day we discovered that my four legged love Tater has epilepsy. I know your thinking it's just a dog, but while I did not bring him to life or carry him within my body I love him. Imagine holding something that you love in your arms as it shakes uncontrollably, appears not to breath, and chokes on it's own saliva. Sounds like he's in immense pain Hugh. That's not the case at all, even though he's trying to run in my arms he's unconscious and can't feel a thing. He's some place far away and can't even hear my voice, as I wonder if he's going to come back to this hull in my arms. I woke up to this. We went the vet and did blood work. Seven hours later he crawled into my lap cause he knew it was going to happen again. He came to, we played fetch, and three hours later I was holding him again in the kitchen. It's scary to say the least. If you need a example google exorcism, then think of your family pet experiencing that.
Well that's been today. It's been a bad day, but if today is the worst day of my life I could live forever.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Inspiration
Today I realized it's been almost a year since I wrote my first blog. Do I lack the opinions to compose?, the zest to create?, the knowledge to spread? No not at all. My inspire just has no fire. I'd rather use a pencil. Believe it or not I actually have a journal and it is written in on a semi regular basis, but it contains my deepest darkest thoughts, my unfinished ideas, and hopes and dreams that make me sound a little less than ordinary. Today I just felt like knocking some white off the paper or screen in this scenario. Shout out to Hobbs my only follower.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Sitting at My Table
Life comes at us fast. Even the best laid plans are torn apart by the forks in the road. What you want to day is never the same as what it was yesterday, but hopefully we choose the path that brings us the most happiness and inevitably takes us home.
I have every intention of spending my final days just east of the Muddy gap, but I hope that time doesn’t come for another seventy-five years. In the time between now and then I plan on seeing as much of this big old world as I can, but that’s not what this blog is about. This blog isn’t about seizing the day, living in the moment, reaching for the sky or being at the front of the pack . It’s more about smelling roses and drinking a little wine with the ones you love.
I’ve regressed back into my college days, due to the struggling economy and the isolation of Whidbey Island. I’m waiting tables again. I love doing it, but it’s the wrong way for my career and the right direction for my self satisfaction and happiness.
One of the perks of my job is people, I love people and I love talking to strangers. I can tell a lot about a person in five minutes of just listening. They’re not all bad and they’re not all good, but what you have to understand is everyone you meet has their demons and even a good day can be a battle. If you want to be good with people don’t fight their battles just be their shelter from the storm.
I encountered a group of ladies this week that stuck with me. For a moment I was their angel. These five ladies cam in on dreary rainy day. The day was beautiful if you like the color gray, can’t feel the cold, and aren’t afraid to be soaked to the bone. Today these five ladies were going to have a picnic on the beach. Instead they were looking out my windows and ordering wine by the bottle, showing family pictures and having a good time despite the change in plans. One lady asked for my name, which I should have already told them but I never tell. Most people remember faces and hope people have more important things in their lives than remembering my name an hour later. “Oh I think that we all can remember that” You see where there was five there used to be six, but a year ago these five ladies pulled together to take care of the sixth before she succumb to cancer. They toasted my name. It was a shame that tragedy was what brought these ladies together but it was wonderful to know that Grade School friendships could remain strong for fifty years. They had all taken different roads, lived very different lives, had very different opinions, but all roads had led home.
Some twenty years from now when I’m settled , realized and took a swing at my dreams, seen the world, defeated my demons, been a lighthouse for the ones I love, smelt more roses than what grows them, and drank a lot of wine, I hope that I’m lucky enough to still have my oldest and closest friends sitting at my table.
I have every intention of spending my final days just east of the Muddy gap, but I hope that time doesn’t come for another seventy-five years. In the time between now and then I plan on seeing as much of this big old world as I can, but that’s not what this blog is about. This blog isn’t about seizing the day, living in the moment, reaching for the sky or being at the front of the pack . It’s more about smelling roses and drinking a little wine with the ones you love.
I’ve regressed back into my college days, due to the struggling economy and the isolation of Whidbey Island. I’m waiting tables again. I love doing it, but it’s the wrong way for my career and the right direction for my self satisfaction and happiness.
One of the perks of my job is people, I love people and I love talking to strangers. I can tell a lot about a person in five minutes of just listening. They’re not all bad and they’re not all good, but what you have to understand is everyone you meet has their demons and even a good day can be a battle. If you want to be good with people don’t fight their battles just be their shelter from the storm.
I encountered a group of ladies this week that stuck with me. For a moment I was their angel. These five ladies cam in on dreary rainy day. The day was beautiful if you like the color gray, can’t feel the cold, and aren’t afraid to be soaked to the bone. Today these five ladies were going to have a picnic on the beach. Instead they were looking out my windows and ordering wine by the bottle, showing family pictures and having a good time despite the change in plans. One lady asked for my name, which I should have already told them but I never tell. Most people remember faces and hope people have more important things in their lives than remembering my name an hour later. “Oh I think that we all can remember that” You see where there was five there used to be six, but a year ago these five ladies pulled together to take care of the sixth before she succumb to cancer. They toasted my name. It was a shame that tragedy was what brought these ladies together but it was wonderful to know that Grade School friendships could remain strong for fifty years. They had all taken different roads, lived very different lives, had very different opinions, but all roads had led home.
Some twenty years from now when I’m settled , realized and took a swing at my dreams, seen the world, defeated my demons, been a lighthouse for the ones I love, smelt more roses than what grows them, and drank a lot of wine, I hope that I’m lucky enough to still have my oldest and closest friends sitting at my table.
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