#111

Sometimes I say the stupid things I think
I mean I--
Sometimes think the stupidest things

This song speaks to me. I'm not going to explore this further.

Please play it while you read the rest of the blog to provide a pleasing background hum.

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IMPORTANT: If I have neglected to respond to your phone calls, Facebook comments or messages, carrier pigeons, death notices, letters, or anything else, LET ME KNOW. I discovered this evening that I really, truly do not remember a whole lot of the last two weeks. I mean, I remember work and stuff, but if I didn't call you or write you back right away, it probably flew from my brain fast as those wing-ed dove things that, you know, wing and ed away.

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(J Trim-Trim, knitting. This is photo #2 of a personal photo project I'm working on. A "PPP" if you will. Get it? Personal Photo Project...yes?)

I went to Eugene this weekend, whirled my way through all the people I miss with all my heart (in surprising ways...I didn't realize I'd missed anyone, but of course I did and I'd just been suppressing the truth in unrighteousness).

How are there all these amazing people in one place? I say the same thing about the Portland area. How does that happen? Do I need to drop my cynical ways and begin to believe that wonderful people abound, perish the thought, everywhere? So it would seem.

The Eugene folk are a special tribe, though, dear to my heart. Watch me tear up a bit.

(Oh, I'm sorry...has the song ended yet? Here's another:)



But we're wandering into diary territory, so let's not go there. Suffice: I returned encouraged and with new energy to continue doing what I'm doing now, do it better, and have other projects on the side. More art, more writing, more conscious living and thinking and definitely more God and more geetar playing and less sitting around like a sad puppy. Not that much of sitting sad puppydom happens. I just wasn't sure how to wrap up the sentence.

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Some housecleaning:

1. THE ELK POOP STORY. I know you've been on the edge for this one. You don't have to lie. We all have a bit of dirty child in us getting the giggles, running in circles screaming "Heeeeeeeeeee! Poop poop poop pooooooooooooooop!"

2. Today's story: Everyday People feature. Slang: EDP. Now you can be gangsta like the rest of us Daily A-ers.

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Blerrrrrrrg. So I just woke up and I have that sick feeling in my stomach and that taste in my throat telling me I should never sleep soundly from 3 pm until 7 pm. No one sleeps during those hours, not even vampires. I suspect I am sleep-deprived...like how I was cool toy-deprived as a child and played with wooden tinker toys and paper dolls instead. I did have a good dinosaur collection and marbles. MAN! marbles.

I loved my childhood.

I took home all my journals this weekend. They'd been hiding on a closet shelf at my parents' house. Now they're in a huge stack on my floor and some dark night I'm going to sit down and read them all and cry copious amounts of tears.

(Is this the height of vanity? I kind of think of past iterations of myself as not myself in any way and I read my old journals thinking, "You poor, weird kiddo. And why didn't you ever brush your hair?" Which is a moot point, since I don't ever brush it now either)

My favorite entry so far is from 8 year-old me: "Dear Diary, I feel many emotions toward my sister. Today is annoience. It was sunny. I climbed a tree."

(Sorry, Laura. I really really love you. I was EIGHT!)

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On that note.

Night.