Dig Deep to Avoid the Snag: The Wrap Up

Spending another night working the over night. Work, work, work.

I had a good time with my friend today catching up on each other’s lives. I sent her off into the world with a long hug and a promise that the next time we would spend more time together. I am always grateful for the connection I have made and maintain throughout my days, particularly ones where we can pick up the laughter without a thought. Friends who can make me smile make me rich. Of course, friends who buy me beer make me drunk. Friends who eat sushi can wait to get kissed. Friends who read this and think its funny get my heart.

To be quite honest, I spent the rest of the day sleeping. With no bats in my life and my good friend come and gone, I just wanted to catch up on the zzz's. I got up only to pee and check my messages. I did get the best message from some coworkers of mine who wanted to let me know I should "Dig deep to avoid the snag," which is an inside joke I hope makes them tinkle with joy when they read this. :O).

Coming soon in my world:
Festival (Woohoo)
London (the task list groweth)
School (3 weeks left, till I jump in the deep end)
Little GoGo’s birthday (My little brother is turning 12! And he is almost as tall as me.)
Bra shopping (If I don’t tell the story, my coworkers are going to stop buying me beer*).
Top Ten Blogger Crushes
Top Ten Best Movies From Childhood (Dude, the 80s were the best)
Why I love Calvin and Hobbs

~GoGo
Photos are potential bags for school
~ The Imago by Tom Bihn.
~ The Bumbakpaks. Yes, that's right the ergonomic bag. Its fun to say too.

Furagogo

My friend Fur is coming into town tonight. I'm sitting here sweating in the humidity waiting for her arrival. I'm very excited and cannot wait to play. The last time I saw her and her partner, The Nemesis, was when I drove through their City on one of my Music Company Travels about 1 1/2 years ago. I spent three hours seeing the town and eating chocolate with this fabulous duo. Now, Fur and I are going to hopefully get ice cream tonight and find an air conditioned space to enjoy it. She knows this town since we both went to college here, so its all about the places she wants to see again.

I just want to see La Fur Nakita!

~GoGo (aka Mandu)

Go Through the Window, baby. Go!

Okay, my heart is beating fast still. Finally, the bat is out of my home!

I couldn’t find it earlier today. I looked everywhere with my ball cap on and this mesh netting I use for making shirt screens over my face. A broom in my hands, the only thing I found was my handylady gingerly coming into my home to check on my status. I looked ridiculous. My status was zero. I wondered if I had dreamt the whole thing after all.

I decided I had to wait until the bat came out to play again, mostly because I was too lazy to work hard to find it. I pulled out the window screen and prepared a towel, my broom, a headlamp, and went about my daily business. While watching TV tonight, I thought about the bat and looked into my room. As if summoned, the bat swooped out of my closet and began its whirl around the room.

I jumped up and ran to the bathroom. I suddenly had to pee. I then ran and grabbed my hat, put on my headlamp and walked in, closing the door behind me. Shaking! I can’t believe how shaky my hands were. At first the bat swooped and dipped to me swinging at it with the broom, yelling “Come one baby, go out the window”. Oh, and lets not forget constant “Ayyyiaaa.”

The window wasn’t opened. Crap. I hurried over, yelping at the top of my lungs “Hold on” while pushing up its exit, “Now, go through the window, baby, go!” I have no clue why I sound like a hairy chested man with gold chains when I talk to bats.

It wouldn’t go. I tried to show it how to go by flapping my broom, while ducking its path, motioning to the window with my broom. About 3 minutes in, I think we both were exhausted by the experiment, me leaning against my bedroom door in terror, and the bat perched on the blinds. I picked up my towel and walked toward the thing. I have never shaken this much in my life.

I stood there for what felt like eternity, the bat and I in a stare down. It was kind of cute. I did NOT try and scratch it behind the ears. I don’t think the bat is evil…just lost in my home. I wanted to assist it in leaving and me my own peace of mind. I did not want to accidently hurt it because I was afraid of it hurting me. Finality came when I asked the bat, “If you just let me grab you, I’ll toss you out the window without harm, I promise.” I swear the bat nodded at me. Perhaps it was projection, but I think we were both tired of it being in my room.

Then I grabbed the sucker and it just yield to the towel that engulfed it as I threw it out the window. Who-rah. Be free, bat! Don't come back.

I think the bat got in through my fireplace chimney…I have now closed the vent.

Thanks to all for your words. I find writing helps me to get through situations, and it helped to write the earlier post. Your words were a nice surprise to see.

Bat!

I woke up late in the night, early in the morning to the Phe, Phe, Phe of wings fluttering and my internal dialogue screaming at me, “Bat!” I don’t know how my internal dialogue knew it was a bat. I immediately thought I must have had a bad dream and was about to close my eyes, a person not phased by nightmares, when a black shadow in the darkness caught my eye. It was one of those fleeting shadows you see in a horror movie – quick, untraceable, and caught in the corner of the eye. My internal dialogue did not hesitate to tell me it told me so.

My mind slowly confirmed my internal dialogues warnings as my heart beat faster. I turned on the light, knowing that bats go dormant in the light of day I was hoping that my 60 watt Phillips Natural Light bulb would bring the bat to still submission. Instead I found myself in one of those old video games where the magical candle lights up the horrors to full sight. I watched the bat make frantic circles around my room only to swoop down towards me as it passed above.

Now I kind of find it funny my reactions to it all, like some TV comedy. As the bat made its way towards me, my reaction was to yelp a “Ahh” as I put the covers over my head. I would then put the covers down trying to see if I could make a break for it only to find myself covering my head all over again. This happen more times then I want to admit.

“Hun, this isn’t funny.” My internal dialogue would say as I lay completely paralyzed. I found I didn’t want to fight with the bat.

“I could just sleep with my covers over my head,” was my solution as the internal side of self decided to mention “Yeah, well the bat could also decide to stick its claws in you. What, you think a sheet is a force field of protection? Are you kidding?”

I finally decided I would bolt from the room covering my head with my pillow and close the door behind me while simultaneously yelling, “Ahyeyaaaa” and “Please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me!”

I slept on the couch wondering what I was going to do. Bats have rabies. I had witnessed that bats do swoop, and something tells me it has better coping skills in this situation then I do.

To be fair, while sleeping on the couch, I did have a dream that I befriended the bat and it lay in my lap while I scratched behind its ears. Yeah, I’m naïve.

I still haven’t done anything about the bat in my room. My handylady won’t help, but she said if I can’t find someone she’ll call an exterminator. I prefer to avoid death for either of us.

To be continued…

Just Practicing the Writing

The windows facing the alleyway hang high above the ground. The paved road below, a small utility path called R9, slopes down then rises up again at the next street’s exit. Throughout the day I can see the tops of people’s head as they walk by, the line of my window decapitating everything below the forehead from view. I know everyone in my apartment house not only by face, but by the tops of their heads. My alleyway seems a constant trickle of pedestrians coming to and fro. It’s a popular shortcut to the Convenience Store or its bus stop, but I can still pick out a neighbor. If there was a head picking neighbor contest, I’d win every time.

When I first moved into my apartment, I could hear parlor music from the dance studio that drapes the other side of the alleyway. I still hear it randomly float over to say hello. Behind my home, the alley leads to the back door parking lots of businesses that hug the main street near me. Another alley that moves perpendicular to my alleyway takes up residence behind all the rentals that define my block.

On occasion I can see odd vehicles come down the alleyway, taking their cue from the pedestrians who want a shorter route around. Apparently in the summer the Ice Cream Truck has decided the alleyway is best treaded between 6-7pm daily as its horn blares camp song ditties that get stuck in my head. “Do your ears hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? Can you tie them in a not? Can you tie them in a bow? Can you throw them over my shoulder like a Continental shoulder? Do your ears hang low?” Why was this song written?

From my bed I can see out my Northwest window looking out the alleyway. I had spent the afternoon running errands on the bike, in the funked up heat trying to make a difference like Al Gore wants us to. By the time I was done my body was severely overheated and I needed to take a shower to lower the body temp a few degrees. I decided to take refuge from the rest of the sweltering day in the coolest place in my home – under the fan in my bedroom. While I lay in my bed reading the latest book, In the Shadow of the Ark by Anne Provoost, I saw a bus attempt the narrow way. I just lay there, hands pressing the spine of my time down, while this yellow bus got stuck between my house and the back studio of the Framing Company. I watched a curly yellowed haired head talk to three of my neighbors head tops while they discussed whether it was best to continue forward or back out. I was curious, which would work best too? I figured there was enough help and they didn’t need me to actually come out and watch.

For fifteen minutes, I watched the tops of these heads while voices seem to carry up from somewhere below. The bus a sliver view from where it was stuck. I didn’t even pretend to read, stuck safely out of sight in bed. Like a kid, I wanted to pay close attention so I could tell my Dad about the neighborly gossip. Then, some movement happened. The heads parted ways as I watched one neighbor’s hands greet his head motioning the bus to come this way, come this way. I guess they choose to back it out. The yellow bus slowly moved out of the alleyway and away.

Yep, this was the most exciting thing to happen in my day. And I did call my Dad to tell him about it.

Breaking It Down

It’s a rainy day. The rain seems to be washing away the funk from the hot days here in the Midwest. I’m glad to have a break from the humidity, but am hoping for a dry break today for a bike ride. I have a momentum happening that I don’t want to trip up. I do have to say, we are luckier then most of the country in regards to the heat wave.

I have decided to break down the goals for the year because it helps me to clarify what I am doing for myself and because organizing the goals are much fun. Here is the first installment.

Goal 1) Focus on School.

With a year under my belt and perspective on all that school entails, I have decided to use the logistical side of my brain to be proactive in organizing for the upcoming year. Kind of self-administered vaccination from chaos. Last year, piles of articles, books, and other tasks to do ate up my home. Projects seemed to constantly overlap themselves and I found myself swimming through my apartment. This year, I am looking ahead! The best way to stay organized is accessorizing. Yes, that’s right, I said accessorizing!

I have put away all the books, articles, and papers from the last turn around in these wonderful storage boxes and have bought more! They are locked and loaded in their location in my small apartment, ready to hold the next massive amounts of crap I collect. I haven’t thought about what happens to them when I move to London…maybe a special day to the recycle center where I toss the stuff in the bins while simultaneously jumping up and down, screaming “Reincarnate you little bast#$%s!”

Of course, I would not be the fashionable girl that I am without also scoring a new bag that is all encompassing for books, notebooks, AND the lap top. Well, I haven’t bought it yet, but before school starts I am buying a bag that can hold what I need and I can carrying with me on my bike without dying from a sudden weight shift when I turn a corner.

I have also narrowed down all the post-it notes I need, markers, and other organizational tools that fit snuggly in a organizer notebook that will fit comfy in my bag…see above paragraph.

I am a geek for school supplies. I think going back to school was just an excuse to buy more pens, anyway. :O).

Finally, which leads into goal #2 where I say “maintain healthy eating habits”, I have begun prep work to cook and freeze meals. I intend to have my freezer pack full of vegetarian soups and entrees that I can take out and nuke. Variety is the keyword here. Its hard to eat healthy when life feels crammed in 24 hours, so its best to just have it ready to go. Also, home cooked food that is healthy and made with love makes me feel good when I’m about to burst into tears because I have 3 papers due, plus a power point presentation, and 10 chapters to read in the same week. There is nothing like warming up a bowl of homemade curried cucumbers with cashews and lentils while in the midst of personal doubt that it can all get it all done!

You might think I exaggerate, but I don't. The above scenario is from last semester.

Woo Hoo for thinking ahead!

Updates, Random Thoughts, & Warm Beer

I have beads of sweat collecting above my lip. I just road the river trail again, this time farther and harder. i'm enjoying the bike, though the shoulder has set me back a bit with what I wanted to do. As an update with the shoulder, I am now seeing a Physical Therapist. The arm, healing, has been getting this sharp stiffness in it. If I keep it in one position too long it starts to ache like a pitch fork. It had breeched my tolerance level some time back, so I had a Doctor friend of mine look at it, and we got me into PT.

I'm in my second week of PT. I'm a little more confident with riding the bike as a work out. I plan to start aerobics again this week, which is something I could have always done, I just used the arm as a crutch to not do it. Anywho, long drawn out story short, its time to work out!

I have been looking at the costs to move to London. So far I have been playing with air fare, Visa costs, and application fees for various other ideas. Air Fare, Visa, and Pass port as of today's rate run me around $1000. I plan to do a post soon regarding my move to London next fall. I'm going to start a cost tally that estimates what I need to pay and one that adds what I have paid out. I'm still scared to go to London, but I am hopeful. I think the fear is change.

As my final commentary for those who read. I rewrote my goals list for the coming school year and the move to London. I am writing on this page as an exercise in accountablity.

1) Focus on School (That one was easy)
2) Maintain healthy eating habits
(I have really come to appreciate that a good meal does keep my energy level up)
3) Follow-thru on all doctor appointments.
4) Work out, even while in the height of school craziness. (I just want to see if I can do it). That and I want to be at optimal health when I move to London. Um, please note optimal health...not thin or anerexic...or unnatural... I will never be a bean pole, but maybe a sweet curvy fence.
5) Save $ for London
6) Have fun, laugh, and appreciate those who are in my life! As always.
7) Learn how to drink warm beer. blah.

Wish me luck, offer insights, and cross your fingers. I'm gonna need it.

Sunday Scribblings: The Thief

Standing firm in time, the thief has walked with us from the beginning. The thief has stolen our bread, stolen our hearts, stolen our children…stolen anything that belonged to another. The thief even ranks on the top ten list of God’s Commandments of what not to do.

Close your eyes and picture, what do you see? Is our thief wearing a black mask, cruel looking and crude…or perhaps another shade of skin then yourself?

The thief, taking. The thief, fear maker. This thief, a friend, stranger, foe?

I was a thief once, stealing a piece of candy from the bulk bin as a kid – innocence worn from the barrettes of my pigtails down across my entire face. I felt so bad I brought in a nickel and secretly put it on the counter, but not feeling guilty enough to tell the clerk what I did earlier. I figured a nickel was sufficient payment, and they collected the money, even if they didn’t know what it was for.

To this day, I still wish I had told the truth, though my monetary exchange did alleviate the guilt enough to get through childhood.

I met a guy once who dropped a load of money on the ground and was about to drive off. I’ll admit my mind quickly went to fantasies of taking the cash when he was gone, as I picked up the money and handed it to him.

When I think of thief though, I see little me – mini me – taking that piece of candy and eating it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not loosing sleep over this. I was kind of a cute thief too. But, I prefer to limit my thievery to a childhood experiment long since finished.

Earlier in the Conversation

Earlier in the conversation I was talking to La Fer Nakita. Since college we have kept each other tethered to the epic stories in our lives, constantly turning our oars down the parts of our days we want to share. Months and even years have kept us as distant as a forwarded funny, but somehow when the time is right, we step back into the boat and share one good sail down our histories. I have never stopped looking forward to hearing everything she has to share.

Earlier in the conversation I was listening to a message from a high school friend. Someone I see randomly throughout my life. We seem to catch each other every few turns around the sun. We always seem to pick up where we left off, briefly tumbling through each others lives. Our conversations never seem to end, never seem to be finished. Then a stumble on our roads, bring us bouncing into one another again…to pick up where we left off…then off again unfolding.

Earlier in the conversation I was camping with friends. A circle of people who sway and mold, our conversations present and past, we are always coming full circle between thoughts. Laughter key, insight essential, we barter time in each other lives just being exactly who we are now. There is nothing like letting go and trusting we can be just as we are among one another.

Earlier in the conversation I was eating mango sherbert under star filled skies with the note maker, a friend. A bike ride and music during the days end. Our conversations take us back and forth. We just flow in and out of each others lives like the cadence of the tides, always catching each other between high and low times. We dangle buoyed travelers until the anchors are pulled and the waters push us away from shore. I’ll see you in the next harbor.

~GoGo

Coming Full Circle

I stood in the middle of a circle, a patch of green cut out from the natured habitat surrounding it. The space was the communal fire pit abandoned and dark at the State Park where I camped this weekend. I would spend some time each night standing in this circle watching the fire flies in 360 degree view; they were an orchestra of lights flashing all around me. A gazillion stars peaked through the blackness and tapered off where the trees hugged the sky. I would go down a path behind my tent to this place. I would sit in the stillness and just breathe in. I appreciate quiet moments ingesting the day while enjoying Mother Nature grow and swell around me with summer’s ripening harvest. I made it a point to come to this place and exchange silence with this circle.

My shoulders are burnt. A crimson red radiates from my aloe salved arms. This weekend, sun filled and hot, was spent under shading leaves from morning till dusk. We moved with the shadows, ever so preciously unrolling on the ground. We welcomed sweat permeating our cloths as it caught the breeze in cooling waves. We seemed to move our entire camp with the movement of the sun. We were grateful that the “beach” had ample shade to share and that the water was a mixture of warm and icy cold brought in by the deeper currents of the lake.

We cackled and laughed at the lifeguard’s insistence on the rules. No one may cross beyond the buoyed marker squeezing the shore. No one may touch the swans. Everyone must come out during safety check and count the heads of your party. The lifeguard would stroll out onto the grassy knoll a distance from the shore with bullhorn strapped to her hip on a holster like an Aquarian Sundance Kid and honk once. The crowded shore hushed into a still silence waited for her to finish sucking on her Popsicle to announce the next violation. The lifeguard was a mixture of casual voyeur and rule keeper that fit perfectly with the scene. The best part of the day was when we were called in for a safety check only to watch a score of children run in afterwards, arms flailing and water splashing high in the sky as though their fun depended on how fast they could resume their watery games. We laughed like children ourselves watching them return to the water in roaring laughter.

On our final day camping, we went for a canoe trip early in the morning in an attempt to beat the heat. Flowing down the shore, we spot swans and mimic the fun of the day before. We wondered where the horse trails were and commented that we could have done so much more if the days weren’t so hot. I appreciated just being in the days as they were, simply settling for the moments as they unfolded.

We ate simple, gorging ourselves on vegetables, nuts, and cookies. I forgot to bring in the marshmallows the first night and was greeted with the evidence of our raccoon neighbors and my campmates jokes and prods. We spent our time laughing, cranky, hot and happy.

This is how I greeted my 30th full circle around the sun.

Checking In

It's hot. Much fiesta and siestas in my life right now. Things on my to do list - nothing.

I spent the afternoon reading a book. I got tired of the prostrate position, so I got up and sat in my papasan. I think at some point the heat and exhaustion from reading - turning pages can really put a strain on the neck you know - I took a shower followed by a nap.

Now, I'm off to drink some ice cold moon tea and maybe a evening bike ride.

More to post once the heat breaks.

~GoGo

To Yield the Crops, Growth Must Occur

Slicing tops of tomatoes, sticking my finger in pushing the seeds out under the flowing water. One, two, three, cleaning the insides. There’s joy in this process.

We all get defensive. We all try to protect ourselves from the hurt of others thoughts, the fear of someone getting the better of ourselves with judgment, opinions, and the worst of them all, truth. It is a lesson of self-exploration while the soul learns to yield to trust that stops the battle armament from forging. Trust of care, trust of self, trust of knowing things will work out; even when we still don’t know the results is our best defense between each other. Yet, even as it is written, the strength it takes to get there is half the battle.

Pausing between tomatoes, picking the basil from its stem, fingers brought toward the nose to inhale the freshness of the green growth. Pointed, firm, fresh, picking the best growth on the stem. There’s contentment in this process.

We all want the best of ourselves. It’s a misnomer to assume we all have the same lessons to learn or we know each others lessons. The blessing comes from knowing we balance each other, mixing our lessons with one another. Even the worst experience becomes the best teacher, if we can still our insides from the pitch fork of distress. When life becomes sh!t, we should practice stillness inside. Stillness from the tape recorder that judges us, stillness from the controlling hand of minds contemplations, stillness from pushing feelings away. Stillness even when all these things fight us. They will fight us.

Slicing tomatoes and chopping basil, my fingers reach for the garlic. Cusped under palm, crush, then peel. There’s healing in this process.

Today is a sunny day. I am pulling out my tent to prepare it for camping. There is a month left until Festival. Festival! Also known as Michigan, Festival has always been the highlight of my year. This year feels uncertain, in that too much change happened between the last one and this one. I am not sure what it will look like for me, though I hope to let go of my underlying feelings of being separate and isolated from the women around me. I do know, these words on the page, are the ones that will yield the best growth for my time there. I really like this part of myself that gets this. I really like the fact that I am willing to risk myself in these words. I like the idea of letting go and trusting in this stillness.

Combining tomatoes, basil, and garlic, this harvest slips through my fingers and sticks to my fingers. Scraping the bowl, fold, then turn. There’s truth in this process.


Photo from the Festival Website

The Hotel Room

I didn't think I was going to participate in the Sunday Scribble this week, but then this thought unfolded in my head and thought it went well with this weeks topic. This story is dedicated to T who always loved a good hotel story.

This is where we said goodbye
you and I.

Under the covers of the worn hotel sheets, our hands searching for something to hold onto before we left. Could we hold that last touch, would our hands remember how the curve of the face felt cusped in the palm, or would the nose remember the sweet sent of overheated bodies and cheap hotel shampoo lingering in the hair? Knowing these were our last hours together, we stared in each others eyes in silence, long since passing the early times of togetherness where words were needed to glue the time between us. You were the only one who could hold my gaze and read exactly what I thought in my eyes. Speaking by seeing was our secret language.

Under hotel sheets and bad lighting, we knew our time just had to go, while I let you go without me. We were so proud that we knew our worlds were too different to combine. We were so sure that in time, we would grow to not like each other, because we were really different people. I started watching Lost in Translation while you brushed your teeth and dressed, while you finished the movie when I brushed my teeth and dressed. We smiled because none of this time was lost to us, knowing completely the plot line in our lives, it was simply time to move on.

Your last words to me before we closed the door was, "We should keep the plastic keys in our wallets until we can’t remember why they are there anymore." I nodded, kissed you, and we said goodbye with our eyes, as we left the hotel room.

What Musical Instrument Does a Pirate Play?

Answer: A Guitarrrrr.

I want to get back to superficiality. I want to hide in funny stories for right now. I want to post about going to see the Pirates of the Carribean only to find it was sold out. I was bummed, heart broken really, but it was fun to see all those people dressed up like pirates who came to see the show. I mean come on – if you’re wearing a pirate get up complete with an eye patch, you should be the first person to view the movie. I just came with my flip flops on.

See, how fun is that? A little humor, a piece of my life, and a chuckle for the reader. I even left the last line vague...I was wearing more then my flip flops, right?

Parameters con.

My life has finally come to a snails pace. I spend my time relaxing, reading mind candy only, while taking much personal space to just fill the time with self-care. I went to see Ellis play tonight with friends and enjoyed the experience immensely. I canceled my human sexuality seminar this semester because it turned out to be a very intensive class with way too many project due. I knew I needed the rest of summer to build my energy for the fast pace of the fall. Yeah, I’m glad I set this boundary.

I have been trying to find a way to say goodbye to this page. Recently, I have felt more exposed here then comfortable with the space. My anonymity has disappeared. This page, a grace in tasky days where my lap top and I were virtually inseparable from the continuous lists of tasks, feels too vulnerably exposing. At first it was a place to just get outside the brain melt of school, then turned into self-exploratory space, turned into a place where I could let myself out into the world. Now that I am out, I just want to cover myself. Now that I am out, I suddenly am afraid I will reveal too much of the parts of me hidden that should remain that way. How sad is that? I don’t like that belief about myself.

The anonymity isn’t about other bloggers knowing my name...that’s fine really. Its more like somehow on the page I have let out into the world parts that scare me. I have an anonymity with the people in my personal life too that has been compromised, and I suddenly want to run from it. It comes from old core beliefs that taught me to hide myself to keep myself safe. And though I have left the core of these beliefs, there is still this huge fear that I will reveal something that...what...takes away a reader...exposes me to consequences I’m not prepared to make...makes me more human? I am not sure what I am afraid of, but I am afraid.

I don’t want to give up this page though. I don’t want to create a new page with a new name. This was another thought these past few weeks. Just stop writing here and go somewhere else. That way I can put myself out into the world, without really doing it. Hmm. That feels old and enmeshed with core beliefs I don’t want anymore. So what does a GoGo do?

Writing for me is completely in a self-expressive place. Words are the most genuine part of myself that does not flow unless I genuinely write with internal motivations that move the words in this self. Does that make sense?

Somehow this mask of safety I have created for myself, doesn’t feel so much like a mask anymore. My own words have turned into a big arrow that points directly to me, where I live and who I am. Now, if I read this line on someone else’s blog, I would ask "Does "who I am" have a place in this world?" If this was someone else’s blog I would celebrate that the person took the space to just be and offered support that there is worth in just being in the world. This is not someone else’s blog...it’s mine and doubt fills my mind.

This probably wouldn’t be as scary if I had more school related things to write about or if I could just get myself to write about the grocery lists of living, politics, music or anything not directly about myself. At this moment, the things that occupy my thoughts and inspire words are all about my past and parts of myself that never lived in the light of day. There is this brewing need inside myself to just give myself permission to let these darken corners of self the space to just be on this page. This scares me to pieces! I don’t trust myself on this page to not say too much.
Its like this. Words were also a space for me to tell my truth to myself growing up. There was huge portions of my past where being myself in the world wasn’t safe or okay, so I learned to hide it in the text I wrote to myself. These words were hidden from everyone and anyone in my life. Now, with a public blog, I’m scared of what the written word exposes about me. I can’t control the image of me.

I am not ready to give up this page though or compromise with the fear.

This is just a blog. Just written words on a page, and yet at this moment, it feels like a place that is making me decide is "who I am" worth the space to live in the world, exactly how I am in the moment? Do I really want my blog space to go here? What do I need from this space?
Right now, I have this overwhelming need to stop writing, toss out the password and walk away from this page....run is more like it. This feels old...the kind of old that isn’t wise or self-loving, but it certainly feels safer then the alternative...which is writing about exactly what’s on my mind. I think I do this in my personal life too – run when I reveal too much. I don’t want to run anymore...can this page be a symbolic act of not running or is it best to change the page?
If anyone actually read this whole entry...insight, advice, and perspective would be greatly appreciated.

~GoGo on a Page

Photos are from the Ellis web page.

Is the Glass Half Full Or Half Empty?

I love little conversations on random thoughts that perpetuate a deeper discussion. The question asked was “Do you see your glass half empty or half full?” After thought, I realized it depends on the glass. Overall, I am a glass half full person. I see my glass of water and am grateful I still have some left. It just means I don’t have to get up and get some more, particularly when I am in the middle of a spicy meal. I also see my glass half empty, when it’s something rare, depleting, and will not be there forever – a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, or the final days of something ending. I am also a person who sees the glass as just a glass. It doesn’t matter if it’s half empty or half full, the goal is to drink it all and appreciate each sip. I neither stop at the half mark to stop the end from coming nor sip it at the beginning to avoid the middle of it all. In other words, my glass is a complicated experience that doesn’t stop in the middle.

My life has come to the middle in some sense. Well, the beginning of the middle. I found this question timely and appropriate for my days. I’m a thinker. I like discussions that swell with contemplations and insights. I like a person who says “I was thinking about God the other day and…” or a person who says “These are the things I want to do to help the environment, my community, my own life, to have fun more…” Okay, I also like discussion where the talk swells around why are streetlights the color they are and ends on a completely different topic about Starr Jones and Barbara Walters in a cat fight – who’d really win anyway. But I digress.

For me, it’s in the little questions on a random day that I get the sense that the universe is really asking me the question. I am at the beginning of my middle, whether my middle is decades long or one, here I am. Is my glass half empty or half full?

Of course, I am going to stop and present myself the best way I can. I am going to say half full and make sure I am doing what I am suppose to be doing to make it this way, and hope those who really know me see this or at very least aren’t looking. I am also a person who sees my life as though I am a journeymen (a.k.a. journey-woman), and I am applying my guild’d lessons to life. I have bought into the idea that life is about perspective and it’s up to me to stay open to the experience in it all. It’s up to me to attempt to be the best person I can – in thought, relationships, and experience. It is up to me to forgive myself if I can’t be perfect. I still have work to do, but I am doing my work. It is up to me to find where the glass is half full and simply let go of the rest.

I appreciated the question for the thought in it all. At this moment, I am drinking a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade and I have come to the middle. I have decided this experience calls for me to drink the rest a little slower, and make it a point to make more when I can.

Peace. GoGo

Parameters

Silence greets my days as I spend my time coming home to self. What a good feeling, what a whole feeling, what a present being all the life lessons have afforded me. I am grateful.

This GoGo has just finished a chapter of her life and is beginning a new one. Still learning, still etching herself in between the cracks of time, she realizes it is now the time to reassess what this page means. Suddenly, she is aware of her power to turn the page.

I have loved this page exactly as it has unfolded in time, spinning my own twine of authenticity. This page has taught me that I can step out of the shadows of self and be exactly who I am in the light - etched, flawed, human, real, strong, beautiful, and loved. This page gave the girl in me space to act as if there was space for her in the world, and from this risk – this simple act of writing the self on the page – I have been rewarded with kind words, support, passing interest, but above all else the solidity that comes with just being myself. With humility, I say I am still a student learning, but I take forward many lessons learned.

On this page, I have written about being with the fear of aloneness, and what came from this exercise was a wholeness that incorporated that fear and changed it into something new. I no longer feel alone, though I am still not in that relationship we all strive to have. I have that relationship with myself.

I have written about bruised egos that ache with all those old habits baked into our skin and stepped forward healed. I sucked out the swelling, releasing old patterns, by simply existing with the bruises as is – no running, blaming, or lying about the experience.

I have typed a thousand words about school and the tasky days that ensued with the school experience, and have come to a break where I neither feel overwhelmed from the experience or exhausted. I just sat with the busy days on the this page, dissipating the power exhaustion can have on the mind.

to be continued...