Here and Now

When I was younger, I was never much for planning. Or dreaming for that matter. There were always things I wanted to do- but mostly, I just lived in the moment. I can remember being in a club one night back in my early twenties when I met this guy who seemed ultra full of himself. He talked about money a lot (an instant turn-off for me) and how he had this life plan...blah blah blah. I sipped my vodka cran and feigned interest (unsuccessfully) for entirely too long. When he seemingly grew tired of talking about himself, he asked me a question I'd never been asked before. Well that's not true. I'm sure some variation of it had been asked on a job interview but never, ever in a club. "Where do you see yourself in five years?" I can remember thinking, 'I dunno dude- but I see myself on the dance floor away from your boring ass in less than five minutes.' It just seemed pretentious. Who the hell was he to judge my ambition or life plan? And how the fuck was that good conversation for a loud nightclub? I felt like telling him to kick rocks in his hard-bottomed church shoes.

Needless to say, I've never been big on that question because I don't have an answer for it. Some may call it lack of ambition or lackadaisical but I just see it as living in the here and now. Men plan while God laughs. Isn't that the saying? Maybe it's because most of my life has been lived on whims and circumstances- I haven't really seen a blueprint yet that I've followed to the letter. It might benefit me to set some short-term goals. But I think I have plenty of those. Pay down this astronomical debt. Take another writing class. Bake a red velvet cake from scratch. Call my rental office about the weak ass water pressure. There's a fine line between stagnation and perpetual movement. I am the line. I could chalk that up to me being a side-walking Cancer or being a fan of serendipity. Or maybe I'm just not into long-term goals. Whatever it is, I don't know how to be any other way. I can't project myself into the future. I've never owned a planner. I know where I plan to be next week; at work, biding my time until it's time to be...wait for it...at work! But those precious moments between jobs, the rest and relaxation that seems to be amiss lately, is something I can't plan around. At lease, not while I'm in the here and now. I just have to be in it, get through it and live the life that's meant for me.

Forbidden or Just Bitter?

I like idioms. Always have. Always will. But I have a particular aversion for one. "You're comparing apples to oranges." I know what it means but that doesn't make me me hate it any less. What good does it do to say that? Are they not both fruit? Are they not both a joy to devour once ripe for the picking? Both are round, sweet and juicy and is that where the similarities end? One keeps the doctor away. The other has no rhyme but plenty of reason. If one is sour, simply pick another off the tree. I suppose it's a matter of taste. Pulp vs. Pectin. Rind over smooth skin. This Apple/Orange thing never bothered me much until a burning question seared a hole through my soul. Which one was I? Fortunately, to one who appreciates an overflowing cornucopia, it matters not.

Nothing makes sense anymore

They found Whitney Houston in a hotel room earlier tonight. For the first time since I received it for Christmas, I wrote in a journal given to me by an old new friend. I Googled how to find my higher self because of Suzy Soro. Tonight I struggled to remember the password to sign into this blog when at one time I could remember certain entries on here word for word. Tonight I held the one I love like I was never going to see him again. I've never done that before. I told him how much he was teaching me to appreciate this life. Tonight I was supposed to tidy up. Wash dishes. Separate the laundry. Instead, I listened to the one Whitney Houston song that made it into a dream I was having four years ago while visiting Atlanta. In the dream I was crying uncontrollably. I was sitting on the back stoop of a log cabin. I don't think log cabins really have back stoops but in the dream, there I sat. Crying. Whitney's voice belted through the dream; more than mere background music. Tonight I thought a lot about irrational fears and moving closer to my purpose. Google turned up a site that recommended keeping a journal and asking questions to my higher self. It said that at first, my ego would answer but to go deeper. And once the answers started to sound wiser, more grounded- then I'd be on the right track. That possibly, my higher self is answering. I don't know if abandoning my cleaning routine was part of the plan. I'm not sure that I haven't already mourned for Whitney through that dream. I wonder if my friend even realizes the gift she gave me; me to myself through a leaflet of ladybug decals and a book of blank, lined pages. All of the unwritten questions with answers yet to be found; all of these unseen connections that I'd be a fool not to respect. Nothing makes sense anymore. But at this moment right now, I am unafraid.

I'd like to think that's a good start.