...in a land far away, or really just across the country when I was in college years back, I used to make mix tapes. Yes, tapes, that's how old I am. CDs were common, yes. But making mix CDs, while not unheard of, was mainly for people with computers that were more advanced than mine. So anyway, these tapes. I would condense a year of school and the attached summer into 240 minutes or so, that's two tapes for those of you keeping track. The mixes would contain music that was new for that release year, songs that meant something to my friends and I, songs that made us feel strong emotions of any sort, other music we heard at parties, titles that exemplified our personalities, you know, *meaningful* stuff. I've been sorting through my back room of late trying to get rid of things that I know I don't need, but can't seem to part with for whatever reason. I swear I'm not a hoarder, I only keep memories and important things...that serve no purpose. Which is why I'm working on getting crap out. I'm donating or selling those things that are salvageable and tossing things that are worthless. Thankfully for the most part I've been donating. So I'm not saving trash, just things that I don't need on a day-to-day or decade-to-decade basis that other people may benefit from. Except my CDs and random tapes. I no longer have a working tape deck, so I have no idea why I still have the tapes aside from memories and nostalgia. Again, not a hoarder. Maybe I'll make them into playlists for future listening pleasure.
But what do I do with the actual CDs? Do I donate them? Does anybody actually buy CDs anymore? I have plenty of friends that are music connoisseurs that buy vinyl and I make CDs for the car cause I surprisingly don't have an iPod hook-up there. (Let's call it lazy and move on.) So I've got all of the music from the CDs on my computer, in my cloud, and on my iPod. Do I need the CDs? And I can't say that I've bought a CD in ages, so they're all just old. I mean, I think I want to keep bootlegs and box sets and imports and things that were important enough that I spent a lot of money on them. But the overall state of my CD collection that has sat in my back room for five years is just dusty. I figure I can have a huge sale on Craigslist or take them to Half Price Books or Sonic Boom or something, but should I? It's my current dilemma. I'll think on it for a bit more.
While I've been sorting the back room I've thought a lot about where many of the assorted items back there came from. But I keep looking at the CDs and thinking about how very up to date and in touch with music I was back then and how I've fallen away from that since moving out here. I've very recently started picking up new music again, no not CDs, and enjoying the fuck out of it. I'd forgotten what the experience of listening to a new song was like. How something in the tune would touch me and I'd have that visceral reaction that made me want to listen to it more. And occasionally more and more and more. Yeah, I would listen to songs on repeat. Serious repeat. Still do. Anyway, I've come to understand a lot of how I enjoy music has more to do with the feelings elicited by the actual music than it is the specific lyrics. I do enjoy the lyrics too, and some recent music I have picked up is quote lurid and I never noticed it until someone else pointed it out, but it's the music that I react to. I've missed that joyful feeling and am currently listening to one playlist on repeat. When the sun is shining in the afternoon I can't help but turn on my iPod and listen with the volume turned up. It's not all new, some of it has been languishing in my wish list for a few years, but it's all new for me right now. I've been on a cloud these past few weeks and I don't want to come down and this resurgence of music enjoyment is continuing the high I've been feeling. So I just wanted to put this here. A reminder of this current joyful feeling and the fact that no matter how alone I feel later, there has always been and always will be the music.
So yeah, I'm happy. The music is currently happy and hopeful. I expect it won't last, but for the nonce I'll play the optimist and say I love you and I love life and I can't wait for the future. And with that I'll quit drinking the bourbon and go to sleep.
17 September, 2012
08 September, 2012
That moment when
I know there's nothing there, but the moment finally arrived where it's truly setting in and becoming real. So a little sadness creeps into the daily routine and eventually the previous languor prevails. Ah well. I've dealt with it before and will deal with it again. Maybe I need to move away from here and start new. Probably won't, but it's always an option.
06 September, 2012
And miles to go before I sleep
I have been unable to move out of this weird, excited, highly charged state. I know it will fade, but I want it to happen sooner rather than later if only for my body's sake. I've been attempting to find a regular sleep pattern, but I'm tired midday rather than at night and I want to move away from napping. The napping is awesome, it means I get more sleep than 4 hours, but it also means that I'm not productive at all because when I wake up mid-evening I don't do anything. And it also means that I'm eating weird (poorly, really) and unhealthily. I'm going to try to work on all things that are unhealthy in my life this year. This year? It's not New Year's, you say? Hmmm...let's go with the Jewish New Year then, that's next week, right? Or something. Heh.
So I'm in need of sleep. I get sleep on my days off. And then I go back to freaking out and acting like a teenager in love and don't sleep when I should. I barely know him, we won't be talking any time soon, we don't live on the same continent, twelve year difference, no real means of contact aside from possible web stalking which is not cool, and fairly certain he isn't into me so there's no reason for me to feel like this. One weekend a year does not a relationship make, nor does it build any sort of lasting friendship really. Oh well, I'll go about my days until this feeling stops and the old ones creep in, because it's inevitable.
Still I wish I could sleep. Lost snippets of poems and literature bandy about my head. I'm glad for the internet most days because I can now identify what my mind fixates on and either expunge it or deepen the hold it has on me. Frost is always in my head, so is Poe. I never thought of myself as someone who enjoyed poetry, but it sticks in there and runs around for days making me understand that I really am intended to teach Language Arts. I miss school. I need to get into a program to get my endorsement done so I can start teaching. I'm drifting through the dark, deep woods and I do have miles to go. I'll make it. I swear I will.
So I'm in need of sleep. I get sleep on my days off. And then I go back to freaking out and acting like a teenager in love and don't sleep when I should. I barely know him, we won't be talking any time soon, we don't live on the same continent, twelve year difference, no real means of contact aside from possible web stalking which is not cool, and fairly certain he isn't into me so there's no reason for me to feel like this. One weekend a year does not a relationship make, nor does it build any sort of lasting friendship really. Oh well, I'll go about my days until this feeling stops and the old ones creep in, because it's inevitable.
Still I wish I could sleep. Lost snippets of poems and literature bandy about my head. I'm glad for the internet most days because I can now identify what my mind fixates on and either expunge it or deepen the hold it has on me. Frost is always in my head, so is Poe. I never thought of myself as someone who enjoyed poetry, but it sticks in there and runs around for days making me understand that I really am intended to teach Language Arts. I miss school. I need to get into a program to get my endorsement done so I can start teaching. I'm drifting through the dark, deep woods and I do have miles to go. I'll make it. I swear I will.
Emotions run high in this one
I had a fantastic weekend. Filled with friends and fun. And of course work, there is always work. Some days I think I will never get away from the store and into my actual career. Part of it is my fault, I should have researched better, but I wanted to be able to work (who needs money? this girl!) and go to school at the same time. Part of it is the bureaucratic methodology of the State towards certification. Ah well, I'll get there. For the nonce I'm getting some stuff done...or at least I was until I went on vacation and then took a leave of my senses and motivation for the summer. As the new school year has just started I need to get my butt in gear and I think this weekend will be the moment that I've been avoiding for so long, the time to get the certification and the endorsement figure out.
But really why I'm here...so much happens in such a short period of time lately that I don't know how I have the time to experience it all. The weekends of my summer have been super busy and full of fun. People have visited, parties have happened, people have gone abroad, friends have moved across country, I've lazed around, I've visited friends, and I've worked. Somewhere in there I've also had a lot of beverages, beverages of every ilk, but most especially coffee and beer. The coffee keeps me going on days like I had this weekend...drinks until 2am, asleep at 4am (or so), then work at 6am. For a few days in a row. So instead of sleep I run on adrenaline and coffee. Although it would seem that for the most part I function the same no matter how little or much sleep I get, everyone points out that I am always "on" and it's hard to tell when I'm sad/tired/otherwise anything but happy. I guess that's OK for them, but for me it can be exhausting. I guess I'm only really tired or sad on my own time, in my own home, where no one else is liable to notice. For the most part this seems logical to me, why would I want anyone else to deal with my emotional baggage? Anyhoodles, I totally got off point here. I was trying to outline my insanity and put it down on the page (I can't say "put it down on paper" anymore, cause I haven't done that in a dogs age). Somewhere in here I got lost and started down an introspective road that I hadn't anticipated. I'm not sure I want to continue on it for the moment, so I'll skip ahead to a new paragraph that has nothing to do with sadness and has to do with the freaking adrenaline rushes of crushes. Flip side of the coin, yo!
A few years ago a buddy of mine invited me out for an evening with him, one of our college friends, some of his (work?) friends that travelled here with him, and his digital entourage. They were a motley bunch; underage, my age, and somewhere in between those two age groups. Essentially, I'm trying to say this was a large group of people that just connected across gaps and demographics with my buddy at the center. We were always a weird pair. He was a friend of mine first, then he dated a good friend of mine, they broke up, he and I remained friends, she and I remained friends, but I know things are fine between them...I mean, it's been years and marriages later. Anyway, he and I always got along well no matter our differences. I think it's the big personalities. I mesh best with people who can hold their ground in the face of my own outsize personality and he certainly does that. If it weren't for the different parents people would swear we are related (and until this weekend, some did think so). So for a few years, I've been hanging out with him and his group for one weekend a year. But that first time, oh that first time. It had been a long time since I felt the twinge of crush, I mean, I'm in my 30s and I'm supposed to have a handle on my emotions, right? Well, I guess not. First of all, there is always him, the one, niggling in the back of my mind and heart. He won't go away, no matter what I do. Which is OK, we're friends, but that nagging itch in the back of my head won't stop. Until this weekend that is.
I never intended things to turn out like this. I often times imagine the things I'd like to happen and then have them not come true. Then there are the times that I hope things happen and when they do it's all wrong. Well, wrong in the way that they happen as I imagine and then the aftermath is hell or just sad. So back again to a few years ago. This crush thing. He was cute and he was funny and he was totally not into me. Not a problem, I had no designs on anything with him. I just enjoyed his company for the weekend, but my other buddies were around so it wasn't a priority to spend every waking moment with him. Although I'm fairly certain I did my damnedest to do so. I find myself to be ridiculous when it comes to guys. I'm unsophisticated in my tactics of flirting and the wiles of women. Oh well, what can I do? Nonetheless, the weekends over the past few years were fun. I got to see my buddy and some awesome people and just enjoy the time. Now this year was no different really. I felt comfortable with these people from the get go. We all chatted, I bonded with them, we had drinks, played games, and I enjoyed myself. That first night reignited the crush. Oh yes, four years down the line and things were just like that first year with me feeling that flutter, that twinge, you know the one. The feeling of happiness that is just flooding your brain with adrenaline and endorphins that is telling you you're really still a child inside who yearns for all the things in the world to just be good and shiny and wonderful. These feelings crop up every so often for me, these crush feelings, but usually they go away quickly. Mainly it's because I know there is nothing reciprocated and the fact that I have my giant hangup that I won't leave behind (I try, I really do, it just hasn't happened yet). But this time, this time something was vaguely different. He was still there, he is still here, but not the way it was just days ago. Could it have been that kiss, or really, those kisses? Standing on the corner, a bit tipsy, with someone else's fingers in my belt loops and my hands around his back? I'm awkward and dorky and essentially ran away with a "see you next year" and an excuse of having to get up to go to work in a few hours. But really, I wanted to see him more that moment, and for once, the other was nowhere to be found. And it still feels that way. Granted, it's only been two days, but the feelings are creeping around and I've not slept well and I am anticipating a time in the future that may well not happen. I can hope. And hope it what I cling to most days.
In the residual emotional turmoil I made a play list that I am seriously enjoying. I've always been pretty good at picking music to suit a mood or an occasion, but this one really capture the essence of my bizarre mindset and the way I feel at the moment. Some songs are hopeful, some sexy, some upbeat, some a bit slow, but all make me feel a simple sense of happiness (and crushiness) when I close my eyes and dream.
Oh, he does not live even remotely close. And he is most certainly much younger. But that accent. Uh, that accent.
What was I supposed to do?
I think I've decided on my tattoo. I'm going to get text on my back, maybe on one shoulder/blade, maybe across my back spanning my shoulder blades, not sure yet. I will make an appointment later this year to talk to an artist to help pick out a spot and a font, but nonetheless, I think I've chosen the text too. When I was young, 13 or so, I went to the National Gallery with my family and fell in love with Renoir. Specifically "A Girl with a Watering Can" and "Portrait of Mademoiselle Irene Cahen d'Anvers" which both hung on my walls alongside my collection of stuffed animals and Nancy Drew books when I was a teen. I was a bit odd, nerdy but never picked on, dorky but still on sports teams, overweight but never teased, just awkward. Still am I suppose. Back on track, I learned more about Renoir after seeing more of his work in Paris a dozen years ago. So the quote is his that I want on my back. His response was in regards to his own physical pain, but my interpretation is more abstract and about my simple place in the world. I tend to not over think and just live for the moment, it's my super power. The ability to be happy and see simple beauty no matter what is going on in my life. And there it is "The pain passes, but the beauty remains."
Come February, I'll have my first tattoo.
But really why I'm here...so much happens in such a short period of time lately that I don't know how I have the time to experience it all. The weekends of my summer have been super busy and full of fun. People have visited, parties have happened, people have gone abroad, friends have moved across country, I've lazed around, I've visited friends, and I've worked. Somewhere in there I've also had a lot of beverages, beverages of every ilk, but most especially coffee and beer. The coffee keeps me going on days like I had this weekend...drinks until 2am, asleep at 4am (or so), then work at 6am. For a few days in a row. So instead of sleep I run on adrenaline and coffee. Although it would seem that for the most part I function the same no matter how little or much sleep I get, everyone points out that I am always "on" and it's hard to tell when I'm sad/tired/otherwise anything but happy. I guess that's OK for them, but for me it can be exhausting. I guess I'm only really tired or sad on my own time, in my own home, where no one else is liable to notice. For the most part this seems logical to me, why would I want anyone else to deal with my emotional baggage? Anyhoodles, I totally got off point here. I was trying to outline my insanity and put it down on the page (I can't say "put it down on paper" anymore, cause I haven't done that in a dogs age). Somewhere in here I got lost and started down an introspective road that I hadn't anticipated. I'm not sure I want to continue on it for the moment, so I'll skip ahead to a new paragraph that has nothing to do with sadness and has to do with the freaking adrenaline rushes of crushes. Flip side of the coin, yo!
A few years ago a buddy of mine invited me out for an evening with him, one of our college friends, some of his (work?) friends that travelled here with him, and his digital entourage. They were a motley bunch; underage, my age, and somewhere in between those two age groups. Essentially, I'm trying to say this was a large group of people that just connected across gaps and demographics with my buddy at the center. We were always a weird pair. He was a friend of mine first, then he dated a good friend of mine, they broke up, he and I remained friends, she and I remained friends, but I know things are fine between them...I mean, it's been years and marriages later. Anyway, he and I always got along well no matter our differences. I think it's the big personalities. I mesh best with people who can hold their ground in the face of my own outsize personality and he certainly does that. If it weren't for the different parents people would swear we are related (and until this weekend, some did think so). So for a few years, I've been hanging out with him and his group for one weekend a year. But that first time, oh that first time. It had been a long time since I felt the twinge of crush, I mean, I'm in my 30s and I'm supposed to have a handle on my emotions, right? Well, I guess not. First of all, there is always him, the one, niggling in the back of my mind and heart. He won't go away, no matter what I do. Which is OK, we're friends, but that nagging itch in the back of my head won't stop. Until this weekend that is.
I never intended things to turn out like this. I often times imagine the things I'd like to happen and then have them not come true. Then there are the times that I hope things happen and when they do it's all wrong. Well, wrong in the way that they happen as I imagine and then the aftermath is hell or just sad. So back again to a few years ago. This crush thing. He was cute and he was funny and he was totally not into me. Not a problem, I had no designs on anything with him. I just enjoyed his company for the weekend, but my other buddies were around so it wasn't a priority to spend every waking moment with him. Although I'm fairly certain I did my damnedest to do so. I find myself to be ridiculous when it comes to guys. I'm unsophisticated in my tactics of flirting and the wiles of women. Oh well, what can I do? Nonetheless, the weekends over the past few years were fun. I got to see my buddy and some awesome people and just enjoy the time. Now this year was no different really. I felt comfortable with these people from the get go. We all chatted, I bonded with them, we had drinks, played games, and I enjoyed myself. That first night reignited the crush. Oh yes, four years down the line and things were just like that first year with me feeling that flutter, that twinge, you know the one. The feeling of happiness that is just flooding your brain with adrenaline and endorphins that is telling you you're really still a child inside who yearns for all the things in the world to just be good and shiny and wonderful. These feelings crop up every so often for me, these crush feelings, but usually they go away quickly. Mainly it's because I know there is nothing reciprocated and the fact that I have my giant hangup that I won't leave behind (I try, I really do, it just hasn't happened yet). But this time, this time something was vaguely different. He was still there, he is still here, but not the way it was just days ago. Could it have been that kiss, or really, those kisses? Standing on the corner, a bit tipsy, with someone else's fingers in my belt loops and my hands around his back? I'm awkward and dorky and essentially ran away with a "see you next year" and an excuse of having to get up to go to work in a few hours. But really, I wanted to see him more that moment, and for once, the other was nowhere to be found. And it still feels that way. Granted, it's only been two days, but the feelings are creeping around and I've not slept well and I am anticipating a time in the future that may well not happen. I can hope. And hope it what I cling to most days.
In the residual emotional turmoil I made a play list that I am seriously enjoying. I've always been pretty good at picking music to suit a mood or an occasion, but this one really capture the essence of my bizarre mindset and the way I feel at the moment. Some songs are hopeful, some sexy, some upbeat, some a bit slow, but all make me feel a simple sense of happiness (and crushiness) when I close my eyes and dream.
Oh, he does not live even remotely close. And he is most certainly much younger. But that accent. Uh, that accent.
What was I supposed to do?
I think I've decided on my tattoo. I'm going to get text on my back, maybe on one shoulder/blade, maybe across my back spanning my shoulder blades, not sure yet. I will make an appointment later this year to talk to an artist to help pick out a spot and a font, but nonetheless, I think I've chosen the text too. When I was young, 13 or so, I went to the National Gallery with my family and fell in love with Renoir. Specifically "A Girl with a Watering Can" and "Portrait of Mademoiselle Irene Cahen d'Anvers" which both hung on my walls alongside my collection of stuffed animals and Nancy Drew books when I was a teen. I was a bit odd, nerdy but never picked on, dorky but still on sports teams, overweight but never teased, just awkward. Still am I suppose. Back on track, I learned more about Renoir after seeing more of his work in Paris a dozen years ago. So the quote is his that I want on my back. His response was in regards to his own physical pain, but my interpretation is more abstract and about my simple place in the world. I tend to not over think and just live for the moment, it's my super power. The ability to be happy and see simple beauty no matter what is going on in my life. And there it is "The pain passes, but the beauty remains."
Come February, I'll have my first tattoo.
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