Snow Day

So as nice as it is not to have to go to work 'cause I'm snowed in...it sucks not being able to go do anything else either...and it especially sucks not being able to go anywhere AND not having anyone to stay at home and cuddle with. I miss my dog.

A Dream Called September

I dreamed a dream called September

The air always cool, the sun always warm

Every sense stimulated and alive

Wind on your face, wisps of clouds in the sky, air so crisp you can almost smell the snow in it 3 months away

I dreamed a dream called September

Full of friends laughter and hot apple cider

Porches and bonfires and children bundled in scarves

Always with warmth, color, and life

I dreamed a dream called September

A perpetual Indian summer where the leaves are forever red and gold

And love bloomed like flowers on the vine patiently awaiting the day their fruit would ripen for the harvest

And friends would gather it in celebration and all would dance and cheer

But the harvest time never came

Instead a bitter north wind blew across the ground

An icy sleet broke into my dream and I awoke to find myself in a living nightmare

Where the flowers had long since withered and dried

The leaves brittle and brown, lying in heaps, obstructing the path

The fruit I thought was yet to ripen had rotted and dropped off the vine

The seeds scattered and stolen with no hope of replanting

The winter was harsh and long

The relentless winds blowing away any evidence of life or love

The world a barren and desolate wasteland

It was hard to believe anything had ever grown here

But eventually the thaw had to come

So slowly it was nigh imperceptible

I still remember the day the first crocus appeared

Surrounded by ice, it grew

Bravely proclaimed that someday spring would come

And it did

A beautiful spring

Not for its extravagance, for as far as springtime's go, this one was sparse

But because it meant the winter was over and there was still breath in my lungs

Gradually the grass greened, the rains fell, the birds sang, if still a little hesitant

And life began to happen again

But spring then turned to summer, as it has a way of doing, and the heat of the sun has taken it's toll

The ground has dried and the rains have stopped and life wavers before my eyes like a mirage

I lay parched in this drought

Too weak to move in any direction but forward, for I know nowhere else to go

But moving forward means I'm still living and still moving

And though I long to just sleep, I know that can never happen again

If I sleep I die

No mater how much I miss my dream, it's the waking that will kill me

In the dance of the seasons, autumn follows summer

I have to believe that September will come again, and that when it does

It will be for real.

Complacency or Contentment...is there a difference?

How do you find contentment in where you are without becoming complacent, lazy and stuck in your comfort zone?

And how do you stay relevant, always seeking change and growth without hating the place in which you reside?

I seem to be constantly teetering on the line between hating my life because I'm stuck in a rut and hating my life because I wish everything would just settle down.

Do I just want what I don't have?

Is it a simple case of "the grass is always greener"?

Or is there something deeper going on.

I want to believe that I will reach a point in my life where I can find the balance of being happy and able to make the most of where I am, to live in the moment…and always seeking to be better, to continue to grow.

But is that really possible?

I have seen very few who seem truly happy where they are. I have also seen very few who truthfully seem to be trying to constantly better themselves.

Maybe I'm just projecting my own issues onto those around me…but is seems that if you want to be a better person, you have to first acknowledge that there is something wrong with the person that you are now.

Even as I'm writing this, I recognize what an unhealthy self-perception that is.

Maybe you have to like who you are enough to want to make yourself better.

I'm so afraid of becoming too comfortable and getting stuck and never moving on, but does that mean that I have to be miserable in order to keep that from happening? I feel that there has to be a happy medium ("happy" being the key word).

Rant of a starving artist

Why is it so fucking hard to make a living doing what you love?

Why do so many spend the majority of their wretched existence doing mundane tasks invented by someone somewhere who somehow decided that the accomplishment of said tasks should equal monetary compensation?

I tired…so unbelievably tired of trying to motivate myself to get out of bed and care about being on time to type some numbers into a computer.

I don't want to spend another moment of the preciously short time that I have on this earth on things that I truly have no care or concern for whatsoever.

I'm ready to be an professional artist.

And I hate to even label it that way. In all reality I should technically be able to call myself a professional (I have been doing this for going on 19 years now and have had a reasonable amount of success). But I still am not able to truly dedicate myself to being solely an artist because I still have to spend AT LEAST 20 hours a week of my time doing nothing having to do with art, creativity or anything remotely worthwhile. And I'm lucky. I mean, what about the innumerable talents who work 40, 50 or even 60 hours a week at their "real" jobs and then collapse into bed with no energy left to even think about creating anything. (And can I also just mention how much the concept of what constitutes a "real" job pisses me off?)

Now don't get me wrong, I understand that "it means so much more when you've had to work and sacrifice to make your dreams happen", but is that so much the case, that it's nigh impossible to simply spend your days doing what you love? I am truly of the belief that each person has something, that one thing, that they were simply made to do; the thing that makes them the happiest when they're doing it. For some it's painting, dancing, singing or making music…for others it's adding numbers or racing motorcycles, or arranging flowers. So why can't there be some way for each person to be able to make a living doing what they were made to do?

I'm not even sure if I making sense anymore or if I'm just talking in circles of frustration so I'm going to go to bed now and try force myself up in the morning to start the monotony all over again.