Sooo o o o o o sleepy...
It may be the best thing, this being patient stuff. But it's damn BORING...
But I said I wanted it, didn't I?
Ya gotta keep telling me that, folks. Otherwise, this can only end in ruin. And me taking a serious look at cats for the collection.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Monday, July 24, 2006
What it all comes down to is this:
I LOVE my life.
I am in love with the fact that everyday I get to be myself, I get to struggle, to fight, to smile, to cry and laugh. I get to feel a full range of emotions and step in gum, fall off the last step of my spiral staircase when I'm late in the morning and yell at the lady who shoulder-checks me on the side walk. I love the stab of pure pain that I feel when a friend's kid tells me "It's time for you to come home...ok, that's fine, I think I can wait a month," and the rush of sheer delight that somebody misses me, somebody really cares that I am gone. All the more powerful that it's a five year old. I love that I can curse until my very lips turn blue over the fact that people who should know better, don't. Just the feeling of that ripe, juicy f**k squeezing itself from my upstanding vocabulary...bliss. It is the most amazingly beautiful confusion to have loved so hard, so fast and to still feel that love and have absolutely no idea what to do with it. And then to feel the hope and faith that I've known love, I know it's there, so I'm sure that I will find what I'm looking for again, or eventually. Whichever comes first. The sleepless nights that are caused by the terror over the state of the world, and the question of whether or not I will even get the chance to know the love that I'm looking for, that's meant to be in my life always, not just as a lesson. I get to taste the first bittersweet sip of coffee that is used to revive me from that night with no sleep. The exhilaration of busting my ass and and pausing long enough to see that I've done something. I love the assuredness in my soul that everything I do is for me and not them. I may have to nod and smile at the jackasses, but they can't have the script that I'm writing in my heart while I blind 'em with my grin. The first warmed honey feeling that slips through my veins when I can collect myself long enough to write, to relax, to sit down or wind up with my friends after that first cocktail and realize how wonderful things really are.
Everything. I love it. Just to feel. I love it. I can stand on my own two feet and breath, look around and be. A lot of it sucks. And damn if it isn't hard, everyday it get's harder. The lines blur just a little bit more. But even if it's bad, it means that I am HERE. Every moment that I am fully capable is a blessing.
By no means am I dropping the cynicism and getting all pollyanna-ish on you guys - two days from now I'm sure I'll have a proper rant over something worthless like how "people have no awareness of themselves in space, frikkin' A-MAZ-ING." But even those rants make life worth living.
UNFINISHED
I'm all ears
and I'm all doors
all open windows to my soul
with an invitation to
"come on in, love"
without even makin' you
wipe your feet on the threshold.
No worries. That's what I'm here for.
I LOVE my life.
I am in love with the fact that everyday I get to be myself, I get to struggle, to fight, to smile, to cry and laugh. I get to feel a full range of emotions and step in gum, fall off the last step of my spiral staircase when I'm late in the morning and yell at the lady who shoulder-checks me on the side walk. I love the stab of pure pain that I feel when a friend's kid tells me "It's time for you to come home...ok, that's fine, I think I can wait a month," and the rush of sheer delight that somebody misses me, somebody really cares that I am gone. All the more powerful that it's a five year old. I love that I can curse until my very lips turn blue over the fact that people who should know better, don't. Just the feeling of that ripe, juicy f**k squeezing itself from my upstanding vocabulary...bliss. It is the most amazingly beautiful confusion to have loved so hard, so fast and to still feel that love and have absolutely no idea what to do with it. And then to feel the hope and faith that I've known love, I know it's there, so I'm sure that I will find what I'm looking for again, or eventually. Whichever comes first. The sleepless nights that are caused by the terror over the state of the world, and the question of whether or not I will even get the chance to know the love that I'm looking for, that's meant to be in my life always, not just as a lesson. I get to taste the first bittersweet sip of coffee that is used to revive me from that night with no sleep. The exhilaration of busting my ass and and pausing long enough to see that I've done something. I love the assuredness in my soul that everything I do is for me and not them. I may have to nod and smile at the jackasses, but they can't have the script that I'm writing in my heart while I blind 'em with my grin. The first warmed honey feeling that slips through my veins when I can collect myself long enough to write, to relax, to sit down or wind up with my friends after that first cocktail and realize how wonderful things really are.
Everything. I love it. Just to feel. I love it. I can stand on my own two feet and breath, look around and be. A lot of it sucks. And damn if it isn't hard, everyday it get's harder. The lines blur just a little bit more. But even if it's bad, it means that I am HERE. Every moment that I am fully capable is a blessing.
By no means am I dropping the cynicism and getting all pollyanna-ish on you guys - two days from now I'm sure I'll have a proper rant over something worthless like how "people have no awareness of themselves in space, frikkin' A-MAZ-ING." But even those rants make life worth living.
UNFINISHED
I'm all ears
and I'm all doors
all open windows to my soul
with an invitation to
"come on in, love"
without even makin' you
wipe your feet on the threshold.
No worries. That's what I'm here for.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
This was posted elsewhere a few months ago, but then I realized that some of you don't read there, so I'm posting it here.
I was out a couple of weeks ago at this place called the Beauty Bar, aptly named b/c it sports a full bar and a nail tech (no I'm not a Manhattanite pro, I just can't think of a better term) who will give you a manicure whilst you kick back with your friends and enjoy a nice cold Newcastle. Bliss.
I, unfortunately b/c my nails are RAGGED, did not partake in the spa moment, but I did meet a very interesting character. I'll set up the situation by telling you that my last words of the evening to this Man were "I wish I could have met you when you were sober." Ah, how many nights have I ended on that note? Anyhow, this guy was, well, what I consider the full package...minus the fact that he was listing-to-the-side-intoxicated...usually not enticing by any means, but this was an exception. What can I say, maybe my standards are slipping.
I pause for a moment to pose this question to you: when you are out at a bar, or in any social setting, what are the first few things out of your mouth when you meet someone? In Manhattan, there is actually a script. Good God, there must be, 'cause everyone you encounter asks you about the same thing "where are you from? Why are you here? What do you do?" I find that these questions are asked everywhere - they are a good way to find similar interests and people in common, but all in all, it's the lazy approach.
So, the aforementioned drunken package (take that term however you want) peered at me blearily when I got past his name (I have since forgotten it), asked him where he was from (New Zealand) and moved on to what he did for a living. "Right," he says, "the interview questions." and heaves a big sigh.
Huh.
I must say, that statement right there piqued my interest. I do love a challenge. Put on the spot like that and a little bit frazzled over having an intelligent, verbal sparing match with the human Leaning Tower of Pisa, the best rapid fire, indignant response I could come up with was "Fine! Then what's your favorite color?" Wha'? Who replaced me with the lame girl?
We managed a few more lopsided encounters, with me eye-checking my friends to keep them from intervening at one point when boy wonder actually started leaning on ME. His exit came when I had focused my attention on the bartender, turned back around, and found him vanished. Actually, Lindz said he stumbled away taking out several bystanders in his path, but the bar was busy and it took me awhile to get my beer so, to me, *poof* he was gone.
But what good is someone if they don't make you think? Here are my mental notes from this chance encounter:
1. Stop meeting men at bars (this doesn't count, it's on every list and it's really only worked out for me once)
2. Mix it up a little when meeting new people. If they're cool, they will play along when you ask them "what color are the walls in your apartment?" or "what was the name of your childhood teddy bear?" If they are not, they'll look at you like your head is on fire (a look that I am well acquainted with) and slap out of the boxing ring gracefully.
3. As I am a girl, my handle on the guy perspective is a little skewed. I try to put myself in their shoes, and sometimes I'm told that I should have been a guy 'cause I tend towards thinking and acting like one, but really I haven't a clue. What they must think when girls trot out the standard fare of introductory lingo...seems like they might be wondering why they felt like they were on a job interview instead of meeting a pretty girl.
4. From here on out, I will be disappointed if these questions come out of my mouth. I hereby pledge to ask guys questions that will allow me to get to know them, instead of sizing him up like a prospector inspecting a gold nugget.
Discuss amongst yourselves.
I was out a couple of weeks ago at this place called the Beauty Bar, aptly named b/c it sports a full bar and a nail tech (no I'm not a Manhattanite pro, I just can't think of a better term) who will give you a manicure whilst you kick back with your friends and enjoy a nice cold Newcastle. Bliss.
I, unfortunately b/c my nails are RAGGED, did not partake in the spa moment, but I did meet a very interesting character. I'll set up the situation by telling you that my last words of the evening to this Man were "I wish I could have met you when you were sober." Ah, how many nights have I ended on that note? Anyhow, this guy was, well, what I consider the full package...minus the fact that he was listing-to-the-side-intoxicated...usually not enticing by any means, but this was an exception. What can I say, maybe my standards are slipping.
I pause for a moment to pose this question to you: when you are out at a bar, or in any social setting, what are the first few things out of your mouth when you meet someone? In Manhattan, there is actually a script. Good God, there must be, 'cause everyone you encounter asks you about the same thing "where are you from? Why are you here? What do you do?" I find that these questions are asked everywhere - they are a good way to find similar interests and people in common, but all in all, it's the lazy approach.
So, the aforementioned drunken package (take that term however you want) peered at me blearily when I got past his name (I have since forgotten it), asked him where he was from (New Zealand) and moved on to what he did for a living. "Right," he says, "the interview questions." and heaves a big sigh.
Huh.
I must say, that statement right there piqued my interest. I do love a challenge. Put on the spot like that and a little bit frazzled over having an intelligent, verbal sparing match with the human Leaning Tower of Pisa, the best rapid fire, indignant response I could come up with was "Fine! Then what's your favorite color?" Wha'? Who replaced me with the lame girl?
We managed a few more lopsided encounters, with me eye-checking my friends to keep them from intervening at one point when boy wonder actually started leaning on ME. His exit came when I had focused my attention on the bartender, turned back around, and found him vanished. Actually, Lindz said he stumbled away taking out several bystanders in his path, but the bar was busy and it took me awhile to get my beer so, to me, *poof* he was gone.
But what good is someone if they don't make you think? Here are my mental notes from this chance encounter:
1. Stop meeting men at bars (this doesn't count, it's on every list and it's really only worked out for me once)
2. Mix it up a little when meeting new people. If they're cool, they will play along when you ask them "what color are the walls in your apartment?" or "what was the name of your childhood teddy bear?" If they are not, they'll look at you like your head is on fire (a look that I am well acquainted with) and slap out of the boxing ring gracefully.
3. As I am a girl, my handle on the guy perspective is a little skewed. I try to put myself in their shoes, and sometimes I'm told that I should have been a guy 'cause I tend towards thinking and acting like one, but really I haven't a clue. What they must think when girls trot out the standard fare of introductory lingo...seems like they might be wondering why they felt like they were on a job interview instead of meeting a pretty girl.
4. From here on out, I will be disappointed if these questions come out of my mouth. I hereby pledge to ask guys questions that will allow me to get to know them, instead of sizing him up like a prospector inspecting a gold nugget.
Discuss amongst yourselves.
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