Summer Break

At the beginning of each summer break, I often feel a little out of control. School is officially over, so I know I have no plans, at least for a couple of weeks. I end up ditching my routine almost entirely and tend to stay up til the wee hours, complaining later about how I feel horrible being tired. So here I am at 10:35pm, at a crossroads. I could continue on the same self destructive path, known in some circles as a state of SLOTH. Or, I could change my behavior. Hmm.

Here's the rub: I am trying to loosen up a little. I am so attached to a certain routine, particular foods, etc, that I feel like I ought to shake things up a bit. But instead, I turn to meaningless internet activities when I have free time. I isolate in my kitchen, googling things like Pastor Britt (on You Tube), who I used to know as plain ole Britt, or Burt. I went to high school with him, and the last time I saw him in person, he was walking across our stage at graduation yelling "Burt don't surf!". Now he gives sermons at Reality Church in Carpinteria that are reminiscent of Baptist fire and brimstone with some sales pitch mixed in.

Anyway...the point is that all of this free time drives me crazy. I am stuck between overplanning and becoming one of those people who play guitar hero for 5 hours straight (just making that up, as a good example of what I am doing).

My road trip is another fine example of trying to mix things up, Michelle style. I took nearly every item of clothing I own (and wore only 2-3 outfits), all my regular foods in a cooler, and my favorite utensils and dishes. I loaded my car to the brim, including a guitar I never played, and a beach chair I never sat in. I drove 7-9 hours a day (!) to the weirdest places. Some were quite breathtaking, others were downright nasty. I visited my friend Rozanna and her family. That was ok. But other than that, what was my motive for taking a trip anyway? Well, I had time to kill and money burning a hole in my checking account. Why not stay in a motel near a meth smoker who yelled at his girlfriend about peeing in the bed, among other things. BTW, I smelled meth in the bathroom after my shower, and still smelled it on my nightie the next night. I was so grossed out! Other than the obvious entertainment factor for writing an interesting book, why did I endure such ridiculousness?

Well, because I needed something to do.*sigh*

Here's my solution: I will sign up for a class of interest, like meditation, yoga, or hiking. I will plan on attending said activity once a week. I will go to more meetings, and do more writing. I also need a part time job, so that ought to keep me sorta busy. And...I could call my friends more often. Lunch dates at Daily Grind would be very pleasant. Butterfly Beach is awesome, as always. My bald friend returns from New York soon. Hmm. I should discuss the bald one in another blog. Yes, I could write about him all day long, and into the night. Ha ha.

See, I have plenty to do. Wish me luck with that. I am gonna need it.

Reflections On A Blog Reflecting Bad News

I keep reading my friend’s blogs. I never really talk to him anymore. We dated briefly, when I lived on Robbie Circle. I thought this was cute, since that’s his name (only without the "e" at the end). I just check his MySpace now, since he no longer calls or emails me. His blogs are going beyond the usual tortured artist rants, and entering into what I can only view as deep, painful bouts of depression.

Is expression of painful feelings by way of cyberspace really helping him, or anyone for that matter? Can relief be found from this?

Well, I know that writing brings me relief. So I suppose it helps for him to vent. But all I observe from this person is a reflection of his life as a living hell, with tiny glimpses of blue skies now and then.

I want to make him all better. I know that I cannot. This is my issue. I got over being ignored by him a while ago. Now I just want the best for him, even if we never speak again. I wish for him to find peace, whatever that means for him.

I used to call him my little gothic boy, and he would call me kid. He was always kind to me, and is a good man. This I know, even with some fuzzy memories filled with question marks. It feels like ages ago, and just yesterday all at once. Again, I meet my past with a clarity I never had then. One more time, I get the sense that it is time to take a look at reality with fresh eyes. I guess I will find my own peace there.

The Eyes Have It

So, I went to the eye doctor today at 2pm. My eyes are still kinda dilated, round like saucers. I usually love getting those drops that are reminiscent of belladonna, which ladies would use to attract a man back in some other century (18th perhaps?). I think I look pretty sexy with huge pupils, especially now that I have them as a sober person. This pupil thing has been studied, you see. Apparently, when we are attracted to someone, our pupils enlarge. This will tend to interest the other person, because everyone appreciates being liked, and most people will find them interesting as a result. This is typically what I think about when I have visited the eye doctor. I enjoy going out in public on these days, as a rule choosing to stroll where I can easily see and be seen. ;)

Well, today was not one of those days. I am extremely near sighted. When my eyes get dilated, however, I am extremely far-sighted, leaving me blurry and just plain weird sighted up to about 4 feet. While cautiously driving home, I realized my most important task for the day must be put aside for later...my studying! I was so annoyed that I had not thought this through. My usual excitement faded, as I became less and less enamored by my sultry eyes. Grrr.

So I did what I do best in these situations. I fiddled, I fumbled, and ended up putting old photos in an album. This was actually kinda fun. And now, I must put these tired eyes to rest. They have been wide open for a bit too long. Good night all.