Texting

     Communication used to take weeks, or even months.  Now, it’s instantaneous.  But, have we accepted it?

     I have to share a story that’s been nagging at me ever since it happened over a year ago.  I received a text message from a guy-friend one afternoon.  It was a joke.  As I was busy, I didn’t reply right away.  Later that night, around midnight, I tapped out a reply then went to sleep.  The next morning I woke up to no less than 8 missed calls from his phone number, and a recorded message from him that morning.  Apparently, his new wife had wondered who would be sending him a text at midnight and completely flipped out that it was a woman.  She proceeded to call me at least 7 times, but left no message.  That morning, he woke up, checked his phone, saw my text (and her return calls), and braced himself for the onslaught of her coming wrath.  The voice mail he left me that morning was an apology; he was quite embarrassed by her behavior.  It’s no surprise they aren’t together anymore.

     I view texting as a placeholder for conversation.  We’re all super busy, and personally, if I don’t write something down as soon as I think of it, it might not be there when I finally have time to call someone.  So, I text.  It might be midnight, it might be 5am.  If you’re on the receiving end of one of those messages, and it happens to wake you, then you should have had your notification dinger turned off.  Do you not realize that you are in charge of your phone?  Turn it off at night if you don’t want a text.  The “placeholder” text I sent will be waiting for you in the morning. 

     Back in the days of the Pony Express, do we really think that people wrote letters only during the hours of 8am until 8pm?  I think not.  I imagine people wrote letters by candlelight in the middle of the night, when their minds were clear and the house was quiet.  Just like me….texting a reply to my friend about his joke at midnight.  Innocently. 

     Technology is moving forward at a pace that people with small minds can’t keep up with. 

(No, this is not me.  I got this image at: http://www.zenbedrooms.com/blog/index.php/is-sleep-texting-the-new-sleep-walking/)

 

 

40

I think there’s some mistake.  I feel 26…maybe 28, but not 40.  What happened? 

I can’t say I’m disappointed with the ride so far though.  But, then again, I do love roller coasters!

 

As I write this, my life has come full circle.   I am living in my childhood home, and my son is sleeping in my childhood bedroom. Life is sweet. 
 

I’ve seen amazing things and met amazing people. 

 

And, I'm speechless.

 

Ambien and Lortab

     I recently found this email from about a year ago buried in an account I no longer log into.  Apparently, I had sent this note to myself in a stupor fueled by a monster migraine that I self medicated.  No, this is not a regular occurrence.  So...here is the actual text of the "note to self" that I sent a year or more ago...and I actually had some pretty good thought patterns at the time...

"This is going to be interesting. Iam in an altered brain state writing this. I had the headache from hades earlier that persisted through lowly devices, like tylenol and forehead tapping and pushing. Damn, still there. Concluded the event was worthy of a lortab from my slendering supply. Also, figured an ambien was useful too, as lortab usually makes me wide awake. I haven't seen Golum this time, maybe I won't. He is nice enough.
So, essentially I wanted to walk up a few steps, seee if I got a good view from my parking spot. Look ay whats going on with other people. I've never understood weapons collectors. So crazy. Always a family. Ultimate peer pressure there. My family has many diverse interests. We each pursue them alone. So, the official approach is rathet lonely but less distracting
So, in concussion  drugs arent really bad. It's alll in how you use then and what you do with them. you can be magical!!!!!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless Phone"

A Letter to the Moon

Dear Mr. Moon,

     You see it all, don’t you, you peeping tom?  Some nights you wake me by staring in my window wearing a big mischievous grin.  Other nights you study me with a magnifying glass held up to your wide open eye.  You are so obtuse, and impersonal.  Should I call you Dr. Moon?

     But, you see all.  Who sleeps?  Who doesn’t?  Who reads (and what)?  You see my dad getting up in the middle of the night and pouring Pepsi into a half empty jar of mayonnaise, only to place it back in the fridge and not remember it in the morning. You know all of our secrets, even the bad ones.  You spy on lovers, and forbidden lovers.  You see kids clutching teddy bears, afraid of the shadow that your light spells across their bedroom walls.

     You see red and blue flashing lights, with flares.  You also see headlights of taxi cabs, and blinking lights on airplanes filled with passengers that pull down the shades to block your access (how rude of them).

     Mr. Moon, I would love to have coffee with you sometime.  Share your stories with me, all of them.  I want to know of the secret things you see… the polar bears, and the sleeping elephants.   I want to know of the sad things you see, the reality that we weak little subjects always shut out.  Don’t mince your words, tell me what you see!  But also, tell me the beauty.  Tell me of the lovers.  Tell me of the waves lapping on the forgotten shore lit by the gleam of your face.  Tell me of the lioness fearlessly giving birth to her cubs under your shield, far away from her pride.   Give me hope, Mr. Moon.

     Share your stories with me.  I’m hungry for them. 

Sincerely,

An Admirer

Dream House

So, my "home" situation has been in flux for awhile, but I am finally settling into a routine and am finally feeling like I have a "home" again.  Home is important.  It's a place where you can truly be yourself, and it's important to decorate and furnish your home in a way that makes you feel relaxed and recharged while you are there. 

My home, although I love it completely, is not in the geographical location that I would prefer.  It's in a dry, hot desert.  Ugh.  The changes I'm making to it are changes that will make it more reflective of me, but because of its location, it's never going to be precisely what my heart desires.  That's where my "dream house" comes in.

Last night I dreamt of my dream house.  It's a house I've dreamt of many times, and I can see it perfectly in my mind's eye.  In this dream of it, I'm driving along a two lane highway next to a river, and I look up, and there it is, off the side of the road, with a "For Sale" sign in front.  Holy Cow!  I pull over and go right up to the double wooden doors and knock on the gothic brass knocker.  An older lady with white hair answers and welcomes me in to look around.  I pretend like I haven't been there before (hey, it's a dream).  She shows me around all the rooms that are already so familiar to me.  We go out the back door to look at the pool and gardens.  Then, we go upstairs to look at the master suite.  This is my favorite part.  The circular bed is in an alcove separate from the main area of the suite, and is surrounded by floor to ceiling windows that look out onto the most beautiful expanse of mountains and valleys imaginable.  I start crying.  The lady is concerned and asks what is wrong.  I say it's just that it's so beautiful and I can't believe that the house is finally for sale and I have the opportunity to buy it.  She is touched that "her old house" seems so special to me.  I ask her how much the house is.  She tells me and I offer her $80k OVER that price for it, in hopes of insuring that I be the one she picks to sell it to.  I'm sure there will be other offers. 

The dream ends as I attend the open house, along with many well-off snooty looking people that are interested in the house.  And, I wonder if the owner is going to pick me and my offer as the one that wins.  But, I wake up before she states her decision. 

Does this house exist?  Here is an approximation...