...a little bit of this, and a little bit of that...
...a journey through my ups and downs...
Exploration of Identity – Rock Star
The Rock Star is a typical expression of insecurity and low self esteem. A cry for attention. The Rock Star would parade before the masses, entertaining them, but only in exchange for feeding on their adoration. Look at me! Validate me! I wonder how many rock stars had parents who didn’t like them.
This picture was taken twenty years ago. 80s era glam rock. It was all in good fun.
I used to own an old building in a small town off the beaten path on the scenic route to somewhere. I bought it with an ex-fiance when the romance was fresh and we were living on dreams of a new and better life. We were going to make a bed & breakfast and live a simpler life in a sleepy small town. The reality set in. The romance fizzled. Lies, corruption, that sort of thing. Much drama. I bought him out of his portion. Real estate values were flat for years and years. I gave him a fair price. More than fair, if you ask some. (Although I’m fairly certain he thinks he’s been had.)
This place was a sitting duck. After the breakup, there were several breakins. I suspect the ex was involved in some of the first breakins, but that’s all water under the bridge. I’m over it. Karma will visit him, if she hasn’t already. I suppose I can hardly blame anybody for vandalizing my property. After all, it was sitting there, vacant, begging for someone to throw rocks through the windows. Begging for someone to pry the doors off. Begging for someone to kick the chimneys in. Begging for someone to climb out on the roof and kick bricks down. Begging for someone to spray paint obscenities on the walls, counters, floors, mirrors, toilets. Yes, even the toilets. Begging for someone to start a fire in the middle of the floor. Oh, that building wanted to be abused. Yes indeed.
How stressful that was for me! We would drive 7 hours, work like fiends to run damage control and secure the place, attempt to eradicate the weeds (nasty letters about noxious weeds and the illegality thereof would make their way to my post box from time to time) , and drive 7 more hours back, all in the course of a weekend. It was brutal, and I must say the cool cat was heroic and his help was invaluable. True love. I still loved the building for what it was, but it just wasn’t practical to keep in the family, and it wasn’t fair to try and hold onto it when it represented the hopes and dreams of a previous romance. I sold it this year. Karma was good to me. The market was inflated and I made a tidy profit. (Enough to buy a new truck, thank you very much, with some leftovers to invest in new hopes and dreams, this time with my partner, friend, and forever-man, the Cool Cat himself.)
So the cool cat has a nice new truck to drive, and I have no more stress from this beautiful historic building that screamed for abuse. Karma has been just.
We are not uppity well-to-do uppercrusters. Okay, admittedly, I am a snob sometimes, but I’m working on that, and I’m not a complete snob, and am actually quite humble here and there, depending on the subject matter. I am very well acquainted with the low income lifestyle and the school of hard knocks.
We have a new truck. It’s quite a nice vehicle, and it cost a fortune (in my book, but I am also known for being a tightwad, the queen of thrift, or, as others who live hereabouts might sometimes say, the Fun Police, Party Pooper, Party Police). We got a flat tire, not too long ago. Upon closer investigation, the cool cat discovered that somebody deliberately jammed a peanut into the valve stem so as to cause a slow leak. Now, what I want to know, is WHY Why would somebody do this Give us a flat tire because we have a fancy new ride, and they don’t Peanuts, to my knowledge, do not naturally occur in valve stems.
We passed a large new truck on the road today, while I was ranting, and I noticed a long scratch, from the passenger door to the rear quarter panel. It certainly looked like a key scratch to me. Further fueling my tirade. There must be new truck goblins that flit about, looking for squeaky clean vehicles to teach a lesson, to show the what for.
Very annoying. Especially when some people work very hard for a living, and scrimp and save and make sacrifices for years in order to be able to do something monumental like buy a new vehicle. Which they intend to make last for at least the next decade or two. Sometimes appearances may be that things come easier to the haves than the have nots. Just know this, like my friend Earl says, Karma has a way of finding these things out and settling the score.
Hrumph. Bok bok what !, said I, when the results popped up. Below average. Impossible! This is an outrage! And all this time I thought my logical intelligence was above average. But I don’t know what is considered logical intelligence. This test, it must be rigged, methinks. So I cheated tried it again, and went back and changed answers in various combinations, but nothing I could do could budge that logical intelligence rating. I didn’t try changing answers to the questions I knew I had right. Maybe I should have. Maybe they would have been logical, but not mathematically correct. Oh who knows. I am hitherto resigned to the fact that I am a logical fool.
| Your IQ Is 135 |
 Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Genius Your General Knowledge is Exceptional |
April 10, 1993
Don’t worry, I’m still your little boy. I still remember when I was little, and it seemed like the whole world hated me and the only place I had to turn was you, and you were there. I still need you as much as when I was little. As I grew up, life sucked more and more. I don’t remember exactly when the fire in my eyes went out, when my dreams and ambitions went away….…Every day I wish I could change. I can’t have fun. I can’t smile. Something inside me won’t let me…
…Don’t worry though, I’m still your little prince and you can hold me and make me forget about all my troubles and then make me make tea for you…
…take care… I love you!
He has found his smile again, and now he is at peace. How my heart has ached for him. How I wish he could have found his smile another way.
In light of recent events, I am taking it upon myself to simplify my life. I’ve removed many of the links from my blog stalking list. I spend far too much time reading other people’s blogs, and while I greatly enjoy this activity, I must cut back and be less obsessive. I’ve left a few links, and these fine folks have links to the blogs that I’ve removed from my list, so I will still stalk from time to time, while passing through. I’ve added a few people to my links. These are people who have shared warmth and compassion from across the miles, and I would like to gently stalk them so that I can return the warmth and send good thoughts their way.
One step at a time, bit by bit, I want to find my way to the place where I savor life, all aspects of it, more fully. So layer by layer, I must peel away the extras, until I reach that gleaming core.
Today’s theme is Addiction. Suddenly addiction is a difficult word for me. I would make light of it in earlier days, but now, there is a solemn hush that settles in my mind when I consider the word. Addiction. In some form or another, Addiction reared its ugly head and consumed my brother, rendering him nearly unrecognizable, and barely a shell of his former self. Ultimately, a vessel only, with no life remaining. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. His earthly vessel is no more than dust now, and his spirit and soul have been released into forever, where he is free and at peace, himself once more, unentangled and unencumbered by addiction. Addiction. HOW UGLY YOU ARE! I shout it to the universe. LEAVE US ALONE! Alas, we are not wholly powerless in the matter. We fall snare to addiction by our own choices. It’s a subtle dance we dance. Seldom do we see it coming, and if we do, often we look the other way. It won’t happen to me. Who gets the last laugh Not you. Not me. Addiction.
I don’t want to make light of addictions today. Today I will show and tell my obsessions. Similar, but not quite the same. I have many obsessions. I am somewhat OCDly (Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorderly), after all. I made up my own acronym-adjective, thank you very much. Or is that an adverb I am awful with grammatical terms and definitions, although I can sometimes manage to string words together in a not-too-unpleasing way.
Obsession Category: The quest for perfection. Currently the quest is for the perfect tea and coffee cup. Volume, density, weight, shape, design, color, price. These are all important factors. Previous quests included the search for the perfect pepper mill. I didn’t find it. I gave up and then sold most of my surplus on eBay. The measure was found at J. Paul Getty Museum restaurant in Los Angeles. A compact stainless steel device that ground fine to coarse with such smooth perfection. I could never find its equal.
Other obsessions can be read about, ad nauseum, if one were to peruse this blog. The number one obsession, unparalleled, unmatched, hands down, is none other than MY BOY BOO. As it should be.
Even when times are sad, the beauty and innocence of a child does wonders to heal a broken heart.
Especially when said child is this cute. I took him on an airplane with trepidation in my heart, but my little champion did splendidly. He met his cousins for the first time, and dressed up and went trick-or-treating. He liked being part of the group. He is oh, so fierce and ferocious, don’t you think I already had the fabric from previous projects, and only needed to buy the fur. It was $20/yd, but I just bought 6 inches and had plenty for the effect. I like the boots and hat the best.
He loved Les Mis, and this song keeps playing in my head.
…I dreamed a dream in times gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung
No wine untasted
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame
…But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So much different from this hell I’m living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.
