Hermetically Sealed

I will call him every day for the rest of his life.

I have ideas. SO many ideas. Things I want to make, books I want to write, websites I want to build. I am literally burping creativity because my belly is swirling with the acidic, needy muse-juice that I so desperately crave. And yet, it won’t digest and propagate through my marrow properly because that requires time and energy and I have neither.

Because when you are as busy as I am, sunning myself by the glow of the canvas while the gulls of creativity call in the moonlight will simply never happen. Always something to fix, someone to feed, somewhere to be. And it never stops.

I get as far as the idea and like a big dummy standing at a fork in a road, I rut the ground with my feet rather than moving to the left or right where a canvas might actually get painted or verse might actually get written. It’s a veritable hooch-smoking caterpillar handing out a magic cookie. One makes you responsible, one makes you happy. But you can’t be both. Ever. Or the world might implode. Or just your head.

I moved into my new office tonight and made a promise to myself that I would start blogging more, painting more, musing more, and basically doing more of everything that feels good and right and less of the things that don’t make anyone happy, much less me. Like, I don’t think I’ll vacuum every 2 days anymore. I’ve stepped in dog hair before and can do it again (FOR UP TO A WEEK AT A TIME, WEEEE!) Because what’s a clean house and an organized pantry except proof that you bend and reach?

I’d rather have proof that I dug my nails into acrylics or that I thought out a story so epic and long that Stephen King himself would pucker in his rectal area. I’d rather be called a selfish naval-gazing eccentric than a good housewife and I’d rather get called that right now, rather than 30 years from now when I probably won’t be able to hear it anyway.

There is an end to my obsessive perfectionism when it comes to organizing the house. It’s now.

Let the era of sloppy paint, imperfect verse, and mirrors begin! WEE!

I was sitting in a Cracker Barrel restaurant yesterday mulling over a plate of chicken and the recent earthquake in Japan. People were fresh from church and clinking forks against plates, on iPhones, and chattering away.

It hit me that we revolve on such a micro level most of the time. We eat at restaurants and maybe bitch about how they burned the bread and maybe on our way out, we grab a mint. We stop at a gas station for s slurpee where there are random and chaotic displays of crap that nobody really needs. We watch crap on TV, we spend mindless hours on the internet arguing with people we don’t know or buying more random shit that we don’t have room for anyway.

All the plastic knick-nacks. All the “reality” tv shows. All of the petty arguing that people do.

And meanwhile in Japan, people are floating in water, dead, or hovered in the doorways of destroyed homes. They are looking through rubble for water and food or trying to find the daughter who was ripped from their arms when the water came. They are walking around in floating radiation, not yet knowing that they are contaminated. They are forever changed.

When I think of the macro, the large scale “bigness” of what has happened in Japan, Im getting angrier and angrier about the senselessness of it all. How people are still on Facebook playing farmville, griping about their jobs, or, if you are incredibly mentally ill and mean, still trying to cyber-bully someone who did nothing to you except expose your fake Cancer-scheme as bullshit while you scammed, lied, and manipulated people without a second thought.

Because micro people don’t live in the macro. Nothing is bigger than they are, therefore nothing else matters.

I reject it. I reject Perez Hilton and who is wearing what at the Oscars. I reject reality television. I reject plastic souvenirs and tchotchkes. I reject wasting time on the micro when life is so much bigger than that.

We are magic and stardust and light; even our very fingernails are made of comet glitter.