Thursday, December 10, 2009

Orbital Patterns

What does your life rotate around?

I like to think that I focus on and strive for creation. To inspire others, to make connections with others, to love and be loved, to care and be cared for. I like to think I live around the feeling of accomplishment in my writing, or the happiness I get from giving a gift. I like to think that I am devoted to widening my sphere of personal joy and pride. It would also be nice to think that I live to make other people smile.

And I'm sure, in our own ways, we try. At least, we put on that facade. You know what the dissapointing thing is? Once we get over our own egos enough to see the reality of this dreary, monotonous existance?

The real center of this societal universe comes in many denominations. Many forms, in great ammounts or small, in different materials and in different increments. And it's money.

As unfortunate as it is, it's true. How can we feel the happiness of giving a gift if we cannot buy one to give? Or buy the crafts to make our own? How can we feel pride in what we do, if everyone else is too busy to share it with us because of work, earning money to buy this, to pay off that, to pay for this bill or that bill... How can we feel the thrill of going new places and seeing new things and accomplishing our dreams when, for example, our credit score is garbage? Or we have to pay off loans for the next million years of our lives?

How has this world been able to put a price tag on everyone's dreams? What cruel God saw fit to price everything out and then point and chuckle when we come up with empty pockets? What diety sits there and grins when we realize that we may not be living to spend money for ourselves, but to make money to survive? To LIVE someplace warm in the winter, to have food and clothes?

It certainly wasn't Therus.


Saturday, November 21, 2009


The other night, I cried for a reason that you'll laugh at.

I feel the need to explain. which of course, may make you giggle. BUt I feel it's necessary anyway.

I have a very good friend, a gentleman and a musician. He's a little socially awkward, of course, but he makes up for it with the generous application of kind encouragement and the occasional witty remark. And can he play the pipes! He picks up a wind instrument and the air itself seems to resound with the song. If you are sad, his song can make you happy again. If you are anxious, his songs could soothe you. He's been around for really quite a long time. Currently - he has green hair, is in pretty good shape - especially considering that he'd recently recovred from a pretty bad accident.

He has this ... girlfriend. I will be the first to admit that she scares me. She's strong, independent, and she doesn't take shit from anyone. But as soon as you make that connection with her on a deeper, trusting level, she would die for you. No joke, her loyalties are that fierce. So when I say that she told my friend she loved him - I'll be the first to say "HELL yeah I believe it."

Something happened recently. Well, thats not entirely true. Things have BEEN happening. That accident I told about? That he was recovering from? It was really bad. We didn't think he was going to make it. And whats worse? SHE was there too. He'd taken the big hit to save her life, just like he always hoped she'd do for him, ya know? So whem I say that HE loves her more then life itself - you know I'm not kidding.

Before that, his brother went missing and then seriously tried to kill him. I am not bullshitting you here, The little shit tried (On TWO seperate occasions, did I mention that?) to KILL him. We all think he's stark raving mad. You know what we learned after that incident? The little shit had actually killed their YOUNGER brother in his youth. I'm talking serious mental issues. They sent him away after that and hadn't seen him for years. I don't know what happened to get him out, it's none of my business.

But thats all in the past. He continued to play his music, and we all loved it. He told some great stories (what an imagination he has, larger then life, that one) and cracked some jokes. And he's a good friend of mine, sure - but he has only ONE Best Friend. It's not his girlfriend- she's in a league of her own. It's not me - I'm a good friend, but not that good. He's seen his best friend grow up from this tortured youth figure from a broken home, to starting a family of his own. Hell, he was even the guy's best man. His best friend had been there when his brother tried to take him out. Couldn't bear the sight of him after the accident, but returned just in time for him to wake up.

Now my friend just got the biggest fall of them all. I could see it in his eyes, like he was just breaking in half. Tore my heart out. somehow - don't ask me, he's just got lots of friends I guess - he discovered that his girl, his one treasure, his golden idol, his truest love.... had well... you know... with someone else.

Someone his Brother used to hang around with. Someone who was just as twisted as him. They'd been 'sent away' together. They remained friends throughout their warping of selves. I wouldn't doubt it if this asshole had convinced my friend's brother to go off and try to kill him. I'm telling you, this guy was a total sociopath. I mean IS. Yes, he's still out there. And my friend's girl got tricked into it. Got real hurt too - but somehow...

It's hard to explain. My friend is a good person - you know it just to look at him, hear him play his music. He's got a good heart, and a big one too. But sometimes, good people... are too good. And things boil up inside them, pressure builds inside them, anger mounts, tension stretches - until one day it just snaps. It happens to the best of us - and, well, my friend was definately one of the best of us. And this time - it happened to him.

He stormed out of there so fast, and I could already see his eyes clouding over. And his best friend was there - like best friends are apt to be - and something happened. My friend was so angry he could barely see straight. I barely remember what happened - but the next thing I know, he's there, kneeling on the ground with his best friend's blood on his hands. And the look in his eyes, the absolute horror, the transformation of a whole person into a ghost just happened. Right before my eyes. I saw it.

I saw him crumble into a figment, a shadow of himself. I saw him run into the darkened streets, leaving what was left of the good things in his life behind. What was I supposed to do? I can't change his fate. This was chosen. None of this had to happen. I didn't have to see his shaking hands as they dug into the wet spot on the earth, where his best friend had bled out and died. I didn't HAVE to see his eyes close and extinguish the brightness in them.

he had been so much. He had meant so much. And I saw him destroyed. I stood there and watched, with hands tied but extended in a helpless gesture of support.

And so I cried the other night.

His name is Navvy. And I made him up.

Infinite Characterization - Infinite Attachment - Infinite Heartbreak.


Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Point of Pride

My 'infinite characterization' is not just about my own personal growth of character. Granted, part of it is based on the theory that no person every stays the same, that they are constantly changing and developing. Of course, this silly little blog was a little idea to map out the progress of many things relating to me. My writing style (If I have one), my own personal development, the dynamics that grow and die between myself and others... Even little things like the development of my employment.

You know. Crap like that.

But there's something else about me that I feel bound to point out. A minor little detail that colors my life in infinite rainbow prisms. I call it my own personal CPU: Character Processing Unit. As in literally - creating a character out of thin air, twisting the clay to form arms and legs - maybe a limp - christening it with a name and puffing air into it's cheeks.

Go ahead, call me a nerd. I don't mind. I may as well wear a badge. But I admit freely that when I step into the mind of another person (Or persons) for the sake of telling a story - and of course, rolling a few die every now and again - I enjoy it. A lot. it is the epitome of escapism, daydreaming made 'real' and not only that, but there are others there to enjoy it with you.

When a friend of mine writes me a post card from Turkey and says on it that a particular place reminded her of a fantasy world I made up - well, it was... divine. I feel no greater hapiness then when those I share my worlds with, my characters, my creatures, magics and far off places with, actually come to ME to do more. Actually tell ME about times they thought of my made-up heroes. Confess to ME about how they made a playlist, or a drawing, or a poem about the Dragon Brethren, or the Blue-haired MaelKai Princess, or the Anxious First Mate who's pretty much resigned himself to the excentricities of his Captain and his chosen compatriots.

And I declare, with a full heart, that I feel wonderful.

Thank you, fellow die-rollers, character creators, Improvisational masters, and role players.

You have completed my life. :)


Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Good Days

I feel that there are two kinds of Good Days.

The first kind is strictly aesthetic. The sun is shining in the sky, the morning dew glistens on the autumn leaves, it is a brisk, yet refreshing temperature outside, with perhaps the barest kiss of a breeze. Good music keeps playing on the radio, your windows are open just a crack, and the birds are singing in the trees. People have been nice to you almost all day, and anyone that hasn't been has been dwarfed by the lovliness of the day itself.

I like to call those, "I F*cking love my life" days.

The second kind of Good Day is triggered by awesome events or wonderful news. Where the sky might not be brightly shining, and the breeze may be a bit stronger then you prefer, but the news just makes everything that much more glimmering with the light of inescapable optimism.

For example:

This morning, the chef surprised me with pancakes. And I discovered that our manager won't just let us dress up for Halloween - she encourages us to!

It is going to be a damn fine day.

Thursday, October 8, 2009


Today the sun is shining. Wisps of cloud dot across the sky, but only their pale greys and whites interrupt the expanse of blue. I like it.

The sun warms where a chilly autumn wind kisses and pulls the color from your hair and singes it delicately on the bridge of your nose. The smell of crisp leaves and the approaching bite of frost tickles your senses as you crunch through the fresh cut grass across the lawn.

You imagine all of this as you stand behind a desk. Gazing at the sky through panes of thick glass. Happy, fun music plays on the radios and it makes you smile. Your back hurts, and your legs are sore, and your hip keeps popping funny and your tailbone cracked this morning - but you have things to look forward to. so you stick it out. After all, you only have three and a half hours left until your freedom becons to you!

And then you will see his sarcastic smirk, or his devilish grin, or even the broad smile of a full throated evil little laugh. And that in turn - will make you smile. Your back pains will be soothingly rubbed away, the fact that your body cracks in funny ways will be a funny conversation starter, and you can recline to rest your sore legs next to him as you watch a movie.


Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Heart on a String

The words were very hard to say.

They burned in my chest like fiery coals, whispering in my ear with their comforting warmth, but still I held onto the ice around me, ignoring the frostbite digging beneath my fingernails. I tried not to listen, convincing myself that it was all a lie, that nothing this beautiful could happen, nothing this wonderful is real. After all, hadn't everything else been a facade over something far less wonderful?

SO I dangled there. Wrapped in my snowy cloak, flakes of crystal perched on my eyebrows and eyelashes, hair frozen into segments, tinkling over my shoulders and behind my ears. I felt the embers burning at my throat, beneath the heart with a hole, and wondered if it would ever heal over and recover.

And a fascinating thing happened. As I tried so desperately to avoid it, to get it out of my mind - Unbeknownst to me, I began to melt. The embers wormed their way through my bloodstream, thawing out the veins and arteries like good little soldiers. The heart with a hole shrank and siezed, compacted and coalesced into a real heart. A whole heart. My heart.

Something I thought had long since been broken without hope.

And when I realized that I was no longer looking through life through an iced pane of glass - when I knew that what I was seeing wasn't tinted glass or an illusion, the last thing to melt was the frown on my face, and muscles that hadn't worked honestly in a while began to morph into a grin. And then I felt the thunder of powerful wings beneath my ribs, pounding away in a way I had actually forgottne. In such a space of time that can be seen as disgraceful, I had forgotten what the beating of my own heart should sound like.

SO I let go. I dropped my frigid veil, and it fell from my shoulders like winter makes way for spring. And I held out my arms with words pressed to my lips like my Lover's kiss, and I let the warmth take me over at last, pull me out of my damaged shell and into a new one. Made of stronger stuff, forged in fires, cooled in spring water and wielded like a blade made for truth.

And as I embraced him, as I pulled him down to kiss me, and the skies above cleared for just a moment, the moon shining down on us like an approving Diety, realizing his machinations had come to fruition, I spoke the words with every ounce of myself. They flowed as naturally as breath and he breathed them in, and his smile was like the summer sun.

So I said it again. And I will say it as long as his face brings me warmth and his smile brings me joy. I will say it as long as I long to make him happy and see him so. For he is the sun and I am the Earth - and he will never cease to warm even the most distant parts of me.


Thursday, August 6, 2009

Bits of Pain and Pleasure

We, as human beings, put ourselves through so much. We force ourselves to go to jobs we hate, we force ourselves to eat foods we don't like, we force ourselves to confront negative situations...It sometimes feels like every action is a forced action - just to do it means your character will grow to be stronger, more textured, finer.

Like Thousands of years of pressure crushing down on a coal to make a diamond.

Sometimes we even go as far as to do things that we THINK would be good for us, things we think we SHOULD enjoy, things that make us smile ALMOST all the way. Even when we do things we enjoy, our minds are racing, wondering if what we're doing is the right thing to do. Because heaven forbid, we do something wrong that makes us happy.

And whose opinion are we basing this off of, anyway? 'Their' opinion? Well, fortunately for us - they are NOT us, and they have no idea what we are thinking OR feeling. And something that doesn't make THEM happy, may in fact make US happy - so you know what i say about that?

F*ck 'em.

Stay out of my head, and I will stay out of yours!

Enjoy your own pleasures, and leave me to enjoy whatever pain or pleasure I desire.


Monday, July 27, 2009

Fair-Weather Friends

The weather certainly is character building, isn't it? Making plans, changing plans, adjusting plans, shuffling one obligation over another obligation... Sure, not all of these trivialities are dependant on the weather - but what if you had planned to go to the bank or run indoor errands on one of the few days where it's bright, sunny, and breezy all at once? OR if you had planned to avoid doing lawn-mowing so you prayed for rain - on the ONLY day it DOESN'T rain? What about those plans you'd made in lieu of the mowing?

So, Fair-Weather friends on occasion mean that they are those that only come to be your friend when they need something. But in other cases - they could in fact be friends that you find yourself hanging with when the weather actually is FAIR. People who you have fun with romping outdoors and playing frizbee with, or going to the water park, or throwing water-balloons, or even riding bikes and such.

Some people are just better enjoyed outside.


Friday, July 17, 2009

Lemon Tea

Almost every morning I work, I go to the breakfast nook and get myself a cup of tea. And by far, my favorite to have in the wee hours o fth emorning is the Lemon spice, with one packet of the lemon juice and a packet of sugar. It tastes like a liquid lemon drop. Mmm, delicious.

Since it is a blue-sky, slight breeze, hot sun kinda day, I have decided to be happy and think of happy things. Or in the very least PLEASANT things.

The bird in the Hotel. Paychecks. Tall dark and handsome. Iced green tea with honey. Dancing. Blooming Iris. Working without the manager present. Free breakfast. The clouds over the sun. Filtering rays of sunshine on dappled pools. Thunderstorms. Fresh tomatoes. Hot Dogs with chile and cheese. Chocolate milkshakes. Grinning strangers passing you on the street. Hearing about good things happening to good people. Hearing about bad things happening to bad people. Dispensing your own twisted justice. Pretending to be strangers, then bringing the stranger home. Creating worlds. Creating people. Creating lives, cities, countries and creatures. Creating... anything. Songbirds. Cheesy 80's music. Laughing so hard you can't breathe. Motorcycles. Microwave popcorn. Creamy, cheesy, delicious mashed potatoes. Turential downpour. Friendly guests telling us how good we're doing at the front desk. Doing well in whatever I decide to do.

*yawn* Naps was going to be next on the list.


Thursday, July 16, 2009

Bird in a Glass Room

This morning at the hotel, I was standing, (as I usually do,) behind the front desk. My fingers were flitting across the keyboard, entering room numbers, pantry purchases, other minor details and reservations and the like. I look up to address one of our more frequent guests, smiling at his clever remark about something-or-other.

And just behind him, barely in his peripherals, something swoops down and dissapears behind the fireplace. Moments of curious chatter continue, and then the bird makes an appearance, perched on the back of one of the sofas. It cocks its head tot he side in quick, jerky motions, beak slightly parted as if panting.

A few of us approach slowly, makign assorted cooing noises to try and calm it down.

At first, I get closest. As I reach out to try and cup it's tiny body in my hand, it leaps up and perches on my hand, staring at me. I catch fear in it's beady eyes. I glimpse pain, exhertion, panic, and a horrible urge to be back out in the open. I realize that the artificial air in here could kill a creature like this.

The thought distracts me and he erupts from my hand and darts off to the other side of the lobby, to the group of kitchen staff, eagerly awaiting a glimpse of our tiny invader.

Another thought, immediately following the thoguht of the creature's safety.

If this artificial air, and this cheery lighting, and the blockage from the freedom outside could kill the free-spirit of such an innocent, care-free creature... what harm can it possibly do to jaded, worrisome sinners like us? I feel like maybe it's worse. For where something so simple can die so quickly - we must take ages to destroy. We must be like slowly rusting cars, wilting and falling to pieces out in the front yard.

That thought trembles in my mind as I hear the triumphant applause of the kitchen staff. I look over, and the head chef has the tiny shivering creature somewhere within his gently cupped hands. He scoots outside the front glass doors and with a flourish he pulls his hands apart.

The bird flapps furiously, and skims low across the pavement to land in the relative silence of some burning bushes , peering out at the glass prison he just so narrowly escaped.

Another moment of thought.

I would rather be a car crash.



Wednesday, July 15, 2009

A Toast to Getting Paid!

How much independence would I have if I didn't have an income? How much trouble would I be in if I couldn'y pay my bills and socialize with friends? All important and relevant questions in order to better appreciate the contents of your paycheck.

Consider these questions from friends:

Wanna go see a movie?
Wanna go to the diner?
How about Clubbing?
Want to go rollerskating?
How about a picnic? I'll get the drinks if you get the food!
have you read this book yet? It's great you should get it!
Want to take a drive down to see so-and-so? I'll spot you for gas! Or hey, you can spot me if you don't wanna drive.

All of these require: what? Money! Thats right! So raise your glasses to the direct deposit paycheck! Toast to the cashed - check paystub still lodged int he backseat of your car! Raise your glass to the establishment of rich assholes paying you pennies for your valuiable time!



Saturday, July 11, 2009

All work and no play...

....makes Oru money.

However, it also steals away from time for myself. Which, on most occasions I wouldn't mind, simply because I will be bringing in a sizeable paycheck. (Thursday I will pay this months loans!)

However, through some fortuitous circumstances I am unaware of, this week's schedule has been sized down, just for me! I have three days in a row to myself, without parentage present and time to tidy up my room, (I'm thinking a writing nook, whadda you think?) hang out with friends, (I'm thinking the introduction of alcohol among us could be fun, right?) and more time to sleep in. (Hallelujah!)

The only thing that is currently grating on my nerves (And I mean this in a miniscule sense, of course) is how long the day has already begun to drag. On a usual day, I would have a bit of a rush during breakfast hours, get my work done, shmooze with guests and chat with kitchen staff. Then of course I would peruse the acceptable websites from the front desk computer, and if I felt up to it I would then revert to here, My trusty blogspot. However.... I find myself without something to do. So here I am.

Perhaps I shall research fun things online and report them here. Interesting zombie news, or perhaps fun pranks or home-videos. Those are always fun.

Anyway, sorry there wasn't anything particularly enlightening today - I need to shed this boredom before I can really kick it up old school.


Friday, July 10, 2009

"A Warm Place"

-Nine Inch Nails. Downward Spiral Album.

I am off the 'single' bandwagon.

But I can still party, damnit. No one can stop Oru from partyin'! Many have tried and all have failed.

I feel pretty fantasmagorical today. I think I shall clean the house. And perhaps do some writing at work. And perhaps I shall be contented with my lot in life. And then perhaps I'll daydream anyway.



Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Gravitational Pull of Delerium.

I like the feeling of having so many friends and not enough time to see them all in a week. It is unfortunate that the allotment of time on occasion has to take place, but just the thought that you HAVE people there is enough to make it necessary and pleasant all at once. Who cares how much gas I use, or how far I have to drive? As long as I get to be greeted by the smiling face of a friend, it doesn't matter.

I also like feeling contented by my life. Sure there are things I would MUCH rather fix or replace, places I would much rather like to be then here in parents house, or even in this tiny town, but doesn't everyone want just a little more? My arrangement is more then generous, the town is familiar and fun, and I know where everything is. Not to mention - all my friends are here.

I like it when the sun is out.
I like to see it pouring rain outside.
I like seeing happy people.
I like it when people are just NICE to me.
I like my job.
I like my car, a lot.
I like that I make money and can (mostly) pay my bills.
I like my friends.
I like my more-then-friends.
I like my best friends.
I like my barely friends.
I like my future great friends.
I like my family.
I even like my cat. Even though the jackass broke the skin when chewing on my leg in passing.

What do you like?

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

"I don't care -"

" - what you think, as long as it's about me. The best of us can find happiness in Misery."
-Fall Out Boy. 'I don't care'
"There ain't no rest for the wicked. Money don't grow on trees. I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed, there ain't nothing in this world for free. Oh no I can't slow down, I can't look back, although you know, I wish I could. Oh there ain't no rest for the wicked, until we close our eyes for good."
-Cage the Elephant. 'No rest for the wicked'

"Hey there girl, tell me whadda you do, she said 'nothin but I'm damn sure it's more then you.' That girl's a genius, oh oh oh oh oh oh OH. I think she's serious, oh oh oh oh oh oh oh OH."
-Jet. 'That girl's a genius.'
"This foolishness can leave the heart black and blue. Only love; Only love can leave such a mark. Only love; Only love can leave such a scar."
-U2. 'Magnificent'
"There is nothin you can do that I have not already done to myself, There is nothin you can do that I have not already done to myself, There is nothin you can do that I have not already done to myself: no there is nothing you can do that I HAVE NOT ALREADY DONE TO MYSELF! I never wanted to dance with nobody but you. I never wanted to dance with nobody but you. I never wanted to dance with nobody but you: and I wouldn't take no for an answer you fuckin' bitch. Be nice! Be nice to me, don't let me be! Be nice! Be nice to me, don't let me go!"
-MSI. 'Never wanted to Dance'
"Out on the doorstep with my key turned in the door. Look in the livingroom and your stuff on the floor. My heart is aching and I've never felt this bad, I pinch myself to check that all of this is real. Keep thinking I'm not letting on I feel this sad and then you've got the cheek to ask me how I feel. And I say: Absolutely nothing, absolutely fine. Abtolsutely nothing you could say to change my mind. Absolutely nothing. Absulutely fine. Absolutely nothing you could say to change my mind."
-Lili Allen. 'Absolutely nothing'
"Oh Kiss me. Flick your cigarette and kiss me. Kiss me where your eye won't meet me. Meet me where your mind won't kiss me. Fick your eyes at mine and then hit me. Hit me with your eyes so sweetly. Oh you know, you know, you know that yes I love - I mean I'd love to get to know you. ...Do you ever wonder? No. No no NO you girls never know, oh no you girls will never know. No you girls never know: how you make a boy feel! You girls never know. Oh no you girls will never know. No you girls never know how you make a boy feel. How you make a boy --"
-Franz Ferdinand. 'No you girls'
"We must stop meeting this way, we'll both be living ok. Cuz we fell so far from this tree again."
-Splender. 'Supernatural'

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Dangerous Threshold

"And here we are. On the ragged Edge. Don't push me." - Captain Malcolm Reynolds

Every once and a while, I can feel the updraft from the chazm stretching before me. It breathes on my face like the amorous winds from a lecherous drunk. It wants me to jump into it's arms, rocky teeth in a jagged smile as it measures me up.

Will I survive the fall?

The open air, cooled by the breath of the chazm, becons me, tendrils outwards to cool my heated cheeks, dab at the dampness beneath my eyes, smooth away the creases of worry on my face. They even reach out to uncurl my fingers from the fists they had formed during my journey to the edge. Something about me balks them though - perhaps the grim determination in my eyes, not to budge. The conflicting forces ripping at my insides telling me to both fight and flee. The battle is visible on my face. Perhaps they like to watch my confusion, want to see what I'll do - who knows, maybe I would run screaming.

I've lifted my foot and dangle it over thin air, an act of Indiana Jones Faith, eyes open and glaring across to the other side, willing myself to grow a set of wings and get ON with it.

...And thats how I stand, frozen, suddenly aware of how terrified this chill air made me.

Of course, thats just one dark corner of my mind. The rest of me: keeping busy and staying out of most trouble - except the fun kind of course. Distracting myself from the numb pains and the dull aches, you know the usual.

I think I shall go bowling soon.


Friday, June 26, 2009


So I am looking for a place to live.

I need someone to move in with me.

I realize this is the wrong place to post anything where the appropriate people will find it - but I'm rehearsing.

I need someone clean and responsible, however more then willing to have a party night every once and a while. I need someone who is not adverse to the idea of a dog. I need someone who will be able to pay their half of the rent. I need someone who is both clean in habitat and in themselves. I need someone with a fun-loving decorating style, who likes movies, and the occasional video game, and doesn't mind the idea of entertaining my family on occasion.

I need to know this person. Personally.

And they need to not be my parents, although they have been wonderful room mates.


Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Know Me?

What is my favorite color?

Seeing people yesterday that I haven't seen in months really puts certain things in perspective for me. They were friends of a certain former significant other, and the location was at the mall.

Why do I always see these people at the mall, exactly? Is there some sort of commercial magnetism that draws people together? People I haven't seen in months, or on the rare occasion, YEARS? And I wasn't even there for more then an hour.

I was actually very glad to see them both, all sarcastic smiles and asinine jokes aimed at my current companion in crime. The same old guys, meandering about and doing ... what they've done for the past years and years and years I guess. I wish it was that simple, I really do, sometimes.

Now, upon meeting up with them, we all go out for a smoke, lighting up and puffing like movie stars, letting the smoke curl up our cheeks with narrow-eyed pretensions. They pull my comrade to the side (He's been friends with them for much longer then I have) and I get the distinct impression that I am one of the topics discussed, and for some reason it doesn't bother me. In a sick way I wanted to pull my friend aside afterwards and drill him for the juicy details, but I refrained. Instead, we talked about my Former Significant Other as an outsider, the boys telling me that they were shunned for behavior that they frowned upon.

I found myself pleased.

Then one of them looks at me and grins, saying, "man, you weren't like this before. You're like, all high strung and happy now."

"I was happy then, you know." I retort, cigarette dangling from my lips.

"Right. But now you're high strung. More out there. It's cool."

I don't really know what to say to that. I merely smile and nod, grinning with a shit-eating smile, and then we all swap numbers. I let them convince each other that they're actually going to call me to hang out this weekend. Then, we part ways.

Now my concern here:

How well did they know me that they could make that observation about me now? Have I changed that much? I have to say yes, because even I, in my delusional denial, can't avoid the obvious changes in me. But these boys that barely knew me saw it? I find myself slightly unnerved, but... strangely glad for it.

Which brings me to the real meat here. How well do you know your Oru? I don't want pretenders who feel me after never having met me. I don't want the kinds of people in my life that think they know everything about me after one encounter. I have had enough of people looking into my eyes and telling me what I'm thinking - and being right. I don't want to be an open book, and I most certainly don't want to be predictable.

So I won't be.


Sunday, June 21, 2009

Time Share

My mind is divided into sections. Like a cubby system. Or, if you want a better image, like those mazes that lab-rats are let loose in. On occasion, items in certain cubbies will ... create a kind of spill over. And in that case, I have to re-allot my thoughts, and assign more groundspace for these unfinished projects.

Of course, - those are for the nice, smaller issues. Like my cubby for 'writing.' Within that cubby are hundreds of ideas, just bursting out of the tiny space like fireworks. So on occasion, I have to regroup. Try and switch cubbies with another train of thought. (Like 'school', which is retiring anyway, and thus needs far less space to live.)

Now all this shuffling around leads to inter-office dating. Which leads to other things, which leads to a marriage of thoughts in a sense, which can on occasion lead to a duality of subjects in the cubbies. I could write about school, for example, or go back to school for writing. This creates unavoidable parallells between cubbies, and thus moving them far from their homes can be dangeroius to my very psyche. so instead, I rent the space out to my thoughts, and They share the space.

Time Share.

And amid all those cubbies -are my memories, providing the framework of the thousands of little thought processes eternally being bartered for, traded, shuffled about and thrown around in the post office of my mind.

...And amid those shuffles, i completely forgot what it was I was going to SAY about all this. Ah well, better luck next time?


Saturday, June 20, 2009

Pet Cemetary. Except NOT.

Another day at the Hotel: my new job. Front desk clerk and proud to be a part of the HGI TEAM. I wear my nametage with self-importance, and wield my all-access key card like a champ. Normally, I am in control of my actions. I take my orders, complete them, and stand waiting in the wings for a phone call, a reservation to make, or a complaint to smooth over.

Except there's something very strange today. Today - I wasn't supposed to be in today until noon, well afetr any morning checkout drama were to occur. I was supposed to be a mid-shift cover, a helping hand, not in charge of all of it. And of course - the schedule changed.

As it so often does.

And here I was, 7 am, standing behind the front desk. And a woman comes up to me and says:

"Did you know that there's a dead cat in your parking lot?"

With horror in her eyes.

I blink, confused and say, "What? No, I had no idea! I am so sorry, I'll call animal control -"

"NO." She insists, leaning against the countertop, a slightly frantic gleam to her wide eyes. "it's a kitten. It's EYES were gouged OUT."

I blink again. I almost don't understand what she wants me to do about it. "Oh no, thats horrible!" I manage, honest disgust on my face for the atrocity at hand.

"I know. You should call someone. Thats animal abuse." She nodds, affirming her own belief.
I nodd too. because I know she wants me to. Then she goes off.

Things progress. I ask if the maintenance guy could check it out, see if it looks like it was actually GOUGED or if it was picked at by birds - knowing full well that the eyes are the first thing to go when you're talking roadkill. The maintenance man assures me - some sicko probably did it. Group of jerk kids maybe. Sure. But of course. It would never JUST be roadkill.

My life isn't that simple. So I report it to the police. they say they will send over an officer to check it out.

Then we hear, (the front desk clerk covering breakfast hosting this weekend,) from the phone line. A bizarre, rappid beeping noise. As I check the digital screen, I see "911 call" pop into view and blink. And of course, while this is going on, a man who barely speaks English is trying to convince me that their breakfasts should be complementary. He and his 'coh-leez'. Or then 'coo-leegz'. Which I translate to Colleagues. Because I am apparently a genius.

I discover, after dishing out coupons for no good reason, that it was room 315 that had called 911. The lady who told us to call the police. Which, being the obedient little front desk clerk, I had already reported. And as the 911 dispatched officer strolls into the place, he gives me a sympathetic smile and goes on up to soothe the nerves of the animal rights activist.

Not to say I had no pity for the creature. It was a kitten, after all. Tiny, and skinny, and without eyes. But there's only so much I can do. And I saw nothing happening out there, so I could provide no insight to the events leading up to the feline's demise. There was no unmarked van squealing from the parking lot, masked villains chucking the battered kitten-corpse out of the sliding door. Trust me. I would have noticed.

It's my job.

So after some more phonecalls, (manager, police, manager, front office manager, manager, police (to cancel police), biohazard removal, front office manager and then manager,) I take a breather. The maintenance man and one of the busboys from breakfast go to clean up the deceased in question, and make use of the biohazard baggies supplied to us through whichever hotel supplier we got them from. Then they put the baggie in a box, and the box next to the dumpster. And there it sits.

And when I think it's all over, 315 calls down.

"Hi... is this the girl that came to talk to me before?"

I think a moment, remembering vaguely that the hostess/front desk clerk had gone up to make sure she was all right and try to reason a testimony out of 315. "No, she's actually back in the breakfast lounge, would you like me to get her?"

"No. Are you the manager? Who is the manager?"

In my mind, something twitches. "I'm afraid our General Manager is off the grounds today, is there something I can help you with, Miss.?"

She sighs. elaborately. Everyone who complains at a hotel sighs elaborately. They can't seem to help themselves. It's disgusting. Then she says, "Listen, I just want you to know... it ... well, I know it's someone in your hotel thats doing this."

As if this happened more then once. I reply with a pointed, "I'm sorry, excuse me?"

"...I mean, it had to be someone that KNEW that there were kittens in the dumpster. Right? I mean, you know what I'm saying?" She persisted.

Another something in my mind twitched. Huh. Sounds like SHE knew there were kittens in the dumpster. Isn't that strange? "...I understand miss. Would you like me to forward you to the General Manager's voicemail?"

"No, no. I'lll call ... um, after I leave."

I wait. I feel like she wants to accuse ME outright, simply because I was there. I felt as if she wanted to accuse ALL of us of participating in some horrific pagan ritual when no one was looking. Where we strapped the kitten to an iron cross, put on white hoods, chanted in latin, and ceremoniously removed the eyes. Of course, just before we put on ski masks, hi-jacked an unmarked van, and tore through the HGI parking lot.

After a moment of silence I allowed her to suffer alone, she threw something else in. Just because she felt she had to, "And don't give that guy my room number."

"...Excuse me? who?" I can't stop myself. Who is this woman talking about? The maintenance man who cleaned up the cat? The kitchen busboy that held the bag? The policeman SHE had called?

"...Just... don't give my room number to anyone else." Then she goes silent again. waiting. As if for a confession.

"...Of COURSE not." The tone is decidedly harsher then it should have been, I admit. It was... rougher. Perhaps the insult leaked in and I couldn't bat it away fast enough. Either way it was out. And then she merely told me to have a good one and got off the line.

And that was that.

Dead cats. Always causing trouble.


Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Beautiful Days

Days like today make me want to be a painter.

I would want to go outside with my easel, paints and brushes, and capture the essence of the skies. I would want to be able to characterize the wispy tendrils of cloud that linger in our atmosphere. I want to be able to move my brushes to the rhythms that the trees sway in the breeze. I want to be able to depict the dance moves that birds in flight perform in their ariel ballet.

I want to be able to pour out all the happiness that I've ever had onto a canvas, smear it around to mirror the beauty I see around me, and show it to others as proof that there is good in this world. I want to feel the smooth, slick silk of the pains beneath my fingertips as I blur the lines between dreams and real life. I want to accidentally get bright colors on my face and clothes so that everyone knows that I've been up to something fun. I want evidence to surround me of this world, and how we humans have not yet succeeded in destroying it. Then I want to bask in it myself.

I want everyone to know the explosive happiness that I feel just by looking outside at the sun filtering through the lace of canopy, creating Piccaso Portraits on the pavement.

I want you to be happy with me!


Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Memories Drift

Standing perched on one foot behind the front desk for hours on end often gets my mind turning. I need something to distract me from the way my feet are pulsating from the constant pressure my body pushes down on them. On occasion I will be gifted with a task that involves more movement then mindlessly shifting my weight - but unfortunately those times are few and far between.

So, I think.

I think about things that have held me together. Then I think about how those things inevitably tear me apart. To avoid an onrush of unecessary angst, I will change gears, and dwell on any good spots of light in my darkened little heart. Dispite the row of pristine flourescents being sumarily blown to pieces by an M16, (whose name I try my utmost never to utter again, though fail on occasion,) there are still little runners glowing down the hall, and every hundred feet or so someone will have lit a fire in a barrell, or mounted a wall-sconce to light their way.

I am somewhat of a maze to begin with. And the fact that the lights are out isn't making it easier for anyone else to get to know me. Get close to me, become my friend... And I feel that this is driving a rift between my memories, myself, and the real world surrounding me.

Time for a deep moment. Cover your ears and hum please?

I find myself, every once and a while, craving his voice. I wonder how he's doing and part of me hopes his family is well, and wishes to see them again. I know he doesn't deserve the dirt on my shoes, or the spit in his face, but for being in the light for so long, basking in it, enjoying the warmth... how could I not want it back? After being thrown headfirst into the darkness following the burst of rapid-fire, the shimmer of sparks, and then the inevitable silence?

Think what you want. It happens to everyone. I wish I could taint every memory of him with a doubt, but there were none. I wish I could look back and say, "I should have known. I should have been ready for this. I set myself too high." But everytime I try, I can only think good things, I only hear his laugh.

I wish I could hate him as easily as I have been able to hate other deserving parties in the past. But I am dismayed to see that it isn't as easy as I hoped.

So now my mission is to make new memories. Better ones, ones that outshine the sterile brilliance of an old love. I will break down the walls of this hall and let in the blinding sunlight of a new life, filled with genuine smiles, affection, and ties only to those who won't do me harm.

I've taken the apropriate steps. And now to have it completed.

I have chosen to accept this mission. The only thing - no self destructing message please.

I'm not that kinda gal.


Saturday, June 13, 2009

Self Defense

For a brief period of time, I took martial arts and self defense. I took one sample of Tai Kwon Do and hated the uniformity of every gesture. I let my brother try and teach me fencing, but found that I didn't posess the inherant grace needed to perform quite as well as I wanted to. Then I took a few months of Jeet Kune Do and found that I didn't necessarily need grace to defend myself. At least physically.

When it comes down to defending myself mentally, however, I'm convinced I am very well equipt to avoid any serious damage. Or perhaps - I am just very efficient. Efficient enough to get damaged and then work around the depleted part of me. It's just like Rome - when it was firts built, it was pristine, marble lined and grand. Then of course, as it happens, time eroded pieces. Society crumbled. It was raided and destroyed. And then, as civilizations often do, they built their great city over the ruins, making it whole again. Not necessarily better, but different. Incorporating the old with the new.

So, my fortifications aren't particularly as durable as I would like, crumbling to dust like disentigrating mosquito netting; however once past that screen, it's like assaulting an amorphous blob of water. Ever shifting and moving to accomodate around the newly severed piece. But never really falling.

Meh, at least thats what I'd like to think.


Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Infallible Wisdom

"What have you got to lose?"

Said with hands raised and shoulders shrugged, a quisical expression creasing your forehead.

Sounds frighteningly like a dare.

And though in itself, the phrase doesn't really reflect 'wisdom', especially of the infallible variety, it's potency in many situations is hard to ignore. In its own way, it's making you stop and think about the question. What HAVE you got to lose? If its something dear to you, then you think better of it and continue without tempting fate. However, if when you really search for that one thing you will lose and come up empty, it makes you wonder whats holding you back.

And the action of thinking before reacting is a time-honored tradition of those with infallible wisdom. Of course.

But what have I got to lose? ...Not pride, I don't think losing some pride would really hinder my lifestyle. I have a bit to spare, anyway. I highly doubt that any decisions I may even CONSIDER making would force me to lose friends. I also doubt that I would lose my mind, since I like to keep a few servings of crazy on hand in case of emergencies.

So... what IS holding me back?

Food for thought. Hm.


Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Character Building

First - you are born into your family. Regardless of their quirks or flaws you love them, learn from them and adapt certain aspects of your personality to be acceptable by them. (Don't deny it - even you rebels out there do SOMETHING to be either accepted or noticed by SOME part of your family if not the whole.) This provides you with your character base, the pieces of you that are, for the most part, stationary. They may shift or sink, but inevitably lift the rest of your pieces out of the mud.

Secondly - you go to school or out in the world and make friends. And even if you don't make friends, you interact with people in some way. They tease you or praise you. These things pile ontop of your basework. Now we all have something resembling a really messed up game of Jenga.

Thirdly - you find yourself emotionally attached to someone. Requited or not, you will strive to impress this peron, make them like you, see them smile or laugh. You will do anything to gain their approval and devotion in return - and often enough it is silly things. But of course - we do them anyway, don't we? This is the pretty stuff. The gingerbreading under every lopsided eave of our Jenga house. The welcome mat out front, and the chiming doorbell. You will convince yourself that you are settled.

For some of you thats how it ends. Despite the lesser rejections, you may feel that this jenga home is complete and live out your days. For those of you who are past this homey happy feeling, feel free to continue.

Fourthly - That someone rolls up the welcome mat and leaves. Things fall into a bit of disaray. As if to forcably shake things up and hide the lacing and the window boxes, you send an earthquake through the Jenga tower, and pieces shatter, break and fall to pieces at your touch. Pieces you thought were stationary now only have hollow cored and crumble to pieces. Even those with the iron centers shift and sink, puncturing your foundation and making it difficult to rebuild.

Fifthly - you have a revelation. Not the quick kind - more of an ever-building kind that blossoms slowly in your head until you realize, with sleepy, blinking eyes, that you HAVE build upwards. You have discovered the strengths of your foundation and enforced them, replacing the weaker hollow pillars for other ones. The jenga house looks more like a house.

And of course for those that can't do this - they join



Sunday, May 24, 2009


The origin of the phrase "Curtains", in the context of death and dying.

Of course, you are familiar with the concept of a curtain-call. The bow the entire cast takes at the end of a show. Each thesbian is damp with sweat and bright with the accomplishment of performing; Performing something to the best of their abvility, heart racing, eyes wide and gaping at the bright, back-lit applauding crowd before them.

They clasp hands and raise them up, swinging them down in a flourish, their bodies bowing in unison as a white, rushing roar fills their ears and a sweet, almost sickly sweet euphoria bubbles up in their throats. They will glance at each other, smiling and laughing and then extending a hand towards heaven or hell - the sound booth, the pit. And then, with a final triumphant stare out into the sea of unfamiliar and yet amazingly appreciative faces - they all turn and dart back behind the scenes, like specters, as if they never really were there to begin with. And then, the curtains close behind them, and the show is over.

Well this phrase comes from something a little less exciting.

Imagine a one man show. Imagine the nerves, seared throughout the performance, voice raw with emotion. Nothing and no one to feed off of out there amid the burning lights. Imagine the panic of no response - your own ears muting out the sound of 'oohs' or 'ahhs' from the audience simply from the rushing of your blood. Imagine the fear crawling in your gut when the last lines fall from your lips.

Imagine the poignant silence, the pause, the dead, weighty emptiness when the last word tumbles out and you are cast alone in the dark before the end. The lights are out and it is suddenly colder there, alone on the stage. No faces visible past the proscenium, no coughs, no cheering, just silence. Imagine the fear then. Imagine the fear as you step forward alone.

There are no hands to hold. They are empty at your sides as the light explodes above you, showering you in the heat, blinding you to the audience. Empty, sweating hands extended, you take your shaky bow. You might smile. Or be somber. Or proud, or cocky or even relieved. HOw will you feel?

No one will knwo if the audience will applaud or not. No one can tell you when the light is going to come back on to queue you on for your final bow. And when all that chaos subsides, and you can actually HEAR the response before you, and you react accordingly in your final, stage-bound moments... when you turn to leave...

Thats 'curtains.'

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

What did you expect?

Did you expect me to be merry? Filled with Mirth? Happily waiting for one day to end so another could begin? Hands clasped in patience, eyes gleaming with excitement? Bright eyed and bushy tailed, as it were? Did you expect me to come away clean, unwounded, not a speck of blood on my person from a violent battle? Unscathed? Did you expect me to clean house without sneezing once? Without rolling my aching shoulders or sitting to rest?

Who do you think I am? Some sort of God? Someone so perfect I am impervious to pain?

I am sorry to dissapoint you. But I am fearfully mortal. I am delightedly human. I am irreversibly Oru. What does that mean to you? Thankfully for me - absolutely nothing. You know nothing about me, my secure Oru-ness. You know nothing about how my eyes look now, how much green has fled from them to make way for the brown. You don't know how much they have dried out over days and weeks.

And if I were a God, I would be hollow. An unfeeling diety. Some cretaure more curious of the ways of man than sympathetic. I would stop and stare at my own displays and cock my head to the side in interest - then move along.

Like you did.


Sunday, May 10, 2009

"Look at me and tell me who I am..."

"....why I am, What I am.... Call me a fool and it's true I am - 'cuz I don't know who I am."

Thank you Jekyll & Hyde the Musical for those few phrases.

Sometimes I do things with no idea of the why behind it. Sometimes I expect myself to adapt to situations that are impossible to acclimate to. And in that case - it's just a matter of which part of me is going to die first. Naive Youngster is already buried - so what goes next into the matching plot of earth? Perhaps my Imaginative artisan? Or my enthusiastic creator? Perhaps my ability to smile will evaporate, or my sense of morals?

What if I gained something in their place? I'd love to get something good, like a back-bone, fire in my blood, righteousness in my eyes, a humble genius or even a modest architect of fantastic dreams.... however I'm not that lucky, am I? For in place of my Naive Youngster I received Bitter Adult. And in place of a joyful heart I inherited a callous scar.

Better luck next time.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009


How could Lady Godiva possibly have lasted long riding bare-back on a horse? In those days, women were pampered unless they were farmers' daughters or wenches of some kind - NOW a days women get a lot more work out of them regardless of their 'station' and the whole sore-ass factor is wildly prevalent. 

Of course, they were used to riding horseback in general those days, which probably had a lot to do with their muscle development and such... so it is possible that Godiva could still walk after such a trip. Hair flowing over her shoulders to brush the horse as they rode, careening over the landscape...

Not me though. I would like to lie down and sleep. 

And perhaps put some ice on my rear.

Monday, April 27, 2009


Classic Travel Scenarios: Chapter 1

Airports & Airplane Accommodation.

1.) Crying Children.
It will never fail, that somewhere on the airplane, while you are casually waiting on the tarmac for our turn to take off, a child will cry. And I don't mean silent sniffling or weeping into mommy's shoulder - I mean hysterical sobs. The kind of wrenching cries that rip the kid's throat sore and leave everyone in the surrounding vicinity deaf for the remainder of the flight.

More to come. You know. After I regain hearing in my left ear.


Thursday, April 23, 2009

How Little it Matters

This afternoon I ran some errands around town. Throughout the course of my errand-running, I decided to sift throught he ashes of a long-since-burnt out relationship, and see how I could better dismember and bury it.

(As it stood, the scent of it's decay would every so often pop onto my radar, and the thoughts that sometimes followed were less then pleasant.)

So, as I decided, I regarded a particular piece of ornament I received from the memory in question. I had loved it near as much as the giver, and the new thought, as the scent drifted into my nose, wasn't of sadness. Or well, it was a different kind of sadness. It was time to get it out of my living space for good.

So five minutes of sifting through the yellow pagtes procured me a suitable pawn-shop of a sort. Main street, hole in the wall, full of older men who like to flatter their patrons on a regular basis. I took it in, and they measured the weight of the gold and the diamonds, and gave me a price.

I accepted it, and went on my way, off to do the rest of my errands without pause.

But somewhere along the way I feel like I opened my eyes. I blinked, and everything was in full bright color, the details popping out like the very first time I wore my glasses when I was a kid - There was a hollow echo in my heart as I heard it beating behind my skin and muscle, and I thought about what I had just done.

I thought about everything leading to the gifting, the things past that point, the events strung together that were pulled and strained and broken and scattered over the past however long it's been. And I looked into my clenched hand, at the bills still there staring back at me.

I guess all my love was worth in the end was $5.00.


Friday, April 17, 2009


What exactly does the church have against Carnal Pleasures? Is it that we're indulging in ourselves, sharing our desires with others and NOT with God? Perhaps the church thinks that If you were to take a partner, you would be abandoning your God and therefore straying from the righteous path, hm?

I would much rather stray from the path and have an amazing time then stay on the path and lament my existance. I'm going to assume that it's safe to say that most of you agree. I'm going to also assume that most of you have indulged in carnal acts of pleasure - perhaps even recently - and enjoyed it, without thought at all to the eternal damnation of your soul. because frankly - I don't give a hoot about whose God think's I'm a sinner, or whose religion is going to condemn me.

My religion is freedom of feeling. Join the church of your heart. No fliers, no fees, and no donations necessary.


Thursday, April 16, 2009

Contemplations on a Thursday

Tonight is my night, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight I go to a place where I am free to move and speak as I wish, unbridled by social expectations, and free from work blazer and button up shirt! I can dance If I want to, and I can leave my friends behind!

Thats right. 80's Night has returned.

I will dress up like a spunky rock star, spray my hair full of product until it's spiked and deadly, I'll apply the make-up and the snug clothes, and I'll lace up my knee high boots like I'm about to kick ass, then I'll pick up my partners in crime and we'll paint the town red.

I've always wanted to do that.

I will be free tonight, and then back to work the next day with a smile on my face, and hidden behind my eyes are all the things I probably shouldn't have done, coupled with the things I've always wanted to do - and I won't be ashamed of any of them.



Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Tax Day

Ah, April 15th.

I wonder if you were remembered as anything GOOD in the past? Were you some sort of Pagan ritual? Maybe people danced around maypoles, or had banquets and clinked glasses in your honor. Who was born today? Were you host to geniuses and dullards alike? Fools and Knaves? Were you someone's anniversary? How many obituaries were published on your day?

Unfortunately, all of this seems slightly dwarfed by the absolute douche-baggery of Tax Day. The very last day to file your taxes. Without an extension under your belt, you have to post-date your return by NO LATER then 11:59pm! I wonder what goes through people's minds when they run their stuff to our office NOW. We'll have to file an extension, almost no doubt about it - but still they show up in droves with papers dated back in MARCH.


The futility of Humanity :p


Tuesday, April 14, 2009

The Hole

I was walking along, minding my own business when something astounding happened.
I missed my step, staggering in place a moment, as the thought took me over, wrapping me up in a Miasma of doubt.

'What does it matter?'

Daunting as the subject was, I managed to grab it by the neck and wrestle it to the ground. I was only relatively successful - and I escaped with more then my fair share of bruises and bumps of course - but I learned something. Let me explain.

What does it matter if we live?

What does our life hold that is so important, so urgent to hold onto? Is is Love? That fading, fleeting, most tempestuous of emotions? Is it the desire for Vengeance? Driving men to madness, women into frenzy, and their targets into panic? Friendship? Wealth? Power? Any of the above? All of them no matter how trivial, hold sway over our hearts and our actions without us even knowing it. We won't date this person because they smell, we won't hang out with this person because they're a drag. We won't see this movie because other people didn't like it....

So sure, pick one of those things to classify as your reason for getting up in the morning. But that wasn't the original problem, was it? The original question was a bit more intense.

What does it matter why we live? What is the point? What is the point of jotting down our deepest emotions so all can see - or even in private, or revealing our loves to be true, or admiting hatred? Why do we even bother to go through our routines, one day a mimicry of the last, and the next a mimicry of that. Why do we wake up, go to school, do what other people expect? When in the long run - we are all specks in an ever expanding universe filled with specks.

So what does it matter? I'll tell you. Every speck matters. Every speck makes up the full portrait of this thing called life. Take one speck away, and another speck will fall into place - but then another behind it will fall, and another behind that - and somewhere at the end of the chain - there are no more. And YOU, that one speck gone, made that chain reaction. You caused the others to fall behind you.

So hang in there, friend. I'm that speck right next to you holding your hand. I'm the speck with an arm around your shoulders when you cry and a tissue ready for you to blow your nose in.

Hang in there.