Lame-o.

Okay, so often I feel like a lame-o because I really have nothing interesting to talk about. My life seems so mundane, punctuated with a rolling of the eyes from Erin's antics or a belly laugh caused by my coworker Joan, who has something funny to say about every 3 minutes. Even if it's not really funny, SHE laughs and therefore causes YOU to laugh.

So I run summer camp program for kids. The programs were all decided before I got here by two girls who then up and left, with no one to perform said programs (parents had already registered). In I come, along with another woman, to run these camps to the best of our abilities under guidelines that are often ridiculous. For example, one camp advertised that campers would be able to interact with "a basket of kittens" and we actually received a complaint because said basket of said kittens was not available. I ask you.. where exactly does one get a basket of kittens? Shockingly, most people say, "the Humane Society." Have you ever walked into the Humane Society and said, "Excuse me, but may I please have a basket of kittens?" We're not ordering fries here, people. You can't rent kittens. But maybe that would be a lucrative business prospect...

What we DID have was a bearded dragon and a ball python. Which I thought was way freagin' cooler than kittens. By a long shot. I'd much rather play with animals that would sooner EAT a basket of kittens. And once, the bearded dragon took a gigantic dump on one of the kids that spends most of her day whining and/or vying for attention, so it was twice as awesome for me. I would like to note that bearded dragons poop approximately once a week. And it chose her.

Those are the moments that make the day that much more bearable. Not that I don't love my job, because who can beat this: outside every single day (although I am beginning to feel over-cooked and am turning surprisingly brown as if to corroborate that feeling), visiting awesome natural places around Central Oregon and getting paid for it, playing fun games like capture the flag and getting paid for it, and a host of other things that I'm too baked right now (from the sun, not the herb.. or IS it the herb?) to think of. Downside? It's exhausting to spend 40 hours a week with a group of 6-10 year olds. Especially when you're an impatient grump like myself. To give myself credit though, I have been trying to be better about giving kids more patience, it's just a hard thing to do in a rich, yuppy town like Bend where half the kids never have to hear the word "no."

Today, one of the moms was talking to me about real estate. I told her Erin and I are looking to rent a little house but have a hard time finding one that will let us have a pit. She told me to buy, it's a buyer's market, go for it! I gave her a funny look that suggested she was out of her freaking mind and explained, gently, that Erin and I between us have less than $3000 to our names. A very brief expression passed her face as though she didn't understand what I was saying, and then she flounced away and suggested we pressure our family for some money. After leaving her enormous house on 8 acres, I found my eyes tearing up. Pressure family? Apparently it did not occur to her that some people have families without lots of money. I felt a little wronged by that assumption, as though families always have money floating around to hand to children who want to buy a house in Bend for half a million dollars and get nothing but two bedrooms and a two-foot wide "backyard". She meant well, of course, and I can't fault her for her wealth, but obviously when you're rich enough to purchase houses all over the place and fix them up to rent out, you can't comprehend what it's like to live paycheck to paycheck. 

Thus I have begun the search for a second job. I already work full time, but goddammit, I am sick of being restricted by how much money I have in the bank. I don't expect to be able to buy a house, but I would like to experience the feeling of having, say, three to five - thousand dollars in my bank account. To be that secure. And really, to most people (at least it seems this way in Bend), that's chump change. But it's chump change I would welcome. I am also still chugging away at my sewing projects and hope in a month or so to have my Etsy store up and running. 

On another note, I may be changing my gmail account and thus my blog, so keep an eye on it. I have chosen a long and irrelevant name for my account and quite frankly am tired of typing it all in. 

That is all.

Happy Birthday to ME.

Note to you: playing children's games with all adults is my favorite thing ever.

SICK.

A little pissed about two things:

Number one, all we want to do is a rescue a pit bull and we cannot. No one in this town will rent to us. I've even put an ad out on Craigs List explaining the situation we would like to rent and had people contact me about it; then they appear to fall of the face of the planet and never return my calls or emails. Breed discrimination makes me want to punch the wall.

Second, when renting, I have to make sure to mention that I'm in a homosexual relationship. Why? Because these fucking right ring Christians think they know everything about the universe (sorry to burst your bubble, but God doesn't hate ANYONE much less people whose lives revolve around LOVE) and we can't risk stepping on any pure little toes. Fuck you people who hate gays. Get the fuck over yourself. What is your problem? Because one sentence in the Bible says men shouldn't fuck each other? Got news for ya. Men fucking each other in those days wasn't good for breeding, because it didn't make babies and exploit women. So, as the Christians do, they made some rules, said they were from God and voila, you have social control. Christ, get with it. What would Jesus do? HANG OUT WITH SOCIAL PARIAHS, AND THAT INCLUDES GAY PEOPLE, THAT IS WHAT JESUS WOULD DO.

Have you ever had to keep your mouth shut in front of coworkers, family, new friends, and the general outside world because you might be discriminated against for being in love with someone?

At first I wrote "Sorry about that," but I guess this post is a lot about discrimination and there's no way in hell I'm apologizing for being angry about it. If you're Christian and you're okay with homos, do the right thing and don't be offended by this post. If you are, I still won't apologize. 

Lazy day.

Well my week off is nearly up, and though I am definitely feeling better about resuming my activity in this reality, I'm a little sad to see the free time go. However, I am reminding myself constantly that your world is what you make of it - if you sit around bitching (as I usually do) that you never have time to do anything you want to do, you will, in fact, have no time to do anything you want to do. Now, if you squeeze what you want to do in the tiny slivers of time between life (as I am attempting to learn to do), you will have that time (or whatever else it is you want and don't think you have). I'm trying to do it about money and abundance too, reminding myself that I am abundant, I do have the means to meet my financial obligations, I will find a job when this one is over, I will manage to successfully make it through this winter.

Bitching runs in my family and I'll tell you, it's a hard gene to fight. But considering that my grandparents hardly speak to me and my mom misses me like crazy, I am in a position to release myself from inherited negativity. A person can influence their reality, they are able to manifest for themselves what they 'need' to survive this plane. 

On that note, I have been sewing my little heart out lately. Not as much as I'd like to, but I'm trying to conserve energy for the upcoming weeks of camp (read: lounging around). I've almost completed my fourth tote bag and I'm excited to see that they continue to improve with each design. I'm a little disappointed with some of the craftsmanship on this bag, but I've decided that there are certain things about making them that are far less important to me than others. For example, I don't spend much time measuring and being hyper about perfection - if a seam is a little crooked, so be it. Whereas I could, quite easily, be a freak over some of the details of what I make - and thus never feel good enough to try to sell them - I will instead own up to the fact that perfection just isn't as crucial to me as having a fun, functional finished product that pleases the eye. I find that admitting this straight up makes me care far less about what other people will think about my crooked seams, or the fact that you can see the beading thread on the fabric. Having been notified, any potential buyers will know what they're in for, and I've cleared myself from any potential guilt.

I am trying to manifest success in this endeavor, because I really, really would like to supplement my income through handicrafts. I have lots of ideas right now and the problem is being coordinated enough to work on all of them! Which excites me. Right now I have four items and I plan to put the site up when I have a good variety and selection, instead of having only a few things up at a time. I want a little bit of everything when I open the site, and hopefully I can keep encouraging Erin to work on some items too. She is such a good leatherworker, and with all the people I know who follow a Native American-based faith, I think she could flourish in her craft. The hard part is getting her to acknowledge how good she is and actually making some items. I'll keep working on it. 

School? Again?

Well, I just sat down and did all the financial b-crap that goes along with returning to school, and I can't possibly believe I went to school the first time. I obviously didn't read any of the fine print and obviously didn't know what I was getting myself into - or I would have majored in something like accounting, or.. well whatever else makes money. Computer science. Math. Something awful that probably would have made me drop out of college and get some job at a local supermarket, where I would have worked my way up the corporate ladder by now to manager and could be making an easy $30 grand a year by now. Tell me again why I went to college? Yes, yes, writing a thesis and seeing how much beer I could consume before a coma and playing IM sports, all good experiences, whoopty-fucking-do. Now I have a degree that can't get me a job and I'm well over $40,000 in debt. So excuse me for sounding a smidge bitter about that All-American Dream. 

Don't confuse me by thinking I'm obsessed with money, that's certainly not my goal. But I did just spend a winter worrying every moment of every day how the hell I was going to pay bills and get by. Granted, I did, but I probably took a good 5 years of my life expectancy through worry alone. Now I'm just about setting myself up for the same scenario, by borrowing another $9k and relegating the majority of my working hours to sitting in a classroom. This isn't like the first time. They won't pay all my rent and for all my food. They won't pay my gas.

I guess I'm a little concerned too because I wasn't struck by massage therapy lightening. Just over time, from working for a former massage therapist and having therapeutic massages myself, I started thinking about it and figured it might be a good business move for myself and my future. With Anthropology and wildlife and even Native American spirituality, my whole spirit did a little dance on the inside and I knew those things were right for me. That hasn't happened with massage therapy and I'm nervous. 

But, when I do the little muscle-test/kinesiology thing with my hands, I get a consistent answer that I'll become a massage therapist, and that I'll be good at it. I'll just go with that.

Returning to this reality.

This has been quite a difficult transition for me, and there aren't many people around me (well, really, there are none around me) who can relate. I went from a very sacred space back to the mundane world with less acclimation that I had wanted to. I was thrown back into work the minute I was picked up from the bus station, and my poor lover just doesn't understand what I'm still going through. 

I don't know how to explain it, other than that being in sacred space has you in a very high vibration - you can't stay there forever because it would wear your body down and your brain would show signs of what most people call 'going crazy.' So you have to come down. That phrase, "coming down," is the only way I can describe how I feel. I am not sad, I am not disappointed, I am not bored - but I feel a little of all those things at once.

The heart chakra is a very sensitive one, especially when it has been worked so far open for even a short period of a few days. I did not realize how sensitive I would feel upon my returning. I am hypersensitive to negativity, to nagging, even to the regular joking that Erin and I normally do. I am hypersensitive to guilt and shame - I want nothing to do with them, even if they are only in joke form. How can I explain this to people who are only kidding, whose entire relationships with me revolve around kidding? Essentially, I cannot. But I cannot deny either that they are like little pinpoints that shoot into me even when the intention behind them is benign. I am, right now, a being of love, trying hard to not be re-transformed into my old self - the defensive, anxiety-ridden one that completely lacked any sense of personal worth. 

It is hard to return to this world. If you're not careful, it can be an empty world, full of illusions. Full of money, full of other people's opinions, full of nothingness. Perhaps the hardest part isn't coming back to this world, but finding the sacred world within it. 

Bread heels.

Ah, the life of the "married." 

All sweet and cooey and lovey until I get home. Fortunately, the house is quite tidy. However.. when the cat is away, the mouse will use all her stuff and not replace it, such as pricey organic facial toner (the little weenie has perfect, model skin, yet she feels the need to use skin-care products designed for my acnified ass (not my actual ass, I was using a euphemism there for my face.. by.. comparing it to my ass. Shut up.), and CHOCOLATE SYRUP when all I could THINK ABOUT was a tall, cold, delicious glass of CHOCOLATE MILK. 

Also, there are three bags of bread heels. These were callously shunned to the back of the cupboard, apparently in hopes that they would vanish completely and release her from her guilt of wasting those expensive chunks of wheat and sugar. 

A note was left. "I put so-and-so in the fridge to thaw for dinner... go get some side dish stuff," followed closely by kissy gooey I-love-you stuff. Sure. Make the kid who's been in the seat of a vehicle for thirteen hours in the past two days go grocery shopping. I searched the fridge twice for said thawing substances and was, peculiarly, left wondering if my blind spots had grown larger. I see no thawing substances! Shall I withdraw something similar from the freezer? If so, and I have somehow overlooked the camouflaged foodpiece, I could face scorn and the same meal twice in two days. Is it worth it? Or shall I just taunt her when she returns home after a long day of manual labor when she finds she wrote the note before opening the freezer and thus forgot to, then, open the freezer? I think you know what I'll do.

I'd like to note that I didn't notice our heartbreaking lack of chocolate syrup until my return from the market and the cool creamy milk had already been dispensed into said tall glass. Chips and popcorn from two weeks ago are still aging on the shelves. These were delicious - what happened? What has she been eating for two weeks, if not the deliriously yummy foods left behind by the loving wife? Certainly not bread heels.

Ah, if she wasn't so cute and cuddly, and if her absurd antics didn't make me laugh out loud even when I try not to, I don't know what I would do. At least there are no errant beer cans, pizza boxes, or pee stains on the floor where she was too lazy to excuse herself to the restroom. I suppose stale chips and a sour lack of syrup isn't so bad afterall. 

I sure wish she would come home so I could love on her.

(After writing this post, I was vehemently assured that my toner was used only once... so I just wanted to note that for the record.)

Going to the hill.

Tomorrow is the final day before I head out to the mountain. It will be a day of preparation and ceremony, and the following morning, I will be led to the proper location for me. I'll stay there for four days without food, praying and hoping for guidance. Think good thoughts for me, or, if you're really inclined, light a candle and send me good vibes every time you look at it.

I sure miss my lover girl.

Be well, all.

Whew.

Today was a long one. The kids in this camp were rambunctious as hell, and I don't know why, but I'm such a hardass towards them. I try not to be, but it's hard when you have 12 boys who, quite frankly, don't listen. I feel this need to enforce discipline because it appears that their parents do not, and I'm not into letter kids get away with whatever they want. Structure is good. For the last three days I've been road-biking like hell with these campers. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to do it but in reality I've been having an amazing time - I didn't realize how much I would love road-biking. Obviously it's a lot easier on a road bike, not my cheap ass heavy mountain bike. It's refreshing and satisfying to arrive somewhere without the use of fossil fuels.

Last night I needed some air and after dropping my boss' wife at a meeting, I stopped at a small park here in Portland that was, literally, covered in roses. There was an enormous fountain in the center and rows upon rows of different types of roses with walkways in between. Little kids were frolicking in the fountain and two women with their dogs came by. The black lab jumped right in, but the Buick-sized pit bull had to be yanked by leash. I put my feet into the water and breathed in the cool evening air. There was an echo of music in the distance; I think I could have stayed there for hours if it wasn't heading towards night. After reluctantly pulling my feet from the water I walked around and checked out the roses. I've realized that when I smell a rose, it's much like kissing a lover - I find myself cupping the flower's petals as though it had cheeks and pushing my nose into it, eyes closed, inhaling the perfume. I've never been interested in growing roses myself, but when I'm around them, I recognize the appeal. The colors were intoxicating alone.

Tomorrow I board a bus for Spokane. I would prefer to be driving but my car was in the shop twice this week and I don't want to risk breaking down somewhere between Portland and Spokane with no one to rescue me. Taking a bus forces me out of my comfort zone. An argument with Erin last night has accomplished the same, on top of staying with people I barely know in a city I barely know, preparing to leave for a week for 4 days in the wilderness with no food. This must be my task.

I will return on the ninth. If you would like to participate, send me good energy or pray for me to be granted guidance while I'm on the hill, from the 4th to the 8th.