Thursday, May 10, 2012
Blogger Malfunction
I'm following, like, four blogs in the whole of the Blogger universe. And yet, it doesn't seem to want to tell me whenever my friends update their blogs. What in the hell? Anyone know how to fix this crud?
Monday, May 7, 2012
Dreaming
I had a strange dream last night.
I was at home, waiting for something, when I suddenly realized, with a paralyzing urgency, that Steven hadn't come back from wherever he was supposed to have gone. I was so scared and couldn't help but think of the dreams -- yes, while in a dream. Inception jokes aside -- that I've been having of him disappearing. My heart pounded in my chest, and I began to feel sick, as I rocked quietly. I chewed a thumb nail to keep myself stable.
Someone knocked on the door. In that weird, transcendent way that a dream likes to change familiar spaces, my room became the equivalent of a living space in a small apartment. I made my way from the bed-turned-sofa and answered it. Beyond the door, there was a sprawling parking lot with long white buildings breaking up the black tar. Flanking the door were two bushes which housed vibrant red flowers, their petals wide at the base, yet pointed at their ends, creating a shape like a fat teardrop. The sky seemed low and oppressive, yet strangely bright.
As my eyes adjusted to the light and the strange surroundings, it registered to me that no one stood there to take responsibility for the knocks. I frowned and felt around in my pockets for the key to my apartment. It was a piece of tarnished silver, bent and seemingly unusable. Nonetheless, it slid easily into the brass setting of the lock, setting off a distinctive click of tumblers. Behind me, an old, blue-grey Jeep pulled into the parking lot.
"Shan!"
Brittany and Alex, my close friends, slipped out of the car, waving me over. With a brief thought on Steven's whereabouts, I joined them. We talked, smiled, driving to a local craft supply store. There, we went through a bundle of feathers, an extensive collection of fabrics, sticks and twigs, fresh flowers -- where I saw more of those red buds --, all sorts of paints... I think we bought something, but I can't recall.
Halfway through our trip, I began to realize that the girls were acting... uncomfortably. They would be short with me if I didn't quite understand something, and even rough, if I weren't moving quickly enough as I browsed. They were small instances, but so completely uncharacteristic that it worried me. We went back to the car, which had changed from a Jeep, to a small, white Sedan. Yet, on our way out of the complex, I could swear I saw the Jeep, still sitting there. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment, either, that no one else was around, or had been around, since the beginning of my dream.
We drove and drove, my worry for Steven growing, along with a mild trepidation for my own situation. Occasionally, the girls would break, mid-conversation, and simply stare at me. How they spoke, their mannerisms, they were all normal. Except in those moments. Something, ever so fleeting, would change in them. Their teeth would seem sharper, too big for their mouths, or their eyes would slant and narrow, glinting an eerie yellow. I felt, very strongly, that I needed to get away from them, so I waited. We drove further away from my apartment, and deeper into a thick of forest. Though the road was well-managed, the buildings on each side seemed more and more dilapidated with time.
On our right, we approached a restaurant on high stilts, as if the builders had anticipated a flood. I got the sense that it was a very southern, for lack of a better word, place -- bayous, swamps, and the like. I insisted that we stop so I could use the restroom. The people there seemed weary of our approach, but welcomed us with smiles as we pulled over. I made my way for the restroom, praying it would be a single stall, not catered to large groups, so they couldn't go in with me. I was lucky, but they waited just outside, and there were no windows for an alternate escape route.
I came out feeling defeated, and realizing too late that I hadn't even thought to cover my intentions by flushing the toilet, or running the water. They seemed unhappy, reassuring me that we wouldn't be on the road much longer. I began to sweat, my options running out. Something told me that if I ran, they would catch me. If I asked them to stay so we could eat something, they would say no, most likely...
I bolted into the restaurant -- and crashed into one of the customers. He stopped me, frowning deeply, and held me in place by the upper parts of my arms. They walked in behind me slowly and I cursed to myself. I apologized, bowing my head and trying desperately to think of a way out. A woman grasped my shoulder, asking me what was wrong. Ignoring the lump in my chest, I looked back at who I had thought were my friends. No grisly images flickered over their faces, no sharp teeth, or strange eyes. They looked worried, if anything, an maybe even a little sad.
I felt crazy, suddenly doubting everything that I had felt. The ones approaching me only wanted to help me. They wanted to take me to our destination, so we could do our rituals, or what-have-you, and move on. Then they would take me home, Steven would be there, I would feel very foolish, and fix our dinner.
I screamed.
Then, the world shifted, and we -- the girls, the elder woman, the man, and I -- were all in a cement garage. The other customers seemed to have clustered just outside. My cheeks were streaked with dried tears and my throat hurt. The elder woman was asking me who 'they' were and 'what' could have affected them, referencing a book in her hands. I answered to the best of my ability, flipping the crinkly pages back and forth, regarding the images with scrutiny.
I paused on an image of a woman whose eyes were shrunken, her hands stretched inhumanly, her hair ragged and matted. Now, of course, dreams have a tendency to get wiggy. This is where mine nearly went off the rails. I spoke with the woman, my fear now a numbness. We realized that my friend, Alex, had been possessed by the spirit of an angry wolf and she was close to completely succumbing to its presence inside of her, becoming a... werewolf, I guess would be the best word for it. We continued our research and found that Brittany had been possessed by a spirit as well -- a woman who was mourning a wasted life, who had struggled with her identity and attached herself to my friend in hopes of living again.
I looked at my friends, who seemed broken, resting on the floor of the garage in a far-off corner. Something seemed to hold them at bay. Their eyes were sunken and dark, as if they hadn't slept, and they shook, as though a cold had sunk deep into their bones. I looked the elder woman over in turn. On her wrist and along her collarbone were tattoos of a familiar red flower.
I asked if anyone in the group was a priest. No one. I frowned and asked for water. When I received the half-full jug, I hugged it to my chest and began to speak. To whisper. To pray. I gave the elder woman orders, and she listened to me as if she genuinely understood what I was trying to accomplish. I felt connected to her. The girls began to groan and growl, standing from their positions on the floor. They swayed where they stood, leering toward me. Someone seized Alex and tied her down to a wooden chair.
The elder woman helped me over, and following me, began to stroke down her left arm, as I did her right. I looked Alex in the eyes and, with all of the determination I could muster, spoke to the wolf. I told it to leave, told it to rest, told it that it didn't belong with her. It seemed to only make her angry. She flailed and scratched at me, jerking in her seat. Behind it, Brittany seemed to have gotten loose and simply hovered over the display. Her figure seemed wispy and frail.
She told me to shut up, her image blurring, muttering and whispering an exposition of her woes. From within her, a second frame seemed to emerge. A woman I'd never seen before -- the spirit -- broke free of her briefly and wailed at me. I moved on to Alex's legs, stroking down from her hip to her knees an making tossing motions behind me as I did, repeating over and over my mantra. Brittany grasped the back of the chair, shouting that it wasn't fair. Someone restrained her. Those watching seemed to quake with fear, otherwise frozen.
I felt this overwhelming sense of failure as my attempts seemed to have no effect on Alex.
Then I woke.
Steven was asleep beside me and my throat was painfully dry. I was completely aware of my surroundings -- the papers on the floor, the sun coming through the unadorned window. I got up, took a shower and couldn't help but feel like there was something on the other side of the curtain the entire time. Then I came back here. I browsed the internet with little mind to what I was doing. And I remembered my dream, pulling details from the mist of my quickly fading sleep-state.
I don't know why, but I felt it was significant enough to write out.
Anyone interested in dream interpretation? I'd love to hear what you think that all means, haha
I used to have dreams, and still do some of the time, that seemed... to know something? Almost like they were telling me future events? I must sound crazy, but it's true. I live through a scenario and realize that I've dreamnt of it already, in utter detail, or I'll know what someone is going to say because I've already heard it once before.
Maybe my brain is just a little addled from everything that's been happening. Working on stories, music, art...
I have commissions open right now~. Just 5 U.S. dollars for a colored head-to-hips bust of a character you want. Payments to be made via paypal, etc, etc. If you want to know more, you can note me on deviantArt or email me here.
Sighhhh. Yeah.
Whelp. Seeya next time, guys.
I was at home, waiting for something, when I suddenly realized, with a paralyzing urgency, that Steven hadn't come back from wherever he was supposed to have gone. I was so scared and couldn't help but think of the dreams -- yes, while in a dream. Inception jokes aside -- that I've been having of him disappearing. My heart pounded in my chest, and I began to feel sick, as I rocked quietly. I chewed a thumb nail to keep myself stable.
Someone knocked on the door. In that weird, transcendent way that a dream likes to change familiar spaces, my room became the equivalent of a living space in a small apartment. I made my way from the bed-turned-sofa and answered it. Beyond the door, there was a sprawling parking lot with long white buildings breaking up the black tar. Flanking the door were two bushes which housed vibrant red flowers, their petals wide at the base, yet pointed at their ends, creating a shape like a fat teardrop. The sky seemed low and oppressive, yet strangely bright.
As my eyes adjusted to the light and the strange surroundings, it registered to me that no one stood there to take responsibility for the knocks. I frowned and felt around in my pockets for the key to my apartment. It was a piece of tarnished silver, bent and seemingly unusable. Nonetheless, it slid easily into the brass setting of the lock, setting off a distinctive click of tumblers. Behind me, an old, blue-grey Jeep pulled into the parking lot.
"Shan!"
Brittany and Alex, my close friends, slipped out of the car, waving me over. With a brief thought on Steven's whereabouts, I joined them. We talked, smiled, driving to a local craft supply store. There, we went through a bundle of feathers, an extensive collection of fabrics, sticks and twigs, fresh flowers -- where I saw more of those red buds --, all sorts of paints... I think we bought something, but I can't recall.
Halfway through our trip, I began to realize that the girls were acting... uncomfortably. They would be short with me if I didn't quite understand something, and even rough, if I weren't moving quickly enough as I browsed. They were small instances, but so completely uncharacteristic that it worried me. We went back to the car, which had changed from a Jeep, to a small, white Sedan. Yet, on our way out of the complex, I could swear I saw the Jeep, still sitting there. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment, either, that no one else was around, or had been around, since the beginning of my dream.
We drove and drove, my worry for Steven growing, along with a mild trepidation for my own situation. Occasionally, the girls would break, mid-conversation, and simply stare at me. How they spoke, their mannerisms, they were all normal. Except in those moments. Something, ever so fleeting, would change in them. Their teeth would seem sharper, too big for their mouths, or their eyes would slant and narrow, glinting an eerie yellow. I felt, very strongly, that I needed to get away from them, so I waited. We drove further away from my apartment, and deeper into a thick of forest. Though the road was well-managed, the buildings on each side seemed more and more dilapidated with time.
On our right, we approached a restaurant on high stilts, as if the builders had anticipated a flood. I got the sense that it was a very southern, for lack of a better word, place -- bayous, swamps, and the like. I insisted that we stop so I could use the restroom. The people there seemed weary of our approach, but welcomed us with smiles as we pulled over. I made my way for the restroom, praying it would be a single stall, not catered to large groups, so they couldn't go in with me. I was lucky, but they waited just outside, and there were no windows for an alternate escape route.
I came out feeling defeated, and realizing too late that I hadn't even thought to cover my intentions by flushing the toilet, or running the water. They seemed unhappy, reassuring me that we wouldn't be on the road much longer. I began to sweat, my options running out. Something told me that if I ran, they would catch me. If I asked them to stay so we could eat something, they would say no, most likely...
I bolted into the restaurant -- and crashed into one of the customers. He stopped me, frowning deeply, and held me in place by the upper parts of my arms. They walked in behind me slowly and I cursed to myself. I apologized, bowing my head and trying desperately to think of a way out. A woman grasped my shoulder, asking me what was wrong. Ignoring the lump in my chest, I looked back at who I had thought were my friends. No grisly images flickered over their faces, no sharp teeth, or strange eyes. They looked worried, if anything, an maybe even a little sad.
I felt crazy, suddenly doubting everything that I had felt. The ones approaching me only wanted to help me. They wanted to take me to our destination, so we could do our rituals, or what-have-you, and move on. Then they would take me home, Steven would be there, I would feel very foolish, and fix our dinner.
I screamed.
Then, the world shifted, and we -- the girls, the elder woman, the man, and I -- were all in a cement garage. The other customers seemed to have clustered just outside. My cheeks were streaked with dried tears and my throat hurt. The elder woman was asking me who 'they' were and 'what' could have affected them, referencing a book in her hands. I answered to the best of my ability, flipping the crinkly pages back and forth, regarding the images with scrutiny.
I paused on an image of a woman whose eyes were shrunken, her hands stretched inhumanly, her hair ragged and matted. Now, of course, dreams have a tendency to get wiggy. This is where mine nearly went off the rails. I spoke with the woman, my fear now a numbness. We realized that my friend, Alex, had been possessed by the spirit of an angry wolf and she was close to completely succumbing to its presence inside of her, becoming a... werewolf, I guess would be the best word for it. We continued our research and found that Brittany had been possessed by a spirit as well -- a woman who was mourning a wasted life, who had struggled with her identity and attached herself to my friend in hopes of living again.
I looked at my friends, who seemed broken, resting on the floor of the garage in a far-off corner. Something seemed to hold them at bay. Their eyes were sunken and dark, as if they hadn't slept, and they shook, as though a cold had sunk deep into their bones. I looked the elder woman over in turn. On her wrist and along her collarbone were tattoos of a familiar red flower.
I asked if anyone in the group was a priest. No one. I frowned and asked for water. When I received the half-full jug, I hugged it to my chest and began to speak. To whisper. To pray. I gave the elder woman orders, and she listened to me as if she genuinely understood what I was trying to accomplish. I felt connected to her. The girls began to groan and growl, standing from their positions on the floor. They swayed where they stood, leering toward me. Someone seized Alex and tied her down to a wooden chair.
The elder woman helped me over, and following me, began to stroke down her left arm, as I did her right. I looked Alex in the eyes and, with all of the determination I could muster, spoke to the wolf. I told it to leave, told it to rest, told it that it didn't belong with her. It seemed to only make her angry. She flailed and scratched at me, jerking in her seat. Behind it, Brittany seemed to have gotten loose and simply hovered over the display. Her figure seemed wispy and frail.
She told me to shut up, her image blurring, muttering and whispering an exposition of her woes. From within her, a second frame seemed to emerge. A woman I'd never seen before -- the spirit -- broke free of her briefly and wailed at me. I moved on to Alex's legs, stroking down from her hip to her knees an making tossing motions behind me as I did, repeating over and over my mantra. Brittany grasped the back of the chair, shouting that it wasn't fair. Someone restrained her. Those watching seemed to quake with fear, otherwise frozen.
I felt this overwhelming sense of failure as my attempts seemed to have no effect on Alex.
Then I woke.
Steven was asleep beside me and my throat was painfully dry. I was completely aware of my surroundings -- the papers on the floor, the sun coming through the unadorned window. I got up, took a shower and couldn't help but feel like there was something on the other side of the curtain the entire time. Then I came back here. I browsed the internet with little mind to what I was doing. And I remembered my dream, pulling details from the mist of my quickly fading sleep-state.
I don't know why, but I felt it was significant enough to write out.
Anyone interested in dream interpretation? I'd love to hear what you think that all means, haha
I used to have dreams, and still do some of the time, that seemed... to know something? Almost like they were telling me future events? I must sound crazy, but it's true. I live through a scenario and realize that I've dreamnt of it already, in utter detail, or I'll know what someone is going to say because I've already heard it once before.
Maybe my brain is just a little addled from everything that's been happening. Working on stories, music, art...
I have commissions open right now~. Just 5 U.S. dollars for a colored head-to-hips bust of a character you want. Payments to be made via paypal, etc, etc. If you want to know more, you can note me on deviantArt or email me here.
Sighhhh. Yeah.
Whelp. Seeya next time, guys.
Humbly,
Shannon Grey
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Today
Today was a bad day.
Things were way off.
I realize more than ever that I'm disposable in my workplace...
And I think I need to really kickstart things on my own if I ever want to become a tattoo artist.
I'm pretty sure I won't be going back into classes for... a long time.
Everyone is in a sour mood.
I feel like poop...
I cannot wait for the 30th. A day of relaxation and fun is much in need right now. I was so excited last night, planning everything and pulling it all together in my mind. I pray that things will wok out, I really do, because if they don't, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself at the end of this month.
Steven and I tried to think out a game plan earlier today when things started to pitch south. It pretty much came down to the fact that we both need to find a good, stable source of revenue. We want to be happy with what we're doing -- but, you know, we wan to do more than just get by, too. Achieving both seems. really hard right now. I know we'll figure it out. We always have.
The road is just so damn bumpy.
Despite the fact that we've only been together -- romantically -- for 7 months, we've been through so much. We've been tested by circumstance and by the people around us. We're so freaking close, as friends, as partners, as lovers. The fact that we were close for so many years before this point really helped it along. We learned who each other were, and in the time that we were apart, we figured ourselves out as well. We grew up. A lot. And goodness knows, so many people we knew back then just honestly haven't.
I'm positive that, to an outsider, it might seem like we're going a little fast, but I believe that we're going at the perfect pace for us. We don't have all of the answers -- we barely have half of the questions -- but we're good at working as a team, you know? We don't look at things as "you" or "I," it's all, "Okay, we need to do this," or "We should do this."
Sigh.
Time to blow off some steam and let dinner settle in my tummy! Have a good one, guys.
I hope you've enjoyed this excursion
Blessed be!
P.S. Also! I'm excited for more than the 30th, actually. I might get to see a close, old friend of mine, Judy, soon! I really hope I can. I think she could really help me out with some of these uncertainties that I have. Here's to hoping!
Things were way off.
I realize more than ever that I'm disposable in my workplace...
And I think I need to really kickstart things on my own if I ever want to become a tattoo artist.
I'm pretty sure I won't be going back into classes for... a long time.
Everyone is in a sour mood.
I feel like poop...
I cannot wait for the 30th. A day of relaxation and fun is much in need right now. I was so excited last night, planning everything and pulling it all together in my mind. I pray that things will wok out, I really do, because if they don't, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself at the end of this month.
Steven and I tried to think out a game plan earlier today when things started to pitch south. It pretty much came down to the fact that we both need to find a good, stable source of revenue. We want to be happy with what we're doing -- but, you know, we wan to do more than just get by, too. Achieving both seems. really hard right now. I know we'll figure it out. We always have.
The road is just so damn bumpy.
Despite the fact that we've only been together -- romantically -- for 7 months, we've been through so much. We've been tested by circumstance and by the people around us. We're so freaking close, as friends, as partners, as lovers. The fact that we were close for so many years before this point really helped it along. We learned who each other were, and in the time that we were apart, we figured ourselves out as well. We grew up. A lot. And goodness knows, so many people we knew back then just honestly haven't.
I'm positive that, to an outsider, it might seem like we're going a little fast, but I believe that we're going at the perfect pace for us. We don't have all of the answers -- we barely have half of the questions -- but we're good at working as a team, you know? We don't look at things as "you" or "I," it's all, "Okay, we need to do this," or "We should do this."
Sigh.
Time to blow off some steam and let dinner settle in my tummy! Have a good one, guys.
I hope you've enjoyed this excursion
just beyond the grey.
Blessed be!
Humbly,
Shannon Grey
P.S. Also! I'm excited for more than the 30th, actually. I might get to see a close, old friend of mine, Judy, soon! I really hope I can. I think she could really help me out with some of these uncertainties that I have. Here's to hoping!
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
The Tattoo Company
Whelp! Today I went to The Tattoo Company.
It was so lax, I didn't know what to do with myself. I read a little bit, drew up a couple things. Not too much, but I kept myself occupied. I got to see some guy getting tribal to cover up a pretty horrible volley ball tramp stamp. That was fun. Drew Mickey Mouse and Charlie Brown fighting...
Yup!
That book I was reading. It's been making me think -- which a good book should always do, right?
I have some personal things that I think I want to write out because of it. They won't be on here, though. Sorry! ):
Speaking of writing, I have some project ideas that I'd really like to get to work on....
Thooose will most likely be placed on here, without a doubt. Mhm~.
Well, well, well~.
I know this was short, but aside from those few things, being so much more in love each day, and feeling pretty damn happy? I've got nothin'. I'll strive to have more to say next time!
I hope you've enjoyed this glimpse
Blessed be.
P.S. My tummy dislikes eating lately. I really need to get a handle on that.
It was so lax, I didn't know what to do with myself. I read a little bit, drew up a couple things. Not too much, but I kept myself occupied. I got to see some guy getting tribal to cover up a pretty horrible volley ball tramp stamp. That was fun. Drew Mickey Mouse and Charlie Brown fighting...
Yup!
That book I was reading. It's been making me think -- which a good book should always do, right?
I have some personal things that I think I want to write out because of it. They won't be on here, though. Sorry! ):
Speaking of writing, I have some project ideas that I'd really like to get to work on....
Thooose will most likely be placed on here, without a doubt. Mhm~.
Well, well, well~.
I know this was short, but aside from those few things, being so much more in love each day, and feeling pretty damn happy? I've got nothin'. I'll strive to have more to say next time!
I hope you've enjoyed this glimpse
just beyond the grey!
Blessed be.
Humbly,
Shannon Grey
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Working Lady
Sure is hard being a working lady~.
Whelp, I haven't posted in a couple of days. Sorry about that, guys. Have you missed me much? What've I been up to... Not much, I guess. I've been working on that t-shirt design that I mentioned, sleeping... I had my first bad day at work today! That was fun. I walked part of the way home to blow off some steam. Felt good, save for the fact that the sun is blazing full-on today.
Steven and I went to McDonald's yesterday. We probably sat there for an hour, talking about schools, human perception, and working in the food industry. I mostly listened. Not because he was hogging the conversation or anything, but because I just don't talk much. I wonder if that ever bothers him? He's such a talkative person and I'm so clammed up all of the time. I'm such an introvert when it comes down to it. A friend of mine back in Texas used to yell at me for it, actually.
He'll probably assure me that it doesn't bother him soon as he reads this. Because I'm a dork and I always think I'm annoying people when I'm really not, haha. My own worst critic.
I do love talking to people, meeting new people, and working with them, despite my inward tendencies. I suppose that's why I was so bothered at work today. A quiet little voice in the back of my mind has probably been setting me up for this bad day, too, to be honest. See, each day, I go in with a smile and I plan on working the hardest that I can. Then, I do. Then, I come home. I'm tired and I feel so... unfulfilled. I know part of being an adult is doing things that you don't want to do, but this runs a little deeper than that.
I wish I were in school.
I dove into college, praying I would figure out what I wanted to do with myself by the time I'd finished my AA. Then, everything went wrong, and now I can only hope I can get back into courses by Fall. That's the biggest reason I wanted a job. I wanted to save up money so I wouldn't be so dependent on loans and the like, you know? But, this job that I have, because of my own weakness, just isn't enough. It pays for gas, it takes care of my immediate needs, and lets me have a little spending cash on the side, but once it's all divvied out... Well, you tell me how much 80$ will get you in the long run.
I'm so much better off than a lot of people and here I am, whining like a baby about how work just ins't fulfilling my wildest dreams. Fck, that's pathetic, isn't it? It's an off day. I swear I don't do this often. In fact, I've been so incredibly happy lately. This is literally one of those few between moments where I feel... bothered, I guess.
What am I going to do when Summer rolls around? What if I don't get back into courses?
Money is a terrifying thing. I feel so trapped whenever I think about it. If I could get rid of my loans, erase them and start over, I'd feel so much better, I think. It's a small amount -- right now -- but it's still well over what I'd make in 3 months. Add some interest in there -- and if I get back into courses? I'm only pushing them back a little while. They'll only pile up in the end.
I am so incredibly disappointed in myself for letting life get in the way of my first semester. I don't think I'll ever let myself live it down. School is so important to me. If I could swing being a substitute teacher? Sweetheart, believe me when I say: I'd take it in a heartbeat. To work with others, to watch and help people learn... Grief, I couldn't even do that, could I? The school system here is so completely fcked. What are they even doing in classrooms nowadays? Last time I volunteered at an elementary school, I wanted to kick a wall.
I turn around and I can see Steven napping, his legs pulled up like a pretzel, his arms sprawled about his head as he snores quietly. He's my rock, as the metaphor goes. I can look at him and smile and feel confident again. He -- and almost everyone I know -- believes in me. He knows that I can do good, no matter what curve ball is tossed my way. I have so many people that have all the world's faith in me. I can't believe I let myself forget that sometimes.
I showed that tattoo artist my work I've been doing for Geared to Oblivion. He says he's dying to get me into his shop and make a tattooist out of me. Says I could make some great money. Is it so horrible that I want to ditch everything and run there? Not for the money or for the praise, but because I honestly, really want to do it? I want to be a tattoo artist so badly, it drives me nuts sometimes. These negative voices tell me that I can't do it, that I'm not good enough, but dammit, why? Why am I not good enough? Everyone says that I am except for thos bloody voices, my insecurities.
I still want to be a writer, first and foremost. Being a tattoo artist would be so convenient. It would be the job that feeds my career, but it wouldn't have to be boring or unenjoyable. Not at all. I think I'd be 100% smiles, to be honest. Maybe that's why I have such a hard time believing that it could work out?
Alright, alright. Comment away, my friends. Have some words of wisdom? Share them, please~.
I hope you've enjoyed this excursion
Until next time~.
Blessed be!
P.S. I want to cook something, just for the sake of cooking. Maybe bake something from scratch? Cookies? ):
Whelp, I haven't posted in a couple of days. Sorry about that, guys. Have you missed me much? What've I been up to... Not much, I guess. I've been working on that t-shirt design that I mentioned, sleeping... I had my first bad day at work today! That was fun. I walked part of the way home to blow off some steam. Felt good, save for the fact that the sun is blazing full-on today.
Steven and I went to McDonald's yesterday. We probably sat there for an hour, talking about schools, human perception, and working in the food industry. I mostly listened. Not because he was hogging the conversation or anything, but because I just don't talk much. I wonder if that ever bothers him? He's such a talkative person and I'm so clammed up all of the time. I'm such an introvert when it comes down to it. A friend of mine back in Texas used to yell at me for it, actually.
He'll probably assure me that it doesn't bother him soon as he reads this. Because I'm a dork and I always think I'm annoying people when I'm really not, haha. My own worst critic.
I do love talking to people, meeting new people, and working with them, despite my inward tendencies. I suppose that's why I was so bothered at work today. A quiet little voice in the back of my mind has probably been setting me up for this bad day, too, to be honest. See, each day, I go in with a smile and I plan on working the hardest that I can. Then, I do. Then, I come home. I'm tired and I feel so... unfulfilled. I know part of being an adult is doing things that you don't want to do, but this runs a little deeper than that.
I wish I were in school.
I dove into college, praying I would figure out what I wanted to do with myself by the time I'd finished my AA. Then, everything went wrong, and now I can only hope I can get back into courses by Fall. That's the biggest reason I wanted a job. I wanted to save up money so I wouldn't be so dependent on loans and the like, you know? But, this job that I have, because of my own weakness, just isn't enough. It pays for gas, it takes care of my immediate needs, and lets me have a little spending cash on the side, but once it's all divvied out... Well, you tell me how much 80$ will get you in the long run.
I'm so much better off than a lot of people and here I am, whining like a baby about how work just ins't fulfilling my wildest dreams. Fck, that's pathetic, isn't it? It's an off day. I swear I don't do this often. In fact, I've been so incredibly happy lately. This is literally one of those few between moments where I feel... bothered, I guess.
What am I going to do when Summer rolls around? What if I don't get back into courses?
Money is a terrifying thing. I feel so trapped whenever I think about it. If I could get rid of my loans, erase them and start over, I'd feel so much better, I think. It's a small amount -- right now -- but it's still well over what I'd make in 3 months. Add some interest in there -- and if I get back into courses? I'm only pushing them back a little while. They'll only pile up in the end.
I am so incredibly disappointed in myself for letting life get in the way of my first semester. I don't think I'll ever let myself live it down. School is so important to me. If I could swing being a substitute teacher? Sweetheart, believe me when I say: I'd take it in a heartbeat. To work with others, to watch and help people learn... Grief, I couldn't even do that, could I? The school system here is so completely fcked. What are they even doing in classrooms nowadays? Last time I volunteered at an elementary school, I wanted to kick a wall.
I turn around and I can see Steven napping, his legs pulled up like a pretzel, his arms sprawled about his head as he snores quietly. He's my rock, as the metaphor goes. I can look at him and smile and feel confident again. He -- and almost everyone I know -- believes in me. He knows that I can do good, no matter what curve ball is tossed my way. I have so many people that have all the world's faith in me. I can't believe I let myself forget that sometimes.
I showed that tattoo artist my work I've been doing for Geared to Oblivion. He says he's dying to get me into his shop and make a tattooist out of me. Says I could make some great money. Is it so horrible that I want to ditch everything and run there? Not for the money or for the praise, but because I honestly, really want to do it? I want to be a tattoo artist so badly, it drives me nuts sometimes. These negative voices tell me that I can't do it, that I'm not good enough, but dammit, why? Why am I not good enough? Everyone says that I am except for thos bloody voices, my insecurities.
I still want to be a writer, first and foremost. Being a tattoo artist would be so convenient. It would be the job that feeds my career, but it wouldn't have to be boring or unenjoyable. Not at all. I think I'd be 100% smiles, to be honest. Maybe that's why I have such a hard time believing that it could work out?
Alright, alright. Comment away, my friends. Have some words of wisdom? Share them, please~.
I hope you've enjoyed this excursion
just beyond the grey.
Until next time~.
Blessed be!
Humbly,
Shannon Grey
P.S. I want to cook something, just for the sake of cooking. Maybe bake something from scratch? Cookies? ):
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Something Blue
Something old,
Something new;
Something borrowed,
And something blue~.
You know. I've been thinking about something.
I look at television nowadays and there seems to be a "reality" show for just about everything out there. A lot of them can be pretty disturbing, too! But the ones that stick in my mind the most are the ones about marriage. There are women trying to find the perfect dress or the perfect venue, women battling it out for some lofty honeymoon, women torturing their to-be-husbands because they're "bridezillas" and that's supposed to make it okay. they're just stressed, right? Tch...
I feel like marriage has lost all meaning to a good percentage of the people that want/have it, to be honest. Maybe it has. Television makes me think so. People in general make me think so. Is it really as bad as it looks? I don't want to believe it. The romantic inside of me is screaming no.
P.S. Know what spurred this? I totally forgot to mention it in my sleepy little rush. Steven's parents. They're not exactly the cuddly type, but last night, when I went down to ask them something, they were watching television. Holding hands and talking to each other, quietly, their voices disappearing beneath the hum of Auction Wars. Not in a whispering kind of way, but just a gentle, comfortable air had come over them. It was special, you know? Plucked my heart strings, anyway. haha
Something new;
Something borrowed,
And something blue~.
You know. I've been thinking about something.
I look at television nowadays and there seems to be a "reality" show for just about everything out there. A lot of them can be pretty disturbing, too! But the ones that stick in my mind the most are the ones about marriage. There are women trying to find the perfect dress or the perfect venue, women battling it out for some lofty honeymoon, women torturing their to-be-husbands because they're "bridezillas" and that's supposed to make it okay. they're just stressed, right? Tch...
I feel like marriage has lost all meaning to a good percentage of the people that want/have it, to be honest. Maybe it has. Television makes me think so. People in general make me think so. Is it really as bad as it looks? I don't want to believe it. The romantic inside of me is screaming no.
mar·riage/ˈmarij/
| Noun: |
|
Alright, so that's the first definition that popped up. Aside from wanting to alter that 'man and woman' bit, that's the gist of the idea, I'd have to agree. But what is marriage? What's its purpose? Somewhere along the way, it seems like it turned into one big pageant or even a cockfight between brides. "Mine's bigger!" Know what I mean? -- And what the fck is with this "bling" crap? -- Don't let me get sidetracked on that.
What is marriage to you?
Marriage, to me, is a celebration of love. Let it be between whomever and whatever, I really don't care right now. Anything seems better than the idea of someone putting what should be a down payment on a house into a wedding gown -- then buying a second one for just as much, just so they can have something different on for their smoke-filled, neon-lit gyrate-session of an after party. Adkgnfsoihngf! It irks me so much, yet I can't stop staring at the television when these things come on. I think it's the same effect as a horrid car crash. It's terrifying, but you're consumed by the grotesque imagery, in disbelief and awe. It's not that intense, really, though it's close enough.
I could probably say all of this ten times more eloquently if not for the fact that it's almost 3 a.m...
When I get married, I want it to be small. We'll do the legal work, then we'll find a little spot -- maybe a park or someone's back yard? maybe a little villa with a wide fountain? -- and we'll set up something simple. Some chairs, maybe some flower petals, some candle fixtures... I don't know, the decor honestly won't matter. My dress will be modest, my makeup will be minimal. I'll probably make the invitations with my to-be, by hand or on the computer. Whichever. There'll probably be 10 people there, split evenly between us, give or take a couple.
When it's all done, I'd like to have those ten come back to our place, where I'd probably cook up a nice little dinner. I'd probably get talked into accepting some help, which I wouldn't mind at all. Then we would all sit around the table, the couch, wherever we fit, and talk until our cheeks turned blue. Our guests would go home, and we would finish the evening alone. No phone calls, no internet. Just each other -- and the leftover dishes, haha!
That said, it may not even turn out that way. Maybe my to-be will want something a little bigger. Maybe I'll change my mind about some things. So long as the idea behind it all stays the same, I'll be completely happy. You can be loud, you can proclaim your love from the rooftops and the squares below, but in the end, if you're truly in love, all you'll see is each other, right? That's what's important to me. I want my marriage to be a celebration of our union. Not our wallets, not our achievements. Us. Our love. When I look into my to-be's eyes, I'll see myself there, no thing or no one else -- and they, themselves in mine.
Sigh~! I miss Steven, haha.
I am totally allowed to think of my boyfriend after something this gushy. Don't look at me like that, damn it!
Welp, I hope you've enjoyed this excursion
just beyond the grey.
I can't wait for next time!
Blessed be, my friends.
Humbly,
Shannon Grey
P.S. Know what spurred this? I totally forgot to mention it in my sleepy little rush. Steven's parents. They're not exactly the cuddly type, but last night, when I went down to ask them something, they were watching television. Holding hands and talking to each other, quietly, their voices disappearing beneath the hum of Auction Wars. Not in a whispering kind of way, but just a gentle, comfortable air had come over them. It was special, you know? Plucked my heart strings, anyway. haha
Friday, March 23, 2012
On My Toes
The wind propped me up onto my toes.
I spun, pulling my arms to my chest, and danced on the currents, barely touching the grass beneath me. It continued to push forward on my upper half. I followed it, my movements fluid and quick. I lifted my legs up as if assisted and my palms touched the earth. I flipped, landing on the pads of my feet. My speed picked up. I spun, I rolled. I braced my elbows at my sides and finally came to a stop, a smile lighting up my face, the wind tossing my hair over my cheekbones in an affectionate goodbye. Then, as that world blinked out, I awoke in my bed once more...
I have dreams about flying -- no, gliding is a more appropriate word. I have dreams about moving with the wind, never lifting much higher than 12 feet and with little control. The wind will pick me up like a kite and I follow it in whichever direction it pleases. Then, there are those few moments, where I feel like I'm in control, just a little bit. I'll want to go higher and I move my arms like a bird. It's shaky and the anxiety that I feel -- What if I fall? What if the wind stops? -- is very real in my heart. Or I'll turn my body because I've gone too far from my initial spot, wishing to return, and it seems as though the wind obliges, changing directions for me.
The dreams that I have never really contain much premise. There was one a long while ago where I was trying to escape from somewhere. There were walls of heavy metal chains. I couldn't climb them but I knew more than anything that I needed to be on the other side. The wind saved me, gracefully lifting me over them. It carried me through and above trees, then deposited me among foothills. People were chasing me, firing guns in my direction, when the wind lifted me once more. I never went very far, but I knew I was safe. The more I think about it, it's almost like the wind was teasing the people who were after me. It would drop me, they'd find me, think they had me, then I would disappear again, all at a leisurely pace.
The skies were a soft red in that dream. The trees were ash grey... The more I think about it now, the more it reminds me of my old driveway back in Texas, when I lived in Kilgore. The dream that I had this morning was set in an open field with trees and brush scattered throughout. The sky was a peach color and the clouds were white with a tint of blue. When it started, I was helping a group of people hold down a giant balloon. They tried to get it to catch on the wind, but it just wouldn't fly. Then, as if to tease them all, the wind lifted me. From there, the dream transitioned and the people disappeared. It was just me, gliding, being rolled around like a die in the sky's playful hand. When the world of the waking called on me, it was time to land. The people were back but the balloon was gone and I think I laughed, a sound that was light and cheery.
I don't exactly want to fly, but when I have these dreams, I wish I could do this. I wish I could play with the wind, be a sylph for a day. It's inspiring. I always wake up feeling fresh and excited. Inspired, even. That's why I had to write about them this morning. I wonder if these dreams have any meaning. Maybe not like Freud's idea of meaning, but a more personal meaning. I've always loved the sky and that seems to be one of the big details in these dreams. It's always a different color and almost paints the mood. Trees -- who doesn't love trees? Don't tell me you don't love trees, you blasphemers out there. I know you want to. Trees don't like you either. Go away. The wind is like a friend to me and I always feel this deep-rooted connection with it.
In fact, back when I had my old blog, I wrote about a time when I found peace within myself: I was in Kilgore -- like that dream with the red sky -- and things were beyond hard for me. I was exhausted and I had just been cleaning out an old RV for my aunt's boyfriend. It was one of those few moments where I could sit back and breathe, when I knew she wouldn't call me inside for whatever reason. At first I was uneasy with the idea of relaxing. I hadn't done it in a year. Then, something inside of me clicked -- and a cool breeze swept over the yard. I took a deep breathe in... and felt good for the first time in such a painfully long time.
I don't know what it is about the wind, but I've always loved it. When I was a kid, I would go outside and lay on the porch, staring at the sky, listening to the doves on the power lines, cars driving by, planes flying over, people talking. I would sing into it, talk to it, send my worries away on it, or messages to others. I knew they'd never get them, but I did it anyway. The sky has always been important to me too. I remember when I first moved away, the thing that I missed the most was the sky. Where I lived, there was pollution in the air, so thick that it distorted how the sky looked. When I got back to Florida, that was the first thing I looked to. I take pictures of it all the time, actually, haha. Especially in the Winter.
Maybe I'll post some pictures on here, occasionally.
Speaking of which! I need to get to work on some designs for Geared to Oblivion! They're an up and coming band with a great personality. They don't have anything recorded right now, but you should totally keep an eye on them. (:
I hope you've enjoyed this excursion
Blessed be.
I spun, pulling my arms to my chest, and danced on the currents, barely touching the grass beneath me. It continued to push forward on my upper half. I followed it, my movements fluid and quick. I lifted my legs up as if assisted and my palms touched the earth. I flipped, landing on the pads of my feet. My speed picked up. I spun, I rolled. I braced my elbows at my sides and finally came to a stop, a smile lighting up my face, the wind tossing my hair over my cheekbones in an affectionate goodbye. Then, as that world blinked out, I awoke in my bed once more...
I have dreams about flying -- no, gliding is a more appropriate word. I have dreams about moving with the wind, never lifting much higher than 12 feet and with little control. The wind will pick me up like a kite and I follow it in whichever direction it pleases. Then, there are those few moments, where I feel like I'm in control, just a little bit. I'll want to go higher and I move my arms like a bird. It's shaky and the anxiety that I feel -- What if I fall? What if the wind stops? -- is very real in my heart. Or I'll turn my body because I've gone too far from my initial spot, wishing to return, and it seems as though the wind obliges, changing directions for me.
The dreams that I have never really contain much premise. There was one a long while ago where I was trying to escape from somewhere. There were walls of heavy metal chains. I couldn't climb them but I knew more than anything that I needed to be on the other side. The wind saved me, gracefully lifting me over them. It carried me through and above trees, then deposited me among foothills. People were chasing me, firing guns in my direction, when the wind lifted me once more. I never went very far, but I knew I was safe. The more I think about it, it's almost like the wind was teasing the people who were after me. It would drop me, they'd find me, think they had me, then I would disappear again, all at a leisurely pace.
The skies were a soft red in that dream. The trees were ash grey... The more I think about it now, the more it reminds me of my old driveway back in Texas, when I lived in Kilgore. The dream that I had this morning was set in an open field with trees and brush scattered throughout. The sky was a peach color and the clouds were white with a tint of blue. When it started, I was helping a group of people hold down a giant balloon. They tried to get it to catch on the wind, but it just wouldn't fly. Then, as if to tease them all, the wind lifted me. From there, the dream transitioned and the people disappeared. It was just me, gliding, being rolled around like a die in the sky's playful hand. When the world of the waking called on me, it was time to land. The people were back but the balloon was gone and I think I laughed, a sound that was light and cheery.
I don't exactly want to fly, but when I have these dreams, I wish I could do this. I wish I could play with the wind, be a sylph for a day. It's inspiring. I always wake up feeling fresh and excited. Inspired, even. That's why I had to write about them this morning. I wonder if these dreams have any meaning. Maybe not like Freud's idea of meaning, but a more personal meaning. I've always loved the sky and that seems to be one of the big details in these dreams. It's always a different color and almost paints the mood. Trees -- who doesn't love trees? Don't tell me you don't love trees, you blasphemers out there. I know you want to. Trees don't like you either. Go away. The wind is like a friend to me and I always feel this deep-rooted connection with it.
In fact, back when I had my old blog, I wrote about a time when I found peace within myself: I was in Kilgore -- like that dream with the red sky -- and things were beyond hard for me. I was exhausted and I had just been cleaning out an old RV for my aunt's boyfriend. It was one of those few moments where I could sit back and breathe, when I knew she wouldn't call me inside for whatever reason. At first I was uneasy with the idea of relaxing. I hadn't done it in a year. Then, something inside of me clicked -- and a cool breeze swept over the yard. I took a deep breathe in... and felt good for the first time in such a painfully long time.
I don't know what it is about the wind, but I've always loved it. When I was a kid, I would go outside and lay on the porch, staring at the sky, listening to the doves on the power lines, cars driving by, planes flying over, people talking. I would sing into it, talk to it, send my worries away on it, or messages to others. I knew they'd never get them, but I did it anyway. The sky has always been important to me too. I remember when I first moved away, the thing that I missed the most was the sky. Where I lived, there was pollution in the air, so thick that it distorted how the sky looked. When I got back to Florida, that was the first thing I looked to. I take pictures of it all the time, actually, haha. Especially in the Winter.
Maybe I'll post some pictures on here, occasionally.
Speaking of which! I need to get to work on some designs for Geared to Oblivion! They're an up and coming band with a great personality. They don't have anything recorded right now, but you should totally keep an eye on them. (:
I hope you've enjoyed this excursion
just beyond the grey.
Can't wait to see you next time!
Blessed be.
Humbly,
Shannon Grey
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