The Art of Contemplation....

At the art store, I've been coveting this painting set for months. I finally bought it a few weeks ago, and I finger it and fondle it every few days. But I've been afraid to open it up and really sit down and use it.

It's called Sumi E. The art of Japanese monochromatic ink painting. It's the pictoral equivalent of their brush calligraphy. Check it out

Memorial Day weekend seems like as good a time as any, to sit out on my balcony and contemplate the universe whilst grinding ink. I look forward to the solitude and learning something new. Of course, I have no books to instruct. This is going to be soooo cool. Riiight.

A revelation...

What I said yesterday, about doing things in life because people would be upset with me if I did not? Well... I just had the most startling moment of clarity: What if, for argument's sake... that I am putting on a brave face for the people around me. And what if, also, those people didn't really need me to be brave; they wanted to help me out of the darkness. I just imagined Jesus standing with his arms out saying "you don't have to pretend for me... just lean on me."

Had a cool thought the other day
Can't remember if I wrote it down -- it's about second chances. Essentially, I give everyone a second chance, or two or three. They screw up my life... they screw up their own lives... heck... I still love them for who they are.

So here's the big question: why do I hold myself to a higher standard? I mean really -- if even the least of my friends and loved ones get endless second chances in my eyes.. then tell me why it's so hard for me to forgive myself for making a mistake in life? In a relationship?

One More Thing
Today, I told my mom about someone special. Someone who I want to date. The guy I mentioned a few days back. She said that I talked about him about the same way she feels about my dad -- safety and security, happiness and encouragement, feeling rational and reaching for goals and dreams together. Mom said that she wants me to be happy, whether it's going out to dinner with Mr. Right when he's breezing thru town, or if it's settling down with him and becoming his Mrs. Right. Yeah, Yeah, I know... I can't jump the gun. But I honestly hope for the latter. I'm like the opposite of a commitmophobe; a commitmoholic. But this feels good, and right and (dare I say it?) Normal.

A Little Poetic Lisence, please?

I am prone to exaggeration. In the middle of a big fish tale, I often take the liberty to mention that "it's not true, but wouldn't it be cool if it was true?" My good buddy told me recently that it was very clever of me to admit to the exaggeration... then when I really say something, they'll know I will tell the truth if what I say is stretching it a bit.

However, sometimes I describe affectations of other's minds, not thoroughly seeing or understanding the motivation behind them. The risks one takes when writing things down on papar (or in this case, glowing electrons), is mainly that of being misunderstood.

So descriptions are accurate unless otherwise noted. But even more than that.. my impression of things others have shared... are like telling second-hand gossip. Your words plus my preconceived notions. I'll be kinder if you can be more understanding, eh?

Sadness, Profundo

There is this heaviness in my heart and on my mind, surrounding me everywhere. I get up and look at the same things each day. Mainly things which I love, but sometimes not. I have dreams. Vivid dreams. Sexual dreams. Inappropriate dreams. Disturbing dreams. There is no denying that I am alone.. but there is most certainly no one that I would dare explain this feeling to: last time I tried... it was a scary proposition and in the end, I took back everything I felt, so as not to scare anyone into thinking I was really depressed.

Sometimes things seem kinda okay. My therapist said as long as I'm showering regularly and get out of bed, she's not worrying. But what if I'm only showering, working, working out, sleeping, eating, because I know that people would be upset with me if I did not?

And the dreams are getting me down. I have a rich life and an even richer fantasy life. Today, my dream could have lasted forever... so why did it disturb me so? It was about my neighbor. Granted we've never dated... but I'm not attracted to him either. Still, there was an element of the dream that I can't quite put my finger on. It was so incredibly sensual.

Anyone who knows me, knows that everything gets jumbled up in my dreams and oftentimes they are the outcome of putting all my daily thoughts into a blender and pushing the "frappe" button indefinitely; foamy liquid. So it's not that I fantasized about my neighbor so much as that I figured out that he is straight (there was some question until recently)... and that I miss physical attention and wish to reconnect with someone on that level.

Add to that, my dear, dear friend who I am going to see in 2 weeks and 5 days, is still 1500 miles from here. :( Boo Hoo.

Ever feel like you were writing for an audience rather than for yourself?
Sometimes I do... but I think the point is to not stray too far from my stream of consciousness. Well, kids, I have work to do. I'd say "see you in dreamland"... but I don't think that's appropriate today .. heheh.

Gettin' down and dirty...

Things are still falling out of my brain from yesterdays' tet-a-tet with the jack-ass-i-cal soon-to-be-ex o' mine. For instance: his lazy ass that never wanted to do anything, started a company. Not only did he name the company a name that I had dreamed of naming our ranch one day... but he also is using the logo which I created to go on the cross timber above the drive. PLUS , (and here's where it gets interesting) he is claiming that it was all his own idea!

The nerve.

My therapist said that the time will come, when he starts telling lies, but is so obsessed, that he actually believes that he is telling the truth: it protects his fragile "about to go insane" psyche.

The gall.

Now, for something a little different; e.g., E.G.
There is this fabulous novel I read back in 2002. Its author is a friend o' mine. I'm not certain if this novel ever got published... but the characters were so vivid, I almost believed they existed. From the sloppy ham-slurping mayor to the slightly sleezy bra-burning housewife, I believed they all were real. Including the title character whom I can only dream of emulating one day.

Anyways, I re-read parts of the novel this evening, and I still believe that it's true. Somewhere, deep down inside, I believe that the events described really happened, the people were real.. as well as the tears -- especially the tears.