It's true, I've found it hard to put pen to paper lately. Upon the opening of my journal today, Octavia immediately decided to welcome it back by gracing my lap with her presence.  She's missed me writing, too.  I am not sure what it is...something about that stark black line permanently defining that minute, solidifying feelings and people.  I hadn't put two and two together, my recent lack of writing and my recently undefined sense of self, but as is the result of my time with Jess, sipping wine in front of a fire at a historic hotel, I realized their correlation.

For those of you who cannot read my scribble, "Once the moment is gone, the inspiration fleeting, I find it hard to go back and edit my poems.  They are so momentary in nature, meant to store the tone of one particular feeling.  It's as if the muse blindfolds me, then uses my hands.  Later, when I'm more objective and the tone of the moment is no longer, I see that the writing simply isn't as good.  So now, I'm defining a process for myself.  It's time to do the work, remove the blindfold, and see what I'm actually made of."

Currently:

Fear = 72%

Bravado = 23%

Good Poetry =  5%

Goal:

Fear = 20%

Bravado = 20%

(damn) Good Poetry = 60%"

Here's to taking the next step with only the courage of NOW in my pocket, 

I've not been feeling like myself lately, or so I hear from the ol' brain.  It just occurred to me that  perhaps it doesn't know what myself actually IS and what it's supposed to feel like - and who the hell am I to say what I can and can't do or be?  Perhaps the truest way to see it is that I am changing.  My profile blurs the more I try to see it, the definition of my soul vaporizes through my analytical hands. 

But are there things I can do to recover my old self, if I want to?  My comfortable self? Does Candace have to write to truly be Candace? Or can she take up spelunking and still be Candace...or does the definition of that Candace then change? And what is it Candace has to do to be a new Candace? 

Oh my.  I just had a horrible thought.  What if she starts wearing sports gear OUTSIDE?!  I shudder.  

The question remains, "What makes me, me?"  Is it my interests? Relationships? DNA?  Physical body? Soul (if one exists?) Character traits?  Lifetime on the earth?  Possessions? Big nail beds, fine hair, green eyes?

I am perpetually intrigued with the incongruities between a person's projected self and internal self.  Someone could be the biggest asshole to everyone else, but inside is sweet, sad, and broken.  Another might fancy themselves horrible at hosting when in fact they shine the most when cooking for company.   One person might pride themselves on being proper, another interprets that behavior as stuffy.  Some days I can feel so beautiful, then walk by a mirror and note objectively, "Huh - I'm just me. I'm average."  I don't FEEL average, so which is true?  Last night, on a date by myself, I made a love list.  It's the list of every man with whom I've ever engaged in a reciprocal romantic relationship.  I did this because it's good for me to remember that I am more than my marriage, am attractive to at least 20 guys.  Call it superficial, but what I need of late is the superficial boost.  I can't quite define what's happening, but for one of the first times in my life, I don't really need to.

And that, my friends...that is change.

Thoughts are power.  What are you feeding yours? I had officially gorged on screen time last month, so I made a new goal to read one book per week.  Four books and four weeks later, I'm cruising through my to-read list like a proper bibliophile.  My thoughts are thanking me.

ROUND ONE

Hendricks Martini w/ an Orange Twist
and Monk's Habit (Calvados, Aquavit, Benedictine & Antica Formula)

ROUND TWO

2009 Domaine Dupeuble, Beaujolais 

and Two Beers Evo IPA

Cheers,

 My sisters, niece, and mamma.

 Southern California Sunset as we drive into the city.

I returned last night to the most gorgeous Seattle drizzle. My parched skin thanked me for returning home, despite an epic weekend celebrating my sisters and their birthdays.  We started Saturday with an awesome brunch - so much food and laughter!  Then we headed down to El Cid, a flamenco dinner theater. I don't think I expected it to be as authentic and transporting as it was.  We stayed at the restaurant until it became a club a few hours later and danced ourselves sick.  I also got to snuggle Clara a bit, though it's never enough.  I also happily taught her to exclaim, "Oh Man!" which sounds more like "Oh, maaa" coming from her, but still, she's pretty darn cool.

Looking forward to a night alone with my love, cuddling in front of a fire - or a beer. Either will do.

Monday, check.