Lately

I've been a little behind, with much apologies.

My folks went on their pretty-much-yearly trip to the Bahamas for two weeks by way of the Disney Cruise Line, and being a good daughter, I house-sat for them. Being that I'm one of their five children still living in the state of California, it was the most decent thing to do. Two weeks of a house, playing nursemaid to their two dogs and one cat, and most importantly, a fridge and pantry full of food. By full, I mean "could easily throw a party for twenty with this much food" full. A set-up such as this would ordinarily be heaven for your normal, average single individual, but considering that I'm neither normal nor average, I pretty much went through various levels of WTF in the last two weeks: where the positives were negatives, and what were once negatives were positives.

For one thing, I was provided full use of one of their [five] vehicles with which to drive to and from my place (to take care of my felines), to work, and to their place. Ordinarily my commute involves either a twelve-mile bicycle ride to and from work or by-luck use of Metro's services - no matter what, I am getting exercise at some time during a normal 12-14 hour day. However, with the car, although I was able to be rested and relaxed while driving to and from, well, everywhere, I was unable to be active for the time it was given me. Sloth, frumpy, and unattractive just covers the surface of how I felt. When my parents returned this past Saturday evening, I made sure to go on a 25-mile bicycle ride the very next day.

It must be said as well that with the time given me to enjoy by myself, I didn't really enjoy it at all. It's odd that the house in which one grows up in as a child does not feel like home without the instigators of the idea. And with work and commuting and responsibility taking the majority of my time, there was little time for fun. There was no Downtown ArtWalk for me. Whatever free time there was was bookended by thoughts of being here, being there, and oh Hell, I have to work tomorrow (don't get me started about work; that will take at least three paragraphs). I missed my roommates, who conveniently double as more than good friends and chosen family. And the wireless service at my folks' house? Sucks, as far as my laptop is concerned; their machines, available though they were, proved to be slow like honey. So what I consider to be purposeful work (writing) didn't get done within my or anyone else's timeframe. I turned in a blurb today, with no muss, no fuss. A review will be in tomorrow. Needless to say, I feel uber empowered at the thought of a reliable operating system and frakking high speed internet. Life's simple pleasures, indeed.

I'm a creature of habit, as we all are. In the last two years, I have become master of my domain. My domain, my control ship. Were that change were completely within our control, I think it would be welcomed a lot easier; however, that's not how it will ever work.

I am catching up.

Explanation, please?

This morning I woke up from a dream in which I was going through a bunch of my dad's old memories in a closet/on a shelf, etc. One of these memories was a box of greeting cards that had the image of two white women with angry, justice-is-served faces, and a black man crying; the other image was of a boat sailing in the ocean, resembling some sort of people-freighter. The box, a sort of faded green color, was labeled with the phrase: "Some boys make bad mistakes." In the dream, I opened the box and inside was a short letter from my sister to my dad, which read:

"Dear Pop,

I'm sorry; I only realized what this was when I opened up the box. Maybe one day Lindsey can send me a birthday card.

Love,
Jessica"

It was then that I woke up.

I've no idea where all that came from, either, but damn it if it wasn't amusing enough to remember.

Dead and gone

Thinking about the past can be both positive and negative. This evening, my thinking about the past is, unfortunately, a negative - which is funny, because not too long ago (read: last week), it was a positive.

Relationships end. Live and let live. But strangely enough, it's likely that the part of your self that was invested in said relationship will die along with it. It's been a slow death in my case, one five-and-a-half years in its duration. I've found happiness and richness in other relationships since, but it's difficult to really forget the way 'it' felt the first time. The newness of love, the spark, the desire. Or was that lust? I wouldn't have been able to tell you the difference then. Looking back, it was a delicate mixture of both. But there's only so much one can take. I understand that now.

The universe deals second chances in some ways, but doesn't in others. I would love it were I given a second chance, but I truly am thinking I was lucky enough to have been enjoyed the time while it lasted.

Yes, I am aware of the awkward drop off. Such is life.

Happy 4th of July...

...from within the walls of my cubicle.

I shouldn't complain, though, as I had yesterday off from work. With these four-day work weeks, I've actually been able to enjoy some sort of summer vacation from school, which has virtually been unheard of in the last three years. While I haven't necessarily gone stale yet, I haven't been as active in social circles as I'd've liked. I am going to need to work on that.

I acknowledge that I haven't been writing here often as of late, and the reason for that I must admit is the little compact thought processor also known as Twitter. I've been enjoying cramming my thoughts into 140 characters. In some odd way it forces the person doing the conveying to be precise with their words, while allowing room to be creative, if applicable. Feel free to follow me; I'm sure we'll have a good time together.

Writing, reading, working - such is life as of late. Still no car, still no winning lottery ticket. Life is one day if not one moment at a time, and it's working out for now. Viewing life in such a way keeps me from freaking out about the future. For once in my life I'm totally uncertain as to what the future holds, where I'll be in a year when it comes to everything - professionally, in relationships, with school, living quarters, everything. It's all up in the air, subject to change. Living in the moment is the equivalent to living in a bubble filled with pure oxygen - it's safe... until it's popped, that is.

Should that moment arise, I hope to not break out in hives. Or, you know, die from exposure. Let's think the best, shall we?

Post-school days

School is done with for the semester. It has literally been a whole day and a half and already I'm feeling a little weird. I'm positive that I won't be on the same campus that I have been for the last three years, adding classes and frequenting the library and the student store, experiencing late nights over an energy drink studying my brains out -- it's over at that location, at least. Right now I'm in a bit of limbo as I transfer from one school to the next (hopefully in the spring). I'm trying to figure out what next to do in the meantime. Considering that unfortunately I haven't been getting much satisfaction from writing lately (this semester was chock-full of writing, so much that rewrites and proofreading was out of the question) which is just... unheard of for me. Since I was thirteen, writing has always been a means of escape. My boyfriend suggested to me that I carry a notebook with me and set a number of pages to write every day and stick to it. The content doesn't matter, just free-flowing verses and phrases and observations and weavings of words, just to do it is the goal. So I will. Merely observing isn't enough; it is given life when on paper, even though it is frozen in space.

So that's what I'll be doing. Until I can get my transcripts together from this past semester, I'm also going to look into a dance class - what kind I don't yet know; swing? Modern? Jazz? Belly dancing? - and just... figure something out. More late-night bicycle rides? Reading more? The last thing I want is to go stale.

I don't know how you all do it.

Scattered about

I had lunch with my dad yesterday. I love my dad; he is seriously one of the nicest people anyone could know. At the same time, he's so nice a guy that he doesn't realize how nice he is, and that really bothers me. He's so unmotivated, yet he has all of these dreams in a trunk going unfulfilled. He's let too much time go by to achieve them. Hell, I am definitely his daughter. Wishing, hoping, thinking, praying. Worrying about time, doubting anything and everything, but actually doing?... Eh, not so much. I mean, I'm doing things I never thought I could, at the belief and persistence of others' encouragement. I hope though to actually give myself credit for putting myself out there and trying, even if it feels so half-assed at times. Ah, but my daddy. I'm learning more about him every time we have lunch together - which I'm hoping will be everything other week or something. I'm thinking it's probably one of the biggest favors either of us could do for ourselves.

In other news, I've unfortunately let indimidation get the better of me when it comes to writing. Writing for my peers has never been a pleasure of mine, but for the last fourteen weeks it's all I've had to do. Still, it's been interesting having people take apart my work, and taking apart theirs. I told my creative writing professor that as much as I hate receiving criticism, I appreciate going through the experience - and she said that if I want to be a writer, there are going to be all sorts of ignorant comments knocking on the door, and it's going to be my job to sift through them like a pro. I'm nervous, but I'll take it on.

In the last fourteen weeks, I've also learned that the short story is the format for me. Since I was a teenager I've preferred to capture moments, minutes, seconds, because those always stayed with me longer than an actual day, or week. Sensations from sweet to sickening still take me by surprise whenever I feel them, and I find them beneficial to my spirit (or something like it) if I can write about it.

With that said, life has been okay. It's at a little bit of a standstill, but for what it is work has been good, and most everything else has been neutral. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop in so many areas. Looking forward to the summer to be able to enjoy writing, and getting in touch with people, being a young and crazy twenty-something (like I ever was before; hah!). And oddly enough, I've been feeling something that feels similar to ... jealousy? And I'm not quite fond of it. Jealousy does not become me. I'll be through with it soon.

As of late

Life has been going relatively well. Heading towards the end of yet another academic semester, I feel as scared as I did going in. I will be obtaining a degree and quickly working towards another. I am proud of myself yet wish I did things differently (like spent less time toggling between YouTube and Twitter and did homework when I had the time). I am interested in seeing what the future holds, still as a student next spring. In one way or another, I'll always be a student. When it comes to writing, I'm still learning every day. At the same time, though, I'll look at something I've written between the 300 and 500 character frame and wonder how tired I was when I wrote what I did, because "I don't remember writing that". Yet it still read well. Someone tell me that's one sign of a good writer, please. Indulge me. In either case, at the end of this month it will have been a year since I found myself ducking out into the corporate stairwell, answering a phone call from Mali, being given instructions to log into Wordpress. It goes without saying that I'm really appreciative of the opportunity of building, expanding on, and retaining a voice.

Day job corporate bullshit has hit the fan, involving a new schedule (4-day workweek [M, Thu-Sa from 8am-7pm]) starting this coming Saturday, May 16. Me[and the rest of the staff]thinks that this is an operative motion to drive us out to avoid severance and unemployment - a thought that used to cripple, but actually has driven me to do better. I believe that I have. Lay-offs have come in quarters, as in of the year, so I'm going to brace myself for the next cut to pendulum swing at the end of June and take my head with it. If so, it'll be bittersweet; if not, same emotional outcome. You can't win and you can't lose with a pompous, indecisive, insecure corporation; you can only work with what you've got.

In my spare time, I've taken up running and working out with the goal of running the LA Marathon in 2010. Towards that goal, I'm working on running 6 miles in one go without effing with my knee (working on it!). In a little under a month, I'm planning on bicycling 100 miles as part of the LA River Ride. I enjoy being active, feeling strong. It takes away from the 8 hours a day my ass is glued to my desk chair, and I love the definition in my legs and abs (not done yet, but we're getting there). Ability does wonders.

Hopefully this blog will become more conversational to anyone reading, given the lack of time I've spent here. This year has been full of writing - with school, my day job, with reviewing and featuring. I've honestly never written more in my life, hence the disappearing act. When I do talk with others, though, I've been doing so over the phone, via IM outlets, email, etc. Going out. Having dinner. Spending the night. Going for a walk. Maybe I'm a little jaded, but I've become of the mind that blogging/talking about yourself is a bit self-serving, self-promoting, self-ego-stroking, kind of like masturbation. All of which is well and good. Still, it's rather nice once you find that someone else can mutually do the job for you.