So I feel like I've come to a stand-still. Big news, I know, but I wanted to try and see myself explain it, so here goes...

I am keeping myself from the outside world. I am imprisoning myself in my house and defending my captor... and it's stupid. It's stupid of me to say that my friends never call when I have cancelled so many chances to associate myself with them. And what's worse is I try to turn it around on them by magnifying any instance in which they are unable to sate my desire to socialize... and I am so ashamed.

I need to just leave my comfort zone... leave my home... get the hell out. But I don't know where to go... how to do it... WHAT to do... and, as an aside though pertinent to my predicament, I'm so very frightened that I am going to be too old to save myself from my own loneliness. I don't want that to be the case, but who's to say it won't be?

I suppose a good Christian would tell me to find strength in God or Jesus... and it is short-sighted of them, in my opinion, to think that I haven't tried that in the past. God and Jesus are not there. And that's fine, because there can be plenty of people there... REAL, LIVE people who will listen, whether they want to or not... it's simply up to me to go out and find them...

Yes, the problem is within... but I think the problem therein is an emptiness... and while the solution may come partly from within, I think the emptiness will be shoaled with something that may very well come from the outside... heaven knows what, but that, I think, is my quest.

Here's hoping...

I need a hero...

...that's the song to which I am currently listening here at work. It's been a crazy day during which I have had few moments to think about anything other than the task at hand (which is a good thing, no doubt... but a little unnerving when there seems to be so much else to ponder). But now, there seems to be a blessed lull in the business to which I attend, and I am going to take this opportunity to reflect on the song which I hear.

I do need a hero. I'm holding out for said hero not just until the end of the night, but forever more and always, amen. Or at least that is what it seems. In my case, I really am not sure just what that hero is, seeing as how more and more I think that it mightn't actually be a person, but rather an action or a thing. And I suppose therein lies a conundrum, seeing as how as of late, my life has been quite full; I attend a gym in the mornings, and then work at my full time job (at which I have recently been given a batch of new duties that keep my QUITE occupied), and then I head home only to then head to rehearsal for Romeo + Juliet. After that, there really aren't very many hours left during the day with which one could do anything, really... I suppose I could devote them to reading or crocheting or something, but in all frankness, my mind seems so mushy by then, that neither of those pastimes really appeal to me.

Thus, my life is full. At least my week is full. My weekends? Well, they are about to be full (seeing as how we are honing in on opening for the show), but at present, they are more occupied by a kind of mental regrouping with my family in Weatherford. I enjoy this, but at the same time, I think it might be working somewhat to my detriment...

I arrive home and feel a sense of relief to be around something familiar, but then I realize that this has been the case for a while now. I live in Arlington - a town in which there are amusement parks, malls, and varied distractions of all sorts, and which is situated near two major metropolitan areas within which are housed yet greater numbers of distractions and diversions - and yet I take no advantage of this. I guess part of that is my preference to partake of these things with someone else - friends, family, etc - yet experiencing a dearth of people who might fit that bill.

That's not very nice... I guess... but it is none the less true. I'm at a point now where all of my friends don't seem like friends any longer (and I don't doubt that not being in school any more has a great deal to do with that... although to be honest, when I was still in school, I felt markedly similar to now). I guess I'm just curious... how does one break free? My friend Troy feeds me the "look at me" lines somewhere in the ballpark of "all I did was change my job, my boyfriend, and all my friends, and things got better"... and hell, he's probably right on the money when it comes to what I should do... but frankly, I just don't see how the hell all of that comes about. He admitted it took a while, but to hear him talk, you'd think it were an infomercial for a weight loss product or get-rich-quick scheme...

I hate to sound whiny, because it's been my experience that people tend to find that a big turn off when it comes to deciding whether or not to associate with you. I suppose that is why I vent here. But venting, admittedly, will only get me so far. The rest is up to me making active changes and rolling with the resulting punches...

... now if I could just figure out what the hell those changes need be...

Nostalgia and all it entails...

I'm a sucker for nostalgia. And the enchantress one finds in the Beauty and the Beast story, nostalgia is an aspect of life most two-sided indeed.

I start out with a little story; the other day, I was in a Target (as I far too often am) and saw a shirt that had been in the store for a while. It is a red plaid shirt - a lovely tartan for which I would love to discover the clan name, but I digress - that I may never actually wear, but held special memories; the plaid was the same as was once displayed on a simple bow tie that my childhood teddy bear once wore (before it disintegrated from age). That, and it was remarkably similar to plaids my since deceased grandfather in Michigan wore almost daily. Needless to say, the shirt itself drummed up wonderful memories that brought me a lot of happiness... and it was on sale, so I ended up giving in and purchasing the shirt. And hell, listening to myself here has made me resolve to one day MAKE it work...

This has been a recurring theme in my life, these past few weeks/months... within a relatively short amount of time, both of my parents have been forced to deal with their parents' estates and belongings - one because of a death, and the other because of a stroke (although both remaining grandmothers are in need of constant care, and thus have been privy to moves into rest homes... one even to a different part of the country). I suppose this is a fact of life, but in my selfish little brain, it was a fact of their life, and I suppose I didn't really give it the thought that such a prospect deserved. But then, the prospect became burgeoning reality, and hit home.

My father, as of late, has been away on business... so much so that he was, technically, living out of state - frankly, it speaks volumes to his abilities to juggle that, the job he was asked to do there, his own mother's condition, the conditions surrounding my mother's mother, and then... well, me and my brother. That being said, this business is now mostly over, and he is back home; this has afforded him the time to think about his future... retirement and the like, and how he'd like to prepare for the time when all the above-mentioned challenges will one day become mine and my brother's. Thus, he's been talking of redecorating the house, sprucing up property value (for a time when home prices might not be so low), and getting rid of unnecessary and discretionary items that would be merely a hindrance on the process of estate planning and sale. He walked be through the heirloom pieces we posses and spoke of why they were special... he showed me what he might want to rid the house of (and some of the things I jumped at and said to give to me... I'm not as ready to let go of some things... even some things that I have no actual connection to other than the fact that they have been a part of what my brain considers "home" for so long).

He wants to change the way he lives in order to prepare for the way he and my mother will die, is the long and short of it... and it scared the hell out of me. I got all emotional again, as I so often do... but at least this time I kept the brunt of it bottle up; no need for tears. But regardless, I can't help but feel a little affected by my parents' apparent willingness to prepare for their own earthly demise.

In a perfect world, I would assume that each individual would contemplate their own end and not be bothered with or worried by the ends of others. But this ain't no perfect world, and it is very apparent to me that I will constantly be affected by the deaths or impending deaths of others; my grandfathers are, in fact, dead, my grandmothers both to follow within a few years, I shouldn't wonder. I find no pleasure in that, but I am damned and determined to find peace in it, somewhere... because it will occur for my parents as well. It's already happened for some of my friends, and that is unfortunate; they were young - too young, I felt, to have to deal with such a predicament as the death of a loved one.

Well, I don't know what else to say on the matter, except that it has weighed heavily on my mind these past few months... and to think I would never have thought about it had my parents not been going through all of this... but as I said... fact of life, right? Here's hoping; I intend to follow my parents' examples, as they are both lovely people for whom I would not trade the world... however, soon enough, they will be forced to trade the world for the shuffling off of this their mortal coil...

*Shiver*

So I'm markedly curious about President Elect Obama's choice of Rick Warren to perform the invocation at the inauguration (wow, say that five times fast). It confounded me so much so that I thought "why not look up the rules that made him make the decision?" So I did...



... there aren't any, so it would seem. No, according to most sources, it would seem that the Constitution says nothing at all about the utilization of a bible or a pastor or priest or whatever to "swear in" a president. So it would then seem that the atheists are right; this whole deal is just a bunch of bullshit that is meant to clean the wounds of a beaten down right-wing and it would be a happier place were we to abolish the idea of a religious ceremony of any kind marking the beginning of a United States Presidency.



An interesting article in BeyondChron, a San Francisco online newspaper gave an interesting history of the process of swearing in, which I will cite here; author Tommi Avicolli-Mecca states:



"As an atheist I am offended that Christianity is being promoted at a state function. There’s no legal basis for its inclusion. The U.S. Constitution says nothing about a president using a bible in taking the oath of office. In fact, President John Quincy Adams used a law book, and Franklin Pierce and Theodore Roosevelt swore on no books at all. It’s not just presidents. In November, 2006, Minnesota U.S. Rep. Keith Ellison sparked national controversy when he chose the Quran as the book on which to lay his hand. The phrase 'so help me God' wasn’t even in the oath until President Franklin Roosevelt used it less than 100 years ago (though some claim it was Lincoln who first included it). The Constitution does not mention anything about a minister or other religious person giving an invocation or benediction during the swearing-in. It does forbid establishment of a state religion."



Gasp, I know.



It would seem that we have been duped, really, into thinking that we need to follow some sort of religious guidlines in order to have a viable leader. I agree whole-heartedly with the atheist idea of leaving the leadership of varied portions of the world to a more secular and worldly methodology; the person swears not by God, or Allah, or Vishnu, or whatever, but rather themself.



Goodness, how lucky do we have to be in order to get it right, you know?

It sometimes frightens me how far the ignorance of youth reaches into adulthood. That was a negative start, I guess... but it's true; myriad examples of stupidity and useless bickering abound in my life after the age of 19, and some of them I look at less as "learning experiences" and more as "detriments to character in an adult world". And all that being said, sometimes, it would seem, that these fleeting (though prevalent) moments of childhood ignorance are useful tools when solidifying the importance and substance of present-day occasions of great weight and meaning.

I cite an instance in the office the other day: I am a lucky individual allotted the privilege of being able to listen to my iPod while working on whatever project needs my immediate attention (a blessing indeed... music ne'er has sounded as sweet...), and seeing as how it is the holiday season, I have been listening most prevalently to music geared toward just such an season. Now, being at work has always had a sobering affect on me... to my detriment, no doubt, but also to my benefit in that it focuses my thoughts and is almost a form of meditation in the sense that my mind generally takes an auto-pilot format. Because of this, I have been listening ever so much more closely to this collection of carols and songs that I have known for many years, and, although some are just as cookie-cutter as ever (no pun intended), some, in all honesty, have taken on a much more poignant meaning in my life.

I was listening to the song "I'll Be Home For Christmas" as sung by Victor Garber on the old 2001 Broadway Cares Christmas Album, and I found myself pondering the lyrics as I heard them (the man sang the song slow enough, I had time to write a thesis right then and there... har har...). The song made me think of my mother and father - two of the most important (if not the most important) people in my life - and how their situations have changed since I first knew them as a young boy; my father's family lived in Austin, and we would more than likely spend the Holidays with them, seeing as how my mother's family (her mother, father, and numerous relatives) lived in Michigan. But the song made me realize it wasn't always that way; my mom used to come home from college or wherever and spend Christmas at home where she grew up, and my dad no doubt did the same. But nowadays things are a little different...

Both of my grandfathers have since passed away, one due to brain and age complications and the other the victim of advanced age coupled with devastating cancer; both of my grandmothers are decidedly different people than when I first knew either of them, as one has had a stroke and is living in an assisted living home in Austin and the other has since moved away from Michigan, leaving her house of many, many years behind for an assisted living home, near my mom's brother, where they are capable of helping her through her advanced dementia. All of this seems like it only just happened, really; this is all so different than any memory I have made since I first began to recall any particular holiday season... and I suppose that made me query just how much the season has changed for my parents.

My father will never be able to go home again... at least not in the sense of Christmases long-past; his father is long-dead and his mother is struggling to hold on to the person that she once was (and doing a damn-fine job if I do say so myself... even without total mobility of the entire right half of her body, she is still an artist, a writer, and a fervent reader); my mother's father is also gone, only more recently so, and her mother is not doing as well holding onto who she really is, living every moment as if she'd never lived before... but still one of the greatest personalities that any one has ever known. And, while pondering on all of this, Garber sang the final line of the song... "I'll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams"...

And that's when it all hit me, and I began to cry.

I cried for my mother and father who were being forced to move away from their pasts, or at least the expectancy of a reasonable facsimile of the past... and I couldn't stop. Lucky for me, no one really saw, as my "office" is out of the way... but had they sat next to me, I'm sure they would have noticed. But I could not help the tears; I suddenly felt compelled to do something - anything - to make Christmases more worthy of past holidays that my mother and father might have experienced, and part of me feels that will be nought but an exercise in futility for the rest of my days... the past is gone; we can never reclaim it.

But as so many have said (including my wonderful Buddhist role model, Brad Warner), the present is all you really need worry about, as that is what is more than likely to affect you at this very moment. You can't touch the past or the future, but you cannot help but touch, taste, see, roll around in the present. And so therein, I think, lies the lesson I must learn from this, my brief fall from ignorance; my parents are my present, and I will cherish that and make merriment there-with. And my brother, and the family I still have scattered about the place... and far be it from me to rob any of them of the potential for a memory or dream that will most assuredly one day be part of their present moment...

... so there.

Yes, I cried. I know, I know... gosh, you're such a cry baby... but it's the truth. I tear up a lot these days... I think it's because growing up is like the phantasm that was the Wizard of Oz... "Great and Terrible"; great in that it's a chance to change, but terrible for the exact same reason.

Bah! The paradoxes that are life will be the death of me yet! (har har...)

FIN!

A vicious holiday conundrum...

I'm torn.

Not like you care, but I feel the need to cogitate on the matter, seeing as how either side of the equation is something for which I feel rather strongly.


I don't give to the Salvation Army "bucketers" any longer; in respect to recent events, I cannot in good conscience supply capital to an organization that may very well willingly discriminate against a person who is either gay or of non-Christian background. I note that the S.A. does state that they give to anyone who are in need of their aid, but they also freely reserve the right to discriminate in the hiring, promoting, or general acceptance of homosexual men and women. Heh, I've even gone so far as to find these little slips you can print off from a SoulForce Website (a pro-gay Christian Group) which you put into the S.A. buckets in lieu of cash that state you will not be donating to them, but rather to a more worthy charity. Of course this little bit of jollity was met with resistance, as every thing is these days...


An acquaintance of mine said "it's just another form of discrimination" seeing as how the slips state that the user will specifically NOT donate to Salvation Army... and I suppose that's true. But in my personal opinion, it is not necessarily the organization which would in turn bear discrimination, but rather (in my mind, at least) the cause. I do wish to give to a worthy cause in these holiday times; what better gift to give than to those who have nothing? And I suppose, worse comes to worse, the Salvation Army would be a catalyst through which one could support the poor and hungry (which is never a bad thing). But lest we forget, there are hundreds of charities out there, some of which are openly pro-gay, and in all honesty, I don't think I could care less to whom I give the money as long as it is used for the same purpose and with the same goal in the mind of the middle man - it just seems that one middle man is less hateful than the other towards the people with whom he chooses to associate himself.


I don't know what to do, because on the one hand, I feel that giving to, say, Brothers and Sisters, or Broadway Cares, or hell, the HRC (in spite of their weak-minded diplomacy in the wake of a conservative in-office regime) would be just as effective and more-so worthy of a good feeling, seeing as how these groups are, while guilty of the same amount of potential for discrimination, make it a point to speak out, as a group, against it.


But then again, I am just a bleeding heart liberal...


Fin.

A moment of poetry...

... inspired by a special someone...

A delicate flower stands daily mid-field

Awaiting what e'er may pay heed.

Surviving cruel indignities of bees

Is a rare sort of strength, indeed.

The flower cares neither for wing nor for sting

Nor for attentions others might lack

For it knows it's found something quite special therein

The misguided bee who comes back.

Fin... for now, anyways...