In my perfection
When you first touched me,
Time stood still
All plans were nil
Only your eyes I could see
You set my heart free
We laughed, we loved, from morn til eve
All night the bliss
The only taste was your kiss
Why did you, my heart deceive?
Or maybe I just wanted so badly to believe
I thought, while all your letters were burning
That I was the fool
You were so cool
Thought I’d never stop yearning
That the world would stop turning
Dramatic outcries breaking into my peace
Aches in my bones
A never ending Jones
But this must cease
For you are a mere crease
Not the end all be all
Just a mere crease
In my perfection
© Michelle McGriff 2009
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Pie
Eating for comfort can’t be the worst possible thing a person can do. I mean, I can think of several ‘worse’ things. Shooting for comfort, bludgeoning for comfort, cussing and spitting for comfort—so you know, what I’m saying, eating for comfort is not the worst thing a person can do. BuT… eating the wrong thing for comfort can make it bad for the person and those around there.
Let’s take a look at those who eat sweets for comfort. It’s easy to just grab an old piece of chocolate from the bottom of the stash bag, shove it in one’s mouth and call it comfort, but no… just the mere word—comfort, evokes an emotion that requires so much more effort, energy and love…
Today, I needed comfort—not like bad, but, still, I knew if I didn’t take care of this at this stage it was only going to get worse, so I had some mints in my purse—instead of grabbing them and tossing them in my chops one by one, I pondered first—if this what I really want—need, and will it give me the comfort I need. What level is my cry for comfort… green, yellow, orange red! Okay, so after deciding I was only at a yellow alert, I decided to hold off for the ultimate comfort food… PIE. And not just any pie… Cherry pie.
Now I chose cherry for a couple of reasons. As you all know, I’m watching my health. Just like the other week, I went out for drinks with friends and well I definitely choice the Pomegranate Cadillac –that’s a pomegranate Margie with a shot of smooth high end rum in a shot that you pour on yourself for that extra… something. But see it was the pomegranates that made the drink worth it… antioxidants… yup. And I drank that drink… and you know what… I swear I was feeling better within in seconds…
Okay so back to the pie. So, during the holidays, I saw pies that were 2fer one… 9.99 each and I talked myself out it. No one needs 2 pies… not for a mere yellow alert… sheesh. So I passed it up. But now, I find that I’ve yet to go back to a green so, I think I need to get the pie. I go back to the store and of course the pies are no longer on sale… they are ONE for 6.99… But it’s a deep dish Sara Lee… hmmm. Very worth is… and will it do the job. You betcha…
And yes… in the words of lovers under other circumstances, “I’ve got the home fires burning.” And I do love my pie. It deserves only the most heated passion…
Let’s take a look at those who eat sweets for comfort. It’s easy to just grab an old piece of chocolate from the bottom of the stash bag, shove it in one’s mouth and call it comfort, but no… just the mere word—comfort, evokes an emotion that requires so much more effort, energy and love…
Today, I needed comfort—not like bad, but, still, I knew if I didn’t take care of this at this stage it was only going to get worse, so I had some mints in my purse—instead of grabbing them and tossing them in my chops one by one, I pondered first—if this what I really want—need, and will it give me the comfort I need. What level is my cry for comfort… green, yellow, orange red! Okay, so after deciding I was only at a yellow alert, I decided to hold off for the ultimate comfort food… PIE. And not just any pie… Cherry pie.
Now I chose cherry for a couple of reasons. As you all know, I’m watching my health. Just like the other week, I went out for drinks with friends and well I definitely choice the Pomegranate Cadillac –that’s a pomegranate Margie with a shot of smooth high end rum in a shot that you pour on yourself for that extra… something. But see it was the pomegranates that made the drink worth it… antioxidants… yup. And I drank that drink… and you know what… I swear I was feeling better within in seconds…
Okay so back to the pie. So, during the holidays, I saw pies that were 2fer one… 9.99 each and I talked myself out it. No one needs 2 pies… not for a mere yellow alert… sheesh. So I passed it up. But now, I find that I’ve yet to go back to a green so, I think I need to get the pie. I go back to the store and of course the pies are no longer on sale… they are ONE for 6.99… But it’s a deep dish Sara Lee… hmmm. Very worth is… and will it do the job. You betcha…
And yes… in the words of lovers under other circumstances, “I’ve got the home fires burning.” And I do love my pie. It deserves only the most heated passion…
More beautiful
More beautiful
I wish I was more beautiful
For then would be able to capture every heart
Steal every smile
Snatch every word because I knew it would be dedicated to me
I wish I was more beautiful
Because then I would never wonder if you wanted me
If you desired me
Craved me, without restraint or regard to what the future would be
I wish I was more beautiful
Then I would measured against the wonders of the world
I’d be more than just a girl
I wouldn’t have to even speak, you see
If I were more beautiful
I wouldn’t have to feel or care
I wouldn’t have to do or have
I wouldn’t have to love anyone but myself
I wish I was more beautiful
For then would be able to capture every heart
Steal every smile
Snatch every word because I knew it would be dedicated to me
I wish I was more beautiful
Because then I would never wonder if you wanted me
If you desired me
Craved me, without restraint or regard to what the future would be
I wish I was more beautiful
Then I would measured against the wonders of the world
I’d be more than just a girl
I wouldn’t have to even speak, you see
If I were more beautiful
I wouldn’t have to feel or care
I wouldn’t have to do or have
I wouldn’t have to love anyone but myself
To The Back of My Mind
I’ve moved you to the back of the back of my mind
It took me a while to finally read your sign
You did what you wanted you left me behind
So I did what I had to and now I’m fine
Cuz I moved you to the back of the back of my mind
You used to vibe me so strong I couldn’t see clear
But now your love song I no long hear
Your breath on neck your hands on back
But you’re gone now and so is your mack
The feeling of your power lightly tapping my spine
Oh yeah, you had me hooked, nooked and blind
If I allowed myself too, I'd do nothing but pine
Was this your design?
No matter. Can’t happen, and I’ma tell you why.
Cuz I’ve moved you to the back of the back of my mind
© Michelle McGriff 2009
It took me a while to finally read your sign
You did what you wanted you left me behind
So I did what I had to and now I’m fine
Cuz I moved you to the back of the back of my mind
You used to vibe me so strong I couldn’t see clear
But now your love song I no long hear
Your breath on neck your hands on back
But you’re gone now and so is your mack
The feeling of your power lightly tapping my spine
Oh yeah, you had me hooked, nooked and blind
If I allowed myself too, I'd do nothing but pine
Was this your design?
No matter. Can’t happen, and I’ma tell you why.
Cuz I’ve moved you to the back of the back of my mind
© Michelle McGriff 2009
All I have is my Pen
All I have is a pen…
All I could do was form prose with my mind to gain peace in my heart
In order to accept the hours minutes days that we are apart
I run to the internet hoping that I can get
Just a crumb of attention from you
But there is nothing there and I’m left with despair… and then
And all I have left is a pen
To hell with all the protocol
All I want is for you to call
With just a minute of your time for me
And then all I can do is form prose with my mind to gain peace in my heart
In order to accept the hours, minutes, days that we are apart
I drop to my knees to pray for that one day
You will come home
And then all I can do is form prose with my mind to gain peace in my heart
In order to accept the hours, minutes, days that we are apart
Because all I have to cling to is my pen
©Michelle McGriff 2009
All I could do was form prose with my mind to gain peace in my heart
In order to accept the hours minutes days that we are apart
I run to the internet hoping that I can get
Just a crumb of attention from you
But there is nothing there and I’m left with despair… and then
And all I have left is a pen
To hell with all the protocol
All I want is for you to call
With just a minute of your time for me
And then all I can do is form prose with my mind to gain peace in my heart
In order to accept the hours, minutes, days that we are apart
I drop to my knees to pray for that one day
You will come home
And then all I can do is form prose with my mind to gain peace in my heart
In order to accept the hours, minutes, days that we are apart
Because all I have to cling to is my pen
©Michelle McGriff 2009
absense of baggage
Absence of Baggage
They say life is too short of a journey to take so much worrying about your baggage, but have anyone of you ever just gotten on a bus train or automobile without anything. Or have any of you ever gotten half way where you’re going and realized that you’d left your pocket book or wallet? Felt kinda naked huh? There is something secure about knowing that you have ‘something’ that contains all your essentials—your baggage.
Now I agree that too many bags, or to heavy of a satchel can be cumbersome, for example… Moms you can relate remember when you were a new mother just trying to get to the store with your baby in tow… OMG… it was like, first HOW long did it take you get ready and then, how long did it take you to get out of the car and then, man, how much goobledygook did you have to throw over your should and tuck in the back of a stroller and bend over to fasten and whew, my gosh, by the time you made it to the door, you needed help just to get inside and good for you even you even remember what you came for.
But you were happy because you felt ready—for anything—flash flood, fire… any and everything. Truthfully, once I had so much stuff in and around the stroller that I had to carry my baby on my hip.
I hate to say it but I see that still tendency in so many people—that, I gotta be ready. I see it in myself too. It’s all a form of control.
I’m not gonna lie, control is good. I like it—to a degree. But it can be a killer. Control can hurt you. This is because it causes you to miss out on so much while you get overly prepared for the ‘what if’ of a situation. I mean, in some cases you are getting ready for stuff that frankly… just won’t happen.
Yes, yes, we all know that adage, wash your car and it will rain. So during a drought everyone is out there washing their cars, but guess what? Washing our car did not make it rain… really. Nebulous clouds filled with wet stuff… that’s what caused the rain. Now, I know that scientist can make it rain—no joke. So if you really want to make it rain, don’t wash your car… become a scientist. What I’m saying is, if you really want to be prepared, go about it sensibly—really make something happen! Don’t just be out there washing your car! What can a clean car really do for you … but look good.
In life we carry around security blankets but as we have become less and less secure our blankets have become large bags—heavy and burdensome. Seriously are we all really going on that scary of a trip to where we need to be that prepared?
When I was living in Portland, the weather changed every minute, when I first moved there, I never went out without a jacket, a rain hat, gloves and change of socks and… and… and well you get the picture. But the time I left I was like… foot, if it rains it rains and if it pours I’ll get wet… whatever. I mean, I had even cut all my hair off so as to worry less about my hairdo. Who cared anyway! Everybody else was too worried about getting wet to notice how soaked I was.
Such is with life. Put the bags down just for a minute. Take the trip. Very seldom you’ll find that there is no snack bar or resources to make the trip at least okay. I’m not saying not to prepare for life—that would be wrong of me. But I’m saying, stop spending your life preparing for your life. Step out on self-trust, go about life with absence of fear, absence of hate and jealousy, absent of post traumatic whiplash… go out there with absence of baggage and see how you do.
© Michelle McGriff - 2009
They say life is too short of a journey to take so much worrying about your baggage, but have anyone of you ever just gotten on a bus train or automobile without anything. Or have any of you ever gotten half way where you’re going and realized that you’d left your pocket book or wallet? Felt kinda naked huh? There is something secure about knowing that you have ‘something’ that contains all your essentials—your baggage.
Now I agree that too many bags, or to heavy of a satchel can be cumbersome, for example… Moms you can relate remember when you were a new mother just trying to get to the store with your baby in tow… OMG… it was like, first HOW long did it take you get ready and then, how long did it take you to get out of the car and then, man, how much goobledygook did you have to throw over your should and tuck in the back of a stroller and bend over to fasten and whew, my gosh, by the time you made it to the door, you needed help just to get inside and good for you even you even remember what you came for.
But you were happy because you felt ready—for anything—flash flood, fire… any and everything. Truthfully, once I had so much stuff in and around the stroller that I had to carry my baby on my hip.
I hate to say it but I see that still tendency in so many people—that, I gotta be ready. I see it in myself too. It’s all a form of control.
I’m not gonna lie, control is good. I like it—to a degree. But it can be a killer. Control can hurt you. This is because it causes you to miss out on so much while you get overly prepared for the ‘what if’ of a situation. I mean, in some cases you are getting ready for stuff that frankly… just won’t happen.
Yes, yes, we all know that adage, wash your car and it will rain. So during a drought everyone is out there washing their cars, but guess what? Washing our car did not make it rain… really. Nebulous clouds filled with wet stuff… that’s what caused the rain. Now, I know that scientist can make it rain—no joke. So if you really want to make it rain, don’t wash your car… become a scientist. What I’m saying is, if you really want to be prepared, go about it sensibly—really make something happen! Don’t just be out there washing your car! What can a clean car really do for you … but look good.
In life we carry around security blankets but as we have become less and less secure our blankets have become large bags—heavy and burdensome. Seriously are we all really going on that scary of a trip to where we need to be that prepared?
When I was living in Portland, the weather changed every minute, when I first moved there, I never went out without a jacket, a rain hat, gloves and change of socks and… and… and well you get the picture. But the time I left I was like… foot, if it rains it rains and if it pours I’ll get wet… whatever. I mean, I had even cut all my hair off so as to worry less about my hairdo. Who cared anyway! Everybody else was too worried about getting wet to notice how soaked I was.
Such is with life. Put the bags down just for a minute. Take the trip. Very seldom you’ll find that there is no snack bar or resources to make the trip at least okay. I’m not saying not to prepare for life—that would be wrong of me. But I’m saying, stop spending your life preparing for your life. Step out on self-trust, go about life with absence of fear, absence of hate and jealousy, absent of post traumatic whiplash… go out there with absence of baggage and see how you do.
© Michelle McGriff - 2009
50 cents
50 cents.
Today I spent 50 cents on Starbucks coffee. I have to say it was the happiest 50 cents I’ve spent in a long. Sure, I’ve spent 50 cents on a day old donut that made me kinda giddy, but this 50 cents bought me some, from fresh out the pot (and not secret pot from a back room area where they duck into when a homeless person comes in for hand outs) I’m talking right up front, honest to goodness—Starbucks. The barista called it out loudly, “You want a refill? That’ll be 50 cents.” I was like… dang! Wow! Really? 50 cents?
I pulled out my last 10 bucks and gladly broke it, getting 9.50 back in change. As I poured my pink stuff in carefully—wouldn’t want to ruin the flavor, making it too sweet or whatever—I pondered what I would do with my 9.50…considering I thought I’d only be getting back like 8.50. A whole extra dollar! Man! Wow! Dang!
Lunch came to mind. Yesterday I spent a buck extra on some really good rice. Normally I get just the plain white rice but the little sidewalk food vendor had this yellow rice that had like eggs in it or some cheese looking stuff…you never know with those vendors but it was good. I had onions on the top and well…I eat my onions at work. Nobody has that much business in my face to where my breath should be an issue… okay. So anyway, I got it for 3 bucks instead of 2 and thought, okay now I only have 10 bucks left. I didn’t get my afternoon coffee 1 buck refill from the little store downstairs because it was I didn’t want to break my 10 bucks. You know, with it being my last and all. Besides, in the afternoon that 1 buck coffee is well… it leaves a lot of want in the flavor department. In the mornings it’s pretty good and I do take my own cup in order to get it for a buck but that’s only when I’m running late and I don’t have my own coffee from home… which lately has been lousy anyway but I think that’s because I cut back on my Folgers and got the store brand. It’s harsh tasting and well you know Folgers is mountain grown…the richest kind. But I was broke and had only 10 bucks and well Folgers can be rather spendy so I went for the store brand, it cost way less and well… I can taste the less. Anyway, so I sometimes in the afternoon get the 1 buck refills considering they don’t taste any worse than my own coffee from home, right? But today for 50 cents I got Starbucks and man is it ever good. It was good enough to blog about…so you know that means it was doggone good and well worth my 50 cents. Between me and you, I’da paid a buck because there’s still a lot I can do with 9 dollars in change.
Even though I must admit, I’m digging that extra 50 cents.
Today I spent 50 cents on Starbucks coffee. I have to say it was the happiest 50 cents I’ve spent in a long. Sure, I’ve spent 50 cents on a day old donut that made me kinda giddy, but this 50 cents bought me some, from fresh out the pot (and not secret pot from a back room area where they duck into when a homeless person comes in for hand outs) I’m talking right up front, honest to goodness—Starbucks. The barista called it out loudly, “You want a refill? That’ll be 50 cents.” I was like… dang! Wow! Really? 50 cents?
I pulled out my last 10 bucks and gladly broke it, getting 9.50 back in change. As I poured my pink stuff in carefully—wouldn’t want to ruin the flavor, making it too sweet or whatever—I pondered what I would do with my 9.50…considering I thought I’d only be getting back like 8.50. A whole extra dollar! Man! Wow! Dang!
Lunch came to mind. Yesterday I spent a buck extra on some really good rice. Normally I get just the plain white rice but the little sidewalk food vendor had this yellow rice that had like eggs in it or some cheese looking stuff…you never know with those vendors but it was good. I had onions on the top and well…I eat my onions at work. Nobody has that much business in my face to where my breath should be an issue… okay. So anyway, I got it for 3 bucks instead of 2 and thought, okay now I only have 10 bucks left. I didn’t get my afternoon coffee 1 buck refill from the little store downstairs because it was I didn’t want to break my 10 bucks. You know, with it being my last and all. Besides, in the afternoon that 1 buck coffee is well… it leaves a lot of want in the flavor department. In the mornings it’s pretty good and I do take my own cup in order to get it for a buck but that’s only when I’m running late and I don’t have my own coffee from home… which lately has been lousy anyway but I think that’s because I cut back on my Folgers and got the store brand. It’s harsh tasting and well you know Folgers is mountain grown…the richest kind. But I was broke and had only 10 bucks and well Folgers can be rather spendy so I went for the store brand, it cost way less and well… I can taste the less. Anyway, so I sometimes in the afternoon get the 1 buck refills considering they don’t taste any worse than my own coffee from home, right? But today for 50 cents I got Starbucks and man is it ever good. It was good enough to blog about…so you know that means it was doggone good and well worth my 50 cents. Between me and you, I’da paid a buck because there’s still a lot I can do with 9 dollars in change.
Even though I must admit, I’m digging that extra 50 cents.
I’m not alone, but then again, maybe I am.
I’ve got to admit, I am one caught up in the virtual phenomenon called cyber (…) fill in the blank. Just say a word and I am prone to prefer it; Cyber dating, Cyber mating, heck I even have a virtual pet.
Perhaps it’s being a writer that caused me to get so caught up, all the hours sitting at my computer writing…etc. Who has time to answer the phone, the door, the window called my soul…to anything other than the pages I see before me?
Always having been a people person ...before... I slowly incorporated the internet into my writing time until finally I got to where I couldn’t write without the internet accompaniment and the people I found therein. Dial-up, DSL it, doesn't matter, and yes I’m one who even calls a person on the phone, while IMing with them and maybe even tripling the threat with some webcam action...oh my God! Does that make me a loser?
No, you know why, scary though this is, I’m not alone, but then again…maybe I am.
I always hold to the hope that if there is ME, there are a 1000 MEs or more living the same way and that means there are more people, than I think would be a healthy number, out there living virtual lives.
What has happened to our confidence? I know as a baby boomer, I love cartoons but come on! Plus size Avatars (and yes I chose that one, I mean, why give someone the wrong impression) HELLO out there…It’s bad enough I’m hoping to give off a good impression from an instant message…but come on, no matter how you look at it, a cartoon impression of me IS the wrong impression!
Okay so this year, somewhere between book two and three…which I’m on four and five now, I’m starting to feel the tension growing because I want to step away from the computer and can’t, although I have come to realize that this life in front of the monitor is lacking. I realized it is lacking in the touchy-feely department. I’m starting to feel like a lab monkey…you remember the one that they gave the Coke to and he eventually lost interest in everything else…
I’m sorry, but I’m no lab Monkey. Even so, I think that some of those experiments would be rather interesting…ahem, but that’s another story…Anyway, I realized that sleeping with my keyboard did not make for a satisfying night.
Duh! How long did it take me to realize that? Too many years to reveal to you all… suffice it to say, Y2k was a let down and well, I’ve been sitting here ever since, waiting for the next ‘big’ ‘virtual’ thing to happen.
Perhaps it’s my history. Let me give just a little bit of it: I’ve never been a ‘dater’, I meet a man, I like the man, and usually sin with the man and then plunge head on into a quite guilt-driven marriage until finally I realize that I hate the man and then I divorce the man. It’s been a rather simple process minus a couple of lunatics I’ve run into along the way.
Fortunately, that problem has all but been eliminated by the Internet because I can always block those suckers now…ahem, I digress. Some might think my life has been a ‘relationship’ disaster. However, they haven’t seen me at work on the Internet. So far in just these few years, I’ve had over 10 cyber beaus’ two cyber affairs and countless cyber one night stands… I feel so cheap…gosh, I never had any idea I was so virtually promiscuous. With that thought, I finally decided that I was getting to old for this game of chance, this loose typing, this wayward word play…hopping from Yahoogroup to Yahoogroup, changing my name to avoid reproof… and revelation…preferring anonymity over full or even partial disclosure.
I’m ready to stand tall and repent, come out from behind the screen name and be a real person....actually MEET some of these people I've been so intimate with all these years.
So here’s what I did. I dropped all my groups and deleted email addresses except for business contacts and swore off surfing and decided to ‘get out’ more. I took on a full time job that forced me away from my house at least 14 hours a day including a 3 hours commute.
Now what have I found? Several disturbing facts…one, did you know that if you have a cell phone you could text page the person sitting next to you and never have to speak to them… if you do it right they don’t even have to know it’s YOU. Oh my God!
Then I met a man who said, I’d like to take you out…and what did I say?
“Out? As in outside of my house? As in socially?...” Needless to say, we didn’t get too far after that.
Then I met a man who said, “I’ll call you.”
And I said, “Sure my VM is always on,” …Needless to say, I’ve yet to get a message from him.
Okay, then I met someone—the Man O’ My Dream. Yes, despite all of that, I met someone wonderful, and have been completely flabbergasted. For instead of my phone number, he asked me for my email address, and instead of my real name he wanted my alias… and yes, I gave him all of that.
We talk everyday and still he will break into the conversation, stating that he will tell me the rest of the story…online.
I know what you’re thinking…he’s just a weirdo, step away…quickly. But no, I’m all for it. I was like, “Oh that will be great I’ll be, waiting at my computer for the email to come.” And I go my way, and he goes his…wherever that may be.
Suddenly, however, its hit me. Wait a doggone minute here. All the time it’s taking for him to get home boot up sign on and email me, we could be ‘dating,’ ‘talking,’ moving into a guilt-ridden relationship…you know, like the kind I’m used to.
I began to ponder the possibilities of a physical type relationship with this man…It made me ill at first and then sort of…giddy inside. I told an old friend one of the ones I had left behind in the real world so long ago. I’ve contacted her via the phone during this transition back and it’s been interesting…speaking…with her. Anywho, I told her about this gentleman and the issues we are having, and she just stared at me with a blank expression. I kept saying, surely you understand…surely do you…and then finally I had to realize she didn’t have a computer. What did she understand about virtual love...nothing!
She asked me, after a moment or two longer of regrouping. “Well, Michelle, what are his assets?”
“He types 90 wpm and owns two working computers…and knows HTML.”
“No, no…what does he do for a living?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Is he gay?”
“That sounds—ehhh—a little personal, don’tcha think?” slurping down the last of my Starbucks Frappicino.
She stared at me before hanging up her cell phone, and then shaking her head, she walked away from our table.
Oh, woe is me. I’m so very lost now and confused by what I have to believe is happening to me. I’m turning into a virtual woman with an off base, data base and reference bank for reality. I would say its fine, however; I’m not sure it is. I so crave the real world yet, feel as though I don’t fit in any more. But I’m ready, I know I am, ready to reach out and touch someone on the REAL.
Well, I’m going to end here and get back to my MySpace updates. Help if you can,
Signed,
ZenaWarrior47 I mean, Michelle McGriff
© Michelle McGriff, Portland, Oregon 2006
I’ve got to admit, I am one caught up in the virtual phenomenon called cyber (…) fill in the blank. Just say a word and I am prone to prefer it; Cyber dating, Cyber mating, heck I even have a virtual pet.
Perhaps it’s being a writer that caused me to get so caught up, all the hours sitting at my computer writing…etc. Who has time to answer the phone, the door, the window called my soul…to anything other than the pages I see before me?
Always having been a people person ...before... I slowly incorporated the internet into my writing time until finally I got to where I couldn’t write without the internet accompaniment and the people I found therein. Dial-up, DSL it, doesn't matter, and yes I’m one who even calls a person on the phone, while IMing with them and maybe even tripling the threat with some webcam action...oh my God! Does that make me a loser?
No, you know why, scary though this is, I’m not alone, but then again…maybe I am.
I always hold to the hope that if there is ME, there are a 1000 MEs or more living the same way and that means there are more people, than I think would be a healthy number, out there living virtual lives.
What has happened to our confidence? I know as a baby boomer, I love cartoons but come on! Plus size Avatars (and yes I chose that one, I mean, why give someone the wrong impression) HELLO out there…It’s bad enough I’m hoping to give off a good impression from an instant message…but come on, no matter how you look at it, a cartoon impression of me IS the wrong impression!
Okay so this year, somewhere between book two and three…which I’m on four and five now, I’m starting to feel the tension growing because I want to step away from the computer and can’t, although I have come to realize that this life in front of the monitor is lacking. I realized it is lacking in the touchy-feely department. I’m starting to feel like a lab monkey…you remember the one that they gave the Coke to and he eventually lost interest in everything else…
I’m sorry, but I’m no lab Monkey. Even so, I think that some of those experiments would be rather interesting…ahem, but that’s another story…Anyway, I realized that sleeping with my keyboard did not make for a satisfying night.
Duh! How long did it take me to realize that? Too many years to reveal to you all… suffice it to say, Y2k was a let down and well, I’ve been sitting here ever since, waiting for the next ‘big’ ‘virtual’ thing to happen.
Perhaps it’s my history. Let me give just a little bit of it: I’ve never been a ‘dater’, I meet a man, I like the man, and usually sin with the man and then plunge head on into a quite guilt-driven marriage until finally I realize that I hate the man and then I divorce the man. It’s been a rather simple process minus a couple of lunatics I’ve run into along the way.
Fortunately, that problem has all but been eliminated by the Internet because I can always block those suckers now…ahem, I digress. Some might think my life has been a ‘relationship’ disaster. However, they haven’t seen me at work on the Internet. So far in just these few years, I’ve had over 10 cyber beaus’ two cyber affairs and countless cyber one night stands… I feel so cheap…gosh, I never had any idea I was so virtually promiscuous. With that thought, I finally decided that I was getting to old for this game of chance, this loose typing, this wayward word play…hopping from Yahoogroup to Yahoogroup, changing my name to avoid reproof… and revelation…preferring anonymity over full or even partial disclosure.
I’m ready to stand tall and repent, come out from behind the screen name and be a real person....actually MEET some of these people I've been so intimate with all these years.
So here’s what I did. I dropped all my groups and deleted email addresses except for business contacts and swore off surfing and decided to ‘get out’ more. I took on a full time job that forced me away from my house at least 14 hours a day including a 3 hours commute.
Now what have I found? Several disturbing facts…one, did you know that if you have a cell phone you could text page the person sitting next to you and never have to speak to them… if you do it right they don’t even have to know it’s YOU. Oh my God!
Then I met a man who said, I’d like to take you out…and what did I say?
“Out? As in outside of my house? As in socially?...” Needless to say, we didn’t get too far after that.
Then I met a man who said, “I’ll call you.”
And I said, “Sure my VM is always on,” …Needless to say, I’ve yet to get a message from him.
Okay, then I met someone—the Man O’ My Dream. Yes, despite all of that, I met someone wonderful, and have been completely flabbergasted. For instead of my phone number, he asked me for my email address, and instead of my real name he wanted my alias… and yes, I gave him all of that.
We talk everyday and still he will break into the conversation, stating that he will tell me the rest of the story…online.
I know what you’re thinking…he’s just a weirdo, step away…quickly. But no, I’m all for it. I was like, “Oh that will be great I’ll be, waiting at my computer for the email to come.” And I go my way, and he goes his…wherever that may be.
Suddenly, however, its hit me. Wait a doggone minute here. All the time it’s taking for him to get home boot up sign on and email me, we could be ‘dating,’ ‘talking,’ moving into a guilt-ridden relationship…you know, like the kind I’m used to.
I began to ponder the possibilities of a physical type relationship with this man…It made me ill at first and then sort of…giddy inside. I told an old friend one of the ones I had left behind in the real world so long ago. I’ve contacted her via the phone during this transition back and it’s been interesting…speaking…with her. Anywho, I told her about this gentleman and the issues we are having, and she just stared at me with a blank expression. I kept saying, surely you understand…surely do you…and then finally I had to realize she didn’t have a computer. What did she understand about virtual love...nothing!
She asked me, after a moment or two longer of regrouping. “Well, Michelle, what are his assets?”
“He types 90 wpm and owns two working computers…and knows HTML.”
“No, no…what does he do for a living?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Is he gay?”
“That sounds—ehhh—a little personal, don’tcha think?” slurping down the last of my Starbucks Frappicino.
She stared at me before hanging up her cell phone, and then shaking her head, she walked away from our table.
Oh, woe is me. I’m so very lost now and confused by what I have to believe is happening to me. I’m turning into a virtual woman with an off base, data base and reference bank for reality. I would say its fine, however; I’m not sure it is. I so crave the real world yet, feel as though I don’t fit in any more. But I’m ready, I know I am, ready to reach out and touch someone on the REAL.
Well, I’m going to end here and get back to my MySpace updates. Help if you can,
Signed,
ZenaWarrior47 I mean, Michelle McGriff
© Michelle McGriff, Portland, Oregon 2006
a Bum by any other Name... Please!
I'm sure every writer does until they get that dose of reality that… hmm I think I am the only person who REALLY finds my life interesting haha. Perhaps after I die I'll write it. Remember good writers never die they just become their pseudonyms.
I'm reading this really scary (disturbing) article on freelance writing jobs... ugh. It's a conspiracy... just as I imagined. Just as I learned in my studies on HR practices and other corporate tactics, big brother, the powers that big, corporate big wigs, those that have the means of holding home and homelessness over your head, otherwise from here out referred to as ‘THEY’, only want to hire someone else’s employee.
According to an article that inferred that the fate of freelance writers is to be underwritten by those who ‘work’ within the walls of governed corporate… wow, that says a mouth full, and I said it before I even finished my first cup of coffee…but anyway, yes, I got that, loud and clear from what I read. I caused a huge ‘sigh’ to come forth.
What this means is articles and journals, editorials and other short quips, can now be published for free, meaning ‘they’ don’t have to pay the writer for it. It’s like having your utilities included in your rent. It’s great except your rent is usually higher than normal. Same with writing for your corporation, you aren’t getting anything ‘extra’ for this effort if even a byline on the article. It’s just enough ‘stardom’ for them to purchase dozens of the publication to hand out ‘free’ to family members with the article or passage circled in red marker with a smiley face that says “Hey I wrote this” on it.
Boy, am I learning about that. Contributing Author is such a catch -22 situation. Depending on where you are on the literary food chain, you can be almost sure that the only contribution you’ll be noted for is the part that gets little to no attention.
No let’s talk about this Freelance thing… 15 bucks an article. Well I had to look at it as 15 bucks an hour (I’m a pretty quick thinker and typist). Okay 15 bucks and hour—yeah I have PhD Candidate after my name what of it… its 15 bucks an HOUR!
15 bucks and hour! Okay so I’m an artist… a starving artist. I’m hearing it, seeing it, and accepting it. With that said, I bought a car. This car will serve so many good things in my life. It’s funny how turning 50 in this economy has made my vision change. Where once saw vehicles as wasted money, I know see them as cheap hotel rooms.
I see my car (Merlot—is her name) loaded with my pretty orange appliances (microwave, toaster, blender and the like—yes Kitchen Kaboodle was my friend—when I had money) and I see myself vagabonding all over the west coast. Three months here three months there, I mean surely I have loved ones that can tolerate the sound of my fingers on the keys of my externally connected keyboard for 90 days. Shoot, I can write in my car during the day.
I think I want a steamer trunk, the kind they had on titanic—Titanic (Epic film and rather—gasp—morose reference to my situation) Anywho, I will get this steamer trunk for when I travel by train or plane but otherwise, it will rest in the back of Merlot.
Now, with this plan, I can not only survive on the means to which my current writing situation has afforded me but build on that life by becoming a California travel writer. Who knows perhaps I can even get in that trip to Europe!
All of this simply because I like to write, I think too hard, and I feel too deeply on things that I should just let go.
How bad is corporate really? I mean, I see folks dying like flies, no retirement, no money and hey, isn’t that a CEO parked next to me in his car—sleeping. Yeah, like I just rhetorically asked, how bad is corporate life? Suffice it to say, at least I’ll never be forced into retirement. I’ll always be able to write and shouldn’t have to jump out of a window, or suffer a heart attack because of it.
Sure, I may not have the temporary joy of the big bucks that, at any time ‘THEY’ can retract—with interest. Sure, my title is … well… my title is my name… if anyone cares—which they don’t but It sure gets me through airports faster. And sure, that name may not be on a plague that goes when the building goes (and we have all seen how fast a building can go).
Nonetheless, whether I donated my work (as many of us writers do) or I got paid 15 bucks (which is enough for a nice meal by the way—even at a swank Vegan joint), or whether my work is circled in a red pen with a smiley face next to it, somewhere in the small print I’m there—in perpetuity.
As a writer, I may never been a star but I have become one with the universe and left my mark on the stars. It’s a good feeling, much more comfortable then this cot here in this homeless shelter but….
Just kidding, I’m only practicing for my next life… that of a broke, homeless writer, with only the clothes on my back and worn out Berkinstocks on my feet, and with a shinny laptop in hands at all times (fully paid for)
OH wait… that’s this life....
...and I have to confess... I'm diggin it.
So don't call me a bum, call me a writer.
I'm reading this really scary (disturbing) article on freelance writing jobs... ugh. It's a conspiracy... just as I imagined. Just as I learned in my studies on HR practices and other corporate tactics, big brother, the powers that big, corporate big wigs, those that have the means of holding home and homelessness over your head, otherwise from here out referred to as ‘THEY’, only want to hire someone else’s employee.
According to an article that inferred that the fate of freelance writers is to be underwritten by those who ‘work’ within the walls of governed corporate… wow, that says a mouth full, and I said it before I even finished my first cup of coffee…but anyway, yes, I got that, loud and clear from what I read. I caused a huge ‘sigh’ to come forth.
What this means is articles and journals, editorials and other short quips, can now be published for free, meaning ‘they’ don’t have to pay the writer for it. It’s like having your utilities included in your rent. It’s great except your rent is usually higher than normal. Same with writing for your corporation, you aren’t getting anything ‘extra’ for this effort if even a byline on the article. It’s just enough ‘stardom’ for them to purchase dozens of the publication to hand out ‘free’ to family members with the article or passage circled in red marker with a smiley face that says “Hey I wrote this” on it.
Boy, am I learning about that. Contributing Author is such a catch -22 situation. Depending on where you are on the literary food chain, you can be almost sure that the only contribution you’ll be noted for is the part that gets little to no attention.
No let’s talk about this Freelance thing… 15 bucks an article. Well I had to look at it as 15 bucks an hour (I’m a pretty quick thinker and typist). Okay 15 bucks and hour—yeah I have PhD Candidate after my name what of it… its 15 bucks an HOUR!
15 bucks and hour! Okay so I’m an artist… a starving artist. I’m hearing it, seeing it, and accepting it. With that said, I bought a car. This car will serve so many good things in my life. It’s funny how turning 50 in this economy has made my vision change. Where once saw vehicles as wasted money, I know see them as cheap hotel rooms.
I see my car (Merlot—is her name) loaded with my pretty orange appliances (microwave, toaster, blender and the like—yes Kitchen Kaboodle was my friend—when I had money) and I see myself vagabonding all over the west coast. Three months here three months there, I mean surely I have loved ones that can tolerate the sound of my fingers on the keys of my externally connected keyboard for 90 days. Shoot, I can write in my car during the day.
I think I want a steamer trunk, the kind they had on titanic—Titanic (Epic film and rather—gasp—morose reference to my situation) Anywho, I will get this steamer trunk for when I travel by train or plane but otherwise, it will rest in the back of Merlot.
Now, with this plan, I can not only survive on the means to which my current writing situation has afforded me but build on that life by becoming a California travel writer. Who knows perhaps I can even get in that trip to Europe!
All of this simply because I like to write, I think too hard, and I feel too deeply on things that I should just let go.
How bad is corporate really? I mean, I see folks dying like flies, no retirement, no money and hey, isn’t that a CEO parked next to me in his car—sleeping. Yeah, like I just rhetorically asked, how bad is corporate life? Suffice it to say, at least I’ll never be forced into retirement. I’ll always be able to write and shouldn’t have to jump out of a window, or suffer a heart attack because of it.
Sure, I may not have the temporary joy of the big bucks that, at any time ‘THEY’ can retract—with interest. Sure, my title is … well… my title is my name… if anyone cares—which they don’t but It sure gets me through airports faster. And sure, that name may not be on a plague that goes when the building goes (and we have all seen how fast a building can go).
Nonetheless, whether I donated my work (as many of us writers do) or I got paid 15 bucks (which is enough for a nice meal by the way—even at a swank Vegan joint), or whether my work is circled in a red pen with a smiley face next to it, somewhere in the small print I’m there—in perpetuity.
As a writer, I may never been a star but I have become one with the universe and left my mark on the stars. It’s a good feeling, much more comfortable then this cot here in this homeless shelter but….
Just kidding, I’m only practicing for my next life… that of a broke, homeless writer, with only the clothes on my back and worn out Berkinstocks on my feet, and with a shinny laptop in hands at all times (fully paid for)
OH wait… that’s this life....
...and I have to confess... I'm diggin it.
So don't call me a bum, call me a writer.
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