And so Friday has come to a close, with more of a whimper than a bang. Ahead of me is a weekend full of ‘to do’ lists, things that have been on hold while I played the game. And now that THAT chapter has come to a close, I can return to my regularly scheduled manic life.
So why do I feel a bit lost? Cast adrift with nothing to hold on to? I’m torn between taking a 3 day nap, and disappearing into the woods for a 3 day hike. Mardougrrl spoke of “Givens” and that is definitely what I’m feeling the weight of now. A barrage of “musts” and “needs to be dones” that stand between where I am now, and a true sense of “me”.
Instead, I would love take myself on a vacation alone. I need to meet me in a quiet bar and have a lovely long conversation with me. I need to read aloud passages from my favorite books, so I can hear what really pleases me. I need to discover the ticklish places on me, and touch them gently. I need to subtly find out my favorite flowers and buy them for me, as a surprise. I need to woo me.
It’s a delicious thought. And for a few brief moments, I'm going to close my eyes and imagine this joy. Because when I open them again, I will still be at the desk, will still have the day planner open in front of me, the taxes in an envelope labled "ORGANIZE!", and a friend to take to the airport ASS-EARLY tomorrow morning.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
In pursuit of the game
One of the reasons that i have been oddly quiet is that i have filled my time with a new adventure.
Since March 13th, i have been an active participant in "Street Wars", an assassination game taking over the streets of Los Angeles. Played with waterguns, various active 'killers' pursue each other through the moments of our daily lives.
What started as only a game has been transformative and thought provoking.
See, my father and I often talked about playing a game like this. So when the opportunity finally appeared, i leapt at the chance to prove myself. However, the challenge has been more than i ever conceived.
It's all more time consuming than i ever imagined. Waking up at 5am to stalk before work. Keeping a change of clothes in the car at all times, in case you come across an evening when you can't go home. Hunting way past midnight on a school night. James Bond never had to report in to another day job. Assassins cannot give 40 hours to "the Man" AND still have 100% to give to the pursuit. These are all bits of 'intell' that have become readily apparent to me.
But more than that, I'm tormented by unresolved issues about being "good enough", and this frivolity has brought that home in spades.
My 'target' has been elusive, and my pursuits limited due to my other obligations (i.e. the job that pays my bills). Additionally, in my head is ever the thought... "How would my father behave in this situation? How would he handle this? would he wait in the rain? Would he have found another way to find and pursue this man?"
How did some 'extra-cirricular' activity become another way to fail my family? Why did an 'entertainment' become a tool for judgement and self-flagulation?
Look, I write this with some humor and the ability to see what it is I'm doing to myself. And in truth, this week, I am much better, much kinder than I was the first week of play. However, i still am amazed.... i took something that was supposed to be fun and frivolous, and i turned it into a metaphor for all i find i lack.
I always wanted to be 'killer'. A Femme-fatale. The pinnacle of sexy and dangerous. Mysterious and deadly. Instead, what i found myself to be is... ordinary. Not bad. Not hopeless or lousy or wretched.... Just boring. Just... normal. And that has disturbed me greatly.
Did you ever want to be a superhero, and find yourself merely human? Is this a common thing amongst people? Do we always hope for greatness? Are we always disappointed to find ourselves just "ok"?
Since March 13th, i have been an active participant in "Street Wars", an assassination game taking over the streets of Los Angeles. Played with waterguns, various active 'killers' pursue each other through the moments of our daily lives.
What started as only a game has been transformative and thought provoking.
See, my father and I often talked about playing a game like this. So when the opportunity finally appeared, i leapt at the chance to prove myself. However, the challenge has been more than i ever conceived.
It's all more time consuming than i ever imagined. Waking up at 5am to stalk before work. Keeping a change of clothes in the car at all times, in case you come across an evening when you can't go home. Hunting way past midnight on a school night. James Bond never had to report in to another day job. Assassins cannot give 40 hours to "the Man" AND still have 100% to give to the pursuit. These are all bits of 'intell' that have become readily apparent to me.
But more than that, I'm tormented by unresolved issues about being "good enough", and this frivolity has brought that home in spades.
My 'target' has been elusive, and my pursuits limited due to my other obligations (i.e. the job that pays my bills). Additionally, in my head is ever the thought... "How would my father behave in this situation? How would he handle this? would he wait in the rain? Would he have found another way to find and pursue this man?"
How did some 'extra-cirricular' activity become another way to fail my family? Why did an 'entertainment' become a tool for judgement and self-flagulation?
Look, I write this with some humor and the ability to see what it is I'm doing to myself. And in truth, this week, I am much better, much kinder than I was the first week of play. However, i still am amazed.... i took something that was supposed to be fun and frivolous, and i turned it into a metaphor for all i find i lack.
I always wanted to be 'killer'. A Femme-fatale. The pinnacle of sexy and dangerous. Mysterious and deadly. Instead, what i found myself to be is... ordinary. Not bad. Not hopeless or lousy or wretched.... Just boring. Just... normal. And that has disturbed me greatly.
Did you ever want to be a superhero, and find yourself merely human? Is this a common thing amongst people? Do we always hope for greatness? Are we always disappointed to find ourselves just "ok"?
She Makes Me Laugh
Quotable from a fabu girl chat last night:
"My pussy is like a Manhattan apartment.... and by that, I don't mean filthy and full of bugs. I mean tiny, exclusive and hard to get into."
Amen sister!
"My pussy is like a Manhattan apartment.... and by that, I don't mean filthy and full of bugs. I mean tiny, exclusive and hard to get into."
Amen sister!
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
To Stir the Pot
So much of what I read on the blogs is about being true to oneself, being an artist, being alive. And as of late, I've found that I just haven't had much to put out there along these lines. I'm feeling stuck... Sold to a destiny that may not fit once I get there.
There is a general sense of this in the lives of those around me (both RL and online). Each one, in her own way, has tried to uncork the genie and get things moving once again. For many, the path to this release is writing. For some it's painting, or photography. For others it's cooking delectable foods, gardening with glorious floral audiences, or reading well written literature. All brilliant in their detail and their soul searching, I have soaked up these words and thoughts in hopes that they would dislodge the dammed up stream of things that want to be expressed. Rest assured.... you all do inspire me, enlighten me, and most importantly console me that I am not alone in this journey.
However, I realized that this communion of communication is just one of the paths to soul-speak... and for me, it's not always the most direct or most invigorating. Thus I was reminded of what does work best...
I'm off to dance class, folks. Stretch the body, stir the blood, awaken the goddess within. She hasn't come out to play in a while, and she's aching to shimmy.
There is a general sense of this in the lives of those around me (both RL and online). Each one, in her own way, has tried to uncork the genie and get things moving once again. For many, the path to this release is writing. For some it's painting, or photography. For others it's cooking delectable foods, gardening with glorious floral audiences, or reading well written literature. All brilliant in their detail and their soul searching, I have soaked up these words and thoughts in hopes that they would dislodge the dammed up stream of things that want to be expressed. Rest assured.... you all do inspire me, enlighten me, and most importantly console me that I am not alone in this journey.
However, I realized that this communion of communication is just one of the paths to soul-speak... and for me, it's not always the most direct or most invigorating. Thus I was reminded of what does work best...
I'm off to dance class, folks. Stretch the body, stir the blood, awaken the goddess within. She hasn't come out to play in a while, and she's aching to shimmy.
"I don’t know what inspiration is, but if and when it comes, I hope it finds me working…”
-- Pablo Picasso
Monday, March 20, 2006
Simple inspiration
I like
my best friend's unfailing honesty
I wish
that I could achieve more; that I could accept better who I actually am; that the RCB would call me this week. *wink*
I play
"Big Kahuna Reef" on a nearly daily basis
I am
a little lost right now... but not out for the count.
what about you?
(thanks Jennifer for today's inspiration!!)
my best friend's unfailing honesty
I wish
that I could achieve more; that I could accept better who I actually am; that the RCB would call me this week. *wink*
I play
"Big Kahuna Reef" on a nearly daily basis
I am
a little lost right now... but not out for the count.
what about you?
(thanks Jennifer for today's inspiration!!)
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Violated
Last night, somewhere between 2pm – 6pm, someone broke into my car. Some minor damage was done to the door as well as the locking mechanism. 2 bags were stolen (full of clothes, make-up and dance shoes).
The bags were later recovered by security, abandoned and ransacked, but with the bulk of the contents accounted for. The door repairs will probably come out of pocket, because I doubt they’ll exceed my deductible. But long after the material goods are replaced or repaired, there will still be damage.
It’s going to take a bit more to get back that peace of mind.
It started with an eerie silence when I first approached my car, broken only by the quiet “What the fu…” that began to emerge from my mouth. Then came a wave of righteous indignation. First, at the people who would do this, and then again at the police who said that they “really don’t have the time to investigate this sort of thing every time it happens.” (my report was filed over the phone only, with an operator who had all the compassion of dry toast).
I’m not about to insinuate that my minor shake-up is anything like experiencing an illness or death of a loved one… however, I find myself going thru Kubler-Ross’s 5 stages.
In the 24 hours since my ugly discovery, I have worried, fretted, mourned, raged, hoped it wasn’t true, and wished I could turn back time (park a different place, not keep so much in the car). I even reached a point where I told the Universe “OK… I think I can be willing to let the material possessions go, if only Really Cute Boy will call me soon.” (At least my "bargining phase" still has a sense of humor.)
In the end, when all other things have been said and done, acceptance lingers in the empty space. Whether the police care or not, whether RCB calls or not, the simple fact is... my car, my safe space, that tiny piece of the world where I felt I had control...has broken edges, missing parts, and some one else’s smeary fingerprints on my mistreated window. And I have a lesson to learn, and the uncomfortable urge to not be alone.
The bags were later recovered by security, abandoned and ransacked, but with the bulk of the contents accounted for. The door repairs will probably come out of pocket, because I doubt they’ll exceed my deductible. But long after the material goods are replaced or repaired, there will still be damage.
It’s going to take a bit more to get back that peace of mind.
It started with an eerie silence when I first approached my car, broken only by the quiet “What the fu…” that began to emerge from my mouth. Then came a wave of righteous indignation. First, at the people who would do this, and then again at the police who said that they “really don’t have the time to investigate this sort of thing every time it happens.” (my report was filed over the phone only, with an operator who had all the compassion of dry toast).
I’m not about to insinuate that my minor shake-up is anything like experiencing an illness or death of a loved one… however, I find myself going thru Kubler-Ross’s 5 stages.
In the 24 hours since my ugly discovery, I have worried, fretted, mourned, raged, hoped it wasn’t true, and wished I could turn back time (park a different place, not keep so much in the car). I even reached a point where I told the Universe “OK… I think I can be willing to let the material possessions go, if only Really Cute Boy will call me soon.” (At least my "bargining phase" still has a sense of humor.)
In the end, when all other things have been said and done, acceptance lingers in the empty space. Whether the police care or not, whether RCB calls or not, the simple fact is... my car, my safe space, that tiny piece of the world where I felt I had control...has broken edges, missing parts, and some one else’s smeary fingerprints on my mistreated window. And I have a lesson to learn, and the uncomfortable urge to not be alone.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Return of the Cute Boy
OK some of you may remember the cute boy at my work. *SighGiggleGrin* I missed him that day when i went to introduce myself,and I've pined (just a little) since then.
Sadly, he wasn’t new as I once speculated, but instead, had been around over a year. Why do I say “sadly”? Because I found all this out last Friday, just prior to his “exit interview” (or that thing you do at the end of the day on your last day at the job! Grrrr)
Friday afternoon, 5pm and I was frantically working on something, when who should appear at my desk? Really Cute Boy, looking for office number here in HR. Even though said office was some 8 feet away from my desk, I stood up and escorted him there.
He went in to say his last goodbye and I went into crisis flirt mode. His time here was limited. If I wanted even the slightest chance of crushing, giggling or snogging, I had to act fast.
Thankfully, I am a Sagittarius. “Bold” is my middle name (and “Tact” is right out the window), so with my acting business card in hand (ok, in my back pocket), I went about discovering where his last moments would be in the building, and how I could get back in his sights.
To achieve this, I carefully manipulated the “you must turn in your security badge before leaving” rule. Sure, at the time, he felt the militant crack of the HR whip, but once he got here, slightly dumfounded look on his face, wondering why he would be hunted so…. I charmingly explained that it was a “Drive-by flirting” , a mere ruse to see him one last time, so that I could pass on my number and let him know I was available for drinks and conversation should he be inclined.
20 min later…. I met him at the bar. Go Me!
Sadly, he wasn’t new as I once speculated, but instead, had been around over a year. Why do I say “sadly”? Because I found all this out last Friday, just prior to his “exit interview” (or that thing you do at the end of the day on your last day at the job! Grrrr)
Friday afternoon, 5pm and I was frantically working on something, when who should appear at my desk? Really Cute Boy, looking for office number here in HR. Even though said office was some 8 feet away from my desk, I stood up and escorted him there.
He went in to say his last goodbye and I went into crisis flirt mode. His time here was limited. If I wanted even the slightest chance of crushing, giggling or snogging, I had to act fast.
Thankfully, I am a Sagittarius. “Bold” is my middle name (and “Tact” is right out the window), so with my acting business card in hand (ok, in my back pocket), I went about discovering where his last moments would be in the building, and how I could get back in his sights.
To achieve this, I carefully manipulated the “you must turn in your security badge before leaving” rule. Sure, at the time, he felt the militant crack of the HR whip, but once he got here, slightly dumfounded look on his face, wondering why he would be hunted so…. I charmingly explained that it was a “Drive-by flirting” , a mere ruse to see him one last time, so that I could pass on my number and let him know I was available for drinks and conversation should he be inclined.
20 min later…. I met him at the bar. Go Me!
Friday, March 10, 2006
Fuzzy Walking in Two Different Worlds
Sorry my dears. More than a week gone by without writing. The urge occurs to me first thing in the morning, sometimes even before the alarm has gone off, when my mind is awake but the body hasn’t gotten there yet. I rolled over the other morning, put pen to paper and came out with the first draft of a new poem. It’s called ‘Our love is like a dead squirrel’. *giggle* no…I’m serious. My point here is that not everything my brain spews out upon waking is worthy of electronic publishing.
Speaking of odd brain spew, last night's dreams were frought with strange. I was traveling somewhere, and on my way, I stopped by A's house. Only it wasn't the beautiful Long Beach condo that I know from reality. It was a strange house in a subdivision still being built.
You had to pass through one person's house, and into the back yard, where you then entered a white metal door, that led to a steel ladder down to what should have been a basement area, but after a short tunnel, opened up to the outside lower 'lot' of the subdivision.
The house that I passed through had several odd characters in it. An African woman who was dancing to 70's music, while making a 'hot cherry pie'. Additionally, there was an attractive younger man dressed like Elvis who would dance with her. He would stop and make eye contact with me each time I passed through.
There were many multi-colored bead curtins, which clicked when I would walk through. In fact between the music, the click of the beads, the multi colored posters, the odd outfits on the people, and the smell of cherry pie, the whole house was a sensory experience. One that should have been pleasant, only I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.
Once outside in the back yard, I could see the Statue of Liberty. I mean, REALLY close up, so that I could only see about the top 3/4 of her, and as I looked I thought to myself "I didn't know she wore a mask" (as she clearly had a mardi-gras-esqu 1/2 mask over her eyes). There were many powerlines and a tangible electronic buzz that added to my sense of un-ease.
The steel ladder down was un-nerving as well, and there was black spray-painted graffitti on the white walls. Even though the subdivision was just being built, there was an old abandoned feel about so much of it. Dirty and dingey and unsafe.
I tried to cut through the lower section of the subdivision, in an attempt to get back to my car, which I'd parked on the street in front of A's house. But one street would wind around and become another, and I wasn't so much lost as I realized that I was in some sort of capture loop, and the only way to get out would be to backtrack my steps, go back up the ladder, and return the way I came. At this point, it would be a very long walk, and I was running late for my next appointment.... but it was more assured to be successful than my endless wandering was.
So back I went. Through the abandoned streets, up the scary ladder, past the buzzing wires, and into the house. Somehow (as happens in dreams) this house with the dancing strangers and A's house had merged, and thus when I passed through, they asked me to stay for pie. I don't like pie (well, not fruit pies). But i wanted to be polite, and it gave me more time to play with the new kitten A had. He was pale grey tabby, with some peach colored patches, and very beady tiny eyes. His name was "Hilton" and I called him "Beady-eyed Hilton" (No relation to Paris), as I picked him up (smaller than one hand) and nuzzled his confused head.
I realized that between waiting for pie and cuddling the kitten, I was very late, and I still didn't feel safe or happy where i was, so I made my excuses and headed towards the door. That's when the Elvis gentleman stopped me. He held my hand, and asked where I lived (presumably to see if it was nearby, and to find out if we could see each other again). I explained that I live in Los Angeles, and his face fell as he realized that I was leaving never to return. He sadly repeated "Los Angeles?" and I said yes. Heartbroken, he sat stunned for a moment, until I, in an attempt to comfort him, kissed his forehead before saying good bye.
Then I woke up.
I have no idea what this means. I apologize that i have no underlying theme for this post. But i figure getting something out there.... just expressing the oddities of my brain... is better than keeping it all stuffed inside.
Happy weekend to you, my dears. May all your (good) dreams come true.
Speaking of odd brain spew, last night's dreams were frought with strange. I was traveling somewhere, and on my way, I stopped by A's house. Only it wasn't the beautiful Long Beach condo that I know from reality. It was a strange house in a subdivision still being built.
You had to pass through one person's house, and into the back yard, where you then entered a white metal door, that led to a steel ladder down to what should have been a basement area, but after a short tunnel, opened up to the outside lower 'lot' of the subdivision.
The house that I passed through had several odd characters in it. An African woman who was dancing to 70's music, while making a 'hot cherry pie'. Additionally, there was an attractive younger man dressed like Elvis who would dance with her. He would stop and make eye contact with me each time I passed through.
There were many multi-colored bead curtins, which clicked when I would walk through. In fact between the music, the click of the beads, the multi colored posters, the odd outfits on the people, and the smell of cherry pie, the whole house was a sensory experience. One that should have been pleasant, only I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.
Once outside in the back yard, I could see the Statue of Liberty. I mean, REALLY close up, so that I could only see about the top 3/4 of her, and as I looked I thought to myself "I didn't know she wore a mask" (as she clearly had a mardi-gras-esqu 1/2 mask over her eyes). There were many powerlines and a tangible electronic buzz that added to my sense of un-ease.
The steel ladder down was un-nerving as well, and there was black spray-painted graffitti on the white walls. Even though the subdivision was just being built, there was an old abandoned feel about so much of it. Dirty and dingey and unsafe.
I tried to cut through the lower section of the subdivision, in an attempt to get back to my car, which I'd parked on the street in front of A's house. But one street would wind around and become another, and I wasn't so much lost as I realized that I was in some sort of capture loop, and the only way to get out would be to backtrack my steps, go back up the ladder, and return the way I came. At this point, it would be a very long walk, and I was running late for my next appointment.... but it was more assured to be successful than my endless wandering was.
So back I went. Through the abandoned streets, up the scary ladder, past the buzzing wires, and into the house. Somehow (as happens in dreams) this house with the dancing strangers and A's house had merged, and thus when I passed through, they asked me to stay for pie. I don't like pie (well, not fruit pies). But i wanted to be polite, and it gave me more time to play with the new kitten A had. He was pale grey tabby, with some peach colored patches, and very beady tiny eyes. His name was "Hilton" and I called him "Beady-eyed Hilton" (No relation to Paris), as I picked him up (smaller than one hand) and nuzzled his confused head.
I realized that between waiting for pie and cuddling the kitten, I was very late, and I still didn't feel safe or happy where i was, so I made my excuses and headed towards the door. That's when the Elvis gentleman stopped me. He held my hand, and asked where I lived (presumably to see if it was nearby, and to find out if we could see each other again). I explained that I live in Los Angeles, and his face fell as he realized that I was leaving never to return. He sadly repeated "Los Angeles?" and I said yes. Heartbroken, he sat stunned for a moment, until I, in an attempt to comfort him, kissed his forehead before saying good bye.
Then I woke up.
I have no idea what this means. I apologize that i have no underlying theme for this post. But i figure getting something out there.... just expressing the oddities of my brain... is better than keeping it all stuffed inside.
Happy weekend to you, my dears. May all your (good) dreams come true.
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