So I'm coming back to this after a million years.  I've moved away from DC.  Back living with the folks.  Focusing on my health:  drink less, quit smoking, exercise, eat nutritious foods, write.  Considering what to do next while my meager funds deplete while at the same time enjoying the moment.  Taking this time to rehabilitate.  I think that word is mis-suited for my purposes.  I do not wish to climb out of some hole into which I have dug myself.  Although that may be partially true, my end goal is not the top of the hole.  My end goal is way beyond that.  I want to occupy all the space in around the hole and the dirt that forms it.  And it is not a goal in the normal sense of the word.  I want to reach an empty space where things and time do not exist.  I want to tap the spiritual treasure trove of existence that is within me.  I want to feel clean and open and free and exude love to all things.  Is that enlightenment?

It makes it hard to consider a profession.  You think about sitting in an office lit by fluorescent lights, the hum of their white noise washing over you like fluoride in you drinking water.  How can I willingly and with intention choose to exist in that?  That is not existing.  My heart tells me to focus on writing because in that and only in that will I be truly able to say and feel whatever I want.  I can create worlds that will enlighten.  I do not want to consider it's end goal being fame and money.  I don't want those things.  I want to impart knowledge to sheep.  I want them to enjoy their existence (taking the good and bad and equally dealing with them in love) and wake up.  If they hear what I have to say, they will change the makeup of the universe or at least get tuned into a frequency that will show them the beauty of their soul's connection to everything.

Here we go...

DJ Ken Lazee

It's my friend Kenny's birthday! We used to bartend together at Busboys and Poets in Shirlington, and even though I don't work for them anymore, when I'm lucky, I get to walk a couple of blocks from my apartment and see him slinging drinks at the 14th St Busboys and Poets. He is an awesome DJ in the DC area who has a heart of gold and an amazing passion for what he does. He spun on Christmas Eve at Sweet Spot on 19th and N, and he keeps himself busy with gigs around the city. You should check out some of his mixes here:

soundcloud.com/dj-ken-lazee

Dig deeper, Barb. You can do better than this.

Hello, noone. Not sarcasm. That's the way I like it. It's funny how I use the excuse that I no longer write a blog b/c I want to write about my life and everyone I know, but it's not possible b/c I've learned that ppl (at least the ones about whom you write) don't like that. I could just write on my computer like a journal, but it's more fun knowing that someone will read it. I guess that makes me a gossip. Who would I write about today? Rene, Juan, Alicia...They'd probably be the main 3. I wonder if I could come up with a secret language to write about them and me? Rosie O'Donnell warned against it b/c she was unable to read her journals from childhood b/c she had used a secret, made-up language. Weird the things you remember. I guess I could solve this predicament by promising to only write about myself.

The other day Rene asked me, "What would you do if you won the lottery?" I replied, "I would pay all my parents debt, I would help my brothers, I would buy a house." After a pause of a cpl minutes, I asked, "Why do you ask?" He said no reason and then asked what would I do for myself, like go to school or something. I said, "Maybe," with a probably not look on my face.

I broke for lunch and am now disinterested in the topic above.

I think that people are depressed because we haven't caught up to ourselves. We are animals that yearn to use our instincts, but everything around us is foreign and complicated. We want to survive: forage in the forest, kill and cook meat, mate, groom,...survive. Instead we have to put on a suit and live in this world made entirely of information. I'm sitting here on a computer talking to an alternate universe. I fear that everything we do is to avoid life. I guess I am one who would prefer to talk about it than do anything about it. I think that's where that feeling of emptiness comes from. There are too many of us. We ARE useless. We serve no purpose. There's no reason for us to be here that's greater than us caring about our own individual existence. I'm not sure I fully believe that, but it's what I feel at the moment. I probably just sound crazy, but we need to simplify. If I were this age during the sixties, I suppose I would have moved to a commune. Just look at how important we think we are like all of those before us who are now dead. Have we learned nothing? Why are we trying so hard for such unimportant things?

I sound like a hysterical woman, but just think for a minute,...why are you doing what you are doing with your life? Did you choose? Do we get to choose? Are we to make the best of what we have or make it better? I think I feel that as long as I have this vague sense of happiness when I ask myself and when I feel the radiation of that response eminating from the center somewhere, that I shouldn't question it too much. So many people telling me I'm not happy and me feeling pretty happy. The only thing that worries me is knowing this won't last because I have put that happiness into another person. Is that where it comes from?

I guess I know that I cannot be trusted with my own happiness. I am in a relationship that I consider very fulfilling. I don't think most people would consider it as such. Where are we going? What are our plans for the future? etc...All that future bullshit that fucks up the present. I know it is never safe to merely be content, but I am. I could do more.

Am I lying to myself again? Am I settling form less and buying it? I don't want to be out in the world searching. I want to settle. I want to nest. I think I've done pretty well for myself considering my journey here. It's not over. There's more. What will I do with it? All I know is that I'll figure something out.

If I'm alive, it can't be all that bad.

It's annoying reading this and knowing my intellect is subpar in terms of great thinkers.

If nobody is listening, all the better.

Argh. Present state of things: I see no reason to get out of bed other than to go to work. I wouldn't really describe it as depression. If I were to, I would qualify it with the word mild. I think some people might refer to it as the blahs. It was pre-period, so I blamed it on that for a minute, but now it's post, so I don't have that excuse. I could sit and speculate all day why I have no desire to do anything; I could blame me or anything else, but I think it's attitude. I can choose to feel differently, right? I'm even uninterested in writing this at the moment. It all seems so uninteresting and who cares. I just don't care.

Chalk Pastels

I love using chalk pastels. It's feels like the one medium with which I can actually make an image look alright. Below was my first attempt at drawing a picture of Dana when she was probably about 2 years old or less. The second is an attempt to get a better feel for the shape. The third is the best one yet. I'm going to try again because she looks a little more "sex kitten" than a child should. :o)

Mollie

It's Mollie's B-day today. We were at the Derbs to celebrate Patrick and her Birthdays last night. She gave Juan the cutest little ornament for Christmas. She is very crafty and spends much of her time at work crocheting.

what I fear.

I fear that I act like I know everything, and that alienates me. I push away b/c I am scared. I am scared. I know nothing.