Bassline

Basskitty

I probably shouldn't post a pic of myself with no make-up and obviously just waken up (still in my mis-matched and wrinkled pajamas), but hey... perhaps it will keep the stalkers away. Stephen had just gotten his fretless bass back, so I begged him into showing me how to play something (something extremely simple, which was still a stretch for me). I can't play bass, but it was fun to try. :)

More Kimono Kat

Of course, this Haori and Obi would look far better with my blue kimono (with hints of purple in the pattern), but that's a little extreme for work. I'm sure most of my co-workers think I'm off my rocker to wear these things to work, but I never much cared what others think, at least, not enough to be boring in order to please them. I screwed up on the drum in back, but tying an obi is hard enough without carpal tunnel (twisting your hands behind your back kinda hurts that same nerve). Obviously, getting this right will take some more practice.

This is just another pic of that Kanzashi my boyfriend's father made for me. I look dorky in this pic, but I love the kanzashi. :) Here's some jewelry he made as well, although the pic is sideways (but same difference, eh?)

Nicholas Brothers

I watched a lot of older movies, growing up. I watched the old westerns with my dad and the musicals with my mother. Mom and I were big fans of the Nicholas Brothers. They were amazing. No one compared to them, really. Gregory Hines, an amazing talent himself, once said that if they ever tried to make a movie about the lives of the Nicholas Brothers, the dancing would have to be computer generated because no one alive could do what they did. (that quote is from memory, so the wording may not be exact). I remember watching a documentary about them when I was a teenager. The documentary had said something about the fact that their fame and their film appearances were limited, somewhat, by prejudice in the industry. No one wanted a couple black men showing up Fred Astaire, not in that era. Well, their names may not be known as commonly as Fred Astaire (who admired the brother's talent as well), but those who have seen them dance surely could never forget it. If the industry did try to hold them back, they must have found that a most formidable task. I know I saw them in several movies myself, and I understand they were quite popular at the Cotton Club and abroad. I'm sure anyone with a passion for dance must know their names and appreciate their talent. Harold Passed away in 2000, and now Fayard has passed away, on the 24th of this month.

I'm #2 on the 100 Blogging Poets list

His description of me is based on a comment I left on his site, which was a reply to something he had written. But, I'm there on the list anyway. Aint I special?

You should browse about in his site. I enjoyed it and found some interesting links through there.

Always...

Corporate people always show up at the office when I look my very worst.

Stephen just called to see if I went to work or to the hospital, if that gives you any idea how bad I felt all night. So yeah… not lookin’ too professional today. Lookin’ more like slow death.
The good news, however, is that the endometriosis pain is not as bad today. Good thing, cause last night’s bout was maybe the worst ever.
By 10pm, it was so bad I asked Stephen to stop drinking in case he had to take me to the ER. But, it stayed the same and got no worse, so I toughed it out.
He was really sweet, too. He kept checking on me regularly and brought me grapes and stuff. What a total sweetheart. How did I ever get so lucky?

Why I rarely mount my soap box about the "Big" subjects.

Mainly, I just don’t seek to steer society by the mass. Honestly, I despise sociology and the dive in reason that occurs when people cease to think as individuals and let the movements of the mob do their thinking for them. I think a greater change would come on its own if only people starting using their own minds instead of leaning on the shoulders of the mob for direction.

I do try to implant small ideas in the minds I meet. I do try to help people see the beauty in the things we take for granted, not by loudly demanding they take a second look at anything, but by drawing people in a casual stance and putting the spot light on humanity at its most honest and undecorated, which is to me when we are the most beautiful. I write poems about a simple pint or a glowing cigarette butt and hope people learn to start noticing the beauty in other little things once they’ve been led to one such thing in words.
These things lead to the bigger idea, the beauty of truth. Of course, I’ve written more obvious poems about that idea, too (like Majority Rule, for one).

Why do we need horns sounding and propaganda to listen to a voice? Why do humans follow show over reason? Put a charismatic liar and an honest dork on the debate platform and people will ALWAYS follow whoever has the whitest smile or prettiest lies. Why? Why must we always throw ourselves at the loudest drama and see truth and reason as dull? There is so much exciting depth of beauty and so much promise and potential in reality. A person slouching on a couch makes the most electric lines and angles to draw, where a poised and posed model is often devoid of movement or great lines. But, the masses will always seek the fake and posed over the realistic. I see so much complexity and beauty in the honest recline and such flat lifelessness in the perfectly posed, but then I am odd. I love truth. I cannot accept popular opinion over my own reason. I love the art that my own eyes see beauty in, not just whatever must be great art because I’ve seen it on a tie.

These things are connected. Whether we see the fake and flashy as beautiful, or see the organically vibrant things of reality and truth as beautiful; that is DEEPLY connected to the part of us that values a catchy slogan over an incontrovertible syllogism, or prefers a pretty (and socially stagnating) lie to a truth that can lead us to a way of improving our world. In fact, these traits are one in the same.

So, maybe my interests seem like only a few dull grass blades and a section of dirt, while others are trying to move forests. But, in my mind I know that the trees cannot be rearranged upon a hill to where they have no roots. Humanity will never vote wisely, share without prejudice, or grow in wisdom until one fundamental thing has spread… a love of truth, a deep and passionate yearning for the real and honest, and an admiration of reason and legitimacy.

I am grateful to those people who work towards this in more overt ways, but I think the subtler methods are equally important, even if they are aren’t as glamorous or noticeable.
If you shape the stream bed, the water’s flow will alter itself. That may make me the mud in a world of sparkling water, but that suits me just fine. I’ve never been fond of the spotlight anyway.

Pride

(kind of a funny title, after just posting the silly sin and hell thing)

I posted this as a comment on someone else's site, and decided I should copy it here as well.

To take pride in your job means to want the product to be the best, the company to be successful, and you thus work diligently to improve this place you work.

To really take pride in your car, means you maintain it religiously, go over every inch of it always looking for flaws and then remove the bad, then shine, buff, etc... you analyze the sound of the engine and at the slightest irregularity in the hum, you look for problems and change plugs or filters, etc...

However, to take pride in your country means you are supposed to turn a blind eye to anything that needs improvement, let any schmuck who drives it steer it strait for the cliffs, and if a passerby dare says "hey buddy, you might want to steer thattaway a little more" you should spit on him for interfearing.

It simply amazes me that people who claim to have pride in their country usually belie that claim by refusing to see where it could be improved and looking down on those who try to improve it.

These inconsistencies in definition have always boggled my mind.

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	High
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Moderate
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Low
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Very Low

Take the Dante's" Inferno Hell Test

There are some errors in the test. Two of the questions with which they gauge gluttony, for instance, really don't measure gluttony. One asks if you are overweight. Well, I've gained some lately, I admit, but I'm not really overwieght I don't think. I'm quite the glutton, though. Any normal person with a normal metabolism would weight 300 pounds if they ate like I do. Plus, I simply enjoy my food way too much. When I crave something, I will do almost anything (short of kill, steal, or sell myself) to get it. Even if a food is toxic to my system, I will sometimes eat it until it makes me ill, then keep eating it. I have a no self control with tasty food. Eating good food is almost like sex to me, which brings me to the other question...
it was along the lines of is food better than sex. I may be a glutton, but I'm even more lustfull than gluttonous, so no.
Of course, the lust questions were off too. I'm not into chicks, porn, or strip clubs, but I'm probably more lustfull than many of the people who are.
But, it was a fun little test.

Spoiled Rotten

I know this sounds cheesy, corny and all around sappy… but I have THE best boyfriend in the world. :) He actually bought me three trade paper backs of a comic I really like, just out of the blue. Most guys require an occasion to get you so much as a couple bucks worth of candy, and even then will never give a thought to what an individual woman is really into. But, he got me something very “me”, just because it occurred to him that they would make me happy.

But then, he’s just a very thoughtful guy. He bought me a really nice watch once. It was after I wrote the Watch-Stand poem about him, back when we had just started (then seemed to have stopped) dating, so that was very sweet/romantic of him.

I’m not really one of those chicks who puts a lot of emphasis on presents, but I do care a great deal about being known for who I really am, and knowing that the man I love thinks about me, so a personal gift like that means something.

I’m just so lucky!!! :)

A meme

I found it here

Four jobs you’ve had in your life:
Construction Worker, Lab Tech, Model (oh so briefly, because I HATED it), Paralegal

Four movies you could watch over and over:
Um... Young Frankenstien, Star Wars (original 3), Super Troopers, Star Trek movies

Four places you’ve lived:
Military base in Omaha, Nebraska; Trailer Park in the Southend of Louisville, KY; the beautiful BFE that is Marengo, Indiana; Small town Suburbia Georgetown, IN

Four TV shows you love to watch:
Of the top of my head, I guess Family Guy, 70's Show, Star Trek, Lost

Four places you’ve been on vacation:
Italy, Mexico, Alaska, and just camping here locally

Four of your favorite foods:
Tiramisu, Steak, Lasagna, Guinness (Guinness is so food!)

Four places you’d rather be:
Hiking someplace Warm, dining for free in Florence Italy, Reading and hanging out at Empire Comics, having a tasty stout at Richos, where Stephen is :)

Four albums you can’t live without:
Tom Waits — Mule (Real Gone is really great too, but I guess they all are)
Medeski Martin, and Wood - Shackman
Nina Simone - the Comp CD I made from a bunch of her albums
My MP3 file of all songs Stephen has written/recorded

shameless self-promotion

Please go to my poetry blog and click on the blogtopsites button on the right and vote for me! Whatever number shows inside the blogtopsitesbutton before you click on it, is the # under which you can find GreyMatterOeuvre in order to rate me. Rate me high, please! I would really appreciate it. Thank you! :)

New Blogs

I'm sure you guys know I have that new poetry blog, Grey Matter Oeuvre. But, I also added another (the link to which is under Trip Pics on the Grey Matter Oeuvre site). It isn't a blog of one trip, like the Italy and Columbus ones were, but is a little hodgepodge of outdoorsy trips. I wish I had pictures from all my camping trips in the past and from salmon fishing in Alaska and fly fishing with dad as a wee girl, but I rarely took pictures back then and the salmon-trip pictures probably got left behind at my first ex's house. It's a shame. The woods in Alaska were BEAUTIFUL. We were just on the southern edge, in a city called Ketchican (sp?), but it was gorgeous. Everything was mossy and green and there were wild blueberry bushes everywhere, just popping with plump indigo treats. The fish I caught were as long as my arm. I didn't even mind cleaning all the fish while my ex-husband went inside to do whatever he was doing. I just loved being out there. If only I had pictures of that trip. *sigh*
Anyway... The Hiking blog is Live Life Deliberately . There are lots of waterfall pictures and stuff, but I intend to fill it out much more this summer. Many of the pics on there now are winter pics, too, so some greener scenes will be nice to add.
It's a shame I no longer see the people I used to cave with. Some spelunking photos might be neat to share, since this area is great cave country. I like the kind of cave that makes you contort through all those crazy keyholes and such. Those can be a lot of fun (and great during hot summer days, because it's still in the low and gentle 50's underground).
Anyway... go outside. Get muddy, if it isn't too cold where you are. Enjoy the woods a bit.

My office

I'm VERY fond of my nice office. I consider myself very fortunate to have one this nice. It's roomy, private, and (most importantly) has a window. I need to make some pictures to put on the wall, but I'll get around to that eventually. I lucked into this office, actually. I was the last Title Examiner to move to this office building, and the regular-size offices were all filled, so they gave me the one remaining office - this biggie. I find it kind of funny, really. To have an office this big, you'd never believe how pathetically little I get paid. That's life, though. At least I work with some nice people.

The little black chair in the corner folds out into a bed. I bought that, of course. The office isn't going to pay for something like that. But, when I get sick from food allergies or just really tired, I can shut the door and use my lunch break time to take a short nap.
So, I'm pretty spoiled as far as my office goes. It's nice. It has my main desk, a little side desk, and that conference table. So, I've got lots of space, etc...
Anyway... so that's where I spend my days.

Kimono Girl

Maybe it seems a little cheesy, but I love wearing Japanese made clothing. I have a vintage purple Haori (short kimono, basically - made to be worn as a jacket) that makes a great beach cover-up (and looks neat with my swimsuit). I used to wear my dad's Happi Coat back in Highschool. I have, in total, 3 Haori, 1 Happi Coat, 2 regular Kimonos, and two obi. above, I wore a Haori to work as a comfy/roomy jacket (and the silk is very warm).
Here, I wore my red obi with black blouse and pants. My blue nagoya obi is prettier, but this is less dressy and easier to tie.

This bow is the easiest one I know.
If you are wanting to experiment with working traditional Japanese kimono into your modern wardrobe too, check out ichiroya.com. It's the best place I've found for buying such things.

Bookworm Nerdy Girl (Lazy)

Woke up with a migraine yesterday (as well as an intense aversion to nearly all forms of activity), so I called in sick. After a while, my eyes were functional, though I was still queasy and in some pain, so I took advantage of that time to read. I read After The Quake, by Haruki Murakami, and really enjoyed it. I guessed I would. My writing professor had said I'd probably love Wind Up Bird Cronicles, judging by my fiction writing style, and this is the same author who wrote that. I also read Volume 4 of Runaways, a Graphic Novel/Trade Paper Back I bought for my niece a month or more ago. (I was desperate enough for a bit of comic/graphic reading to raid the juvie-library, ie Tori’s Bookshelf - Sad, eh?). I started Lolita, too. There are so many classics I’ve managed to miss out on, so I thought I’d check out Nabokov. So far, I really enjoy his writing style.
I will try to make myself post reviews, this time, in my much neglected Noggin Reviews Stuff blog. Usually, I’d rather start a new book than jabber about the one I just read, so I’ve been a real slacker on the reviews.
I should look through my bookshelves to recall what all I’ve read in the past month or two, and try to catch up on reviewing them all, but that sounds way too time-consuming. I’d rather write a story or something. I wanted to work on writing yesterday, but Stephen got off work early and wanted to record, so I just lazed and read instead.
I’m rambling. I really just don’t want to work. This job gets SO freakin BORING sometimes.

Why I still shudder at the sound of a vacuum

When I was a kid, I was blessed with a loving family and two amazing parents. My father taught us a lot, and my mother was loving and attentive (and controlling, and …-oh, wait, nevermind. Tangent).

There was one wicked spell, however, that overcame her every time she turned on a vacuum. She transformed from loving mother, to demon of terror.

Seriously, just ask my sister. Ask my father, even. If he came home from work and found her vacuuming (even if he’d been out of town and was exhausted), he’d simply wave to us silently, turn around, and walk back out the door, escaping before she could notice him. I often wondered why he left us there to suffer, instead of whisking us away to wherever he waited out the storm, but perhaps that place had an age limit. Who knows.

Sometimes I would sit on the couch, cowering and shaking, while she ranted and screamed and the Hoover howled. Once the evil cleaning frenzy took her, she was nuts. If she felt our books were not arranged right, she might tear every single book off of our considerably large bookshelves, throw them all onto the floor in a pile, and then scream at us to clean up the mess. She was normally a witty, charming, loving person, so I’m convinced that the sound of a vacuum cleaner simply drove her to madness.

I have grown up with a severe hatred/fear of vacuum cleaners. I'm not much of a housekeeper either - go figure.

I remember one weekend, mother and father took a short weekend trip together and Grandma stayed over to watch us. Ah, what a relief to have sweet, passive Grandma Bertha to do the vacuuming… well, it seemed like it would be a good thing, until she plugged it into a 220 outlet. Suddenly, flames, sparks, and smoke shot out the back of it. It was as if a rocket was trying to take off in the middle of the family room, leaving us to burn in its wake. She hefted that monstrous vacuum into the air and out the door before it could ignite the house, but it was frightening for a child, nonetheless.

At one of my very first jobs, Musicland, I was helping clean up one night. They asked me to vacuum and I begged to do anything but that. They thought I was crazy (probably right), but I begged to do twice as much work, at any menial task, rather than to vacuum. But, they commanded and I obeyed. Cringing, I plugged it in, and started to roll it over the carpet, the noise clawing at my nerves as the vile thing screached at me. Then the smell of smoke rose, for only a split second before the bang. There was no time to even switch it off. It exploded, there, at my fingertips. The fabric bag burst and there was a tremendous cloud of smoke and dust all around me. The cd racks were all covered in dust-bunny shrapnel. It was a nerve-wracking experience, but they never made me vacuum again.

The cleaning man is vacuuming outside and my migraine is building. My stomach knots up if I let him vacuum my office, so it can just stay dirty. I’m willing to vacuum at home. I bought that vacuum; it is not so loud and is in my control, tame. But, I still cringe when people vacuum around me.

Just thought I’d share that. I may have told you that before. Dunno

much belated...

This pic should have gone up with the "best christmas ever" post, but I was lazy. Since I work at the computer all week, I'm not a big fan of playing with it when I'm off. Speaking of which... it's time for me to head for the office. This is Misty and Stephen.

Addict

My name is Noggin and I’m a Comicaholic. It has been over a month since my last comic.

Because of being broke, I have halted all comic reading. I am mid-arch on so many stories, but have had to do without. I crave the mental reset I get from reading those refreshing tales woven among vibrant images. I have withdrawals for Bendis, Ellis, Robinson, Morrison, Ennis… all of them, at least the tales they tell. Even Orson Scott Card has one comic series out, and it’s been really good so far. I’ve yet to find one I like quite as much as Transmetropolitan, but that may always remain my favorite. When George (owner of Empire Comics in my home town) advertised gift certificates during the holidays, I almost wished I celebrated holidays, just out of greedy desire to get some comics.

I’ve sold a few trade paperbacks, recently. As great as the Preacher series was, it was a wee bit too sacrilegious for me to leave on the bookshelf, so I sold them. I had a duplicate of one of the The Authority tpb’s, so I sold it too. The majority of my collection I just can’t let go of. Yes, all my actual comic books are bagged and boarded, and stored in a box. I’m that big a nerd. But several of them were damaged in an ..uh… incident that involved me and a nearly 6-foot long Scottish Claymore sword –long story. I have more trade paperbacks than anything, though. That’s how I prefer to read comics. I could sell them, but you don’t get a whole lot out of them used. None of them are terribly old or anything, and I rarely get variant covers. I should try and get some of them signed, then sell them, just to fund my habit. But I know I wont. If I had signed ones, I’d keep them.

Hopefully, I can get my finances straightened out some in a month or so. Then I can maybe start reading comics again, but I’ll have to ration myself. No more reading 4 trade paperbacks the instant I get home from the shop. I just can’t afford that binge-reading.

PS: In case anyone hasn’t noticed, I now have a new site, greymatteroeuvre.blogspot.com where I post my poems, but without the rambling you see here. I also have a new site that has pictures from various hiking trips, but you’ll have to look on greymatteroeuvre for the link. It’s under Trip Pics, in the sidebar. I’ve barely started that one, though.

Clip Art

From the "Hyperliteralism" school of art.

Two questions, and the ignored but obvious answers

A father built a kingdom of beauty and plenty.
He protected and guided his children with love.
they thumbed noses at him, said
“We’ll do it our way! We need no guidance!
We are our own masters, what do we need you for?”
What's a father to do?
They were adults, then, though still young and foolish.
So, he let them go, with heavy heart.
He did not interfere. He let them try out their independence.
They went their own way.

Their grandchildren were many.
Some good, some evil, most somewhere in between.
Some read his letters and accepted his guidance,
But all suffered living in the world lead mainly
By children themselves, by lovers of themselves.
They ravaged the kingdom,
murdered, stole, loved, lost, wept and ranted,
wandered lost in icy storms.
When he offered love and guidance,
They again snapped at him and turned backs to him,
"What do we need you for? We are our own masters".
Then when their lives were rough,
They blamed him for letting them fall into such hardship
cursed his name for not bailing them out.

Should the father have raised an army of police?
Conquered in order to protect?
Should he have cleansed his kingdom of mutineers
And started all over?
If he had, would his right to guide ever be proven?

The children demanded to lead themselves, and so they shall
Until the question is answered and their endeavor fails
Or meets with success.
So that question never need be asked again
so such dark times never need occur again.

Still, I often see people ask
without desire for reply...
Inquire, in hopes there is no answer.
“If there were a God”, they say with disdain
“why would he allow such trial and evil?”.
Attempting to discredit a book they’ve never read.
Avoiding the truth of the father, left behind.

Because, naive children, he loves you enough
to let you live as you wish, to be your own masters.
If you would ask why he'd allow such a cruel world,
Then you should know, now, what we need him for
unless you simply choose not to see.

Kanzashi

I have lots of kanzashi... some traditional, some modern, some vintage (like the yellow resin ones). Kanzashi are japanese hair sticks, in case you haven't read my site long enough to know that. I love to wear them all, but...

this is my favorite kanzashi

It's silver with silver bira bira strips. My boyfriend's father made it for me. He's an artist and silversmith. Is'nt it beautiful? I love it. I'm wearing it right now, as a matter of fact. When you have really long hair, sometimes you get bored with pulling it back the same old way. I find that using different kanzashi makes long hair a little more fun. Just to give you an idea of my hair length, I took this picture of myself (below) a couple months back (to email to a friend who asked how long it had gotten). I think it's already longer than this, slightly, but you get the idea. I've had that hat since I was 19.

I can cook some normal stuff too

Everyone always loves my meatloaf. This time I made individual meatloaves. They were quite good. I even resisted the urge to do anything too fancy to the potatoes... no rosemary or roasted garlic. The only things I did slightly differently was to cook the potatoes in chicken broth rather than water and to leave little peices of the peel in (yum). Stephen ate lots and was wanting more, which made me quite happy.

tastes great, looks kinda iffy

In the center is chicken, injected and glazed with a special mole-like concoction I came up with from simmering mulatto peppers, raw coccao beans, etc... then adding a touch of honey and cayenne, etc... the green onions that topped the chicken kind of blackened in the oven, but tasted divine. The side is black beans, corn, and onions, and cilantro, with just a bit of queso blanco on the top, all cooked in a cast iron skillet that was then transfered to the oven to brown the cheeses. It was really good.

Work

We paid some pompous slacker for a job and he did less than half-@$$ it, so I followed up, politely requesting the documents that should have been sent the first time. No reply. We got what we could without him (online) and I followed up again, and received some vague note showing he could not pull the info off the web. Of course, we pay him to go to the courthouse. We can pull our own stuff off the web. Long, long after the work was originally due, I followed up yet again. This time, I told him that if he could not complete the job, he needed to refund the money paid to him so we could pay someone else to do it.
You’d think I’d spit in the queen’s face. Apparently, his is extremely important (to himself, obviously, and also to some big wigs in my company, it seems)

He said “I have a very good reputation in this business”
what I wish I could have said- Really? And what is that worth, exactly, if you refuse to live up to it?

he said “This is ridicules”
what I wish I could have said- Uh… yes, if you mean your lax, portentous, unprofessional behavior, then I agree. It is ridiculous. (and Oh, how I’d love to ridicule your spelling of ridiculous, but I’ve no room to poke fun at spelling, I suppose).

He said “I've already contacted [big wig1] and Will call [big wig2] Thursday to let him now what’s going on.”
what I wish I could have said- To let them know what’s going on, as in how we paid you for a job you refuse to do? Oh, no… you mean to whine to your buddies about how you are too important to do what you are paid for. If they are foolish enough to listen, that is their flaw, not mine.
If you are trying to threaten me… getting me fired won’t make you any less wrong. It'll just make me homeless and hungry, and prove you an even bigger amoral jerk-off than I thought you were.

I don’t care who you hobnob with. Your name is worth only what you make it by your actions. You may have friends in high places, but your actions and attitude couldn’t get much lower.

Just goes to show, you can put a man in a country club, feed him fancy booze, and dress him up all you want, but lazy trash is always lazy trash.

Some days, I really hate this business. But I have to be thankful for my job, nonetheless.

WhiteOut

White
Flashes,
crashes,
slaps my eyes
with blank,
vain brutality.
Another stack
to wrack my skull.
Each glaring, colorless
razor edged.
With no depth,
no texture,
just futile phrases
and weightless words.
This is the meal ticket
I sell my sanity for.
This intangible foe,
massive as redwoods
but evasive, fluttering
into wisp-thin sheets
to surround me,
drown me,
bury me breathing,
but not alive,
beneath these swells
of vile and pointless
paper.

When someone is a philosopher (simply has love of knowledge and learning) it can be a wondrous thing and a means to growth.
When someone loves philosphy too much, however, they love only the love of a concept, and get swept away with words spoken for the sake of being heard, not for the sake of meaning.

Ants in the bloodstream
Blades grinding at my brain
Agitation in every skin cell
Driving me insane
Need a purge to let the steam
Out of my boiling veins
Stress grows like an infection
Just can’t release the strain

Flushing Ember

Red firefly darting to and fro,
With emphatic gesture and searing glow,
punctuating your words, surging at each pause
when it meets with your lips, ample cause.
Without addiction, I soon ache for the taste
entranced by its dance with your reveling face.
It burns with delight, as would I in your hands.
The smoke stretches and curls in silver strands.
Smoldering, the blaze towards your mouth ascends
till it relaxes to dust and takes up with the wind.

If this were a video game I could restart the game, pick a different character to play, something… but it’s life and I’m stuck being the idiot I am, paying for the mistakes I’ve already made.
I can be an intelligent person at times. Sometimes, however, I just wonder how I could dig myself into such horrid holes that could so easily have been avoided.

My mom once fussed at me for being too careful with my money, always saving and never spending. My coworkers (years ago) teased me for being the tightest penny-pincher they’d ever met. When did I get to be so careless?

I’ve dug myself into a really shitty hole this time. If I don’t ask for help, it will get worse very, very quickly. If I do ask for help, I’ll hate myself even more because I know I deserve no help.

Excuse me for a moment. I think I need to go puke.

The antithesis of everything courteous

Admittedly, any stranger who calls me saying “this is a courtesy call” is already on my bad side, since few things are less courteous than harassing me on my cell phone in order to sell/collect/shill whatever. If they have an automated system calling me, though, I get extra aggravated. If you REALLY want to piss me off, however, have an automated system call me saying you have something to tell me, but don’t actually say what it is. They have these machines calling me asking me to call them. I’M ALREADY ON THE F-ING LINE, RETARD, SO TALK!!! And then, of course, after they get me absolutely furious, there is no one to lodge a complaint with about it because it’s a frickin machine!
Oh, I HATE these people. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE

If it’s just a sales call, I can just ignore it. Sometimes, though, it is my bank (although they may just want to sell me new services), or the hospital (who ended up needing more money after my insurance paid most of a bill), etc…

They can’t just call. They have this galling recording call (and not even speak until you’ve said “Hello” 3 times and are starting to get pissed) and recite a number, which I am supposed to scrawl down somewhere while driving, and expect me to dial their number and call them back. Grrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!

boring mutterings of the mundane and pointless

Soon I can go home.
Can’t wait.

There is so much I can accomplish there… organize ground zero (the bedroom), bake wheat-free brownies, mop that nasty kitchen floor, put a bunch of books up for sale on amazon.com, etc… I really need to exercise so I can endorphin-ize this winter malaise away.

But I have no motivation whatsoever. I feel drained. There is something I want very badly, but need help to accomplish, and that weighs on my mind. I’m sick of working without having a chance for art, since my stupid gimp hands wont let me draw right now. I’m sick of not being able to have some chocolate cake or a shake or whatever when I want it. Whine whine whine, blah blah blah….

Well, I’ll go home, drink a protein shake, take my vitamins (oh, if only I could have coffee too!) and hope to pull a little energy out of that.

Now ...
Listening to: Powell’s Songs
Eating: Chicken Korma
Sipping: Still the same pot of tea
Craving: Brownies, beer, and my boyfriend ;)
Needing: Energy, exercise, and to do something creative
Feeling: Glad to be leaving work

Right now, I am...

(Besides bored out of my skull)

Listening to: Tito & Tarantula
Eating: Big leafy salad with asiago cheese
Sipping: Some really good hand-rolled jasmine tea (brewed in my zisha clay pot)
Craving: Chocolate “lasagna” cake, tiramisu, and a chocolate malt
Working on: Same boring stuff as always, real estate title law/underwriting type stuff
Stressing over: My f-d up finances
Happy about: Stephen :)
Wishing for: The next few Starman tpb’s and a way to earn myself out of debt
Looking forward to: Summer - BRING BACK THE F’N SUN, ALREADY!
Wearing: Black leather pants, boots, long slim-fitting “duster”, etc… (all black) and a really cool silver kanzashi in my hair (Stephen’s dad made it for me)
About to: Take a “lunch” break (ie, a nap in my office)

...And you?

Note: I have a picture of the kanzashi Josh (Stephen’s Dad) made me, but can’t upload it here at work. So, there’s a random pic of a kanzashi hair stick under that link, above, just for clarity.

Everyone would say we’re crazy,
But when I look into your eyes
And admire all that you are
I know it’d be a crime
For such wealth to simply end with me.
And so I pray for one more miracle
To honor the first.