Oye

Sometimes I eat out of fear and loneliness. I don't think you have to be alone to be lonely. Sometimes the loneliness comes from within- a weird social block that disconnects you from others, even those you love. I am not a people person, I know this. I am shy and look at the ground a lot. It's difficult for me to hold a conversation and so I can be in a room full of people and wish desperately to melt into the floor. After awhile, I find myself avoiding people completely which ultimately heightens the feelings of loneliness and so I eat or sleep to dull the ache- hoping that stomach pains will take my mind off the problem at hand. My tendencies toward isolation are not purposefully self imposed and I don't write this to cultivate a pity party. I write to understand why I am the way I am and what purpose my personality could possibly serve.
I remember one sermon I went to at my old church that left me feeling utterly guilty. "You have to get out there! You may not like it but you have to connect, you have to blah blah blah." Connect? I wish. Networking is not me. I do not network. I'd like to yes, but I find myself inhibited by the binding upkeep that comes with networking. I know that somewhere in this debacle of a personality disorder is a reason, I have yet to find it though. Until then, I'm afraid I'll go crazy and eat myself to death.

I was thinking this evening that if you were the last person on earth and you had all of the fancy department stores to yourself, would the latest and most expensive clothing still have any meaning to you? I mean, no one is going to be around to see you swing that Gucci purse down the street while you strut your stuff in Jimmy Choos. The naked world could care less. I could care less right now, but still. So if purpose and meaning is defined by the society you live in, what would you define as important if you were the only person to care? And once you find that answer, why is it so hard to implement it in the present, even when you know that when society tells you it's stupid, it doesn't matter?

Sometimes getting the inner spark within to ignite takes a dog deliberately peeing on your foot

There are some days when I just desperately want to be left alone. Not on anyone’s accord. Not out of irritation. I just want to be alone. Today is an alone day. I’m not really sure why, but Boomer just walked up out of no where and peed on my foot while I was putting away laundry. Either he really hates me, or he needs to think of a more appropriate way to let me know he has to go.  Now that my foot is clean, I have to figure out a way to wash my dry clean only jacket to get the pee out too. Two birds with one stone- thank you Boomer, what ever I did, be it the walk or playtime, sorry to make you so moody.

I really wish I was back in Coeur d’ Alene today. It’s my baby sisters first date and I want to be the one to pick out the sandals that will give her ankles scars that last years because that’s what sisters do. I’m really, really bummed I can’t be there to share in the excitement. Laundry and floor washing aren’t exactly turn-ons.

Yesterday, I came to the realization that I wasn’t ready to get out there and meet new people. I wasn’t ready to go and join clubs or get active- until, that is, today. I’m not really good with people, I wish I was. I’m so shy that I come across as aloof while my husband on the other hand can talk to anyone he wants with complete ease. It’s not that I’m self conscious, I just don’t feel like I ever have anything to say. I took the title for most uninteresting person in the Universe.

I also realized that I need to find work if I’m ever going to afford the things I want to do. So, I’m going to try to apply to the flower shop close by. Cleaning the house endlessly is growing old.  On top of that, whether it be out of frustration or abandonment, the old adage of relying on myself to get things done is becoming clearer. And I have the distinct urge to cut off all of my hair. I just feel like throwing my hands in the air sometimes. There are some things I just have to find the personal motivation to do. I don’t have my mother around to poke me in the butt with a sticker, and my husband is worse than I am. So here’s to getting things done, even if I hate doing them. 

Hey, I hope that runny nose you are having is really worth the appointment thankyouverymuch

Days like today make me wonder why on earth anyone would want the government to control their healthcare. Now, I’m not sure if TriCare is government regulated, but since it is associated with the military, it’s about as efficient as any government program. Let me give you a personal example…

“Um, yes, I need to make an appointment, as soon as possible please. I can even come after four.”

“Okay, what’s the problem?”

“Well, um, I’m having severe abdominal cramps and I’m peeing blood.”

“*silence* “Ohhhh,”

“Yeaaaa.”

“Let me pull up the schedule…. We can see you two days from now. Can I send you to a different provider? Yes? Ok, we’ll schedule you for Wednesday.”

Meanwhile, the little voice inside my head is crying, but, but, I’m FREAKING PEEING BLOOD!!!

Efficiency. And the after hours clinic was closed, and I feel twenty times worse than this morning. Ugh, I feel like death.

Early morning

Josh had watch at one thirty this morning so I woke up with him at 12:30. I told him I would stay up until he got home so that we can spend the day resting together. It’s sad to think that our time together is slowly coming to an end so I can’t afford to waste any time spent together. He reports in April, and from there, I don’t have a clue what will happen. I don’t know how much I’ll get to see him- I don’t even know if he’ll send me home. So staying up late is worth it, and it gave me a chance to wash the floors, do laundry, and clean the dishes. 

My weekend, a week late

It feels like somebody has glued my eyelids shut. I’ve barely been able to stay awake today. This week has certainly had it’s ups and downs, it seems to me more downs. I just don’t have the oomph to do anything lately as I struggle with feeling absolutely pointless. It just seems that my creativity has died with my motivation. Nothing has been the same since July and it never seems to get any better. Some days, I just can’t fight it- this week has definitely been one of those weeks. With that, I wrote in my journal on the ferry last night so I could update this blog and stave off family pestering.

            “I’m on my way to Seattle, trying to write a straight sentence while the ferry bounces on calm seas. So I haven’t posted in awhile, shame on me, I know. This weekend was awesome. On Saturday, it was confirmed that if a man is given a stick shift and winding mountain roads he will pretend he is racing the Audubon. Pot holes become a very dangerous game of hide and seek and long stretches of straight road beg acceleration. All motion sickness aside, the drive was absolutely beautiful.

            Our destination was the ancient rainforests of the Olympic Park. AS we pulled closer, we stumbled upon a wasteland of half submerged tree trunks and abandoned boulders- the last evidence of man’s hand in the making of Lake Cushman. The site had a strange attractiveness of its own, much like an industrial park, but was tragic. When you look upon a ravaged landscape that has yet to heal, something inside of you withers with it, as if you too were a partaker and receiver of the  destruction. It was nothing short of a jeweled necklace on a decomposed corpse- empty, gray, lifeless. Josh commented that it is not often can a person see the sins of fellow men, but here the nature of man was bitingly apparent.

            We found refuge behind the park gates no less than a mile from the ancient boneyard. The ambience of the wood was a bracing breeze and trickling water over worn river-rocks. The ancient beasts slept, their needles impervious to the wind. Three of me couldn’t have wrapped themselves around their roots. To be in the midst of those who have seen years of forgotten history and written it within themselves is an experience that can only be fully appreciated first hand. Each jaunt into the woods is different for each man; each has something different to learn from his ancient homes. Now I know why Thoreau left civilization to commune with nature, searching for himself in the unforgiving truth of the wilderness. There is something there that no amount of “civility” can reproduce.

            The hike was freezing, but ignoring the raw air was simple. Until you have seen a herd of wild elk less than 100 feet from were you stand, or listened to the gurgling of winter mountain water, or felt the brush of wild lichens against your skin as you duck under the dead trees can you really feel a sense of peace and wild abandon. I was happy there. You cannot physically or mentally worry about anything when civilization itself is so far away. The ancient trees filter that before it can reach you. I want to go back. I want to climb, and climb, and climb until I can’t climb anymore. Sometimes, running away can be the best thing you can do.

            On Sunday, we took a spontaneous drive to Port Townsend- an old Victorian port not worn by the ages. We played (more like explored) the dingy concrete barricades of the Kinzie embattlement and walked along the coastal trails, not bothered by the fine blanket of rain. Josh explored the sailboat haven and dreamed up the idea to live on one. I admit, at first I was skeptical. I don’t find boats all that interesting and walking through a boat yard brought back memories of me dragging my feet out of insufferable boredom as dad would take all of us to the Harley Davidson store. Yes, it was horribly boring, and my stomach was turning itself in knots from the gluten I stupidly ate. So, boredom and crankiness. I was ready to go home. The next day brought excitement. I’d much rather live on a boat than have a house.

            I want to sail the world, I want to do something different. I don’t want a family, I don’t want an expensive car, I don’t want anything that standard, expected American life has to offer me. It all bores me and I bore so easily anyway that it’s a sure recipe for disaster. Maybe that’s my biggest problem, fighting extreme episodes of intense boredom, which makes me question the whole purpose of my existence. It’s not something I like to do, but I find myself doing it more and more often.

Day 2, a day late

As and artist balancing role of wife, I have learned that the optimal times to  create are between the hours of husband asleep and husband work.  And yes, I did do my art homework yesterday- here it is. A tiny little piece of hipster art that Josh won’t let me wear in public because it screams “alcoholic.” I fancy artistic and eco friendly thankyouverymuch. Nevertheless, they are for my little seester who can wear them anywhere and not have her beverage choices called into question. Today, I am working on another apron and I will post pictures later tonight. I love being able to sew without a pattern, just like I love to cook without a recipe. In short, I don’t like being told what to do. 

I like the word "rogue."

            Today has been a wonderfully creative day so far. After wasting three hours this morning, accomplishing only making the bed, Boomer and I worked our way upstairs, pulled out the fabric and turned on a documentary about the Shakers. Yes, I like PBS documentaries- it happens when you grow up with them on all the time. Plus, I love being able to relax, learn, and create at the same time.  The Shakers (albeit a little crazy in my book) saw their work (to create) as an act of worship. “Create as if you had a thousand years to complete a task…” I like that philosophy on the attention to detail.

Boomer is a very "helpful" supervisor. Actually, he has an attachment problem.

            I was looking for a “job” today, but I just can’t bring myself to work another entry level job. I have a degree, and so far, the only thing I learned from my degree is self sufficiency. I hope that I can make stuff and sell it. My goal is to make enough things to open an etsy store by next Friday. I desperately want to help Josh alleviate the bills so we can start saving. We share so many dreams and I want to make them come true. I hope that we don’t end up like every other married couple- letting our dreams die at the hands of “American productivity.” That in itself terrifies me.

But it's ok, because he's cute.

            But, the terror, in a sick way, keeps me motivated. I am currently reading Walden (Josh, Emerson… we make for an interesting couple) and Boomer, the back of his eyelids. Yes, Boomer sleeps in the bed now (and he doesn’t poop in the kennel either). All three of us sleep better now. Digress! As we share passages from the books we are reading, we dream together- hiking, sailing, getting lost. I love the intuitive nature of the Transcendentalist movement. I know a lot of people don’t care for the Transcendentalists, but I think it’s how you take it. Reason, to them, is second to intuition, but I believe reason has its place- just like the woods have a place, and so does man. It is always refreshing to step back and take a look at humanity- I can see by the first pages of Walden that man hasn’t changed at all. We’ve worsened. Second law of thermodynamics in action.

30 days of creativity!

I took a pledge to create an original art piece each day! Today is an apron. I had so much fun I might make another tomorrow! Sorry this is so short, I’m exhausted. More tomorrow!