Call me Miss Direction

I decided that I was not a good artist. I decided it was too much of a hassle. I decided to give up.

It was stressful, anyway. I would feel good to get the weight of "being an artist" off my shoulders.

It didn't. Feel good, I mean. Not good at all.

And I think it was because I didn't walk away and leave it to die. I forced myself to stay. To watch. I watched my art die.

A slow death.

It might have worked if I had walked away. I'm not sure why I couldn't leave it alone.

The pain of watching a part of myself wither away from neglect was finally too much. I picked it back up and began to nurture it again.

And that's where I am right now. I don't know why I keep coming back to art. I'm no prodigy, I don't specialize in any medium or subject or style, and I have no direction.

I only know I can't let it go. It can't let me go. It needs to take me somewhere and I need to let my guard down and let it lead.

It seems like I should have learned something from this, but I'm still in the dark.

Do you have a part of yourself that you can't ignore? That calls to you, pulls at you, keeps you awake at night? I've never created anything that I would consider to be important, so why the urgency? The tenacity?
Maybe I have the capacity to create something important.
Maybe I overestimate myself.
Maybe I underestimate myself.
Maybe we're all in a chronic state of underestimation.

How about this?
How about I promise to do my very best, to honestly strive to hear what's in my heart and follow its direction. Wherever it takes me. No judgment, doubt, or self-sabotage.

Now you promise to do the same.

something Original!

I asked a guy once what it felt like to wake up.

I was sincerely interested in what his answer would be. Having Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, I sometimes forget what is "normal" and I wanted to gauge the difference between him and me.

He said (and I quote):

"I dunno. One moment I'm asleep and then I'm awake."

Seriously one of the most disappointing conversations of my life.

I've thought about it a lot since then. Which is why I wrote this:

heavy bones
broken thoughts
consciousness lost in dark tunnels of misty doubt

breathe. in.
and let it go.

light.

open eyes
hazy mind
pain to the edges of sensation and saturated to the soul

breathe. again.
hold it in now.

daylight.

weary heart
soft sadness
closed mind slowly pried away from the forgetful void of sleep

breathe. deep.
yet another morning.

another 100% True, super-Classy Mommy moment

We were at the grocery store, it was late (well, only 8:00, but that is late for a baby), and we were about to check-out when Baby Girl started getting grumpy. She was acting uncomfortable and unhappy. It looked like a diaper issue.

So the husband-man finished checking out and I took the disgruntled baby and headed to the restroom.

I honestly didn't think I was that tired. I mean, I was a little disheveled and it had been a long day....but not enough to explain....ugh. Well, you'll see. Read on.

It started out normal. Walked in, empty room (which is always nice. I hate changing a diaper when it's crowded and busy), changed her diaper with the usual fuss, and while searching for a trash receptacle...

...I spotted a urinal.

This is the part where you're thinking, "Oh my gosh, she's in the MEN'S room!!" and that is a totally normal thought for you to have. After all, I've just said there was a urinal.

Want to know what I thought?

"Huh. I wonder why they put a urinal in the ladies' room. Seems weird."

what is wrong with my brain?!

I simply refused to let myself believe that I had walked into the wrong room. Couldn't believe it. In my mind it was more reasonable to assume that they had remodeled this women's restroom to be compatible for both genders (which would be completely unprecedented in my life experience and yet, as I've said, a far more reasonable explanation) than to admit I had walked into the wrong room. I've never, in my entire life, been in the men's room.

I remained in staunch denial until I walked outside and saw the sign next to the door:

"MEN"

d'oh

I didn't feel too bad about it (store was mostly empty, restroom was empty, no one needed to be embarrassed by this) until we passed a young fellow on our way to the exit who was obviously headed to the men's room. 

And I just knew....you ever have those moments where you just know?...I just knew that he had seen me go in there and had been waiting, in discomfort, for me to come out the entire time.

Sorry, dude. I really am. But thank you, sincerely, for waiting until I left rather than choosing to embarrass me in my error.

P.S. - this has nothing to do with anything, it's just that we're watching the pilot episode of Firefly while I'm writing this and holy crap! The storytelling in this episode is AMAZING. It's been over 10 years and I'm still freaking upset with effing FOX for canning that show.

grumblegrumble Effing stupid *bleepity bleeping* morons at that *bleep bleeping* crap network grumble....

I'm already There

Remember my post about putting down roots and creating a place of permanence for myself?

PSYCH!

Rug was pulled out from under me again. Husband was laid off a couple of weeks ago.

I'll always be a transient. Might as well join a troupe of gypsies.

(is it a troupe? a pack? a bunch of? seriously, what am I saying?)

So we're digging through the unemployment rubbish pile again. Can't seem to stay away from it. You'd think I loved sorting through dead-end opportunities and sad realizations.

I don't, by the way. I detest it.

Let's fast-forward a few years/decades, can we?

We're sitting, you and I, at a table, outdoor cafe, quaint part of Matera, Italy. The kids are running around town with our respective spouses and we're having a pleasant chat over gazpacho. The kind of chat we won't remember the details of the next day but will fondly recall ten years from now.
And you say, "What a great way to spend the month of June."
And I say, "It absolutely is. We should do this every summer. Only next year let's visit Vienna."
"Sounds lovely."
And the sunlight illuminates the puzzlework stone city in a way that makes your heart lift and cleanses your soul. There we sit, both awash in a beautiful ache to stay there forever and taking comfort in the thought of home.

I Need more off-Duty time

Traveling back to Utah and staying for a week really messed up the baby's sleep schedule.

(for those who are not parents, let me quickly explain: the parent's life revolves around the baby's sleep schedule. every plan, every activity, every thought absolutely depends on the stability of the baby's sleep schedule. this post may seem trivial but, I assure you, it is of the utmost importance.)

Today gave me hope that her internal clock would automatically reset itself. Because Nature is awesome that way, right?

She was out like a light at 12:30 in the afternoon and didn't stir for 3 hours (!!). It was amazing and I thought,
'Fantastic. Next time she gets tired it'll be time to go to bed anyway and she'll be back to going to bed early in the evening.'

(I like it when she goes to bed early in the evening, say 7 or 8, because then I get a few hours to myself. Off-duty time, if you will.)

As planned, she started rubbing her eyes around 7 and making the I'm-tired-and-grumpy-about-it-but-I-want-to-keep-playing whimper (it's a very distinctive whimper). She was down and out by 7:30 and I was reveling in the silence by 8:00.

And at 9:00, emerging from the nursery, were the okay-I'm-awake-from-my-nap-now-let's-go-play sounds (great sounds to hear in the afternoon, but definitely not okay at nine o'clock at night)

I take it all back. Nature sucks and the Universe hates me.

It's been about an hour now and I think she's finally gotten the point: It's Night. Sleep. SLEEP. SLEEP.

It put a serious dent in my off-duty time, though.

It's too bad Motherhood doesn't come with vacation or sick days, because I would seriously cash some of those in right now.