I have vivid dreams sometimes. Last night was especially interesting and honestly, I kind of want to write it out because it WAS so interesting. So the dream is in third person, like I’m watching a tv show or reading a book with a good imagination (ahem). The setting is a weird mix of classical Indian and Japanese. And there are things that call out that it is a weird mix. Most of the people in the room think nothing of it, but there are 2 men dressed as Middle Easterns but clearly fake beards (I mean, pretty good – but in modern terms “clearly fake”) who make comments about stuff being unusual. The room is set for a party. And there are several young women who are considered to be psychic who will be “summoning the dead to speak” tonight. Of course my foreign men scoff at this witchcraft nonsense, but the two young women most involved are quite serious.
I read this article over the weekend and (being the youngest) sent it to my sister for her thoughts (as she is the middle child). Both of us agreed although there are some interesting bits in it – what exactly was this author trying to convey? He made a single throw-away comment about Millennials waiting to have kids, and I really wish he had shown the courage to delve into that. But that wasn’t his point and I appreciate it. He also made a snarky comment about the “indulgence” of people he knows who have a third kid and what fiscal security they must feel to do this. Ok, so (a) OMG his privilege and (b) again, not the courage to get political and discuss the fact that kids are PROHIBITIVELY expensive. In case it isn’t clear – In 2011 OECD published this report on the change of fertility rates 1980-2009 (ish). Now, to be clear in 2009 kids born in 1982 (early
Kawaii would have been quite happy if we had never gotten a dog. She spent the first three days as often under the bed as anywhere else. I think she pooped only when Riley was in his crate. She was not ok with this change. Granted, she doesn’t much care for change. It definitely is taking her the longest to adjust to having a dog in the house. Genkii on the other hand follows Riley around. A Lot. He has tried to steal Riley’s food. He has sniffed Riley’s crate. He cries when Riley goes outside without him…. even in the rain. Genkii has always thought he’s a dog and he doesn’t quite understand why the real-dog gets different (better?) stuff. You know, Genkii’s higher-fat kitten food (which is higher fat than adult food) just isn’t as good as the low-fat/high-protein dog food. Fortunately, Riley doesn’t get bothered by any of these antics but has finally starting sniffing Genkii’s butt- to the cat’s great confusion.
I had amazing choir directors at church and at school growing up. They forced me to face any fears I had about stage fright very early (there is a picture of me at like 6 on a stage at church doing a solo – I suspect I sounded horrible but he made EVERYONE have a solo). I don’t have stage fright. Another thing I know singing taught me is elocution – “the skill of clear and expressive speech, especially of distinct pronunciation and articulation” When I worked on the phones, I was constantly complimented on how easy I was to understand compared to my peers. It took me a long time to understand that singing had taught me to literally open my mouth when forming my words. It wasn’t until I stared at someone who was complaining that they kept getting complaints – I saw it. I literally saw it and it clicked. I looked at them and said something like, “You need to practice singing
I found some old notebooks at the bottom of the box last weekend – including one my first ever journals. The first three entries frankly brought me to tears. They are all about my first cat Cinnamon. Text: Thurs, Feb. 18, 1997 Today I haven’t been feeling well so I called Mom and came home sick. I’ve slept most of the afternoon and I am about to go to bed. Vic, a kid in my class, asked me on the 4 if I would go out with him. It was the morning after Cinnamen [sic] had been put down so I was still upset. He kept on pressuring me until Brittney started to beat him up. [I feel like I need to define “beat up” was usually with a piece of PAPER] I am having a rough year so far. Vic is only making it worse. [God, I feel so sorry for him. His timing was TERRIBLE – but it
I am wrapping up a project at work that has kind of consumed my life for the past few months (hence the super-sporadic posting). I have been a bit manic about when/how/what I post. Hence there have been a few weeks where I got stuff scheduled the weekend before or managed to keep up with the occasional night-writing and the past two or three weeks have been deathly silent. But now I am working on the reviews for my project-team. Because I think it’s important to give them feedback (the good, the bad and the ugly). And it’s hard because reviewing-up is stressful (especially since I can’t be anonymous). Reviewing peers isn’t as bad, my workplace DOES have a good culture about constructive reviews. ASKING for reviews is also hard because as much as my company has a culture to encourage constructive reviews – I don’t feel like everyone does it. I have 2-5 managers I love working with because they give
March 3rd (I know, I’m late – I got sick!) I got my hair cut. I chopped off about 14 inches
I ended up in the ER yesterday. I am ok now, but damn that sucked. NOT how I wanted my husband to spend V-day with me. That was NOT the plan (there wasn’t a real plan just “spend time together” so…. we did that!) I went to my pulmonologist last week for my bi-annual check up. I had some of my best results on my breathing test since I started seeing her. And I freaking LOVE this doctor. Of every doctor I’ve ever had – she is amazing. She walks a balance of treating me like I am not some stupid boob but teaching me all the things I need to know to treat my disease. She is always late, but then will spend every minute I need with me – and so as annoyed as I get for her making me wait so very, very long; I know she spent as much time with her other patients and she will spend
I have 2 reviews in progress but have written little more than intro paragraphs on them. It has been such a crazy week for my paying-the-bills job that a LOT has slid to the side (my wonderful husband has been so supportive, I can’t even tell you how much I have needed him this week). So I will try to get (a) caught up and (b) ahead on some posts this weekend so next week won’t be so barren (I have a backlog…. now I just need some energy)
I don’t do normal resolutions. By normal I mean the list of “this year I’m gonna lose 20 lbs” or “I’m saving $1 every day” I aim for my resolutions to change me; change my outlook or my philosophy or some aspect of me. They really become more than just one-year resolutions. For 2018, my resolution is to be bolder. To fight harder against the voice that says “no” and to look it in the eyes and say “then yes damnit!” In the world today there is a lot of “no” going around and so many artists said it in 2017 – stress makes art hard. Fear makes art painful. Most artists can’t separate art and life (I say most because if I say “all” someone will point out some exception….) One informs and influences the other. I had a dream in the early hours of Jan 1st and it was terrifying. I woke panting, wanting to spring up and run away.