You are currently browsing the monthly archive for February 2014.

I need to start writing poetry again.  I can feel it in my soul, aching to write the words I can’t express in prose.

I want to sift through and find the ones that have meaning, to work them until they are right.  And then to do something with them.

Maybe leave them on chairs for people to find.

Seal them with wax and mail them.

Collect them and distribute them to the world at large.

Or continue to do what I have always done: keep them in a shabby folder, hidden from view.  Share a few on my blog (such as the Nectarine poem or the Blues poem), but mostly keep them to myself.  Look through them every so often, remembering circumstances and feelings, motivations for the words I find scribbled on pages.

Why is my life full of failed attempts at starts?  Why is the most common phrase out of my mouth “I almost” when speaking of the past?  As Yoda wisely said, “Do or do not.  There is no try.”


Oh, god. I am lonely.

It is possible that I have been watching entirely too much Gilmore Girls and am envious of their fantastic social circles.

At least I have cats?  There’s one sleeping on my legs right now.  (So cute!)

And I’m kind of done with dating sites.  I know I’ve said that before, but maybe this time it’ll stick.  I go on, I see no one, I leave.  I’m not even sure that there’s any fun left in merely mocking profiles.


UPDATE: But do not let that make you think I am discontent with life.  I am just in a lonely stage of life.  It takes time for me to put down roots, to make friends.  And while I am in a transitory place (or fear that I still am), I am even more hesitant.  But that’s okay, because that’s who I am.  And I will find my place, eventually.

Can I just say, it is really wind-ing out there.

I’ve been thinking about dreams lately.  The kind you have when you’re sleeping.  You know, the kind that is a “wish your heart makes.”  No, okay, the first kind.

I find dreaming to be an entirely fascinating occurrence.  I kind of used to hate dreaming, because I had recurring nightmares for most of my childhood.  But when I got over the nightmares (sometime in high school), I started having recurring dreams.  I still do, to an extent.

My favourite part of recurring dreams is that the recurring part is more centered on the dream-place than the actual dream.  The more times I dream of a dream-place, the more familiar I become with it, and the more I am able to control what happens in my dream.  Or, maybe I should say that I am able to control where I go in my dream, because certain locations tend to have certain actions tied to them.

A few of my dream places:

-There is a two story house, loosely built upon my second house, but much larger and quite different.  The front yard has a bomb shelter type structure in it (but I have never managed to get in, so I’m not sure what it actually was).  The upstairs is thick with dust and eery to me.  I tried not to spend much time up there.  Although, it has a secret hallway that led to a secret door that I knew if I could get all the way to the end, I would find out the answer to the question I had.  I never did make it to the end, but I did try several times.  Anyway, downstairs has the most magnificent bedrooms.  And one of them has a master bath connected, with a great shower/tub combo.  I really enjoyed those rooms.  (I know that sounds weird.)

-There is a town, a conglomeration of a few places with significant differences.  Every sector was very different.  The waterfront area is where I had an apartment.  The old-town section was where my grandma lived.  Downtown had a fantastic ice cream shop, but it was almost never open, so you had to really work at it to get there at the right time.  I liked to walk the streets, go to shops, just enjoy.

-There is a place that is connected to the playground of my elementary school in real life, but obviously my dream completely deviates from reality.  There is a river that separates the playground from a camping ground and several other neighborhoods.  One of the trails led to the most wonderful hike/river/pond.  I really enjoy going there, but it’s hard to find sometimes.  The hike is fun, and the surroundings are beautiful: all green and mossy and tons of granite rocks, artfully placed it seems.

-There is a place that is on a university campus, I think.  It has a game room, which I have never fully explored (big surprise), and a movie theatre, which actually has a secret floor (because this movie theatre is something like 7 floors–kind of weird).  I think that this is the same place that also has a huge parking garage, and the dormitories I sometimes find myself in.  The stairs are absolutely creepy, and the bathrooms are awkward to say the least.  Some of the stalls have doors, but only some.  And then the largest set of bathrooms is unisex, maybe a locker room, actually.  I do not like being stuck in the locker room: it also has group toilet stalls  (like several toilets in one large stall).  I also feel like this is the place that the parking garage can take you to an airport and a hotel (connected to each other), which has an elevator that you almost fall out of every time you go in it.  It’s a place that has too much for me to ever really learn it.  It’s really confusing.

-One of my newer dream places seems to be a collection of parks.  I’m not as familiar with it, so I still get lost a lot while I’m there.  It’s awkward because I’m often expected to know where things are, and sometimes people ask me, but I can never quite say, because as I said, it’s still unfamiliar.  But I like it.  I love parks, so it’s fun that I have a dream place where it seems like I just get to go around and explore.  The other night I dreampt about this place, and we were having a festival in one of the parks, which was really fun.  Only it was raining.  (When I woke up, it was raining outside, so I imagine that’s where the unfortunate rain came from.)

I don’t mind completely random dreams, but I do admit that familiar ones are nice.  I can remember them better, and I enjoy being able to choose my own adventure, so to speak.

How do you dream?


I cut my hair last weekend, similar to Ginnifer Goodwin.

I haven’t received any negative feedback (and let’s be honest, most men, at least, are more than ready to tell you they hate your short hair–as if you care).  I have heard tons of good about it.

Although, a few have asked about the motivation.  Motivation for getting my hair cut?  As if it is a huge life change I have made, as if I am making a point or a statement, as if it is more than hair…  At that point, I usually stumble through my explanation that I have wanted short hair for years, but was always afraid my face is too round.  (Who wants to look like Charlie Brown?  Not me!)  But then, Ginnifer Goodwin, who I love, cut her hair short.  And she has a round face.  And she is darling!  I have been considering her cut for the last six months to a year.  But I wasn’t brave enough.  Then I finally gathered up the courage.  And I don’t look like Charlie Brown at all.  One person even told me that I have the perfect face for this cut.  What??  I wish I had known years ago.

This wash and go is fantastic.  Styling has never been easier.  This is what most men have been enjoying for years, while I toiled on with long hair.  The unfairness is astounding.

All that to say, I am loving this haircut.

I think I believe that writing or speaking something calls it into a tangible existence, whereas if it remains but a thought, it has no real basis in reality.  This is the foundation for how I find myself lying to myself in my journal (my real journal, the one I write in and only I read).  Or, not lying necessarily, but not telling the truth–to myself.  But I always know the difference.  I know it then, and I know it later.  Sometimes when I tell these “lies” to friends, they can tell.  Not always–it depends on the lie and the friend.

I had a conversation yesterday about how I’m not your average introvert.  Yes, I am most certainly an introvert: I get my energy from being alone and require alone time regularly to be able to continue interacting with the outside world without wanting to hurt them for talking to me.  But I am considered outgoing (in some situations), and I am a talker.  I have always been a talker.  And I talk before I think (this is always a problem).  Introverts aren’t known for that, not really.

I decided that the difference with me is that while I am a talker, while I like interacting with people (until my energy stores are depleted), the things I talk about are frequently not the heart issues that matter to me.  Or if they are, they are with trusted people, and those things have been considered and mulled over before they are spoken.  I can talk about surface or frivolous things until the cows come home (sometimes I wonder if this is something I developed in self-defense against the world of extroversion).  But if you want me to talk about something real, and it’s something I haven’t given a lot of thought to, it is extremely unlikely that I will do so.  And most people will never get the privilege of those real things, because they’re not the people I care to really give part of myself to.

I am also a verbal processor, so thank God for the friends who I can trust to listen to my musings and be a sounding board for my confusion.  However, those things are usually not brought up until I’ve had the time to consider them for myself.

Tying this all in: putting your heart out there, in the bald and naked ways of words, both written and spoken, is a terrifying thing.  It is a commitment to an idea, a purpose, a direction.  And, apparently, sometimes I’m not even sure I’m ready for that in my own private sphere.