I started a job as a photographer for an RV dealership in Morgan Hill, CA. I take pictures of the RV's and then upload them to their website. I also am eventually going to have some degree of say over their web design! I like this very much. I also like that I pick my hours more or less, and I do it on my time. Oh yes. Heaven is picking your hours, free chocolate chip cookies, playing around with a flash and wide angle lens, free coffee, and talking to fun old fuddy-duddies.
My ONLY issue is that since I started this job, I dream about RVs. I dream about fifth wheels, class C motor homes, class A motor homes(Gas and Diesel), Trailers, Toy Haulers, Horse trailers...the list continues...
I dream about finding them on the lot from my inventory list, unlocking them, climbing in and out of them, finding good angles to take photos, and then climbing out, and locking them. How mundane, in comparison with some of my other wonderful colorful dreams. I really should go back further and post more of those here.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
School
I like to wander in and out of the buildings on campus. The old natural sciences building has tall ceilings and dancers glide through it's halls. I slink against the wall. Someone was laying face-down on the Tower lawn today. I hope he was just sleeping, like I thought.
I should really write that two page, double spaced french paper for tomorrow, but I think it can wait until the last minute. Like every other paper I have written for the class.
I walk around and see someone else that walks where they can avoid the majority of the cracks. But I don't say "hello, I avoid the cracks too!" because he doesn't look like someone I would talk to. So many faces pass me, speaking so many languages. Every stranger is just a friend we have not yet met. I remember hearing that somewhere. There are so many people that I will never know. So many people I pass on a daily basis that are not part of my life except as the person I pass everyday on my way to class. Why can't we touch each other?
I miss the affection in good strong friendship. The true affection.
I miss hugs that mean something and french bisous.
I feel lost in such a large place...but I still know who I am...even when I don't feel sure of myself.
I am tired of living at home, but I have nowhere else to go.
I am tired of being a child, when I am long past due for a rebellion.
I need to go sit by my favorite fountain soon.
I should really write that two page, double spaced french paper for tomorrow, but I think it can wait until the last minute. Like every other paper I have written for the class.
I walk around and see someone else that walks where they can avoid the majority of the cracks. But I don't say "hello, I avoid the cracks too!" because he doesn't look like someone I would talk to. So many faces pass me, speaking so many languages. Every stranger is just a friend we have not yet met. I remember hearing that somewhere. There are so many people that I will never know. So many people I pass on a daily basis that are not part of my life except as the person I pass everyday on my way to class. Why can't we touch each other?
I miss the affection in good strong friendship. The true affection.
I miss hugs that mean something and french bisous.
I feel lost in such a large place...but I still know who I am...even when I don't feel sure of myself.
I am tired of living at home, but I have nowhere else to go.
I am tired of being a child, when I am long past due for a rebellion.
I need to go sit by my favorite fountain soon.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Fortune Tellers
I have come to the conclusion that if I want to have any psychic readings done, I will be doing them. I went to the psychic in downtown Morgan Hill, CA. I have driven past the place for years, wondering what it would be like to have a reading done. I went by there today for the first time. The woman came to the door in her robe. She told me she or her daughter could give the reading, but that we would have to come back in about 15 minutes. We decided that that was ok, and we went for a walk. Upon return, the daughter came to the door. She was wearing a big long black wig, and was trying to play up the stereotypical psychic thing. She explained the pricing to us. Apparently the 10$ special was for a 5 minute reading. WoooFreakingHOOO. There were other options that were much more expensive. I thought...hmmmm....I just need to take out my tarot deck and relearn some of this stuff...same about palmistry...I just need to relearn what I once knew. And that crytal ball I've always wanted? That would be nice too.
Oh my.
What a rip-off.
Oh my.
What a rip-off.
A dream...
I dreamt that I was in Europe, in some green and hilly region with low, roughly made stone walls. I was with a group of people, walking around in a secluded area, looking at old creepy houses. Somehow I got split from the group, along with another person, a boy. We were walking on a small road, in a forested area, and came upon a road where there were lots of cars...they were driving on the right side of the road...hmmm...couldn't have been England...
I grabbed the boys hand, and I jumped up and we flew down the roadway, because in my dreams I often can fly like a superhero. It comes from many years of my dreamself avoiding bad guys and perfecting a technique to flying. There are of course different techniques for different situations, but I digress. We went along the road for awhile, until it started to get dark. We eventually got to an old gate and I looked down the drive and saw a run down mobile home. I said to the guy I was with. This is it, it's here. So we went down the drive and walked up the steps to the mobile home, and knocked then went inside. The front room looked like the reception of a doctor's office. There were some framed diplomas...
A short, round man with gray hair (balding a bit on the very top) came out of one of the rooms to the side, and started talking to us. He seemed to know we were coming, and was not surprised to see us.
He kept insisting to me that I come back to see him, but not at this place. He kept telling me I had to see him at his home, that he couldn't help me HERE, only at his home. I was confused by this at first, but then I was just very sure that I should go back to see him. Then he helped the guy with something...
I looked out the back window, and saw a marsh with lots of cattails that were turning a golden color. The sky was streaked with different shades of blue and purple between the clouds. I remember saying "Ça ferait vraiment une belle photo..." ("That would make a really nice photo") And the Doctor (I just mentally thought Professor...though that wasn't the word that came to me in my dream) started talking to me, telling me to come back and to see him at his house. I can't remember if he was speaking French from the beginning of the dream, but I do remember clearly that he did after I spoke in French first. He was admant about going back to him. Then he gave me a list handwritten on white paper in blue ink. I promised him, telling him I was almost certain I would be back in Europe this summer, and that I would go see him. I had to promise him over and over, then he seemed a bit relieved that I was really thinking about coming back. That I would try to come see him.
It was as if he had something important for me, to give to me or to tell me, but that he was incapable of doing in the mobile home.
Maybe he will come back to me in future dreams, or maybe I will meet him in the future.
I grabbed the boys hand, and I jumped up and we flew down the roadway, because in my dreams I often can fly like a superhero. It comes from many years of my dreamself avoiding bad guys and perfecting a technique to flying. There are of course different techniques for different situations, but I digress. We went along the road for awhile, until it started to get dark. We eventually got to an old gate and I looked down the drive and saw a run down mobile home. I said to the guy I was with. This is it, it's here. So we went down the drive and walked up the steps to the mobile home, and knocked then went inside. The front room looked like the reception of a doctor's office. There were some framed diplomas...
A short, round man with gray hair (balding a bit on the very top) came out of one of the rooms to the side, and started talking to us. He seemed to know we were coming, and was not surprised to see us.
He kept insisting to me that I come back to see him, but not at this place. He kept telling me I had to see him at his home, that he couldn't help me HERE, only at his home. I was confused by this at first, but then I was just very sure that I should go back to see him. Then he helped the guy with something...
I looked out the back window, and saw a marsh with lots of cattails that were turning a golden color. The sky was streaked with different shades of blue and purple between the clouds. I remember saying "Ça ferait vraiment une belle photo..." ("That would make a really nice photo") And the Doctor (I just mentally thought Professor...though that wasn't the word that came to me in my dream) started talking to me, telling me to come back and to see him at his house. I can't remember if he was speaking French from the beginning of the dream, but I do remember clearly that he did after I spoke in French first. He was admant about going back to him. Then he gave me a list handwritten on white paper in blue ink. I promised him, telling him I was almost certain I would be back in Europe this summer, and that I would go see him. I had to promise him over and over, then he seemed a bit relieved that I was really thinking about coming back. That I would try to come see him.
It was as if he had something important for me, to give to me or to tell me, but that he was incapable of doing in the mobile home.
Maybe he will come back to me in future dreams, or maybe I will meet him in the future.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Looking through my filing cabinet
I went through my filing cabinet yesterday in a futile attempt to find a poem I was sure I had copied down at some point. I do that, when I like a poem or a quote or a word. I take note of it, and scribble it down, and file it away. A friend had posted something on his bog, and I thought about the poem. I couldn't remember the title OR the poet. I did eventually find it, online, after many searches that came up empty:
In the Desert
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter – bitter", he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
--Stephen Crane
I did spend a long time digging around in my filing cabinet though. I found about twenty or thirty unfinished stories I had once started but never finished. I found lists of names, and ideas, and scribbles, and magazine cutouts and many other silly little things. I want to write again!
I signed up for NaNoWriMo, but I haven't written a word...and we're already a WEEK into November!
In the Desert
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter – bitter", he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
--Stephen Crane
I did spend a long time digging around in my filing cabinet though. I found about twenty or thirty unfinished stories I had once started but never finished. I found lists of names, and ideas, and scribbles, and magazine cutouts and many other silly little things. I want to write again!
I signed up for NaNoWriMo, but I haven't written a word...and we're already a WEEK into November!
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