Christmas Again

It's been six months since my last confession... That's quite a long time, really. It's Christmas again already. And I have to admit, I've been facebook-stalking my exes. Now I try to be realistic here. I would never in a million years want any of them back. But there are certainly things I miss. I wonder why the holidays always make being an awesome single person feel like being a lonely sad sack destined to live for several long decades in a dingey apartment with three or more cats until neighbors start to smell something funny. Not funny ha-ha. Funny "For the love of all that is holy, what is that?" Of course the smell will be my cats because after they've eaten my body they'll have starved. Ah, decomposers.

But on the upside, I get presents. My parents are pretty awesome that way. They like to get their children lots of neat things. So material goods are always an effective way of getting one's mind off of Christmas's relentless brandishing of marriage and family.

Also, there's shopping. Shoving people to and fro, laying on your horn, seething for an entire half hour in your car because the stupid guy in the antique shop where you finally found something awesome for your artsy mother is a cantankerous ass-hat who obviously wants nothing more than to keep all his stupid old trinkets to himself and you didn't have the presence of mind to call him on it while you were actually in the store being badgered by the onerous fart.

So perhaps New Year's will bring something better than this. Or perhaps I'll meet another desperate divorcee (I'm not divorced, but he was) and have another three to four month long fling that gets me that much further from real love if it even exists. Now I'm just being bitter. And with that, I will go my way and wish you Happy Holidays. Or whatever.

The Entry Where There Is No Mention of the T Word

Two more weeks. That's it. Either I'm ready for it or I'm not. Yikes. It's defense time. And instead of going over my corrections, I'm blogging. But hey, I've worked all day long already, so there. Okay, no more T word. Promise. At least for the rest of this entry.

I'm going to make a list of all the things I would like to do more of starting two weeks from tomorrow...

write more songs
write more poetry
hike more trails
go to the farmers' market
camp under stars
date
sing
play more piano
create more art
learn more about photography
climb more rocks
play in waterfalls
name a kitten Skeletor
find an abode
fish perhaps
pilates
write a story of romance and intrigue

All this, and find a job. But that was too practical for my list. Ah, freedom. I smell it closeby. That's right. Besides by other superpowers, I can smell freedom. And it smells like summer. I'm coming freedom! I'm coming!

Something to Do

I would like to go beyond my capabilities of impersonating J. Alfred Prufrock in this little entry. Dare I do this? Dare I do that? Blah blah blah. How annoying.

I asked Noah if he ever felt like two different people. There's this battle of the Jewells going on constantly, and I just figured everybody is like that. But apparently incredibly intelligent people from the time they are sentient actually define themselves by the world around them. Say what? So maybe that's what I should do. No more of this divide and conquer. I should concentrate on the flow. I am one Jewell. Jewell who is simultaneously organized and a wreck, responsible and immature, serious and silly. I don't turn one off when I turn the other on. I like that. I am a whole Jewell, more powerful than the mere sum of my parts.

So hooray, Noah. What you figured out at three, I can now start to discover at 29. :) It's true we're all on our own journeys. No more petty comparisons, friend. Thanks for everything.

We're All Our Own

First official blog. I don't know why I have this need to publish thoughts in my head. Remember when it used to be that your diary was sacred and if your little brother or one of the little neighborhood kids ever got their grubby hands on it, that was the end of your life? I mean, there was stuff in there about the boy you really liked, how you hated your brothers, how your best friend was really annoying sometimes, how you really felt about your parents. Of course that was a long time ago.

I feel old. When did 29 become old? When did I become an adult? When are things supposed to settle? I feel like one of those sand and water puzzles between the two sheets of glass. You shake it up and watch it settle. I always waited for the last grain to settle before I shook it all up again. I guess it would be boring if the sand just sat there. But sometimes I get so tired of the grind.

I know it's fear that keeps me at low-paying unskilled jobs. I have a graduate degree. Why do I put up with this stuff? Well, what if I got a real grownup job? What if I hated it? What if I really sucked it up? What if it prevents me from having a life? What kind of life am I having anyway?

I want to go to Rogue Wave in August. Do I purchase tickets? Will I be in CA away from everyone I know and love? Will I ever find that person I want to drink tea with, to wake up with, to talk or not talk with? (Will I ever quit using my prepositions incorrectly?) Can I have just one answer? Just one. I don't want to know everything, I just want to know one thing. It could be completely random. I guess that's just not how it works.

A part of this blogging thing is the reaching, reaching, reaching. Like radio signals, ham radios, is anybody out there? I guess that's another part of not knowing. How does a world profess to be so small but is in reality so impossibly wide and profoundly lonely?

So hello. I welcome myself into this world of online blogging. This is for me, but I suppose it could also be for you. Whoever you are.