Oops.

Thought I'd actually made it past my stage of breaking down into regular existential crises at work, and had instead moved on into a dull and consistent state of pure depression.  But, based on the fact that I just burst into tears at my desk due to a swift kick in the ass (in the form of a text message) from a fellow resource conservationist... apparently not!  Damn.  I was so comfortable in my state of depression.  It was, well, depressing... but at least it was consistent.  And consistency is something I have very little of in my life, so I am happy to get it when I can.  Even in the form of depression.  On the upside, having an existential crisis is proof that I'm still alive.  I'd actually begun to believe for the past few months that I was dead.  Or at least a sick reanimated life form. But Hallelujah, I'm alive, and in full-swing existential crisis mode!  Don't mistake that enthusiastic exclamation point as sarcasm, now.  I am quite happy to know that my heart is beating of its own lovely accord, and not because I'm being fueled by a deadening sort of liquified money.

Time for Girl Talk.  Then beer!  And then resumeeees.  More resumes!

I'll see you in the spring

His eyes see beauty in the things I love.  The thoughts, the memories, the flowers.  He sees the beauty in things that I might overlook.  His lens is different than mine, an artists' lens.  The rusty dock lined with the geraniumous clumps of red and white leads me to a summer glen that I might not have seen without his nudging.

But it's cold and foreign and overwhelming all at once.  The thoughts of continuation, not the thoughts of beauty found through a camera lens.  And I fumble toward the solstice, blindly, struggling. It will come, inevitably, so the only thing I can do is await its arrival, endure the darkness, and wait til the spring.  The equinox, when things are birthed anew, from the same womb they've been birthed from a thousand times before.  And the thought of this day glimmers brightly and leaves me to wonder, what if?  What if a new birth occurs, one that's never been seen before...

I can't help it. I live in a post modern culture.

Seriously.  You want me to change my name?  My NAME?  I don’t have a lot but I have my name.  Fuck Shakespeare and his sentiments on roses.  No.  My name is mine. Mary Mac by any other name would, in fact, NOT smell as sweet. 

I am really blown away by the fact that women still change their names when they get married.  Why?  Why would you do that?  Like... you are already giving part of your identity away when you get married.  You give even more of it away when you give up your name and take the last name of your husband.  And FUCK taking your husband’s first name, too.  Really?  You want to be Mrs. John Doe?  Please.  That makes no sense.  Give me one good reason why a woman in 2011 would take her husband’s name.  And if you name something about it being easier with paperwork and whatnot, fuck that.  No.  Because you are 50% likely to get a divorce anyway, and  you will wish that, for paperwork’s sake, you never changed your damn name in the first place.

Next Lifetime

Sometimes two people are bourne of one soul. If both those people are incarnated in the same age, they gravitate toward each other, even if it means they are on other sides of the planet. 

Most unfortunately, the sharing of a soul and the gravitation toward one another does not actually signify a unification of the two people. So that is frustrating and confusing.

"I guess I'll see you next lifetime; That sounds so divine."

Baltic

Warm apples
Caramel sticky
October sky
Orchard trees
Love, love, love
Of the highest degree

Tenderness
Warmth
Endearment
Soft skin, soft soft
A scent of beauty on the lips

Hills are green
But winter approaches
The last rays of summer love
Spread to those around us
In preparation
For our hibernation
Our winter

I'll see you in the spring

I've never done this before

so I don't know how to fix it.

Those Days.

I haven't had one of those days in a long time.  You know.  Those days when you remember something that you used to be.  And that something used to be really valuable.  And you miss it.

I used to love the fight.  Yeah, I mean I was miserable and depressed when I loved the fight, so that part sucked.  But now I'm in this stupid state of total happiness all the time where I forget what's actually real and true and good.  I just focus on the "happiness" -- but not even on the real happiness, the Aristotelian happiness -- I focus on the fake happiness.  The facade happiness.  Blaaaah.

So that just means that I need another dose of reality.  Maybe I'm ready for it.  Maybe I'm not.  But god dammit.  It feels good to get fucking mad about something.  To loudly fight for it.  To put aside your notions of everyone being friends and to actually stir some shit up and watch what unfolds.  To stand for something so fucking strongly that you just don't care what people say, what they argue. To know, so deeply, that what you believe is truth, that you are willing to yell, you're willing to lose friends, you're willing to sacrifice family relations. 

One day it will come,
M

So maybe I am ready to handle that part.  That part where I am juggling the fine line between depressed misery and truly fighting for something that is true.  I've been high and I've been low and now I'm at this really boring medium.  But I think that just means that I am prepared to use the medium for sanity during the fight.

I'm still a romantic.

3 p.m., March 3, 2010.  Tampa, FL.  During the Gorillaz Plastic Beach First Listen on NPR.



At some point, the raucous night turned into a hazy morning, but i never saw it happen; at some point i'd gone from a lovely drunk to a very heavy sober.  But I never saw that happen, either.  I just remember suddenly being very aware of everything happening around me with a clarity that I'd not had for the whole evening.  For the whole month.

I drank another vodka cran in a feeble attempt to extend my last night in Cairns, but apparently being drunk was not written in my fate for the evening, and I remained sober through the liquor.

I danced with C and we walked back to our hotel, where we went to our separate rooms and i began packing a month's worth of travel gear.  Did i sleep?... i don't think so. I just packed and thought.  And almost robotically, intuitively, walked back to C's room with only 30 minutes to spare before the early morning bus to the airport departed.

He opened the door and we embraced and i told him that i'd miss him terribly and that i wished i could skip another week of work and travel with him to New Zealand.

Then he asked if we could have sex and i told him i thought he'd never ask, so we did, and it was beautiful and passionate and i came very close to crying but i didn't because i had to leave to catch my bus and also because i still wasn't able to quantify (or qualify!) C's feelings for me, so i didn't want my tears to overstep the undefined boundaries set in place by travelling lovers.  So instead of crying, i made some cutesy, sassy remark like, "Quick and dirty; just how i like it."  And he laughed and so did i, despite the rather desperate feeling inside my chest. And then he said, "Wait, I wrote you something," and he got up from the bed to look in his bags and i thought to myself that his body was maybe the loveliest body that i'd had the pleasure of being naked with. And then he turned around with a piece of notepaper that had been several-times folded, pressed it into my hand, and asked me to read it on the airplane. And my heart melted and i wanted to stay, oh how i wanted to stay. What a foolish thing to want!  To want to stay.  What would I have done?

And then it was morning; it was most certainly morning, and my bus was waiting, and my trans-Pacific airplane was waiting, and my friends and American life were all waiting, waiting expectantly. But oh I wanted to push them aside and lie down on the banks of the watering hole, and try my hand at the boomerang again, and fall asleep once more under the blanket of stars in the Outback.

I'm inconsistent,
M

But instead i stood up, i fought my weak knees and stood up and put on my clothes and gathered my things and left.

And from the bus windows i watched Eu cry, and behind her, I saw C appear in the soft morning shadows, and i thought to myself... Where am I?

              ...Where am I?

I am from

I am from.  I am from!  I am from the universe.  I am a gahdess of the soul. I am young, I am me... I am actually you, too, even if you just don't know it yet.  You will.  We will all know it one day.  But for me, for now, we think we are separate beings... separate entities.

I am from the earth.  I am grass, I am trees.  I am you, I am me.  I am the universe.

I am from the book.  I am from this book - this has been written, this has been done.  I am paper.  I am pulp.  I am trees.  I am you, I am me.  I have seeded a forest of myself, little books from tall trees.

I am water.  I am flowing.  I am from the earth, and I am Love.  I am you, I am me.

I am from.  I am from!  I am from the universe.  I am from the stars, and I am the stars -- aren't I?  Aren't you?  We will one day find each other at precisely the same point in space and time and we will defy the laws of physics because we will indeed occupy that same space, occupy that same time... because.  See?  We are the same.  We are one. We are from.  We are from!  We are from the universe.

The recurring fail.

I only seem to go to bed with my makeup on when I'm either too drunk or too depressed to wash it off.  Either way, I wake up with mascara stains on my pillow, so the end result is the same for either of the initial states-of-being.

I maintain a love-hate relationship with my bed.  Which is kinda shitty.  I'd really like for it to be a place of neutrality.  I think I need to rearrange my bedroom in such a way that the energy flow is more suitable for sleeping.  Then maybe I'll be more inspired to wash off my makeup before I got to bed, instead of collapsing into a heap of utter failure at midnight and leaking mascara onto my egyptian cotton pillowcases.

Today I am thankful

for the evolution of humanity (in both technological and social terms), for the existence of dentistry, for skype, for my friends, for clean water that is abudantly available to me out of the tap, for BKE jeans, and for metal, in all its incarnations and forms.  I love it.  Thanks!!

Today I am thankful

for GooglePlus, my mom, technology, redwood trees, and people who are awake.  Thanks!!

Today I am thankful

for having a job, for the evolution of language and effective communication, for people who specialize in tea and tea-making, and for running water.  Thanks!!

Today I am thankful

for tea, hot water to brew it with, and all the little niceties I have available to me in my life: colorful nail polish, cutsie calendars, craft beer, and sparkly hula hoops.  Thanks!!

The Wild Trees

"The cambium of a redwood, its ever-changing self beneath the bark, may be as thin as a single layer of living cells, invisible to the naked eye, identifiable only in a microscope. If the cambium of a giant redwood were spread out in a flat sheet, it would cover more than a soccer field, perhaps. A giant redwood that is adding one or two millimeters of thickness to its wood layer in a year is adding huge amounts of material to itself, and is one of the fastest-growing organisms in nature. That a redwood seems to be growing slowly is merely an illusion of human time."  -Richard Preston, from his book The Wild Trees

I studied trees in school because I find them fascinating.  I am dumbfounded whenever I find someone who isn't as infinitely intrigued with these spectacular manifestations of life as I am.

I'm not trying to be snooty about the area of academia that I dabbled in... I truly just don't understand the idea of not being totally enamored with these organisms.  They manage to be quiet yet thrilling, serene yet commanding, and humble yet majestic.  They are truly one of the universe's finest creations.

They give us everything.  Everything.  Clean water, clean air, desks, doors, books, bookshelves, fruit, shade, and splashes of spectacular seasonal color.  Vibrant, new bursts of chartreuse green in the springtime, mature palettes of deep greens in the summer, an unending rainbow of colors in the autumn, and sculpture-esque art forms in shades of gray to grace our front yards in the winter.

"What is left of the virgin redwood forest is like a few fragments of stained glass from a rose window in a cathedral after the rest of the window has been smashed and swept away.  A redwood is a tough tree, however, and when the tree is burned or sheared off at its base it has the ability to send up new sprouts around the stump. In the fullness of time, the root sprouts can become a circle of redwood trees, which is called a faerie ring. If all the trees in the ring sprouted from one stump, the ring is essentially a single organism. The DNA of all the redwoods in such a fairy ring is the same -- in other words, the trees in the ring are clones, joined through their roots. A redwood fairy ring that has grown old and vast, and has fallen partly into ruins, is known as a cathedral..."

Eff that.

School loans are balls.  Balls!  This system is so ridiculous.

When I first graduated high school, I moved from Birmingham to Tampa to attend Florida College, a tiny little school in Temple Terrace, run primarily by kooky conservatives and religious nutbags affiliated with the Church of Christ denomination.  I went for two reasons:  one, that's where all the Church of Christ kids go to school.  And two, I really just had no clue where else I wanted to go to college, so I just shrugged my shoulders, followed the flock, and enrolled at FC  (Strike One).

I took out an asinine amount of money to attend school there.  The school, the classes, the students, the faculty and staff -- almost all of them turned out to be a total joke and waste of my money and time. I threw them the bird after my second semester there, dropped out, got a job, and got married.  (Strike Two!  Fuck).

After I'd had my fill of retail management, I decided to go back to school.  At which point I took out even more money because I wasn't born in Florida and am therefore ineligible to receive Florida Bright Futures.

And now I'm all grown up and gradumatated, and I get to spend half my paycheck paying back a stupid amount of schools loans from FC, HCC, and UF.  I'm paying these back, when I should be able to simply spend the money I earn on becoming a better person or helping out other people in the community.

All I'm saying is that it would make sense to implement a better and more socialized higher education system in this country. Our economy already sucks ass because of our debt problems and debt mismanagement.  Newly graduated students shouldn't have to be thrown into an already-broken economic system, trying to juggle thousands of dollars of school debt, struggling to find work, and spending a big chunk of their paycheck on loan repayments once they actually do find work.

A free school for all people!!!  Other countries have free higher education, why can't we get our shit together and have it here, too??  It makes our economies stronger, and our people more educated (and therefore more efficient, compassionate, progressive, and productive).

Look.  I'm just trying to avoid Strike Three. I got a bachelor's degree and I got a marriage certificate.  I got rid of one of those -- now it's the bachelor's degree that I'm stuck with.  No one takes you seriously with a Bachelor's degree; you have to get a Master's.  Well -- Fuck getting a Master's degree.  If I do that, then I'll just have to go get a PhD.  I am 28 and way too old to sit around filling out school applications, loan applications, and living on Ramen noodles while I take b.s. classes in order to get yet another piece of paper with fancy font and a couple of important signatures.

Everything sucks,
M

If I strike out a third time, I want it to be for something good.  A failed beer brewery, maybe.

Excuse me, I have to go clean my carboy.

I'm Tired...

...Uninspired, from running with scissors and playing with fire

I wonder

what it feels like when you've met the person that you're going to be with for... well.  For a long time.  (I suppose I've maybe given up on the "for the rest of your life" idea).

Wait.

Fuck that.

No, I wonder what it feels like when you've met the person that you're going to be with for the rest of your life.  Are you like super neurotic and nervous?  Completely calm?  Overwhelmed?

I have not, to my knowledge, met the person I'm going to be with for the rest of my life, and as such, I don't quite know what you feel like when you meet that person.  I'd imagine that you'd feel quite calm.  It's sort of a universal thing -- meeting the person you're going to spend the rest of your life with.  So one might be tempted to think that the feeling would be completely overwhelming and huge.  But really -- no.  Let's think about it:  you've met the person that you are meant to be with.  It's already been written.  It has, in fact, already happened at some other point on the space-time continuum.  So why would you be super nervous and overwhelmed about it?  Seems to me that you'd be quite zen about the whole thing.

I'm feeling really zen right now.

Just Remember

The very last thing I want in my life is a follower.

The next step

some days, the amount of guilt i have about my life sets in like the heaviest stone.

i'm not rolling in dough, but i do make more money now than i ever have before. yet somehow i rarely end up with extra money in savings. the problem is that i am constantly being bitten by the travel bug, so any extra savings end up going to planning some wild (and totally unecessary) trip.

and then someone's dad dies and they are faced with funeral expenses that they aren't sure they can pay. i really can't imagine going through that at 27 years old, and i particularly can't imagine going through it with the knowledge that the finances to pay for a funeral service are non-existent in my life.

so really, what i'm getting at is simply this: it is not moral of me to spend money on frivolous things. a better use of my resources is to save carefully, spend thoughtfully, and give generously to friends who are in need. it is embarassing to me that i spent so much time and money recently to travel to california, and now i don't have extra money to provide to my friend's family during their time of grief and financial strain.

i have wildly determined that i touch god most deeply and most real-ly when i am in a mountain in wyoming, in a desert in california, in a rainforest in australia... and so i simply *need* to go to these places. while that is not entirely untrue, there are other ways for me to experience and to channel god. one would be generously and compassionately giving of my means to others who could more meaningfully use them.

it is time. time for me to step from my Type Seven foibles and re-think, re-approach my life. a deep breathe, a look around, and a step forward in a new, less manic, direction is in order. a satisfaction with the present, and an effort to build on where i am and what i have. community first, self second.

Freedom!

Plans for the next few weeks/weekends:

1.  Finally begin homebrewing.  YAY PORTER!!!!!
2.  Attend a friend's wedding reception Friday night.
3.  See a movie at CinneBistro on Saturday night.  So. Epic.
4.  Learn Swedish.
5.  (Re)learn Spanish.
6.  Listen to every Ace of Base album.
7.  Finally finish reading The Power of Myth, The Wild Trees, and Deep Powder Snow.
8.  Learn 3 new hoop tricks.  THREE.  And execute them perfectly.
9.  See a minimum of one show in Ybor per week.  Summer shows on the patio at New World Brewery = YES, PLEASE.
10.  Work on perfecting this Teva tan that I started on my feet last weekend at Coachella.  i.e. Go find somewhere sunny and awesome to take a hike in the middle of the day.

Upon my return to the swamps of Florida from the
deserts of south Cali,
M

This always happens.

Yet I am still surprised whenever it occurs.

I regularly find myself searching so fervently for something.  So fervently... and so infuriatingly unsuccessfully. 

So then I throw my hands up in frustration at my lack of progress, curse whatever it is that I'm looking for, and claim to give up my search completely.  And I do.  I give up my search completely and become gloomily apathetic.

Manifesting patience to manifest contentment,
M

And then -- almost immediately -- it manifests.  It will have been under my nose the whole time, within easy reach, but somehow completely invisible.  How do I miss it?  I miss it every time.  Until, of course, I give up on looking for it.  And then there it is, amazingly.  It was there the whole time, just waiting on me to relax, open my eyes, and let it simply BE, instead of BE DISCOVERED by my impatient heart.

Listen, people, listen/ Lift your hearts to God

Been such a long time,

I forgot that I was fine
Just kiss me on my neck
and breathe
On my neck
I want somebody
To walk up behind me
And kiss me on my neck
And breathe
On my neck

If you want to feel me
Better be divine
Bring me water
Water for my mind

Give me nothing
Breathe love in my air
Don't abuse me
Cause these herbs are rare

-E. Badu

States.

So I can keep up with which ones I've been to.  *sigh*  Slow going, but I'll get all fifty.

1. Alabama
2. Georgia
3. Florida
4. Maryland
5. Massachusetts
6. Maine
7. New York
8. Illinois
9. Wyoming
10. Tennessee
11. Kentucky
12. California
13. Montana
14. New Jersey
15. Iowa.

... What, fifteen?  Man. What have I been doing with my life? That's like an average of 1 state every two years.  I need to boogey.

"Peace is not a militaristic process...

...and it's certainly not a political process."












I kept my mouth shut fairly tight during the last presidential election for several reasons. I'm a fairly liberal person, but that doesn't make me a democrat, and it's never made me an Obama supporter. However, essentially all my friends label themselves as "liberal" or "democrat" and seemed to believe that Obama was going to play some sort of saviorial role in the dawning of a New America. Any time i so much as began to question that viewpoint, I felt like I was going to be burned at the stake for blasphemy. So I stopped talking about my opinion on it. I saw people cry tears of joy over the fact that Obama got elected and rolled my eyes as it happened. I watched his election on television the night that it was announced and thought, "My god, Americans are in a glorious uproar over a dude that is going to be just like any other president!" I didn't believe his assertions. Gay rights? Really? What has he done to further gay rights? He designated a lame day of Gay Awareness or something ridiculous like that. And the war? Please. Watch the first 20 seconds of the video and we can all easily see what a blatant "turnaround" he's had in his viewpoint on war. (Let us recall the joy of his supporters when he received a Nobel Peace Prize at the beginning of his presidency!). If you would have taken of your rose-colored glasses and quit listening to Fox, CNN, and NPR during the elections and dug a little deeper into some lesser-known news organizations, you could have seen all of this coming.

I wish I could say "I told you so," but the fact of the matter is that I didn't actually tell anybody so -- because I lost my gall and quit voicing my opinion on Obama during the presidential campaign! I stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of all my liberal friends, professors, and classmates whenever I'd bring up any point that shed Obama in a bad light. So I stopped talking about it because it made me uncomfortable to argue against the views of those who were close to me. Shame on me!

Hey man, the other guy wasn't any better. I'm not saying anyone should have voted for McCain; he's a douchebag. When it came down between McCain and Obama, I went to the polls and voted for Obama because I decided he was the lesser of two evils. SHAME ON ME AGAIN! I still voted for evil! And now my country is paying for it with the blood of more soldiers and the absence of rights for our homosexual brethren and sistren.

We all know this. But our country is broken. Our political process is broken, and this "two-party" system is killing democracy as we know it. Do we really think that revolution will not occur? That the current system is sustainable? When I spoke of revolution 5 years ago, people scoffed. Now it is easily a rapidly-approaching reality and I hear people speak of it more freely in normal conversations. Everyone is mad. Republicans are mad because they've hated Obama from day 1. Democrats are mad because their purported saviour has made such a floundering fool of himself that the entire party looks ridiculous.

If you aren't mad... then you aren't listening.

Note to self

I've realized recently that creativity and compassion flow more freely and easily in me when I don't have a partner.  Maybe that's because I function better solo, or maybe it's because I haven't found the right person to be with.  Either way, right now, I am my favorite manifestation of Mary that I've ever been. (Coincidentally, if I look back on my pattern of joyousness and depression, I find that I am always most joyous when single, and always most depressed when involved with someone).  And so, I want to remember how I'm feeling, what I'm doing, and why I'm living, and make sure that all those answers can be just as easily manifest in the next relationship I embark in.

It's the way you go nah nah nah,
M

Maybe I mentioned this in another blog post, but last summer, I had a conversation with AB and MM in which I told them I fully expected to die single.  That thought used to really scare me, but I've made peace with my life and my divorce, particularly over the past year or so.  And now, actually, the thought of being involved with someone from now til the day I die is suddenly really unappealing.  Of course, that could simply be due to the fact that I've mostly dated people who are obviously not good matches for me in the long run.  ;-)

Before you make an ass of yourself...

When you argue with me (or anyone), I don't mind if you have a different opinion.  However, I do mind if you have clearly not researched what you are saying.  

Do we really think that there is no such thing as racism anymore?  Or that if there is, do we think it's not actually a product of generation upon generation of social conditioning set in place by our forefathers who based an entire country, an entire economy on slavery?  Is this really what we think?  Oh, it is?  Aw, okay.  You simply exhibit a really bad case of White Privilege.  Oh, you don't know what that is?  That's alright.  If you knew what White Privilege was, you wouldn't be exhibiting it, because it's fucking disgusting.  

Once you are actually educated about what racism is, where it comes from, and why it exists, then we can continue the argument.  Until then, for your own sake, make an effort not to voice your really ignorant opinion.  Because otherwise you will end up looking like a big, douchy, uneducated, white privileged, racist-but-too-thick-skulled-to-be-aware-of-it, asshole.  Kind of like this girl:

For the love of all things pure and holy.  READ A FUCKING BOOK.  Or at least a Wikipedia entry for Chrissake.

My favorite thing in the world is when people who are so utterly wrong about something insist on voicing their opinion at the top of their lungs.  Like, maybe if they talk about it louder than everyone else, then suddenly the very wrong thing that they're saying will become infallibly right.  How convenient!  I will keep that in mind the next time I am losing an argument.  I'll just speak louder than the person I'm arguing with.  Problem solved!  Man I wish I would have figured that one out years ago.

Oh, oh, here's another favorite thing of mine.  When someone is so mind-blowingly stubborn, that they refuse to see the truth in an argument even when it's staring at them in the face.  And if they do choose to see it, they accept it in such a begrudging manner that it's really almost embarrassing.  Guilty, my friends!  I was upsettingly stubborn for a very large portion of my life.  Ironically, the Stubborn phase of my life happened to coincide almost flawlessly with my White Privilege phase.  Thank God I didn't post a damn youtube video.  However, I can certainly recall with a stinging poignancy several things that I did or said out loud that I'd be more than happy to take back today.

Now.  If everyone would just buy a plane ticket to somewhere they've never been, we'd all be living in a happier world.

I remember

I remember someone I fell in love with a very long time ago.  I wondered for a moment how I could have forgotten, but isn't it so easy to forget something that pains you so, in the end?  They tell me 'tis better to have loved and lost...

"Well met, well met," said an old true love.
"Well met, well met," said he.
"I have just returned from the salt, salt sea,
And it's all for the love of thee."

Lah-dee-dah, Skippity dooo

I love babies and so should youuuu

Wait.

Sometimes, I think that I want babies more than anything.  But then I remember that I'd actually rather have a new ipod or visit San Francisco.  So, life is pretty good right now with the whole fulfilling selfish desires and whatnot.

Faith in the Present

The West is so appealing to me.  The mountains, the people, the weather, the trees; all of it seems romantic and majestic and far away.

I am a Taurus.  Now, I don't know how much stock I put into astrology, but I will say this -- I exhibit several Taurian qualities to a t.  One of those qualities is that I love, love, love being social and experiencing new things, but another is that, dammit, I just don't want to leave my house sometimes.  Actually, right now is one of those times.  I really only want to be left alone to nest and meditate.  Anyway, I digress.  The point of me saying all that is simply that I find the West coast to be a beautifully attractive area of the country and it calls so strongly to me from time to time... but I am not leaving the Southeast.

We are overpopulated, sprawling, bigoted, less progressive, not as good at managing our natural resources, and probably a little more unappealingly work-centric than our fellow surfers and ski bums of the West.

But this is home.

I like fried eggs and grits, and cotton farms and peach orchards.  I like our little mountains (or, in Florida's case, our entire lack of mountains altogether).  I like Alabama.  And I like Florida.  Despite the fact that both states have ridiculous governors and are full of some of the most racist people I've ever met.

One time, I saw this couple at the tea lounge that I frequent.  The guy was a know-it-all religion major at USF and found it necessary to tell his girlfriend (quite loudly) that Tampa was essentially a hopeless shithole of a city and that it only made sense for them to move to another, more suitable city.  Anyway, later on, I walked over to the girl after her boyfriend had left and we started talking about community.  I told her I thought it was ridiculous to leave a place because you thought it was hopeless.  The only way that a place generates hope is if the people who are most capable of giving it hope... don't actually leave! She agreed and said that's what she'd been trying to explain to her boyfriend.  We both spoke of the current beauty of Tampa (if you only look further than skin-deep) and of this city's potential to become a bright beacon of exemplary community behavior for other Florida cities -- if only we would stay here and offer the city what hope we had to give it.

I see hope in the southeast.  Hope for a brighter future for the poor and uneducated of Mississippi, hope for clean shorelines in Florida, hope for a better state government of Alabama, hope for better water resource management in Atlanta, and hope for an overall progression of social and natural resource beauty in these states.  I see this hope on the horizon, and its manifestation is coming soon.

It must come soon.

We are all one community, we are all neighbors, we are all family.  What the southeast does matters to you, whether you move to Seattle or not.  You cannot ignore us.  You cannot turn a blind eye by moving to your more suitable, progressive Western city and simply forgetting about Tampa or Biloxi or Atlanta or Birmingham.

I have something to offer this part of my family; I have knowledge and love and I want badly to offer it to the Southeast with no motive besides that of compassion -- so that we have no choice but to use the knowledge and love in order to progress toward becoming better neighbors toward our fellow citizens across the country and across the globe.

We only have one option,
M

A Fair Balance.  Co-operation, not competition, in work, communications, and economics; the sharing of information and ideas so that all people can learn and live sustainably.  It must start with you -- having faith in where you presently reside.

A time to cry, a time to laugh

As I grow older and experience more life, I come to believe more and more firmly that the ultimate road to happiness, peace, and love is the road of balance. The middle path, if you will.

I'm not talking about compromise; I'm talking about co-operation. Insight. Compassion. Love. Contentment. Future planning. The Ultimate Good. I'm talking about looking at what you've been given at 28 and deciding that you will make something out of it, even if it's not what you had planned at 22. I'm talking about being thankful for what exists. I'm talking about not being bullheaded and complaining about things you disagree with. I'm talking... about balance.

And don't I just sound like a spineless hippie, hm? "Balance, shmalance. I believe in something and so should everyone else! There is only one way to take care of this, and coincidentally, it's my way!" No. There are multiple ways to take care of one matter, and there are multiple viewpoints on one subject, and there are multiple solutions to one problem, and they can all be valid. Your own answer is not the right one. Because -- and this may come as a surprise (it certainly did to me several years ago) -- the world is not an algebra equation. What's true on your page of looseleaf paper in your math class does not equal what's true in life. In life, not every time does A squared plus B squared equal C squared.

Can't we all take a step back and realize this? Can't we all... (at the risk of sounding like a total damn hippie)... just get along? Your answer is not the right one. And neither is mine! But together we can manifest something beautiful that we can all live with and work for.

And maybe I am just idealistic. Maybe I can't actually get everyone in the world to change their road of bullheaded thinking to a road of co-operative balance.

But Ghandi told me to be the change I wish to see in the world. And so I am choosing to walk down my middle path, and to walk down it with hope for the future, with love, and with as much compassion as I can possibly muster in a culture convinced that the duality of black and white is the truth.

He hath made everything beautiful in His time,
M

Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return

I like religion.

I like its traditions, I like its strong sense of community, I like its words and poetry.  I like religious people; people who beautifully believe in the tie that binds them to one another.  I like churches and temples.  I like congregational singing.  I like the tradition and meaning behind every act that happens in a religion.

I have been happily attending several religious services at various congregations throughout the Tampa Bay area recently.  One religion that I realized I've been ignoring is Catholicism.  We all remember the Catholics at this particular season because of the (in)famous Mardi Gras celebrations.  One of my firm's offices is located in Baton Rouge, and they sent King Cakes to all our other offices last week.  So yesterday, on Fat Tuesday, I had a slice of it (and managed to avoid finding the baby), and I decided that today, I'd like to attend an Ash Wednesday mass.

Downtown Tampa hosts a marvelous parish -- Sacred Heart Catholic Church.  I stayed at work late today, and then drove straight to the church to attend their 7:30 Ash Wednesday mass.  It's always a little weird going to a religious service by yourself, but I guess I've done it enough times to get over that initial urge to turn around and walk right out when you realize that you know no one and have no clue what you are supposed to be doing.  ;-)  I took a seat in the back of the church (without doing the whole holy water sprinkling deal, because I didn't know I was supposed to.  Oops!).  Anyway, as 7:30 drew closer and closer, I got more and more antsy.  I'd only been to one other mass before, and it was last Easter, at a parish in Maryland with my boyfriend.  I kept remembering all the little nuances and acts of kneeling, standing up, sitting down, and talking that took place during that mass, and I suddenly realized that I had the potential to do something really, really wrong if I didn't know what was going on.  I hopped up and found an usher to seek guidance from a couple of minutes before the service began.

"Hi, um, do you guys have like a program?"

"...a what?"

"A program.  ...I'm not Catholic and I've never done this before, so I just want like an itinerary of events so I know what to do or what not to do."

"You aren't Catholic?"

"No sir, I just wanted to experience an Ash Wednesday service."

"Oh!  Oh... alright then.  Uhm, well -- Catholics believe..."

And he went off on a short tangent about Christ physically manifesting himself during a Catholic service, and how we will all return to dust, and that we have the ashes smeared on our heads as a reminder of this truth.  ...And also that I shouldn't take the communion since I'm not a Catholic.  That was pretty much all I needed to know:  what NOT to do in order to keep from offending anyone.  ;-)

The service began, and everyone passed peace between each other (a tradition that I find absolutely charming and something that I think would make our workplaces happier if we did each morning).  We sang songs with the accompaniment of a beautiful organ, said a few touching prayers, and had several verses read to us.  It doesn't actually matter what religious service I attend, I will undoubtedly end up crying at some point.  Tonight it was during the reading of this verse, from the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 6, verses 1 through 6:

"Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in Heaven.  Therefore, when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men.  Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.  But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth:  That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret Himself shall reward thee openly.

And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men.  Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.  But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut the door, pray to thy Father in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly."

What a poetic reminder for us to practice generosity for the good of generosity itself, not for the promotion of ourselves and of our kindheartedness.  Those who publicly give shall be publicly rewarded by men, but those who privately give will be openly rewarded by God.

After the readings, one of the priests spoke to us.  He reminded us of the reason that we were all there to begin with:  to recall and reflect upon our vaporic lives, that we are from dust and shall return to dust, and that we are sinners.

Then we received ashes.  I liked receiving ashes.  Everything about a Catholic service is so focused on community as one, not individualistic desires or whims.  We all stood at the same time, we all received the same ashes, we all had the same Latin phrase whispered over us as we received the ashes, we all sang the same song.  I knew no one in the entire church, and yet I felt like they were all my family.

Ashes to Ashes,
M

I'm impressed if you read my rambling blog entry this far.  I suppose it wasn't really for anyone except myself.  I like to think that, one day, I will believe in something so passionately that I will give my entire being to it.  Until then, I'll receive ashes with the understanding that it is a beautiful tradition that I enjoy partaking in, but one that still leaves me feeling just a little empty and just a little ostracized because it's not the full truth of reality.

Then again, maybe it is.

Why I Hate Surprise Parties.

Okay.

I had a phone conversation tonight with M.  And we starting talking about the lameness of showers.  You know, like baby showers and wedding showers.  We both think they're dumb.  "Oh, even though we both probably work full time and have decent incomes, we are going to register for like the most expensive things we can think of and then guilt you into buying them!"  Whatevs.  I hate showers.  I didn't have a wedding shower, a bridal shower, or a lingerie shower... or whatever other type of shower you get when you're engaged.  That shit annoys me so much.

Anyway, so after we bitched about showers, we started talking about birthday parties.  I also hate birthdays.  Not so much other people's birthday parties, just my own.  It is mortifying to me when a group of people sing me happy birthday. I also don't like opening presents in front of everyone.  I don't want to blow out the damn candles and make a wish.  I don't want to read all the cards out loud and then feign gratefulness for the pre-written hallmark words.  I fucking hate birthdays, man.  I just hate them.  I always have.

But here's what I mostly hate:  Surprise birthday parties.  I have always hated the idea of surprise birthday parties, and I haven't sat down and actually contemplated why that is.  But I figured it out tonight during my conversation with M.

I am a Seven in the Enneagram scheme of things.  The Enthusiast.

I like to PLAN.  I am good at planning.  I plan vacations, I plan meals, I plan trips, I plan how to reorganize my furniture, I plan paintings, I plan a bazillion and one projects that I am constantly in the middle of doing.  And I don't want you to do it for me.  I want to be in the loop at all times and be completely aware of what's going on.  And so whhhhyyyyyy would I like surprise birthday parties?!  Wow, a surprise birthday party combines both surprises and birthday parties -- two of my biggest pet peeves in the world!   =P

Friends, make note:  Surprise birthday parties are an epic fail.

Text Message Conversations (Fainting Couches and Lumberjacks)

Not gonna lie; I spent at least 15 minutes at work today painting this picture over text message:



A.N.:  Work any less hectic today?

Me:  I might describe the past week or 2 as "nightmarish" actually.  It's all good though; whatevs.  They don't pay me to sit around and look cute.  Well, they do.  But they also expect some work product as well.

A.N.:  Can they pay you for something you do naturally?

Me:  I've apparently finagled them into doing it.

A.N.:  I imagine you don't have a desk; you just spend all day lounging on a fainting couch.  You're wearing a dress and looking coy.

A.N.:  ...Do I get too specific sometimes?

Me:  The reference to a fainting couch just blew my mind.

A.N.:  Ya, I do that to people sometimes.

Me:  Yes, well.  I've also been known to wear a strand of pearls and smoke cigarettes through a quellazaire.

A.N.: I feel like this scene needs to be painted.

Me:  I would really love to have like a 16x20 oil painting of this scene, with the setting actually in my cubicle.  My co-workers would die.  What a ridiculous juxtaposition.

A.N.:  Every time you say you're at work, I'm going to think of our imaginary portrait of you.  Even if you drastically change jobs.

Me:  I'm considering lumberjacking in Canada.

A.N.:  ...And now the fainting couch is in the woods.  You look the exact same, pearls and all, but you are also holding an axe.

A.N.:  Oh, and could you also have a pet moose?

Me:  I've already commissioned someone to do the painting and specifically asked for a moose.  And my fringed swinger dress will be red plaid.

A.N.:  Can the pearls be emeralds?  And can you be wearing either boots or red heels?

Me:  I don't like the idea of a strand of emeralds, but i could go with like a huge flashy emerald pendant, And stylized leather boots.

A.N.:  Well.  I just thought the emerald would fit nicely with the forest


Aaaaand an update to this text conversation, which carried over into the next day:


Me:  I just had my annual performance review at work.  They asked me to add a strand of pearls and lounge a little more dramatically on the fainting couch.

A.N.:  Another strand?  Things are coming up, Mary!

Me:  I was pleased with my directives for 2011.  *sigh* Wouldn't that be the perfect job, though?  "Mary, you didn't lounge enough last year.  Please make more effort to make less effort in the upcoming year."

A.N.:  That's where you demand in your contract to be fed grapes.

Me:  hahaa "I'd be happy to oblige to your request Tom, but I've simply not been given the proper tools.  I'll need daily facials and personal grape-feeder."

A.N.:  You may as well throw premium parking in there, too.

Me:  They've provided me a personal chariot, actually.

I'm nesting.

I've spent the past 48 hours nesting.  I bought a new bedspread, two sets of 500 thread count sheets, a floor lamp, two pieces of original art, decorative mirrors, and probably some other things that I'm not thinking of right now.  A friend brought me fresh Calendula flowers from the farm she works on and they're bright and beautiful.  I've thrown away so much stuff that has been weighing me down and it feels free and light, and I love it.  And on top of all that, I've rearranged several pieces of furniture in my condo, and if I do say so myself, it looks awesome.  I apparently have a knack for Feng Shui.  ;-)

I'm really quite happy right now; I feel like I'm at a really great spot in my life.  As indicated in my previous entry, I feel quite like I'm at a normal place in terms of healing.  I am, for the first time since I've divorced, not only financially secure, but I have enough extra money to do recreational activities that I want to do without worrying about whether or not I can pay for it.  I'm cooking again.  I'm cleaning and organizing and calming down.  I know what I want in the future, in terms of graduate schools and my career.

And now, I want someone to share it with.  Bleh.  *rolls eyes*  Look, I know this is sappy.  I know it sounds like I'm a needy girl who's whining about finding someone and won't be happy til she does.  But that's not it, really.  It's just that I finally feel quite like I have something to offer, and I'd like to be able to share it with someone who can appreciate it and who can give me the same thing in return.

Look, I did the OkCupid thing for awhile, right?  And so you are supposed to answer all these questions about life, relationships, love, sex, blah blah.  Based on your answers, they "match" you to other users.  Anyway, there was this one question along the lines of:  Would you rather complete your partner, or would you rather they already be complete when you find them?  And a surprising amount of people answered "I want to complete my partner."  Okay, well not me.  If you can't function healthily on your own, then I have no desire to fix you.  Of course, inherently, I hold myself to the same standard, which is bound to be largely why I've not had a fully successful relationship in my life yet -- I've subconsciously known that I've not been "complete" and ready to present myself healthily.

But now I feel like I am.

I don't really go to a ton of family-oriented events or functions, but yesterday I found myself at Ikea.  The place was chock-full of families, purchasing things to build their nest with.  I admittedly got teary two or three times during my shopping trip there because I want that so badly -- to build my nest alongside a partner and children.  But I don't just want it with the next person who comes along -- I want it with someone that I am so passionately in love with that I can't stand it.  With someone who I can't imagine living without.  With someone who matches me on every level that I'm at, and maybe even exceeds me on some levels. 

I told AB and MM several months ago that I'm fully prepared to die alone, because I'm so not expecting to find anyone who fits the criteria above, and because I refuse to settle for anything less.  I am so incredibly underwhelmed with the vast majority of people I date, man.  So I kinda feel like I'm stuck in this haughty, over-privileged place of eye-rolling solitude.  It's lame on multiple levels.

...However, my condo looks ballin'.  And as such, I will be having a dinner party soon.

Turns out, my new shirt has 2 holes in it,
M

It's February

Right after my husband and I split up, someone told me that it would be a minimum of 2 years before I was normal again.

Oh my Gooooooood, that sounded like such a long time to me then.  I was utterly convinced he was wrong, that I would be over it and ready to move on after like, ya know, a month or two.  I was 25!  I didn't have two whole years to waste being unable to healthily date!

And so I bullheadedly embarked on what proved to be an appallingly abusive relationship.  And then I slept with a bunch of people that I had no intention of pursuing a relationship with.  And then I embarked on another relationship.  Not unhealthy -- but in retrospect, one that I could have put a lot more thought into.  And then I slept with a bunch more people that I had no intention of pursuing a relationship with.  I wrapped my fear around me like a blanket, and I sailed my ship of safety til I sank it.

And throughout this whole time, I kept pictures of me and my husband in their frames.  Several of them were shoved in the back of my closet, still framed and untouched.  But there were other ones that I kept displayed on my bookshelves in my bedroom, and I'd always slip them somewhere out of sight when a new intrigue would come to my house.  

Somehow, I didn't realize that that was unhealthy.  Until just now, apparently, when I was in the middle of cleaning out my closet and came across several of those frames with pictures from the wedding, pictures from the early part of our marriage, pictures of my in-laws.  And with very little thought, I simply removed the photos, placed them in the rather smallish box that contains the very few sentimental belongings from my marriage, and then stacked the picture frames in the pile of Goodwill donations.  

I took a step back, furrowed my brown, and thought Why had I never been able to do that before?  I honestly think I'd managed to convince myself that I didn't want to get rid of all the framed pictures, as opposed to not being able to get rid of them.

Now.  The past week or two of my life has been a turning point for me.  I have discovered precisely what I want and precisely when I want it.  I have not only stopped drinking everyday, I've stopped needing to drink everyday.  I have made a timeline of my life for the next year and hung it on the wall of my bedroom so it stares at me and wags its finger disapprovingly when I waste time.  I have a plan, I have time, I have the money to do it, I am suddenly exactly where I need to be, and I have the patience to work toward where I eventually want to go.  I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper and now I'm free.

It's Februrary, 2011.  In summer of 2008, Dr. Campbell warned me "two years" before I reached some semblance of normality.  I should have listened.

The less I seek my source for some definitive,
the closer I am to fine,
M

Why I Love Florida in February.

(A bit of reflection from March of 2008, though it still holds true in 2011):

Because: in which other state during February can you see a riotous explosion of pink azaleas in every front yard? Maybe a select few other states -- those that aren't still covered in soggy, white, half-melted snow, anyway. But in Florida, no recalcitrant snow lingers and inhibits the azaleas' mission of painting the entire peninsula in pink. Their blossoms are papery, spotted, and sensual. They look almost edible, and they completely encapsulate each azalea shrub.

And because: in which other state can you drive down a dismal, wintery interstate, only to discover the most elegant of surprises lining the sides once you drive out just past city limits? Acres and acres of citrus trees blossom and diffuse their heavenly, aromatic scent across the ever-present construction on I-4. The privilege of being surrounded by the scent of citrus blossoms is something that should be reserved for royalty, but as a Florida resident, i retain this privilege on a daily basis during the winter. I live in a state of tumultuous azaleas and other-worldly citrus blossom scents.

And because: i surely can't think of another state whose jasmine blossoms smell quite so sweet in the dead of winter besides Florida. If a residential area doesn't have a few citrus trees blooming in February, it certainly has a handful of jasmine shrubs opening their dainty, faerie-like white flowers whose scent transports the mind to a higher plane. Their delicate perfume has the ability to calm one after a long, strenuous day, or to invoke a spark of passion between two lovers, or, oddly, even to incite an appetite in those who have difficulty eating.

Florida feels like home the longer I stay and experience its natural offerings.

And so it is,
M

So much to be thankful for, how could anyone ever be sad?

I had one and half PBRs last night which was one and half too many. I forget that it's cheap beer for a reason.

I woke up this morning angry at work, angry at my messy room, my upset stomach, my headache, and just existence in general.

But, I'd made plans with AB and RG to go to Harmony Church this morning for Sunday service.

But before I tell you anymore about today, let's skip back to exactly one week ago.

I'd gone to Harmony with AB last Sunday.  The services began with the choir standing in front of the congregation, prepared to perform. As the members began to settle in their seats, a little girl began to sing solo: "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so," and it was adorable. I smiled and then sighed resignedly to myself, believing that I was about to go through visiting yet another church service full of talk about Jesus as my saviour and Jehovah as my master.

But then the child finished singing, and the choir picked up where she left off. And their words were, "Spirit loves me, this I know, for the conscious tells me so." And my jaw dropped and my eyes teared up and I whispered, "Yes, yes, yes..."

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. I was unabashedly elated to see that these people had put away their childish things and become men.

Throughout the service, this esoteric language that AB and I had created between ourselves -- this language that danced with ideas and that exasperated others who listened to us speak it -- was being spoken fluently by every Reverend and every member of the congregation. Every word that AB and I had said to one another, all our particular semantics, all our logic... it was all manifest in the middle of this tiny sanctuary on Henry Street in west Tampa. It was mindblowing and revolutionary, yet comforting and familiar and completely mother at the same time.

The rest of the service impacted me in similar ways. The choir sang Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram. One of the Reverends led us on a meditation during which my spirit left my body and renewed itself with a vigor and a passion I'd not felt in so long. Another Reverend anointed my head and chest with oil and blessed me, as I offered her peace and thanks.

My head spun and my heart cried and I praised the Source for Being and for Guiding.

I walked away from the service with wet eyes, an open heart, and a reaffirmed belief in eternal trust in the Source to provide guidance, direction, and wisdom for me in every aspect of my life.




Skip to one week later -- this morning:

I woke up pissed at PBR.

But, as I said, I'd made plans to attend Harmony again with AB and also RG this time around.

I made myself roll out of the bed, grumbling, but knowing that the service would renew me spiritually, emotionally, and mentally, preparing me for the coming week.

The service was beautiful this week, as it was last week, and I left happy. I came home and gathered up lots of things I'd been meaning to drop off at Goodwill, then drove out to a drop-off zone in Carrollwood. I was playing Liquid Swords by GZA when I pulled up in my quarter-life crisis car (a silver 2-door, 5-speed Civic), and one of the gentlemen manning the Goodwill truck (whose name I soon learned was Junior) walked right up and promptly asked if I was donating the items in my trunk along with the car itself. I laughed and said, "Yeah, take the whole thing! I can walk home." He laughed also, and then gathered up my grocery bags of clothes and purses. As he started to walk back toward the Goodwill truck, he turned around and asked for my car keys. I laughed and said, "Okay, maybe I won't donate the car today. But I'll take you for a spin!" Which made all three of the Goodwill gentlemen laugh. And then another one of them (whose name I soon learned was Chris) said to me, "Are you happy today?" I said, "Yes, I'm elated today, in fact." He asked me why, and I told him that I had had a lovely church service earlier in the morning, and that I had enough money to pay my rent and buy my food, and that I couldn't think of a reason to be sad today. Chris smiled and asked me if I would pray with all three of them.

I was flattered and accepted. And we stood in the middle of the Home Depot parking lot and held hands, and I thanked our Father for everything that He has blessed us with so far, and asked for His continued blessings, particularly upon the work that Junior, Chris, and Ivan were doing in Tampa Bay.

And then Chris asked if I'd like to fellowship with him sometime, because he goes to church every Sunday at a congregation on Dale Mabry and Kennedy. I told him that I'd love to, so we exchanged phone numbers and planned to see each other at church soon.

Kisses,
M

So, thank you. Thank you, everyone, for being community, and creating community, and giving and taking love and compassion. Because community, love, and compassion are the only things that really matter, right? Everything else falls into place when we practice these things.

There is so much to be thankful for, how could anyone ever be sad?

Remembers a Sweeter Time

When hair was shorter, love was purer and more innocent, family was calm, and god still existed, even if precariously so.

When people photographed easily, and leaves turned red, and bridges led us over waters.

When life was predictable.

When love was unquestioned.

When the kitchen was busy and food gave comfort.

When the future was clear and plans were implemented accordingly.

When conversations were real and the mindstream flowed fluently.

When flowers picked easily and smelled fluidly.

When bikes polished and oil changed and travels occurred communally and without question.

Forgive me.

Regrets come with difficulty,
M

Today is the greatest

day I have ever known!  All praises!

The temperature was perfect, the sunset sublime, and the trees cloaked in beautiful leaves.

I got new music, I remembered old music, I planned out the rest of my life, and I made banana bread.

I opened the windows and turned my ceiling fans on high and it felt like the first day of an endless summer in paradise.

My state is probably prettier than yours,
M

BABY!

I GIVE THIS BABY ONE MILLION KISSES!!!  om nom nom delicious baby

Wants all the options, all the time.

I've become that girl.

That girl who really wants a solid relationship with someone but who is totally unwilling to put a significant amount of time or effort into making it happen.

I'm the girl who goes on like one date with someone and then doesn't return phone calls afterwards.  *cringe*  I hate those girls!

It's just that I'm so busy!  I have so much to do.  And see.  And experience.  I feel like I don't have time to catch someone up to speed on who I am or why I function the way I function.  Get this:  I went on a date with this guy recently and had a fairly nice time.  But when it came time to plan for a second date, I simply kept not finding the time to fit it into my schedule.  Which of course begat questions from him.  But because I was so uninterested in trying to explain all the weird details about my life, I just told him to google "enneagram type 7" and read the personality profile that came up.  Then I told him that I was scattered, undisciplined, and over-extended.  And believe it or not, he still asked if he could go on another date with me. What!

Here are the things I like: options, newness, and constant stimulation.  Which is why I love first dates!!  No one else like first dates, but I love them.  ...I just don't like second dates, because they aren't as new as first ones. "I've already met you and know your dog's name.  Time for a new stranger!!"

I know it makes no sense.  It makes absolutely no sense that my favorite dates are first dates, but that I also really want a long-term, stable relationship.  But I guess that just fits into my "I like options" statement from above.

These are a few of my favorite things

1. Clementine oranges. Because you can peel them easily with your hands, and they don't have seeds, and they are the perfect level of citrusy sweetness.

2. Tanqueray-and-tonics. Because they have the most supreme balance of astringent juniper flavor and mildly sweet tonic water flavors. And also because they induce a different feeling in me than other liquor drinks do... I get the most lovely feeling of relaxation and acceptance. Not a wild disregard of my natural inhibitions, mind you... just a welcome relaxation, acceptance of life, and an enhancement of my emotions.

3. Witbier. Because it is an aesthetically pleasing beer; a light, cloudy gold, with beautiful sediments floating around. And because it's made with coriander, which is delicious.

4. Pinewoods treefrogs (Hyla femoralis). Because they are tiny, brown treefrogs that initially seem very unassuming and plain. But then you can ask one if she'll allow you to pick her up and discover her treasure. And she might say no at first, but after a few moments of coaxing and a promise of a gentle touch, she will allow you to scoop her from her tree branch. And when you do, you can pull back one of her hind legs so that it's fully extended. And what a beautiful golden treasure they display! Superb flecks of what looks to be 24 carat gold line the inside of their femur! Absolutely stunning, and it leaves me a little breathless every time I see it.

5. Babies. Because they know nothing but love and because they smell nice. And because every part of them is soft, and when I touch them I remember a sweeter time of innocence. And because when I give a baby a bottle, he likes to hold his sweet little head right next to my breast because it feels more like real nursing. And then he starts getting really sleepy as he's sucking on the bottle, and his eyes get heavy, and he starts to nod off, and the milk dribbles out of the side of his mouth just a little, and onto my shirt, and before I know it, he's drifted off. And then I take the bottle out of his mouth, and I sit very, very still, and I let him sleep on my chest and tummy, and I listen to his little breathing and I think that maybe there is still hope for humanity.

6. Live Music. Because it is a time of raw vulnerability for the performers and the performees, and it instills a sense of community in me on the same level that many other people get by attending a religious service.

7. Bald Cypress Trees. Because they are relics of what used to be the majesty of the cypress swamps of Florida, before everything was cut down and sold for timber or mulch. And because their finely compounded leaves romantically rustle when a welcome breeze whispers through the wetland. And because they are bright green in the spring, dark green in the summer, copper in the autumn, and bare, abstract sculptures in the winter.

8. February in Florida. Because orange blossoms impart a heavenly fragrance along I-4, the azaleas are a riot of papery pink blooms, the jasmine sugars my nose with the most sensual flavor in the evenings, and the wild ginger sings to me with its faerie blossoms when I walk by it in the gardens.

9. Maps. Because they remind me how big the world is. And how small the world is. And that I am neighbors with you.

10. Reading Books. Because I have one continuous stream of thought when I read a book; such a welcome relief from juggling 5 open windows on the computer and an internet browser with no less than 8 tabs open.

11. Getting my eyebrows threaded. Because I look phenomenal afterwards, and because I like the women who thread them for me.

12. Getting a professional massage. Because it is absolutely trans.cen.dental.

13. Talking to someone who listens. Because I have something to say and I like when someone else recognizes that.

14. When I make a meal in which every dish complements the other ones, and all the dishes get done cooking at the same time. Because then I get to share that meal with people I love and we get to partake in one another's souls.

15. When my eyeshadow matches my outfit. Because... duh. Awesomez.

16. When someone pays me just the right amount of compliments; not so many that it's creepy, but not so few that I wonder if I'm doing something wrong. Because I like when there is an unspoken connection.

17. Walking into an ecosystem and being able to name almost every plant or tree in it, with both the scientific and common names. Because... again, duh. Awesomez.

18.  The Beach.  Specifically, Florida beaches.  Because they are sunny and hot and have the best sand.  And there are sea urchins.  And the water temperature is perfect.  And the waves are perfect.  And I get really wonderfully hot and sandy and sweaty, and my feet get exfoliated because of walking through the sand and the waves.  And my skin looks phenomenal afterwards because of the saltwater and the sun exposure.

19.  The Mountains.  Because of all the reasons opposite of the beach.  They are sunny like the beach, but they are chilly unlike the beach.  And they definitely have no sand -- they have entire majestic rocks that haven't been blasted to bits by constant water beatings. And I don't get hot at all; I have to wear long sleeves, but I like that.  And my feet don't get exfoliated by any stretch of the imagination; however, I get to wear hiking boots and I love those.  And most importantly, I totally touch God when I'm in the mountains.

20. Making lists.

That Southern Beauty

I walked into Skipper's once Nic Cowan and his band were already playing. He simply oozed sexiness in his cowboy boot-esque black shoes, dark wash boot cut jeans, and vaguely western collared black shirt. I'm from the wrong side of town, he said, but she keeps on coming around. And I believed it.

His singing voice sounded like dark chocolate and well-aged whisky, a rather sinful combination for me. But when I heard him talk, I really melted.

I always get nostalgic for the deep south whenever I visit my home town of Birmingham, and I was particularly romantic about it on my recent trip home to attend my grandmother's funeral. And tonight, when Cowan ended the first song, he gave an understated laugh that suggested an indulgence in the occasional cigarette, and then he made some gracious comment about how he appreciated the audience. And his Atlanta voice sounded like home to me, and my jaw dropped, and my heart skipped a beat, and I danced with his Georgia peach voice, and wished that I had never set foot outside of Birmingham.

Cowan stood on stage and owned every damn song he sang, and graciously gave well-deserved credit to the bassist, electric guitarist, and drummer at all the appropriate times. I wanted to rip his shirt off.

A Fairly Normal Text Message Exchange.

Me: Damn. I always think I know what I'm doing. That's when reality likes to give me a swift kick like "Take that, bitch."

A: You do know. But you're just not doing it.

Me: Haha. True. Man! Well, everyone always knows, I suppose. Fuck that tabula rasa idea.

A: I know. It's more like fabula falsa.

Me: ....

A: I'm being really witty in Romanian. Fabula is fable, and falsa is false.

Because I Don't Feel Ethical When I Do This, That's Why.

Inherently, the private industry, of which I am a working member, represents the just the opposite of what I believe in so passionately: Co-operation, not competition, in work, communications, and economics; the sharing of information and ideas so that all people can learn and live sustainably.*

Listen: I don't expect our country to become totally communal; that's not what I'm fighting for. Just as I don't expect our country to become totally capitalistic, either. Both of these things, because they are extremes, are senseless goals to have, accomplishing less than they would were they to be combined. (Come on now, I've already gone through my years as young, ardent idealist).

The ultimate goal, then, is balance -- a middle path. And now the questions become as follows: Which side of this path needs more attention, more work, more passion? Are you more in love -- truly in love -- with selling a brand name and pleasing a client, or are you more in love with openly sharing the information that is so vital to the ultimate betterment and sustainably of our people and our home, the earth?? Which of these do you choose? Which of these sides is most beneficial to your grandchildren, to your favorite animal, to your favorite strip of coastline or most treasured forest tree? Which of these sides do you consider ethical to work toward and to earn a paycheck while doing so? What is it that you will do with your time, the only thing that you really have any sort of control over?

What will you do in your life in order to manifest the most balanced, fair, and open middle path?

There will always be those willing to sell their souls for just one more vacation day, for one more buck an hour, for one more promotion, for one more client. And those people populate a very large side of the middle path. Where are those of us on the other side of the middle path? Those of us who will take a lower paycheck and fewer vacation days in order to fight for a more sustainable future and a happier exchange of information on this journey to our essential middle path?

*Sentiments on co-operation taken from The Earth User's Guide to Permaculture, by Rosemary Morrow