Welcome to the year 2016!
According to TimeandDate.com this is the year of the Sheep, on the verge of Year of the MOnkey. (But since according to them, most of the year is in the Monkey Bracket, we're just going to call it year of the Monkey. Fair? Here's another link about Chinese Monkey Years.)
What does that mean? Haven't the foggiest, really. Apparently it just dictates the personality type of whatever child is born in this year. (Which, I hope, is the year of returning manners and better parenting: GO M&F, K&J & L&S FOR BEING THE BEST CONTEMPORARY ROLE MODELS EVER!)
As for me. Hm. The year of the Red Monkey. This will be the year for movement. I am sensing a shift in living space, a direct Southern shift of all my possessions. I also sense a sifting of material possessions, a thinning in the flock of clutter as well. I am feeling on the wind that there will be many many words in my future, typed on the smooth keys of my new apparatus! I sense mailing labels and lots of waiting, but there is also sunshine and new friends on the horizon as well!
I can taste the flavors of freedom, the complete spectrum of a refreshing life adventure: the unknown! Comeraderie! Mystery! Discovery! Adventure! Fun! All of these things I can just touch with the tips of my outstretched fingers! Just beyond that haze of complete uncertainty, abject horror, self doubt, mindless hatred and rage for change (that is as of yet inexplicable) I can see that vast outline, the coast through a fog of a whole new life.
Its going to be great, I know it.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Nostalgia
I remember nights.
They were present too quickly, but the quiet was welcomed. I remember snow on evergreen boughs, the imaginary tinkling noises from each flake as it drifted down.
I remember turning all the lamps off and lighting candles instead in my window, peering out at the stillness. It became a whole different world then, something untouched and mysterious. It was like nothing else existed past our driveway, and the mountain in our backyard was a steady slope into clouds.
Something on piano was playing downstairs around now, the sound echoing up the stairs and under the crack in my door. The abrupt jingle of bells would follow as my parents (and soon to be myself) darted around the house bedecking it with baubles.
In this semi-silence I would wrap my presents. I would take care to hide them under anything and everything that was in my room. There was no shortage of cover. And when I would finish I would stare out the window again. More snow would have fallen. I would see a squirrel dart into my vision, pounce about looking for something, then dart away and in short order its tiny tracks would be covered.
Nothing existed past the house.
Later after dinner and cocoa, I would have a nest of blankets and a slew of friendly faces to guard me in my sleep. The comforting clutter of me was like a mantle of office and in this Wintery bedchamber I was of course, the Queen.
The moon outside was bright, so I could still watch the snow come down from my nest. I imagined all sorts of things; ice monsters throwing snow balls, fairies leaping snowflakes, my house the smoldering cottage with a radiating warmth like a beacon to them all. I imagined them climbing about the place, peeking in the windows, rolling around the lawn and building snow dragons.
But never to be seen. I used to know that if I just looked a bit harder I could see them. If I believed harder. If I just didn't think about it as much it would be crystal clear to me.
I would fall asleep thinking that, in that house, on those magical nights. It was a good solitude, a peaceful thoughtful sleep. It only looked like I was alone because nothing else could be seen.
There may have been nothing past the driveway, but that was because we had all gone to someplace else.
I would like it to snow now, I think.
They were present too quickly, but the quiet was welcomed. I remember snow on evergreen boughs, the imaginary tinkling noises from each flake as it drifted down.
I remember turning all the lamps off and lighting candles instead in my window, peering out at the stillness. It became a whole different world then, something untouched and mysterious. It was like nothing else existed past our driveway, and the mountain in our backyard was a steady slope into clouds.
Something on piano was playing downstairs around now, the sound echoing up the stairs and under the crack in my door. The abrupt jingle of bells would follow as my parents (and soon to be myself) darted around the house bedecking it with baubles.
In this semi-silence I would wrap my presents. I would take care to hide them under anything and everything that was in my room. There was no shortage of cover. And when I would finish I would stare out the window again. More snow would have fallen. I would see a squirrel dart into my vision, pounce about looking for something, then dart away and in short order its tiny tracks would be covered.
Nothing existed past the house.
Later after dinner and cocoa, I would have a nest of blankets and a slew of friendly faces to guard me in my sleep. The comforting clutter of me was like a mantle of office and in this Wintery bedchamber I was of course, the Queen.
The moon outside was bright, so I could still watch the snow come down from my nest. I imagined all sorts of things; ice monsters throwing snow balls, fairies leaping snowflakes, my house the smoldering cottage with a radiating warmth like a beacon to them all. I imagined them climbing about the place, peeking in the windows, rolling around the lawn and building snow dragons.
But never to be seen. I used to know that if I just looked a bit harder I could see them. If I believed harder. If I just didn't think about it as much it would be crystal clear to me.
I would fall asleep thinking that, in that house, on those magical nights. It was a good solitude, a peaceful thoughtful sleep. It only looked like I was alone because nothing else could be seen.
There may have been nothing past the driveway, but that was because we had all gone to someplace else.
I would like it to snow now, I think.
Friday, October 2, 2015
What a Shame
This world had amazing potential.
It was envisioned with such promise, such expansive opportunity for exploration and adventure. Different and mysterious cultures, grand palaces and miles and miles and miles of unknown.
People used to have imagination. Like, violent, bloody imaginations, filled with horrid myths and lessons to be taught to the young ones before they go to sleep. Leaving home to travel was a big idea. Letters were actually written. Swordplay. Romance. Old wives tales stemming from some distant relatives eyewitness report of fairies. Miracles used to Occur. People learned trades - they could build their own homes, have helpful neighbors to help them. They could go out and CLAIM property if they really wanted to.
I hate progress. I wish everything were still a mystery. Only now I wish that Magic was actually real.
And of course there weren't all those pesky racial and gender stereotypes to hold me back.
Why can't life be like a fantasy novel? Wouldn't everyone just be fucking happier? I know I would.
God what a shitty day.
Oru
It was envisioned with such promise, such expansive opportunity for exploration and adventure. Different and mysterious cultures, grand palaces and miles and miles and miles of unknown.
People used to have imagination. Like, violent, bloody imaginations, filled with horrid myths and lessons to be taught to the young ones before they go to sleep. Leaving home to travel was a big idea. Letters were actually written. Swordplay. Romance. Old wives tales stemming from some distant relatives eyewitness report of fairies. Miracles used to Occur. People learned trades - they could build their own homes, have helpful neighbors to help them. They could go out and CLAIM property if they really wanted to.
I hate progress. I wish everything were still a mystery. Only now I wish that Magic was actually real.
And of course there weren't all those pesky racial and gender stereotypes to hold me back.
Why can't life be like a fantasy novel? Wouldn't everyone just be fucking happier? I know I would.
God what a shitty day.
Oru
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