Invitation to Enlightenment

So, I have been instructed by many... ok, the few, the proud, and the very brave, to get off (I guess on would be the correct literary word) my behind and WRITE already. So here I am, after a very long hiatus from writing to amuse you with my pretentious ramblings again.

I am not sure if any of you have noticed that lately, the things I have been writing about have not been all that funny? If you haven't noticed, I wonder, have you really been paying attention? Well I wasn't either, until recently.

It seems, at least to me, that I might be taking myself a little too seriously lately? Does that sound as dramatic as I was hoping? I mean, do you understand the dire straits I have placed myself in if I have begun to take myself too seriously? OOOH.... Is it really that serious after all? Or am I once again taking myself to seriously? Ok, by now, it should be obvious that I have taken that life-altering leap. I have thrown myself off the ledge of reason and am diving into self-absorbed, acrobatic, drama.

HELP ME PLEASE!!!

I am having trouble grasping onto the humor in life right now. This is not to say that I am only clinging to sorrow, anger, hatred, resentment, etc... (oh wait, aren't all those things related?). Oh no, this is surely not the problem. In all honesty, I am happier than I have been in months, maybe even years. I mean, seriously who could be discontent with the life that I am living right now?

My job is amazing. I am astounded by the strength of the teenagers that I work with that make me cry with joy almost everyday (this is of course, right before they beat the living shit out of me).

My family has been it's crazy self; supportive and judgmental, red-neck and suburban, flighty and strong.

Sure, my car has black plastic wrapped around the window, showing off it's blatant broken-ness, flapping in the wind like my own personal pirate flag. But to me it feels like I have commandeered the Black Pearle, and she and I will sail through the rolling, turbulent, tar filled seas, seeking treasures beyond your wildest imagination (you know, the usual. Cat food, Dog Food, Toilet Paper, some new Sponges, and don't forget, you must absolutely not forget, Cup 'O Noodle, the gold flavored sustenance that my one man crew will flourish on) while her black flag sings me tunes of the winds.

And the boy, oh good Lord, words cannot describe this man accurately. My incoherent renditions will not even be able to come close to the reality of his sweetness, his devotion to making me feel like Prettiest of Princesses ever to live, all the while making me recite "I'm A Pretty Pretty Princess" over and over again to him, when I forget that is what I am (at least to him), as he giggles uncontrollably on the bed beside me, making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and maybe a bit embarrassed at the mockery I am making of myself.

The one long stem rose he brought me, to my car, while I was out, after I had just had a very hard day (even though I hadn't yet told him that my day had been terrible).

Or how about last night, when I, in a fit of panic, not having any gum, not having any money, and trying to quit smoking...

(rambling moment, bear with me. OH MY GOD, WHAT A HORRIFYING IDEA THIS IS. I AM GOING INSANE!!! Please save me, please, put me out of my misery!!!! PLEASE ANYTHING, JUST STOP ME!!! Just change my mind. I don't need to stop smoking, It's good for me!! Yes, tell me it's good for me, gives me beautiful white teeth and gorgeous, tight, wrinkle-free skin. rambling over, thanks for your patience.)

So, here I am filled with fear about the following day sans smoke nor backup for smoke (i.e. gum, candy, etc...) and all he says is, "I am so proud of you for doing this." I mean really? Pre-emptive guilt? "What a bum" is what I am thinking, but I know he is right. But wait, he is calling again. Didn't I tell him I was going to sleep? "Hey, is your front door open?" (what the????) "No bayba, my door's not... Wait a sec... When were you at my door (I live in a building that has a security system that you have to cross in order to see any of the doors)." I open the it, and, lo and behold, two fresh packs of gum. "I Love You Cheese (that's me)", he says and I drift off into a peaceful love filled slumber.

Ok, so things are great right? How can I be taking myself sooooo obsessively serious when things are so great for me? Well, I guess that is the $64,000 question. I guess I have not figured out the balance that I have been working non-stop to find. I can either be angry and hurt, or filled with loving gratitude. I can think things are hilarious or totally offensive, sad or happy. Why, oh why, dear Doctor, can't I find moments, days, hours or minutes, taken hold by different emotions? Why can't I feel all things in the course of my day? Why must I choose one or the other?

I know I have said it before, but my life is a chaotic circle, a constant contradiction, and I have just enlightened you, my young grasshoppa's. You have been invited into the realm of unwanted information, but alas, I leave you with this...

Right now I am feeling as if the world can do me no wrong. I don't find life funny, or angry. I find it beautiful in all it's colors. I find people strong and sensitive. I love the people who are scared or angry and absolve myself of thinking bad things (almost, I cannot let go of all resentment as easy as that, I am still human). I am happy to be alive and try not to prepare for the storm that could possibly follow (which is also my M.O). At this moment, I am trying to gather up all the gloriousness that I feel and pass it on to those I care about (and maybe even share a little with those I don't care so much about).

Right now, in this moment...

I want to...

"catch a falling star and put it in my pocket, never let it fade away"