A bell tolls and brings a death warrant

For whom the bell tolls. I like that word 'tolls' and the meaning that a tolling bell is for death, a funeral and I like this....

John Donne (1572-1631), Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions, Meditation XVII: Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris:

"Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.

 No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee."

So whom do I speak you may ask? I speak for many things in essence but for one person the bell is tolling. I'm pissed today. Still a remnant from yesterday lingering. There is nothing more offensive to me than some young asswipe that thinks he can tell me how to live my life while he is being a hypocrite.

You have the audacity to come into my house while I'm working and tell me we need to have a talk. Not only do you knock and then enter without asking, you help yourself to my beer and cigarettes. Presumptuous. Rude. And homey don't play that way. 

We are friends that are fucking. Plain and simple. I was lectured on keeping my mouth shut to not say anything about whom I'm fucking. While I put up with stinky feet... the drinking of my beer... constant invitations to watch baseball games...woke in the middle of the night by a continuous drunk...uninvited drop-ins. And conversations that were all about him and bad mouthing somebody I care about.  Like an insidious little worm (Insidious..another great word).

I was not really enjoying myself but he was useful. But no not really. Actually he was more irritating than anything. 

But the final couple of straws..

I had a touch of the flu and then heaped the beer flu on top of it. Yesterday was not pretty. 

He is dropped off by a friend for this little 'a talk' and then when I don't put up with it and he backs down. He grabs another beer and sat his ass down in my office while I'm working, with his cock attitude and wants a blowjob? 

Your head almost became removed... fuck the tolling bell, there will be no funeral.

After the art of fielding

I'm writing again. Could not figure out what was causing the block or lack of desire to work on any writing projects.

Finally figured it out.

I had moved my writing desk out of my office/studio/writing room thinking I did not want work to mix with my creativity. So I moved a writing desk to my bedroom and it was set up so pretty but seemed cluttered. Or the room seemed cluttered with it in it because it is a small bedroom. I just couldn't sit down and write there for long and there was no view. I was always avoiding it and in my office instead.

So yesterday I looked at my office and thought man I miss writing in this room with the view of the street and treeline above the cemetery. The shadows of the blue walls relax me and feel so cool in the summer heat. I Glanced down at the large pile of pine that is my new wood floors and thought that pile of wood is fucking with my creativity.

"Yep," I said out loud to the room "it is definitely fucking with my creativity!" 

Went back down the hall to my bedroom that is painted a happy yellow and glanced at this space at the end of my bed and thought If I moved the wood there to the end of the bed it would be out of the way. Plus I would look at it every time I came in my bedroom and want perhaps to get off my ass and install it.

I started to move all this wood and it is not light or small, down the hall and tucked it in this new space. Now the writing desk was even more cluttered in this small room. So this morning I moved my writing desk back into my office and BOOM like a crack of thunder it was all back. Creativity... desire... and the urge. I thought it might feel cluttered in the office with two desks and my drafting table but each work space has its own purpose for creativity and where my writing desk sits now I have an even better view then I had before and BOOM... like I have already stated the creativity is back and I opened my writing and meandering file and started in on it all again.

I have been having a little affair filled with good fun clean sex. Last night I took some UPT from work to go and watch his baseball game. He is the coach for the Bricks team and after the game we headed to the Brick to enjoy pitchers of beer and baseball chit chat. Then later headed to my house and as we leaned against the porch our arms touching as they rested on the base of the porch. We looked out into the dark night as we smoked and talked some more. I mentioned that I had moved all this wood to my bedroom. He started laughing and shaking his head and said, "why did you do that?"

"Because it was fucking with my creativity."  

He laughed into the night and glanced over at me his green eyes twinkling in the low lights coming from the house. The music of the stereo coming through the copper screen of the summer door. "It was fucking with your creativity?"

"Yep." I replied.

He chuckled again and said "That's actually pretty funny." And said it softly again into the night, "fucking with your creativity," as he shook his head smiling.

But as I write with glee this morning of this epiphany. I have to laugh because it worked. Plus the sex is good. The man can do wonders with his hands, fingers and mouth.

Damn its good to be back to my life.. like I love to live it. The sabbatical lasted 6 days...lmfao...

Rolling Storms

Sunday as I worked and typed in x-chat with a co-worker she mentioned that her lights were flickering and the wind was howling. I stopped to pause for a second...didn't she just live down the hill in Ellensburg?

I typed back 'aren't you in Eburg'?
'Yep', she replies.
'And it's windy with lightning'?
'Yep'.
'Wow I'm just up the hill in Roslyn what's up'...hmmm.

As I logged off the work computer and turned out the light I made my way to my porch. No wind. In the distance though I could see flashing. Rapid flashing. Yep definitely a lightning storm in the works.

I made a promised phone call for a beer date at the bar. He was at home or at the neighbors anyway and asked if we could stay in and have a beer. 'There is a good storm on outside', I replied. So he walked down the hill in the hot summer night and we moved the wooden bench on my porch to face the East and watched long into the night as it surrounded us yet never got really close. The dense heat filled clouds suctioned themselves to the high ridges that surround us and moved across the state to wake my sister later in the night in Burien.

The wind slowly picked up and some rain fell and we moved to the west end of the porch as the storm made it's way over the Pass. Mixing with and cooling the hot air that had sat in the valley. Sapping any moisture at all left in the ground from our incessant spring rain.

The edge of the bittersweet loop.

Longing, desire and assailed by memories. Bittersweet. Yes that word describes my return after three weeks away from Marigold Loop. I slept upstairs above the garage where it all began three years ago. Since then we have lost the shuffling old man and the skittish dog. The return prompted by a family reunion and a house filled with kids not my own.

My sister picked me up from my house in Roslyn. My boys; adults and busy with their lives but popping into hang with Mom when they need her, so I left reluctantly in my mind to have to go back to a place I just left a little while ago. A place filled with hope, yet also of things I cannot have.

I met with my peeps and that was sweet too. The tripod is changing. Life is changing all around us and I decided that maybe it was for the best that I had to face and own up too this, assault on the senses. I'm ready to go home to that sweet mountain air; that I can now face up to in its own way, for its haunting memories mixed with all the new ones.

Vette and I watched Machine Gun Preacher last night. It was violent, sad and heartbreaking but showed a side of the world that we hide from. I have hollered the words 'be nice' a couple of times this weekend to my sister and then at her kids. I like people to be nice and kind to each other. Why do we have to be mean and hate?

Make love not war. That is a good line. I have always been accused of being a hippie and maybe they are right. But what is wrong with being nice and kind? There is definitely nothing wrong with making love and not war. Perhaps if more people were to make themselves happy with the pleasure of sex there would be less war, less useless violence and pent up rage. Even thoughts of sex have the power to melt me into a pliable kind giving person.

Bittersweet. Breaking down that word makes it not quite such a beautiful word...bitter. I never want to be an old women filled with lines of bitterness on my face. I want my lines to be as comma's around the eyes and mouth, showing laughter, happiness and a life filled with good times, great sex and even better moments.

Looking glass

I'm sore. Aching ass sore. There is not one inch of me that is not sore. My fingernails ache from pulling weeds and I have wounds from the weed whackers violent flings of debris. Everyday I add to my list of things to do and get done. The best part about yard work is that it only costs in pain.

I look forward to just going to work to set around. The days are long it is the part of June where every evening at the end of the day gets longer. It is twilight that is endless. Until the solstice.

I always seem to think that Fall is my favorite season. And it is, but sometimes late spring is nice too. The lake is high and the edges are filled with the art of flotsam. I love to go out there and hunt for sticks. I plan to make a trellis from them and then to also make a bean teepee.

 
Rummaging through natures free hand outs. The limbs of trees that have flowed through melting snow. They arrive soft and polished at the lake shore. Makes me almost miss having a dog that loves to chase the perfect stick and at this time of the year there are thousands of perfects sticks.

I have had some good conversations this week, Nate my old renter dropped a saw on his thigh and limped by and stopped to chat. Today I talked to the Mayor of Roslyn. Once upon a time he stole my dog 'C.O.' may she RIP she died last winter. Another dog he stole 'Harley' was with him as he watered my neighbors rhubarb. The yard looks a little better everyday. I'm thinking my ass and arms will be looking well toned by the end of the summer.

Honey dew

#61 graduates

Almost finished with my second week of working from home. Last week I was not so sure I would want to keep my same schedule of 1-10, it meant a lot of time in my house. This week I'm loving it. I have a vast amount of time to work on my 'To Do List.'

This week I have stained my lean to that covers my furnace and garbage can receptacle. I stained the steps and I started on the wood that lines the base of my house. Then I also started building a rock wall. I coated my island and going to start a garden. It's refreshing to come in the house and sit around working for eight hours. By ten I'm beat and taking a soak in the tub then head to bed and up doing it again the next morning.

I love it that I can go hunt for rocks.
I love it that I can walk to go get my mail.
I love the silence.

Number 61 graduated by the skin of his teeth. Both my kids are adults. Life is good.

Well equipped

I have been officially equipped and deployed.
I start working from home tomorrow. Wow!
I wonder how it will change my life? And by this I mean maybe my creative flow?

For the last year couple of years I have been at my parents and writing in different formats, suddenly I find I have my own space again and stuff as well. Will I seize up, dry up or embrace and release. What will happen when my work is in my home? I have been focusing on ways to make myself not lose certain routines and schedules, but to also create different ones for myself.. I don't want work from home to suck the creativity out of my life.

I have started painting again and that gets me out of the house and will continue to get me out of the house; to hang, work and create with fellow artists and they inspire me.
I at one time planned to have my writing desk as my office desk. But this morning thought suddenly no.... I need to move it to my bedroom so that it is separate from my work life. So that writing is still a retreat from the real and painful world.

I plan to walk more. I can walk to get my mail and be in the heart of the City in minutes. I can walk to the bar and have a beer. I can walk just a small bit and be in the heart of the mountains and forest. I have a built in network of friends. It will be good, so good.