fading...
my online profile is fading...
my online profile is fading...
I'm sure I and many people I know regularly hover hesitantly above (or below) the media loop, but did they seriously hang Saddam? Does this make us feel better? Is this justice? I realize the stupid ignorance in the rhetorical questioning of what is plastered on the news but I'm having an emotional reaction.
It's all an outrage, his reign, his crimes, this war, my ambivalance- it is all disgusting. But hanging? I guess I'm that ignorant. Period. Are we all? But how does this make anything better????????????????
I'm overcome by the beauty of life- visiting newborns and moms-to-be- coming home to a beautiful home with sweet unsuspecting and trusting cats and a dog and a husband that I can't even put into words how much I love.
And I am UNDONE- every once and a while- why only intermittently- by the disgraces and indignities around me???? The comfort of blindness is sickening and I'm sure why I render myself sick regularly in spite of swearing against it.
The point is and always will be to take responsbility -
blame is obselete.
I have a true appreciation for the colloquial writer, or speaker for that matter. I live in North Carolina and I'm often asked where I am from or where my accent is from- two completely different questions. The first, answer being Iowa, has received the following responses:
"Where they grow potatos?"
"No, really."
"Must be small country in Asia"
The second, response from myself,
"I don't have an AAAAAAAAAActcent."
After the show tonight, there was discussion of creating a movie based on characters in Asheville, seeing as there is a potential for many, bright, complex and moving.
I suggested the title, "Asheville, the movie." To many groans. This has already been taken, seemingly- however, this is second hand, by a complete crew of people who moved here upon the writing, creation and shooting of the film. I will withhold further comment only in an attempt to salvage a mite of personal integrity as I auditioned and was not cast in it.
Not that this bit of information puts it in an elitist category. I've not been cast in many a show- I'll have my three readers know!!!
finished/.
As it is, I am in autistic classrooms almost everyday now. Randomly, at different schools, substitute teaching that is. I appreciate the honesty and forthcoming-ness of my surroundings. At the middle school today, my first day in this particular classroom- the teacher assistant offered to one of the students, "And you better think about that- Ms. S (presumably meaning myself) is going to unload a pile of work on you after lunch." His reply, "Yeah, right. With a face like that, she's not giving extra work." Mental note to self: Hold jaw upward and wipe the permagrin after entering, suprisingly enough, another new classroom furnished with cubicle-like desks and a three-sided carpeted wall area, refrigerator design, labeled "Take a break."
Another reason I enjoy this aspect of my new work is the clarity of communication. I find I'm stopping myself in public, at home, with friends- when something gets old or decidedly unneccessary, not 'of the essence'. - Motioning with my arms crossing- saying, "Finished." Not loud, but calm-assertive, like Cesar Milan suggests. 'Bouncy Ball is finished.' 'Discussion of unclean house is finished.' 'Talking to mom about two german shepard pups that need home is finished.'
Entry is finished.
In the ever present quest for truth, I may have stumbled upon one. Not a new one, with respect to the idea of 'original thought', but an enlightening one to me. Admittedly, I am a little freaked out in general, but tonight about which I will elaborate specifically, a 'pop-up' sound byte every 180 seconds of in a psychotic adult voice expressing, "Oh my gosh...no way!" Yes, three dots, no comma. I'm really hoping this is a friendster thing and is happening to others- I do jump everytime.
So back to the truth. Life, and I shan't be so egocentric to think it of just my own, is a comedy and sometimes tragedy of errors. Maybe it is just me, because after reporting to my mother the regularly occuring mishaps of my little life, she rarely believes me and responds laughingly with, "You are so sick, and such an imagination." And I think she is proud. The trouble is, I'm not making these things up and she honestly proceeds to not believe me. Side note: she is crazier 'n hell.
After an emotionally exhilirating and then trying week, I prepare to report to my mother's B & B to inn-sit. Specifically, animal-sit for 2 dogs, 3 cats and four birds. I call my mother to tell her it will be late because I am going to a play to which she replies, "Oh, I guess I should have fed the animals this morning." Well, yes, since they left at 3 pm. The least interesting mishap is the fact that the damn good provider's car is dead and he has to take mine. No jumper cables and a lost AAA card later, I am on the road with my trusted Lucy at 12:30 AM heading to Waynesville. A drive that consisted of contemplating the possibilities of 5 acres and a well-intentioned haunted house alone + 3 dogs, 3 cats and 4 birds.
A day of much needed and distracted line-studying insued. While thinking, is there anything else in the world that I could possibly need to do excepting the task at hand- ah yes! I need to change my flight for next weekend. I have a flight to Iowa on Thursday I can't take due to play rehearsal that I've known for a month. I get online to check the flight availabilty for Friday morning and my heart drops to find that the low airfare has escalated to $890 dollars. I know this, and call the airline with a premeditated lie about family emergency in my pocket, of which I readily abandon at the thought of the real possibility. I spend half the day on the internet, considering driving to Iowa, not going, etc. etc. etc. It would take a long painful time to describe the 'representatives' empathy and attitude in telling me that, 'Even if you do find a cheaper than $500 one-way ticket there, you would still have to pay an extra $200 to keep your return flight if you don't take the first one- because if you don't get on that, they'll cancel it and we'll have to consider it cancelled and have to rebook you on your scheduled Sunday flight and that one-way is quite expensive. Oh, and you'll still need to pay the $100 rebooking fee on top of that." One cancelled ticket, two-one ways- one cheapy on AirTran (love air-tran) and one Delta, which I had a credit for- I'm still going and would like to say I strongly dislike NorthWorst.
But alas, that's just bitching-
Through this internet quest in the dungeon which is the office of the B & B, I am awaiting guests to greet who are supposed to arrive at 3:00. I go back and forth, running upstairs, calling airlines, etc. And get a call from the 'guest' and 4:30 asking if this is a dry county. Good question, I'm thinking- he's in Asheville wondering if he should pick up something before they arrive. I'm racking my brain for an ABC store in Waynesville when he saves me with, "I mean, can I get beer there?" I told him I thought his selection might be better there, but yes, there is beer in Waynesville. (But no coin-operated castration house, as it was shut down late summer.)
I put on my customer service smile, B&B style, and go up to greet the customer a half hour later. I was especially nice because the woman seemed uncomfortable. In answer to the question would it be a busy night, "You lucked out, you have the entire place to yourself! Make yourselves at home!" So, I'm a drink snob- he deposits his unmentionable beer choice in the refrigerator, gives me a look like that I got often when I was 12, and says, "We'll take our adult beverages down to the balcony." Before they make their way, he asks, (retrospectively, in an alarming way,) "So... will you be on the grounds the entire night?" To which I answer whole heartedly, "Of course, I'll be here all night, if you need anything." He asks about restaurants, so I'm feverishly looking for the black book of menus while I, seriously, can't help but overhear from the balcony, "So, what does your husband do?"
I'm thinking, fine, their having an affair. But doesn't an affair infer that at least basic information has been exchanged? Is it an internet meeting? Or is it more similar to recent headlines such as: "Man Meets Woman at B&B in WNC and Slays Both Her and Innkeeper". I mean, what would happen to the animals?
We shall see. I have to get up at 7 and make stuffed french toast for them, per his request.
six days with all provisions on my back used to sound adventure-some. Now, 'crazier 'en hell'.
i shall miss my cats, friends and stinking home.
love,
h
two of my roommates spent an entire day (I assume) cleaning our nasty apartment. I came in, sat on the couch and acknowledged nothing. Fairly soon, I realized everyone was staring at me. Without turning my head, my eyes rolling from one roommate, to the next, and finally to the other unassuming roommate, who I had arrived with, said, "oh, it's clean!!" To which I promptly looked around bewildered, thinking, "was it dirty?" Our fearless leader, the alpha female looks at me, and my instinct tells me to run. "You don't even notice a difference, do you" I reply, "I guess I just wasn't raised to appreciate cleanliness." To which, I have never lived down. The truth is, I was and I wasn't, raised, that is.
This admission of loving cleanliness is dedicated to all of the family, roommates, b/f's, cats, dogs, and Murtew that have had and presently live with me. Note to those presently: you have no idea how far I've come. Now that the entire first floor of our house is covered in soot from the 'environmental' chimney guy, I see the light! Clean is good, dirty feet, not so good. Like many expectations in our society, cleaning is one that is not closest to my hearts desire, like working out. But clean is. And healthy, statuesque (albeit short) body is.... Could it be that I am learning something? This may appear a shallow example, well, I won't argue that. But really, right now I'm sitting in a house I'm not sure I should breathe without protection in.
In two weeks I am thirty, and my goal is to settle the dichotomy within myself. Last night, during a fit of insomnia, my goal was to be an infommercial star, so realize, I am fluid in my 'goals'. However, I would like to adopt the zen philosophy if it can be done now, do it. Or something like that. Referring to tasks I could muddle over for a week that could be done in a five minute intentional act. If it is a dirty house, so be it. We live comfortably enough, a bit of soot damage is good for me !?. If I can't sleep due to the amount of animal hair in my sheets and bug bites on my legs, wash the f'ing sheets and remember bug spray.
This, however is not the official goals of 30'dom, which I shall explore a bit more before unfolding. They will be made with the full acknowledgement that it is much like new year's & birthday combined. I can state the top of list:
To be more grateful, always.
With your therapist, that is. I'm listening to the 'Accidental Tourist' per KB's favorite books lists and find many parallels to my own situation. I'm in 'Accidental Therapy'. I decided to see a career counselor and five sobbing sessions I've decided I don't think having conversations out loud with my inner judge (i.e. a tapestry pillow) is helping. "Tell it to the pillow," I hear, and I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry, but since it's therapy, guess which I choose. The only really honest thing I think I admitted to wanting to change is my loathable tendency towards the passive-aggressive. Which, is how I got out of making another appointment. I'll be out of town, for a long time. I think it would take me years and a few drinks with this woman to open up. I don't feel that is realistic.
I felt like I was eating at Long John Silver's for lunch, but alas, it was my very own kitchen! I've come to love my garden harvest but also slightly worried at the amount of squash that is being produced. It's gluttonous. After a few healthy meals, I made a pact with myself to take the health food away from the squash. Which is where www.allrecipes.com helped. "Summer Squash Puffs" yielded around 30 crunchy deep fried heart attacks. Very yummy! I love my big frying pan.
I've made a disaster of the kitchen, I'm trying to avoid the eyes of the hairballs that are taking over my floor and I just saw a flea on the framed picture of Lucy.
so! back to blogging...
the balance between the real conversation and the blogging has stilted me. As so the Director pointed out tonight.
I had a dream of holding on to my best friend from childhood in the midst of a tornado and felt completely safe. I have a tendency toward violent dreams and this is the first I can remember comfort in. Seems like a revolution for me.
Also, had a wonderful night with Superstar, and of course friends earlier, but somehow, I can talk and listen to Superstar like a supercalafrajalisticexpeealadocious ice cream. And I rarely mispell and don't care. :)
'I'm suh tared I wish mah daddeh had his thang cut off and I'd nevah bin born.'-
Well, not that tired. But speaking of daddy, growing up, my father worked 3rd shift and my mother 1st, and so much of my pre-6 life was left to my antics. They were often so harmless with so much consequence I still get teary. Once, I put my mother's contact lenses in my doll whose eyelids opened and shut! so she could see better, only to find my mother with a knife carving my doll's eyes out. Another time, I planted all the seeds of an apple in the yard to surprise my father with apple trees. He has always mown the lawn in parallel lines, in the same direction- and just wasn't as happy as I thought he might be- to say the least.
That could be one of the biggest hurts in life. I believe the kids are calling it "bust your bubble" these days. To be so excited and anticipating however high-falootin' you've allowed it to get in your head and then... bust. Ouch.
Are there two kinds of people? Those who mow in straight lines, and those who are happy to have short grass if they mow at all?