76%, Ian Thorpe. Nice.

monkey mind

I haven't felt impressed to write much lately (oh, aside from the occasional abstract melodramatic shiz). There is hardly anything I feel the need to express to others-- or even to myself. I am just living the 9 to 5 life (well, the 8 to 3 life), drinking my coffee, taking my meds, reading my New Yorker, making my dinner, changing my clothes, brave new world oh soma soma soma.

I need to shake things up a bit. Hang upside down. See the world from outside. Spend a night naked in the wilderness with nothing but a concoction of mustard and hot water to drink. In other words, I need to quit in order to begin.

begun; undone

It's as if I have been holding my breath for nearly two years in the middle of a crowded, windowless room with fluorescent lights at one end and dim bulbs at the other.

And the crowd is discussing swimming techniques, since they happen to be Olympic swimmers and know of nothing else but laps. I swim like a stone and reach for a brick.

But where are the windows? Oh yes. That's right.

I can hold my breath well, though. So perhaps I will survive the drowning.

Or so my pattern of thought has been month after month after...

I'm prepared for the flood. I receive the drought. How is one to survive the cracked earth?

things, briefly

Things I have grown to truly appreciate and genuinely like because of Jack:
*the San Francisco Giants
*rap music!!!
*backwards baseball caps (not on me, but on males, specifically Jack)
*sausage and pancake on a stick (NOT)

Things I have grown to truly appreciate less and genuinely like less just because I have gotten older (and slightly because of Jack):
*skinny jeans
*going to local concerts
*the gym (not like I ever LOVED it, but I am starting to fear going into the gym because of the noise)
*noise

<3 you

What is "her fog" anyway?

Who has been awful at being a consistent blogger?

Duh. It's me.

Why?

I'm guessing it has something to do with the volcano/tornado/tsunami of events/emotions/mistakes (mistakes that still serve a purpose, mind you, so aren't necessarily mistakes mistakes) that have occurred these past few weeks. They have all but sucked the life out of me.

But this won't be a sob pity sad complain post! I am actually feeling much better lately. I am hopeful, motivated, and slightly (ever-so-slightly) more confident. Oh yeah, I am still bat shit crazy at nighttime, though. But I am working on that (how? yeah, I don't know. going to bed and sleeping it off? that's not really working on it... more avoiding it...).

Okay, thoughts are scattered. My writing has been suffering. Much of what I say feels cliche and forced and vacant. And unsure. BUT MY WRITING HAS ALWAYS BEEN DOUBTFUL. That's just me. Uh... That's the way the cookie crumbles. Takes one to know one? I know you are, but what am... Never mind. Goodness, I need a cup of coffee.

To end this, I will tell you that I am trying to be much more responsive on the few blog comments I receive. I have already responded to a few! I also want to be a great friend. I want to reach out and listen and give. Take advantage of me, please! I am here for you!

<3

whoops, guess this is on facebook as well

If I'm so frightened of peacock feathers because of the whole "it looks like an eyeball" thing, then why the hell am I okay with potatoes and aspen tree trunks?

long-winded, short-lived

I miss the long, philosophically naive(?), heart-to-hearts.

The rooftops--ah--the rooftops.

pen to paper, please

Yesterday I spent the entire day at a writers' workshop with the authors Craig Childs and Amy Irvine. I shall not explain who they are because I am leaving that up to YOU. Wikipedia is only a click away.

The workshop was pretty good. There were only 12 of us, which was nice for the participants because it meant more attention from the authors, but it is also a bit depressing that only 12 people in the entire state of Utah (and surrounding states) decided to attend a workshop taught by two award winning authors. Sure, it cost a little bit of money, but for a six hour workshop, it was a good deal. I guess everyone else was too busy listening to Boyd K. Fudge Packer talk about how gay the gays are. Understandable.

(I apologize to those who were offended by my comment on President Packer. I also apologize to the gays who have to put up with this massive corporation oppressing them. Meg: Gettin' All Opinionated!)

Okay, I'll admit it: My dad "made" me go to the writers' workshop. Sure, I was excited to go, but I would have never made the effort to actually sign up for a workshop and pay for it. So I am a bit of a hypocrite. Amy Irvine pointed out that if you want to be a writer, you need to attend workshops and other opportunities that allow you to meet and socialize with other writers and that "force" you to write. She is right. So now I will write.

okay okay

I "caved in." I started taking my medication again.

I really wish I didn't have to be on it for a myriad reasons. And I feel like one day I won't have to be on it or on any kind of antidepressants. But considering my current situations and the constant noise in my brain, I believe I should stick with Wellbutrin a tad longer.

Tad. Wasn't there a movie called Dating Tad Hamilton or something? I just googled it and it turns out it is called Schindler's List. Oh wait, I just ask jeeved it and google was wrong. It is called Win a Date with Tad Hamilton. Neat.

So yeah. I'm doing better.