When volunteering for something feels like a vacation, the organizer is doing something right.
My big sister ran a tour of the haunted locales in a sleepy port town in wisconsin. My best friend and I went on the tour on Friday, hung out with the junior tour guides on saturday afternoon, and spent the evening keeping the candles lit in the cemetery for the final leg of the tour. My friend and I turned it into a picnic. A picnic amongst the dead in the middle of the night.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Taking the time to talk about time.
Time hit me twice yesterday.
The first in that I let my old triggers and fears hurt a friend. And in so doing, ended that friendship. At the moment, I have to believe that's permanent. I have to accept my mistake and move on. The problem was that he wasn't that person from the past, and in analysis, that person I perceived, probably wasn't the person he was.
From that pain, I had to see an aunt who was in town. I haven't seen her in seven years, and even than, only in the context of her family, which is crazy in the way that novels are written about. In the case of the older generation of the family, some already have been. When I was a child, we'd visit this aunt regularly, and in the context of her relationship with an abusive and violent husband, long divorced. My youth up to the age of 14, is piled of memories of fear and hostility for that world.
What I find instead is a dotty, not-unlike-my-mom professional woman on the cusp of retirement. She's funny, warm, and full of stories. We wander downtown, drink at the Walnut Room, have dinner at the Atwood (fulfilling at least 2 of my Burnham fantasies outright), and the hang out and talk. Just a happy, wonderful time.
This is not unlike the previous post. The universe isn't about me. So much more is going on. And because all that is going on, the people around me are in a constant state of change. I can't look at the selves 5, 10, or even 20 years ago and say that's who those people are. Because not only is it not true, I was perceiving them as the person I was back then as well, and I hope that I am different.
The first in that I let my old triggers and fears hurt a friend. And in so doing, ended that friendship. At the moment, I have to believe that's permanent. I have to accept my mistake and move on. The problem was that he wasn't that person from the past, and in analysis, that person I perceived, probably wasn't the person he was.
From that pain, I had to see an aunt who was in town. I haven't seen her in seven years, and even than, only in the context of her family, which is crazy in the way that novels are written about. In the case of the older generation of the family, some already have been. When I was a child, we'd visit this aunt regularly, and in the context of her relationship with an abusive and violent husband, long divorced. My youth up to the age of 14, is piled of memories of fear and hostility for that world.
What I find instead is a dotty, not-unlike-my-mom professional woman on the cusp of retirement. She's funny, warm, and full of stories. We wander downtown, drink at the Walnut Room, have dinner at the Atwood (fulfilling at least 2 of my Burnham fantasies outright), and the hang out and talk. Just a happy, wonderful time.
This is not unlike the previous post. The universe isn't about me. So much more is going on. And because all that is going on, the people around me are in a constant state of change. I can't look at the selves 5, 10, or even 20 years ago and say that's who those people are. Because not only is it not true, I was perceiving them as the person I was back then as well, and I hope that I am different.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Wouldn't it be better if it was all about you?
Think of the comfort. Your delights would be shared, your outrages would be met, and even more, people would have to think your opinions were valid and worth acknowledging.
Blogging feeds this mentality. The shortforms amplify it further. People exist only in reaction to you, your likes and dislikes. And in being soundless icons on a screen, you can treat them any way that you like. The distance between people grows ever wider.
I want the world to be all about me. It's hard to get rid of that feeling. It isn't about me, or about them. The world is, and will be after I'm gone.
And before I act or react in the hopes that it's all about me, I have to remind myself that the world is.
Think of the comfort. Your delights would be shared, your outrages would be met, and even more, people would have to think your opinions were valid and worth acknowledging.
Blogging feeds this mentality. The shortforms amplify it further. People exist only in reaction to you, your likes and dislikes. And in being soundless icons on a screen, you can treat them any way that you like. The distance between people grows ever wider.
I want the world to be all about me. It's hard to get rid of that feeling. It isn't about me, or about them. The world is, and will be after I'm gone.
And before I act or react in the hopes that it's all about me, I have to remind myself that the world is.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
A rather typical wednesday
This is one of those weeks where you wait for the fun to happen.
Friday afternoon, one of my best friends in the world is going to come into town, and we'll laugh, joke, and enjoy each other's company. We'll hunt for good food, and explore the fun of Halloween. I just have to get to Friday.
At work, there's a recent wave of open jobs posted. In 2009, the company downsized, and is just beginning to build back the staff it needs to work. I've been applying like crazy for positions just above me, and have been on some interviews. I'm also applying outside of work, at universities, so I can obtain some opportunity for graduate education. None of it, though, is what I want to do.
But what do I want to do?
There's two things I want to do. Write and perform. The writing I know what's required of me, and it's a matter of prioritizing the time to do so. When Twilight Tales existed, it was easier to 'stress' myself into productivity. It's how I got through school. Make myself frightened enough, and miracles happen. It's just not healthy.
The other is performance. And that's tricky. Years ago, boosted by my perception of myself at faire, I tried out for roles in Chicago theatre. The only ones I ever got were 'make fun of the fat guy' roles. I was never able to either abandon that role, or own it in a way that didn't want me to cut my wrists. Recently, there's been an alternative, one where I feel I have control, but I'll get to that later in the blog.
My concern with both is that it's too late. I've put my time into database entry and business administration, the 'fallbacks' I thought I was supposed to have. And now that's my life. I never fell back. I started here, and anything I want to do requires 'climbing up'.
So I begin. I begin on the day where everything feels like shit, where I have a day left before I face family I really don't care for, in an environment that's really uncomfortable. Where -everything- is wrong, and hope is far away.
I begin today, so I'm ready for Friday.
And all the Fridays coming.
FYI, this will be where fiction resides, where I put in my practice, and follow up on the results. This will follow up on theatre as well, and my attempts to do something within that world. There will be more. Likely fewer politics, some religion, and some NSFW content. Away we go.
Friday afternoon, one of my best friends in the world is going to come into town, and we'll laugh, joke, and enjoy each other's company. We'll hunt for good food, and explore the fun of Halloween. I just have to get to Friday.
At work, there's a recent wave of open jobs posted. In 2009, the company downsized, and is just beginning to build back the staff it needs to work. I've been applying like crazy for positions just above me, and have been on some interviews. I'm also applying outside of work, at universities, so I can obtain some opportunity for graduate education. None of it, though, is what I want to do.
But what do I want to do?
There's two things I want to do. Write and perform. The writing I know what's required of me, and it's a matter of prioritizing the time to do so. When Twilight Tales existed, it was easier to 'stress' myself into productivity. It's how I got through school. Make myself frightened enough, and miracles happen. It's just not healthy.
The other is performance. And that's tricky. Years ago, boosted by my perception of myself at faire, I tried out for roles in Chicago theatre. The only ones I ever got were 'make fun of the fat guy' roles. I was never able to either abandon that role, or own it in a way that didn't want me to cut my wrists. Recently, there's been an alternative, one where I feel I have control, but I'll get to that later in the blog.
My concern with both is that it's too late. I've put my time into database entry and business administration, the 'fallbacks' I thought I was supposed to have. And now that's my life. I never fell back. I started here, and anything I want to do requires 'climbing up'.
So I begin. I begin on the day where everything feels like shit, where I have a day left before I face family I really don't care for, in an environment that's really uncomfortable. Where -everything- is wrong, and hope is far away.
I begin today, so I'm ready for Friday.
And all the Fridays coming.
FYI, this will be where fiction resides, where I put in my practice, and follow up on the results. This will follow up on theatre as well, and my attempts to do something within that world. There will be more. Likely fewer politics, some religion, and some NSFW content. Away we go.
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