Moody Meow

This is where I am going this weekend. I am using this site as inspiration so I can get this part of my novel finished. When I am done with my homework, I can go out and play.

I want to weave a musical spell
That leaves you unwell and thinking of me everyday
I want to play you a tune that leaves you marooned and troubled
Each time I’m away
Is there a melody - that could lead you to me - like a lullabied child lead to sleep?
So for one moment in time, you’d find that you’re mine
And softly I’d kiss you and weep

I want to write a simple song that’s so frequently sung
That you call me to have the thing banned
Who’s sound so endears that whole nations cheer and sigh
When you take my hand
Is there a melody - that could lead you to me - like a lullabied child lead to sleep?
So for one moment in time you’d find that you’re mine
And softly I’d kiss you and weep

God I’m a gambler that just wants to lose and be allowed to leave
I’m a traveler - with one last mile my journey is complete
I’m like a swallow that wants one long last look, before flying east
Last on my list - and then I quit - to kiss your lips and weep

I want to play a silver note that fills you with hope
And tames you to feed from my hand
A turquoise chord that invites you to soar
And fly… to a faraway land
A symphony that gently leads you to sit and be still with me
And grief doesn’t frighten me
As its worst it delights me
‘Cause I want to kiss you and weep

For I’m a gambler that just wants to lose and be allowed to leave
I’m a traveler - with one last mile my journey is complete
I’m like a swallow that wants one long last look before flying east
Last on my list - and then I quit - to kiss your lips and weep
Is there a melody - that could lead you to me - like a lullubied child to sleep?
So for one moment in time you’d find that you’re mine
And softly I’d kiss you and weep

I love you, Snoogs.

I am cleaning house right now. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I am sitting on porch, watching the squirrels perform amazing feats of acrobatics and smoking a cigarette. I’ve cleaned the bathroom, and started on the kitchen. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach now. They will be fluttering all day. In 12 hours my family will be here and the party will begin.

Have a wonderful Flying Squirrel day.

I heart his art.

I GOT MY CAP AND GOWN!!!

*passes out*

The husband BLOGS!

* passes out *

I just found out that I was selected for the “Scholar’s Discount.” What does this mean? I get 20% off my tuition…. think of it as a scholarship for really dorky people. Remeber that god awful question that I had to answer? “If you had to invite three people to dinner, that you don’t know, in order to discuss your plans to embark on graduate studies, who would they be and why?”

I normally hate those kinds of questions, but apparently they liked my answer. And for your amusement — my brilliant reply. (note mostly sarcasm). It’s not perfectly written, because I waited until the last minute. Typical Erica.

Three men walk into a bar. Why a bar and not a restaurant? We only have time for a drink, not a nine-course meal. Charles DeLint sits to my right. Caravaggio takes the seat to my left. Eddie Izzard sits right next to me, instead of the chair across from me at the table. He smiles wickedly.

“Good evening gentlemen. I’ve invited you here for a brief conversation about my graduate program goals. I need each one of  you to give me piece of advice that you think I can’t live without. Just one piece. That’s it.” I watch them chew the idea in their minds. Charles seems puzzled. Caravaggio flags down the waiter and orders a wine and a beer. Eddie, just smiles.

Charles clears his throat and begins. “I know you love my books. They were your first foray into urban fantasy. But I’ve fallen into a rut, and I want to steer you clear. You are going to love certain parts of your writing, and certain avenues of life. They are going to become comfortable. But you can’t be afraid of taking a risk and chucking it all so you can begin again. With a clean slate, you can reform your writing, and recognize when there is repetition in your style. Stay away from the grooves of the well worn streets, and you will go magical places.” He sips his Guinness, and gives me a small smile.

I watch Caravaggio peer into his wine glass, then he swirls it around the bowl of the glass. He isn’t looking at me when I hear the quiet rumble of his voice. “You must balance light and dark. I am revered because of my use of the deepest blacks and the brightest colors in my paintings. Although other Baroque painters utilized this style, I crafted my paintings with a fine eye for detail and color. Do you know why so many look to my paintings for inspiration? The mystery and the truth – they are what captivates. If you write a character that is complex or flawed, you must reveal truth about them as well. Do not make them two-dimensional. The human form and mind are round, full of shadows, and are all the more interesting because of it.”

He stands, places his empty glass on the table, and bids us good night. Charles sips his beer.

Eddie throws his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, and turns me so I can look into his eyes. He’s my favorite comedian. I’m not often star struck, but I think British transvestite comedians are quite adorable, so I blush. “ Don’t forget to laugh, love. You’re gonna find that this whole “graduate school thing” is very serious. It will make you gray and you’re gonna have more than one tantrum because you screwed up and didn’t manage your time. And I have to say, temper tantrums are cathartic, but people tend to look at you like you are crazy. Never mind. Anyway, don’t be afraid to have a message. It’s your voice and you can say what you damn well please. But don’t take this all too seriously. You can’t forget to smile. You are doing this because you love to write, so don’t let the pressure take that away from you. Keep an eye on the smallest aspects of society and their flaws. You’re gonna find quirks and inspiration from the strangest things. Have a sharp eye and loud laugh and then it will all be okay.”

Charles stands, hands me a copy of his book – the one I loaned out years ago, and wishes me luck. Eddie places a kiss on my cheek and reaches out to hug Charles, who looks mighty startled. “Come on, old chum. She’s gonna be okay.”

I never ordered my drink, but I got what I needed.

When I was little, when I read fairy tales and wandered through the woods looking for gnomes, I wanted to write about it all. As I grew up, I never lost that longing for the fantastical. And today, my dream came true.

I GOT ACCEPTED TO SETON HILL!!!!

I am going to be a genre writer. I am going to join a group of writers where the love of the language and imagination are more important than breathing. This is perfection for me. It’s low residancy, and I am supposed to fly up to Pennsyvania in June. HOLY SHIT I GOT ACCEPTED TO SETON HILL.

I am going to stay on cloud 14 (rather than 9) for the rest of the week. It’s all starting. Where I was filled with fear and panic yesterday, I am bursting with love, hope, elation, exciement….there are more words, but I am quite speechless.
I GOT ACCEPTED TO SETON HILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think I just peed my pants.

You will never know how much you mean to me.

I love you.

And next year, I promise to try to make a carrot cake.

Look in the sky!

It’s a bird!

It’s a plane!

It’s a full lunar eclipse!

I’m in class and wandered to youtube and I saw this. I snorted…..and I couldn’t justify the laughter. He was talking about binding plant samples - it’s not so funny. This video… fucking funny.

I’ve searched high and low for something comfy for my yoga (see: can’t touch my fucking toes) practice, but something loose enough for belly dancing. And I found these!! I bought the canvas colored pants at the bottom. I liked the green and blue pair up in the right corner, but they didn’t have my size.
*sigh*

And I thought about buying the red pants, but I want to see how they fit before I get wild with my colors. Yes, Erica is slightly restrained.

Speaking of……

I found my old YMCA card. I used to have shoulder length hair. This was years ago, but when I look at the picture, I don’t see a woman of twenty five, with confidence and spunk. I saw someone homely and sad. I told D about finding the ID and he told me that I’d suppressed my funk. I tried to fit into what the world wanted me to be, and I kept my hair at an acceptable length, covered the tattoos. I rarely wore my labret, which I wore since I was eighteen, let heal over (during another point where I thought growing up meant taking out all of my jewelry and buying clothes that weren’t black), and got it re-pierced when I was twenty three. I stopped with the fun clothes, and I felt like a marigold trying to be a rose. Eventually, I fell out of my homely stage. I’m not a beauty queen, but no one can say that I hide who I am now. I still have one piercing, my septum, but I let the others close up, not because I wanted to be normal, but because I don’t have to prove to the world who I am. My hair curls around my face, unruly and dark, and when it grows past my shoulders, I will still wear funky braids and pony tails, or put my hair up in a bun that is held into place with pens and pencils. My body’s metamorphosis into the mother (as in “maiden, mother, crone” ) has changed how I see myself. I can see myself in red pants, because it all comes back down to color.

And sorry if this is slightly.. babblish (and no, that’s not a word. I just made it up) It’s where my brain is at.

Happy Tuesday.

Hello Children…this is your Erica speaking. Next Saturday, on January 13, it’s party time @ the McEachern household. I am cooking, kiddies. Lots of happy Vegetarian food. Be ready to eat. But, you have to bring the booze (or in your case Julie - sparkling apple cider or something. Here are the details.

When: January 13th - Saturday - 8:30ish
Where: If you don’t know where I live by now, you are fired.

Hope to see you all there.

Since I am on a bellydancing kick… I thought I would do some research about Portland and see if they had anything to offer. They do! This studio looks amazing. So, I will get a job, find a house, bike, run, laugh and belly dance. It’s going to be a good life out there.

I don’t nap often. I can’t slow down enough to get my mind to rest without the help of my meds. If you are curious, and I know you are, I don’t take sleeping pills. But sleep without chemical help remains an impossibility unless I am very exhausted. I was tired yesterday. I took a nap, slept for two hours, and woke up in the best mood. Then I puttered around for two hours, read a cook book (I’m so fucking domestic) and watched some television. My sister called as I was going to bed (you are fired Lex). Remind me to call her today…. it’s on my list of things to do.

It’s Friday, and those of you who had the week off, I would like to share my bitterness and loathing. It’s unfair and cruel to keep me locked indoors. I want to hug a tree, damnit! Give me freedom, or at least give me a few days off.

CURSES ON YOUR HOUSE

I’m done now.

I just realized that D has the week off and technically I cursed my own house. That could be problematic.

So, what are you plans for New Year’s Eve? I have a date with Anne. Don’t hate…she loves me. And we are both old ladies with limited funds who need to get our drunk on. And ladies and gentlemen – I plan on drinking more than 6 beers! I know! It’s shocking! There could be a wicked hangover in my future. Then again, I could use my newly found anti-hangover recipe so that I can have all the fun without the ick that inevitably comes. I’m old. My body hates me. It loves hangovers. But I combat it with all of this before I go to bed: pepto – one fair swig, a glass of V8 Fusion – I’m partial to the Strawberry-banana, a multivitamin, at least one quart of water, and something with carbs – crackers or bread. If you still feel ill in the morning, have a banana. Oh, and work out or walk the following day. Your body wants to expel the poison, the toxins. Help it out.

My week, although weighed down by work, swirled around indulgent dinners and wine. Ladies and gentlemen, I drank twice this week! I’m just a crazy person. And, D and I went to both Taste and Babbos. The latter came via an invitation from Amanda and Adam. I can’t say no to Babbos. Then I got a little happy with all of the wine, everyone reconvened at our place, drank more wine, and I got a little manic. When I get the least bit soused, I like to talk about music. It’s annoying trait that I’ve tried to embrace, and it’s fine when it’s just D and I, but if there are other people in the house, I want to illuminate them and share my love particular bands and songs. Then I get all up in the art. I showed them my Da Vinci book. Then the Suicide Girls book. Then I realized I was embarrassing myself with the gushing and silliness. So, Amanda, I’m sorry if I bored you. Sometimes I have puppy-like traits, where I wiggle and squirm and just want to share the love. Luckily I won’t pee on your leg. (remember that time Julie….hehehe).

I get to meet D for lunch. That makes me very happy.

My birthdaughter turns 13 in just over a week. I am officially old now. Jesus.

I had more to write about, but I’m more than a little hyper and think that I shall leave you all for now.

Oh! One more thing. Rebecca, one of my two belly-dancing ladies, gave me a CD filled with belly dancing music. I giggle when I heard 5 Dead Can Dance songs on it – and three were live versions! I have to raid her house and rip all of her live stuff. And I have two belly dancing DVDs coming today. Perhaps this new obsession comes as a surprise, but I am very happy to be moving in that manner, to allow my hips and shoulders and hands to sway. Music is in my soul, and this belly dancing thing (side note – this is tribal or fusion belly dancing, not the traditional style) has reawaken something primal and joyful in me.

I hope you have a wonderful Friday and a beautiful New Year! I’m doing this ahead of time because I practically fall off this site during my time off…..

There are muscles in your abdomen that you probably never use. Instead of the stomach being the core center of my strength, I’ve used my back as the support for my sagging body. No more. Anne, Rebecca and I went to a belly dancing class. There was hesitation when I agreed to accompany them. When I swirled through my early twenties, I had rhythm. I could dance to any music except country. A disconnect happened somewhere, removing my almost primal motions for the slow, measured steps through the grown up world. I miss dancing with abandon. Beats moved my feet, and when I closed my eyes, I danced for myself and no one else. The outer world didn’t exist. It was me, that’s all. Last night I was reintroduced to my body and now I won’t forget. Although the class highlighted specific movement, and proved challenging, I began to remember how lovely it feels to move. The girls and I agreed to go to class every monday (and Anne, those people waiting were for the advanced tribal class).  If you are interested, here is the calender. It’s very close to my house. Instead of driving, I’m going to walk. Yes, it’s that close.

In other news, Puck and I can’t be running partners anymore. We have to figure out a nice way to seperate the dogs so that I run with Pip and D can walk Puck. The old man just can’t keep up anymore. He got a spur in his paw this morning and I felt bad. It’s time to haul ass and I just can’t do that with Wags. But, it’s going to be a pain in the ass to get them seperated enough so that I can run with Pip and David walks Puck. We did it once, and Pip hunted Puck down, yanking my shoulder out of its socket because he knew Puck and D were right around the corner. I love our dogs.

I got one of my grades back. I got an A- in Ital Ren. I deserve it, honestly. I fucked around on the final and didn’t do as much studying as I should have. It was embarassing, but I focused on my Editing Essential and let everything else fall to the wayside. Oh well.

So, it’s Tuesday. Yay and stuff. We need to fast forward through the week so that I can get to Flyday.

And this is kind of an incoherent post because I’m just tired and not awake enough to edit.

The first event of the day brought me to Orange Avenue, near Winter Park. My dermatologist scheduled me for 9 that morning, and I was running late. I have a problem routing myself in the most efficient direction, instead, I weave to and fro through familiar streets, comfortable and slow. Actually, I’m not a slow driver at all. It’s one of my less charming qualities. But I got there 10 minutes late and it took all of two minutes for the nice nurse in the bright scrubs to take the offending thread out of my back. She was more impressed by my tattoos than the state of my stitches. Poof, they were gone!

The second order of the day also put me on Orange Avenue, but I was way past Michigan. I had time to kill (too much time) before that appointment, so I went to Starbucks, talked to D, and puttered about in the Delaney Park area. I miss Lake Davis. If you look at many of my bird pictures, not the ones of the Bird of Prey Center, you will see the tranquil glory of the lake and its inhabitants. I parked and watched the birds, and remembered much later that I had my camera with me and I should have taken some pictures. But, back to the doctor’s visit. I got there with time to kill, and then waited an additional hour because “the doctor was running a little late.” I HATE waiting, with a passion. I HATE tardiness (and yes, I am a hypocrite – so bite me). Fifteen minutes is understandable, but an hour? I am sure they saw the steam swirling out of my ears. The nurses knew I was pissed. They weighed me, and I am happy to say that it’s stable. Not a pound added, then again, not a pound lost. The main goal is not to make the weight go away but to move my ass for at least 30 minutes a day 5 times a week. Psychologically, that’s a manageable goal. After an additional wait of fifteen minutes, the doctor finally came in. “Wow, what a morning. We were doing well until 10 o’clock – then WHAM! Two cases of severe appendicitis and a lovely woman chest pains and a fluctuating heart.” Wiping his brow with his red tie, he looked almost happy when he read my chart, and then we began. I won’t bore you with the details, but I ended up with one shot of cortisone in each of my hands. The drug is supposed to relive the aching and pressure. He seemed very concerned when I told him that there was radiating pain in my shoulder and elbow. “You know, we could go on with a nerve test. It’s slightly painful, and it involves shocking some of the nerves in your arm, but then we can pinpoint exactly where the problem is.” When I found out the shot was the lesser of the two evils, I went for it. I hate shots more than I hate tardiness. Whip me. Beat me. Tattoo and pierce me, just don’t get near my body with a needle that’s supposed to screw with the inner workings of my body. It grosses me out.  For the next two hours I wore lovely blue bandages on my wrist. It looked funny. I’m not sure if it’s working or not, but I will know by the end of the day. That’s going to be the test.

My grammar final. So, I think I made it my bitch. I spanked its ass. I finished feeling wonderful. I did my best, and you know what, for the first time in my life, that’s enough for me. Although I didn’t get to study with my study groups like I wanted to, I think the solitary thing worked for me. I paced with my note cards, quizzed myself in the shower, really thought about the meanings of the terms and how they connected to their function. I ended up at school early, with plenty of time to study. My hands hurt, no doubt, but I didn’t have to type. I had to read. And read I did. Four cups of coffee, deep breathing, and remembering that I knew what I knew and that there was no more time to cram more crap into my brain left me feeling lovely. I looked around during the test. Less pale faces, more almost-smiles, calm, movement through the papers rather than staring at the ceiling, and when I finished early (I was home by 8:10) I immediately called D and told him how good I felt. And I still feel good. I called my mom as well, and told her that I kicked the final’s ass. She was at a town function (she’s on the town council and part of local politics in Frisco) and couldn’t talk but laughed when I told her my news. She asked me to call her today. I will. And if I didn’t do well? Fuck it. It’s done, and there’s nothing I can do about it now. I did my best, and like I said before, I am happy with that.

Our shuttle launch is looking grim. The weather doesn’t want to cooperate, and it seems the shuttle has suffered a small power surge. There is also concern about some of the glue on the rocket boosters. We are still planning on going, but if we don’t make it, I have a date with Johnny Depp and “Pirates of the Caribbean.” I love that I have a lot to do this weekend, a visit to Lush with Vanya tomorrow night, a gathering at a friend’s house on Saturday, and shitloads of time on Sunday for anything I want to do. I plan on becoming reacquainted with my solitude, the dog park, and my video games. There will be more time for friends and relaxation. We are coming upon my last semester, and I plan on relishing it. –

I have my last final tonight. I’m not sweating it. This is the end of my last winter semester. I feel good. And I hope you have a lovely day filled with peace and smiles. It’s Thursday kittens! Tomorrow is Friday!