Think About it

Remember to never take yourself too seriously. Because you might get killed with cutlery. Peace.

Changing the Energy

Last night when I got home from the dentist I ran head on with a bout of severe lethargy. My brain wanted to duke it out with the thing, but my body said "No no no. You just lay here on the couch."

And so I did. For about two hours. I laid on the couch, and on the bed, and on the floor with the cats. I lamented my loneliness, even though I was responsible for cancelling the evenings plans. I wanted ice cream and a movie. I sat staring at the unfinished Polyphemus piece, thinking about how badly I needed to work. The chair taunted me, but I didn't budge.

After thirty minute on the phone justifying it to C and Miss B., I decided there was only one thing left to do: Bring back the T.V. There is nothing to fend off lethargy and loneliness like the boob tube. It stirs up my A.D.D. just enough that I don't need to leave the house but I don't feel like going to bed if I stay.

The only problem lay in that my T.V. used to have it's home on my work table. I need that space. And so that meant that the whole right side of the living room needed to be moved around. And that meant that a number of things I'd been neglecting needed to be re-organized. Luckily, I had Criminal Minds to keep me company while I did all this.

By the time the re-run of CSI: New York came on I was finished with the living room (as well as organizing the mess of jewelery in my bathroom. It had been taunting me.). Amazingly enough, though I had added the T.V., the space felt new again. It felt uncluttered and fresh, as though cleaning out the corners had cleaned out the stagnant energy.

Maybe it was some kind of metaphor for the day. Sometimes patterns and habits we think are healthy are really holding us back. Holding us back from healing, holding us back from allowing ourselves to really look at the dark scary corners that need some refreshing. Maybe I had been laying on that couch with the band-aid on for too long. Come to find out the wound is well on the way to healing.

I celebrated with a big bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

Dear My Job:

Everything is not all my fault...

I tell YOU wut!

I ain't ne'er had me no PMS as MAD as this here one. I'm madder en' a snake spitting catcii! That shore is mad, too!!

...Ah, but THANKFULLY I am COMPLETELY irregular, thus four days late. Its like my body is just bubbling over, ready to burst. Oh...but then it is a full moon tonight...

Part of me wishes this was one of those "normal" periods and I could just sit around feeling bloated and cry, but the other part of me is kinda glad for the odd vicious anger I've got right now. It's lighting a fire under my ass. I ain't takin' no sheet off no one!!

Like this job, for instance. DAMN, I have a good job. Really! But I am beginning to loathe it. Which means that the only appropriate thing to do is change. Now, if it was two years ago (okay maybe six months ago) I would be thinking "I'll just get a different job". But because I'm so much OLDER and WISER now, I can see that I need a new career. Fuck that! I need a career! PERIOD!

So I'm getting my shit together to go back to school. I thought I was going to be able to jump right into UT, but no. I had to a go to a god damned art school. THAT means that none of my credits are transferable, but I can't starts as an incoming freshman. Nope. I'm just plain screwed up the goat ass on that one. No, I have to take thirty credits at the dang community college before they will even look at my application for UT. Alright, fine. Is that how you wanna play? That's how we're gonna play. Anything to get me out of the vicious cycle of dead end jobs.

I want to start school in the spring. Do you think I can make it happen? Do you think I'm not gonna try???

Hell hath no fury, and some shit!!!

4:30 on a Friday?

You FuckShit. No I don't want to learn about measuring conduit. Let me do my job.

Blog No. 101

All day I've felt like I should be wearing a seat belt in my desk chair. Like maybe if I move to quickly I'm going to fall off or something. Like I need extra safety. ...From what, I wonder?


...This morning I read an interesting article about Catholic Courtship. While I find the movement itself slightly overboard and borderline nauseating, I can definitely recognize its purpose and maybe even find a place for it. I think it's a tad extreme to say that people (emphasis being on today's youth) should refrain from kissing each other before they get engaged. I also find the thought of chastity till marriage more than a little terrifying. Not only because I enjoy sex, but because the top TWO problems in marriages are money and SEX. So, it seems to me, that starting off with an unknown variable does not make for the foundation of a completely solid marriage. You are bound to wind up as "just friends" tied to a sexless marriage. I think there is cause to be a little more realistic about it.

Thankfully the fore mentioned article made note of this, adding a new more liberal point of view. I am glad for this. Because what is wrong with "courtship" in the traditional sense?? It would do society good to have a new (more conservative, maybe?) idea about dating. Strike that. What I mean is - it would do me good to have a new (more conservative!) idea about dating.

People don't just date anymore. Sister L is writing a book for her grandparents for their like, 60th wedding anniversary or something. She's been sharing with me little nuggets of their joining, circa 1945ish. And its beautiful. They met out dancing. Not at a bump bump grind dance club, but at a he wears a suit and she wears her best dress and they filled each other's dance cards dance. Their first dates involved a boardwalk and drinks: of SODA. And it was months before they even kissed! They learned about each other. They learned about each other until they fell in love.

And I'm no prude, I'm certainly not against kissing, but there is definitely something to be said for a good old fashion hands holding, bring me flowers, impress my mother, clean sweet romance. Le sigh.

"How are girls like apple trees?" Mr. K asked me.

"How?"

"The best ones are at the top of the tree," he explained. "The boys don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they just get the rotten apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. So the apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right boy to come along, the one who's brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree."

I'm trying to be a good apple....

Stroszek - Dancing Chicken

If ya can't dance...

Wine and Cheese and Wine and Some More Wine

I was duly impressed by the wine and cheese soiree last night. Maybe even a little jealous? Its been so long since I threw a wine party -or any kind of real organized party for that matter - that I'm not even sure I people would turn out. My black book seems thin. But I digress.

As I prepared to load myself into the tub for the overdue "prettying up" I got a call from a sad G. Sad, off work and already on his way to drunk. I didn't figure drinking alone was good for anyone and so I told him to safely pour himself over to my place so we could go to the wine thing together. Two singles drinking together is always better than two pity parties alone.

The night was unbearably humid - too humid to be outside smoking, but we were all there anyway. The ladies were all dressed lovely with vintage lace and darted knee length cotton, and the men were impeccable in matching socks and checkered Vans. We chatted about music and girls and "the flap", and generally toasted a waning summer evening.

I managed to recognized my limit (long after I had reached my limit of course!) around eleven, and by then G was really shitty. Somehow Betty got us home. Its only five blocks but I always think in the morning that I really should have walked. I tucked G onto the couch like a burrito and he scolded me babying him, but promptly passed out.

By the time my alarm went off he had sobered enough to go home to his bed, and I wobbled around in the shower, wishing it was Saturday, but content enough that it is Thursday.

I have decided that my lack of care for working a regular job will be solved by simply marrying rich. I'm going to start interviewing young, attractive millionaires as soon as I find the rock they are hiding under.

Tonight I will finish the Polyphemus and begin on "Me in Threes". I'll wait for a call that isn't going to come and scold myself for being so silly. I'll pick up the bike from the shop and get a list of the parts I need so I can start shopping. I will probably swim. Two days off feels like a month to my body. Can't wait till five...

Far Worse Than Passive Aggressive Asshole Boss Man

Is Super Self Inflated, Ultra Conservative Type-A "Do You Ever Do Anything Right?" Female Underling. If this woman were ever promoted to upper management, I would quit the same day. I do not think it is possible for me to seethe anymore when she speaks to me.


The kicker? As a human being she is a very nice person. Not anyone that I would be particularly close friends with. Its hard for me to spend too much time with someone who loves George Bush and thinks the humans have NOTHING to do with global warming.

My therapist and I talked yesterday about changing my "response" to the people I work with, as clearly I trigger in them some kind of father/mother/need for power THING. We talked about how transparent my emotions are.

I thought about this as D.P. less than subtly implied that wherever the missing shop drawings had gone I surely had been the one to misplace them. I knew my jaw was clenching in and out. I could feel my teeth grinding. I supposed that she could see this, and probably that she could hear them gnashing as well.

Luckily, my asshole boss stood behind her with a look of indignation that said very clearly "Oh that's right! It usually IS your fault!" I think he may have had his hands planted on his hips. However it's hard to take a person seriously when they walk around the office in their socks.

DON'T make me use these...

This Morning I Had Something Terribly Clever To Write

But since it is now after noon and the food digesting in my belly is significantly impairing the connections firing in my brain, I don't remember the said "clever" thing. I think it was some kind of witty commentary about being single and eating yogurt straight out of the container.


In lieu of other witty things to write, I suppose I'll have to come up with something else, and just hope that it ends up being witty. Feck that. I'll settle for mildly entertaining. Sister L tells me that I make her nauseous when I try to be funny. I think that might be unnecessarily cruel, however I don't doubt my sense of humor isn't for everyone. Least of all pregnant people.


So, though I'm supposed to be "grounded", I find that I am increasingly social this week. I have a Wine and Cheese "soiree" to go to this evening and Saturday I have a date out with one of my favorite couples. However since they have broken up again I will meet with G and C separately and not talk about it with either of them.

I think there is probably room in my week to squeeze in another activity or two, barring the company is worthwhile and the time well spent.

I am making progress on the art show and even enjoying myself so much that I go home and actually sit down to do it. I found the trick is to not force myself to do a piece just because I planned it. Of course. Obviously. I've never been that kind of an artist. My writing is the same. If I am not inspired I will not put it on paper. Even my journals are devoid of entry if my life is feeling less than sparkly.

Another one of my uber talented cousins gave me some tips on success today and one of the keys was "Excitement".

"Just to save you decades in mistakes," she wrote, "When you could succeed so much easier with the right info. Sell EXCITEMENT about your art, not your art."

And while I'm not entirely sure I grasp this fully, I'm actually pretty "excited" about the idea. Honestly, it takes a fair amount of stress off. For instance: Instead of stressing out about getting my masterpiece of a website up and running, I had my friend redirect the web address to my FREE blog where you can view my work and contact me for purchase information.

www.birdtakeflight.com

Spells legitimate, works for free. Not perfect but, according to my wise and wonderful cousin it doesn't have to be!

As far as work is concerned I am just killing time to get home and make myself beautiful. What? A certain special AUNT is visiting this week and I'm breaking out like a thirteen year old. I read in a magazine that, by thirty, a woman should have a fool proof skin care regimen. If I gave a damn about thing things I read in magazines, I migh thank GOD I've got some time....

Dear Mr. Passive Aggressive Asshole Boss Man,

Wow. It really bothers you that this job is not my priority, doesn't it? It just burns the hell out of you that I leave here at five every day and I don't worry about it. You simply cannot understand why I would not want to advance my "career" by becoming an electrical designer. See all those italics and quotes? It means that I don't take this place seriously. At all.

Sometimes, you're a nice guy. Sometimes you act like a father figure, endearingly concerned about my well being. Sometimes you walk in with that fake little pouty face, depressed that you've had to be out of the office all day, and I feel sort of bad for you. Sort of.

Because then you turn around and tell me about how you don't know that far ahead if I'll be able to have some of my time off. As if my fucking art show, my sister's new baby and meeting my father for the first time ever are AT ALL negotiable. P.S. - THEY'RE NOT. So get off your mother fucking three car driving, buy your kid a beamer, spend every other weekend at your beach house, passive aggressive self. If you have a problem with me having a meaningful personal life that does not revolve around your poorly run little engineering firm then find yourself a new fucking secretary. Seriously.

Oh, and by the way: If you really want me to come in at 7:30 and stay until 5:30, then you best be adding that to my non-existent (but ever flexible!) job description. Until then my hours are 8 to 5 EXACTLY.

Let me just spell it out for you: This is my JOB. That means that this is what I do for forty hours a week to pay my bills. But it is in no way shape or form my "career", my "vocation" or even remotely my passion. It pays thirteen dollars an hour and it's easy as shit, so you won't find me bailing on you. But I will not commit to caring about this place more than absolutely required to receive my paycheck. Okay? Good. I'm so glad we cleared that up.

Sincerely,
Your Never Disgruntled and CERTAINLY Never Passive Aggressive in Return
Administrative Assistant

Two Day Weekends

Are never enough. If I ran the world everyone would be required to have a maximum four day work week. Fuck productivity. People would be happy.

I managed to squeeze in everything I wanted to, though. On Saturday I finished a piece, complete with a raging rubber cement high. Time to go outside for awhile, I thought, head throbbing.

The cats helped me organize for my next piece and tidy up the house by doing this:



and this:

I went by the bike shop with my new frame and somehow got talked into leaving it behind. I wasn't entirely sure of the plans for it, but since I have no real need for it at the moment (and have no idea what I'm doing), I didn't figure it would hurt anything. I hoped that I wasn't unnecessarily adding to the workload of anyone in the shop.
Come evening I was basically burnt out and so Miss B came over to chat for awhile. We did this:

and then we lapped ourselves exhausted at the pool. On the way out I realized that I no longer had my keys and after an exhaustive search of the parking lot and my car (thankfully unlocked) I remembered that I still had them on my waist when I jumped in. They were at the bottom of the pool.

Determined to not blow my cover a second time by having to come back for my keys in the morning, I dove for them. In the pitch dark. I remember now why I hate to open my eyes underwater.

After dropping Miss B off at her house I settled in for a long nights sleep, sure that my exercise and productive day would even keep me asleep through the night. But alas...

I was wide awake. I laid there for thirty minutes, sure that I would fall back to sleep, but it didn't happen. Normally I would have gotten up and watched some terrible late night T.V., but since its in the shed I decided that three in the morning was a keen time to relearn 'Jolene'.

Come morning I felt less than fresh. I tried to work on a new piece but ended up just cleaning the house and doing laundry. I talked to my family for a few hours solid. I napped and had more of my deliciously strange dreams. I made a cake for KT's un-birthday and we crafted until we couldn't concentrate on crafting anymore.

After another bad nights sleep I woke up late. Some days I wear my glasses for the express purpose of hiding the bags beneath my eyes. No amount of coffee can wash away the red rim around them.

I wonder why I am so tired lately. I feel like I have a million things to do tonight but there is nothing actually planned. I anxiously await to hear something on my lonely purple bike frame...

Okay Okay

But whats REALLY funny are these two guys.

GAR.

Last night was somehow full of emotional upheaval. I did it to myself. I didn't have to. But there I was, fighting on the phone again. It was just before dinner. My body was shocked with tense energy and though it was early I sensed a storm coming on and knew I needed to swim in it. Swimming in the rain is sort of like becoming water. And so I left the pasta on the stove and drove over to the secret swim spot in broad daylight.

I lapped myself tired and as it began to really rain I sat on the pool step and sobbed. It was the kind of cathartic moment I had been craving; emptying my body of its excess emotion. As the rain let up and the tears subsided I was disrupted by an obviously gay, obviously employed by the complex character at the office door by the pool.

"Do you live here?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answered, soured to be disturbed.

"What number?"

"420," I answered, using the number that my friend (who lives at the complex) had given me feeling fairly certain that 420 was not actually an apartment.

"What's your name?" he pestered, unsure.

"Laura," I said.

"Oh," he paused. "What's your last name?"

I sighed, because I didn't know the last name of my friend.

"Linney."

"Hmmmm....Okay..." He returned lisping back inside the office.

I was glad that he didn't seem to realize that Laura Linney is an actress,

nor that 420 isn't an apartment number. I didn't have the energy to be straight up kicked out.

Lightning flashed, urging me out of the pool and back to my house.

I fought off going to sleep at 8p.m., then again at 9, determined to make some headway on my piece. I contemplated bringing the old friend TV back in from the shed, thought better of it and called K instead. He chatted with me until I was tired enough to actually sleep.

I dreamt of mundane things: My boss bringing Folgers to work, vacuuming the carpet, sorting my mail.

It's Friday now, and full of promise.

Post Two, Day Same

In just under twenty minutes I will be off work. I am looking forward to going home to my new ritual: Change into pajamas, try to nap for only thirty minutes (but usually wind up sleeping for an hour), make dinner, work on art, drink coffee, night swim, more art, then take a Melatonin and sleep deeply. Its comfortable. Not at all lonely, though I admit to talking to myself on regular basis about my pieces.

I like it when I can get people to join me for a swim. It takes away the minor anxiety of the dark woods just outside the black wrought iron gate, and it encourages me to do actual laps as opposed to just floating on my back and looking up at the sky. I need the exercise; though the stillness is a blessing too.

Tonight I hope to finish the piece I've been working on since before Kat's visit. Last night I found a perfect candidate for the "hanging girl". The sinew of the tree is basically done. What is left is the background. It is not focal. I am not worried.

Ten minutes. How many hours a day to I spend counting down till 5?

Dear Bank of America ATM,

Thank you for being consumer friendly. Wait, strike that. What I mean to say is thank you for accommodating the Blonde ditz in me. What would I do if you didn't shred my ATM card 30 seconds after I drove off with my cash (but no receipt and of course not my Visa). Surely, were it not for you, my delicate little bank account would be in the hands of an unscrupulous stranger. ...You must have known how badly I wanted to go meet my new 58cm Lotus bike frame. Once again, you've saved my finances.

Love,
J*****

I thought the frame would be iridescent, and so I was actually sort of excited about the color, but it wasn't and so you know what color I'm going to paint it?? YOU GUESSED IT! Tiffany Blue. Just like everything else in my life.

If I could paint Betty a sparkly Tiffany color I definitely would.

Luckily, I know nothing about painting a bike. Never mind that I know nothing about building a bike. This is just another fun project for me to add to my slate. Perhaps I should make a deadline for finishing the bike, say, around October????

I'm Grounded

Last night during my night swim with miss Bec, she was kind enough to point out that October is only six weeks away. October, of course, being the ominous date of my very first art show. Mid lap I tried not to have an anxiety attack and drown. While I may feel like six weeks is a long time, it's really not at all.

Six weeks is forty-two days, right? Then subtract from that four days that I will be in Pennsylvania meeting my father, that's only thirty-eight days. Subtract from that the forty hours a week I work which is actually equivalent to ten whole days and you've got yourself only twenty-eight days till my show!

If I was really masochistic I might factor in the hours that I sleep, but I would rather not think about it. Instead I am going to have to figure out how to produce at least ten more pieces in a time frame equivalent to the month of February.

Basically, after all the math, I have determined that the only thing besides work I am allowed to do it my art. That's it. No drinks with friends, no craft nights unless they are at my house. No sitting idly at Medici writing down dreams. I have to eat, sleep and breathe my art. Which, really when you think about it, is not such a bad thing.

Today I have to make the all important "List of Thing to Be Done Before". This will include fliers, phone calls, arranging music and food for the opening, writing my bio and exhibition information, paying someone to get my damn website working, and working on the book to go with the exhibition. Maybe that in lieu of the info? No, I need both. This does not include (but is rather in addition to) the half a dozen calls I need to make to change my bank account over to the institution. I'm not stressed yet.

I do, however, completely resent my job for the 10 days it is taking away from my art. If only I was getting paid for the thing I really love...

Someday, baby. Someday soon.

The Beauty of Youth

He posted a picture that I had taken of him in my kitchen, just after we met. He was smiling a natural smile, unmarred with the lines of sadness and anger. I tried to compare that smile to the last memory I had of him. It wasn't the same man. Somehow that glowing easy grin had dissipated. There is at least one line in his brow that I am responsible for.

And then there is my own mysteriously changeable face. Some days it reflects back at me an I am astonished that I smiling. It feels so good, and so long gone. In the evening shadows it still seems to melt in to heavy lines and dark circles to shade my eyes.

At three A.M. I was awake with the night. I fondled desperately, aching to feel the fizzy sensations within that seem to correspond with the arms that wrap around. The room was dark and cold, though; the eagerness based on the open wounds of jadedness. The let down came in the morning with the burning sun, empty and aimless.

Three A.M. again. My body rises at three a.m.. Searching for what? The arm was outstretched this time, and the eyes were lit with mischievous glitter. I recognized it from a summer night, some six years ago. The desert reflected in my eyes as we embraced on an outcropping of rock, overlooking a canyon. This night his arms, like the trunks of trees, were wide with green rings. Full of expectation he wet my sad lips with a breath that somehow refreshed me. Suddenly, there in the arms of my youth, I knew exactly what I had been searching for; I knew what I had lost of myself. Passion and unabashed fearlessness, he kissed away years of pain that I held against me like a shield. The morning came in soft light and I had regained my age. Some reservations, but a sort of sweet realization that there is still hope.

How could I have let so much step in front of the things that once made me feel so beautiful? How could I reclaim it? As the years advance will I be able to hold onto what is left of my uncrushed spirit? Perhaps I will find more treasures to remind me of my child's heart. She doesn't have to die, does she?

I finally know what I've been seeking, though. That is half the battle.

I am going to change my destiny

When I was 21 I had my palm read by woman dressed like a gypsy at the Texas Renaissance Festival.

I was visiting my mother on vacation from college, and in homage to the many years we spent at the fairs in Colorado we decided to drive the five hours each way to go to one outside of Dallas. Both of us were depressed, still trying to overcome the trauma of being uprooted from 20 years of continuity, but we were determined to have fun.

We dressed up for the event - I think my mother even made me a new heavy yellow cotton tunic dress to wear that year - and wandered around the strange carnival of childish fantasy and neverneverlandism. I remember scalding the roof of my mouth on red beans and rice (traditional Cajun fair more than medieval).

"This one is fresh so it's incredibly hot," the vendor warned, passing the steaming bowl my way.

"Thanks," I said, salivating over the smell.

Without blowing I put a bite in my mouth and instantly screamed, turning everyone in the food booth my way. The skin in my mouth blistered immediately as I let the searing food drop out of my mouth into the trash bin. Real tears of pain welled in my eyes, and I shot the vendor an disdainful look, as though he hadn't warned me at all.

We wandered around in the still-90 degrees-even-though-its-November for a few more hours until I found just what I was looking for.

Palm Readings, 15 dollars, the sign read.

The booth was shaped like an old carriage with the wheels taken off. Inside sat a woman casually laying out Tarot cards as though she were reading them. I looked in my cloth purse and found twenty-dollars. Enough for a reading and a tip.

I stepped into the little carriage, unsure of how to approach her.

"A palm reading?" I asked?

She gestured for me to sit, affecting some kind of Turkish accent I was sure wasn't real. I guessed she was from west Texas. Maybe Laredo.

I handed her my right palm and she turned it and clucked and sighed and spread apart the my fingers. Though I was suspicious of her, I was also truly interested to hear what she had to say. Would I be happy one day?

"You will live a long life," she said, rolling the "l's" over her tongue.

"You will spend a lot of time in a hospital, but it will not be for you," she continued. "You will be healthy. You're life is very affected by States beginning with the letter's M, A, and C."

"Do you know which ones?" I asked, counting the number of states that began in those letters. It amounted to half the country.

"No," she said curtly. "You will be very successful in your work. It will have something to do with a pencil, or a computer."

So far the woman couldn't be any more vague about my life. I felt duped. And then she moved my palm gently up towards the light and looked at the lines on the edge of my hand.

"You will only be married once, but it will be later in life," she said. "You will have two children. You are holding the hand of your soul mate."

"What," I asked, tingling. This was the concrete information she had? About my love life? Or maybe that was what I wanted all along. "What does that mean?"

"It means that someone who is in your life right now cares for you very deeply," she looked at me seriously. Almost kindly.

"Can you tell me more about that?"

Suddenly she drew her hands into her lap and folded them. "For another 15 dollars," she said.

I left the carriage, unsure. But somehow I was stuck with this information.

I tried to shake the idea that this woman was anywhere near correct. I was not concerned about the news she had about my success, or even about the hospital. I somehow felt I could control those things. My love life, however, has always been something of a beast I can't keep tame, and here she had what seemed to be the vision into my future. Could my hand really tell her that?

Over the years her voice would crop up between my ears, "You are holding the hand of your soul mate," and I would tally up the men I had loved and wonder which of them was perfect for me without me even knowing. If I fell in love, her warning about being married later in life would blow in on a breeze and I would convince myself that he was not the one. My feelings were invalid somehow.

But I feel silly living my life by the prophecy of a vague soothsayer. And so I've decided to take control of my palm and rewrite her reading. I am going to become the master of my fate and I am going to change my destiny. I will stop looking around the pages of the past looking for answers. I will stop looking to the stars for constellations that align just right with mine. I will become the woman I know is in my heart. And whatever follows suit will be whatever it is. I cannot force or re-imagine.

I just want to live. Without fear of the future. Without shadows of the past. The lines on my hand will change accordingly.

AT LAST!

I got a full nights sleep without so much as one bad dream! They have been becoming increasingly less gory (though equally disturbing) and last night they were just GONE. It was a blessing, to say the least. Instead of severed heads I dreamt about my asshole co-worker who - for some reason in my dreams - has become the representation of stability and comfort. In the dreams he just holds my hand. Though I don't understand why it's him who has become that symbol but I will take it over throbbing, soul sucking trees any day.

Though it felt like I had a million things to do last night I managed to do almost all of them, with the exception of KT's birthday present. Somehow I will have to squeeze that into me and Kat's little grill-out tonight. For the most part, though, we are ready for KT's Birthday. We bought plenty of citronella and tiki torches and this weekend we will be decorating cakes like machines.

On our trip to the fabric store for smelly colored candles Becca and KT and I giggled about mojitos and sangria and made note of a grey haired hippy who seemed to be lurking near us. On the way out Becca couldn't help commenting that he was ogling me (probably something to do with the green tube top strappy shirt I had on) and then later as we pulled into Home Despot she noted another similar gawker. While I was flattered, I couldn't help but think it had more to do with the combination of three young girls and their feminine energy and my monthly cycle. Its getting near that cursed ovulatory time of the month for me and I'm convinced that men can sense this. Its one of those deep rooted animal instincts. I decided on the way into the store that I am going to make a T-shirt that says something to the effect of "I'm probably just ovulating". It has so many facets of hilarity.

Though it was dark by the time I dropped of KT and Becca the timing was perfect for a night swim. I normally try not to go after dark, but something drew me there, and once in the darkened pool I realized exactly what it was. The sky, though brightened by the city lights, was brilliant and warm. Scorpio danced with Ursa Minor and the North star winked down at me. I lay back in the pool, letting my muscles completely unwind from themselves, and I opened my eyes to the infinite mass above me. Floating like that, with the real world outside of my peripheral, I felt I could be up there in space. That is what weightlessness is like, I hear.

I'm no celestial being, to be sure. But that kind of commingling with the sky somehow brings me back into myself. I think about the massive electromagnetic shift and I wonder that there are people who don't believe we are affected by the cosmos. If the Moon can pull our oceans and we are made almost entirely of water, how could we not be moved by the giant white orb up there laughing at us?

Kat will be in this evening. I'm nervous to not overdrink myself, but very excited for her visit. We haven't seen each other in almost two years. A strange thing considering when she lived here I saw her almost every day. Unfortunately there is "work" to be done before the fun happens. I hope that I do not have to come in tomorrow.

If I didn't have a Million things

To do this evening, I would go to the secret swim spot. I went last night and though it killed my slowly fueling desire to create a masterpiece, it was so quite and warm. The sky was pristine, the cicadas rattled mercilessly. It amazes me that nobody else uses that pool. If I lived in a massive purple cheap motel apartment I would probably spend as much time outside as humanly possible. And its a nice pool. Buddha and all...

Instead I will go home and clean my toilet so that Kat doesn't think I never do, and then I will take KT to shop for birthday supplies. Then I will fuel myself with dangerous levels of caffeine so that I can begin (and maybe finish) her birthday present.

Maybe, if I'm lucky I will get to slip in a swim. Perhaps between the Ajax and the rubber cement...

The Mean Tiffany Blues...

I feel crusty today. The weekend was mostly restful but I was plagued by nightmares. They've been happening for about two and a half weeks now and I am dying to get to the bottom of them. 3:30 - night or day. And then I wake up, feeling strange and filled with that heaviness that comes from being around darkness.

Yesterday after the horrible nap nightmare I forced myself to leave the house. Too much murder and blood. And all without the help of my T.V.?? It was hot out and being around people didn't help my mood. My attempt to splurge on a new girly outfit only ended in dismay because nothing fit. I had to talk myself down from buying a beautiful pair of soft suede turquoise pumps because they were well out of the budget I had already resigned to breaking. I settled on a new bottle of hot pink nail polish and a turquoise body pillow cover. Everything in my apartment is slowly turning this shade of blue:

Eventually I just stormed into Becca's house and stole her away for a few hours. We smoked her "crackports" (as she fondly refers to the Newport menthols) and talked about our dreams of buying expensive lipstick - which we both agreed we need to start wearing again - and filling our homes with "adult furniture".

By bed time I felt better, but there was a certain sense of dread that accompanied my bed and laying down for more sleep. I posted out to all of the people I could think of who would be open to praying for my sleep and wrapped both my rosaries in my fists. I drifted off. Each hour I woke myself up to see that I was dreaming sweetly. 12:ooam. 1:00 am. 2:00am. and then without fail there was a dream with severed heads, bashed in skulls and a woman trapped in an elevator, bleeding from her mouth. A man getting impaled on the rocks below a cliff overlooking a waterfall.

These images are so vivid and disturbing. I woke myself and wrote them down, hoping to find a thread in them all to shake the pattern. But it made me not want to sleep anymore. For a girl who loves the luxury of sleep this is a deeply tragic thing.

Perhaps the Tiffany blue will brighten the mood of my dreams a bit more. It would be so welcome...

Productive? Depends on where you stand...

I have not done any "work" work all day. How fabulous is that? I should feel slightly guilty but this time I legitimately did not have anything pressing to do. This makes glee in my heart. It also makes me feel responsible, despite the fact that I could technically be considered as "shirking my responsibilities". But my desk is free of stacks of paper. The filing is done. The kitchen is clean and the office supplies ordered. No one has cause for complaint.

So I spent my whole day planning for my art show. I'm positively unhinged about it because it was one of the goals on my list and I am just two months away from achieving it. Even though its a coffee shop showing I am going to treat it like a fancy schmancy gallery show and advertise my ass off. I'm going to drop my name in all the galleries, I am going to whisper my name to newspapers and I am going to chat it up till I'm blue in the face. Not because this is my only chance, but it is my first and I want to make a real go at it.

Last night lying in bed it was all I could think of. This was a blessing, to say the least. Losing sleep to excitement brought on by good fortune is surely better than losing sleep for the other reasons I've been losing it. I lay in my bed early napping before I went to pick up KT from the airport. I honestly tried to sleep, but it was as if my muse crept into my ringing ears and started shouting.

Through my fluttering eyes the wheels churned out ideas bigger and better than I had originally foreseen possible. I added to my exhibition a chance to show off my writing in the form of a classy coffee table book. I even laid it out as I tossed and turned, thinking about how it would be displayed, how many I would need and imaging their wonderful new book smell.

Though I was exhausted by the time I came home from the airport at 12:20am, a little shiver of excitement had wound its way around my nerves and kept me restless. I had to restrain myself from seeking out a spot with available Internet so that I could begin the process.

I slept as much as I could.

The list of fliers and save the date cards and brochures is getting longer and longer. I am thrilled for the distraction to dive into. I want so much to jump into it that I am going to put the ol' TV in the shed for the next couple of months so I am not distracted. Its the perfect thing to keep my mind off of being single and to ease me through the expected grief.

This Friday feels so much different than last. Its as if the anchor has been lifted and I am finally beginning to sail towards the sunny shore. But the sea is mostly calm. Perhaps I'll stay out here awhile longer...