Dreams: Busy Night

It’s no wonder I don’t feel rested sometimes- and this is only the stuff I can remember!

—–

I’m dragged out of bed by my dad while I’m still sleeping. I’m so tired that I can’t hear anything for the first several minutes. Dad pushes me out the door. I have no socks or shoes on and no bra. Dad lets me buy shoes on the way to where we’re going, but not a bra. We stop at a convenience store and he goes to the clerk pay.

“Why do you need a bra? You look fine!”

Scoff.

“I don’t care how I look. I need support,” I look at the clerk, “Am I right?”

“She’s right, you know,” agrees the clerk.

I’m at a friend’s house now. She lets me borrow socks and a red bra. It’s late afternoon. There’s a hooking-up and dating BBS she wants us to try. I told her I thought of trying it once with a two mutual friends of ours, but I chickened out.

“Nevermind,” she says and goes to finish doing the dishes.

I stop her and tell her I’ll think about it. She smiles and asks me what’s different about this time. I tell her that I think it would be okay if I was with people I trust and I trust her. I also start to tell her about something that happened this past summer, but she gets excited and runs off to hurry up her house work. I’m on the fence, but if I’m with her and out mutual two friends, It’ll be fine. When the desktop PC finishes loading I dial the BBS. She logs in on her account. As we start to look through the profiles of groups of people I start to get excited. It has brief descriptions, sometimes pictures, of who they are, what they’re looking for, and interests. Finally we settle on one we both feel good about and know our friends ill be too. The group consists of Asian American 20-somethings who in general like Asian food, video games, and anime. My friend registers us as interested and describes our group. We’re given a time and place to meet today. We get ready, call our friends, and head out.

There is more than one group that was interested in the one we picked, so there is a foot-race to determine who gets the chance to meet them. I run as fast as I can and finish in a decent place, but most of my group is slow, so we lose. I’m sort of disappointed but figure we can just go back to her apartment, log in, and find another group. My friend tells me it’s too late in the day and the Board will be closed by the time we get back. I didn’t know it had hours. It’s a new thing, I’m told.

The next day I have to drive into town to attend a thing for my old high school. The event is in a very large auditorium. The people attending don’t even take up half of it. The proceedings are long and boring and I can’t pay attention. I start playing with a rubber band. I play with it simply at first, then hook it onto the ceiling and start using it to bounce and do aerobic tricks. I realize I should probably stop before someone notices. It’s with that thought, while in a back flip, I get tangled up in the rubber band. I can see how I can untangle myself, but I think the rubber band will snap. I’m worried it will fly at someone and poke their eye out. I do it and it doesn’t hit anyone. I end up spinning a bunch and get very disoriented and sick (like merry-go-round meets cliff-face vertigo). I crouch down to keep a low profile and crawl to where my old high school classmates are seated. I see a guy I used to know and go to sit by him. He helps me into my seat, probably thinking I’m drunk even though I explain. I’m suddenly reminded that I have a form that someone at this presentation has to sign to prove that I attended. I ask him if he could, give him the form, and show him which check boxes to check and where to sign. I lean over to point and he starts groping me. I push away, but my balance is still off and I stumble into the isle. He catches me, help me up (still groping), and helps me into a seat. He checks the wrong boxes on the form as blackmail. I say screw this and leave.

I have one more errand to get done today. I’m going to be early. According to an email it’s voluntary extra work day at the children’s museum I used to work at. I’m hoping to see some friendly faces and earn some brownie points- who knows- land a new job. I go to the front desk where my old supervisor is. She is busy talking to someone, but stops to introduce me. She says she’ll be right with us to start soon, but meanwhile I could fix up my finger nails. She thinks it’s important and there is a bin across the room full of nail polish. I look at my nails and they are worn at the tips- black with a clear coat of silver sparkles on top. I look through a bin with another girl who I start talking to. I tell her whose job I used to have. She says she likes my cow shaped purse. I open in and show her a cow shaped coin purse inside that says “moo-lah” on it. She says she has a friend who collects those. I tell her that I didn’t know they were collectible and I got it from my aunt on my birthday. She tells me she wishes I still worked here because I seem so nice and friendly. I thank her for the compliment and wish I had thought to grab food before I came.

While working we find a bunny outside. It’s not a wild one, but someone’s lost or abandoned pet. It’s big, tan and white in the belly and I pet it until it trusts me. Then I try to put it in a cage and it freaks out. I catch it again and put it in my truck where my cat is in his carrier.

It’s late when I get done. I’m driving on a rural road banked by trees. A large truck hauling logs comes up the road towards me and I realize he’s on the wrong side of the road. I try to go to the left, but still get hit on the right side, flipping my truck over. I’m okay. I check my bunny and cat. The cat seems fine, but my new bunny is dead. I call 911 with my cell phone and say what happened and where I am roughly. I tell them I don’t know if I’m hurt, my shoulder and knee don’t feel too good. I’m angry and say,

“That driver must have been drunk, because no one is that dumb.”

They tell me to get out of the truck and off the road. I take kitty with me. I go to take the dead bunny, but realize it doesn’t matter. The police and ambulance arrive. They drill me with questions about what happened until Mr. Gruff Driving a Logging Truck fails his breathalyser. The ambulence crew wants to put me on one of those stiff boards in case I have a neck injury. I tell them my neck is fine and I’ve been walking and bending it for twenty minutes. They still want to and I tell them no way am I getting in one of those things. Last time I was in one, I was left in one for a few hours. I saw my sister lay in one for two. My shoulder and knee hurt and it will make them hurt more. And my bunny is dead and I’m pissed. I ask the police if they think the driver will have to pay for the vet bill when I get my cat checked out. I ask them if I can sue for hurting me, my cat, and killing my bunny.

Inspirational Video Game Quotes Part Deux

Breath of Fire SNES Shoop!I felt like there needed to be a second edition once I started reminiscing. Playing roms and giggling should be shared! So here is the sequel, the quotes that I remember and love for their charm, wit, or plain old badness. Click here to see part one.
– – – – –

 
“Hmm, don’t have time to play with myself!”
– Duke Nukem 3d, Duke Nukem said when using action button on arcade game of the same name (PC)

Chrono Trigger SNES Nu

 
Guybrush: “You fight like a Dairy Farmer!”
Pirate: “How appropriate, you fight like a Cow!”
– Guybrush Threepwood, Monkey Island 1: The Secrey of Monkey Island (PC)

 
“Hmm, a rubber chicken with a pulley in the middle. What possible use could that have?”
– Guybrush Threepwood, Monkey Island 1: The Secrey of Monkey Island (PC)

Breath of Fire 2 SNES Die

 
“Am I butterfly dreaming I’m a man? Or a bowling ball dreaming I’m a plate of sashimi? Never assume what you see and feel is real!” – Doreen, Chrono Trigger (SNES)

Dragon Warrior 4 NES Counter

 
“In our world, every storm has an end. Every night brings a new day. What’s important is to trust those you love, and never give up. We must never give up hope!” – Priestess in the Cathedral, Chrono Trigger (SNES)

 
“How do I get out of this chicken outfit?!” – Marine, StarCraft (PC)

 
“I really have to go… number one.” – Battle Cruiser, StarCraft (PC)

Dragon Warrior 3 NES Pepper

 
“E=MC… d’oh let me get my notepad.” – Science Vessel, StarCraft (PC)

 
“This is not Warcraft in space!” – Artanis, StarCraft (PC)

 
“Besides humans, dogs also sleep at night. Why aren’t you asleep?” – Dog, Earthbound (SNES)

 
“Run, run, or you’ll be well done!” – Kefka, Final Fantasy 3 (SNES) 6 (PS)

Earthbound SNES Nausea

 
“I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate HATE YOU!!” – Kefka, Final Fantasy 3 (SNES) 6 (PS)

 
“Terra. . . Please wait for me. . . And. . . please. . . don’t let a lecherous young king, who shall remain nameless, near you!” – Locke Cole, Final Fantasy 3 (SNES) 6 (PS)

 
“Thou are so… odd.” – Cyan, Final Fantasy 3 (SNES) 6 (PS)

Final Fantasy 1 NES FIEND

 
“I’m working for the Empire. But, don’t worry… I’m not going to garrote you!” – Shadow, Final Fantasy 3 (SNES) 6 (PS

 
“This monkey’s going to give you a spanking, Shupkay!” – Sten, Breath of Fire 2 (SNES)

 
Natsume: “Thanks! But I have nothing to give you in return..except, maybe myself…”
Kite: “WHAT?!?!”
Natsume: “No! I meant I could help you out if you need it…”
– .hack//MUTATION (PS2)

Goonies 2 NES Ouch What

 
Man: “Here’s your question. ‘What’s the secret to success in business?'”
Hero: “…”
Man: “That’s right! Silence. Silence is golden.”
Hero: “?”
– Dragon Warrior 4 (NES)

 
“Sure.. hope this is not… Chris’s blood.”
– Barry says stilted like Kirk in Star Trek, Resident Evil (PS)

Lufia 2 SNES Master Catfish

 
“One more wrong move and you would of been a Jill sandwich”
– Barry says to Jill, Resident Evil (PS)

 
“That’s a face only a sledgehammer could love, and has!” – Morte, AD&D: Planescape: Torment (PC)

 
Fall-from-Grace: “You know, Nordrom, you are perhaps the cutest little rogue modron I have ever encountered.”
Nordom: “‘Cutest’ is a subjective term. I prefer the designation ‘fearsome clubed warrior’.”
Fall-from-Grace: “Of course! That’s why you’re so cute.”
– AD&D: Planescape: Torment (PC)

Lufia 2 SNES Master Monster or Human

 
Nordom: “A query, Annah: is your tail’s purpose to indicate your current level of hostility?”
Annah: *angrily* “What kind of stupid question is that you pikin’ sod box?”
Nordom: “My analysis is correct. Danger! Danger!”
– AD&D: Planscape: Torment (PC)

 
Morte: “Hey Nordom, knock-knock.”
Nordom: “Why do you persist in addressing me as a door?”
Morte: “It’s a joke, you stupid polygon! You’re supposed to answer ‘Who’s there?'”
Nordom: “I know who is there. It is you. Why would I ask a question when I already know the answer?”
Morte: “Just forget it.”
– AD&D: Planescape: Torment (PC)

Lufia 2 SNES Confront Swell

– – – – –

 
Let me end this with a quote about video games from the once upon a time president of the USA, Ronald Reagan made August 8, 1983:

“I recently learned something quite interesting about video games. Many young people have developed incredible hand, eye, and brain coordination in playing these games. The air force believes these kids will be our outstanding pilots should they fly our jets.”
Final Fantasy 2 SNES 4 PS Dwarves

 
So let us fly their jets.

 
Screen shots from the top:
Breath of Fire (SNES)
Chrono Trigger (SNES)
Breath of Fire 2 (SNES)
Dragon Warrior 4 (NES)
Dragon Warrior 3 (NES)
Earthbound (SNES)
Final Fantasy 1 (NES)
Goonies 2 (NES)
(next three) Lufia 2: Rise of the Sinistrals (SNES)
Final Fantasy 2 (SNES) 4 (PS)

Dreams – Trick or Treat

I dream a lot- every night- more than once every night. I have nightmares frequently, and sometimes they’re so bad that upon waking it feels like I never slept. Sometimes they wake me up, or me shaking and gasping for air wakes me up. One night it’s one long dream, and others it’s channel flipping experience. Sometimes it’s the same dream repeating with different middles or endings. Sometimes I have a recurring dream I originally had years ago. Often I die in my dreams. Sometimes I die more than once (probably from growing up with a ‘multiple guys’ video game concept). Often it’s violent and on purpose. There are times I know I’m dreaming. I can control the dream after realizing I’m dreaming, or I wake up. I dream I’m me, someone I know, a character, a third person disembodied watcher, and I even occasionally play more than one character in my dream (switching from time to time). I fly, lose my teeth, go to school naked, save the world, meet aliens, forget my locker combination, run away from infested humans, make love, eat brownies, turn blue, and more.

I dream, and then I spend all morning trying to forget about the bits and pieces that stick with me. Sometimes I write or type them down.

—–

It’s Halloween and all I want to do is go trick or treating, but my pillow case is empty and I’m going through the arcade first. On Halloween you get candy from games too, but sometimes it’s hard waiting your turn to get on some of the machines. I’m excited, and I’m here with friends laughing, moving from roped-off machine to machine. I put my bag near the coin slot where candy will come out if I score high enough. The lights are dim and tinted green and red. Fake cobwebs adorn the place. The place is set up like an arcade maze, machines against machines in zig-zagging patterns.

We have to leave (don’t remember why). We’re driving to find houses to trick or treat at, but there aren’t any. There’s just empty roads and countryside. We found a lone house on top of a hill, but they had no candy, only water and a bathroom. None of us know how to drive in the dream, but we do anyways because we want to trick or treat. I wish we could have just stayed at the arcade. One of my friends broke their arm because one of us drove so badly. There was no accident, they just got one from being in the van while it was swerving and stopping sharply.

I didn’t want anything to do with the bad driving, so I left, walking to the center of town. There was a club/bar with two floors and a patio in the back. It was open and packed. The tables were round and everything was wooden and stained- the tables, floor, walls, bar- and there weren’t any decorations unless you count the umbrellaed patio furniture outside. In this dream I’m not old enough to drink (even though I am) but I get served anyways. An old couple looks at me accusingly. I go outside to the patio with the Christmas lights because it’s so crowded inside and my dad was in there being loud and embarrassing. I tried to tell him about the lack of houses, but he didn’t care about my trick or treat woes. On the patio I found my friend with the broken arm. He had a green cast. He sat on the stairs outside alone. The night was clear and crisp. We breathed fog and looked at the moon.

Bodies – Chapter 2: Relating & Unrelated

This is the second installment of a novel I’m writing called Bodies. You can read chapter one here. Feel free to comment. This is a work in progress and any insights could be helpful.

– – – – –

Silvie had begun to read and stopped twice now. The first time her voice faded off as she stared at the girl and wondered. The second time she just lost interest and desire to recite the written words she was not sure the girl could hear.

“You love torturing yourself, don’t you?” Silvie jumped and spun around. Phil was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed around a clipboard.

“No,” Silvie snapped, “I’m just curious.”

Phil put the clipboard down on an end table and sat in the chair next to Silvie’s as if her anger was an invitation, “Do you expect her to wake up and give you answers? She’ll likely never come out of it, and even if she did, she’s likely moderately to severely brain damaged. Who knows if she’ll be able communicate or remember anything.”

“Still,” Silvie held her ground, “I’m allowed to visit her and wonder.”

“Yeah, of course, I never said you weren’t!”

“Really?” sarcasm crept into Silvie’s voice, “I talked to Bonnie.”

“I was just trying to protect you, Silvie,” Phil’s smile was as soft as his voice, “I’ve come to care about you quite a bit.”

“Well, next time you care about me so much that you want to control me, save yourself the effort,” Silvie blurted bitterly. She grabbed her book and shoved it into messenger bag, getting up to leave.

“Hey!” Phil grabbed her arm, and Silvie pulled her arm away forcefully, “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

Silvie rolled her eyes, and any guilt she felt about snapping was rushed away by righteous anger, “Feminism,” she explained as she stormed out the door.

Silvie supposed Phil would get over his ‘caring’ and stop speaking to her, which made her anger drop down into sadness as the elevator made its way to the ground floor.

“Good job, Silvie. You managed to loose a friend to defend your relationship with a girl in a coma.”

“He’s an asshole,” she explained to no one in particular as the elevator jerked and came to a halt, “Macho. Definatly not my type.”

Her actions properly rationalized, she made her way into the crisp late afternoon and down the steps wondering if Andorra’s was open.

* * *

“Man, I just don’t get women,” Phil was off work and sitting in a local pub called Bernies with his friend Matt. Phil knew the man would have nothing more sage than that to say, but it felt good telling someone his frustrations regardless.

“How can you say that?” Phil cracked open a peanut, “You’re married.”

“I thought that was the first clue that I don’t have any good advice,” Matt chuckled and leaned back in his barstool, precariously balancing with his foot on the bar.

“Don’t worry, my man, you’re off the hook. I don’t need advice, just to blow off some steam.”

“We could always go to the strip joint,” grinned Matt devilishly. Phil snorted, “Yeah, well, I wasn’t being serious anyways. Jenny would divorce me for less.”

“How would she even know?” Phil’s mouth was full of peanuts. He washed them down with his beer.

“That is one of the mysteries of the universe, Phil. She just would.”

“Huh,” Phil’s eyes wandered to the flat screen TV across the room.

“Look,” said Matt rubbing his eyes, “If you like her, just keep at it. Women are moody. Maybe she’s on the rag.”

“How philosophical of you,” Phil’s eyes never left the screen. It was a commercial for something that made people dance and he was trying to guess what it was before the commercial was over.

“Har-dee-har. No, we leave the tough thinking to you, Phil. That’s why your mom named you that. Phil the philosophical,” Matt laughed at his own joke.

“Yeah? Well, you know what your mom calls me?”

“Phht. I gotta take a leak,” Matt pulled himself out of his leaning bar-stool position by grabbing the bar and slammed down the rest of his beer before heading to the men’s room.

Phil in truth felt a bit better, but he also didn’t want to think about it anymore. Everything he did or said to Silvie was always wrong. He tried to be sensitive and caring and it somehow came off as manipulative.

Maybe I’m trying to hard with the touchy-feely approach. Maybe I should just try the classics: flowers, chocolate, dinner… If Silvie wants to make herself miserable, let her do it and get over it herself.

It’s not my problem.

Waywards Wandering – Chapter 2: Babysitting

Here is the latest installment of Waywards Wandering- the novel I am writing. Click here to read the first chapter. To refresh those of you who are not new to our story: Kanji Takimura and Deathwish are two long-time, mismatched friends who have received a summons from their mutual friend Lial Pelung-Kionen. Kanji and Deathwish are both followers of the protector Goddess Brihaad and are sworn to a life of helping those in need and ridding the world of its ills. One obstacle in their path is Deathwish being a humanoid reptile who often unintentionally frightens others with his sharp pointy teeth and telepathic communication. Trying to get some breakfast before leaving the small city of Prima leads to an accidental tavern brawl. Our heroes may be apt at slaying goblins and the like, but winning a tavern brawl is apparently out of their league…

And now, resuming our story…



After a stern scolding by the town magistrate and with their purses considerably lighter, Kanji and Deathwish trudged away from their prison cells sometime that late afternoon. They were a bit battered and bruised after the brawl at the inn and terribly hungry, but otherwise unscathed. However, frustrations were beginning to consume Kanji and it showed clearly on his face and in the quick gait of his walk.

Slow down, I’m trying to keep this cowl up and my tail tucked in.


Kanji slowed and sighed.

“I’m sorry… I just was thinking, the entire time spent we incarcerated, that situation could have been easily avoided had we been better prepared. Remember back when it was you, me, and Lial? Lial and I together would very easily draw attention away from your…”

Deathwish turned his hooded head and stared at Kanji pointedly.

My charming character and ravishing good looks.

“T-that’s not what I meant, people- they just-” Kanji cut off his stuttering when Deathwish raised a scaly hand,

I know what you mean, Kanji. I also know that if we continue this journey we’ll be hard pressed with just the two of us if danger faces us. Like… say we get attacked by roving beasts in the Wastelands-

It was Kanji’s turn to raise his slight, pale hand, nearly lost in the loose folds of the robes he wore, “We’ve discussed this before. We’re not traveling through the Wastelands. It is an unnecessary risk when we can take a well-traveled road all the way to Highen-Po.”

Dangerous? How dangerous will it be when every town and city starts to expect a great, green monster coming to their town.

Kanji winced at that point.

Besides, we’ll make better time.

“If we don’t get delayed by monsters, dehydration, loss of direction, or death,” muttered Kanji sarcastically. He coughed then and quickly changed his harsh tone, “Either way, the conclusion is the same. We need help.”

But we need a warrior, emphasized Deathwish, not an extra person I need to defend. As it is, I have my arms full with you.

“Well, we could put that as a top priority if I didn’t need someone to help me baby sit the likes of you,” Kanji shot with Deathwish with a mischievous smile. They shared a laugh, meaning Kanji laughed openly and Deathwish smelled of mint leaves, the ridges around his nose wiggled, and he projected telepathic chuckles.

They chatted, sometimes more seriously, but more often easily as they made their way back to the center of town. Thankfully, no one took more than passing interest in what seemed like two robed monks, one small and talkative, the other large and silent. By the time they reached the main road, the sun was starting its descent down over the grassy hills of Prima. Finally Kanji stopped and turned to Deathwish.

“We need a new place to stay for the night, and not being the biggest of cities, we’ve used up our only obvious option,” stated Kanji.

Why don’t we just be away from this this Brihaad forsaken place and onto the road? Deathwish smelled slightly of mildew, showing his irritation.

“Leave without having even eaten, our coffers now low, and a decided need for an additional companion?”

We could get some dogs. Eat a few. Have a few fight for us in the Wastelands. They don’t cost much, they’re ferocious fighters, and a portable self-sustaining food source.

Kanji’s jaw dropped and he rose his voice in an agitated stutter before he detected the scent of mint and realized his friend had been joking. He sighed and pointed at a large, though modestly made stone structure down the road.

“There’s a temple of Brihaad here,” Kanji smiled, “and, last I checked, we were some of her most devout followers and bearers of her divine powers.”

Great, we’re going to hire another one of you?

Kanji shook his head, “No, we’re going to explain our position to the head clergy and hopefully he’ll assign someone to our charge, as well as feed us and give us a place to stay the night.”

Deathwish smelled horrible, like socks that had been worn through a bog and left in a moist place to grow, Assigned to our charge? We’re going to take on a novice priest? How will that solve our problems? The last thing we need is to watch some child!

“Rather than an overgrown reptile?” Kanji quipped, shook his head, and continued down the path to the temple. “Just trust in Brihaad, Deathwish.”

At that Deathwis nodded and was humbly silent. He knew the compassion of the lady protector, as well as her strength. Inspite his sarcasm, Deathwish truly believed that the Goddess Brihaad would help him find his path as she always had, since he had first come to this world.

Brihaad had led Kanji to him and gave him a place to stay within the walls of a house of her worship. There he was trained with warrior techniques and faith in her powers. Before Deathwish, the brothers at the Wenga monastery had said there hadn’t been a paladin of Brihaad in centuries. Priests, yes. Monks, plenty as that was their specialty in Wenga. However, a special blessing was reserved for those particular warriors of Brihaad. They were not apt with a variety of powers as were the priests and monks. However, they could heal wounds and diseases with their touch, will, and strength. Deathwish had begun by being able to make gashes shallower and fevers abate with a simple extension of will and prayer to Brihaad. Now he could heal much more major wounds and terrible diseases. He could also sense evil within a person, so that he better knew how to serve Brihaad. In addition he attained a level of mastery with his chosen weapon like a spiritual bond. This is how Deathwish was with his broadsword fashioned by his own people. It was the only thing that came with him into this world.

Deathwish missed his people very greatly, but he knew it was likely that he would never see another of his own kind again. Brihaad comforted him, gave him purpose, and he jested that she was the only ‘woman’ Deathwish felt he would ever need. Still, he knew the longing for his own kind would never abate.

Continue to Chapter 3

Recovery

a studio mouseTwo months after living in a tent and communal ceramics studio, it didn’t take me all that long to get used to sleeping indoors and in a bed again. When people ask me about what happened, starting off with a “…so, I hear it was pretty ridiculous down there,” I reply with, “Yeah, but it’s water under the bridge now.”

Is it? I’ve been berating myself for not getting as much done as I used to: looking for a job, taking classes, building a studio, and selling work. I feel guilty for giving myself a bit of a break- traveling, spending time with friends and family. I also haven’t been doing much talking about my experience in Virginia.

If you know me, you would think that I’ve been thinking about it a lot, obsessing even. I’m avoiding thinking about it. I have been downplaying it to everyone because I needed to downplay it to myself to deal with it bit by bit, an sometimes, not at all.

I somehow don’t feel like I’m allowed to be hurt by that experience. There are people down there still living in tents and at least making a little bit of art- and they somehow deal with it. Don’t they?

Out of six, one lives in a nice apartment nearby.

Two is from Virginia and has family and a boyfriend that she can visit anytime (and talk to at length). Every time things got really bad down there, she was gone in her car for a weekend that had a habit of turning into a week.

Three is not from Virginia and doesn’t have family there. However, he spent about half the time I was in Virginia traveling. Sometimes he’d leave to go up north without telling anyone.

Four came to ‘look at the place to consider it and be considered for a residency’ with a dufflebag containing all his worldly possessions. He came on a bus, walked the rest of the way, and stayed.

Five came burnt out making production ceramics and with baggage he hopes to unload through drinking and burning things. When I left he still had not even tried to make the one idea he’d been talking excitedly about since I got there. He has built a tee pee and adopted an abandoned puppy.

Six has been there a long time. He’s a passive aggressive mask living in the kiln shed on a couch where he watches the Simpsons on dvd, smokes, drinks, eats, and leaves the communal dishes.

These people, as far as I know, are still there and getting by. So I feel like I can’t act like it was such a bad experience if people are still there and surviving. But then I remember what it was like. People are getting by at the post-college club for wayward kids who may be ambitious and want to make art. For the ones that do want to be serious artists, it’s a fight against those who just want to feel as good as they can doing whatever. More than living in a tent, that was the real issue that made living there hard. I blamed the tent because I thought that if there was a quiet room somewhere to relieve my stress, I could deal with the struggle in the “mentally and creatively rich studio environment (ha)”. It was hostile, tense, immature, and lawless most of the time. One of the residents, I think it was Three, called it Lord of the Flies. That’s the easiest and most accurate way I’ve ever heard it described.

The reason I left was a sudden lack of income. It was also a final breach of trust. Most things I was told while I was there, I believed. Most things I was told were said to me to put me off and make me: go down there, deal with it for another little while, wait for it to get better, and just wait because you have so much invested. I even paid for three months of rent on the studio and then left because the news on my lack of income was at the same time as when rent was due.

Living in a place where you can’t trust that people aren’t deceiving you, eating your food, taking your things, breaking your things, talking about you, going to yell at you, and invading what little space and privacy you do have is not living. It’s surviving.

I survived, but I’m not myself. This past summer in Maine I lived in a space I didn’t feel safe or welcome in. I held in there and saved money, pinched pennies, to go to another place that was supposed to be better, yet was somehow worse. I didn’t feel like myself at the end of the summer. I’m just starting to feel like myself again. I don’t know that I’m ready to think or talk about it much in any real way. I can put people off with jokes about the south versus the north (and how some people think that Virginia isn’t even really the south). Silly tid-bits come easily enough.

Not being myself means I’m not working like I used to. I know that in me, I have the ability to finish up my novel. I know I have the ability to get my studio together faster and get some work made. I know I could have a near perfect score in the it course I’m taking. I know I could have more posts and more site updates. I could have a few more web programming languages under my belt. I could be looking for that perfect job more aggressively.

Would any of that help if I’m not myself? Working harder isn’t going to help me concentrate on doing a better job. I feel like everything I’ve done since I’ve got back has been sub-par. I see the bar that I normally meet or exceed and stare at it. I don’t know why I’m not up there. I tell myself I’m lazy. I am starting to realize that is an easier answer compared to admitting that I took a big blow these past several months. I let things not just get to me, but actually push me down.

I’m going to get up. The sooner I can admit these things and sort through them, the sooner I can be me again. Regardless, I think it’s going to take me some time. I’m relearning how to live and strive again rather than just survive.