What I've Learned Part IV

I've realized I didn't learn any new tricks or strategies for living life, I just removed the ways and means of self-destruction. I started taking things much, much more slowly. I learned that it's easier to accept the hard work and seek the hard truths now than it is to let things slowly slide their own way later. Thank you, and you, and you, for teaching me:

Always look out for yourself.
Someone is always the wiser.
If it hurts too much, let it go.
The future is easier if you make good decisions now.
Love is alive and well.

Happy four years to me!

I am still alive and I still love you. This time of year is crazy at work and I don't get on the internet much at home unless the Dear Boy is working.

:D

Like a Sore Thumb

You know all those neighbors were like, "Oh, what are those weirdos doing to our neighborhood now?!" Oh well, suck it, it's a neat house. Designed by Atsushi and Mayumi Kawamoto, via.

Dentist

Get another molar pulled today. Full of loathing. Hate it. I don't know why, because I don't have any needle-fear, but the novocaine is the worst part for me. It makes me sweat and raises my heart rate. Strange. Ugh. Ugha bugha.

Sounds good to me. Via.

Tom loved a few small things very much. Pennies from his birth year, alphabetizing, and when all of his socks came out of the dryer in pairs with none missing. He liked to rinse his hands twice after washing them and always put his left arm in his coat first.

Via.

Via.

Via.

Hole

When I was getting clean, I think it was probably around day 9 or 10, I dug a deep hole in the ground. A cat was dying of aging, quietly in a closet, and her owner asked me if I could do the honors. I didn't wear work-gloves and I started in the early morning before breakfast or tea.

It took hours. I probably dug it much deeper than I needed to (ain't that the way of my life). I remember how the earth was in ribbons, dry dirt to mud to clay, the deeper I got.

A few days later, when we checked on the cat and found that she was no longer breathing, I wrapped her in her blanket and tucked her into her grave. It was up among some small pines, shady and calm.

It was the first physically demanding thing I had been able to do after detoxing. Sweating and breathing heavy felt like the initial small accomplishments in a huge project I was gingerly taking on. Becoming a normal person.

Most people have the good sense never to derail their lives in the way that I did. I used to believe in throwing away regret but that was before I ever did anything really regretful. Regret is fine. It keeps you from making the same mistakes twice. Forgive yourself, correct the wrongs, and never do it again.

I still don't know what to do for other people that are in the place that I was. I don't know what made me decide that enough was enough and it was time to get clean. It's true what they say about how an addict can't be persuaded by anyone but themselves to get better.

I am worried, at times deeply and to distraction, about someone I can't remove from my life. In the past, if I've been lied to and had my heart broken, I give that person up. But family is different, isn't it? Family should always forgive. I want to so badly. But I can't, not until it is over.

My heart regards her seldom, because it's easier that way, and my mourning is quiet and lonely. I wish that someday she can leave it behind, shoulder that regret, find a good place, and dig a hole.

WE STARTED AN ETSY SHOP! KATYDID COMMODITIES!

THE HOLIDAYS ARE COMING AT WORK!

This is my explanation for why I haven't posted in this dang ol' blog for so long. I love you.

A change is gonna come, I can feel it.

I haven't written anything in here in over a week, I see.


By: Matthias Heiderich, via.

Everybody's High on Consolation

By: Scott Hunt, via.


By: Robin Schwartz, via.

My eyes go a little blurry at the end of the day and I think it's because they're focused on the horizon, far from my desk.

I read an article today, an advice column piece, and I learned something pretty neat: no one regrets having kids.

The days it takes to write a short story are exciting: thinking hard about a storyline, then letting it rest, and finally, ideas springing up like surprises. The end is always in sight. This book, though, it's just...

The end is not in sight. The days for those surprise-ideas are long gone. I need to re-approach this.

Gotta Get Down to It

Hot beverages, afghans, snuggles, and writing.


By: Daniel Baltzer.

And now! I shall try my hand at something up-beat, story-wise.


By: Adam de Boer.

Holding Onto a Secret

I WROTE A NEW STORY, YES SIR, JUST LIKE I SAID I WOULD.

Go see it.

http://pdxcreate.com/storiesforhumans/2010/09/10/holding-onto-a-secret/

Past

Our fingertips are not so still
when old stories
are told hushed and bare.

Secrets remain unspoken 'til
the lights lie low
and there's a sigh to share.

Our hands move wild and without will
when slips of life
are whispered with care.

This was my first attempt at a rhyming poem. A friend of mine who is attending the Music Conservatory in SF asked me to work with him writing some lyrics for the choir of a symphony he is writing. This portion is about "the past." Pretty neat! It turns out this little piece needs a lot of work but it's been fun to reach outside my realm for a bit.

Just Like Prayer

I should feel really lucky that I got to have a four day weekend. Well, bah. Autumn is here and it's hard, man, it's hard. I think I forgot to take my 5HTP (vitamin that helps your regulation of serotonin and such) over the weekend.

I remember in past years I turned my good feelings towards hot beverages, afghans, snuggles, and writing. But this year, gall dang, it's hard, man, it's hard.

It Must Be La La La La La

As promised, I have been working on a new story. It's spooky and sad, just the way you like them. Got most of it down, now wrapping up and polishing.

In other news, the country song I am listening to just had the line, "If I told you you're an angel, would you treat me like the devil tonight?" HA! HA!


By: Dale Edwin Murray, via.

So just throw it away. Via.

After these messages...

I've been told that perhaps I don't take writing as seriously as I should. That I don't do it enough. My commitment has been doubted. Could be right! Could be right. So! I started a new story. I've been working on this book and writing a little here on my blog but no stories for a long time.

TIME TO GET SERIOUS (stay tuned).

This morning I woke up an hour before my alarm. A little wave of loathing broke in my stomach. Vacation is over. Back to strained, one-sided conversations in whispers at my desk-side. Complaining about our boss, mostly. Completely useless and bogging, really. I don't care. I'm just here to make the best of what I've been given. I don't want to talk about it and I'm not on your side:

I've boiled the problem down to one person. Wicked Lady. The source of all that is horrible at work. She's gossipy, lazy, and unintelligent. And I work under her.

And that's life.

Let's begin anew tomorrow and see how it goes.

Here is where my thinking is going:

A very dear and far away friend of mine had an idea. To start a pitbull rescue farm in the northwest. The start-up money is taken care of, we're hoping, but haven't found out yet fully.

It might be carrying big buckets of food out to dozens of grinning dogs in the morning when it is still quiet all around. It could be making my own schedule and finding myself strong and willing to do work that I am proud of. It could mean employing a few choice, dear friends and family and working around people that I love.

It could also mean putting off having kids. Which is an unshakable dream/plan of mine. I love to love. I want to create it.

It could also mean moving out of Portland.

So I'm mulling. Quietly. I don't see many options for me otherwise. I don't see many options for some people that I love otherwise. So...so there it is. My life's work is this writing thing, you know, and I can do that anywhere. I can do that most easily if I am happy and not trapped up with anger and sadness. Something's gotta give. Dogs and buckets of food and quiet mornings could give that to me.

Here Comes the Rain Again

Via.

In a Handbasket

Tomorrow is my last day at work before my vacation and everyone suddenly thinks it is ME who can save their project/proposal/budget estimate. Oh well. Busy time means faster time, right? Right! Heyyyyyyohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

In This Dirty Old Part of the City

I am pretty much allergic to coffee, I think. If I have just a few sips I get dizzy with mania. I drink black tea all the time and it doesn't do anything noticeable except make me a wee less tired. Sometimes at work if I am really tired I'll mix up a mug of coffee (6 sugars, 2 creams) and it is always a mistake. Every time, here I am, hands unsteady and heart pounding. It's no good for office work, that's for dang sure. The bright bands of fluorescent light and the shick-shick-shick sound of paper are like ghouls closing in around me. It's twenty-two minutes until quitting time, I see. Twenty-one, twenty, oh goodness, oh my, I gotta get out of this place.


By: Robert S. Johnson III, via.

Partly Sunny, 69 Degrees

By: Jackson Eaton.

It's been a small spell since I've written anything in my book. The Dear Boy quit one of his jobs so my evenings aren't spent so much alone anymore. It's alright. It'll come, as it is. Also, sometimes inspiration hides quite well.

Clouds Giving Way to Sun, 80 Degrees

Via.

Low Clouds then Sun, 85 Degrees

I am totally addicted to shopping. Clothes, books, make-up, whatever, all of it. Online, garage sales, the mall, boutiques. Can't stop, won't stop. On top of this I actually read fashion ( AKA shopping) blogs too. Oh man. Oh well. Worse things to be addicted to, I say. And how.

HELLO YOUNG FRIENDS! This weekend I shall go to the land of my childhood and have a birthday party at Willamette Park. We used to do this every year when I was small. I'm really excited for it. Nothing like it. Then next weekend there are a lot of dance parties to attend and THEN...the weekend after that starts my week-long vacation from work. Hooray!

I have a small confession to make. I smoked a cigarette. Broke my spell. Ugh, right? Ugh. I was at the river, I was topless, and I was a little drunk. So it goes. Never again! Never again, Emma, god dang it! YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS.

Clouds Giving Way to Sun, 81 Degrees

It was my birthday yesterday! I am twenty nine now. On Friday the Dear Boy and I drove to Lincoln City and spent two nights at the Ester Lee Motel. Then on Sunday I went to the nude beach with Nate, his girlfriend Betsy, and Tara. THEN yesterday, Dear Boy took me to the zoo! I saw a bald eagle, just sitting there plain as can be. It was great.

Partly Sunny, 81 Degrees

Via.

Oh! Ten weeks and one day of not smoking.

Cloudy, 73 Degrees

Today was probably the worst day I've had in all of 2010. There are a couple contributors to this but most of it was a mystery to me. Yesterday wasn't any good either, come to think of it.

Time for 5HTP again.

Barry said I should go for a walk and reset my perspective. So I'm gonna do that after work.

Sunny, 89 Degrees

By: PNTS, via.

Sunny, 84 Degrees

Via.

Tonight I set out for a big lake. Two nights of camping. This wasn't the case when I was younger, even five years younger, but being out among the trees and things really fortifies me. It's so quiet. I need that.

Clouds Giving Way to Sun, 83 Degrees

By: Andrew B. Myers, via.

I had an unexpected four-day weekend. There's got to be something wrong with me that sometimes on Monday mornings I wake up and the most perfect, believable excuse not to come into the office occurs to me. I come awake seven or so minutes before my alarm is set to go off and in it rolls, tra la la, ain't no thing. I need to stop doing that. I've used up all my sick hours but I just keep putting them on my timesheet. Wondering if my boss will say I'm over the limit. Hoooo.

Mostly Sunny, 87 Degrees

By: Helen Korpak.



Both by: Sam Weber.

Mostly Sunny, 85 Degrees

Oh me. By: Erik Marinovich.

I am trying to glean motivation to continue the wallpaper removal in my bedroom tonight. Yes, I have my own bedroom in the Dear Boy's house. Cuz the two of us have more clothing and shoes than will fit in one bedroom. Plus, it's nice to have your own little bird's nest to retreat to when the winds start howling, you know? We sleep in the same bed every night, of course, because who can resist the snuggle? I also don't think he'd be keen on all the gauzy scarves and crocheted doilies that decorate a girl's room.

Anyway...

Isn't it weird when your friends start having babies? You're like, "Wait. What? I remember when you and I had milk chugging contests. Things are that much different now?" Naw. I refuse to believe it. I'll chug milk with my kids 'til they puke all the dang time, believe it.

HEY! GUESS WHAT! SEVEN WEEKS AND SIX DAYS OF NO CIGARETTES! NOT EVEN ONE DRAG! And my nicotine patch came off while floating down the river during camping and I STILL did not smoke :D

Sunny, 95 Degrees

Twins win. By: Elena Tarchi.

Sunny, 95 Degrees

Have I told you about how my dad lived in a trailer in a junk-yard when I was young? A real junk-yard, acres wide. Refrigerators, RVs, and bath-tubs. TVs, bowling balls, and pachinko machines. School desks, dart boards, and diner stools. There was a team of wild cats and kittens, always, their little gold eyes in all the shadows. The edges of the junk-yard turned into a farmer's fields, filled up with fast, green snakes.

I have distinct memories of standing in the middle of it all, balancing on the edge of some broken down car's front bumper, thinking, "Remember this." The pathways and hiding spots I spent years making were mapped out carefully in my mind.

In the middle, up-front, was Larry's little retail shop. He'd gather the more monetarily-promising items and line them up in the old cracked display cases, sometimes setting something aside for me. A money-clip shaped like a dog, maybe, or a tennis ball, fuzzy and new.

Folks would come out, looking for a carburetor or an air conditioning window unit. They'd pick their way through my pathways, unsteady on their feet in the mud. The wives, frowning, arms across their chests, would ask, "Why can't we just buy a new one?" I'd watch, hidden, from an empty trailer window or under awnings ripped from store-fronts and thrown in the dirt for the spiders. Larry would haul out the wheel-barrow and drag their find back to their shiny new station wagon. He'd pocket their folded cash, readjust his hat, and disappear back into the store with the ting-ting of the metal bells on the door.

The city eventually condemned the entire thing for being unsafe. They ruled it toxic and wiped the land clean. We moved away, into a regular trailer park, and I grew-up. I miss it. It was just me and the sky and all those secrets and treasures.

Sunny, 91 Degrees

You used to save people from drowning and now you're just gone, below the surface, never comin' up.

SUNNY, 70 Degrees

Making lists. I love it. Camping this weekend for two nights in the nether reaches of Washington. Bring, Buy, and Pack. If I could pack for the Dear Boy, I would, just to make sure he doesn't forget anything. Like PJ pants, which are easily forgettable.

Cloudy, 60 Degrees

Well, I have 7,500 words of a book that needs 15,000. It's July now. It's over, I think. I'll write it anyway, I guess. But the point is I failed. Well-placed priorities have never been my strong suit.


Via.

UPDATE :D

Talked to my publisher again. He says no rush. Things came up and his time-line is stretched now a bit too. So, onward, Little Emma!

To let you know, so a little seed of anticipation can sprout in your mind, the novella is about a boy growing up on a Christmas tree farm in rural Oregon. His father is a drunk. His mother is an agoraphobic who decorates everything like Christmas all-year-round, treating the farm like a roadside attraction she can never leave. Boy meets girl. Sadness and awkwardness prevent a happy ending between the two (just like life). Highlights include an accidental rape (just trust on this one), a suicide discovery, and, of course, lots of those moments that humans can't usually seem to put into words.

Clouds and Sun, 61 Degrees

Today I got to come into work two hours late. Then tomorrow is my last day of work for the week, yippee! Friday will be hiking with Dear Boy and a romantic getaway stay in Hood River. Saturday, we'll be prepping my room for move in (Did I tell y'all that we stripped the wallpaper to reveal gorgeous vintage floral wallpaper beneath? So great.) and ballyhooing around Portland. Then Sunday is Fourth of July a.k.a One Year Anniversary. And Monday I have off! Oh glory. So I am determined to have a good day today and tomorrow. AND THEN! Next weekend is camping with ALEX! So much greatness coming up for little me.

Oh shit! Haha, I was just reminded of a bbq at my brother's house on Saturday. So nevermind on prepping my room :o


By: Tauba Auerbach.


That is a white crow. In my estimation it is the most magical creature on earth. INCLUDING narwhals and pygmy goats, which are both pretty dang magical. Via.

Cloudy, 56 Degrees

My muscles are so sore. Hobbling, I'm hobbling.

Partly Sunny, 61 Degrees

Five weeks and five days of no cigarettes. Not even a drag. Although I had a dream in which I was smoking last night :o Turrible.


By: Jon Contino.

Yesterday I walked to the top of a waterfall, one mile high in the air. Tourists in inappropriate shoes jostled with me on a narrow path. There was smooth rocks for sitting on and winter water melting off around us. My little heart, straining inside, was tentative about craning over the edge to see but I did anyway. Oh, the bounty.


By: Ryan Thomas Kenny, via.

Cloudy, 59 Degrees

Via.

I'm pretty excited that it is Friday. My sources say it will be sunny and glorious the next two days. Some hiking is in order, yes.




By: Cody Cochrane.

Clouds and Sun, 71 Degrees

When I was younger, I remember saying, "I don't like landscape photography."

What on earth was I thinking? By: Noa Emberson.

I love to lie on top of people. One person especially. It's called "opossuming" and don't you forget it.

By: Ren Hang.

Clouds and Sun, 71 Degrees

Alright, guys, this is when life gets really exciting. I woke up this morning and I didn't need to crank the heat up to get dressed.


By: Matthew Lyons.

I also had some crazy, colorful dreams of which I don't remember any details.

Tonight, hike up into Multnomah Falls with the Dear Boy, oh me oh my.

Clouds and Sun, 59 Degrees

About this, the author said, "While painting on a balcony in India, a scoured palm leaf with a pair of dark skinny legs bounced past me. I'm telling the truth." Pretty great. By: Saejean Oh.

I am on a hunt. You know those crocheted vintage sweaters? You usually see them in cream colors? I want one but in dark blue. Poo poo...where are you?

Also, bookends. For little groups of books on the mantel and record shelves. Those are easy to find, though. Just gotta wait for payday.






Also by Saejean Oh.

Cloudy, 59 Degrees

Oh hello, first day of summer. Now please explain to us why you're crushing our little beating hearts. And apologize. Apologize right now.

We were really hoping you'd go about this differently. We just thought maybe you'd, you know, come through on this one. Be more like Brazil. Or California. Or this:


By: Robert Warren

Anyway...

Oh, look:

Via.

Cloudy, 50 Degrees

Wounded pride is a hell of a thing.






By: Ross McDonnell.

Cloudy, 53 Degrees

Man, why do I feel so lazy lately? Not having any motivation is powerful, ain't it? I am guessing it is because (yes, I know, dead horse and all of that) we have had more rain this dear June 2010 than any other June in history. Ever. Oof.






By: Erik Johansson.

Rain, Fucking Rain, 53 Degrees

Portland doesn't love me anymore. WELL I DON'T LOVE IT.

In my own true fashion, I have only now discovered that I don't give a fuck if they don't want me listening to music so I brought my earphones into work. Some nice James Carr and Otis Redding are makin' it all so much nicer.

What I've Learned Part 3.5

When I stopped, for the last time, I stopped all of it. Recovery involves more self-analysis than one would otherwise ever wish for. What ever it was that made me say, "Yeah, alright, I'll try that." needed to be removed. They tell you that it's a long road, that it never ends, and I guess they're right. I am steeled against it still. Selfishness, denial, disrespect, and carelessness are tools for self-destruction and they never served me anyway in any way. I'm learning to lose them. To be a good person.

So, thank you, you know who you are, for teaching me:

-Time and patience is all it takes.
-Nothing is permanent and everything changes.
-Love reigns; choose those that you do for their good influence.
-You can leave your life open to varied interpretations or you can prove you are who you are.
-Always be kinder than necessary.

And, as always,

-Someone is always the wiser.

Happy three and a half years to me.

Cloudy, 54 Degrees

86! Degrees! On! Sunday! Oh glory, glory hallelujah, glory, glory, halleluuuuuuujah.

On another note, look here at this spooky stuff:







All By: Joao Ruas.