Random Cell Shots for 2006

And the second part is part of a meme. The first lines of the first post for each month of 2006. Just seem fun to put here.

Tonight on the page…clutter. ~January
I stood at the top of the stairs today, wondering which way I was going – up or down? ~February
I want to depart from self-introspection and write about the circle of things in my life right now. ~March
I would teach backwards all the lessons learned forward if I knew my attempt would not fail. ~April
I’m sitting at a wireless diner waiting to schedule a summer class. ~May
I have been thinking about the subject of who reads my blog for some time now. ~June
Silence greets my days as I spend my time coming home to self. ~July
Ah, August. ~Self-explanatory
They have a really good transportation system that is affordable and I won't need a car. ~September
Thinking of skin, my mind went to touch, touching skin, that apothecary shop of sensuality. ~October
Morning. The crack of dawn, glow ball of light creeping up the horizon. ~November
At this moment, scattered around me is the history of my research class. ~December

Sunday Scribblings: Destination

The dawn cracks the horizon, light breaking through the back of tomorrow, and with the light comes the wind. It is a fresh breath, chilly, brushing the cheeks with the subtle sting of winter. I get into my car. I have a destination in mind. Long hours, this self heading out onto the road hiding behind point A to point B, but really my goal is just to be in between. This is the road trip. The world passing by, everything that peeks out of the task list of daily minded living falls away into the blur of scenery flowing by, the constant then becomes this self in this moving backdrop. My destination is not to get there, goals accomplished and the journey done, rather it is to be the solid form among a moving canvass.

I turn the key in the ignition, pushing the defrost while holding the other hand close to the lips breathing warm breath over the frozen knuckles. Then I move the other hand up clasping the two together and feel my life flow over the two joined. I wish for the heater to work faster. I watch the cold air turn warm against the frost of the windshield, at first a dot that becomes a circle and then the heat explodes the icy crystals into wet droplets that evaporate away. I turn the radio a few times over for just the right song. The one that sings of going, leaving, and coming back all at once. The song that sings of this self’s own internal soundtrack, always playing somewhere in my head. I shake off the fear that I’m not leaving fast enough. I remind myself the journey has long since begun and I am only just beginning the middle of it all.

I put the car in reverse and back out. I put the car in drive and begin the movement. I turn the corner and head out for the destination.

~

~

~

More destination at sunday scribblings. Happy New Year!

Soap Poisoning

Happy Holidays, whatever event your celebrating. A Christmas Story is a movie I look forward to watching around this time of year. Its well written, entertaining, and I can relate too many aspects from running from the bully to getting in trouble for the things our parents taught us. I never wanted a gun. No way! I did want to write like this though.

Seasons Greetings! ~GoGo

Sunday Scribblings: Change for a Dollar

Sunday Scribblings post prompt: Change.

Click here for more...
~
Excuse me; do you have change for a dollar?
I suppose we aren’t talking about this kind of change, are we.

What do I want to say about change? I suppose I could talk about change as a constant part of life. Though time ticks in a constant pattern of 60 minutes and 12 hour increments, the today is never the same as yesterday. December 22 this year is different then December 22 last year. I could talk about the importance of understanding impermanence as a benign characteristic of change. That when we accept that change happens, we can let go of holding on too long and getting stuck to some invisible hitching post of the past. That when we can let go of things that come in seasons, moments, and periods, we can accept them for what they are absorbing the beauty in the moment without getting lost in the worries that change brings. If I accepted that you are only a moment, then I can appreciate the moment for what it is, and allow myself to accept the things that makes it only a moment. If I accept this self is only a moment, I can find new avenues to this self with less doubt and more self-love and compassion.

I could write about how it is important to not push out the moments that are limited just because they are not meant to stay. I will not want this moment because it cannot stay only means we lose the moment, it does not protect us from change. Change doesn’t one day give us sunlight and the next day takes it away either. She is not a malice force…though I will take a moment and say that societal progress is not the same as change. I will not excuse a business man who takes away the oceans for profit in the name of progress. He is not the change I am talking about on this page. American progress is something different, profusely manipulative of changes opportunity and a short-sighted coward.

I’m a GoGo who can talk the talk. I can say its time to let go and move on, its time for mourning and joy. It’s time to know change as the common denominator of life. And still, I struggle with change sometimes because I really don’t understand her. What comes and goes in shorter increments seems disproportionate to what comes and goes in longer waves. Sometimes I would prefer the reversal. But I am not supposed to understand her. It is not my job to know exactly what change will bring or to decide where change comes. Sounds powerless, doesn’t it? No. For me, what a relief that it is not my job to know when and how change comes and goes. In this way, change becomes a gift of opportunity. She opens doors and offers me the choice to go through or not. She offers me adaptability. She bestows upon this self the chance to not have to be the same person. She gives me time to mourn and to hope for newness. She gives me permission to not have to know it all and understand everything in order to grow or be valid in this world. Change a constant, is a constant reminder that every moment is unique. She is beautiful.

Change? What will I change about myself in the coming year? What will I let go of? What will change without my consent? Who will I be in December 22, 2007 and where will I be? Will the change of leaving for a new place mean my friendships are gone? I am leaving this town where I have built many wonderful relationships, while letting go of many more. I know leaving doesn’t mean they are gone. It just means we get to be friends in a different way, and something tells me that knowing this means it gets to be better. No. I’ve learned its okay to let go of this worry to embrace the beauty that newness can bring. And yet, it’s a hard leap. As I have said, I’m a GoGo who can talk the talk who’s about the walk the walk, and I am glad change is at my side.

Of course, some parts of these sentiments will change tomorrow.

Imogen Heap Say Goodnight and Go w/ Kid Beyond Levi Weaver

Here is a sample of Imogen Heap. She's fantastic. She's on the Soundtrack for Garden State too. I picked a song with Kid Beyond, because I am still blown away by this guy. I recommend seeing him live, its a fun show.

Imogen Heap is done touring for now though, she is making a new album.

Happy Holidays

kid beyond

Went to see Imogen Heap last night and this guy opened. Live, it was fantastic to see what this guy could do. That's all coming from him.

A Conversation on the Over Night

L: Hey, what's that artists name?

G: Can you be more specific?

L: You know, that artist?

G: Yeah, I can't help you.

L: You know that artist, his name starts with a C.

G: With a C?

L: Yeah.

G: I'm not good with names.

L: No, you know. That artist whose name starts with a C. You know.

G: I got nothing.

L: You know - C Something, C something!

G: Cat Stevens?

L: Yeah, that's it.

Then we You tubed him

the internal compass gearing to go

I was inspired to try and write this from someone else’s page today, putting words to this leaving thing I am doing. I hold onto what is happening for me like I’m holding my breath. I was glad to get the reminder to breathe.

I’ve been talking about leaving this town for some time, ready to move onto the next adventure in this GoGo’s life. It’s taking some serious prep-work to get on the road, as I need to prepare months in advance. Recently, I’ve been getting this upwelling of loss. I want to savor every moment, every friend, and every experience I still have left here. It reminds me of when my grandmother was dieing, and I decided to remember the color of the sky. I believed if I could remember the color, I could remember her. One would think I’d tried to remember her face, but for some reason I could see the sky better.

It’s hard to put words to what I am feeling and the thoughts roaming in my head. Most of it hasn’t formed in a palette of color to put here on this page; it’s all a mix of colors blending into grey. Interpretation, I don’t know how to talk about it. I want to try though. Like at work today, I found myself laughing with my co-workers and this sudden realization that they are not going to be in my life much longer hit me. Then I thought about the friends I’ll be saying good bye to. This time I am saying good bye to them as I leave, instead of watching them head out into the world. It was much easier watching friends go and know there would be some who I’d never loose connection to and some who would fall away to the distance time brings, then watching myself go. By this time next year, I’m going to be somewhere else probably feeling isolated while I try to get my bearings. I’ll also be having a good time stretching myself…

…Yeah, honestly I have no clue what it will look like for me.

I get that seasons change and time takes us where we need to go. I get that loss makes room for growth. I get that this choice to step out of the State and do things I only dreamt someone else could is a good choice forward. I’m not leaving to find myself, but that the self I have found wants to go and grow, while collecting more of this me. I want to send my little Bo his letters from another country and find some new neighborhood to explore. Ride my bike down another river trail daily. The writer wants more material to work from. I want to position myself to know the next town I settle in will be the place I buy a home (hopefully while it is still a buyers market). I want to leave this town and travel the world. I want to feel the wings that hug these shoulders, and yet it doesn’t make it easier.

I find I already miss so many things and people. I guess it’s a reflection of the internal compass gearing to go. I don’t like the feelings though. It brings up the question, will I be remembered when I go? I answer with this, those who will remember are blessed and those who will not are gifted (Saying from my Gramps). Seriously, I know it’s a deeper insecurity meant to be self-loved and has no barring on those who I care for. Leaving then gives me an opportunity to heal this old voice at the root. It also brings up other habits of already distancing this self to make sure I don’t get hurt. Damn those defense mechanisms…damn my degree in mental health…damn Freud!
No wait, this is a good thing.

I want to remember every color, every person, every corner and smell so I can carry it all with me, so I can review the memory whenever I need something of home to hold onto. And that is it, I suppose. This place was my home…is my home. Still, I am ready to go…still, I will miss this place…knowing the time left feels like I am treading a new path already. This path greets me with both gratefulness for my time and sadness for how limited it feels.

And this is what I have tonight, between work, holiday shopping, and Survivor…a bluesy AND A VERY CRAMPY gyrl who is trying to make sense of this “going thing” I’m doing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The photos are various photographers I've collected, click them to see the names.

The Diurnal Habits of a GoGo

Hey something happen to my previous post. Its gone...like deleted gone. I think I may have done it yesterday while playing with this new Beta thing. I was torn about sharing, guess Beta worked that issue out for me. Here's today's post below. I'll have to think about reposting the earlier Sunday Scribble. ~gg

My shift ended with me being extremely tired. It was the kind of tired that braise the cheeks and the worn eyes with milky layers of heavy. I had gone home to get in a quick shower before heading out for a Quaker meeting I’ve been attending the last few months. I was hoping the warm water and steam might refresh me, helping me feel at least a washed worn if not alert. I realized I had my eyes closed during the entire showering experience, only aware of it when my hand missed the curtain from lack of guided support.

It was bed for me and no meeting. I was okay with that. Tired can convince me the bed is the perfect place to commune with the spirit any day. I slept for a good portion of eight hours, waking up when my brain, not accustomed to the reprieves of winter break yet, alerted me there must be something I needed to do today. Groggy I went through the old list of tasks – a paper, readings, presentations – what was it that I needed to be awake for? By the time I awoke to the idea that in fact I had not a single obligation today, I was wide awake and ready to do something anyway.

What was that something? A decent cup of coffee and laundry I supposed. Going to the kitchen with my usual routine of butt scratch and body stretch I opened the cupboard to an empty bag of Joe. Unfortunately, I had no one to point to when it came to the reaction, who would put an empty bag of coffee back in the cupboard? It was me, and being me, I gave myself a lecture. “You know, when a person wakes up and her eyes open with the delight of a bag of coffee only to find its lighter then her wallet…well lets just say it’s a sad disappointment.”

Bummed, I made a cup of tea. Now, I love tea. Tea is my afternoon delight. Tea is my palette’s evening ritual of love. Tea is not, however, dawn’s favorite counterpart. No matter how thick you cut the tea leaves, it cannot compare to the thick richness of the morning brewed java…which for me was at 4:30 pm when I woke up.

So, I decided to head out into the world to get more coffee beans and milk. I apparently needed milk too. Who doesn’t know how this kind of story goes? You go to the local mart to pick up a few conveniences, which in this case is the Health Food Store a few miles away because I like organic, and you wind up out for hours. 2 ½ hours to be exact. By the time I got home I was pooped again. I decided to drop the laundry idea and sip my cup of Joe, now 7pm, in front of a movie while my butt morphed into the sofa seat.

A movie, and a TV show where that carpenter guy totally changes people’s lives by building them a new home in a few days later, and I am now on the page. I tried to think of some interesting tidbit of my day to share, some insight, or some kernel of knowledge to share. They say a writer starts with what she knows first to make a story. Yeah, this is what I got today.

Now, the time has come to drink another cup of coffee before I head out to work again. I picked up a few extra shifts during the break to bring in some more money. Yeah, my life is exciting. Someone get me a camera and a reporter.

Smiles ~GoGo

the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain

By George, she's got it!
Please note, the links list on the left side bar.
With help from Deep in the Ground, who can now be accessed on said side bar, and a little help from my eyes staring at the page until I saw the language, I now have links.
It's a work in process, so please be patient...

for mandy

Walking with stationary thoughts,
tucked away on the loading dock,
while watching this city move.
I am reminded of you,
thoughts unfold from the envelopes
of living,
the stickiness of the seal
long since worn open.
I remember you –
age 3 running around
in the rays of the sun,
bare naked
and liberated
from any thought of indecency.
I remember you
at 6-years-old,
eyes closed
while pumping the legs
back and forth
forth and back
on the swings,
watching the colors
change
from yellow to red,
red to yellow,
the head tilts further and further back.
You hung like a board
arms tethering you to flight,
until you bonked your head
on the ground,
scraping skin
and bleeding your favorite color.
Tears were a momentary response
turned into another story
about how once,
while watching the black screen
of closed eyes light up into the Technicolor
from the sun, you scraped your head.
~A Letter From You~

Slowly, I am reconnecting to my words.

oh, and its snowing AND its sticking!

Finished

Just turned in my last final. Wooohooo. I’m feeling mighty proud of myself at the moment. Sure it can be the residuals of staying up for the good portion of the night to finish this last final – a 5question 10 page total take home.

I think its okay for me to take this moment and absorb the finale of a semester well done. For the first time, the internal voice of doubt that I can do this is silent. It’s funny how the recordings get stuck in our heads from childhood and continue to play against our consent. It takes experience and personal growth to take the power back on the play button to turn it off and re-record. I could go into depth regarding what this old belief system is and where it stems from. It did not stem from my parents who gave me the courage to face off with the public school system for the opportunity and rights that I inherently had, but that socioeconomic status marred. It was my parents’ faith in me that encouraged me to continue to believe I can do anything I want in this world with enough conviction (within reason). Still the recording lasted until now.

For anyone who has old belief systems burning thoughts into their head, I can only offer it first starts with confronting the old dialogue. Even if you don’t believe, if you act “as if” it is true, the truth will begin to take hold and fill in the cracks forming, building a new stronger foundation for the self. I say this because I believe it. Why not? If untruths can be believed, why not truths reformed?

I say this for myself. I say this for anyone who was told in childhood that the sum of the self was limited to social expectation.

What are the recordings you want to change?

With this said, its time to stop for a while and just be.

Final One: Research

I'm about to present my final presentation for my research class. I've worked hard for this class and am glad I am almost done. I'm feeling anxious. Presentations make me nervous.

This poster is my inspiration to be calm and know I can do it.

Thought I'd share.

Wish me luck!

GoGo

Sunday Scribblings

Hallejuah ~K.D. Lang~

In the last hour, I've spent my time thinking about spending the day working for Goldenrod Music, the music company I once worked for. It was the annual open house. I've worked the open house the 2 Decembers since I quit to go to Grad School. This song sums up my experience working in this all women space with these beautiful women from 2002-2005. It changed my direction entirely.

Thank you,

Amanda

A day in the office

In the last hour I wondered what it would be like to have a job like this.

tired piles

At this moment, scattered around me is the history of my research class. Codebooks, data analysis, frequency tables, needs evaluations, logic models, and gobs of research papers have broken free from their designated piles to become one continuous circle of clutter. This mess sums up all my work, leading me into the final that has only just begun. The final is due Monday, I have completed one section of five to write – the statistical analysis.

My piles are tired and so am I.

The rest should flow smoothly in a cut and paste pattern of filling in the blanks from what I have written into what I am asked to write. Three hours tops. Not tonight though. Tonight my brain runs into run-on-sentences, and I am ready to succumb to the lassitude weighing down my eye lids.

I’m writing simply as an act of procrastination, a moment’s reprieve from making sense of my circular chaos. Sigh.