The Atlantic was born today and I'll tell you how...

I sit here with my charcoal pencil trying to put on paper what is in my head. Trying to convey some kind of message without using words because words fail me at times like this.
"There she goes, being all dramatic again." I know, it is part of my genetic make up or something. Everything has to be felt in such a big way. Everything has to be overthought and overwrought. My email inbox told me "Victory is admirable; self-aggrandizement is not." How true.

I need a little forward momentum right now. I am far too comfortable. I get really afraid of comfortable. I feel like if there is no forward momentum, no change on the horizon, there is only one thing left to be right around the corner and it isn't something I am cool with. Comfortable=Death.

I want to move to another city and figure it out. I wish my little family were a little more portable. I can't imagine there is a lot more to learn in/about Seattle. I have been here long enough. I know most everyone I am going to want to know. I know who I won't/shouldn't get to know better. I can't leave the house without running into the past. Not that I am running away from it, I just wish things were not so predictable.
If Jon came to me tomorrow and said "I want to move (insert anywhere but Seattle here)" I would say yes in a heartbeat. But it will never happen.
We are so different that way. He likes being settled in one place, having a place to go home to that he has known for a long time. But then again, he has gone around the world more times than most people ever get to. I also have to consider things like my daughter and the fact she is in school, forming school bonds, learning life lessons and all of the rights of passage that come with youth. Who am I to try and rob her of that. I would never do that to her.

I'm not looking for drama, or "feel betters" or apologies. God no. I would rather never leave the house again.

It is more/all about looking for that feeling of intensity and fulfillment that I think we are all endlessly searching for. Finding/defining your passion. Jon gets it out of music. I have friends who get it out of the first blush of excitement that comes with new lovers. My daughter gets it from creating art. I get/got it from all of the above and then some and not some.

sigh.

(I think I might need to cut back on the old coffee a little.)

You never liked to get the letters that I sent...

Last night when I was on my way to a rock show I saw an interesting bit of graffiti scrawled across the back end of a car.
It read: Don't die wondering "what if?"

Illusion of beauty

She sits at the bar wetting her lips
The thoughts of the hour took a lifetime to live.
Thirty some years and nothing has changed.

The same insecure child with her last husband’s name
A wedding and a baby some time ago.
She can almost remember what it’s like to be loved.

She spent her money and now her money’s all gone,
her body till broke busted, bankrupt, used up
a whore.

She has a list a mile long
of who's to blame for her woes
and the cure to what ails her,
she swallows down hard only to live in the illusion of beauty again.


Lyrics By- Michelle Price off of Songs about Songs 1998
Wanna Hear it? Go here.