Tag Archives: questions

Cleaning the Garage

August 12, 2010

QandAStanding on my elbow
With my finger in my ear,
Biting on a dandelion
And humming kind of queer
While I watched a yellow caterpillar
Creeping up my wrist,
I leaned on a tree
And I said to me,
“Why am I doing this?”

~ “Standing” by Shel Silverstein

Thursday. Garage Talk. But I have a to-do hitlist on my wall, repeated on a sticky on the laptop, and I think of it more than a pregnant woman considers labor in her ninth month. I have shit to do. So, I apologize, but I didn’t come up with a question this week. Instead we’re going to reverse the roles. (See now, I could have just said I haven’t done this for a while, but I’m all about truth in advertising!)

Ask me anything… unless you’re coming to Horrible Saturday. In which case, you can ask me Saturday.

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None of this is real

August 5, 2010

Nightmare“It was a dark and stormy nightmare.”
~ Neil Gaiman, “Sandman”

I have this neat trick. I don’t lucid dream (oh but don’t I wish!), but I can wake up. The second I realize, or think, or say “none of this is real” or “this is a dream”, I ‘m instantly awake. Of course, I wish I hadn’t said that during the Johnny Depp dreams of 2007 but alas, I did. Which is only mentioned to point out that it works on good and bad dreams. Well, and because it’s Depp. It would be nice if I had more control. If I knew that saying that would wake me. I don’t. It sucks. But in a good way when it’s a nightmare.

I had four nightmares last night. Back to back. I kept realizing there was no way this was happening and waking up… and then going right back in. Now, mind you, not back to the same dream or same spot, though I’ve done that accidentally in the past. No, I mean that I went back into that negative world. The characters were the same. The outcome the same. But how we got there each time was different. It was like a special edition DVD with alternate middles instead of alternate endings. And each time, I got a little further into the horrible end before my brain put the brakes on and screamed “I don’t think so!”

So, since it’s Thursday, and this week’s been nothing but remnants of Monday masquerading as its siblings, let’s talk dreams—good, bad and ugly. What do you do? Can you wake yourself? Can you go back in and pick up where you left off? Can you control things going on, or people and places? What tricks does your nocturnal mind have that it’s not sharing with your conscious?

Entertain me… I could use it this week!

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Due North

July 29, 2010

moralcompassAs is the case with many blog entries lately, this was spurred by a chat in the garage. It’s a place of deep conversations and highly emotional rants and gigglefests of pure speculation. Last night it ranged from religion to the gas station and back again.

Apparently, I have “an extremely high moral compass.” Seems if you want to give back the incorrect change the clerk gave you, or any of the other things listed to me, you have a high moral compass. But the conversation turned, and it wasn’t about the compass anymore. It was about the points on the compass. Or rather, who they point to.

Fine, I have a high moral compass. Blame my mom, I do for almost everything anyway. I’m comfortable with it. It’s kept me out of trouble on countless occasions, including a few I clearly remember wishing it didn’t exist for. But it’s MY moral compass. It’s what points me north or south, right or wrong. It’s there to keep me straight, not judge others. And it has shocked me (a few times in the past) to find out that “fear of my judgement” because of my “high moral compass” is possible. Really? This is me. Everyone talks to me, tells me secrets, confides—because above all else, I’m loyal. And shouldn’t that loyalty automatically mean I won’t judge? It’s not my place to judge—it’s my place to love.

Oh wait… Thursday… there should be a question. Sorry, I got all rambly there. I could do a whole blog on judging, which turned into it’s own conversation and moved locations and oy… Hmmm… Ok, how about this:

Do you have a compass? Nah, that’s a given, even if it’s a little broken one, you’ve still got one. Ok, how about: Where’d you get it from? Does your moral compass come from your upbringing? Your faith? Your experiences? Your desires to be a certain way? How did you come to the morals that you hold yourself by?

I guess I answered before I asked this week. I got them from my mom, but also from experiences. There are certain things I will never ever evah do, because they were done to me. They hurt on a level that can never be properly expressed and I would never want to a.) be responsible for making someone feel like that, b.) sink to the level of those that did it to me. My compass is part mom, part me—but sorry, no pink elephant. I personally don’t think an invisible entity threatening my afterlife is a good enough reason to behave in this life. I live the way I do because before I die, I have to live… with myself.

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Billy Jim Joe BOB

July 15, 2010

tms1-38Nope, this isn’t a blog about the hippie. Rather, it’s a blog about all the other bob’s in my life.

AND it’s kinda sorta maybe a question, so we’re calling it garage talk, since it’s Thursday. (You like how I’m magically posting this from the road on my way to Necon… sneaky aren’t I?)

My life has always had bob in it one way or another (Yes, I get the irony):
Bob’s Chop Suey (see this post)
Doctor Bob (see image)
“Do it yourself, Bob!” (old commercial my family will never forget)
Dear God Bob
Bob, bob, bob…

NOW the boyfriend, too?!!

I need a new generic name. I figure if religion changes throughout the years and their gods change, I can change the name of my generic bob… I kinda like Henry. Henry is a nice strong name, but Dear Henry? hmmm, I’m reminded of the song:

And, as much as I love my Sesame Street memories, I’m not sure I can say “Dear Henry” without “there’s a hole in the bucket.” I need suggestions. I need help. The hippie is too easily confused with and by this strange habit of mine.

Mostly, it’s to replace “god,” because even though I’m a dirty rotten atheist, I don’t like “Dear God” or “Oh my God” because it’s blasphemous and I try and respect belief, even when it’s not my own. I’d go with Steve and borrow Nugget’s new “everyone name,” but it just doesn’t roll off the tongue quit right, and I promised someone I wouldn’t use that particular name for anything outside victims of brutal deaths, accidental and otherwise, in my fiction.

Damn it.

Suggestions? I’m open to just about anything…

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Pimpin’ Sunday

July 11, 2010

friends_cast_004aIt’s been a while since I’ve pimped my friends. I’m feeling spicy. I’m reading their blogs and playing catch-up and think you should do the same (read, not play). So here are some interesting blogs my friends have posted lately that you should check out. And then you should bookmark them, friend them, mark it as like, retweet it, or do whatever it is you do to revisit a place and pass it along to others. Ready? Let’s go travel the worldwideweird…

Nate Southard. Every girl needs a boy in her posse that makes her try harder just to keep up—this is mine. I hate him. I love him. And his blog is just as varied as those emotions. This particular blog sings to the writers out there, whether professional or wannabe. Read it. Love it. Share it. Hurry, Wait, Hurry, Wait

Alethea Kontis. The princess. Because every wicked witch should have an adversary that they actually love and adore and play scrabble with and giggle next to on a mini trampoline—this is mine. And sometimes, even a princess can get angry. This one is for the tech-heads out there. Own an iphone do you? Ever had some form of technology go obsolete before you were ready for it to? This particular post if for you. Read. Love. Share. Rotten Apples.

Bob Ford. The hippie. Before we dated and long after he’s done with me, he will be the Coop of our generation. He writes beautiful words with an ease that makes me want to kill him, but instead I adore him and just plot to take him out in some fiction at some point. He sucks at blogging. No really, he does. But he’s trying. He’s doing blogs twice a week now—memories and questions. And if we don’t play along with his questions he’s stop blogging again. So think over this and give him an answer… Read. Love. Share. The Lure of Passion.

Maurice Broaddus. Mo. I love the hell out of him, and want to slap him on a regular basis. His blog is poignant and/or professional, depending on the mood and whether or not he’s been to church in the last 24 hours. Sometimes, he forgets the internet is forever and goes a little deeper than he should. But we love him for it anyway. This one will make you think, no matter who you are, where you’re at, and should be read, loved and shared. Addicted to (Self-)Love.

Wrath James White. The only friend I have without a nickname, hmmmm I’m going to have to fix that. Intelligent, deep, thoughtful, brutal, abrasive and wonderful. His blogs are worth reading even if they make you ache, especially if they make you ache. This one will make you fear… after you read his and think about your own. Read. Love. Share. This I Fear.

Need more? There’s a whole list on the right of my page there. See it? They’re all on blogs and livejournal and myspace, and have facebook or twitter or everything. Click through them. You’ll find mentors, big brothers, sisters, inspiration and aspiration, writers, readers and well, friends… old to me, maybe new to you. Read them. Love them. Share them.

ps. and Happy Birthday to two of my cancers…

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