Friday, October 31, 2008

I traded this title for two third round picks, and a greyhound bus.

I look out my window, and it's an ominous red sky.
Sailors, take warning, as my mother used to say.

I've been traveling back and forth between here and there, and the frustrating thing about it is that I come up with these really great things to write about, but am lacking a notebook to write them down. By the time I get in front of the great electronic sheet of paper, ah, it's gone.

In looking back over the past episodes of this egocentric thrill-ride I call "the conversation," I've noticed that my writing comes from a kind of immediate reaction to something.....usually, somebody else's writings.

The great Mathematician Lobechevski said that is was okay to plagiarize, just to always call it "research." Thank you, Nickolai.

Recently, a dear friend from the land of faraway was toying with a decision of whether to speak or hold. I gave her my brief opinion, and in thinking about it some more, offered this: Many is the time in my short by lengthening life that I didn't say what I needed to say. I didn't need to say if for the benefit of the person I was telling, obviously; I mean, really, they didn't know before, and I'm pretty sure that my announcement wouldn't change their lives one IOTA, but I needed to say it for ME.

When somebody has been an influence upon you, isn't it just polite to say so? Respect is a compliment, and Love the greatest compliment of all.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Love is a gift that must be freely given to mean anything at all. That means, of course, that you should have no expectation of the return. The expectation of the return is what makes us crazy. The ability to love is what makes us strong.

So, today is filled with carvings of various kinds, and candy of many sorts.

I wish you joy.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

I started in one place, moved to another, and ended on the corner of "what?" and "huh?" streets....

Lord, give me the strength to get through what must be done; but never, ever take away my ability to dream and create; for that truly would be a hell on earth.

It's always been mentally exhausting to do these things; and now, it's become somewhat physically exhausting as well. I enjoy the engagement of the mind, though, for it serves as a tribute to those who taught me. I enjoy finding the new threads in a lecture; to find a new way of saying the old thing. A new example. A new metaphor.

I especially love new metaphors. It makes me look all wise and all knowing. Or, at the very least, it keeps me from looking like the mayor of Doofustown.

As I think back, it becomes apparent to me that nobody but NOBODY should ever try and teach acting. It's far too large a subject, first of all.....think about it: The art form dates back to the Egyptians, and was honed by the Greek, and through that long line of civilizations, passed down to us mere mortals. And for every actor, there is a system, a method, a crutch, a trick, a treat and a deception that is used for maximum effect. Who am I to actually tell people what works for me should work for them? And how, in God's name, are we to interpret the babblings of other actors and teachers who have written many many tree corpses about it?

And when you put a Stanislavskist together with a student of Maeterlink, God help the child who gets in the middle of that muddle.

But I did not intend to put on or withhold my approval of any particular strategy; I was only pointing out my own shortcomings. So, do not pelt me with copies of Uta Hagen and Viola Spolin, please.

However, if you want to throw a corned beef sandwich my way, feel free. It's lunchtime and I'm feeling a pit peckish.

My point is, to quote Mark Twain, "You can't go through life by another man's road." Which is fortunate, because who would want to follow my road, with more twists and turns than a....twisty turny thing. I really have GOT to work on my simile.

I've got regrets, but today, I'm okay with them.
Talk to me tomorrow, and I'll be cynical alcoholic boy again. I promise.

Cast off! Set a course for the third star on the right, and straight on until morning!

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

I'm out of fancy titles.

Well, it's off I am to the land of elsewhere.

It's time to take this whole evolutionary theory of work related nonsense on the road; and I'm just going north for a little while to bring enlightenment to the masses.

That's not why I'm up so early; you know me, I'm always up this early. You know the old saying: "Early to rise, early to bed, makes a man feel likes the living dead."

Or something.

Last night was the annual dinner presented by the Lewis and Clark Foundation. My brother-in-law is a member, and since we moved here, it's been a regular October event; kind of like the World Series, but not so much rained out. It's usually just hang out with people I see once a year, eat the usual banquet food, and listen to a usually interesting speaker talk on the usual topic: Lewis and Clark. You HAVE been paying attention, right?

Last year, it was a terrific speech about the wrap up of the Bi-centennial of the journey up the Missouri and all the way to the Pacific. The speaker told some stories, provided some mysteries still left to solve, and generally brought the topic to life. THIS year, it was a compare/contrast speech about the journeys of L&C and a German fella named Maximilian. Apparently, Lewis and Clark were hack explorers.

It was a shorter speech this year; and, given the fact that the topic was somewhat less than interesting, I'm grateful for brevity.

One of the interesting presentations of the evening was the telephone call they received from the White House; they were celebrating the 150th Birthday of Teddy Roosevelt last evening, and we had a little conference call to talk about how THAT presentation went. Enlightening.

Had an opportunity to talk to some people about creating a State Theatre of North Dakota. This, of course, will go nowhere, but it does actually benefit from going nowhere very slowly.

Good day to you all.

Monday, October 27, 2008


Just a quick one....

Should I be paranoid when I look at the sitemeter and see that the Sergeant-At-Arms for the United States Senate is looking at my blog? Particularly the ones about polls and elections and such?

I'd be honored if I wasn't so concerned.

Fallow Time.

I just wrote this really badly worded post about the philosophy that guides our lives. And then, I deleted it. Because, for the most part, it was bullshit; I can't sum up my philosophy of life, because since I was old enough to know what one was, it's changed constantly.

Which, in itself, is a philosophy of life.

I guess what I was trying to get at is that life can be easy and hard, quick and slow, filled with unbelievable joy and unbearable sorrow, ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Nobody can live it for you; we know this to be true. But it's AMAZING to me how many people try to put you on a path with some kind of dime-store bumper-sticker bullshit.

Bad days are the days when we have to work through stuff. It takes time to work through stuff. It might take an hour, a day, a week, a month. Some people work through stuff forever. If you are my friend, you accept that; you watch the clock, you help when you can, and you give the space.

But don't tell me to smile just because YOUR world needs it. The exercise of the muscles in my face doesn't ACTUALLY help the processes of my brain.

There are no STEPS to this process.
Until I can see the whole map, I will have to concentrate on this particular road. And the speed limit is mine to set.

Need a ride?

Sunday, October 26, 2008

It's perfectly fine for Sunday.....

A windy day here in Bismarck. And when I say "windy", I'm not talking cool fall breezes, I'm talking about "windy" in the sense that sailors tremble, parents keep their children indoors for fear of them flying away like kites, and lawn furniture that hasn't been battened down looks like Michael Phelps going down the street.

It's early in the morning, of personal, interior alarm clock goes off at an UNGODLY hour, no matter what time I actually went to bed. And because I'm such a dutiful husband, I make sure that the cats are taken care of, the coffee is made, and perhaps there is something palatable for breakfast.

(Ain't I a catch?)

Today, there is little to do. There is some laundry to be finished, of course, and I would like to put a dent in the stack of books sitting next to my laptop.....and if I could put a few pages together I would call that a victory.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

When the heart speaks......

Welcome to my Saturday. Very rare for me to have time on my hands on a Saturday, and of course, when I say, "time on my hands" I mean "time to do all the things I should be doing when I'm off doing what I HAVE to do in order to have someplace to come back to so I can be in that place and wish I had time to do the things I WANT to do."

Same old song. Grab a partner and dance.

But the laundry is cooking in its laundry machine, and the menu has been planned for the evening. The dishes are still staring at me like the Fulton Fish Market on a Wednesday morning, and there's the lawn that needs one last mowing before fall is over and winter begins.

45 degrees is NOT conducive to me mowing a lawn. But, once again, HAVE to vs WANT to.

Dance, my minions, DANCE.

But the pumpkins are on the porch, and my knives have been sharpened, even though I'm pretty sure I'll get to it on Thursday or Friday....they rot so quickly these days. And the children are just going to have to put up with M&M's because I know, I JUST KNOW that I'll be nibbling before, during and after.

I've been thinking lately about children. OTHER PEOPLE'S children, mind you, for we have not been blessed. So, I live in a kind of vicarious world where I watch my friends and relatives children.

What an interesting thing it is to see the passage of time in the face of another human being. And equally interesting is to see how these people, who joined me regularly in a howl at the moon in our younger days, become.......heroes and security agents and cooks and cleaners and cheerleaders and first aid technicians and truly remarkable people.

And they speak with such adoration about these little humans, these carbon copies and yet not; and I find myself envying those people who go through their lives and the lives of their children with gusto and fear and stress and unadulterated joy.

My friends are to be envied, and pedastaled, and when the clock chimes midnight, surrounded by the love they give, magnified and returned.

Happy Birthday, Dad. And thank you, thanks beyond the giving of it.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Once more, with feeling.

There's a special kind of fear in the air at this time of year.

A fear that the polls are wrong.

I've been reading various polls online, and I have to wonder if the news media is intentionally misleading the American public, in order to get them out to the polls in just about two weeks from now.

All the polls I read have Mr. Obama leading in all the states that were carried by the misguided candidate from 2004, and actually ahead, in some cases by a WIDE margin, in the key battleground states.

Here in North Dakota, where the three electoral votes could make a difference between winning big and......well, just winning......a state that usually goes against it's agricultural roots and votes Republican, and hasn't actually been one by a Democratic Presidential candidate since, I believe, Harry Truman, is favoring Mr. Obama by a slight margin.

When it comes right down to it, Mr. McCain can count on the south. Did ANYBODY think that the south would come across for Mr. Obama? But the north, primarily in Michigan, Pennsylvania, and in the west in Colorado...these are also going to Mr. Obama.

Now, there is a principal out there that suggests that the polls are skewed because those polled don't want to look racist, so they say they are voting for the Democratic candidate. A recent AOL poll has Mr. McCain leading by a very scary margin.

So, polls are useless, apparently, unless you're looking for some kind of morale boost, or you're putting up a tent.

My opinion is well noted, but what the hell, it's my dime and I'll say it again because it pleases me to do so. I'm tired of living in a country that has become the scourge of the world; I'm tired of living in a country that lives on a daily diet of hate for an appetizer, a savory entree of creme de paranoia, and a lively bit of fear for dessert; I'm tired of living in a country that's only source of pride seems to be some guy who swims reallllly fast, and the fact that we can find more faults with the rest of the world, without looking into that honesty mirror and seeing what we really are.

And I'm ESPECIALLY tired of good men selling their souls for an office that any sane person would run screaming from; and one particular woman who simultaneously claims membership in the working class, and then steps out to spend 150 THOUSAND DOLLARS at Niemann Marcus.

John McCain is, in my opinion, an honorable man who's past his expiration date.
The woman (she who must NOT be named) exudes the aroma of Doom.

So. Finally, at this late date, I make a decision.

I'm pro gay marriage.

And I'm voting for John Hoeven for Governor.

Yes. We have another in a long line of opportunities to step away from the abyss, and seek the path we should have sought seven years ago. I pray that collectively, we have the wisdom to make a sound choice, and the balance not to fall off the freakin' cliff.

Goodnight, Saigon.

For the little girl who lives down the lane.

A year or so back, when I began writing the various stages of nonsense upon this shiny paper, I found to my surprise that it.

Just my little contribution to the dumbing down of America and beyond.

But as you well know, if you write something, then people will, if they feel it necessary, write comments upon your writings.

And then, if you want, you can write about the writings about your writings. And so forth.

Well, my old friends, they support me. In my darkest hours, when I've written such unbelievable horsefeather about my mental state, they were always there to feed my ego and dry clean my soul.

It's the strangers that really get to me, though.
And one in particular.

I think she began to read this stuff because everybody else was. But she's been very nice to me; more than you can hope to expect from somebody that you've never met, this "friend of a friend of a friend."

I read her stuff, as well. I read them all, although I admit, I'm less likely to comment unless I can be reaaallllly funny. And lately, funny hasn't seemed really appropriate. But we've been through some similar things, then as now, and I find I really like this person, regardless of the fact that I don't believe I've ever met her in person.

So, here's what I'm getting at.

Hopefully, sometime in the future, there will be three words that mean everything.
Three. Little. Words.
And they won't be, "I love you."
They will be, "Let me help."

What can I do for you?

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Ancora Imparo

Oh my God.

I'm Quixote. I've finally become Quixote.

I mean, I know I've always sort of leaned in that direction, and was fool enough to believe that it made a lick of difference.....but to finally look into the mirror and see it.


In the overall scheme of things, I did my best; I tried to be kind. I tried to be an advocate for fairness. I tried to be a good friend, a good companion, and good husband....a good man.

And I just figured that each little setback was fate.

Then it came to me.

I forgot to be an ass kisser. I forgot to blindly follow power to get power. I forgot to be a moth to the flame.

And, ladies and gentlemen, the windmill has officially kicked my ass.

But, ahhhhh.......Dulcinea!

I guess victory is where you find it.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Skip it.

Well, for those of you in the warmer climes....the frost is on the pumpkin, literally, here in the North. The nip in the air in the early morning hours is delightful, by the way.

Domestics today; laundry, shopping, dishes, and catching up on the correspondence. Watch a film or two on television; there are great horror movies on AMC, and of course, I think I've recorded a couple of episodes of HOUSE, and I think I have HELP!on dvd, so my dance card is full.

Back into class starting tomorrow.

Good day, eh?

Saturday, October 18, 2008

It's my drivel, and I'll write what I want to....

Nothing much to report today, except that I may be going mad.

I know, I know; many of you that know me are saying, "And?...."

But, if you know me, you know that I cherish the control I have over my own mind. And it's running away with me, into the land of the Ning Nang Nong where the cows go Bong and the monkeys all say Boo....

A quick example, from this morning.

The house computer is down in my lovely office, in the bowels of Casa Clemo, the Ha Ha Hacienda. As is my usual routine, I grab a cup of coffee, run down to the lair, and catch up on the news from all around the world.

Nothing much today. A few emails to answer. My father sends me a few lame Democrat Jokes....."What do you call 1000 Democrats at the bottom of the ocean? A good beginning." A former student of mine trying to stump me in the seventy eighth game of six degrees of separation. A few notes from Facebook....somebody has left me a message, or comment. And I peruse, and I respond, and I read CNN and FOX and some of the newspapers from some of the places I've lived.....

Drink my coffee.

So, I'm done. I go upstairs. And my wife is in the kitchen with a strange look on her face.

"What?" I ask, a little concerned at her look....

"Why are you singing that song?" she asks.

"What song?" I reply.

"Something about witches and curses..." she says, halfway between amused and bewildered.

I never sing.

But apparently, my subClemo was singing a song from INTO THE WOODS, a musical I haven't seen or even thought of in, oh....15 years.

No more Giants,
Waging War;
Can't we just pursue of lives
With our children and our wives?
'Til that happy day arrives,
How do you ignore:
All the witches,
All the curses,
All the wolves and lies
The false hopes, the goodbyes,
The reverses.....
All the wondering what even worse
Is still in store....

Now, regardless of the fact that Steve writes a hell of a lyric, I'm concerned that I'm now doing some kind of wide-awake, somnambulist sleep-singing.

Other than that, I'm fine.
How are you?

Friday, October 17, 2008

An old familiar it loudly.

I'm all alone in my classroom, thank the good Lord.

I love the cacophony of silence. But, I'm thinking of hooking up the speakers to the computer and playing my itunes playlist nonstop for the next hour; I'm what ya call a Maverick.

It's amazing how the old skills come back, and so quickly. Connecting with a classroom of people who, for the most part, would rather not be there, was a constant challenge, but one I dearly loved. If I could just hook them once, I would always have them; in this case, I'm not a catch and release kind of fella.

Hooked them early this morning; they were mine for the taking. And then my co-facilitator began to speak.

Lost them again. And THEN it became a game of catch them, lose them, catch them, lose them.....which is not so much catch and release as it is "catch them and then the m*********ker dumps them out of the boat......!

I miss this life a little. I was pretty good at it.

The other day, one of my associates said to me, "You're a good teacher."

I blushed, and hemmed and hawed a bit, and then said,
"You should see me act."

It always comes back to this, doesn't it?

Gloriously, I have a few consecutive days off coming up, and I think I will fill them with a big heaping pile of nothin'. I'm a adult, and I earned it, and I deserve it, so pththththththth!

Love to you.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

It's a lovely Thursday in the North...

Random thoughts on a Thursday evening.....

My father was a master pumpkin carver. But that wasn't the glory of Halloween; he was also a master pumpkin seed roaster, and that was the thing I loved most about the end October.

The remarkable things about cats is how quickly they can go from zero to pain infliction in no time flat. And just try to explain the vertical lines on the side of your face without getting laughed at.

Did you know they don't make violin strings out of catgut anymore? Don't ask me how I know that.

I began to teach the hell training today. I must say, I'm doing well, but my partner tends to step on my toes a little. At one point, I think I said (far too loudly, come to find out), "Dude, you're steppin' on my toes." To his credit, he knows a lot about the subject....even if it's really hard to keep him on point.

I have found that "Five Hour Energy" gives me the strength to actually bounce off of walls. Don't ask me how I discovered that.

Want to talk about an unfinished conversation? I'll give you an example: last weekend, nearing the end of my rope in an temporarily empty house, with all the ghosts calling upon me, I called an old friend. She answered the phone as if we had talked yesterday, even though it had actually been......nine years. We picked up a conversation, she berated me about the death penalty (which I oppose, but it's such a lovely argument I can't resist), and when it was all over, we said goodnight....and I'm fairly certain that if another nine years pass, we'll pick it up where we left off......

I should have told her that I love her. But I think she knows. Hope so. I spend far too much time trailing ancient love, and not enough time actually telling the people around me.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again...if you've never read any of the works of Rex Stout or Dorothy L. Sayers, then you are missing out on some of the greatest mysteries ever written.

I'll leave now. Goodnight and Good Luck.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

To all things.....

Another story from the great back-then.

As a younger man, I did what any young man does, given time, resources, and a certain social circle, I fell in love. Lovely, charming, an excellent sense of humor; her hand fit so perfectly into mine. I loved to watch her dance. I loved to watch her sleep. You know the feeling? Sure, I knew you did.

Come to find out, she loved me back; alas, she didn't tell her boyfriend of that fact. Can you figure out how this little story ended?

I bet you can; but I bet you can't guess at just how humiliating the end actually was.

I had gone to visit her; and through that visit, I felt that something wasn't right. On the night before I was to leave, she got a phone call.....told me she had to go, and that she wouldn't be long, and she left.

I never saw her again.

And to answer your obvious question, I left about an hour after she left me there. It rained all the way back to Missouri. I got there as the sun was rising, and the song on the radio was Wynonna Judd singing, "Stones Throw From Hurtin'"

My life is filled with all kinds of irony. Some of it is funny with the benefit of twelve years of hindsight.

When I closed my door behind me, and checked the machine, there was a message. It was her, telling me she was sorry and that she loved me. I can't remember if I returned the call, but I probably did; and I probably forgave her. Did I mention that I loved her?

I got two other phone calls after that. One from her, telling me that she couldn't talk to me anymore, and it was for the best. The second is from her boyfriend, who took the opportunity to further drive me into the ground like a tent peg; he intimated in no uncertain terms that it was all a game from the start. He gloated. He bragged. I listened.

And she was gone.

Until Facebook.

Lives have moved on, of course......but I had an opportunity to set some things straight, in a sense. Actually, I'll never get the closure I'm looking for, and I suppose that's on the long list of things to regret for the rest of my life, but hell, I've lived with slightly worse. But I did realize something....

The love, for me, is still there.

So, with a heavy heart, I let it go. I've missed her for a dozen years, and I suppose I'll miss her for a few dozen more. But I can't do it.

So....another goodbye.

At least I have my memories.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

I dream of Victorian London....

As of late, I've been doing research into Sherlock Holmes.

Yes, I know.....a lot of you already know that I am a fan of the great detective; the man who turned observation and deduction into a career. The man who single handedly brought forth the downfall of Professor James Moriarty. The man who had a strange compulsion to help women named Violet. The man who may or may not have been in love at one point, with a mezzo soprano named Irene Adler. The man who had one friend, Dr. John Watson, war hero, surgeon and writer.

I have been re-reading all the works of Doyle, as well as my pretty hefty collection of pastiches based upon the wizard of Baker Street. I've even read two "biographies" of the man, both interesting in their own right, both woefully inadequate at the same time.

I've noticed something that never comes out specifically in the stories.

Holmes is well aware of his own loneliness. And it feeds that coldness that he prizes, in order to be that thinking machine that everybody comes to rely upon when the going gets rough. He thinks he can be of no use to anybody if he gives into that loneliness, so it's his cross he has to bear.

There is so much here to play with, to play off of, to play on. And I must do something about it.

I thought about calling it "Holmes Alone" but that's a terrible title.

I can picture myself doing it......

Now, all I have to do is learn to say "elementary" without chuckling.

Monday, October 13, 2008

The stuggle on the road to redemption.

A part of the problem with being in recovery (oh, the perpetual recovery!) is that long process of apologizing for all the wrongs you did when you were not in your right mind.

Okay, it's not a PROBLEM; it's an important step in the journey, and certainly one that I don't regret taking (except at times of great stress when the call of the Smirnoff sounds in the distance), but do you have any idea how long I've been apologizing to people?

Seriously, facebook has made the job faster, but I have to tell you; I'm not apologizing for them, I'm apologizing for me, and when I do, they look at me as if they can't believe I still remember a sin I committed in 1983.

Here's a newsflash.


Now, the thing of it is, I'm supposed to eventually be able to forgive myself for these things, these grievances. And that, my friends, is the problem.


Like a mental photo album, I have a picture of every single thing I can remember from that time that was inhuman. And folks, I MAJORED in inhuman. With a minor in torture. I lied, I cheated, I was, quite frankly, my world and everybody else just rented.

And every waking hour from the time I woke up bloody and alone, I have sought repentance. And I hope it's been enough.

Because I don't think fate's done with me yet.
I think I have one or two more hurdles left to leap.

Honestly. Not looking forward to it.
But I'll do it.
Because it's the right thing to do.

And in the end, "For those who understand, no explanation is necessary, and for those who don't understand, no explanation will suffice."

Saturday, October 11, 2008


This guy’s walking down a street, when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep, he can’t get out.

A doctor passes by, and the guy shouts up, "Hey you! Can you help me out?" The doctor writes him a prescription, throws it down the hole, and moves on.

Then a priest comes along, and the guy shouts up, "Father, I’m down in this hole! Can you help me out?" The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole, and moves on.

Then a friend walks by. "Hey Joe, it’s me, can you help me out?" And the friend jumps in the hole! Our guy says, "Are you stupid? Now we’re both down here!" And the friend says, "Yeah, but I’ve been down here before, and I know the way out."

I love this story, and you may recognize it. It comes from a very good Aaron Sorkin show called THE WEST WING. This is actually from the second season, one of the holiday themed shows, and I've got to say that when they let Sorkin do his thing, there ain't nobody that can touch him.

I've been down a hole for awhile. It's not a terribly bad hole. It's actually a hole I've been down before, and with regularity.....some holes just have a kind of gravitational pull on your ass, y'know? And I know that eventually, I'll remember how to get out of the hole.


Thursday, October 9, 2008

Portrait of the writer as insignificant.

Boredom is, of course, the death of creativity.

I believe somewhere I once wrote that cliche is the death of creativity.

But that has since become, well....cliche.

So, now, boredom is the death of creativity.

And before you start sending me a list of things I could possibly do to stave off this boredom, I say with all fondness: SAVE IT. I'm not interested in staving it off; in fact, I prefer to wallow in it for awhile.

Boredom is the new self-pity.

I had a dream the other night that summed it all up. I was told by the image of my true love that the doors of Shangri-La were closing, and that I was never to have access again.

In the face of that knowledge, lethargy and sloth, and yes, BOREDOM, seemed the best option.

And you have to admit, it's a step up from "profound sadness."

And, as REO Speedwagon says, you gotta roll with the changes.

This is me, rolling.

Roll, roll, roll, you dolt,
Till you want to scream.
Verily, Barely, Warily, Scarily,
Life is Ovaltine.

You can't be deep and significant all the time.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

God Bless Stan Rogers.

Bits and pieces you offered of your life
I didn't think they meant a lot, or said much for you;
And all the chances to follow didn't make a lot of sense
When stacked against the choices you made;
For yours was the open road.
The bitter song, the heavy load that I couldn't share,
Though the offer was there
Every time you turned around.

Now, it's not like you made out to hang around
Although, you know, I made some sounds to show that I cared.
And when it looked like you heard the call,
I didn't say a lot, although I could have said much more
Had I dared.
But yours was the open road.
The bitter song, the heavy load that I couldn't share,
Though the offer was there
Every time you turned around.

And if I had followed a little way,
Because we're friends, you would have made me welcome
Out there.
But we both know it's just as well;
'Cause some can go, but some are meant to stay behind
And it's always that way.
And yours is the open road.
The bitter song, the heavy load that I'll never share,
Though the offer's still there
Every time you turn around.

Monday, October 6, 2008

Knock Knock. Who's There?

I opened the door, and the past came flooding into the present. I don't regret for one minute opening that door, but I will admit to a touch of bother trying to put everything into an order that I can deal with.

So, I'm suffering just a bit.

Someday, I should be able to tell the story. But I cannot just now.

I will tell you something that you all already know; when I love, I love deeply, truly, and forever. That hasn't changed; and it won't. I don't see it as a flaw. I see it as one of the few blessings I can always count. It means that I can feel something, even when I don't think I can anymore.

So. To sum up: door opened; suffering a bit; love forever; still feeling.

Talk to you soon.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Everything's coming up Thursday.

As you well know, today is the first day off I've had since sometime around the middle of September. As I've said before, it's not something that I was unaware of; I knew it was going to be a long haul, but there were some surprises; for example, the training session in Virginia was a boot to my backside. Several boots, in fact. It was the Radio City Rockettes, booting me at regular intervals, and while I enjoy a good kick line....

So, what happens when your body realizes that the pressure is off for one measly twenty four hour period?

You got it.


I did force myself into some housework. Some things cannot wait; or more to the point, my inherent OCD kicked in, and my and my aforementioned bruised backside hauled itself out of bed and laundried, mowed, recycled, and traveled into town for the semi-annual used book sale at the library.

Found some good stuff. But boy, that room was stuffy. Put me in the mood for some ice cream.

CRAP. I forgot the flippin' ice cream.

I had intended to spend some time with Mr. Holmes today; I have been, as of late, working on something for myself, and Sherlock and I have been going round and round about it. He wants to talk about Hounds, and I want to talk about Irene Adler and Mr. Milverton, two subjects he finds....distasteful.

I may need a nap.

But since today is a random Thursday, let me throw a couple of things at you.....

I was watching television the other day, and a commercial about a pregnancy test came on. Is it my imagination, or are these contraptions becoming more and more like a Magic 8 Ball every day?

Where is Joe Biden? He's getting his ass kicked by that Eskimo-hating, anti-choice, I-need-an-uzi-to-hunt-endangered-species toting, lying thief of a Northern Governor on a daily basis.

And why are the polls so close? Who the hell are they polling?

Can I be reincarnated as Hugh Laurie?

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Mumble Mambo.

I stand in amazement at two things this morning; simple things, actually. The first is the fact that the sun is coming up slower and going down more quickly than it used to, and the second being that I have been so far down in the rut that I didn't notice it.

Actually, it's an interesting kind of sunrise today.....if nature could forebode, then that's what the dawn is sayin' today.

Like a duffer on a golf course, I continue to flail at my current schedule. And I shouldn't complain, because they are paying me quite a substantial sum for working without a break for two weeks. And Lord knows I need it, because I just took a gander at my portfolio, and I no longer need to worry about retirement, because I can't. Ever.

Yes, I know that the economy recovers; but it's like Humpty Dumpty, to my mind; it never quite goes back the way it came apart. And all the King's horses and all the King's know the rest.

I'm trying desperately to achieve some kind of balance, but with every turn of the page there seems to be something that pushes, or pulls, and off I go like some kind of sadistic gyroscope. People are starting to stare. I know that there is a balance here; I'm just not sure if I have the fulcrum placed right. Perhaps I'm working under a faulty hypothesis. There's got to be some kind of theorem for this particular malady.

Until I find the theorem, it's back to the rut, and the grindstone, and the albatross, and the abattoir, and the abbotandcostello, and the whosonfirst, and all that.