I have a list of things to do.  I am excited about tomorrow.  Today with Ann was great.  We had a great time talking and though it feels a little like dating and I need to practice not talking over her, it was a fun date.  The movie would have been tragic for me 10 years ago but now just feels like art. The minds and souls of children are indeed blessed--I'm not sure how one would go through life without a callous or two.  But maybe being emotionally honest with you, God, is the way to that childlike heart. If you can peel and heal everyday, then maybe I can stay holy.

Weird things: I feel myself being drawn to you via new agey methods.  I am starting to like self-help books.  This feels sacreligious to the religion of my memory,  but the concern is vague.  I am trying to gt closer to you and me, too.  A mI wrong to beliee there is some of you inside of me to be found?  I have always been taught and followed an anti-navel gazing mindset, but so far that I have trouble hearing myself.  What do I want seems like the craziest question.  But that Barb Shay or whatever her name was guru person posed hearing inner spirit as similar to the gut check you make when you decide on what you're hungry for.  Though this too is a hard analogy--I was taught to eat (and like) whatever meal is in front of me.

The point is, we all have affinities, at least in the moment.  Like picking an ice cream flavor.  Right now, without a doubt I would choose cookies and cream.  Ask me in two hours, though, and this may change.

So 1. am I *allowed* to get in touch with my affinities?  Is this inherently selfish?  Is doing so inherently ungodly because it is not directly from you, not necessarily of service, and not biblical? I can tell you though, that my gut is screaming that this is what I need.  I need to know my own voice.

I get angry when I compare how easy a time others seem to know what they want.  With all my heart I hope I can teach my kids to understand themselves and their wants.

In the path of emptiness I still have myself.  I have you too, but you are not visible but through my mind and heart and soul.  You are speaking through me.

I don't like, God, how Christianity has paled to me.  How I'm not excited about the things I repeated in my youth.  How even the whiff of corporate church makes me sick.  (For example, city church, which seemed to have good people with good, righteous intentions.  Maybe it was the blue and purple lights that triggered my revulsion?  Idk.)

I don't know what makes me light up anymore.  I have been trying so hard to quiet everything inside so to function.

When were my last moments of True joy?
Car ride with mom and Josh to pickup my dress/look for a wedding location: feeling like family, with our own weird language; some couch/living room moments like that too.

grand canyon: freaking beautiful and sharing those sights with Noa.

hot air balloon: also freaking beautiful and sharing that with Noa.

crater lake: freaking beautiful.  sharing the freaking beautiful with Noa.  Swimming in it.

nyc: independence, travel, confidence builder, doing stuff I wanted, living w/o fear

having written something good for Brian's writing class: crafting something to perfection & receiving props, feeling heard, hearing myself

drawing class in Honolulu art academy: exploratory, able to 'feel' it out (except for perspective)

dancing in the halau: when we received instruction.  being mentored.  working toward perfection.

swimming out past elks: freedom to go as far and long as I want.  solitude

the wednesday minor league class with john russell teaching: because the energy was high, i was ON, it was higher caliber

when holzer asked if instead of their money back for a missing interface, they could 'get more Ho'onani time': because they had found value in my work

being formally accepted into the MBA program: having hope for a future career

signing up for Bridges to volunteer: a place I can learn and do good work

Walking the path from the Myer's to saturday market--because it was new, lovely, and Noa was with me

Volunteering at the rose garden: beauty and community and rose flavored shaved ice!

Hanging out after improv two weeks ago

Getting rid of clothes: feeling lighter, like I can have freedom to move and travel and create clarity to define who I am.  I want to make choices that are honest to myself, that draw lines on an identity.

float my f'ing boat.
God, help me to say it well and say it right.   Amen.  The opportunities and what I did was indeed awesome.

Goals for 2017:
1. Finish all classes with As (Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall)
2. Pick a summer study topic
3. Write weekly.
4. Workout 3x week.
5. Build *muscle*
6. Pick a writing class before 7/24 at the Attic (likely needs to be a Thursday).
7. Apply for a new jobs.
8. Organize bedroom. (give shit away, put shit away, go through boxes)
9. Organize desk area.
10. Shred papers.
11. Organize / shred cabinet area items.
12. Cat vet Rx
13. Apply for financial aid for you and Noa.
14. Prayer time with Noa.
15. Pay off Hawaiian CC debt
16. Save 6 months savings
17. Journal about improv.  Think through it, put learning hat on.  Decide to commit. Grow. Study. Do Summer intensive: Wednesdays then Wednesdays and Sundays then Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Sundays.  Be confident in *who* you are, grow in *what* you know.
18. Read that leadership book. Email Nikki.
19. Apply for passports
20. Go to DC this summer.
21. Stay in touch with your parents.
22. Prepare your mind for babydom.
23. Keep a clean house.

Not An Exercise

Let's run until we hit the zone forever
We won't even know what we were worried about
Life will be so fucking zen
And we'll know we're living

If 90% of everything is actually nothing
What the fuck were we doing

People die fast and slow
But they die always and always once

Tell me the thing about running you said again? You weren't running anywhere, really?
You were already there, when you were there?


Suppose heaven is silent
What the fuck were we doing
Pretending to be too good to sing

Do you think we were created to be nothings
Nothinging our way to nothing towards nowhere?

We all know the sky is blue. If I ask you right now, you'll tell me without looking.
But it's not, it's not, God damn you, it's fucking magenta, and we're all still dying.

Maybe God is God because He sees the color of everything at every exact moment, in the whole universe.  And we refuse to believe in Him because we can't convince ourselves to look with Him at our little part.

Birds know God, I know this for a fact.  The tiniest of birds sings a song at the very break of dawn, and we, roll over sleepily, annoyed at the tired darkness.

This tiny bird is bigger than us too, she has seen thousands of miles under the beats of her wings.  She knows the treetops and valleys and chimneys like God knows the hairs on your head.

I'm not saying to fucking fly.  I'm just saying you're here and I'm here and when you see me, hold my hand and know its weight and its ridges and
maybe next time
fuck me with your eyes open

The prudent thing

Never really 

Helped anyone

Prudent means

Pretending to control

As though limiting your joy in the moment will imcrease your joy in the future

Everything that I want to do is not prudent.

So I do nothing.

I would like to run around dancgin, just dancing.  

I would to be brave and talk to strangers.  

I would like to travel and be uncomfortable.

I would like to have sex every damn day.

I would like to have a kid right now.  In the middle  of the city.  With lead paint walls and noise all night and no money.  

I would like to spend my days writing and reading and draw and dance my feelings.

I would like art to not need to be an event.  I would like art to be default.

I would like to put all the things away in the bedroom.

I would like a job where I talk to people again.  (But this one IS prudent.)

I would like to write songs and sing them at open mics.

I would like to be a better improv-er.

I would like to run until I permanently hit a zone.

I would like to be the parent that is comfortable getting dirty.

I would like to call my mom.

I need to call my dad.

I should call Nana.

note to self: don't read client comments on cases after just waking up.  you will be too tired to actually respond and will not have your emotional shield in position yet, so all their stupidity will be extra annoying.  wait until you've showered and dressed, just as though you're going out to work, even if you work from home.

a side question: what is it about the customer/client relationship that allows them to feel like double checking things and being nice are not necessary?  how can we foster better? or are they trained from other life experiences?

A miracle is only a miracle if you acknowledge it.  You must have eyes that see and ears that hear.  If you forget the sound of the wind because you become deaf, you may still feel it brush your shoulders, but part of its mystery is lost.  (When you observe something in its full mystery, you are enlightened. When something in its full mystery is observed, we are enlightened.

Jackson was a place where crows came to die.  Crows themselves are intelligent creatures, watching everything below as though it were a puzzle. Humans tended to view them as simple, which the crows knew too, and because this, the crows also knew that they themselves were the smarter species.

No human had ever figured out why crows died in Jackson.  They came from all over--as far as two counties away--to land on the Jackaranda trees in the middle of Ms. Staton's yard.  Hundreds of them a week.  Once landed, each would stay perched on its branches, never leaving until losing its grip with its final breath.

Ms. Staton was eighty-nine last year.  Her children grown, her husband dead.  She felt alone, but not lonely--she chose to follow a routine that kept her company with each hour.  At 6 a.m. she made toast and cut a grapefruit in half and wrapped the other half with plastic wrap, leaning her body against the kitchen counter for balance.  At 7 a.m. she watched the Today show and though she didn't understand all the things the anchors talked about, she liked their energy and their familiar smiles, like friends waving from across the room. At 11 a.m. she would slowly bend into the pink loveseat in front of the television and watch her soap operas, waking up somewhere between 2 and 3 p.m. to the sound o
Somewhere between 5 and 6 p.m. she'd water her plants and feed the two cats and heat up the second half of yesterday's TV dinner.  By 8p.m. the dishes were washed, she had sponge bathed herself with a warm, wet washcloth, and she was in her old silk nightgown headed to bed.