Sunday, July 23, 2017

Feed theBeast

Warning i don't eat cake.

My generation counted calories, instead of fueling ourselves. I find my self a current weekend warrior but i do walk about 40 minutes everyday.

My personal trainer and friend gave me permission to eat avacados and coconut oil as good fats are fuel. I found that adding a little to my diet along with a session with her gave me emotional and physical streangth.

Instead of taking away and burning all that i had eaten i had given myself fuel to make it through the day. I dont have the body i had in 2011 when i ran an hour a day and counted every calorie in my body, but i have the brain power and self awareness to be proud of the person I am.

Yay food

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Censor Time

I guess, I learned a lesson today. As in, everyday, one should learn a lesson. I made a poster that I thought was fine, and it was proof read by a friend, and lets just say, I didn’t pass poster school very well. I had fixed one spelling mistake but I guess I missed all the other grammar mish mashes. SO rough copies are for mess ups and if my next step is to be published, I have to really work on grammar and spelling and know that how it looks is just as important as how it sounds. People, important people, are watching me.


I went to a poetry reading and thought “I could be doing this; this could be me if I take it to the next level.” SO I’m wanting to take my words and my ideas to the next level. And that my censor doesn’t like. It says “well you’re good enough to do this, but you’re not good enough to do that." So I’m writing out my feelings and facing them. Facing the censor and saying, it might hurt a bit, but it’s time to approach this with a great sense of "needing words to look excellent as well as the ideas being excellent." Time to not take my writing for granted, and time to really do up the whole package.


Sunday, April 23, 2017

Music and Footsteps




Music is more than hitting the correct keys on the piano.
Life, for me, is more than getting up and going to work.
Music isn’t something you can just decide to take in university. 
Life isn’t something you can put on hold.

But I’ve done it all: I’ve put everything aside so I could get through the day and be happy. I’ve pushed away my dreams to make sure I had a roof over my head and food on my table. I had to learn how to calculate each step I made to make sure it was a good one. Like fingers on a piano. I’ve looked back at every step I made to see how it affected me. 

Perhaps I’ve weeded out all I can weed out and now depression just happens when it wants to happen.

I “learned” to play piano, my first two years of piano, on a “being” with a broken sound board. I loved the sounds that came out, but it didn’t sound right when I went to play at my teacher’s house. The sounds were different. SO for two years without being aware I was learning to play by making sure my hands went in the correct place at the correct time. Not by sounds and patterns and feeling.

I played my piano last night, a little"True Colours" from the glee book, and heard sounds and patterns that I had never let myself hear before. I can’t even put it into words. It’s just the magic of music.


Maybe what I need to do now, is still watch the feet, but let the feeling and the patterns come in too, just like music. Muisc and life tangle together and pull me forward. As I dream forward,


Saturday, April 22, 2017

Stars

Candice:
Hello stars.

Lawrence:
Where have you been?

Candice:
The city.

Lawrence:
No stars in the city eh?

Candice:
Not many.

Quiet: hear the peepers.

Candice:
It’s so quiet in the country.

Lawrence:
So live here on wild chicken eggs and buffalo milk.

Candice:
Just like that?

Lawrence:
Yep.

Candice:
I have a 9-5 and a house, a gym membership…

Lawrence:
Like normal people?

Candice:
Yeah.

Lawrence:
And you’re a normal person?

Candice:
Ummmm.

Lawrence:
Hummm.

Candice:
The stars are nice tonight


Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Adulting



I guess it’s not a bad thing, just different. I’m wanted. People want me to go places, and do things, be things. I want to sit in my bed with my cats, write poems no one will ever read and watch “The Voice.” That’s what makes me happy. I haven’t got the voice on yet I can’t type and “Voice” at the same time. I have Robbie Robertson telling me How to be Clairvoyant.

Adulting is so difficult. All I want to do is eat vegan ice-cream in my pj’s and have cats, I have the cats part but vegan ice cream is soooo expensive. I usually just stick to dairy free chocolate milk for breakfast.

I’m always tossing the ball between “yes I’ll do ‘it’” and “my bed is calling.” I used to think It was lazy, and maybe it is? But It’s who I am. I get overwhelmed at loud dancy places and don’t like organizing things or entertaining. I like to write and play with my voice and hunt and peck the piano.

I used to think it was lazy, like when I was a teenager and I decided that I would be out in the world and do “whatever I wanted.” 30 years later, I realize that what my logical brain wants and what my body wants are two different things. Logically I would like to be out supporting my friends. But there’s nothing better than bed sharing my bed with a calico, and a white cat.


Adulting is so difficult. Luckily there’s a little Cave I can go to and not adult.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Just



Well, yesterday was weird and full of gluten free brownies and day dreams. Today I had my brain back until like 3:00 and then I self medicated with some Mountain Dew. I became the entertainer, especially when I discovered 15 minutes before I left work that my pants had been on backwards since breakfast. It takes talent to wear a pair of pants backwards all day. I just thought I had gained a lot of weight from the brownies I had eaten the day before. Ummm Brownies

Does it matter what someone thinks of me twenty, twenty-five, thirty years later? That’s what I wondered on my way to work this morning, Our team is doing overtime so there’s no time in the morning for morning pages. SO I try to make up for it by thinking hard on the way to work. This morning I thought about the dream I had last night. 

In real life I "kept up" with everyone from the museum that I wanted to, We run into each other or leave notes on facebook etc; except one of the guys. In my dream, we met up again, twenty years later and he didn’t have any idea who I was, he hadn’t remembered me. I shrugged said "that’s ok" and walked away.

That nonchalant-ness and the processing I did over night made me think about yesterdays statement: That I wanted to look at people and say I survived. And that in a little while I’ll be a successful writer, just wait and see…


Does it matter what “they” think?  Am I still living to prove my artistic value to someone else? Or is showing myself off a way to prove what I’ve created over the last 20 years “writing myself out of depression?” 

I feel like I achieved it and am on my way to being stable and healthy.

I don’t have to worry about showing the doubters or the haters and part of me. Right now I need to just keep going and doing what I do best. Write and sing and work myself into something successful. Write myself into being and important writer to me and soon my friends.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Nathan Fillion Week





Last night I watched some TV, not “The Voice,” but a cop show, er writer show, oh well it was “Castle,” there was a story and a woman died due to a gunshot wound and then there was a murder to be solved. I loved every second.

I haven’t’ seen an episode of “Castle,” or anything else for that matter, since I moved into Duncanville, almost 5 years ago. (Apparently the show is canceled but you can still see some of it on the CTV website.) SO Sunday night, not wanting to do anything more, I curled up with my computer and watched Nathan Fillion and friends.

And my imagination was off, I wanted to meet all the boys in the show, I made this week Nathan Fillion week when people asked who he was, I told them “my boyfriend for the day.” About a year and a half ago my anti depressants were increased and I don’t want anything to do with real boys; But put them on TV for 45 minutes, give them speaking parts and guns and a hot hair do and I’m interested. I wanted to get my writing done and move to the city and get in the middle of that shit again. That fantasy that “action” and “cut;” The make up and the lights, that’s a part of me I haven’t had the power to face in years. I wanted to tell stories like that. Now it’s time to heal that part.

The ultimate way to tell stories. My mind explodes and, for a moment, forgets it has to start at the begging. The sitting, the writing the editing. But maybe I remembered where it could go and why I like to do it. Maybe TV is a drug and I’m addicted again.

I like to have stories told to me invented for me. I loved working on my novel because of the relationship between the two characters. I fell in love with their relationship but still couldn’t finish the story. Am I allowed to say I love TV shows? I’m fascinated by little 45 minute stories and the people who “tell” them. Am I allowed to succeed even further with the help of the RED PENS. AM I allowed to dig in deep and get all the feels like I do from other people’s work. YES, of course.

And my imaginary boyfriends. TV is a great place to get imaginary boyfriends.

I imagine meeting up with the people I went to school with. The ones who doubted me, the ones I felt I was struggling to survive with, the ones who weren’t sure how to take me and say “Guess what… I’m not as famous as you, But I survived . I'm still alive and I still have time...