Three bags full...

Rainy tonight, and sleep eludes me, though I'm very, desperately tired. That's the problem with spending time with smart, funny people who know me well. My mind starts cranking and won't turn off. Well... I guess that happens anyway, but tonight it is pretty bad. I might very well require a nap tomorrow.

I have always wondered why I fall asleep quickly as long as it is daylight. There is something about the night that makes my mind twirl and ponder. One of my neuro-transmitters must be confused... dopamine or serotonin or melatonin. Or maybe my ancestors were the ones tasked with guarding the village at night, to chase away the demons. But I have found some port, in this storm, and it is fairly tasty. Perhaps I'll be sleepy soon...

Counting sheep never works.

Sheep reminds me of wool which reminds me of looms which reminds me of some weaving I have to finish which reminds me of a loom I saw in China like the one in San Diego and my friends who live in San Diego are moving to Boston and I froze to death in Boston walking alone one night and getting lost and the British are coming because Washington failed, this year, to cross the Delaware and save our budding nation.

I want to just give it all up and go away for a year or so. But those are some thoughts, dear Scarlet, for another day.

"I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?" Hemingway. (who had some weird aversion to adverbs, or so I've been told)

(sorry if I used any inappropriate commas)
(yes, that IS directed at you)

Perfectly Tired

Today was lovely.
Today, the weather was flawless,
The sky was an impossible perfection of blue
The air was cool and breezy
The ideal September day.
Today old friends who are family joined us at the farm
There was laughter, and wandering, and wine.
If you're lucky, you'll know what I mean when I say they are cousins,
Though not by blood or marriage.
Family of the favorite sort, the ones you choose.
If you’re lucky, you have some cousins like these
As part of your family clan.
There was grape-picking, and wine-planning,
Home-made elderberry cordial,
And brand new baby fluffballs running after a mother hen.
Today was the sweet crunch of the first apple of the season
And the knowing it will be the sweetest one
‘Cause the first is always the best.
Today there were words of encouragement
Of wisdom
Of remembrance.
Today there was a night-time starlit drive
With sister in the ’49 convertible,
Through fields down hills and back again,
Struggling with that impossible clutch
That loves to pop out of first,
And clings a little too tightly to second.
And I am Si Ma Tai tired.
If you don’t know what that means,
Or want to see behind that link,
Mail me
And I’ll let you peek.
But now I am going
To go find my bed
And my cats
And if all goes well
Some nearly perfect dreams.

Birthday Cake and Gunpowder

I came back from that thing I go to in Western PA, where I had a fabulous time, and then remembered that I hate my job. So not only was I exhausted, in near-allergic meltdown from the (did I mention it rained the ENTIRE second week) rain-induced mold, and sad about leaving my silk-draped ger for painted plaster walls, but I also had to remember how dissatisfying it is to work here. Fortunately the people I love have been around to cheer me up. The blonde, newly returned from China, threw her usual summer shindig and surrounded me with friends who care. There was a lot of laughter, good food, and general revelry. We had fireworks and they surprised me with a birthday cake which made me very smiley. It was good to be reminded how lucky I am to have such dear friends who worry about me and offer helpful insight and who tell me the things I don’t want to hear, but need to. Bonus: they are all REALLY smart and well-read and interesting and like to drink too much wine with me. S even brought gin with him which I SOOO appreciated! What would I do without all of you? I also know that when I become an official demon-hunter you’ll all be there with me, ready to have me committed for my own safety. That’s ok. I love you anyway. For now… let’s go dancing. I bought some new platform knee-highs that need breaking in, and I miss dancing on a regular basis. AND goth clubs are notorious demon hangouts. Who’s with me?

My kitty is missing.

Demon Hunter’s Toolkit: Tool #1 - Moral Compass

Ok, so I’ve done some research on demon hunting, and it seems that the first thing necessary when taking on this task is a Moral Compass. I'm not certain exactly what that means. I assume it is some sort of device that points out creatures with no morality, a.k.a. demons.

Maybe the Bible has some thoughts on this. It's all about good and evil, so maybe it will have some ideas about my Moral Compass and how to use it in the good fight. According to Deuteronomy just following my own heart could get me burned. By God. And I think they mean literally. That could be an issue. Maybe I should look someplace else.


President Bush is always talking about fighting Evil. He mentions it in every State of the Union. Maybe he would know how to use a Moral Compass to fight demons. I mean, yeah, the evil he is fighting is more mortal, but the same principles probably apply. Or, maybe not. According to this our President's moral compass doesn't work very well, so maybe he's not the person to ask.

Clearly I'm not getting anywhere. Well, as a child of the mid-seventies, I have but one recourse. According to the web definition search in Google, "A moral compass sets real limits, either intrinsically or extrinsically, upon the actions and words of an individual, generally within an ethical context which may or may not be predicated upon religious beliefs."

Ok. I can get behind that. Limits that are either from inside or outside, based on my religion, or not based on my religion. I think I have that. Limits, I mean. For example, today I wanted to tell the trainer "Learn to speak English. And then, learn to be a trainer. And then, you might want to make certain you're training us on an application we are actually going to use. Oh, and provide coffee so we're not FALLING ASLEEP because you're about as interesting as this." But I did not. Actually, I'm pretty sure he was speaking English but it was hard to tell over my snoring colleagues. I'd say that was pretty good of me not to tell him just how terrible he is at his job.
Or maybe not.
Maybe the moral thing would have been to tell him, make him question the purpose of his life, and force him to give up training in favor of life as a sidewalk artist, thereby sparing hundreds, perhaps thousands of future corporate cogs the mental anguish of listening to him.

Damn. This Moral Compass thing is trickier than I thought. Maybe I'll try the Bhagavad Gita...

Compensate Me, Baby!

Today I am wondering why I am stuck in two days of training for a software application I am probably never going to use.

Oh!--- because I work in Corporate America. Duh…

It’s a weird thing to navigate, really. A large corporation. Such a strange sub-culture. None of us would be here if we didn’t feel that we need money. As far as corporations go, mine is considered (by various magazine rating systems) to be one of the better ones at which to spend the hours between 8:30 and 5. That is due to a number of factors all adding up to what is called in corp-speak your “Total Compensation Package.” Health benefits, 401k, vacation, average salary, etc. Depending on the particular slant of the magazine, it may include how many minorities are in management or the percentage of female worker bees.

And let me tell you, my Total Compensation Package is the only thing keeping me here. My Total Compensation Package does not, unfortunately, fit my Total Personal Requirements for Fulfillment. Not even close. How in the Head Alien’s Universe did I get here, anyway? I was peacefully minding my own business one day when I sort of fell into this job and, uh, stayed. For six years.

The trouble is, I keep having this nagging feeling that there is something else I should be doing that is more important. Like killing zombies and saving the world from evil dictators or catching up on my sleep or something. I can’t quite put my finger on it. You know, I used to want to be an exorcist or a demon hunter when I grew up. Since I have not achieved that goal, I am going to assume that I simply haven’t grown up yet. Yes, I think that version of reality will do nicely. Maybe when I get home tonight I will start working on the demon-hunting thing. I bet the first thing I will need is tools. I wonder what kind of tools I should have. This could take some research.

Hell is Murky, and This Soldier's Afeared

Tonight is S-I-L's 21st rite
So we're all going down
To the 16th-century-proud town,
Where Italians are too dark-skinned
For the inhabitants' comfort,
And local color is something reserved
For Catholic, papist, whores.

For a town so proud,
The establishment’s loud,
And not what one would call
Family-friendly.
But the child will be there
And the parents too,
And the parents too young to be parents.

I have thought of how
To escape and be free
To break my gritted-teeth vow
That I’d be there for tea:

One conveniently supplied by friends turning 30 was
party-and-pool-time in the OH, Hi!-
Oh Valley
...But I won't leave till tomorrow.

The moon just declared, in our endless rapport,
My 28 days are over
And I’m hers once more.
...But I don't think that excuse will fly.

I could have to save
Boyfriend from a crisis
That I and I alone could brave!
...Should probably save that one for Mom.

Stuck at work?
Sprained an ankle?
My cat's glands are swollen?
I need to wash my very long hair?

Alas and alack,
For shame and forbear,
There's no plan of attack
Can keep me from there.
O! Death, can’t you find me?
Won’t you spare me this eve
From an ill-fated supper
That will lead me to grieve?

Or perhaps, that’s too drastic
Simple lies are the best
Like work was too long
And I need some rest.
...*cough*...from... you...

No Such Thing as Big Brother... ?

If I were one of those humans who engaged in the creation of conspiracy theory
(which I am not)
I think I would wonder far more than I have about the price of gasoline.

If I tended toward a belief that the government, in the end, has an alternative agenda
(which I don't)
I might be concerned that congress does not seem to be doing anything about its skyrocketing cost.

If I looked for someone to blame for my dwindling bank account and the ever-increasing depth of Exxon McScrooge's money-vault
(which I simply won't do)
I might think that paying so much for gas would be the only way the government could coerce my fellow Americans and I to get rid of our S.U.V.'s

To improve our energy independence.

And fight terrorism.

And help the auto industry by buying another car sooner.

If I owned an S.U.V., I might consider these things.
But I don't.

And the government's on our side.
So I won't.

But it would force our big-car-American-habits to change.
So... I might.

If water is
To cure.
To calm.
To change.
Just How do you deal
When Water’s the thing
that makes you feel
Forgotten
Forsaken
Forlorn?

Once Upon a Time, A Grandmamma Lived in the Bronx

There’s never enough time, is there? My father’s mother, my very dear Grandmamma, passed away recently after a long illness. She was 91. I knew her my entire life, and it wasn’t long enough. I have inherited, among other things, her furniture.
Family photos.
Photos of people I’ve never met.
Thank you notes from weddings.
Funeral cards for people I didn’t know.
Funeral cards for people I loved.
Copies of her wedding invitations.
Her elementary school diploma.
Hats in styles that range over 8 decades.
Construction paper cards I made her as a child.
A ring from the 1939 world’s fair.
A red and brass lamp.
A blue and brass lamp.
A pair of lamps, one a female statue, one a male statue.
Curtains.
Curtain clips.
Silverware marked “Brd. Of Ed. NYC.”
Letters.
A coffee pot.
A music box.
A cat.
Statues of saints.
A 3-inch wide roll of some sort of cellophane.
Knickknacks.
Paper card made for her by my father as a child.
A hairbrush.
Plates.
Jewelry.
And photo after photo with stories behind them that I’ll never know. And I can’t ask who is in them, where they were taken, how she was feeling. Was she happy, or just smiling for the photos? Did she like the other people but just lose track of them as life and children and aging parents got in the way? What dreams did she have as a child that she never fulfilled? All the trappings of a life… but you can never know a person by looking at their leftover stuff… at the dross that’s still here, once the light goes wherever it goes. All there are then are memories of organ-playing, of big family dinners, a box turtle who somehow learned to beg for meatballs, black olives on fingers, and the… er… unique taste of Bronx water.