A wayfaring soul has nowhere to go,
The body will follow, but the body gets old.
The soul is stubborn and refuses to quit,
A body has food, but for the soul, this is it.
Soul food is the mountains and plains in one day;
The desert and snowcaps visit to play;
That dangerous trek through a place once again;
A temporary bed from a very new friend;
Planes and trains and legs and strangers;
Surviving through exciting dangers;
Hitching down the highway for days;
In exhilarating stop for a gig that pays;
Couchsurfing friends in new parts of the world;
Learning each day to be a braver girl;
Finding community of wayfarers alike;
Seeing the world at top of a hike;
Sigh of reliefe meeting a destination;
Adreniline kicks in the next situation;
Gobbling up each new place;
Enjoying the newness of each new face.
Food for the body to live 'till it's old,
Wayfaring food for the wayfaring soul.
Friday, December 17, 2010
bodyless
I lost my sight, I lost my breath
I lost my voice inside myself.
I only hear and I only feel with my eyes and my mouth and my hands,
I can feel.
All my sensens flutter deep to my heart,
Everything is going straight to my heart.
What good is my heart without eyes to see?
What good is my soul without a thing to think?
What good are feelings without an outlet to speak, a body to do, and eyes to see?
I lost my voice inside myself.
I only hear and I only feel with my eyes and my mouth and my hands,
I can feel.
All my sensens flutter deep to my heart,
Everything is going straight to my heart.
What good is my heart without eyes to see?
What good is my soul without a thing to think?
What good are feelings without an outlet to speak, a body to do, and eyes to see?
Friday, December 10, 2010
Hate is a strong word
If you are Chicago suburban driver, I hate you.
Go take a serious time out... after you read this.
I will not speed up as fast as you when the light turns green. If you tail-gait me next time, I will seriously contemplate slamming on my breaks so the bars from my bike rack go smashing into your front end, and then I'll do it. It will be your fault.
Next time you blow a stop sign in front of me, I'm going to just keep on going and t-bone you. It will be your fault.
The only reason I don't consistently honk my horn at all of you is because it doesn't work.
If you want to go ten miles over the speed limit, while I'm only going two over, I will gladly watch... and then gladly pass you when you're pulled over.
But don't cut me off when you pass me. I'll put the police on my speed dial.
If you lightly honk your horn at me to let me know I'm doing something wrong, I will think about my woes. When you honk your horn at me for over seven seconds, all I'm thinking is "man you're an asshole. I wish I could do it again." Next time I will.
I've driven across this country and back more times than most. Chicago has the worst drivers of them all. Shame on you.
To the pedestrians, you're not off the hook either: I gladly follow the pedestrian rules. I stop for you at crosswalks, keep an eye out for you, and make sure you get the right of way at stop signs and common pedestrian areas. Next time you walk out in front of me in the dark on a road marked 40mph where there is no crosswalk, and linger, I will surely run you over. Then I will drive away, and not feel bad. And it will be your fault. I think that's what you're secretly hoping for anyways. What other sort of dummie does shit like that?
I laugh at you when you speed up around me, and then we end up next to each other at the following stoplight. I think you have largely mistaken the meaning of life, Speedy Gonzales. But I don't feel sorry for you anymore. I'm just sick of you.
If there is a merge sign, merge you idiot. I'm not letting you in front of me next time when you wedge your car in front of mine at the last second. You'll surely have a broken headlight.
However! When I'm merging onto the highway and you can't get out of the way, I have a choice between the railing on my right, and you on my left. I'm going to tell you now that your car is going to be much more expensive to fix after I merge right into your Mercedes. And it will be your fault.
When I'm trying to get out of a parking lot in traffic and you block the way with your huge ass of a car, I will consider that humans makes mistakes. I consider this under the condition that you outwardly show that you are repenting of your wrong ways and trying to inch forward so I can squeeze my way in. Otherwise, I'll just pretend you're not there, and OH! there is suddenly an empty spot on the road for me right. there.
If you find yourself constantly in a hurry to get places, and then angry at everyone else one the road for driving the speed limit, then I suggest you throw your phone into a lake, go off into the woods by yourself for many weeks, and think about what you've done you bad, bad person you.
If you see a red Honda Civic hatchback driving on the road, then you best be nice to it or I will wedge my tiny little car into your big &$%!*$#!.
I sincerely appreciate you reading, Drivers of Chicago. Please go to the nearest DMV and return your drivers license.
Friday, November 12, 2010
blank.
Sorry all. My fingers aren't speaking to me lately.
Don't know just what to do with myself. doot doo doooo...
Don't know just what to do with myself. doot doo doooo...
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
I'm an illegal
I have very fond memories of everywhere I travel to. But all too often they involve more tears than most people can produce in one lifetime. I'm almost sure of that, but I'll double-check. My time in San Luis Obispo was no exception.
From day one of my real travels, starting at the airport waiting to go through the security line and be shipped off to do a three-month internship in Scotland. I was eighteen, and fresh out of high school seven months prior. I was terrified that I was about to go through a line and not see my parents or family for three. whole. months.
In case any one is unaware, that's a long time for an eighteen year-old. Most people go off to college and have the privilege of going back to visit family, and see familiar faces every now and then. When I crossed through the metal detectors, I was basically stuck for a good, long time on the other side of the Atlantic.
On top of my fearful, and sad tears, I was running late for my flight. Great. I was running late for my flight, and I had to rush everything. I had to rush my goodbyes, I had to rush my hugs and my kisses. It was a terrible feeling, and when I finished my rushing goodbyes I ran through the airport sweating profusely with liquids and snot and tears coming out of every crevice of my face... only to show up to an empty gate. The man standing at the counter was angry with because I missed my flight, and he scolded me because, "I called your name on the loud speaker three times!!! We waited for you!!" Well that didn't help. But thanks for your kindness, sir.
I was relieved to find my parents still at the entrance of O'Hare just standing there. I was also a little weirded out that they didn't seem to be surprised that I was walking back from a flight I was supposed to be on. But my eyes were nearly puffed shut from crying so hard, so perhaps my squinty view on that moment isn't quite valid.
I had to wait twenty-four hours until I could catch the next flight out to Scotland. This, I thought, would be good for me. I'd have more time to process the reality of leaving. But, ah, no. All it did was prolong my tears and my apparent separation issues. I awkwardly blubbered through the first two hours of my flight until I put myself out with Tylenol PM for the night.
Eight hours of grieving across the ocean, and I landed in a beautifully green country. My tears were done, and I was finally excited about this! I felt cool and independent. I felt like I could talk to anyone, and be everyone's friend. I felt like I freaking had myself together, man. This was cool. I was in Scotland, and I did it by myself.
I had a big, dumb smile on my face when I walked up to the half-annoyed man at customs. I'd make is day better, I was nice.
"How long are you here for?" He asked me sternly.
"Three months." Smile.
"What are you doing here?"
Oh, he's trying to make conversation! My nice attitude must be helping, "Oh! Well, I'm doing an internship working at a Church, and I'll be working at a hostel while I'm here, too, just doing cleaning and stuff. I got connected to the chu..."
"Hold on hold on hold on hold on... you're not permitted to be working here. You don't have a work visa or anything. I can't let you in this country. Go over there and sit down."
My eyes were huge, and I'm sure I looked like a little puppy with her tail between her legs... peeing all over the place.
I didn't do anything wrong. I don't understand what's happening! This can't be happening!
He came over to speak with me.
"Do you understand what's happening?"
Shaking, and crying, "Noo", I replied between huge gasps for air.
Basically what it boils down to is that I don't understand customs or entering into a new country. And I think that everyone is as nice and naive as me, trying to make conversation with me when they're really trying to make sure no lunies or illegals get into their country. I made myself out to be an illegal by using bad words like "work" and "internship". Bad idea. Lesson learned.
In reality I wasn't working with a church, per-say. I was attending a church and reading books. I wasn't getting paid. I wasn't there to stay forever. I was just going there to learn.
Well, lesson 1: Not everyone who talks to me is trying to be friendly. Lesson 2: Stop talking so much.
This man interrogated me for fifteen minutes until he went out to speak with the people picking me up, which included the pastor of the church. They told him the real situation, and with the man at customs finally realizing that I was not as "with it" as I thought I was, he let me go free into the world of Scotland.
Tony and Kate helped me pick up my 120 lbs of luggage that I didn't need, and we finally drove our way into Edinburgh. On the wrong side of the road of course.
Please let these shenanigans be finished. I'm exhausted, and a little humiliated...
From day one of my real travels, starting at the airport waiting to go through the security line and be shipped off to do a three-month internship in Scotland. I was eighteen, and fresh out of high school seven months prior. I was terrified that I was about to go through a line and not see my parents or family for three. whole. months.
In case any one is unaware, that's a long time for an eighteen year-old. Most people go off to college and have the privilege of going back to visit family, and see familiar faces every now and then. When I crossed through the metal detectors, I was basically stuck for a good, long time on the other side of the Atlantic.
On top of my fearful, and sad tears, I was running late for my flight. Great. I was running late for my flight, and I had to rush everything. I had to rush my goodbyes, I had to rush my hugs and my kisses. It was a terrible feeling, and when I finished my rushing goodbyes I ran through the airport sweating profusely with liquids and snot and tears coming out of every crevice of my face... only to show up to an empty gate. The man standing at the counter was angry with because I missed my flight, and he scolded me because, "I called your name on the loud speaker three times!!! We waited for you!!" Well that didn't help. But thanks for your kindness, sir.
I was relieved to find my parents still at the entrance of O'Hare just standing there. I was also a little weirded out that they didn't seem to be surprised that I was walking back from a flight I was supposed to be on. But my eyes were nearly puffed shut from crying so hard, so perhaps my squinty view on that moment isn't quite valid.
I had to wait twenty-four hours until I could catch the next flight out to Scotland. This, I thought, would be good for me. I'd have more time to process the reality of leaving. But, ah, no. All it did was prolong my tears and my apparent separation issues. I awkwardly blubbered through the first two hours of my flight until I put myself out with Tylenol PM for the night.
Eight hours of grieving across the ocean, and I landed in a beautifully green country. My tears were done, and I was finally excited about this! I felt cool and independent. I felt like I could talk to anyone, and be everyone's friend. I felt like I freaking had myself together, man. This was cool. I was in Scotland, and I did it by myself.
I had a big, dumb smile on my face when I walked up to the half-annoyed man at customs. I'd make is day better, I was nice.
"How long are you here for?" He asked me sternly.
"Three months." Smile.
"What are you doing here?"
Oh, he's trying to make conversation! My nice attitude must be helping, "Oh! Well, I'm doing an internship working at a Church, and I'll be working at a hostel while I'm here, too, just doing cleaning and stuff. I got connected to the chu..."
"Hold on hold on hold on hold on... you're not permitted to be working here. You don't have a work visa or anything. I can't let you in this country. Go over there and sit down."
My eyes were huge, and I'm sure I looked like a little puppy with her tail between her legs... peeing all over the place.
I didn't do anything wrong. I don't understand what's happening! This can't be happening!
He came over to speak with me.
"Do you understand what's happening?"
Shaking, and crying, "Noo", I replied between huge gasps for air.
Basically what it boils down to is that I don't understand customs or entering into a new country. And I think that everyone is as nice and naive as me, trying to make conversation with me when they're really trying to make sure no lunies or illegals get into their country. I made myself out to be an illegal by using bad words like "work" and "internship". Bad idea. Lesson learned.
In reality I wasn't working with a church, per-say. I was attending a church and reading books. I wasn't getting paid. I wasn't there to stay forever. I was just going there to learn.
Well, lesson 1: Not everyone who talks to me is trying to be friendly. Lesson 2: Stop talking so much.
This man interrogated me for fifteen minutes until he went out to speak with the people picking me up, which included the pastor of the church. They told him the real situation, and with the man at customs finally realizing that I was not as "with it" as I thought I was, he let me go free into the world of Scotland.
Tony and Kate helped me pick up my 120 lbs of luggage that I didn't need, and we finally drove our way into Edinburgh. On the wrong side of the road of course.
Please let these shenanigans be finished. I'm exhausted, and a little humiliated...
hold it hold it
Eahmmm.. Due to lack of direction and solid transitions, the blog story on my travels are currently on hold.
Oh, I've got plenty up my sleeve, but, you know, I'm no professional or anything. Gimmee some time.
Thanks for reading me.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Part V - The Secret Life of Gangsta' Day (and bees)
SLO (as San Luis Obispo is affectionately called by all the cool kids) being the town where all of God's favorite angels all live on Earth, has a swap meet every thursday morning and my new friends invited me to go along. We all rode our bikes there. A clan of about six or so of us peddled down the street to the swap meet and back. I was on a wanna-be mountain bike with messed up gears. I was peddling twice as fast and sweating twice as much as everyone else. Except for the fact that no one else was sweating at all, or peddling fast. And we were all going the same speed. I felt like a fool, but what better way to make yourself the center of attention, right? Besides, leisurely bike-riding is over-rated. It's 8am, and I apparently need my cardio.
I, however, being completely delusional on occasion, like to pretend that I did not look the silliest on my bike. Silly award goes to my new bee-keeper friend who had a huge extension on the back of his bike held up by two small wheels. It was a wooden flatbed for a bike on which he carried a box. Not just any box, but a box to catch bees of course.
A couple of days after the swap meet I saw him at a cafe in town where people were walking by and warning everyone of the giant swarm of bees nearby. I have never seen anything like it. Thousands of bees buzzing around a tree. The sound of them was overwhelming, and when my bee-keeper friend came outside to see, he was ECSTATIC.
"BEES!!!!!!!" He squeaked like a little girl, "I'M A BEE-KEEPER!!!"
He jumped up and down a couple of times (really), ran frantically towards the bees, and then ran frantically back to his bike to fetch his box. He walked into the swarm of bees carefully with his bright green hat that he must have gotten back in 1982 before he was born. When the bees attracted a crowd of people he proudly stood around telling them everything he knew about the life of bees. They were enthralled with the bees. I was enthralled with watching him.
Every day something exciting seemed to be going in in San Luis Obispo. Luckily we didn't need much money to participate because none of us at the hostel had any money. Laura, Jonny, Mike, Jarred, Emily, and I scraped around, dumpster-dived occasionally, and used the resources the Elaine provided us at the hostel to make silly things like dumpster-dived-doughnut-pancake-cake. We enjoyed the farmers market every thursday. We rode our bikes around town some.
The most entertaining of days by far was Gangsta' Day. For an entire week Jarred, Jonny, and Laura listened to the ever-talented Afro Man (...) because they had tickets to see him. Twenty four hours before the concert Gantsta' Day began. This involved plenty of marijuana, fried chicken and waffles for breakfast, hoola-hooping, and of course, watermelon. Jonny and Laura had a half-baked conversation about what would happen if they met Afro Man, and if Jonny would be the big spoon or the little spoon. Jonny wanted to be the little spoon. It's Afro Man! Of course!
If you don't smoke week, you probably shouldn't listen to Afro Man because I'm sure it will offend you greatly. Unless you're my sister, Julie. Then you'll probably find it hilarious, along with the movie Superbad.
As days came and went in San Luis Obispo and at the Hostel, motivation in me drained. Even in a great town, on the California coast, with incredibly friendly people I got very lonely. Sunny days made me want to be sick. I grew up in the midwest. Never in my life have I seen so many sickeningly sunny days. It was the same. every. day. There were never clouds. The temperature always stayed the same, and there was no freaking rain. Ever. I still don't understand how people live in such perfection every day. I'd like a cloudy day to suit a grey mood once in awhile. Thunderstorms are exciting, too. Apparently not in California, though. Everyone quickly became sick of me complaining of the sunny days.
I became a hermit in my room coming out rarely even for food. I wasn't interested in the art walks or farmers markets anymore. I started spending days alone in the bookstore with my nose in my journal, and in books. I eagerly counted down the days until Aaron, my soon-to-be boyfriend came to pick me up and take me out of California to be with him. It was the only thing I had to look forward to. And I was looking forward to going to Branson. I hope that says something about the despair I felt. Branson.
I wanted to sleep all day to escape from my emotionless state. And I surely didn't want to be around anyone for fear that my mood might rub off on someone.
This feeling was all too familiar in my travels. No matter where I go, no matter how wonderful it is, lonely feelings and a sad heart are sure to follow, allowing only a few weeks of fresh joy.
Why is such a horrible trend so deeply involved in something I love as much as traveling?
I, however, being completely delusional on occasion, like to pretend that I did not look the silliest on my bike. Silly award goes to my new bee-keeper friend who had a huge extension on the back of his bike held up by two small wheels. It was a wooden flatbed for a bike on which he carried a box. Not just any box, but a box to catch bees of course.
A couple of days after the swap meet I saw him at a cafe in town where people were walking by and warning everyone of the giant swarm of bees nearby. I have never seen anything like it. Thousands of bees buzzing around a tree. The sound of them was overwhelming, and when my bee-keeper friend came outside to see, he was ECSTATIC.
"BEES!!!!!!!" He squeaked like a little girl, "I'M A BEE-KEEPER!!!"
He jumped up and down a couple of times (really), ran frantically towards the bees, and then ran frantically back to his bike to fetch his box. He walked into the swarm of bees carefully with his bright green hat that he must have gotten back in 1982 before he was born. When the bees attracted a crowd of people he proudly stood around telling them everything he knew about the life of bees. They were enthralled with the bees. I was enthralled with watching him.
Every day something exciting seemed to be going in in San Luis Obispo. Luckily we didn't need much money to participate because none of us at the hostel had any money. Laura, Jonny, Mike, Jarred, Emily, and I scraped around, dumpster-dived occasionally, and used the resources the Elaine provided us at the hostel to make silly things like dumpster-dived-doughnut-pancake-cake. We enjoyed the farmers market every thursday. We rode our bikes around town some.
The most entertaining of days by far was Gangsta' Day. For an entire week Jarred, Jonny, and Laura listened to the ever-talented Afro Man (...) because they had tickets to see him. Twenty four hours before the concert Gantsta' Day began. This involved plenty of marijuana, fried chicken and waffles for breakfast, hoola-hooping, and of course, watermelon. Jonny and Laura had a half-baked conversation about what would happen if they met Afro Man, and if Jonny would be the big spoon or the little spoon. Jonny wanted to be the little spoon. It's Afro Man! Of course!
If you don't smoke week, you probably shouldn't listen to Afro Man because I'm sure it will offend you greatly. Unless you're my sister, Julie. Then you'll probably find it hilarious, along with the movie Superbad.
As days came and went in San Luis Obispo and at the Hostel, motivation in me drained. Even in a great town, on the California coast, with incredibly friendly people I got very lonely. Sunny days made me want to be sick. I grew up in the midwest. Never in my life have I seen so many sickeningly sunny days. It was the same. every. day. There were never clouds. The temperature always stayed the same, and there was no freaking rain. Ever. I still don't understand how people live in such perfection every day. I'd like a cloudy day to suit a grey mood once in awhile. Thunderstorms are exciting, too. Apparently not in California, though. Everyone quickly became sick of me complaining of the sunny days.
I became a hermit in my room coming out rarely even for food. I wasn't interested in the art walks or farmers markets anymore. I started spending days alone in the bookstore with my nose in my journal, and in books. I eagerly counted down the days until Aaron, my soon-to-be boyfriend came to pick me up and take me out of California to be with him. It was the only thing I had to look forward to. And I was looking forward to going to Branson. I hope that says something about the despair I felt. Branson.
I wanted to sleep all day to escape from my emotionless state. And I surely didn't want to be around anyone for fear that my mood might rub off on someone.
This feeling was all too familiar in my travels. No matter where I go, no matter how wonderful it is, lonely feelings and a sad heart are sure to follow, allowing only a few weeks of fresh joy.
Why is such a horrible trend so deeply involved in something I love as much as traveling?
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Part IV - Mid-life Crisis Matt
This Mid-life Crisis Matt guy was texting me non-stop. I kept running into him at Sally Loo's (which I had no business being at since I had a mere $20 that I found in one of my old bank accounts).
There were times where he'd be so nice, buying me a coffee, or letting me have the other half of his sandwich (adventure sometimes doesn't allow you to eat much. Especially when that adventure starts out with no money), or offering to drive to the beach. I started getting hints from friends at the hostel that he was being potentially creepy.
Nawww. He's just having a mid-life crisis.
Actually, they weren't hints. They were blatant jokes of Matt being my sugar-less daddy. Well, perhaps, I thought.
After another day of running into Matt at Sally Loo's he mentioned to me that he used to travel around in his burnt orange 1986 Volkswagon Westfalia. Droool. He must have saw my mouth watering because he told me every detail about that thing. Everywhere he went, and what he did. He over-romanticized all of his adventures about how great it was to cook dinner on the mini-stove while driving across country, and then asked to borrow my computer so he could look on craigslist.
"What are you looking for?" I asked him.
"Westfalias. I want to buy one. I love those."
This was just after he got done telling me he was ignoring the calls from his doctors because he owes them more money than he has.
Sugar-less daddy.
Matt must have looked for a good half hour in-between looking up photos of Tilda Swinton convinced that I looked just like her; "so natural."
That didn't last long.
"I want a convertible. You know, one of those little two-seater Mazda's or something. Yeah! Let's look for one of those. We could get one pretty cheap."
Yeah, let's look for one of those. As if we were making a joint decision about what car Matt was going purchase to cure his mid-life crisis.
He continued to tell me about how his sex drive sky rocketed when he hit forty, and it seems that older women's sex drive drops dramatically. His girlfriend never wants to have sex with him, even when he begs. But now that he's experienced he's an excellent lover. Matt is handsome for a forty-two year-old but, come on. I did my best not to say anything while trying desperately not to make this feel any more awkward than it was.
Casey soon got off work at Sally Loo's (thank God) and we all went on a walk together. We're in California near the coast, needless to say there are plenty of Westfalias. On a daily basis I would probably pass up to ten of them walking around town while I stared googley-eyed with spit dripping down my chin. Soon Matt changed his mind again when we passed a seriously pimped out Westy parked on the street.
"Hey, do you have a piece of paper? I think if I offered them enough I could buy their Westy off of them."
Yeah, totally, it doesn't look like they use it or take care of it or anything. I ended up writing on about six Volkwagons that day, "I want to buy your Westy -Matt..." ending with his phone number. He never got any calls, but he never stopped dreaming either. I'd get texts from him asking me if I wanted to drive to Mexico with him in his Westy (that he didn't have), "friend not fling".
Friend, not fling. The sugar-less daddy comments proceeded, and then I fell out of touch with Matt for awhile. If I'd respond to his text messages I'd end up in a life-long conversation, so I just stopped and kept a safe distance from Sally Loo's.
I would run into Casey now and then and we'd chat, somehow ending the conversation with something about Matt and his mysterious non-existent girlfriend named Sarah.
"He's always in Sally Loo's, and I never, ever see her." Weird.
Something around two weeks of no contact with Mid-life Crisis Matt and I got another text message from him. He got his convertible, and he wants to come take me for a ride. I told him he could stop over at the hostel and show me. My fellow hostel friends kind of wanted to see what he was like after all of this. He did stop by. He came in and chatted for a bit, telling me about how fun it is riding along the shoreline in his little coupe, painting yet another over-romanticized picture of his life for me. But I never went on a ride. Just like I never went to Mexico.
He sold his Mazda just after I ended up leaving San Luis Obispo.
To this day I get text messages from him about how he broke up with Sarah because she's not adventurous enough for him, and how he wants to move to the Caribbean and go sailing. Just last month he told me he was buying a Westfalia and asked if I wanted to drive to Florida with him. His Westy deal fell through a couple of days after I declined the offer. I've got better things to do. He's got older women to chase.
I don't think I'll stop hearing from Mid-life Crisis Matt for awhile.
There were times where he'd be so nice, buying me a coffee, or letting me have the other half of his sandwich (adventure sometimes doesn't allow you to eat much. Especially when that adventure starts out with no money), or offering to drive to the beach. I started getting hints from friends at the hostel that he was being potentially creepy.
Nawww. He's just having a mid-life crisis.
Actually, they weren't hints. They were blatant jokes of Matt being my sugar-less daddy. Well, perhaps, I thought.
After another day of running into Matt at Sally Loo's he mentioned to me that he used to travel around in his burnt orange 1986 Volkswagon Westfalia. Droool. He must have saw my mouth watering because he told me every detail about that thing. Everywhere he went, and what he did. He over-romanticized all of his adventures about how great it was to cook dinner on the mini-stove while driving across country, and then asked to borrow my computer so he could look on craigslist.
"What are you looking for?" I asked him.
"Westfalias. I want to buy one. I love those."
This was just after he got done telling me he was ignoring the calls from his doctors because he owes them more money than he has.
Sugar-less daddy.
Matt must have looked for a good half hour in-between looking up photos of Tilda Swinton convinced that I looked just like her; "so natural."
That didn't last long.
"I want a convertible. You know, one of those little two-seater Mazda's or something. Yeah! Let's look for one of those. We could get one pretty cheap."
Yeah, let's look for one of those. As if we were making a joint decision about what car Matt was going purchase to cure his mid-life crisis.
He continued to tell me about how his sex drive sky rocketed when he hit forty, and it seems that older women's sex drive drops dramatically. His girlfriend never wants to have sex with him, even when he begs. But now that he's experienced he's an excellent lover. Matt is handsome for a forty-two year-old but, come on. I did my best not to say anything while trying desperately not to make this feel any more awkward than it was.
Casey soon got off work at Sally Loo's (thank God) and we all went on a walk together. We're in California near the coast, needless to say there are plenty of Westfalias. On a daily basis I would probably pass up to ten of them walking around town while I stared googley-eyed with spit dripping down my chin. Soon Matt changed his mind again when we passed a seriously pimped out Westy parked on the street.
"Hey, do you have a piece of paper? I think if I offered them enough I could buy their Westy off of them."
Yeah, totally, it doesn't look like they use it or take care of it or anything. I ended up writing on about six Volkwagons that day, "I want to buy your Westy -Matt..." ending with his phone number. He never got any calls, but he never stopped dreaming either. I'd get texts from him asking me if I wanted to drive to Mexico with him in his Westy (that he didn't have), "friend not fling".
Friend, not fling. The sugar-less daddy comments proceeded, and then I fell out of touch with Matt for awhile. If I'd respond to his text messages I'd end up in a life-long conversation, so I just stopped and kept a safe distance from Sally Loo's.
I would run into Casey now and then and we'd chat, somehow ending the conversation with something about Matt and his mysterious non-existent girlfriend named Sarah.
"He's always in Sally Loo's, and I never, ever see her." Weird.
Something around two weeks of no contact with Mid-life Crisis Matt and I got another text message from him. He got his convertible, and he wants to come take me for a ride. I told him he could stop over at the hostel and show me. My fellow hostel friends kind of wanted to see what he was like after all of this. He did stop by. He came in and chatted for a bit, telling me about how fun it is riding along the shoreline in his little coupe, painting yet another over-romanticized picture of his life for me. But I never went on a ride. Just like I never went to Mexico.
He sold his Mazda just after I ended up leaving San Luis Obispo.
To this day I get text messages from him about how he broke up with Sarah because she's not adventurous enough for him, and how he wants to move to the Caribbean and go sailing. Just last month he told me he was buying a Westfalia and asked if I wanted to drive to Florida with him. His Westy deal fell through a couple of days after I declined the offer. I've got better things to do. He's got older women to chase.
I don't think I'll stop hearing from Mid-life Crisis Matt for awhile.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Lisa's brain is still flat, but I'm in San Luis Obispo.
I woke up on Casey and Ai's couch in the morning with their cat snuggled between my butt and the back of the couch. Gross. Cats.
I didn't want to impose too much after the guys have been so great towards me, and once again, I'm met with a sense of urgency to find a place to sleep the next night- The seemingly endless cycle of the adventure hungry, and the car-less.
Hungry I am no more, but I can't freaking stop here! This is too much fun (I say that now, when I'm not in the middle of Fresno).
I didn't go back to Sally Loo's cafe for the fear of being mind-raped by Mid-life Crisis Matt. I went to Starbucks. I was getting my freaking money's worth for that stupid gift card I had to buy to get on their wifi. Plus, I used to work at Starbucks, and I know I can count on the people there being nice. They won't invite you over to sleep at their home or anything, but they'll occasionally upgrade your drink to a Venti for free. Free stuff is nice.
I didn't get free anything, but I did remember Matt mentioning that there was a hostel in town. In fact, he offered to pay for a night there for me since I didn't have any money. So yes, Matt is a nice guy. Fine.
Working in exchange for accommodation at a hostel was how this whole wanderlust business got started for me. I knew how to work this, and I've done it before plenty of times.
I'm not going to lie. I was liking this adventure, but I was exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. Everywherely. My desire to make it up to San Francisco was fading fast, and I was beginning to like this town. After e mailing the owner of Hostel Obispo, she got back to me within twenty minutes and... San Francisco? What's in San Francisco. Nothing that I want.
_______
Dear Sarah,
I’m glad you like being in San Luis Obispo. What’s not to like? Especially on a day like today. We can actually use another pair of helping hands around here. I ask for 18 hours of work each week in exchange for a bed in the dorm. Some food is included — all the beans, rice, lentils and pancakes you can eat!
We have a really fun crew of young people working here now. From your profile I can tell you’ll fit right in and have instant friends. Tonight is the “Bike Happening” downtown after Farmers Market. At about 9:15 maybe 500 cyclists will meet at the Mission for a crazy critical mass-style ride around town. I’m going, are you????? Come to the hostel before it gets dark and talk to whomever is on duty. Tell them I sent you! Have them help you find a bike and we’ll all have crazy fun.
I’m off to a day of lunch and movies with girlfriends, but I should be back around 7 pm. Feel free to come by and meet everyone earlier if you feel like it.
Looking forward to meeting you,
Elaine
I’m glad you like being in San Luis Obispo. What’s not to like? Especially on a day like today. We can actually use another pair of helping hands around here. I ask for 18 hours of work each week in exchange for a bed in the dorm. Some food is included — all the beans, rice, lentils and pancakes you can eat!
We have a really fun crew of young people working here now. From your profile I can tell you’ll fit right in and have instant friends. Tonight is the “Bike Happening” downtown after Farmers Market. At about 9:15 maybe 500 cyclists will meet at the Mission for a crazy critical mass-style ride around town. I’m going, are you????? Come to the hostel before it gets dark and talk to whomever is on duty. Tell them I sent you! Have them help you find a bike and we’ll all have crazy fun.
I’m off to a day of lunch and movies with girlfriends, but I should be back around 7 pm. Feel free to come by and meet everyone earlier if you feel like it.
Looking forward to meeting you,
Elaine
_____
Heck Yeah. What's not to like? It was even better once I got there. This place is like Grandma's cozy house. Wood floors. A fireplace, piano, a kitchen. Oh yes, a kitchen. When I showed up there two of my new co-workers were making home-made pretzels (I soon came to find out that almost everything we'd eat was home made. I'm talkin' really home made).
After I settled in to my temporary space, met the friends, and the hostel dog, I explored the nightlife of San Luis Obispo. The Thursday nightlife. Thursday nights mean farmers market, and probably the best one on the West Coast. The town shut the entire street down for music and farmer's goodies, and even though I had been in this town just over a day, I was running into people I knew all over the place. So comforting, albeit, a bit twilight zone-ish.
That night in the hostel I slept better than I've slept in weeks. Good thing, too, because the next day I had to start working. I've worked at hostels before. It's not hard work, but it can be draining work sometimes. After washing the fiftieth load of sheets, and making the 100th bed somehow motivation gets lost.
This hostel job was nothing like that. Nothing. When I woke up at 7:30am to start work I was getting ready to be trained on how to make sourdough pancakes, feed the sourdough starter, and answer the phone. When the hostel guests woke up I got to sit down and chat with them over pancakes about their travels all cozy in our pajamas inside grandma's house. This was not like any other hostel I've worked at.
Of course, I did have to do cleaning, but the old victorian house was small enough to where the cleaning was a one-man job, and when it was my turn I put my headphones on and danced my way through the house. I sang outside when I hung the laundry below the palm trees in the back yard, and when I was done I picked oranges off the tree next door to eat with my lunch.
San Francisco Shman Francisco.
After I stuffed myself with pancakes on my first official day living at Hostel Obispo I decided to walk back to Sally Loo's and see if any of my friends from the other day were there. I was a block away when I heard a car horn honking at me, and a white SUV pulled over. It was Matt and Casey. I was on the phone, so I didn't have time to ask questions; I just jumped in, no idea where we were headed.
As it turns out, Matt took us all to Avila Beach where we walked along the shoreline getting to know each other more. I'm still not certain it was a good idea to get in with Matt driving, all "trippy" and drugged, but I already rode across country with Lisa. Nothing, I tell you, nothing could be that bad.
If my days in San Luis Obispo keep getting better like this, I don't think I'll ever leave...
This hostel job was nothing like that. Nothing. When I woke up at 7:30am to start work I was getting ready to be trained on how to make sourdough pancakes, feed the sourdough starter, and answer the phone. When the hostel guests woke up I got to sit down and chat with them over pancakes about their travels all cozy in our pajamas inside grandma's house. This was not like any other hostel I've worked at.
Of course, I did have to do cleaning, but the old victorian house was small enough to where the cleaning was a one-man job, and when it was my turn I put my headphones on and danced my way through the house. I sang outside when I hung the laundry below the palm trees in the back yard, and when I was done I picked oranges off the tree next door to eat with my lunch.
San Francisco Shman Francisco.
After I stuffed myself with pancakes on my first official day living at Hostel Obispo I decided to walk back to Sally Loo's and see if any of my friends from the other day were there. I was a block away when I heard a car horn honking at me, and a white SUV pulled over. It was Matt and Casey. I was on the phone, so I didn't have time to ask questions; I just jumped in, no idea where we were headed.
As it turns out, Matt took us all to Avila Beach where we walked along the shoreline getting to know each other more. I'm still not certain it was a good idea to get in with Matt driving, all "trippy" and drugged, but I already rode across country with Lisa. Nothing, I tell you, nothing could be that bad.
If my days in San Luis Obispo keep getting better like this, I don't think I'll ever leave...
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The world is round, Lisa's brain is flat - Part II
"Duck, duck, duck.... GOOSE!" A man with fake legs, who intelligently sat in the back of the bus, slowly made his way forward patting everyone on the head, and choosing me to be the goose on his way to talk to the bus driver.
"Sit dowrn! Dorn't tawlk to whiwe I'm dwiwing! Gor sit dowrn! Gor arway!"
"I need you to go fast. I have a doctors appointment that I can't miss. We need to get there faster. I cant miss my doctors appointment!"
"Sit dowrn! Dorn't tawlk to me!"
The majority of my three and a half hour bus ride through the Sierra Nevada consisted of a huge bickerment between Hippy Dippy No-legs and Happy Polynesian Bus Driver.
"Fuck you! I want to be dropped off. I'll get a taxi. This is stupid. I need to get to my doctor, asshole."
For a minute, I didn't blame Hippy Dippy. When has Amtrak EVER been on time? When can anyone EVER count on Amtrak leaving when they're scheduled to, or not making an unannounced twenty minute pit stop in the middle of nowhere for some unknown reason.
They're probably delivering drugs or something. I'm convinced.
Besides, Hippy Dippy can't drive himself! He has no legs!
But I do blame Hippy Dippy. If he would just sit dowrn there could be some siwence, and I could crowse my eyes and srweep. If I can't close my eyes and sleep I swear I'm going to vomit on these electric blue seats.
But I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't vomit. I'm certain the seats were firmly stuffed with cardboard, and not cotton. Perhaps they were stuffed with cardboard containing the drugs for their next unannounced pit stop. Probably.
I wanted so badly to get off of this bus, but arriving closer to San Wuis Obispowr I started to second guess that desire. It was raining outside, and It was getting chillier, and I had nowhere to go.
This is NOT what the coast of California is supposed to feel like.
I was greeted off the bus by Happy Polynesian Bus Driver who was apparently missing some teeth (too many drugs?), and I was blanketed in a cold, wet rain, making my already-heavy pack on my back even heavier.
I had everything I owned on my back. I had a tambourine and a banjolele hanging from it. I had hiking shoes and climbing shoes tied to it. I had crafty things shoved inside, and a sleeping bag and sleeping pad strapped to the bottom. All the clothes I might need for cold or hot weather were nearly vacuum-packed inside to fit. That that was just on my back. On the front of me was my other backpack. It had my ancient computer in it, and probably some more things I didn't need.
Walking was tough.
Walking in the rain was miserable.
I had to get that out of my mind and focus on finding free wifi at a cafe. I had a couple dollars left, and coffee sounded like therapy for my entire life at that point. I needed coffee, and I needed to get back on couchsurfing so I didnt have to sleep outside in the rain.
I'm convinced the heavens above sent down Sally Loo's cafe, and filled the inside with angels. That cafe was the first thing I saw when I got out of the Amtrak station, and they even had free wifi.
Greeting the Sally Loo was more than a little awkward, though. Everyone inside were cool costal hipsters. They were comfortable, they were probably drinking organic herbal tea, and they simultaneously took a quick break from writing their papers so they could all look up and stare at me when I walked in.
It felt like chaos outside in the rain carry 75lbs of my life. I swung that door open so hard, and stepped in sopping wet with a huge (loud) sigh of relief, then found myself looking up at the quiet hipsters staring at me wide-eyed.
Quickly they went back to business, and quickly I waddled over to the corner. I could barely fit through the doorway. My stuff was sprawled out all over the floor while I was searching for my computer cord which doubled as my life-line at this point.
I didn't even get my computer turned on yet and I was being surrounded.
"I see climbing shoes. Do you climb?"
"Hey, where are you from?"
"Wow, that's a lot of stuff."
"You're coming from the Amtrak station, aren't you?"
Now I was the one staring wide-eyed. The owner (who I didn't know was the owner at the time) even came up to me to make sure I had a place to sit and could get on the internet.
"Do you need anything?"
"Yes. I'm trying to find a place to sleep tonight. I don't really know anyone here, and I just need to get one the computer to find a couchsurfer."
They would not stop talking to me, and I needed to find a place to stay before it got dark. I was getting really annoyed with Matt, especially.
Matt was in his mid-forties. Apparently he was a climber in his day, because he insisted on interrupting everything I said, and did with a question or remark about climbing, often responding to me with, "trippy".
"Where do you climb?" He inches forward in his seat.
"Are you here to climb?" He moves to a closer seat.
"You know, there's a good gym around here. I used to climb a lot, until I got injured." He moves to the seat next to me, pulls out is puppy-dog eyes, and pulled up his shirt to show me the hard brace enveloping his entire torso. Bike accident. Four months ago.
Oh. My. Gosh. These people don't understand the urgency of my time right now. Shut up. All of you. But, of course, I'm a people pleaser and it's incredibly hard for me to show my bad-to-the-bone self sometimes, so I begrudgingly smiled, and gave him his much needed sympathy.
"I'm a really active person. I climbed with a lot of big climbers. But now I can't do much for myself. I met my girlfriend in the hospital during therapy. She helps me bath and take care of myself, now, until I can start doing more things for myself again. Why don't I give her a text and see if she knows of anywhere you can stay?"
Now we're talking. Let's make use of this conversation time.
"You're name's Sarah! That's my girlfriend's name!"
This fact will soon become strange.
Finally the people at the cafe team up in an effort to find me somewhere to sleep. Matt has all sorts of ideas for me, and he's networking for me in between his pathetic, and obvious need for me to give him sympathy.
I was kind of relieved when Matt got up to get a re-fill on his coffee. I wasn't sure if his networking was going to amount to anything with him being on all kinds of medications. He didn't mention medications, but he didn't need to. He was "trippy, man".
Matt returned too quickly.
"Hey, you should go up to the counter and talk to Casey. I just was telling him about you and he said you could sleep at his place tonight. He works here."
What? Huh? Really? What? Was it that easy? Matt? My new best friend, Matt? Really?
Of course I was still a bit weirded out. Hey, go talk to this guy you don't know because I, a guy you also don't know, was talking about you, and you can sleep at guy-you-don't-know's place. But being desperate for adventure will make you do crazy things, like jumping in a car with a psychotic woman, or sleep at a strangers house. No one can be as bad as Lisa, though, so sleeping at Casey's can't be all bad. And I got up to talk to him.
Uh, which one is Casey? There's so many people here. This is really awkward. What if he never really said that to Matt? Matt's tripping. Oh gosh.
I asked with a shaky voice, "Um, Hi. I'm looking for Casey. Matt over there, he said that..."
"Hey, you're Sarah! Nice to meet you. Here's my address," he wrote it down for me on the back of receipt paper, "My house is three houses down from here. No one is home, but it's not locked. Feel free to hang out there. I get off work at five."
It has been so long since I've been given the privilege of talking with down-to-earth people. Casey was my breath of fresh San Luis Obispo air. For the first time in awhile I felt really comfortable. Someone who trusts me enough to go into his house without him there must be a trustworthy person himself. Which he was.
I found Casey's house and finally got to rid myself of my 75lb soaking wet life, and explore now-sunny San Luis Obispo. So far, this place is freaking awesome...
"Sit dowrn! Dorn't tawlk to whiwe I'm dwiwing! Gor sit dowrn! Gor arway!"
"I need you to go fast. I have a doctors appointment that I can't miss. We need to get there faster. I cant miss my doctors appointment!"
"Sit dowrn! Dorn't tawlk to me!"
The majority of my three and a half hour bus ride through the Sierra Nevada consisted of a huge bickerment between Hippy Dippy No-legs and Happy Polynesian Bus Driver.
"Fuck you! I want to be dropped off. I'll get a taxi. This is stupid. I need to get to my doctor, asshole."
For a minute, I didn't blame Hippy Dippy. When has Amtrak EVER been on time? When can anyone EVER count on Amtrak leaving when they're scheduled to, or not making an unannounced twenty minute pit stop in the middle of nowhere for some unknown reason.
They're probably delivering drugs or something. I'm convinced.
Besides, Hippy Dippy can't drive himself! He has no legs!
But I do blame Hippy Dippy. If he would just sit dowrn there could be some siwence, and I could crowse my eyes and srweep. If I can't close my eyes and sleep I swear I'm going to vomit on these electric blue seats.
But I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't vomit. I'm certain the seats were firmly stuffed with cardboard, and not cotton. Perhaps they were stuffed with cardboard containing the drugs for their next unannounced pit stop. Probably.
I wanted so badly to get off of this bus, but arriving closer to San Wuis Obispowr I started to second guess that desire. It was raining outside, and It was getting chillier, and I had nowhere to go.
This is NOT what the coast of California is supposed to feel like.
I was greeted off the bus by Happy Polynesian Bus Driver who was apparently missing some teeth (too many drugs?), and I was blanketed in a cold, wet rain, making my already-heavy pack on my back even heavier.
I had everything I owned on my back. I had a tambourine and a banjolele hanging from it. I had hiking shoes and climbing shoes tied to it. I had crafty things shoved inside, and a sleeping bag and sleeping pad strapped to the bottom. All the clothes I might need for cold or hot weather were nearly vacuum-packed inside to fit. That that was just on my back. On the front of me was my other backpack. It had my ancient computer in it, and probably some more things I didn't need.
Walking was tough.
Walking in the rain was miserable.
I had to get that out of my mind and focus on finding free wifi at a cafe. I had a couple dollars left, and coffee sounded like therapy for my entire life at that point. I needed coffee, and I needed to get back on couchsurfing so I didnt have to sleep outside in the rain.
I'm convinced the heavens above sent down Sally Loo's cafe, and filled the inside with angels. That cafe was the first thing I saw when I got out of the Amtrak station, and they even had free wifi.
Greeting the Sally Loo was more than a little awkward, though. Everyone inside were cool costal hipsters. They were comfortable, they were probably drinking organic herbal tea, and they simultaneously took a quick break from writing their papers so they could all look up and stare at me when I walked in.
It felt like chaos outside in the rain carry 75lbs of my life. I swung that door open so hard, and stepped in sopping wet with a huge (loud) sigh of relief, then found myself looking up at the quiet hipsters staring at me wide-eyed.
Quickly they went back to business, and quickly I waddled over to the corner. I could barely fit through the doorway. My stuff was sprawled out all over the floor while I was searching for my computer cord which doubled as my life-line at this point.
I didn't even get my computer turned on yet and I was being surrounded.
"I see climbing shoes. Do you climb?"
"Hey, where are you from?"
"Wow, that's a lot of stuff."
"You're coming from the Amtrak station, aren't you?"
Now I was the one staring wide-eyed. The owner (who I didn't know was the owner at the time) even came up to me to make sure I had a place to sit and could get on the internet.
"Do you need anything?"
"Yes. I'm trying to find a place to sleep tonight. I don't really know anyone here, and I just need to get one the computer to find a couchsurfer."
They would not stop talking to me, and I needed to find a place to stay before it got dark. I was getting really annoyed with Matt, especially.
Matt was in his mid-forties. Apparently he was a climber in his day, because he insisted on interrupting everything I said, and did with a question or remark about climbing, often responding to me with, "trippy".
"Where do you climb?" He inches forward in his seat.
"Are you here to climb?" He moves to a closer seat.
"You know, there's a good gym around here. I used to climb a lot, until I got injured." He moves to the seat next to me, pulls out is puppy-dog eyes, and pulled up his shirt to show me the hard brace enveloping his entire torso. Bike accident. Four months ago.
Oh. My. Gosh. These people don't understand the urgency of my time right now. Shut up. All of you. But, of course, I'm a people pleaser and it's incredibly hard for me to show my bad-to-the-bone self sometimes, so I begrudgingly smiled, and gave him his much needed sympathy.
"I'm a really active person. I climbed with a lot of big climbers. But now I can't do much for myself. I met my girlfriend in the hospital during therapy. She helps me bath and take care of myself, now, until I can start doing more things for myself again. Why don't I give her a text and see if she knows of anywhere you can stay?"
Now we're talking. Let's make use of this conversation time.
"You're name's Sarah! That's my girlfriend's name!"
This fact will soon become strange.
Finally the people at the cafe team up in an effort to find me somewhere to sleep. Matt has all sorts of ideas for me, and he's networking for me in between his pathetic, and obvious need for me to give him sympathy.
I was kind of relieved when Matt got up to get a re-fill on his coffee. I wasn't sure if his networking was going to amount to anything with him being on all kinds of medications. He didn't mention medications, but he didn't need to. He was "trippy, man".
Matt returned too quickly.
"Hey, you should go up to the counter and talk to Casey. I just was telling him about you and he said you could sleep at his place tonight. He works here."
What? Huh? Really? What? Was it that easy? Matt? My new best friend, Matt? Really?
Of course I was still a bit weirded out. Hey, go talk to this guy you don't know because I, a guy you also don't know, was talking about you, and you can sleep at guy-you-don't-know's place. But being desperate for adventure will make you do crazy things, like jumping in a car with a psychotic woman, or sleep at a strangers house. No one can be as bad as Lisa, though, so sleeping at Casey's can't be all bad. And I got up to talk to him.
Uh, which one is Casey? There's so many people here. This is really awkward. What if he never really said that to Matt? Matt's tripping. Oh gosh.
I asked with a shaky voice, "Um, Hi. I'm looking for Casey. Matt over there, he said that..."
"Hey, you're Sarah! Nice to meet you. Here's my address," he wrote it down for me on the back of receipt paper, "My house is three houses down from here. No one is home, but it's not locked. Feel free to hang out there. I get off work at five."
It has been so long since I've been given the privilege of talking with down-to-earth people. Casey was my breath of fresh San Luis Obispo air. For the first time in awhile I felt really comfortable. Someone who trusts me enough to go into his house without him there must be a trustworthy person himself. Which he was.
I found Casey's house and finally got to rid myself of my 75lb soaking wet life, and explore now-sunny San Luis Obispo. So far, this place is freaking awesome...
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The world is round, Lisa's brain is flat - Part I
Three more hours. Just pretend to sleep for three. more. hours.
I know that Craigslist can be sketchy sometimes, but after I posted for a ride from Denver to California a nice-looking 44 year old blonde woman responded with a friendly manner and nice photo; I was darn tootin' sure that she was fairly sane. Darn tootin' right up to the point where she drove up to meet me in her half-smashed Volvo at the 7/11 in Denver. Then she spoke words. Mean words. And everything went downhill.
I dealt with Lisa's psychotic attitude toward everyone who did not bow down to her as she passed or spoke. I went along with stopping in Vegas for a night. I close my eyes while she recklessly zoomed past most everyone on the interstate. AND, I even handed Lisa her foot-long "AA" out of the glove box so she could toke up every now and again on those crazy-making desert roads. (AA is what Lisa likes to call her "attitude adjustment". Marijuana, in an honest-to-god foot long bowl. I prayed a lot on this trip). The last straw was in nowhere, southern California right near the worlds largest thermometer when Lisa asked me what I thought of taking the back roads. Lord help me.
"I'd really rather get there sooner than later. I dont know the back roads well, and we'd have pay to get into Yosemite just to drive through. Let's just go the way your GPS tells us."
Sweat is rolling down by back, the sun is melting the ice cream in my hand, and the worlds largest thermometer is as red as the desert clay around me. I have serious car-butt, and my bank account is under $25. At this point I just want to get somewhere. Anywhere. NOT in the middle of no-where. And not with Lisa.
I'm pretty sure I heard Lisa gashing her teeth at me and huffing fire between her words when she responded, "Well I thought you were up for anything. That's what you said, and I want to take the back roads."
Bitch. "I did say that, but you asked what I thought about taking the back roads, so I'm telling you what I think about taking the back roads," I said in a semi-sarcastic tone, rolled my eyes, and patted myself on the back. Juvenile, I know, but I'm dealing with a woman who's been fifteen for the past 29 years of her life. My tongue is going to bleed from biting it for this long for goodness sakes. I've been somewhat timid around Lisa across half of this country. I'm done. I'm talking back, and I'm getting bitchy. If I have to start scoping out different rides to central California, then so be it. huff.
I pictured myself getting a ride from a nice, old RV couple pumping gas as this bickerment is going down. They'd let me in their air conditioned home on wheels, ask about my travels with sincerity, feed me, and then I'd rest on the bed in the back while re-gaining the curvature of my butt, and erasing the past 24 hours from my memory.
Instead, my daydream was interrupted when Lisa asked if I would go take a look at the map she saw in the gas station. Apparently it shows the back roads pretty well, and she says it looks fun. (Lisa describes fun. Are there men and booze lined up along the back roads?)
I followed her into the gas station and she is buying the "road map" she insists I look it. I have tried so many times to block this moment in time from my memory because of the utter horror that came upon me. Lisa was buying a laminated map of California. Laminated, and water colored map of California, complete (of course) with dolphins and palm trees painted into the coast. Ah, it really captured the essence of the Sierra Nevada. I love when the sun sets on the mountains and you can see that thick black outline on everything. It's very realistic.
She followed along the back road with her finger up through the mountain range and showed me her preferred route. Preferred over the GPS, preferred over my opinion, and preferred over the other scenic dolphin route we could have taken according to her new watercolor poster.
"Whatever. Do what you want. I'm tired and I'm going to sleep in the car now." Or, I'm tired of you and I'm going to pretend to sleep. Even if I did want to sleep, she would continue talking to me with my eyes closed and my headphones on. Finally I understand the phrase "ignorance is bliss".
For four butt-smashing hours I pretend to sleep in Lisa's car. "Waking up" about thirty miles outside of Fresno to a double rainbow, and a phone pouring with text messages from people making sure I'm still alive. Just barely. We did not take the back roads after-all.
The excitement of getting away from Lisa for good wore off, and the reality of being dropped of in Fresno at dusk with no place to sleep started to sink in. I've never been to Fresno. I know no one in Fresno. I have no money. And so far, Fresno looks like a shithole.
Yep. Definitely. No doubt about it. Fresno is a shithole.Speaking of shitholes, I think Lisa is mad at me. No telling why, though. I probably forgot to respond to one of her brilliant career ideas while I was in the middle of a REM cycle.
I start texting my dad to look up somewhere in Fresno that is open 24 hours "...just in case" I told him. I'm you can imagine the utter horror of the entire situation for any father; his daughter jumping in a car across country with a stranger carrying less than thirty dollars, being dropped off in a strange town with nowhere to go, and still having not much of a destination after that, and then ending it with, "just in case...". Poor dad. That was the night that he told me that I put the grey hairs on his head. He told me that over the phone as I was sitting on a pleather sofa in a 24 hour truckstop in Fresno watching a Chinese woman wait for her next "massage" client.
"I pray for you so much," he said. I survive on those prayers. I really do.
My main goal at that point (other than feverishly praying and trying to not make my dad have a nervous breakdown) was to find internet! If I can just get internet access I can jump on couchsurfing. I know I can get a place to sleep tonight. I know it. And I ended up in a Starbucks down the road. Did I mention Fresno is a shithole?
Never have I had to go through so much work to get internet. I tried in the truck stop: no-go. I walked through a construction zone to a Starbucks in a lonely Fresno night, and I had to buy a gift card, call my dad back so he could register it online so I could sign into my Starbucks account and get 2 free hours of wifi. Goodness. Okay, so it's not that bad, but considering my circumstances and my thin wallet, it was.
I must have e mailed about fifteen couchsurfers in Fresno praying and hoping that one of them gets online in the next two hours. Copy, paste. Copy, past... Checking my phone every two minutes for a phone call. In the mean time, I used my five dollar gift card to buy a bagel, and secretly hoped that one of the baristas would just take me to their home when Starbucks closed. I projected my voice a bit in my phone calls with dad, and chose my subjects wisely. Maybe they'll hear I have no place to stay tonight. Nah, what was thinking? It's Fresno.
But Fresno must have some good people in it, because shortly after I got an email from a couchsurfer saying that he had a couch, and my phone number didnt work! Dangit. All of that, and I forgot a didgit in my phone number. But! I had an inquiry, and after a short game of phone tag my new couchsurfer friend, Jay, drove all the way across town to pick me up.
Dad was THRILLED to hear that a 30-something male stranger was picking me up to bring me to his house across town so I could stay the night. In the long run, though, he was thrilled. Jay was a wonderful human being, even though he liked to complain about government, kids, and of all things.. Fresno!
"I grew up in TEXAS, and I'd rather be there than Fresno. And I hate Texas" he shouted. There's nothing like bonding over common ground. "I've only been here five hours and I hate Fresno TOO!" Whooo!
Jay took me to his home with his eight month pregnant wife, and showed me to my private room with a huge blow-up bed. I got to feel the baby kicking, and best of all I got to use the last of my dollars (literally) to buy an Amtrak ticket to San Luis Obispo. I will be sun-bathing on the coast at 1500 hours. Thank you Amtrak, and Thank you Jay for dropping me off at the station. The station where I sat between four ex-cons waiting for the train, talking about prison-life: Fresno.
I didn't quite have sun-bathing on the mind when I booked my ticket, though. I didn't know what I had in mind. I thought I wanted to go to San Francisco, and everyone knows that if you're going to San Francisco be sure to wear some flowers in your hair. I didn't have flowers. I didn't have money. I didn't have direction. Just the direction the little Polynesian man driving me on the Amtrak bus. The direction to a place I've never been, far away from anyone I know.
What the hell am I doing?
I know that Craigslist can be sketchy sometimes, but after I posted for a ride from Denver to California a nice-looking 44 year old blonde woman responded with a friendly manner and nice photo; I was darn tootin' sure that she was fairly sane. Darn tootin' right up to the point where she drove up to meet me in her half-smashed Volvo at the 7/11 in Denver. Then she spoke words. Mean words. And everything went downhill.
I dealt with Lisa's psychotic attitude toward everyone who did not bow down to her as she passed or spoke. I went along with stopping in Vegas for a night. I close my eyes while she recklessly zoomed past most everyone on the interstate. AND, I even handed Lisa her foot-long "AA" out of the glove box so she could toke up every now and again on those crazy-making desert roads. (AA is what Lisa likes to call her "attitude adjustment". Marijuana, in an honest-to-god foot long bowl. I prayed a lot on this trip). The last straw was in nowhere, southern California right near the worlds largest thermometer when Lisa asked me what I thought of taking the back roads. Lord help me.
"I'd really rather get there sooner than later. I dont know the back roads well, and we'd have pay to get into Yosemite just to drive through. Let's just go the way your GPS tells us."
Sweat is rolling down by back, the sun is melting the ice cream in my hand, and the worlds largest thermometer is as red as the desert clay around me. I have serious car-butt, and my bank account is under $25. At this point I just want to get somewhere. Anywhere. NOT in the middle of no-where. And not with Lisa.
I'm pretty sure I heard Lisa gashing her teeth at me and huffing fire between her words when she responded, "Well I thought you were up for anything. That's what you said, and I want to take the back roads."
Bitch. "I did say that, but you asked what I thought about taking the back roads, so I'm telling you what I think about taking the back roads," I said in a semi-sarcastic tone, rolled my eyes, and patted myself on the back. Juvenile, I know, but I'm dealing with a woman who's been fifteen for the past 29 years of her life. My tongue is going to bleed from biting it for this long for goodness sakes. I've been somewhat timid around Lisa across half of this country. I'm done. I'm talking back, and I'm getting bitchy. If I have to start scoping out different rides to central California, then so be it. huff.
I pictured myself getting a ride from a nice, old RV couple pumping gas as this bickerment is going down. They'd let me in their air conditioned home on wheels, ask about my travels with sincerity, feed me, and then I'd rest on the bed in the back while re-gaining the curvature of my butt, and erasing the past 24 hours from my memory.
Instead, my daydream was interrupted when Lisa asked if I would go take a look at the map she saw in the gas station. Apparently it shows the back roads pretty well, and she says it looks fun. (Lisa describes fun. Are there men and booze lined up along the back roads?)
I followed her into the gas station and she is buying the "road map" she insists I look it. I have tried so many times to block this moment in time from my memory because of the utter horror that came upon me. Lisa was buying a laminated map of California. Laminated, and water colored map of California, complete (of course) with dolphins and palm trees painted into the coast. Ah, it really captured the essence of the Sierra Nevada. I love when the sun sets on the mountains and you can see that thick black outline on everything. It's very realistic.
She followed along the back road with her finger up through the mountain range and showed me her preferred route. Preferred over the GPS, preferred over my opinion, and preferred over the other scenic dolphin route we could have taken according to her new watercolor poster.
"Whatever. Do what you want. I'm tired and I'm going to sleep in the car now." Or, I'm tired of you and I'm going to pretend to sleep. Even if I did want to sleep, she would continue talking to me with my eyes closed and my headphones on. Finally I understand the phrase "ignorance is bliss".
For four butt-smashing hours I pretend to sleep in Lisa's car. "Waking up" about thirty miles outside of Fresno to a double rainbow, and a phone pouring with text messages from people making sure I'm still alive. Just barely. We did not take the back roads after-all.
The excitement of getting away from Lisa for good wore off, and the reality of being dropped of in Fresno at dusk with no place to sleep started to sink in. I've never been to Fresno. I know no one in Fresno. I have no money. And so far, Fresno looks like a shithole.
Yep. Definitely. No doubt about it. Fresno is a shithole.Speaking of shitholes, I think Lisa is mad at me. No telling why, though. I probably forgot to respond to one of her brilliant career ideas while I was in the middle of a REM cycle.
I start texting my dad to look up somewhere in Fresno that is open 24 hours "...just in case" I told him. I'm you can imagine the utter horror of the entire situation for any father; his daughter jumping in a car across country with a stranger carrying less than thirty dollars, being dropped off in a strange town with nowhere to go, and still having not much of a destination after that, and then ending it with, "just in case...". Poor dad. That was the night that he told me that I put the grey hairs on his head. He told me that over the phone as I was sitting on a pleather sofa in a 24 hour truckstop in Fresno watching a Chinese woman wait for her next "massage" client.
"I pray for you so much," he said. I survive on those prayers. I really do.
My main goal at that point (other than feverishly praying and trying to not make my dad have a nervous breakdown) was to find internet! If I can just get internet access I can jump on couchsurfing. I know I can get a place to sleep tonight. I know it. And I ended up in a Starbucks down the road. Did I mention Fresno is a shithole?
Never have I had to go through so much work to get internet. I tried in the truck stop: no-go. I walked through a construction zone to a Starbucks in a lonely Fresno night, and I had to buy a gift card, call my dad back so he could register it online so I could sign into my Starbucks account and get 2 free hours of wifi. Goodness. Okay, so it's not that bad, but considering my circumstances and my thin wallet, it was.
I must have e mailed about fifteen couchsurfers in Fresno praying and hoping that one of them gets online in the next two hours. Copy, paste. Copy, past... Checking my phone every two minutes for a phone call. In the mean time, I used my five dollar gift card to buy a bagel, and secretly hoped that one of the baristas would just take me to their home when Starbucks closed. I projected my voice a bit in my phone calls with dad, and chose my subjects wisely. Maybe they'll hear I have no place to stay tonight. Nah, what was thinking? It's Fresno.
But Fresno must have some good people in it, because shortly after I got an email from a couchsurfer saying that he had a couch, and my phone number didnt work! Dangit. All of that, and I forgot a didgit in my phone number. But! I had an inquiry, and after a short game of phone tag my new couchsurfer friend, Jay, drove all the way across town to pick me up.
Dad was THRILLED to hear that a 30-something male stranger was picking me up to bring me to his house across town so I could stay the night. In the long run, though, he was thrilled. Jay was a wonderful human being, even though he liked to complain about government, kids, and of all things.. Fresno!
"I grew up in TEXAS, and I'd rather be there than Fresno. And I hate Texas" he shouted. There's nothing like bonding over common ground. "I've only been here five hours and I hate Fresno TOO!" Whooo!
Jay took me to his home with his eight month pregnant wife, and showed me to my private room with a huge blow-up bed. I got to feel the baby kicking, and best of all I got to use the last of my dollars (literally) to buy an Amtrak ticket to San Luis Obispo. I will be sun-bathing on the coast at 1500 hours. Thank you Amtrak, and Thank you Jay for dropping me off at the station. The station where I sat between four ex-cons waiting for the train, talking about prison-life: Fresno.
I didn't quite have sun-bathing on the mind when I booked my ticket, though. I didn't know what I had in mind. I thought I wanted to go to San Francisco, and everyone knows that if you're going to San Francisco be sure to wear some flowers in your hair. I didn't have flowers. I didn't have money. I didn't have direction. Just the direction the little Polynesian man driving me on the Amtrak bus. The direction to a place I've never been, far away from anyone I know.
What the hell am I doing?
just write
I have really high expectations of writers.
Then what makes me think I'm good enough?
Or, does the world of writing need me to think I'm good enough just to press on; even if it's a lie.
Maybe I shouldn't know either way. Maybe I should just write already.
Okay, fine.
Then what makes me think I'm good enough?
Or, does the world of writing need me to think I'm good enough just to press on; even if it's a lie.
Maybe I shouldn't know either way. Maybe I should just write already.
Okay, fine.
Monday, October 25, 2010
a canvass of love
The Lord says, "Love!" and I will love.
For love is pure.
Art is pure.
I respect your canvas, and your colors, and your art.
They are from the deepness of your heart; the parts of you that are least understood.
The parts of you that have no ability to speak, speak in the quietness, loudness, boldness, subtleties of the what is on your canvass.
Your canvass, and your colors, and your shapes: They are a representation of the most delicate parts of your heart.
As we are the most delicate parts of the Lord's.
____
For love is pure.
Art is pure.
I respect your canvas, and your colors, and your art.
They are from the deepness of your heart; the parts of you that are least understood.
The parts of you that have no ability to speak, speak in the quietness, loudness, boldness, subtleties of the what is on your canvass.
Your canvass, and your colors, and your shapes: They are a representation of the most delicate parts of your heart.
As we are the most delicate parts of the Lord's.
____
the creation of You
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Beauty is in the heart of the seen.
Beauty is in the hand of The Creator.
For beauty is in you and me.
Beauty is in the heart of the seen.
Beauty is in the hand of The Creator.
For beauty is in you and me.
healing waters
Water comes from the Heavens in varieties of ways:
A soothing trickle, and disastrous waves.
Release it from the Heavens, and the opaque skies.
Release a fountain from my heart,
and tears from my eyes.
A multitude of feelings:
Fear,
hurt,
love,
and lies.
Water for my mouth,
flowers,
trees,
Earth, and seas.
Tears from my eyes make sore my feelings.
But, soon is replenished
when tears flourish my soul.
Soothing is the flavor, dripping salty down my nose.
Take joy in my tears 'till the day I am old.
Water is for my mouth, my body, my soul.
A soothing trickle, and disastrous waves.
Release it from the Heavens, and the opaque skies.
Release a fountain from my heart,
and tears from my eyes.
A multitude of feelings:
Fear,
hurt,
love,
and lies.
Water for my mouth,
flowers,
trees,
Earth, and seas.
Tears from my eyes make sore my feelings.
But, soon is replenished
when tears flourish my soul.
Soothing is the flavor, dripping salty down my nose.
Take joy in my tears 'till the day I am old.
Water is for my mouth, my body, my soul.
sounds of beauty
Click. Clack.
Tick. Tock.
Only time will tell if the sounds will continue;
The sounds of delight,
The feeling of being beautiful.
Will time only tell?
She shuffles around,
Feet in mom's heels.
It's not how she looks
which determines how she feels.
A click, and a clack.
An "oh, and "ah",
from a delighted father, and a delighted mom.
All but the mirror speak
in her world of truth.
A smile and a hug;
It's all, for her, proof.
A proof that will last all the days of her life.
Proof that keep safe, her heart, from the ugly lies.
Tick. Tock.
Only time will tell if the sounds will continue;
The sounds of delight,
The feeling of being beautiful.
Will time only tell?
She shuffles around,
Feet in mom's heels.
It's not how she looks
which determines how she feels.
A click, and a clack.
An "oh, and "ah",
from a delighted father, and a delighted mom.
All but the mirror speak
in her world of truth.
A smile and a hug;
It's all, for her, proof.
A proof that will last all the days of her life.
Proof that keep safe, her heart, from the ugly lies.
heart's paradox
I experience life vicariously through this body I have.
The Body is a part of me,
The body is not a part of me.
I love it, and I hate it.
Everything I see is viewed through a window,
a cameral lens perhaps;
all things are beautiful and unique.
All things have a romantic story to be written,
tossed on life's dusty floor for someone to come and one day read.
To cry to,
To relate with,
To feel to.
Through the window at which I sit, I see these stories.
I cry with them, I feel them.
And then when I sit with myself on my side, I am lost.
My tears have dried, and my feelings are sore.
And then I am sad. What am I sad for?
Sunday, October 24, 2010
elements
There's a sadness that deeply desires,
to leak from my fingertips.
Why are my eyes such a sponge for my heart?
Effecting everything,
but my fingertips.
An intangible made tangible,
and a tangible made to none;
aching muscles, weary eyes, and
dry
fingertips.
Keep the water from my mouth,
but please dont dry my fingertips.
Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.
_
Emily Dickinson
Thursday, October 21, 2010
the flavor of sadness
Feeling too much. Why can I only write when I'm sad?
Because I must justify my sadness.
The world says sadness is a bad thing. We have medications for sadness, and we aren't taught how to truly deal with sadness.
We're taught that there must be something that needs fixing. In a way it makes sense; sadness doesn't feel good. Does it?
What if it's not about fixing?
What if it's about processing and learning.
FEELING.
There are many kinds of sadness. I can't speak for them all, but I've felt sadness in very deep, raw, and hear-throbbing ways.
I've felt the sadness of mourning and the sadness of loss. Sadness of change, fear, hurt, rejection. Sadness from a movie. Sadness bleeding from another sad soul. Sadness that's made me gasp for breath from crying so deeply within myself.
When I feel sadness I
really
feel
sadness.
It cuts me. It's hard.
And,
it's beautiful.
Sadness takes me on a journey within myself, and there really is no greater place to be. No more of an exciting place to travel but within the confides of ones own soul.
Learning to Grieve.
Learning to feel what you're feeling when it hurts your insides so badly. Even when all you want is not to feel that way anymore.
It's pain, but I've learned it to be a comfortable pain, and take comfort in my tears.
The taste of tears on my lips is one of the greatest flavors of life.
It declares that. I. feel.
It declares that. I. am. alive.
Greater sadness makes for an even greater joy. Greater growth. Greater strength.
Even now in feelings of happiness I look back on my saddest moments, and saddest seasons in life and I feel a nostalgic tug on my heart for those days. It brings me a new kind of joy.
Sadness is not a weakness. It's a very special, and personal journey. There are things you discover in sadness that which are impossible to find otherwise. These are rare, delicate discoveries.
I encourage everyone to feel your sadness. Know your sadness. Grieve it, and journey with it.
There is no such thing as feeling too much; being too sensitive.
Our feelings and emotions are a truly beautiful gift from God. Get to know each and every one.
Because I must justify my sadness.
The world says sadness is a bad thing. We have medications for sadness, and we aren't taught how to truly deal with sadness.
We're taught that there must be something that needs fixing. In a way it makes sense; sadness doesn't feel good. Does it?
What if it's not about fixing?
What if it's about processing and learning.
FEELING.
There are many kinds of sadness. I can't speak for them all, but I've felt sadness in very deep, raw, and hear-throbbing ways.
I've felt the sadness of mourning and the sadness of loss. Sadness of change, fear, hurt, rejection. Sadness from a movie. Sadness bleeding from another sad soul. Sadness that's made me gasp for breath from crying so deeply within myself.
When I feel sadness I
really
feel
sadness.
It cuts me. It's hard.
And,
it's beautiful.
Sadness takes me on a journey within myself, and there really is no greater place to be. No more of an exciting place to travel but within the confides of ones own soul.
Learning to Grieve.
Learning to feel what you're feeling when it hurts your insides so badly. Even when all you want is not to feel that way anymore.
It's pain, but I've learned it to be a comfortable pain, and take comfort in my tears.
The taste of tears on my lips is one of the greatest flavors of life.
It declares that. I. feel.
It declares that. I. am. alive.
Greater sadness makes for an even greater joy. Greater growth. Greater strength.
Even now in feelings of happiness I look back on my saddest moments, and saddest seasons in life and I feel a nostalgic tug on my heart for those days. It brings me a new kind of joy.
Sadness is not a weakness. It's a very special, and personal journey. There are things you discover in sadness that which are impossible to find otherwise. These are rare, delicate discoveries.
I encourage everyone to feel your sadness. Know your sadness. Grieve it, and journey with it.
There is no such thing as feeling too much; being too sensitive.
Our feelings and emotions are a truly beautiful gift from God. Get to know each and every one.
a prophecy
A couple of years ago. Perhaps three years, actually, my sister took me with her to have a prayer time with a couple who have been given the gift of prophetic prayer. Everyone there got a turn to be prayed over by this incredibly humble, wise, and joyful older couple, and they tapped it for us to use and look back on. I keep mine with me. Somehow it was not in my car while it was stolen, and I really thank God for that.
Sarah, the bible talks about great and precious promises, and God wants to apply some specific promises to you. I believe as you read the word and as you have been reading the word promises have, and will stand out to you. God wants you to declare those promises and go out to them. God is a promise keeper and they're great and precious promises.
It also relates to dreams and visions. I also heard that phrase "parable in the night". Friends of ours wrote a book, and it's about dreams. I believe God has dreams for you and He will give you understanding of the dream world.
Also I'm hearing there are important connections with you. There are people with like heart, different gifts but the same passions, and that He's making you a precious part of that team that will go for some adventrues with God. Dont be surprised if He calls you to do some overseas journeys and bring the heart of God to hungry hearts.
Thank you Jesus, because He's touched your heart with love and He's given you something. You have a lot to Give. A lot to give.
It's kind of gotten stirred up, and there's a fountain that's going to spring out of you. Once you turn the tap on it's going to have a hard time turning off. It's prophetic, it's healing, love and compassion, and I think I'm stealing some of what Brenda has to say...
Brenda:
Revelation and wisdom. God has given you a very detailed mind. A photographic mind, and this is very prophetic, and it moves into seeing dreams and visions. You have an ability to express, and there's an expression of the heart through you and this is part of the revelation that happens, and God has called you to raise up others in what you do. It's like you're a forerunner; an expression of the heart of God in worship, drama, expression, dance. There's an anointing of artistic expression. It's creative, and the heart of God for you is to continue journeying as a forerunner, and you will break down walls. It's like heaven is released thorugh expression, and heaven is being released through you and you're changing hearts and minds, and you're bringing tears to the hearts of others.
God is encouraging me to share with you also that there are items written in your name that have your name on it in heaven that will be released. You've released an expression of the heart of God in worship and there's more to be released through you.
You've been on a broken journey. There's a place of brokenness. This is actually taking you deeper into the chambers of the heart of God because it's the only place that you could go. The Father has used this place where He's drawn you and He's comforted you, and He's actually protected you.
But he wants you to know that He's causing you to have to trust him with the timing of a cry that's in your heart. He wants you to know that this is a painful journey, but he wants you to know that your'e going to be so delighted! It's like the father is going to so delight you with the very desires of your heart. But He's saying, "Right now, I'm so enjoying this place that you have to be to walk this journey with me".
There's something you're going to write, so keep a journal with you because the expression of the heart of God is a creative writing. It's just going to be an expression of the Father's heart released through you.
Team, team, team. You're a part of a team but you're going to raise up teams. It's like you're.. wow, it's big. We're not talking about a few, but it's just going to be a multiplication. This is something very, very intense where you're just going to release this over multitudes. It's just.. God can trust you because you have no designs on name and fame. In fact you just show up because you know God's told you to; it's an assignment from heaven and you have to even keep it kicking and screaming.
Again, you carry a pastors heart. That doesn't mean you're called to pastor a big church, it means you're called to shepherd the flocks. You have that anointing.
Also, God doesnt want you to pick up the weight of the burden you carry for your loved ones. He said you pray, but when you pray you open heaven over their lives. You place assignments, even visitations from heaven over their lives. And the Father is encouraging you, that He will encounter them with His love. He will place assignments in their lives. Even unexpected. So I speak off of you the weight you've been carrying. The burden that belongs to Jesus, but I just instead power love and a sound mind to proclaim to the enemy you're done buddy in Jesus' name. Carry that authority.
You're just an incredible intercessor, and you're in the chambers of the heart of the Father and you're moving heaven over their lives. They will be encountered by heaven, by Jesus.
Amen.
_____________________
It also relates to dreams and visions. I also heard that phrase "parable in the night". Friends of ours wrote a book, and it's about dreams. I believe God has dreams for you and He will give you understanding of the dream world.
Also I'm hearing there are important connections with you. There are people with like heart, different gifts but the same passions, and that He's making you a precious part of that team that will go for some adventrues with God. Dont be surprised if He calls you to do some overseas journeys and bring the heart of God to hungry hearts.
Thank you Jesus, because He's touched your heart with love and He's given you something. You have a lot to Give. A lot to give.
It's kind of gotten stirred up, and there's a fountain that's going to spring out of you. Once you turn the tap on it's going to have a hard time turning off. It's prophetic, it's healing, love and compassion, and I think I'm stealing some of what Brenda has to say...
Brenda:
Revelation and wisdom. God has given you a very detailed mind. A photographic mind, and this is very prophetic, and it moves into seeing dreams and visions. You have an ability to express, and there's an expression of the heart through you and this is part of the revelation that happens, and God has called you to raise up others in what you do. It's like you're a forerunner; an expression of the heart of God in worship, drama, expression, dance. There's an anointing of artistic expression. It's creative, and the heart of God for you is to continue journeying as a forerunner, and you will break down walls. It's like heaven is released thorugh expression, and heaven is being released through you and you're changing hearts and minds, and you're bringing tears to the hearts of others.
God is encouraging me to share with you also that there are items written in your name that have your name on it in heaven that will be released. You've released an expression of the heart of God in worship and there's more to be released through you.
You've been on a broken journey. There's a place of brokenness. This is actually taking you deeper into the chambers of the heart of God because it's the only place that you could go. The Father has used this place where He's drawn you and He's comforted you, and He's actually protected you.
But he wants you to know that He's causing you to have to trust him with the timing of a cry that's in your heart. He wants you to know that this is a painful journey, but he wants you to know that your'e going to be so delighted! It's like the father is going to so delight you with the very desires of your heart. But He's saying, "Right now, I'm so enjoying this place that you have to be to walk this journey with me".
There's something you're going to write, so keep a journal with you because the expression of the heart of God is a creative writing. It's just going to be an expression of the Father's heart released through you.
Team, team, team. You're a part of a team but you're going to raise up teams. It's like you're.. wow, it's big. We're not talking about a few, but it's just going to be a multiplication. This is something very, very intense where you're just going to release this over multitudes. It's just.. God can trust you because you have no designs on name and fame. In fact you just show up because you know God's told you to; it's an assignment from heaven and you have to even keep it kicking and screaming.
Again, you carry a pastors heart. That doesn't mean you're called to pastor a big church, it means you're called to shepherd the flocks. You have that anointing.
Also, God doesnt want you to pick up the weight of the burden you carry for your loved ones. He said you pray, but when you pray you open heaven over their lives. You place assignments, even visitations from heaven over their lives. And the Father is encouraging you, that He will encounter them with His love. He will place assignments in their lives. Even unexpected. So I speak off of you the weight you've been carrying. The burden that belongs to Jesus, but I just instead power love and a sound mind to proclaim to the enemy you're done buddy in Jesus' name. Carry that authority.
You're just an incredible intercessor, and you're in the chambers of the heart of the Father and you're moving heaven over their lives. They will be encountered by heaven, by Jesus.
Amen.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
quarter life crisis
I am driven by the need to journey towards healing through unconventional hospitality.
I want to be hospitable towards you.
I want to bake you bread.
I want to cook your favorite meal.
I want to surprise you.
I want to heal you, and I want to journey with you.
I want to delight you.
I want to make you feel comfortable, and I want to make you feel loved.
I want to make you feel worth all of these things.
Because you are.
I want to write. Can I be healing and hospitable through writing?
I'm not sure. But I hope to find a way.
I want to be hospitable towards you.
I want to bake you bread.
I want to cook your favorite meal.
I want to surprise you.
I want to heal you, and I want to journey with you.
I want to delight you.
I want to make you feel comfortable, and I want to make you feel loved.
I want to make you feel worth all of these things.
Because you are.
I want to write. Can I be healing and hospitable through writing?
I'm not sure. But I hope to find a way.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
a long way home
I drove home looking through my windshield as though it were a viewing lens to life itself. Sufjan created an incredible melodramatic soundtrack for the wet Seattle night.
And I was happy
and sad.
And still.... still just wanted to try that hug one more time. Goodbye already?
Goodbye, Seattle.
And I was happy
and sad.
And still.... still just wanted to try that hug one more time. Goodbye already?
Goodbye, Seattle.
today i wish for rain
Today I am not a girl watching life through a camera lens.
Today I am a girl in the world. A girl who is not sad. A girl who is not overflowing with emotions I dont know how to handle.
A girl with normal, happy feelings.
And a family I love more than anything.
Can I tell you how hard it is to be the youngest child? I know it must be be hard for the oldest, and the middle. I cant discount that. But I want to talk about the youngest because that's who I relate with.
That's who I am.
The grief doesn't come so much at a young age as it does when growing into an adult. A youngest sibling has to fight for her childhood for as long as possible because, chances are, the family will grow; the traditions will quickly turn into old memories and remember-when-we-used-to's. The youngest may not be the first to learn to deal with change, but they'll have to learn long before they ever expected the changes would come.
Siblings leave. Siblings get married. Siblings have families.
All the while the youngest is still growing up, wondering now why she feels the fear of being abandoned or forgotten. Left out.
The youngest feels like she had to grow up faster, but at the same time, feels too young for most things in her life. She never really knows when to stop fighting for her childhood or for her families traditions.
Really, she's just semi-heartbroken.
She was too young for the real good memories..
Her family grew up too fast.
Her childhood went by like a day-long rainfall; feeling like ages, but once the next day hit it left so quickly and her heart is still parched.
rain,
rain,
rain.
A very long draught.
And I'm thirsty for rain.
Today I am a girl in the world. A girl who is not sad. A girl who is not overflowing with emotions I dont know how to handle.
A girl with normal, happy feelings.
And a family I love more than anything.
Can I tell you how hard it is to be the youngest child? I know it must be be hard for the oldest, and the middle. I cant discount that. But I want to talk about the youngest because that's who I relate with.
That's who I am.
The grief doesn't come so much at a young age as it does when growing into an adult. A youngest sibling has to fight for her childhood for as long as possible because, chances are, the family will grow; the traditions will quickly turn into old memories and remember-when-we-used-to's. The youngest may not be the first to learn to deal with change, but they'll have to learn long before they ever expected the changes would come.
Siblings leave. Siblings get married. Siblings have families.
All the while the youngest is still growing up, wondering now why she feels the fear of being abandoned or forgotten. Left out.
The youngest feels like she had to grow up faster, but at the same time, feels too young for most things in her life. She never really knows when to stop fighting for her childhood or for her families traditions.
Really, she's just semi-heartbroken.
She was too young for the real good memories..
Her family grew up too fast.
Her childhood went by like a day-long rainfall; feeling like ages, but once the next day hit it left so quickly and her heart is still parched.
rain,
rain,
rain.
A very long draught.
And I'm thirsty for rain.
words from Rob Bell
We are creations of a God who wastes nothing.
We are creations of a God who wastes nothing.
We are creations of a God who wastes nothing.
NOTHING.
Have nothing. Possess everything.
That's what I want to do.
There is art in elimination. Beauty in elimination. Greatness in elimination.
Yet, we are creations of a God who wastes nothing.
Think about it some more.
All of God's creations.
Think about all of your qualities. All of your talents. And all of your personality traits.
Think of how you look. You are beautiful.
God wastes nothing, and you are a product of Him
not
wasting
a
thing.
You are anew creation made for a purpose, and made for a life of wasting little.
"The God who wastes nothing."
You are a creation of a God who wastes nothing.
God places purpose in you.
Think about it some more.
All of God's creations.
Think about all of your qualities. All of your talents. And all of your personality traits.
Think of how you look. You are beautiful.
God wastes nothing, and you are a product of Him
not
wasting
a
thing.
You are anew creation made for a purpose, and made for a life of wasting little.
"The God who wastes nothing."
You are a creation of a God who wastes nothing.
God places purpose in you.
art is personal
I find myself not wanting to write about the every day.
But I want to write about the pink strip of blush looping around the entire sky.
Dusk.
Surrounded by powder blue that deepens at the ends of the earth, and the beginnings of a new night. The sunset that God has painted.
Do you think He paints them for us? Maybe each sunset he paints is specifically for someone.
All the while, you enjoy them, but one day there will be this spectacular show of stillness in the sky, and it makes your heart explode, and melt.
Because God so intimately knows you.
He knows how to take all the things you find beauty in, and combine them into a live masterpiece just to stir you,
make you laugh,
motivate you.
I hope we all get to see at least one of those sunsets in our lives.
There are no accidents in God's creation.
Look at the tree outside your window,
or the way a sunset looks every night.
Look at yourself;
in these things we find His masterpiece, the things He delights in, and the things that can glorify Him.
You are art.
Art is personal.
You are personal to God.
But I want to write about the pink strip of blush looping around the entire sky.
Dusk.
Surrounded by powder blue that deepens at the ends of the earth, and the beginnings of a new night. The sunset that God has painted.
Do you think He paints them for us? Maybe each sunset he paints is specifically for someone.
All the while, you enjoy them, but one day there will be this spectacular show of stillness in the sky, and it makes your heart explode, and melt.
Because God so intimately knows you.
He knows how to take all the things you find beauty in, and combine them into a live masterpiece just to stir you,
make you laugh,
motivate you.
I hope we all get to see at least one of those sunsets in our lives.
There are no accidents in God's creation.
Look at the tree outside your window,
or the way a sunset looks every night.
Look at yourself;
in these things we find His masterpiece, the things He delights in, and the things that can glorify Him.
You are art.
Art is personal.
You are personal to God.
Monday, October 18, 2010
a cloudy dose of nourishment
Oh, my heart is full.
Oh, my heart is full.
Full, and my words cease to capture what overflows from the abundance of this heart of mine.
The music is alive.
And so b e a u u t i f u l.
And it sings to my soul. Mending things.
Mending merely from the beauty and glorious expression of the artists inner-self.
It's open, and it's vulnerable. Everyone is pleasantly captivated. Everyone is comfortable.
The rain outside is the emptying of cold tears; they bring us all together into the warmth, and make the lights of the city sparkle on the sidewalk.
The Lord woos me. The Lord woos me. The Lord woos me.
He hugs me. His embrace is sweeter than the most satisfying flavor, touch, or sunrise.
The epitome of Love.
The epitome of Nourishment.
(for my soul.)
It's played out like music day by day through the most melancholy days, and the most laughter-enchanted days.
Holy holy holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come.
Oh, my heart is full.
Full, and my words cease to capture what overflows from the abundance of this heart of mine.
The music is alive.
And so b e a u u t i f u l.
And it sings to my soul. Mending things.
Mending merely from the beauty and glorious expression of the artists inner-self.
It's open, and it's vulnerable. Everyone is pleasantly captivated. Everyone is comfortable.
The rain outside is the emptying of cold tears; they bring us all together into the warmth, and make the lights of the city sparkle on the sidewalk.
The Lord woos me. The Lord woos me. The Lord woos me.
He hugs me. His embrace is sweeter than the most satisfying flavor, touch, or sunrise.
The epitome of Love.
The epitome of Nourishment.
(for my soul.)
It's played out like music day by day through the most melancholy days, and the most laughter-enchanted days.
Holy holy holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come.
unveiling a passion can hurt
It can hurt when it's been covered up for too long. Your eyes adjust to the darkness, and unveiling even the most beautiful passions will put a dire strain on your retinas. It's becomes a delicate process of slow removal.
__________________________
Am I going to be one of those totally secluded writers? That girl who locks herself in her small apartment?
My shelves are filled with notebooks, my floors are covered in papers. They're all mine. And they're beautiful. They're filled with a soul no one could fathom.
It's as though I have cut a hole in my heart and bled onto the pages.
Then the words form. Perfect words which capture, perfectly, my state of mind and my state of heart.
Everything I've ever felt is on these pages. These pages that don't leave the notebooks or the floors.
That way it's safe.
That way my heart is safe, and my memories are safe.
Afterall, these feelings go down to the core of who I am.
These pages
Do
Not
Leave.
These writings are
so
personal.
If I ever forget a feeling,
If I ever feel something I dont want to feel anymore,
If ever my nostalgia slips me into a comatose of lost memories,
all I have to is open up one of these beautifully secret notebooks of mine, and out of it comes my soul once again.
So, amen. Do not enter. I bury myself with my talents.
My lonely self.
I do long to invite anyone who wants to enter, but these notebooks, and these pages..
they're so fragile. They're the remainders of my heart, and they feel.
Fragile.
And, flammable, actually. One spark and I'm done for.
My entire soul goes up into flames and only remains in black ash that gets blown away by even the most subtle breeze.
So, no. No. No.
I cannot take those chances. Here is my soul. Embedded in these pages, and there my soul will stay.
Alone.
Enclosed.
And only for my own eyes. For my eyes bring tears, not flames.
With my eyes I fear no fire.
My tears will put the flames of a fire out and I can take comfort in being drenched in sadness forever, alone.
Seattle makes my heart bleed, Seattle makes my heart grow.
A journal entry from living in Seattle last fall. My heart was having trouble. Looking back on my time there the sad state that I was in, and my time in Seattle, was a very precious time for me.
How do I create? I want to create. I need to create. Something stirs inside of me, but I dont have the drive or the talent to bring it out on my own.
Oh my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart.
My heart.
Oh Lord, have mercy on my soul.
Come into me.
Give me something. Show me something.
Take me somewhere. Send me someone.
Breath.
See me.
Feel me.
Help me.
My soul is slowly vanishing. I am becoming smaller; something outside of myself.
I'm forgetting who I am,
Why you made me.
Who do you want me to be? Have I forgotten? Or did I ever know?
Seattle, Seattle, what do you want from me?
God, is this your intention? Do you know how lost I am? Can you just tell me why you want me here so I can leave.
Home.
I want Home for the Holidays.
Slow suicide of the heart.
It's breaking. It's rotting. It's crumbling slowly.
Slow. Slow.
To it's heartbreaking death.
For a moment, though, if I close my eyes, my heart will awaken.
If I imagine myself in another place, in another embrace.
If I can get myself to smell the frigid Chicago air, or taste the warmth of mom's goulash.
Maybe if I imagine it hard enough, want it bad enough, feel it good enough,
It will be enough.
And I'll open my eyes,
And with tears, I'll be embraced again by familiar arms.
Maybe the miracle of love so close could make my heart once again come back from it's blackened, dead state.
It feels again, it shines again, and it laughs again.
_______________________________________
Oh my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart. Ah, my heart.
My heart.
Oh Lord, have mercy on my soul.
Come into me.
Give me something. Show me something.
Take me somewhere. Send me someone.
Breath.
See me.
Feel me.
Help me.
My soul is slowly vanishing. I am becoming smaller; something outside of myself.
I'm forgetting who I am,
Why you made me.
Who do you want me to be? Have I forgotten? Or did I ever know?
Seattle, Seattle, what do you want from me?
God, is this your intention? Do you know how lost I am? Can you just tell me why you want me here so I can leave.
Home.
I want Home for the Holidays.
Slow suicide of the heart.
It's breaking. It's rotting. It's crumbling slowly.
Slow. Slow.
To it's heartbreaking death.
For a moment, though, if I close my eyes, my heart will awaken.
If I imagine myself in another place, in another embrace.
If I can get myself to smell the frigid Chicago air, or taste the warmth of mom's goulash.
Maybe if I imagine it hard enough, want it bad enough, feel it good enough,
It will be enough.
And I'll open my eyes,
And with tears, I'll be embraced again by familiar arms.
Maybe the miracle of love so close could make my heart once again come back from it's blackened, dead state.
It feels again, it shines again, and it laughs again.
a brief lesson on grocery store etiquette:
I love grocery shopping, okay. I'm a grocery whore (ew). I've been known to make up to three stops at the grocery store in one day. I go at LEAST once a day on a regular basis. It's just.... heeaven... All these things waiting to be baked and cooked. The aromas. Ah. It's a magical healing.
I spend as much time as I can at the grocery store, browsing for an hour until I finally buy my one item (so I'm not rich). Plus I've worked at Whole Foods as a bagger, and a cashier. Needless to say: I know shit.
I wrote this while I was working at Whole Foods in Seattle last year. I noticed how terribly uneducated the world seemed to be about grocery etiquette. Let's revolutionize the way we grocery shop, you eaters of the world, you!
Now I've come up with a list. I'm sure you'll find you life much more peaceful and enjoyable after reading it and taking into account each. and. every. point.
Perhaps you, TOO, would love grocery shopping as much as I!
This is for my dignity, and the future grocery shoppers of the world:
-When you're getting a cart out of the cart line, be aware of you surroundings; I may be behind you waiting to put stray carts away while you're giving your cart a bath in sanitary wipes so your food doesnt catch the swine flu.
-Are you the person who gets your groceries bagged and then abandons your cart in the grocery line right in front of the bagger? Stop doing it. Seriously?
-On most days, when time runs like it normally does, it takes about 30 seconds to take you cart from your car to the cart line. So, do it. Dont try to lift it up over the curb onto the grass behind the trees so no one sees it; your muscles dont impress me.
-I bag your groceries, but i do exist. It's nice to be smiled at sometimes.
-I'm not just a "worker", I'm a person. Common courtesies still apply; if i'm coming out of the elevator with a line of carts dont come in before my eight carts and I get out just because you're a customer. Do you realize how difficult that makes my life?.. Oops, sorry i just ran over your toes.
-When i'm collecting carts from outside I'm not playing a game. I'm working. And it's freaking cold.. And I probably just smashed my finger trying to get your cart out of the grass. So it's not actually fun for me to try and have to dodge you with 6 carts while you walk at me.
There are real live cars here, and we're not playing pac man.
-Control freaks, leave it at the door. For real.
-When you tell me not to put the bread on the bottom of your bag I am personally offended.
-I cant read your mind or see your muscles. Some people like to use one bag to save the earth, yada yada. Some people like to spread the love so the love is not too heavy. THAT'S why I ask you if it's too heavy. Not because i think you're a wimp. Stop laughing at that questions you macho man.
-To the woman today who gave me the meanest look i've ever seen: I almost cried. You were mean, and I was sincere.
-And to the other woman who shewed me away from bagging her groceries: That small shelf is not for you to sit on, it's for the grocery bags. Dont take your bad day out on me. And lastly, it's my job to stand there and bag groceries.. saying "go and help someone else" while you wave your hand in my face isnt proper grocery store etiquette. Ehhem.
-If you bring your own bag dont wait until I've already bagged your groceries in paper bags to hand them to me, and then get mad because i didnt see them tucked away on bottom of your cart.
If you want, though, you can donate that bag refund towards a vision surgery in hopes that maybe next time I can see your bags all the way from your car!
-When you say "hi" to me, and "thank you", I like it. It helps make my day better.
-Just because you shop at Whole Foods doesnt mean your hip and rich.
-To the lesbian couple with the little girl who bought 27 cans of black beans: ....................
-When you see an abandoned cart it doesnt mean you get to shove yours there, too, guilt free. However, if you dont feel like putting your cart where it's SUPPOSED to go, I can tell you where you can shove your cart... :)
-Please, stop yelling at your spouse in line. It is sooooo awkward.
-Why are you all germaphobes????
-I'm trying to exist and be in on the conversation you're having with my cashier. I'm not trying to sneeze on your food.
-Why is everyone over the age of 12 in this city married?
-I really do love everyone.
-Lastly, to all the men who buy bag fulls of tofu and soy milk.... estrogen. You might want to go upstairs to bartells and make sure they make a bra in your size. All that soy business is packed with hormones. Faaaabulous .
I spend as much time as I can at the grocery store, browsing for an hour until I finally buy my one item (so I'm not rich). Plus I've worked at Whole Foods as a bagger, and a cashier. Needless to say: I know shit.
I wrote this while I was working at Whole Foods in Seattle last year. I noticed how terribly uneducated the world seemed to be about grocery etiquette. Let's revolutionize the way we grocery shop, you eaters of the world, you!
Now I've come up with a list. I'm sure you'll find you life much more peaceful and enjoyable after reading it and taking into account each. and. every. point.
Perhaps you, TOO, would love grocery shopping as much as I!
This is for my dignity, and the future grocery shoppers of the world:
-When you're getting a cart out of the cart line, be aware of you surroundings; I may be behind you waiting to put stray carts away while you're giving your cart a bath in sanitary wipes so your food doesnt catch the swine flu.
-Are you the person who gets your groceries bagged and then abandons your cart in the grocery line right in front of the bagger? Stop doing it. Seriously?
-On most days, when time runs like it normally does, it takes about 30 seconds to take you cart from your car to the cart line. So, do it. Dont try to lift it up over the curb onto the grass behind the trees so no one sees it; your muscles dont impress me.
-I bag your groceries, but i do exist. It's nice to be smiled at sometimes.
-I'm not just a "worker", I'm a person. Common courtesies still apply; if i'm coming out of the elevator with a line of carts dont come in before my eight carts and I get out just because you're a customer. Do you realize how difficult that makes my life?.. Oops, sorry i just ran over your toes.
-When i'm collecting carts from outside I'm not playing a game. I'm working. And it's freaking cold.. And I probably just smashed my finger trying to get your cart out of the grass. So it's not actually fun for me to try and have to dodge you with 6 carts while you walk at me.
There are real live cars here, and we're not playing pac man.
-Control freaks, leave it at the door. For real.
-When you tell me not to put the bread on the bottom of your bag I am personally offended.
-I cant read your mind or see your muscles. Some people like to use one bag to save the earth, yada yada. Some people like to spread the love so the love is not too heavy. THAT'S why I ask you if it's too heavy. Not because i think you're a wimp. Stop laughing at that questions you macho man.
-To the woman today who gave me the meanest look i've ever seen: I almost cried. You were mean, and I was sincere.
-And to the other woman who shewed me away from bagging her groceries: That small shelf is not for you to sit on, it's for the grocery bags. Dont take your bad day out on me. And lastly, it's my job to stand there and bag groceries.. saying "go and help someone else" while you wave your hand in my face isnt proper grocery store etiquette. Ehhem.
-If you bring your own bag dont wait until I've already bagged your groceries in paper bags to hand them to me, and then get mad because i didnt see them tucked away on bottom of your cart.
If you want, though, you can donate that bag refund towards a vision surgery in hopes that maybe next time I can see your bags all the way from your car!
-When you say "hi" to me, and "thank you", I like it. It helps make my day better.
-Just because you shop at Whole Foods doesnt mean your hip and rich.
-To the lesbian couple with the little girl who bought 27 cans of black beans: ....................
-When you see an abandoned cart it doesnt mean you get to shove yours there, too, guilt free. However, if you dont feel like putting your cart where it's SUPPOSED to go, I can tell you where you can shove your cart... :)
-Please, stop yelling at your spouse in line. It is sooooo awkward.
-Why are you all germaphobes????
-I'm trying to exist and be in on the conversation you're having with my cashier. I'm not trying to sneeze on your food.
-Why is everyone over the age of 12 in this city married?
-I really do love everyone.
-Lastly, to all the men who buy bag fulls of tofu and soy milk.... estrogen. You might want to go upstairs to bartells and make sure they make a bra in your size. All that soy business is packed with hormones. Faaaabulous .
Sunday, October 17, 2010
did you know i was a wearwolf?
During bouts of joy I have been known yell out a hearty "I love everyone!" but when I write, another side of me will always come out. The full moon hits, and freckles here (that's me) will sit down at the computer and turn into an ugly wearwolf. A cynical, critical, cursin', spitin' wearwolf. It's rebellion to my general hippie dippie love for all the world. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's crass, and sometimes it's painfully transparent. The fact is, that this critic whoever-she-is inside of me has kept me from writing to anyone but myself.
It's time to get my hairy face out of the covers.
But... a BLOG? why a BLOG? blogs? please. since the internet was invented (thank you Al Gore) I've had it out for blogs. I rarely read them. And I like to rip on them a lot.
Weird how I don't like reading about someone else's every move. Usually I do like to hear about when you brush your teeth (that's a lie), and if your constipated today (that's not), but the concept of a blog makes me want to roll my eyes really big at everyone who has one (myself including. sheesh).
It's always seemed incredibly egocentric to me. I don't know why, though, because most of the people I know who do blog are very wonderful, non-egocentric people. They have things on their heart that they need to say.
They're people I love.
The title of my blog is 'off with the armor' because my writing has always been secretly folded between the binds of my journal. That sacred place only my eyes can go. It's safe. Occasionally my writing will be sent out in a heartfelt, sarcastic e-mail to my family. But I feel it's time for me to take off my armor. To make myself vulnerable to someone other than just myself.
Some things I've already shared. Some things are not incredibly heartfelt. Some are just thoughts. And some things are deeply personal straight from the pages of my journals.
Beings safe is not always a good way to grow.
Welcome to this process of the slow, and delicate removal of my armor.
It's time to get my hairy face out of the covers.
But... a BLOG? why a BLOG? blogs? please. since the internet was invented (thank you Al Gore) I've had it out for blogs. I rarely read them. And I like to rip on them a lot.
Weird how I don't like reading about someone else's every move. Usually I do like to hear about when you brush your teeth (that's a lie), and if your constipated today (that's not), but the concept of a blog makes me want to roll my eyes really big at everyone who has one (myself including. sheesh).
It's always seemed incredibly egocentric to me. I don't know why, though, because most of the people I know who do blog are very wonderful, non-egocentric people. They have things on their heart that they need to say.
They're people I love.
The title of my blog is 'off with the armor' because my writing has always been secretly folded between the binds of my journal. That sacred place only my eyes can go. It's safe. Occasionally my writing will be sent out in a heartfelt, sarcastic e-mail to my family. But I feel it's time for me to take off my armor. To make myself vulnerable to someone other than just myself.
Some things I've already shared. Some things are not incredibly heartfelt. Some are just thoughts. And some things are deeply personal straight from the pages of my journals.
Beings safe is not always a good way to grow.
Welcome to this process of the slow, and delicate removal of my armor.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)