The days I have missed

     Do you ever wonder about my secret life? The one you don't get to read about - the me that isn't encapsulated by this blog? What do I do when I am not sitting in a gray plastic chair with the eerie white glow of a patient and obediant screen reflecting off my face? Maybe nothing.
     I changed the background of my gmail to look like a desk. I wondered about it when I did it. It is not a desk, it is a screen. Should it look like a desk?
     I made you a promise to write again soon, and then I went missing for weeks. What you don't know is that I was kidnapped. It happened at work. I was sitting, bored, at the desk, balancing the punk rubber eraser, trying to make it stand, when a small hole appeared next to my foot. I glanced down at it , surprised and stared. The hole was black and round and intruiging. It started to grow. I rolled my chair back from the hole, wary of suddenly appearing things, an instinct I picked up in childhood. I've never met a thing that appeared suddenly that I liked. The hole continued to grow until my chair just sort of fell into it and it closed over my head. When I awoke, I was sitting at the desk, face planted against a stack of paperclips, my cheek a paperclip shaped mess. Several weeks had gone by. I wondered myself about the me that I had forgotten; about the things that I had done that I couldn't remember; a different me in a different world.



The next step

Hello Storm Troopers…..or whoever reads these…if anyone.

The morning is bright and I am alive. I find that the hungrier I am, the more alive I feel. I received a lovely professional looking certificate yesterday for a writing contest I had forgotten that I entered. It was on sustainability. I wrote about water: rivers and lakes and how they are not being cared for.  It seems there are many things that are not being cared for. But you know what they say – if something bothers you then do something about it. I’ve never been what they call an activist, but I believe that I am starting to feel the pull.

Homework – not done

Scholarship essay – not done

Daily journal – not done

Now that we are on the subject, though, I can explain what a daily journal is. You see, I find myself going through huge periods of time rather quickly and not remembering what has happened in all that time. Hence, my daily journal. I think that if I write what I’ve done every day, even if it’s short, I can look back and remember all the things that I have done in that year.

Brilliant, I know

I had the sudden image of white daisies and it is imprinted in my memory

New schedule:

Mondays – video clip

Tuesdays – blog

Wednesday – photography

Thursdays – hero analysis

Friday – Stick figure

Starts next week folks - don't miss the new stuff



Sunday day

I live in a small town nestled between tall mountains. I’ve lived here my entire life. It’s a beautiful place: a powerful river flows through the middle of the city, slicing through land like a knife through cheese. People flock to the river, building bridges across it, houses next to it and paths beside it – it’s the pulse of the land. I love the sound it makes and I love watching the sun set over it in pinks and oranges.

It’s the night before a hectic week. I look at the clock and realize that I could, under no circumstances, go to sleep at 8:31 p.m. I double click the blue internet explorer icon, listening to the click in my too quiet room. Facebook, gmail, blogspot….no updates. Rizzo, the Chihuahua, is nestled under the covers and my left leg is becoming too warm. I fidget. Maybe I should open the window. There was a strange large black dog in the back yard behind the fence today. I contort my body and open the window, but it doesn’t help.

I’m feeling strangely lonely tonight.

light

I like the glow of the light that falls from a lamp. I like the shadows it casts on the wall, long and elegant, like a woman’s fingers. I like the warmth that radiates from the bulb. I move my hand close and the air hums softly. I love that light always breaks through darkness no matter how dark. Click: darkness

Click: light

I had to wander the garage aimlessly in order to find another bookshelf to house the books that find refuge here. The books grow from the carpeting, the windows, the walls, the air. Three bookshelves line my walls filled with books of different colors and shapes and moods. I’m reading A Prayer For Owen Meany. OWEN ALWAYS TALKS IN ALL CAP LETTERS. HE IS VERY HONEST. I’m also reading the Bible from front to back the way it’s bound-the way I have it. It paints such beautiful scrawling vivid pictures with each word.

There are items in my room that still have no place. I shove them in a corner but I know by tomorrow everything will be sprayed across the carpeting. Maybe these things don’t really belong to me.

I locked my wallet in my box of filed papers today.

freedom

Just smell the grass! The dirt! Just like I dreamed they'd be!

Just feel that summer breeze - the way it's calling me

For like the first time ever, I'm completely free!

I could go running

And racing

And dancing

And chasing

And leaping

And bounding

Hair flying

Heart pounding

And splashing

And reeling

And finally feeling

Now's when my life begins!

Job interview

I feel like I'm lacking my adultness- stuck in a perpetual bubble of childhood. Trinkets, colors, imagination, daydreams (not bad things to have) but will I ever reach that maturity I hear tell of? I have an interview today.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/suspectshoppe

I have returned from the far south-the land of san diego. It's sort of flooding there by the way. I've been trying to be functional but my body won't obey. "Sleep," it whispers softly to me, "sleep."