Houston.....not so dull this time.

The hurricane is less than 24 hours away from hitting. James and I are stuck in Houston at my familys house. We barely had enough gas to get here from his mom's, much less get back to Austin. I'd say 4/5 of the gas stations along the way were out of gas, and the other 1/5 of them had lines at least 45 minutes long.
I didn't get any pics of that, but when we went to the grocery store for some last minute supplies, I got these. A little taste of chaos.
Mom and our last mintue necessities.
Breadless.
Canned goodless.
Waterless...except for the impending floods.
Meatless.

Thirteen

Last night we took turns dodging pillows the other two threw, all the time, trying to keep our laughter at a low hiss.
We put on Marilee's clock radio, and showed each other our dance moves, chewing Lemonheads, and more Lemonheads.
We played Bullshit, but said "BS," once again, trying to keep our giggles low.
We moved our card game to Ivanna's room, after being told one too many times to keep it down, where were told one last time to keep it down, or we (not me), would have to go to bed.
We played rummy, crazy 8's. We did the splits and backbends. We talked about crushes. We ate string cheese and farted.
Then they went to bed.
And I got to be thirteen again.

Listen All A Y'all, This is Sabotage

As always, I am beginning to sabotage myself.
Watching Team America, I feel a tiny longing to visit France, sitting in cafes, wlking over bridges, buying flowers from flower stalls, eating fries.
Watching Malto Mario, I want to sample Italy's finest food, gathered around a large old wooden table, with 4 generations of my Sicilian family, laughing, lingering, drinking wine poured from a jog.
(I am no part Italian, it's a fantasy. Jesus!)
Watching BBC America today, I wanted to buy my ticket right then to England, to see the cloudy skies, formal, yet lush gardens, and dark pubs.
And so the travel sickness once again shows it's ugly symptoms.
Just when I have a good plan.
I can't just work a shit job, save money and travel for the rest of my life. If I did, I would only really be living, doing something I love, about 1/3 of the time. And that's not even factoring in sleeping, showering, shitting.
One day I'll be old, and I won't be able to work just any shit job any more. And with all the medications I'll have to buy, for my alzheimers and diabetes and erectile dysfunction, I'll probably just barely be scraping by.
Am I overly concerned about a future that may never even come to be?
Am I trying to insure my life?
No.
I just know what it's like to live the way I live because I've been living that way for quite a while by now.
I am not satisfied. I am not happy with it. I am not living my dream.
I am not fulfilled.
So it's time to move along, to commit to something (at least for now...he he), and not fall back into my habitual way of life, because it's that...a habit.
I don't suspect that I'll ever stop travelling. I love it. I need it.
I get these serious cravings that HAVE to be pacified. It's like heroin for me.
But at this point in my life, travelling can never be for me, anything more than a diversion from the cruel reality of my soul killing job.
I can't join the Peace Corps. I can't teach English in Japan.
I don't know if I am currently capable of combining my passions with my responsibilites.

Oh no...
We were just talking about Fredericksberg, and the awesome German food, and Enchanted rock. James was reminiscently complaining about the price of camping there, and compared it to the average costs of National Parks.
And suddenly, I was longing for the view of the entrance booth, the beauty abounding on either side of the road, the map at the trailhead, the treasures to be discovered along the path.
I want another shot at Denali. I want to be deep in Olympic. The Great Smoky Mountains, Yosemite, Yellowstone, Grand Teton. I want it all again.
And then, think of all the National Parks in other countries...Croatia, Costa Rica, Australia, Kenya. Jesus Christ!

See what I'm saying?
Frick a lick on a stick!

Commitment and Eclairs

I always get a little swirrl of anxiety when I sit down to write.
Maybe it's not knowing the outcome.
Maybe it's the uncertainty that I'll find the words.
But I'm feeling it now.

I'm writing because I was inspired by my friend Dani's blog entry that she wrote recently about herself. More specifically, things she finds wrong with herself.
With this train of thought, fresh and in the back of my mind, I wrote to my friend Toni. I haven't been in too close of contact with her in a while, so I was telling her about what's been going on in my life.
It was during this e-mail that I realized, I am afraid of commitment.
Maybe "afraid" isn't the right word.
Maybe I have an aversion to commitment.
Maybe I'm allergic.
Whatever the appropriate term for my inability to commit to things, the fact is, I am unable to commit to things.
I'm not talking about relationships. James and I have been together 4 years as of the 10th of October. I am very commited to him. I don't know about marriage, but that's a whole other story.
I'm talking about commitment to any direction in my life.
I'm talking about to anything lasting longer than a couple of weeks.
Por Ejemplo: In the past 4ish years, I have been intensly and passionately interested in crochet, belly dance, beading, poi, and haiku, all for about a month each. And those are just the examples I can think of right off the top of my head.
I have made arrangements to roommate with 4 different people, Julie, Toni, Melody, and Jen. I have followed through with only Julie, and that was only for a month and a half. The rest, I've decided against after a couple weeks thought, thus ruining other's plans and nearly breaking up my sister, Melody, and her fiance.
I can't even commit to simple plans to hang out with people. I make the plan, I decide I don't want to hang out after all, I never call, and when that person calls me, I don't answer the phone. people who know me really well have come to understand this about me: I am a flake.
So, at this particular juncture in my life, I have a plan, as I usually do.
I am going to save money, for roughly a year. Then I'm going to take out loans for school, at the same time, investing the money I've saved, with James' help. Then I'll go to school. When I'm finished with school, I'll use the money I had originally saved to pay off my loans before they accure any interest, and I'll keep the money I made off that money in the stock market, so it can make me some mo monies.
An excellent plan I think. I really like this one.
But you don't understand. I've made SOOOOOO many plans. And SOOOOO few have come to fruition.
Why? Because I can't commit. Therefore, I get little accomplished.
Therefore, much of the time I feel like I'm floating around, just stayin' alive.
I imagine such great things for myself. Such wonderful experiences and accomplishments. I expect a wonderful life.
Buy how the frick am I supposed to experience and accomplish great things if I can't commit to something for more than a month?
Maybe I have a short attention span.
There are only a few long lasting passions in my life, and those are, in order of age (though definitely not in order of importance), food, writing, cooking, and James.
Travel also actually, but as it's not on a front burner for me right now, I hesitate to add it to the previous list.

So I'm a commitment-phobe. What do I do? I feel ya guys.

I just want to add, I made eclairs from scratch today. If you've only had doughnut shop eclairs, then you've never had one. SHAZAAM!

The Playground

And I thought there was nothing to photograph in this neighborhood.

The Background

It's retarded.
On this blog, I've recently discovered, I don't feel free to write about stupid random shit.
I know some would disagree, were they to read back over my previous entries, but I personally always feel that I have to at least stir a certain amount of cleverness into my entries.
When I log on to Blogger, I feel.....pressure.
Maybe it's the imposing grey background.
Maybe, well, that's actually all I can think of.
I think I'll change the background.

That's better.

Flawed

I had so much good, clean, and productive fun yesterday with the series of "Flawed" photos, and others I took in James' Mom's van and the fabric store, I think I'll do it again today.
I had been looking through some peoples photos on Deviantart, and regretting the fact that the 3rd dimension does strange things to my face, and therefore, obviously, I could not model for myself in photos.
Then it occured to me that maybe I was looking for the wrong things in a model.
Some old dead guy, like Goethe, or Mussolini, or some one said,
"Ugly can be beautiful, but pretty, never."
And I realized that all those distorted angles, and imperfect features, were infinitely more interesting than a scarless chin, or a perfect button nose.
So I will continue in my "Flawed" series, to appreciate, through very blunt photos, all of my previously unloved parts.

The Fruits of Todays Labor

Urban Exploration and The Elusive Poly-Cot Grail (also random photo)

Sorting through fabrics at Hancock's, looking for the perfect material for James' Urban Monk thingamajiggy, I was thinking of an Urban something else.
Drinking my to go coffee, after eating my big salad at Cafe Express, I was also thinking about the Urban something else.
I wasn't thinking about it when I was trying to get James with the two finger snake bite attack. That takes too much concentration, especially when holding the aforementioned to go coffee.

That Urban something else, is Urban Exploration. It's something that James and I have practiced, sort of, around Austin.
I think that technically, Urban Exploration, is going into abandoned, closed off, forgotten, or forbidden places, with a flashlight, and maybe a camera, and seeing what you can see.
This is something I haven't really thought about doing before, and I am inspired.
I heard about it by reading Toni's blog, where she mentions it in passing.
But I don't just want to go into tunnels and abandoned mills and what not.
In my idea of UE (for short), it is really urban exploration. Discovering all sorts of hidden nooks and crannies around your city. It can be anything.
ANYTHING!
Even tiny things, like seed pods, fuse boxes, whatever.
Isn't the spirit of it discovery, of anything?
I only say this because I was looking at UE websites last night, to get an idea of what Toni was talking about, and they really seemed focused on specific kinds of places, like tunnels, and sewers, abandoned houses, buildings, and factories, rooftops, etc. Places of moisture, fungi, rust, and general dilapidation.
But it can be so much more.
Now I'm really looking forward to getting back to "the 512" and and diggin' in.
Heck, I might even have a go here, in "H town", whenever all the family is busy. I know I'll have time at my mom's.
I'm excited. Maybe I'll look around today.

On a sadder note, fate didn't bring James and his fabric soul mate together today.
Keep searching brave knight, for that polyester/cotton blend grail, and we will all keep you in our prayers.

Sometimes...(plus random photos)

Sometimes I get so tired of listening to my own bullshit.
I just read back over my post before last.
Sometimes I can sound so pompous.
But it's good to have your moments of pompousitude, and all other moments for that matter, recorded. It can really give you perspective.
It can really remind you that "this too shall pass," whether it's good or bad, it's not meant to last.
My life functions in currents, waves.
Sometimes I'm really in the swing of it. I'm thoughtful, metaphysical, spiritual. I'm changing, making progress. I'm getting shit done!
Sometimes (one of which was when I started this blog, hence the name "The Desperate Situation Of My Life"), everything feels very well FUCKED. And it's little cherry will ever after be just a brown stain on a sheet.
Sometimes I'm a stoner. No need to elaborate on that one.
Sometimes I am super creative. Whatever medium, I am Mrs. God, omnipotent weaver of things, haver of ideas, sculpter of curlicues, whisker of sauces. Whatever.
Sometimes I am a drinking, gossiping, x-doing, girly girl, idiot.
Sometimes I just am, floating around, living hand to mouth, not just financially, but completely. Those times may be the worst. Like feeding and watering myself, until I die.
Sometimes I have to be moving. Where ever I am is wrong. That's the wanderlust, and I have no illusions that I'll ever be rid of that.
But always, I am a booty shaking, "nigga" saying, wanksta.
But that's just how I roll.
I am 1/32 black, after all.

So I suppose I have to forgive my pompousitude. That's just how I was way back then, a month ago.

Ice

Isn't ice one of the most beautiful and amazing, and let us not leave out, refreshing things on the entire planet?
I'm not talking about "bling." I'm talking about wonderful little morsels of frozen water. I'm talking about crushed, and cubed, and berged, and glacierized ice.
I think back to our Mexico adventure and recall craving and missing, more than anything, ice.
I'd say it's my favorite food.
Does it count as a food?
It is solid. I do crunch it with my teeth and then swallow it.
It rejuvinates, it reenergizes.
It's water, only infinitely more entertaining for my mouth.
But ice is also lovely. Extremely.
I've caught myself, staring into my glass of ice water or tea, in either a pre or post gulp trance. The light hits it just right, the color of the glass, the lemon wedge distorted by the smooth glassy pebbles, the sun reflected into a star that rotates along with the varying width of my squinting of my eye.
To look through the side of the glass, through the beading and dripping condensation, and the transparent mass floating at the top of the glass. Or the middle of the glass.
Depends on how much you drank.

I love ice.

Coming Soon to a Computer Near You

It's been so long since I've written here, but I am still alive.
I got so burnt out with writing, what with keeping up with my travel blog, and my personal journal, and those 4 post cards I wrote while I was in Mexico, I just haven't been able to muster any words.
But I feel it coming back.
Little bubbles of verbal inspiration.
A tiny little popcorn pop in the back of my mind.
I need to make space. I need to make energy.
Collect energy rather.
Whatever.
Oh yeah...Puppies and Butterflies.