A Day and A Thousand Years

As I sit here in my purple chair, surrounded by kitty goodness (I've got purrmonster in stereo), I have to take a moment to enjoy what has revealed itself to be a precious little moment of Zen. The hubs has crash landed in the bedroom, lulled to sweet slumber with a background soundtrack of BBC's Planet Earth (my critique of which will follow momentarily. Patience, gentle reader). Ringo has wrapped himself firmly around my left foot and Ginger has manage to absorb the majority of the seat of the aforementioned purple chair in her amoeba-like largeness. The dryer is rumbling in the next room and the frogs and cicadas are singing just outside the window. For just a few moments, everything is okay, and I can rest.

On to the aforementioned Planet Earth... These DVDs are beautifully done, but the act of going to sleep with them playing in the background is not advised. While the appearance of exotic locations and breathtaking landscapes is a welcome addition to my dreams, the bizarre predator-prey situations and multitude of dead animal corpses is not. Seriously, I may have to start watching Care Bears or something equally saccharine just to go to sleep.

American Gods (Or Why Neil Gaiman is Badass)

If modern America has gods, then our Zeus is Kermit the Frog.

This occurred to me as I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade last week. Some Disney Channel pre-stripper was riding on a float and singing a duet with KtF, and the only thing I could think was, "I want to meet Kermit." In the big, grand scheme of things, I suppose there could be worse gods to have.

The Valley of the Shadow of Sleep

I have to ask myself, "Self, why are you still awake?"

To which I reply, "I was inspired by the soft darkness and the gentle sounds of summer night."

As someone who is utterly, undeniably afraid of the dark, I see a strange irony in this. It's a sick thrill of mine to stand on the back porch (in my nice, safe neighborhood) and see how long I can stay out in the dark before my heart starts racing and I flee to the safey of my brightly-lit kitchen. All of my senses remain on edge, and my mind races to keep up with my heartbeat. (therearemonstersinthetodashdarkness) Though I suppose there is something to be said about facing one's fears, I can never bring myself to turn around and look through the glass of the door I just fled through, for I fear of what might be looking back at me. It must surely be some gruesome spector, or more likely, a more subtle incarnation of my fear-a simple shadow, slightly darker than the rest, radiating malevolence and hunger. My own imagination turns against me in the darkness. I must battle with myself to conquer the swell of terror and dread that grows inside me as I stand rooted in the middle of my kitchen. The sounds of night creep in: the croaking of frogs, the songs of cicadas and crickets, and the wind moving softly through the closely entertwined branches of the oak trees. Surely such gentle, soft noises couldn't hide such a horror as I imagined. I breathe deeply and feel my muscles begin to loosen one at a time, as the warmth and familiarity of my surroundings pulls me back to safety. Still, I do not look out the window. I will never trust the darkness, it seems. It may inspire me, thrill me, even excite me, but I will never find sanctuary in the shadows.

The Return of the Prodigal Blogger

And God said, "Let there be Stuff."

And so there was.

I've had God on my mind a lot lately, and I've come to the conclusion that he must be a pretty smart dude/tte. <--I've decided that gender doesn't matter when you're the Supreme Ruler of the Whole Damn Universe. I spend a great deal of time surrounded by nay-sayers and doom-sayers and just plain dumbasses, and I've realized that letting the opinions of others color my faith leads down paths that are best left untrodden. My mind and heart are always open to new ideas and paths to enlightenment, but I finally reached a point in my life where I had to make a choice. Do I, or Don't I?

It wasn't a choice, really. There was nothing to decide. It simply was, is, and will always be. I blame it all on Christmas music and the ever-so-cleverly underlit church steeple that I pass every day on my way to and from work.

I owe a large part of my renewed faith to my big sister. She had the words I needed to hear, at a time in my life when I desperately needed to hear them. I don't know if I ever told her so, but if you're reading this, Thank You. I also have my best friends to thank. I have two of the most incredible women in the world to call my friends. They come at me from both ends of the spectrum, and they're both beautifully relentless.

To those of you expecting the usual sarcasm and bitter humor-don't worry, it hasn't gone anywhere. I simply had a declaration to make first.

The Fall of (Wo)Man

Once a month, every month, I spend approximately one week being certifiably insane. I am alternately weak as a newborn kitten or as strong as Atlas, bearing the weight of the world on my shoulders. I am reduced to tears as often as glaring rage, and both without explanation.

The experts (or maybe just some hippies), claim that this is all tied to the moon and the tides. I wonder if Mother Earth gets PMS?

During this time of maddening, I seek comfort in worldly things-sweatpants and chocolate milk and long naps in the middle of the day. After a few days time, I can emerge from my madness and return to the real world, where I only cry when others can't see me, and my rage is reserved for those who earn it.

Oh Discordia! (Or, How Stephen King Ruined My Life)

I've spend my summer wandering the Path of the Beam with Roland and his ka-tet of gunslingers, and I can say, with no hesitation, that Stephen King ruined my life. It has been years since I've allowed myself to be sucked into a work of literature in such a way. Not even J.K. Rowling (whom I adore), or Raymond Feist (who worked so hard to win me over), has kept me up so many nights. I haven't managed a solid, peaceful night's sleep all summer (there are monsters in the todash darkness). It isn't necessarily fear that keeps my from my REM sleep, but the way fragments of Mid-World work their way into my half-conscious, to lay their dusty, mutant eggs in my already wacked-out dreams.

I've had vicious nightmares my entire life. Even as a small child, I would have dreams so vivid and opaque that one would swear you could reach out and touch them. All five senses in full effect, I've felt shattered glass flay my hands (just the other night), and smelled the rot of driftwood and seawater wafting down an empy beach (years and years ago). Despite these damn-near-tangible dreams, I've never been haunted so thoroughly, even into waking. Like Roland (or perhaps King himself, though I'd never seek to presume), I was pulled, contrary to every intuition, deeper and deeper, until I had no choice but to pick up the damn book and keep walking.

I finished last night. I have no complaints about the ending-it was absolutely right, and could have ended no other way without making the whole journey meaningless. I (the Patient Reader) am keeping every crossable appendage crossed in the hopes that my heart and my head can disconnect themselves from the Tower and finally get some rest. This humble writing of mine does little to communicate what I've actually felt these past months, but perhaps you (also the Patient Reader) can pick up clues and draw some good conclusions.

Sai King turned my whole world nineteen, and I can't tell if I love him or hate him for it. Perhaps Ka will yet tell, say thank ya.

In the beginning.

In the beginning, God created Man. Man was lonely, so God created Woman. Woman got tired of watching Man sit around and scratch his balls all day, so she went for a walk. On this walk, Woman runs into Snake. Snake talks Woman into eating this Apple. So, God gets pissed and kicks Man and Woman out of Paradise. Man and Woman end up living living in a trailer on the southside. They make approximately 234,632,134 babies. Man grows beer gut and skullet. Woman grows thunder thighs. Woman takes Man on Springer to reveal that 234,632, 133 of the babies aren't his. Snake walks out from backstage and gives Man the finger. Man throws chair at Snake and Steve has to intervene. Woman screams at Man that maybe if he "did her right" this wouldn't have happened. Man replies that she should try fixing herself up every now and then. Snake stands off to one side and makes pathetic threats. Jerry makes everyone sit down and says he has a suprise that will straighten the whole mess out. Jesus rolls out and tells Man to treat Woman with respect, tells Woman to stop being a "ho", and tells Snake to get a life and find his own woman. Jerry nods approvingly. Man and Woman go back to the southside, and Snake gets a job out of state. Woman gets a job and a makeover, and Man gets a haircut and a BowFlex machine. Man and Woman start to find one another attractive again, and take second honeymoon. Snake gets run over by a jealous husband.