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Love it or hate it, I’m actually sticking with this one. Updates here to continue intermittently.

Sometime between walking into the house to discover that the main water line to the house had backed up – for the third time – and opening the twice-as-much-as-expected power bill, my brain just decided to shut off. I bailed water out of the house, I put the bills in the “to be paid” pile, I still got dinner going, and even managed to build a fire in our fireplace (which has been a saving grace of relaxation the last few days) – but beyond that small 1/10th of my brain that was keeping me going, I wanted to curl up and throw a tempter tantrum.

Most days I do pretty well – and love life. Every once in a while, though, I realize that at 23 I feel like I *should* be … somewhere else? I never really had Big Plans of Getting The Perfect Job or getting the Nobel or such, but I always imagined that life would have started to coalesce more at this point. That money wouldn’t be a practically constant concern.  That I could relax more. That adventures of the not-so-mundane style could ensue.

A highly statistically significant portion of my high school class is now married, mostly with kids. I find nothing wrong with that choice- and in many ways envy things about it. On the same token, I always knew that wasn’t for me. I don’t think I’m grasping as much these days to figure out who I am – I am, however, conscious of the fact that I still don’t “feel” like a grownup. In many ways, I feel like I’m just the same overgrown 12 year old with too much self-imposed responsibility that my parents claim I’ve been since the age of 9.

Some days, I wonder what not caring would be like. Then I realize that no matter how much I wonder, I could never be happy not caring. I just want to find a way to balance them.

Three cheese stuffed, roasted chicken
Angel hair pasta with garlic cream sauce
Spinach salad
Fresh bread

The chicken is comparatively simple and incredibly tasty. If you care to try it out -
Three Cheese Stuffed Chicken:
6 Boneless, skinless chicken breasts
Olive Oil
Garlic powder
Salt
Pepper
Paprika
1 package feta cheese (Garlic and herb or sun-dried tomato are both tasty)
1/2 cup Ricotta cheese
1/2 cup Parmesean cheese

Preheat oven to 350.

In a shallow frying pan, heat a few tablespoons of olive oil over medium-high heat until shimmering. Place two or three (however many will fit in your pan) trimmed chicken breasts in the pan, sprinking the spices to taste over the top. Flip after two or three minutes, and sprinkle the other side with spices. Cook another two to three minutes. DO NOT cook all the way through! Set this chicken aside, on a baking dish covered in foil, and continue cooking in batches until complete.

In a bowl, combine the three cheeses. Set aside.

Allow the chicken to cool just enough to handle. Using a sharp paring knife, cut into the thickest part of the breast – about half the horizontal width. Cut down the length of the breast. Spoon approximately one sixth the cheese mixture into the slice you just created, using the back of the spoon to pack the cheese in.

Once all six chicken breasts are stuffed, cover the baking dish with more foil, sealing the edges. Bake for twenty to thirty five minutes, until the chicken shows no signs of pink and the cheese is heated through.

1- The laptop has died. Again. Time to buck up and actually buy a new system. Yuck.

2- The new house is wonderful. Ask me about it some time – I could go on and on and on about how it’s got great karma, how my roommates are wonderful, how it’s slowly getting decorated and set up well.

3- Thanksgiving dinner is going to be at my house. Yay and eep! I don’t currently have the table, chairs, or dishes for this. But it will come together. It always does, even if major family construction is involved.

4- Las Vegas was FUN! I got lots of photos – only some of which I was able to post before the lappy died. But check out the flickr for a dozen or so of them. And I got to sit at the COOLEST wedding-reception table ever. Las Vegas Rocky Horror cast and all.

5- Weird dreams. Lots of them. Last night was an interesting rehashing of the day that included carving pumpkins at a bonfire being held in the middle of my office building.

The point is, life is good, life is treating me well, and while I want to say “I’ll try to post more often” the reality is I’m keeping it up as I have the desire. Infrequent updates usually just mean there will be more for me to write about when life slows down again.

Oh, and as usual, geeks rock.

1- VEGAS, baby! One of the friends I have known the longest in my life is getting married in Las Vegas (he lives there, so it’s not as cheesy as it sounds) next weekend. I was scrimping and saving, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it. Then an amazing friend loaned me her airline voucher, and I’m going to be there.

2- Cuddles. I’m getting semi-regular cuddles. This always makes me happy.

3- Red Dress. Because of the Vegas trip, I wanted to get a cute dress. I managed to find one in the first store I went into, that actually fit, and was on a serious sale. Score!

4- Poetry Slam. I managed to not only make it to the second round last night at the first Spokane Poetry Slam of the season, and I didn’t get last!

5- House. The house, after a rocky emotional month, has some of the best karma I’ve lived around since leaving home. We’re all getting along well, it’s an incredibly creative place, and there is lots of laughing. Sure, there’s still work to be done, but it’s just a positive vibe.

6- Photography. I got to go out on a photo shoot for work. I didn’t get to take photos, but I got to be near a photo shoot, and I realized how truly happy it makes me. So I’m actually taking steps to put together my home studio I’ve been dreaming about.

7- Friends. Things are going well for the friends and family around me. For some reason, it’s just aligning that the things that make them happy or things that are good are happening to them as well. More than anything, this makes me truly happy – to see those around me having a positive time.

Soul Fire

Ovation

Icky

As always, more at the Flickr Account

Holdover: another slam poem: The Cure

Tonight it is with trepidation
That I approach the stage
The microphone
The audience
The words
The truth
Shaking like an addict

Because the reality is
That I am not good at this
I cower in the face of power
And you’re holding all the cards

At your first glance
I’ve got confidence
I take the chance

But you’re the ones judging
ones scoring
ones with a stopwatch
ones that decide
In seven freaking seconds
or less
If you’ll even listen

It’s the radio
Without hiding behind the microphone
I’m so afraid you will be
Tuning out of this
Poetry station

Because my creation
Is full of trepidation
And says too much
About my aspiration
To avoid stagnation
And get better at flirtation

Because it’s all manipulation
Of the words that are my
Intoxication

My vocal vibration
The summation
Of your expectation
Your score the incarceration
Of my liberation

And yet I come back
I’m the one writing
With a pen
That decides
In seven freaking hours
Or more
What the hell I’ll even say

At my first glance
You’re hostile
And I cower in the face
Of your power

But words are drugs
Poetry the syringe
That fills our veins
With syllable chasers
And meter munchies
That are impossible to resist

There’s a reason
It’s called
A slam

Like vodka burning
The delicate tissues
Of your throat
Someone’s words
Will burn into your soul
If not tonight
Then tomorrow

Because words are drugs
And I failed DARE

This microphone
Is the birthstone
Of so many words
scattered and sewn
And a few words
Planted and grown
I’ve listened to you
And I’ve decided that

These words are irresistible
And incurable
They’re impossible
Incomprehensible
Incompatible
Infallible
And despicable

Yet, with the door open,
I am caught
And refuse to escape
Or leave this birthstone alone
I must stand, shaking like an addict

In front of the ones judging
scoring
with a stopwatches
that decide
In three freaking minutes
or less
If these words are worth it

The reality is
That I cower in the face of power
And you’re holding all the cards
But words are drugs
And lest I implode
I need my hit

Despite judgment
or Advancement
or Argument
This is my ailment

And I hope they never find
A fucking cure

You stand up here
Speaking of revolution
Of those that died
For misbegotten beliefs
In God, Country, and War

You stand up here
Telling me that we’ve got it wrong
That we messed it all up
And all that’s left to do
Is mourn and recall

Mourn and Recall
That day when the towers fell
That our soldiers were deployed
That the world turned upside down

You stand up here
Mourning the lives that are lost
Recalling liberties yanked away
Speaking of revolution

So I ask you
The affected, the teary-eyed
The revolutionaries
The believers in country
Or in conspiracy

Who do you mourn?
Who did you
Who do you know
That you would have,
Should have,
Could have,
Kissed goodbye

Now, standing up here, respectfully
I ask you to recall
Not a president’s blunders
Or the lack of planning
Not the fear of reprisal
Or your political sway

But recall why it is
A Revolution around which you rally
A Revolution for which you mourn
Is it freedoms denied?
Or the hapless, hopeless, senseless deaths?

And I ask you to recall
How much freedom there is
Surrounded in the stifling black
And lost self
Of an unwanted burqua

And I ask you to recall
How many hapless
Hopeless
Senseless deaths
Hidden in mass graves
Came to the Kurds
At the hands of chemical tests

And I ask you to mourn
For the on-mass killings
Of innocents
Bystanders
And the unlucky
Those caught in the crossfire
Of powerful dictators
And their desires

I am not standing up here
To tell you that we are right
That the world operates
On black and white

I simply ask you to recall
That though WMDs are MIA
Our reasons were not
And are not
Quite all that simple
Mourn for those that die
On all sides
And realize

That jihad means personal struggle
Not death
And destruction
That jihad is a holy word
For believers in Country,
God, and Conspiracy all

And we are a world
In a very public expression
Of personal moral jihad

So I ask you
The affected
What is your struggle
The world is not black and white
And we all live
In a world of gray

A world where words
Mean what we are told
And now how they are intended
Where questioning “truth”
A “questionable activity”

Recalling the world
As it used to be
I am forced to mourn
Openness in thought
And inquisitive natures
Willing to ask

Because when you ask yourself
Which direction to go
Or what you believe
THAT is jihad, a revolution in thought
Not a violent, outward
Explosion of emotion
But the slow burn
Of an internal struggle

Where there is no easy
No right answer
Where both sides are right
And all sides are wrong

By ripping away freedom
To restore expression
And soaking in blood
To save an entire people
We are mourning the days
When life was more clear-cut
And recalling the days
When we were not much better

Our world lives in gray
And struggle
The inevitable conclusion
Jihad is the pain of growth
And something good
Trying to happen

So I am standing up here
Waiting for that bright dawn
I stand here
Speaking of the revolutionary mourning
That will allow us all to recall

And they make a calendar. All I can say is wow.

Rachel sending bubbles out into the sunset.

Green tiled wall in Portland.

Local musician Jacob Butcher during a performance.

Of course, you can always find more by Clicking the flickr