Natural Sceptre

Tonight we drove to Heber. John intended to have dinner at The Dairy Keen…Preen…Lean?  I forget, but it was “Closed for Vacation,” so instead, we went to The Hub. As we walked in I was immediately inundated with the sight of flannel, bear statues, and paintings of moose and horses waiting near what I can only presume to be occupied outhouses. Some of the conversations I was hearing were a bit entertaining: more than anything, I was struck by the fact that everyone knew each other. At first I was having a lot of fun, looking at the old jukebox and wondering what I should order. However, as we walked to our table, it seemed like everyone was staring at us. And not just us, specifically me. It wasn’t some weird “the only girl in the room” situation, there were plenty of people. It was just clear, all of a sudden, that I didn’t belong. This led to an important realisation that set off an evening of obsessive introspection: I don’t belong anywhere. I was born in a Navy town in Connecticut, moved to California, South Carolina, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, London, and finally Utah. There were a few repeats in there, for instance, we moved back to Connecticut in between some other places early on- all in all I have never lived more than 3 years in any one place. I changed high school the summer before my senior year. I left to serve a mission for my church the summer before I would have graduated from my first University. That’s not the point: however. The point is that I have never found a place that I just fit. I found myself sitting in a restaurant surrounded by people who fit- I could tell that their souls simply jived with Heber. They had relationships with the people, they had jobs and past times and favourite restaurants. Now, I have had all of these things in many places, and yet I move on. Why?

I had a couple of theories. Maybe, just maybe, it has something to do with the mind/body problem. We ARE indeed simply minds with bodies, and our bodies are made of the elements of earth. We are destined to wander until we find the piece of ground we originated from. Perhaps I’m made of a little bit of everywhere.

That seemed a little religiously sci fi.

I started to put together “clues” from my life: my fascination with maps, my hesitancy to acquire large permanent-type items of furniture, my anxiety over two-year gym contracts or housing plans.

I wonder if I’m destined to be nomadic. I wonder if I’ll move every three years of my life forever.

It may seem silly- but to tell you the truth it was all very distressing. I figured that writing it all out would make it plain- I would realise that it wasn’t really that big of a problem after all. But I think it may be true. And I wonder where I’ll fit, or if I will.

I had written some thoughts of this nature down on a napkin from The Hub. Sensing that I was upsetting myself, John confiscated it and asserted that I fit with him. I’m grateful for that. It gives me hope. He owns some large pieces of furniture. Maybe one day I’ll find my place. In the meantime, we’ll just let these questions be the napkin in his pocket (metaphorically, as he actually returned the napkin to me at the library tonight)…

I’ve been working a lot lately. Now, when I say I’ve been working a lot, I don’t mean 80 hours a week on blood pressure medication wearing out the soles of my shoes working a lot- simply that while a full time student I am accustomed to working about 15 hours a week. I’m pushing thirty now, with travel time coming into play soon. So I’m a bit tired. So, what am I doing online at 1 am?

Tonight I was added to the sidebar of John’s blog. It’s interesting the way we’ve begun to fit into each other’s lives. In the beginning I was a bit detached. He would say that I was the aggressor, and that may be true, but he also pointed out that if I was cold and he offered me his jacket, I wouldn’t take it. In the beginning. Now, all of a sudden, I find myself cuddling in WalMart, texting one more time just to say I love you, and letting my teeth chatter just a little louder when I want his jacket- or even just to get a bit closer.

How does it happen?

One thought more: What are the responsibilities of a muse? I’ve been contemplating this one of late. And with all of my feminist tendancies, how does a mutual-museship evolve? When John tells me he thinks I can do something, I know that I can do it. If he looks surprised or excited or hopeful with regard to something in my future, I feel just that much more surprised or excited or hopeful. He keeps me grounded in realising that preparation and growth have to occur before I create something truly remarkable, but deep inside his comments there is an insinuation that really, quite possibly, I could create something remarkable at any moment. If I can make him feel supported and excited in that way at all- I guess I’m doing ok.

Now if only I could get him to eat some vegetables.

Really, I am very tired. I just had a bit of bagel (I was previously also very hungry) and should go to bed. I’m basically just trying to make this a habit. So off to bed, and in a few hours, work again!

Tis all for now.

I’m really not at all sure what I can write. Secret thoughts? Those are secret. Philosophical theories? THOSE are not so developed…and a little secret. Day to day drudgery? Could. I can only think of one person who would be interested.

SO! Tonight we put Cadence to bed. Finally. This is the second time we’ve sat for her, and last time it was a bit difficult. Meaning: she screamed her head off whenever we left the room. This time there were no pretenses. We camped out on the floor fully intending to stick it out- the long haul- no scootching out of the room on all fours like last time just to hear her stir and say, “Maaaaaaaa.” Truthfully, I like to watch her sleep. Children have this intense manner of sleeping- they are about as intent about sleeping as most grownups are about their day jobs. When Cadence sleeps her face acquires a certain stern aspect. As if she’s getting it done.

So now there are just a few things to do. I’ve managed to procrastinate a few different chores until the very last minute (not true, the last minute would be tomorrow). And really, all I want to do is cuddle. And, just for the record, I have NEVER been a cuddler. Maybe with my Mom and Dad and little Bro…but in the past, if any conquest tried to cuddle a little I’d just look at him as if to say, “Really? You think so?” and get up to get a soda. I’m a pretty impatient girl. I think I’m changing quite a bit lately.

Sometimes….

I want to cook stuff.

Ok, pretend like I didn’t write that.

SO, I’ve pretty much decided that this is going to have to be something I do. Perhaps this very page could be the thing that could help me relax in my writing. You have to understand, the last thing I sat down to write seriously was a paper comparing Donnellan and MacKay and the Humpty Dumpty theory of naming. Looking at that, unless you know philosophy of language, I guess that looks like anything but serious writing. My point IS that I spend too much time analyzing every word, every phrase, every point of diction and grammar you could imagine. I need to learn to just write- and not even worry about what comes out, or, more aptly…the form it presents itself in. I wonder what I miss out on writing because I spend too much time revising my opening paragraphs. What could have come at the end, if only I had not exhausted myself and given up just as it was getting good?

We’ll see. So. This is going to be random. It may be rambling. It may be personal, and it could be boring. But it’s an experiment. Here goes.