Whatever Lola wants ...

... Lola gets.


We. Have. A. Lola ! ! !

It's not the greatest picture, but that's because she's awfully wiggly. Her nickname is now officially "Bumble-Butt", because, when she's excited, she tends to run into things. She's not exactly what one would call "graceful". She's a little stinky, a lot drool-y, but her winning personality more than makes up for any shortcomings. :)

So. Story-time.

Merry and her ex, about a year before they broke up, bought the cutest English Bulldog puppy on the planet. (In the universe. The galaxy even). Because Merry has a very loyal Jack Russel (Bella), the bulldog was going to be for the now-ex. When they broke up, the dogs parted ways as well.


This depressed Bella, who had always had another dog around. For several reasons, Merry and I have discussed getting another dog. I love Bella dearly. She's got the funniest personality, a very sweet and quirky disposition, but there's no denying that she's loyal to Merry. I'd like to have something to call my own, and Bella would benefit from having a pal. We've been looking at different breeds, have looked at one pet store so far, have done some research, but haven't found The One.

Well, the Ex contacted Merry recently and said she wants to get rid of her bulldog. Would we be interested?

Merry was so excited, but tempered it a little. She let me know very clearly that, though she really, really wants this dog, she wants me to make sure that if I agree, I do it for my own motivations - not because I think Merry wants me to.

We met with the Ex on Thursday night, Lola in towe, at Starbucks (our favourite haunt in case you couldn't tell). She is such a little lover! People kept dropping by to see the gorgeous Bully and she just ate up the attention. She wiggled her butt (she has no tail) and did her best to look her cutest.

(There was one guy in particular that dropped by twice, spending at least five minutes with Lola each time. When he approached us a little bashfully, he said, "I lost my Bulldog in the Divorce. Can I play with yours?)

My heart was stolen almost immediately. We almost took her home that night, but there was much cleaning to do in preparation. With their upturned noses, Bulldogs have notoriously bad allergies ... and we hadn't dusted (or swept) in probably 4 months. It was time, and what better reason?!

Come Saturday, after cleaning and cleaning and cleaning, Lola came home! Bella and she have had some growing pains, as I'm sure they will for quite some time. Though she's smaller by about 40 pounds, Bella is definitely Numero Uno, and has been putting Lola in her place. I've got to tell you, there's nothing funnier than seeing a 12 pound Jack Russel say, "Bitch, please" to a dog more than three times her weight ... and see the larger dog back off.

We're one big, unconventional, happy family. :D

The kindness of strangers

I'm being a bad girl this morning. I'm sitting outside at "our" Starbucks (the one we frequent so often that we know all of the baristas by name ... and vice versa) ... and I'm not getting a drink! I brought my 'puter, my knitting, and my breakfast and just kind of grabbed a table. It's nice weather, so I'm thoroughly enjoying myself.

Just a moment or two ago, I spilt some of the milk I brought (don't worry, I didn't cry). It wasn't too bad, so I just swished it away with my hand. No big deal.

But someone at the condiment bar saw and rushed out with a handful of napkins and a smile.

How cool is that?! That simple act just made my morning.

Isn't it funny how much we rely on outside forces to set the tone of our days? If someone cuts you off on the way to work, your mood sours and it could be hours before it brightens again.

The best days I have are ones in which I create my own happiness. When you choose what affects you and what doesn't, your day seems to go so much more smoothly.

That simple act affected me. I feel more attentive, excitedly watching for other little happinesses.

:D

It's official

I am Rogue. No, really. I went to the administrative office for one of the school districts that I visit (as part of my job) to get a photo ID made. When I looked at the finished result, I saw clearly, for the absolute first time - I have a grey streak. A full-on streak. Can you believe that?? At age 23, I am going grey in a serious way.

How cool is that?!

{ }
And also, I finally asked to be "demoted" back to the retail store for the Music Co. that I work for.

The job I currently hold within the company is so stressful (and has been since I started in February) that I've been barfing on a fairly regular basis.

I visit orchestra directors weekly, all over the metroplex, to provide services and supplies should they need them.

Basically, I am at their beck and call.

And I've been having a hard time juggling the needs of 45 different people per week.

So, I told my manager (who told the owner of the company - it's small and family-owned -) that I've been doing my best and still falling short, so could I please go back to retail.

And they're letting me. I have to fill in until they find a replacement (which could take a while), but the end is in sight, and I am breathing a definite sigh of relief.

Do you have any grey Coupon?

At my sister-in-law Jill's place this morning, we chatted about this and that - my foray back into the musical world, her husband's job, my job, her kids, my partner ... it was a very nice morning, catching up. We don't see each other near enough.

We had just finished talking about how broke we both are, when she got an excited glimmer in her eye. "Wanna see the project I'm working on?" She jumped up and grabbed a big black binder (how's that for alliteration?) that was stuffed to the gills with papers.

We sat down and opened it.

Coupons! Lots and lots of coupons!!

As I poured over the remarkably well-organized pages, she told me about her foray into the highly underrated world of bargain shopping. She told me how much she saves on every shopping trip. She showed me her pantry, pointing to things and telling me what kind of a bargain it was.

Her binder was awesome. She filled it with clear pages meant to hold baseball card collections. Each compartment had a coupon in it. Each tab was marked with a different genre: Toiletries, Breakfast, Meat, Produce ...

I had to keep the mental drool off of my chin.

I'm sold. It was all I could do, when I got back to Dallas, to keep from running to my local Walgreen's to pick up their coupon pamphlets. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I had so much to do before I went back to work that afternoon (alas).

I can't wait to get my own started. Oooh! I already have a binder that I'm filling with recipes. It'd be easy peasy to put a few pages at the back for to hold coupons.

Yay!

Heeding the call

I got a summons in the mail a few weeks ago, asking me politely to please come for Jury Selection, iff'n I don't mind.

Ha.

After dreading my fate for weeks, the day of reckoning was finally upon me. This morning I awoke ridiculously early. You see, I was called to serve for the county in which I grew up - my permanent address is with my mother in my home-town. I now live 20 minutes away, at least. To make matters worse, the location of the courthouse was an additional 20 minutes from there.

I bemoaned my luck to a Starbucks barista over coffee this morning, and she gave me a nugget of wisdom: she too was called to an old county to serve on a panel. When she told them that she no longer lived there, she got off scott-free.

Hmmmm....

Running low on time, I rushed home to grab a bit of mail, a bank statement per'aps, to lend credibility to my case.

When I arrived, I was asked to please dispose of my Starbucks coffee in the proper trash receptacle. I was heartbroken. (I was only half-way through!) I was one of only three other potential Jurors there so far.

I approached the official-est looking person there, summons and bank statement in hand, and told my story. After looking at both (to my amusement, they looked two or three times), I was told that I could go, sorry for any inconvenience.

I could feel the daggers coming from the other victims' eyes. If looks could kill ...

So. What to do?

Going into the Suburbs to the Courthouse from Dallas was a breeze. Hardly any traffic, no accidents ... just a nice drive all around (even if it was a little long). That time of morning however, I rather dreaded going back ...

As I sat at an especially long traffic light, a thought struck me.

"Self," I said, "your sister-in-law lives but a few miles further up the highway. Why not give her a call, wait out the traffic, chat for a little while?"

So I did.

:D

Shittity Brickitty

About a week and a half ago, because they were buggin', I (finally) decided to ditch the pair of contacts I had been wearing for the past 4 months in favour of putting in my next, fresh pair.

I removed the offending lenses and proceeded to toss them into the toilet. I rummaged in the cabinet and grabbed the box of contact lenses ... only to find it empty! I just threw away my last set of contacts!!

And, to add insult to injury, I had no backup glasses either.

I must have been quite a sight, squinting, crouched over the toilet seat, reaching in to retrieve them. Thankfully, they were floating at the surface, and no serious reconnaissance needed to be done.

:\

The water was clean, but all the same, for one full week I wore lenses that had been all too intimately acquainted with something I'd rather they hadn't known.

Anyway, long story short, the final pair tore in my eye last weekend. Saturday, a day in which I needed to go to the office and work, I spent going to the optometrist and picking out a new pair of glasses.

Honestly, it was a welcome break from a ridiculously long work week. I feel quite sure that it was the Universe's way of telling me to slow the fuck down. Never mind the fact that on Monday morning I was in no way prepared for the week ... I was rested. I had spent a weekend relaxing and taking care of myself.

It. was. wonderful.

High Times

... and not the fun kind.

My stress levels are so high that it's redonk-u-lous. It's a rather big cliche, but there truly is no rest for the weary.

School has started, and for me that means a larger-than-normal work load at work. I deal directly with orchestra teachers in the Metroplex - they're stressed, so I'm stressed too.

If they need something, I bring it. To them, I am the face of *insert the company I work for here*. There's a lot of pressure to make them happy ... all 40 of them.

Some of them are pretty groovy people: there's the lady that had her Advanced Orchestra play a medly of Queen songs for the end-of-year concert. Or there's the one that wears pentacle earrings. Or the flamboyantly gay guy that makes me smile any time we talk.

But then there's the teachers that call me at 7:45 in the morning. Or the ones that call me at 8:00 at night. Or the ones that call on Saturdays.

Among most sentient beings, there is an understanding that there is a sanctity to The Weekend that must never be breached. Some of my teachers, however, abuse me terribly. Some believe that I am at their beck and call, that any whim of theirs, no matter how absurd (and some of them are), should receive my utmost-est attention.

I have a teacher who asked me to please check Lowe's or Home Depot for prices on their furniture touch-up markers, so she could retouch some of her school's instruments.

{ }
I should be happy. I should be overjoyed. I got a raise this last pay-period. The shit seems to have finally finished hitting the fan. I. Am. Appreciated. They like me.

But today I considered quitting. I'm on the verge of a breakdown. I work'd over 50 hours last week, and fully expect a repeat performance this week. Labor Day weekend? Ha. I got a day. Sunday. Because I had ketchup work to do in order to have some semblance of order for the start of the week, I worked both Saturday and Monday.

Silliness.

But I was reminded today by a dear friend at work that, not too unlike fibrous substances, this too shall pass. Things will eventually even out. The crunch-time is nigh unto its end, and peace shall once again fall upon the kingdom.

I've been feeling drained. Making room for "me time" this evening has really made a difference. All I've been doing is coming home (LATE) from work at night, eating dinner, and going to bed - where I have nightmares until dawn. Then I get up, get ready, and enter the fray anew each morning.

If I create peaceful time in the evenings, instead of allowing the day to defeat me, I may just be able to squeak by ... or even come out the other side (relatively) unscathed.

We'll see.

Morality

On a moral scale from one to ten, how bad do you think it is that I periodically ... ok, frequently ... go to Starbucks and order nothing besides a glass of water?

What can I say? When you're broke, you're broke ... and when you need a place to sit and read, ... you get the idea.

Jinx

I think I jinxed myself with the post in which I expressed my anxieties about work, for no more than one week later, I was called into a meeting wherein I was told, in no uncertain terms, that my job was officially on the line.

Though it may not have in actuality caused a hex to fall upon me, I am thankful that I wrote the post. Had I not written things hypothetically in my defense, I may not have had the presence of mind to answer when asked what I had to say for myself in the meeting.

For about a week I wallowed in self pity. During that week, I seriously considered quitting. To say that I was distraught would be a gross understatement. But, breaking the mold of my usual behaviour, I picked myself up by my bootstraps and threw myself into my work.

For weeks, I did everything I could think of to stay productive. I also became more proactive. When things came up, either positive or negative, I kept my manager abreast of the situation. I asked my coworkers lots of questions and learned from their examples.

About a week ago, I went to a convention with two of my coworkers, and the owner of the company (the one who spearheaded the meeting). I was a bit nervous at the start, but I really feel like I came into my own very quickly.

I felt like the owner was sizing me up. Many times, when I was alone in our booth (selling orchestra supplies), I'd catch a glimpse of the owner in my peripheral vision; he was undoubtedly watching me, I feel to judge my performance. As the convention progressed, I noticed subtle changes in the way he addressed me. On the (six hour) ride home, my coworker, without me prompting her, said she noticed the same.

I came home from the convention a different employee, and for the better. I bonded with my coworkers. I gained a little respect from my boss. I feel more confident. It was a good trip.

Yesterday, the owner called me into his office and sat me down. He told me he was hiring another woman to fill a similar position to mine. I kept my cool, but I couldn't help but wonder if he was finally replacing me. And then he said something that floored me: "This is in no way a demotion. I see you're becoming more assertive, and maturing in your position. I like that, and I want to see it continue."

She will be taking a bit of my work load, so I may be put in the retail store for one day per week. Not a terrible thing. It'd offer me a bit more flexibility, and has a lot of potential for what I want to do down the line ... which I'll tell more about later.

For now, this is enough. Things are going better, and I'll leave it like that.

G'night.

Kinky

I have a hicky on my chin. The very tip of it. And it's kind of big.

Merry, in an attempt to cheer me up (I'm terrified of seeing my dentist tomorrow morning), playfully sucked on my chin. Apparently a little too hard.

However amusing it may be, I do have to venture forth into the wide world tomorrow, and don't know that I have a particularly plausible fib.

Ah well. Such is life, and I'll get over myself soon.

Here. Have a picture.

Ohm ...

I hadn't done yoga in about a year, and I'd been missing it so ... I did something about it.

A while back, I went to Half Price Books and purchased a Yoga VHS for under $2.00. Excited, I began waking early to start my day with my new "AM Yoga" VHS. But there were problems ...

First and foremost, the routine goes much too quickly. According to the host, Rodney Ye, it's supposed to be a "gentle way to move me into my active day".

That's funny.

Each pose ends abruptly and the next begins with very little adieu. It's all so ... hasty! There's nothing gentle about it. It's rather comical, really.

The second thing that I have great issue with is the fact that Rodney is either hung like an ox, or has a raging hard-on ... under his very tight, very small Speedo.

*shudder*

SO. I have come to a decision:

This afternoon, I'm going to watch my VHS one final time and write down the poses. This way, I can turn on a gentle CD, read my notes, and do the damn thing at my own pace.

I really think I'll be happier without the VHS. Yoga to me is gentle. Sorry, Rodney. You won't be missed.

mmmm

I've never considered myself to be much of a cook. My repertoire has mainly comprised of ... macaroni and cheese, very basic quesadillas, and a mean turkey sammitch.

Of late, Merry and I have not been eating at home much, and it has not only hurt our pocket book, but our tummies as well. We've both been feeling a bit worse for the wear, and eating fast food has a lot to do with it, m'thinks.

I've already mentioned my tentative foray into the culinary world... well, its success has inspired me to delve further into the Art. I've been printing off (simple) recipes and compiling them in a binder, and have made one or two more dishes (which have had mixed review from my hostage captivated audience of One - namely, Merry). I however am undeterred (and rather liked the meals to boot)!

I'm simply beside myself. I'm addicted to recipezaar {dot} com and allrecipes {dot} com, and unashamed to admit it.

Huzzah!

A long, long time ago

I can still remember how that music used to make me feel ...

I helped a kid and her teacher buy a viola today. The teacher, after hearing that I play viola m'self, asked if I have a studio. I wistfully responded in the negative, saying that I did once but simply have not had the time. We commiserated about the sad state of affairs in the Viola pedagogy line of things - there simply aren't enough teachers.

Would I be interested in teaching in the Allen area?

Wow.

We talked about teaching through schools, which I wouldn't be able to do because of my schedule ... what about independently owned and operated Music Studios?

Ideally, I'd like to take lessons for about six months; getting back into the swing of things, as it were. From there, I'd like to see if there is indeed some space to rent at a studio. If there is, and at a reasonable price, I'd like to set up a studio - per'aps on a Saturday. But I cherish my Saturdays, especially now that Merry isn't working.

Wouldn't it be neat to move most of my efforts into teaching, taking on a part time job to fill in the rest of the time? I could teach through schools on certain days, and work somewhere on t'others. I have connections, people that could potentially help me beef out a studio. I could try the Middle School I attended, way back in the day. I could try this lady. Or any of the three viola teachers I've had in the past.

Unless I had a thriving studio, it wouldn't be sensible to leave full-time Corporate America.

Ah, dreams can be beguiling ... and reality can be cold and harsh.

Success is mine!

I have successfully followed a recipe, and it turned out marvelously. I made an apple salad with a dressing consisting of mayo, applesauce, honey, lemon juice and salt. I then mixed in diced apples, celery, sunflower seeds, and raisins.

Delicious!

Personal Manifesto

+I believe in a thing called love. I see it every day in my lover's eyes, feel it in the kiss of a summer breeze, hear it in the laughter of babies.
+I believe that living life with no regrets is the key to happiness.
+Leaps of faith are necessary for growth. Scary as hell, but absolutely vital.
+Not only is change possible, I believe it is inherent in each of us.
+Possibilities are endless, but sometimes we must view life from a new perspective in order to tap into them.
+I believe in a Divine that gives love freely and unconditionally.
+I believe in Magic.
+Mistakes are God's wake-up calls, an invitation for growth.
+Pets are people, too.
+I believe that serenity in this life is actually attainable, and with very little effort.
+I believe I've lived multiple lives, and will continue on into many more.
+Life is worth living, and fully.
+I believe in Fate.
+I also believe in Free Will.
+I believe that the two are not mutually exclusive.
+I believe that education is important to all, and doesn't end outside of the classroom.
+I believe that love, if we let it, will indeed conquer all.

Going Green

... greener, anyway.

I bought a book at Half Priced Books t'other day: basically a Vegetarian 101. I love animals - they're delicious - so why a book on vegetarianism? I have been eating hella unhealthily and desperately want to overhaul my eating habits. While I don't want to give up meat, I do want to incorporate tons of Freshies into my diet.

The book is pretty cool. It demystifies the whole "cooking" thing (I am by no means a goddess in the Kitchen), and has pretty awesome recipes to boot.

I picked one out and Merry and I went grocery-shopping this morning. We spent less than usual and got more food out of the deal, which was pretty awesome. We got salad stuffs, things for the new dish tomorrow, sandwich things, and hamburger meat. So, a few meals and a bunch of lunches. Sounds like a winner to me!

I'm excited.

We've been talking about overhauling our food intake for a while now, even merely in portion size, but every time I think "Cut back, gotta cut back", I feel the need to eat compulsively. Not cool.

But for some reason this morning felt like a fresh start. I've had a few light snacks and have eaten healthily on the whole.

I think this is going to stick.

Yay!

Monday Memory

When I was young, my family took lots of road trips. Why, or when, we stopped is something I've always wondered about. The trips just kind of dwindled out over the years.

Anyway.

Sometimes, as a special treat, we'd stop at rest stops or parks, as opposed to just a quick pit-stop at a gas station. At these parks, Dad would walk around with we chil'rens and point out unique tree knots and holes. "They're Gnome Homes", he'd tell us.

{ }
For a short time, my two younger brothers and I shared a room. Probably long past most kids out-grew them, my dad would tell us stories that he had written: all centering around Alvin, a wizened old wizard who lived at the tip-top of a mountain. The adventure always began the same, with the admonition to close our eyes and keep them closed. He then sprinkled a scented faery dust over each of us, which was inevitably followed by much giggling. I loved that smell, and more, I loved the sound. The sound of the aromatic dust being crushed between his large fingers, magnified a hundred times for the simple reason that my eyes were tightly closed. I think that sound will stay with me for the rest of my life. I can hear it now, can almost smell those herbs ... and still, after all these years, I feel relaxation tickling at the fringes of my consciousness.

He'd then guide us up, up, up into the blue sky; even higher we'd soar, into the lightest and fluffiest of clouds. Once he knew he had our unwavering attention, the adventure would begin ...

We always visited Alvin on horses - Star, Nina and Stardust were their names. Dad would pat our bellies to the rhythm of the horses' hooves. The adventures were never epic, but always captured the imagination.

About a year ago I asked my dad what the faery dust actually was. It was a small vial of crushed herbs (Chamomile, Rosemary) and ... sparkles. Where had he found such a thing? "Oh, at a local mystical shoppe", was his nonchalant answer.

{ }
My father taught me about innocence, about childlike wonder, about making the mundane - magical.

{ }
P.S.

There's nothing better than listening to The King's Singers when you're hurtling down the highway for long distances.

There's nothing to fear ...

... but fear itself.

I suppose.

I'm falling behind at work. There just seems to be so much to do. I complete one task, and a million others fall on top of me like an avalanche.

My manager criticized me today. What hurts more than the criticism itself is the fact that I fear it was rightly placed. I live in the almost constant paranoia that they'll turn to me one day and say, "Kathryn, you're just not doing the kind of job we hoped you would. Goodbye."

A thought just struck me though, and it has heartened me a little:

I've been filling this particular position for about half of a school year. It was my job to pick up the pieces that two different predecessors left behind. Yes, I've let a few things slip through my fingers, but I've also created strong bonds with teachers in many school districts and fulfilled their needs admirably. My superiors see my mistakes because they aren't with me when I call on schools to see my triumphs. Per'aps I should compile a lizt of strengths I feel I have honed so that I am prepared should a meeting to criticize ever takes place.

{ }
I don't talk about my fears often. I feel them, and keenly - but because I don't voice them, they simply fuel the fire of my general anxiety levels.

I feel a lot of pressure to perform. I'll be supporting Merry whilst she goes to school (starting Spring semester). We're moving to a slightly bigger, slightly more expensive apartment in a different city. We're strapped for money as it is. Frankly, I sometimes wonder how we're going to get by. If I lose this job, or simply get demoted, I fear there's no way we'll be able to support the lifestyle we're used to.

{ }
Maybe I should take a leaf out of Merry's book and merely take a step back and make a small, prioritized list.

Yes. That sounds like a winner.

Giving thanks

To the Powers That Be, for these I give thanks:

1. My loving partner - who made me breakfast in bed this morning. 'nuff said.

2. Kisses - that are tender. Kisses that are sweet. Kisses that make tears go away. Kisses that make tears come.

3. Long weekends - we're sharing one at her mother's lake house. I desperately needed it. It has been everything I hoped it would be ... and more.

4. Books - I love to read. I have books on philosophy, theology, music theory, psychology, the occult, comedies, classics .... I love to read.

5. Music - making it, dancing to it (when no one is looking), singing to it. I live it. I love it.

6. Soft grass - that tickles between my toes when I walk on it. There's something so innocent, so grounding in walking barefoot in nature, even if it is only a back yard.

7. Jumping off of the dock - and facing my fears. Granted, I only did it because I knew I could stand up in the area in which I jumped, but it was indeed a momentous occasion: I faced a phobia. (I don't didn't like swimming in water I can't see the bottom of.) Well, that needs to be amended. I can handle standing in it, and playing in the shallow areas. Maybe next summer I'll be ready to try deeper and unknown-er waters.

In memoriam

I have a blue journal in which I write memories of my recently-deceased father.

What you must understand is that I have a notoriously patchy memory at best, most likely caused by the myriad medications I am currently, or have in the past, been on. More than the physical loss of my dad, I fear the loss of memories of him; hence, the Journal. My memory is rather spastic, with snippets flipping in and out of mind pretty randomly, so I like to keep the Journal (or a scrap of paper) handy wherever I go - the idea being ... well, you get the idea.

The most recent addition to the Blue Journal:

My dad and I are a lot in common. When we get a bee in our bonnet, we follow the idea to an exhaustive end. Take, for instance, the Year of the RV. He researched different RV's, the pro's and con's of each, where to buy them, how much they'd cost ... and eventually purchased a trailer and red F250 truck. We only took one or two road trips with it, but spent many weekends with one of those smallish, white TV/VCRs you can buy on the cheap at Wal*Mart, watching movies and having sleepovers - sometimes with friends, but mostly just we chil'rens and dad. We kept a veritable arsenal of candy out there, for just such an occasion.

Around the same time, but something that wasn't followed through on, was the horn upgrade for his Honda Civic. He wanted the same kind of horn that Semi trucks use. I mean, the obscenely loud, low-pitched ones. I clearly remember standing next to him, looking at a few on display, smiling kind of bemusedly at his childlike enthusiasm. But, wow. Thankfully that one buzzed right on out of his bonnet.

So. I miss my dad.

/post.

Life Patterns

I have a pattern in my life: I tend to disappear, to make myself scarce when stress gets too high, or I get scared, or things become difficult. It is the one thing in my life that I am most ashamed of. Though I've been getting better about it, the urge to run is sometimes almost irresistible. If I'm so ashamed of it, though, why have I not scrutinized my motives, putting the issue on the table and dissecting it? I'm good at analyzing things to death, but - is it so surprising that I stick my head in the sand when the issue is close to home or painful to look at?

I have a history of severing friendships with nary a word of warning to the severed. Again, if I feel uncomfortable with a situation or relationship, I stop returning calls. I stop accepting IMs. I become invisible, a mere memory.

I've done it with viola teachers. High school friends. College friends. Friends I made when I was attending church. The people who could help me find a way through the darkness that I fear so much are the ones I push away.

And when I come out of the other side of the tunnel, I'm too ashamed to try to re-establish contact, for I know, I just know I'll push them away when things get intense once more.

The ones I do have the chutzpa to contact again ... inevitably get pushed away, over and over and over again. I almost feel as though I can't stop myself from running.

{ }
I've been making a few new friendships and have rekindled two blasts from my past, and it takes conscious effort to turn to them when trouble arises, rather than running for the hills.

I suppose I should celebrate my baby steps, my progress, and let go of past shame and guilt, moving forward in the process. I try not to brood, but I am prone to it, and I sometimes find myself mourning the friends I feel I've wronged.

Here I sit all lonely hearted ...

Tried to write, but only farted.

On that profound note...

My brother returns from his mission for the Mormon church tomorrow. I can hardly believe it. He's been in Brazil for two years. I haven't seen my brother in two years, and I can't wait! Unfortunately I won't be able to meet him at the airport because of work, but I will be dropping by my mom's place after work. Hopefully he won't be asleep after his long day. :D

It'll be weird being a whole family again ... or as whole as we're ever gonna get, anyway. I have many fond memories of growing up - we used to hang out in his room until wayyy past "bedtime", talking about nothing and everything. We'd laugh so hard and goof off all the time. You know, they're not so much memories as remembered feelings. Does that make sense? If I were to press my memory, I might be able to come up with some of the conversations. What I remember is the laughter, not the joke. I think out of all of my siblings, I was closest to him for a long time. It hasn't been until recently that I've been cultivating deeper relationships with t'others, something that I've been finding most rewarding.

Honestly, it feels like upon the death of my father, we all grew closer - which isn't a bad thing. I relish the growing bonds between each of my siblings and look forward to seeing it continue to grow.

Letters to God

I just read someone's Letter to God. In it, she said that it's scary to follow His will - she fears it will be "riddled with discomfort". "Once I start wandering from Satan's influence, he's going to make it troublesome for me".

Why?

I once believed that as well: that Satan had some kind of power over me, that he was hell-bent on making the Path of God a difficult one to follow, that he, well, existed.

Yes. I just said it.

One thing I don't believe in is "should"s. Guilt, though I sometimes still feel it, has no place in my life, and I do my best to rid myself of it. When I do something, I ultimately do it for myself. I do things because it feels right, not because someone or some One tells me to. Most of all, I don't believe that there is an entity whose sole purpose is to trip me up. I do enough of that on my own.

"I'm sorry for what I do ... and don't do. If I simply did what you've asked of me, I would feel you."

Reading her letter made me feel sad. We try and try and try to do things to feel God's presence, when in reality, it is in the not doing, in the quietest of moments, that He can be found and felt. When we align ourselves with ourselves, it is then that we can feel God. When we become true to ourselves, at peace with the knowledge that we are imperfect beings by nature and that no amount of forcing can make us otherwise, a whole world of serenity and possibilities opens up to us.

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I've spent a lot of time hating and mistrusting God, or at least the God of my fathers, the one I grew up believing in. He had a lot of "should"s attached to everything, and I didn't like that. For years, I looked at the Great Divine as being female. It was easier to palate, to assign more loving and less restrictive values to.

Right now? I think gender in regards to the Divine is irrelevant. It just Is, and that's enough for me.

Do not contact ... or so it seems

Last September, I started taking viola lessons again. I was timid, but was enjoying it immensely - so much so that we talked about me re-entering college and once again pursuing music as a career. Last November, my father died in a car accident and I lost my spirit, my joie de vivre. How could I make music? My soul felt crushed. Naturally, my teacher understood, and lessons ceased.

Several months later, she called. How was I doing? How were my plans progressing for school?

Many things had happened since then, not the least of which was my Christmas present to my partner, Merry. Her entire adult life has been spent at one job or another, never having the means to go to college ... and yet she had been willing to work a menial job to put me through school. On Christmas eve, I told her that it was time for the tables to turn - regardless of whether I got the promotion I had been gunning for (which, incidentally, I did get), it was she who would go to school first.

And so it went - we prepared mentally and emotionally for the momentous change that was about to take place.

.: Fast forward to the phone call :.

How was I doing? Was I excited for school?

I was faced with a decision: do I tell her over the phone, or do I make small talk and schedule a time to meet in person? I plunged ahead - I told her over the phone that my education would once again go on hiatus so that my beloved could go first. I was not eloquent. I stuttered and stammered. I was under pressure - she of all I did not want to let down, but I felt convicted, and remain so, that these new plans feel right in my heart.

Though she offered her congratulations, it sounded strained. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

I wish I had told her in person, so I could read her better, and she me. Would things be different if I had?

That conversation in February was the last time we've spoken, though I have made a few attempt at contact since then.

I tell myself she's a busy woman. She has a studio within the college, as well as a thriving one outside of the school.

But I can't help but wonder ...

I feel I've been a problem child. My departure from Academia was not graceful in the least; rather, a hasty exit Stage Left. I know she invested herself emotionally into my education - she's an amazing teacher, very involved - and felt disappointed when I left. When I resurfaced, she seemed beside herself with excitement, as was I.

So it isn't a stretch to imagine she felt disappointed once more when, on the verge of starting lessons again, I told her my news.

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Something to consider, too, is that I am prone to spells of paranoia by times. This could all be in my head, and I fully recognize that. When I think about this, I feel sad, frustrated, but not obsessive.

I have held out the hope that she'll contact me again, but I fear the time of waiting has passed. I am practicing - again, timidly - and if I am ready for lessons, I have another teacher I can contact, one that would be closer to home.

But I miss my professor.

Good grief...

I used to believe everything happens for a reason, across the board. I mean, everything is a learning experience, a new challenge to grow and think outside of the box. And then my dad died. I can't think of a single good thing that has come of it. And yet I still look at situations in my own life and those of others and see learning experiences, things that happen - and had they happened any other way, life would be completely different. That doubled fact, that death has no reason and that everything has a reason, has shattered my faith.

I used to believe in an afterlife, that everything continued on in some sense, whether through reincarnation, being a spirit guide, or by going to a final resting place. But with my shattered faith and broken heart, I cannot see my father as living on in another plane. And yet, I believe in an afterlife.

I don't know how to move forward. I mean, if I believe in an afterlife, shouldn't that be a balm, a reassurance that my father is ok? That things will be ok? That he sees me and loves me and wants the best for me?

I just can't wrap my head around it, and it eats at me when I think about it (which I don't often let myself do, as a coping method I suppose).

I feel lost, lost without my papa.

Sometimes I wonder ...

Have I lost it?

You know, it - bits of my personality that I once cherished, which seem to have fallen by the wayside over the years.

I feel I've lost my ability to look at the events in my life as a third party; one who is able to pinpoint the dramatic irony of it all with an acerbic wit rivaled by none. Lard knows that I've been through hell in a hand basket and I'm feeling a little worse for the wear, a little embittered. Once upon a time, I was at least wry and embittered. I could sit down in front of a monitor and spew my bile to anyone who would listen, but still make it funny. At least to me, and that's what's important. (Isn't it?) It made things bearable. But ... what happen? (Someone set us up the bomb).


I'm petrified to play the viola.

I just read that sentence and nearly changed it to read "... my viola". I stopped myself. Why? I thought it was telling. I've distanced myself from it. I feel far removed from the music that once swelled in my breast, saddened at a time long past. I feel something akin to sexual frustration regarding my instrument. I yearn for it, but feel I have no outlet. I could blame a million things for the fact that I've not been playing it. I shouldn't blame anyone but m'self, but I do. I want to take private lessons again, but haven't been able to reach my professor. I'm tired from my new-ish job. There are so many things to do around the apartment. I'm embarrassed to play in the apartment since the walls are so thin. If I were dedicated, would that deter me? Am I ready for it?

Merry says I should set manageable goals, so that when I reach them, I feel victorious. Rather than saying a general, "I should practice. I really want to practice", say, "I'll practice once this week". When I reach that goal, set another manageable goal.

But still, I'm scared. I don't know what of exactly, but I am. It could be as simple as fear of commitment, or of the unknown. Have you ever been so used to just "getting by" that a break from the mundane is frightening? Mediocrity is easy. It's the aspiration of greatness that scares the shit out of me.

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I think I'm too hard on myself. I just don't give myself the chance to utilize what I view as talents. When I become too busy to explore myself, it is then that I feel emotionally dry. Y'know?

So. Forgive this excessively negative First Post Back. Things are better than I paint them.