Get down, girl, go 'head, get down. Get down, girl, go 'head, get down.

Today I learned that a nice young lady that I know would never consider herself a feminist because she feels that in the areas of domestic violence, sexual harassment, and divorce, males get the short end of the stick. This surprised me very much! Sometimes I think I may be a bit like the proverbial ostrich with its head in the sand. Aren't all my smart, forward-thinking, young lady friends feminists? Indeed not, I guess, and this makes me a little sad.



I work for a construction management company with project managers and engineers. I see myself and my female coworkers (of which there are only three out of an office of about 25) not receiving due respect every day. Everything from our ideas not being weighed on the same scales as the men, to the objects on our desks (a bag of potato chips leftover from lunch, as an example) being treated like their property instead of our own.

At the same time, there's no chivalry here either. I've carried heavy box after heavy box across our parking lot while two male employees smoked cigarettes and watched. Colorful language is used in mixed company and they don't even try to conceal their (rude) bodily functions in front of the ladies.



Now, I am a fan of chivalry and also a feminist. Feminism is the belief that women are not inferior to men. Chivalry is the culturally accepted way of behaving honorably, especially around women. I always try to act chivalrously when I am alone with other women. Opening doors, letting them lead in conversation, paying for things, etc.. In mixed company, it's the role of men, but I think it's important for females to uphold this custom when it's just us. It's not an antiquated or dated American idea; in today's Japan, for example, there are numerous social customs, like chivalry, that everyone is expected to follow.



Getting back to the oppressed male, even when I was little and I heard someone say that white people have the least amount of rights, I knew that was wrong. Just seeing how the non-whites were treated at my (elementary) school told me that much about America. So I've been thinking today about how anyone could possibly think men get the short end of the stick when it comes to domestic violence, sexual harassment, and divorce. According to the Bureau of Justice Statistics Crime Data Brief [Intimate Partner Violence, 1993-2001, February 2003], "women accounted for 85% of the victims of intimate partner violence, men for approximately 15%." Perhaps because of this, the cops take a wee bit more convincing when a man says he is being beaten on by his girlfriend, and while this is a shame, it is definitely not grounds to denounce feminism. Also, prenuptial agreements were invented to cease gold-digging and in the wise words of Kanye West, "If you ain't no punk, holla, 'We want prenup! We want prenup!' It's something you need to have 'cause when she leaves your ass, she'll leave with half." Ha!

Ha!

(Art by: Katai Stienstra, found via.)

Toolsday

I wonder about sincerity a lot. I wonder what people are like when they're around people they are fully comfortable with. I've always treasured that day in a friendship when my friend starts using silly voices and making funny faces around me. It means I've made it into their sanctum.



Some people are at their most comfortable around their family, I've noticed. I guess if you spent every day of your childhood around the same people you no longer worry about what they think of you. I have a big family. Three brothers and two sisters, all older than me. To be fair, one of those brothers was raised mostly by his mom in Ohio but he was in my life for a couple spans.

My dad, sister, and I picked him up from the airport when he was a late teenager after last seeing him when he was in grade school. He was tall and looked a good bit like us but he was a stranger. He entered the fold cautiously and although him and I talked about lots of things, we never learned much about each other. He's gone again now, last seen homeless and on drugs. The death in life.



In other news:

I've been watching a lot of documentaries lately. We hooked up our VCR to get the internet (okay, it's a BluRay Player but I really like to give the Dear Boy a hard time by calling it "the VCR") so we can watch Netflix Instant from the couch. It's great! There are oodles of documentaries in their library. Recently, I watched Jesus Camp, which is about evangelical christians, and specifically about their aim at America's children.

If you didn't know, evangelicals are the ones that speak in tongues and claim one needs to be "born again" to reach heaven. In the movie, they spoke about how children are easiest to convince of god's importance and of the place they feel Jesus should have in our lives. Children have hardly any reservations about putting their hands in the air and speaking nonsensically to the ceiling or moaning and rolling about on the floor. They are full of spirit! Ha! ha!


Photos by: Yuanling Wang

Last night we watched American Meth which is, of course, about meth. This one was pretty hard for me to sit through. They talked to a lot of addicts and even lived with one meth-addicted couple for a short time. The couple had four young children, the oldest only eight, whom they forgot to feed or care for while on meth benders. What drug addiction does to your lines of thinking is horrifying and familiar. It's hard to watch people lie to themselves and abuse their innocent loved ones. I've been on both sides of that coin and I try to reflect on it as seldom as possible. Moving on!

Remember this post, gentle readers? Well, I bought a piece by the same artist today!

This one:



Letterpressed on paper, framed, for fifty bucks. Niiiiiiice.

You Gotta Help Me Make a Stand

I'm always trying to force my thinking into a different direction than what it is naturally tending towards. Addiction, worrying, and cynicism put me in tail-spins all the time.



Addiction is probably the largest beast. It's not about drugs these days, obviously, but any little thing. I am stubbornly attached to ritual and routine and can rut myself up pretty bad if I'm not careful. Before I realize what's happening, I'm doing something every day in the same way and sometimes it isn't beneficial to me or those around me. There's a term out there for this sort of thing starting with "obsessive" and ending with "disorder" but as long as I can keep my good grip on the reigns I ain't accepting it. Addiction. Not disorder.



Even though I fully know that it doesn't do any good, I worry endlessly as well. Loops and loops of "what if"s. Combined with a tendency to be cynical, and honed story-telling, the possibilities are great and very bad indeed. I have a habit of mistaking my own speculation for fact, too, which really doesn't help at all.


All photos by: Jay B. Sauceda, via.

As I grow up, I more easily recognize when a wave of this garbage is coming on and try to duck out from under it before it gets me, so that's good. I try not to sit and stare out a window for an hour, wringing my hands and fretting up a storm any more. I find that the more I tell others "chin up" and to "throw away those thoughts" the more my ego steps in, having me take my own advice.

Minding Manners

Today I am thinking about if people ever think about what they say. Small example, of coworker, who we shall call Ponytail:

Me: "Here's a confirmation for that fax you sent earlier."
Ponytail: "Only one page?"
Me: "Yeah, it prints out only the first page of your fax with the confirmation there at the top."
Ponytail: "Okay, no problem."

Didn't ask if this was a problem for you, Ponytail.

Now, I know this sounds over-reactive but it's a phrase he uses in all his conversational exchanges even though it comes off a bit rude in most. To me. Maybe to you too. To me, it makes him sound as if he thinks everyone should be apologizing to him.


Via.

Another irritating one is those small phrases people overly use, like "and the other thing is..." which isn't so bad, I guess, until you work with the lady who uses it in statements like, "He was a really great speaker and the other thing is he really made you interested in what he was saying." Actually, lady, those two ideas are the same. A semi-colon there in place of your catch-all phrase would work super well. Super well!


Via.

I think I probably pay too much attention to how I come off socially and I probably shouldn't worry because people just aren't paying attention, that's all. Nothing personal. I mind my manners and make sure to be polite, cheerful, and funny as often as I can when I am out in the world. Makes everything nicer, I say.

Recently I've had a rash of cashiers who do not address me in any way during our transaction. No smile, no nod, no "hello," no nothing. Next time, I am going to ask, "Are you alright?" and if they wonder why I'm asking I'll tell them, "You seem like you're having a bad day." How can you get mad at a stranger concerned with your well-being?


Via.

Some evenings, I'd go up on the roof. It was only a short climb onto the backdeck railing and a mighty hoist to the gritty top of our mobile home. Our court was a short length of highway to the north of town, up among a private vineyard, a very old cemetery, and christmas tree farms.


Via.

From up there, I could only hear a whisper of civilization and all the lights were very far away. Laying down in the summer, it would warm my back as the night air cooled around me.


Via.

In high school, I'd go up there to sneak cigarettes (sorry Mom, sorry Pop). Forearms around my knees, I'd squint out at the curtain of dark trees in the distance and mull over the feelings of defiance and restlessness, and endless plans for the future.


Via.

I had a spooky imagination and was constantly scaring myself but up there I felt sealed off from my ghouls. It was where I began to get comfortable with being alone.


Via.

Sometimes mine or a neighbor's cat would join me, tail twitching, sniffing the night. I cherished their company, there is something very calming about the slowness of a cat.

Move over, mouse, there's a cat in the house.

Because my best friend is slightly bad at life, the Dear (Allergic) Boy and I are now proud owners of one orange cat. He actually used to belong to me years ago so he's not entirely new. His name is Petey and he's two-thirds love and sweetness and one-third claws and teeth(ness).



He's been living mostly in my room (Oh. Yeah, the Dear Boy and I each have a room in our house. Cuz who can fit two wardrobes into one room?! We sleep in his room every night, NOT that it's any of yo' business.) and ventures out to the living room every once in a while to purr and rub on things.

DB's allergies have been testing him but I think he is toughing it out and being a very brave little toaster.

Let's Get Silly

I read some things today, exciting things, tiresome things, and it occurred to me that I am a big fan of the internet. Man, when I was starting out I remember the internet being a local network for my town's university and if you wanted to chat with someone you "fingered" them. I've forgotten how I used to learn new things before the internet. Oh! Right. Talking to my peers. Or asking an adult. Well! That's me now, suckers! That's me!

Before the internet was graphical (I know!), before you could just pop onto the computer for a nice little email check, there were things called MUDs. You created a character and you operated this character in a geek-made world of hours and hours and hours of reading text. Now, I was probably (definitely) too young for these shenanigans and it probably (definitely) was the seed that sprouted my anti-social tendencies (oh, you didn't realize? You thought maybe I just didn't like you? No, I like you VERY much) today but who cares? What good comes of successfully sustained social interaction? Money? Fame? Yes. And everyone knows money and fame corrupt your soul and make you ugly on the inside.

I am also a big fan of books. My parents are very literary. Both advanced readers and writers and respected by all. There was really no way I would have turned out to be anything else besides this. There was only one answer to "Mom, I'm bored" and that was "read a book." My grandmother (Nana, to you) had one of those big sets of green encyclopedias that smelled of ink in her living room. During the two years my mom, sisters, and I lived with her when I was a kid, I sat for long periods of time when no one was home turning each page of a volume, one by one, skimming every useful bit I could find. Rocking horses, sea cucumbers, snowflakes.

I still do like reading books but the frequency of doing so really dropped off when that scratchy modem-connecting sound started giving me a thrill.

Man, I still love that sound. Reeeeeeee-oooooooo-chhhhhhhhhhh! To me, it said, "your friends are waiting and they are not worried at all about how cool you are. Only that you spend a lot of time reading the same things they have been reading."

Gosh. Sigh.

I heard something nice and now here it is paraphrased:

Prayer is not something you decide to do, it is a force like a heavy wind and it is loud enough for god's ears to hear.

I don't claim membership of any church or religion, although I admire qualities of most, like any good, thinking person should, but I am continuously drawn to words that describe complex feelings. And that is why I thought it was nice.

Like when you're out in the country and the silence hurts your ears. [;)]

Emma and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Inching Along

Every little bird and every little bee
In the sky and in the sea.
Their black, bright eyes and hard, sharp beaks
Today they were made just for me.


By: Justin Richel, via.

~~~

I took some little pictures just now of desky stuff here at work. It ate about 12 minutes. Good enough for me.


Here are the two stacks of invoices on my desk at the mo'. Sorting and filing these takes about two days out of every week of mine. Yes, there are easier ways of doing this sort of thing. No, my boss won't allow it.


I pick up this thing about 24,395 times a day.


Every morning I cross off the day before it and rue that it is not Friday yet (unless it is Friday yet). You can see there my little countdown for how many weeks left 'til vacation-week. I used to have a little airplane-shaped paperclip attached to this calendar but I loaned it to a friend and I haven't seen it come back yet.


Every time Wicked Lady, next to me, talks to me, I have to press ye mute button on my keyboard so's I can hear her prattle on. Gets a bit irritating if I do say so myself.

AND THERE IT IS. THERE YOU ARE.

Don't you hate it when someone you don't like and don't respect identifies you as one of them?

If only feeling superior actually was the same as being superior.

They say (something along the lines of) life is what you make of it, right? Today has been heavy with fighting my outlook. It's precarious.

Physically, I feel pretty good. A couple ails are righting themselves. Yesterday was the big turn-around on a head/chest cold and on Saturday I bit the side of my tongue pretty hard so I was uncomfortable most of the day.

The cold had me at home Wednesday through Friday so returning to work this morning was anxious and dread-filled. Dreadful? I was full of dread. There are no real concrete reasons for this, though, besides the horrible co-worker and getting out of bed before I want to, so I am battling to change my outlook.

It's not a bowl of cherries but it's not so bad either, right? Well, hell.

It's a cold and it's a broken "hallelujah."

Right now, at work, I have leggings on under my jeans, a long sleeve shirt, a sweater, a fleece, and my coat over my legs. I wonder if I should gain some weight to insulate me. I'm cold every day. All day long. I think it might be why I've been getting sick so often this year but I couldn't find any information online supporting this theory. Go figure. I'll eat like it's Thanksgiving for every meal. I don't suppose that will be very good for my heart though. Ho hum.

Speaking of getting sick all the time, my lungs feel a bit funny. Tell-tale signs, you know. So I'm dosing up on these immunity support vitamins. And some nice Emergen-C. Fuck it. We'll see.

This is a bit much so let's muse upon some nice things:

My first week off this year is in seven weeks. Not too bad. See how easy it goes: seven, six, five, four, three, two...easy as pie! I don't think I'll make it out of town on any crazy trips but I will have a very nice time sleeping in and getting some writing done and cooking meals. And by then the weather will be perfect for hiking. Great glorious nature, I've got my eye on you.

What else?

It is sunny out there right now. Don't mean much to me from in here but it is nice to see out the windows if I turn around.

I miss listening to Paul Simon's latin musical, The Capeman.

Grumble Grumble Complain Complain

Getting up in the morning to get to work on time is increasingly horrible and difficult. It's so dark out. I've been trying to think of ways to fix this. Our bedroom window faces east, so you'd think the sun would be there to welcome me into my life, but the big house next door blocks out its face. Hmmph.

In other news, I wonder if it will make me feel better to get this off my chest:

The person that I work under is horrid to be around. Lazy, selfish, and stupid. This office is made up of two bosses, some engineers, some project managers, above-mentioned "HR Lead" and me. She is that certain brand of lazy that has no problem sticking other people with her responsibilities. She's the first one here in the mornings and if the dishwasher is full with a clean load (from me starting it before leaving the previous day), she'll restart it so she doesn't have to put it away. If heavy boxes need to be moved, she'll stand at the doorway of wherever they're going while I carry them to and fro. She can't even seem to print her own address labels or make her own copies. Only person in the office incapable of doing these things on their own.

She has below-average intelligence and very bad social skills. She's not awkward, just loud and clueless. She is ten years older than me and watches the new 90210 and Gossip Girl. She tells me lies about her son, making up things he says and does so he seems smarter and her life seems more interesting. She wears those Skechers shoes that have the rounded sole and are supposed to help you lose weight just by walking.

She has no organizational skills and will never take responsibility for incomplete tasks. She talks shit constantly about our bosses and everyone we work with. In fact, when a new project manager is hired, she'll repeatedly pull them into a conference room to have private conversations with them, telling them the company is doomed and that nothing will ever improve, until they quit. She persuaded two people to quit last year and tried to convince me to quit earlier this year. As the HR person, this is pretty crazy behavior.

She has it out for the owners of the company so she tries her hardest to make the office as chaotic and non-operational as possible. She doesn't want any of us to succeed because she is a small-minded, weak person.

Now you're wondering why she hasn't been fired. Well, I'll tell you. Two weeks after she started here (her employment was recommended by an employee at the time who worked with her at another office), she got married. A little while later, she got pregnant. Four months into her pregnancy, her husband put a fatal bullet into his own head.

So...

This was over two years ago and I can see her free-ride running out as more time passes, but it ain't over yet. Who wants to fire someone who endured such a horrific event in their lives? Not my bosses, that's who. Oh, she also had to "get [her] cervix cut off," in her words, a few months back, so there's that as well.

Lord, please help me. Deliver me from this fool. I do feel a mite bit better, though, actually.

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.