Light and Darkness

Happy 2004!

I'm not big on resolutions because when I fail I feel I've failed miserably. So, having said that I say this for all of us...I resolve that we be better people each moment of our lives. Whether we resolve to change ourselves with weight issues or smoking habits, whether we resolve to change the world with more contributions at church or volunteerism, whether we resolve to change our relationships with more time with our children or our lovers...we need to strive to become better people every moment we are given. And if we break this resolution in one moment, let us not be discouraged by our missteps but be encouraged to take the next moment and try again. Striving to be a better person....yeah, I think I can do that one!

Happy New Year, my fellow souls. May all of you be blessed with happiness, love, strength, and the appetite for life.

What I Want My Words To Do To You

I'm a big fan of PBS. I don't have cable which is such a good thing in so many ways...but even if I did, PBS has a plethora of shows I would still find myself plopping myself in front of.

Just recently I watched POV and the special for the night was What I Want My Words To Do To You. It focused on playwright and activist Eve Ensler's 4 year writing workshop with the women inmates of Bedford Hills Correctional Facility. These women prove that humanity is never lost on a single person. That people are not born bad or evil. That lack of guidance, love, stability early in life are detrimental to every person's development.

The beauty and power of the women's words amaze me. But beyond that I found myself in each of these women. I found that common thread that runs from my core to theirs to yours. The violent of their crimes, the remorse in their souls, the change in their personalities were captured so beautifully in their writing essays and the stories they shared with one another.

What is secondary to being a voyeur in their group is the actors involved in the film project. Several leading women read the inmates essays in a peformance at the prison. Actors like Glenn Close, Marisa Tomei, Rosie Perez, Ruby Dee were involved.

The film is beautiful and if you have the chance to see it, do. I think Ensler did a marvelous job in portraying the wonder in these women's lives. Women, society would generally give up on that are contributing to. Women who are mentors, teachers, caretakers, students, and much more.

And an important question is asked: Should prisons be for punishment or reform?

In the meantime...

My computer finally died over the weekend. I have to wait now until I have some extra money to get it to Tim, my computer guy. DAMNIT!!! I need to replace the hard drive but need to save data from the old one. SO what do I do? Do I just go ahead and replace the damn thing and say to hell to all my personal bits and pieces? Do I repair it and know that I'm just staving off the inevitable? I need those things: emails, pictures, documents. I'm the kind of gal that in a house fire I'd forget the expensive heirloom china set from Queen Victoria's personal collection given to me at my wedding and go for the letters, albums, and journals.

I NEED MY COMPUTER!!! Writing here from work which is not a good thing because I work in cubicle hell and have to constantly look over my shoulder for supervisors, colleagues, and the rot.

This past weekend was one pain in the ass!

Abortion

I hate my parents...particularly my mother. I know it's not a kind thing to say, but there is an extreme amount of hurtful memories and current history behind those words. sigh...

Friday was a horrible day to say the least and to spare details and tears, it ended with my mother yelling for me to say out of her life and home. I am to never darken her doorstep again. And in return I yelled horrible obscenities at her. What's worse than the fact that it happened is that it always happens. The turmoil between us never goes away. Something I've done along my life...perhaps it's alot of somethings...has caused her to hate me. And before you give me a large fresh steaming pile of horseshit like, "Oh, she's your mother. She doesn't hate you." Let me just stop you there. I don't want to hear it. I really don't.

I regularly talk myself out of my anger towards her. I feel guilty for my resentment and pain and indifference and full-blown hate. I internalize all that has happened in the 31 years of my existence with her and say it's my fault. But it's not all my fault. I'm tired of being this woman's child. I'm tired of her being my mother. I'm tired of being that abortion that lived.

See, that's what I think my problem is sometimes. I've become so obsessed with not fitting in. Feeling like I should not even be alive that I fight with myself. I get angry for enjoying the world. I get angry for having this body, these emotions, this brain...this uniqueness that makes me, me. I hear every day those stinging comments from my mother of how inadequate I am. How ugly, selfish, unforgiving, moody, lazy I am. In my mind, I hear insults in her voice. I've allowed her to dominate my essence. And I hate her. I hate me.

As a child, I grew up with her putting unrealistic demands on me. I had to be perfect in behavior, manners, body, school, sibling responsibility, etc etc etc. And when I failed even slightly, I was punished. Yelled at about how lazy I was, how fat I was, how the A wasn't an A+, how I didn't say 'good morning' to someone at the door. And after the yelling, she'd beat the crap out of me. Then to drive the dagger deeper into my heart, she'd call my father at work to tell him how Satan-like I was being. Only hours between one punishment before the next would begin.

I got in trouble for everything. Going outside to play, I got in trouble for being away from home too much. Staying inside to read a book, I got in trouble for being lazy and never going outside. I was punished for my siblings' wrong-doings because I was the oldest and failed to set a good example. I was once severly reprimanded because my mother overheard a conversation I was having with a friend from school. After he had gone home, she told me that I was using words that probably made him feel stupid; that I was trying to make him feel bad by talking better than him and trying to be better than him.

There has never been any good reason for her hating me. I think perhaps because I was the product of a relationship that turned out different than she wanted. She reminded me daily that I was Gerry's daughter, a man that was fat and moody, that drank and ate too much, that cheated on her. She would literally spit when she talked about him. And at the end of her rant about him she would say, "And you're just like him!"

I know this was the past. I should let it go. I'm trying. But what about the daily reminders that I'm a failure and fuck-up now? How she had to rescue me from being homeless though the reason my daughter and I lived in a homeless shelter was because of a domestic situation that ended with police, her arrest, and a state case against her. Or how about when I go on about a guy I'm interested in or is just talking to as a friend and she blurts out, "Does he know what you look like?" Or something simple like wearing my hair done brings about a 5-10 minute rant about how I'd look better if I'd take care of my hair or wear it up.

If I don't call her, it's because I don't love her. If I call her, I'm bothering her. If I open my mouth, I talk to much. If I have no money, it must be because I've just bought a yacht or something extravagant. I won't even go into my bipolar issues. The ridicule I get from her makes me feel guilty for having an illness I struggle every day to maintain control.

I hate her. I allow myself to be influenced by her and her vengeful, controlling view of the world. I try to separate myself from her life but it's so very difficult. How do remove the one person in your life that is supposed to love you unconditionally?! If anyone is supposed to love you, faults and all, it's supposed to be your mother, right?! I keep thinking that and feel so guilty for wanting to run from her.

I carry every day one thing that she said to me once. She only had to say it once to have a profound effect on me. One day she was in her bedroom, making the bed. She called me for some reason. I don't know what I was doing or what I had done. But I remember she started to yell and scream horrible insults at me as she usually did. But then she said it. The one thing I carry. To the effect, "The only reason I didn't have an abortion is because I'm Catholic." I was in elementary school...about my daughter's age.

I don't want to hate her. I don't want to exclude her from life. But I can't have her the way I envision a mother should be. I'm not asking for Donna Reed or Carolyn Brady. I'm asking for a person that says, "Hey, I made mistakes. I'll accept the responsibility for my actions. I know I have a lot of trust to earn. But can we try?" I'd settle for a mother who wants me alive instead of mocks me for wishing for death.

Tada

Well folks, if things work out Vagabond Spirit should be on its way to being a up and running blog. I still haven't got a set layout because I haven't gotten that far. I'm working on a skeleton right now so please cross those legs a little longer. HEHEHE

I'm excited about this and have to say that without Ali's initiative, I'd still be thinking about moving from that other blasted place. I've got a lot to learn and there are some fantastic sites out there that I plant to rip...I mean be inspired by. Um, yeah.

List of things to do: 1)get that other place to let go of my entries, 2)find a layout I am in love with, 3)learn some HTML, 4)have a stiff drink, 5)change my DSL - once I've kidnapped my poor entries from that desolate wasteland.

So, TADA. Here I am. Shall we hit SAVE and see?

"We are two abysses - a well staring at the sky."

I've mentioned a book I'm reading, Fernando Pessoa's The Book of Disquiet (Richard Zenith translation). It has me wrapped tightly in its pages. I generally have no problem going through a book in a sitting but there is something about Pessoa. A man that died nearly 40 years before my birth has somehow managed to capture thoughts in ink I assumed were only mine. I'm going through this book laboriously slow with pen in hand, marking passages with astonishment. His words at times give my emotions a clear and resonating sound.

The image of myself I saw in mirrors is the same one I hold against the bosom of my soul. I could never be anything but frail and hunched over, even in my thoughts. (p 27)

Because I'm the size of what I see and not the size of my stature. (p 46, incidentally this is written by one of his heteronyms Caeiro)

Perfection never materializes. The saint weeps, and is human. God is silent. That is why we can love the saint but cannot love God. (p 65)

The book itself was created out of papers in a trunk found after his death. There was no rhyme or reason to the writings. There are several translations because of language and how do you piece together a book that really isn't a book.

He was quite prolific and his work was found on anything from an envelope to the margins of his previous writings. He wrote in English, French and Portugese. He wrote under several names...but didn't just pen these names. He created entire lives including births and deaths for his authors. He was a quiet, creative, introverted genius who wrote because he had no choice.

Pessoa's Trunk has an interesting feature that allows you to see side by side translations of Pessoa's poem Autopsicografia.

The cliffhanger's finale

When we last left our heroine, she was precariously tottering on the edge of good health. One false move and she would drop into the cavernous darkness of strep below. What has become of the brave Naomi? Clinging by her fingers, did she hoist herself up and escape her near brush with death? We now return to our program already in progress...

No, I do not have strep. HOWEVER, I am home sick for two days with an ugly case of tonsilitis. On a round of antibiotics and supposed bedrest...I didn't follow the directions to the tee tonight which I should get my butt spanked and be sent to my room. I stopped in by the Grind after my therapist appointment tonight to say hello to Steph.

Let me tell you. I've been tired all day long. I've been tired since Thursday night but have not allowed myself to really rest. I fell asleep waiting for my appointment tonight which is slightly embarrassing because I was afraid with the infection that I might have been snoring somewhat publicly. God, I hope not.

So...tomorrow I will rest. Rest. Rest. Rest............maybe some cleaning too.

I'm official

Ok. If any of you haven't seen my friend Ali's site, you suck. Kidding. You need to get over to Caffe Eclectic and rave and rave and rave and thank her for a most generous gift. By complete and total surprise, she has given me a voice. I will be moving to a much fancier abode...Vagabond Spirit...I'm just starting out with Ali's help and probably will bother a few more people I know but I'M EXCITED and I owe it completely to Ali. YAY for ALI!!!!

It's going to be grand, folks. SO FUCKING GRAND! Christmas is cool. Thank you, Santa Ali or Ate (Ate is respectful for sister in Tagalog) Ali . You are entirely too much. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

The Daily Grind and love

I went to hang out with a friend tonight. She's a barista at a cafe downtown as well as at the cafe at the medical center I work. Met some interesting people, mostly men...And I have to say that I felt a bit out of place. Not because most of the people walking in and out of the door dress in clothes typical of alternative lifestyles. Not because I've never been there before. But because I was probably 2nd oldest person there.

Steph warned me that alot of young people frequented The Daily Grind but my lord...she wasn't exaggerating. Most of the people were between the ages 18-22. I'm freaking 31 years old. Not that I didn't have any good conversation. BUT, yeah...still felt a bit old. However, again the face gives me away as only being in my mid-twenties so I'm ok.

As I was sitting there, I was thinking quite a bit about love. One of those things tonight. Deep topic. I can ramble about it. I generally don't because it's an embarrassing thing for me. I love hard. I love forever. I love passionately. Whether it's a love for a friend. Or for my mother. Or my child. Or the sight of Saturn's rings. Or for a man. My love shakes through my body and consumes me. It steamrolls my dreams and punctures my heart. I seize from my love.

What I was thinking about tonight...bit too private to share here. I don't mind sharing with friends privately but here...no. I'm guarded about my love because it is so intense. But...sigh...love, how I'm ready for it to tickle me again.

Pea soup and levitating beds

Ok. I called an exorcist and my demon is being called out. I'll be nicer. I'm going to force myself to be nicer...or heads are going to roll (laugh).

So, my mother and daughter are now on their way to Tennessee. God willing a safe trip. I did find out as my mother was pulling out of my drive that they are not returning until after Christmas so I will be alone for the holiday. My mom wants to stay with my sister and her family for presents and dinner and such. I think I'm going to be a little depressed Christmas eve and day. sigh...I've actually never spent a Christmas alone and without my daughter...the thought has tears welling in my eyes already.

I predict this week is going to be harder than I anticipated with that bit of news. And with the slightly foul mood. I feel like Eyeore. "I need a hug."

And how do you relieve tension?

It's too late or entirely too early depending on how you tell time. But I'm trying to finish laundry before my mother comes to carry my daughter away for a trip to Tennessee. The two of them are going to visit my sister and her family for a few days which leaves me alone.

Alone in the house. It's a strange occurrence that rarely happens. RARELY. I almost never go out so Em's infrequent times away from me are odd feelings. I'm going to enjoy the time alone but admittedly, I will feel alone.

sigh...I'm still in a slightly foul mood. Things certain people say and do are rubbing me raw. At my mom's Christmas party today, one of her Filipino friends asked me, "Do you eat this?" pointing to a Filipino dish. I have to say I was a bit more acerbic in tone than I should have been. "Know what? I don't understand why Filipinos ask me that. I am Filipino too. I do eat Filipino food."

I get a little sensitive about my nationality sometimes. Mostly around Filipinos. Why? Because I'm not under 5'2" and I don't weigh 100 lbs or less. My eyes and nose are the only things that give me any sense of ethnicity and generally people INCLUDING FILIPINOS guess I'm Samoan or Hawaiin. My own race tends to make me feel like a friggin outcast. I have nothing in common with them. I am white. It pisses me off. I would say when I was a child that I felt like the Jolly Green Giant. Now I say I am an Amazon...sounds so much sexier!

And some of the abrupt rudeness of certain people lately. Oooohhh. Chafing my ass, it is. I've been a bit *hisssss* with my attitude. Told my psychiatrist off last week. Tone of my voice has been catty. Cussing like a sailor.

I need to relieve this *hmph* in my attitude soon. Someone needs to either 1)slap me, 2)squeeze me, or 3)fuck me. I personally choose all three.

That was a bit forward, wasn't it? Damn, what's wrong with me?!

Friggin Frustration Fries Friendly Filipina..okay 1/2 Filipina

AOL burns my ass quite alot. The inability for anyone to comment, the entry size, the difficulty accessing my journal, and countless other things. BUT the latest has really had me in a tizzy. And obviously sending an email to the helpline people or whoever the hell answers the questions email, doesn't help. I haven't been able to save entries for days. And if it weren't for the help of John's journal, I wouldn't be typing now. (Thank you Mr. Scalzi!) GET IT TOGETHER PEOPLE!!!

Besides that, I'm battling an illness. It started on Thursday and is slowly progressing into something hideous. I'm hoping it's not strep. I don't think it is but sometimes my nemesis, Streptoccocus is an ingenius foe. I get strep at least 4x yearly with intermittent tonsillitis and just plain Jane sore throats. Yes, I want the ol' tonsils out but that's a pissy story I don't want to get into. Point is, I'm sick. I don't feel good. And I thought I was going to escape these last few months of winter untouched. Damn! I need a lozenge and some hot tea.

Can anyone tell I'm in a foul mood?

Fight Club

My God! how I want to bitch slap some women at work. And do they need it!

My department has gone through a revamping and we have until the end of January to prove that our jobs are worth saving. In order for the new changes to work effectively, EVERY woman needs to work outside of their job description. Pull together as a team. You know...the whole damn business motivation crap and blah blah blah. It's not gelling, folks.

What we have are a bunch of women who need to change their tampons! And this bitch right here is about to pull hers out and take a couple DOWN! I'm pretty good about not letting my temper get the best of me because I was raised in a violent home. And I can fight. But I don't. I choose not to. It's not a nice thing to do. I learned tempers can get you into a helluva lot of trouble.

But the Filipina/Irish temper is about to fly. I've held my tongue for months. I've internalized it and made it my fault. And I've made myself more depressed than I should have been. But that was before my job was on the line. Uh-uh.

Calm. Breathe in through your nose. Out through your mouth. Nam myo ho renge kyo. Ohm ohm ohm.

Hi. My name is Bob Scrooge. I'm a Christmas sigher.

I don't hate Christmas. I just hate being poor.

Wilson! WILSSSON!

Had a great rant about the lost art of bartering. The nearly extinct system that has influence on economy, psychology, anthropology, sociology, and a myriad of other -omies and -ogies. BUT I'm sleepy. I had a great chat with Ali. Computer shut down. Chopped open a coconut...no, that's not a metaphor. I know I like my metaphors but tonight it's not a metaphor...had some cold yummy coconut milk and meat. Now, it's time for bed. So, the rant will wait for tomorrow. Because, damnit...I'll be mad again. But sleep sounds so much better. Night, sweet darlings. Morpheus calls.

Bon Voyage, Mr. Wells. America will miss you!

I'm a sappy sort of girl. I cry at the drop of a hat. I really do. And well, this is one of those teary-eyed moments. Murray from PlanetThoughtful is moving onto the next part of his journey, which in itself isn't sad because it's to lovely Mexico and the beautiful people there. BUT it's closer to the end of the journey, his home and...well, further from here.

I'm extremely excited for him and Mexico and then what the future has in store. And although we didn't get to bother each other in actual presence of each other this go round, I felt Murray was still reasonably close. He was in my backyard. I could go next door and borrow a cup of sugar if need be. Or grab a hug whenever I wanted. Or just bother him...all in a metaphorical way, of course.

But, now he's closer to home. Australia! I know it's not a lifetime away. I for one know the world is small. It's just nice to have the people you've grown fond of...closer to your heart...that's all.

SO...I ask all to raise a glass of your favorite drink whether it be wine or juice, Guiness or milk. Raise it to Murray and wish him safe journeys as he travels to a country rich in history and people and that will be richer for having Mr. Wells among them. And I look forward to the day when again our feet have the same soil beneath them. Much love to you, Murray!!

Bush is dancing like a schoolgirl

My unconscious pulled the news of Hussein's capture into my dreams. I had left the television on when I went to bed early this morning, writing in my journal. When I became fully awake to a previously recorded press conference of people cheering and applauded, I pulled my glasses on and laid there watching.

I saw an old man with wrinkles from brow to lip. Hair thick and beard long. His eyes incoherent like he had just been shaken from a deep sleep. And I thought to myself, "This man is someone's grandfather."

I'm not, by all means, condoning anything he's done in the past 25 years in this entry. What I'm saying is that this man who has made pain and suffering an institution in a country so destitute is some child's grandfather. As my grandfather who sits in Wisconsin and helps the Amish community clear their land or drives them 2 hours for errands. As my grandpa who volunteers on every committee he possibly can at the his Catholic church. As my gramps who goes to his elderly neighbors to make sure that they are healthy and not lonely. Hussein is someone's grandfather.

He sat there as a young Marine gave him a medical once-over and he could easily have been mistaken as an indigent on the streets. A man so powerful that many followers are seeing this capture as a minor setback.

It reminds me how much influence a person has on so many lives. A single touch or word spreads like wildfire. We take for granted the responsibilites that come with our actions, our inactions, and our words. We assume we are all islands unto ourselves.

My @*!$# ugh car...I miss her so

Carrie ripped off a bandage from a wound that hasn't healed yet. My Esmeralda. That damn car! She gave me more trouble than she was worth which was $500 when she was bought and probably a hamburger when sold. She was a 1974 Ford Maverick, my very first car. And I loved her...that damn car!

I got her my senior year from the very start she was a thorn in my paw. For the first year, I swear I had flat tires every month. On the last day of school, I was honking my horn racing down the road beside a friend. When I removed my hand, she wouldn't stop. I had to disconnect the wires in the steering wheel to stop it...months later I shocked the hell out of myself when they accidentally touched. OUCH! The seatbelts had been cut out so my father and brother had replaced them with ones from a car graveyard...once they were positioned, you were locked in place. The springs in the seat were starting to poke through and I don't know how many articles of clothing I had ripped.

Off to college, and hell began. I learned to replace the alternator belt, tighten the alternator with a broom handle and wrench, replace batteries, and the list goes on. God, how many times she left me stranded in the middle of nowhere at night. The car was bewitched.

I christened her early. Esmeralda was the gypsy in Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Gypsies were sometimes seen as witches but mostly are known for their vagabond spirits. That's what Esmeralda gave me...this freedom to be.

Friends and I would climb into that damn car, roll down the windows and drive around Jackson singing Miss Otis or looking at "Harley on the pwarch." I could screech away from my home angry at my mother from another fight that ended terribly wrong and violent. Esmeralda was me. Not perfect but absolutely beautiful in her dented, rusted, flat tired, unique way.

When I got pregnant and my stomach started to swell, Esmeralda wouldn't let me sit correctly in her any longer. The seats were unbearably comfortable. The seatbelts wouldn't adjust to my body and the tire changing was dangerous. Something had to give. And obviously it wasn't going to be me. So I lost her.

That damn car!

Today's love affairs

Emmaline's kissable lips
"O Holy Night" in the shower
Wendy's frosties
Tuscan chicken soup from Steph
Duck pond duck gang
Chalk drawings
"I'm Mr. Snowmeister..." on the voicemail from Tom
Christmas bonus
Two hugs from two good people
Blue sweater
Good IM chat with Ivette
Veruca cuddling
Smell of cinnamon in building

And what episode is this?

I swear when I woke up at the beginning of this week it was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Strange things have happened. People are acting all fucked up. Coincidences are too coincidental. It's just strange. And I feel like I've got the three faces of Eve going on here: one side is laughing at the whole situation, the second is royally pissed, and the third is liking the karma of it all. Very weird.

I do have to say that there is this constant undercurrent of electricity. A vibe of movement and change. I'm sort of moving with the whole week and blinking and not really seeing what I'm seeing. Sigh...what a weird week

The collision of two small towns in the bathroom

My father retired from the Marine Corps before I started my senior year of high school, and the family moved back to Millington TN, a small town outside of Memphis. I graduated from the local high school in 1991 and went off to college for a couple of years. Went back to the Millington, had a baby and worked as a preschool teacher/childcare giver at a child development center in town. My daughter, attended the center at the same time when she was six months.

Now eight years later, I found myself in the ladies bathroom in Pensacola FL grabbing a handful of papertowels for a spilled soda. A young woman approached me. I saw her yesterday in passing and thought to myself, "I know this woman. I must have trained with her. I must have signed her up for the Chili Cook-off. I must have talked to her some place." She asked me, "Naomi, you remember me..don't you?"

"I do but I'm sorry, I don't remember your name or where."

"I'm M. from Millington. I went to high school with you and worked at the daycare with you. I watched Emma."

How amazing! M. was a freshman when I was a senior. And we didn't work at the daycare together for very long. And another coincidence, we both moved to Pcola in '99 but did not run into each other until she started working for my company a couple of weeks ago...and until we both ran to the bathroom this morning.

The world is very small, folks.

Email share

I'm sharing email from my friend. Makes me feel so good. Miss you too Carrie.

...

It's not just trees and plants you name, is it? I still remember Asmerelda (sp). You have also shared a love of foreign films (sub-titled only). The theatre, don't forget the theatre. Bette Midler, you introduced me to her, "Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today, Madam!" The other day you mentioned you still like to go and look at babies in the obstetrics ward. But I don't know how that would translate on your list. Dancing, I still remember the night Eric was dancing with us and told us if a man ever tries to blame you for a misstep, knee him and move on. It's always the guy's fault when there is a misstep cuz HE'S leading. You and Eric danced the best, twirling and swinging.

It's not just journals and pens, you know how to use those instruments to create the most beautiful words. You have a gift for writing. You used to love singing too. Do you still? Whenever it's a clear day, I think of you singing that song, "forever and ever and ever more." You have always shared lumpia with me from your mom, so I didn't really get this til recently: you are a great cook. You have been in competitions. I always remember those fabulous veggies you grilled. I have never even tried to imitate that, fearing they wouldn't turn out the same.

I don't know how it fits on your list, but you used to sing this frog song and make funny faces. I think it was when Emma was young. That would always make me laugh. You can laugh until you cry. It's contagious. Most people won't let laughter work through their whole body like that.

Did I mention SUSHI? Also, you have a very light touch.You may have mentioned this already, but it's comforting when you touch people as you talk. Some people can be so annoying when they do it. You know exactly when to stress a point with a light touch.

I think I am the wrong person for this. I am totally biased. I have years of moments which I could suggest. I think I'll go start a list, too. Miss you, Carrie

1000 words

I love photography and want to learn to use a camera properly. My mother's husband died a few years ago and I got his 35mm with a few lenses. I need to get out there and just waste some film learning to use the darn thing.

When I attended Lambuth U in Jackson TN, I had a friend named John. Awesome guy. I found him one of the most attractive men in my life...he had a great sense of humor (remind me to tell you the story of the tree), an engaging way to tell a story, and always a kind word for a person. He did many things during his life including a semester at sea. And he supported himself by selling his photography along the travels.

His photography was spectacular. ABSOLUTELY AMAZING!!! He would take me into the darkroom with him and I would just sit and watch him. Bring a subject to the foreground by overexposing the background. Sparking illumination and highlighting details. The process of developing film is interesting to me anyways but watching John create these works of art...deep in concentration, focused, bent. I felt giddy that he let me sneak in with him so often especially to watch him do something he loved so much.

John took a picture before he held the camera in his hands and put the subject in frame and wasn't finished with it until the photo was in yours. Photography simply was part of who John was. I honestly don't remember what John was studying at school. I think he was there just to be with people and take pictures.

He was part of my landscape. I can't help but smile when I think of him. I still run across a few slides he made of me for a project he did. Mmmmmm. Nice memories.

Rainy Day Parade by Jill Sobule, Robin Eaton

I used to have the world in my handbag
How did I manage to blow it?
I missed the bus, I lost my heart
An awful lot of mornings
I used to have the stars in my pockets
Now I just watch them on TV
My friends, they've all run away
But they'll come back again
And we'll have a celebration
Getting back on my medication
We'll have a rainy day parade

I used to live with someone who loved me
But somehow they ran out of patience
I regret those things I said
They were so uncalled for
Can't you see that the weather is changing
The dark clouds over my head
About to burst, I've seen the worst
Let it pour all day
'Cause I'm filled with good vibrations
I got that old sensation
We'll have a rainy day parade

You're gonna want me back
You're gonna let me in
We're gonna wash our sins away

Got the world in my handbag
Got my notebook too
Got the stars in my pocket
I'm gonna give them all to you

And we'll take a long vacation
We'll sweep across the nation
We'll have a rainy day parade
Getting back that old sensation
Back on my medication
We'll have a rainy day parade

My mind drifts to the day when easy emotions flowed.
Days when children spun in circles in green fields and played king of the mountain.
I weep for un-adult duties like homework and chores.
How dreadfully mean those were!
Classes full of friends whispering secrets about crushes and superheroes.

100

Go through enough blogs and you'll find a few "100 things about me." This is not one of those...well not really.The most debilitating thing in my life is not bipolar. I think I could probably deal with that on a level playing field. Most wouldn't even know that I have it. I'm a high-functioning bipolar. I've probably one of the worst self-esteems you can imagine. I've started a list of 100 things that define me and I like. I've only 22 so far. It's a difficult thing for me. And I'm coming up with it alone. It's wonderful when people compliment me. (I need to hear those.) Unfortunately I need to believe my own words. But you CAN help. Although I have to come up with the 100, I could use the support to do it. Hey, I'd be accountable if I make note of it and then don't. Right? They are silly. They are little. But they make up me..and sometimes I forget me. And I think deep inside the core of me, I actually do like me. So, here I go:

1)I love my curly hair and that people have to touch it and comment on how much there is. 2)I eat french fries with mayonnaise..on the side so I can dip. 3)The rain makes me happy. 4)I like extremely hot showers and don't take baths...sitting in scalding water makes me light-headed and nauseous. 5)I hate swimming in warm water. It has to be cool/cold or I feel I'm swimming in spit. 6)I smoke a cigar every few months just because. 7)I love pens, papers and journals. 8)I always look for Orion in the night sky. 9)I smell people when they're close/walk by. 10)I like being tall and wearing heels makes me feel sexier. 11)I like to compliment people especially strangers. 12)Being surrounded by books automatically lifts my spirits/calms me. 13)I look at the ground for frogs and walls/trees for lizards. 14)I always have a kite in my car ready for use. 15)I like animal noses. 16)I like to name trees/plants. 17)I use chopsticks regularly. 18)When I go out to eat, I always get two drinks including an iced water. 19)I carry my journal always. 20)I like to play with yo-yos and have a few. 21)I like my first, middle and nicknames. 22)Best place of a pillow is the cold spot underneath where I can put my hands.

That just ain't right!

Did anyone else ever notice that Benny Hill was in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? Is it just me or is that wrong? He played a toymaker....a German toymaker or Belgium or some eastern European man with a guttural accent. I keep thinking 5'9" Gretel in a tight green dress with white pinafore panties and clevage to her chin is going to jump out of the closet with her hand coquettishly covering her mouth. Then Benny is going to give one of his big eyed grins and pinch her "guten tag" as she bends over to pick up his innocently knocked over toymaking tools. Just ain't right.

By the way, didn't Disney make this movie?

Cravings

I am not hungry. I just ate a bowl of Ramen noodles with cabbage. So far from it. But my tongue...my tongue is starving for things. It wants to wrap its curious body around a smorgasbord of delectable delights.

I want hot wings. I don't care where from...there are a few places here in Pcola that are good. But Memphis has some awesome places. HOT WINGS!!! Yummy.

I also want some rum pudding or amaretto pudding. Norma's on the Run here in town. Awesome. Good. Want some. Or the bread pudding from Soul Food.

Sushi. Want sushi. Good choice places. Or the people that I know can have have her brother come here to roll it for me or a certain fellow I know with an Australian accent who recently mentioned that he took a course can do it for me too....I'm not going to complain...as long as it's good. Want some spicy tuna roll, salmon roll, some eel....mouth is drooling.

Ribs. Memphis.I should just jump in the damn car and drive the friggin 7 hours. Right?

Warm plum wine. Saki. hmmmm.

Ok...It sounds like I'm in the mood for two cuisines here. Southern and japanese....oooo...here comes another. Indian. I need something with some curry. Oooooo. There is a Vietnamese restaurant here in town Tu Do that serves a curry chicken soup. Huge bowl. Very good.

Ok...stomach is growling just a little bit. teeny weeny itsy bitsy bit. And I don't have any money to satisfy a single craving. NOT A SINGLE CRAVING.

sigh...I think I'm going to go make pancakes.

ooooo....pancakes...

Fun

I was hopping today and found some links through John Scalzi.

So, children...go and play and relieve some stress.....scream and yell and throw the ball in the house and run with scissors...okay, forget that last bit...but do have fun with the links.

Be Picasso

Be God (sort of)

We're shrinking again

Thank you, Ivette for the link from your page...done a couple days ago but wasn't in proper place to thank you from here. I hope you accept my apologies and allow me to say that anyone who speaks to Ivette or checks out her page will not regret. A very upbeat person with some interesting links to quick personality quizzes and the like....and she's an addict to blogs SO I know you can find some other interesting people to read. I have. (and I take some of the quizzes too....I'm indigo blue...you'll see). AND she's like me (except in a good way) during a manic episode late at night moving furniture. Her design changes and this keeps it fresh. So thank you, Ivette for your link and your kind words about my journal.

The kickers by the edge of the pool

I don't know if many of you watch competitive diving. I really don't. Every now and then I'll catch it during the Olympics. And once at a marina, I watched a high diver perform death-defying dives. Well, in either instance there are jets that run constantly to kick up the water. This is for the safety of the divers. When the divers hit the water, they lose their sense of direction. Understandable. Their equilibrium is thrown off because they just hurtled through space a few hundred feet, twisting and turning, sloshing the waters in their ears that give them balance. They slam their bodies into a foreign atmosphere that has no solid ground and is all the same color. They could swim into the bottom of the pool or waste precious lung air swimming around trying to find the surface. They have no bearing...except the one compass...the jets that kick up the water.

Before the advent of the jets, it was done by people sitting at the edge of the pool kicking their feet in the water. These people saved the divers' lives. Without them, divers literally would not survive.

I spend a great deal of time diving from highs into lows without any time to breathe. Trying to navigate murky waters. Trying to find which way is up. My judgement gets off balanced. I lose my bearing. I get very deep within the folds of my darkness...and my highs. I forget sometimes there are kickers at the edge. But I know you're there. If you weren't, I would never find my way up.

And don't forget the pelican on the water

I was going to kill myself today. Didn't return to work after lunch. I made plans for my mother to pick up my daughter and have her spend the night...she's there now.

I went to the beach. Laid a blanket out. Took off shoes and socks and laid there. There was a breeze and it was chilly. I fell asleep as I usually do when I'm depressed and have been crying. I could hear the waves rolling in from my left, moving along to my right.

I rolled my pants' legs up, walked in the two inch deepness, found three shells.

I wrote in my journal about what I want in my life...people I love...my sadness...

I laid there again wrapped in my blanket staring at the gulf's waters thinking about the scene in The Piano where Holly Hunter's character is floating beneath the surface with her foot tethered to an object that she loved so dearly but had killed her. At peace? Missing life? Missed?

I closed my eyes.

While I was at the beach, I watched the few people that came and went. I do that. Watch people...thinking perhaps I can sneak a glimpse into their life and see what makes them happy. I especially love couples. How they touch, talk...don't talk.

There was a crab. It was brought in with the waves and tried to hide in the sand when it saw me. It was trying so desparately to get back out but the waves kept washing it back in. It was a female. I was taught how you can tell when I was a child. I put her closer to the water and you could sense her relief when she taken out with the tide.

I left when the sun started hiding in the horizon. The waves were getting rougher. It was colder. That happened quickly. I had been standing by the water just watching the waves come in and leave and dissecting the sound of them. The initial boom from the crash is distinctly theirs but the hissing, twinkling sound. Sea foam dissapating? Some of it. Most of it is the roll of the shells as they tumble back toward the water.

There is simplicity.

The time is drawing near

My life is drawing to a close, folks. All that's left is to write my fond farewells and pull the proverbial trigger. The emails are coming.

Resolve

I don't mean to be a half-empty sort of girl. I really don't. If you could look into my soul, you would see a different person entirely. Like looking directly into the sun. It's not allowed. You'll burn your retinas and go blind. I don't allow anyone. I don't allow even myself anymore. But let's say that you were allowed a glimpse. One unadulterated, uncensored, blissful, sinful glimpse into the essence of me. What would you see?

Of course, all my dreams. All my hopes. And what makes me happy. It takes very little to make me happy. I don't see the glass half-empty. Even if the glass was completely empty, I'd be ecstatic that I had the glass. I'm happy for the color of the tree or the sleepies in the corner of my eye.

But. . .I think I'm just not working out here. I don't know how else to explain it.

I think I've resolved myself to a couple of things: a)I'm going to kill myself and b)I'm going to quit my job....not necessarily in that order.

Move along. There's nothing to see here.

I'm warning those here and now that what's happening to me may last a bit. It may get dark. I may get mean. I may just disappear altogether. Just *poof* and I'm gone. Never to darken a doorstep again. If you can bear the suffering soul shit, I appreciate it. I may get better. I may just blow up and explode. If you can't...well, get the fuck lost. I don't care. But....it gets ugly. REALLY UGLY. Today is just starting. I've been putting bandages and antiseptic on wounds that comparatively in nature, vultures and hyenas have already been picking and eating at for days. Stressors are piling up. And Christmas is stranglingly close. I'm not feeling well. No, I'm not feeling well at all.

"How are you?"

"Ok." I'm scared because I've committed myself to dying..and I'd rather live.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. How was your day?" Of course, I'm not ok. Don't you know me by now? Can't you tell I'm screaming inside myself? Can't you tell I'm reaching out for you to help me..to hold my hand?

"It was good. What did you do today?"

"Nothing. Same boring day." I thought of a 1000 ways to die. I thought about the 1000 mistakes I made just from the moment I opened my eyes. I laid in my bed and dragged the knife across my forearm. I cradled the phone praying for it to ring. I stared at the computer praying for an email.

"You sure everything is ok?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?" sigh, no. I won't be ok until the crust has been removed from my heart and the ash has been wiped from my soul. Can you do that for me?

"You're usually more talkative. Not like you."

"Just tired. That's all. Lot on my mind." If you knew the real me,would you run away? Would you look at me in disgust? Would you still love me?

"Ok. I've got to run. Talk to you later."

"Ok. Take care of yourself." Don't go. Please, I still need someone after you've gone. There's too much pain inside. Please, can't anyone see how much I'm struggling?

Catalyst

I imagine that if I find the one thing missing in my life, everything else will fall into place. I'm having problems though discovering what I'm lacking. I frantically search every day for the thing....the thing that fell out of my pocket. The thing that perhaps is like a plug at the bottom of my soul like the drain plug at the bottom of the tub. Everything of substance is draining from me after it swirls madly about in me. But what is it? What's that plug to keep my well from running dry? What is the thing that I can place back in my pocket and continue on my way?

Money? Perfect career? Parents who support me no matter what? Being beautiful? A husband? College degree? Infamy? Can I find it in a book? In a drug? At church? Through meditation? Travelling? Psychotherapy? With a self help guru? Do I need to run for it or sit quietly? Do I need to ask for help or do it myself? Do I leave it to God or just take matters in my own hand? Will it come to me like St. Augustine's conversion on the road or will it be silent?

sigh....

I could punch a wall

AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

A very special gift

I want to thank Tom (a friend from work) for my birthday/Christmas present. I got it today and am absolutely stunned. He bought me a book. And not just any book. He bought me Douglas Adams' The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide. I'm stunned because it's a gift I truly want. I was going to buy it for myself...one day. I read the series years ago and enjoyed them. And when Tom mentioned there was a collection in hardback...I wanted it. I NEVER expected nor wanted anyone to buy it for me. But Tom did.

What's more important than the actual book itself is the thought behind the gift. Gifts given from listening to a person's likes or personality....those are awesome gifts. So...thank you, Tom. Yes, I've said it a 1000 times today. It may not be a big thing to you, but it is to me.

Six degrees

As I've said to many before, I completely believe in the six degrees of separation. So in humble bow, I thank Murray and Ali for their links to my tiny journal from their amazing pages. If you stop in from theirs...you will find nothing fancy...just the mad ramblings of little ol' me. But thank you again to the two of you for the link and the shrinking of the universe.

Uh-oh

I saw my therapist tonight after work. I said a few things. She's going to talk to my pdoc. I think they may be ready to put me away now.

Fear and anxiety

I'm going to work today...again, after so many days away from the hell of cubicles. And I'm late. I get the rumblings of an anxiety attack when I think about the place. The business office makes me very sad; if one couldn't tell. It's not that I'm not good at my job. Hell, a monkey could be good at this freakin' job. It's just that...sigh...I'm not even going to explain it right now or I will never go. Hmmph!