And the Academy Award goes to...

Oh Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to be loved...

So...I guess my last blog was a bit dramatic. I was a bit dark and broody, but I was reminded that praise changes things. And after this morning, I know more than ever how that is true. So...here's comes the praise...

I am amazed on how great my friends and family are. I am nothing without them. I thank my God every time I think of you. I learn something wonderful about life, God, and you every time I actually get my head out of the dramatic dark and broody and see you for who you really are: beautiful.

Thank you to my friends, for all the challenges, joys and scrabble games. All of you show me love, especially in times when I feel unloveable.

Thank you to my family, especially my sister and cousins. You always remind me how much I truly love my family and couldn't live with out the craziness that is us.

Thank you to my church. You drive me crazy at times, but without your grace, I may never learn what it truly means to love God and love people.

::::cuing orchestra music::::

Wait...I just have to say...thank you to Jon Stewart and David Duchovny. You know why. Oh...and I can't wait until next year when I can start my political debates on....

::::quickly ushered off stage and cut to Glenn Close and Donald Sutherland to remind us what we are watching::::

Yes, I am sappy, but that's what happens when you're accepting an award for drama.

Currently watching : The West Wing - The Complete First Season

I lent voice to thought and that was a mistake

Ever since I moved to Tacoma, I realized how much I don't have a voice.

I can speak, and sometimes people listen. And for the first couple of years, I thought I had a place where I have influence, significance. However, those years are long gone, and I am still struggling to find a place where I just wasn't a work horse, but someone who has opinions, thoughts, and something of value to say.

Apparently, it only happens in my head and when I am in school.

I wish I had gone to graduate school.

Oh...my story. So, a few months ago, I found myself in a position where my opinions seemed to be heard and actually valued. It was great to be part of something again after being apart for so long. However, that abruptly ended due to a string of events that I had no control over.
I feel like life's a tease at times, where good things happen for as long as you don't actually say out loud that it is good. Why does it seem like whenever we say we are happy, we're suddenly not? If people really learned their lesson, they would never say that they are happy so that bad things won't happen.

So...I'm back in this non-existent, workhorse oriented, voiceless place of service and I wonder if maybe I was never meant to be an influential leader and I should stop trying. I have spent so much time being the make-it-happen-girl, that the few weeks where I actually felt like I was part of a team was a great experience that I thoroughly enjoyed. If I ever get to that point again where I felt like I was part of moving mountains instead of the one printing out the hiking guides to those mountains, I won't say anything about how I actually enjoyed it. I won't make that same mistake again.

Maybe all I have to offer is a silent tongue and a listening ear. It's not bad, but it isn't always fun.

And perhaps I am not good in saying things. But I don't want to feel like I never could be the more that I hope I could become.

Currently watching : Gone with the Wind (Four-Disc Collector's Edition)

So...uh...what happened to June?

I honestly don't know what happened in June.

I can tell you that a lot of changes happened in June, hence my absence with this blog. But the best explanation of my radio silence is that I lost my coffee shop home last month.

I have been hanging out in coffee shops throughout most of my living in Tacoma. I don't know why, but I like coffee shops. I like hiding in plain sight. I typically favored Starbucks, but after working there for two years, I opted for a quieter coffee shop to hide in.

Unfortunately, people found out about this sanctuary and have infiltrated the home that wasn't mine to begin with. Sad day. To make a long story less long...I have no sanctuaries left. There are just not enough coffee shops in Tacoma that I actually like.

So...for a lack of a better term, I have spent a month trying to find a sanctuary. No such luck. Until then, I am floating around Tacoma hoping to find a place I can find safety in...and perhaps, I might feel like myself again.

Currently reading : The Flight of the Creative Class: The New Global Competition for Talent By Richard Florida

Temptation Aisle

I miss Dreyer's ice cream.

Growing up, there was always a carton of Dreyer's in the freezer. The main staples? Cookies and Cream, Mint Chocolate Chip, and the fall back French Vanilla.

Sigh...the good old days.

With Memorial Day around the corner, ready to rush in the unofficial beginning of summer vacation, ice cream sales are popping up everywhere. It's a beautiful thing.

Talk about temptation. So, I'm walking down the freezer aisle and this fabulous sale on Dreyer's ice cream calls to me. Sadly, Dreyers ice cream only means death for my throat. (For some odd reason, I have an allergic reaction to Dreyer's ice cream). I stare and drool as I examine the new colors, new experimental flavors...it was like staring at a freshly opened box of new Crayola crayons. I didn't know ice cream could come in so many combinations...

Silly Dreyers with its innovative marketing department.

I want to try them all...but I can't. And I think that the store would frown upon me opening each carton Dreyers just to smell it.

Supermarket Guy: Umm...you can't open those.
Me: [too lost in enjoyable euphoria] I'll put them back.
Supermarket Guy: Uh...you have a little drool.

Not wanting to be banned from the ice cream aisle, I give in and settle for a Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia.

But I must confess, nothing compares to a scoop of Dreyer's Cookies and Cream.

Le sigh.

Currently reading : Praise Habit: Finding God In Sunsets And Sushi By David A. Crowder

Something Face

Person 1: Nothing's wrong.
Person 2: That's not nothing. You've got something face.

Depending on how well and how long people have known me, people know that when I am angry, I am pretty vocal about it...usually in the form of a long rant peppered with sarcastic jokes. And you will also know that if I am REALLY angry, I get very...very...quiet.

My Starbucks partners knew that rule fairly quickly...because I was quiet...a lot. (I am mostly thinking.) And people at my other job are realizing this sad fact about me fairly slowly because...well...I'm not angry. However, this past week has been a huge test on my selfish desire to be heard. As a result of my ever rapidly growing frustration, I got quieter and offered nothing more than a simple answer to the question and rarely commented or asked a question.

Which, I'm finding out, only makes people nervous.

I don't know why people want me to say something when I have nothing to say. I process a lot, and I try to think about what I am about to say. I try not to say something unless it is something of worth or that will help someone. I try not to fill the space with words that don't mean a thing. I don't always succeed, but I do try.

I guess I always thought of myself who may not always have something to say, but when I do...I try to make it count.

For the past week, I've had to hold in my biting comments regarding two scenarios: 1. When people try to prompt me to say something for the sake of saying something and 2. When people interrupt me to either add to my comment or say it for me just when I had finally decided to say something.

Grr. Argh.

I don't understand. If it bothers you if I don't speak, why do you stop me when I do?

GRR! ARGH!

Oh well. I don't need to burn bridges right now because of my selfish pride. I just wish I could find some way to ask people to not assume that my silence is out of boredom or because I have nothing to say. The sad thing is, I'm hardly bored because I'm always thinking about something and I always have something to say...but I have my reasons (not always the right ones) when I refuse to share.

But if anyone really knew me, they'd know that there is always something going on in my head.

I have something face.

Currently watching : The X-Files - The Complete Seventh Season (Slim Set)

Sounds like...bees

So...there's this gnat in my ear.

Actually, it's not so much as a gnat, but a constant hum.

Yes, my friends, one of my co-workers hums during the down time. And it wouldn't be so bad--in fact, she has a nice voice--but she doesn't stop unless she's on a call.

And of course, one of my biggest pet peeves is music outside of my frame of reference.

Grr. Argh.

Currently listening : MTV Unplugged in New York (Nirvana) By Nirvana

Missing Notes

Somewhere along my whole "jumping over the moon" timeline, I realized that there was a part of my story that I was missing. I had avoided it for so long, but I couldn't bring myself to writing it.

Saying it makes it real.

Obviously, not everything in the story I've been writing is real. But the more time I've dedicated to this book, the more I realize that it has turned from "just this thing I did" into another expression of myself. Typically, in heightened moments of emotion, I play the piano; pounding out all my unexpressed feelings (yes, I have feelings) until it came out in the form of notes and chords and strange melodies. Who knew that 88 black and white keys could offer so much freedom?

I tried looking for a piano, but I found none with which I could let myself be free. I have become too apprehensive during my time without playing, and I end up sitting at the piano bench reminiscing of an easier time when the music came naturally to me. I used to be so good, at least that's what I remember. And now I can barely put together an entire song. It saddens me, to a large extent, and I wonder if I had passed my prime and had been far too long since I had reached my musical peak. The piano, this wooden box, no longer offered a refuge for me.

My life sans piano has been a struggle. Without the music, the only way I express myself is through writing. And I think I've avoided it for far too long. I know what I have to write, and I find myself afraid of the truth it may reveal. What happened doesn't bother me any more. Telling the story does. And I struggle through this exercise in hopes that maybe when I tell my story I wouldn't only be retelling it...

...and not reliving it.

It was easier with the piano.

Currently watching : The X-Files - The Complete Fourth Season (Slim Set)