Date: Sep 4th, 2007 5:11:11 am - Subscribe
Mood: withdrawn
iMood: lime green, hold the neon

The concept of triage has always fascinated me. Someone has to make the decision, usually in the space of just a few heartbeats, who is wounded enough for immediate medical attention, who is wounded enough that medical attention won't help, and who is wounded insignificantly enough that they can wait a few hours for treatment. I would hate that job.
And yet, that is where each of us finds ourselves every day. What is important enough that we must pay immediate attention to it, what can wait until later, what should we just give up on ... only instead of triage, we call it prioritizing. The positive thing with prioritizing, though, is that lives don't usually hang in the balance. Or do they?
It has been written that you can have anything you want, you just can't have everything you want. It's a matter of focus, of deciding what it is that you truly want to spend the rest of your life doing, and eliminating the actions and activities that don't get you closer to that goal.
But what if you pick the wrong goal? What if the activities you wind up eliminating really were helpful? Something that sounds so simple is really very ... not.
Thirty-five years old, and I still can't answer the question of what I want to be when I grow up, not realistically. Not with any sort of eye for the practical.
Ideally? I would come into a windfall of vast quantities of guilt-free money, invest wisely, and spend my days in an apartment over a coffeeshop in a little oceanside tourist town with a cat named Pi, writing from sunup to sundown and never worrying about whether the bills could get paid. I would not have to carve a scant two hours out of every day for writing, sacrificing time with my family and friends on the altar of Maybe Someday I'll Get Published.
This is why artists in the way-back days had patrons. That's what I need. A patron. Someone with more money than they know what to do with, and a deep appreciation for creativity. Someone to step in and say: no, no, let me handle the real world, you just keep writing.
This is why I call myself a writer - that vivid imagination of mine tounge.gif

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Date: Aug 31st, 2007 4:06:03 pm - Subscribe
Mood: incomplete
iMood: gray

What do we inherit from our families? Is it more than just eye color and hair color and a tendancy to carry excess weight in our hips? I think it might be.
I am currently in a position where I may or may not be suffering from a condition that may or may not be heriditary, a condition which my maternal aunt has been living with for most of her life. When I was a small child, people used to say that she and I were just alike, two peas in the proverbial pod. As I got older and things got stranger, I resented that comparison - surely I would not turn out the way she did.
But is it possible that one some level - not all of them, but just on some intangible autoimmune level - that we are more alike than I think?
I began to wonder this after my mother sent me something she had drawn in 1959.
It is no secret to anyone who has known me for more than a month that I have a dream space, a dream life where I live in an apartment over a coffee shop in a small tourist ocean-side town. Ask anyone - they can tell you this space has hardwood floors and white curtains and blue walls and a vase of daisies on the kitchen table. I've described it at length.
Well, after one of the more recent descriptions of this place of mine (I usually visit in when I am most fed up with my life and want more than anything to be single) my mother went and dug up some of her drawings - she was 14 when she drew them. She had a place in her head that she dreamed she would go someday, where her life wouldn't suck.
They show an apartment - hers was behind a bookstore, right on the ocean in a small tourist town. There are hardwood floors and white curtains and a vase of flowers on the kitchen table. There are differences, of course, her bedspread is a checkerboard quilt while mine is a white down comforter, and she has beadboard on the lower half of her walls while mine are just painted. But the similarities are eerily striking.
Do we inherit our dreams along with our genes?
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Date: Aug 29th, 2007 6:12:09 am - Subscribe
Mood: sassy
iMood: pink

There was a time, back before the technological age, before the stock market and day traders and middle management, that people worked with their hands. They had skills, learned a trade, and performed a function within their community. Blacksmiths, weavers, cobblers, farmers, coopersmiths (barrels,) seamstresses, carpenters, butchers ... these were real jobs, dealing with real, tangible products. And back in this age, the only way to become a craftsperson was to apprentice to one and learn the old fashioned way, from the ground up.
That is what I am. To the tax people, I am an employee. On forms, I affirm that yes, I have a job - but it is so much more than that.
I have been fortunate enough to be apprenticed (almost by accident, but perhaps through snychronicity?) to one of the most skilled and talented seamstresses I have ever met. And true to the way of an age gone by, she is not only my teacher, but my mentor and friend. She ignored completely the fact that I had not passed home economics in high school (damn waistband) and that my only marketable skills were with administrative assistance and computers. She looked past all that, and gave me a chance when no one else would.
I gave her my full attention and my determination to learn, and in return she is teaching me - stitch by stitch - a trade that is also an art. From nothing but an idea we create everything from window treatments (curtains come from stuffmart. window treatments are custom, therefore they get a special, snooty name) to bedskirts. We also install the finished product a large majority of the time, so not only am I learning the one skill of sewing but also the art of installation - which is harder than it looks.
I know that I will be with this woman until she retires, regardless of salary (which is less than I could be getting doing something else.) The possibility exists that I may continue in her footsteps, but even if I don't, I still have a skill. An actual, tangible, concrete skill / art form.
Which is more than I had when my only duty was to answer the phone and route callers to the rest of the office.
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Date: Aug 28th, 2007 5:37:08 am - Subscribe
Mood: magical
iMood: green

Can you imagine, back before meteorologists and astronomers and science, back when the world was full of magic and mystery - can you imagine the power and possibility inherent in an eclipse? The moon, that constant in the night sky that swells and recedes like a woman's pregnant belly every month, suddenly obscured by a shadow no one understands? And then, as if by some miraculous unseen hand, the shadow is pushed away, leaving the moon as pristine and magical as before, only more wonderous for her emergence from such inexplicable darkness.
Shamans and Wise Women would harness that miracle, pouring the energies of that which they wanted to be rid of into that shadow and standing watch until the moon, triumphant, shone full and bright with possibility and power once again.
It makes me sad, sometimes, that science has answered and explained so much of the world, that to believe in magic is frowned upon and discouraged. But I am a persistent sort, and through evey discussion of spermatazoa and eggs and zygotes I still believe that the act of growing one life inside another is one of the most magical events that can be. Trees and vines finding purchase and stubbornly growing in the hearts of cities full of concrete and stone are magical. There is power all around us, in fireflies and spiderwebs and falling stars and celebrations that have existed since before humanity could write down what they were celebrating.
And we sit in our homes and our offices and we are surrounded by our technology and our televisions and computers and cell phones and our gps locators and we forget that once we were strong, once we were hardy people who respected the world around us and co-existed with it, without feeling the need to dominate it.
Against all evidence to the contrary, against every fact and finding and dismissal ... I believe in magic.
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Date: Aug 27th, 2007 5:12:38 am - Subscribe
Mood: placid
iMood: pink

This was an entry in another, now-deleted blog on August 8, 2007. I just wanted to preserve it.
There is a path in my front yard. It's in the east corner or the property - I know this because it's where the sun rises every morning. Except on this particular morning, the sunrise was obscured by the haze that won't burn off for another two hours, so the sky and the air were a simple, uniform shade of pale pink. The moon was a stark white thumbnail above where the path opened, but from the angle I was seeing it, the path was hard to see. Instead it was as if it were a trick of perspective and light, just a slight variation in the treeline where the fog shimmered differently.
And for a brief, magical moment, that break in the tree was not just the path that led to the back of my future father-in-law's property. This morning, in the humid embrace of that surreal pink air, it was a path to anywhere else. I had the feeling that if I would only walk that way instead of back towards my porch and my door and my daily routine, if I would only veer to the right and walk into that misty shift in perspective, then I would emerge ... different.
I would be somewhere else, certainly - maybe even somewhen else. Avalon, perhaps, or Rivendell. The hills of Scotland, or the forests of England. Somewhere with trees and mist and softly glowing skies, but without log trucks and irrigation systems and the thumping sound system of that guy up the road who never seems to sleep.
And I thought, in that magical fraction of a synapse firing, that I would be different as well when I came out the other side of the fog on the path. Who would I be? Who would I have been? Who am I when I am not surrounded by the people I love and the things I have imbued with my energy? What potential exists for that woman?
I did not veer right.
Instead I followed my own tracks through the wet grass, back the way I had come, back towards the familiar and the solid and the predictable. I went back to the air conditioning and the bed that needed to be made, back to the cooling mug of coffee and the looming reality of another busy day that that will be 90% out of my control.
Maybe tomorrow will be different.
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Date: Aug 25th, 2007 9:26:54 am - Subscribe
Mood: free
iMood: green

I love halloween. I hate how commercial it has become, but the fact that I can get very cool and fun witchy things and supplies as early as August is nice. It seems to be going along with my reclaimed spiritual pulse, the part of me that had been laying dormant as I struggled with my near-apocalyptic lack of focus.
Additionally, and perhaps belatedly, I am drawn to the idea of using technology to help me in my quest. My beloved macbook has potential to be so much more than it started out to be, and I have begun sculpting it and molding it into an invaluable personal resource. (the new satellite connection helps.) Now if only it would do the laundry for me.

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Date: Aug 24th, 2007 2:44:08 pm - Subscribe
Mood: brave
iMood: Yellow

There is such an incredible sense of possibility. Surely it can't be just a week's worth of medication. It can't just be an answer (finally) to the pain in my feet that has plagued me for almost a year. But as for what it could be? I have no idea.
All I know is I feel like I can handle it all and come out the other side with my sanity intact. For the first time in weeks I feel as though I can be organized and calm and healthy and spiritual and motivated and content, and be all of this in a clean home.
Ex-husbands? Whatever. I've got more important things to do with my energy than worry about keeping the peace or putting up with the deep down crazies. I may not know what the more important things are, as yet, but I know they've got to be more productive than stressing about things that are way, way over.
I have friends, and I have family, and I have a home and a job and a car. And like everyone else on earth, I have bills and responsibilites and housework and laundry and none of that goes away if I have a headache or I'm tired. But what I also have - what I didn't have last week - is hope, and a plan, and the tools to get my proverbial shit back together.
go me.
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Date: Aug 20th, 2007 5:37:59 am - Subscribe
Mood: angsty
iMood: Brown

I am in that strange no-place where I exist rather like a goldfish in a bowl. It's a nice bowl, of course, and the castle is quite homey, but things are a bit ... predictable and not always as I might like. Not that I am an adventurous fish, I'm not saying I want to leave the bowl, dive into the ocean, and ride the currents to the Carribean. But I would be open to a bit of a change in routine.
I say that I have no time for myself, that my time is divided between my family and my house and my partner. This isn't entirely true, I've just become less effective when it comes to time management. I'd like to be better at it. I was happier when I had a goal and a purpose and a "hobby," as it were. Interests.
I don't take pictures anymore. I barely write. I occasionally game. I don't read. In all honesty, I'm not even on top of my domestic game, but that may have something to do with the low-level depression I am currently working with my physician to deal with, brought on by general dissatisfaction mixed with constant pain in my feet.
Constant pain colors everything.
I would like to take an active interest in my life again, I would like to find a direction and head towards it. But I feel a little out of my depth when it comes to determining the how.
I feel a list session coming on.
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Date: Aug 13th, 2007 6:10:04 pm - Subscribe
Mood: shaken
iMood: Brown

It's as if the two of us are each on one side of a wall, only hearing about what's happening on the other side from the one small person who is desperate to please us both. How do I stand up for her based on what she says to me, when what she says to him is something completely different? I've got better things to do with my energy than fight with anyone - him or her or anyone else.
I wonder if this is that time when the mother-daughter dynamic gets to the explosive point, where she begins to hate me and I fail to understand her and we grow apart so quickly that it's as if we were never together on any front. Do I give up? Do I let go?
It makes my head hurt just thinking about it.
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Date: Aug 10th, 2007 5:33:38 am - Subscribe
Mood: subdued
iMood: purple

There is a spiral in the foam of my cappuccino this morning. Not a dramatic one, more just a subtle suggestion of shape, enough that I recognized it. One glimpse, and my soul understands. It is time to pay more attention to my spirit.
I look for signs and symbols and synchronicity everywhere. When you look for them, you will find them. And when you find them, and trust them, you can bring magic back into your life.
I see magic and meaning all around me. Dragonflies. Numbers. Fortune cookies. The shapes and patterns of clouds or puddles or the foam in my cappuccino.
I know my talents, and divination is one of them. I have let the practice slide, but perhaps it's because I don't actually want to know the future. Perhaps it's because I have no one nearby to practice on. Perhaps the spiral in my coffee is a nudge to pick it up again.
One of the primary causes for my recent restlessness is a lack of focus, and the resulting sense of disconnection from those things that used to interest me. Spirituality is very important to me, and yet I haven't invested the time in a single spiritual pursuit in months.
It has been said, "that which you attend shall flourish." (shekinhah mountainwater) I know this to be true. I just haven't known where to "attend."
Mayhap I got my answer.
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