Like a Worn John Watson

Sometimes.

Sometimes its like being adrift in a great body of water.  My family is the wind.  My friends the jetty bracing me against the tide. Sometimes striking me, hurting me, but often times creating eddies for me to rest in; little pools of thought where I can stir up the sand without reprimand.  Events are the shores, and every now and again there is something that creates a pause in my life, an embankment that I must crest to continue.

But sometimes, like now, its a never ending stream of days at sea.  One after the other after the other after the other, where I feel there is no change and there is no growth.  And all I am aware of is the passing of time.

Every second that goes by haunts me like a physical specter and I am unable to enjoy my time in life's calm.

(Wishing for and dreading the waterfall all the same.)

GOSIG KANIN

Yesterday I saw a brown stuffed bunny rabbit, the size of an infant with soft fur and floppy ears. There wasn't anything special about the bunny, and no one I was with wanted me to buy it, as it was "a waste of money".

Yet it made me happy, so I bought it. I now own a stuffed rabbit from the children's section.



In a couple of weeks it will join the small pile of stuffed animals that live at the foot of my bed, but last night and today, and hopefully tomorrow, it brings me happiness.
 
And that's all I'd really like to own in life, a small soft bit of happiness that I can call my own.
 
(True Story)

Things I've Learned #200085 : And Everything Nice

if Girls are made of sugar & spice,
and Boys are made of snails & puppy dog tails,
then Adults are made of hypocrisy & autocracy.

(pure and simple.)


But what am I to grow up and become?

Things I've Learned #200084

At times taking a "stab in the dark" isn't such a good idea,
because somehow I usually end up stabbing myself
and accomplishing nothing.

BiG GiRL NOW

Someone, who is not me, keeps putting words in my mouth.
And those words are "I go to college, so now I'm Big Shit around here".
However, the thought never entered my mind until I was attacked with it.

Perhaps this is what I'm projecting, even though I'm not feeling it? But this isn't me, or could it be?

"I'm tired of thinking."

I've uttered this thought ironically more than 30 times this day. I'm not estimating and I'm not guessing - I've been so introspective that I set up an actual count of this one constant & monopolizing thought.

And I've come to the conclusion that its less than healthy. So to counter it, or my way of stopping said behavior, I sleep. And because I dream lucidly and deeply, I wake up with more fodder for my never ending thoughts...and that leads me back to being tired...of thinking.

Whoa. Ladies and Gentlemen I have discovered a rut in my plans. Yup, big fucking rut.

---

Its not that I enjoy driving my self crazy, but I feel as if I've painted myself into a corner. What I want is all mapped out in my head; I have my own ideal, my own reasons for doing things. But I'm stuck at a crossroads and I've broken my leg. Now its not that I don't know which way to choose - its that I'm unable to move in any direction until I've healed. I feel that where I am is a cage too small for my wing span. And I'm tied of waiting for someone to open the latch. [Metaphor much? Gahds.]

Its a beautiful cage, with gilded bars, pristine floors and dishes. Well fed and preened is she, the bird that sings most splendidly a song that she was taught to entertain with. But its not enough to sing without reason. the other birds; the lesser birds who are given access to the world abroad, provided with the keys to their own freedom, tell of longing for what the placated bird has. The security that her cage and accoutrements offer. Her cultured plume, and colorful breast that attract and belay good standing, her gracious song, all gifts to be revered. But it's never enough She has been written off by some as ungrateful and its often that she finds herself thinking the same. "What have I to feel longing for?" But its what's outside her damnable door that she wants; feelings that she cannot imagine and thoughts that she cannot concieve alone. She wants to be more than the pretty birdie, always looking out yet lacking things within. Because now that shes grown her cage is too small. And birds in small cages never do well.

Love

i have yet to realize the true enormity
of that which i have become conscious:

That one, ultimately, stands in the way of them self,

them and those both dependant; independent and of procurement in the future

[mirror Image of the traveler = those they depend on/those they don't/those who have procured them in their past share the same stumbling block]

the logistics are as cautiously approached as string theory [yet enclosed albeit as chaotically as m-theory]

those that know innately are spared the trial by error, abscond from the scars of journeying;

The lessons that guardians leave out,

the world teaches ungrudgingly,

and God chalks up to the expense of free will

in the end it is you, battle scarred and willfully consummate, yet circumscribed to the effect that you have not truly learned, you, and I that am removed, argumentum a fortiori, from the true, suant, meaning of self.

Age Limits

Its just a thought for my first entry:

• When you become "too old" in engage in a certain activity?

In terms of any activity, is it a social or personal decision? Do you stop when people tell you to or are some things ingrained? Bringing this to reality: this afternoon between my last class and rehearsal, I felt the urge to color.

I purchased my lunch at the trendy 7/11, scuttled over to the local $.99 store and acquired a Justice League coloring book and 24 [awful] crayons (all for $1.07!). I headed back to school, abandoned my sandwich and applesauce, and zipped to the only desk in the dim music room. People were hurriedly arriving while I was blissfully coloring the Green Lantern and Superman their proper colors.

What people would think had flitted across my mind, but I haven't given any real though to it and was literally bombarded by different responses [many I could have done without] as the small room filled with my peers. "Are you OK?", "Oh neat, crayons!", "What class is this for?", "So, this is your secret to being so chill." - but the one that I heard repeatedly and stuck with me was: "Aren't you too old to be coloring?"

Geez, I still announce that "I have to pee", are attracted to shiny objects and own a Tivo dominated by animated shows. But in most respects am pretty mature when I need to be. What does this say about me and people like me? Is it the fact that we let our "inner child" continue to enjoy the same activities at a rate that it did when it was our Id? Or that we so much enjoy the carefree periods of our life, we are willing to subject ourselves to social criticism in order to continue doing the childish things we love?

Whats gonna happen to the next generation who are being born not into the creation of cellphones, ipods & sidekicks, sexy myspace pics, increasing youth & social responsibility but the rapid increase of their introduction at younger and younger ages. [What does a 5yr old need with a pimped out cell phone?! They should still be accompanied by an adult at all times - not an electronic leash.]

"When are you ever too old to color?" was my high-five'd response to those Haters [Ha]. It made me ponder some things: are we a generation that puts so much emphasis on the finer and more "grown-up" things in life that we forget that these lesser and "childish" things were not long ago for many of us?

So I challenge you, go find a coloring book and some crayons. I'll be damned what anyone tells me, and you should too, Its strangely therapeutic fun.