fingerprints and promises

Feeling ridiculously complete.

Just when I was afraid I couldn't bear the monotony of work much longer, I acquired an internship position that couldn't be more stimulating. I get to help save the planet on company time. It's probably the best opportunity I could have asked for: Instead of nagging at people about my personal beliefs on environmental consciousness, I get to enforce recycling, conservation and waste reduction as a job responsibility. The list of requirements is daunting as hell, but the trial and error of setting sustainability initiatives in place is going to be (and already has been) a major motive to learn more about something already close to my heart. There's such deep inspiration that comes from knowing I'm going to leave my fingerprint by reducing the footprints.

This weekend was pretty close to perfect. Well deserved margaritas on Friday night after a long, busy work week. A well-executed wine and cheese party with good friends on Saturday. A warm, peaceful afternoon by the seaside today. Many enjoyable moments with Patrick throughout. I feel closer to him than ever.

The inscriptions on our wedding bands are promises. Promises we've made not to each other, but together. His reads: "to make the world a better place." Mine reads: "to cultivate beauty." Our hope was, through loving and supporting each other, we would encourage each other to fulfill these promises. We would socially improve, and physically beautify the place we call home.

To evaluate our progress at this moment, I'd say we're headed in a great direction.

Saints and Squirrels

I came across Mr. Francis here when in a church garden in the North End of Boston last weekend. I remember I used to see him everywhere in Ireland when I went to school there. Frank always shows up in the garden, in the most serene of landscapes; his stoney animal friends often juxtaposed by real birds flitting from flower to flower in that little gated paradise. I think we should stick him in less likely situations. At the front entrance to a factory. By the landfill. In McDonalds. Let's challenge ourselves to remember the patron saint of creatures great and small in real world situations- not in perfectly sculpted green lawns, where we can simply smile and say "Isn't that nice." After all, what's his message all about?


Here he is with a missing hand, which I found rather hilarious.... Lion-feeding accident, perhaps?? Even the human icon of the peaceable kingdom isn't exempt from the payback we're bound to endure for trading in our survival instincts for our troubled, busy, dissatisfied minds.

The birds in my own backyard are abundant and active. I tried feeding them and was enthralled with how quickly they caught on to the new seed location. However, the squirrels followed suit, and wiped out a month's rations in an afternoon. They're pretty cool, but the birds got the major raw end, and I was going through seed too quickly to continue feeding those already chubby, bushy tailed rodents. I need to block the extension pipe for the feeder with something that can't be climbed. I did try putting out suet, and for a week or two the birds were able to dine undisturbed. But, like they mastered the seed feeder, the squirrels eventually prevailed over the suet box as well:

I suppose there's still a hierarchy no matter whether you're feathered, furry, or nude.

pre-conception of rhythm, I hope.

The second entry.

It's like the second day on a new job. It's way more difficult than the first.

You know just what to expect, but you're still so uncomfortable.
You're past the point of "where's the water cooler?" but you still aren't sure you can find it on your own. You have your notebook to cling to, and you know who your safety blanket is, but someone else still sits at your desk until the end of the week. And, when you make it to that first Friday, and start tacking up photos of your dog, everyone walks by and exclaims "I can't believe [Mary] is gone!" - a sentiment with which you fail to empathize, considering you very obviously occupy [Mary's] space, and the news of her departure has been public for 2+ weeks.

I've been in my position for a year, and despite the onslaught of monotony, I don't miss being the new girl.

All this, because of my second entry... which really isn't a second entry because I've been writing on these types of forums for years. I guess I just need a rhythm.

My life, in general, would like a rhythm (not to be confused with a routine, because I have a trustworthy one of those, and it's not anything I aimed to obtain- it just sort of happened). I think I move in and out of temporary rhythm, which isn't much like rhythm at all considering consistency can't very well be sporadic. Then again, rhythm can change, and should change for the sake of interest... so I guess I like the idea of sporadic rhythm. I like contrasts- Darkening the shadows and lightening the highlights, yet still moving from black to white by means of the notorious gray.

And now that I'm on a rhythm right here, I have to go. Sporadically.

I'd start at the beginning if I knew where that was.

I can't just be creative on command. I can't whip anything out from under my skirt just because I'm in a new little cyberspace with a fancy new backdrop. But, I can say that I'm happy to be branching out into a more ...tailored... version of the Open Diary concept.

The "Open Diary" was around before "blog" was a term. "It's like an online journal," I'd say. "It organizes your entries by date. People can read what you write and even comment on it for others to see. Everyone writes under a pen-name..." I can clearly remember having to explain this concept to people- no one had heard of it I didn't tell many of my friends about it- only a few. I figured it would get me into trouble. I wrote about friends, and about lovers. One day I got so paranoid that one of these lovers may have discovered my Open Diary, and I deleted pages of writing. Eventually the thing deleted itself when I stopped using it so religiously. Poof, gone. Just like that. And it was just as well anyhow, the site had been bombarded by juveniles with nothing better to say than, "BRAD IS SOOOO HOT!!!" with about 5000 times the number of exclamation points.

It was always odd to think that someone besides myself was reading my journal. Now, it's odd to have a journal that isn't public in one way or another.

As for THIS journal- I hope it's a place to purge and release. I hope to reap the benefits of disclosure, and I hope anyone who visits will reap the benefits of my honesty. I try so hard not to contrive; to be lyrical without being artificial. To be passionate without being preachy. To be connected without being a new-aged flake. (If I recognize the stereotype, does that mean I still fall into it?)

I have so many many emotions and notions and commotions crashing around in my head and heart and bones... and it's often very difficult to put that shit into words. It's so difficult to put that shit into any visible form. Maybe it's just hard to find the right people to share it with. Most of the free-spirited and open-hearted people that relate to me are not the type to be grounded by a communication box, a.k.a computer. I like the way the screen centers me and channels my thoughts from my head to my fingers into characters into words into thoughts that speak back to me and reach others at the same time. I think it's amazing- and still, I think I live a little too attached to this type of expression. I would like to put myself out there physically as ferociously as I put myself out there mentally. I seem to take more risks with sharing my mind than I do with sharing any part of myself in the flesh.

Ahhh, I should back up and attempt some linear, structured introductory thought. But, I've had one mega-glass of wine, which constitutes for 3 I'm sure, so I would rather trail off at this vulnerable and incomplete moment in hopes that it does not end as abruptly as---

So, is this a good start?