Author Archives: Sars

Today while sitting at my desk deciding whether it would be more productive to pick my nose or scratch my butt, I decided I should do a little cleaning (probably less offensive to me and anyone else that may happen by). Disc cleaning that is. I needed to move some stuff around. I don’t keep things on my hard drive, but there were a couple little things of no consequence that were hangin out. I pulled out my little thumb drive to move them over when I started looking at what was on that drive’s docs folder already. Hhhhmmm I had forgotten a couple things. This is not my first writing rodeo. Before virtual write-ality there was the mighty pen. And, I’ve done the whole myspace thing (you have a blog space there) –still have a page, I don’t really like that whole thing and got a jolting reminder why today (maybe more on that later… maybe), that used to house my writing. Some of my best stuff was penned (huh?) on the blog of my first myspace alter-ego. I’ve long since pulled it down, put it away in the archives. Then there is stuff on the current version of myspace-me that lurks about as well. I’ve now archived that, but haven’t quite come to deleting the page. I have serious misgivings about keeping it, but haven’t dumped it yet. Anyhow, I started reading. I sat back and re-read four years worth of writing. Damn… there’s some deep shit in there; love, friendship, loss of love and friendship, heart-ache- the kind you get from love lost and the acute pain that can only come when you lose a friend but they aren’t really gone, triumph, fear, pain, grief over loved ones gone too soon, tragedy, humor, stupidity and occasionally something really profound. Funny too, that the timing ebbed and flowed, much like now, depending on what I had going and where and with whom. I like think I have evolved into somewhat better of a writer, at least to a degree. Some things never change though. My propensity for self destruction at the hands of over-doing or that people continue to take things personally regardless of any preface I might make. No matter the content, it’s nice to have a history, a journal to look back on that reminds me of the whats and wheres and sometimes the whys. The major difference between the blogs on myspace and my writing now is a greater sense of anonymity. The names are changed to protect those innocent or not so much, no photos of faces- friendly or otherwise, grace my page and I don’t post cheesy shit like the “I never list”. (Though it is fun, I recommend it and have it if you want it :) I do, however punk people out, rant about insane and inane shit, laugh at myself, laugh at others, cry over loss and fear and celebrate triumph. All of this and more. There are things I wish I hadn’t seen, memories I didn’t want to bring forward and a moment where tears came without warning. Still, delete is not an option, it should never be an option. Our past shapes us is ways immeasurable. The adage is if we don’t learn from it we are doomed to repeat it, well I was reminded of things that never bear repeating… mistakes that don’t need to be remade. I was also reminded of a positive outlook toward a future unknown, then still unseen. My future is yet a blur before me, but I don’t go toward it gingerly or with hesitation. I look at it with pen (or, er, keyboard) in hand and words to be put on the page. There is no blur and I am certain I have much love in my life, that I am cared for and wanted. Its not a bad way to round out a year that started with unease… with certainty and comfort.

Today I found myself in a hypocritical conundrum. I found myself commenting on someone else’s way of celebrating the holidays, their holiday. Who am I really to judge how they spend their day, their money, their emotion or their energy? I’m no one. It isn’t my place to tell them what they should do. If my opinion is asked, I could share, having been given license, but really even then I shouldn’t. People don’t really want to hear you disagree with them when they ask these questions, they want to hear you say something that is similar. Unfortunately I forget that until after the mouth was open and foot firmly inserted. However, here is my outlet. I am not commenting on another person’s comment or blog and I’m not answering a question. I’m figuring I have a rant comin on that’s been pent up for a while, maybe even years.

This whole holiday thing is just frustrating the hell out of me. It’s been a few years since I’ve really wanted to celebrate it, them, anything really. The only saving grace of the whole thing is the innocence of the nephew. Though I think he’s starting to get the commercial part and not really get the other side, the giving side. This is the root of my frustration. Everything is about I want, I want. It’s not about the giving or the being together. The holiday being celebrated is of little consequence at this point because whatever religion, it is never intended that the celebration to be about a list of items you want but won’t get yourself. This is my issue is the wanting. Want, want, want. As soon as November rolls around it’s like rabid dogs come out and start drooling and biting at stuff they want.

Don’t misunderstand, I love to give gifts and frequently do. I give gifts of my time, my energy, my efforts, my talents and little things I see that remind me of someone or that I think they’ll like. I don’t need a holiday to do it. I do it because I want to. I realize this is the time of year for just that and I used to love it. I would go out and look for special things for everyone on my list – not look on the list of things, from everyone. I would spend countless hours wrapping presents and making the package as beautiful as my finding. I didn’t want thanks, I didn’t want special attention, I wanted to see that look of unexpected happiness at something just right – something they may not have thought of or had forgotten mentioning. I wanted to please others. I still want these things and once in a great while I can still have it. Those are the moments I can have holiday spirit.

I’ve decided this is it, the last time. I am boycotting the lists. I will not give or take one again. I will make holidays a celebration of family and friends. I will give from my heart because I want to, not because someone asked for something. My nephew asks Santa for things and Santa provides this good little boy with treats and delights. Thus I can provide something from my heart. I’m going to take back my holidays and the joy they once held. I haven’t done much shopping this year. Maybe I’ll start now. Maybe I’ll print then burn the lists on Solstice in celebration. Funny, I’m feeling better already.

Peace and Blessings for whatever holiday you like.

I have friends that are close to my heart, yet not close to my home. I hate the distance and yet it only takes a little contact to bring them to me. Their smile is on my face and their heart is in my hand. It’s hardest when you have friends that are close to home but you can’t find your way to have that heart to heart. My friend and long time confidant is like that. We settle for words on a screen because it seems no matter how hard we try it’s like the little magnets that you just can’t get together. I think we’ve had lunch plans go haywire at least 5 times but then a hug found it’s way to my door and it meant everything. I have another friend who compliments every few hours. At first it was disconcerting because I didn’t understand why. I’m not supposed to. The encyclopedia complimenting my choice of favorite all-time car, saying the words “I’m hungry” and having what I pictured in my head appear in front of me, my bro seeing what I wanted and getting an email 5 minutes later saying “Let’s Ride!”, getting a rose from my sister, having my nephew draw for me and tell me the whole story about the scene of santa and the reindeer and the packages, and him just wanting to “hang out” … these things are what makes life amazing. These things I hold close to my heart and look at when I need to smile. I think sometimes I don’t say out loud (or on screen) the good things, the small moments that make me smile. All is not sadness and roller coasters, those just seem to be easier to write than rainbows and kittens. The abyss is not, the falling is good, I’m not avoiding the cracks and when in doubt, there’s a rabbit with a pancake on it’s head.

When I was church girl central (way back in the day – takin waaay back) I would study the bible in search of the answers to the whys; why I was having the shit storm rain on my head (okay I wouldn’t have said it quite like that), why things were happening the way they were and why I couldn’t fix things no matter how hard I tried. I would study and study. My favorite book was James. Now before you click the little x in the corner and decide I’ve jumped off the deep end, give me a minute (encyclopedia… you know this means you :) because I know this seems crazy. Especially since I’m fond of sharing my mantra for life “…don’t mourn the past or fret about the future but live each present moment wisely and earnestly”, that’s how we should live and it will all fall into place… well, that’s what I say now. But then I would read James’ words to try and comfort myself.

(basically from memory – though I did check myself for accuracy) James 2-8 (NAS) Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all he does.

There is also a version called “The Message” that is written in regular english, like we speak sort of.

2 -4Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.

Either way they both say the same things… That I’m supposed to be stoked that shit is goin crazy and rely on something/one unseen to make it better. I should actually be happy knowing that in the end I was going to be glad I had gone through a forest fire with a garden hose. The reality is we just don’t look at it from that perspective. We don’t think about loving the shit storm, we just want it to be done. We don’t think about what we’ll learn or who we’ll be on the other side, just that it sucks in the moment. Maybe the book some cling to as truth (I certainly did) and some consider fiction and some don’t even consider can give the occasional insight if you know what to look for. I don’t think I’m near the end of the “trial”, but I think I’m glad I’ve gone through whatever you want to call it… this learning experience. I’ll be a better, more rounded person. I know that if I can recognize the flaws of this go ’round maybe I won’t be destined to repeat them. again. But I have to say… I’m frickin thankful enough already. I’ve got thankful comin out my ears and I’m ready to learn about something new. Perhaps something that’s toughest moments are deciding what to make for dinner and whether to drive the beemer or the range rover. Hardly realistic. But hey, I found those glasses…

In the world of social networking everyone has these stupid profiles and we’re supposed to summarize ourselves in a couple lines or a maybe a paragraph. I’ve long used the line I am deeply affected by the little things but try to pretend I’m not. I have a hard time relaxing and being silly. It’s just not my first instinct. This is probably why I end up stressed out, walking down the street looking at the ground rather than the sky. Most days I can’t let go long enough to freefall. Can’t ever have that free feeling of looking at the clouds without worry about tomorrow, or the next hour. A month ago there was a secret on postsecret that hit me where I lived and made me think about these things:

From Blogger Pictures

I was in a place of flux in my life – still am. Walking down a craggy sidewalk I thought I left behind years ago. Sometimes it’s just like that… you walk along carefully trying to avoid the cracks in the sidewalk, trying to keep yourself from falling off the earth and it happens anyway. There is the feeling of terror that comes from freefall and being weightless, the feeling of wait, I can’t do this again (or is it just the adrenaline??). The whole reason you were avoiding it in the first place… the thud and you hit your head on the curb. Why is it expected? Why can’t freefall be the goal? Why can’t the unexpected be the expected. Why not walk on every crack to see which one will open up and swallow you whole? I struggle daily with loss and the whats and whys of it all. And maybe it’s really just this simple. Maybe it’s about looking for the banana peel or just chancing that I’ll break my mama’s back. Maybe falling is the key to accepting.

Okay, it’s late, somewhere between “holy shit I have to work tomorrow” and “what happened to going home after work?” late. I’m sooo tired and sleep is not looking like a viable option given the surroundings. Sometimes it’s just like that… where you suck it up and take the sleep deprivation. Mostly because you don’t want to miss things; like conversations about getting hosed on e-bay and random people asking you to make a nazi charm bracelet (do people just not realize that’s not okay to ask a stranger??? There’s a possibility she or her husband perhaps could be jewish…), vegan flexitarianism, ass hats, Hunter S Thompson, abnormal sex practices, or soul coughing letting the man go through and free byrd. And you especially don’t want to miss the weird “hillbilly antics” that include lengthy discussions about the 3 second rule not applying to houses occupied by only males and a semi-coherent reenactment of the zepruder film- back and to the left, back and to the left, back and to the left. Most importantly, when you are up late and hungry, there is the amazing food that keeps you from falling asleep while the world is going nutty around you – the quesadilla. Yeah, apparently I was unaware that it was the super-food that keeps humans going and should be eaten on a daily basis. I’ll think about that a little while I super bon-bon.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

How do you stop that feeling? You know… that one feeling, the one that can hurt you from out of no where. One day when the things that were eating holes inside you, keeping those wounds all oozy, have stopped their incessant chewing and become a soft dull ache, that you only think about when you hit the scar on the corner of the bookshelf; several days later when you haven’t picked up the phone and you haven’t been to cyberland, when you’re back to some semblance of normal. . . You run smack into the corner of the fucking bookshelf. It hits you hard and quick. Kinda like stubbing your toe in the dark when you get up in the middle of the night, that kind of hard and quick. That feeling starts settling in and your stomach is upset and your throat is tightening and your eyes are watering and your nose is running and you feel all the stupidity of the wasted time hit you in the scar. The wasted time. It’s so hard to let go of wasted time… Why? Why? For too long I sat there and stared at the rubble. I’d wished for the construction crew that never came. I even re-drew the bridge just like it was, only to set the thing on fire and try and burn myself in the process. Then out of nowhere a foreman showed up and holy shit if I hadn’t known all along. Tears don’t make mortar, they just make mud. Funny if it didn’t just fall into place like linkin logs. No mortar necessary, just open eyes and an open heart. I think I had been burning my retinas staring at the pile of shit and dust, bloodying my hands digging through to find whatever clue would lead me to the answer I didn’t need. Wasting more time and tears. So things change. In a heartbeat and a wink, things change. I threw the five-point into the pile and started a big fucking bonfire. Cracked a couple of beers and watched the beauty fuel what was new and coming… used the fire to warm myself so I could do work(son). And here I am unafraid. Yes, I have some safety gear. I’ve just paid more for it this time and I haven’t gotten back in the car quite yet. Instead I’ve been climbing around on the framing and I’m not even scared of looking down and landing on my head. The work is flowing smoothly and I don’t have fear of structure failure. Frankly, I’m all grinny and shit and feel like a giant dork because where the hell did this come from??? When did the construction really begin and how did I miss that banana peel and fall flat on my ass in a puddle of like? The wounds are patched, sorta. I used some of that dermabond shit this time (you know, glorified superglue). That feeling still creeps up and tightens the throat at unexpected moments. But no more tears wasted on things I can’t change. No more tears off the bridge of delusion, I had to burn that bitch to the ground. Wonder what will be built in it’s place??? I need to find those rose colored glasses….

It was a grand day, a hot day, unusually hot for November and more so when you have on a tank-top, long sleeve t-shirt, jacket, gloves and helmet. Oh yes, I was covered in the safety department. Maybe more than past students (I think I was number 15) because there is a certain sense of nervousness you feel when it’s your sister that might break. Hot as it was, there I was with my hand on the throttle, figuring out where the gears were, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, in gear and out until I could do it by feel. These things are not marked, this is no fancy-pants bat-out-of-hell high-tech machine. This was all that is Vespa, plain and simple. Okay, Okay. . . this was not even close to all that is vespa, and this was probably the weakest, slowest thing my brother could find in his arsenal. Maybe the slowest thing he’s ever owned. The rest would leave me flat on my ass and end up on someone’s lawn. (Not unlike the elusive jetski, except scooters don’t float back and gravel tends to embed itself into your skin) I had 50cc’s of 2-stroke goodness and I was determined to learn how to ride the damn thing. As far as sibling lessons go, it went pretty well. We had no arguments or disagreements, he never lost patience with me and most important – I never got angry or upset with myself. There were no “cute” little tantrums because I couldn’t figure out how to balance and the only tears came at 10 or 12 miles per hour (I’m guessing that was my top speed) even though I was wearing sun glasses. Using a hand clutch came pretty easy and listening for the motor to tell me when it was time to shift came naturally too. The hardest part was actually putting it in gear. That sucker is not made for weaklings. When you’re shifting on the fly, trying to remember that you have to go backward past neutral to get to second and are trying really hard not to crash and break yourself, it becomes trying to turn the shifter (If that’s even what you call it). Other than that. . . it was amazing!!!!!! Why haven’t I done this before? What the hell was I afraid of? And all the other stuff – kick starting it, getting it on and off the center stand, pushing it around when it wasn’t on. . . not a big deal. The only thing that kept me from going out Sunday was that I couldn’t put on a shoe. (big, big ugly bruise on the top of my foot, completely unrelated, I hate it when those curbs just jump up out of nowhere!) Oh well, it gave my hand a chance to un-cramp itself.

I have to say there is a certain air of confidence that comes when you’ve done something you were afraid to even try. When you give up the safety net and just go, when you look out and see that you were missing something amazing, something freeing, when you realize the only thing you had to fear was you. Okay and hitting the pavement at 10 or 12 miles per hour then sliding to a halt by crashing into someone’s car. But whatever. I can check that one off my list and move on to the next. In the mean time, I will be working on the shifting, while scooting along trying to reach a new top speed of 15mph.

When it comes to driving I’m definitely in the defensive school of thought. I’ve never praised myself as being awesome, I’ve had my “what the fuck was that!?!” moments, (encyclopedia, silence – I kill you) but they don’t happen often (apparently just on freeway on-ramps when someone is watching). Whatever. That’s a different time and different blog. I think I have mentioned workin for the man and how this often bothers my sense of “there’s too much goddamn bureaucracy” and “there’s a law saying what??”, but in these times of jobs being what they are. . . until I actually have another, I’m stuck with the man and my brain continues its slow dissent into that place where the blondes from high school dwell. So there I was doin the usual stuff and things you know, real big stuff. . . when an email came with the official Driver Safety Program attached for my review and (best part) comment. Oh, oh yes. Typically just the upper management talking heads get this privilege, but as I am on the commission, as well as “liked and respected” by both the head of RM and the commission itself. . . it was also given to me. My old job as DUI chic doesn’t hurt, but still. I am younger than the next closest member by a solid 5 years, that’s like 12 in government years.

I’ve already read the draft a couple times and there’s some good shit in there. I’ve also been to several meetings that went absolutely nowhere because Dept A and Dept C have their priorities so far up their personal agenda’s ass, they’ve lost sight of the big picture. So needless to say there are some pissed off people around the table and well, my name shows up a lot as a stirrer of the pot. I’m gonna take the duel pass approach to this task. The first will be with the “what would I really do if I were in charge and it was my company and my money approach”. The second will be the “what would I want the people playing with my money to do”. Because essentially, that’s what it boils down to, unsafe drivers on government time cost us money. Oh, did I fail to mention this encompasses a large branch of local law enforcement??? Yeah. . . those are the guys that need some reigning in. Anyhow, every little thing that happens to the vehicles usually gets fixed, by the garage, with budget money, regardless of fault. We are self insured. We will do the go after their insurance company thing for big stuff, but what does that mean? (in case you aren’t playing along??) We the people, the happy citizens of our county pay for the damages. Dude in dept A scratches the side of the car, fixed. Chic in Dept C dents a rear quarter panel, fixed. And so on and so on. They don’t replace radio antennae or stuff like that but, is it really necessary to pay for a dent to be pulled? Should we have to fix every dink or dent? I am exaggerating, but not that much really. The afore mentioned law enforcement peeps incur a lot of cosmetic damage. Not always chasing suspects or pulling people over, some of it is just shitty driving. But they can’t be seen in a damaged car. And they aren’t the only ones. There are a bunch of other departments that are picky too. Hhhhmmm This does pose an interesting issue of safety. It will be interesting to see my would be revisions vs the talking headits.

So I have a fun task for a few weeks and some exciting pot stirring ahead. . . There are meetings about these things you know, being one of the few with no power to gain and no agenda other than wait, safety it will be fun to be the odd man out and what could be more fun??? I Knew that stuff would get a little spicier. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it’s a start. Now if could only find that cayenne pepper. . .