Undefined.

The greatest curse and the deepest blessing in this flicker of consciousness between the two great voids of eternity is that we are left to define ourselves.  Every day, every moment, with almost every action.  This doesn’t seem to shake everyone.  I observe people in my own existential bubble sometimes envious of their ambivalence towards their own stories.  But I guess there’s some sort of awareness threshold that keeps the majority of the populace from becoming too caught up in (what often feels like) a Schrodinger’s box of personal reality. 

 That wouldn’t be too smart, biologically.  Life demands spontaneity.  Propagation of the species is impossible without a defined choice, in one way or another. Sometime in the course of the last 200 million years, as we’ve made our way from the Great Rift to the great unknown, our ability to be the orchestrators of our destinies has transformed from biology to identity.  And not simply identity but a linear evolution of identity, as it will be perceived and interpreted.  There’s a problem in this accepted and instinctually understood progression, because in our absolute most basic nature we’re simple matter.  Matter to atoms, and atoms to the subatomic.  We are but energy.  And on that subatomic level, things are neither and both particle and wave at the same moment until by observation a form is assumed.  (Think when Egon conjured the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.  A simple influence of consciousness chose a form, and energy obliged.)

 I’m postulating this betrayal of quantum self as a partial explanation for the deep-rooted nihilism rampant in my generation.  We’re beginning to realize we’re not content to just call ourselves “artist” or “doctor” or “teacher”.  We know we’re much more than what we do.  Even if society necessitates we sacrifice those prismatic facets of self in the name of “responsibility” and “security” with the dangling carrot – a vision of temporary sacrifice for someday freedom – leading most to a permanent amnesia littered with might’ve-beens.

Everyone is wildly interesting, beyond observable means.  Beyond definable terms.

There’s something so spiritually universal in that.  Our right to our eccentricities and freedom from conscious confinement.

Note:  To anyone out there fighting death of intrinsic-self that comes from acceptance of the boring submission… remember your non-conformity makes you a trailblazer of esoteric levels.  And for that alone you kick ass in my book.

Theoretical Rambling of Quantum Nothings

I'm well aware I don't blog half as much as I've been used to doing.  Perhaps that's just life's way of getting in my way; maybe it's that I have nothing to say.  No, I think I've realized over the past few weeks that now more than ever I have plenty to say.  Things worth listening to, worth thinking about.  And things worth that much consideration deserve to be understood before passed on or shared.

September was a difficult month for me.  There was more than a fair share of tragedy.  But slow thoughts overcame me, thoughts that have been accumulating for years... maybe my whole life.  Without getting into too much too soon, it was more or less a period of massive personal growth.  I'm quite certain one of my main goals in life is to understand and learn everything I can.  And while some may argue that too much knowledge can take the magic out of living I'd have to strongly disagree.  No one person on this earth will ever have enough knowledge of anything to have the insatiable curiosity tamed by it.  This is simply because the more we learn the more we realize how much unknown there actually is.  Which in turn serves to only make that desire for growth more vibrant.  I know a man who is a physics teacher who will drop in to the office here from time to time and show me a new card trick.  And they're good tricks, too.  I'm always begging him to show me how each new one is done.  Since most card tricks are a matter of memory, static electricity, and dexterity.  He asked me the last time why I always wanted to know how they're done, that it would take the magic out of the trick if I knew.  I retorted back, as if not of my own voice at all, that it was crap.  The trick is simple science, the real magic is distorting the perception of the audience.  ...And therein lies kind of why I'm a little obsessed with learning.  I'm in an essence obsessed with the illusion we call "reality".  I want to unwrap the gleaming foil from around it if for no other purpose than to become cognizant of my own existence for what it actually is.  Not just tissues and cells and amino acids.  But cognition, consciousness, soul, and spirit.

I'm actually a firm acknowledger of synchronicity.  It is there.  You know how people talk of coincidences and strange events and reasons?  Synchronicity teaches us to pay attention and extend our field of vision beyond that narrow visible spectrum of awareness.  But before you go googling synchronicity, understand that the meaning of the term is different for many people.  It's a metaphysical mysticism for most and I don't want my point being misinterpreted.  Which is kind of how I feel now about truth, thought, and belief now anyway.  That it's ours for the taking.  But it's not one-size-fits-all.  In no uncertain terms, your reality isn't mine.  And our realities are just perceptions.  Perceptions based on the lives we've unfolded thus far.

So anyway, that's sort of how it happened.  I began to pay more attention to everything.  And I'd be in the right place at the right time to hear the right comment or find the right book or reflect on myself to find the right thought.

There you have where I am right now.  I have a brilliant-to-me, all my own, give something good to the earth idea in my head.  One of a million ways I can do for others.  But right now I am studying and reading and note taking like a mad woman whenever I have a spare moment.  It's like realizing what you want to do when you grow up is nothing college studies could've ever prepared you for.  So now the education really begins, only it began when I was born... and somehow everything (good and bad and in between) that I've lived through may not make logical sense, but it makes faithful sense.

And with that I could run off a thousand other thought I've had, but I won't.  If anybody at all gives enough of a damn apart from what their reality is enough to think of it... take the time to ask someone what being alive really means to them.  Swap notes.  Exchange ideas.  Don't be bound to a bubble.  And like it or not, we're all in bubbles.  And we all like to be asked things.  Isn't that it?  One of our basic needs apart from air, blood, food, water, and love... is to have someone else care enough to want to learn who we are.  Trueness of who we are.  Beyond doctor or sales manager or lunch lady.  The divine being within that has a soul with a purpose and a desire to keep going.  Think about it.  Everybody you know has (or has the potential for developing) a theory of everything.  None like the next.  Kind of magical, don't you think?

A Size Negative.

I'm perplexed.

First of all, there is now a "Plus Size" model who wears a size 4.  FOUR.  4.  You know, that crazy unattainable number that post-pubescent women over 5'7 will only ever see under extreme conditions.  Since 5th grade (when I was 5'4 and 110) I have worn a size 4 once.  Last summer.  For about a two week window after killing myself to fit into a tight LBD for a banquet.  Pretty sure at 5'8 and not 110, I have vanity sizing to thank for that.

*Facepalm*

Size 4 is NOT 'plus'.  On any planet.

Furthermore, most models you see with jutting hip bones in those fashion rags are 14, 15.  And have yet to hit that hormonal thing that gives us ladies our curves.  So the average American woman is told to idealize her figure to that of an adolescent?  Because self-worth is found in the tag on our jeans?  IDFTS.  Stop the bus.  I'll be a size 00 about half-past never.

I have a problem with that.

So if a 4 is too fat, and a 12 not fat enough to plus-size model... where are the body image role models for the everyday gal?

Where are our models?  Where is the modeling agency and the fashion magazine and the clothing designer willing to accept that women are women and not teenage boys and give us clothes cut to fit curvaceous hips, a soft (but not fat) stomach, where are button-down shirts that don't gap over the boobs?  Do you know how annoying it is to have to leave the first 2-3 undone, requiring you wear a tank top underneath?  Why is it so hard to find clothes that don't look awkward because they were designed for ruler body-types?

<---Meet Crystal Renn.  'Plus size' model.  I think she's gorgeous.

<---Compared to how Ralph Lauren thinks you should look.  Most will remember the photoshopped ads they published last year.

We as the majority of consumers have the right to stand up against this stupid double-zero-standard.  We buy the damn clothes.  Our waists will never be as wide as our wrists.  Fashion industry, you've lost your damn minds.  Furthermore, look at the effect it has on today's teens.  What in the world will our daughters and granddaughters be told is beautiful if we don't swing the tide?  Body dysmorphia is on the rise.  The time to reclaim beautiful is now.

I refuse to starve myself for trends.

Check out how beauty standards have changed... (from natural, classic, and beautiful... to sickly)

Eventually Women Will Just Disappear:

/end rant.

The Rock Gospel According to Rhiannon

<---- It exists.  The Rock Bible.  I saw it perusing the shelves at Barnes & Noble today.  Pretty hilarious book; pretty true in observations.

This got me to thinking about if I could write my own Gospel of Rock (without blaspheming the code) what would I say?  Surely I have observed a bit over the years.

*Disclaimer:  Though I by no means claim to know what I'm talking about, this is all just my opinion based on actual experiences.

The Rock Gospel According to Rhiannon

Know Thy Place

1.  You are not with the band if you tell people you're with the band.  In fact, unless you are in the band or carrying equipment you're not with the band.

2.  There are two categories of people with the band, members and crew.  There are two categories of people who aren't with the band but are treated as if they are, "band family" and real family.  There are two categories of people who aren't with the band but think they are, groupies and stans.

3.  If you don't know which category you fall into, you're in the last two.

4.  Never ask to be put on the list.

5.  If you're worthy of being on the list, you'll be on it.  Whether you've been asked if you're coming to the show or not.  Chances are, the person working the door knows you anyway and this won't be an issue.

6.  If you're not on the list but think you're supposed to be.  Don't argue with the door, you're not supposed to be.  Suck it up, fork out the dough for the cover/ticket, and support the band you love.

7.  Should you show up to every show, congratulations, you're a groupie.  (Assuming you aren't with the band.)

8.  He's not going to call you back.  If he does, it just means it's a slow night.

9.  If you must sleep with a band member, understand you're a one-night stand.  Be safe, and don't fool yourself into thinking you're going to be "the one".  You're "the one that night".  Any attempts to convince him otherwise will mark you as crazy and will land you on the BOLO list.  
10.  The "BOLO" list is short for "Be on the look-out".  Consider it equivalent to America's Most Wanted list.  If you're on it, someone either wants to sleep with you or avoid you.  And depending on which, you will either be backstage or stageblocked.

11.  If you're dating someone in the band, that does not put you in any position of power.  You're a groupie with creds and most likely need to get tested when he gets back from that gig in (insert far away city that you couldn't attend here).  Be nice to the fans, and don't freak out when your guy stage-flirts.  This is his job.  Let him work.

12.  If you're married to someone in the band, good luck.  You must be special; it's going to take a lot of patience, trust, understanding, and sacrifice to make it work.  The road ahead of you isn't an easy one.

13.  Never re-tell any stories that you're not sure are okay to tell.  Even if the story involves you and is about your life, don't break the code.

14.  Learn the code.  It will make you a better person.

15.  Don't corner a band member after the show to make small-talk.  It's late, they're tired, think of how you'd feel if a random person cornered you in your office at 5:00 to discuss your job.  

16.  If you're there to have a good time and enjoy the music, thank you.

17.  Buy merch.  This ensures you can continue coming out and having a good time enjoying the music. Yes, it is appreciated you came out, but the real money is made at the merch table and if you like what you hear, show your appreciation and buy an album.  

18.  Fans should not go on the internet and split hairs critiquing the show on public message boards, YouTube comments, or blogs.  If you know so much about it, by all means, get up there and give it a go.  "Sucks" is a subjective term.  Remember music is art.  Not a means for you to bullshit like you know what you're talking about to impress people who are gullible enough to listen.  If you do have an opinion on the show and do know what you're talking about, you'll probably have enough respect for the artist or band to do it privately.  They have enough criticism coming their way from themselves and journalists.  Be a respectful fan, not a poser know-it-all.  They don't come to Subway and tell you you could've done a better job slicing that bread.

19.  Don't fool yourself, if you're trying to wiggle your way "in", it's not going unnoticed.  No need to sneak off to the bathroom and somehow give yourself a bloody nose so the lead singer carries you across the threshold of the medical tent like his Carrie-bride.  Everyone knows you're faking it and using someone's kind nature to earn a little face-time.  (Based on a true story.)

20.  Being cool, respectful, and normal goes a long way.

21.  Don't ask an artist who has been around for a while why they're still touring, implying they do it for the money.  In the words of Tommy Shaw, "You don't ask your plumber why he's still fixing pipes, do you?  I'm out here because I want to be."

22.  There is a LOT of drama around bands.  Get used to it and be prepared.

23.  Remember it's just about the music.  Rock out & rock on.

Seen, but Not Heard

I've been doing a lot of introspection lately concerning people's outward actions versus their true intentions.  And where that all stems from in the psyche.  I remembered long ago as I was growing up whenever I'd try to state an opinion on something how often an elder would tell me, a child, that I was "meant to be seen, not heard".

In looking at this phrase initially, and the literal way people take it, it's pretty offensive.  Isn't everyone's opinion just as valuable as another's?  (Note that valuable does not necessarily mean right or intelligent or even thought out.  Just that it is an innate human right to have one.  Kind of like an asshole.)  So then what if there's an alternate interpretation for the seen & not heard adage?

Case in point, people beyond a certain intelligence level are sharply aware of the image they project onto the world.  It's part of me, when I want you to see it, and how.  It's not facades, or fronts, or masks, but a deliberate volunteering of part of one's heart that shapes the outward perception of someone.  I'd say 75% of us do this to a certain degree.  For example, everybody farts.  Yes, I'm speaking to the ladies, too.  But who goes around telling people about the epic fog they crop dusted in the vitamin aisle at Target?  Who wants that to be what people see?  ...Okay, there are some.  But for the most part you get my point.  We conceal parts of ourselves and only give out the best of us to those we don't know on a deep personal level.

So while this in itself is a form of manipulation, as you are manipulating parts of yourself to in effect put "the best foot forward", it's harmless, expected, and actually required of us if we're going to get anywhere in our careers, personal lives, and so on.  So the information that is kept in, the burnt cookies you don't take to the bake sale (if you will), is what we commonly refer to as our secrets.  Our deeply private personal factoids and feelings that truly characterize our true character.  Anybody who's been in a long term relationship will remember when they finally stopped being so damn uptight about bodily functions (ie: said fogging or leaving the bathroom door open for you hardcore kids).  And that's the point you get to when you're truly comfortable with another human.  I know it sounds blasé, but you see what I'm getting at.

Now, there is a dangerous... er, dark at least... side to all this.  That's when someone has a good enough grasp on this projected image to distort it beyond themselves.  For whatever reason, be it trying to impress someone they wouldn't have anything in common with otherwise, or maybe wanting to seem like a better person than they think themselves to be, or to be completely facetious with the intentions of malevolently manipulating someone to attain their own agenda.  Which in fact isn't an uncommon thing. How many smokers lie to non-smokers about being smokers so that they won't be judged or nagged?  How many people put on airs of religious kindness so people will think they get something that they truly missed completely and are scared to death to let show?  Or if someone wants to try and lure in a potential personality type to befriend, and thusly change their personality to fit theirs so the other has an impression of commonality on which to build a comfort level?  Remember high school?  Ok.

This is where the alternate interpretation of "meant to be seen and not heard" comes into play.  In a world of selective truth, how does one find reality?  (Ignoring that reality is itself individual, unique, and open to interpretation.)  Seen.  Actions.  Not words.  Anyone can talk themselves up all day long about how wonderful they are, what they do for philanthropy, or play the ever popular victim card for sympathy... but where's the defining line of deserved empathy?  Check their actions.  What people do when no one else is around is who they are.  Don't accept them telling you they did this, because most often the people that do the most good speak the least about it.

The moral of the story is:  Truth, is meant to be seen.  Not heard.

Thoughts on Curling

...It's 3:30.

Don't feel like putting in a DVD, don't feel like sleep.  Nothing is on TV.  So I'm watching curling.

WHY is this an Olympic "sport"?  What is athletic about this?  Why are they so serious about it... hollerin'... so intense.  DUDE... you're pushing a rock and sweeping.  There's a giant target that seems to serve no apparent purpose because from what I can tell they're responding the same no matter where the thing stops.  (I've figured out the scoring & the purpose.  I still don't think it's a "sport" anymore than carrying in your groceries is a "sport".)  And I nit you shot, the announcer just said "this Norway team is trying to push a hot deuce".  That's all I need to know.  That must be the purpose for the bullseye.

There's truly something magnificent about watching dudes sweeping in argyle pants.

Can you imagine what it must be like for these guys in the Olympic village?  I can picture it, lunch time at the Olympian cafeteria.  All these athletes who train so intense all their lives for one moment of glory sitting at tables laughing and talking about that one time they blew out (insert appendage or joint of choice) and thought their career was over.  ...Back in the far corner, huddled with their Swiffers and Hot Pockets, talking about why Picard was a better captain than Kirk, the curlers.  (Picard WAS.)

On the flip side, how pissed off would you be if you were Apolo Ohno strolling through Vancouver with your bronze and along comes a pudgy bald dude with a gold medal?  That he got for... assisting in the general sliding direction of a rock.

And while we're at it, if Curling can be a Winter Olympic Game, it is only fair that Cornhole be instated as an official Summer Olympic Game.  ...Or Ski-Ball.  Or that one game where you put your quarter in and it falls in another pile of quarters, and the shelves push & retract and you always think the quarters will fall.  But, the quarters never fall.  So you give up and trade in your tickets for spider rings & jolly ranchers.  What's next?  Olympic Spacing Out In the Middle of Conversations?  Olympic Changing the Toilet Paper Roll?

"Oh hey!  What'd you get your gold medal for?" ... "Air hockey."

Dawn of a Decade; Closure of Another (Thoughts on Resolutions)

2010.


Seems unfathomable.  Blame geeking on too much Star Trek episodes as a kid, but the entire time/space continuum is undetectable to me.  All that is, is now.  It is always now.  Like being in a vast expanse, where everything could be and anything is and isn't until it was or wasn't.  Think about the concept of time.  It is a man-formulated means of tracking his own existence.  A year is 365(.25) days on earth.  A year is 88 days on Mercury.  So the whole idea that time is a fabric that interweaves with space is silly.  Time is merely a measurement of consciousness.

This is why New Years always catch me off guard.  Especially new decades.  Time is also a perception, an interpretation of one's experience based during trips around the sun.  This will begin my fourth decade, the third I've seen the start of, and it's going by faster.

There's a reason for that.  Think back to when you were a kid.  Summer vacations, Christmas break, weekends.  Remember how long they felt?  Remember how the end of school felt like it took an absolute eternity to arrive?  Remember how one summer felt like what a year feels like now?  There is a simple explanation to the idea that time goes by faster as we age.  It's simply because we've experienced more of it.  Similar to desensitization.  The more days we see, the faster they seem to pass.  A day is still just 24 hours whether you're 5 or 500 though.

So while I'm still wrapping my head around the fact that the 1990s are now entering the "20 years ago" compartment, I'm also learning to be hyper aware of each and every moment to get that sensation of "linger" once more.

Of course this is a popular time of year to set goals and plans for the year ahead, many seem to view January 1st as a fresh start and a clean slate.  Let me tell you, it isn't.  Shit that troubled you on December 31st will still be there January 1st.  Problems, quirks, habits, addictions, a fat ass, not knowing how to speak some funky language... all there.  It carries over.  What is a clean slate, however, is now.  I guess a new number temporarily motivates some to change someway.  But if you want to lose weight, put down the fork now.  If you want to save money, stop buying useless shit now.  If you want to make a difference, act now.

Hence why resolutions are (to me) useless.  My only goal on any January 1st is to make the upcoming year better than the last.  I started doing this in 2007.  And so far, 08 was better than 07, 09 better than 08, and thus I plan for 10 to be better than 09.

This also kind of goes back to how I never want to have my best day/year/time.  Once you've peaked, that's the absolute highest you can get.  That's it.  Everything else is downhill and not as good as "that".  So what are you doing after you peak?  Waiting for death?  That's how I see it.

All that said, I'm really looking forward to 2010.


...By the way.  The world isn't ending in 2012.  Just sayin.

A Much Needed Hiatus

I'm freezing this morning.  Just let me say that.
This sucks.  In Carolina yesterday it was 70 degrees, by the time I landed back at O'Hare the windchill was near 25.  Not much better this morning either.  I actually had to scrape the ice off both front and back windows of my car.  One more thing to be thankful for, that fleece lined ice scraper mitt from Eddie Bauer I bought on a whim two weeks ago.  That thing is going to be my best friend over the next three months.

By the time Wednesday night rolled around last week I was more or less coming out of my skin from travel-itch.  I hate being confined to one area (although adulthood and my current situation demands more of it than I want to give) and if I'm not road tripping or flying somewhere at least once every 6-8 weeks, I'm flipping my skull.

Anyhow.  My Thanksgiving was fantastic.  I don't know who cooked the bird this year but it was the best I think I've ever had.  My Aunt Suzi didn't disappoint with her homemade bread & sweet tea either. Finally got to meet my little niece Raegan.  She's four months old now.  I looked at my cousin Matt (who is for all intents and purposes my big brother, without explaining years of family events/deaths/turmoils/history, we're just that close and always have been) and said "Look what you did!"  She's gorgeous, too.  Going to be a redhead just like her Daddy, her Grandma, and my Daddy.  I noticed, somehow and somewhere along the line, the chemistry of my family grew up.  It's not the "grandkids" and the "aunts & uncles" anymore.  Now my Dad's generation are the elders, and the grandkids all have kids.  Except for myself.  But, being the youngest by a good 8 years and not being in any hurry... clearly.  This is the biggest juxtaposition of my world in the city and my world "back home".  I've always had the "if it happens, it happens" approach to all forms and fashions of love, children, and romance.  Which is not at all understood in small town Appalachia.  Girls are trained to be wives and mothers.  And though I'm fairly confident I would have no problem stepping into those roles, I don't seek it out as taught.  Whereas in Chicago, that's completely okay.  Matthew asked me when it would be my turn.  When I replied that "although I'd like to have a family, I'm not hell bent on seeking it out... I have other things to do first" the contorted look on his face would have you believe I spoke Esperanto.  Which is ironic, given just two years ago he was the biggest tomcat in the twin counties.  (Doubly ironic coming from me, given just two years ago I was one canceled flight away from eloping.)  He's going to be a great Daddy, though.  Clearly the passing along of genetic material and last name agrees with him.  That little tumble of grinning giggles is his world now.  I couldn't be happier for him.

With that said, it's back to reality this morning.  And I'm damn sure the only bells I hear are Christmas ones... (Thankfully I had the good taste to never mention that I'm not sold on the Americanized legality that these kids romanticize into the idea of "marriage".  Sort of how one shouldn't need a fear of god/gods/Zuul to be a good person... I don't think true love requires a notarized certificate.  But, that, kiddos... that is another post for another time.)

(End transmission.)

I. Don't. Know.

The universe is weird again.  Tense, shy, turbulent.  Like she's holding her breath.

For days now I've been brewing a storm of every emotion conjurable and snippets of unfinished thought that meander restlessly in and out of my recollection.  This doesn't happen to me often.  But it usually means one of two things, there's a lot I'm feeling inside that I can't admit to yet, or it's something so special that the mere thought of bringing into cognition will strip some of that purity away.

I don't know.

I wish I did.  My gut is telling me not to talk about it.  Some periods in life are so rare and amazing that sharing it while you're still in the moment, if even at all detracts from the overall point and there you fail the lesson.

I don't know.

...So, until further notice.  Pardon me if I seem a bit weird.  I'm in a strange place keeping to myself.

The Handbag of Hypocrisy: From Burberry

I'm not big on "things" and "stuff".  I got over label envy and being cool years ago.  My idea of cool is not having a bunch of stuff aroung tying me down, and having as much saved up as I can manage to work towards the future and whatever she may hold.  But every now and then I like to reward myself with a little treat.  An "atta girl", if you will.

I've worked hard.  More than that, the past year.  I just do and do and do and never look up until I realize there's snow on the ground or the summer sun is boiling down.  Ask me what day it is.  I can't even tell you.  I saw this handbag at the mall Saturday night.  Tonight I bought it.  With the matching wallet.

I won't say how much the total was, but it was a lot.  The most I've ever "splurged" on myself.

But it made me happy.  It was nice and shiny and smells like class!  Then out of nowhere I couldn't stop thinking about starving children, kids who don't have coats with winter stalking us.  Yes, I may deserve something nice.  But does that mean I should have it?  "Who am I to be blind pretending not to see their needs?"  This bag makes me a hypocrite. 

So I'm returning it to Nordstrom tomorrow after work.  I decided to take the money and instead use it to buy loads of warm clothes for the three angel tree kids I've adopted this year.  And maybe a latte.  

I feel like an ass.

Life changes have surprises.  You think, "Oh this will be easy.  I got this."  And somewhere along the way you sneak up on yourself and like a suckerpunch in the dark, you do one thing, like buying a purse and it shakes your world around.  I said to my roommate verbatim, "Am I going to be serious about myself or am I just going to flap around with ideology and inaction?" 

I have a handbag.  It's old, but you know what... it holds my wallet, keys, sunglasses, and paraphernelia of similar sorts.  And that's all I need.  I've been blessed and I want to share that.  No... I AM sharing that.  Hah.

Sayonara, satchel.

The Journal Entry That Changed Life

I am obligated to post this.  (This is what I was searching for when I ran across the previous entry.)  On my birthday in late August of 2007 a lot of unfortunate things took place which ended up with me driving to Cades Cove, TN at 3am and setting up camp in the back of my Jeep for the weekend.  I spent the days down in Gatlinburg (read: heaven on Earth) lurking around the Village for unique crafts, antiques, and delicious nom.  In the evenings, specifically Saturday the 25th, I sequestered myself to the forest with enough food to survive (and not enough to attract bears) enough wood to keep a fire going until the wee hours, and my journal.

I was in a moment of introspection when I penned what I think could possibly be my moment of inner-awakening.  Or at least me arriving at the moment of realization where I knew no matter what happened, come what may, I could handle it.  Because I was a hell of a lot stronger than I'd ever imagined myself to be.  I still call upon this trip to remind myself how far I've come in my life.  And I don't care how it sounds, I'm damn proud of me.

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August 25, 2007
Once more I've gone almost 18 months without writing in here.  To save myself from recanting old fears and to appease the skeletons in my closet, I will not fill this in with what has been missed.  I opt instead to begin with right now.  I've decided to tell my story the way I see it.  Pages can never be erased.  Memories can never be erased.  Although most will fade along with time.


Here I am.


Alone in the wilderness with not so much as a familiar face around.  I have a book intently flirting with my eye, this journal, a pen, and a pack of cigarettes.  A few feet away sits a bottle of whiskey so casually, as if to mock me by its mere presence.  Instead of giving in to any of it, I built a fire.  Which, reading that as I write it makes so much more sense.  I have to do that, we all have to do that, everyday.  Literally, its what I've done.  But, I see that its application reaches far beyond primal action.


I'm another year older now and even though I really am wiser, my actions would prove otherwise.  Sure, I learn from each situation, but the execution of these lessons needs refinement.


Sitting here has been perfect.  I feel something in my soul has been triggered... some latent mystical ability to flow myself with the unkept predictability of nature.  I have no means of readily contacting the outside world, and although I could easily check the time, I refuse.  Out here, all that matters is how much daylight is left.  Dusk is adamantly forcing his will in my world as I longingly cling to what sun remains.  Over to my left the coals of my poorly managed fire burn in a smoky ember while two squirrels pass in front of me as if ghosts.  High on a maple branch there is an owl.  I've made friends with his watchful eyes, I believe they guard me from what I can't see in the coolness of twilight.


I left my story momentarily to stoke the coals with what remaining wood I have.  Fire, with all its incomprehensible fury is remarkably tender.  The survivalist in me is happy.  If I can rule over this flame with such calm determination, then surely I can do anything.  At least, that is what I feel.  With another stick placed, my attention is drawn to the azure flames as they whisp around my arm.  Thinking perhaps in all of this I should be burned, but refusing the injury to avoid the scars.


Now darkness has blanketed the area and the world of the day has swiftly changed guards to the busy night.  The forest is coming alive.  As much as I'd wish to pretend the busy life I knew was far removed, a plane rumbling like thunder in the night air reminds me of the things left behind.  A simple thing such as that rings a familiar truth in my heart.  The thing about avoidance is that it will be guaranteed to catch up with you.  Even what you had forgotten about. 


I was 18 when I began this journal, and a few hundred pages later I see the first thing I ever wrote.  As if beckoning to myself, somehow here in this moment so many years later:


      "Every story is intrinsically the same.  It starts with a beginning.  Eventually, it will have an end.  In the mean time you'll find love, hate, joy, sorrow, gain and loss, failure and success.  But along the way... if one is lucky enough... you'll find truth."


What is my truth?  What isn't my truth?  Until I'm long gone from the earth and all that remains of my life is a chewed up memory, I will never cease learning new truths... I will not cease to grow.  Life is an unpredictable battle full of twists and turns, but its one story that I plan on writing myself, everyday, with every moment.  That is truth.

Two ID's, a blank passport, and nothing but time.

My biggest wish right now, if I could have anything... and I mean anything as in for myself.  Because otherwise we'd be here all day arguing semantics over why I wouldn't use such a power for philanthropy instead.  I love everyone on this planet (except douchebags and liars) and hate to know that there is any suffering going on among children and small animals.  If I had the "get anything I want done" power, trust me... there'd be no starving babies and no neglected kittens.

But for the purpose of taking a moment to tie together my thought coherently, if someone said, "Rhiannon... I'll give you anything in the world you want.  Right now.  So what'll you have?"

I'd say, "Genie," or Jeebus... whichever,  "...genie I will take a car that won't break down... doesn't have to be flashy or luxurious, I want something that is reliable and fast.  I must have a manual transmission.  And I need an unending supply of fuel, and one maybe two months of complete unattached freedom to roam."

Genie will look at me funny and say, "Ok, sure.  What are you doing?"

And I'll think to myself ...What business is it of yours?  But in the end, he's kind of footing the bill so I'd explain:
"I'm going to take off.  I'm leaving tonight.  I don't know where I'm going and I really don't care.  I don't need anywhere to lay my head other than this car.  I'm going to drive and follow wherever my want-to takes me.  I'm going to go until I can't go anymore, stop, rest, and go some more.  There's a lot out there and I want to be a part of it.  Bangor Maine, Los Angeles, Fairbanks Alaska, Key West... South Padre, Calgary, Nags Head and all points in between."

That's what I'd do.

Never forget I am a roaming soul, and a nomad by heart.  I'm at home wherever I am, so I can be wherever I want.

Sigh... but for now.  I'll soldier on with responsibility.  It has it's rewards.  Being financially safe-ish feels nice.  And the stability is refreshing.  Though it gets stale sometimes.  (Maybe that's a lesson to adapt?)

...That is all.

Opening Statements.

It's 1:55am.  I bet every single cotton-based garment I've left in the dryer for the past hour while designing this new blog will resemble Montgomery Burn's dermal tissue by the time I arse myself away from the mac long enough to finish the laundry.  For whatever reason my biorhythm finds in mocking me, I can only imagine it must be a good one and this is why I slept until three o'clock this afternoon.  Are you kidding me, serotonin levels?  It's not like I've been extraordinarily vampiric recently.  I guess you were just trying to tell me to chill.  Which is cool, but now I'm not going to be able to sleep at all tonight and I'm going to have to self-medicate with a venti burst of espresso on my way to work.

Gee, thanks.

Why modern technology rocks, reason 214: individual-sized cartons of orange juice.

I have no purpose for this blog, and I won't try to pretend to keep one.  I just need an outlet.  But, knowing me, I'll mistakenly jam the prongs in backwards a time or two, and that... that should at least be enjoyable to watch.

And now it's 2:08.  And I want a smoke.  ...And more orange juice.