Freeze.

I stumbled upon a wisewoman by accident the other afternoon over sandwiches, coffee, and tea. She injected my mindless moaning flawlessly with "You know there's a third stress response that no one ever talks about....freezing."

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

I never fight-or-flight. Indecisive is my middle name and I avoid running from or facing any decision head on. Enter: the freeze response. The easiest and most ineffective. Being constantly ice, constantly stone, leaves me quite vulnerable to an array of problems, mental and physical. And certainly gets me no closer to conclusions.

Restful sleep escaped me last night and was replaced by brief nightmares and tossing and turning. Loss of sleep is a sign of freezing. Baby, bring me a pot of hot water and get me out of this mess. I need to thaw out. Stretch my arms, legs, and options. Chip away at my mind.

I don't really know what I'm so afraid of. Its not like a lion is literally flashing its glittering white teeth at me. I really only need to make a choice. Between A and B. I can't handle regret, so I've chosen to do nothing but brood. For once I wish I wasn't a woman and my mind wasn't bound so closely to my heart. Logical decisions are much more accessible without emotions overcasting the answer. It'll come to me though, I'm convinced. I'm just waiting patiently, and a little cold.

But I'm not all critical introspection today. There are distractions to look forward to. Currently I'm chowin on a mushroom empanada and listening to marcy playgroud on low in a gem of a coffee bar right down the road from the APT. The empanada is so ever-lovin good, Ive tortured my tongue because I can't wait for it to cool down. I'm diggin the productive, yet quiet air this place has. You'll find me here more often.

I drug myself out of bed at the crack of 10:30am this morning for an interview at the Belmont on W. 6th. I'd given up on them considering I applied over a month ago but miraculously they called after complications with Threadgills occured. It couldn't have been better timing. Unfortunately my good timing ran out there and they want me to start training this week. This week just so happens to be the first week of classes at lovely little ACC. I politely told him the dilemma and he said he'd try and work with me. Fingers crossed, send good juju my way. My cushion is definitely deflating at an alarming rate and I need a job STAT to replenish it back to its fluffy ways and better days.

Productivity is peering 'round the corner with its bright eyes and proud stare. Though I've got creative streaks, I'm a gal who loves structure. Change is amuck and I can't wait.

No longer a draft.

I'm sitting on my computer, iluminated only by the bright white background of the posting page of this very blog. It's bright enough to emit a light that makes my face, especially my eyes, visable in the mirror to my right.
Even when I look into the mirror I feel like its all pretend.
Like I'm looking for something that really isn't there. And what should be there is completely drained, leaving only an indifferent feeling that bounces from my left ear to my right and down into my heart, lungs, and stomach.

I stayed in. Currently despising the buzz in my head. I think too much and not enough. I'm a people person, no doubt about it, but there's never been more of an urge to escape. I want to sit. I want to paint. I want to organize. I want to nest. I want to prioritize, philosophize.

Raincheck, please.

What is it that I want? Do we ever figure that out? Or does it always, like a mirage, change right when you're about to stumble upon it. There is this overwhelming feeling of obligation that is obstructing my views. Its true. I can't decide on my own what it is I want without dodging the impulse to base my feelings on what others want, feel, think, need, or expect. My tongue is tied and my default is stuck on shy. I'm avoiding situations altogether. I'm pretending they aren't there as I skip along seemingly oblivious. But believe me, it takes a lot of work to be this absentminded.

I'm over obligations. I wish for one day, one minute, I could do something without guilt creeping up like a stale hangover. Indifference is a breath of fresh mountain air a mere 2,153 miles away. But NO! I must face obligation straight in the face and spit a fiery FUCK OFF right between it's condescending eyes. I'm know guilt better than a catholic who missed confession. Fuck y'all, I do what I whhant.

Just as soon as I figure out what that is...

I skipped boozing to paint tonight. Its a rough draft but the start of something, I can only hope
.
I plan on adding some color behind the torn hole and some major sharpie details. The plane and rat came from a most recent and disturbing dream.

According to dream symbolism: A rat is a sign that negative influences are undermining your vitality. Dreams about rats and mice usually reflect the worries which are "gnawing" you. Seeing a rat: you will go through some unpleasant experience with other people.
A plane crash suggests a lack of confidence, self-defeating attitude and self-doubt toward the goals you have set for yourself; you do not believe in your ability to attain those goals. Loss of power and uncertainty in achieving your goals are also signified.

There's something to think about.

Better luck to you and dreamsweet my loves.

Cabin Fever

I'd much rather spend unproductive days lying on this couch, daydreaming of better days.


This place is comfortable enough to spend a whole day in doing nothing but still doesn't feel like home. How is it that I still have no broom, couch, coffee table, spatula, or bowls to speak of? How long have I been here? The days are certainly bleeding together. Yet, still no couch. Laziness strikes again and again and all I do is bitch about it.

I think I may be afraid of acquiring more 'stuff'. I took such pride and pleasure in getting rid of all my belongings. Shedding skins, learning to judge things harshly, and quit this meaningless pack ratting. I was so amused by the fact that moving to Austin took me only one trip and my compact corolla was far from full. There was definitely enough room for a straggler or two in the backseat. 'Stuff' weighs you down, makes every step a little harder to take. I like a cozy home as much as the next gal but I have a hard time collecting little trinkets for every corner. I try my best to be a minimalist but it seems I don't have that down quite right. I don't do it where it counts. Trade your blackberry and $80 boots for a couch and then we're talking! I feel the list urge coming on. I can barely keep my fingers from typing
1.
2.
3.
But I'll keep that habit on pen and paper. Its much more satisfying to scratch and scribble out a "to do" than hold down backspace.

Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves

I can't help but feel stuck. Like I'm missing something.
The daily grind eludes me, yet inspiration is evasive.
That feeling you get when you are forgetting something is a constant buzz in my eardrums.
My whole body aches with anxiousness, yet I continue to lie still, in my bed, until 2pm.
Distractions, distractions, distractions.

Maybe I place too much on my own self importance. After all, I'm just a tiny wee speck of glittering dust floating around for a few short decades. Perhaps these jobless, artless, readingless, weeks which have all run together amongst tequila and cheap beer really don't have much of an impact at all. Though, I can't help but feel like I'm meant for more. Something's calling me and I just can't seem to find the damn phone.

You'd think with all the free time being unemployed lends you, I'd take more advantage of it. I could be doing anything! Yet, I can't even drag my sorry ass out of bed early enough to transfer my lazy body onto a towel outside to work on my tan. My oil paints are lonely and my canvas' are still screaming white. My journal hasn't seen a pen in two months and my banjo is gathering dust in the corner, whining out of tune.

Things I have paid attention too as of late: my evil blackberry, beer, tequila, firefly vodka, sex, sex, and more sex.

Blackberries can kiss my ass. Technology is a bitch. And texting is the devil's advocate. How is it that I was most happy living in a tent for three months, without cell phone service, spotty wifi, no television, and outdoor kitchens and showers but came back and got a FUCKING BLACKBERRY?!? Not even a whole year into societal pressures and materialism reers its ugly head. I need the newest best thing. I've got to keep up with the jones' and be connected allllll the time. That way I can get my photo comments instantly from facebook. That way an email, text, or friend request will never go unnoticed for even an hour. GREAT. Maybe i'll get lucky and start tweeting or whatever the shit. Then lady gaga can follow ME.

You know whats even worse about all of this? Ive had this same post up on my computer for the past three days. I can't even get this done. Productive, Charmaine. Productive.