chocolate eclairs

eee gad. This is disgusting, siting on my bum, woofing down my third chocolate eclair this week, with my 15th attempt at writing the same page. Scribbled at the top of the page, in big bold letters, hoping the bolder the letters the greater the commitment, are the words ... "My Life Plan".

Sure (sarcasm), like you can really plan anything. I vacillate between having it all laid out, hour by hour, week by week, and going with the proverbial flow.

Day timers, seven habits, the urgent - yet unimportant dutifully crossed off my list. Then without warning, I throw my arm up, swiping everything off the table and onto the floor, where they sit until next week.

Why do i feel this incessant need to plan everything? Then a voice echos in the back of my head. Always there, always right and as confusing as a spiral placed on a pinwheel, mesmerizing me to pick up a pen, put it to paper and write.

bovine

For a moment, it was like I was stuck in time. I was on the phone, standing by the window watching cows in the neighboring pasture frantically run across the field. They were scared of something, and though I had a complete view of the pasture, I could see nothing....i repeat, nothing. Seems like cows just get spooked.

I laughed outload, completely ignoring my phone conversation with David. The sight of bovine frantically scrambling for safety, finding nothing but open pasture, was more than I could handle. Double funny because nothing was there. They are simply too big to run, too big to hide and too stupid to use what they DO have (their size) to protect themselves from this hidden enemy.

For the love of the story ...

As a traveler, I found myself along the roadsides of many lonely roads, physically and metaphorically. Long, dusty highways at my feet, opportunity in my hands. Placing yourself in these situations lends itself to bizarre experiences, about which I grabbed my journal and wrote.

Most of my scribblings consisted of my experiences, stories of the road. Exciting? Sure. But I never valued by experiences more than just "stuff that happened". It wasn't until I stopped traveling and chose to live in one city for more than 6 months, that I discovered that this, these stories, are part of who I am. Valuing the stories meant valuing myself.

I would tell my stories to those that asked, "So what have you been up to?" But my life was so dramatically different than theirs, my stories were lost in a glazed over eyes of abandoned attention, in which you could see the question, "Is this real?", "Is she kidding?", "How does she find the time to dooooo all this?". It was as if they were watching TV, reality TV standing before them. Drama, in it's essential form... storytelling.

But these days, people don't listen to people. Instead they listen to actors who are in movies, talkshow hosts, or players in a reality TV Show. Of course, movies and shows are often times based on reality. This they know. But to stretch the imagination and think that someone who lives the stories, might just be in front of them, talking to them. You never know who you'll meet, or what story their lives can tell.

what story does your life tell?

Blonde at heart

You'll never guess what happened....

As the first posting, I would love to introduce myself.... but.... seems like a waste of time. Eventually you'll get to understand who I am, and what I'm about. Besides, nobody really *knows* you anyway. Not your parents, not your significant other, best friend or even your child. Doesn't matter how much explaining you do.

Everyone brings to the table their own perspectives of who you are. I could say I'm tall, blonde and live in Vegas. This in it's own right draws a picture for you. You may or may not entertain the idea of what a blonde in vegas is like. Silicon? No Silicon? And it may or may not align with the way I feel about myself. See my point? So, now for the truth: I'm brunette, but blonde at heart.

So, this will be my space to write... just write for the love of writing.