Tomatoes Taste Like Sunshine

A dark oddities I stumbled upon during my travels...

2010-06-14T00:40:00.020-04:00

Florida is a strange place. Even stranger if you have a knack for noticing the darker details. Fully intending to discover such details, Jack and I often take mini road trips to small towns in search of old book stores, good food, and intrigue. Have a look-see at what we found this time around.

Book store was closed that day. Tragic.

Only thing missing in these rooms is Lestat himself:

A curious crack in a mirror at the bottom of a long, dark staircase.
A clumsy clash?
A dreadful tumble?
A sinister push?
We'll never know.

The craziest coffee shop/bookstore/bar/ice cream shop I've ever seen:

Guess who just got engaged......

2010-04-11T16:56:00.014-04:00

Being the geek dreamer that I am, I love to sleep in on my days off. I was doing just that one warm Friday morning, when I was awakened by my Imperial March ring tone.

"Good morning" he said, with an unusual hint of mystery in his voice.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiiii..." I said. I love waking up to his call. "You on your way to work?"

"Uh...I guess you could say that?"

I yawned. "That's a weird thing to say." I heard him fumbling around with the phone. "What are you doing?"

"I'm driiiiiiiving."

"You don't sound like it."

"Well...I think you should check the front door."

I jumped out of bad and ran to the door in my sweat pants, Zeppelin t-thirt, and my bed spread draped over my shoulders. Sure enough, he was there waiting, with my favorite kinds of roses and a cup of starbucks coffee. He knows me so well.

Yes, he had left his house in Tampa at 4:15am just so he could be there when I woke up. He then asked me if I would go on an trip with him that day and gave me this:

(Click on the image if you want to see it bigger)

I gathered from this note that our first stop was a garden. We have always loved the Morikami Museum and Park, so I assumed that was where we were going. On way there, we listened to a playlist he had made of some of our favorite songs, including "Do You Realize?" by The Flaming Lips, "The Story" by Brandi Carlile, "Melt with You" by Modern English, "Heroes" by David Bowie, and lots more by Arcade Fire, Damien Rice, Snow Patrol, and Paolo Nutini.

When we got to the Morikami, he took a turn unexpectedly and I realized we were going to a place I had always wanted to go to but could never make it, The American Orchid Society. All of the bolded words on the note were flowers that were in bloom. It was pretty much one of the most beautiful gardens I've ever seen.

After the garden, we went to lunch at Poppies, and walked around downtown Lake Worth for a few hours. Then we had dinner at Cheesecake Factory (sooooooo goood).

As the sun was setting he took me to the beach. There was was a rainbow over the water (not sure how he pulled that one off lol) as he lead me to the place we had our first kiss. Almost 5 years ago, I had dared him to jump in the water fully clothed. Without hesitation, he had walked right into the waves....and lost his glasses in the surf. I had felt terrible for my dare having resulted in that, but he had just walked out of the water and gave me a huge wet hug that lead to our first kiss. Now, he held me there for a few minutes and we laughed about that night. "I have one more clue for you." he said and handed me this:

I looked up with tears in my eyes and said "yes". Few yards behind me a family set off some fireworks. (the coolest coincidence ever!)

Hello again.

2010-03-10T13:11:00.006-05:00

It has been about a million years since I last blogged. My last year of college has been significantly better than my last (last) year of college, but that means I have very little time to myself unfortunately.

I have, however, had time to pick up another crafty hobby...like I need more. Behold, my handcrafted soap:

I've been a long time admirer, buyer, and delighter in handcrafted luxury soaps. I'm hoping to make myself a bar that has everything I ever enjoyed in a good bar of soap and possibly someday make that available to others. :-)

What time is it?

2009-10-26T00:16:00.016-04:00

I was sleeping. Deep. It sounded like footsteps. Then drums. Then a sharp, thin, hurried heartbeat. Ticking? No, that made no sense. I sleep like death through that clock on my wall every night.

It wouldn't stop. Something in my somnolent senses told me it was indeed a ticking clock, but it was different tonight. I sat up and took a moment to make sure I was awake. I turned on the light and looked at the wall.

It was my clock with its chipped wood frame that had snatched me out of rest. But it wasn't quite ticking, but more....spinning. I shook my head and looked again. Yes, my clock was spinning swiftly past 7:00. I looked over my shoulder through the window and saw nothing but black. I stood and plucked the clock off my wall. The ticking was loud and incessant. Befuddled I scrambled for my digital alarm under my nightstand. It read 3:42am in big blue numbers. I smacked the spinning clock on its side a few times. It kept spinning, even louder and faster now. 7:25. I shook my head. I know I'm awake. I walked across the bedroom to check the time on my phone. My phone greeted me with an eerie little tune before displaying a bright 3:43am in artfully arranged pixels. Ticking and more ticking. I turned around and looked at the swirling clock on my bed. You're the one who's wrong.

I wrenched out that timekeeper's battery and let the warm silence fill the room. I placed the battery gingerly on my nightstand. The dead clock, stilled at 7:43, I buried under the bed.

This morning my sister came in to ask me why I wasn't up yet. I pointed to my digital alarm and groaned "....because it's not time to get up."

"Your alarm is an hour late. Get up."

I sat up with a start. That digital alarm is set automatically by satellite.

I glanced up at the wall. It was naked save for a lone nail where a clock used to hang. I reached under my bed and felt the cold chipped edges of a clock corpse. With sleep slackened fingers, I pulled it out and turned it over.
7:43.
I knew that had been no waking dream.

I popped the battery back in. It ticked.

Slowly.

Odd Dreams

2009-09-09T10:50:00.003-04:00

Last night I had such odd dreams...though perhaps that isn't very odd for me. It happens to me often. These were the kind that you need to keep dreaming. The alarm goes off, you hit snooze several times and it never breaks the dream. And you don't keep dreaming because it's fun. No, these dreams were not quite fun, just involved. I had a purpose, things needed to take place, I needed to find something. My head and chest felt heavy, and every time I reached for the alarm the weight pulled be back into suspension of consciousness. It was as if I wasn't allowed to leave until it was done.

Island people were missing and no one knew where they had gone. Cliffs and jagged rocks had sprung up along coast without warning, and I was the only one who had seen them move...the only one who knew they were alive, merely lying in wait. There was some phantom behind all of this. The cliffs were at his command. He was not quite substance, not completely spirit. My chest hurt when he was near and that's how people knew when he was coming. He could only be turned away with words from an old language few people could speak anymore. A few others and myself knew the language. The words stung on your tongue like venom and burned in your throat, but they made the phantom shriek and fly away before he could hurt anyone. Would you leave such a dream just because a little box next to the bed keeps making loud beeping noises?

So I got out of bed a half hour late. No, the dream had not been resolved, so I felt...unfulfilled. My head and chest still felt quite heavy, and my body ached as if I'd had no rest at all.
I've learned that for someone such as myself, a brew known as "coffee" is necessary to maintain consciousness in the waking world. Without it, I'm far too inclined to succumb to the the weight of the world of dreams.

I got into the car 12 minutes late, and took a small moment to hook up my ipod. I may try to stay in the real world as much as I need to, but music reminds me that other worlds should never be forgotten or dismissed.

I was, in fact, on my way to class. To duty. To responsibility. But I felt as though I was driving away from purpose. I'd had that feeling ever since I dragged myself out of bed. On the main road to school, several cars pulled out in front of me and proceeded to drive 10 mph under the speed limit. When I got into the city, I made it to the tracks just in time to sit and wait for the train to creep by. I sighed and turned up the Stones, telling myself I can't always get what I want, by I might find I'll get what I need. It took me another few minutes to realize they had closed off my usual parking lot and i needed to find a new spot farther away. I jumped out of the car, grabbed my books and trudged to class in the reprimanding rain. I glanced at the sky, "What was I supposed to do? Stay in bed? I have class at 10am."

My soggy shoes squeaked down the hall as I tried to brush raindrops off my eyelashes. I looked through the window into the classroom. Empty. I checked my watch. Ten after ten. Slowly, I pushed open the door and read the board:

Dr. Prescott's British Literature
canceled due to professor being sick.
Class will resume on Friday.

I hope someone found out where the Island people had gone.

2009-09-02T12:05:00.003-04:00

Just one more year of this. Lord, let it be true. The last two semesters were a complete waste and I'd like to think of this year as a do over, telling myself that last year never even existed. Still, I am faced with this year, and I'll grind my teeth whilst I do whatever it takes to get through it. For some people, college life just seems to work out for them. I am not one of those people. It is not for lack of motivation or desire to learn. It is an odd mix of commuting, working, money (or the lack thereof), and dealing with those who would bring me down.

I have never truly been of this place, nor have I ever really sought to be. Thankfully home is not a place. Home- refuge, warmth, laughter, healing, growth, truth, unconditional love, sacrifice, release...met me here. But it is not here.

He met me at a point of vengeful embitterment, and humbled me with grace and gentleness. He knows my soul, my fire.

He left. He had to. He wanted to find a place to house a home for me. For us.

I grew tired. And weak. And discouraged. I ran away from home. He let me go.

I made the mistake of thinking there were others out there like him. I let myself be used and deceived.

He took me as I was...broken, humiliated, undeserving. He brought me back home. Reminded me of my worth, remembered my fire.

A very wise person once told me to find a man who loves me as Christ loves the church, and marry him.

So I'll go through these last few months. I'll suck it up and just get it done. When it's done, I'll go to the place he's preparing for our home.

Whim

2009-08-25T01:09:00.008-04:00

I need to get out of this town again. For good. I'm bored and frustrated out of my sanity. I have half a mind to take the money saved this summer and hop on a train. Tip my hat to PBA and say, "Thank you for introducing me to the love of my life. Keep the rest".

A midnight knock on his door, a smirk on my face, a whisper in his ear. "Pack your bags, love. It's time."

The engine bites off the end of the dark morning hush. Two steaming grandes, black. One blueberry muffin, one banana nut. One map, a full tank, and a handful of stolen kisses. His faith, my fire.

One covenant.

A bit wild? Why yes, yes I am. See, I finally decided to listen to Florida when she rumbles. I've never been too fond of her. Too much competition with the two of us being the way we are. But she told me she loves me. She told me I'm very much like herself. Her thunder always chases each flash and flicker. And me, well. I need to run after my own lightening.

Running away from home? No, you quite misunderstand. I'm taking my home with me.

Transitions

2009-08-24T02:57:00.003-04:00

Looking ahead...for once in a very long time I do see a beautiful (tomato good!) sunrise in my future. It will take a long hard trudge up a slick, troublesome incline. But once I finish I'm never looking back. I have a home now, I know it. Foolish as I was to let sight of it slip, I'm blessed enough to find it again in much clearer view. The one who my heart loves. You'd have to be Called or just plain crazy to embark on an adventure so mystifyingly arduous and sweet as this. Bring it on.

School starts on the 31st. Part of the aforementioned dreaded trudge. Ah yes. School. On the five year program, am I. I'm so ready to be done with that shinanigans so I can move on to learning and reading and growing. None of this silly school business...all of this memorization and regurgitation for a piece of paper that says I'm smart, and a person I barely know mispronouncing my name as I walk across a giant stage in front of a bunch of people who are waiting for this graduation thing to be over so they can go out to dinner..........oh shoot, college student just made a run-on sentence.

So, I know the little column to the left says I'm reading Robert Jordan. Well it's not exactly true anymore. I've put Mr. R.J. on hold for a bit. See, I adore his dynamic characters and the story itself is quite enthralling. But he is certainly not the most artful writer.....at all. I've grown a bit tired of him shooting himself in the foot at the end of a perfectly enjoyable chapter with a ridiculously cliche paragraph. Not to mention the first three books (though necessary to read in order to fully grasp the happenings in Book 4) are pretty much the same story told 3 different ways until he gets it right the 3rd try. I'm sure I will return to the land of Trollocs, Fades, Warders and Aes Sedai when I start to miss them. But for now, I've barely begun a book called "The Name of the Wind" by Patrick Rothfuss. I only made it through the first chapter on my lunch break today, and already I'm captivated. His writing style thus far is fluid and approachably poetic. The amount of intrigue woven into those first few pages is remarkable. I can't wait to continue.

Well. 3:32am. Should probably go pretend to sleep.

Oh, and some recent doodles:

Hold that thought.

Don't look now but that tree is totally checking you out.

Jack named this guy Horatio.

Back again...

2009-08-17T12:47:00.002-04:00

Once again, I've decided to throw some of my stuff on Etsy.com. Help support a starving artist and college student! :-D

allisonnoelle.etsy.com

If you see anything on here that would like to purchase or would like a different size print than what is listed, send me a convo via Etsy or email me allisonnoelle.pounds@yahoo.com.

Should be adding some jewelry and other fun things like note cards, book marks and postcards eventually so keep checking back.

Tidbits.

2009-08-03T00:16:00.004-04:00

-What on earth DO they teach in schools these days?

-Independence is overrated...even idolized to an unhealthy extent. Please, we all need to get over ourselves.

-Striving to be truly selfless in friendship or romance rarely ends well for you. Perhaps that is why they call it selfless.

-I miss singing because I need to.

-I have yet to taste the perfect key lime pie.

-You will never be happy until you learn to see outside your own pain and serve others. Not to make yourself a martyr...once again an attempt to wallow in self-pity. No. Truly seek to understand how your actions and words affect those who love you. Maybe then you'll find this ambiguous "self" you claim to search for.

-True love does exist. Sweet, pure, precious, and strong. It can only be found by allowing yourself to live a bit dangerously, dedicated to Something higher than feelings or desires.

-Epic adventures also exists, often revealing themselves in the pursuit of true love...but only if you allow yourself to see it.

-I am in love. This is the real thing. Wow.

-I can be a snob of snobs, but sometimes things are cliche because they are true. Sometimes.

-Within weeks, you can forget everything you ever liked about a person who harmed you. Gathered what was left of your sense of worth and moved on...But the damage itself can take years to heal. You can be done being angry at the guy who robbed you. But you're still left empty handed for a while.

-I use ellipses too much...and shall continue to do so.

-I adore flowers.

-I do believe in fairies. I do, I do, I do believe in fairies.

Artist Jesse Mosher

2009-07-23T18:11:00.013-04:00

''I gun for painted images that are as simple as I can make them. When working from photos, I seek to present the truest expression of the subject's soul. I always try to avoid leading the viewer's eye or telling them what to see. A great portrait for me is one that is open to interpretation, and can hold different meanings. It contains as little of my ideas or ego as possible, and in doing so is free to be what it is.''
-Jesse Mosher

photo (c) Trisha Cluck 2007

As I mentioned before, I am beginning to feature people I find particularly inspiring on this blog. What better way to start than with painter Jesse Mosher from San Francisco, California. I stumbled upon his shop on Etsy.com, during my own (very limited) time selling jewelry on Etsy, and found his work remarkable. Using reclaimed wood and leftover paints from various sources, Jesse Mosher captures the personae of musicians, writers, and cultural icons in his images. He kindly agreed to answer my questions for your reading pleasure. Enjoy.

1. Tell us an odd fact very few people know about you.
I used to make chandeliers and lampshades for clients like Bill Gates, Manny Ramirez and Mick Jagger.

2. Describe the beginning of yourself as a painter. Is it what some would refer to as a “calling”? Did you have an experience or mentor that got you started? Just something that’s always been with you?
I always saw myself as a successful old painter, and knew that was the reward for a lifetime of painting.

John Lennon and Paul McCartney

3. Describe the atmosphere most conducive to your creativity.
I do my best work on stage in front of a crowd, I feel they push me to paint faster, more accurately and without thinking, (as in being in the zone).

4. Paper or plastic?
I'm a paper man.

5. Morning person or night owl?
I'm a night owl, after midnight I get a second wind.

Bob Dylan

6. Favorite music?
I have a tattoo that says I love rock n roll, that means punk rock, blues rock 60's stuff, garage rock, also folk and country(old time) blues, I guess what people call roots music.

7. Favorite books?
I love the beat writers, like Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, also Tom Wolfe, Hunter S. Thompson, and lots of biographies.

Leslie Feist

8. Favorite films?
I like Gus Van Zandt's movies, also Cohen bros, a lot of documentaries, that doc Dig was great.

9. Favorite food?
As far as food goes anything pretty much works, I've gone without enough times to not be picky, Thai food is great.

Jeff Beck

10. Favorite kind of weather?
I love the fog and grey like here in San Francisco.

11. Pets?
I don't have any pets but like cats and dogs.

12. Aside from commissions, what draws you to paint a musician?
My favorite people to paint are the extremists, people who represent an architype that they created all on their own, the iconoclasts or cultural revolutionaries, journeymen and women, the veterans of art.

Keith Richards

13. Tell us about a couple friends/family who influence your life and work.
The people who influence me in art are, Joanie Bredin-Price, an old family friend that I first took art lessons from as a kid. She has been working a long time and reminds me that it's never over. Also Trish Cluck, a great photographer who has been around alot of good circles and is a veteran artist. My grandfather used to paint in England during WWII, and his paintings inspired he as a kid.

14. Is there a mission behind your work?
The mission behind my work is to leave an impact on the greater culture around me in my lifetime and beyond. I am constantly comparing my work and accomplishments to other painters to judge my own progress, like milestones. I want to make around 2,000 paintings in my life, and sign over 100,000 pieces. So far I've made 1,250 paintings as of yesterday, and signed around 16,000 pieces. I consider myself still learning how to create up to my potential, which should be around 400 pieces a year.

Bob Marley

15. What has been most helpful to you on the business side of being an artist?
What is most helpful to me business wise is to try to do some aspect of the thing every day. Whether responding to emails, priming wood, painting, following up on patrons on the phone or whatever, I do something to alot of things everyday. A wise artist once told me, it's not the one angle that pays you, it's a lot of angles that add up to an income.

photo (c) Trisha Cluck 2007
Jesse Mosher and his mural at The Beat Museum in San Francisco.

16. Give an aspiring artist some honest advice.
If you really want this art life, you must see it as a journey, and the goal is to survive. After 10 years of solid work at this you should have something really solid that is your own, so take the longview. The more you can sacrifice within reason, the more you will gain in the long run. The people I've met who really have something that is their own sacrificed mightily to get it. The greatest reward is not praise or money, it is knowing that you have the ability to make something powerful with your mind and hands. Keep that in mind as the goal of being an artist.

17. What keeps you going?
What keeps me going are different things at different times. Sometimes its a realization about all that I've survived to get here, sometimes it's a positive pride feeling about all I've accomplished, Sometimes it's the idea that if I don't make it nobody else will. Sometimes I feel like the world's only specialized art machine, capable of nothing else. When the chips are down, I often feel like the only way out is to paint my way out of a corner, but the bottom line is this is the dream for me, it's what I'm made to do. --Jesse

photo (c) Trisha Cluck 2007

For more information on Jesse Mosher and his work, see below:

http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5554990

http://www.etsy.com/profile.php?user_id=5554990

http://www.myspace.com/jessemosher

Best Friend

2009-07-07T22:06:00.010-04:00

Says he would have bought me this ticket just to hold me at the station.When this man speaks, I believe him.
When my drifting soul refuses to be gentled, his prayers still sing after me. He feels me cry from across this stretching slough and helps me find the quiet again.
He saw me wild. He cherished and protected the untame. He let me go.
He asked for nothing but to see me flourish again.

I've been tossed over the side into a raging ocean. I've had my three days in the sickening stench of a fish's belly to think it over. Life is too precious to live too safely, and it never was about me.

Emily

2009-06-15T20:05:00.002-04:00

"Let me tell you about the character of Amherst. It is a lady whom all the people call the Myth. She is the sister of Mr. Dickinson, & seems to be the climax of all family oddity. She has not been outside her house in fifteen years, except once to see a new church, when she crept out at night, & viewed it by moonlight. No one who calls upon her mother & sister ever sees her, but she allows little children once in a great while, & one at a time, to come in, when she gives them cake or candy, or some nicety, for she is very fond of little ones. But more often she lets down the sweetmeat by a string, out of a window, to them. She dresses wholly in white, & her mind is said to be perfectly wonderful. She writes finely, but no one ever sees her. Her sister . . . invited me to come & sing to her mother sometime. . . . People tell me the Myth will hear every note--she will be near, but unseen. . . . Isn't that like a book? So interesting." -Mabel Loomis Todd

Fade and Rush

2009-06-13T00:11:00.008-04:00

There is a difference between taking care and taking cover.

Guarded? yes.
Wary? yes.

Jaded? It is only by grace and the continual attempt at faith that I am not.

If God is grieved by our trivial tragedies, who are we to claim we are above grief?
If our wild, sovereign Creator can weep with us...
Lord, let me never forget how to grieve.
Let me never be so cold. so embittered. so proud.

Willingly, I will bear the fade and rush. Without shame, I'll cry out when forsaken and ache when betrayed.

And I will love those who know not what they do...

...but there is a difference between the wisdom to defend and the fear to feel.

We are called to tremble, but not sin...to guard our hearts, the wellspring of life.

It is not that I guard myself because I do not feel. I guard myself so that I always will.

Yes, there are things we can and should change. But often the truest reform resonates from our inward response to what simply is.

Yesterday's Green

2009-06-10T14:31:00.013-04:00

I delight in the grass long. I like it tickling my bare toes and brushing the hem of my dress. The summer storms have brought it high to my knees, self-ruling and supple.

I have a favorite tree that seems to like the grass wild too. He let his flickering fingertips reach down until the green's twirling tendrils wound round his limbs.

No one taught these two how to love and touch. They learned from their Maker.

Call me a jealous fool. I spread out in the grass under the tree and loosely clutched a handful of soft greenery. I closed my eyes and let the tendrils sweetly stroke my face. I sat up and felt a breeze guide the rain-silkened branches to embrace me.

This is what it is to be touched as you are loved...not merely wanted.

Today the lawnmower came.

Sweet.

2009-06-09T03:03:00.004-04:00

"Nothing you say is trite. Good evening, distant love."

Simple words at a felicitous place in time.
Soft ambrosia.

A lovely day with dear friends...

2009-06-08T23:13:00.014-04:00

Much love to Melissa, Caitlyn, Adrianne, and Jessi for joining me in my crafting endeavors today. It was delightful.

Wendy- you were truly missed. Perhaps another time?

It's a wonder I even made it to this event myself. I woke up (at the lovely summer morning hour of 10:30am) and hopped in the shower. I took a breath of sweet fig....mmmm I'm such a sucker for bath time pampering. I had just finished shaving my legs when I heard a squeak and gurgle from the pipes above me. I turned, placed the razor back on its perch, and stared at the trickling shower head.

Oh. Noes.

After a few exasperating, soapy moments fussing with the faucet, I yelled for my siblings and demanded an explanation. "I'm covered in soapsuds with shampoo in my hair! Where did the water go?" Between giggles (as my plight was rather amusing to them), I discovered that some men were working on the sprinklers outside and had accidentally cut the wrong pipe, thus prompting them to turn off the water in the entire house.

Oh yes...the entire house. So even utilizing a bathroom sink to rinse off the suds was out of the question. I sent my sister to ask the men how long it would be before the water came back on. They didn't know. I contemplated wrapping my soggy self in towels and running to the neighbor's house...or perhaps jumping in the pool and praying no one would see.

Half an hour later, I sat shivering on the bathtub floor. My mother's arm burst through the shower curtain holding a jug of water. I shrieked. She jumped. "Geeez. I just melted some ice for you."

I shuddered. "Ice....water?" I took the jug and looked at the faucet. I could dowse myself in bitterly cold water and be done with it, or wait until the water came back on and hope it happened soon. I asked what time it was. I had an hour before my friends were to arrive. I winced and began to pour.

2 minutes later....water was back.

2009-06-07T22:39:00.007-04:00

Tomorrow I'm having some friends over to help raid my my craft supply stash. Should be fruitful. I'll take pictures.

Call it a weakness. Doesn't matter how deep my own grief runs...show me a person resembling any aspect of sincere human struggle, I'll do what I can (and sometimes what I can't) to fix it.

I'm wasting away. Sometimes it's a comfort.

I've been in some big towns, I've heard me some big talk, But there is one thing I know...

Caitlyn's House

2009-06-06T02:45:00.008-04:00

I love Caitlyn's house. I hate the fact that my good camera's charger is still missing. These could have been better shots.

Changing the look a bit

2009-06-05T15:05:00.000-04:00

I'm changing the look of the blog around so it will probably be a discombobulation of odd shapes and colors until it is complete. :-)

This place has had its fun. Now it's done with me.

2009-06-04T02:07:00.010-04:00

...and I thought absurd love triangles only happened in Shakespeare.

2009-06-03T12:30:00.000-04:00

Dreams unwind, love's a state of mind.

2009-05-31T15:05:00.001-04:00

I know.

2009-05-30T23:56:00.007-04:00

Thank you for the letters. I'm sorry I'm a bit behind on replying. It has been an interesting week. Nevertheless I do appreciate them very much. It's a true sentiment and a confirmation that I really do have people who care about me in my life, apart from the mind numbing information overload of internet social networking. I realize that blogging isn't much different in many ways, but it does provide me with a stronger sense of clarity and freedom...as opposed to fitting the presentation of my person into boxed images, inaccurate quizzes and rating scales, and demeaning my characteristics through systematic comparisons in the name of entertainment.

So the parents came home early and the creative haven was....paused?

*cough*Obliterated.*ahem*

But I'll resume someday. I've managed to continue through teaching myself crochet the past couple of days. After spending my mornings digging up the entire front yard ad nauseam (quite literally actually), I've been too tired to do much more than yarn projects and reading. Today I came in after working outside, dizzily walked into the wall when my knees buckled, made it to my bedroom, and probably would have lost my breakfast had there been much of a breakfast to lose. I fell asleep, still in my muddy clothes, with a monstrous headache. Apparently this is called "heat exhaustion", though I didn't know it at the time. Oh well.

Thankfully, I am finally starting to make some progress on my reading list. A slow start, but my precious daily escapes consist of letting Robert Jordan take me through fanciful adventures.

Oh. And I really, really like coarse ground deli mustard.

Every night I see my lamp post on my wall. It's just a square with branches on its borders. Like a little girl, I'd rather it be a window. Every dusk, the world on the other side of the pane is new.

Sometimes it's a courtyard in a moonlit Spanish villa. I can see the lamp post on the street through a wrought iron gate. The evening is still and cool. It smells like jasmine and rain. I hear laughter upstairs. I see candles flickering on a windowsill with its shutters flung open. Someone in a downstairs room sits down at a piano and starts to play...slow and soulful.

Other nights, the lamp post is one of many along snow-dusted cobblestones. I like the way my boots crunch as I follow these uneven alleys. I don't know where I'm going. I don't care. Its not cold enough to care, just crisp enough to chill the tip of my nose. I'm going nowhere. Or everywhere. I'm on a mission to make myself a proper audience to a mother's lullaby floating down from a balcony. I'm out to bear witness to as many unique snowflakes as I can...such a shame to let them meet the ground before being admired. I'm there to watch my prayers leave my lips as white winter mists and ascend to the bespeckled heavens.

But tonight, I was waiting. The lamp post stood across a stretch of brick pavement. Between the lamp post and I, seraphic figures stood atop an elaborate fountain. Wild vines grew everywhere, winding through iron gates and fences, twisting round the feet of my garden bench. I didn't know what I waited for. I was just stuck with this odd presentiment that I was meant to be here, now. And I was meant to wait. I scattered the fallen leaves with the toe of my shoe and looked down. I had felt this odd sensation before. I laughed. Yes...the one who told me to sing my calling. Just before he comes to me, I feel called to a place.

I smelled sweet cigar smoke and looked up. "You."

I hadn't heard him approach. He cocked his head and smiled, "Of course it's me. You asked for me."

"But I didn't..."

"No? Well. I could have sworn I heard you."

I looked at him quizzically and shook my head. "No...I don't think I did."

His smile softened and he motioned for me to follow him. We walked a few moments without speaking. Then his pace slowed and he puffed at his cigar. "Last night. When your sleepless mind couldn't keep your memories away, you needed peace. Today, when she demeaned you and he called you names, you needed rest. This evening, when you buried yourself in books and worked a needle and thread til you fingers ached, you wanted distraction."

My eyes began to sting.

"A moment ago. When you were sitting over there alone. You wanted to be touched like you were loved and not merely wanted. You needed to hear sweet words that would hold truth over passion."

I pressed my eyes closed tight and let the tears stream.

"Affirmation. Clarity. Validation. Yes, you did ask for me."

My consciousness fell into a sweeping rush of sniveling utterances. At some point he took my hand. At another point he held me. He smelled like Christmas woods and felt like childhood innocence. I wanted to ask him who he was. What he was. Why he sometimes meets me in dreams and speaks to me in songs. But words were too much. Or too little.

Barbed Blessing

2009-05-30T01:13:00.006-04:00

So I've done it once before.
Few on this side of Freedom know.
(I'm such a happy kid, see.)

Years ago, my unencumbered volition to give-
(most barbed of blessings)
brought me to a place.
Like here, but on the other side of Freedom.

A place of parting...
no.
Not even.
In need of a proper parting...
no.
...entitled to it.

I was taken.
For the fool I was, perhaps.
Punished for my answered prayers.
That kind of love isn't of this world.

That place was sweetly and redemptively buried.
And I promised never to go back.

But silly girl,
That barbed blessing is in your nature.

In moments between sleep and waking,
between damp cotton pillows and piles of paperbacks,
When the ceiling fan is turned too high
and the night light is turned too low,
I am called coldly back:

Tenderness, withdrawn.
Understanding, undervalued.
Efforts, overlooked.
Meaning, dismissed.

Rightful Valediction? cheated.

Hurried, nonsensical explanation.
Forced embrace.
Cheap kiss on the forehead.

What's worse? estrangement.
And the realization that I was never validated.

And then...

2009-05-24T05:23:00.009-04:00

I cut my hair at 3am just because.

It seemed like a fun idea at the time...

1:22 am

2009-05-19T01:22:00.003-04:00

I feel like I'm just beginning my day, sitting at the dining table, checking my email, sipping the last of my midnight tea just like my morning coffee.

I woke myself up in the early evening by trading in my jewelry making for some heavier work. I needed more wood sawed and sanded for painting.

Florida is weeping joyful tears for my midnight musings, and moaning softly with each of my writhing visions. At sunset she had been teasing me with remote rumblings.
I stepped outside and raised my defiant eyes to her darkening sky.

"Let it rain," I grinned...I want to see you rage.

She did rain, but she is still only teasing. No rage. Yet.

Perhaps she is waiting for the starless morning hour when I finally shut my eyes-
When I fully surrender my mind to the marvels of myth.

Maybe then she'll rage.
In furious flickers,
snatch me out of reverie-
Toy with my adrenaline-

A laugh, bellowed.

Thunder, tapered.

Whisper-
"You asked for rage?"

Finished with painting number two.

2009-05-18T23:47:00.002-04:00

Hmm.

2009-05-18T13:20:00.001-04:00

Still got lots to do.

He comes and goes.

2009-05-18T03:07:00.003-04:00

He visited me last night. I woke up to an empty house and felt I should go outside. He was waiting for me on a bench in a dark coat and hat, gazing out with his typical soft smile.

"The sky never blooms like you wish it to," he said with a flick of his cigarette.

"No. No, it doesn't," I frowned and sat next to him. "It wilts much better."

He chuckled. "You came from the west didn't you?"

I looked up and got lost in the pinks and yellows and grays. "A long time ago."

He tugged at the brim of his hat and shifted towards me. "You miss it?"

"Where I came from?" I shrugged. "It doesn't miss me."

He leaned in like he'd known me for years. Maybe he had. "I still think you should sing," he whispered.

"Sing."

"Yes. Please sing."

"I don't know what to sing."

He drew a long breath and looked up at the wilting sky too. "Sing your calling."

"I don't know all of the words."

"Then sing what you know. Dream up the rest."

Hey lover, when you leave...

2009-05-16T03:01:00.005-04:00

...don't leave a thing behind. I don't want nothin. Can't use nothin.

I've been digging around my room for loose change. Every penny. For things like gas and shipping costs and salad dressing.
I find that I can't bring myself to part with a certain quarter in my change tray.

I miss the Redwoods. I want to brush my fingers across splintered, living time.
And look up.
To know that we were both placed here by the same Hands in different ages to-

live.

And when I've run out of my own hours
to do all I was meant to-

live,

I can leave and still be part of this moment outside of it's passing.

Please.
Leave my thoughts for a bit.
You kicked me out of your head.
Can you tell me how to kick you out of mine?

...all that lies between the lamp-post and the great castle of Cair Paravel on the eastern sea.

2009-05-15T17:06:00.003-04:00

I always wanted a lamp post in my room.

2009-05-15T12:06:00.004-04:00

So...I've never really painting before. Someone should have told me it was so spellbinding. I even enjoyed the sawing/sanding/priming before the actual painting. I went to bed at 4:30 this morning.

This is definitely still a work in progress. I'll post a picture again once I've finished.

I didn't quite stick to the plan yesterday. I didn't sew with Sufjan Stevens. I sewed with Robert Plant and Allison Krauss. Apparently they get together and raise sand. I did, however, paint with Sufjan. It was cathartic.

Despite my long reading list, I didn't get much reading done either. But I did get my story fix. My grandmother is with us for these next two weeks. A true Filipino storyteller. It has spurred to research filipino folklore. More on that in another post.

In other news, I got my first letter today. I've been on a Facebook hiatus, and encouraging my friends to keep in touch with me in more personal ways. I love letters. Its like waiting for a piece of someones soul to be delivered to you. I love the way I've always struggled to open the envelope without ripping it apart since I was a kid. I love the way the paper feels, crinkled and embossed by a dear one's pen. And I love that letters, stacked by my bedside, can be kept and treasured and touched and reread.

Afternoon breakfast

2009-05-14T13:15:00.002-04:00

Sleepy eyes. Coffee. Eggs. Robert Plant...gone, gone, gone.
Good morning, Afternoon! Fancy meeting you here.

Today is to unfold in this manner, tentatively:

Shower.

Sewing with Sufjan Stevens.

Post Office.

Grocery Store.

Job Search.

Sawing/sanding/nailing/painting.

Reading...
{Robert Jordan?
C.S. Lewis?
Dostoevsky?
Bradbury?
Emily Dickinson?
Batman comics (oh yes)?
Uugh. Too many!}

Writing.

Blogging.

Sleeping (ha we'll see).

I MUST find my camera charger! I will continue to use my brother's camera for now. Maybe I'll paint something pretty and post a picture tonight.

Good night, Prince

2009-05-14T01:49:00.004-04:00

I wonder what tonight's dreams will bring me.

2009-05-13T23:01:00.004-04:00

Today I worked on my cousin's aprons. They are complete except for a few lovely ribbon/button/lace details. They'll ship out tomorrow.

I succeeded in getting myself good and sawdusty today too. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I have asked my father for tips so I don't kill myself. He seems to be expressing more fondness towards me now that I've demonstrated some interest in woodworking. For now, I'm pretty much only cutting and sanding and prepping wood for painting. But who knows. I (hopefully) have two weeks of peace and productivity ahead of me. My two goals are to get a job (that pays money) and continue arting.

I was scolded and told to use my resources today. I make picture frame/wall sculpture/jewelry holder things out of scrap wood, dresses out of curtains, and bracelets, rings, necklaces, earrings out of old buttons and beads. It's too bad I don't know how to use my resources.

I need to be reminded daily that I do not have a soul. I am a soul. I have a body.

...and the soul that is me is of worth. of purpose. of meaning.

I really need to get out of here.

Way back when.

2009-05-13T02:02:00.008-04:00

I was rummaging around and found this. I drew it early high school. 9th or 10th grade I think.

Bad hair day I guess.

Oh and by the way...

2009-05-12T20:37:00.007-04:00

Here are some of the things I made. Can't use my camera so I borrowed my brothers and it doesn't take very good pictures.

I needed a way to display some of my photos. So I made picture frame/wall sculpture/jewelry holder thingies.

2009-05-12T18:00:00.005-04:00

My camera charger is missing. I am upset. If you have any knowledge on the whereabouts of my charger, please let me know. I'm sure he is anxious to come back to me.

I've been in and out of a sleepless fit of creative fury. When my family allows me to take up as much space as I like, I have my sewing machine and fabrics strewn about the living room for aprons I'm making for my cousin, I have my beads and wires and metal findings out on my bed for jewelry, and I have piles of scrap wood and paint and nails and tools out in the garage for making wall sculptures. Usually while I'm sewing I get an idea for some jewelry. Then as I'm crimping wire I think to myself how the chain would look suspended from painted wood on my wall. So I go out and sand, paint, hammer, and chain some wood. And while the paint is drying, I go back to sewing. I get into a flow, alternating between the three projects. It's rather exhausting but I can't stop. I only stop when I can't stay awake anymore or my family needs me to put away my mess. Unfortunately with the events of the past few days and entertaining guests, I haven't been able to work this way as much as I'd like. As I've said before and will say again, creativity is rarely convenient...if ever.

I haven't been sleeping much. A few hours at a time. Maybe 4-5 hours on a good night. Not that I don't want to sleep. I do so love to sleep and dream. If you know anything about me, you know I love sleeping. I just haven't been able to shut my mind off early enough to go to bed. I have too much to do, my family's too loud, I have to wake up early for guests or cleaning, or something hurts. In a few days I'll have some peace.

I'm going on a diet tomorrow.

My next creative endeavors will involve a lot more woodworking. I've asked my dad to teach me. I truly enjoyed getting messy and pounding nails through things. I want to do more of it. When I see clothes I like, I go home and make some. When I see jewelry I like, I go home and make some. I want to be able to see furniture I like and go home and make some.

I want to know how to use a blow torch. Lampworking perhaps?

Coffee doesn't replace sleep.
Sleep doesn't replace rest.
Being perfect doesn't mean being whole.
Busy doesn't mean productive.
Worry doesn't equal compassion.

May I be excused? My brain is full.

Migraine Dreams

2009-05-11T01:16:00.008-04:00

I dream often. Well, we always dream ever time we sleep, but we don't always remember them. I remember my dreams often. And I dream vividly...intricate stories wrought with emotion and characters so lifelike I almost miss them when I awake. Or fear them. That all depends on the story.

I get bad migraines every so often. It runs in the family. My eyes can't stand light, peripheral vision is gone completely, everything throbs from my neck to my eye sockets. Sometimes I get nauseous. Only thing to do is sleep it off for the rest of the day, and sometimes into the next. Maybe it's because my brain forces my body into such a deep sleep while the pain still wakes me up rather frequently, but I always dream memorably in a migraine sleep. Hauntingly so.

It happened today. I got home from church, ate some lunch, and felt the early signs of migraine creeping up the back of my neck. My vision started to blur so I shut the blinds and pulled the sheets over my face. I remember squinting against what sun still slipped through the window. I remember my pillow smelling like tuberose, and my toes touching the edge of the bed. Then my toes touched sand. Cool desert sand. The sun was gone and I could open my eyes. My head still hurt but I could see. I saw sand and midnight sky for miles. And somewhere between 1:30 and 4:30 I lived something more harrowing, terrifying, and enchanting than a Scheherazade story.

I wasn't myself. I was someone else in some other world who just thought somewhat like me. I had a culture, a back story, a family, fears, hobbies, friends and enemies. I met people. Got to know them. Met a prince. At least I think he was a prince. He could channel magic from the moon and called himself a prince from a people that was generally thought to be purely mythical. We did the whole epic adventure thing. I saved his life and betrayed my own father who was king and ten times worse than Vlad the Impaler. My prince listened to the moon and spoke to the ocean tides. I mapped his escape from my father's dungeon and then had to leave him so my father wouldn't notice my absence and become suspicious. The prince said that once he reached the beach he would summon one of his magic ships and go home to where the moon touches the water. I asked him how I would know if he made it home. He told me to wait on the beach at moonset and he would find a way to tell me. So I did. And just before the moon was gone, the waves kicked up glowing foam and flickered in moonfall and washed ashore a trinket I knew was from him. And then some sharp pains in my head woke me up. It was a bit of a let down. I wanted to know when he would come back with his army and right all of my father's wrongs. I wanted to know if I would be killed too for being his daughter or if I would be spared like Rahab in Jericho. The dream had been much more detailed than what I just wrote and I didn't want to stop dreaming.

This year I...

2009-05-06T17:02:00.003-04:00

worked too hard.

slept too little.

gave up too easily.

tried too hard.

prayed too little.

ate too much.

ate too little.

gave too much.

spent too much.

cried...enough.

hurt. often.

loved. much.

lost lots.

found...something.

to be continued.

Hey! Thanks Snow Patrol! That's dandy.

2009-04-27T22:42:00.002-04:00

I find the map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from 'A' to where you'd be
It's only finger-lengths Jobby that I see
I touch the place where I'd find your face
My finger in creases of distant dark places

I hang my coat up in the first bar
There is no peace that I've found so far
The laughter penetrates my silence
As drunken men find flaws in science

Their words mostly noises
Ghosts with just voices
Your words in my memory
Are like music to me

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms

After I have travelled so far
We'd set the fire to the third bar
We'd share each other like an island
Until exhausted, close our eyelids
And dreaming, pick up from
The last place we left off
Your soft skin is weeping
A joy you can't keep in

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
And I, I pray that something picks me up
and sets me down in your warm arms

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
and I, I pray that something picks me up
and sets me down in your warm arms

Smoke

2009-04-17T15:45:00.003-04:00

I want the air to breathe like rain. I want it to taste like sweet earth and bitter cold.
Your presence, a flicker

...all I need is a moment.

Old habits like old friends...do you remember what empty sings like?
Gossamer. Diaphanous. Delicate.
Tell me there's no place left for people like me.

Like us

?

I'll believe you.

Old habits die like old friends too. Ghosts.

My Name is Chrysanthemum

2009-02-20T22:51:00.003-05:00

I think it's so silly posting mediocre song lyrics on my blog like I did in my entry. Ha.

Sometimes broken people need broken people.

God is sovereign, graceful, and forgiving. The world is not.
...and neither is PBA.
...and all of her children.

I relish unpretentious thrills and delicious trifles.
I spent the day exploring castles and courtyards and delighting in the afternoon sun.

Only when there is nothing else to be said, when there is nothing doubted or forsaken. When familiar wounds surrender and we cease our submission to them. When desire is without question...and questions are embraced without answers. In a moment like this, however fleeting, only then will I be kissed.

2008-09-26T19:51:00.003-04:00

So I woke up this morning to my usual alarm ring. Only this time, a little elf in my dream convinced my sleep deprived mind that the noise was the war horn of the Alliance, and we had better prepare for battle. Apparently when I stop playing WOW for a few days, blood elves and orcs get mad at me and creep into my dreams. So yeah, I slept through the "war horn". Fifteen minutes before I was to leave for school, I jumped out of bed and threw on some clothes I found in a pile of clean laundry that I haven't yet had time to fold and put away.

I smeared on some make up in the car and drank my breakfast. Somehow I found my way to the library from the art building where we parked, though I don't remember the trek at all. I waited in the library and went over my notes before class, and discovered upon opening my notebook that my assignment due that morning was still sitting on the edge of my bed where I had completed it the night before. I just love myself sometimes.

Dr. Stan's class was a nice, uplifting hour. I giggled, hissed, and knocked on my desk with a few outbursts of "hear, hear!" as my classmates debated whether or not a carrot tastes better than a stick.

After class, I lunched briefly and thought to myself, I'm not at all the independent woman I pretend I am. The only thing getting me through this day is knowing I will see Jack tonight.

...and it was true. I went to work and trudged through till 5:00, telling myself, and whichever cat decided to walk across my desk, that tonight I was finally seeing my love. I arranged to come in extra early tomorrow in order to leave by 2:00 to spend some extra time with him. My coworker asked, "Wow it's been like a month since you've seen him, huh?"

I sighed and nodded.

I got home with a full mental list of things to do before he was to arrive at 8:00. I wanted the time to pass quickly. I had laundry and cleaning to do. I also wanted to make some time to feed my addiction to organic handmade bath and beauty. I love it when I smell like jasmine. He loves it too.

My phone rang. It was Jack. His car wouldn't make the drive.

We talked. Had a good cry. Decided to keep telling myself all I can do is wait. It's God's timing, not ours.

I went ahead and took my shower, rinsing those silly mascara tears off my face that tweenage girls seem to hail as "deep" in pathetic magnificence. Then a took a breath of warm, sweet jasmine, soaked in perfumed water, and nicked myself while shaving my legs...

...five times.

Ladies and gentlemen, a prime example of Allison-Noelle's supreme grace and coordination.

Another Semester

2008-09-23T14:17:00.002-04:00

And so it begins.... The first semester of my senior year at Palm Beach Atlantic University.

I'm too busy for my taste. Class, obviously. I'm taking Clinical Practicum and will be beginning my time as a mentor for high school girls soon. I'm still working at the design studio mentioned before. Volunteering at the wildlife center, working as an AWANA leader at my church, and reminiscing about days long past when I could sit down at my sewing machine, sketch till my fingers were black with graphite, or chronicle my adventures in Allison World.

So. Even though I have long since abandoned my efforts to sell my creations on Etsy.com due to lack of time, I still love to peruse their selection of handmade goods. I recently found an Etsyan who cuts wood veneer and makes jewelry (studiohalo.etsy.com). I found this particular artist when I entered in a search full of gaming keywords and noted that we both were loyal to the Horde (WOW players, this is for you). I of course could not resist the opportunity to create my own, custom designed, Horde symbol necklace in colaboration with StudioHalo. And so, here I sit, proudly bearing the emblem of the Horde close to my heart. It's the kind of trinket any Blood Elf would be honored to wear. Now if I could only get "Remember the Sunwell" engraved in Thalassian on the back....

No time, no time at all.

2008-08-15T12:55:00.003-04:00

Hello. I've had a couple people tell me they are annoyed that I've stopped blogging/writing. I haven't completely stopped, but I'm working more than I thought I would this summer and it's taking up most of my time. So, here I am at work on my lunch break, blogging. (see how clever I am?)

Strange things are happening this summer. I've become a complete cat person when I never thought I could be. I'm no less a dog person, but being around 14+ cats every day has changed me.

I've gained some new friends, grown distant with others, and found myself completely confused about a new friend I've never met...long strange story.

I got a haircut. Two haircuts this summer! It's lovely having some fun money. I got bangs that according to my boyfriend bring out my Asian side. Coolio. I'm way too Californian about my hair care/skin care now. Seriously, I'm like, soooo into it.

OH! And I might go to Japan within the next couple years. I'm going to do everything in my power to make it happen. My aunt and uncle and their family are moving there, so I have no excuse but to visit the land of sushi, sumo, and Death Note. (Do you know how to kill a Shinigami?) I'm so excited.

Well that's it for now. My lunch break is nearing it's end. Till next time....

News...

2008-06-09T22:37:00.004-04:00

Is there really an author named Alyson Noel? For serious? come on!

So I got a new job. I love it. Everyone there heard I like to write and jumped all over me with stories of the things that happen in that place. Like they really needed to... it's the kind of place you just know has stories the second you arrive.

It was supposed to be animal care. Someone posted a listing to the PBA website for someone to work with rescued cats part time. Well, coming from a background of animal care from injured pelicans to newborn squirrels, I thought cats could be an easy job for the summer. So I called and arranged a meeting with Virginia Rosenberg, wife of Sam Rosenberg and co-owner of Sam Rosenberg Design. I had yet to figure out what rescued cats were doing at an interior design firm.

So I pull in to an alley. On one side an elderly fellow is tending to his atrociously expensive collection of cars, and on the other side a few homeless men are digging out of a dumpster. Shady? Perhaps. I spy the bright yellow door I was told to look for, and pass a few curious felines on my way through it.

As it turns out, it is exactly what it sounded like. Sam and Virginia have a design studio, and rescue cats because they love them. As for me, I went in for a cat care job and was hired as an administrative assistant who happens to take care of cats too. It's far more exciting than it sounds. The kind of people I run into every day are enough to fill volumes. The clients alone are incredible characters... with the Palm Beach island less than ten minutes away you can imagine. I have a feeling I hear a lot of names I'm supposed to know associated with projects in Fort Lauderdale and Fisher Island in Miami, but I'm a little out of the loop when it comes to things like that. Apparently they don't just stick to Florida either. When they heard I like to sew, they gave me about a million yards of left over fabric from a project in Bermuda. It's beautiful fabric and I have enough to clothe a small nation.

It's not the clients I find the most interesting though. Sam and Virginia, being the benevolent people that they are, have established a relationship with the homeless people in the vicinity. The psychologist in me is fascinated with them, as most- if not all- are delusional to some extent. But more than that, they all have stories. I had no idea how intelligent, strong, and systematic you have to be to make it as a homeless person. But I'll leave that for another entry...

On another note, please pray for my little sister. She's been having serious migraine/seizures. We all get them, except for my mom, but my sister seems to be getting it worse than I've ever seen and the medication that could possibly help her has some rather frightening side effects.
I'm just praying that we find out why this happens and figure out a way to stop it.

Dead Week

2008-04-15T20:25:00.005-04:00

Oh it most certainly is dead week. For those of you are not down with the lingo (as I was until a few days ago), dead week is the week before finals. I've had a wonderful cold to welcome me into this week, and a poorly planned trip to the keys to send me into finals this weekend. I've never been to the keys, so I'm sure it will be nice. I just hope I'll be able to enjoy it while burying my face in mountainous piles of books.

So I'm putting together a portfolio thing for my writing for publication class. Tying up the loose ends is fun and kind of frustrating. I was struggling with how to kill off one of my characters, but thanks to the enthusiastic suggestions of my classmates, I think just may have the method.

As of this moment however, I'm too tired too think.

Inconvenient

2008-04-11T12:07:00.008-04:00

Lately I seem to be continually reminded of just how inconvenient the creative process is. It rarely flows when I invoke it, and it doesn't want to stop when I'm supposed to be doing other things. I've been completely parched for a good month and a half. The only products of creative thinking were a couple pairs of handmade earrings. Then all at once the right (or wrong) person decides to sit next to me in a waiting room. It was gloriously awkward and exactly what I needed......a month and a half ago. So now here I am, nearing the last three weeks of the semester, surrounded by papers and final presentations, and all I want to do is introduce the world to Doris Pebblestups.

Goodness.

I've been driving my boyfriend around to his doctor's appointments. He broke his finger pretty badly last weekend. He actually had surgery yesterday. Oh yes, they put him under and everything. They went in there, cleaned it out, realined the bone, and took out what was left of his fingernail. He's really out of it and can't drive due to the painkillers they gave him. So anyway, this whole ordeal ended up taking more of my time than I anticipated (Of course I don't mind though. He's pretty much the best guy in the whole world). It also brought around a series of creatively fortunate events for me. The problem of course being, as always, it was...and continues to be.... ever so inconvenient.

I'm tired and sleepy. And stressed, but too slap-happy to really act like it. For now. When I sit down to write one of my many papers due next week, every tid-bit of information falls into a part of Doris's life and I find myself writing a completely different kind of paper. It has to stop. Seriously, it has to stop now. And come back later. (please?)