Bugged Me

I consider myself addicted to observing humanity.  Not only do I find casual enjoyment in studying people's behaviors, actions and reactions to a situation, but that shit truly fascinates me because it's real and it's daily and it's life. 

Now, I also believe that we are a creative species with good and not so good functions.

Observed experience:  I was floating in the pool today, and a mother frantically swats at a bee and smacks it dead on the concrete with her flip flop bottom.  Her 10 year old son looks at her, confused maybe, curious a little, and asks, "Mom, why did you kill that bee and it didn't do anything to you?"  Mom very confidently snaps "You want that to sting you? No. Didn't think so. That's why we kill bees."

My thoughts:  Unless you or your kid is gonna drop dead from anaphylactic shock, alerted epi-pen in hand ready to jab... the fact is that bee won't sting unless it feels threatened (i.e. swinging arms, swatting).  So tone down the hype, preserve the peace and let it go and do its bee thaaaang.  Do you know what I mean?  It's like, people create an idea that they're threatened and panic and construct a disorder that then develops into a normalcy and is functional amidst the dysfunction, a new defense lens through which much, then, becomes bent.  The bee example is only the tip of the iceberg, people living for that one small percentage of a maybe-moment in concern that they might get hurt.  Hmm.

...

Deep into the night she and I would talk.  "I'm not long for this world, Steph."  She'd take a pause of silence and for me, that void of sound with her sigh of sadness peaked the comment's drama.  I hated the drama.  I'd rush a sprinkle of "Oh just stop it, stop saying that" into the conversation but she'd press her belief firmly into the mind of mine denying credence of her thoughts. 

But she was right. 
Just dead for a day and I already miss my sister.

Hurrrr/Identity

Ha!  So Ok.  My hair!  I got my hurrrr did a week and a half ago because I hadn't cut it in about a year and it was getting nasty.  Being a female and going to "salons" around town is just not in my budget or in my radar to really care, at all, but I care enough about my appearance not to go to Super Cuts (seriously though I've had some bad experiences there).  I got my hair cut by a new girl at a place I've been to twice before and she was cool and all, but even though I told her to cut off as much as needed to "Make it healthy!" she lopped off a full 3-4 inches of my identity and I can't even DO my hair like I've been doing it for years because it just looks sub-par to my "look."  So I'm just pulling it back in a bun every day! 

I always thought those people who cry were incredibly LAME on What Not To Wear when they got their hair done.  But now I get it!  No, I didn't sob as she was snipping away at my dead-ends, not at all.  I wanted it cut.  I told her to do whatever, really.  And now that it doesn't look the way it has looked in years (maybe you don't notice, but I do!) I'm like...Whoa, Identity CHANGED.  Identity taken!!  Identity GONE... I feel not me!  I want it changed!  I want it re-done!  Please!  I'm kind of floored at how much this whole hair thing has affected my mood and perception of self.  I'm kind of floored at how much my hair was a part of how I knew myself, at least on a physical level.  Yeah, floored.  Help, I've fallen and I can't get up.  Has 6 months passed yet?  Maybe it'll look like the me I know me to be more than it does now.

And to think my sister had to shave her head because of the chemo.  Damn.  I feel lame.

Morro Bay

Morro Bay...a strange place.  It just oozes run-down retro.  Built up in, what - the 60's, 70's? and not really renovated since?  Old school barber shops (with that spinning stripes thing twirling about--what the hell are those and why do they symbolize "hair cut here?"), antique stores and salted, tired beach shanties that house seemingly very satisfied human beings.  It took a while for it to grow on me, but something about Morro Bay keeps drawing me in and I'm proudly appreciating it more each time.

I drove there today because sometimes, I feel this magnetic pull and there's nothing I can do about it but just go to the water because it always has something to say.  And while the sea lions could be heard from blocks away, asking over and over again "Huh? Huh? Huh?" (I'm sorry guys, you're super cute and all but I just don't have the answer), I felt like.....Ahhhhhhhhhhh.  Om.  Namaste!  There's something real about breathing in the sea air, wafts of funky fish even don't seem so offensive as the inhale of such an odor is soothingly suitable, expected, comforting, thematic.  Although my excitement for that predictable drab grey of the Morro Bay skyline rerouted when I saw sun illuminate the rock, it was still just as enjoyable, if not more.

And what did the bay have to tell me, or really, what did I discover on my own?  Well gosh, I don't entirely know.  Except....I feel gratitude for feeling more peaceful and accepting of myself and the challenges I have faced, am facing, and will be facing.  I'm not who I was back in '07-09, when that was my rock-bottom of all moments to-date. (Pun intended regarding the rock).....so, with a small pat on my back all I can do is move on and forward.  Peace!

It's bitchin.!

Taken from my phone

So at work, at the Food Bank, I swear we celebrate every holiday over again at least twice.  Today we were reminded of Valentine's Day when one of the wonderful warehouse guys brought in a few of the "excess candy donations" (for lack of better terms)...and my coworker put this (see photo) on my desk.  I read it, I thought "ha, funny" then I thought of Iggy Pop's song which is STILL stuck in my head, then I thought "hmmmm...." and on instant, I identified with it.

Now I've never been a dramatic person or out of control by any means, (maybe?)....whatever that translates to.  I am pretty weird according to many and I typically have no shame in most instances.  But since I graduated college in 2008, and even before when I dabbled in 3 totally unrelated majors, I have struggled with having no direction and limited expectations for self and world.  And now?  What about the present?  Same thing.  I just don't know what I want because frankly, direction has been totally boring!  To me, I am wild.  A grenade hurling through the air after the pin's been removed, or the free-floating bag from American Beauty's plastic bag scene.  It's like I let fate take the reigns completely.  But I cannot do that anymore.  It's getting me nowhere but frustrated and unsure of the path my life is taking.

So how to take hold of these reigns?  I recently made a list of my goals for May, and my long-term goals for the next few months.  Before bed, I look at it.  When I wake up, I look at it.  Not sure it's really helping, but I feel slightly more solidified, even if it is just a mental confirmation.  Perhaps that's all I need.

But in recognizing that I can justify just about anything, and see opposing arguments almost equally and simultaneously, I do sense that my boredom I've experienced in the past with "planning on having a focus" is probably such because the focus in mind at the time has not been the right fit.  And shit, I can't EVER make up my mind.

When I was in Joshua Tree back in 2009 visiting my brother, I met the owner of some funky incense-clouded, magnet-selling, peace-sign poster covered shop.  He told me, and I wrote it down and have kept it in my wallet since, the following:  "Don't get yourself fuckin' locked into anything.  Be a vagabond for 2 year.  It's bitchin!!"  Probably one of the best things I've ever heard and admired.  For once, my wayside ways felt validated.  And what he said--I've done that, precisely.  Maybe I never left SLO, but my heart's been a poncho-wearing wanderer, in and out of various jobs, sampling life one employment experience, one roommate, one house and day-to-day randomness at a time. 

I love that.  And I'm happy with it.  And I think I would be missing something had I never experienced this current state of unknowingness that I am in.  It will happen again, even after knowing--if that ever happens--what I may want to be some day when "I grow up!"  But for now, I'm trying to 'get myself fuckin' locked into' something and I would like direction.  Security.  An identity of sorts that is more concrete than the spritely free-flowing mist of an essence that I am.  But what that is...I haven't a clue.

The Cure says...Boys Don't Cry?

Currently listening to The Cure's Boys Don't Cry right now...on this glorious warm night of Cinco de Drinko (de Mayo?).  I had me some 2 bottles of Guinness, and 2 glasses of a delicious white wine whose name has somehow slipped my mind.  I.e., feeling quite enlightened.  So please read on....

A current, and constant topic between my always-insightful and ever-curious roommate and myself: males.  Our latest agreement: "Males are the weaker sex, clearly."  Ha.  While I humorously agree with this I also ask myself what is the definition of weaker?  After a hearty number of experiences with the ball-bearing class I have truly come to realize that they are just as sensitive as their curvy ovarian counterparts, or really, are equally as likely to fall prey to feeling like a victim to those circumstances which hurt and break, but they're conditioned to leave it unarticulated.  One of my Life Hobbies, as I call it, is getting to know someone.  Sounds pretty general, but really, I just love learning about people and understanding their antics, noticing their patterns, and picking their brains when possible.  Gosh, I just love people.  By learning about you, I learn about myself!  (We are a fascinating species).  But in getting to know males: boys, guys, men....or, another coined term of mine is the quintessential "manboy"....(the guy who seems to have his shit together but then kind of flakes?  Yep, that's a Manboy, and I adore them too!).....I have realized that there truly is such a stigma in existence that targets the expression of sentiment by males, and defines it as cliche, gay, or, like I've even stated, "weak."

But it isn't weak.  If only guys were allowed the space to be sappy, to admit to feeling like they might want to cry, or an acknowledgment of vulnerability.  I don't think our American culture truly makes room for that, free of judgment.  Old news, I know, but really, I've discovered this for myself.  This could be why I am attracted to guys who are artistic/creative, or guys who appreciate children, (ok, not like that) because art and youth are media that make exceptions to the rules of closed-minded adulthood at all times.  There are no boundaries.  There are no guidelines.  Anything goes when you have the freedom to write, say, paint what you want, or be as goofy as Goofy himself.  And shit, I like a dude who is real.  It's just too bad our society feeds them a daily dose of "masculinity" which means they bury that freedom, that life inside; they don't feel it publicly or consciously, they move on quickly, and...of course, they for Goodness' sake don't cry.

But, that's just a generalization so I can validate my own overly-sentimental feelings.

Shell Beach

I love when skin, caramelized and rosie from warming spring sun, meets the crisp sting of salty sea.  Lapping waves slapping goose-bumped legs, and each succeeding foot blindly seeking squishy pebble-sand in the unseen terrain below. 

Nothing is quite like the ocean. 

A liquid womb of life and savage death, serenity, intrigue, and unmatchable aggression.  Tiny white boats bob atop the surface, giant humming cruise ships are toys in the breadth of the massive sea.  Chilled-out surfers straddle their boards in patient anticipation of that next wave.  Our greed and delusional dependency gradually grease its creatures into nonexistence.  And yet, it still remains to be a magnetic body of beauty.

The sea is life and yes, it scares me, but I love it more.

Today I jumped into the ocean.