It's been a year and it's time to reflect.
I'm not sure I've really changed too much. So many conditional words in there...
What have I learned?
*people are not who you think they are no matter how well you feel that you know them.
*no matter how much you believe in yourself, it takes someone else's belief in you to make things happen.
*belief alone will get you nowhere
*assumptions are dangerous in any situation
*happiness may very well be a myth. temporary content, however, is a complete reality.
*love doesn't ever work out the way you plan for it or hope for it to.
*hope alone will get you nowhere.
*actions do indeed speak louder than words, and leave more lasting impressions.
*feminine charm will get you nowhere.
*sincerity is easy, convincing people you are sincere is hard.
*fear is the the catalyst to failure.
*do not spread trust thin, place it in only partially in the few and the worthy.
*love does keep an account of wrongs, and it will bring it to you in a double-spaced, bulleted list with categorized sub-headings.
*negativity is not rewarded. positivity is not rewarded either.
*if you master nothing else, be a master judge of character.

My dreams have been empty for some time now. The last dream I remember heralded the end of a chapter in my life long before the end actually came - and here I am on the precipice of a new one. I am looking for a new apartment, I am fumbling and fucking up my way through a new relationship, I am searching for a a way to get my life back on track - emotionally, physically, professionally, mentally. At this point, if it wasn't already obvious, I am just feeling drained. I'm coming about of so much heartache and broken-ness. And maybe that's from working nights 5 days in a row - or maybe that's just my general feeling about things. Whatever the reason, I am fighting the urge to run away from everything and take some time to re-group and recoup. I don't think that is necessarily what I NEED, but it is the easy thing to do....well, not easy, it would involve a lot of high-stress situations coming to a head and ending a lot of things that have barely begun, but I'm getting to the point mentally where I just don't even care. I've separated myself from a lot of familiar things and I'm afraid of moving forward even though that's is what I desperately want to do. I've forgotten who I am. I've not given myself time to create and do. I've not allowed myself any time to connect with myself, with my creativity. I need that part of myself to function like a normal human being. Right now I feel like a stranger in my own world.

new home

I'm in unfamiliar territory now, for the next year. The choice was my own and something that I felt I needed to do while I am young and less cautious or else I might spend the rest of my life wishing I'd taken the risk. New York is a world unto itself. Hell, Manhattan alone is it's own planet. I made the decision to make this long white hallway into a home with a bright and beautiful blonde who keeps me laughing and let's me rant and goes out for drinks after a mediocre day at work. She likes my shitty cooking and watches bootleg tv with me every Sunday. I'm glad she's doing this with me, I can't imagine what it would have been like to change so much in so short a time on my own.

It's been fun planning out the apartment, choosing colors and making art together. The joint efffort has made this place into something I'm proud of. Now comes the part where I force myself to be done with it and decide to be satisfied so that I don't start to accumulate things I dont need for the sake of having them.

Work sucks, and there haven't been any opportunities to do what I'm really here for...but September is the month. I have much still to learn and a lot of confidence to muster if I'm going to do this.

I'm back to dreaming blindly with stones under my head. I always turn to dreams when things get hard or different. They lead me astray in the best way, warn me of the future, and reveal the flaws I don't see in the daylight.

But now I'm back here in the place where I was raised, sipping wine with my mother and idly flipping through thousands of channels with nothing to watch. No stones, no dreams, no desire or need to sleep just yet, a million indescretions rolling around in my head.

I need to start keeping count, then maybe you'll see for once that I am right about all of this.

This room has the worst energy. It reeks of laziness and lack of care. 3months of living hasn't pulled the suitcases off the floor or dragged the clothes out of them. The radiator hisses and clicks like some angry reptile and the world rumbles and shakes to the fourth floor as the thousand subway cars pass underneath.

Life continues on outside in machine forms, horns and motors and generators, busying themselves with routine. If there are birds other than pigeons, they don't sing. But I sit here staring at this pale screen, aching from long walks and the tension of the city.

This place is a cesspool.

There is so little kindness.

I need help finding light here.

A pile of papers several inches thick sits patiently, gathering dust while I ignore them, each and every. They want signatures, answers, type-written hot air and bullshit scribbles to fill their voids. They want to be packed in tight next to cheap parchment and ink stain stuck to the others in a brown package. They want to be sent to the four corners on gasoline driven winds and into the skeptical critical analytical clammy hands and chubby fingers of those who wait to rip it apart.
Those who muse and peruse and huff about it until they come to a decision.
Worthy or not.



Somehow, I don't even care about that. I can't even sit self-conscious and anticipating the rejection or the approval to come. I don't even think I need them as an out anymore, don't need their excuse to leave. I just want to run away, run far and fast and scream from my toes and rip up the roots tangled around my legs.

That's not an unreasonable request.

A Re-occurring Dream

"You're pronouncing it incorrectly," they said, grinning at me in a kind way, but one that made me uneasy. "The emphasis is on the 'U'."

I knew this to be ridiculous. I'd always heard the word 'pendulum' pronounced "PEN-dyoo-lum" and never as these two crones described. They hunched over in dirty vinyl lawnchairs outside of a cart laden with shining, tinkling, fluttering things that (if one had to pick a single, encompassing word) could only be described as "trinkets."

One had wild red hair that seemed to be past the point of washing, and the other wore a peppery-grey updo that had clearly been slept on and ignored for an unfathomably long time. Their clothes were a jazzy compilation of colors and patterns, fading and feathering in delicious dissonance. Their faces were pale leather and their eyes were only dark holes. The sockets did not make me as uneasy as their smiles, sweet and good-natured in the folds of their faces. They were more wise than I would ever be.

I fidgeted, not wanting to continue the argument but unable to shake the need I felt for the object after which I inquired.

The Red one reached in her pocket and pulled out a porcelain ball muttering something about wanting to get a closer look at me. She popped the ball in an empty socket and stared, lidless and artificially in my direction. Her mouth twisted up so that her lips disappeared in the grimace until finally - "Aaaaaaah," she breathed slowly.

She smiled again.

The eye popped out and she handed it to the Pepper companion.
"Have a look-ee," she said in a low voice.
Pepper poked the eye in, twisting it and making adjustments until she could "see" me.
"Hmph." Was her only reply before she pulled the eye back out with an sickening 'pop.'

She turned back to the cart, pulling out a drawer full of little boxes of different colored paper. Feeling about in the drawer, her fingers closed around a tiny green one. Red's laugh burst the silence and she clapped her hands three times. "Perfect!"

Pepper gave what would have been a side glance at Red had they possessed eyes and turned to me.

"You asked for a pendulum," she mocked my pronunciation. "But we know you need more than that...so consider the other things as gifts. You have a very long way to go."

Green box in hand and a few dollars short in my wallet, I left the cart and the women at my back. I don't know what else was in the box, but the pale orange pendulum was warm in my hand.

I'm at home tonight listening to the muted thunder outside my window and wishing it wasn't always so hot in my room. 2 fans and the A/C running and I wake up sweating in the middle of the night.

I have daydreams of a tiny house with the bare minimums, painted a sunny yellow in a kitchen full of wildflowers. Daisies, buttercups, blubonnets, Indian paintbrushes. The kitchen is spring. The den and the hearth are heavy colors dark and warm like harvest foods and soil. The den is winter. The bedroom is inviting and tragically beautiful, old furniture I have given a home and junk made into beautiful things on the walls. A four-poster squats in a corner draped in ochre sheers. The bedroom is autumn. The porch is open and faces west and the sunset and it absorbs the luscious green glow of summer's dusk. The porch is summer.

I also wonder a lot lately about human behaviors. In particular the urge to hold things that hurt us. Not just in a literal sense, but in an emotional sense as well. We seem to have a strange incapacity to move on from things and people and places that bring us that bittersweet melancholy feeling. I don't know why we do this or for what purpose, but I still wonder. And I'd like to stop doing it if I could.