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So if I were keeping with the schedule I said I'd keep this week, I'd be completely wiped out by Thursday.
My work schedule consists of opening the cafe every day this week [with the exception of Thursday, but I still have to be there @ 10am], and if I were doing music @ Vacation Bible School this year that would wipe out my evening from 6:30 to 8:30-9pm, which would kill any chance of a social life as well as my energy. But. . .
Well, I kind of dipped out on VBS this year. Truthfully, I was totally unprepared, hadn't learned any of the music or hand motions and what-have-you, but to be honest, I just wasn't feeling it this year anyway.
So now, instead of getting ready to leave church @ 8:30, I'm sitting at home typing this blog.
It is madness
says reason
It is what it is
says love
It is unhappiness
says caution
It is nothing but pain
says fear
It has no future
says insight
It is what it is
says love
It is ridiculous
says pride
It is foolish
says caution
It is impossible
says experience
It is what it is
says love.
~Erich Fried
People who are familiar with me and my odd ways know that I have an affinity for paper. Paper as in journals and notebooks of all sorts, specifically leather journals and Moleskines. If you don't know what a Moleskine is, then click here.
Rumored to be 'the notebook of Picasso, Hemingway, and Chatwin' (though I don't know who Chatwin is. . .) it's pretty much a notebook that's expensive for no reason, but they're durable, and holding one makes you feel special and awesome inside. At least it makes me feel special and awesome inside.
I have at least ten of these beauties in various sizes and colors, some of which I've never used or written in. But I love them to death, and I plan on using them all someday.
Really. I promise. But anyway!
I was on my way into work on Saturday and I came across this little beauty:
As everyone should know, this year is the 40th celebration of Woodstock: Peace, Love, and Music. Moleskine has hardly ever done a limited edition that I've been able to afford, but this one... it was so hard to choose between the ones displayed (there were four: here they are) but I've never bought a Moleskine sketchbook before so I bought this one.
Now I just have to use it. . .
Good morning/afternoon/evening, Blogville. I come to you at this time to rant a little. Events were brought to my attention today that I just can't keep quiet about any longer.
About two years ago, I was bitten by a friend's dog at their house. This dog, as far as I know, had been abused or treated badly or something had happened to him that made him wary of people, and the dog was also known to get excited at loud noises. This particular day, we'd been having a bit of a party in my friend's basement and we'd gotten a bit loud and I just happened to be near the dog when he got excited and WHAM! I was bitten in the face.
Sucks to be me.
What I learned after I'd been bitten, however, was that this dog had bitten/attacked people twice before me.
This raised my first flag.
If you know that your dog has a tendency to get excited around people AND has a history of biting people, shouldn't you have taken steps to prevent it after the VERY FIRST TIME?
Anyway, fast forward to about two weeks later when I'm all stitched up and recovering and receive my doctor bills. I don't need to tell you, Blogville, that it was more than I could afford. After talking about it with my father, long story short, it's agreed that we are going to sue my friend and her family. This was something I didn't want to do. She was my friend, and I didn't want to put her family through that, but I had no other way to pay for my hospital bills and who knew how much treatment I'd need after the initial stuff? So I let my dad go ahead with it.
During the grueling [for whom? I dunno; I rarely got updates about it] process, we found out a few things, the most shocking of which being this: my friend's house insurance did not cover dog bites.
. . .what? Doesn't cover? What do you mean? You've had two other dog attacks by the SAME dog and you don't have coverage for them? Apparently, after the second attack, they had to get a new insurance company or carrier or whatever and this policy did not cover dog bites.
And this is where I begin my rant, ladies and gentlemen. How, after two dog bites and no treatment to the dog, do you not protect yourself against that sort of thing happening again? The court case is in the process of settlement as far as I know (I won), but word from a mutual friend of myself and the friend whose dog bit me is that they are going to lose their house.
I don't want to sound heartless; I think that's horrible. I think it's absolutely horrible that it had to come down to this. I don't want to see anyone homeless, out on the streets, etc.
But how do you not take the necessary steps to ensure that such a thing doesn't happen a second time? Let alone a third? I just don't understand it.
Evening, Blogtopia. Popping in to plug a music video belonging to a band of a friend's friend. I suppose he's my friend too. . .
glittermouse | Wake up and Dream: OFFICIAL VIDEO from glittermouse on Vimeo.
I've been gone for about two weeks, Blogtopia. Did ya miss me?
. . .Probably not. Anyway, an update.
Last week, I got sick. I don't know how, I just know that I did, and it was horrible and I had a fever and a horrible sore throat and I was achy and didn't want to move and stayed in bed for almost three whole days. Then I got better on Thursday-ish and recovered in enough time to have an excellent choir concert at church on Sunday.
This week so far has been spent hanging out with Pierre and moving my things out of my grandmother's house and into my mother's apartment. Because of irreconcilable differences between myself and my grandmother, I no longer stay where I used to and am kind of hanging in limbo.
Sucks to be me, right? I don't see it that way, though.
Being out of that house for as long as I was [am] before I finally left for good, it kinda made me realize something that my family [my dad] had been saying for a while. That house was poison to me. The situation I was put in, staying there almost scot-free and only paying for what I used pretty much, allowing myself to be lazy and not do anything productive was really bad for me. So instead of sulking about how I'm being kicked out of the one place I've called home for longer than any other, I feel like I can see this as an opportunity to do what I should have done with my life four years ago. :)
Morning, Blogworld.
Among my list of site to cruise for fun is one called craigslist. I'm sure most people have heard of it, since there's been a lot of controversy surrounding it recently. However, I don't peruse craigslist looking for a 'casual encounter' or to 'rant and rave' about my city, Chi-city. I don't even go to sell or buy anything from anyone.
Nah.
What I do. . . is read the Missed Connections.
To me, it's THE most interesting part of the website. Bunches of men and women posting to craigslist to tell about/look for/write to a person they saw while they were 'sitting at Starbuck on their laptop. You had the most gorgeous brown hair I've ever seen. . .' or 'at the bar in Wrigleyville; you were wearing a white sundress. . .' or some other such description of a person that they are likely to never see again.
Why do I read them, you ask? Am I possibly looking for a missed connection of my own? No. I never go anywhere, so why would I have one? I read them simply because they're interesting.
Anyway, back to my point. Every few days or so, I always come across an anonymous poster who writes to "L". That's it. Just "L". Now, I know it's not me. But I wonder if this guy knows how he makes me and a lot of other "L"s who read his posts feel.
Example, his most recent posting: L, I Want To. . .
Now, I don't know about other "L"s, but if you were a single "L" or even an "L" who was unhappy with her lot, wouldn't that cheer you up to imagine, just for one moment, that there was someone who wanted to appreciate you the way this guy does his "L"?
I know, for sure, that it cheers me up.
"Pen, meet paper.
"Hello. I'm your mind saying what your voice can't find words for.
I'm the itch in your brain that makes you silent.
I am the containment field waiting for the bomb to blow.
I am the song your mouth can't sing."
. . . a bit of random word vomit I regurgitated a few nights ago, while lamenting my lack of things to write.
I was listening to a friend's guitar composition earlier and heard vocals where none existed. Those vocals extended their hand to words, but the words were just out of reach. . .
The rain was nice today. The parts I got to enjoy, anyway. Sometimes I wish I lived in a more rural area; I feel I'd appreciate it more.
. . . I just realized that I've been playing a segment of Draa's composition wrong. Dammit.
I've decided that "[The] Quiet Girl and The Riot" will either be the name of my two-person band or the title of one of our CDs.
Lately, I feel like people have been avoiding me. Or have I been avoiding them. . .?
Don't mind my ramblings. The music does such odd things to my mind. . .
Contributors
- Jacquise
- Sometimes I prefer to stay inside with a good book, nice music, and the company of myself; other times, I like to go out and have a damn good time, blast music from my speakers and blow the house down. Sometimes, I care what people think; other times, I don't. Sometimes I'm the Quiet Girl. Sometimes I'm the Riot. This is the place where the two of us meet.