60 Miles of Thought

I don't know why some people are dealt such a difficult hand. I sit here, feeling so blessed, and yet, I feel guilty for not living their life.

Not that my life is perfect—I have my own personal anxieties and fears and a past of my own. Still nothing I have comes near to the pain and the anguish that others face. It's impossible for me to carry all of that . . . stuff for them. I wish I could. As I struggle to feel the emotions that they feel, and to—even express a small part of how it twists my soul—from my shoulders to the space between my rib cage and my stomach—I find myself standing slightly alone.

I'm not.

But now? I find myself presented with an opportunity to walk away from it all. And it's proving much more difficult to do than it was before I bought the plane ticket.

Going Down?

It’s really hard to come up with something creative when I’m in such a grumpy mood—especially when that grumpiness is due, in part, to being told I have to lower my creative standards to fit with something that I find garish and distasteful.

I have rewritten this many times, trying to find the words to say without complaining or indulging my current state of negativity. I so desperately want someone to tell me that I’m cooler and better than I think I am, but even if they did, I wouldn’t believe them. Apparently, compliments only serve to rub in the fact that I’m an ingrate who doesn’t realize just how good she’s got it. I’ve got a great job. I’ve got amazing friends. I live in the second most beautiful place in the world.

What do I have to complain about?

Nothing.

So why do I feel like such a mess? Why do I feel like I have control over absolutely nothing? Why do I feel like any of this matters at all to anyone but my grouchy, narcissistic self?

And why is my computer telling me that “this matters” is incorrect subject/verb agreement? I’ve already had someone correct my grammar and punctuation today, and I know for a fact that I was right.
Grrrrrrrr…..

I Long for Adventure

I don't know about you, but being a pig-keeper sounds pretty adventurous and heroic to me.


But I think I'll stick with stuffed animals.

Resume According to the Law of Chance

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Heidi and the Genius of the Place

I like my small world--the one in which I work. I find a task, learn about it, and try do my best in it and suddenly I'm the smartest, cleverest, most talented person in that area.

Did you know that I--who generally dislikes talking on the phone, especially to strangers--am the best person for asking people I do not know for money?

Did you know that I--who read specific books within specific genres that I specifically enjoy and disregard countless other books--am one of the main people in contributing lists of recommended reads and genres?

Did you know that I--who didn't have email until 10 years ago, didn't use Google until well into college, didn't own my own computer until 5 years ago, and often for the life of me cannot answer the ever-present questions "What just happened?," "What did I do?," and "Where did it go?"--am the fountain of computer knowledge that all seek out to benefit from my wisdom?

Yes. Yes. Always a pleasant surprise to find out that, like Sid the Sloth,

I. Am. A. Genius.

Amazing

Want to know what I do for a living? I make mazes.

A Wok of Art

Haikus give me some trouble. Ever since that fateful day in the third grade when Mrs. Richens assigned her poor students the task of creating a Haiku in ten-minutes with the unspoken threat “or no recess” looming in the air, I've been at a loss to write what could be subjectively considered a “worthy” Haiku. A work of art. After cheating my way out of truly fulfilling the assignment, it has been my life-long goal to rightfully claim that recess. The recess my nine-year-old mentality stole those long years ago by scribbling a couple of illegible lines on that blue and beige page.
Perhaps someday, I will have finally earned the right to play that game of four-square. But for now, here is a small, but tasty smattering of a few Haikus that will hopefully bring me one step closer to achieving my ultimate ambition.

(Or, as the title implies, here is a . . . Chinese bowl . . . pan . . . of Japanese . . . poetic . . . flavors)

Ahem. One of first Haikus I came across and actually enjoyed was shared by a high school history teacher. Some of you may have heard it before:

Duck duck duck duck duck
duck duck duck duck duck duck duck
duck duck duck duck goose
- Becky Langford

Not a work of art. Slightly overused. But entertaining and clever nonetheless.
I ran across another Haiku—apparently one of the best known Japanese Haikus—just the other day. Since the Japanese does me no good, here is the English translation:

Old pond . . .
a frog leaps in
water's sound
-Matsuo Bashō

Right. Perhaps a work of art, you be the judge. However, just like the first, it fails to give me the tools to write a truly poetic Haiku. But it is very naturey, which I hear, is a traditional requirement of Haikus. Here's a Haiku by yours truly, in which I broke that tradition accidentally on purpose:

Found lost grocery list
cheese cloth and onions you say?
two trips to the store

True story.
But once again, the oh-so-tricky, ultimate Haiku alludes me. And so the quest continues.

Your help is needed. Please feel free to add to my collection.