From the deep there rumbled something...

Oh wait. It's just me. Posting a blog again. finally. I don't know. I have not been in the mood for blogging or writing much of anything the past ooooo...two weeks. I have been reading a lot, thinking a lot, doing a lot of laundry and catching up with my friends.

I know there's like, two of you out here who are still interested, but I swear I haven't actually given up on writing Beyond The Seven Seas...appearances can be deceiving. It's just stewing and sitting and not getting written. I will push forward. I just haven't really had the time. And, I got my guitar back and that's a huuuge distraction.

I feel like I'm 17 again. Not in that warm-squishy-basking-in-the-glow-of-youth way. In the..."dad, can I borrow the car? I need a job I can walk to" sort of way. Gag. On a sock.

Living at home again after being out of your parents house for six years is definitely not on my list of easy things to do. Not that my dad isn't overall a decent person to share a house with. The stepmother is alright too if insanely jealous that I can come and go as I please.

Sorry toots.

Currently, I am sitting in the office enjoying M and M's, milk and contemplating the delights of taking a shower. I had my Kung Fu class tonight. It is probably one of my most favorite places to be.

I have been running around catching up with friends that I have missed. I did not realize how much I had missed them until I saw them again. I have also been living life with exactly 2.95 cents in my bank account. Hehe. There are perks to living with your dad. It's like an insurance plan or something.

I think part of why I have not been writing is because my brain is processing. Europe was a huge experience and really, this trip home is more of just a pause in the bigger picture. I leave Kansas again to go back to europe on July 14th. At the beginning of August I am traveling to Estonia. I am going to try and venture into Russia. I'm excited about that.

I think coming home was a necessary thing for more than one reason. It is allowing me to gain some perspective on what I did or did not learn during my time abroad.

I feel as though I am sitting on a fulcrum. I can either slide back into the same old shit or I can re-enter some of the familiar situations from my past with the promise to myself and to my heart that I will approach them differently. Situations are, in some ways, neutral. It's what we manage to bring to them or lay over them or charge them with that dictate how they proceed.

The pasts attached to us are seductive. They don't want to be ignored. They are always waiting somewhere just beyond what we can see, waiting to pull us back into what Was.

I don't want that to be the case here. Where I was headed wasn't all that bad...no real things to complain about but at the same time, I can head to better places I think. I am holding on to some things-

I still want to go to graduate school and get a PhD in Art History so I can teach university. That's really, really important to me. I've also decided though that I want to live a creative life. Whatever that means. I know what end I want to reach, or the general direction that the end lies in but I am no longer going to tie myself into knots worrying about how I'm going to get there.

Goal in mind. Let the games begin.

There was a lot of turmoil surrounding the time that I picked up and left to travel for six months. I broke up with a boyfriend of three years, sold my car, boxed up a lot of stuff for Goodwill, took a lot of things out to my mom's, friend's etc. to be stored and left. I remember sitting in JFK's airport heading to Turkey feeling like I had fought on the frontline of a war. It was a strange way to depart.

Coming home was much less troubled. Granted, my wonderful friend sort of left me at the airport by accident (when I say wonderful, I really do mean wonderful. She didn't mean to abandon me exactly hehe) but there were no tears, no pain associated with leaving or returning. I was excited and a bit overwhelmed as I arrived into Atlanta's airport.

I know better now on an emotional level (not just intellectual) that I need to pursue things like making music and art and my business plan and all those things that make me feel like me without apologizing for it or giving pieces of me away to those who don't want to give anything back. Or rather, who want to give the wrong sort of things back.

That's huge.

Pet Peeves: A series

Why do men insist...and I mean insist...on wearing those awful penny loafer slip on shoes without socks?

Nothing says I'm a sleezeball who wears cheap cologne and chases 20 year old skirt even though I'm like 80 more than those shoes.

And then, to make matters worse, they wear bermuda shorts and a nasty polyester shirt along with it. Maybe a hat to top it all off.

I don't care what you choose to wear or not wear at home. It's your home, it's your choice. I don't even care if you decide to chase 20 year old skirt or wear Bermuda shorts and bad polyester shirts...just don't wear those retarded penny loafers in my presence.

More specifically-don't wear them and then slip your feet in and out of your shoes like you're at some beach side resort when I have to be stuck on a bus with you for 12 hours. Even if your feet don't stink, it's a principle.

I don't randomly take my shoes off in public...and if I do, I do it discreetly and with socks and don't do it in a closed space like a bus.

Thank you.

The management.

Overlooked Book Club

ok, I'm still building my blog here and while it's not Friday, I'm posting anyway dammit. I don't have a lot of time but here's my book that, to my understanding, belongs on the Friday Overlooked Book Club. (c:

It's a novella called Memoirs of my Melancholy Whores and it's awesome. It came out a bit ago, won some random foreign novel awards and was never heard from again.

it is the story of a man who is turning 90 and for his birthday he decides that he wants a night of passion. He has a history of such behavior and has never been in love. The tale that follows is not only a celebration of love but a celebration of life. The book is hilarious in parts, all being written with a very happy, tongue-in-cheek realistic approach to life. The comedy is offset by moments of open and honest tenderness. Really, really honest tenderness.

The book isn't driven so much by plot as it is by character-think The Man That Wasn't There style character films but condensed to 115 pages.

It is written by a Spanish author and the translation is beautifully done. The cast list is small, the main character, his friend who runs the brothel and the girl of his desire-a 14 year old virgin who works sewing on buttons during the day and takes care of her family.

She never actually speaks. Nor is any of the story told from or considering her point of view, it's all from the main characters perspective-an aging writer for a local newspaper.

It is a book that will make you believe in the power of love. Even if only for 115 pages.

Highly Recommended.

I will try and post more details when I have more time but it's a start.

1663muM

No...I am not playing with my caps lock key.

That is the number, in meters, that I hiked today in the Swiss Alps. :D Big smile and grin.

I left Wilhelmshaven, Germany yesterday and arrived in St. Gallen, Switzerland to stay with a very cool friend of a friend. He's a big mountain, outdoors guy from Canada who has had the joy of moving to Switzerland for work. He was awesome enough to take me out to the mountains today. We started our hike and actually summited the mountain. Not such a big deal for him but for me it was amazing. We hiked in the sun and the beautiful setting of the swiss Alps and it was beyond words. I will have photos soonish. Hopefully tonight. There was snow at the top and, even though my feet got wet, it was great. Absolutely great.

We ate lunch at the top and then caught the train down the mountain and came back to the house. I am thinking about taking a day trip or two while I'm in Switzerland before I head to Ireland. I am really excited about Ireland. I've been there twice and every time I go I feel like I've come home.

I went for the first time when I was 17 with my high school choir. I remember, I stepped off the plane and something slipped into my soul that felt right. I disregarded it somewhat because I figured I was starstruck by being out of the country for the first time. And then I went back with my friend Jen during an interesting period in my life and it happened again.

They say third time's a charm.

We went out last night in St. Gallen to some live music bars and hung out with some cool friends of my host and had a blast. We went to a club called The Barracco and heard an amazing, amazing group of singers and musicians. They ended with the most impassioned and beautiful rendition of Purple Rain I've ever heard. It was magic. :D

At the moment, i'm chillin' out before dinner listening to Counting Crows. Good stuff. I am going to try and get my pics uploaded and taken care of this evening.

Also-I haven't forgotten about my chapter 5. I had a bit of insight on the train over here from Germany to Switzerland so I'm going to try and condense that into some coherent thoughts and get it posted. It's going to be a busy next couple of days but I think I can manage. I just have to make the time hehe. (c:


Alrighty...more later.

I get it now

The following message is a Rant from your local blogger.

I get it now why people start having children at a young age.

So when they get out of prison for strangling them to death they still have time to start a real life.

They aren't even my kids....why do I care?

Not that anyone reads this anymore but I don't care...it gives me a place to vent.

I'm not saying anything new and I know this but where does it end? I get the happygoluckyigetpaidtoNOThavechildren child psychologists who say it's normal for children to test their boundaries...to look for ways around their choices....

ok. fine. then you littlemissiwouldNEVERraisemyvoicetoasweetinnocentchild come in here and deal with these insolent little walking hellspawn with mouths and get them realize that while I am generally a nice, normal person...who goes out of her way to get them to riding lessons, and drives them to school when they miss the bus, and sits for an hour braiding their hair and plays football (soccer) outside with them even when I don't feel like it or am trying to catch one of their colds that they constantly pass around....when you "if's and's and but's" me to death about going to bed or brushing your teeth or putting on your pajamas or any other number of things that I tell you to do nine times in a row I get angry.

hm...I wonder why.

I've tried taking away privileges....I get "what's so bad about that?" What's so bad about that? Oh wait and see. I can make your life a living hell...believe me. There will be yelling. And you will sit in your room and only come out for dinner if you're lucky.

I don't want to make empty threats and I don't plan on it.

Maybe I will switch tactics. They seem to react better when I get a little...pissed...as it were...this is only good for a few times though and then they get used to it or realize that I"m not as scary as I wish I was...so maybe I'll go for the disappointment route. I won't say anything. I'll just give them that look and make them think that they've fallen out of favor with me for the rest of their natural lives.

That would be good.

Anything to get some results. I try to do things the right way. Rules. Charts. Small ways of letting them know that I'm or the parents are proud of them...little exceptions when they do well or show maturity. Sometimes it works. Sometimes they run with it. Sometimes I slam the bedroom door.

I am human. The parents went upstairs to enjoy their evening and yes, while I know it's my job, occasionally it would be nice to have a little more than verbally expressed support. It's harder for two smart and clever kids to be smart and clever and cheeky when there are two adults standing there...one of them who happens to be their mother.

They made a clean escape tonight and I got to deal with them. It's fine. I like them, I know they both work hard. But when the kids are this way, they should stand there with me and help me if nothing else. Instead, I got, now listen up or it will be as Larissa says. Be good. Goodnight.

Damn straight it will be as I say. I'm the one they have to answer to when they come home after school tomorrow. I'm the one who decides if they get computer time, game boy rights, nintendo DS or play time. I'm the one who decides if we get to have a blow-off hour watching silly YouTube videos on my laptop before going to bed.


I am sick to death of parents who don't want to take responsibility for their kids. These parents are not necessarily included in this rant but I'm on the topic so why the hell not.

If you don't want to deal with kids-and I mean deal with them on every level, in every shape and form they come in-don't have them. Use a condom. Use birthcontrol. Exercise abstinence. Do whatever it is you can dream up to do that makes it so you won't procreate. There has to be a foundation in place before you drag kids into the picture. So your five year, own my own business and make plenty of money plan fell through after you had your first kid? Tough shit. You still have a kid. And you still have to step and do their homework with them....I don't care if you're tired and hungry and it takes you three hours...do it. Get over yourself and do it. Get down on their level, work with them 'til they get it. I don't care what your favorite subject was in class or if you never needed help.

Newsflash: Just because you share the same genes doesn't mean you're the same person.

Iconic and Parenting Magazine Role Model Children are fairytales. They don't actually exist-- unless they are medicated or in a wax museum.

Dealing with your kids doesn't mean shoving them on a babysitter or in front of the TV all the time. Barney wasn't hired to become your stay at home so I can go out shopping mom.

Sorry to break it to you.

What really kills me about this is that sometimes I think I care more than the parents. I care about actually getting through to them and figuring out what makes them tick and what scares them and what hurts them and what makes them laugh so I can access them. Because if I can access them I can teach them and if I can teach them then I can help them. If I can't teach them I am nothing more than a dancing monkey sent to entertain them.

I get it now why people start having children early...so they can remember, while their kids are growing up, what it was like to be a kid themselves so that maybe, just maybe they will have a little more flexibility and willingness to learn not just about their kids but with their kids when it comes to life.

Kids may never remember all the good things we do for them but they will suffer for all the good things we don't do.

...drumroll please...

Yay. (c:

I am going to Estonia in August for an artist residence. I applied. They let me in. I'm excited. :D

W00t. Now I have to figure out a way to do some fundraising for the trip. It's a 2 week thing where I get to go live on a farm in the Estonian countryside and make art. Sounds perfect to me.

I also got a few other things organized....which always makes me happy. I got my ticket bought, roundtrip from London to USA to London...I come home on May 12th and leave on July 14th. Crazy busy in between but it's all good. And, I finalized plans to go to Switzerland. This is good as well. I'm hoping for some good weather so I can go hiking and then off to Ireland. :D

I wanted to share. (c:

I've been driving myself crazy lately-everything I look at or do is somehow tinged by my novel. This is both a good thing and a bad thing. Is this normal?

'til later.

Chapter Four-Beyond The Seven Seas

CHAPTER FOUR

“Figured I’d find you ‘ere.” He looked like an unshaven postal worker. His eyes were bloodshot behind his black-rimmed glasses and he was wearing the same clothes she had left him in the night before. James never wore his glasses in public.

“I’m sorry I hung up on you. I thought I told you to stay home.”

He wrapped his hand around the inside of her elbow and led them over to a table in the corner of the room.

He said, “There are worse sins though I doubt you could have picked worse timing-- and you did.”

“Yeah well, I sort of panicked. I’m sorry I’m such an idiot. And if I did, why are you here?”

“Ah, there you go assuming I follow orders”

“Well, you at least could have cleaned yourself up before going out in public. Jeez.”

“Piss off.” He grinned.

James slid the stool out for Ilse and tilted his head in the direction of the girl behind the counter.

“Two of the usual eh?” She nodded and smiled.

Ilse dropped her bag between her legs and scooted awkwardly onto the gangly red vinyl topped bar stool purposely not looking at James looking at her, awaiting some sort of explanation.

“Not before I get some food in my system.” She leaned her back against the wall and propped her feet on the bottom rung of the table.

The waitress brought two coffees and the best looking pair of warm tomato and Portobello mushroom sandwiches in all of London proper. It gave her a renewed sense of hope in life. Whoever said the Brits don’t know anything about food most certainly never ate here. The café was a hole in the walls of London that most of the Buskers in the area would frequent. The walls were vermillion red and while there were only five tables in the whole place the rhythm had adjusted so that there was usually a seat to be found. The smell of vanilla and warm spiced tea and cigarettes mixed pleasantly as it was filtered throughout the small room by the whirring ceiling fans overhead.

“Well?” His restless fingers picked at the buttons on his sleeves, the scratches in the tabletop, the fraying threads on his jeans.

She said, “Smoke a cigarette would you. You’re making me nervous.”

“I left them at home.” He raked a hand through his hair and pressed his palms flat on the table.

Ilse paused for a fraction of time between bites. He’s really worried about me. She finished her sandwich and brushed the crumbs from her fingers onto the plate.

“You want to tell me what that was all about earlier?”

“Not really.” She stirred more milk into her coffee. “Did you see the pig in Piccadilly earlier?”

“Don’t change the subject.” He needed a cigarette.

“Fuck James. I don’t know anymore. I thought I had things under control but lately, it’s been like going back in time. I can’t focus, I can’t think straight.” She took a sip. “I can’t write. Jesus, I don’t even remember the last time I had a fucking flashback and now today there’s been two! What the hell am I supposed to do with that? And then this god-damned kid shows up and half of London is standing in the streets gawking at the fucking pig in Piccadilly Circus and I don’t know-- -- it’s been a piss poor day.”

The waitress came over to clear away plates and refill James’ cup of coffee. She set half a pack of Lucky Strikes down on the table in front of him.

“Some guy left these here earlier. I was going to throw them away but you look like you could put them to better use.”

“Marry me.” She laughed as she walked away.

Ilse said, “And don’t tell me this shit is normal. I’m so sick of hearing the word “processing” I could vomit.”

“I didn’t say anything. I think you’re being a little hard on yourself. You had a shit afternoon. You got mugged for Christ’s sake. Little bugger would have been brown bread if I’d gotten a hold of him—“

He took a long pull off of his cigarette and slid another one out of the pack.

“It’s just—look—last time—when I first came to London—I couldn’t walk out my front door without expecting to see him standing there. He never quit wanting me.” Her voice sounded like a house with all the lights burned out.

“Few of us have ever quit wanting you” His tone was flippant. Now serious. “But I know—it was three years ago though. It’s behind you.” He took a pause and drew on his cigarette. “It’s behind us.”

“Don’t make jokes. And apparently it isn’t. And this kid today—that really fucked me up—why the hell wouldn’t he take anything? What if it was a way to test me? To see if he could get to me?”

She was leaning across the table, her coffee cup was tucked up underneath her like something precious. Her necklaces were hovering just inches above the edge of the cup.

“Oh Christ Ilse, I swear you were a conspiracy theorist in a past life. Don’t be ridiculous. I know you had a good scare but you should be sayin’ your hail mary’s that you didn’t lose anything except time today. And what the hell do you mean did I see the pig in Piccadilly?” James finished his cigarette and drove the butt into the bottom of the ashtray. He lit up a second one. “like smoking damn candy cigarettes” he muttered to himself. Ilse rolled her eyes and un-hunched her shoulders.

Her tone was casual again.

She said, “A little slow on the uptake this afternoon. Tsk. I don’t mean anything. There was a damn pig in the circus today. He was standing beneath that ridiculous statue of Eros and half of the damn planet was standing there staring back at him. I didn’t exactly stick around to interview him. Besides, he sort of, well, he sort of disappeared.”

“Pigs don’t disappear.” He gave her a flat look.

“Yeah, I know. But this one did. One minute I was looking at him and the next minute, he was gone.”

“I see.”

“You don’t believe me.”

She folded her arms in front of her and squared her shoulders.

“Well, I know what I saw. And what I saw was a white pig disappear into thin air. End of story.”

James took a heavy breath and took his glasses off. He rubbed his fingers along the top of his nose and traced his sinuses. He was obliterated from last night and she was being unreasonable.

There is nothing like an irrational woman with a temper to cure a hangover.

He finished the second cigarette and took his time exhaling the smoke. The blurred edges of her face were softened further by the haze that sifted through the space between them and he impulsively reached his hand across the table. He laid his fingers gently across her hand as she reached for her coffee cup. Irrational women were just his type.

“Let’s—“ She cut him off with a hardened stare.

“Don’t.” Panic built up inside of her like bubbles fighting to break across the surface of a pond. She would not be played.

James took a hold of her hand.

“I said Don’t!”

“Ilse….calm down…I was going to say let’s—“

“Let go of me! Don’t touch me! Let go!” She wrenched her hand away from him but his fingers lingered instinctively. The coffee cup flew from the table top and shattered on the floor. Milky brown liquid crawled into the cracks in the tile and headed for the door.

“Ilse…Stop this…chill out..” James let go of her hand.

“It always starts like this!” She stood up frantically and knocked the stool back against the wall she had been lounging against not thirty seconds ago. She kicked pieces of broken coffee cup out of her way and slipped on the wet tile as she reached down to pick up her bag.

People were beginning to stare.

“It’s always about this for you isn’t it!? You always have to be the logical one! Nothing could possible be as I see it for once could it! You never change. You never change!”

She was spitting the words at him as though they were on fire.

“ I didn’t ask you to come here in the first place! I don’t even know why you did! To call me a liar and make me look like a fool because I tried to tell you what went on in my day? You asked me, remember?! I didn’t want you here! You. Came. To. ME!”

James picked his glasses up and put them on.

“Ilse..” People stared. The room had gone silent. His throat was dry.

“You always have to do this! Always have to be the one who comes out right! Fuck you! Why am I never allowed to have boundaries?! I won’t be violated again! Ever!”

She twisted on the heel of her boot and stormed out of the café. The door mirrored her emotions as it slammed shut punctuating the air that had gone stale in the café. Warmth and charm left with her and James was left with a black hole sucking at his insides. A draft of chilly afternoon air joined the crowd and stirred the flyers on the bulletin board across the room. Wet footprints stared at James from the floor.

He stared back at them. The chemistry for hurt is not complicated.

The other customers went back to their conversations but not without casting glances that they thought were subtle in James’ direction. Some looked at the door. He would not chase after her. He was finished with that. She can take her boundaries and her attitude and go to hell. And for once, he refused to follow her there. Charon never did make good company. He parted the curtains ever so slightly and hated himself for doing it. Ilse turned the corner and was gone.

I will not be violated again. It bounced off the interior of her brain over and over again. Her mantra. Her promise. She was through with broken boundaries. Her boots thudded heavily on the gray sidewalk. She moved like a storm moving in across a windy Nebraska plain. Rain fell inside her bones. She was heading for Not-Here as fast as she could. She needed to be Not-Here.

Reason is a slow moving beast when it finds itself fighting a two front war and today it was particularly taxed.

Her brain slowly caught up with her passion and her footsteps began to slow. The sidewalk stopped being accused. Her breath found her lungs. The joints in her fingers unclenched and her fingernails pulled back their attack on the insides of her palms. The fury began to leak out of her as water from a garden hose in summer. Tears welled up in her eyes. Hot. Angry. Ashamed. Rain fell.

She was useless.

She stopped at the next corner and shoved her hands into her pockets. Toes turned slightly inwards, pushing against the leather heels of her boots. Her shoelace was untied and her hair was hanging in an angry mass down her back and she stood there on the street corner not knowing what to do.

I am a fool.

The blacksmiths hammer came down on her rage forcing it to bend into a controlled heat that flushed her face and burned her ears. Not-Here had come faster than she expected. She glanced across the street as she waited for the light to change. She couldn’t go back to the café. She should apologize. She couldn’t face the humiliation. She should go back to the café. She never turned back when she should. How many moments had she lost, how many spaces had been forgotten and abandoned. She didn’t know how many proverbial bridges she had left in her future but she was sure she had plenty of matches at her disposal. The means are easier to grasp than the ends.

She had lost James. Matches and fragments.

I am a product of my destroyed relationships. Her mantra. Her promise. No wonder no one wants me.

The street light changed to a walk signal and she looked up to see where she was going.

The white pig from Piccadilly Circus was staring back at her from the other side of the street looking somewhat puzzled. And lost. Definitely lost. He was sitting with his rounded back against a wall. Ilse took a double take and jumped back onto the curb. He cocked his head to the side and looked at her as if he expected some sort of answer to an unvoiced question. They stared at each other. Ha! I’m not crazy! I’ll show him! Call me a liar! Ha! Humility and rage lost their seats to triumph and she ran back towards the café.

James was paying the bill. The door swung open and Ilse swept through with an impish grin played across her lips. For the second time that day the customers gave up on their lunch to watch the live theatre performance in front of them. They got nothing for their money this time, however.

“Come with me.” She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him outside in stumbling steps.

“What the hell is going on Ilse?” He stuffed his wallet frantically back into his back pocket as he struggled to get his feet under him.

“Shut up and come with me.”

James regained his footing and tried to pull away. She was like an over excited puppy on a leash.

“You think I’m some sort of rag doll now? One minute you’re in there screaming at the top of your lungs like a damn fool. A damn fool about how I think you’re a liar and going on about your fucking boundaries and now you want me to come with you? Who the hell do you think you are?” It was his turn to speak bullets.

Ilse made no indication that she was listening. She snatched his wrist up again and started pulling.

“I need to show you something.”

They reached the street corner, James following for reasons unbeknownst to him, protesting and arguing the whole way to ears that were only half listening. She would show him that she wasn’t just making this business up and then she could go back to caring about him. She would have time for humility afterwards.

They reached the street corner and Ilse pointed victoriously across the street.

“There! There’s the damn pig! He followed me! I knew it!”

James paused mid sentence and followed the line her finger was scorching through the air. Red brick buildings and business store fronts met his gaze. The clothing stores had pulled their racks underneath awnings of various striped colors and sizes in case the skies overhead turned rainy with the cooling temperature. Flowers were hanging from hooks and piled high on tables at the flower market. People were walking. In short, there was no pig.

“There’s no pig Ilse.’ His voice was thin with poorly masked bewilderment and the remains of his anger.

“But…”

“Don’t start. Pigs don’t disappear. Nor do they follow people half around God’s forsaken London.”

Ilse stared hard at the space where moments before her sanity had stood in the flesh.

There was nothing but space and a patch of sunlight filtering through the clouds.