I need a muse

A lighter shade of gray

2009-04-05T11:05:00.000-07:00

It's a shades of gray kind of day. Much more than a day. Gray encompasses so much, but you can't quite put your finger on it. There's a cloudy gray, slate gray, barely gray almost white gray, poofy kitty tail gray, storm cloud gray, bored gray, hopeless gray, comforting gray like the low rolling clouds on a rainy day that tell you it's acceptable to stay in and feel scared.

Gray can be so different, yet still be gray. That's why it's so hard to pin down. It's changing. It's flat; it has depth. Thoughts can skid off the hard surface or lodge in a thick, cloudy gray whirlwind. It makes for a difficult description. I hear myself describing it, trying to make sense of it, letting people understand. That's when the second cut comes, of course. Well, that sounds simple. Incompetent at sorting out a non-threatening, simple-sounding wisp of gray smoke. Tied up in her own thoughts. Cold gray of iron chains. Hard gray of a heart-shaped padlock. Rough gray of the surrounding stones. Limitless gray where the churning storm waters meet the horizon of tumbling gray sky.

Gray hairs popping up on my own head. Noncommittal gray. Not a color. Not here, always here.

Behind the Scenes

2008-11-11T13:18:00.000-08:00

Muddled thoughts. It’s mostly the best I can do today. Why do the things that are clear one moment appear incapable of resolution the next?

I try to run away from it. It works, of course. At least while I keep running. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t be What I Do. I feel alive and breathing and a part of the air around me. All that air pushing out of my lungs. It’s hard to keep so much in when so much is rushing out. The air sweeps and pushes the soul out to the surface with it. Out of its high lookout point layers and layers within, way up in the top and back of my head. That familiar vantage point. Maybe not the perfect spot. But to examine things thoroughly and not miss a thing it’s best to get the big picture. Which is difficult to do way down muddled in the mess of it all. Every side. All angles and making sense. So many sides that it’s more like running in circles. Spinning and spinning and spinning wheels. Kicking up dust so you can barely see through at all. A lonely little panicking thing spinning and spinning way up there.

"Words" and Phrases I Hate

2008-04-30T22:41:00.000-07:00

Module
Flesh out
Demystify
Guesstimate
Winningest
Ball club (in reference to a baseball team)
I'll "shoot" you an email
Any percentage over 100 that has to do with a person doing something, and, therefore, cannot be over 100 (i.e. "Give 110% to the workout" "110% [insert sorority letters]"

*This list will be updated according to the cultivation of new hatreds

Yes

2008-04-03T21:22:00.000-07:00

A lone paddle

terrifying calm

soul screaming and unnoticed

terror terror terror

tore tears from parched eyes

such loss

like I'd never imagined

absolute free-fall

griefgrief
empty making my approach

because I was forever wrong
no going forward
no going back
no remedy

Because I know no, maybe I can really say yes.

What's good about Kathryn?

2008-03-19T11:39:00.000-07:00

She hasn't punched anyone in the face...yet.

I hate everything today. Everything. If you are reading this today, I probably hate you too. Although I know that's not true even as I type it. I already regret saying that and I hope I didn't hurt any feelings. I just think I hate everything today.

Guess who doesn't care about Optional Shareholder Voting and never will? That's right: me. Guess who doesn't care about Corporations in general? Exactly.

Oh, and I absolutely hate having to give a presentation that "looks good on my resume." I am so sick of resumes. And even more sick of people who look at mine and comment that something is "impressive." It's really not. It's just a little list of things I've been doing, mostly since law school. What if I slid in "hating the world and myself" as one of my "Interests"? Just to see the reaction and have something better to talk about than, "I bet you did a lot of editing while on Law Review." "Yes, I'm quite masterful at making certain that pesky period after Id is also italicized. Did I mention my self-loathing? Yes, you'll see it...down farther...right under 'Interests'...there you go!"

Seriously, no mas!

2008-03-06T20:08:00.001-08:00

I'm just so sick of it. It's gotten past the breaking point, and it's starting to dawn on me just how bad it is. In terms of creativity, I'm cresting at perhaps a 3. Yes, fine, I'm sure that is being quite generous, but that's the point. No mas! No more with the beating myself up-figuratively. Clarification because, although it would be sad and I don't want to negate the plight of those who literally beat themselves up, for now it kind of makes me want to laugh in a childish, physical humor kind of way. Maybe my sense of humor can evolve as I get farther and farther away from the arid and disgusting boredom that has taken much too tight a grip on me. When I think about it, it's the feeling I got when I was younger checking out books from the library. Maybe it also had to do with the hot mugginess of the Georgia summers on the hard leather in the back seat of the station wagon. It could have been a lot of things, really. But to this day the plastic covering on the outside of library books makes me want to throw up. Ugh, even thinking about it now. It conjures up a deep boredom with maybe a little dash of childish helplessness that creates the lovely feeling of "wow, I think I'd like to throw up." Not that I physically could throw up. (A story for another day). Just that I'd want to. That it would be a fitting way to express what I feel inside, and that I'd feel better letting that emotion, that emotion I suppose I'd describe as "puke," out into the world and out of my system. Hmm? What do you think of that plasticky library books? You make me feel like that.

But, I digress. The point here was that I was writing in my journal, trying to think of a fitting metaphor...something that wasn't so trite and heinously over-used that I'd, again, want to throw up to express my boredom and displeasure. And I came up with...nothing. Well sadly, worse than nothing. I came up with "a Westlaw waterbottle." Not to digress again, but clearly, I will. This will be stream-of-consciousness. Ha! A way to make digressions not digressions, but essential, integral parts! There is NO MAS with the feeling guilty or beating up!

Yes, a Westlaw watter bottle as I was trying to come up with a fitting metaphor. To return to my digression, it reminded me of what I think is a scene from Ghostbusters Part II. The Ghostbusters are atop a tall building in a city and the ghost is ready to attack. The catch is that the ghost will take on the form of whatever they think of, so the nerdy, tall ghostbuster tells the rest to clear their minds of all thoughts. That way the ghost won't be able to get them and they can presumably carry on happily, albeit thoughtless, for the rest of their lives. All well and good, only the chubbier, shorter ghostbuster chokes under the pressure and thinks of the Stay-Puffed Marshmallow man. At least that showed some creativity on his part. I thought of my translucent, blue Westlaw water bottle. "Puke."

Although at this point I don't even think I need to get into what the Westlaw water bottle was going to be a metaphor for because I'm really done thinking about it, I will continue simply because I don't want to do legal research. Irony! Although if I did do the legal research I should, it would probably be on Westlaw, so it appears the marketing scheme worked on some level.

Here's the deal with the water bottle:

There it sits, on the floor in the lobby, in a cardboard box used to ship such promotional items. Kind of transparent and blue--looking fine, you know, for a water bottle. Sue's sitting at the table with the box at her feet, handing out candy and highlighters, shmoozing with law students, subliminally brainwashing them into using only Westlaw when they are making purchase decisions for their firms, years down the road. Students are more than slightly intrigued by the candy, and, yes, highlighters. Enough to go pick some up anyway. After all, free sugar and study aids are quite exciting in the day of your average law student. So the water bottles are there looking boring and cardboardy and kind of staticky with those thin pieces of styrofoam separating them in the box. Is it really worth doing a research training worksheet to get one? When I have things to do like...real legal research? Or legal research for a class anyway? Yes, I'll take a worksheet please, and Twix and highlighter and oh why not...a bag of m&ms. Who doesn't need a big metal pen with a separate lid and intermittent ink? Sweet! So a minute later, the water bottle is mine as well. Not just any water bottle. This particular drinking vessel is on the library's short list of containers suitable for use within its hallowed halls. You know you won't get hassled by the security guy at the door--not with this water bottle anyway! It's a nice choice for my drinking needs. Free, right? I don't have to risk being found out with say...a Starbucks cup or something worse, like food. Indeed, a good, solid, responsible choice. Certainly I'm not going to get any resistance with this blue beauty.

Yes, as of now, I may be feeling as boring and empty as the Westlaw water bottle. With "law" tattooed across my chest. My silhouette perhaps bearing a little too close a resemblance to the water bottle's at the moment. Maybe I even feel a little staticky. But...no mas.

No mas.

Nunca jamas.

I can live with a gimpy metaphor because this is where I begin. No more, never again. It starts here. And, overlooking the weak and telling metaphor to the new optimism, as a water bottle, I can fill up with something delicious, healthy and exotic. Something like Abacaxi Clight.

Of course of course

2007-11-30T08:32:00.001-08:00

Sometimes, when I'm trotting along at a happy pace, balancing the work with the play, feeling loved and excited for the future, that feeling cuts in and takes a quick bite. Like big gardening shears darting in to clip away a little to thin out a bush. I can't quite tell that anything happened afterward; I look and everything seems the same.

So I continue as I was, but this is a familiar game, and I know it will be back. So I'm a little wary, but only on the inside. Or so I think. In reality, I'm probably as obvious as can be, trotting along, my eyes big and crazy as a horse.

If you get up close enough and don't get distracted by the talking, swishing and normal trotting gait, you'll see the eyes are bugging out--the entire iris is visible and shocked and out of control and looking right at you. And then you're shocked and can't help but let your eyes--now also bugging out and out of control--from darting over to the big, straight, denture-esque teeth as they glisten not far from you, visible as the lips part in irratic marionette movements.

And it's all just unexpected and confusing and you're torn. Continue acting normal.

Want to dance?

2007-09-19T22:14:00.001-07:00

Bubble bath

2007-09-19T22:06:00.000-07:00

I’m dancing along the surface
A slipping, straightening, then balancing again
I think it’s possible that it looks like dancing
In that case, it is.

It’s fun and exhilarating
Slippery, which makes it fast
But I’ve got a kind of reigns on the out of control
Or so I think, sometimes.

Big, translucent and shiny
They can be deceptive that way
Because you never quite know
Whether you’re seeing a reflection or straight through to the other side

I like the feeling of standing on top as a brand new mass rises
And lifts me up
And up!
It’s big and proud and rising on up! Because it’s kind of precocious
(…and doesn’t know its days are numbered!)
Of course, it disappears fairly silently
And down!
Sometimes I want to plunge all the way through
And just fall, then sink.

But there’s another below, and I’m dancing along the surface amid the rise and fall.

Always a fresh new beginning

2007-07-16T20:04:00.000-07:00

There's just something about spending time with my mom. It's wonderful. In fact, I don't think I can describe it. I'll take a cue from my dad's writing for once and be brief, although not perfectly to the point like he is. Not yet anyway! But I'm working on it. I hope I'm also working on being like my mom in a lot of ways.

Everything is OK after a lovely dinner in the Highlands with my mom. Even when I look into the future.

This is how the moon looked tonight.

Tagged

2007-06-26T20:11:00.000-07:00

Distinctive,

unique,

individual!

...or simply identified? Known? It's there somewhere, whether hidden away and forgotten
or loudly singing wearing a pink boa. Somewhere...the desire to be labeled, marked:
recognized.

To commit to a location. Whether it's the space between my last thought and my next or tiles in a sidewalk thousands of miles away constantly affirming a sence of place. That label.

"You are here."

So that once people see there is no question. The question has been answered and that answer announced. A simple and proud answer.

Voices warning: "don't be a generalist," "the middle drops out,""commit to one thing and do it well."

How?

Make a choice? When everything is open and wonderfully tempting? I certainly remember how way leads on to way. I know that when I save the first for another day it's unlikely that I'll pass that way again. Innumerable thoughts and desires--opposite and opposing and messy. What will I ever do with all of them? No, I can't just get rid of some and hold onto the others. I know, I know. I know if I choose, the ones I keep will be better than before--shiney, polished, clean and beautiful.

But I don't want a few precious gems in a case.

The warnings continue: "you can't have it all." It's true. I can't have all of them, polished and pristene--maybe in a beautiful velvet bag or display case on a pedestal. But it's ok. Better than ok, in fact.

Through the confusion and amid the voices I think I can almost make out a rhyme--or a reason? Somehow I begin to accept the multitude of mismatched pieces that troubled me before with their differences. Maybe the opposites won't tug and tear at each other until I'm left with the bland, dreaded middle ground. The light and dark could stay distinct but balanced. Thousands of tiny pieces might come together and form one pattern. The peices won't fit, but come close. You couldn't call it seemless. It's not perfect or pristine. In fact, the gaps between--where the pieces don't meet edge-to-edge--they trap dirt, sand--anything that can get in between. Things I didn't ask for will squeeze in to become a part of the whole. It's all stuck in there and impossible to keep clean. When it rains, everything gets muddy. But even after the rain, under the mud, the pattern will be distinct and uniquely mine. Repeating over and over. The path is long, the scenery differs--but just look down, and I'll be reassured--still together, still intact. Together the thousands of pieces tell me where I am. And, if I'm lucky, I'll glance back to see the path behind me as it glistens in the late afternoon sun.

A Season for Change

2007-04-10T21:53:00.000-07:00

A change of course in our direction
A dash of truth spread thinly like a flag...

Running from March onward, deep into spring.
It looks as though I've gotten here without much time to reflect. It's still the Year of Balance, though. I can't sleep much this spring, but I'm not really restless. Lately I've been watching movies. Yes, watching right through the whole thing. It's an unusual stillness for me--letting something else guide my thoughts. Just along for the ride. It's interesting how I can feel there is so much change on the horizon, just past the calm I feel now. Resting and thinking for a moment before changing course. Inevitable or a choice? How long do you wait for the inevitable before realizing it's all about choice?

"There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries."

Little Glimpses of Happiness

2007-03-19T21:05:00.000-07:00

Simple pleasures are the last refuge of the complex.

Sunday at sunrise

2007-03-18T01:30:00.000-07:00

Do you sleep alone?

Do you prefer to wake up to yourself and your thoughts?

The morning might be your own: no one else to consider, no one else to appease. Maybe there's no one who wakes up worried and tells you. Maybe you can drink all the coffee. The hot water's yours. No one who's needing your touch and assurances--given generously like deep deep water--so deep. Unfathomable? Untiring, and continuing to flow freely despite the cold. How? There's no doubt--every rule I've ever learned about these things--everyone using logic and sense...we all know it should be frozen solid now, first slowing and catching as the cold penetrates and bites, then stopping. Stopping, freezing--now it could last. Its flow halted before it reaches the edge, the cliff...and then over. Down, falling, scattering into drops. The rush hits a wall--falls over the edge...the generous whole...broken! Beautiful as it drops--shattered, glistening, yet falling and falling. Why didn't it freeze? Stop to save itself the fall. Frozen until it's safe--frozen yet whole, together. Unmoving, but not broken. Certainly not giving up control. As ice, it doesn't have to fear the fall or worse--the end of the fall.

Maybe you don't.

Instead, she might return that generous touch, the unending assurances. Someone who won't bring the cold. No way is she letting it near you.

Ten random little things

2007-03-15T21:01:00.000-07:00

This is more of a forward/blog/bulletin that I've been told I need to fill out. I can't sleep, so I will.

1. I once at an entire box of Teddy Grahams in the store before checking out and had to pay for an empty box.
2. Sometimes, I sing for hours at a time in the car--really hours--without stopping, both because it's fun and because in my mind I get better the more and the louder I sing.
3. I have an intense fear of spiders, but I am working on it.
4. I love love love the cheesy 80s pop rock--the cheesier the better. Spandeau Ballet anyone?
5. No matter how many times I hear them, certain songs from Les Mis will make me cry every time.
6. I love rain. The sound, the smell, the way it feels completely soaking me when I go on a run, the feeling that it's ok to stop and break my schedule to curl up safe and comfortable in my bed or sit at a coffee shop or watch a movie with someone I love--even if that feeling is brief and unrealistic, I love it.
7. Most of the time I feel the most relaxed in the middle of the rush of life in a big city.
8. I don't have anything against tv, I just don't ever watch it.
9. Give me the perfect cup of coffee, and I'm pretty much guaranteed to be content.
10. I can fall in love with too much on too many different levels too many times a day. Or maybe it's not too much or too many. It could be just the right amount.

Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it?

2007-03-10T22:19:00.000-08:00

Oh, the marathon. I've come to find I don't love distance running. Not super-long distances or not right now, anyway.

While running today, I let my mind wander, as I usually do (one of the best things about running), and I found myself thinking...wait a minute...didn't Pheidippides die after his run from Marathon to Athens?? Is this really a wise idea? Fables and myths don't persist through the ages unless there is an aspect of truth involved, right? Sure, maybe the truth is that great accomplishments are worth a certain sacrifice (um, but someone's life?). Maybe some writers/poets have said his heart burst due to joy at the Greek victory. Also quite noble--fine. But for me it seems as good a reason as any to question my initial desire to run in the first ING GA marathon...in two short weeks.

I, for one, might just choose to learn my lesson from the past, lest I repeat it. I felt pretty close today, and judging from personal experience, I'd say the "joy" theory of heart-bursting is looking pretty unlikely.

Pheidippides
by Robert Browing

So, when Persia was dust, all cried, "To Acropolis!
Run, Pheidppides, one race more! the meed is thy due!
Athens is saved, thank Pan, go shout!" He flung down his shield
Ran like fire once more: and the space 'twixt the fennel-field
And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through,
Til in he broke: "Rejoice, we conquer!" Like wine through clay,
Joy in his blood bursting his heart, - the bliss!

Well I'm forever under lock and key

2007-03-09T07:57:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, in the midst of summer
I find within me an invincible winter

But I think maybe it's not quite invincible
and I could learn
to undress it

Shed the protective winter layers
and let the forgiving sun kiss my skin
Soon?

I'm done with not knowing for sure

2007-03-07T16:00:00.000-08:00

By pedaling madly, coasting and carefully carefully sharing the narrow bridge with cars speeding across the island, we made it to the end of the road and the beach! It was a long but beautiful ride. It wore us out, and we took ourselves and our bikes back in a taxi.

I got on a bicycle on Monday. It was a rickety, squeaky cruising bike, and I was happy that it seemed well-used. It looked like my bike--the one in my dining room that I wish were well-used. How is it possible to feel guilty about not riding a bike? The one on Monday had a care-free air. It had been enjoyed for years before I rode it, and knew it would go on many more rides whether I came along or not. Either way, it was going to do what it was made to do and fulfill its purpose. Happiness.

My bike is reliant on me to fulfill its purpose. It makes me happy to look at it--I absolutely love the idea of it. I picture myself riding it all around town...doing my little errands, wind blowing through my hair and clothes. Sometimes I'm carrying my laptop and school books on my back when my daydreams are responsible. Other times I'm just hopping on to head to Trader Joe's to pick up $3 wine or going to Katie's for any reason or none.

I haven't done those things, though.

Someone gave me this beautiful shiny sky blue bike. It's perfect for me in so many ways. It's not new--it's old-fashioned looking and has those guards that protect you from the top part of the wheels. It has character. I know it wasn't as it is now before he gave it. He saw its potential when he bought it--spent hours cleaning, polishing, making it shine for me. Checked the gears, chains, tires--made it safe for me. Put a big red bow on it and gave it to me because it could make me smile. It made me smile when I first got it, and it still makes me smile when I see it. I smile, but I also want to cry. I wonder why I feel as though I can't handle the responsibility of having something so lovely for myself. Still, I love the idea of it.

Because I always have to explain...

2007-02-07T21:28:00.000-08:00

I'm creating a blog. I don't really know why, and I don't know if I'll ever feel like sharing it, but I want to anyway. My history with keeping up with diaries and journals is pretty awful--maybe a blog will have better success. I'm in front of my laptop virtually all the time anyway, so I've got that going for me. Which is nice.

I'm actually hoping that starting this will kick-start the process of productive thought and figuring things out for me. "Things" being my passions, basically. Now I'm a little over halfway finished with law school, but feel less confident in where I'm heading than before I began.

Second semester of second year is well underway and I find myself tumbling at an uncomfortably increasing speed down the "don't worry, you've made it through the tough part, it's all downhill from here " hill. Despite reassurances that the worst of law school is over (which I am completley certain is true--I don't even mind law school anymore. Secretly, I enjoy it this year. Either that or I have a new perspective on what is enjoyable after last year. You know--Everything's relative, perception is everything, There's nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so...) I'm worried. Worried maybe because I know there's very little I could do to mess this up so completely that I won't get my degree? Don't get me wrong, I want it. I've worked for it. I'm really really happy I decided to do it and happy I chose the school I did. I needed the challenge. Best of all are the people--I've met some truly amazing people who I hope I'll be lucky enough to keep around for years to come. I've learned quite a lot about myself, and I've never once felt stagnant or at a loss for things to do. I guess I'm worried because I don't know what's next. What exactly have I been working for? What's at the end of this hill I'm tumbling down toward graduation? I hope it's not a snake. Or a bear. Or a dead whale shark that the aquarium didn't know what to do with. Bleh!