Monday, December 29, 2003

Here is a fragmant of an e mail I received today.
Fw: lets show there is a bunch of us!
Hello, everyone. It will be interesting to see who
>responds! I told this guy that I could find 300
>who believe in God before he could find 300 people
>who do not believe in God. If you believe in God,
>copy and paste this onto a blank e-mail form (leaving
>off the headers). Add your name, and send it to your
>friends and family. If you happen to be the 300th
>person signing this, please send it back to: Dorothy
>Wiser. Her e-mail address is:
(and there follows a list with some 142 names along
with a (nearly identical) list with 141 names.
First of all, it's spam from a person I barely know.
Secondly, "lets show there is a bunch of us!" ??? Just
looking at that sort of grammar makes me irritable. If
I was a Xtian it'd drive me nuts- is the whole point
to prove how obnoxious and illiterate one can be?
Besides, what is the objective and purpose of the
exercise? Majority opinion wins in a very personal
matter? If 99.9% of the people believe in God, he must

But what really got my goat ;-) was the fact that
there is no list for those who do not believe, and
this makes the whole thing seem even more pointless
than it already did.

I guess...whatever makes someone's day...::shrug::

My two best friends are agnostic and atheist, and I
never get this sort of equivalent spam from them. My
Jewish friends don't send anything like this. Nearly
every Christian person I've corresponded
with has sent me this kind of stuff at least once.
I suppose the goal is to make sure that everyone hears
the TRUTH whether they wanted to or not...but wouldn't
a little curiosity make it more interesting?

Saturday, December 27, 2003

I must be seven shades of red right now. I think I've mentioned before that my husband has a habit of referring webpages to me by leaving them open on my browser. Generally he does this with sites that he believes warrant my attention. This annoys me- his idea of what I should see often isn't congruent with mine. Besides, I'm an adult and I'll think whatever the heck I want to!!

I think the idea this time might have been to shock or embarrass me...(it worked)

Genital art
Traumatic Masturbatory Syndrome

Actually....*blushing mightiliy*.....I agree with Betty Dodson. People need to quit being ashamed of their genitalia and the associated activities. I really believe that if this could happen, there would be a dramatic improvement in our society as a whole: less exploitation, healthier interactions between men and women, less unhealthy sublimation. There isn't anything dirty, shameful, or wrong about the sexual organs. Maybe sex was regarded as mysterious and therefore magical by primitive man and a whole range of superstitions arose that we still haven't outgrown.

So why am I blushing and acting all uptight about this?!

Thursday, December 25, 2003

Fed and milked the goats, started the generator-we're on solar power and the voltage was alarmingly low- and walked up through the greenhouse to come inside. As I did so, a smell wafted past was like parsnips, but I know it can't be. We haven't grown parsnips for a few years, and there never were enough to dig and store in the greenhouse, at any rate. Still, the scent filled me with nostalgia and a sort of wistfulness. This- living in the country- is what I thought I really wanted. For years I dreamt and planned and fantasized about it and thought I'd be soooo happy if only I could live on a self sufficient homestead and have lots of goats, a nice garden, home-schooled kids, homegrown food, you know, the works.

- THE SIMPLE LIFE - (or, death of a dream)

I've got the goats- better than I ever thought I'd own, from the same bloodlines I used to drool over. I taught myself- from a little booklet- to A.I. them and in time became successful at that. I can now breed the does to bucks that I'd once have been thrilled to get a grandson from at great cost. I've won at a show or two. Heck, I even have a website and a dairygoat forum for crying out loud. Who'd of thought?

For several years, I had the sort of garden I'd always wanted. It was lush, fantastic. I grew pumpkins so large they had to be moved in a car. Then, for whatever reason, it apparently became impossible to get water to the garden. I watched as my indivually planted and carefully spaced seeds (sown into beds I'd dug and shaped myself- completely with hand tools) germinated and then curled up and died in the dry soil. Did this enough times until one day I couldn't bear to do it again. Now I plant flowers and bulbs that can do without much more water than the rain and ground provide. Even these die sometimes, but enough live to make it worthwhile.

The kids- Three was great. Four was a handful. Five????? Some women are cut out to be mothers and they do a really spectacular job of it even with a number of children. My husband's first wife was/is such a woman. I've never achieved her level of excellence, and I'm tired of trying to be something other than myself. Homeschooling went well with the first kid. The second one had a mind I couldn't get through to. Then there were the power struggles about schoolwork. Sent them both to school. They love it. Otherwise...I've failed my kids. One of these days they're all going to grow up and hate me; unless I change things, dramatically.

Home-grown food- it's nice. Nothing like homegrown, for sure. If you have kids who can't drink cow's milk, fresh goat milk is just the ticket. But at this point, I'm really happy for food in general, any long as it's not oatmeal, venison, or beans. Even pasta and potatoes have grown a little old.

So sometimes I look at this place, at the trees and gardens and ground that I love the five cute expectant little faces...and I wonder what's the matter with me. Why can't I be happy with this?


The so-called simple life isn't simple, it isn't cheap, and the food certainly isn't free unless you go and pick it out of the woods. It isn't easy, it isn't euphoric, and it isn't the ideal way to forge a relationship. It's a whole lot of hard work, everything is complicated and interconnected so that whatever you do affects several other aspects of the homestead, there are always umpteen tasks and chores that should be done even though you put in 12-16 hour days, the rewards are not always forthcoming, and if you want something that'll test and strain a relationship to it's breaking point, try having a whole bunch of little kids under these conditions and then being asked what you did all day long when he comes home from work!!
I'd still like to live in the country. But I don't want to do it like this. I wouldn't even try to grow/make everything we need. I'd just grow what I wanted to, what I enjoy having, and buy the rest. Idealism is great, but it can't supersede reality and human limits. Allow it to do so, and you'll have to deal with the cold hard facts of life pretty danged soon.

Wednesday, December 24, 2003

Add to current readng list: Faust by Goethe. I was warned that it would be difficult reading...don't know why. If you can make sense of a King James Bible, even Shakespeare isn't hard. Actually...I never did suceed in making sense of the bible. But I suppose that's another subject.

It's Christmas Eve, and I was feeling kind of down about that. I hate Xmas. It's just a big, phony display of sentiments and materialism. Even so, other than a card from my mom, and a box from my Filipino Grandma (she sent me ramen noodles for the New Year- long noodles are lucky and portend a long life- heh), I haven't heard a peep from any of my family. Oh, wait. There was a form letter from my sister that informed me of how fortunate I was to receive it. (I love my sis, but this is a bit much!!) My dad emailed me about a month ago with a one sentence question. I could call him, but really, what would be the point? I mean, I've got this huge family, and I don't even feel close to any of them. I don't care about presents. I'd just like to be more connected than I am.

And then, when I look at myself through their eyes, I can see why. They're all middle class, professional white collar people and here I am, the loser. I never seem to follow through on most of the great ideas I come up with, because they're so much more interesting to think about than to *do*. Once you start *doing* them, the parameters become more fixed. When it's all in your head, it's still plastic and flexible. I suppose this accounts for part of why I've hung on to the goats although it'd make more sense to have just 3 or 4 of them. The breeding program is one of the few things that I've stuck out and actually *done*. I can always point to them and feel that I'm not a total loser.

So enough of all that. Something lighthearted from The Book of Lists #2:

11 Physical attributes men imagine women admire most about them out of 100%

  1. Muscular chest and shoulders---21%
  2. Muscular arms------------------18%
  3. Penis---------------------------15%
  4. Tallness------------------------13%
  5. Flat Stomach--------------------9%
  6. Slimness-------------------------7%
  7. Hair (texture, not length)--------4%
  8. Buttocks-------------------------4%
  9. Eyes-----------------------------4%
  10. Long Legs-----------------------3%
  11. Neck-----------------------------2%

11 Physical attributes women really admire most about men---out of 100%

  1. Buttocks(usually described by women as "small and sexy")---39%
  2. Slimness-----------------------------------------------------15%
  3. Flat Stomach-------------------------------------------------13%
  4. Eyes----------------------------------------------------------11%
  5. Long legs------------------------------------------------------6%
  6. Tallness--------------------------------------------------------5%
  7. Hair------------------------------------------------------------5%
  8. Neck-----------------------------------------------------------3%
  9. Penis-----------------------------------------------------------2%
  10. Muscular Chest and Shoulders----------------------------------1%
  11. Muscular Arms--------------------------------------------------0%

You know, I'm beginning to wonder about these lists. The attributes are the same for both of them. Were there no other options? Like eyebrows, for instance. Can't imagine a nice looking guy without strong or expressive eyebrows. I think eyes would be pretty close to the top of my list. But neck? Lips, yes. Ears, even. But neck? I mean, if I love a guy I guess I'll find a reason to love just about every physical attribute he has, including his neck. But I wouldn't put it on a list. And very muscular chests scare me, but a nice angular muscularity is nice. But really, none of it is even half as important as a good mind. Eh...what a silly survey......

Monday, December 22, 2003

Current mood: empty, frustrated, and bleak...which translates into general crankiness. I'm listening to Simon and Garfunkel oldies- which I love- no mistake about it... but when I'm fertile and practically keening with loneliness and longing, it just makes me want to go and get stoned or drunk...which I never do...mostly because I'm afraid it'd become a habit. Now "I am a Rock" is playing. I've felt that way before..often...and when I don't it seems like I'm sort of weak...but I suppose that ultimately everyone needs to have a soft and vulnerable spot, an achilles heel....a heart...and being a rock is pretty damned lonely.

Sunday, December 21, 2003

I've got all kinds of thoughts snarling around in my head tonight. Perhaps my current reading list has something to do with it. (Note- this list is incomplete. )
The Male Myth This book is sort of the male version of The Hite Report. Apparently there is a Hite Report of Male Sexuality that's fairly recent, but I've only read the female version from back in the '70's. I suspect that women were quite a bit more prudish then but really don't know...Back to The Male Myth: It's pretty interesting stuff. There have been a few surprises although I haven't read much of it yet (the book was acquired just yesterday). I have mixed feelings about this sort of book that comes to conclusions based on polls and statistics though. First and foremost- who was polled? The sort of men who would answer the poll may not be an accurate cross section of American men. Also- they leave some of the most interesting questions unasked!! And, if the Hite Report (female version) is any indication, I'm not sure that it reflects reality. There have been so many times when I've read a portion of it and then shrugged... and said, well, I guess that's the way some women must feel. I think it's a mistake to read a book like this and then stereotype all men (or women) and to think that since 60% of men want women to lick their ears, you should go right out and lick your guy's earlobes because that's what he's wanted all along. I mean, what about *communication*? As far as I'm concerned, the majority really doesn't matter that much. But if I had a partner, *he* would matter, and he might not agree with the majority. ::Shrug::...whatever....

Losing Faith in Faith Biography of a born again Christian Evangelist turned atheist. Very good read except that the first part deals with Christian stuff which I find supremely boring. Skipping to the midsection of the book, he makes many sound points, some of which have already occurred to me.

Science Matters So far, a good comprehensible overview of science. Looking forward to reading more of it.

Georgia O'Keeffe Biography and picture book of the artist's works. I enjoy her deceptively simple and subtle style, sooo understated. Actually, I tend to enjoy understated things in general. American taste seems (to me anyway) to be rather garish, crass, in your face, and overstated much of the time. There's so much flash and hype and bragging going on that it doesn't allow for very much real appreciation or discovery. Geoergia's work was big, even oversized at times, yet it seems always to have retained some restraint and reserve. It has class. There never seems to be too much or too little of anything, always just enough.

While I'm talking about art, there are a couple of books about Aubrey Beardsley that I'm reading. Here again- economy of line, restraint, yet very expressive, graceful flowing lines. Besides, Beardsley had a sense of humor. :>)

The Last Great American Hobo I'm not sure about the title. There are still a lot of hobos out there. I've met them. Lots of black and white know, what irks me to no end about this book is that there isn't a single picture of any hobos, including the one featured, riding a train, or even hitchhiking for that matter. I'd have to look again, but I don't think there's even a picture of a freight train in the book. There are many, many pics of hobo jungles...but a jungle is merely a stopping place between rides. I mean, the main difference between a hobo and a bum is that the hobo rides trains. The bum just gets drunk, panhandles, and sleeps on the ground or inder bridges or whatever, all of which the hobo may also do, but he rides trains. How in the heck can a book about a hobo not feature guys getting on and off trains, the distinctions between different trains and cars and railroads, and so on? You can't. I guess the title sounded better than- The Last Great American Bum

The Secretariat Factor I picked this one up partly becuase I like horses, but mostly because it's about Secertariat's history as a stallion and his use in breeding programs. I wanted to compare this with dairy goat breeding programs. Unfortunately, the book was written while there were only two or three years worth of foals from him. Why didn't the author wait until more was known and there was something interesting to write about? It seems, so far, that the stallion wasn't as prepotent as they'd have liked him to be. None of his offspring really equalled him, at least not during the itme the book was written. Which begs the question- Hello? Linebreeding, anyone?? If I had had the opportunity, I'd have taken a granddaughter and breed her back to him, if not a daughter. I remember reading that after Secretariat died, they did an autopsy to try to determine what made him so great, and his heart was a LOT larger than normal, and they thought that must have been a key factor. Perhaps he was an anomaly and it wasn't a heritable trait. it certainly explains why colts who looked a lot like him didn't run as well as he did.

There are also a couple of philosophy books I've been flicking through, not exhaustively by any means.

Also The Sun magazine. I love this magazine. I picked up a stack of them from the library's free rack. They're great.

Oh! Not to forget- Chess in a Nutshell by Fred Reinfeld. I love Reinfeld's books. They demystify chess, and you don't have to decipher all sorts of obscure codes and reasoning to make sense of it. I never much enjoyed chess until someone gave me a few Reinfeld books several years ago. I've been working through the openings. There must be a book like this somewhere about Go. It irks me that I lose so consistentl and miserably at that's like I'm missing some vital facet of the game.

Past midnight now...I need to go feed the goats and take a bath before turning in.

Friday, December 19, 2003

First day of Chanukah! Umm, no I'm not Jewish. I'm not even religiously inclined anymore. But for some odd reason I'm still Jewishly oriented despite the preponderence of gentile blood in my veins. I've considered conversion, even recently. But then I had to sit down and ponder exactly what the point would be. I mean, we're talking about an ancient, 4,000 year old religion based on a patriarchal god and the people who wrote down what they thought he told them. I don't even particularly believe in god any longer, at least not in the conventional sense of a god with a personality who's interested in humans. So why the heady attraction to Judaism? Danged if I know, but there is something about it that feels like coming home, it *feels* familiar. Isn't that irrational? At any rate, I celebrate Chanukah, menorah and all.

Tangents: I figured out a way (at last!) to deal with my long hair without shaving my head. Long hair is nice. It's sexy. Men like it. I like it...sometimes... It can be fun to play with and braid and swish around and pin times. Mostly it's such a pain I spend inordinate amounts of time trying to restrain these strands that keep sweeping down into my field of vision, getting in my way, and generally feeling uncontrollable and messy. The notion of hacking it all off and spiking what was left became more attractive by the day- my 11 month old offspring delights in waking me up by tearing handfuls of it out of my scalp, and clutching fistfuls of it throughout the day. But- today I discovered a solution. Twist it all up inside a hat or cap. Easy. No hairpins scratching my scalp. No ponytails loosening up and having to be redone over and over and over. No hair straggling into my eyes. Just a nice, neat little hat. Yes. This is sublime. Perhaps Amish women with their little black bonnets are onto something after all.

Tuesday, December 16, 2003

Amazing isn't it...

How you can go through life with a heavy burden, realize that it isn't really necessary to carry it any longer, and still feel anxious about letting it go? Guilt is such a powerful motivator. I've made so many stupid, stupid moves, decisions that have all but ruined my life, based primarily on guilt and a sense of obligation towards someone else's feelings. What about my feelings? Why in the hell didn't they matter?

I was afraid. Afraid of retribution, afraid of people breaking down into tears, afraid of having to deal with a nasty emotional mess, and perhaps, lazy. It was so much easier just to go along with whatever someone else wanted and not to rock the boat than to put up with a temper tantrum. I don't like having to deal with emotional confrontations, and I got into the habit of smoothing things over, of placating people and going along with their plan unless there was some life-threatening reason not to (ummm, and sometimes even when there was.

Well, it's pay up time. I'm now in a position where everyone expects me to be compliant, where unless I can come up with a damned good reason, I should do it their way, every time. The prospect of doing this for a moment longer is intolerable, so clearly something has to be done, and quickly...AND I've got to be on guard for adapting myself to someone else's views, because that's the pattern my brain has become so accustomed to. It's gotten to the point where I practically beg people to tell me what to do and to dominate me. *SIGH* This is just fricking pathetic.

And like the chess games that I lose night after night, maybe it's too late. Maybe I've lost too many opportunities, made too many bad moves, sacrificed things I should have kept, gotten myself backed into a corner and used up my assets until defeat is the only possible outcome. I hope not...

Monday, December 15, 2003

I'm finally back online again. It's sooooo nice. Now I've got a lot of catching up to do, including editing the various websites and maintaining the forum. I've been playing a lot of chess lately. It's hard to say whether my technique is improving or not; while I've definitely become a lot more aggressive, I still tend to overlook little details at very critical times in the game, which of course is deadly.

What else- I've also begun going to the food bank. I feel a little defensive about this, but on the other hand, I sort of feel like it's my responsibility to make sure there's enough food for the kids to eat. Also, I worked in a branch of the food bank for several years, and so I have firsthand knowledge of what goes on behind the scenes, particularly with salvage food (day old bread, past date cheese, yogurt, and milk, and so on, given to food banks by grocery stores). The fact is, the people running the place skim off the cream, the best of the stuff, for themselves. Same with thrift stores. Which isn't to say that the poor don't benefit from these programs, they certainly do! But an awful lot of stuff spoils before it can be distributed, and like I said, the best of it goes to the food bank workers.

You know, it seems like I've done a lot of work, in so many varied fields, that I should qualify for *something*. I think I'll sit down tomorrow and make a list, there isn't time tonight if I want to get any sleep. But the point is, I've done all kinds of work. I should be able to come up with a resume of some kind from all that. In the meantime, I think I'm going to start selling stuff on Ebay. There are a lot of books and various other items that are just cluttering up my life. I've sent an incredible amount to the thrift store, especially clothing. There's still a LOT of stuff left and I don't need or want it all. Moving it would be a pain. Selling it locally would be unprofitable. Just storing and keeping it all organized is more work than I want to deal with. If someone else can use it, I could definitely use the money. A stray thought: I wonder whether the advent of Ebay and selling used items online has had any appreciable impact on reducing the amount of waste and purchasing *new* things?

Thursday, December 11, 2003

Well, I've been offline for a good week or two because the modem isn't working on the home computer. I'm at the town library now, which is less than ideal but certainly better than nothing at all. Current mood: pretty crappy. I began the day by falling down the stairs and bruising my elbows and back (the baby who I was holding, didn't get hurt, which was good). I spent about half an hour feeling sorry for myself and the rest of the day despising the sort of mentality that would want sympathy....along with nearly nonstop demands and noise from the children. So I've escaped from the house *all by myself* and am drinking in an hour or so of solitude and sanity before returning to the insoluble problem that appears to be my life. I have tried and tried and TRIED to figure out a way to get out of this mess, and nothing I can think of works. Getting a job would work- if only there were jobs to be had, and something to do with the smaller children (or a night job which would be preferable. I love the night.) Day in and day out, finding some way to get on my feet and get a life is just about alll I ever think of (almost! ;-) ...) And then people come along, family, aquaintances, dearest friends even, and say something along the lines of..."Well, I'm sure you could leave if you really wanted to! You just have to make up your mind and then do it!" or "Why don't you sell alll the goats?" or "I think you should stay there for the sake of the children. If you sold the goats and kept the house clean, everything would be better", or, OR, OR!!! I get so sick and tired of it... Sometimes I feel like giving the whole world the bird and screaming *FUCK*YOU*!!!! Why in the heck do they seem to think I'd be happy living *their* life? I don't want their life, I want mine, thank you very much.... And as for thinking it through and sheer willpower...geez....pure stubborness is the only reason I'm still around, and as I said before, I obsess day and night about ways to get free of this. Maintaining a facade of politeness can be very difficult, but I have to; I can't really afford to piss people off just now. On the positive side, I don't ever think about suicide any more. I've decided I want to live and if that's inconvenient, too bad- I'm sticking around and going to find a way out of this.


I dreamt that I saw a man...but he was sitting with a bunch of other people we knew. There was an empty seat near him, but I was afraid to take it, afraid he or someone else might notice I liked him, afraid he wouldn't want me sitting near him. So I went away...decided to go to bed...there were several beds in the room and I crawled across an empty one, but he was in it...he drew me into his arms and I was happy.

Dreamt that I was with a group of people on a tour. A man was showing us through rooms and corridors. As the tour went on, the corridors became dark underground hallways, labyrinthlike, and there were fewer people. Then there was no one but myself, and the man, and the gloomy passages, one door opening into one hall, then another. I began to think I'd like to go back, tried to remember the way I'd come in, we come so far it was difficult to tell. I turned around, and the man was shutting the door, leaving me alone in the darkness, only his hand showing and pressing the door shut. Panicking, I beat on the door screamed at him- 'Don't shut me in! Don't shut me in!' Claustrophobic....I got that door open, rushed to the next, he was already closing that one... and so on.... then the tunnel closed in around me until my entire body was enclosed and it squeezed me. Only my feet emerged. Someone was pulling on them. And I thought...this is what being born is like...

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

I'm beginning to realize that my interpersonal relation skills are sorely lacking. The fact is that 99% of the time, I simply don't care what other people think, including what they think of me, so long as they leave me alone and don't interfere with me. (Yes, yes..horrid, isn't it?) But there's that 1% (or less), and because it's so small, because it's the exception, it really matters to me. I don't like pretense, can't stand social games and niceties, and two facedness. The standard way that people operate seems false to me. Unfortunately, the way I operate is either tactless, completely honest (if I really care about someone) or oblique and dysfunctional, depending on the circumstances of course.
If I have a problem with someone, I'll:

  • Avoid them
  • Ignore them
  • Sulk
  • Hide
  • Withdraw
  • Argue
  • Spend endless hours analyzing why I'm irritated and formulate ways to deal with it, either by discussing the issue or resolving it internally
  • Or- Resolve never, ever to let that person close to me again.

If I'm reeeeallly, reeeallly, invested in the person, I'll try to reconcile and eat dirt to do so..(feeling miserable all the while until the thing is resolved)...but this is problematic since it involves the possibility of rejection, and I'd rather handle a live snake than to face being rejected.

I hate being human. I hate having a heart. And I hate the cold and icy fear that blows through and settles in my chest.

Monday, November 24, 2003

I suppose I should listen to or read the news more often. From time to time, someone will call me up an say, Oh, did you see in the news where--- and I always shrug. I never listen t the news. Not only is it boring, it's depressing, hyped up, and melodramatic. Bleah. 90% of the time, it isn't good news, and there's nothing at all that I can do about that. So why bother? It isn't as though I've a lack of things to get depressed over if I want to find them. Information? If it's information I want to know, chances are I'll find out about it sooner or later. Besides, I hate the matter of fact way the newspeople spit out their news blurbs, as though it's simply The One and Only TRUTH, no two ways about it, when you know that they're presenting a one sided viewpoint and or bold faced lies. Try to argue against it, and people sputter and say 'But...didn't you see it? It was on the news!'. The news has become to people today what the priests and religious leaders used to be in times past- the final unquestioned authority. It's disgusting.

It makes me wonder...what would they do if there were an alternate TV news channel that consistently presented the leading stories in a different light? Would they *think*? Would they try to reason things through? I sort of suspect that once they heard something they disagreed with, they'd discard everything else the channel had to say.

Saturday, November 22, 2003

What's up here? Not much. It snowed like mad and now I'm stuck here. Discovered my car is a piece of crap when it comes to snow. Went to take it to town, and turned around and came back as soon as I found a place to turn around where it wouldn't get stuck. I liked it fine when the roads were dry...except it was an embarrassment, but at this point I'm ready to sell the thing. The bottom line is that I now have zero mobility unless I'd like to walk or ride a bicycle through the snow, and am therefore once more dependent upon the good graces of my partner for bringing home groceries and performing various basic and necessary errands. In other words, I can kiss checking the mail, selecting what I'd like to eat, wear, and listen to, and the things I'd like to go to or participate in, goodbye. Shit. My life sucks. As though it weren't impossible enough already....::sigh:: I have got to do something, but damned if I can figure out what.

An old friend of my partner's stopped by a few days ago. He irritated the hell out of me, mainly becuase he was so goddamned patronizing and condescending, as though my head was full of fluff and air. >:-( But that's beside the point. The man spoke of his place, what he was doing, of firewood, greenhouses, stoves, hunting, of venison and moose, conspiracy theories....all things that used to be a major part of my life and identity. Now it's like ho-hum, been there, done that, tired of it... Don't get me wrong, I love the country life, but the last fifteen years of my life have been consumed with hardship and wondering where the next meal is going to come from, and how, finding ways to be more comfortable and warm, and so on. There has just got to be more than life than taking care of the most basic, rudimentary needs. Once I reveled in this sort of stuff. I loved splitting the wood, picking herbs and plants for the winter's tea, finding new uses for lentils, mapping out ways to supply all our food from the garden, living a subsistence lifestyle, showing that I was tough, that I could handle it, and sneering on those who couldn't. I think I'd still like to live in the country, someday...but not like this. And then, this place is so provincial. People here are so small minded- not all of them, but as a whole, you could hardly call them progressive. We've gone from logging and timber to lumber mills, realty, and tourist oriented industries. I think that there is some potential here; we have a lot of artists and artisans, and there are handfuls of interesting minds, but there is still such an...exploitative...mentality among the locals. The woods have been logged to death, and now we turn to the tourists. It's like they're pimping the place. After the tourists, after everything has been taken that can be, after the woods and mountains have been clearcut, subdivided and developed, after there's a tacky fast food joint or walmart or dollar store wherever one can be supported, will anything worthwhile remain?

Thursday, November 20, 2003

I don't have anything profound to offer tonight (do I ever?). Lots of thoughts rolling around in my head but they're still incubating.

I've been going through my too copious stuff and weeding it severely. Yesterday I took a lot of clothes to the thrift store. I've pretty much limited the wardrobe to three colors: blue, black, and white. Most of the time I feel like black- simple, matches everything, no stains, restrained and reserved. There are a few things in other colors, a little cranberry, a little green, a little tan/brown (falls into the neutral category). The beautiful thing about this is that I never have to worry about things matching anymore. You can throw black, white and blue together in any combination and it looks fine. It also makes the culling process so much simpler (buying, too). In another day or two the clothes should be down to a managable amount.
Then I can start in on something else. Oddly, throwing things away has become pleasant, sort of a purgative process- there is a sense of relief when it's gone. Perhaps it's appropriate that Ursula Le Guin's character Shevek referred to excessive material posessions as excrement.

Purging- stuff, inboxes, old worn out dogmas, perhaps the goats, and to some extent myself. Don't have any idea how much I weigh now but the clothes keep getting too big. Another nice thing about minimizing- the stuff I do want stands out in sharper relief and seems more special when the other stuff is gone. Quality, not quantity.

The wind blew hard and strong last night, all night.
I loved it- so soothing.

Tuesday, November 18, 2003

Damn. I just realized that I posted an almost identical list back in September. Embarrassing. In a way, perhaps it's instructive- I want what I want to write it down twice...and essentially the same things, too.
Last night I dreamt (among other things) that a lady walked up to me and gave me money, over $1,000, and I was so happy that I was just about in tears....because it would be enough for a first, last, and deposit on a place. How's that for an immature and childish solution- a stranger just walking up and saying, I know you need this, here it is. I'm not very happy with the lack of initiative revealed by that dream. On the other hand, the main impediment appears to be $. Sometimes I think I'd sell my soul if I could. There are the goats. If I could get a decent price, there might be enough of them, if I could bring myself to do it. Maybe it'd be worth it? :-( Not a pleasant choice. Not an easy one. OK, what if I kept just a very small core of the animals who were absolutely essential to the breeding program, like 4-8 of them, no more. That would still leave about 12 to sell. Assuming they go for between $75 and $200 each (depressingly low in a few cases), that *might* do it. This is not something I enjoy considering. But if I keep them, they'll be an expense. ::sigh:: Well, it's a thought to roll around for the day.

Monday, November 17, 2003

Thinking some more now...while I'm upbeat enough to consider the subject without becoming profoundly depressed. I have a strong general idea that I want to change the direction of my life. What I can't figure out is how to get from where I am now, to where I'd like to be. Every time I see a ray of hope or something that looks workable, I doubt myself or encounter a serious setback and then it all looks hopeless again. So let's start with what I do know, what I want:

I'd like: (no particular order)
  • For my children to be happy- all of them. And there's no way in heck I'm packing any of them off to live with relatives.
  • I want to go to school and to be independent, hopefully as an artist or in an art related field of some kind. I don't ever want to be dependent (financially or otherwise) on anyone ever again, I think it's death to a healthy relationship.
  • To have a lifelong companion and friend, the sort of friendship where I could trust the other party with all my secrets, a bond with depth and respect for one another as equals. There are other criteria, but I don't want to get sidetracked here. If I can't have this, then I don't want anything. I'd far rather be alone than to play out a role, going through the motions.
  • The goats...I'd like to keep them if I can....but perhaps this would change if I gained proficiency and identity through other areas.
  • I'd like to have a long term place to live, probably rural, eventually. In the meantime, a place to live, preferably within easy commuting distance to school.
  • Very short term: think I'd like to go to Chicago and perhaps New York this winter or spring (or possibly summer), to see the museums and family and other things. I haven't been to Chicago's Art Institute for a very long time and was too young to appreciate it when I did. There are other places I'd like to go to and see but this would do for now...

So yes, I suppose I have my ideals, as much as anyone else. The list is shorter than I thought it'd be. And, it isn't as though I'm asking to be an astronaut or a billionaire or even a doctor. I think these things *are* attainable...the question is how??
Well, I'm in a considerably better mood tonight. Something funny: Seen any grays lately?

Friday, November 14, 2003

I've come to the conclusion that love is not a feeling.
Feelings change like the weather. But love is like a boulder embedded deep in the ground. Whether it rains on the rock, the wind blows, or the sun shines with warmth, or lightning strikes it, the stone remains essentially the same although the atmosphere around it may change.
See, if it were just a feeling, the solution would be ever so simple: just wait for it to pass, because feelings are by nature inconstant and transitory.
Love on the other hand, takes time and effort and pain to root out, and then you're left with a raw and gaping gash in your soil.

Hmmm. This analogy is no good. Earth sign though I am, stones are impassive. OK, how about this: a tree. If you catch it young and don't want it, you can sometimes root out a tree seedling or hope the weeds will crowd it out. Neglect it, ignore it, sometimes it dies. Water it, even a little...and the tap root goes down, squirms its way into your heart and wraps it's tendrils through and around it. Again, the tree is relatively steadfast. It goes through the seasons, but the framework and body of it is the same. Spring may find it covered in blooms, or smitten by an early frost, and in winter it goes quiet and still; its the same tree while time, weather, and the seasons change. Again, it can be rooted up, leaving wreckage and a hole where it used to be...or it can die...slowly...or suddenly, as in being cut down. Sometimes the stump sends forth new shoots, and nurtured by the extensive root system, they grow and replace the old trunk and its branches. Trees change, they grow and I think they're more suited to the analogy than boulders (much as I love stones).

OK, something totally unrelated now. This. I had to laugh, because I just went and broke the link to here that I'd had posted on my personal website. Decided it was just a little too risky-mainly because my dad had just asked for the URL to my site (not the blog). I don't think he'll run a search on me. #1, he doesn't care enough to do so. #2, it won't occur to him to do so- I know my dad. #3, even if he does, I don't think he'll find it. I ran a search on myself once and it didn't come up within the first 4-5 pages as far as I could tell. Still, if he did....well, it'd be a fucking mess, that's what. ::shudder:: Actually, I don't think anyone at all reads this stuff. It's too boring. *attempts to lull self into a state of complacency*

Thursday, November 13, 2003

This week has been hell. Seems everyone I talk to tells me I must give up something near to my heart; if I listened to them all, I'd be like a picked over turkey carcass, just bones and gristle without any flesh. WTF do they think I'm supposed to live for? I miss Sprite keenly, her gentle depth and understanding...when I was really down it used to be I could cry on her small, hairy shoulder and she was there for me. Somehow, she knew when things were bad. There isn't anyone like that now, (caprine or otherwise) and I wish there were. Instead, the blackness gathers and swirls in my stomach, gnawing at me more every day. And it occurs to me that maybe the sex drive has something with wanting to be vulnerable, that maybe, for many people and especially men it's the only outlet they have to express vulnerability.

I've never been comfortable with weakness. Personally, I mean. For other people, it's fine. For myself it's always been that I had to hold it back, hide the pain, endure whatever came along or leave if it became really intolerable. Strength and stoicism: don't flinch or yelp if you get burned, don't cry out loud, pretend the insults didn't hurt, take the punishment without giving the aggressor the satisfaction of breaking you. Other little girls cried routinely and on cue when the need arose, public or not. I think I'd rather walk down the street naked than to be seen shedding is that embarrassing. Which isn't to say it's never happened, but I remember each instance with a sort of stinging shame....the way you would public incontinence. I don't know why- I suppose I felt (and still do) that if someone saw that they could hurt me, they'd lunge for the jugular. Men have accused me of being cold, aloof, and uncaring...oh, it isn't true....but never mind...they're always the ones who hurt me.

And the irony of this all is that I wear a different public face...but never mind that, too.

Art- I went to the local artist's guild again. I was being kind when I reckoned them in the 50-70 year range, some of them are at least 90 I think. There were a few nearer to me age this time and the entire group was friendlier. The guest artist was really cool and affable. She's got her paintings on everything from greeting cards to jigsaw puzzles and collector plates, and she told us how to get to that point (as well as demonstrating her technique in gouache). The library said they wanted to exhibit my paintings, so I took all my oils there- will see if they actually hang them. I've an idea the little old ladies may object- heh. Latest works in progress are an oil of a quince and chestnut leaf, need to make the quince a little more abstract or else more realistic- as it is it simply looks lame- the other work is pen and ink of a pair of zebras, very enjoyable subject. I've got a bunch of work finished that I should scan and upload soon.

Monday, November 10, 2003


sublimation - (chemistry) a change directly from the solid to the gaseous state without becoming liquid
chemical science, chemistry - the science of matter; the branch of the natural sciences dealing with the composition of substances and their properties and reactions
transformation, transmutation, shift - a qualitative change
sublimation - (psychology) modifying the natural expression of an impulse or instinct (especially a sexual one) to one that is socially acceptable
psychological science, psychology - the science of mental life
alteration, change, modification - an event that occurs when something passes from one state or phase to another; "the change was intended to increase sales"; "this storm is certainly a change for the worse"; "the neighborhood had undergone few modifications since his last visit years ago"
SUBLIMATION: The redirection of sexual desire to "higher" aims. Freud saw sublimation as a protection against illness, since it allowed the subject to respond to sexual frustration (lack of gratification of the sexual impulse) by taking a new aim that, though still "genetically" related to the sexual impulse, is no longer properly sexual but social. In this way, civilization has been able to estimate "social aims above sexual (ultimately selfish) aims" . This is not to say that the "free mobility of the libido" is ever fully contained: "sublimation is never able to deal with more than a certain fraction of libido".
Perhaps I'm missing something here. What exactly is the problem with gratifying one's libido? Could it not be that sublimation is in fact unhealthy in and of itself, rather than a protection against illness? Let's see...what if one were hungry but sublimated the appetite into music? Would that be a healthy response? And what is selfish about sex? Personally, my sentiment was that there's no greater closeness (provided the parties involved are close in other ways as well) and that sex is (well, should be) a gift from one person to the other. I suppose if one held that it were shameful then yes, a substitute would be preferable...but this presupposes that sex is wrong and shameful. which it isn't. And if it deals with only a 'fraction', what use is it?! *sigh*...and here I was extolling sublimation just a few weeks ago...well, I've changed my mind, so there.

Friday, November 07, 2003

That was pretty bleak and grim. Sounded as though I was about to walk the plank or something of that nature...heh. The modem went out on the computer and so I've been offline for several days. Even now it's hard to maintain a connection for more than ten minutes (or less). The inability to anesthesize my mind by surfing the net has made me think things through more than usual. The general pattern was to try not to think about something, my mind would keep returning to it, obsess about it until I began to feel overwhelmed with anxiety, depression, pain, hopelessness, etc, and then think to myself, "well, I think there's something I wanted to look at on the forum....", at which point I'd surf around aimlessly for an hour or two. Not a very productive way to operate.

Some monsters diminish once you confront them. For a week or more I had dreams/nightmares in which I was feeling pressured into intimacies when my heart wasn't in it. The aftertaste of the dreams haunted me during the days. Every night I'd hope to dream of something better or more fulfilling, and it'd be the same theme (along with two others: something bad happening to the goats, and taunting luxuries such as taking a hot shower or opening a fridge or cupboard full of food). Then it happened that I found myself in such a situation, was able to deal with it and voila, the nightmares ended.

It isn't so much that I want to be alone, in spite of the value I have for solitude. Have you ever seen something beautiful and turned to say 'look!', only to find an empty space at your a good book and wished you could savor it with someone else who could appreciate it...eaten a meal or a treat and finding that it lacked an essential ingredient- a companion to eat it with...taken a blow and been unable to share the pain of it with anyone...doubted yourself and not have someone you trust to refute or confirm it...had a question and grown tired of your own answers...met a challenge or acheived something, without someone to smile and say- well, I knew you could do that...wanted a hug and found only your own hollow, aching chest.....

Believe it or not, one can feel that way in the presence of other people, surrounded by people day and night. I find it unbearable. Better by far to actally *be* alone than surrounded by reminders of what should/could be and isn't. There are some who seem to be able to fill the gap with virtually any other person, and for whom my nightmares probably wouldn't have been that unsettling. I can't do that. For them, people are like bricks; all about the same, pretty much interchangable, and there are heaps of them. For me, it's more like a jigsaw puzzle- each piece is unique; the absence of a piece can't be compensated for by another. No...there are too many pieces in a puzzle. More like trying to paint a picture without any blue paint- no blue, no green, no can still paint the picture but it's distinctly less satisfying.

Friday, October 31, 2003

This morning's dreams were no better; in fact they were worse. I think I'm losing my mind. And always, a side of me asks if it wouldn't be better to relent, to give in. But then, there is this shadowy awareness of something *else* and I'm too stubborn, for in the dreams, along with the realization of there being a vague something or someone comes a sense of importance attached to it. It's sort of like I forget what it is, or why it's important, but it's still there, unseen and powerful, and I have to remember and.....searching for the right words....retain this awareness and a respect for it....or otherwise something vital will be lost and an irreversible change will occur.

It's sort of unfortunate that in my mind I can become so stubborn that I remain so even after I've forgotten exactly what the point was in the first though the stubbornness begins to exist for it's own sake. That doesn't really apply in this case, not exactly...but it seems sort of pointless anyway.

So seeing things clearly now- through cynical, bitter eyes, knowing myself to be beyond hope, beyond warmth, having little more to lose that wouldn't be lost otherwise, the path lies straight and apparent. I've been here before, at these same crossroads- younger, more foolhardy, riskier. This time, I'll do what I should have done then, twelve years ago. And the madman in my mind shakes the bars and screams "twelve years, twelve years!!!" It's about all he ever says.. But the rational cooly turns away and remarks- twelve years, one year, three years, time doesn't matter now or ever.

A Nightmare

I dreamed a man- tall, thin, sinewy, midwestern farmer type, old enough to be my father.
He was OK, as a person, he seemed sort of like a father figure.
But then he started kissing me, didn't even ask, just grabbed.
And his lips were cold, thin, hard, intrusive.
Nothing tender or yielding about them.
And his tongue too, was tough, hard, demanding.
I struggled-
He didn't seem to notice at all.
Repulsed, still he dove in farther
until I felt I was being devoured alive
by that cold and sinewy tongue.
I gagged and choked
And he let me go at last.

All day has gone by
and still it haunts me...
ungainly arms and legs like wayward sticks.
I hope never to dream him again!

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

*sigh* I'm so lonely. And why? Because I'm a snob. Because I find at least 95% of the population to be insufferably boring and to have very little to contribute in the way of interesting conversation or interactions. I'm sick and tired of banalities, of trite, meaningless babbling, of people going on and on about stupid bygone ideals that weren't actually so ideal if one were to scrutinize them more closely. I suppose it's the area we live in, and the fact that I tend to regard every person as dull and stupid until proven otherwise...that can't be an endearing trait... It isn't that I think I'm so perfect or fascinating- I know my faults. But I'm still very bored, and the previously mentioned traits combined with social ineptitude result in a sort of self-perpetuating state of isolation.

Competitive...perhaps that's half the problem. There are a lot of people who don't care for competition in the context of friendship. For my part, a friendship without it is, well, bland and uninteresting- intolerably so. It's probably also why I don't get along with men on a long term basis- ultimately, most of them don't want to compete with a woman. I suppose it's threatening. The stupid thing is, I don't have to win, though I'll get irritated if I lose consistently and by a wide margin. I just enjoy competing for its own sake. Losing, winning, it isn't a personal issue, as long as the other party gives me a run for my money and has a mind I can respect. Whatever...::throws hands up in despair::

Monday, October 27, 2003

I figured out the problem with the style sheet- it was an embarrassingly stupid simple error.

I've been buying up bulbs on sale at the local hardware stores and planting them. Today's project was digging a big hole, lining it with a chicken wire basket (to keep gopher from eating the bulbs), filling that with compost and earth, and planting it with: golden appledoorn tulips, dwarf dutch iris, and crocuses. Considering the amount of work put into the site, I should plant a few perennials or flower seeds there as well, to bloom after the bulbs are done. It should be quite a sight come spring. I love planting. Sometimes I think I'd like to work in landscaping, except that I think lawns are a profligate waste. I mean, think about it: people spend hundreds of dollars and hours of perfectly good summertime planting and maintaining a crop that cannot be eaten, doesn't have attractive blooms, uses tons of water, and then, the ultimate insult- it's exactly like every other front yard on the street (unless someone had more than the usual amount of creativity). Isn't that original? Why would anyone do this? Think about the amount of food that could be grown on the nation's lawns. If they're not going to grow food, why don't they at least use the space to make some sort of personal statement or something *nice*? Cacti would be nice- some places do that. Wildflowers would be nice. An herb garden would be nice. So would a collection of interesting trees with ferns and woodland plants beneath, interspersed with a little grass here and there. But flat square patches of green lawn = boring. There are other plants that use less water and require less mowing, if they want something low growing; clover, thymes, and others. At least that would indicate some actual *thought* into the matter.

What else- I'm kind of depressed. I've got a cold as well as pinkeye, but there's more to it than that. In the past month or so I've tried to acquire interest in at least ten different, calligraphy, beading, and a bunch of other stuff. They're all interesting in their own right, but instead of enjoying them, they just magnify this sense of emptiness, they seem hollow. The less satisfying they are, the more desperately I turn to some other activity, only to encounter the same thing, more glaring than before. So a friend called me up today and told me about a sermon she'd seen on her T.V. this morning, something about dreammakers. This pastor goes around asking people what they're always dreamed of doing/being and then tells them that God put that dream in their hearts/minds and it's His will for them to pursue it. My initial reactions was: wow, smart guy. Tell people what they want to hear and get paid for it (it could be argued, of course, that _all_ preachers tell people what they want to hear, but that's another subject for another time). But then, taking the deity and his supposed spokesman out of the picture, the message still has value: do what you want to do. Don't live a meaningless existence!

What have I always wanted to do? To be an artist. I can't remember a time when I haven't wanted that; and it's one of the few things that I _really_ want that's pretty much under my control. So, I'm going to see if I can pursue this. It's the only thing I can think of that would make life worthwhile without love, and the weird thing about love is that if you put too much stock in it, it has a way of becoming elusive, or of vanishing if you thought you had it. Or...I don't know. Maybe I've just picked the wrong guys to fall in love with....

When I was 12, there was a kid in my class name Ronnie Smith. He was a loser of the first class and everybody knew it. He wasn't even good looking. But when he asked me out, I accepted, because I'd never been asked on a date before. He said we'd go to this place, and set a time at which he'd pick me up. Well, I was dressed and ready a good hour or two before that time. I waited and waited, the time passed. I watched out the window at each car, but still he didn't come. He never showed up. On Monday, I was the laughingstock of the class. Seems Ronnie had told them I'd asked him out on a date and that he'd refused me! What an ass!! To ask a dunce like him out- and have him turn you down? That'd be pretty sad. It wasn't the truth, but everyone believed it anyway. It was really humiliating. I didn't even care about him. There are a lot of guys like that, though. They'll get you out on a limb, and then when things seem uncertain or scary or perhaps they just need to boost their own egos, they back out of it and make me feel like the fool. >:-( There is no faster way to earn my wrath and hatred- they'd might as well be wearing Ronnie's face. Heh...scary thought....

Monday, October 20, 2003

I've been working on the style sheet for my website for the past hour or two. I screwed things up last night, which precipitated a premature delivery of the new version. I wasn't really ready to bring it out yet, but the way thing worked out, I didn't have much of a choice. I *cannot* get the frigging H1 font (which is the herdname in big latters across the top of the page) into any other font than the one that's there. I don't know where *that* font came from, but I hate it, hate it, hate it!!! :shrieks with frustration: There are a number of others that'd be fine. By the time I was through I'd decided plain old arial would be fine. No dice. No matter what I do it's the same clunky ungraceful font. Now, if all I had to do was *&$# around with this one font all day long, it'd be one thing. But the fact of the matter is that there are about a zillion details that have to be attended to very quickly because the home page's links aren't valid, and the new layout will be using a different navigation bar, and there are about 15-20 more pages to complete. (There *is* a template I've made so each page doesn't have to be written anew, but's going to take several more days worth of tweaking before it's acceptable). So- I guess you could say I'm a little stressed.

Ummmm....oh yeah, I do have a life outside the computer. And lately, I'm preferring this one- I have more control over it and it's more fun to fool around with pages that don't work than to deal with dysfunctional interpersonal communications. The harder I look, the more life seems like some kind of inpenetrable maze. I'm surrounded by people and their expectations- act this way, do XYZ, say what they want to hear, think what they want me to think , feel what they want me to feel. And this is where I draw the line: what I *do* is negotiable. What I think or feel is nobody's business but mine. Other people are private about their money, their age, their history, etc..for me, it's my inner world that is off limits unless otherwise specified, and even then- misbehave, screw me over, and you're out- never to return, or- restricted access only.

Anyway- back to the external reality (is it more real? I think maybe it's less so...). The relationship between internal and external reality is an interesting one. The physical world can kill your body, but can it kill an idea? Does the material world have any value without ideas, thoughts, feelings, other than existing for its own sake? From an idea, to plant, for example, I can not only modify the physical world but also inspire others to do likewise. It's possible for an entire forest to spring up if I want it to, which will last a thousand years and reseed itself...Ideas are powerful- they're the strongest tool we have. It could be and has been argued that ideas and original thought are what set us apart from animals. The worst thing that the physical world can do to us then, is to kill our ideas, our power of thought. Starve a person, bruise their body, they're still human. A brain dead person with a healthy body is nothing more than a mass of tissue, a remnant of what once was human. Independence of thought- it's precious.

Thursday, October 16, 2003

It's like- Being lost in a strange place with lots of strange people all around who don't know you and don't speak your language or even really see you at all. And then- running into the dearest face in the world.

It's like- Having the wind pick you up and carry you up over the mountains, in the clouds- but only for a moment. And then feeling somewhat bewildered when you realize your feet are on the ground.

It's like- Waking up one morning and realizing that everything around you, every physical thing, is utterly meaningless, it means nothing at all.

It's like- Coming out of a fog...seeing your goal, your destination clearly as though for the first time- and wondering if you have the gas to get there.

It's like- the snick of that one puzzle piece, the one that matters, that you'd thought was lost or missing, the sense of completion once it's there.

It's like- living in a black and white movie, and then one day the film stops rolling and you notice just how lovely the real world is.

It's like- a bleak gray land where the sun never ever shines, and the stars only seem to mock you. And then the most beautiful comet you've ever seen in your life comes blazing across the sky, illuminating everything around you, making you want to sing. But you can't touch it or reach it, and afterwards the land looks ten times as ugly and dark as it ever did.

Tuesday, October 14, 2003

I'm not ready to even begin on today yet- if I had my way I'd go back to bed and sleep for 2-3 more hours. Seems like I feel sleep deprived most of the time; suppose that's to be expected when there's a baby in the room. So----> yesterday.

I dragged myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 9:00, milked the goats, and hurried in to town so I could check out the local fine arts guild and their monthly meeting. It's held at a restaurant, and you know, I should have guessed, because this restaurant is the one the loggers frequent, and this guild hangs it's art in the library and businesses around town. Certainly, I didn't expect Michelangelo, Rodin, or Degas, but that was OK- I just wanted to find people with similar interests. So I walk in the door.....actually, I saw even before I *opened* the glass door- and there is this room full of women, most of them in the 50-70 age range, and they give me this look as though there must be some mistake, because I sure as heck don't belong there! The tables were jam packed, and nobody made room for me to sit down. They hardly even looked at me, and when they did, it wasn't exactly friendly. _But_ I'm stubborn, and I make up my mind that I am going to be here in this place whether they like it or not. So I picked up an empty chair and carried it around the perimeter of the room to an empty place with some gals who looked eccentric and not too unfriendly. They were nice enough. The first part of the meeting was boring as hell (in my mind, hell is a place of utter and complete boredom and loneliness), mostly it was about various means of raising money or exhibiting art. A painting or two was held up briefly for display and a couple of them were good, too; but mostly it was about voting on one dull issue after another, and everyone agreed all of the time. Then lunch was served and the guest artist began to talk about her work and methods, and she was pretty interesting. I learned a lot from her, and she also is self taught, which was inspiring. But other than the two gals on either side of me and the guest artist, not one of those ladies said hello. Bunch of crochety old...:slaps hand over mouth:. Anyway, I think I'll go there next month.

After that I went and applied for another job, and I think there's a chance I could get this one. It's weekends only but hopefully could lead into expanding horizons and hours.

Back to the art meeting: the weird thing is that I'm already a member of the quilt guild, and it's the same way as far as age range but the attitude is entirely different. Once those ladies saw my work they welcomed me with open arms. There must be another place for art with people my own age. For years, my friends have been 20+ years older than me, maybe because I sought out men that age, too. For over a decade now, I've bemoaned my youth and pretended to be more mature, to be above all that goes with being in your twenties. I guess I didn't want them to say I was too young for the men I was with. And the men- they *were* gentle (well, some of them were...) but they always acted a little fatherly and protective, even patronizing. Sort of like, I've lived and let me tell you all about the world and you're just a young sweet thing but I'll teach you what I like. Well, I'm sick and tired of it now. They were young once, they had their kicks and thrills before they looked upon the world with a seasoned eye. I'm tired of feeling as though it's some kind of a sin to be my age, and as though the main benefit of my age is to an innoncent thing for some guy who doesn't feel like dealing with a gal his own age. I'm speaking in generalities here of course...I don't know that age is the main issue so much as the attitude that tends to prevail with an extreme age difference. It's impossible to feel like an equal with someone like that, and equality is what I want.

On second thought, there must be another group around here- one with contemporaries. I'll have to find it and let the old ladies keep their exclusive little club. What a loss. *snort*

Saturday, October 11, 2003

Birds by Elton John from- Songs from The West Coast (1991)

There’s some things I don’t have now
Some things I don’t talk about
These things are between myself and i
In my thick skull the joker hides

There’s consequences I’m scared to taste
Cold hard truths I can’t face
These days are different than the past
Reflections change in the looking glass

And everywhere I look there’s something to learn
A sliver of truth from every bridge we burn
A hatful of quarters and a naked song
Don’t answer the question of where we belong

How come birds
Don’t fall from the sky when they die?
How come birds
Always look for a quiet place to hide
These words
Can’t explain what I feel inside?
Like birds I need a quiet place to hide

These independent moves I make
This confidence I try to fake
You can hear the beating of my heart
But not a feather falling in the dark

And everything I hear never makes any sense
Another old prophet perched on the fence
A cupful of pencils and a self help guru
Don’t answer the question of what I am to you

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

I slept well last night. Dreamt well too, and would have preferred to keep doing so; but the baby felt obliged to climb on my face (repeatedly). Anyway- I still feel restless. Considered calling a friend, but ran through the list (it's short), changed my mind, and went to check on the goats instead. Feather's in heat. To breed or not to breed? I'd like to A.I. her, but I'm out of sheaths (a very necessary component of the A.I. gun). Could breed her naturally- easier. Eh, I'll hold out for the A.I. breeding, and if she doesn't settle, breed her to the live buck. Besides, breeding the does early means early kids, and I'm still entertaining the idea of some kind of vacation or trip back east or somewhere this winter. Can't do that if there are goats kidding at the time. So what exactly do I want to do back there? I don't know yet- go to the Art Institute for sure, eat Chicago style food, visit people. Still rolling over possibilities in my head. Maybe I'll stay here.

That's BS. This isn't about some non existent trip back east; the awful truth is that it's hell to be celibate during breeding season (and now I'm going to go find a rug to curl up under). I mean, hey, might as well be honest. Speaking of which- I found a fascinating article: asexuality. I don't relate to it personally, but it's interesting nonetheless. I once knew a guy like that, he was my dad's best friend (and I had a crush on him as a little girl). People would ask him when he was going to find a girl or get married, and his answer was always- 'Never. I'm married to my music." He meant it. Music was what he lived for, and women were extraneous. I don't think he was gay either, he just had no interest in a relationship. People always acted as though there was something horribly wrong with that, poor guy. He must have grown very tired of hearing it. Then there was Paul Erdos, who lived only for mathematics. I can see where it'd be so much more convenient, and a person could devote all their energies towards one pursuit and acheive excellence in that field.

I wouldn't want it though. Passion gives life color, depth, and richness. The dark side is that once you've had it, approximations or analogs of it are simply unacceptable. Anyway, maybe it's just me, but lately it seems as though everything I see assumes some sort of erotic identity or undertone. It may be a piece of fruit, a stone, the throbbing beat of a song, the drivenness of a piece by Bach, or the form of a tree. Flowers are particularly bad- which makes sense since they are, after all, the plant's sex organs. It gives new meaning to the custom of men bringing flowers to women. (!) Or for example, the sanserveria plant I just bought. It looks distinctly phallic to me every single time I glance at it. Drives me nuts...if this is what being thirty is like, I'm not sure I want to see forty. :-/ Man, maybe I'm just losing my mind.

Tuesday, October 07, 2003

See? Told you I was bored. ;-) I found this. I like that site more and more every time I visit it, though it's hard to say why. Anyway, about the story- sleeping in strange beds, the way people smell... Why would anyone want to have sex with a guy is she couldn't relax and sleep soundly next to him?? And if he didn't smell *right* enough to enjoy sleeping in his bed? Life is too short for that sort of thing. I can relate to her sense of smell- I have a very definite memory of the scent of every person I've ever loved, familial or otherwise, and even of people who were just friends. You could hand me an article of worn clothing from their house, and I could identify it just by the smell. But from my point of view, scent is a comforting experience, not a sleepless one. To sleep in the bed of a grandmother, friend, or otherwise dear person is to be surrounded by their aura and to feel embraced by them. Maybe she didn't feel loved by the people whose beds she slept in. That's sad...
I'm really bored. And honestly, I don't know how I could be, since I have enough projects and interesting things to do and more work than anyone could shake a stick at...but I am, nonetheless. I guess the bottom line is that none of it really means enough to me to actually hold my interest.

For example: today the first doe came into heat and got bred (now that I think of it, that wasn't boring. That buck kid is the first buck I've seen that makes _no_ noise to the doe. But anyway...) And then...I don't remember. It seems that I spent most of the day coping with children. I did some reading in HTML4 for dummies (what is the deal with people paying to be labeled as dummies?), came up with some more ideas for the website, started a drawing of some autumn leaves (watercolor pencil, so it'll be a painting though it's a drawing now), took a couple of phone calls, made bread dough and dinner (cheese fondue), and milked the goats. That's about it. It doesn't actually look bad when I write it down, but is this all there is to life? It just seems like there is something vital missing.

The result of which is that I'm in a pretty strange mood and I'll probably go and find somewhere to stir the pot or excercise my strange and bizarre sense of humor. I don't know- have you ever felt like either banging your head against a brick wall in frustration, or taking the world and shaking it until it makes sense? Where are the answers? I can't find them; and just when I think I have, someone comes along and casts enough doubt on it to make me wonder again. I hate it, hate it, hate it. Arrgh!!!

Sunday, October 05, 2003

Well,well. Since my last post here, I've been pretty busy moving the dairygoats forum from it's old place onto the far more reliable server that I use for my other websites. Want to see it? Here. My son has just gone square dancing for the evening, and prior to that we went to town and had a grand shopping spree. I'm kidding, of course. We bought a weeks worth of goat and duck feed, dark Dove chocolate, groceries, and a variety of flowerbulbs. Lets see: Tulips- 16 Apricot Beauty, and 8 Mickey Mouse (which is red streaked with yellow), 5 pink pearl hyacinths (love the smell), and 8 each of Misty Glen and Thalia narcissus. the latter is simply superb- it has multiple frangrant, pendant blooms on each stem, and they're pure white. I went to some lengths to procure and plant some last fall, and was so pleased (come spring) that I jumped at the chance to buy a few more.

It doesn't make a whole lot of sense since I'm thinking of leaving; why sink more time, money, and love into this place? But on the other hand, I love it here. I'll have been here 7 years in the spring, which is longer than I've ever lived anywhere else, and I've never loved another place the way I do this one (though my childhood home in Harvard, IL would run a close second. My childhood effectively ended when I left that place.) Besides, whether or not I'm here won't matter. Someone will enjoy the flowers, I hope. The point of planting is partly to enjoy the results personally, but mostly it's to beautify the world and leave something pleasant and lasting in your wake. I wish I could plant more; I'd like to put in frittilaria meleagris, some scilla, some grape muscari (grape hyacinths), maybe a few more crocuses, and I'd wanted to try the arums, which look like jack in the pulpits. Also- more hyacinths! Some deep, ultramarine blue water irises around the edge of the pond, as a counterpoint to the yellow ones (already there). A water lily or two. Lavendar and various plants that like dry sun, for the SW corner of the house. Hardy cyclamens and others that tolerate dry shade (few do) for the western side of the house.

Then there is the chestnut tree. I think it's an American chestnut, which means that if chestnut blight ever comes our way, it's done for. This tree is so stately and tall, so regal. I swear it has a personality, and out of all the trees on the place, I may well love it the best. Every year, this fine tree flowers profusely, advertises it's mating urges, so full of hope. In vain, for there isn't a pollinator here for it. I've tried planting one for it, but it died. There are heartnut trees, and english and black walnuts but I don't think they pollinate chestnuts. So here is this tree, so lonely, trying year after year to produce nuts, and yielding empty husks every fall. :-( It makes me sad and wistful every time I see it. I'd like to find and plant a mate for it. I can just see that it'll produce loads of nuts as soon as it gets the chance.

Wednesday, October 01, 2003

My favorite doe just died. She had a cold so I went to get some antibiotics for her. By the time I got back, she was dead, just like that. I can't believe she went so quickly. This is the daughter of my formerly favorite doe (Sprite), who also died this spring. My consolation was that I had her daughter, Song. So out of thirty some goats, which one dies? At times like this, I begin to think that there is a God after all- and that He hates me. This has been a really crappy week. I hope it doesn't get any worse; I don't know that I could stand it.

When I went to the dump last, we found a bunch of good children's outdoor toys- Tonka trucks and the like. It just happened there was also a movie, so we brought it home, but the boys said it was messed up, that it had no beginning. Turns out it was tape #2 of the Titanic. So being the glutton for punishment that I am, and having already watched the second half, I rented the set so I can see the first tape. Why would I want to watch such a depressing movie at a time like this? On the bright side, I've made a good deal of progress on the website revisions. It's heartening to see progress somewhere...

Tuesday, September 30, 2003

Well, I don't know. Offers of negotiation continue; however I am skeptical as to whether they would actually lead to any real changes. It isn't that I see them as patently false, it's more like there have been SO many problems, and several of them have _always_ been here, that I'm not sure if it's possible. There is some agreement that an amicable parting would be desired if it proves inevitable.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I'm just flawed to be a wife for anybody. Or, maybe the wife role as commonly defined. When I think of a wife, I don't think of an equal, although I'm sure there are wives who are seen as equals...But to me, a wife is someone who is always smoothing things over, sweeping the conflicts and problems under the rug, keeping the peace, putting up with all sorts of things rather than dealing with them out in the open. A wife's role is to serve her husband, to wait on him and see his need before he asks, to put aside whatever she wants and think about her husband and children, until she forgets that she ever wanted anything herself aside from the happiness of her family. A wife is supposed to be *interested* in child rearing and homemaking. She can have other interests, as long as they're incidental and secondary to her main role in life, and the same with a job. If a wife has a job, it should be just for a little extra spending money, and it certainly shouldn't exceed what her husband makes. A wife is domestic, feminine, and self-abnegating.

In that context, I don't ever want to be a 'wife' again. Can't there be some other word to use, like spouse? Something that denotes equality and not sexism, where the two people are allies and best friends who've chosen to be together, permanently?

------------------------------Putting that aside for a moment------------------------------

Less than a week ago I drove out to a friend's to scan some artwork I'd done so I could upload it onto my site. When I left their place, I set the sketchbooks on the trunk while I put the baby into his carseat, meaning to pick it up when I got into the car. I forgot to do that. When I arrived home and realized they were gone, I called to see if they'd fallen in the driveway and my friend looked there, to no avail. We wondered if maybe I'd set them in the house. Yesterday, I get in touch again with them, and the art was not left in the house. So I packed my two oldest sons into the car and went drving up and down Highway 41 and the dirt road I was on, with the boys keeping their eyes peeled. We found one watercolor painting, and out of all that was lost, this one meant the most to me. It's an abstract, I had it tacked to the wall. I shouldn't have taken it. It was too big to scan anyway. The entire time I was looking, I was thinking about this work, and I felt just sick because it's irreplacable. When we found it, it'd been run over a time or two, and it's dirty. But the essence, the spirit of the feeling that inspired it is still there. Now that I have it back, when I get into exactly the right mood that created it, I'll try my best to make another very like it. Seeing as how the other work must have fallen off into the residential area, and we found no trace of it all all, I think someone picked it up. I'm going to call around at the police stations and local radio with call in advertisements and try to see if anyone's turned it in. I had been designing a business card for the goat business which had my name and address included in the preliminary sketches, so whoever found it will know where to send it or at the very least, my name (most of the work was signed). That was yesterday's adventure. Today I run in to Sandpoint to investigate college possibilities and get some concord grapes.

Monday, September 29, 2003

I've been editing my website this morning. I really should do the same to the goat site as well. I've got several ideas, and I haven't yet made up my mind which ones I want to implement.

Otherwise- I've kind of run out of steam. My partner has been playing one sad song after another about women who leave and the effect has been to make me feel absolutely miserable, depressed and guilty. Have to give him credit for strategy...I don't know what I'm going to do if I can't get a job soon here. I'd kind of like to fly off to some other place for a few months, but with breeding season being imminent and a whole battery of exciting A.I. breedings to execute, I can't really afford to go anywhere.

Saturday, September 27, 2003

I'm remembering a time- it must have been the winter after I turned 16. Our family lived in a little cabin in the woods. To call it dilapidated would be could literally peek through the logs to see who was comign up the drive. Our woodstove was in a similar state- you could see through the rust holes in its sides when the fire was going. There was a windstorm that winter, and it happened that we ran out of firewod in the middle of it. It was so cold that the vehicles wouldn't start, and power lines were being blown down all over the county. The temps were down in the -35 to -40 range, plus 70 mph winds. We huddled around that pathetic little stove until the wood was gone, and then it became apparent that something had to be done, and quickly.

Fortuitously enough a tree blew down just 30 or 40' from the house. The other three kids, our stepdad, and myself went out to get it. We didn't really have much in the way of winterwear. I recall wearing two pairs of jeans, plus long johns, and two or three pairs of socks during any winter in that place. Our coats weren't all that warm, and the gloves were cotton work gloves, the kind that have little rubber dots all over them. The minute we stepped out the door, that wind cut right through us like a knife, and we had to brace ourselves against it to stand upright. We pulled the tree down farther, our stepdad sawed it into lengths, and we began carrying it to the house. This is the short version- in reality every step was an effort and a struggle. The firewood reached the house in time to keep the fire burning, and because our gloves were wet and we were *very* cold, the temptation to stand and dry the gloves for a moment or to exchange them for a dry pair was irresistible. We'd come in shaking profusely with a few logs, warm up a little, and then run back out again to get more wood.

Our mom got tired of that. She wanted us to leave the wood at the door and stay outside until we were through. After all, opening the door made the house cold. At first I was angry- she was cozy and warm by the wood we'd worked to cut, carry, and split, yet we couldn't partake of it's warmth ourselves, while she stayed in the house complacently. It seemed vastly unjust to me. But then, I stopped caring. Nothing mattered anymore. I just felt tired, very tired, confused, and sleepy, so I found a snowbank and curled up in it to take a nap. At the time it seemed a perfectly sane thing to do. I was exhausted. As through a dream, my sister called to me, told me to come inside. I told her I was warm, that everything was OK. She kept shaking and prodding me until I got up. Hypothermia does some pretty weird things to the mind.

And in a way, that's how I feel now; confused, disoriented, lacking perspective and objectivity, very tired, and so cold. Every so often, I get some distance from the situation, the course of action seems clear and apparent, and I try to act on it quickly, while the iron is hot. But then I'm thrust into the cold again, with the warmth of the house being only a sustaining memory, and the confusion sets in. What I need to do is to get some _serious_ distance, maybe. I've been thinking about going back east to visit my family this winter. But seems so far away.
I enjoyed 'things given' enough to go back to and look around some more. This time I read this one. Read it and see what you think. Frankly, I think the girl is beating herself up unnecessarily. She helped the guy, she wanted to be compassionate, but for some indefinable reason, she felt uncomfortable about taking the interactions any further. Why? She feels she was selfish. Yet, Andrew kept taking liberties with her, trying to touch her, acting a little too intimate, wanting to put her in uncomfortable, compromising situations. This isn't about a handicapped person needing help and being neglected, it's about a man trying to use guilt to manipulate the girl into intimacies she doesn't want to give.

Cut the wheelchair and disability out of it, and the picture becomes all too familiar, even redundant. The man may be young or older, weak or strong, ugly or handsome, poor or well off, disabled or perfectly healthy. It may be a father, husband, brother, teacher, pastor, friend, or a stranger. One they have in common- they see a woman more as a *thing* or an object, than a person with the right not to want them. In their eyes, the woman has an obligation to satisfy their needs. I have my doubts regarding whether those needs can truly be met by an unwilling but cooperative (or uncooperative) partner- it seems that true intimacy must be given freely and willingly, and forced intimacy would be distinctly unsatisfying. Maybe that's why some of them try to talk themselves into believing that the woman/girl "really wanted it" but was too passive to say so, or that she didn't really mean it when she refused them, or that her silence meant 'yes'. I have some more thoughts on this subject, but I need to incubate them a while longer...

Thursday, September 25, 2003

Current mood- I don't know. Kind of bothered, though it's hard to articulate why. I spent most of yesterday applying for a job. First, I had to find a daycare that would take the baby for me. You just don't walk in job hunting with a kid on your hip. So I found a nice place after some roaming around, left him there. When I got to the place and pulled up in my shitty car in front of this professional looking building, surrounded by a lot of really nice vehicles, my confidence began to dive. The gal I spoke to apparently didn't think much of me either, didn't seem to think I should even bother filling out an application, but I did it anyway, since I'd already gone to quite a bit of trouble to do so. She said a lot of very qualified people had already applied, after which I felt about 3 inches tall. When I handed the application in, I mentioned that I have a bit of experience in several areas which would directly relate to the job in question, and wrote down the URLs to my websites as an afterthought. Now I wish I'd spent even more time updating and monkeying with them. I love to do it, but my partner just hates it for some reason, and it's hard to concentrate with so many kids running around. I've got a few ideas I want to implement in the next day or two. Anyway, so as I left, I began to feel very lonely, and...I don't know, just really depressed. I mean, what am I? What do I really have in the way of concrete acheivements? Even in my otherworld of thought, of books, music, visions, and ideas, is there anything new or noteworthy of significance? I sort of doubt it...I've always wanted to be different, always striven to be unconventional, but with a sense of panic I realized that I've become really ordinary, just a housewife and mother of five children, who dabbles in various pursuits with varying degrees of mediocrity. This whole single mother with kids in daycare role isn't one I've ever wanted to play. As I was driving back to pick up the baby, the thought crept into my mind, and then lodged there solidly: I'm a nothing. I've lived 30 years and nothing I've done has amounted to any consequence, none of it matters or means anything. I felt so bleak that I picked up the boys from home and drove around town and various places until the edge of the mood had been dulled somewhat, many hours later.

So I don't know; what do I live for? What really matters and makes the hassle that we call life bearable and palatable, makes me *glad* to be alive? What is there to strive towards?

  • Love- as far as I'm concerned this is just about the only thing really worth living for. Were you to talk to me in person about it, I'd sound pretty jaded and cynical, but that's only because it matters so much and I'm disappointed with the way things have worked out. I have a very definite idea of exactly what I want, and I won't compromise for anything else. So, moving right along here,
  • Art- If I could be a serious artist and do the sort of work that expresses what I want it to, that'd be worth living for. I could sublimate the drive for the above into my art and be reasonably content. Maybe. With that in mind, I went through my sketchbooks and drawings this morning. There's very little recent work, and virtually none from the past five or six years. I've been too preoccupied with mudane tasks, and there just isn't much to show for it. What there is, tends to be good, but not what I'd call stellar. It's a little too self concious and constrained. Anyway, maybe there's hope here. We'll see.
  • The goats- To me, goats fall into the same category as art. They're labors of love. And to some extent, a well bred dairy goat is like a walking, living sculpture, always changing position. I've done a lot of work with the genetics and the goats definitely have some potential, if only we could feed and manage them a little better. People are constantly telling me to give up the goats. They don't realize what they're asking.
  • The children- I don't care if this _should_be_ at the top of the list. I can't afford to have it there. I'm not good enough at mothering to make it my main goal in life. But I do care about them deeply and whenever I feel suicidal they're most of the reason why I stay.

I wish I could say that writing down this list has given me some perspective or made me feel better in some way, but it hasn't. It only makes me aware of the deficiencies. Anyway- this is the last day I have alone to establish any changes I want to make, so I should curtail the navel gazing and get working- (on what, though?). God, I miss you.

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

Hmmmm. Looked at this tonight. I don't know yet what to think about it. I couldn't believe how the list went on and on, one guy after another. People aren't something to use up and throw away. I guess that for the sake of brevity, she didn't list all the facts, and there may've been more to it than what she wrote. But play around with someone's heart like induce them to let down their guard, and then walk away, knowing that they love you...why start in the first place? Why not spare them the pain?

Could I write such a list- I don't know. Objectivity tends to be a strong trait for me, but not in that area. Emotional stuff is my achilles heel, which is why I tend to steer clear of it if I can. Maybe that's why I don't even want to think about compiling my own series of accounts. The other thing is that, well, to look at people and relationships that way, as in 'what did I get out of it', bothers me. I can honestly say that in every serious relationship I've had, I was hoping it'd be THE one, THE soulmate and lifelong companion and confidante. Maybe that was asking too much, but I still feel that a mate should be more than a sex partner, they should also be a best friend, the sort of person you trust above all others and would gladly walk through hell for if they needed you. Anything less just isn't worth bothering with. There's nothing like looking into someone's eyes, knowing that they understand you, that you can be honest with them, that your minds mesh, to have that tacit communication that transcends words. It's rare, but it's the only thing worth having, IMO. Settling for less just highlights the absence of what should be and isn't.

Enh. :shakes off sentimentality for a moment, knowing it will likely settle onto me again, like a veil: There is still a lot of work I have to do around here. Trash to run to the dump (again- there's a lot of it built up over the years), cleaning, people to email, bills to pay, the worst of it is letter writing. I hate writing letters except when I'm truly inspired. The insincerity of filling an entire page with trivialities and polite nothings irks me to no end, and then you have to start all over on yet another, and another... I love my relatives, but they aren't interested in the things that really matter to me, so why write? Maybe if I set a quota; one letter a day. God, that sounds like some kind of a sentence or punishment. I suppose I could make a marathon of it and get it all over with in an hour or two. Unfortunately, they sometimes compare letters, so I have to dredge up *different* insincere trivialities for each letter, and by the time I've done two or three, my mind runs dry and blank. If only I could paint a picture instead, and scrawl a short note on the back- 'Thanks for the X, here is what bloomed today in the garden'. I should try that sometime. It'd be a lot more palatable to me. It isn't the usual, but they've long since become accustomed to other than expected interactions by now anyway. I could tell them all about my breedign plans for the goats and that the bucks are coming into rut, and the does in heat...but on second thought, I do believe they'd rather have a picture. ;^D

Monday, September 22, 2003

The laundry is done. The extra goats are gone. :breathes a huge sigh of relief and satisfaction: Now I need to find a job, and soon- before I fall back into the pit of despair. Momentum!! It used to be that I had to trek halfway across a city on foot, (in the days when I was homeless) before I got to a Job Service and registered. Filling out the resume was always a problem....Now, it's a lot easier since it can all be done online. No waiting in line, eyeing other homeless and migrant workers, no exchanges of where the best free lunch is, don't I miss it all?? Nope, not a bit! See, I've been there already, time and again. I have hit rock bottom a few too many times and I'll be damned if I'm going to spend the rest of my life there.

I figure that by now, whatever sort of penance or punishment I may've deserved or had coming has long since been meted out. Much of it seems to have been self induced, anyway...but that's another story in a moldy, mildewy chapter, and now that I've got access to the laundromat, I hope never to see moldy clothing again. I'm rambling....speaking of homelessness and mildew, I found a few thigns while sorting through a box of papers (now that I've abandoned organized religion, there are a LOT of irrelevant pamphelts and magazines and etc, etc that can be disposed of). I'd forgotten about this, but I ran across a newspaper article and booklet of some artwork I'd sold when I was homeless in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Cheyenne is a crappy place to be homeless...let me tell you. The people there do NOT want homeless people around. I think they had a soup kitchen, though. It served roadkill antelope stew. Don't think there was a shelter, I honestly don't recall where we slept. They did have a Wyoming Coalition For the Homeless; it was just a rundown old building where you could hang out during the day. They had this deal where they'd pay $3.00 per drawing or piece of art, and so I sold them quite a few. I kept the originals: they just copied the work. I thought little more of it. The money was welcome either for gas, food or diapers. A year or two later, envelopes arrived at my dad's mailign address: the artwork, mine as well as other's, had been exhibited and featured in a newspaper or two. One paper has a full color reproduction of mine on it's front page. I leafed through them, the work embarrasses me a little now. It's so...dreamy and idealistic/romantic. I guess it was my escape from the all too unpleasant realities of life.

The dreamer lives on, a little disillusioned but quite alive nonetheless. It's just that pipedreams aren't enough, there has to be action and change or nothing happens. And you know, it's a little ironic. Because for as miserable as life was with my first husband, I was able to endure it. Why? Because he didn't crush my dreams. They were always possibilities he was willing to entertain and consider acting on. The guy was a nutcase, true. Now, things are actually quite a bit easier, but without a dream, without a purpose in life, a passion, something to love or to strive for, what good is it? Hardship is tolerable. A pointless existence is not. So- :shaking off black shreds of melancholy: I have to recapture the dream (while maintaining objectivity and sensibility, of course).

That reminds me: I had the wierdest dream last night. In it, the world was falling apart, to pieces, literally. But I wasn't scared- I braced myself for it and handled it just fine. When the blow had struck, I saw a group of goats, and realized that all the evolution and hundreds of thousands of years of breeding dairy goats had reverted to square one. These goats were feral, wilder than anything I've ever seen. They had long, black shaggy hair, horns, were small, wiry, and had the wildest, craziest eyes I've ever seen. Oh, and they were *aggressive*. I felt a sinking in my stomach to see that this was all I'd have to start out with in recreating the dairy goat, and just how far removed the two were, as to be almost unrecognizable as even related species...They were leaping around with blazing eyes like creatures possessed, and they reared at me. But I grabbed their horns and broke them off, broke all the horns off all the goats, and then they stood quietly, their eyes became calm and golden like a domestic goat's eyes, and I knew it wouldn't be hard to effect the rest of the change. Strange as dreams go, but it seems auspicious enough. :-)