The Promised Chicken

So, I took that little hiatus from The Artist’s Way and haven’t really come back to do a full check-in since then. Oops!

I have pretty much gotten back into the habit of daily writing, but it’s been harder than I expected. Dropping off like that for a week or more can really damage your momentum, and getting back up to speed is like … Trying to accelerate when your gas tank is on empty.

BUT it’s not all bad news today. For example…

Not an Activist is really taking off!

I’m now registered to participate in the Chautauqua Writers’ Festival this summer. It’s only two weeks away!

I’ve been experimenting with some fun videos.

I’ve had two amazing Artist Dates in the past week:

  1. Saturday morning exploring farmers’ markets and trying out amazing fresh foods.
  2. Sunday evening watching fireflies on my front steps.

And yes, I do have some new blog posts just waiting to greet the world. As I’m started focusing more heavily on Not an Activist, I notice the nature of what goes on here at NoTitles is changing. Well, from your perspective, it looks like nothing’s going on here at all. That’s not exactly accurate. Actually, what’s happening is that my approach to my own writing is shifting. I don’t know what to say about that, right now. Just that things are changing.

Things are always changing.

The other day, I found myself saying to the Universe, “OK, I’m ready now. For real. I’m serious. I’m so ready and excited.” Later that day, I found out I would be able to attend Chautauqua after all (I had all but given up until that point). It was a very exciting and somewhat scary moment for me, and it reminded me of why I (and so many people) have avoided change for a long time. Being open to change makes you vulnerable. Committing to a project or idea, caring about a person or goal, making a sincere effort always carries with it the threat of failure. If you don’t care, you don’t stand to lose very much. If you do care, you can lose a lot.

Deep down, I think it’s worthwhile to care, but I have to practice that vulnerability. I have to practice being in that mental and emotional space caring without being paralyzed by my fear of loss.

Yes. So there’s a lot going on here these days. I don’t know what direction this blog will take next. If you’re willing to roll with it, thanks.

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Dreams of an Optional Existence

We (my many selves) were in a movie that started like a dream. A swirl of paint like a Van Gogh happening in reverse, slipping from the surreal drunken starry state to the real — the this-is-a-crisis moment of reality.

There is a sense of “this can’t be happening” in real life that doesn’t exist in dreams. You know it’s a dream by your willingness to accept as reality things that cannot be.

We were under a tank like a Chinese dragon. From the inside, it was just a metal bunker, and we were hanging on to valves and chains and keeping it from floating away.

Outside, things were sliding in and out of existence at will, without warning, randomly. Until one of them wanted in. This ghost of some other self — probably one of mine — was trying to lift the tank. It was heavy and hard for us to control, but she seemed to lift it lightly like the lid to a cake dish to reveal us. With gravity on our side, we pulled down against her, and then, in a flash of light that seemed to come more from within than without, we were exposed, and she was no where to be seen.

In fear, I turned to our guide, a soft-bodied, middle-aged woman with short cropped hair and an air of expertise about hiding and escaping. It was clear she had been doing these things for many years. The funny thing, though, is that no matter how expert you are at hiding and escaping, it doesn’t reduce the fear. Fear was all over her face. We were exposed, and she couldn’t reverse it.

These little bundles flew out when we were exposed. Bits of ourselves that got knocked off by the force of the light and the wind. We scurried around to grab hold of them. Everyone found their pieces except me. The guide gave me a dreadful look. Without gathering up those pieces, I was more vulnerable than the others.

Around the camp fire, on barren rocky ground, everyone but me clung to their little bundles, which on closer inspection looked like hacky sacks and stress balls. Meaningless objects. It was implied that without my little bundle, I would be the first one picked off by these sneaky spirits, the first to fall into some alternate dimension of questionable existence. I told the others in my crew, “Don’t tell me that. I don’t wanna watch this movie if I know I’m doomed from the start.”

But now, in waking life, I wonder: what would happen if I allowed myself to be carried off by these trickster spirits? What would I see if I stepped into their dimension?

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a list – sans explanation

  • coffee
  • a brief moment to myself
  • my husbands pajama pants
  • my dinosaur-cupcake t-shirt
  • the dishevelled bed
  • the laundry
  • scrubbing the washing machine
  • hand-washing cleaning towels
  • scrubbing walls
  • sash brushes
  • closet hardware
  • Oakwood Brown
  • Home Depot
  • bead board
  • staples in the floor
  • Red Bull
  • jewlery stand
  • home ownership
  • a little pannick
  • dreams about eating pine cones like artichokes
  • dreams about kittens
  • dreams about horrible screaming children from bad movies
  • prescription refills
  • annual doctor’s visits
  • packing again
  • moving again
  • that couch
  • razor blades
  • Neptune Blue
  • Colorado Springs
  • painter’s tape
  • dry wall
  • spackle

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another strange dream

I pull up to my office on a normal morning, but it’s cold outside, and my boss is outside with his kid. They are both bundled up, practically wearing ski clothes. I’m expecting him to ask me to take care of his daughter, but he doesn’t. He asks me if I remembered to do something yesterday, and I say no, I forgot, but I’ll do it first thing this morning.

I get into the office, and the place is a wreck. It doesn’t look like an office at all, but an apartment. All my coworkers are there, and they are all really down, and it turns out it’s because a person we work with has died. He was riding his motorcycle, and he got hit by a car. It was all over the news, and I’d heard about it, but I didn’t realize who it was.

The person who died is someone I have only met once or twice, so I’m sad that he died, but I’m not as distraught as the people who have worked with him extensively. But now they’re in a bind because they lost a friend but also because all the projects he was helping on have been left unfinished. Also, I realize the reason my boss is staying outside is because he is scared of ghosts, and he thinks this person’s ghost is in the apartment/office.

There is this weird plastic glowing figure, like the plastic santas people put on their lawns at Christmas, and it’s out on the balcony (this place is now definitely an apartment, and it looks like a bunch of dirty college boys live here) and it is flickering on and off, and the guys think it’s possessed, so they ask me to go do something about it. I go out to the balcony, and say something to the plastic figure, and it stops flickering.

The guys have all been crying, and they’re scared, and they leave work for the day. I then realize it’s very late, like 11 p.m., so I go out and get dinner, but my office is sortof far from my apartment, and I don’t feel like driving home. Remembering that Nimby is out of town, I decide it won’t matter if I just crash at the office. As I am about to fall asleep on the fold out couch in the office/livingroom, my alarm goes off.


I woke up with achy muscles again. Am I getting the flu or something? Hope not.

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horse dream

Last night I dreamed that nimby and I were going camping. We get out to our camp site, which is way out in the woods, and there is this horse there. It’s a giant beautiful black horse, and it’s clearly wild, but it lets us come up to it. It is really like the amazon of horses. I get on its back, and it’s the most amazing creature in the world. Its fur is so soft, and I just love this horse. I want to bring the horse back to live with us (in my dream this makes sense… maybe we have a barn or something… )but I have to find a way to bring it back. So, we are five miles away from my parents’ house out in these woods, and I RUN all the way back to the house, but I don’t find whatever I went there for. Then I run all the way back to the horse in the woods. I do this a couple more times, and then I realize, “dang, I just ran five miles multiple times without getting tired or anything,” but it’s because I did it for this horse. And then I realize there’s no real way to get the horse back to the house, but I’m still really happy because I’ve seen this amazing giant animal.

Then I woke up and realized it was noon and I’d intended to get up at 9 or 10. Buzzkill. Then I burned myself while making coffee.

And now I wonder: Why I didn’t just ride the horse back?

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