Woe is me

So I was invited to participate in a Creative Element.

To be honest, that scares the shit out of me. I know I mentioned before being approached by a “real writer” for participation in a “group” and about shitting myself when they called me out on it.  So freaked I lied my ass off about it.

And he smiled…. And knew I was lying my ass off.  😀

I know it’s the same for any field, really-no one is ever truly confident, especially if it’s a medium you’re attracted to but weren’t “trained for”.

I mean, I’m not super-ego when it comes to the work I do in my day job, but I’m way more confident there.  There are even times I know it was my training and gut instinct because of such that GOT me to a point-and I might sweat the occasional time (fucking rare times, because I’m so retentive about my diagnosis process) I have to explain my logic-but at least there I’m always justified.  That’s all logic.  (And I love logic.  I can’t stand when anything or ANYONE is illogical.  And I run into too many people that are entirely illogical.  That makes me flat out fucking MENTAL to be honest.  “But that doesn’t make SENSE!” I will scream.  Yeah, literally, I do that.  If it doesn’t make SENSE, I don’t GET it!  Where is the LOGIC?  Where is the BALANCE?  Logic!  Logic, logic, LOGIC, you dwix!)

How the fuck do you justify a “creative art”?

…

It’s always been in my belief, mostly based in ART (which I stink at-REALLY stink at) that it’s an expression, a pleasure, a vent valve for the brain and soul-something that just HAS to be done.  It’s not about what someone else thinks of it, it’s what YOU derive from it.  That is Art.  Maybe that’s misled of me to say, but I never look at anything (even things I think are complete shit, that’s just my OPINION) and say to the person, “OMG you SUCK!  What are you THINKING?  Find another outlet!  If you CAN, you clueless piece of tripe!  THIS is not for you!”

But I will in the next breath grin real big and ask, “Does it make you happy to do?  Yeah?  Then why the fuck are you listening to me, do your thing!  Be happy!  Not self conscious!”

Anyone that ever says that [prior mean rebuke] to someone else?  Is a complete raging and judgmental (and self-depreciating) asshole.

Is it imagination, creation, rendition?  Okay!  Good start!

Are you happy doing it?

Fabulous!  Two out of two!

Is it an outlet, a release, a way to express (psychos and nutters excluded, it doesn’t count if your “happy tap”  involves manipulating/mutilating anyone/anything other than yourself)?

Brilliant!

Keep doing it.

I don’t think anyone that ever really has a passion they must “tap” does it because they want to be recognized for it.  It’s just something that must be done.  And honestly, I think it’s a sad thing that people hold back because they think, “I”m being judged if I do it.  I’m not any good.  I’m not ‘it’.”

Maybe it’s easier for me, because in the informal sense, I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of the dribble I’m leaving in the world.  As long as the people I KNOW aren’t the ones to know that’s ME leaking that bile all over.  I do ask that all my shit is burned with me in the crematory, and no one ever know how bizarre my imagination tends to get and thusly drive me to contaminate two laptops, one PC and the web.  [It’ll only get worse, too!]  It’s gotta get out some way-I’d rather squirrel my ramblings than be miserable and pent up with no avenue of “release”.

I had/have one story that sorta touches on that… I’d heard so many creative/imaginative/fascinating people in my life say, “Oh, I”m not ___”

….

It always pisses me off when I hear someone say that.

“It doesn’t MATTER what other people think, okay?  Are you happy with your vent?  Are you happy with your art/writing/music/EXP?  Then fuck them!  Why do you care what anyone thinks?  It’s not about them, now is it?  And who can really decide that any way?  Do you do this because you expect to get fame, recognition or money?  [If you do, it isn’t real art, BTW]  You do it to satisfy yourself-your soul-you’re going to discredit all of that with ‘public/critic opinion’?  Think about it-who are you really doing any of this for?  Them?  Hell no.  You?  Well, hell yeah!

So maybe you dare to share-maybe you get noticed, maybe you get liked-that’s just a side-effect.  One that does come with it’s own strings.

Art, in any form, in my opinion, is the mind of the artist.  That’s what I love to see.  What I admire most is the person that doesn’t follow the expected, but someone that just “does” because it’s what they feel.  It’s something you have to do.  Something you feel, something you HAVE to feed, something you will feed, but ultimately something that feeds YOU.  (Yeah, and it’s never enough-something else always pops right up behind the last, just as you’re heaving a sigh of relief, something else is scratching at your brain:  bad news, folks, it never goes away.  It never leaves you alone.  Accept it.)

All that being said, I know the industry rebuttal:  “Well, it’s just cuz you don’t cut the mustard!”

wuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhl…. They probably don’t use that ancient code, but it’s the same thing right?

I’ve had rejection letters [pressure to test the waters I didn’t even wanna temp!]-and most of them I was kinda  proud of.  (Once I got done cursing and actually read them.)

I was slated as a bit TOO different.  Interesting, unusual, “imaginative”, orative [yeah, I tend to use conversation as a driver, but to me that’s how life is driven] but not mainstream enough to drive dollars.

At first, I was a little offended. [Yeah, just a little.  It was like being rebutted for something you already knew] But then I had to laugh.

“Course I am… I’m not cookie cutter.”

And to be honest, I like that.  I don’t fit a mold, I’m not “good”, my syntaxr sux, my spelling is bad, my grammar is atrocious, I sometimes address the “blue” (and not the kind you medicate, the kind you avoid) and I build disgusting worlds only to beat them out in the end.  Get the picture?

I’m pretty sure that’s why I don’t bother any more.  I know what will come back to me.

But remember all-I [we] only ever do this to vent the valves-to entertain myself-to just get “whatever” out of me in “whatever form of a world” it may be at the time.

I “used” more than enough college ruled notebook paper when I was young just to scribble out fantasies and worlds-still have them, though I can’t read or follow the most of them, really.  Used pencil… Doesn’t hold up well.  Lotta grey and not naughty a fifty shades of it.  (gag)

The one common thread through all of my life… There better be some way for me to write-or I’ll start marking up walls with an ink pen!

🙂

So, of course I’m daunted by “sharing” my crack-habit in any way shape or form that I could be directly called out upon.  Cuz I can’t explain myself.  I can’t explain my habit.  I really can’t say why I do what I do, or what I get out of it-I don’t know my damn self.  I’m sure some smartass shrinker could try to come up with a theory, but it’d be too late.  (I’ve already written about them-heh-yeah, I studied that myself. Pysch, yup-I’ve already looked into all of that.  I well know the drill they’d set into the press.)

I only have one justification for my addiction:

“Damnit, I’m a ASDF junkie!  What do you honestly expect?! ”

And that’s it.  Let me have it, damnit.

XD

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Can you burn a blog?  Mmm…. No, but I know how to delete one.  It’d be a line in my will:  “KILL ALL MY RAVINGS! All the printed, all the laptops, all the discs, all the hardrives!  ALL OF IT!  DESTROY!  I am NOT mad!”

heh heh

Or maybe I really am.

Cheers all-find your outlet and embrace it, and don’t ever-EVER-for one instant be ashamed of it.

…

Just leave no traces behind!

Ayaaa–I’m kidding!

I think.

😉

Oddly

I have a love/hate relationship with my computers, really.

I get time, I got ideas, things churning around and going nuts – as they do…

But – sometimes it seems the minute I open the laptop or slide out the key tray, and put my fingers on the home-row, all I can really do is just… Stare at the screen and think about everything that I should be seeing on it.  I know what I want to do.  I know what I should do.  Really what I have to do, but sometimes it just… Doesn’t work.  If that makes any sense.

“Damnit, I gotta get this s* outta my head, I know what I want to do, what motions there are, so what exactly is happening here?”

It’s a weird feeling.  Really a weird sorta thing to be in.  Because when that hits, I then get very restless and irritated, and in a way mad at myself.  “No,” I say to myself (probably making the cat and the neighbors pretty damn sure I’m nuts), “This isn’t about inspiration!  I know what I want to do!  I got it all figured out- why can’t I just… Focus?”

I suppose that could be it.

Maybe that’s it.  I dunno.  I dunno what it is.  It’s down right irritating is the most I can figure.

So I’ll flop back and watch some television, play a game, read some stories-something that just makes me want to get back into stories, but–BUT!

Sometimes I sleep.

Which is damn dangerous.

Half of this stuff hits me in the dreamstate, so that’s really just adding kindling to a fire.

“Oh crap,” I grog up and find a pen and a blank page in one of my many books, “One more thing to keep reviewing and reworking and inventing.  Does it ever end?”

No.

For that, I’m kinda happy.  Imagination is a good thing.  Plagues, however, are not!

Stupid keyboard!  Work with me!  Something!

Whatever that little “thing” is, it’s a bear to grab the tail of sometimes.

Sometimes it’d be easier not to have all that crap rolling around, I suspect.  Things that have to “get out”.  Things to be “done” that really don’t mean a damn thing.  Bizarre little worlds and situations and lives that don’t exist but seem to always bother me with their existence on some level.

Maybe it’s that little bit that makes me sit back, scrunch my brows down, and mutter, “Why the hell am I doing this insane shit?”

…

And of course, I always remember why.  Cuz I like it!  I gotta!  Cuz I enjoy it?  Cuz it’s entertaining/it’s imagination/it’s creation – it’s just- there and always demanding.

Anyway, I got to the mac tonight, and sighed, “Crap, no I gotta read back through like 11 chapters to even catch up on the details of this one… Hmm… I got my shorts I need to get back to, that one is still brewing a bit… Well, look at that, all the keys scratched off of the KB… Must mean something, yeah?”

One thing about the stuff I work on w/ the PC… I used to have really comfy chair to work in.  One you could lean back in, wedge your ankles up in, sling a leg over, anything!

I got a hard chair here.  Almost feels like interrogation!

But ya know…?  The Mac wasn’t making me feel it tonight, so the long ones are back on the far burners.

Think I’ll take a hit at Nindy again.  Been quietly smoldering near a year now.

Could be where the next vent is!

And that done, I”d go, “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” and then find a newly strained tap.

Heh.

Never ends.

But in a way, I do like that.

When things just work-ahhhhh

So yesterday I messed around with Photoshop, tinkering with images for 88… I’ve had it finished for over a year now, I just… Well, didn’t have the time to start it through the wringer, first, and second, didn’t know what I’d put on the stupid thing.

I’m not good at cover art.  (Fact, I down right stink at it.)  Bungle would be fabulous I’m sure, but he can’t even be pinned down to do one he’s had promised to someone for over a year!

But after a pretty good day at work, a nice brisk walk home without 100% humidity, a shower, and time to kill, I thought, “Hmm!  Let’s just try a few things kicked around in the old noggin.”

Safe to say I was fairly happy with one of them.  Heh.  Maybe this will get better with practice.  I should probably do that more often!

I always know how I want to say something, or describe something, or make something go, but I’ll be durned if I can get any of my “imaginations” to work out any other way.  Usually it’s just scribbles and disproportion, and then I get irritated and impatient, and scrap it.  It never seems to go as planned.

Which Bungle did laugh at me and say, “Patient you ain’t.”

Which is true…

The other day I did kick the shit out of a car because a bolt on it was taking infuriatingly too long to drive in.

(No, nothing broke, I didn’t leave a mark, and eventually I calmed down.  I’m making it sound more violent than it was, really.)

I have mini-tantrums time to time.  😉  A little “frusplosion”, if you will.

Of course, I really shouldn’t kick the shit out of the computer… I’m probably going to need to be a little gentler with something like that.

Anyway!  It was fun to get back on track with things!  That bit working out makes me not fear the next one so much!

“A saw, a saw! My kingdom for a saw!”

Today was planned out.

Yesterday I had mapped it out.  I now map days (shudder).  “Bike coming in with an electrical bypass,” I jotted upon my flowered, magnetic notepad affixed to the fridge.  “In the mean time,” I tapped the fine-point Sharpie to my chin, “Tune up for the Jimmy.  Mmm… Shouldn’t be bad.”

I’d been pricing and buying for that tune-up for two months now.  Mainly because the initial aftermarket total made me gawk and screech, “How the @#$#!?”  Parts alone in the aftermarket were a tidy bit of “unaffordable all at once!” and thank goodness I eat my own labour costs!

I stock pile tools, remember?  I build a little wee (okay, maybe not so wee) nest of them.  I stagger wrenches in with torques, tuck in a few cans of cleaner or oils, and top it all off with the luxurious “specialty items” that I will always sing the praises of.

Read as:  Shit you probably don’t think you need, but shit you definitely appreciate when the time comes.  Shit that means 5 mins v/s. 50.

I have my lil beater Mazda, right?  My lil Greenie.  My Grenade.  My… Well, my temptuos little machine chugging two wheels and bitching at me every mile of the ordeal.  We’ve gotten through lots!  I saw the last Hello Kitty covers go, and the new ones come in, and I fawned, “Oh!  I need these!  I just marked my 50k addition, this is a celebration!  Ooo, oo!  An illuminated Ford symbol!  That’s a must!” – “What?” I was questioned.  “You don’t drive a Ford.” – “Oh, but I do!”

I digress.

Today was “Car Day”, I had termed it on our list of “To Do’s” in the moving process.

A bike (yay!) the Jimmy… Fairly confident Yay…

It’s always what should be easy that turns into a monster.  I bitched and complained and kicked things and swore to a very patient Bungle, “This is a learning curve!  Damnit, I don’t want it, but I got it!  You got something?  Bring it on!  I’ve fought it all!”

The List for the Tune-up:

Air Filter

Fuel Filter

PCV Valve

Spark plugs

Wireset (Ignition Wires, as we know them)

Distributor Cap & Rotor Button

Oil Filter & Change

…Seems harmless, right?

On my lil Busted Mazda, it is!  I can do that in about an hour.  Bear in mind, that is also a 4 cylinder.

And an import.

This is a “Fine GMC product” to quote my dad (which to this day I use, and to this day laugh about!  “Would you move your fine GMC product so we can leave?” – in a Honda.  Hee!)

I like American cars.  I catch shit enough for liking Fords.  And I do.  I do!  And I’m the one that stands there hearing all the bashing and hate and critisism and dares to pipe up, “Well, I like a Ford!”

I always hear a dozen or more acronyms (that I’ve heard already) and smile, and then say, “How long has your car/truck been on the road?”

“Well, you know a Mazda is just a Ford!”

“Yes, and you want to come peek at my mileage?  No?  Aww….”

I confess it vomits oil if it’s sat there for a few days.  I know a valve seal is leaking, but I know where it is, and I know how to fix it, it’s just that… Well, that’s my Driver!  I can’t tear it down and lovingly rebuild it yet!  Not yet.  But I’m gonna.  It’s almost become a Token to me by now.  This is My Car!

I’m straying again.

Okay, for anyone doing, or considering, a fairly decent “tune up” on a 2001 GMC Jimmy 4WD, perk up and take a few notes.  Especially if everything on it is “stock”, or as I nastily call it after 100k miles, “Old as shit and should have been replaced already!”

The initial, and most widely known problem with the 4.3 Vortex engine was the intake gaskets blowing out, right?  Bank 2.  Well known fact of flaw.  Yes, well, my fab father walked me through that, and I was giddy happy to do it, really!  The car was sold (to the prior owners) with that problem well known by the seller, and crookedly fixed with a caulk gun.  I’d like to smack whoever did that, but I also bear in mind:  used car biz is about selling and cheating you.

Is why I’m not going into it.  I’d die of mortification.

So, that “known and major” problem was done.  “It’s good!” I said to Bungle.  “I trust that vehicle!  I trust it more than mine, I trust it way more than anything else I would buy used!”

What was noted in our education was that once a car “breaks”, faith is lost.  Despite the fact that once something is fixed, problems are addressed, and money, yes, is spent-you have a much better vehicle than you will be picking up for fearing your own.  Logically, that is sound.  Why wouldn’t it be?  It’s been repaired.  That was the one thing I did learn as a lil pup hanging around a bumper and watching a pro at work, “Used car, used problems.  They’re selling it for a reason.”

The Breakdown:

I wandered out after two cups of potent Jamaican coffee (my personal fav) and popped the hood.  Looked it over while considering the relocation of the slate pool table (read as heavy-as-heck), a bike (read as:  eeeeee!  I love electrical!) and the tune-up.  Read as:  Stupidly thought would be easy.

I like to tackle things in a sort of order.  I like to hit the hard stuff first.  I peeked in, thought it over, and decided, “Spark Plugs”.

Was smart to, really.

Easy was not so easy, as these require:  Taking off both front wheels.  Removing the drive shaft from the gear box (one bolt, but you’d better be sure the shaft is lubricated enough to allow for all the compression and extension required to maneuver your spark plugs as well as reinstallment of said shaft) Iridium plugs (OE Equip), antisieze (you’re dumb as shit if you don’t put that on any spark plug) a nice good length of fuel line for easi(er) thread installment, and a clean forehead to rest the dust flaps on.  As you squint around the struts and control arms to find the threads.

I have got smaller forearms, so the first side (Bank 2) I got in with just that.  Swearing and contortionism.  The other side was where I had to admit defeat to the logic of those before me.

Sighing, I jacked the damn thing up – which was a creaking, rather scary thing to do with a hydraulic, flat piece of board on a gravel drive, and stand that tends to creak rather ominously every time that much weight is put on it.

Wedged myself in and stared and then swore a whole lot more:  “@#@# that is so much easier!  It’s like they did this on purpose!”  Duh.

So the plugs aren’t so bad if you do take the tires off.  Oh, and disconnect the steering shaft.  Be sure to mark the wheel or tape it, or if you have it?  Use that nice nifty steering wheel lock-cuz-ya know-that’s what it was invented for!

I didn’t have that.  I used boxing tape-it was on hand.  And a lot of caution-which was just my natural paranoia.

Finally got the shaft loose, wiggled and pried and got it compressed, and tweaked in the plugs.

“Hmm!  Now… Distributor Cap.”

Yes, that thing located all the way in the back under a shelf that doesn’t accommodate the normal tools.  By this time Bungle and his father had returned; after moving the pool table to the last location and then having a few games.  I’m having to rig up something to work into the space, and fussing, “My pop had the exact tool for this job!  Daggumit!  I can make this work, I can rig something, but I am so buying the right tools the next chance I get!”

Needless to say, a bit got dropped down, and I gave it up for lost.  Sports that they are, they found it.  While I was fighting with wire looms-that on that vehicle seem to be put in to spite anyone considering the wires.  (I’d say that was the worst part of the job, but it got worse. So I’ll say they were a very close second.)

Down one side, on to the other.  By that point, I was on my own, and again-too short to get into these things, I was standing on the removed tire and struggling with clips.

Ain’t it always the easiest things that seem to fight the hardest?

Rotor button on.  Cap being wired up.  The looms-after much injury and anger-were released.  Pushed Bank 1 in place, lowered the jack, removed tire 2, pushed Bank 2 in place, and then stood back with a nod and smile:  “Hard work done, Bungle!  This won’t be much longer!”

Famous last words.

I had an oil change and a fuel filter.  That was it.  That was it!

“So,” I map it out again, “While the oil is draining, I’ll pop this fuel filter off and put the new one in, and then finish up the oil job.”

No.

Course not.

The hardest thing today was:  The Fuel Filter.

“Break lose the fuel line,” I kicked myself.  I had just packed up all my fuel wrenches.  “Release the quick-connect” that was easy, of course.  Can do that with your nubbins.

“Slide the filter from the bracket.”

…

An hour later, I was beating the old filter with a rubber mallet, it’s getting dark and cold, this thing isn’t budging, and I’ve got my feet planted against an old trailer in the yard while cursing AC Delco for all that they are worth-and then raking their remains across an even more inappropriate bit of language.

“Slide filter from bracket, I’d have better luck sliding my foot up their asses!  This is bullshit!  This is bullshit!”

Naturally, when things go this wrong, all of your resources are gone.  My tools were packed up-I went to the store to pick up parts, a flare wrench (boxed) and a set of stubbies that didn’t help me at all-but-but!  (Got added to that wee stash.)

GMC put in a lovely plastic bracket for these filters.  A bracket, that, if I was brave enough to apply HEAT to the situation, as I do with anything plastic and not surrounded by fuel vapors, I handle with a Heat Gun.  No such luck.  I hammered the old one out-it’s okay to destroy that one.  But to put the new one in?  Can I hammer it?

I tried.  Slightly.

Until that nagging bit of common sense really jerked me by the ear:  “This is bullshit, and you know it!  Break the band!  You know that it is the only option!”

But what with…?  I had packed everything.  I had no saws.  I had nothing!

I stood rubbing my chin all Ramsey style, brow arched up all Spock style, and finally decided how I was going to do this.

It came to me, a fuel filter, lots of gasoline in the face (I wear safety glasses, and I swear by them!) and…

A kitchen knife.

That was all I had.  A serrated steak knife.

“Fuck me,” I swore while I slid under the car yet again, 2 hours into the fight with this tiny monster, “I have to saw at this with kitchenware, and I am going to accomplish this!  I am not beaten, I do not let any car beat me!”

I sawed… Sawed a little more.  Sawed at that weird awkward angle that avoids other fuel lines and a wiring harness, and was to the point I would feel out the depth and bemoan, “It’s not working!” while spitting plastic shards to the side-next to the oil pan still draining.  Note:  I drained every drop out of that engine because of that fuel filter.

I beat the old filter out with a rubber mallet.  I attempted beating a new one in before I considered:  “I’m putting the next filter in.  And beating a filter is never good.  So?  Sawing must be done.  Must!”

Cheap ass little kitchen knife is going into my tool box.  Anyone that reaches into my tool chest, be warned.  It’s there and it’s sharp and it’s useful.

I got through that band.  Jarred lines fired fuel out even more, but the new filter slid in like butter.  Zip, zip, clip and snip-installation complete.  No leaks, no crying, no cursing-it was done.

“Well,” I swung out from under the frame and beamed up at Bungle, “I’m buying a bit of strapping to anchor it in later, but it’s all good to go!”

“You reek!” he exlaimed, nose bent up in natural protest.  “The whole house reeks!  You’re done?  You’re sure?”

“Get in!  Wait, wait, let me put the relay back in.  Okay, now start it up-let me look for leaks!”

No leaks.

“Now we drive!”

I love doing that.  The Loop we have here is the “Accomplished Loop”.  One more thing, we noted, that I am going to miss.  The drive loop.  It’s always where I test run anything after the fact.  It has inclines, turns, sharp twists, everything!

Jimmy ran lovely-ran perfectly-better than before-did not vomit up oil or fuel-didn’t spit sparks in the wrong directions-wheels stayed on:  “It’s done!” I crowed.  “It livessssssss!”

Bungle commanded:  “Go take a shower!”

So on the last note of fuel filter fighting:  I love taking my shower after a day of working on any car.  I get to flip on the hot water, let it soak into my hair as I just relax… “ahhhh….”

I get to slather in some gorgeously scented shampoo, let it work while then lathering up with even more beautiful smelling body wash.  Nothing like reaching for a purple loofah while your extending hand is coated in car rot.  It just washes away-easy and clean and steamy-conditioner, oh, I love that.  And the best part?  Olay Face wash.  Mmmm!

I think it’s the stereotyped girly ritual after the stereotyped guy grime that makes it so much more satisfying.

I get to step out clean and scented, lotion my face up, check my eyebrows, tie my hair up in a turban and go in search of some lovely lotion for my chapped and cut up hands.

“Ahhhhhh….”

“Okay, first you stunk of gasoline and oil, now it’s milk and honey!”

“These are the days!” I beam.  “I love this!  I love it all!”

The knife is being put into the tool box.  The shower done with, the Jimmy fixed and purring, I consider my next engagment:

“Macaroni and cheese!  To pair with Bungle’s lovely smoked pork!  Oh, oh, and steamed broccoli!”

But first the lengthy ranting blog post.

If you own a 2001 GMC Jimmy 4wd 4.3 Vortec, use a saw to cut the fuel filter band after you beat the shit out of the old one to remove it.  And trust me, that plastic is going to tide you until you buy the metal strapping to bolt it back to the car.

…I honestly don’t think I’m going to bother with that strapping this time around either.  I say let that fine GMC product rot and fall off.  Then I will replace it with something more sensible.

And believe me, the new filter will be the cake-walk it should have been to begin with.

I hate finding typos when it’s too late

And I always do.

I generally find slips I made when rolling with my own story, one of the biggest being a character revelation that I knew-and hard a time keeping from my fingers!

My mother found it, and remarked on it, and I gasped, “Oh, no!  No, no, that wasn’t supposed to be there yet!”

I found one today.

On something already… Fairly “done”.  And my jaw dropped, and I got a bit panicky:  “I checked it!  I checked it a dozen times!  I went through it, and through it, I was so damn bored with it, I went over it so many times!”

I was rolling my eyes and making “blah-blah-blah” motions with my hands, I was so ticked at the familiarity.  Heh.

Bungle is always good for checking back behind me, though.  I should have asked him to do it.  He’s always good at saying when something is vague, clumsy, or above all:  spelled wrong.

*sigh*

Lesson learned.

One of a million, certainly.

 

*added only just now [11:o5 the 22nd] Another!  I have a problem now, I do, I do!

It’s just a little weird

I intended to clatter out some of the events and things being thought on Friday of last week.  It was a major day!

It was at the same time-a little strange.  Unsettling.  I dunno how to put it.

I was already stressed from not having such a great last couple of days in class itself.  That particular one was very broad, rather unorganized, and required-when it came down to it-some abrasive communication with others.

Said simply, I didn’t want to have to be a total bitch on the last two days, just to get the information I needed, but I should have.  It wound up hurting me, not wanting to be the one that had to get ugly.  Another lesson learned.  I’ve had two now along those same lines!

In the meantime, my family was nearly dying of dehydration and heat exhaustion while putting on a roof.  The funny part was coming in at night and seeing weary bodies slumped or burrowed anywhere there was a soft landing, but the 1 yr old niece springing up like a jack-in-the-box and greeting me, “Hi!”

Regardless, I didn’t have much time to study for that 8 am test, so took it rather cold, freaking out that I’d lost my GPA because of the bomb the day before.  There was, however, one small thing to smirk over:  all those mooks that thought they knew everything, and wouldn’t allow anyone a chance to learn, hadn’t learned a damn thing themselves.  “Oh, you did badly too, did you?  I don’t know what I was thinking not pushing any of you out of my way.  I knew damn well what was going on, that you guys were not doing it right.  All I wanted was to at least see it done right, and you could have jumped back in after and stroked your egos a little bit more.”

So, stressed out, I got up at 5 am, packed a dress that I had left in the closet (and amazingly could still fit into), found some shoes, but not my coffee mug, and set out for the morning test.

I nearly missed it!  I had one minute to haul ass down the hallway, which I did.  Last one in, but on time, thank goodness.  Take the test, screw up due to uncertainty, get out and…

“Dang!  I got two hours to kill?  And I left my Mac at home, durnit!  I don’t have the PSP, and I can’t run the iPod out of battery power… What the hell is there to do?”

I wound up at a Hardees that I liked to kill time in when I had to.  The employees there are always nice, the regulars are fun to watch, interesting to watch interact, and it’s clean.  I had a stack of notebook paper and a pen, bought a drink (which I spilled all over with the first sip), so tried to focus on anything other than school and graduation and bad test scores.  Heh-eventually, it worked.  Always does.  But there’s always the time to lay the pen down, close the lap-top, or get up from the computer chair and get back to the real world, right?

The rest of the day… Wow.  I’m sure I’ll ramble on bits and pieces as it goes, but a lot happened.  Almost an overwhealming lot.

It was strange to walk down those halls the last time.  See some of the people I knew still heading to class before the last bell, but knowing I would never see them again, or be racing that thing myself.  Not there, at least.  Wouldn’t wear that logod shirt, or see those teachers.  I wouldn’t walk through that parking lot avoiding the bad drivers while hearing loud obnoxious music and banter.

I wouldn’t twice a day make that hour-fourty five drive.  Yay!

I’m still not sure it’s all sunk in.  We’re still boxing and painting and when we get a breathable morning, yard work.  I feel like I’m playing hooky.  I mostly feel like I’m not doing anything with that education.  Like I did all that and it’s just sitting in two large piles in my room, waiting to be put in binders and shoved into a box.

It would have been nice to have something lined up, you know, like everyone else.  They all cut right out and went to work.  I’m still at a parts store, and scrounging for hours and work at little shops that take me seriously.  (And believe me, that ain’t many.)

So I suppose it’s that feeling of inconclusion that makes this feel weird.  Sure, I graduated.  I had a great visit with my family, I don’t have to drive that far every day again-I have my diploma, all my certifications and “extras”, but I’m still just on that edge.

It isn’t over.  Still got more to go through, and all this uncertainty is going to get worse.

It’s the waiting that is killing me now.

16 materializes

Nindy – She’s been lurking around me for a while now.  Easing on, backing off…

Today was… Eerily her day.

(Nindy’s next puzzle, but not quite figured out yet!)

Found, but almost bizarrely. 

I am never sure why it happens the way it does, but it does.  Nindy has found herself in this mess-and on the verge of yet another.  One much more personal.  Much more curious. 

Where does it end, and how does it leave?  What is answered and what is asked?

I was rather taken aback myself… “Well, Pygmalion, what is it you have to say for yourself?” I leaned in the chair and marvelled. 

Needless to say it was badly typed out.  I have to flow as I read/see/imagine/walk through and look at it all-and so it’s always messy before I do mop up a bit.   And even that isn’t enough! In dire need of spell-checking and proofing, and always the finesse of …Words (I struggle with that part, mostly!)

But it is done.

And… I was a little sad at this ending… Tears?… I don’t do tears well.  My only consolation:  Nindy does not cry in The End.  Not for misery.  Not for sadness, and broken hearts, and pain of the sort that this one actually drew up… No, there is more to it.

This is, absolutely, not The End.

I know that there is something else here.  I know something was only sparked and fired and is smoldering and about to flare to life… but… Tears?

I only wonder why it was that she chose to leave me at this point. 

And what can you say to follow that up?

Nindy always leaves [me/us] with a kiss.  Always a kiss… I never know why.  It’s actually kinda against her nature.

…

It is weird winds blowing outside.   It is strange things happening in the RL…

“Take a downgrade for professionalism v/s the antiID fight!”

Well, let’s think about that one, shall we?  The drive was illogical at that point.  So I had… Wow.  The afternoon.  And what was it that grabbed me up and shook me?  Nindy’s 16.

I wonder sometimes if it is the weird winds that influence me at times.  Winds, moons, company-everything has some effect, doesn’t it?

So what made this one happen?

It was… Hmm. 

When fixed and polished (as it can ever be, but of course never enough!) I will see.

But Nindy has now left me in a mix I did not want to be in.  “I have enough drama,” I want to tell her.  “I have enough things going on!”

“What makes you think you didn’t leech that out into my own?!  Write me out of it the way you did me into it!”

What wicked, wicked winds.

This time of year, I always get unsettled.  I look to the changing trees, and feel the winds, and always look up and out.  I feel like I should be moving.  Walking.  Out in it.  Feeling everything that is out there once more.  That’s what I want, to be out there grabbing at Nature. 

Never fails.

This time of year, I want to be in the woods, alone, on the river bank or climbing a leaf rusted trail… Just out there – breathing it, feeling it-standing on the jagged edge of it and staring at it all – mesmerized and enchanted and just… Always the wind.

🙂

I never know what to call it, an angst like that.

[added]

I don’t think I did bare this confession here…

I had a dream… Oh, a few weeks ago at least.  [Months, actually, it’s just that this damn thing is now following me!]

But it haunted me.  Still does.  [<–see?]

I was standing in the house, and I had my new trusty tools, and my books in my hands, and I found myself barricaded in the hall by a… Thing. 

Why the hall?  Well, most likely, I needed to use the bathroom – that is back in my real world, of course!  Why not the bathroom to toy with me over?!

“What are you doing?” it asked me.

And I most definately got wierd and stared and wondered, “What the crap-I didn’t eat Pork tonight!”

“What did you do to me?” Elaine asks, face spinning out of this monstrous web of features-all noses and eyes and chins and faces and expressions and suddenly I see that one and hear it question me.

“I didn’t forget you!” I say.  “I know where I left you-”

“Left!  You left me on the bank, on a pony with a stranger-I am terrified of ponies!”

“Horses,” I correct.

“Don’t get smart with me!” she snaps at me.

And around it goes, and oh, no – “Not you, Yue!”

“Not me?  Why not me!  You abandoned me in a cave, my leg broken, my pregnant wife incoherent and threatening to kill me-don’t you think I need something from you?  Help us!”

“She’s going to be fine!  You’re all going to be fine!  You are not going to contract gangrene and die, and you will be the hero, just wait it out!”

“I haven’t waited long enough?!”

“Oh, do not speak of waiting,” he pipes up.

“Shut the hell up, Mitchell,” I throw my hand up and snarl at him.  “You are figured out.  You know what is going to happen, you just have to wait on the type.”

More and more, and they all hit  me and swarm me, and it’s a wild squirming of fights and who will be next, or next and—

“Well, you did expect it, didn’t you?” Kai smirks at me. 

“No!” I snarl back.

“You can’t make us and put us into a little pocket like this-”

“Oh, shut up, Gabe, I don’t even like you any more!”

“That’s because you sold me out to my nemesis!”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” Cassius lifts his blood stained hand to me, “If we are talking about monsters, you can’t forget me, you know.  You promised me a rewrite.”

“Like I have time for a bloody rewrite!” I scream.

“We don’t go away,” they chorus. 

And nooo, they don’t.

In a way, I laughed when I woke up.  It was funny.  Said a lot.  And of course, I think about them as I drive my 1.5 trips.  “Don’t you worry,’ I want to tell Ses, “Your sister is going to be just fine.  Just you watch out and don’t fall for that somber thing you pulled out of the surf!”

🙂

How can one not like imagination?

–

–

–

[Piping up] “Or insanity?”

“Don’t make me smack you back into recycled pulp, Adrian!”

[:D]

On the writing end…

The Blood Gowns are soaking right now!

An unidentified dynasty has evolved into a very demanding disaster they have forged onto the front lines, I must appease them!

And my “Story” of 88 is still smoldering… I say story-it was dictated un-“Characteristic!”  I do not write the “formula”, I’ve discovered. 

I don’t really follow a program.   I don’t go by the “plotted points, the path to follow, the crumbs to the conclusion…”

Ask me for a character, I will give you a dozen.  And you will decide which one  to like and follow and love.  I won’t make that call for you – well not so blatantly!  I don’t follow a view – I follow a story.  What is it you all want to hear, really?  A story!  Gossip!  This and this and that, and who and whom and – all of it!  A story!

…I had no clue that was… “Wrong”?

🙂

Is why I smile.  It was recognized.  Of course it was unhappily recognized, but it was recognized.  For exactly what I had wanted.  “I was not sure who to follow,” I was ‘instructed’.   And I reread it.  And sat back… And laughed.  “I don’t want you to know who to follow,” I wanted to write back, and what I tell everyone else, “Follow who you feel to follow.  That speaks so much more, I think.  In the end, to be sure, you will definitely understand my sentimental conclusion-agree with it or not, yes?  It will mean something to you!”

Bungle has many times asked me, (of course in making his point!), “Can you describe how it is you write?”

“How?” I would snort at him.  “We all write the same!”

“No,” he would wisely smile at me (which always makes me mad), “How is it you write.  I am not asking how they write.”

“I’m no damn different!” I would begin to argue.

“You are the biggest advocate of style, personalization, ‘one is what one writes, feels, projects!  Are you discrediting your own theory?”

“Well…”

“Do you tell a story or invent a character?”

“Both, many-what?”

“Are you cookie-cutter?”

“!!”

‘It isn’t the same, is it?”

“No.”

“[And] Is it bad?

“I don’t think so.”

“Understand yet why I say you have to explain yourself?”

It’s then my turn to sagely smile.  “My Darling!  It’s about money!  I have to be plotted!”

😉

I say that mildly.  Teasing, even!  Because I don’t honestly ever say that.  I laugh and say, “It’s a business.  It’s about what works, and why not?  That is a shaky industry, print.  They’re doing what they need to do to keep a condo.”

No… After that dissection I at first was confused by, I now realize was accurate, but not… Badly.

I’m a story teller.  Not a character stalker. 

I’ll give you a handful of them.  Like who you will, follow who you will… But I will give the ones I prefer their justice, and I will destroy the ones I deem deserving.  It’s just that they are all twisted up in one overall idea and notion, and it is never so cut and dried. 

Well, is it ever?  It’s that grey area that always fascinates me.  So you get your character – I always want the other faces.  The other sides.  The other “views”.  Introduce my nemesis, what I think is my nemesis, what I will reluctantly begin to understand! – but never tie me down to one.  “Story”.  Which is not, of course, The Formula. 

Hmm.

I can see why Bungle said what he did.  It made perfect sense to me.

You know which writers I love to read work by?

The ones that weren’t put into a college.  Or a program.  Or an idea.  Or a … Thing.

I like the ones that don’t know shit about the “industry” that give me something honest and raw and unpublished and most always clumsy.

It’s real, and raw and I can always see the thoughts, the process, the “person”.  Not a character.  The Writer.  Their Story.

I see them.  Which is really what I in the end appreciate.

Rejection

This little idea has always been fun for me…

Well, in the writer sick sense of it all, really.

[We] get these things regularly. 

Rejection Letters.

This one was… Well, a complete misunderstanding that…

…

Was entirely my intention.

In that way, I was elated!  It was exactly what I wanted!  It was the Jist!  The thing!  The vibe, the feel, the–Well, the THE! 

…Not their “the”.  Hee-hee!

😀

Bungle gave me very sage advise:  “Explain it.”

“What?  I don’t want to be so rude/prickish/arrogant to think that I have to ‘explain’!  These are smart people, they can see through me a mile away!”

“No, explain.  They get a hundred a day, and you are standing out already for off-mark – explain why that is.”

“Can’t they figure that out?”

“Stop assuming!”

“But-!”

“Wuhl-wuhl!”

XD

I’m tempted to link out to a “Rejection Reads” page.  Because we all have them!

And they are always such a dark peek into the cookie-cutter spectrum!

F*em, you fab Wordies – don’t compromise yourself, your style, your New, to the Gingerbread!

One down, at least

Well, I spent an hour trying to track down the bug that messed up the header, and finally got mad – so changed themes.  That seemed to have fixed the problem – and no, if I switch back, that glitch is still there.  So… It’s in one of my posts somewhere.  [I dislike the original theme because of how easily it was messed up, but I also liked the look it had when it read properly.]

Have to laugh though – one little thing can be so annoying!  Especially if the fix isn’t easily found.  (Course, maybe changing it isn’t so bad either.)  I think I’ll have to wait to see if this one [theme] annoys me in general.

I’ve been a wee bit overwhealmed lately. Got way too much to have to get done, but there is always something “kick-strarting” about getting at least one thing taken care of, hmm?  Even if it had to be done a bit differently.

Heh.

…Of course, now that I’ve actually done the “proofread” bit and gone back to see the layout here, this theme isn’t as… confusing as the other in some spots.  So maybe it was a good thing I couldn’t find that damn problem!  😀

Edited to Add:  09/08 – Holy Nuts!  Was checking out a new art/lit mag, and realized it was the same theme there!  Eee!  So, I have to rework a new header, but I kinda like this look.  Anyway, back to work!

Oh, and anyone with a few seconds to spare, I have (unfortunately) not posted this as early as I should have, but do check it out.  And do submit! 

http://evidenceofacreativemind.wordpress.com/

Mission

 To nurture creativity and encourage positive interaction through the sharing of ideas and art. To provide a venue for creatives and “I’m-not-creatives” alike. To stimulate action and creation. To stop preaching to the choir. To discourage artistic inbreeding.

The aesthetic goal is to be thoughtful, hand-made, punk-rawk vs. slick; engaging vs. slide show; discussion vs. lecture. Each issue of the EOACM Art Zine is inspired by a topic chosen to provoke thought and encourage discussion. This theme gives us something to examine and explore. The more varied the responses the better the content. Collaborative projects with several people working on a response to the theme are encouraged.

Can ya dig it?!
XD