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.

How I React

-or-
Pan's Labyrinth Makes Me Sad

This all started here, at Spinning Girl's place. It then followed me home with, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I just have to ask. Why did you feel empty inside when you watched Pan's Labyrinth?? "

I want to say, "Because!" but then I would just go on being bothered by the fact that someone(s) thinks that I am a complete idiot when it comes to understanding a storyline. Don't read this the wrong way; I loved this film and will buy it when it is available on DVD. Not everyone reacts to a film the same way. My little sister watches Garden State to cheer up, it used to make me nearly suicidal to watch it.

The main reason for my discomfort with Pan's Labyrinth was the violence. I understand the film and I understood that there would be violence (I have skipped more than a few movies that include this sort of realistic violence because I just can't handle it. I just REALLY wanted to see this one.), but I wasn't quite ready for it when it first hit in the scene with the rabbits. So from that point on I was in a sort of tormented state - bordering on anxiety attack. When a film is subtitled you cannot exactly cover your eyes to miss that stuff, either. After all of that I would have left the theater in a slightly more positive mood had the movie ended in those goldish-tones. It was so emotionally taxing for me to get through those scenes that I literally felt empty.

Hey, I also cry when people mess up my orders at restaurants. As a server I know it's ridiculous, and not something that they meant to do; I still instinctively react a certain way, and once I start crying it only leads to embarrassment and more crying because of that.

I just painted a really unappealing version of myself, didn't it?

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."

Resolutions:

1) Be less angry.
2) No drinking when sad.
3) Cut back on smoking - oh wait, thanks to Gov. Perry and the $1.00 increase in cigarette prices this will be easy.
4) Save some money!

This is why all of my pets are rescues. They either find me, or I find them in a shelter - but there is no buying.

Tiny Tim
"He was one of about 30 that were rescued late last week from a local puppy mill by the Brown County Humane Society, Animal Control, and the All Texas Dachshund Rescue out of Austin. There are still about 100 more dogs at that location, but due to the lack of enforceable legislation, they had to be left behind."

To see what a puppy mill can do scroll down. It's an awful image. Worse than anything I've ever seen on Animal Cops.

Corley [kor-li] - proper noun

or,

events and such that define my being 5-10

- When I was very young I had very high fever, and because of it I had a seizure. When treatment was all over I was the youngest person in my family to have had a drug addiction. I don't remember it, but apparently withdrawal from phenobarbital is a bitch.

- Looking back at how the mind develops through childhood, I particularly like the time I had to get stitches in my forehead best of all. I was in the passenger seat of my dad's truck, I was waiting in it, parked in the driveway, while my dad had gone into the house to get something. During this time the balloon I had been playing with, made its way over to the floor boards of the driver's side of the truck. My little 4 year old brain couldn't realize that I could just move to the driver's side, reach down and grab the balloon. I had only ever been on the passenger side, through the passenger door. I had only ever seen my dad on the driver's side, and he got in through the driver's door - follow my logic? I got out and went to run around the back of the truck, only, I didn't realize the tailgate was down and I hit it hard. So hard that I fell over and gashed my head open. One way to learn to just scoot over.

- About six months later my Grandmother, Annie Tannie, died. Her funeral was the on the same day me pre-K class talked about the letter C. Can you see how this was confusing, too? I had been so excited - C! My name starts with C! There is a very nice watercolor sketch of a white cat next the the C! on the wall! I like cats! I was there for A and B, and the - D? Scarred for life. Now we all know why So-so Def (my ex's cat) and I never got along. After a few months, my parents were finally able to convince me Annie Tannie wasn't ever coming back. One weekend we went to the house where she and her husband had lived to visit him, Poppy Tom ( As the first grandchild I got to be the kid calling the shots. I like titles made up of two names.), and I was so confused! There she was - sitting in the living room! She was talking to Poppy Tom, my parents, and me - and she was NEVER coming back! ? The little wheels in my head first peeled out, and then came to a grinding halt. It was way too much for me. And then she leaned over and said in the sweetest way you can possibly tell a small child that you are not the one person that they want to see most in the universe, "Corley Ann, I am not your Annie Tannie." She wasn't. She was Tannie's sister, Sara. This is where I believe I began to cry. And if I didn't then, it is where I begin to cry every time I tell the story (even right now). I really wanted it to be her. I had been wishing on every shooting star, in every night's prayer, I still wish it had been her. That moment is vividly burned in my mind, I can see Aunt Sara's silhouette (it was kind of dark), and I can hear her Southern sing-song voice - that sounded just like Annie Tannie's - saying "Ah" instead of "I."

I have to limit it like this to keep from over burdening myself emotionally. This is not what I originally expected to write! I was think of something much more brief - oops!

Maybe next time I'll do 5-10 years, if I can take it.

"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?

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"

Too Many Things Went Wrong...

... to lay the blame on any one person. Here is the story in print. I suggest seeing the AP Video version as well.


And when searching for that I found these other horrifying things: "Raw Video: Police Chase Ends In Crash"

And another horrifying story: "Teenager tells of her eight years as dungeon sex slave"


I guess that's one way to get you started thinking about what you'll say tomorrow night when you have to tell your family what you're thankful for before chowing down.

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.

The Good Thing About My Saturday Job:

I can listen to NPR Streaming -alldaylong- My heart warms at this. Austin's NPR station isn't too hot. I love that I come from the live music capitol of the world and all, but I like my informative radio. KUT plays too much music. Instead, I listen to KERA, Dallas' public radio station.

I was listening to Weekend Edition and I heard this story:

Remembrances
Ms. Pudding: A Feline Farewell
by Alice Furlaud

It will be available in audio at 1pm ET. Listen to it, if you can. It's a really beautiful remembrance of a cat that highlights the importance animals come to play in our lives, and human fears of the responsibility death leaves on loved ones - Human or animal.

Once, about two years ago, I did what I thought was right and answered the phone when a credit card company called me on my delinquency. I haven't done it since because of the experience I had that day. The man on the other end belittled me and treated me like I must have HAD the money, I was just not giving it to him. Instead of asking me when and how much I would be able to give them, he kept asking me how much I could give them now. Honestly? Because I was digging for change to put gas in my car at the time.

I am late on my Visa payment. Today they called and I answered, against instinct. The woman on the other end told me why she was calling and then said, "Honey, what happened?" And I instantly wanted to cry. I told her that I am a full time student with two jobs and her response, "Oh, girl, being a student is a full time job." I let her know when and how much I could give her and she told me that if I added $30 to that by a date about a week from now I could prevent a mark against my credit. Wow, not only is she not making me feel worthless, but she's trying to help me. Yes, in the end she gets more money, which Visa wants, but her karmic balance improves as well.

There is also something about the incredibly long (11 hr) Saturday shift I work each Saturday that makes me very sad. The last Saturday I worked I wanted to cry for approximately 6 hours. I only actually cried once when the girls in the back office didn't let me know they were ordering food, and I hadn't had breakfast. That day there was no one to replace me so I didn't get a break longer than 5 minutes or so. I cried for a bit until Casey called and went to bring me lunch. I got to eat about five. I sit alone at a desk all day, sometimes I feel really lonely and forgotten about. Eleven hours of that is not easy.

So here we go again. I'm only in hour two, and I'm already tearing up.

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.