The Snuggie is Everywhere!

I think I am going to paint my new apartment a color called deep snuggle.

Thats all I got.

Work is a four letter word

A quick doodle before I head to work. Kids, I know this story gets old but I can't help but tell it, its seems to be the only one I know. Work. All the time. I get really grumpy about it, especially when it feels like there is this silent expectation that I should work all weekend every weekend. And I am SO TIRED. We have gone beyond burning the candle at both ends and plunged into naked flame being sustained by any flammable material I can get my hands on. Preferably coffee. (Okay, I know coffee isn't flammable). I think the worst part is, the work-all-the-time expectation is at least 75% self-imposed. I hate feeling like I am not doing as much as everyone else. It's the worst representation of over-competitiveness in my life right now. I am plagued with guilt if I am not the last on to leave work and the first to arrive. Which is impossible since to keep up since apparently I am trying to start a fire with coffee. When will that ever work.

Also discouraging, I keep going in for acupuncture to keep this ship from crashing in the sandy shores of hysteria and they keep telling me the same thing. Sigh, I know I am tired, but how can I stop working when there is no one else to do the work. I keep calling meetings to make sure I am getting all my stuff done and now Marcy and Andrea just laugh at me. Sigh. Nothing new.

Rachel sent me this lovely bit of writing, which has been stewing in my brain all week.

"We who have lost our sense and our sense - our touch, our smell, our vision of who we are, we who frantically force and press all things, without rest for body or spirit, hurting our earth and injuring ourselves: we call a halt.

We want to rest. We need to rest and allow the earth to rest. We need to reflect and to rediscover the mystery that lives in us, that is the ground of every unique expression of life, the source of the fascination that calls all things to communion.

We declare a Sabbath, a space of quiet: for simply being and letting be; for recovering the great, forgotten truths' for learning how to live again."



Other things:
- Last trip to NC was delightful.
- Contra dancing, also so much fun. I wore a twirly skirt specifically for the occasion but it turned out to be too twirly and I am pretty sure everyone there got a glimpse of my unmentionables. Especially when that guy twirled me right in front of the giant fan which caught my exuberant skirt and flung its hem skyward. Hehe- awkward.
- Finally bought new running shoes,which were way, way over due and they are fantastic and Carolina blue. My feet are much happier.
- Did a long run of 7 miles last weekend (the last 1/2 mile felt like 4) to great success. Ran on a lonely mountain road where, as I ran, I concocted a complete screenplay called "The Runner" in which a girl and her mother get kidnapped by back-country crazies while on a run on a lonely mountain road. The mother saves the day and there is a great scene where a mother-daughter can of whoop-ass gets busted wide open. Thankfully none of this really occurred (though there could be no fiercer team than me and my mother) but my mom did drive behind me the whole run after some kayakers told her a story of women recently being attacked on a lonely mountain road (a different one than ours). Isn't she great?
-First snow on September 21st. That is kind of sad.
-Move clinic next weekend and move into my apartment the one after that. Next Saturday with Nothing To Do: Somewhere half-way through November.

Raggamuffin Day

I know I washed my hair today, but I don't know what with. I have concluded that it definitely wasn't shampoo. Maybe face wash.

It's cold and rainy.

My sweater had a hole in it, but I sewed it up before work only to discover at work that my shoe is also sporting a hole (see above note about the weather, most unfortunate for holy shoes- I can't walk on water) And the sole just came off my shoe as well.

That's what kind of day I am having.

defenestrate, nefarious, diaphanous, loquacious, clavicle, lilt, elixir, furtive, gambol, mellifluous, woebegone, lithe

words I like.

Found the Egg! Phew, what a relief.

i am house sitting/ kitty sitting for a friend in town and having a lovely time. She lives only five blocks from gorgeous wash park and I am even in walking distance from the Decker-Smiths (okay its kind of a long haul, but do-able) I am going to spend this entire weekend 1. Not at work (first Saturday not working at work or on the book since April) 2. Not in my car. I will not drive anywhere! There are coffee shops, grocery stores, parks, and people all in locomotive distance. This long weekend is coming just in time because I am pretty sure all my peeps at Whole Health are having stress induced breakdowns. We all need to chillax.

The kitty woke me up at 6 this morning to play fetch, kind of cute, kind of not. And there is some serious construction going on. I don't know how people live feeling so visible to the outside world in their home. While cooking my breakfast I looked out the window and got a nice wave from the Hispanic worker smoking next door. Hi. If the window had been open, I could have shook his hand.

I am finish up my yummy breakfast and then I am going to explore!

I still haven't found my egg...should've asked the psychic.

Work reached a new low this week....

when, to pass the time, we changed the words of the song “Sugar, Sugar” by the Archies to “Seaweed. Bum Bum Bum Bum Bum Bum. Oh, Spirulina. Bum Bum Bum Bum Bum Bum. You are my healthy snack and I’m lovin’ you.”


I’ve had a fascinating experience. As much as I may complain, I love the people I work with. I have had more growing and enlightening (and painful) experiences this past year and a half than I can recount. Everyone is so fiercely and apologetically themselves, from gun-touting-moon-daughter-wants-to-be-a-mermaid Troy, existentialist-astronomer-psychic Kindra, and kitty-loving-pacifist-south-park-junkie Heidi to second-mother-funniest-most-lovable-lady-I-know Marcy and horse-and-kitty-loving-disc-tossing-bad-ass-Andy-who-goes-by-Andrea-at-work-soon-to-be-my-roommate (not to mention entrepreneur-ski-and-scuba-Chinese-man-trapped-in-the-body-of-an-Irish-Catholic Paul and generous-gift-giving-bipolar-wears-lots-of-tinkling-chime-jewelry Linda). I have more stories than I can tell in my lifetime. Okay, well, give me four hours of your undivided attention and I can eloquently retell the past two years of my life, complete with dramatization and interpretive dance.

But yesterday may have taken the cake.

Last April Paul told me he wanted me to make an appointment with N. Keith Sheldonport. I had no information to go on except that Paul said it would be very beneficial and could change my life. Always game for a life changing experience, I made an appointment. The man is so freakin’ popular I made an appointment in April for his first available spot, which happened to be yesterday, August 27th. It was only when I walked into his office and he explained what he did that I realized this was not some life-coach or astronomer but a psychic. Frankly, I absolutely believe that certain people are gifted with the ability to tap into spiritual realms that may elude the common pedestrian, but never have I wanted or even contemplated seeking such a gifted individual out to lift the foggy veil of my future. So, I found myself awkwardly couched in his office, which was decorated in calming peach tones and sea shells (very myrtle beach in the 80s), contemplating if I should ride this out or escape with my Bible corroborated foundations that psychics are to be avoided. Alas, I stayed true to form and took the path of least resistance (and perhaps least character? Eh, I won’t think to hard about it. I really don’t believe my soul is in mortal danger.) and stayed put. And, honestly, I was fascinated and intrigued. I will not regale you the intimate details of my projected future (I have a freakin’ awesome one. I also was told details about my parents and brother’s projected futures. But I will not tell you, Danny, as much as you may want to know.) but to say that he knew dates, ages, people, words I have said, my beliefs about life in general, and it was mesmerizing. (Also really funny, after he would tell me something positive about my future, he would say “so, good for you.” And after something potentially trying or difficult, “so, good luck with that.” I am still processing it all and finding myself thinking of the Matrix A LOT (Do his words and how they shape my actions create the future or is the future firmly and irrevocably in place regardless of what anyone says or does? What is the time-space continuum? He talked a lot about re-incarnation, angels, and auras, most of which I am dubious about. He said my angel, and I quote, wanted him “to gentle push [me] to put [myself] out there in the dating world.” I assume, of course, this angel is my mother. He also told me the projected timeline in which I will fall in love and that I have not met the man of my dreams yet. It is encouraging to know that I will, at some point, meet this person and fall madly and devastatingly in love. I always wrote this ending for myself and have always doubted whether or not it will actually happen).

Final conclusions that I will take away from this:
1. I will forget everything he told me (to the best of my ability) except for the affirmation that I am empowered to live my life any way I want to. I can be anything and do anything. I am loved and have nothing to fear.

2. The whole experience gave me hope, which in turn made me contemplate my faith. Interesting that some vague yet concrete postulating about my future gave me so much hope for myself. I also found it affirming of my faith, to think that the spiritual world is closer and more real than we may suppose and that I can commit my future to God and no matter what happens everything will be okay (not ‘okay’ in the sense of things always going well, but ‘okay’ in the sense that God is always with us.) My hope is in God, not in the words of this man. Life is short and to be lived to the fullest and we have no way of knowing what exactly is beyond this life. I love thinking about a God and Universe that I cannot ever fully fathom. I question every now and then the influence of the new-agey culture I now find myself immersed in (I could very well be becoming a heretical, universalism moon-child), but I know that I am seeking God to the best of my ability, I am growing, and changing, and that is all I can do. My faith in the past has been very much constructed of worrying about if I am good enough, if I am doing enough, and, even more importantly, does it look like I am faithful. My motivation was less about seeking God and more about appearing to seek God. I am now trying to live honestly and fearlessly, asking my questions without concern of how it may make me look to others.

3. I know he was a real psychic because when I asked what I owed him for his time, his fee was exactly the amount of cash I had I my wallet. Well done, sir, well done.

Enough philosophical/metaphysical crap, you really must not take anything I say seriously. On to something much more revealing and entertaining.

I-pod Russian roulette. You know, where you go to i-pod shuffle and write down each song that comes up in response to the queries or statements? Highly entertaining past time.

If someone says, "Are you okay?", you say:
“Take it Down” (Wailin’ Jennys)

How would you describe yourself?
" The Evergreen” (Norfolk and Western)
love it

What do you like in a guy/girl?
“Thorn” (Bain Mattox)

How do you feel today?
Suite for solo cello no 4 in E flat major performed by Yo Yo Ma
This makes me smile

What is your life's purpose?
“The Boxer” (Simon and Garfunkel)
You have no idea…

What's your motto?
“Hold On” (Shawn McDonald)
appropriate

What do your friends think of you?
“American Woman” (Lenny Kravitz)
Ha!

What do your parents think of you?
“Selfless, Cold, and Composed” (Ben Folds)


What do you think about very often?
“Highway 61 revisted” (Bob Dylan)


What is 2 + 2?
"When in Rome " (Nickel Creek)


What do you think of your best friend?
“Here and Now” (Great Big Sea)

What is your life story?
"Walkin Down the Line” (Bob Dylan)

What do you want to be when you grow up?
“This World” (Derek Webb)


What do you think when you see the person you like?
“Just wait” (Blues Traveler)

What will you dance to at your wedding?
“Bang Bang, My Baby Shot Me Down” (Nancy Sinatra)
Hilarious!

What will they play at your funeral?
"I am a Rock” Simon and Garfunkel
Amen

What is your hobby/interest?
“ A Quarter Past Wonderful” (Oren Lavie)
It’s true

What is your biggest fear?
"Whiner’s Bio" (Mates of State)

What is your biggest secret?
"I am Aglow" (Sarah Harmer)
also true

What do you want right now?
"You’re an Angel and I’m Gonna Cry" (Chris Thile)

As I leave work most days I feel
1. exhausted
2. anchor-less
3. searching for humans

I mean, I am with people all day but, as Rach said, there is a difference between looking and seeing and I just want be seen at some point in my day. But this is dangerous as well. Someone commented, thoughfully, that I looked happy and it almost made me cry. I am not sure why and am a little uneasy about it all.

Sometimes, at solemn occasions, like in church or the symphony, when everyone is whispering, intently listening, and very, very quiet, I want to scream at the top of my lungs.

I also enjoy the thought of throwing myself to the ground in a fit of hysteria while at work.

I lost my egg...

somewhere between my refrigerator and my work desk. I grabbed the hard-boiled snack as I dashed out the door, late as usual. I went to an early meeting, checked out the new clinic, and then arrived, finally at work. I began putting my lunch and celery into the fridge when I discovered my egg had disappeared! In search of suspects, I googled "Animals that steal eggs" (you never know what kind of thieving critters may be around) and came across this. Aha! The culprits! Alas, there were no stones in my bag either. What does this mean? I have full confidence that the egg will reveal itself in due course. (Does anyone remember the sweet potato incident of freshman year? A tragedy.)

Andrea and I have been on the hunt for apartments and have settled on a sweet little abode near downtown Littleton. Humble and cheap it is but I have great plans for decorating. Andrea and I make a great team. She is in charge of the practical things, like the name of the apartment building and its location and I am in charge of aesthetics.

I am glad we are moving because the cabinetry in our current office is getting a little fresh. I was leaning against a cherry cabinet behind the front desk, chatting with Marcy this afternoon when I felt a little pinch. As I moved away from the cabinet, I felt the sharp snap of elastic against skin. The cabinet had, apparently, felt neglected during my discussion with Marcy (the topic was none of his concern) and, in an attempt to get my attention, grabbed my underwear through my skirt and pulled the elastic tight before releasing it in demonic pleasure. The rogue! I slammed him quite hard to let him know my sentiments. Cabinets who cannot learn to keep their knobs to themselves have to right to expect kind treatment in return.

Our book did not win the contest. There is some discouragement among the masses but it has been determined we will soldier on...indefinitely? Yeesh, I am bent in two under the weight of this silly book.

Did you know that Sylvia Plath loved to pick her nose? I love this line-

"No longer do I listen for the scrape of a keel
On the blank stones of the landing."

ironic: I begin to iron my skirt in an attempt to look pulled together today, but I promptly burned a hole in my skirt and wore it anyway.

People! I am exhausted! What do you want from me! I am having one of my crazy work weeks where sleep is not an option and I am at the clinic every waking hour. Here is my Saturday, for your amusement, and then I will complain no more.

6:30-11:00 -> Health Fair
11:00-2:00 -> Working on the book
2:00-3:00 -> Teaching a class at Whole Foods

This wouldn't be so bad, except that, again, this is my day off and I have already worked 50 hours this week.

But I have decided that its really not that bad. There could be a whole lot more worse things (a whole lot more worse...that's right, I am leaving it that way), like no job, no home, no nothing.

On that note, I decided I don't need a 365 day project (see previous post on Julie/Julia project). I have been contemplating activities from learning and memorizing all the Bach unaccompanied cello suites in a year (that would work out to some ridiculous amount of time per piece, like, two days), mastering roller derby, becoming a flamenco dancer, writing a cookbook, or making all my clothes for a year(minor rules would apply here, like I could purchase cloth or clothes from thrift stores but not exceeding ten dollars a month. Items found or received as gifts (but not anything new) could also be used). Then I realized what I really need for a year long project is nothing. 365 days of doing absolutely nothing. That would probably make me a much better person.

Current Projects:
Writing 1 novel
CNC certification (overdue by 5 months)
Not killing my plants (four dead, three living)
Half-Marathon October 18th (2 weeks behind schedule)
Various sewing projects (two dresses, 4 aprons, 1 pair of baby booties)
Survival

Incredible.

compliments of Jon Davis.

I am no longer house sitting and am back in the mountain, which I must say feels a little weird. I will miss walking Tiny. When accompanied by a small, cute dog one invites friendly conversation and little children approach you begging to pet the little dear. One kid told me that Chiwawas are the king of dogs (Tiny, though diminutive, is not a Chiwawa). Another kid talked to me for ten minutes, uninterrupted, about Werewolves. Some people are scared of 'em but not him, no sir. He could handle a Werewolf any day. I thought this was excellent information and vowed to call for the kid's help if any such full moon emergency were to arise.

I went to pick up Amy from Breckenridge this past weekend and we had a lovely time. I love La Mer by Debussy. I had images of the Swiss Family Robinson dancing through my head.

I was trying to express to Amy while en route to see Julie and Julia that some book to movie translations make me really nervous. This fear of the movie being inadequate generally has little to do with the quality of the book. I had no such fear with Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter or Brideshead Revisited or Pride and Prejudice. But Julie and Julia and Twilight made me very anxious. Amy astutely pointed out that this is because the characters of these latter novels are ones that I probably relate to more, or feel a stronger connection to - for example, Julie is a walking disaster, constantly getting herself into humorous and impatient messes and Bella has a similar aptitude for clumsiness and self-deprecating wit. I could play these parts. Interesting. (This conclusion was further emphasized with the on-screen Julie said "Sometimes I have conversations with Julia in my head." Definitely something I would do and say.)

A few more thoughts about Julie and Julia:
1. Read the book
2. Watching Meryl Strep as Julia Child was amazing and made me want to live with unbounded joy and wild abandon.
3. I want to take on a project for a year, a challenge for me to accomplish and triumph over. I have decided that it will be something with my cello since my cello is the last major stronghold of insecurity in my life. I thought maybe I could learn and memorize all the Bach Unaccompanied Suites in a year. But I think this may be a little ambitious. Suggestions would be great. This may be an unoriginal idea but all the same, inspired.

I love Star Wars.

I love NPR. I mean, it is truly my favorite thing to listen to. Check this out. I am overflowing with amusement.

Unfortunately, my car seems unable to pick it up anymore. It seems every time I take my car in for repairs, I loose channels. Before I took my car in this last time I was still able to pick up a fuzzy but often listenable signal for our local NPR channel. But upon getting my car back this time, all my radio settings were erased and now I can only get easy listening, classics, and a Spanish channel. BOOOOOO! Give me NPR or give me...well, death is a little extreme for a radio station, so lets just say, give me NPR.

One of my co-workers is meticulous about punctuation and grammar and I am, well, not, as is displayed by my haphazard use of commas, over-use of exclamation marks, and general lack of attention to detail. I have to admit, I hate that I don't use better grammar but am caught in my own paradoxical black hole - I am horribly impatient and have trouble committing myself to learning something I don't understand instantly. Like grammar and driving a stick shift. I know, I know, I am a literary neanderthal and beware encountering me on the road.

As you know, my work provides many opportunities for interesting situations I would never other wise experience. For example, we are moving to a new clinic and one of our patients is a Shaman and offered to bless the clinic for us (Bless it or cleanse it or clear it or something). Anyway, she wants to do a special cleansing before the big cleansing and she needs three additional people to help 'hold the space.' And, apparently, I have good energy and she wants me to participate in this unknown ritual. Kind of fascinating, isn't it? I am highly flattered that I have good energy. I am often worried at work about how my aura is looking. Its quite exhausting, to maintain physical health AND the appearance of health in the spiritual realms that have importance in my work place that I have no comprehension of.

Only in my world...

I drive up to Phoebe's house this evening, talking to my mom on the phone, who is patiently listening to me complain the things that seem hard in my life yet are a result of my own choices. (The enjoyment of complaining is greatly reduced when halfway through your tirade you have an enlightening dose of reality that your life, if we were to be honest (let's, its so refreshing), isn't nearly as bad as you like to pretend, yet you still feel the need to be a brat and bitch. This is beside the point.) So, I walk to the door, phone to ear, and I am astounded to find, much to the dog's dismay, that I cannot open the door. It would seem that when I locked the door this morning, the key on the other side some how shifted in the lock and is refusing to budge. Tiny, the dog, begins howling in dismay, for she has been shut up all day and really, really has to go to the bathroom. I, self-righteously indignant and exclaiming to the heavens "Here, here is the evidence that nothing ever goes right!", call Phoebe's sister to see if she has a key to the front door. She, dear and lovely woman that she is, rushes over to see if any of her keys will fit, which they do not. Tiny howls grow to a fevered pitch as she realizes we are loitering on the porch and not attending to her ever pressing needs. She claws at the glass door, yelping for attention and a fire hydrant. It is suggested we call a locksmith. I realize that I left the upstairs window open and wonder aloud if we could climb up there. Cyndi (Phoebe's sister) comments that it is unlikely since her son is unavailable to help. That seals the deal for me- anything he can do I can do better. "Cyndi, I have every intention of climbing up there myself," I inform her. (My actual words, as I began to climb the fence, were more along the lines of "Am I an idiot for attempting this? Please inform me now before I break my neck.") I pitch off my fancy flats and hike up my skirt and begin the climb. (Please refer to the diagram).



I hop up the fence, shimmy between the porch overhang and carport roof and then climb atop of the porch roof. I then walk very carefully along the plastic porch roof, making sure to walk along the supports so I don't fall through the roof. Once at the window, I tried to bust it open with no success. Cyndi tosses an ice scraper from her car up to the roof, but it lands on the edge, about three precarious feet from where I stood, clinging to the side of the house. I edged my way across the roof, listening to the crackling sound of doom (or what I imagine the roof breaking sounds like). I just manage to snag the ice scraper and then use it to rip open the screen. I roll/fall into the room and rush downstairs to open the door and release the pup. Huzzah, success! Suddenly my bad mood had vanished and Tiny and I set out for a lovely evening walk, as I rubbed screen splinters from my shin. To those contemplating a life of crime, do not wear sun dresses for breaking and entering. Not only is it immodest, it can cause unnecessary injury, such as splinters.

The end.


(Do you know how nice it is to click spell check and find that there are no misspellings. It is highly enjoyable.)

I love to laugh...

probably too much. One strives for that perfect balance between being easily amused and not being ridiculous. That being said, lately my life has been pretty ridiculous.

Bats in my house. For real people, bats. I am house sitting for a friend's aunt and so have not been at the mountain house to deal with the bat situation properly. I came up with a brilliant plan to open the windows and turn on all the lights, to drive the bats (the actually number of bats is unknown, there were many flurried sightings)into the dark night. This plan resulted with the bats being joined in the house by 1,000,000 moths. Excellent.

But this story has a sad ending. I went to the house yesterday afternoon to escape the city (who knew that mountain living would make the bustle of the city, neighbors, and cars somewhat unbearable. There is no silence!) and while puttering around the house sewing, I found a little dead bat. It was really sad. It was so small and so sweet looking, its little black wings withered and curled up around itself. I buried it and was depressed I could not save it in time.

I was working on the book this morning with Paul and Sherm. Shu, the most amazing cook ever, whipped up some scallion pancakes (unspeakably delicious). She placed the pancakes and the dipping in sauce in front of me and well out of Paul and Sherm's reach. Paul did, in fact, reach for the plate, scooting it closer to him and snagging one of the pancakes. I brought the sauce closer to him so he could enjoy that too. Shu, however, saw him snacking and said, "No! This is for her, not for you. You had rice already, you eat later." Paul sheepishly finished his pancake as Shu moved the plate and sauce, again, closer to me and out of his reach. A little bit later I offered Sherm a pancake, feeling bad that Shu had decided I was the only one allowed to eat. Shu returned again, now hovering closeby as she had discovered I had a tendency to give away my pancakes, to chide Sherm, return the plate to my place. It was fascinating. I still don't really know what happened. (Shu did make Sherm pancakes later and I can only assume she made Paul an elaborate lunch that she didn't want him to spoil his appetite for.)

This past week a solar eclipse occurred and we transitioned from summer to late summer. (In Chinese medicine there are five seasons, late summer being the added category). Apparently this causes the metaphysical poo to hit the metaphysical fan, because all of our patients are undergoing serious trauma. At least, this is what some practitioners are attributing the trauma to. The last week has brought us suicides (yes, more than one), family crisis that make you want to weep, patients slowly fading from their debilitating illnesses, and so much more. I was looking for a sympathy card for someone that was kind to me in a small way who recently met with an unexpected death in their family. None of the tailored words or poetic condolences could possible ease the sadness they are going through. It made me feel sick. I know such cards are not suppose to stem the tide of grief in any real way, but it seems like such a pathetic token to offer. I want to scoop everyone up and make it all better. Alas, my arms simply aren't big enough.

Adventures!

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