Just for me

So I started school again. I am taking another class toward my MFA in creative writing at the University of New Orleans. It's been a couple years and I'm only a third done. I'm on the 6 year plan. 

Everything is asynchronous online. I've had a mostly fantastic experience. They're super flexible and I was grateful to work with Professor Richard Goodman who just recently retired. I also worked with a fabulous New Orleans playwright (Professor Justin Maxwell) who helped me hone my two act act play adaption of my memoir. 

Last year was so difficult academically. I had one very hard semester that I had to withdraw from due to my surgeries and work. This year, I'm back in the saddle and taking a nonfiction workshop this semester to help me generate more work toward my next book project. This is just for me my friends. Hear this. You don't need a MFA to be a writer. I've proved that over the last decade and a half. 

That said, I do believe that no education is wasted and this degree is especially for me. It may not be pragmatic at fifty to do this, but dreams are not always logical. So I'm here, looking at my Moodle at 3 am. My homework was turned in already and I'm eager to see other people's work and comments. I love school. Always have. 

Growing up, I was always the kid who sat in the front row waving her hand to give the answer. Until I wasn't. But I am again, albeit virtually. 

One of my musical idols, Siouxsie Sioux, is playing the Cruel World festival at 65, proving that what? It's never to effing late. Dream big. Good night.

Time time time

There's a theory that time goes by faster the older you get, because you have less of it left. I think that's true. When I was a kid, an hour could feel like an entire day. Time moved slow. Staring out the window in class, waiting for the bell to ring.

Watching my dog Chewbacca sleep, I want to slow time down to the millisecond. I want to treasure every moment with his furry face. Gazing lovingly into his caramel colored eyes, he looks back and I can picture him thinking, "creepy mommie, you're hashtag obsessed". These fur kids nowadays...

Maybe it's not "normal" to be so attached to a dog. But I don't care. He is my best friend. My confidant, and work buddy when I work from home some days. Chewie is fourteen and I know I'm being selfish, wanting him to grow old and grey with me. He's struggling. We've had so many years together. But I want more. It's not rational. I know this. His life span is shorter. Yet, still, give me one more year, I pray as I sip my coffee this morning watching him breathe shallowly by my feet.

Time is precious. Short. Fleeting. Sometimes, I feel as if I am living my life behind a gauze curtain. Everything is hazy and I try to reach out and capture the moments but they float away. They just float away. 

Raindrops & Rainbows

This weekend, buckets of water have been falling from the sky. The song lyric "Raindrops keep falling on my head," goes through my mind as I listen to the somewhat soothing sounds of rain falling at 2:50 am. The pitter patter is rhythmic, almost like music. 

We did a reading and musical event yesterday at Highpoint Brewing Company in San Dimas. We had five readers, three songs and a great turnout for a rainy day in California. After events like this, it's hard for me to come back down to earth. 

Yesterday, the morning before the event, I had a mini panic attack after practicing the new Wizard of Oz inspired piece I was reading. I usually don't rehearse much as it ruins the flow for me, but decided to mostly because the piece is new and unpublished and I've never performed it. 

After I practiced it to a room of myself and my shih tzu, my whole body was tingling and I felt like I would pass out. To calm myself, I took deep breaths, drank a big glass of water and stretched until the panic went away. 

It was a strange experience that had never happened to me before. But perhaps not so strange. The piece is a long poem full of angst and sadness with only a touch of humor. It's a very difficult piece to perform because it must be read fast to capture the chaos, and requires almost a manic energy to do it well.

It takes a toll I suppose, the artistic side of it I mean. But the payoff is huge. There is nothing more beautiful to me than watching a reading and being a part of it. The community it creates. The family. The love. The hope. It's lovely. So lovely I could cry. 

I feel so grateful I get to read and perform with my writing family. You see, creativity is my sustenance. It's like the rain falling. It's not always easy to deal with, but we need it to nourish the planet and ourselves. 

Goal...

Watching the finals of the World Cup with my husband, who is of Argentine descent, we cheered, screamed and prayed our team into winning. Our pleading probably had nothing to do with their ultimately prevailing. But who knows? Maybe millions of people visualizing Messi winning his first World Cup does have some sway. They won in kicks remember.  

Yet, it made me wonder, why don't we ever cheer ourselves on?

Now maybe some people do cheer themselves on; I suppose that what's mantras are for. But when someone's nominated for an award, that is typically when they start praying to the universe. Wishing. Hoping. 

Perhaps we should urge ourselves on earlier. In the doing phase. We should imagine our success. The reaching of the goal. The results of the endeavor coming to fruition. I've been doing this more and more lately. Some might call it daydreaming, however, it's more concrete than that.

You see, merging the heart and mind can create magic. Faith is a powerful tool. I truly believe one can achieve whatever their goal is, no matter how lofty.

Yes, I could be a Quixote like girl tilting at windmills, or I could believe in the impossible dream. And it could come true. 

Major Tom

Some things simmer. Then the pot boils. 

Put your helmet on as Bowie might say. 

Perhaps I'm just not as much of a people pleaser as I used to be. I could really care less what the powers that be, whether that's familial, friends or authoritative, think. I'm just me and that's all I can be. 

It remains to be seen what the future holds. The only thing I know is that I know which way I'm headed. My destiny is clear to me. Believing in the impossible may seem like a folly to some, but not to me. Faith is belief without proof and I have faith in myself and the universe. No guarantees or evidence needed.

Look, I know that I'm trying to go into a different direction than others want and that's okay. Truth is, I can't control anyone or their actions, I can only control me.

This may all seem a bit abstract. Like I'm talking in riddles. But I'm not. I mean these statements with regard to all of my relationships. I really mean them. I'm not scared anymore to take a risk and shoot off in my spaceship trying to reach the stars, without knowing which way this will turn out. 

Because one thing I do know is that I will be okay. 

Let me say it again, in case you didn't hear or understand, I will be okay. Promise.

Shelf life

Everything has a shelf life

An expiration date 

Who says true love lasts

Who says? I did

You're a sucker

Says the face in the mirror

Grimacing at her

For her naïveté 

Yet despite it all

Like a flower whose petals open

Every spring upon command

I still believe

 

2023

I've been thinking and trying to visualize what this year will look like for me. The last two years, really three, have been a whirlwind. What with Covid, my surgeries, my books, the highs and lows of performing, my podcast, school, work stress and my beloved dog Frodo passing away, I can't really believe it. 

About a year ago, I started praying for change. Especially with regards to work. That old saying, don't ask for what you want, you just might get it, is too true. Things are changing. I'm moving units and although I haven't officially moved yet, it should happen soon. It's scary. I have been doing a practice in mental health for years and years. But I have to think that change is good. Meaningful. Important. Something good will come out of this, I just know it.

There's other change in the air as well. I need to work on my health and life balance. Cut out toxins. I am middle aged. Say that three times and click your heels together and you just might turn into a round, withered pumpkin. Some days, I feel good, then others, I feel as if I'm twenty years older than I am.

Most of all, I want to be happy this year. Present. Kind. Cheerful. Can you fake cheer? I can't so if I'm cheerful, I'm usually happy.

And the biggest thing of all, is my writing. I write in stolen bits. Right now at 430 am. Some days at midnight. Or two in the morning. But I write to see. To see me. It's my looking glass. I'll continue this love affair with the mighty pen and turn it inward again. I'm going to be writing an adaption of my books into a screenplay. A new genre. A new me. 

We shall see where this goes.