~A Bitter Swallow~

I'm starting to think that this condition I put upon myself to write every day may have been a mistake.  Well, I know it's not a mistake, but it has been proving to be much more frustrating than I had anticipated.  I envisioned myself picking up all sorts of random ideas or topics to write about, but when I go to do the deed, my mind is blank.  I am sitting in one of those old school desks-  the type that have the table that lifts, and is attached to the chair.  It's hard and uncomfortable and my tailbone hurts.  I stare at that stupid black chalkboard in front of me, but nothing is on it.  I can see the powdery white of words long past, erased over and over, but nothing is there now.  I do not even see any chalk on the rim.  Just the dusty old eraser. 

(*Side note:  I tried like hell to find a picture to convey what I just wrote, and I could not for the life of me find something that fit...  Perhaps an idea for a certain photographer I know....  provided we can find an old desk and chalkboard...)

Grrrr...

I still have not bought my dream journal, and I think I'm about to throttle myself.  Dreams are always an easy one to bounce off of.  If nothing else, I can use them to write.. just write my dream in as much detail as I can remember.  They are fascinating sometimes, and it distresses me to no end that I cannot remember them.   Sweet, beautiful butterflies in my broken net.   Some mending needs to be done.  I keep saying I need to get over my fear of my sewing machine.

I've been thinking a lot about birds lately.  How they fly, so free.  It's cliche, but I cannot help it.  It tugs at my heart, and I've had to turn away lest cry inside (and maybe outside).  Then there is the raven that was tearing up the chicken bone left wire-bound to the sign post at the marina....  that was fascinating and disturbing at the same time.  Sometimes I identify with that one, too...   not necessarily with the food aspect, but with the fierceness of desire, and sense of entitlement, I guess.

Water captures my attention just as the birds do.  So, when I sit down at the marina dock, I am pretty much lost in thought- my focus crashing with the waves or flying with the seagulls...   They fill me with a deep sense of longing... as if there is something I have lost right there within my grasp..  Sometimes it's with that sense of freedom; a break from responsibilities, duties, expectations.  

Where oh where has this blog gone?

I wanted to watch a movie about dragons, but had to write instead.  Dang nabbit. 

I'm done.

 I'm suppose to be writing every day, and lately I've been having a severe lack of ideas.  I think it's because I wait until so late to start thinking about it, so instead of being able to focus on an actual topic, I'm thinking more about still having to take a shower, get leftovers put away, dishes washed, and being able to go to bed in a timely manner ( I heart my sleep!)   I know I need to start doing this earlier.  At least on the days that I have the earlier time free.  Or, keep a notepad nearby so I can jot down ideas.

  I try to have people give me ideas, but more often than not they wind up being way too involved in storyline or thought, and don't fit the need that I need them for.   Sometimes something strikes the right chord in me, and I can pull it off to an acceptable note (like the turtle and penguin  story I wrote for Dustin).  Other times, it just fills my stomach with dread trying to come up with the scenarios surrounding it.  However, I do keep them all filed away in a little box in my head (or document on my computer) for later use, because I never know when suddenly that idea will work! 

  The other day I got a part of my actual story I'm working on written, and it's even pretty much satisfactory.  For now anyway.  But I don't read it and hate it, like some other parts.  I'm trying not to focus on that at this point though.  The goal is to get the story written down, and then I can go back and beef it up.  Switch stuff around.  Whatever.  My biggest concern with this, however, is that some of my goings over have contributed to major changes in story line, and if I have already written it, then it's huge rewrites.  I am viewing it as just more experience, though.   That if I hadn't written what I changed, then maybe I never would have thought of the change to begin with.   Whatever keeps me going, I guess.

Like dreams of making it big!  Authors are one of those great areas where you can be super rich and have your name be famous, without everyone really knowing what you look like.  So I can still go out to eat, go to a movie, shopping, whatever.  

Dreams... gotta love them.

Speaking of which, I really do need to go buy myself a notebook and pen to keep by my bed to record my dreams in.  Some great ideas have come from my dreams.  Well, pretty much every honest story I've started writing (or have ambition for) have come from dreams.  In creative writing class in high school, my best stuff came from dreams.   So, I need to be better about keeping track of them.  The best part is- the more I keep track of them, the more vivid they become.  And the easier to remember all those little details. 

Ok, well that's my post for today.  Hey, at least I came here and wrote something, eh?

I don't feel well today. My lunch idea was a bad one. I went to China Sun, but my taste buds just weren't into it. Oh well. better food than i would have eaten at McD's. And about the same cost. I had to leave early though, because the bustle of people was bothering me. The light and sound is not meshing well with my brain today. I paid for my measly lunch, and went back out to my car. In the parking lot at the library, I sat for awhile and continued to read my book, until all the coffee and water I had drank this morning was no longer willing to wait. Then I sat in the break room, in the chair next to the window, with the nice cool breeze, and the comfort of the sun rays hugging me. I read some more, until time to work.

Now here I am. Working.

I'm so tired. So tired lately. But I sleep. And I dream. I wonder if it's the dreams that are the culprit of my sleepiness. I dream, but they are busy, restless dreams, and I think I wake frequently during them. My eyes are heavy and leaded. It takes all my efforts to keep them open. I am looking forward to tomorrow's workday end, whereupon I can go home and just sleep. Sleep until I am not tired anymore.

Maybe I'm still sick. Those sick bugs are clawing their way through; refusing to die completely off.

Or maybe it's all the caffiene.

I feel like such a whiner. Part of me doesn't care. If I can't whine here, where can I?

Lately I've noticed that I have been having quite a number of dreams of my father and his wife. This is odd for me, since I have had no contact with my father since my daughter was about 3 months old. I am not going to get into details about my history with him in this post, but I wanted to put this down on "paper" in order to capture what is going on at this time.

Most of the dreams have been arguing, and all have concerned moving. I cannot remember what most of the arguments have been about, although I think most have to do with moving. When I left my father's home in California, it was a HUGE argument between us. I think that is why every dream I have of him involves moving and fighting. His wife is always just there putting her two cents in where they are unwanted.

I also have frequent dreams about the house I lived in down there in Lancaster. Usually he is not there when I am there.. which was not abnormal in reality either. In one dream I remember coming back and the house was completely trashed. I was trying to get it cleaned up.

I am intrigued as to why these subjects have suddenly popped up so often in my dreams. What is in my subconcious that is trying to break free? Or is the universe trying to tell me something? There are so many things that have changed in my recent past that could contribute to strange and new dreaming. I just cannot figure out what specifically is bringing on thoughts of my father, and my old house.