Sometimes, life gets in the way.

About a year ago, I was dating a gentleman who absolutely adored music. He reveled in it. I knew precious little, only that I'd been singing ever since I could speak and that I loved it. Piano, flute, saxophone, all I'd tried to some extent but nothing really stuck my fancy. Like, if I found that perfect instrument, something would just resonate within me, like piano strings vibrating in sympathy with a stricken chord. And in high school, I thought I found that with guitar. Something about playing and singing just made me so happy, I used to practice every night after I finished my homework. Then I went away to college, and my guitar collected dust while I wore my mind out with memorizing mitochondrions and chemical equations. Switching to an english major was slightly easier, at least I was studying human nature instead of human biology. But my guitar still stood dusty in the corner.

And now I'm in school again. I'm learning more about music, which is what I wanted to do. And I do still love it. I love knowing the I, IV, & V portions of a major scale are major chords and the ii, iii, vi, & vii are minor and diminished. I love listening to Lady GaGa's "Bad Romance" and realizing that although she begins on the I of the scale she launches right into the IV immediately, which is part of what makes the chorus sound so brassy and bold because it literally starts on a cadence. I love knowing my flats and sharps, I love how much sense the piano makes, and I love being made aware that so much of popular music is 4 or 5 chord progressions, only differing by their arrangement. I love it.

But I'm also working full time. My two days off are filled with school and studying and my wonderful buddy Sarah. I love learning, but that love is mitigated by academic pressure to succeed. Work is becoming more involved now as well, and I feel I can't give 110% at work as well as school. I want to do well, I want to learn, I want to constantly be improving my music theory knowledge. But I'm merely human. And humanity is bound by the physical realm. Great artists have composed sonatas and sonnets, but they still had to eat, they still had laundry. And I am not a great artist, but I still have to eat, I still have laundry. I still have to rest, I still have to breathe. I wish I could do it all, I do. And maybe for a short time I can. But you can't run ragged forever. Eventually, the candle burning at both ends, burns out.

That gentleman and I have long since parted ways. He's dating a very close beautiful friend of mine, and I couldn't be happier for the both of them. I love music, and I'm grateful that a year ago that realization dawned on me. But I'm not going to run myself ragged anymore. Life doesn't wait for you, just because you have homework due tomorrow. Life is now. Every passing breath is an irreplaceable moment. I want to enjoy those moments.


Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a guitar in the corner that needs my attention. :)

"Well, it's not good, but at leasts its reading..."

I did it. I succumbed to the twilight madness. Today at around 5pm I finished the last book in the four-volumed series; thrilled to know the final outcome, but a little sad the ride was over. The writing is clearly nothing to talk about, to be fair the first book in the series was the most difficult to get through. I mean, how many times can you embellish "And they touched each other's faces"? Clearly for at least four pages. But the story is fantastically intriguing. Stephanie Meyer does shape a mythical world of vampire alliances & werewolves bound by tradition. And without giving away anything, suffice it to say the books are a delightful, embarrassingly satisfying romp through fluff literature. There. Enough about the story.

But one thing I was mulling over, after Breaking Dawn was shut for the last time and put away, was the undercurrent of self-control through the story. The self-control a vampire exerted every time he kissed his human love; the self-control a werewolf must learn so not to destroy the lives around him; the self-control of a vampire who, against all bloodthirsty improbability, became a surgeon. That he might help people. Amazing.
Closely tied with the undercurrent of self-control is that of protection. Many of the central characters in the Twilight series have powers, capabilities beyond the strength of the strongest member of mere humanity. But the supernatural & immortal both have vested interest in certain members of fragile humanity. Both werewolf & vampire have family in mere human form. The fragility of these precious human relatives makes the extensive self-control necessary for both supernatural parties. The werewolf has a powerful but potentially destructive anger that accompanies shape-shifting, while the vampire, for obvious reasons, has difficulty even being in the same room with warm-blooded souls. But the desire to protect those whom are loved overrules these baser instincts. Both parties, at different times, consciously choose to not be ruled by their natural desires that might threaten the lives of loved ones.

I know it's not canonized literature. I know there's nowhere near the amount of character development as there is in, say, The Lord of the Rings. I know the writing isn't even that good. But I'm relieved to have found a series that has such a clear sense of right and wrong I can identify with, that was exceedingly fun to romp through. And more than that.

I'm relieved to be reading again. :)

Return.

Good morning. It is a good morning, when one is awake and draws full breaths unaided. When one can move, under one's own locomotive power, sleepy shuffling feet to the porcelin recliner of repose. It is a good morning, when the birds scream through the suburban foliage at 5am to snatch you untimely from your slumber. When car exhaust exhales in your face and an indian man in a forerunner rolls down his window to ask if your bicycle bell works.

Yes. It is a good day.

I think I'm going to read.

On this bright and april morning.

This morning, at 5 am, i discovered the hard way that most jack-in-the-box establishments do not offer drive-thru service until 6am. I came to this conclusion after a wandering pilgrimage that took me to four different locations. The first two were closed, the 3rd was open but upon ordering, the drive-thru employee informed me they were out of curly fries. OUT OF CURLY FRIES?!!! I said "no thanks" and backed out of the drive-thru. Why settle for less than what you want? I finally found flash-fried relief at the Jack-in-the-box downtown. A tired looking Latina with a friendly smile took my order at the counter. I left with a metric pound of fried food things in a grease-sploched bag; pomegranate rockstar in hand.

It's early. I've been doing homework since I've returned from my fast-foot adventure at 6:30. It's finally light outside though. The brightness hurts my caffeine-quickened eyes. The body feels battered, still waging war against the friendly foe of slumber. I slept 4 hours last night. And that's still twice a much as what Ash gets on weekdays.
And my taxes aren't done.


But...there's still a lot to be thankful for. I'm healthy, the sun is still shining. I have lovely friends, each brimming with internal beauty. And I work with people that feel, well, more like family than coworkers. There's the crazy aunt, the drunkard aunt, the pretentious estranged uncle, the old-timey crazy grandpa, the mom that gets angry over the most ridiculous things, the bossy older brother, the bitter step-child, the goody-two shoes, the hardcore extreme cousin, the cool older brother, the maternal and lovely older sister, the hard-working middle child, the chatterbox brother, the dumbass brother, the man-whore cousin, the lazy but funny brother-in-law, the quiet cutie lush, the a.d.d. baby brother whiz kid, the sexy-funny younger sister, the reserved but friendly hard-working older sister, the good-natured sporty cousin, the indie-cool cousin with the fixed-gear bike, the geeky-chic sister, the authoratative dad, the hardworking cousin with his mind in the gutter, the skinny quiet brother with piercings, the whiney cousin, the spazzy baby sis with a heart so big you could fall in it...

I work with family. One big, fabulous, fucked-up, dysfunctional family. And no amount of homework horror can make me forget that.

streetlamps and starlight

I bought a hoodie online a few weeks ago. It looked okay, it didn't thrill me or anything but it looked okay. But since this is a good time to be conservative with one's compulsive spending, I debated on returning it. The one thing it really has going for it is that it's super warm. It's the warmest hoodie I've ever worn, and I was thinking 'you know, if you go to the beach in November, or need something warm to wear while camping, you're going to really like this hoodie.' So it sat in my closet a while longer, the reciept in a pocket, just in case.

I don't like owning things 'just in case.' I'll buy these pants 'just in case' I get skinnier, I'll buy this fondue pot 'just in case', I'll hold onto this trailer hitch 'just in case'. No. If I don't think I'll use something, I'll get rid of it. Or throw it away. The more 'just in case' items you own, the more you look at them and feel guilty. 'I should really use this' you think or 'I should really do that'. I should really use that software, I should really learn how to play that ottoharp, I should really use those hockey skates.
No. Do not want.

Maybe dreams are like that. Places you always thought you go, the life you subconsciously always thought you'd live, the unconscious status quo you never second guessed was your path. It's only when you go through your closet and find all those reminders of those dreams that you realize how different your life is from the path you thought you'd walk. Maybe it's time to go through all those cobwebbed corners of your life and throw out what you won't use. Spring is here, after all.

I'm going to return the hoodie. First day off I get this week, for errand-running & such, I'm taking it back. I don't go outdoors, or to the beach in winter. Instead I stay up late, laughing with friends under streetlamps-not starlight. I sing of beauty and dream of music under city lights and write here, with fingers that dance on softly stricken keys.

In the days we are given.

I cannot recall the last time I had a full 8 hours of sleep in one sitting. Every day, I debate whether or not I have the energy to bike the short distance to school and then the moral fortitude to remain awake in class. In class, I constantly debate whether I have the brain power to comprehend the task at hand. I feel guilty for not practicing piano more. Friday nights are either BSG or homework parties at starbucks. Music Theodore is a stern taskmaster. There are boys in my class with tattoos who smoke pot that know metric tons more than I about theory. Work is a daily 8-hour interruption in my studying. I am never home. Vegetables are not convenient, so i don't eat them. I drive everywhere instead of biking. I don't drink coffee. Mornings, evenings, afternoons, my life is measured out in coffee spoons, to quote a little T.S. Eliot.


But I feel alive instead of merely existing. Eyes fever bright and anxious to learn more more, ever more. I want to do better in my job, I want to be the best I can possibly be. I want to be neat, organized, knowledgeable, I want to be the one my managers say "yes, go talk to Rosie, she'll handle it." My theory homework is finally beginning to make sense. I'm making music with the Scallion on a weekly basis. I can feel the neurons making new connections. There is so much to know and read and so many people to see and talk with that I cannot sit down and watch movies anymore. There is simply too much to do, and only a finite number of hours to spend upon this planet. I want it all.

Happy Birthday Charles Darwin.

Today I got out of class and walked past the aging biology building. A girl was standing next to a wheeled cart with bakery goods and a pink box at the top. "Would you like some cake?," she said. "It's Charles Darwin's birthday." "Well, happy birthday Charles!" I said, and took a piece. It was chocolate with raspberry filling. Natural Selection has never tasted so good.

It has been good to be in school. And not just for the cake. Time management is still something I could use a great deal more of, but just being in a learning enviornment again refreshes me in ways 8 hours of sleep never can. When I wake up at 6, reading my book, trying to understand as well as complete the assignment for the day, my stomach grumbles at the early hour but my mind is eager. Every day I get up is another day I get to go to school. Work is still fun, but now its become a trouble some 8 hour gap in the days studying. I surprise myself. In my piano class, granted the work is not anything difficult yet, I catch myself swaying to the meter of the piece. I look ridiculous, swaying in 4/4 time, depressing quarter and dotted half notes on the right hand. I keep the keyboard on the pipe organ setting. It makes everything sound more holy. Because every little thing can be holy, every act can be a form of worship. When I get up, I can choose to grumble about the early hour or be thankful for the ability to go to school in spite of work. When I come home, I can choose to entertain my mother's unnecessary advice, or I can cut her off and leave her angry, as I did today. It's not as though there's a cosmic system of checks and balances, who can ever atone for the seed of cruelty harbored in the human heart? Doing good is it's own reward. The gospel of Matthew says

"So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you." Matthew chapter 6, vs 2-4

Secret goodness. It has a small, quiet thrill to it. Thank you Charles Darwin for the cake, and happy birthday. And thank you for the quiet reminder of small good things.