sometimes, my head explodes

the hope that only sleeps April 24, 2008

Filed under: about me,my evolution — somniare @ 12:17 am

I think I need to force myself to write even when I have nothing to say. It’s simply easier to pity those who stumble on this and hold expectations for words laden with worth than it is to feel sorry for myself for my own repression.

Today was a word storing day. Every now and then I seem to collect every utterance… words, whispers, sighs… I tuck them away and reflect in the light of my monitor.

I updated a friend of mine on my divorce proceedings today, which I don’t usually speak much about. When I told her that no matter what was taken from me or how much I had to sacrifice to the undeserving that I couldn’t bring myself to reflect such selfish behavior in retaliation… she looked at me as if I had sprouted an arm from my forehead and did a handstand. I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t played those games before. I’ve lived most of my life lashing out at those who damaged me. Somewhere along the line, I learned that payback doesn’t get you anything in the long run. The temporary satisfaction in punishing those that have done me horribly wrong always ends up shadowed by the guilt later. I can tell myself over and over that my actions are validated, I can hear it from everyone else… hell, the person I hurt can come back and tell me they deserved what I did… it doesn’t matter. I can’t hang on to my humanity and make deliberate efforts to knock a person down no matter what the circumstances are. It may or may not make me an easier target, but I don’t care. I’d rather be under siege then fight a war with a person who has quickly become dead to me.

As is typical, what is currently at the forefront of my mind ends up making appearances everywhere. one of my patients got me talking about my divorce though not really in detail since I find it extremely unprofessional to drag your personal life into your place of employment. Her final statement of the matter was, “Well, you’re beautiful. I’m sure you’ll bounce back quickly and move on.” Is that so? So I should rely on my looks to obtain a life partner since the ugly ones will fully recover and move on. She herself had been through a divorce and the look of genuine sorrow for the fact I was going through it was a bit unnerving despite the horrifically worded statement regarding my ability to get through it. As is typical with me though, I smiled and told her not to be sorry… these things happen and it really wasn’t going all that badly. She nodded and said, “Yeah, but no one gets married to get divorced.” Ain’t that the truth. I was touched by her concern though… she spoke with her eyes and that’s important.

My coworkers breathe sighs of relief when they find I’m working with them. Even if our personalities may clash or we’re not exactly friendly, it’s known that I’m there to do my job and do it well even when I’m so miserable you can see new lines etching in my face by the second. The patients will never see it, they always comment about my perpetual smile. My coworkers know that I will still help the one who’s floundering even when I myself am buried.

The theme today seemed to be my unfailing sensitivity and dedication to people around me… under any circumstances.

My sensitivity is becoming less sickening to me every day. Yes it burdens on occasion, especially in the face of my willingness to accommodate the individual needs of everyone that steps into my life and the continuing neglect of my own. The smallest things can claw and twist my insides and cause my brain to run circles on itself weighing pros and cons until exhaustion ensues. I beg to the vacant space above my head to just once… please… let me encounter reciprocation in the beautiful way I know it can manifest. For once, I want to leap into open arms and prove to the doubting that under no circumstances would I entice one to reach for me just to have the safety net yanked out from under them. In every last one of my failed friendships and relationships, not one of those people would ever tell you I wasn’t there for them. Every.. last.. one… will tell you the story of the collapse and takes the blame. Most of them try to contact me regularly. I’ve made my share of mistakes and will continue to do so until the day I die… but I have yet to lose my grip on anyone I’ve held close… and I don’t intend to. This is my one pride. Without sensitivity, there is no true dedication. Before my time is up, I hope I’ll have earned what I am so willing to give. I’ll work every day for it. If I never find it, at least I’ll have died trying and hope that in the next life, I can continue moving toward this goal. Despite everything, the hope of this experience will die only with me, never before.


Purpose (epically long entry) February 5, 2008

Filed under: about me,my evolution,on work — somniare @ 1:15 am

I don’t usually write at night. Typically, I sit down so drained by my day that the idea of trying to translate my mental chaos into a well streamed monologue to the public… well that is beyond my realm of capability.

It has been one of those bizarre days where everyone asks whether it is a full moon outside or if we’ve been transported into an alternate dimension where insanity rules the minds of even the most level-headed. Even the weather has lost it’s mind, as I can’t remember a time where I saw lightning in February!

My thoughts today remain on the topic I mentioned in my previous entry: patience. Since then, I’ve been on the brink of just giving up that unique quality I have. But today was a perfect example of exactly why I honestly believe I could never be any other way.

The shift started out in a bizarre way. One of the patients I had during my shift Sunday evening was furious with the events of the entire day. Her husband ran into me on the way to the lobby level and asked me why I wasn’t assigned to his wife. I told him that they moved me because the person who had her all day was on a 12 hour shift and they didn’t want to give the girl a whole new assignment after having the same one for the first 8 hours. He told me he was going into the manager’s office to discuss the terrible way his wife had been treated. Did he ever! I walked past the office about a half hour later to see him standing in there, bright red with rage and yelling at the top of his lungs. Afterward, my manager (who just started last week) came to the nurse’s station to tell us about the situation. The girl who had the patient during the day was banned from the room. They also said that everyone should be like me since I obviously cared about my patients and had gone above and beyond to be compassionate and helpful. These people were far from being rational mind you. Of course I care about my patients… but having them on my assignment was an experience. They had been traumatized by the impersonal nature of the nursing staff and physicians on the intensive care unit where she had spent two days previous to coming to our floor. They wanted to get to know everyone who came into the room and wanted everyone to take the time to know as much about their lives as they could get out. They wanted each and every person who saw her walking in the hall to greet her and ask how she was doing. While that would be absolutely lovely, we all have multiple patients on our assignments and can’t always take a lot of time for chit-chat. Being that I am one bearing the curse of inhuman patience combined with my inability to end a conversation, I nearly got out late Sunday evening because I spent 45 minutes in there listening to them talk. Every time I went in there, I felt like I was being interviewed, “Where did you go to school? How old are your kids? Who watches your kids while you’re here? What did you do before this job? How many pets do you have? Here, let me tell you about all of ours and every story we know about them.” The list is absolutely ENDLESS and I wanted to scream. In fact, I was so frustrated by the fact that I stood there so long that my legs were cramping that I wished something, ANYTHING would just burst into flames or violently explode. Did they know that? Nope. And it paid off as I received glowing reviews as the only one who really seemed to care. My new manager is wonderful though, I didn’t get used as an example to publicly humiliate my coworkers as my last boss would have done and caused me to spend the rest of the night getting childish scowls hurled at me from around every corner. Instead it was simply suggested that a couple pages from my book of patience be applied and some extra TLC be given to a very needy patient.

About half way through my shift, one of the patients on a coworker’s assignment decided to go insane. HE started climbing out of bed, tearing at his tubes and IV, and attempting to bludgeon anyone who tried to stop him. That coworker was told to remain with the patient on 1:1 (one to one) observation for the remainder of the shift because that is what we do with patients that pose a danger to themselves. About a half hour after being in the room, my coworker had reached the end of his rope after being assailed by one of the patient’s family members for the level of force he had to use to keep the patient in his bed. He announced he was going home and not coming back, signed out, dropped off his pager and left the floor short. The situation could have been easily diffused by putting someone else in to sit with the patient and then he could pick up that person’s assignment. We’ve all been at a point where the job was just too much and wasn’t worth the misery… in my eyes, it wasn’t one of those nights. Because of that, someone else had to be pulled from the floor to sit in that room and the rest of the unit was left stranded in a state of desperation due to severe understaffing.

My patience was straining as I ran from one end of the hall to another, trying to satisfy the needs of my, now 14 patient assignment as well as do the standard and scheduled duties of my job. As I’m running, I hear all sorts of yelling and banging around. I rushed down the hall to the origin of the ruckus and found two of my coworkers wrestling the insane patient who had finally managed to get himself out of bed. One was holding him from behind with her arms around his chest and the other was being pummeled in the face by his flailing hands as she tried to get to his legs. They both were just holding him yelling, “Where’s the doctor??!!” Neither of them making a solid attempt to get him back in bed or acknowledge that his IV and foley catheter (the tube draining the urine from his bladder) were still firmly attached to the bed and would have caused a lot of pain and bloodshed if they remained in that position. Seeing as I appeared to be the only one left with a shred of sanity, I ducked like a boxer underneath his swinging fists, grabbed him under his knees and flung him back into the bed with the powers of pure adrenaline. He then proceeded to walk around on top of his bed, stomping on his catheter (how in god’s name that didn’t rip out and tear him in half, or cause enough pain to make him lay back down, I have no idea) and my coworkers just stood there staring like robots waiting for a command. I did just that, commanding them to reach behind him and guide his back, I gripped a hold of his ankles and pulled his feet out from under him while holding all of his tubes and wires out of the way at the same time. By this point, I’m wondering what would have happened if this patient had managed to seriously injure himself… would I have been the only one capable of thinking fast enough to attempt resuscitation?! My patience could have saved this man’s life, and I’m not being dramatic.

As the night wore on, the patients all seemed to reach an interconnected state of mania. Every staff member looked on the brink of complete implosion. The staffing for nights was in a state of desperation and the bed coordinator called to continuously book beds when we already didn’t have enough people to care adequately for the patients already on the unit. As I watched the chaos, I felt like I left my mind and entered a state of complete silent observation. Everything around me turned to slow motion as I moved fluidly like cement filling the cracks of a crumbling building. At a speed unable to be clocked, I finished my work and moved to the task of getting 16 sets of blood pressures and temperatures to help the night shift. I moved over to the other side and helped the other person who was left with an equally obscene patient load. I finished up her work, moving in and out of the rooms like I had wings. All with a smile on my face. One woman even commented to me how soothing my voice was to be woken to!

When the night shift came in, one of the other veteran nurses came up to me and asked why I never worked at the desk any more. I have bounced back and forth between patient care and transcription so much over the years, people have a hard time remembering exactly what job it is that I do. I used to alternate back and forth and I loved that because I knew that when I found myself having a terrible day, I knew that the next one may be equally stressful but the fact that it was a different job altogether made it seem like the easiest thing in the world. They hired too many new people for that job though and there were no more shifts left for me to cover there. This nurse told me how much she missed having me there because everything was always flawless, she never had to double check the doctor’s orders and everything was always done to perfection. This particular nurse doesn’t compliment ANYONE. Just hearing a thank you is like watching hell freeze over before your eyes. Working behind the desk for me is tedious work and it tries my patience like no other as I spend all of my time picking up after everyone else and preventing the incompetent residents and other lazy physicians from killing the patients. It pays off though as I was revered for my obsessive compulsive attention to detail and the fact that above anyone else, I can always be counted on to do my job right.

At a time when everyone else cracked, I stood strong. A chorus of thank yous at my back as I walked off of the floor and ended my shift on time and not a second late. I needed this night to remind me why I am the way I am. I sit here now with a renewed sense of purpose… the very same one that made me take on a job taking care of the people I go out of my way to avoid in my personal life. My patience is an integral part of me and for as long as I can remember the only time I ever felt like I was worth anything was when I was helping someone else. Without that fortitude, I can’t be any good to anyone and I certainly can’t dedicate the time it takes to truly be there for another person in need.

My desire to help people, not only in my job but even the random person who sees potential in me, represents the only goal I have ever achieved: to make a difference. If I go so much as a day without feeling like my existence affected another in a positive and beneficial way, my mood is affected drastically. I learned that today. Powerlessness is something I have to deal with in most matters of my own life but one thing I have control of is how I reach out to other people and be something more than just another stagnant human being living life for themselves alone. I truly, without any exaggeration, feel nothing but complete and utter elation when I hear that I made an impact. Days like this make me feel satisfied with my life and who I am, in spite of the fact that I am still lacking most of the things I want for my life. The pain of other unfulfilled desires fades away when my true purpose seems reaffirmed. I have not failed in everything, I can be something more.


the weight of waiting January 30, 2008

Filed under: about me,philosophical muse — somniare @ 10:59 am

I’m beginning to see my writing to be a lot like a weather vane. My thoughts like charged atoms vibrating wildly as clouds gather at the horizon. They sense the involuntary repression brought by inclement times. Perhaps they are feeding from the sun which I’ve recently let in. Sometimes I wonder if my willingness to peel back the skin a little and expose some raw pieces of self only invite the light to burn and speed up the merciless storms in the distance. Of course, it could be that I can think more openly and write with the freedom of my unfocused mind when I step down from my dedicated sentry position and take the time to acknowledge the existence of peripheral vision. It isn’t easy to take a break from standing guard.

On that note, I’m going to tackle one of the many recurrent subjects I’ve been encountering lately while I am still at ground level and out of the watchtower.

It gets told to me every day by at least one person that I am one of the most patient people they’ve ever encountered. I never really thought about it up until recently, but it’s showing up around every corner like it’s something I should take the time to wrap my mind around. Ironically, when it comes to silly things, I don’t have an ounce of it. I can’t stand to wait at a stop light or know that someone has a surprise that they won’t reveal. There are multiple times I find myself swallowing my all encompassing rage as I’m forced to sit through something I find boring, annoying, or completely repulsive. I honestly hate having to wait for anything that I can possibly define as insignificant to my life as a whole.

Interestingly enough, you’d think those things mentioned would confuse a lot of people into thinking, “Gosh, that girl has no patience at all!” As it turns out though, patience has a much deeper meaning than the willingness to wait. A lot of it is in the presentation. Take my job for example. Do you really think I want to sit and take a half hour out of my extremely hectic schedule to get the world’s oldest living relic into the bathroom. No, of course not! But it’s not in me to make someone who is sick in the hospital feel like a burden to me when I have chosen a career specifically geared to healing and helping those in need. I put a smile on my face and gently guide them, all the while assuring them that I am most certainly NOT busy and I have more than enough time to help them. Why do they insist I must have immense amounts of patience? Because no one else seems to. Rush rush rush… dragging these people around like rag dolls and scowling in a way that says, “You’re no more important than the rest so move your damned ass!” I’m no saint, that thought crosses my mind every day. That’s the reality of being a patient though. Many are equal in neediness and there is bound to be at least a few in more dire need than the archaic shell of a person I may find myself moving in slow motion beside at any given moment. What is the sense in creating such apprehension in a sick person who needs you that they feel it necessary to start every sentence with, “I know you’re busy but…”

Patience runs deeper than the appearance on the surface as well. Most everyone has the friends that seem to call non-stop in need of support for problems so consistently that you wonder if they have ever seen a bright day in their lives. My patience goes beyond the constant pillar I become to those who mean something to me. I’ve been known to spend hours counseling complete strangers on their deepest issues. I stick around as a support until I’ve served my purpose and then I stand back and disappear. I do this regularly. People find me out of nowhere just to open up their pandora’s box to someone who will listen. Yes it requires an epic amount of patience to dedicate such large amounts of time to complete strangers.

These days, true patience is not only a commodity among the masses, it’s become something unrecognizable and unappreciated. The world is comprised of takers and givers… without tolerance, you can never be anything more than a taker. I do wonder if such a virtue will run dry in me. Will there come a point when I get sick of others getting frustrated with me or never taking the time to see past their own world of various dramas to notice that I exist as something other than a pocket psychiatrist. Have I crafted my own destiny of loneliness out of a desire to be needed? Patience does not bring happiness. Being needed for support purposes is not the same as being needed for everything I can offer as a person just existing.

There are so many things patience is mistaken for: generosity, openheartedness, selflessness… these just being a few examples. I may have aspects of each of those but I harbor their antonyms equally. While that may be a fact, I still have both feet firmly planted on the ground when it comes to matters requiring steadfastness. When no one else has been there, most people can say that I was. I stuck it out. I am proud of myself for that because I feel like I can mean something just using a natural born part of my personality. Where it leaves me thinking is when I wonder if that is what I am truly seeking in someone to share my life with.

There are no viable consequences that I can manifest about bringing two people together with immense amounts of sufferance. The challenge would come in when one person possesses the quality and the other one can’t see it and spends the greater portion of time chipping at the walls of fortitude. It may be necessary to have a giver and a taker in order to keep a balance, but as I pointed out, you can’t be a giver without patience and having two takers in a relationship is a recipe for failure. Eventually the surplus will run dry and the relationship will shrivel.

I’m getting old. I find that it is impossible to find an intelligent and worthwhile companion who retains the virtue of patience in the midst of rebuilding life in the post-apocalypse of failed relationships. In that light, the real question comes in. Can patience be learned? Can it be taught? Can it be absorbed from another? Perhaps my only hope will be to subliminally infuse it into my other. If I can’t, I will find myself waiting for someone who couldn’t bear the weight of waiting.


Christmas: defiled December 26, 2007

Filed under: about me,on work — somniare @ 1:49 pm

T’was the night before Christmas and I found myself forced to recall the traditions I’ve cherished for so long. My son Richard, having no part in the whole ordeal, sat downstairs playing his video games as if telling me, “You think I’m moody and self-absorbed NOW?! Just wait, as it’s only just begun!” My daughter Brooke, full of Christmas spirit insisted on reminding me each detail I had forgotten along the way.

“But Mommy! Remember last year we took the stockings down so Santa doesn’t have to jump to reach them!”

“But Mommy! We forgot to make cookies this year! Good thing Santa reeeeaaaallly likes peanut butter, we can give him the pretzels with the peanut butter in them!”

“But Mommy! What if the milk gets weak?!” I’m sure she was meaning to say “warm” but the phrasing made me think of some sort of bizarre spiked milk that would become less potent if left to sit too long. Santa could have used some spiked milk, that’s for sure.

She reminded me that we just HAD to write a letter. This year, she wanted to write a novel since her pride at being able to write it herself surpassed the desire to hurry to sleep to speed up the process. We bargained over sentences since she was going to make it sound very business-like in her gramatically correct style. “We hope you like the pretzels with peanut butter. We also hope you like the milk. We hope you bring us lots of presents…” There was just way too much hoping going on there, I was forced to conjoin sentences such as “We hope you like the pretzels with peanut butter and the milk…” Richard made a brief appearance to draw some scribbles at the end and let me hold his hand to write his name. Brooke then wanted to draw a picture for Santa. She made a family of three stick figures and all on her own wrote “THE END” over their heads. The end indeed, just the three of us.

We placed the note next to the plate of pretzel sandwiches, went downstairs to pull Richard away so that we could have our annual reading of “T’was the Night Before Christmas”. Of course, Richard wanted no part in it because it didn’t involve a video game of any sort and always meant going to bed afterward. He scurried off and I read the story to Brooke alone. A 10 minute battle of who got to sleep in what bed ensued afterward as both of them wanted to sleep in the other’s room. I put them in their proper places, gave them hugs and kisses and last glasses of water and then trudged back down the stairs to sit in silence.

Opening a beer, I found myself sitting in front of my computer… just like any other night. Hearing Richard put his winter boots over his footie pajamas and stomp to the door to sneak out, I yelled at him to get back in bed. After about 3 repetitions of this, I finally hear, “GRRRRRRR!!!!!!” Followed by the sound of his angrily flicking the light switch off and flinging himself back into bed kicking at the foot board for another 10 minutes. After this episode, all was quiet.

I traded joking text messages with my ex-husband about the antics of the evening which only succeeded in making me feel more lonely. I sat on the phone and drank beer, putting my wrapping off until about midnight. When the distraction was gone, I just cried. I cried for everything I had and lost. Years of traditions and happiness all gone. Yes, I still had my children… but no one to carefully wrap meticulously chosen gifts for in my handmade paper or fill a stocking full of completely ridiculous things I had found throughout the year. No one to lay exhausted with me on the living room floor and stare at the tree upside down in the dark. No amount of wishing could help. Nothing could fill the gaping chasm where my christmas spirit used to lay. Christmas is about family and togetherness… and all I had in that moment was myself.

Christmas morning came. Richard opened one present in his stocking, a video game which he hoarded away into the play room and refused to participate further in opening presents. Brooke raced through the opening of her gifts with super speed. Squealing with delight at how Santa knew JUST what she wanted and spraying thank you’s like a fountain between gasps of joy. It was over quickly as I couldn’t afford mountains of gifts but the elation I saw on her face made up for how quick the moment had passed. I had to wait for my ex-husband to come pick Richard up so that he could help me coerce him into opening his presents. The last thing I wanted was to battle a crying child to receive gifts! So “togetherness” even in the moment of Christmas morning was shattered. No opportunity to sit under the tree and pass presents around, opening in unison.

Dave had brought me a couple of small, yet thoughtful presents which was more painful than nice. We sat outside and had a cigarette as Richard stomped the ice in the driveway with his boots and coat over his footie pajamas. I said my goodbyes and went back inside to bide my time waiting for Ryan to come pick Brooke up. We discovered that the bulb for the TV had broken so we made hot cocoa, brought our mugs to the bedroom and cuddled in my bed to watch one of the DVDs she had gotten. Ryan arrived to pick her up, and we exchanged small presents for each other. Unlike Dave, my relationship with Ryan is a very close one and I didn’t find myself sad during this time. His gifts for me were completely random and perfectly suited for me as usual and he adored the zombie inspired meditation book I had found that just screamed for me to get for him. We said our goodbyes and I went back into the house to get ready for work.

I knew better than to deliberately switch shifts to work on the holiday. I should have known I’d find the same disenchantment there as I had at home. No one had brought food and cameras as we had in previous years. The decorations were sparse and very sad. Everyone had worn their typical scowls due to the abundance of miserable patients. Of course, I found myself with the assignment full of whiny medical patients who shouldn’t have been there in the first place and patients from the intensive care unit who never should have been transferred. I was a glorified waitress, catering to the various excessive “needs” of my medical patients and their families, “I need 3 waters, 2 jellos, and a partridge in a pear tree, thanks!” I can’t forget the guy who’s girlfriend was a bigger headcase than HE was and he had mild retardation! His girlfriend insisted on getting free food by convincing everyone that she was hypoglycemic and if she took the time to go downstairs and purchase food (or god forbid, go HOME to eat for free) she would deliberately fall over on the floor. She demanded a constant supply of ginger ale and crackers throughout her stay, threatening that she would vomit without them. I deducted she was one of those people who invents illness while around people who are ACTUALLY sick. Forget the fact that she was morbidly obese and would have probably resorted to eating the patient if we didn’t bring her food… it was the low blood sugar driving her to consume everything in sight. Yeah, that’s it.

As I’m getting ready to take my dinner, one of the nurses calls out from one of my patient’s rooms (an ICU transfer from earlier), “I need your help! He’s unresponsive!!” Let the games begin. The world’s most incompetent resident arrived to order a barrage of tests, asking me the same questions a million times because apparently memory becomes unimportant when you’re a doctor. I’m trying to do an EKG, get a blood pressure, and tell him for the millionth time the dosage of a drug that was administered. I could go on and on describing the idiocy but I’m going to spare myself from reliving that particular frustration. It was decided to move him back up to the ICU since his lungs were full of fluid and he was barely able to breathe.

After the whole ordeal was finished. I went to dinner 2 hours behind schedule and came back to request that I switch places with the person sitting with a patient on one to one observation. The patient was going through alcohol withdrawal but spent pretty much the whole time sleeping. He did wake up briefly to say, “Isn’t there anything else on besides Christmas shows?” I informed him that he’d be hard pressed to find anything else with it being Christmas and all. He then proceeded to subject me to Deal or No Deal. Horrible show. In fact anything resembling a game show is horrible. Right up there with reality TV and the women’s station dubbed “Lifetime”. Outside of that, he did also have a habit of missing the urinal and instead just pissing all over his bed then sleeping through my struggle to clean him up and change the bed underneath him. I also wonder if dental hygeine had EVER been a concern for this man since with every exhale a rank cloud was expelled from his mouth and swallowed the entire room with it’s horrid stench. From across the room, I was forced to breathe by pulling my arm halfway into my sleeve like a turtle and put my nose into the hole. If he would have fallen into a bit deeper sleep, I would have brushed his teeth while he was out cold. All in all though, it was a perfect way to conclude my Christmas day.

I stopped at the gas station on my way home, purchased a pack of cigarettes with quarters since I am just that poor, then drove the rest of the way home sullenly. I picked up the explosion of wrapping paper from the morning and put it in the garbage bin. I changed into my pajamas and laid in bed, falling asleep to a movie as usual. Just another day come and gone. Honestly, it’s hard to tell if it even happened at all.


the influence of published thought December 1, 2007

Filed under: about me,my evolution — somniare @ 2:43 pm

I have started feeding my brain again. At my current state of detachment I’ve been feeling an inability to connect with people around me and failing to communicate even the simplest of the theories my mind is eternally constructing. It’s been a while since I took the time to find decent books to help reshape my thoughts into coherence.

People underestimate the power of reading. Published works be them reference text, non-fiction psychology written in the form of memoir, poetry, and all in between… they are all testament to what the mind is capable of forming when thought can be organized. Even if I take the time to read the most poorly written compilation of half-theories and pretension, it’s still more than I have been capable of putting together. My mind is a constant jumble of stories and verses and I struggle to form them beyond the broken sentences that overwhelm.

It was pointed out to me once that a stagnant mind and writer’s block can be healed by expanding ones mental library. I absorbed that piece of knowledge and have taken the initiative. It is helping to an extent but I think that it may take some time to apply the ability reading bestows upon a writer’s mind. The hurtle seems to be that the absorbing of information and the stories constructed by other minds should inspire and not influence. It’s all to easy for someone like myself to absorb the styles of others and find myself losing my individual techniques. While I may be attempting to find my head filled with more complete thought, my disconnected sentences and abhorrence for proper punctuation in my poetic endeavors are something I don’t necessarily want to lose… I just need to push them to the back on occasion so that I may polish my more refined skills in weaving an effective story.

I am struggling very hard to break free of the walls that seem intent on restraining me in nearly every creative aspect I attempt. I just about sold my soul to acquire the book Transcending CSS. My reasoning is that there is a solid point made in the book about the fact that code is extremely limited for web designers being that it was created for designers and not by designers so there is a lot of necessity to breach the gap between a mind which functions very systematically and a mind that is predominantly creatively inclined. A lot of designers (myself included) struggle with the merging of two such opposite ways of thinking. I am going to attempt to apply some of the knowledge I acquire using this book over at the CSS Zen Garden before designing my portfolio site. Yes! I am planning a portfolio site for my artwork.

I mention boxes a lot and how much I can’t stand them but the reality is that we only create them for ourselves by acknowledging their existence. If you simply seek methods to break down barriers, you are destined to fail. There is no such thing. The only way to remove the shelter from around your life is to find something that exists in the world to change your perception. Boxes are like optical illusions… your brain only thinks that they are there. Writer’s/artist’s block is simply a state of mind. The inability to move forward in life due to feeling as if your life is at a stand still is also a state of mind. There’s a lot at our fingertips to allow us to shift perspective and see past the invisible strings that tie us to what seems to be impassable barriers. This is absolutely never the case. In a world where everything seems to be either tangible or intangible… isn’t it interesting to consider that the world is in actuality powered by the mind and there has to be something more than those two simple words that we use to define the elements that we allow to affect us?

Getting back to the expansion of knowledge. Yes, I have begun reading again in efforts to obtain new knowledge and refresh what has been lost over the years but more importantly, I am attempting to see writing from other perspectives to better understand where the limitations are. Perspectives are fascinating to me in that there are no two that are exactly the same. There are those that agree, those that complement, those that contradict and those that argue. The list goes on and on. Each mind is a book in itself and those that have been blessed with the liberty of expression to be able to display their concepts onto paper for the world… well, I’m using those minds as a starting point. Once I have grown tired of delving into those obvious displays, I will be much more able to probe the brains of those who communicate less conspicuously. A new mission with renewed intrigue means a revived ‘me’.


On planning November 28, 2007

Filed under: about me — somniare @ 11:09 am

Before venturing further into this post, please READ ME.

I am impatient with the future and I have no tolerance for the past. I am the epitome of spontaneity. Yet, in contradiction, I waste many hours daydreaming. While I should be focusing on a task at hand, I am mentally wandering, dreaming of someone or somewhere I can’t be near or see at that particular time. I resent myself for it and end up with a level of self annoyance that borders on disgust. Why waste time in that way and be so vacant from a current place and time when there is so much to be done?

This world is simply too big for a mind that analyzes the smallest things. Planning becomes enemy #1. There are simply too many futures. I prefer to focus on manipulating potential futures by my actions in the present, primarily focusing on the effect my actions may have at that given moment and shutting off the “what if” switch of destructive hypotheticals. I subtly manipulate what future may be possible for me as I weave my own stories within every passing moment. My appreciation is for the little things and the opportunities that present themselves in an instant. Time spent planning and anticipating… well, that’s time that fleeting opportunities can slip through the cracks while I was preoccupied.

I crave adventure but because of who I am, my ability to gain that sense is severely impaired. I need someone strong enough to hold my hand and yank me out my world and lead me to a secret destination in a far off land. I love to be shown new experience. This quality may make me appear weak and lacking in motivation but in reality, I can only be so much as one person.

There are three major types of change. First is the type of change that most of us despise- the type that happens without our knowledge, foresight, or affect. We don’t experience such change but often find ourselves caught underneath the debris of a life turned upside down. This is self destruction. The second type of change would be the one that we directly choose for ourselves. We know there is something that needs to differ or else we will find ourselves simply walking in circles or pacing within the doldrums of a stagnant existence. That is the type where we have accepted our ability to hold our future in our hands and embrace opportunity of free will. We use such change as footholds to reach our hands above ground and pull out of the trenches. This is self empowerment. The third major type is the one where we may not have fallen victim to it but at the same time we did not directly institute it on our own. When there is an external influence that makes a difference for better or worse and we have taken the time to think about it and let them take a piece of our fate in their hands, this is the cross between the prior two types. This type is the only kind to really bring self awareness. The ability to hold the power of change in our hands and either embrace or shun it based on calculation. Every individual is different in this respect. Those lacking in self consciousness may be led down wrong paths and find their lives in a similar cataclysmic state to the results of change #1. Those people often see this as ultimately being the cause of change #1 even though they had options, they just weren’t strong enough to see or embrace them. Instead they opt to be so easily influenced that there is no self awareness and no conscious free will. Such impressionable people will often find themselves constantly choosing paths of their own detriment and in ignorance of advantageous options.

The reason I detail such a theory is because I am currently seeking that external influence to help me see different life altering perspectives and aid me in avoidance of dormant existence while still maintaining mindful assent. This is no easy feat but accounting for my distaste for contrivance regarding the future, that is my best option for self improvement. I am not a weak person who needs the will of others to sway me and make decisions for me. People are tools to be used in my best interest (not at their expense, mind you), and this is where I find myself at this point in my life. After analyzing my potential for as long as I have been capable of such ways of thinking, this is my conclusion