The Cure for Melancorley

I've been in a funk for a month or two now. Just generally melancorley, unmotivated, and a little miffed that I'm living in filth and not getting anything done.
This morning I woke up feeling totally different. I've had moments of euphoria - laughing, dancing around a little while I relate a story - acting the way I do when I am happy or excited, if you know me well enough to know what that is like. I am a spazzy goof-ball. It is fun for me, and those around me who get to laugh about it. Unfortunately, this is followed by absolute exhaustion. A tsunami like attack of "tired head" (I don't know what else there is to call it), crashes into my brain - I feel it most behind my eyes, and in the center of my brain, if that makes any sense at all. This makes it hard to think, to gesture, even blink. Everything slows down until it passes.

Ah, Narcolepsy, my insidious companion. How jealous you get!
So what changed? Last night I helped Casey clean house, and while I swept and mopped, my "Top 25 Most Played" play list blared over the speakers Casey hooked up for me, and I sang as enthusiastically as I could. Using the broom as an occasional mic or dancing partner. While the floor dried I danced alone, sang to Emma, and then danced with her. Casey and I both got up to sing along and dance around ridiculously to "The Mariner's Revenge," and I cleanly sang all of the difficult phrases in "Fox Confessor Brings The Flood" and "John Saw That Number" without switching into my breathy "head voice" (remember that one, choir kids?) which is easier to control, but sounds like crap.
Emma got so worked up at one point that she was bounding around his house, hopping like a grasshopper and sliding on the tile floor.
Then I got an e-mail from Mark saying he was still interested on working together on some of his songs - which means that one day I might actually sing on a stage again, and not in a god-awful black dress or choreographed medley.
The latter part is exciting, but not what did it for me. I think that the singing and dancing is. I had more fun than I've had in a pretty long time. I almost feel like I should incorporate it into my daily routine (true, I'm too scattered to have a routine) for the sake of mental health.
When I think of it, back in high school, Lauren and I did something similar on a somewhat daily basis. To preface, there were rumors that I was a lesbian, and since Lauren and I spent all of our time together...
So we decided to just live it up. If they wanted lesbians, they'd get it. We would BLARE Melissa Ethridge, Cher, Tracy Chapman, etc. roll down the windows, and SING. I always felt great returning to school from lunch. Maybe I should do that now - spend my whole lunch break singing.

There is an apartment right in the part of town that I want to live in that is currently vacant. 1-1 with hardwood floors, walking distance of school, no weight restrictions on dogs. I first saw the ad a week or so ago and drove by the place. Today I saw it again and called. The owner Rick is nice and seems very flexible. I wasn't planning on moving until May. I don't have money for deposits. I am going to go by today and look at it anyway. At least I'll have an idea of what it is like so I can check back later to see if they have any vacancies. I could really use a winning $1,000 lottery ticket right now. It would be more than enough to get me through. I could get into the apartment and have my new bike serviced.

I haven't told you about her yet!

I was having bike trouble. I tried to asses the damages on the old bike I had, but it is fucked. After a disappointing attempt at a ride I threw it into the bed of my truck so that I could DRIVE it home and left it there. While resting the dry rot on the tires gave way and one blew. I was so over it.
I called Ellie and told her about it. She offered me her old but perfectly good bike, Chloe (Ellie, if I have misspelled it please let me know). She is a yellow 1975 Schwinn. She is so pretty! I need to get her serviced so that I can RIDE. .:sigh:.

Both situations are similarly frustrating.

RE: West Palm Beachidelphia

Warning: Hormones not currently regulated – Unstable material within.

Last night I was honestly thinking of how I wished that I were a woman who looked right when not made up. Today I read the following at What the Duck:

Increasingly I notice there is dirt under my fingernails. Not surprisingly. I am outside a lot digging in the dirt. Truly! But it makes me think of other things. Like when I will become a woman who cares about her appearance? That means: when will I consistently wear hand lotion? I have dry hands with a lot of texture that really demand moisture. I never listen to my hands (or nails, for that matter). When I will get a hairstyle and pay for a cut, like every six weeks or whatever? When will all of my little white hairs get out of control enough for me to want to do something about them? When will I start wearing make-up? Is 27 too old to start!? Will I ever pierce my ears? Will my wardrobe ever consist of career-wear? Will I ever have a signature scent? I refer to myself a lot as a girl's girl, but I am not a woman's woman. I suck at career womanhood. I am not that woman. But I don't want to look 16 forever.

Every photo I see of Madge is beautiful. Sure, I can tell she's not wearing makeup, but she looks so radiant! Who cares if you have dirt under your nails? I usually do. I cannot keep up with all of the bullshit that goes along with being a girly-girl either. Only, I look like a 16-year-old spaz.

Let's have a few examples, shall we?
- Last week I painted my toenails red because I was wearing a dress with open toe sandals (I heard on NPR that women will subconsciously dress and make them selves up when ovulating - I believe that must have been the case for me). To do so I had to take off what was left of the polish I had on my toes from my sisters wedding in October. Yeah.
- I recently dyed my hair after a 4-month lapse. There was so much of my natural color showing that I remembered how awful it is.
- I plucked my eyebrows last night for the first time in what might be 6 months. I really have no idea when I last did that.
- As far as I can tell, the only reason I wear makeup to work is to cover the red spots on my face from acne that develops because I forget to wash off my make-up at night. I never wind up "finishing" my makeup anyway I always wind up going in without blush and looking washed out.
- I do not brush my hair.
- I do manage to moisturize my face and body (but not my feet), but only because I've recently had painfully dry skin.

I often feel that I look like the women you see wearing floral sundresses with tie-dyed socks and sandals (I would never ACTUALLY do this). This may all be self-consciousness, but I have plenty of friends I think DO pull off the realistic maintenance/natural beauty: Ellie, Tracy, Madge (Okay, I've never seen her in person), Lauren, and a girl I once knew named Margaux. Part of this stems from me having to wear professional clothes to work. I don't have the hair, make-up, or leg-shaving habits to match my clothes. In general I just feel disheveled. If I am ever wearing plain-clothes I feel clumsy looking. I think that this is all a result of the red spots on my face and the fact that my glasses dominate (and fall down) my face. Instead of seeing it as a “WHEN will I grow up?” being able to let go of superficiality and no longer trying so hard to do these thingswould be a sign of adulthood to me.
I’d like to say that I am getting right on that face washing, nail-polish wearing (or removing), daily shaving, face mask boat but I know that I won’t be able to do it. I know that I am inching toward being confident with myself. I believe that is where the real visible beauty is. I know that I feel comfortable in the clothes that I make, and those that Lauren has made for me. I was very surprised when my lil’ sis’ told me how much she loved an outfit I was wearing the other day when I felt I was really not making the grade. By the end of May my life will be much easier. Hopefully once I leave this job I enter one more casual so that I can try and find some balance with myself. And can I loose the acne already?! I mean, isn’t 12 years of zits enough? I’m ready for the wrinkles and gray hair. Bring it on!

Gloomy

I didn’t work my restaurant job today. I really needed some money, but I had lots of errands to run, so I gave it up. I wound up with a little time left over, so I took myself to lunch thinking I could knock out some reading while I was there.

In the end I was able to. But at first all I could think of were two similar events. One is a scene in the movie The Idiots. In an introductory scene a woman, dining alone, is ridiculed by her server for being cheap. In the last minutes of the film it is revealed that she was dining out to have time to her self, an attempt to do something nice for herself after the recent death of her infant son.

The second happened a month or two ago while Casey and I ate at The Omlettry. A woman unexpectedly flew off the handle when she was told that she couldn’t serve herself. It wasn't that she was receiving poor service - actually, its a little complicated. I was irritated with her for quite a while before I understood what was going on. The Omlettry is cash only, and she had not remembered this when she arrived. She wanted to serve herself so that she wouldn’t be taxing the servers because she didn’t have money for a tip. So, being told that she wasn’t allowed to do so frustrated her, and she quickly began to quiver, yell, and then sob. With fragments of speech, sandwiched between sobs, she told the manager that her husband had recently died. It was raining and she was sad. She kept repeating that she had just wanted to have a nice lunch. They had frequented the place, she said, and he had proposed to her there. The situation made me extremely uncomfortable, and extremely sad. The manager did the only thing that could be done and listened while she spoke of him until she was calm enough to go home.

It's been swimming around my brain all day. I had to write it down before I could get any studying done.

****The Omlettry is another of my favorite places here. I think I need to make a huge "Guide to Austin - Through The Q's Eyes" post. This would be a huge undertaking. Do not expect it any time soon - I'm reading Chaucer.****

Thank you, NewYork Times, for making me cry at work.

Taken by the Tide
By BILLY SOTHERN
Published: January 10, 2007

"Last year’s total of 161 murders probably made New Orleans the deadliest city in the United States by a significant margin. I suppose it was only a matter of time before the violence touched my life directly."

Sorry for the absence, but the holidays are crazy. Casey's moving, and only came back into town on Tuesday, so I am spending a lot of time with him.

I got as message today from Ex. #1 telling me that his mom is in the hospital with Ovarian cancer. I am not sure what I am supposed to do.

So here is something funny and light hearted:





Here's the sequel, I found it later.

"Waking up without you is like drinking from an empty cup."

Mr. A left for Michigan last Sunday. Until this week I hadn't realized how much time I spend with him, or how boring I am without him. Oh yeah, and how I turn into a sniveling baby when I get lonely. If I hadn't fallen asleep in front of CSI: Miami I was seriously considering watching Garden State and finishing off a six of Negra Modelo so that I could cry myself to sleep.

Hooray CSI: Miami and its sleep inducing powers! When I actually made it to bed though I didn't sleep so soundly, nor did I get out of bed so easily this morning. He'll be home Tuesday afternoon. Most likely after I go to work, so I won't get to see him until that night. Tuesday will SUCK because I have the whole morning off to sit and think about the fact that my man is a mere 2 1/2 hours away, as opposed to being across the country. *sigh*

Now do you understand why I am incessantly listening to melancorley Damien Rice, Samantha?

Can you see the love and admiration in my eyes?

Fine then!

And enjoy this anyway.

This is the best quality sound and picture wise. "Coconut Skins" off of 9.


"9 Crimes" off of 9. Don't ever listen to anyone who says that Lisa Hannigan isn't given enough respect/credit/time. She is given them, and deserves it 100%.


"Eskimo" off of O. It's fun, it's grand.


"Volcano," the very first Damien Rice song I ever head. This is what made me buy the CD O, which it is featured on. Album version has strings where Lisa improvises.


"Accidental Babies" from 9. The sweetest love song ever, from the point of view of "the other guy." Honestly, I wasn't expecting it the first time I heard it and I cried. In my car. In the parking lot at work. I don't like the quality, but you need to hear this song.


Damien Rice and Lisa Hannigan play "Unplayed Piano" and "Cold Water" at the 2005 Nobel Peace Prize Concert in Oslo.

Yes.

Have you listened to Damien Rice?
You should. You really, really should.

Some of his songs rock my soul.

I looked all over his band site, just in case,(http://www.damienrice.com/) and understandably only found his record label's address. So here is an invitation for Damien Rice:

Mr. Rice -
I know you have been to Austin a few times, I hope that we have shown you a good time. I'm inviting you and the band back because I think you are phenomenal musicians. I'd like to take you out around town, I think you'd blend in beautifully. So I'm inviting you to join me to drink, chain-smoke, eat greasy food in the middle of the night; actually, do just about anything, I love showing off Austin. As an added bonus, if I drink enough I'll sing Dolly Parton for you (I only know 1 1/2 songs, and I'm a decent singer. It's not too painful). I imagine you are interesting company, I'd love to find out.

Sincerely,

The Q

secrets, secrets are no fun...

Hey, remember this horse?



Her name is Annie, or St. Anne's Fortune, if you're feeling fancy.

In June 2005, between buying the house and Janet's death, I bought her. For a year and a half she has been my secret. Ex #1 didn't find out about her until shortly before we broke up. My dad found out about a month ago. My mom doesn't know.

I kept her a secret for what I felt were good reasons. When I bought her I bound reason and financial responsibility with coarse rope and crude knots and threw them onto the tracks which my intoxicatingly compassionate heart was barreling down. No one was going to understand why I bought another one when I already exhausted myself trying to support one.



As a very young foal, before she should have been weaned, Annie was brought to the farm I was boarding at in Dallas. The people who owned her then abandoned her. The manager took over her care as soon as he realized that they really weren't coming back, but he did so cautiously. If anything happened to her because of his care the horse owners could still take legal action, if he did nothing he could have negligence charges brought against him. So he logged every feeding amount and time. After three months he posted legal notice of his intent to sell and sold her quickly to someone on the property. In the next four months she was sold two more times. The people who owned her at that point then impulsively bought another horse and needed to get rid of her fast. When in that week she didn't sell, they began talking about auction.

The thing about Annie is that she's young, so she doesn't have much training beyond ground manners; she's a rescue, so no one knows what her bloodlines are; and though she's pretty, she's not much prettier than most horses to unbiased eyes. She wasn't worth much at all. At auction she would sell to a killer. There are two slaughterhouses in North Texas that take horses.

I couldn't let that happen.

I have two horses. I've had this other wonderful, beautiful, quirky creature in my life and I haven't been able to say anything about her for fear someone would find out. Even in my daily life I had to censor myself so that I didn't slip in front of family, or someone who MIGHT know, or ever come into contact with, my family. It's almost been like I never owned her at all. I feel like keeping all of the love I have for her tucked away keeps me from being able to love her as much as I could.



Earlier this month an older horse at the farm died. He died defending himself against younger horses who were running him down. He kicked the main aggressor as hard as he could - throwing it backwards head over tail. When he kicked that other horse he used so much force that he broke his own leg. On Wednesday I got a call from his owner, "Q, this is Margy. I was told you're trying to sell Annie." And it was done. My problems were solved, I no longer have to feel guilty for the financial assistance offered by my family. I no longer have to feel guilty about the lack of time I have to spend training her, or the things I can't buy for her, myself, my other pets. I don't have to pick up every possible shift at the restaurant, and when I go to the farm I can go just to ride.

Now everyone knows, and all that stuff I had tucked away is caustic and seeping out. I am very sad. She's not leaving the farm, I have first option to purchase if she is even sold and I've been told I can ride her once she's trained; but she's not my Annie Bear any more. There will be fewer opportunities to have her check my pockets for goodies, nuzzle my hair, or willingly submit to kisses on her very, very soft muzzle.

I am so busy right now that I cannot post a good post. But later I will tell you about:

2 incidents involving my meds
Being harassed by a drunk homeless man
Spiderhouse


I have my very own, personalized emotion!

"Melancorley"

Casey sent me this saying he thought I'd like it. I do, but it also makes me kind of sad.

Identity crisis.

I'm in one.

I know this because of my Adolescent Psychology class. A couple of weeks ago I wrote a reaction paper to our 'Identity' chapter. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to write about yourself. My first paper was easy. I'm a blogger, of course I can write about myself. This one was different. I knew the terms, I knew what they meant to a hypothetical subject, but I had trouble placing myself. For any person this would be difficult. After all, I have several identities: student, girlfriend, family member, waitress, etc. However, it seems that all of mine are up in the air - swapping limbs and trading clothes so that every time I review them they are different.

A nice little Wikipedia article about Erik Erikson sums up the identity crisis nicely for those of you not in an Adolescent Psychology class:

"people experience an identity crisis when they lose "a sense of personal sameness and historical continuity". "

I know who I want to be, and for the most part it hasn't changed in 10 years. I have though. I've moved farther away from my ideal self (another vocab word kids). It's maddening, confusing and I'm having a little trouble with it. I am not the person I want to be. I am disappointed with myself, and I'm not sure how I got here.

My goal in life is to make as little impact on the world as possible, and as big an impact on humanity as possible.

I am not doing either. I know, I know - I HAVE done a lot of other really important things in the last year, and maybe in the end they'll help me become who I'd like to be... but right now I just feel like shit.

I am leaving quite the "footprint" in my wake kids... it makes my stomach tight to think of how wasteful I am. I am materialistic to a disgusting point (to me) - you've seen my wish lists.

I have about as much spirituality in my body right now as I do folic acid, and I can tell you that the folic acid is below the suggested level.

I read all of Hungry Ghost last night. Even at the end of the book the protagonist is not among the most spiritual I've met, but it made me feel empty to compare myself, even though the character was pocked with flaws.

There is the idea in the book of the possible co-existence of Catholicism and Buddhism. Really, Christianity and Buddhism - details - I am not becoming a Buddhist. I am not fully embracing my Catholic roots. I have beliefs that I think may range between the two, though I'm not sure. I feel a lack of connection to any great power, and I think I need to feel that to feel better.

"What? You feel poorly?" You ask. Right, I haven't quite mentioned that yet.

I feel like I need to be silent for a week, and like I should fast. I feel like I need to be unburdened. I have so much STUFF that my hands never touch.
I feel like I need to spend a weekend out at Enchanted Rock. Hiking, sweating, camping, breathing. I need dirty hair and dirty clothes and quiet.

"simplify" was once my mantra. I'm bringing it back.

I am running out of steam on the woman-posts. I know I will not get one done today, or tomorrow - I work a double - so look forward to one Monday.

I am such a disappointment.

I miss Lauren SO MUCH. She's been in Costa Rica for a week, and it has taken all that is in me not to leave her a daily voice mail. There has only been one - on Saturday - that told her that I missed her. I may have told her that I wouldn't make it to Monday with out hearing from her. I'm not sure, but it's not like she was going to call me anyway.

She comes back today! I AM SO HAPPY! I have things a week old to tell her, I wonder if I'll tell them right?

Dia de los Muertos

I will spend the next two days thinking of you, Jen. I'm building you a modest shrine - I will get you some Inari. I will drink, light candles - especially those you gave me, listen to all of the music that remind me of you, and remember what a strong, vibrant person you were. It is getting close to two years and I still miss you like hell. I wish I'd had a chance to say goodbye. I love you.
I read in an article yesterday that in the tradition of Dia de los Muertos there are three kinds of death: one when your body ceases function, a second when your body returns to the earth, and a final one when no one remembers you. You will never die your third death.