Solstice...

It's the longest night of the year. I am up, canning homemade mustard for people for Christmas gifts. (Yes, canned homemade mustard. It's good. Don't look at me like that.)

The darkness has been hard on me this year. It hasn't been too cold, but the sun starts to go down within a half an hour of my getting home from work. All I want to do is get in bed and forget it all. But if I do that, I then feel bad that I didn't get any housework done, or art, or whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing. All I know is that I haven't had mood swings like this in years, and I don't like it, no, not at all. Hopefully, it will pass soon. Maybe tonight will be sort of a light at the end of the tunnel sort of thing.


It could be worse. I could live in Alaska.




Come to think of it, maybe sunlight deprivation can explain a lot about Alaska...


I don't really know why winter has affected me this way this year. Usually, I'm pretty okay with it, and I try to enjoy the dark for what it is. We haven't had much yet, but snow is usually fun for both me and for Peanut. But this year, it's just been cold enough not to want to go out, and rainy. Maybe I've been in bad moods because I was out on my bike so much more this summer and fall that I miss it. Maybe. But I also feel like by whole body thermostat has changed. Over the summer, I was able to be outside even on the hottest days and barely feel it. And now, a cool day has me bummed out and staying inside. I've had to make myself go out and take in whatever little sunlight I can get. I read somewhere that if your mood is altered by the weather, you need to be outside for a while even if it's cloudy and cold, and you will get some benefit from that sunlight. I guess it helped.

Tonight is also the second night of Hanukkah. It's always happy for me when Hanukkah and Christmas overlap. This year, they overlap almost perfectly. I'm such a big hippie when it comes to people from different backgrounds getting along. It upsets me to see so many people who have always enjoyed being in the majority whining about holidays other than their own being recognized. I don't have a lot of patience for people who insist on feeling persecuted. Get over it already. There is no "War on Christmas". Like everything else this time of year, it's a marketing ploy. A gimmick to sell books and get people to watch Fox 'News'. Christians are not being denied the right to practice their religion. Anyone who believes that is truly kidding themselves. So let's get together, love each other, quit hatin!



One thing I like about pagan beliefs is the way they are so in tune with the Earth and the sky. So I always try to at least take note of solstices. It's a cool tradition, you gotta admit.

Okay well I don't really have an ending. Good night and have a joyful solstice.

Imagine if...

Imagine if...
This life were not my life
These thoughts were not my thoughts
These fears were not my fears
Laughable. Foreign. Absurd.

Imagine if...
These walls were not my walls
These colors were not my colors
These loves were not my loves
Unknown. Unexplored. Far away.

Imagine if...
The two should come together
These things become familiar
This being becomes my own
And grows. And strengthens. And nourishes

And is missed when it goes away.

Very... Black... Paintings

Back in art school, my good friend, the uber talented and now quite successful Jack Myers, had this great idea to make artist infomercials. We did several. Most of them are parody. For mine, I decided to do a character that was as opposite from me as possible. An overwrought, gothy, chain smoking, depressed painter and performance artist.

Example quotes  "I don't remember my childhood. I hear it was very traumatic though." "Do you know why I hate nature?" It is also the only place you will ever see me holding or pretending to smoke a cigarette. If you know me at all, you are already laughing.

I only wish I hadn't kept laughing during the "baby bird" section. And the Patsy Cline at the end? Complete coincidence. Just happened to come on the CKs jukebox as we were filming the last shot.

Watch these, they are funny. Mine starts at about eight minutes in. Thank God for the internet. Otherwise I don't know if I'd ever have seen these again.


Commercial Artists from Jack Myers on Vimeo.


Commercial Artists from Jack Myers on Vimeo.

Bach and my Poisoned Blood

I am posting a poem. When I started writing poetry again, I figured it would all be really crappy as it was before. But when I wrote a few things, I actually started to like them. I haven't liked any of the short stories I've been working on. Since the poetry is going better, I'm putting some up.

This poem, Bach and my Poisoned Blood, is basically about cancer treatment and insomnia. Please note that I still have no intention of making this a "cancer blog". But I am really just starting to process some of this stuff that happened to me, and I realize I couldn't really process it at the time. It's good to get this out. Maybe I can really leave it behind me soon.

One of the things that always kept me up was a side effect that gave me the feeling that I had cables knotted around my ankles and wrists. I'd have to wake up and roll my feet and wrists several times. Also, I had some lovely hot flashes. That, my friends, is no picnic. There is no sleep when your inner thermostat is broken.

I had to give Bach a shout out though, because that was my soundtrack when I was sick. Just trying to relax, trying to sleep, trying not to panic. It actually worked. Yo-Yo Ma's cello solos. I've since found a lot of people say that these particular recordings have gotten them through tough times.

While this poem is about my personal experience with this pain and sleeplessness, it can also be said to be about insomnia in general. Because if I'm not in physical pain, there are other things that keep me awake at night, usually just thinking too much. I don't have joint pain much anymore, only occasionally when it gets cold. But I continue to be an insomniac, as I've been off and on most of my life. Something about the quiet of the middle of the night makes me awake. This is often a creative time, but it can be torment too if I actually need to sleep.

Let me know if you like this.



_________________________________

Bach and my Poisoned Blood

Tighter, tighter still

It hurts

You rock
You crack
You do not sleep
You're hot
You're cold

There is no help
There is no Mom
There is no Dad
There is no glass of water

Just you.

and the ceiling
and the dog
and the cats
and the radio

Bach is with you
at least in your mind
that silver cloud falls over
Til the coffee cuts on
and it's time for the day

Nobody in Russia is really following this blog...

“There is the solitude of suffering, when you go through darkness that is lonely, intense, and terrible. Words become powerless to express your pain; what others hear from your words is so distant and different from what you are actually suffering.”
― John O'Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

 

I really hate whining. So everyone should just forgive me this post. I have to express this somewhere, and I'm quite sure nobody wants to hear my bullshit. At least here, you can skip it. I'll never know.I debated whether or not to even publish this, but I'm going to anyway. Writing about this crap makes me feel better. So it's worth it.

Falling into a pit sucks. I used to do it a lot, not so much anymore. So when it happens, it seems really brutal. Partly it's the weather. Days on end of gloom and cold. I couldn't even get excited and wonderous about the snow last night. Sick to my stomach, I had to leave work early yesterday, and I just came home, got in bed, and stayed there. Rarely do I just sit there with a class of kids and feel no enthusiasm. Now, much of this was the fear that I was going to have to run to the bathroom at any moment and puke. But there are things dragging me down other than just being ill.

But kids really don't get that. Children are necessarily self-centered (Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, y'all). You can't usually just say "Hey kids I'm really sick today, could you just behave?", and they do. They weren't really bad or anything, it's just when you feel crappy everything is amplified. One little boy wrote "shit" on his artwork and folded it into a paper airplane. I'm not sure if this was some sort of self-critique or if he just wanted to express some primal naughtiness. Either way, it really irritated me. First graders just don't understand that, even on the best of days, their teachers have to keep up with one million things at once, and that a little bit of mischief is very aggravating to an adult that feels like vomiting and bursting into tears at at once.

The older I get, the less I like the holidays. I'm not a total grump. Seeing people I love and gathering with friends and family is always enjoyable. But it also reminds me  of what I've always wanted and never had, which is a family of my own. People will always say "You don't need a man!" "You don't need anything!" "You are independent and creative and you should be happy!" Should be... Wow, do I get tired of being told how I 'should' feel.

As for those things people say, I suppose I don't *need* a man. If I wanted just anyone, I guess I could get that. But what I want is what a lot of people I know have, a happy loving relationship. I've always been picky, and I'm told that's a good way to be, and that it will pay off in the end. Generally, I agree. Still, I go on Facebook and people are always posting things about how great their husband is, or pictures of them all happy and smiling. I'm always happy for them but it makes me feel lonelier. Though I'm not stupid and I know nobody is happy all the time. That's another thing people tell me. Usually though, people who say that don't know what they have, or what life would be like without it.

At what point do I just give up? 

Nobody has to be me. I'm kind of a weirdo. I'm not a pretty girl. I have an odd way of thinking and saying things. I'm independent in a lot of ways. Technically, I really don't *need* a relationship. I usually get by just fine. But being independent is still quite lonely. Being sick just makes it worse. There's nobody I can ask to get me a glass of water, or to rub my back. Small things that most people who are paired up take for granted.

If I didn't have my little creatures I'd be completely mental right now.

I didn't think about it that much when I was on cancer treatment. Though I think having a supportive partner would have helped. Mom was there through a lot of it, especially the brutal first few months. I'm ever grateful for that. After I finished treatment, I experienced several months of euphoria. Nothing much could get me down. But I have since come out of that and it's a real drag. If I didn't have my little creatures I'd be completely mental right now, though the two in the photo here are looking awfully smug.

And I will probably be just fine in a few days. The sun will come out. My illness will pass. I'll be able to get out and get some exercise. Maybe the holidays will start to be more fun. Who can say.

I'm actually usually nowhere near as pathetic as this post makes me sound. But I would like to know if anyone besides Russian robots are reading this blog. So please, comment or 'follow', or send me an email if you want, just to say hi. When I started this thing, I didn't care if people read it. But now I'm not so sure. Who am I talking to? Let me know.

Humbug

Well, I said I didn't want this blog to be all journal, but I've yet to come up with anything interesting in the way of short stories. Not that I think my life is actually that interesting, but I want to keep writing so I have to stay in the habit.

Right now, the holidays have me down. Not only is it the turn in the weather, but the ill that this season brings out in people. For a few months now, I've been thinking I'm going to make a lot of my Christmas gifts. For one, people usually appreciate that more. Two, I really have to watch the money these days. Yes, I realize that's no help to the economy, but it's the reality of the situation. Third, the rabid consumerism I'm seeing everywhere is deeply distressing. People getting pepper sprayed and/or shot over flat screen tvs?

No. I'm sorry. I just want no part.



I think the kids are the ones I usually spend money on. If I do, it will be spent on outings, not things. And, as all my god children will tell you, Auntie Meg almost always gets educational toys. That's not to say I get lame gifts. I don't. But whatever I do get, by golly they're going to learn or discover something from it. These kids all already have enough useless crap. I won't waste my money adding to the pile.

A lot of money has been spent these days on my elderly pets. Three of my five four-legged children are senior citizens. Olivia, in particular, is in decline. She is 18, has high blood pressure, blindness, viruses, anemia, etc and all have hit her quite suddenly since this summer. I simply cannot afford all the treatment the vet wants to give her. I'm not one of these people who is going to keep her alive for my sake, so I can feel good about myself. When it is her time, she will tell me, and it will be her time. She's being treated for the high blood pressure. The blindness is just something we cope with. The anemia treatment is an injection and I cannot afford it. I feel a little bit guilty about that. But what can really be done? Nothing much.

There's an indescribable tiredness I've been feeling lately. It's hard to explain. It's not even really physical tiredness. It's just, like I said, indescribable. I try not to let my moodiness spill over onto people. But then I end up just not talking about things that bother me. That's no good either. I've yet to come up with any sort of solution for that problem. I don't even really want to blog a lot about what bugs me because then this would just be a bunch of whining. There's enough of that on the internet already.


Ramble ramble ramble. I don't really have an ending here.

Happy holidays.

Racing sunset...

Trying to deny the time change it's cruel glory, I set out on the bike today. Running away again, though the skies threatened rain and the wind was strong. If I really want to deny the darkness it's glory, I suppose I'll really have to try to get out on a weekday after work. But today was fine for a start.

Made it through the whole blue trail for the first time. The trails really feel like they are my temple. really, anywhere in nature, away from noise, traffic, concrete, and walls could be my temple. I never feel so peaceful as when I'm out there. If only I'd fully discovered and accepted this years ago...

I'd call it a secret place if there weren't
so many other cyclists.

Also, I am really miffed at the poor quality
of the camera on my new phone.

There is something really special about the blue trail in the Lucius Burch area. The tree tunnels are a big part of it. This is not a great picture. It does not really convey the sense of shelter I feel going through it. Sounds silly, but it's like the trees are hugging me.
















The greenline closes at sundown. I was cutting it close. Once I got back onto the pavement, it was a smooth and fast ride back.

One of the best things about fall is the sunsets...










Escape is so simple in a world where sunsets can be raced"
(ok, ok, so this song has little to do with my story here except for that one line. Still, I love the song.)





I raced the sunset all the way home.

It was a good ride. My knees are sad, but my mind and soul are blissful.

Every one was a 'En-er-y

I posted this on Facebook, but I wanted to put it here too, just because.

Last week, I was teaching about texture to my classes. This print of Henry VII is what I was using to talk about visual, or implied texture. In one of the first grade classes, the conversation is going normally. I tell them that the painting is about 500 years old. They ask what they ALWAYS ask, "Oh, is he dead now?" (Seriously, they ask this every time I show them a print of a person)

"Well darling, the painting is 500 years old. What do you think?"

The class decided that, yes, he is probably dead.

This is when is one of the precocious ones speaks up. She gets this trance-like look, and says "He was a very nice man. He died, and God took him straight up to heaven because he was a very nice man and fought for his family."

One of those moments where I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I mean, you can't really tell first graders about beheading wives, can you?

My sweet girl is very bright. But maybe not so perceptive in the character-judgement arena.

Things that make me really sad...

I probably shouldn't even write about this. But I have to vent somewhere. 

The worst thing about my job... There is a beautiful child in my class. Something is a little off about this kid, I can't really say what. But she's still pretty sweet, and maybe sort of shy. She wrote her name on the floor with a crayon, and when I asked her why, she looked down at the floor with surprise on her face, as if she didn't even realize she'd done it. This is not the normal reaction for a child caught doing something naughty. 2I had to write a note home, even though I don't care that much about crayon writing on the floor. If I let it go with one, there will be all sorts of things written on my floor and they won't be just names.


There are several kids at my school who are quite obviously not well cared for. They come to school dirty, with ill-fitting clothes and messy hair. They fall behind and struggle socially. The idea that school uniforms make children equal, that nobody knows who is rich or poor, because everyone is dressed the same, is total bullshit. Kids know, and dirty, unkempt kids are often outcasts. It doesn't help that MCS chose white as the school uniform color. These white shirts become grey or brown when they are not washed regularly. That kind of thing stands out. You can't get parents (or "guardians") on the phone. This is a constant source of dismay. Actually, dismay is the best case scenario. It's usually more like disgust and outrage. I'd say that this particular child fits into that category. But until today, I hadn't really taken much note (I have about 400 students, so it's tough sometimes). When I was writing the note to go home, she didn't even seem to realize she was in trouble. She politely spelled her name for me, and didn't argue anything. I usually get at least an "I didn't do it!" or two. Her teacher says she is kind of spacy. Makes sense, I suppose.

When she went to sit back down, she stretched her arms up above her head. Her too-small shirt rose up, and I noticed a series of mystery marks all over her midriff. Since I can't call her up to the front of the class to investigate, I told her teacher about it later. The teacher says that she has trouble getting the guardian on the phone, and that last week when the child was sick, couldn't get anyone to come pick her up. I don't have a lot more to say about this situation, except that I will follow up, and I will pay closer attention to this kid to see if she needs help. It's about all I can do, other than cry. 

What makes me sicker than sick about this is really just a purely selfish thing. I've always wanted to be a mom. It's not really looking like that's going to happen. I may be able to adopt, or maybe not. It all depends on if the cancer stays away, and finances.  Right now, every thing looks good on the health front. Not so much on the financial front. Some people have so much and never know it. They take it for granted, as if the blessing of a child is not so special, more of a burden than a gift.

The point is, if I had a beautiful little girl like this child in my class, I'd love her and take care of her even if it meant great inconvenience and hardship, even if it meant I never had another chance to go on a social outing with friends again, even if it meant every last dime was spent keeping her clean, happy, and healthy. This is a whole life, a real person that is being pushed aside and, maybe, possibly, abused by no fault of her own. This isn't the first such case I've run across in my job, it's just the latest. There are other stories even worse than this. Right now, I just can't think of anything more morally bankrupt than intentionally neglecting or abusing a child.

Childhood should be filled with great moments
of wonder and bliss.

Childhood should be filled with great moments of wonder and bliss. That's not to say that I'm so naive that I think it's all candy and sunshine, I know it's not. But I clearly remember a certain wild freedom of heart as a child that I have never been able to duplicate as an adult. The memory of it often sustains me and reminds me that life really isn't so crappy after all, and that adventures are worth trying, even if the outcome is risky. When someone neglects or abuses a child, they do violence on only to that child, but to the entire future of everyone. Who knows, maybe this little girl was going to be the one to find a cure for cancer, or solve world hunger. Or maybe she would simply grow up to be a wonderful mother herself. Maybe she still could, but what chances does she really have when nobody is there to nurture her?

This stuff just makes me beside myself with despair sometimes. I'm not sure how long I can be a teacher, because my skin has not gotten any thicker to this, and it is so common (especially in such a high-poverty city as the one I live in). I bring this stuff home with me. I let it haunt me. The day I stop caring really should be the day I quit. But how long can I keep the strain of what I know from eating me up?

Man, it's just been kind of a bad day.

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...