This isn't really anything other than a rambling thought.

I started to write a short story. It's going to be here on this blog one day. The whole "journal" thing gets pretty boring. Nobody is really that interested in my life anyway, so I like to mix it up. It seems a lot of the fiction I write has religious themes, even though I am not actually religious. Technically, I suppose, I am agnostic. But I'm not really comfortable with that label either. Religious people are always the ones that want to stick a label on you, that is, religious people and atheists (I contend that dedicated atheists are just as bad as dedicated religious people as far as being judgmental. It's true and you know it. Don't send me emails). Labels have always made me uncomfortable. If you're a self aware human being, you eventually start to outgrow your label. And what happens when you start to outgrow your label? False advertising?

Something that's always dismayed me about religion is it's use as cruelty. I'm not talking about just the obvious Crusades or sex scandals, I'm talking about on a deep personal level. The exact reason this has always bothered me stems from when I was little, and I went to a Baptist church with a friend (we were not Baptists). First, they found out I was Catholic (might as well tell a fundamentalist you are a pagan voodoo dancer). So immediately, I was the Weird Kid. The teacher told us if we didn't say prayers every night, we would go to "Hell". Stupid little Meg asks "What if I accidentally fell asleep reading a book?" Apparently, according to the Sunday School teacher at the Baptist church, you still go to hell if you fall asleep reading a book. So I prayed like crazy for a week or so. Then one night, inevitably, I fell asleep reading a book, Nancy Drew, I believe. Woke up crying in what I thought was the middle of the night. This was the first my parents knew of what the teacher had told me. I did not return to that Sunday school.

Anyway, as the title suggests, this isn't a "real" blog entry, just a rambling of thoughts. This came to mind a few days ago when the world was supposed to end, but didn't. It really upsets me when a person gets some power or a pulpit, predicts doom, and gets people to believe it. Those people then sell their belongings, quit their jobs, travel the country spreading the word of their false prophet. Worse, of course, when it ends in death, Heaven's Gate,  Jonestown, Philippians. Granted, people who believe in a false prophet are ultimately pretty foolish. But that doesn't make the actions of the false prophet any less shameful.


Nothing left to do when you know you've been taken,
Nothing left to do when you're begging for a crumb,
Nothing left to do when you've got to go on waiting
Waiting for the miracle to come

It keeps on happening though. On many levels. From the little kid being told they are going to hell by a stranger, to the suicide cult. This kind of power always ends up being abused. It's hard to fathom how many terrible things have been unleashed on the world because of this sad human tendency. Better not to ponder it too long, lest I lose more sleep.

The one where I run away from home...

Who doesn't want to run away? Sometimes, even if my life is going pretty well, I fantasize that I could just pick up and run away. A new town. A new life. Everything left behind.

But I don't actually want to do that. I feel a deep obligation to family, friends, and community. I'd never be able to live with myself if I just took off. But truly, on some days, I feel like the only reason I don't want to is because it would be a real hassle. Lately, on these days, I do whatever I can to get out on my bike. Memphis opened a new rail-to-trail greenline about a year ago. It's a safe place to ride, and it spans a good distance, and I'm told the length will be doubled in the coming months.

So this is what I do lately when I want to run away. I get on the bike, and I run away.

Another reason I've decided to get into cycling is that I am a cancer survivor, and I need some kind of exercise beyond what I did before I was diagnosed, but something more entertaining and less high-pressure than just going to a gym. Recovering from chemotherapy and radiation takes a long time, and from what I've been told, you never really are the same. I still have days of unexplained exhaustion, but they are fewer and fewer in the two years since I finished treatment. Fortunately, the cancer was caught early, so I have every reason to believe that I will be fine long term.

This is my blog, and I will not be talking much about cancer here. I will not to be one of those people who are defined by the disease. While I am going to be doing things like Race for the Cure, I do not want to be one of those people who talks about it all the time. Nothing against people who do that, it's just not me. I chose to never own the disease, I don't own it, and it does not own me. Unless we use the the kids' slang definition of the word "own", which is to kick it's ass. That I can do.

Anyway, while there are no guarantees, cancer hates people who eat right and exercise. I'm doing as much of both as I can. The great thing about riding is that I can get this exercise, while watching the scenery go by and working through my thoughts. My thoughts are very strange and jumbled sometimes, and need to be sorted out. I usually do this in my sketchbook or in a pocket journal, and now I will also be using this blog, but none of that is getting me really great exercise at the same time. So I'll just do all of the above.

The Shelby Farms Greenline is my usual route. It's straightforward, easy to ride, and lovely. That's where I start. There are some trails that run off of the greenline, and more at the end, inside Shelby Farms. I've done both, though I wouldn't say I conquered either. 

The part of the line closest to me is quite shady and pleasant. There is some construction going on right now, a bridge is being built over the path, but the constructions isn't really  intrusive, just unsightly.

The only bad thing about this path is also a good thing, it gets a LOT of use. Bikes, runners, walkers, kids, cats, dogs, chipmunks, skaters, etc. You really have to watch that you don't run into anyone or run yourself off the road. I've walked on the line as well, and I have been nearly mowed down by people on bikes. It's unpleasant. I ring my little bell when I am coming up on someone. Unless that person has headphones blasting, they know I'm passing them.

 About halfway down the line, this mural was painted on a train bridge. Urban Arts handled the project. I think it's nice. It's not over the top, and adds a little more color to the ride. Unfortunately, some people have taken this as a signal to make their own art in a few places along the road. Even though I'm an artist and an art teacher, and I really do understand that graffiti art is art, I just don't want it on my trail. This is where I go to get away from clutter and stuff. Someone thinks it's cute to spraypaint on the path. It is not cute. Of what I've seen, there hasn't been a lot of artistic effort put into these paintings. They mostly look like some kid wanted a thrill. It's annoying and I really want it to stop. Plus, one or two of them are somewhat obscene, which is doubly annoying.

So here are a few shots I took with my phone. I will eventually figure out how to carry my SLR on the bike so that I can get better photos.

Milk thistle is really lovely in the fall when it turns to white.

The Wolf River section of the path... This is my favorite part of the whole thing. This time of year you get some nice cool breezes off the water and from under the bridge, even when it's warm outside.

On the way back, this is when I know I am almost at the end. I refer to this section as "Kudzu Towers".












By the time I get home, I usually feel energized and so, so, so much better than before. This is not just physical, but mental too. Running away from home is ultimately a good thing when you know you have a home to go back to. My life is pretty good. What I've been through is really starting to seem like it didn't really happen to me, even though I can't help but wonder why I got to survive while others didn't, I don't dwell on that too much. I don't believe anyone deserves to have cancer, so asking "why me?" is ultimately moot.

I'm still feeling out what and how I'm going to use this blog. I really don't care to write about myself all the time.  We shall see.

It Begins Again...

Starting this thing up again. It's "kind of a journal, but not really" in that I reserve the right to make up a bunch of bullshit, and write it here. I know I'll be sharing some of my adventures as I have them. An adventure can consist of going camping, going out on my bike, going kayaking, or even just to the grocery. But I don't want to call it a straight up journal. I tried to have "A Journal" in the past, and I was quite into it. But I eventually just started to feel like a narcissistic jerk, which is quite the opposite of who I am.

As I write, there's a thunderstorm coming. No wonder Peanut is huddled under the bed. There's a big cardboard box out on the patio that's going to be sodden, and I don't actually care. Since my painting studio/laundry room is right off the patio, I usually work out there with the door open, because it's kind of claustrophobic with the door closed. So I hope the rain doesn't last too terribly long. Not that I'm going to be able to do any painting/laundry tonight. Grades are due tomorrow, and I might be pulling an all-nighter. My job is trying to kill me.

An all-nighter isn't too big of a deal. I have trouble sleeping anyway. It's usually because my brain won't shut up. I can't really describe the feeling I get sometimes when I try to sleep. It's like I'm running a video on fast forward, and then there's the feeling that I could sleep, if only I could sort out these thoughts. But they just won't sort. I feel like I am trying to sort basketballs into shoeboxes. Nobody I've tried to explain this to really understands, and I have an aversion to whining, even when I'm entitled to do so. Maybe that's what blogs are for.

People are always full of advice about what an insomniac should do. Turn off the computer and lay there. Read til you pass out. Count sheep. Wear a blindfold. None of these really work. I do have pharmaceutical aids, but I don't want to use them too often because of the dependency issue, the weird things I tend to text to people, and the hallucinations. Wait, did I say that out loud? HA! No, I haven't had hallucinations, at least not visual ones. A few times I have heard things. Clear as a bell, I don't remember most of them. I wrote down two of them. One, where I heard a child's voice saying "Ow! Hot!" Another time, I know it was a man's voice, and something told me he was a warrior, but I don't remember what he said. It could be the pills, or it could be this house. Or I could be insane.

The house? Yes, the house, and no, I am not saying It's Alive. But I do live in a house that is over 100 years old. When it was built, there was only one other house here, and it was "out in the country". Now it's the middle of town. I am told that it's haunted, but my strange phenomena experiences here have been limited. Back when I first bought this place, I did some research on who had owned it before me. I found that there was a man named Perry that died here in the 20s. The cause of death is listed as "carcinoma of the lip". Ouch (Don't smoke, kids. I'll kill ya one way or another). When I first moved in, I kept thinking I heard someone walking around on the porch, but there was never anyone there. If there is a ghost in my house, and anything weird that happens I usually blame "Mr. Perry", he likes to mess with guests more than he does me. Guests have been tapped on the shoulder and neck, and brushed past, among other things.

Today, I was looking at pictures on my phone while the kids were waiting for the buses. They wanted to see a picture of my dog. I had been telling them "ghost stories" about the house to pass the time, so I let them see those pictures too. One little girl took one look and said "Yep, it's ghostes in your house. I can tell"

So, it's ghostes in my house. It's official.

Looks like the storm is gone. Better start looking at grading these little beasties...