kcgirlgeek's Virtual Ink

It's a Terrible Thing, But Not Really

2010-03-01T00:00:00.001-06:00

If I were to wait until I had something of value to say, I'd do what I've done for the past couple of months...indefinitely. And that is...I wouldn't blog at all. I know every writer in the world feels this way at some point. That gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach that not only eats at you, but talks to you between bites. "You really have nothing to say." "Why do you think anyone would care to read paragraphs of nothingness?" "You're not much of a writer, so why are you wasting your time with this?"

And then after days and weeks of "hearing" those same things repeated in a myriad of different internal dialogues, eventually I give in and just start typing something. See, the thing that keeps me from blogging is probably the fact that I write every single day. I just don't blog every day.

I'm a member of multiple forums and I keep a journal, although a bit more sporadically than my forum participation. But those forms of writing really satisfy most of my communication desires. I also struggle a bit with the blogging idea, because most of the people I myself enjoy reading are brilliant or funny, or brilliant AND funny, and I don't consider myself to be either of those things. A lot of the bloggers I enjoy reading are also what is generally referred to as "Mommy Bloggers," and I don't entirely qualify for that category being that my children are grown and in their 20s.

My interests, don't seem to be shared with very many other people my age. For instance, I'm big big into PC gaming. Over the past couple of months I have been playing Everquest II again, after being away from it for about a year. I've also played Dragon Age: Origins, Torchlight, and participated in various other beta tests and trials for other games, both role-playing games and MMOs of assorted flavors. See....I've lost most anyone reading this already. I guess the one thing I could mention that is pretty much a household word by now is that I also just left World of Warcraft after having played for five years. Yeah....at least some people have heard of THAT one.

So when it comes time to blog/write outside of my comfort zones of game forums, rant forums, and journaling....I tend to choke. My problem is that I don't really want to write "for myself." If I was writing just for myself, then my blog would become my journal, and there would be no point in keeping them separate. There would also be no point in anyone ever reading it. My journal makes very little sense unless you're inside of my head. Actually....I'M inside of my head and I don't always understand it when I go back to read it days later, so....it would be silly to expect anyone else to decipher it.

I'm feel stuck between a rock and a hard place. I have nothing pertinent to say...sometimes for months at a time. On the other hand, if you don't write for your blog regularly, you lose readers even if you only have ten. Oh wait...now I have eight. And of those eight, probably six are just kind-hearted people who don't want me to feel alone. You guys...are the bomb. :)

I would love to be a writer of the same caliber and style as Jenny, The Bloggess. I would love more than anything to make people LAUGH. Laughter is so healthy, so healing, so freeing. But I'm not always funny. Sometimes I am just downright boring. And I have to wonder what kind of person is able to write something funny on a regular basis that makes people just roll with laughter.

Anyhow....this is an update, weak as it may be. And I would like to say I'm willing to make a commitment to blogging, but I don't like letting anyone down. I don't like letting myself down either. I haven't kept up reading the blogs I love. I haven't kept up writing here. I'm struggling to keep up with even simple daily things right now like laundry. It's just one of the times of life. But I will TRY to do better. I will TRY to be funnier. I will TRY to post more often. I will TRY to not lose my mind worrying about trying to do those things.

Right now....all I want is some nachos.

I Guess My Cats...Aren't Really So Bad

2009-12-27T14:32:00.002-06:00

In my previous post I gave a truthful, and problemly (for definition of this word, see The Bloggess) disturbing, albeit comical, account of what it's like to try to sleep in this house. But today I discovered that we probably have it VERY easy....

Seriously....wtf? I don't know whether to laugh at these people, call them a vet, or an exorcist......

Christmas Eve Eve's Sleeping Twister Game

2009-12-24T17:48:00.015-06:00

Yeah, I realize the title makes relatively little sense, but I couldn't figure out what to CALL what I experience while trying to sleep at night. This "sleeping" thing, has become a SKILL in our house. And it is only attained by much patience and practice.

I remember the days of yore, when my head hit the pillow and I was out like a light, regardless of what was happening around me. I was so tired by the time my head was laid down, you could have held a rock concert and not bothered me in the least. Of course...I was four then.

Then at 16, sleeping was more an interference and obnoxious necessity, than anything else. I mean, seriously...I had shit to DO. This sleeping thing was just accomplished as quickly as possible to make way for more pressing activities. And really...if I didn't get it done...it wasn't a crisis. I could always sleep some other week.

At 23, sleep was more like an after dinner cocktail. And dinner was something I ravenously devoured...sometimes repeatedly...between "cocktails." You can read into that whatever you'd like. You'd probably be right on.

By 35, sleep felt more like a nap between sustained intervals of housework, homework, and work work. Yes...I was one of those over-achievers that thought raising children, working full-time, going to school, keeping a house clean (well...sort of clean), and a husband happy...was a good idea. Hey...I've never been accused of having a lot of common sense. But when I FINALLY got to sleep...I don't remember anything about it other than hearing that alarm and having to wake FAR too soon.

Now at 46, sleep has become an exercise in entertainment, coupled with that "you've got to be joking" feeling, and a pinch of "OMFG come ON already!" I have a sleep disorder. It's called, "I'm aging, I have arthritis, demanding pets, and I'm married," essentially.

Image from Sleep Health

Positions in bed used to be a more adventurous, sexually-charged exploration. They have become a marathon of searching for a comfortable position in which to pass the fuck OUT.

And to add to the delerium of endless flipping, flopping, and rolling, is our precious Miss Stumples, who has her OWN nighttime agenda and requirements for suitable rest. She must (this is not an option, mind you) have Momma's right hand on which to rest her little black and white furry head. So while we're finding comfortable positions in which to SNORE....we're having to be sure they fit around this very important requirement.

Image from Health Professionals Directory
This is the definition of irony. This is also NOT an actual photo of Miss Stumples. Stumples only sleeps on Momma's hand, see...so I can't GET a good pic of that, because I'm trying to sleep then TOO.

If we somehow fail to accommodate....there will be plenty of meowthing off about it. No...I mean REALLY meowthing off. The kind that would set the short term destiny of a human child to being grounded for a week. But the HUMAN child that lives with us is 19. Refer to my re-accounting of teen sleeping habits. Right. He's hardly ever home. And when he IS home....HE is sleeping. Grrrrhwie;klgahhg;aejwja;f. (translation: the fuck? how is it YOU can sleep?)

Last night:

So we head toward the bedroom to begin our perilous journey toward slumber; Miss Stumples, as expected, trotting along behind. Sharon lies down on her right side, Miss Stumples takes her position, daintily perched over Momma's right hand. I re-spread the blankets over the bed, their sleepy bodies lay beneath the warm, fluffy layers, and I think..."Oh, I am sooooo tired. That looks wonderful."

I crawl up my side of our king size bed, along the wall side, up from the foot of the bed, pull back the top right corner of the blankets and wriggle underneath. Ahhhhhh.....warmth, peace, relaxation....

Then it begins....

"Meow, meoooow!"

Me: "Honey do you have your hand up there for her?"

Shar: "Of course I do."

Me: "What is she meowing about?"

Shar: "She probably wants you closer." (See...sometimes, she requires BOTH of our hands, or at the very least, the ability to SEE that I am there also. This can be accomplished by making sure she can see my head on the pillow. So...I fluff my pillow. She stops meowing.)

Me: *cough cough cough* (I have allergies...we have cat hair and dust, because I SUCK at cleaning house.)

Me again: *cough cough cough*

Shar: "Are you okay?"

Me: "Yes, honey, I'm fine."

*I roll over on my right side, sticking my nose between Sharon's shoulder blades.*

"Meow, meow, meow!"

Me: "Stumples!...geebus, okay!"

*I throw my left arm over Sharon's waist so Miss Stumples can SEE my hand...PROOF that I am indeed in bed.*

Shar: "Oh honey, that hurts, my hip is kind of aching."

Me: "K...one sec..."

*I roll back over on my back, making sure my head is high enough on the pillows for Miss Stumples to see it....*

*long drawn out sigh*

Shar: "What?"

Me: "It just feels so good to lay on my back tonight. My back hurts and my right shoulder is killing me."

Shar: "Yeah, it's been rainy and cold today. Probably why my hip is hurting too."

Now we also have MY requirements for sleeping, and Sharon's as well. These are the cause of the following technical difficulties....

Me: "I can't reach your butt to put my hand there." (I can't sleep without one hand on Sharon's behind. Don't ask me why...I have no idea.)

*Sharon scoots down. This works well, because now Miss Stumples has a much better view of my head, but...she has to readjust and re-position herself on Momma's hand now. (brief flopping and readjusting time)*

This is when we discover that elastic bikini waistbands, make very good hand position stabilizers when you're too tired to actually HOLD your hand in the spot it needs to be in....

Me: "Oh wow. I never thought of that. You'll have to sleep in your underwear more often. This is very helpful."

Now fits of laughter ensue. Probably because we're fucking slap happy from lack of sleep.

In this process, our feet have become tangled in the blankets, which are now all over the place, and totally not in the orderly arrangement to which normal people are accustomed. (If using the word normal in this blog post causes you to laugh maniacally, it's okay...I understand.)

(LOTS OF WILD KICKING. Puntuated with heavy breathing and PANIC. We both have anxiety disorder and mild claustrophobia, which makes having our feet totally covered, without at least ONE of them sticking out into the air....unbearable.)

Me: "Whew...." *sigh*

Shar: "Better?"

Me: "Yeah...god. That was intense."

"Meow, meow, meow, meoooooow!"

Me: "Stumps, what on earth is the problem?"

Shar: "MaryJane is trying to scoot her out of her place." (That is her mother...of the cat persuasion.)

Me: "MaryJane get down! Go sleep in your brother's room!" (No, I'm not being abusive, just practical. If she tries to sleep in here, Miss Stumples will never let us hear the end of it, and we'll probably get shunned tomorrow. I can't have that.)

Shar: "Awwww, it's okay Jane, Mommy still loves you. Honey, pet her at least, so she knows you love her and that you're not really mad."

Me: "O M F G...."

*pet pet pet pet pet* .... /rolls eyes

Me: "Now, go to Darren's room." (Yes, our cats are very smart. They understand English.)

Me: Okay. Are we all functional now? Miss Stumples? Everyone?

*I lie back down, on my back, making sure my head is high enough on the pillows for Miss Stumples, stick my right hand back under the newly "discovered" hand-stabilizing-elastic-bikini-waistband, and begin to relax and breathe. (I had to get up, see...to make sure MaryJane was happily tucked away elsewhere, and also to get a drink. All this exercise makes me parched.)*

....listening....

Shar: *sigh* Isn't this wonderful? I love our family.

Me: Me too.

Shar: Merry Christmas Eve Eve, Baby.

Me: Merry Christmass Eve Eve to you too, Baby. Nighty night.

Shar: Night.

Miss Stumples: *purr purr purr*

Wordless Wednesday: I Can Haz New String 4 Chrisssmus?

2009-12-23T14:40:00.005-06:00

Post-it Note Tuesday

2009-12-22T01:48:00.003-06:00

Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap

Love and Tradition

2009-12-21T17:29:00.008-06:00

Yesterday was our daughter's wedding. It was beautiful and tender and even funny. I can't believe that one of our CHILDREN is now married. Weren't they just awkward pre-teens like...I don't know...last week?? Yet in just the past 6 years, we went from comical moments like this pre-Homecoming photo:

To this much more serious, and also adorable, but more deeply-affecting-to-parental-units-of-any-kind-photo here:

ACK! When did that happen?? And let me tell you, her birth mother, is feeling MUCH older right now, than her step-mother is here! The poor woman cried, worried, and all around seemed to feel insane, the entire week preceding this life-changing event. And now, after the fact, as I'm editing video and pulling out snapshots from the footage, I have time and opportunity to think about something related, and also important to me, yet today, I'm struggling with feeling a little selfish for thinking about it.

As we (Sharon and I) sat on the couch together reviewing the Flip cam footage of the wedding, our heads pressed together at the temples, side by side, watching this beautiful celebration of love...our daughter's love...another part of my heart...sank.

Would there ever be a time when we could do this same thing watching our OWN wedding? And IF so...when? Will we also have, by then, sat in this very spot watching our sons' weddings, our grandchildren's birthday parties? Will we marry when we're in our 60s, or 80s, or never be allowed that union at all?

And it reminded me of a discussion I had gotten into in the comment section of a YouTube video by one of my favorite vloggers, Philip DeFranco, otherwise known as "sxephil." He made some very bold statements about gay marriage, gays in general, the Catholic Church, PETA, and...I don't really remember what all else, but suffice it to say that if you're easily offended by pretty much ANYTHING, you shouldn't watch this video.

This is also TOTALLY NSFW. No...I'm serious here. And if you have small children...you probably won't want them in the room when you see it either. However, it is hilarious (like all of Phil's vlogs), so provided you can handle some very serious (and not so serious) adult topics without being offended...you'll want to see it.

Sexy PETA Ad Angers Catholic Church

DISCLAIMER: If you watch this and then find it offensive, please don't shoot the messenger. I'm using it because I like Phil (the vlogger), and I think offensive things can sometimes BE funny. Your mileage may vary.

Now in the comment section, of course, controversial discussion and arguing ensues. But there were a few things in particular that really stuck in my craw. For one, that marriage is only a "word," and we "gays" should be happy calling OUR unions something else. Sure...let's try calling "voting" something else if you happen to be a minority voter. Wonder how well that would fly?

Frankly, I believe EQUAL means equal, not almost the same, or well...pretty much the same, but...NO BUTS. Of course, we could just say everyone gets a civil union, and do away with the word marriage, but somehow (and for obvious reasons) a lot of people probably wouldn't like that...and they shouldn't. And neither should we.

Secondly, that marriage takes place in a church. Incidentally...our daughter did NOT marry in a church, was married by a judge...a female judge, no less. She had a lovely non-religious wedding and she indeed can call herself "married." She can say she is "married" simply because she is heterosexual. And for her mother and I...there is a bittersweet sting, therefore, today as we sit, Flip cam in hand, arms entertwined, side by side, on a couch we've had for years, in a home we've shared for as many...a home that is full of love and kindness, the home that our youngest son still shares with us...our home.

So I suppose what I come here to write about today, is love...and tradition. Not all traditions, are necessarily good things. For instance, traditionally, marriage is a "sacred" commitment between a man and a woman. Yeah...I'm not really seeing the "sacred" part of that these days, but okay. And the whole "tradition" is very interesting today, isn't it?

Today...I took some time to think about that. Sometimes traditions are the vessels that hold antiquated behaviors and ideas that no longer serve a valuable purpose. I'm not saying that all traditions are bad...the holiday season is a great time to think about this. We see traditions all around us, being acted upon and acted out. But some of them...may be more detrimental than good. And some may just need some adjusting. Just a thought or two or three...my 50 cents worth.

Save Hope

2009-12-17T01:05:00.006-06:00

This week's 100 Word Challenge. Why not join us?

Save hope, breath be nothing more than the ticking of a clock

Tic toc Tic toc

It counteth away the beats of a heart tis all but stone

Ticking away, beckoning a finality

An existence with not beginning, neither end, void of purpose

Be there nothing for which one would die
Neither for which one should live 

To have not life, aye neither death, but only incessant drudgery
A pseudo-mechanical time-keeping 

Forging onward toward one sure end that will neither be felt, nor  missed

Alas we are not this,

but rather hope manifest in flesh

Post-it Note Tuesday: Eco-Friendly Version

2009-12-15T13:11:00.002-06:00

My case in point:

Just THINK about it for a minute.

Giving Voice: The High Calling of Teaching

2009-12-12T16:13:00.003-06:00

Today my 19 year old son and I got into a conversation about college and learning, which ultimately led to a conversation about "giving voice." He is the youngest of our three children, none of which I can easily refer to as "children" any longer, and the only one who is still at home. We often converse about things as simple as what's for dinner, and as complex as philosophy.

During our conversation, I was recounting being in high school and remembering that gnawing question that always plagued me, as to what possible purpose classes like English and Algebra could ever serve, particularly in my own personal life. English, where we "diagramed" sentences, or algebra where we seemed to intentionally make numbers painfully mysterious, both were an enigmatic exercise in apparent frivolity to me. At least that's what I thought at the time.

Image by Cornelia Kopp

Then one day I became a mother, and both learning and teaching began to mean much, much more. I wanted my son to be able to express himself, so I taught him to talk. I wanted him to be able to fully communicate and interact with the world around him, so I taught him to listen. I wanted him to be able to play that guitar he loved so much, or to be the best possible athlete he could be...if that is what he wanted. How do we go about becoming the people we become?

Every human being has within them the potential for greatness. And by greatness I simply mean the most robust expression of who we uniquely are in the universe. But to express that...we must have a voice. I don't necessarily mean a literal vocal output of sound, but rather a vehicle of self-expression...the TOOLS to express.

My son and I were talking about learning scales in music class. He has so much beautiful music inside of him. He hears it in his mind and heart. But to be able to express it, he's had to learn the tools that give his creativity a VOICE.

As a writer...what if I had never learned, for instance, the alphabet, or how to read, or how to type, or how to make a complete sentence? (Yes, I know...sometimes I still struggle with that last one, and the tool called "grammar," is not always at home in my tool belt, I'll admit.) But what if I had never learned to spell or to write? I could be full of amazing stories and imaginative prose and verse, but without a VOICE...how would those things come forth?

And this brought us back to the topic of teaching. He wants to be a teacher. He wants to teach grade school music. And I am delighted with this, as you can imagine. Because when it's all boiled down to the most organic truth of the matter....teachers....ALL teachers, not just academics...give others VOICE. Without the tools, the basics, the foundation, the "technical aspects" of any given skill or study, whether it be the English language, or the notes and keys and scales on a piano...there is no VOICE with which to express oneself.

One of the tragedies of our society, is that there are very likely great authors, brilliant painters and sculptors, and inspired musicians trapped within their own limitations. Authors that have never learned to read and write, musicians that have never learned to play an instrument, painters that have never held a paintbrush and wouldn't know the difference between acrylics and oils...sculptors that have never once touched wet clay or whittled even a toothpick. If you don't have the tools...you either have no voice, or your voice is very dampened by it's limitations. Teachers give...voice. The molding and shaping and unique sound of each voice, comes from within. But the creator must have the tools to make themselves "heard."

It's a quirky odd thing about me that I have always felt deeply saddened when anyone dies. I mean ANYONE. Even when I was very young I remember watching the news and feeling acutely grieved by the passing of someone in an automobile accident or when someone left this earth due to a terminal illness, or any other mode of "exit." And I consciously remember thinking, as a young teen...all of the beauty inside that human being, the beauty that was unique to their experiences in life...all...gone. What they might have written, what they might have said, or sang, or painted, or built...all that they would have become...has been taken from us. We may have been left some of their creativity...if they had a voice...but some of them did not. Some musician died without ever writing a song. Some writer passed from this earth without ever penning that haunting poem. Some painter took their leave without gracing a canvas with mesmerizing color and form. And it is a great and irretrievable loss.

So when we have the opportunity to learn something new, or the opportunity to teach something to another soul that is open and hungry, maybe , just maybe...that should make our hearts pound with passion, whether we are a mother teaching our son the alphabet, a father teaching his daughter how to whittle a working whistle, or an elementary school teacher patiently explaining how to construct a sentence, or just a good friend...sitting down to teach their friend their first guitar chords. For all of our voices together make up a tremendous, amazing symphony. Every voice is unique. Every voice matters. One of the most enduring things you can give another human being...is voice.

Thoughts on Polarity

2009-12-10T14:54:00.004-06:00

We are a strange species. We fall in love...and we're foolish in love. We get our hearts broken...and we break hearts. We're so seemingly unique in this universe, although there may be others...but I wonder if they are as crazy as we. We make ourselves crazy with all of our emotions and obsessions.

Image by Zach Stern

We write poems and songs, so full of emotion...we give and love...we rage and murder...we medicate ourselves to keep from feeling...we hate our numbness and do extreme things, seeking adrenaline highs, to feel again.

We're contradictory in almost everything we do. We believe that we believe one way, but we find our actions are incongruous with our beliefs...we wonder IF we believe. We search...we find...then we bury much of what we learn of ourselves deep in our subconscious minds, hoping the truths, both beautiful and awful, will not find light again, for both the beautiful and the ugly within...call us to account.

We're painfully transparent...yet we also omit truths and hide our flaws, as if anyone equally human would believe our projected flawlessness. We lie. We hate liars. We condemn violent criminals to die for taking a life, or lives...we take theirs, payback's a bitch, you know....

We are so lacking in consistency. We are incongruous as a society, and often even within our individual selves. We loathe contradiction and hypocrisy...and we BREED it. Order and chaos...yin yang...polarity...would the Earth spin wildly off her axis if all of this seeming contradiction ceased? Is it all part of the natural balance of existence? Is that, in some strange way, what holy scriptures of all faiths tell us in their own historical and mythological accounts? They too are contradictory within themselves. Perhaps there is some kind of strange magic in that truth...

Is it all just necessary polarity?

Post-it Note Tuesday

2009-12-08T10:12:00.005-06:00

The Harshest Itinerary...No Kidding

2009-12-08T09:09:00.004-06:00

Tell Helen I never knew.

Tonight he's in northern Kentucky.

Tortured heart, indecisive, never knowing ~ trying hard.

I never kissed this handsome, incredible, natural knave...truthfully.  

His illicit niceties ~ karmic. To her, I'm nearly kidnapping them.  

Harsh inconsiderate nasty kunt. That's how I'm now known to her.

I never knelt to his incessantly needy knob. To her it's not knowing, that has

incriminated naivete.

Karma teaches hope.

Ingenuous neutrality keeps these hearts isolated, numb. Kindness?

That's how I'm not killing the harrowing intrepid nonsense.

Knots that hinder intuition, no?

Knowledge...true, he's in northern Kentucky.

This hour is not kind.

THINK...

100 Words Challenge

Shattered

2009-12-05T16:23:00.006-06:00

a slow turning kaleidoscope
every movement altering design
can’t you see that what you do
is forever branded on my bruised tender mind

i am broken shards of colored glass
shapes and hues too numerous to count
reflected by mirrors in the faces
of people all around

what they see is genuine
they just don’t understand
that the colors i reflect are changed
with the touch of every hand

my brokenness betrays me
it’s easy to see it’s so
just look into my eyes
you’ll see that i’m alone

what once was born complete

now lies shattered at your feet

Beyond My Own Static

2009-12-02T10:00:00.004-06:00

You know, if we're all honest...it really does give us a sense of superiority, a little, a little pride, maybe some small feeling of validation, when we're very confident that we're right about something, and that the "other person" is wrong. Sometimes that "other person" is a vast SEA of people, entire populations of countries, human beings standing up opposed to your "knowledge" as far as the eye can see. And somehow, even though we're not apt to admit it, we can stand facing all of those fellow human beings utterly convinced that we, with all of our "special" revelation, are the one that is right, and they...are either "unenlightened" and ignorant, stupid by choice, "deceived" by some supernatural force, or delusional. Yet here we stand, in opposition to vastly more minds than what we see behind us...convinced of our "rightness." The arrogance of it is so profound, it almost escapes words.

I think that I can probably be a rather arrogant person. I am, very likely, overly confident in my intellect." Oh, don't get me wrong...I'm well aware that there are many people far more intelligent. It's certainly not that I think I "know everything." In fact, the older I get, the more sure I am of how truly little I know. The older I get, the more easily the words, "I don't know," roll off my tongue. Perhaps...just perhaps...that is the first step out of intellectualism, into wisdom.

Last night I dreamed of this. I woke, only for a few seconds, thinking, "I must remember this." But then it all drifted away under a blanket of warm exhaustion. All that was left me when I awoke, was this impression of what I now write. A vague, fleeting, foggy impression. But as I sit here, morning coffee in hand, my mind swells with thoughts of this paradox. The more I know that I do not "know," much of which I used to proclaim to know...the more that I truly know, that I don't know very much at all.

I look at this from a couple of perspectives...in my journey from Christian fundamentalism, to atheism...almost, for me, like two sides of the exact same coin. Oh sure, at once I could provide "evidence" through human scientific discovery...at the other end, I could provide "evidence" by human faith...faith...the "evidence" of things not seen. I chuckle at it now, finding it both desperately sad, and just downright desperate.

On the other hand, scientists at one time held many theories, that for some, became personal beliefs, that were later proven to be scientifically wrong. At one time geologists were all wrong about the origin of continents. They thought the earth was a solid object. Now they believe that the earth consists of plates. The theory of plate tectonics has replaced the old theory, which is now known to be false. Science is an ever-growing, changing, dynamic field of study. It is fascinating because it is always disproving itself and, in the process, discovering more "truth." Religion, on the other hand, is an ancient sedentary system of beliefs that tends to scoff at discovery, learning, and the intellect, and often holds to antiquitous ideologies that often have no factual basis, many of which have caused strife, war, hatred, and vile behavior for centuries. Science, however, by its very nature, is open to revelation and correction. I have "worshiped" at both of these altars.

Today...I "know" only one thing. I don't KNOW, with absolute certainty, very much at all. Spiritually, I would probably be considered an agnostic. And you would definitely not be able to paint me with a broad brush by labeling my spirituality as belonging to any particular "prophet" or teacher. I believe in kindness and charity, in honesty and dignity, in compassion and in taking peaceful action to affect positive change in the world around me. Sometimes I am lazy in my actions, but my intent is toward goodness and kindness, and toward loving the other human beings with which I share this planet....because we're all "in this boat" together. I try never to look carelessly at anothers pain, to take delight in their joys, to never belittle someone for their choice of paths through this existence, to empathize with my fellow travelers, and to remain open to learning.

My values are strongly set on this one other thing...

Whereas some atheists and some fundamentalists are set on their own brands of "evangelizing" others to "set them straight," or "show them the fallacies of their beliefs," or even (possibly underlying whatever other "reason" they give for their arguing incessantly the "truth" of their own stance) to show themselves to be "right" and prove the opposition to be delusional, or even to "save" them from their "false beliefs"....I have no such passion. As a matter of fact, I find that such "discussions" and arguments are counter-intuitive to allowing for individual human growth. The greatest teacher of all...is life itself. My journey IS my teacher. Your journey...yours. Our paths may cross, but it is not my "higher calling" to attempt to alter your path. You have everything you need...within you, and around you...to take the journey.

I end this long journal entry with only this, the Socratic principle:

"The unexamined life is not worth living."

It is, in my opinion, not wise to hold too tightly to anything, any person, any belonging, or any principal, without the awareness that the world is constantly changing, in flux, in varying states of decay and renewal. Life is not static.

A stream of motion.....

Five Senses

2009-11-22T22:50:00.004-06:00

A place of my own 1: Greenhill, Weymouth
Originally uploaded by petervanallen

Today I was looking over my favorites on Flickr and I ran across this video I hadn't seen for a while. It washed over me like a cool summer breeze. And I got to thinking about how nature...is its own music. Music may very well be "the universal language," but all five of our senses are singing beautiful symphonies every day, if we just listen...

~ the sound of the rain or a thunderstorm

~ the smell of the air after a thunderstorm

~ the sounds and smells of the ocean

~ the colors of any sunrise or sunset

~ the way the brisk autumn air smells and how it feels on my skin

~ the warmth of a thick cotton cable sweater in the autumn

~ the sound of fallen leaves crackling under my feet

~ the colors of the leaves in Carthage, MO in the autumn

~ the sight of the first really fluffy big-flaked snowfall

~ the way my partner's skin feels and smells, and the beauty of her soft curves

~ the look on my son's face when he's truly happy

~ the sound of my mother's laughter

~ the silky soft fur of my kitten and the sound of her purr

~ the smell of really good coffee first thing in the morning

~ the softness of flannel sheets and fuzzy blankets

~ the smell of clean laundry

~ the way really good food, can affect all five senses

~ the caress of a spring breeze on my skin and through my hair

~ the fragrance of grape irises and carnations

~ windchimes and birds chirping

~ crickets late at night

~ a pitch black sky full of stars

~ putting on warm clothes fresh out of the dryer on a cold day

I don't ever want to forget to notice these things. Beauty...is often something so very simple.

Meet the Writer: Unedited, Transparent, and Utterly Flawed

2009-11-07T16:49:00.003-06:00

Alone I sit. A cup of hot tea, cigarette lit, resting in an ashtray, my desk cluttered with papers, bills, pens...my mind cluttered with unforgiving thoughts toward myself for accomplishing nothing, both now and in my past. I don't suppose I can exactly say that I accomplished "nothing," but rather nothing of any consequence in fulfilling the longing in my soul to create something that is wholly me...that reflects my soul, my passion.

I'm 46. I recognize that this is mid-life crisis mode for me. I'm quite sure that it's a common theme of thought for many my age. Yet knowing I'm not alone in my grief and yearning...sure isn't giving me much comfort.

Over the past few months I have traipsed through a myriad of "interests" trying to find something to DO that will either make money for me and my family (god knows Sharon would probably love to have more help supporting us), or...at the very least...to find something to do that will squelch this incessant gnawing need in my soul to express itself somehow. I have an HD camcorder, software for making videos, a new classical guitar, a tiny keyboard, my journal here, books stacked around the room...maybe I thought just SEEING all of this stuff would inspire me. Sharon is an angel to tolerate me. No...I mean REALLY.

I can't even call this "tortured artist syndrome" because I have not BEEN an "artist" for so long now, that I can't even conjure up a simple creation to share with my CATS, let alone another human being. So I'll just be honest and call it mid-life crisis that is teetering on depression. Yes...I suppose if I have to admit it...I've probably been manic, clamouring for things, running after every idea as though it were some fairytale salvation of sorts, never accomplishing anything real in the process, and driving everyone around me insane. I feel as if I don't fit in the world in any useful way any more. I've always had an undercurrent of that feeling throughout the entirety of my life, but now...it's like a ravenous scavenger...it perches on my shoulder waiting for the next piece of dead flesh to drop.

It's ugly, it's mean, it's scary...and it's where I am right now.

You can't write about anything hopeful when you're feeling this way. Music soothes me, but I can't hide in it long enough to make everything else I feel go away for more than the length of time the music is playing. And if I take my focus off the songs...the wolf comes back to devour any hope that I've gained. I feel trapped. I'm caged within my own soul, my own body, and in this apartment. And the latter...is by choice. I don't WANT to go outside. I don't want to be out there and see, under a looking glass...amplified...how useless I really am compared to every other single person that is living out there and really LIVING.

I have no self-discipline. I am lazy. And lazy people just don't accomplish much. These are the "sins" that will crush my dreams. I'm not even sure I know what my dreams are anymore. Well okay...that's not entirely true. I want to WRITE. But I want to write something someone will READ and gain something FROM. I don't want to just sit here and endlessly type rubbish into a machine that has no response to me either negative or positive.

I want to write something that will come to LIFE and have a being of it's OWN. I want to GIVE BIRTH. Maybe...just maybe...what I am going through is a creative pregnancy. I certainly FEEL moody, pained, disturbed, sick....yup, I feel pregnant.

The greatest problem with all of this, for me, is that I don't feel I have a lot of TIME. I don't feel I have the luxury of seemingly endless years, the way I felt when I was oh...15. Now the clock is ticking and I don't work well under pressure. At least that's been my experience in the past. Pressure tends to paralyze me, and that...that...is what I'm feeling, in part.

Maybe after this M.R.I. on Monday...maybe this won't be so intense. I've not told anyone...not a soul...but I have some fear about the M.R.I. and that fear is that I may have something very very wrong with me. Oh sure...that's probably grossly melodramatic. I don't know. But many things have run through my mind. Things like bone cancer, leukemia, a tumor somewhere....so now I stop to light another cigarette. Maybe I've always had a secret death wish...a sort of under-stated suicidal nature somewhere within. A lot of my life would tend to appear confirming of that diagnosis. But my conscious mind...is not ready to die. And every fiber of who I am inside...resists that idea.

It's funny to me, that every time I am in crisis mode of any sort in my life...I always gravitate back to the music and poetry of Stevie Nicks. It's like...somewhere in what she writes...I find ME...that part of me that longs, that yearns, that dreams, that WANTS to reach for me. And yet that girl...that young girl...she's buried so deep within me that I can't REACH her anymore. I feel myself stretching my arms to her and trying desperately to grab hold of her hands, but she won't reach BACK to me. She just sits there...a semi-blank stare on her face. The only emotion I see there is sorrow, and she's looking sadly at me as though I have betrayed her and she no longer trusts me. I promised her so many things throughout the course of our life, and I never made good on the promises. And now...she resents me, a little, and grieves...a lot. And she is far too fearful of more heartache to reach back to me. But she sits and listens to Stevie too. And I hear her humming...she's still hungry...she still wants more, but she doesn't trust ME to feed her.

Amazing that I can write so much about so little. I talk the same way. I can ramble on endlessly about things that don't matter in the least. Well...all of this matters, but not to anyone but me. And to try to explain these feelings to Sharon or someone that is just doing what they have to do to SURVIVE another day at work...just makes them hate me for having the time to even THINK about this kind of shit. I mean...Sharon doesn't have TIME to sit and debate about what she should "do with the rest of her life." She's busy supporting our family and doing those needful things that are really TRULY important. Oh sure...they might not leave a lasting impression on the "rest of the world," but they leave a lasting impression on me and Darren. Her gift is giving US life. And that...that's something vital and important. And even though it might not seem like much to her...it's a whole whole lot to me. Perhaps I have a lot more to learn from her about being important...to few...being just as vital as being important to many.

You know, a few years back, there was a class reunion for my graduating high school class. I didn't go. I didn't go because I didn't want to answer the question, "So what do you DO?" I didn't really want to hear the answers from my classmates either, when someone asked THEM that. But now...it's not so much that I care what OTHER people think of what I "do," but that it's become a painful wound to me. I don't "do" anything. I don't even think that journaling can allow me to claim to be a writer. I haven't "given anything" to the world. I haven't contributed in some important way. Oh sure, I raised a son to the ripe old age of 13. I wasn't a great mother. I was passable, but it wasn't a talent, that's for sure. And I made many mistakes with him...of course, we all do, with our children. But outside of that...I have really done nothing.

So here I sit...typing away...longing to "be a writer," and indeed "writing," but unfulfilled, because I want my writing to MATTER. I want SOMETHING I do to matter. If I leave this world without having written whatever it is that I am here to write...then I have failed. And I feel ever so close to that becoming a reality. And I am scared.

You know, I would like to be able to write a very raw, poignant account of a life that has been scarred by drug abuse, moved by the beauty of the world, and motivated by the desire to touch others in a meaningful way, but that little girl...she won't reach back...she refuses, because I have let her down too many times before and without her...I cannot connect the dots. I cannot paint the landscapes. I cannot sing the songs, write the poems, I cannot claw my way up out of this well without her, and I cannot stay here, for we shall both drown.

I don't know where the story starts. I don't know where it ends. I don't even know what the ligaments are that connect the structure of the body. The ligaments, fibers, cells, that make up this life...are disconnected...scattered, broken...a kaleidoscope of tortured images. My memories are fractured. The fog of past drug abuse has made ordering the visions in my mind near to impossible. I can't remember when and where so MANY things happened. Details are fuzzy, emotions are numbed. And through all the recent past years that I have NOT been illegally drugged, I have been LEGALLY drugged because of this illness, and it has not rendered my memory any better, but rather it seems to have made it so so much worse. I'm actually not sure that the medications haven't done FAR more damage to me than all the years of other crap. No one to blame for any of that though...no one but me.

I suppose that I could put all of my writing, no matter how trite and unimportant, on my blogs and just call it good. Maybe once every few months someone will accidentally happen by and read it. If I'm very very lucky, perhaps they'll leave a comment and I'll know that at least someone READ what I wrote. But the dreams of fame (no matter how small the "fame")...yes, I suppose that's what they are...or something akin to that, anyway...those dreams are probably just childish fantasies and I have to be honest with myself...they will probably never come to fruition.

I am ONE middle-aged homemaker in a world full of ridiculously talented people who are able to tell THEIR stories in much more polished and powerful ways, and I cannot compete in that realm. I am so not in their league. I am one voice in a sea of voices, and the entire world will go on when I pass, as if I never was, and there is not a damn thing that I can do about that. My family...or what is left of them then...they will notice my absence. But by and large, I will pass from this world without fanfare, without a blink, without anyone except them, ever knowing what I felt, what I experienced, what I thought, what I dreamed, what I believed, and how amazing and beautiful life really was...to me. That is just the inescapable truth for all but the tiniest percentage of people on this planet. And it is a desperately sad truth...for us all. Because today...today...someone wonderful, and beautiful, and full of wisdom and truth that would heal many hearts...will die. And their story will never be heard, will never be known, and the beauty of all that they learned in their life will be lost. And we ALL will lose just a little something because of that, but...we won't even know we lost it.

And perhaps that is why, people like Stevie, are so loved and revered. Because somewhere inside all of us...we know the truth. We know that we will pass from this life without ever being able to tell our stories. So we look to Stevie, and others, to tell them FOR us. And when we hear them sing, see their paintings, or read their words, and RELATE to them...perhaps we feel that somehow, in some way...someone heard at least a part of US in that, and that we were, if even for a moment, understood.

In my mind...I am like Stevie...twirling across that stage, draped in chiffon and lace, the free spirit, abandoning my fears, pouring my heart out, touching thousands of people, letting them know that they are LOVED...that someone cares deeply for them...singing their stories...telling the world that THEY matter. Has anyone ever written anything for you? Yes...someone has. And I hear her singing. She touches my bruised and battered heart with the gentleness of butterfly's wing, and in that touch...I begin to heal. And that will probably have to be enough...unless...

I can I pick up the torch...not as a singer, but as a writer, and use the gift that God has given ME...to do the same. Can some of us pay it forward, can some of us jump into that flowing river of truth, and ride it with sincerity of purpose, taking others into that warm ocean tide of healing as we go? Can I....?

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*This entry gets to the HEART of why I want to write. It may sound grandiose and delusional (and perhaps it is), but I want to be a voice for others that have no voice. The ordinary, the housewife, the guy that's working 9 to 5 and has so much to say, but isn't eloquent with words, the teenager reeling from the heartache of that lost first love, the drug addict gripped in addiction, running from pain, because her heart is so sensitive that it gets crushed under the weight of this life...the one that longs to be free, but doesn't know how to cry anymore. This...this is my passion. And it's an enormous weighty thing, and I don't know where to begin...but it's all in the world that I want outside of my family. I want to paint, with words, the beauty of our souls...all of our souls. We are all survivors, artists, creators...every one of us. It's just that many of our songs go unsung, our words go unspoken, our stories go untold.*

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Disabilities Do Not Make Us Less Than Other People

2009-04-07T18:02:00.004-05:00

Today, as I was doing my usual "Googlerama" festivities for the day (searching around through topics that interest me), I discovered something that saddened me, and yet it was already keenly familiar to me on a personal level. It seems that people with disabilities, particularly those that are predominantly homebound, often struggle with tremendous feelings of inadequacy and may feel lonely, depressed, and bored, among other things.

I don't pretend to know what it's like to be physically disabled. My father is physically impaired, and I have seen some of his challenges, and those of my mother, due to this. However, I can only speak from my own internal experience, and that is with mental health disabilities.

I have rapid cycling bipolar disorder, in addition to struggling somewhat with agoraphobia, and generalized anxiety. Then there are some other annoyances that are aggravated by my mental state such as colitis and IBS. Leaving the house is not as simple for me as throwing on some clothes, putting on a bit of makeup, hopping in the car and zooming off. It is a torturous, stressful, and painful process, that starts hours before I leave my house (on the rare occasions that I do so). I worry. I worry about everything. I worry about things normal people never even remotely consider. I shake, my heart pounds, my palms sweat, I feel weak, irritable, and even nauseous sometimes. Medication, while making these things more manageable, is definitely not a "cure all." And to be painfully honest, I'm not a very good example of staying on my medication consistently, even when I know I should. I still fight with myself about my illness, as though my wishing it wasn't so, would make it go away. It doesn't.

Thinking about the stark reality of this, stirred my soul. It's a topic that feels close to home. Maybe too close to home. To blog about "feelings" and shortcomings, disabilities and desires....not really on the top of my list of "fun things to do." As a matter of fact, it's downright scary as hell. How much of the "real me" am I willing to put out there for public inspection, and ultimately judgment? People, by nature, especially those on the internet, seem to lean toward the judgmental side of human nature, possibly because many are intellectual or fancy themselves so. Anonymity...doesn't help matters. Many of the more cowardly internet "frequent flyers," so to speak, take great immature delight in tearing others down, often with no reason other than...they can. (I don't think generally intelligent people do this, just the more immature.)

So here I sit, typing out what feels like a sort of death sentence to normalcy. And by "normalcy" I mean the convienience of staying very shallow, always a bit humorous, and at arm's length, emotionally, from anyone in cyberspace. I, of all people, love safety. Emotional safety, mental safety, physical safety....safety. (Yes, I'm a bit of a germaphobe too.) But what do I have to contribute to anyone if I don't make myself transparent? Sure...I could continue to hide behind funny stories (not that I don't have some genuinely funny stories to share), or...I can be 100% real, raw, vulnerable, and essentially naked. I don't know if "naked me" is all that appealing (I mean gravity at the age of 45 is frighteningly real...you don't wanna know). But isn't ME all that I have to share? And in all honesty....isn't it also what I want from you? Yes, yes it is.

I have decided, after probably not near enough thought, that one of my ferocious dust bunnies (fear) needs to come out from under the bed and face the light of day. Sure, I could leave it under there, forget about it, let it grow. That's probably not the best idea. For the past 11 years I have managed to be on the internet, "socially" relating to others without ever really showing "those" parts of myself. I've worn the Mommy Hat, the Gamer Hat, the Blogger Hat, the College Student Hat, the Facebook-MySpace Hat, the High School and College Alumni Hats, the Poet Hat, the Vlogger Hat, the Shopper Hat (online shopping, of course), the Geek Hat (hence my internet persona name of "kcgirlgeek"), I've even worn the Catch A Predator and Let's Help the Cops Hat. *sigh* After all of that, I think it's time to conquer the fear of being hatless....the fear of exposure.

So from here on, I'm going to be blogging (and soon vlogging) about the challenges of life with a disability, from my perspective and my family's, and...I'm going to address the issues of feeling inadequate, lonely, and bored, and how we can begin to conquer those things together. These feelings are not unique to the disabled, by the way, as though I'd have to tell anyone that. I'm going to address ways in which we can stretch ourselves by stepping outside of our comfort zone in ways that are beneficial to our well-being. And I'm going to invite you to share in those experiences with me, via HD video and blog, which will be uncomfortable for me, and hopefully uplifting for at least one other person. Because if I can take one other person on this journey with me, it will be all the more worth it.

*The image used above is by disastrous.

Keeping Warm and the Butt-Wiping Invention That Changed Our Lives

2009-03-28T16:40:00.004-05:00

I find it oddly comforting that pretty much any question you can think of, no matter how bizarre or random, someone somewhere has taken the time to research this odd thought you've had; you know, the one you thought no one else would ever think; and they've posted the answer somewhere on the internet. And there it sits, just waiting for you to Google it up from wherever it is that sleepy little known facts hibernate.

WARNING: Possibly dangerous practices will be discussed in next paragraph. I'm NOT suggesting this as a solution to anything, I'm just saying that my family does it. I'm sure we do a lot of things other people should NEVER do (we're risk takers), so...keep that in mind.

Note that the image above, by mrbill of Flickr, shows no setting for "popsicle toes." This is an oversight by the manufacturer, I'm sure.

It's extraordinarily and unseasonably cold today in Missouri. Yeah, I know...the whole country has whacked out weather right now, we're not special. Toward the end of last year, we discovered that our electric bill was much lower if we set the oven on about 350 degrees and left the oven door open a bit instead of only running our furnace. I'm not really sure why that is, being they're both electric, but for some reason it works. It keeps the furnace from running constantly trying to keep up. Maybe we just have a really old furnace, and a really efficient stove, I don't know. What I do know is that it lowered our electric bill...a lot. So being that my toes were about to fall off and turning blue (I have issues with shoes; I simply don't wear them at home...ever) I walked to the kitchen to do the usual "stove thing." As I set the stove on pre-heat, it occurred to me that I had no idea why I needed to pre-heat it and not just set it to bake. Why do I think of things like that? Seriously, I'd like to know. Because the next time I sit down on the toilet, I guarantee I'll probably sit there and wonder something equally abstract like...who invented toilet paper? Great...now that I've wondered it, I'll have to Google that too. *sigh*

Googlemomma to the rescue! I shall find our answers! YAY for Howstuffworks! And I quote,"The idea of preheating an oven is to get all of the air in the oven up to the proper temperature so that the burner does not have to come on very often or for very long." Well what the hell? How could I live 45 years without knowing that? Also...pre-heating, I come to find out, excelerates the speed of heating, whereas if you just set the oven to bake, the heat rises more slowly. Pre-heating also keeps things from burning (when you're cooking, not heating your house) because it keeps the infrared radiation from the burner to a minimum. There's more information on the above linked page about broiling too, because some other strange person wondered about broiling, apparently.

How can a mother cook for 20 years without knowing these things? I bet everyone else already knew all of this, and as usual, I'm the last to know.

DISCLAIMER: Don't try this at home if you have a gas stove, particularly if you have a gas stove and you are a smoker. I think there's a very good chance that could be...uhm...dangerous.

Sidenote: If the toilet paper question is really nagging you now...here's the answer.

Note that in this image of our often-taken-for-granted-daily-butt-wiping-invention (by [s e l v i n] of Flickr), someone has managed in blatantly grievous error, to turn the roll the WRONG direction. Don't even try debating this topic with me, I'm very stubborn about this.

*I'd like to take this moment to thank the Chinese. For had it not been for you, it might have taken us much longer to have arguments with our spouses about the way the roll goes on the holder. I have a deep sense of gratitude for this, among other things. Ni hao.

Who are YOU, and What Have You Done With My Date?

2009-03-27T14:34:00.004-05:00

This morning I woke up a bit earlier than usual, and before my usual date with The Best Defense and In Session on CourtTV (or TruTV, whatever stupid name they've given it now), there was an infomercial on. Now, I'm not usually one for watching informercials. I think they're generally an insult to our intelligence. But this one was different. It was an insult to our intelligence with built in LOLs.

The infomercial was for Kymaro from Ubuyez.com. Yeah, I know...sounds like a character on World of Warcraft that is working for a Chinese gold farming business selling game currency. If you're not a PC gamer and that comment makes no sense, I'm sorry, but trust me...it's true.

Anyway, so I proceed to stare at the screen, coffee in hand, as we're "treated" to multiple before and after shots of some rather fluffy women (I don't like the word fat). So yeah, the full body girdle they're trying to sell...actually appears to work. But as I'm sitting there thinking it might be nice to have one of these full-body-condom-suit-flab-filter-thingiemajiggers, this scene runs through my mind:

FADE IN:

Interior Random Urban Nightclub, 1 am
Neon light drenched, strobe lit, active bar scene.

VOICE OVER (Handsome Guy at Bar speaking):

"Suddenly I saw her. She seemed perfect in every way...gently flowing long blonde hair, sun-caressed silky smooth skin, slinky black dress, cherry red lips, and mossy green sparkling eyes that begged attention. I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I had to speak to her, to explore the possibilities..."

POV Handsome Guy at Bar: moves toward Attractive Woman.

CLOSE UP Attractive Woman's eyes as her eyes meet his.

Handsome Guy at Bar:

"Hey, Baby, whatch doin' tonight after you leave this joint? Wanna come over to my place for a drink, maybe watch a movie, get to know each other, just chill?"

Seemingly Slim Woman at Bar:
(Ignore the apparent lack of common sense in this reply...hey, I mean, it's just what randomly ran through my head, but I'd have probably smacked him, myself, and she...should have...even though this was just my mind's interpretation of the consequences of buying the body-condom-suit-flab-filter-thingiemajigger.)

"Well sure, Baby, that sounds like fun!"

FADE OUT

(30 minutes later)

EXTERIOR NIGHT Guy's car pulling into his townhouse drive.

*cut to Guy's living room*

Slim Woman:

"I know why you invited me over, so let's just cut to the chase and get it on, Baby."

Handsome Guy:

"Oh, I knew...I knew you were just what the doctor ordered."

Slim Woman: (Amused and delighted by this amorous new acquaintance...giggles)

"Well just let me go to the bathroom and freshen up a bit."

Handsome Guy:

"No problem, Sweet Thing. It's right there. (motions in direction of bathroom)
I'll be waiting, but don't be long."

POV Handsome Guy: Watches as she gracefully walks to the bathroom and turns once inside, offering him a last little peek at her flirtatious eyes as she peeks around the door while closing it.

Handsome Guy begins to pour himself another drink.

Meanwhile in the bathroom, Slim Woman struggles to get out of full-body-condom-suit-flab-filter-thingiemajigger, in order to surprise him in all her generous glory.

(45 minutes later)

Handsome Guy has fallen asleep from drinking too much whiskey and is snoring on the couch.

Slim Woman quietly walks over to him, naked, and gently nudges him...

He wakes and begins screaming at the top of his lungs.

Handsome Guy:

"OMG OMG OMG...who ARE you and what have you done with my date?! I'm calling the police!"

And the morale of this story is:

Lies, even if they seem like a good idea at the time...always catch up with you.

Think I'll pass on ordering the full-body-condom-suit-flab-filter-thingiemajigger, at least for now.

I have TURNED into my Mother, not that Mom's boobs are that bad....oh nevermind.

2009-03-26T16:08:00.006-05:00

Am I happy about it? Gee, I don't know...would YOU be happy if YOUR boobs were being horrifyingly distorted by gravity, and because they were huge (thanks Mom), you had to wonder if you'd wake up tomorrow with them smacking you in the shins?

Seriously, I remember thinking when I was younger that I didn't want to grow up to be like my parents. Afterall...I was going to be "kewl" (only back then, we spelled that "cool"). Yet here I am at the tender age of 45, grieving the loss of not only my perky boobies, but my perky mind, which has acquired many of Mom's traits, first and foremost that of needing anti-depressants, and a lot of caffeine to even be able to remember my own name.

To Have Big Dreams and Goals, and Be Such a Noob

2009-03-26T11:21:00.004-05:00

Most of what we do in life begins with a thought, a decision, and then an action. Granted, some things are ruthlessly thrust upon us not allowing any of the above. Those things, I think we all just stumble through, hoping we've got enough inner fortitude to somehow surf those unexpected waves and come out on the other side intact. But do you ever feel like you've made a conscious decision to do something and yet once you begin to act on that decision, it comes equipped with all of the unpredictable stress of those "unexpected waves" sort of things? Why is that? I had the thought, I made the decision, I took the action, and suddenly I feel like I'm not in control. What the hell?

I read more than a handful of blogs, and over the past year, I've never bothered to comment on most of them or make my presence known in any way. That wasn't because I was trying to be mean, or that I didn't care. These bloggers were (and truthfully, still are) so intimidating to me. Some of them are so ridiculously skilled at writing, that I feel altogether blessed and cursed to be reading them. Now, when I make a comment, I'm sure most of them have no clue how difficult and scary it is for me to leave my thoughts there, for those fantastic writers to read, and perhaps judge.

When I was very young, I had a sixth grade teacher named Miss McKinney. She gave us an assignment to write a story, a "novelette," I believe she called it. I can't remember, it was a very very long time ago. I wrote a suspense story called "Suite 800." It was about a haunted hotel. In sixth grade, I remember it being very scary to even write it. But Miss McKinney loved it (or said she did) and encouraged me to continue writing. She told me she believed that I had discovered a previously hidden talent, and that it was very special.

As the years flew by, I continued to write. I wrote poetry that was published. I wrote songs that were not (I used to play guitar and piano). I wrote letters. I wrote journals. I wrote....all the time. By the time I was in college, I had found other skills that I had some inclination toward, and I majored in graphic design. Yeah, this was a strange choice considering that I had always wanted to be a writer. I can't explain that decision. But to make a very long story a tiny bit shorter...writing began to fall by the wayside for me. After college I started a small business doing CD cover and ebook cover designs. I quit writing, for the most part.

There used to be so many things to write about. Honestly, you could have given me any topic or idea, and it would have streamed from my pen (pen, yes, it was a long time ago) into some semi-brilliant and beautiful thing. Now I'm almost half a century old, and really really want to write. Yet, I feel like the part of me that used to write so eloquently, with such passion and resolve, has somehow been crushed under the weight of just living and raising children, being married and working, and just spending so many years not paying attention to life outside of my own isolated bubble of existence.

At the point of tears I sit here typing, longing to find that part of myself again, and yet, she feels so far away, so disconnected from the woman that sits here today. I don't know her any more. She's gotten lost somewhere in the past; a past that was spent doing and being and fulfilling all kinds of other roles.

There are so many blogs in the blogosphere, all floating about, most unread by anyone other than their writer and perhaps a few close friends or family. I know that most people aren't interested in reading what some 45 year old woman did today, or had for breakfast, or even necessarily her life's "revelations." What do I really have to contribute other than half a century of my own personal life and all of its details? I'm not a comedienne, like The Bloggess or Her Bad Mother, who is also ridiculously gifted at one line Tweets that make you spew coffee out of your nose. All I have to give...is me. And I want to be genuinely me. Yet, I don't really know who that is anymore, so how can I share that with someone else? I'm pretty sure that no one wants to read the story of me rediscovering myself either. That just seems like it would be literary public masterbation. I don't think that sounds very appealing either.

So to get back to the point I was trying to make in the first paragraph...I made this decision to blog. I'm blogging, right now, for me. But I'm not going to lie and say that I don't care if anyone reads it. Of course I do. I think that most everyone that has a blog that they work on, wants people to read it, wants comments, wants that feeling of involvement with a community of other writers and readers, and I love to read other peoples' blogs. I just love it. I know I need to comment more often, because I know that those comments are precious to a writer, and I've begun to do that. But in this state of blogging "infancy," I have to say that I feel very lost, very alone, and very hungry to just write, whether those writings are read or not, I can't determine. I just know...I must write.

The wave is cresting behind me...

I hope I can ride it out.

When it's Time to Start Over

2009-03-24T20:53:00.004-05:00

My son, Levi, has been such a catalyst in my life so very many times, and I'm quite sure that he doesn't know that little tidbit of information. It might be best if that stays our little secret. I wouldn't want him to have any more "dirt" on his momma. Generally, parents are teachers, and I do think that I taught my son a few things, although probably not always good things. At the same time, I think we often forget how much we can learn from our children. Levi had a rough beginning to his year, and it got me to thinking about actions, consequences, and being pro-active rather than just letting life happen to you.

I haven't been active at blogging for quite some time now. It's not that my life was without things to blog about, it's just that my head has not been in the blogosphere enough to read or write. I've barely been able to simply think. But life has seasons, and it's been a long winter. In the past my blog entries have been predominantly about things that have inspired or angered me. They were topics that often caused me to reflect on my life, my actions, and reactions. This is where the "ferocious dust bunnies" come into play.

Dust bunnies. We've all had them. They seem innocuous enough, particularly when they're not blatantly obvious and they're just hiding somewhere under the bed. They're easy to forget about...well...at least for me. Anyone that knows me very well knows that I'm not the tidiest of people. I like housecleaning almost as much as I like a root canal....almost. Oh, don't get me wrong. I love the end result. I just don't love the process. But cleaning, both houses and lives, is a needful thing, and eventually I'll end up having to suck it up and just do it (on both fronts).

Dust bunnies are a funny thing. As a metaphor, they're both a bit gross, and a bit cute. I guess it depends on how you look at them. Real dust bunnies (you know, the kind that actually make homes under your literal bed) can be quite filthy. They can have mites and other non-cute things in them. Ewwww. On the other hand, someone somewhere along the way called them "bunnies" because they can resemble fluffy little...well...bunnies. And there's nothing about a bunny that isn't pretty goshdern cute. I should know, I used to have five Holland Lop rabbits as pets. My house was FULL of bunnies back then (both the dusty kind, and the furry, floppy-earred kind).

My blog has developed the not so cute kind of virtual dust bunnies. I know this because after this long "winter" I came back and "looked under the bed." It's time to sweep them out and start over. So what does that mean for this weblog? It means there's going to be a lot more going on here! It means that I've re-discovered and re-connected with purpose and meaning, and it means that I want to be part of something bigger than myself, a community of dedicated writers. It means I'm making a commitment to deal with dust bunnies, both the "ewww gross" kind and the cute and cuddly caricature kind. I hope you'll join in.

Violence, Guns, and Video Games - Grow UP, America!

2007-08-24T11:06:00.003-05:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/21/arts/television/21vide.html?_r=1&adxnnl=1&oref=slogin&adxnnlx=1187964000-CCeOO6yr2SlV8CsZg3PJEA

This may be an unpopular view, BUT...when is our government going to stop trying to parent our children? And WHEN are parents going to start parenting so the government doesn't feel a NEED to continually be trying TO parent?!!!

This whole violent video game controversy makes about as much sense to me as gun control. Guns don't kill people...screwed up PEOPLE do. Video games ALSO don't kill people, but sick people DO. A healthy, normal person is quite capable of responsibly handling weapon ownership and certainly capable of distinguishing fantasy from reality.

I was raised around guns, my father was an avid hunter, and also liked to go the range to shoot handguns. I was taught gun safety when I was very young. It would have NEVER run across my mind to "play" with a gun. I had parents that TAUGHT me. They did not rely on the school system, my friends, and other people to be my parents or "teachers" in ANY area of learning. I knew how to read and write BEFORE I entered school. My parents...PARENTED.

Make a law outlawing guns and law abiding citizens will follow it. The criminals don't care about the law NOW, they certainly will not THEN. Criminals....will always have guns.

And on the topic of video games, as I know they are a different subject matter than the gun control argument. The Columbine shootings are always brought up here. The kids that did that were psychologically disturbed kids. I would bet my life's savings that this was a problem LONG before they picked up a video game. Their parents seemed to ignore their strange anti-social behaviors to a good degree, and obviously did not get them the mental health HELP that they NEEDED.

I have been playing video games since their initial creation and release into the "public sector." I also allowed my son to play video games. Some...were probably a bit violent. But long before he (or I) began gaming, we had parents that had taught us the difference between fantasy and reality. I knew that Santa Claus wasn't real. (People REALLY need to quit LYING to their children.) I knew that movies were made by writers and actors. MY son knew all these things as well.

I've played a vast array of video games, from Painkiller to World of Warcraft, to Counterstrike, and I have never had the inclination to go out and kill anyone. I can say the same for my now 18 year old son, who is the varsity wide receiver for his high school football team, makes good grades in school, and WORKS, as well. He is a responsible young man who ocassionally enjoys (still) a good video game.

I think what this country needs to invest in, is a law and program that legally REQUIRES parenting classes for new parents. Period. Any IDIOT can have a child with no training or knowledge whatsoever. Instead of trampling our freedoms...why not teach people to be better, well...PEOPLE? And certainly there is a DIRE need for better PARENTS.

As human beings, when are we going to start taking RESPONSIBILITY for own OWN actions and quit blaming this, that, and the other thing? Inanimate objects and media are not responsible for the ACTIONS we take....WE ARE.

GROW UP America.

Again questioning....what happened on 9/11?

2007-05-18T07:55:00.000-05:00

This is the FIRST account of 9/11 regarding possible government involvement that I have found to be this credible. It is full of news accounts (by major news media) that were censored from our viewing at the time of the events, and also the expert testimony of physicists and analysts we've not aforeto heard from. Please....if you are a U.S. citizen....take the time to WATCH this.

Okay, I'm not generally a "quick to jump to conspiracy theories" sort of person. I have been highly resistant to even considering the posibility up until now. I've been guilty of LAUGHING at people who considered it. I'm not laughing NOW.

True, I don't trust the U.S. Government any further than I can throw the lot of them, BUT...I've never been much on "conspiracy theory" overall. And yet I seem to see more and more accounts of things from 9/11, by people that were there, by scientists, by experts in many fields, that somehow I never saw the first time around.

Is it possible that the terrorists (if that is what we choose to believe) were able to infiltrate the buildings weeks beforehand and lay out timed explosives throughout with no one knowing? Or is it possible that, heaven forbid, this was the result of something even MORE terrible than an attack from OUTSIDE our country? I'm open to believing that anything is possible. Yet I don't come down on either side of the fence on this....not YET.

What do YOU think? 9/11 Revisited

How Would You Answer this Alarming Political "Quiz?"

2007-05-06T21:05:00.000-05:00

MINI QUIZ

Question: Who said this?

"An evil exists that threatens every man, woman and child of this great nation,". "We must take steps to ensure our domestic security and protect our homeland."

First try answer: George W. Bush?

Sounds like a good thing! Or...does it? The use of fear and psychological terror thrust upon nations by governments during times of upheaval and need for change is called propaganda. It has been used before. (see 'fine print' below for actual answer)

**************

The answer to the question: Adoph Hitler, writing about creation of the Gestapo in Nazi Germany.

Interesting that he also said, "It is not truth that matters, but victory." Another quote, also from Hitler, "The great masses of the people will more easily fall victims to a big lie than to a small one." Are we beginning to see the problem here, fellow citizens of the United States?

For more quotes that will raise the hair on your neck see: Adolf Hitler Quotes Not a comprehensive list, but nonetheless....quite interesting.

Here you go, try this direct quote from Mein Kampf on for size, citizens of the U.S.:

Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler
Volume Two - A Reckoning
Chapter XV: The Right of Emergency Defense

"A shrewd victor will, if possible, always present his demands to the vanquished in installments. And then, with a nation that has lost its character -and this is the case of every one which voluntarily submits- he can be sure that it will not regard one more of these individual oppressions as an adequate reason for taking up arms again. 'The more extortions are willingly accepted in this way, the more unjustified it strikes people finally to take up the defensive against a new, apparently isolated, though constantly recurring, oppression, especially when, all in all, so much more and greater misfortune has already been borne in patient silence."

Can you say PATRIOT ACT?

"Seven Blunders of the World" by Mahatma Gandhi

2007-04-19T19:41:00.000-05:00

"Seven Blunders of the World" by Mahatma Gandhi: "'Seven Blunders of the World'

1. Wealth without work

2. Pleasure without conscience

3. Knowledge without character

4. Commerce without morality

5. Science without humanity

6. Worship without sacrifice

7. Politics without principle

—Mahatma Gandhi"

What incredible words of wisdom.

~image from Paradise Engineering

The Right to Bear Arms

2007-04-17T14:16:00.000-05:00

" One of the greatest delusions in the world is the hope that the evils in this world are to be cured by legislation." – Thomas B. Reed (1886)

I feel a sense of outrage, mixed with fear....and not fear of other citizens, but fear of a government that tends to use current events to fuel political propaganda machines.

The right to bear arms....at what price?

I have very ambivalent feelings about this. To quote an article by a conservative (yes, I know, that's a shock coming from me):

"The fact of the matter is that gun bans do not work. Period. It only emboldens criminals that obtain guns illegally smuggled from nations who broke the very treaty they signed to keep international gun trades at bay. A citizen without a weapon makes for a very happy criminal. That criminal can rob and rape without the worry of being shot or stabbed in the process. However, a lady wielding a .40 caliber Glock tends to make a potential rapist back off. The very presence of a firearm in some cases are enough to actually prevent a crime from happening. Would a robber be more afraid of a homeowner with a 12 gauge shotgun full of buckshot or more afraid of a homeowner holding a telephone dialing 911? On average it takes about 15 minutes or longer for a police officer to arrive at a home after an emergency call. That's enough time for the criminal to have raped, robbed, and killed the person inside. However, if the person inside fires off a couple dozen rounds of 9mm shells, the criminal is guaranteed to be either full of holes or far away scared and hiding. Don't tell me that gun bans are good in making crime decrease because that's the biggest lie ever told." ( Rob Hood )

The original intent of the 2nd amendment was to afford a citizen the right to defend oneself and one's family from a potentially power-hungry government. It was not meant to be an excuse for us to war amongst ourselves.

Do we trust our government? I, for one, do not. Yes, they are "elected officials." Unfortunately, I don't even trust our election process fully. I do not have great faith in the government.

However, the above statement by Mr. Hood also makes such a valid point.

I have had discussions with people both from Great Britain and Canada and they often point out to me how many LESS gun-related crimes there are in their countries. However, they almost always fail to tell me their knife-related crime ratio. They quote these low crime statistics leaving out the population differences of our countries, and also the racial differences and tensions, along with many other factors that vary greatly when holding up the U.S. to other countries.

I do not believe that "guns kill people." I believe that PEOPLE kill people.

Do I think guns are dangerous? In the wrong hands, yes....I think they are. And yet, in the wrong hands a knife is dangerous, a bat is dangerous, even.....an airplane is dangerous. The violent will find ways to be violent. The laws do not matter except to the law-abiding citizen. Criminals will always find violent means to subject their victims to their will, regardless of any established "law."

With all that has happened within the past 2 days, this is not an easy topic for me. My mind reels with all kinds of statistics. I don't love my children any less than Canadian parents, or British parents, or any OTHER parents worldwide. They are precious to me. Life is valuable beyond measure. Yet how do you enforce laws on the unlawful?

SR.com: Virginia Tech, gun laws capture global focus

2007-04-17T14:14:00.000-05:00

SR.com: Virginia Tech, gun laws capture global focus: "The Daily Mail's headline, meanwhile, asked, 'What price the right to bear arms?'

Gun ownership is strictly regulated in Britain. The Home Office, which is in charge of public safety, said gun crime accounts for less than half a percent of all crime recorded by police, according to the Press Association.

In a special report on BBC 24 Monday evening, a commentator, Gavin Hewitt, said mass murder on school campuses had become 'part of the American landscape.' The network showed video footage of Columbine and the Amish shooting in Pennsylvania and noted that the powerful U.S. gun lobby had blocked gun restrictions that Europeans regard as simple common sense. 'Even after today's horrific tragedy, laws are unlikely to change,' Hewitt said.

Queen Elizabeth II, who is scheduled to visit Virginia next month, was 'shocked and saddened' by the killings, according to a spokesman at Buckingham Palace.

The story led Canadian news reports throughout the day. But while Canada, which has strict gun controls, has long looked askance at the proliferation of guns in the United States, no sense of superiority was expressed. Canada has had five school shootings since 1975, the latest last year when a young man shot 20 students at a junior college in Montreal, killing one."

Matthew Shepard and "Christianity" as we know it

2007-04-05T21:28:00.002-05:00

Image via Wikipedia

I don't know why, but for some reason today, I thought about Matthew Shepard. I had not thought of him for some time. I suppose all of the fundamentalist garbage I've been reading online lately might have something to do with why my thoughts wandered this direction. (Matthew's funeral was on October 16, 1998. This is not "news," albeit still very revelant today.)

What sort of human beings would have an anti-gay, hate-filled protest at a young man's funeral who was viciously murdered by two men who killed him simply because they "hate fags?" What sort of human being would support such an act of callous evil?

The particular "Christians" that evoke the name of such an incredible, amazing, loving, holy man, Christ Jesus....how do you justify such heinous behavior? Seriously...I want to know. How are you different than the "terrorists" who seethe with hatred in their holy wars, fighting with fervor against those that would oppose them and their beliefs....how....just how, exactly, are you different?

I want to share a little something very personal about myself. I am almost embarrassed to call myself a Christian anymore. It was not always like that. I was born again at the age of 9, lived a life of devotion to Christ well into my teens. I fell away from the Lord in my late teens and became horribly addicted to drugs. At the age of 23, God reached down and touched me through a wonderful woman named Deborah Johnson. Debbie has since passed away of cancer.

Debbie was the first Christian I had ever met that loved me totally without condition, without judgment, without reserve. She told me of her love for Jesus unashamedly, and yet never, ever, condemned me, reviled me, shamed me. She glowed from within with a love I have rarely seen since, from anyone evoking the name of Christ. God's LOVE, through her, over time, changed my life.

I came back to the Church, broken, contrite, pained and humbled. I was hungry for the love that I had seen in Debbie. While she was dying of cancer....she was more full of life than anyone else that I knew. I wanted to know the source of such incredible love, peace, hope and forgiveness. I had touched it once, when I was very young, yet at the tender age of nine, I didn't understand what it meant to feel empty, void of hope, bitter, alone, abandoned and tossed away.

From the time I was very young, perhaps even as young as six years old, I had always noticed both men and women in a sensual sort of way. I thought human beings were beautiful, lovely, amazing creatures. I had tremendous faith in humanity and the goodness of God's creation. I loved...really loved...humanity. (For the pseudo-shrinks that will read this, no...I was not abused by my parents, sexually molested, raped, or emotionally starved. Some of you seem to think there must be some "reason" the GLBT community is they way they are. There is a reason...we were created as we are.)

Sometime in my early twenties, yes, before meeting Debbie even, I had come to accept that I was bisexual. I was taught that I was fearfully and wonderfully made by a God who knew my beginning and my end, and that He loved me as He MADE me. That He wanted me, that I was important to Him, and that He had not made any mistakes when He created me. I viewed/view men and women both as beautiful creations of a loving creator, meant to be appreciated and loved and enjoyed.

In my mid-twenties, after years in Church leadership, music ministry, worship team, and women's ministry, the Church had managed to "beat" out of me, all feelings of acceptance from God. I became less a miraculous creation of His, in my eyes, and the love that God had at one time given me for myself and others, began to wane. If you do not love yourself, how can you love another?

Again...feeling rejected by those I cared for and through them, rejected by my God, whom I had come to so love and trust...I eventually walked away from the Church. But I never walked away from my God. I knew His presence with me daily and I just knew deep down in the very depths of my heart, that He was not whom He was being portrayed by the Church as being.

I watched them via Exodus International, and other means, try to change people who were homosexual. I watched many deliverance sessions (for those that do not know, that is much like exorcism). I even had "deliverance ministry" and countless hours of prayer myself, in the Church's attempt to change me to conform to their image. It was wholly ineffective.

I married...twice...while active in the Church, and had a wonderful son from my first marriage. Yet part of me still ached. I did not feel I was fully whom God created me to be. Try as I might, with complete and raw honesty, to communicate this to my friends from the Church....I was unable to receive anything but correction, more attempts to "change me," and finally disgust and rejection from the people I had loved. Debbie Johnson was long gone by now, and I never truly saw what I had seen in her, in any other "Christian."

It is hard for me to see the Church as anything other than teenage children run amok in their arrogance and self-righteous loathing. Their Father has not changed. I believe He shakes His lovely head in disgust at what His children are doing to their siblings all over the world. I believe He cries over the pain His children cause each other. I believe He endlessly loves us ALL. I believe He is horrified at the things that are done in "His Name."

It is the deepest desire of my heart to always stay open to His Spirit and to listen for that still small voice within that moves me to truth, love, peace, and holiness. Yet my definitions of those words are far different than that of the fundamentalist right wing radicals that label themselves as "Christian." I do not see them behaving in ways that are Christ-like....and neither does the rest of the world. And yet, I have to believe, that it is not God we should be disappointed with, but it is His children who do not always represent His thoughts and His will.

I certainly do not feign having any special "revelation" about God. I do not profess to know really much of anything, other than what my spirit and my soul move me to believe. But again, I ask.....how is THIS Christ-like? (Watch the video and tell me what you see. I would love to hear from you.)

NOTE: ( This video has been removed from YouTube, and therefore from this blog post. I left all of the previous text however, and videos of Westboro's other "projects" can still be found with a Google search.) To be fair regarding the viewing of the horrible hate-filled actions in this video....many, many Christians did denounce this mortifying behavior by Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, KS.

I am not saying that all Christians would approve of such behavior. I am saying that although most would likely not participate in such a hateful act outwardly....they agree with many of WBC's beliefs inwardly.

Do they have a right to speak their mind? Yes. But there is a line where human decency is crossed and freedom of speech becomes a hate crime.

Life's Little Interruptions?

2007-04-01T13:41:00.001-05:00

Sometimes when life seems to "interrupt" our painstakingly laid plans, could it be possible that there is simply a different direction in which we need to go to fulfill our highest good? I used to spend a good deal of time going forward in life kicking and screaming, figuratively. I fought change like a tiger defending her cubs. I'm not saying that I've mastered the skill of handling changes with utter grace and ease, but I have progressed. I have to remind myself sometimes, that holding on to anything too tenaciously, is perhaps more a manifestation of my insecurities that it is a display of my "commitment."

clipped from www.alchemyofacting.com

”We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.”

– Joseph Campbell

Adjust the Sails

2007-03-31T21:32:00.000-05:00

"To laugh is to risk appearing a fool,

To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.

To reach out to another is to risk involvement,

To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self.

To place your ideas and dreams before a crowd is to risk their loss.

To love is to risk not being loved in return,

To live is to risk dying,

To hope is to risk despair,

To try is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.

He may avoid suffering and sorrow,

But he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or live.

Chained by his servitude he is a slave who has forfeited all freedom.

Only a person who risks is free.

The pessimist complains about the wind;

The optimist expects it to change;

And the realist adjusts the sails."

~William Arthur Ward

Too Much Information

2007-03-29T18:50:00.000-05:00

Even the cats are goners.

I've been obsessively surfing for hours. This happens to me pretty regularly, oh...like every day. There is just too much information on the web. My brain feels like it's about to enter the beginning stages of spontaneous combustion. The worst thing about this, is I want to see it ALL. I want to learn new things and see things I haven't seen before. I want to hear every opinion, read ALL of the web logs, see all of the videos and there is just no conceivable way that will EVER happen.

We're in an age of information overload. And that's another thing....some of what I read is fact, some is fiction, some is fiction disguised as fact. I cannot possibly rightly discern all of it.

Now this sounds like a mentally stressful dilemma, but I'm finding that it's more addictive than stressful. However, this may cause some stress when I don't cook, or the dishes pile to the ceiling, or my mother doesn't hear from me for a month.

I don't know whether it's good or bad, but my partner is also glued to the internet. I remember my parents being glued to the television, and I thought that was so lame when I was a kid. They would sit and watch that screen endlessly, as the world poured in pre-scripted rubbish and I thought their minds must be turning to jelly. I saw it as such a passive thing, allowing information and entertainment to be thrust at you, with no opportunity for you to have a second side to the conversation. Heh.....there WAS NO conversation.

Now with all the interactivity of the web, I have the opposite problem. Between assorted forums, web log comment logs, blogs, vlogs, twitters, MMOs, gaming communities, photo sharing sites, instant messengers, social bookmarking, etc., etc., etc., ad infinitum, I have way too MUCH interactivity. There is no way to "do it all," and you're left feeling like you just MIGHT be missing out on something that is going on somewhere.

I surmise that a person with attention deficit disorder might THRIVE in such an environment. Well, either that, or they'd go completely and irrevocably insane. I probably fall into the ADD catergory AND the teetering on the brink of insanity one, at any given point.

So what is a person to do with this much information, misinformation, and communication as close as their fingertips?

I'll be honest with you. I'm not so sure that the internet is making addicts as much as it is attracting those that already have addictive and/or obsessive compulsive natures. I, for one, have some pretty obvious psychiatric diagnoses that would lend themselves to web-entrapment for SURE. And while I don't want to just be making weak excuses....there are far worse things I could be doing with my time that would be more detrimental to myself and my family.

So, alright....this topic has been re-hashed forever and ever. I've no interest in the debate about it really, other than the question I personally have and that is; how can I get over the feeling that if I'm NOT online....I'm missing something? Because the fact of the matter is....I AM missing something! There is new information being made available every second. And I just KNOW that I'm going to be the last person to hear about it, read about it, chat about it, blog about it.....

ARGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!

Oh nevermind....I'll just go take my prescribed psychiatric therapeutic meds and carry on.

~image from http://flickr.com/photos/vickispix/

No, seriously....

2007-03-26T19:06:00.000-05:00

I never intended for this blog to be all serious and shit. So far, I'm looking back on my past posts and thinking....oh my god....it's too deep. Well, life does have it's deep moments (blinks, as I call them), but you know what? A lot of life is just pretty damn funny too!

I have another blog, of sorts, that probably has, up to this point, reflected my laughing-self better than this one. I would love it if you'd visit me there! You can find it here at StumbleUpon.

However, just so you know, I'm going to try to interject the same lightness of being into this blog. I have just been investing more of my time "over there." So, bear with me through my budding blogger growth, and know that I'm just a baby blogger coming into her own. As with everything else in life....there is nothing that is changeless except change itself. And oh yes, there is always plenty of that.

A Picture Speaks a Thousand Words....

2007-03-24T04:54:00.000-05:00

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Spiritual Journey

2007-03-17T07:36:00.000-05:00

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

~St. Francis of Assisi

And from where I have come from....it pretty much boils down to this. This is what the journey so far has left me with regarding faith and spirituality.

I said in my last post, that I had been through an interesting journey so far in my life. Well all of the spiritual searching ultimately led to something more simple than what I thought it might be. I came to the crazy conclusion that yes, I am a believer, but I don't believe that "God" (by whatever name you call him/her) wants us to fight amongst ourselves sowing hatred and unforgiveness, self-righteous judgement, and all kinds of cruelty. I believe He/She wants us to have the simple faith and love of a little child....one that has been unstained by the cynicism and hate of the world.

I can't think of a prayer that more reflects what I believe our Higher Power WANTS us to pray for, long for, and strive to see fulfilled, yet trusting Him/Her to make it REAL within our hearts. Even if we don't feel everything we ask for.....this is what serves the world best.....and we will be given the purest desires when we ask for them. If the people of the world could align themselves with THIS prayer, this petition unto their Higher Being.....life on this planet and beyond, would be a more beautiful thing.

Of course, this is only my opinion. We are all entitled, by our God-given right to free will, to formulate our own opinions. Funny though, He/She seems to reserve the right to CHANGE our opinions with growth and experience. I pray that my heart will be open and full of light to see where I'm being divinely led.

--Image courtesy AFP and www.abc.net.au

Simplicity and Survival

2007-03-14T22:55:00.000-05:00

Today as I sat at my computer, I was plagued with something that was either depressing or motivating, or maybe a little bit of both. I really want to leave this world having contributed something memorable. I want to leave an imprint on the lives that I have touched....something impacting for good....something that will affect people in a lasting, warm, and loving way.

If I was to make that statement to someone that knows me well, say my family, or close friends, they would say, "Lori, you've already done that. You have a wonderful son...." and I DO! "You have a beautiful family that loves you, and you have done so many unique and unusual things. You've had an interesting and adventurous life." And I HAVE! However.....from the time I was maybe 12 years old, I have always wanted to write. I don't know....to create and leave something somehow tangible, something that stirs others' hearts and minds. It seems very important to me. The dilemma is....I have no earthly idea how to do that or where to begin.

So I sit and blink, yes....blink....at my empty blog posting page, wondering what I have to contribute to this online world of which I am a part. And with all of the life experiences I have had, with the talents that I have for communication and the love that I have for writing, I STILL cannot seem to compose a cohesive plan for how to accomplish this one important goal of mine.

There are so many many blogs. The personal/diary type blogs are so ridiculously numerous and they are probably the least read of all blogs. And yet if you have something to share that others can embrace and relate to, they can be so very vital to SOMEONE who reads them, even if only one person.

My sixth grade teacher was a marvelous woman. I remember her telling our class that you should write about something that you know well. You'd think at the age of 43, I would surely know SOMETHING well. I have to chuckle at the notion that her advice seems less helpful today than it was when I was younger and thought I knew a lot about many things. It seems the older I get, the less confident I am that I know much of anything. I'm more in tune with the truth that all of life is a classroom and that we are endlessly learning, and the older I get, the more quick I am to proclaim my lack of knowledge!

So what do I have to share? I haven't actively written in a long time. I used to write poetry, some of which was published in an American anthology. I used to write music and play acoustic guitar and had such a passion for that. Over the years of raising my son and working, that too faded into a blurry and now distant past. It seems that somehow over the past 20 years, I lost.....me. I'm not too sure of who I am anymore. I am unsure of my talents, my joys, my ideas. I feel so tentative and timid. Yet I know that deep inside....I am still there.

Perhaps the most vital thing that I have to share is the story of how I survived the many "adventures," as my mother kindly calls them, of my life. I think using the word "adventures" is probably my family's way of dealing with the myriad of foolish things I have done. Because looking back....they seem more like a symphony of tragedies and miracles than an "adventure." I have survived meth addiction, abusive relationships, mental illness, two failed marriages, assorted spiritual confusions and commitments, including being a vegetarian "enlightened" by metaphysics, a born again fundamentalist Southern Baptist "enlightened" by fear, a holy roller charismatic Christian devotee to evangelism and the gifts of the Holy Spirit enlightened by "deliverance" from drug addiction and hopelessness, to where I am now, which really doesn't resemble ANY of those things much.

I have done a lot of seeking, both spiritually and intellectually. The "conclusion" that I came to is that life is most enjoyed in simplicity, and that I, personally, have a tendency to complicate things for myself.....such as the simple procedure of blogging. :D

And speaking of "conclusions"....I will conclude this entry with one statement. One of the core elements of deep peace and joy is simplicity. In seeking joy, happiness, peace of mind and heart, success, and love.....I think often what we lack might well be just that....simplicity.

At the moment, I simply need some sleep! So with that I will end this entry and look forward to the next.

Happy Journeys,
Lori

For today, this says it all....you can make a difference.

2006-08-07T12:05:00.000-05:00

It's Our Net

Net Neutrality must be the standard. Please....write your senators.

Formulating Ideas

2006-04-10T10:55:00.000-05:00

I've been looking over a lot of other blogs lately and I think I have a better idea of what I want to do with mine now. I really like the idea of using the blog not only as a way to share my thoughts, dreams, goals, and daily life, but as a way to share the things I see and learn every day on the web and in the rest of my world.

I like the blogs that have links to articles and sites and things of importance to the individual that is writing the blog and maybe even to the reader. The blogs that are commentaries on the events in the world also intrigue me. I guess I'm starting to see my blog as maybe evolving into kind of a personal intellectual melting pot; a self-stew , if you will. I still am not sure how long this will take to put into effect the things I have simmering in my head, but they are starting to form some sort of shape anyway.

Again, I will post more a bit later.

Some short term goals

2006-03-19T10:23:00.000-06:00

Configure a javascript include for your site on 43 Things: " "

A Lazy Sunday

2006-03-19T08:54:00.000-06:00

Blogging just for the sake of doing it is not much fun. I need to really surf around and look at other people's blogs. They all seem so much more interesting than mine could ever be. I just don't really have much to say. I could use this as some sort of online journal, but I don't even have much to journal about right now. I've seen people use blogs as more of an index of their online website finds with links and photos. Those are usually the ones that are the most interesting to READ, but I also think they are the ones that are probably the most WORK to MAKE. I don't really want my blog to become a JOB. I think mostly I would like to have a blog to just share with my family and friends. You know, something they can read to keep up with the "goings on" of my family and myself and maybe have some interesting things for them to enjoy, websites I've found they might like, etc.

But for now...this blog is still just really a place I'm saving that might grow into some form of communication for me. I'm not sure what form it's going to take and I feel completely "blank" about it.

Music Speaks Volumes

2006-03-18T01:32:00.000-06:00

I haven't one single thing of value to say today. I suppose I just need to crawl back in bed and take a nap until my brain starts working.

These are the songs I'm listening too right now. This is a live update, so you can sort of tell where my "head's at" by peeking at the list. :D Of course, if I'm not at my computer, it will reflect the things I was most recently listening to.