The Big News

Those of you who read this blog probably already know this information, but here it goes: I'm quitting my job.

Oh wait, that's a lie. I tried to quit, honestly I did. There was sitting down with managers and there was writing of transition plans and there was even tear shedding...but then they offered me a really great job with fewer hours. I couldn't say no. 

But still. If I let the 10 hours I'll be working for them be an excuse for not creating then I'm not cut out for creating. That said, this week I don't feel very cut out for creating. Every time I paint I find it frustrating instead of refreshing. I wonder if my creativity is running dry. I worry that I don't feel like telling stories anymore. What if my art never says anything very meaningful? What if I stop caring to say anything meaningful? What if I never get any better?

I know that right now isn't the time to be worrying about such things. After a ten hour work day where I sat down twice. After hauling garbage and cleaning up coffee sludge and keeping my shit together.  Now is most definitely not the right time to look over the abyss and see anything but the deep dark of uncertainty.

So I'll go to bed. And then wake up for another 10 hours. And work a crazy schedule this week and then begin to wind down as my final two week approaches. Maybe after 4 weeks of solid painting mornings I'll be a better judge of whether or not I see a flicker down there in that there hole.

Family Matters

At some point in college or quickly thereafter, the way my family communicates stopped working for me. I've known this on an emotional level but never on a level where I could put terms and definitions to it. And even in its unpleasantness we could interact fairly well. We work together. I lived with them for almost a year after moving back from Portland. Holidays are pretty OK. But I still feel it. I'm exhausted in my childhood home. In family gatherings I feel like I am speaking a language that all of my friends understand completely but these people who raised me can't.

Lessons from Too Much Stuff (and A&E)

There are five levels of hoarding. You can tell a person's level not so much by the amount of stuff they have (although that may give you a clue) but from the type of help they need to fix the problem. Maybe they just need a friend to come in and point out that no, they actually never wear those 18 pairs of four inch heels. Or maybe they need a professional organizer, a trained psychologist, and pest control. 

Rarely does a television show change my life but I can now point to two. Back in 95/96 I watched the movie Babe. Yes the one with the talking pig. I've been a vegetarian ever since. Three weeks ago I had exhausted my Hulu queue and Netflix instant popped up the show Hoarders. I'd always avoided it due to its "reality show" genre and I just assumed it took advantage of people in compromising situations. What I saw however was a story that reflected my own habits of consumption and keeping in a way I had never had before.

Is that Goliath in your Pocket?

During the whole healthcare debate, I never once stepped into a doctor's office. I do have this vague feeling of unease knowing my future access to medicine is through a for profit corporation but really mostly, I don't think about that set of issues. Until today.

Oh, I hear ominous music. It's not. But in the course of an hour I came face to face with some of the health insurance stupidity and I'm amazed this much can exist at the simple fringe. If it's like this for the simple stuff, what happens if I have a baby. Or a car accident. Or cancer.

Happiness is this kind of weekend

For the first time in my life, I feel like I actually directed. The act of directing. I've never felt that before, and it was only possible b/c I had a crew. I had people I felt comfortable relying on. We all knew our jobs and so when something particular needed to be done within a certain realm, whosever it was just took it on w/o question b/c they knew it fell into their domain.

I use to be afriad to ask people to do a very particular job. I was worried I'd hurt feelings or come across as self important. ("Why don't you just do that yourself Kelly? Or do you think you're too important to remember what time this shot is suppose to be finished?!") Now I realize that in a groupwhere everyone has a clear line of their job, a day can run totally smoothly. Amazing. I never felt the need to apologize or explain. Everyone just worked. Problem solved. They picked up a task w/o question as soon as they realized it fell within their role. Each and every one of them. Amazing.

Sun

At some point last night the fog lifted. I don't know if it was when Z and I stepped in front of a friend's FCP class at the local college or later walking out of Taco Bell with comfort food. I don't know, but the thick anxiety that has been making house in my brain finally left for greener pastures. It threatened to return for a moment this morning but for the most part I have been free to battle the complexities of preparation w/o also having to battle myself.

The Sting of Reality

Today I had some things explained to me. Scary things. Things about money and life and decisions. Sometimes life is the running as fast as you can toward a cliff and then at some point closing your eyes and hoping, praying that your body will do its best at this great leap. We take so many great leaps...and they often aren't the ones we think they are. Moving in with Z was not a great leap. Marrying Z isn't one either. I am gliding merrily with my eyes open and creased with smile lines. No leaping involved. Music, however, is one for me. Asking people to help me create something like a short film is one too. However, currently, I am standing at the sidelines watching my parents take a deep breath before they begin to build up speed. Sometimes living is scary. Money. Life. And decisions. Theirs make mine look so effortless. As if I am out for a summer stroll.

Your Everything.

Tonight Z and I sat down (or rather I stood, he sat) and I did my second attempt ever at voice recording.* Now, I record myself all the time. Z got me this cool little voice recorder, and I probably use it more than my laptop. But singing random lines while driving down the I-5 is a bit different than staring at a mic and feeling the squeeze of headphones against your head.

Walking into Dawn

(*Note: I wrote this a few days ago. If it disappears in a day or two, pay no mind.)

If you looked across any place I spend much time you'd find an anthropological study about my genetic line. The stacks of dishes, the groupings of coffee cups, the piles of clothes, the binder of environmental news clippings. That is a line that threads back through my genes, through my parent's and to my paternal grandparents. And so it is hard this week looking at the dishes, the cups, the clothing and the clippings to not think about the part of my family we lost last week.

Best Thing All Week

We got the parking spot right outside our building. RIGHT OUTSIDE. This means that tomorrow at 7am when we are hauling and packing and repacking and shuffling we will be in zero threat of some angry tenant wanting to put their car in the driveway we are blocking. When I start to get anxious about anything relating to transition (as I tend to do) I just think about that parking spot we nabbed at 8:15 this morning and I just smile.

The difference a day (or 3) make

It's funny how events can turn in just a matter of days. (Oh nothing ominous btw.)

So for those of you who don't know, I dabble in music writing. I'm a perpetual beginner in guitar. At some point I'll probably be able to call myself a vocalist (although you'll never witness it at karaoke) and well, I write a lot of bad lyrics. And have for as long as I can remember.

Goal number 5 on my 28th year is to write a song complete with lyrics and notes. Ideally I'd take one of those completed songs and make a music video, but I'm getting ahead of myself in this story.

For a long time, music has been something I've held extremely close. I didn't share at all. Many forms of art I am happy to share with an inner circle. Story ideas. Film ideas. Installation art ideas. Craft ideas. Card ideas. But nothing about music. You'd hear me sing way before you'd hear something I wrote. Until this last week, I could count on two fingers the number of people who have heard my own lyrical/musical work.

But this is slowly changing. Or rather quickly it's changing. It's amazing how a small turn of events and really the mythical being in the right place at the right time can change things. Again, nothing momentous in the grand scheme of things, but to me, wholly a big deal.

Tomorrow at around 7:30 pm, for the first time in my life I am going to be collaborating face to face with someone on a song that I wrote. Monday this #5 was a far flung goal probably to be extricated from the list. Today it is turning quickly into something that will most likely happen.

The term adventure has been high jacked by global backpacking treks, extreme sports, and anything involving a gun. I think that's a shame. Because the adventure I've felt this last week- sharing a part of me I normally hide and jumping headlong into something that is completely unknown- that's exactly the kind of adventure I want in my life.

(OK all of that said, it'll be awhile until you hear anything :)