Rally to Save the American Dream (In Response to the Wisconsin Strikes of 2011), Washington DC
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Why is it that absence makes the heart grow fonder, when the presence of a thing is what seems to be the most fulfilling? How can someone sustain a crush, or at this point a deeper bond that surpasses meager infatuation, after a distance of years have passed? Such has been the case when I occasionally receive communications from a beloved friend who at once inspired a flurry of emotions, from lustful desire to admiration and even a sense that there was a kindred spirit I needed to remain connected to. I suppose that it’s my romantic nature that insists on seeing what may not exist between us, or perhaps it’s my hopeful heart that believes time can strengthen bonds and that sometimes good things come to those who wait endlessly.
What I hate is feeling inclined to analyze every little thing said, as if a man can’t be honest and straightforward without concealing a hidden motive. Why do women feel the need to question and doubt, when what we should be doing is just living in the moment and not trying to plan too far in advance? I suppose this is not something which will be figured out in a few paragraphs typed in a few short hours before sunrise. This is something which may require the utmost tenderness and patience, especially in light of how impatient I’ve been in the past and how that impatience has led me to make irrational decisions that I later regretted. This time, I want to savor the experience and not expect it to turn into something that it’s not. It’s a friendship, which is the best thing that I can say about it right now. Whatever else it may or may not be in time, it’s a bond that has lasted a couple of years worth of separation and physical distance. This is someone who may or may not still be in touch with the majority of friends we shared in our college days. This is someone who, for whatever reasons he may have, has found in me a kindred spirit and wants to share things with me that maybe our other friends wouldn’t appreciate.
I’ll gladly sleep on it for now, but I trust this isn’t the end of these musings, nor is it the final step to be taken in an as yet uncertain chemistry between like minds.
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Up until a couple of months ago, I wasn’t exactly that certain whether I’d ever make it back to the West Coast or not. Merlyn, my almost-five-year-old chow/lab mix, and I are now gradually getting ourselves ready for the Big Move. The Big Move is about my plans for graduate school. The Big Move is my first opportunity to look for a “real” job, or one of those jobs that you end up working at because you really want to do it and don’t necessarily care what the salary’s like. I’m not sure what that job’s supposed to look like yet, though. I just know that I want to put what I learned in college to good use, which is a bit of environmental studies, creative writing, and cultural anthropology, all thrown together into one job that isn’t boring or causes me to lose hope in the human race.
And The Big Move will rescue me from the East Coast, where I was born and raised but then fortunately left behind for a short three years in the Navy. So as an adult on the East Coast, it’s been quite a shock. There’s the culture of repression around here. I recently heard someone refer to this area as containing people who are “conservative in their liberalness.” I don’t see dreadlocks or prevalent tattoos or even a lot of facial piercings, and I certainly don’t run across many people who openly admit to smoking pot, if I’m lucky to get ANYONE to open up about the subject at all. Life here for the past two years hasn’t been anything like what I was used to on the West Coast. I came back to this side of the nation, where I’d started down the long path of atheism, as a pagan. A student of shamanism, a practitioner of the occult. I came back to the East Coast with a dog that I’d only had a few years and an aging cat who had been there with me through relationships both romantic and platonic, and everything in between. Here was where my cat finally left for her great journey to the next life, in whatever form that may be. Here was where I learned how to truly appreciate who I was without wallowing in too much judgment. And here, at the beginning of the road that will lead me back to the West Coast, was where I figured out what next steps I wanted to take.
More writing to be done. Science fiction and fantasy, with dark elements of horror. After starting a few blogs dealing with subject matter ranging from my creative writing projects to my attempts at being a radical activist, I discovered a potential for nonfiction writing, though blogging seems to require a hefty dose of self-editing … something which can make discussion of thoughts and feelings quite difficult to convey. Nonfiction writing, if I can just figure out how to motivate myself on a regular basis, may prove profitable, especially once I learn how stick to the momentum I sometimes gain when engaged in environmental activism or related readings. I also want to find a new and fresh perspective on the issues that most people don’t seem too aware of, though that may prove a lifelong task with no guarantee of success.
There’s also the life that I’ve shared with my dog that has led me to contemplate pursuing a career in dog training, or at least becoming involved with the Humane Society and ASPCA. Rehabilitation of shelter dogs to improve their chances of adoption. If all goes well in this next week, I may have an even better chance of taking the training program I’ve been looking at which I can do at home. If not, then at least I’ll know I tried and have to find another way of funding the expensive six-month training program.
There’s still a lot to do. Freshen up my stale old resume. Find some tastier words to describe some of the boring jobs I’ve had in the past decade. Look for a job in California more than a month before I’ll physically be there (something I’ve never actually done before). Try to enjoy my last weeks here, in a place where I’d been fairly uncomfortable for the first year-and-a-half. Remember not to take myself too seriously and that any choice I make is the right choice.
tumblrbot said: WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?
Looking out a window on or around my third birthday and seeing people I knew walking towards the apartment building I lived in.
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