Tuesday, September 17, 2013


I woke up hungry today. Usually I'm not up early enough for breakfast on a Tuesday, but today I had a 9 am appointment, so I dragged my tired ass out of bed at 7:22 this morning. No breakfast in sight though. Instead, I talked about my grief and anger for an hour, while taking periodic glimpses at Lake Union. I write out my thoughts. I walk away my stress. But sometimes I just need someone to talk to. Sometimes I just need a listening ear. I have been a listening ear to others for most of my life. My friendships were always lopsided in that respect. Now here I am, 52-years-old, still craving a friend to hang out with once in a while, maybe share a bowl, and just talk about whatever comes to mind, including those things that bring us down.

There is a false belief in the world today (among many) that the point of life is to be happy. Happiness is just one mind state, and we are multifaceted. Our happiness alone is not singular. Sometimes it's tinged with sadness, or guilt. Sometimes just breathing the air we are given is enough to be ecstatically happy. At other times we need a cake and with candles to blow out.

I want the afternoon to sit and stare at a lake, counting ripples. I want time to slip so far away that I forget words like agenda, and promise. I want a long, long stretch of a pleasant groove. Not happiness, yet a contentment of a sort. I need to feel settled with myself, not just full of myself. I've always been full to the brim with my self, but sometimes that inner brew is a bitter brew. It's not so much sugar, but salvation I need. I do not speak of spiritual salvation. Spirituality to me is just my life-long struggle to glimpse the truth. My salvation is to be satisfied with my own periodic results along this journey.

I like myself and all my myriad interests. I admire my compassion and sense of justice. I have a head full of trivia, which is useless but fun. I've even come to be comfortable with my looks, which haven't always been pleasing to me. I'm 52 and could drop dead on my walk to work today, so it's important to me that I have a sense of well-being and satisfaction as I walk through this world. Every breath could be my last, so I need to make a concentrated effort to taste the air.

No more time to ruminate. I must concoct a sandwich, and consume it with a side of Cool Ranch chips and a Coke. Today I work the two to ten-thirty shift, and I'm already lacking sleep. This is usually my morning to sleep-in. I must find a way to sight some sunshine on this overcast day, even if that light doesn't come from above, but form my own consciousness.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Wet and Green, but Never Bored

It does appear as if autumn has arrived. The calendar may state that fall officially begins on September 22nd, but the Pacific Northwest has it's own calendar. Autumn has always been my favorite season; brisk enough to warrant a jacket. It's when I most prefer to walk in the woods. The smell of seasonal decay. The bustling about of animals and birds, preparing for the cold season. I've noticed over the years, that one can forecast a bitterly cold winter when the squirrels make their nests extra thick in preparation.

Last fall Colorado and Washington made news by being the first states to legalize the recreational use of marijuana. Recently President Obama and Attorney General Holder made it clear that the federal government had no intention of trampling on our liberties, as they are usually wont to do. The permission or lack thereof will not change my own attitudes, the green (not greed) is good, and if more folks just chill-axed with a joint once in a while the world at large would be a better place.

Like most folks, I am a human with many dimensions, but -- also like the majority of my peers -- I only reveal certain aspects to certain people. I have my Facebook friends, and my Tumblr followers. I have a few friends and acquaintances who might even check in on this blog once in a while. Each of my faces reveals something different about my varied consciousness. I don't lead secret lives, yet I self-censor myself depending on my surroundings. I have found that as I have gotten older (I'm not old yet, just older.) I want to be my true self more consistently. It's grows tiring to continually adjust my outer personality, depending on the company that surrounds me. Yes, sometimes I'm a bitter misanthropic isolationist. Sometimes I want to preach to the world that you're all out of your friggin' minds, but then I humbly realize that I am also of the world. I have my own (semi-frequent) moments of insanity, just like everybody else. Sometimes I hide it better, but sometimes my madness just bleeds out for everyone to witness.

It's just me folks. I've managed to stay out of jail over the years (except for that one night stint many years ago.) I've always done my best to be a kind of gentle soul, and I don't think my three marriages denies that attitude. I admitted to myself long ago that I'm the artistic type; a creative soul. My priorities run counter to society's standards. I know that it's more important to spend time with family and friends. Whenever I have a free moment, I relax outside observing nature, whether it be the stars above, or the spiders stringing webs across my path. I know what keeps me vital and progressing towards the next morning and I cherish those motivations, even though they may differ greatly from folks I know and love. All I ever ask is just accept me for who I am, or please....turn the channel.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

A Genuine Sunday

If my honey and I are still ensconced in bed, and the clock has just passed eleven a.m., then it must be a real Sunday. Not one of those artificial types, when our morning rest is disturbed by a seven-year-old bellowing for Netflix and breakfast. This is a Sunday, when we might make a foray to the bathroom, or out to the deck to imbibe in the morning sun, only to return to the warmth of our bed. No twenty-year-old downstairs, who might awake at any moment to start making breakfast, clanging about in the kitchen. Only the cats to whine at us this morning, but once they get their kibble they quiet down and resume their everlasting series of naps. I could go into much more detail about what makes this Our Sunday, but I then I would have to reclassify this blog as NSFW.

Last night we were toying with the idea of seeing a film today; maybe even two, but having the house to ourselves is quickly engendering a feeling of laziness. "Doing stuff is overrated." So, we lounge about in our sleepwear, which we would not wear into the local 7/11. My brain is producing hunger pangs and I should probably listen soon. I'm not sure how our Sunday morning laziness is going to help my hunger. I haven't started cracking eggs yet, or searching for bacon in the back of the fridge. It's more likely that breakfast will soon become lunch, and we might have to throw on something more presentable, so that we can make our way to Burgermaster or someplace of equal mediocrity. Actually, I should state honestly that I am a fan of Burgermaster, and I don't consider them to be mediocre...but they are just a drive-in burger joint. I won't patronize McDonald's, but I've been known to eat at Burgermaster three times in a week. It reminds me of eating at the old A&W drive-in restaurants way back in 196-.

So, my laziness did not translate into an inability to write a blog post this morning, but my hunger will end this entry.