Friday, May 15, 2015

Journey into the unknown...

I have had a lot on my mind lately.

I need to publish posts that have nothing to do with my blog.

I need to figure out if we are staying in Los Angeles or leaving back to Oklahoma.

I have started an improv class and sometimes I feel like I suck at it.

I wish I knew what to do to entertain my daughter but my heart breaks when I think of her growing up here.

There are a lot of I's in this and perhaps I need to let go and just let it be.

But it's hard because I want to get started.

Started on what...I don't know.

A life of solid substance.  A house built of stone in the middle of the woods somewhere where droughts are a thing that happened in the dust bowl era.

I want a reverse Grapes of Wrath with my life.  I want to move East but not the smart part.  I want to live in a place where Cora can scope the woods for stories and let her imagination wander to faeries and their dwellings and whether or not the gnomes in the garden come alive when we go to sleep.

I want her to know her Big Pa and to be able to pull his finger at will and giggle at his farts like she giggles at her own.  I know where she gets that... I want her to know too.

I love L.A.  I want to stay for selfish reasons, but I am not just I anymore and I am boring and horrible on my own.

I read an article about how the woman child isn't as endearing as the man child and how there is rarely a redeeming quality in the end of a Hollywood story since we have abandoned the whole Prince Charming idea.  I say this is as fucked up as anything, women can be redeemed and this is a good thing, if you craved redemption...and I did.

I want to hear the frogs by the pond, see lighting bugs and hear the cicadas as the night falls.  I want to sit on a long driveway and listen to lions roar as horses gallop by in the silver moonlight while my dog's breath lays moisture on my shin.  This won't happen again but I am honored to have that memory.

My dog has departed, her ashes spread across the Pacific and the lion ceases to roar as he has departed the prison he was caged in due to the horrible spending habits of a sports star people revere because they are told to.

A million buzzing things in my head make my ramblings look like that of a crazy person.  They say if you know you're crazy then you probably aren't.  Do the drunk crunchy surfers who frequent my bar with delusions of grandeur know they are crazy?  No, perhaps they don't when they tell me high school boys are jealous of their golden locks and fat pockets.

Sometimes my life feels like a dream.  Not a fairytale.  Just a weird fucking dream of inconsistent mishmash, shooting stars and my inability to simply make a wish.

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