Beating the System

It is so hard to create a second identity; that should be easy. In this world of bits and pieces, ones and zeros, why should I be limited by my own name, age, gender? I should not be; I can have as many email accounts as I can remember names for, that goes for online networking too. But, I sing victoriously of my recently added persona. I have long held the belief that all good work ought to be done by someone other than me.

So far so good.

Fundamental Choice

Look out, see. To really look and see the basic structure is the first challenge. The form is irrelevant; we could be talking architecture or biology, the framework for understanding remains identical enough in physique that the principals are constant. But, to understand motive is guesswork at best.

I love car naps. I may have written in the past about sleeping in my car, though I have a hard time remembering if I made clear just how much: sleeping in the car pours warmth into my limbs. The first real car naps began as my father was dying. I spent time in Ashland and Seattle, driving up and down the I-5 corridor countless times past nameless towns: Tacoma, Olympia, Centralia, Portland, Salem, Eugene, Rice Hill, Roseberg, Grants Pass, Central Point, Medford, and finally Ashland. I know the traffic patterns and I can usually make the trip in a little less than seven hours.

Time can crawl, especially with a hangover.

I get a deep heavy pit in my stomach, a pit that sinks and demands that I sleep. I stopped behind the Circle K in Centralia. There was a park on one side and a parking lot on the other. I pulled over, set my seat back, and was out in a flash. I leave the radio on and the voice reading DeLillos "White Noise" drones over the progressing apocalypse. When the cassette tape flips, I awaken, somewhat befuddled, but refreshed.

Car naps became a regular thing on long drives. I would pull over, sleep, feel the heat of the sun through the windshield. Then I started to go to school; then school and work; when there wasn't time to rest. When I really dreaded the hours in the afternoon when there wasn't enough time to go home and relax before work, I would take my car to Forrest Park and sleep. If it happened to be raining, all the better, I didn't need the radio.

Car Napping at home almost takes the cake. When you pull up to your house there is that special sound in the air. It's a slight ring in the atmosphere, and internally you just know you are home, you made it. Anxiety falls away and "The World" is on NPR. The seat goes back and the day unwinds as I sleep.

Losing Faith

I used to have friend; she was the one those amazing women who can really do anything, a real type A. I was young and probably didn't recognize that in her. She was the good one and I was the bad one. It was important to live up to the standards we had built around one another. She was loyal; I was independent, though reliant on her approval. When she moved east for college and I thought we could remain close, at least in spirit, believing that the years of shared eating disorders and secret ambition would turn into a lifetime of friendship.

I let the relationship slip away, one unanswered letter at a time. Then one year my letters started going unanswered and sometimes even returned because I had lost her recent address. I blamed myself for the loss: probably the smoking and sleeping around as a late teenager; the lying; the lack of direction my life seemed to have; the overall lack of consideration for the person on the other end of the letters.

I still dream about her, though not with the same frequency. I used to be haunted by guilt. Until I realized that the door is always open to her; what I feel for her is unconditional. Friendship as an adult is built on a mutual respect and understanding, and though I do not know her now, I would take the time to do so. I am sad that she is gone from my life, but to have known her and had friendship is good. The very closeness of our former relationship limits our ability to build a current relationship. It would be hard to know how to be together after so long apart, especially after the early years of bonding. That's why good people grow apart and lose touch.

Sad bunnies.

Technology and The Devil

Four or five nights ago, I tried to post to my blog. Comcast was servicing the internet and I was unable to publish. Then last night I tried to republish the piece and again was denied. From that I decided that the update from my brain was unnecessary for the world. The devil, it seems, was in my computer, stopping me from putting that piece into the hands of the general public. Conversely, perhaps it was god. Is there really a difference?

I have found that time is one of those commodities of which there is never enough. It is always in demand, supply is limited, and there are an infinite number of ways in which to spend what little time I do have. This last week I worked at my full time job, made peach jam, rode my horse five times, walked my dogs five times, had dinner with my s/o every night but last, did the laundry, cleaned the house, and read every Op-Ed article in the New York Times. What I did not do was change my bank from the institution formerly known as Washington Mutual to a less known local credit union, write anything more than an email, call my mother, buy new winter boots.

How is it that no matter what is done, the stack of incomplete projects remains. It must have to do with technology and sleep. If I didn't sleep eight hours a night (I know its excessive but I really have a hard time functioning on anything less.), I could undoubtably finally get that novel past the outline stage. But technology is competing for my attention.

Instead of spending my few alloted minutes of "free" time doing healthy creative projects which activate the right hemisphere of my brain, I check my facebook account or watch CSI. At the end of it all, the working and the talking to people, my brian relapses it seems that the best I can do is wait until ten o'clock so that I can fall asleep in order to do it all again.

This is not living.