just finished a craptastic week at work; our shift does pretty good, keeps up with our end of things, sets up pretty nice for the next shift -- but when we come back, it's all undone. Ground zero, start over. Sucks monkey ass. anyway --
Don't worry about me, thanks for those of you sending me bright white (furious!) love, it is appreciated. Maybe someday I'll put it all in here, but for now, let's just say things are in a state of change.
And I guess that's really all I've got for now... Luigi tried to watch the eclipse, but it rained like hell on him for the whole thing. And I was working. Ah well.
Um.
Welcome back, to Wickket, who has been absent for a while.
Everyone have much fun for your Halloween festivities, I have no costume ready as is the normal way of things. I really really really really wish I could get away with Trick-Or-Treating anymore, but I just don't think I can pull it off. Sigh.
aaaaaaaaaaand... I'm done!
Friday, October 29, 2004
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
I'm here.
but that's all I want to say about it right now.
I'll fill in the details as they happen.
Don't give up on me, I'm in here somewhere. I just don't think I feel much like talking at the moment.
I'll fill in the details as they happen.
Don't give up on me, I'm in here somewhere. I just don't think I feel much like talking at the moment.
Saturday, October 23, 2004
yeah, I had to do it too.
Which Pulp Fiction Character Are You?
again, I'm not sure about this one. I guess I just don't test well.
 You're a hardworking individual enshrouded by an overwhelming sense of mystery, beauty, and intrigue. Though always on the go, you keep focused, helping -- often rapturing -- those you meet. Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz. |
again, I'm not sure about this one. I guess I just don't test well.
Friday, October 22, 2004
halfway cheating, just for Ninsi
Ok, real quick, just to assure you that I'm still here and kicking:
A few nights ago, I was leaving work, and as I passed the row of cars facing the building I noticed a big dark blue truck with a vanity plate that said:
A few nights ago, I was leaving work, and as I passed the row of cars facing the building I noticed a big dark blue truck with a vanity plate that said:
Can
of
Corn
and I wished for not the first or last time that I had a decent digital camera.
So, just for you, Ninsi. I have no other details on this story and probably will never see that truck again. Mostly because I won't be actively looking. But if Fortune is kind, I will meet the person that owns that truck and I will ask. Just for you.
And now it's time for work. Again. For the 6th day in a row. Sucks for sleep, rocks for the paycheck, you know?
maybe, if I'm feeling ambitious, I'll post over the weekend. Though how I'll be able to compete with the NGfest audio posts and post party posts I don't know. But maybe, maybe, if you're really good (or at least ask nice) I'll post something.
Friday, October 15, 2004
It's Friday. Fuckoff.
I had to remove that last post w/pic; the image was just too damn big. It made the rest of the page act funny. I'm sure you noticed, you masters of perception, you.
We found most of the stuff from the cedar chest; a few things are still unaccounted for. I plan to go look at whatever likely shops I can find in the area, but I don't hold much hope for this.
Aside from that, it is now the middle of freakin' October, and it feels like it. This winter will probably be way too cold and much too long for my liking/comfort. We'll see how I hold up this time.
I have yet another project in the works: this one is in process, and it remains to be seen how far it will actually go. It may have to move and/or metamorphosize, maybe even more than once. It could be a good idea, however. I don't know. I'm rambling now, because it's like 8 in the morning and I'm still awake. Yes, still. Haven't you been paying attention?
There are emails in my inbox from some overly perky member of my graduating class -- it's time for that first damn reunion. 10 years; motherfucker. Wow. Don't remember ever thinking about where I would be at this time, or what I would be doing. Still not sure about it right now, for that matter. That can't be right; I can't be 28; there is now way it has actually been a decade -- a decade!!-- since I graduated.
Goddamn.
I suspect that the profanity ratio of this post is wildly askew; whether there is too much or not enough I cannot divine at this juncture.
Skroot. I'm gointa bed.
Enjoy your Friday, people. I plan to sleep through it.
We found most of the stuff from the cedar chest; a few things are still unaccounted for. I plan to go look at whatever likely shops I can find in the area, but I don't hold much hope for this.
Aside from that, it is now the middle of freakin' October, and it feels like it. This winter will probably be way too cold and much too long for my liking/comfort. We'll see how I hold up this time.
I have yet another project in the works: this one is in process, and it remains to be seen how far it will actually go. It may have to move and/or metamorphosize, maybe even more than once. It could be a good idea, however. I don't know. I'm rambling now, because it's like 8 in the morning and I'm still awake. Yes, still. Haven't you been paying attention?
There are emails in my inbox from some overly perky member of my graduating class -- it's time for that first damn reunion. 10 years; motherfucker. Wow. Don't remember ever thinking about where I would be at this time, or what I would be doing. Still not sure about it right now, for that matter. That can't be right; I can't be 28; there is now way it has actually been a decade -- a decade!!-- since I graduated.
Goddamn.
I suspect that the profanity ratio of this post is wildly askew; whether there is too much or not enough I cannot divine at this juncture.
Skroot. I'm gointa bed.
Enjoy your Friday, people. I plan to sleep through it.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
weeping and wailing
Bemoan the death of a hero
the sighing dirge, unsung in my head
a red cape, forlorn,
lies enshadowed on the floor
Who will be my hero now?
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
This news almost overshadows the excitement my family is dealing with. The house that that noone is living in right now (FJ, Ninsi, this is the one by the school, remember?) was broken into recently. They took: the antique furniture that we hadn't moved yet because it never occured to us that someone would break into the house and steal the biggest thing they could find. That wasn't all -- in addition to the loss of the genuinely antique desk and attatched hutch, they took the matched lingirie (?) drawers that belonged to the Eldest sister, and mom's cedar chest that Youngest sister had packed all of her very best, Keeping-for-the-rest-of-her-life, leaving-to-whoever-comes-after-me treasures. They also took miscellaneous articles that were in the desk and drawers.
We will, in all likelyhood, never ever see any of these things again.
The sanctity of the house we spent our growing-up time in is broken. The stronghold is overcome; the castle fallen.
Precious articles of family and memory are in the hands of the unrelated and uncaring; pawed over and sorted, treasures discarded as trash.
My family is wounded.
I think it is easier to deal with a death. This is violation, not only of the homestead but of the soul. We don't know how to deal with this; we have no coping skills for this tragedy. Almost anything else, dear God, we could handle better.
Why this?
Why us?
the sighing dirge, unsung in my head
a red cape, forlorn,
lies enshadowed on the floor
Who will be my hero now?
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
This news almost overshadows the excitement my family is dealing with. The house that that noone is living in right now (FJ, Ninsi, this is the one by the school, remember?) was broken into recently. They took: the antique furniture that we hadn't moved yet because it never occured to us that someone would break into the house and steal the biggest thing they could find. That wasn't all -- in addition to the loss of the genuinely antique desk and attatched hutch, they took the matched lingirie (?) drawers that belonged to the Eldest sister, and mom's cedar chest that Youngest sister had packed all of her very best, Keeping-for-the-rest-of-her-life, leaving-to-whoever-comes-after-me treasures. They also took miscellaneous articles that were in the desk and drawers.
We will, in all likelyhood, never ever see any of these things again.
The sanctity of the house we spent our growing-up time in is broken. The stronghold is overcome; the castle fallen.
Precious articles of family and memory are in the hands of the unrelated and uncaring; pawed over and sorted, treasures discarded as trash.
My family is wounded.
I think it is easier to deal with a death. This is violation, not only of the homestead but of the soul. We don't know how to deal with this; we have no coping skills for this tragedy. Almost anything else, dear God, we could handle better.
Why this?
Why us?
Friday, October 08, 2004
sweet dreams are made of this...
who am I to disagree?
I love that song. Love Annie Lennox, too. anyway.
Been dreaming a lot. In the old way, the way I used to : in color, in great sweeping story lines, in ways that I remember when I wake up. In one way, it's fun; it's nice to dream like that again.
In another way, it's not fun; it's a reminder that I am different than I used to be. I don't know if that is good or bad.
For a very long time, I wanted only to be a writer.
I don't do it very well. I am coming to terms with this.
For at least as long, or maybe longer, I wanted only to be a singer.
I am now out of practice. This is easily remedied, yes; but I don't think that I was ever as good as I thought I was.
For most of my life, I wanted to be a doctor/nurse/healer.
I can't cope with the real life situations of an institutional practitioner. And as for the holistic, energy working herb using type: Apparently, no one requires my aid. Strange, in more than one way.
I can't tell you if I ever really had a firm fix on "what I want to be when I grow up" and I don't seem to be making any headway at this point, either.
I live with the feeling that everyone else is out having adventures and good times and seeing Really Wild Things -- and I am not. I am always in the wrong place at the wrong time for such exciting stories to meet me. I am the collector of stories not my own. And I don't know what to do about it.
I occasionally suffer from what I have come to call the Wilding: when the air is just right, and the wind is blowing, and the moon is full, I feel full of -- static. I itch. I crave speed and action and Really Wild Things -- I feel that if I could just catch the wind in the right way I could fly -- I feel full of electric POWER
with no way to do anything.
Sometimes Luigi takes me walking on the Bridge, and I pace and talk with no direction and sometimes I cry for the fact that I can't cross dimensions and meet my destiny. And then he takes me home and I might pace some more, cry some more; eventually the Wilding is gone and I am so very very tired, completely drained, wrung as a threadbare dishtowel. He puts me to bed, and I curl up with him in The Comfortable Position and maybe cry some more, as he strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. Finally I sleep, empty and hollow, resoundingly so. I wake the next day, and my eyes feel like I have been crying; hot and puffy and a little dry. But the day after is only a little gray around the edges, and I go on.
(weather: cloudy, been raining 70F 88.4% S 9.2mph
moon: waning 31.3% of full
mood: withdrawn.)
I love that song. Love Annie Lennox, too. anyway.
Been dreaming a lot. In the old way, the way I used to : in color, in great sweeping story lines, in ways that I remember when I wake up. In one way, it's fun; it's nice to dream like that again.
In another way, it's not fun; it's a reminder that I am different than I used to be. I don't know if that is good or bad.
For a very long time, I wanted only to be a writer.
I don't do it very well. I am coming to terms with this.
For at least as long, or maybe longer, I wanted only to be a singer.
I am now out of practice. This is easily remedied, yes; but I don't think that I was ever as good as I thought I was.
For most of my life, I wanted to be a doctor/nurse/healer.
I can't cope with the real life situations of an institutional practitioner. And as for the holistic, energy working herb using type: Apparently, no one requires my aid. Strange, in more than one way.
I can't tell you if I ever really had a firm fix on "what I want to be when I grow up" and I don't seem to be making any headway at this point, either.
I live with the feeling that everyone else is out having adventures and good times and seeing Really Wild Things -- and I am not. I am always in the wrong place at the wrong time for such exciting stories to meet me. I am the collector of stories not my own. And I don't know what to do about it.
I occasionally suffer from what I have come to call the Wilding: when the air is just right, and the wind is blowing, and the moon is full, I feel full of -- static. I itch. I crave speed and action and Really Wild Things -- I feel that if I could just catch the wind in the right way I could fly -- I feel full of electric POWER
with no way to do anything.
Sometimes Luigi takes me walking on the Bridge, and I pace and talk with no direction and sometimes I cry for the fact that I can't cross dimensions and meet my destiny. And then he takes me home and I might pace some more, cry some more; eventually the Wilding is gone and I am so very very tired, completely drained, wrung as a threadbare dishtowel. He puts me to bed, and I curl up with him in The Comfortable Position and maybe cry some more, as he strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. Finally I sleep, empty and hollow, resoundingly so. I wake the next day, and my eyes feel like I have been crying; hot and puffy and a little dry. But the day after is only a little gray around the edges, and I go on.
(weather: cloudy, been raining 70F 88.4% S 9.2mph
moon: waning 31.3% of full
mood: withdrawn.)
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
still cheating, yes.
I am still posting just enough to stay in the blogring. Cheating? Probably. But I hate --hate-- being left out. So here I am.
I have a friend in the military in Iraq if anyone feels like writing email to people they don't know. Let me know if you want to and I'll send you his address.
um.
it's getting coldish in oklahoma, and I keep forgetting to take a jacket. but that's ok, for right now.
even though everyone else has done it, and is now tired of it ( i guess) I'll now try it too:
send me your questions! I reserve the right to ignore the ones that offend me or I just don't want to answer, but otherwise I will post the question and an answer as soon as I can... maybe this will cause me to post more often. so send me questions! ( i love to be the center of attention, can't you tell?...)
Oh. and as if anyone cared, for some reason Thursdays are the days I get the most views. Weird, huh?
I have a friend in the military in Iraq if anyone feels like writing email to people they don't know. Let me know if you want to and I'll send you his address.
um.
it's getting coldish in oklahoma, and I keep forgetting to take a jacket. but that's ok, for right now.
even though everyone else has done it, and is now tired of it ( i guess) I'll now try it too:
send me your questions! I reserve the right to ignore the ones that offend me or I just don't want to answer, but otherwise I will post the question and an answer as soon as I can... maybe this will cause me to post more often. so send me questions! ( i love to be the center of attention, can't you tell?...)
Oh. and as if anyone cared, for some reason Thursdays are the days I get the most views. Weird, huh?
Friday, October 01, 2004
trying to keep up
oh, there are several things I would love to discuss here, but I don't have the time to do more than list them today:
the things I want to tell you about...
the things I want to tell you about...
- bra sizes
- weekend plans
- religion
- politics
- magic
- pansy plants
- babies
- fairy tales
- future plans
- emotions
- poetry
- potential.
and that's all I have for now.
Sorry.
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