Lost

Have you ever been so… in love with life that you lose track of small things along the way?

I have been more attentive to noticing things more abstractly than I have with things technically in some ways.  Little things like the scratches from wear and tear at a coffeeshop table… where the light forms perfectly to make Mr Shrader’s eyes pop the most…

Perhaps I am a bit twitterpated.  Perhaps it’s something deeper.

I feel at a heightened level of artistry.  My eyes are wide open but the shutters in my brain keep taking photographs…

These are days… nights… treasured and cherished memories of a life fully lived.

Friday night, though memorable, was not a good one however.

You see, all this time that I feel I’d been searching for my identity…

When I finally was confident in saying “I’ve found it!”

That’s when it happened.

I lost my purse on Friday.  In it: my drivers liscense, my social security card… my camcorder for which I’m filming my documentary Muse for Hire.

My life.

Gone in a moment.

Now everything that was in my purse is fully replaceable.  I care naught about matierial things.  As I’ve grown older, I have become more and more numb to this sort of phenomenon bothering me.  In fact, you might dare to say that I am so used to life screwing up like this on me that I’ve learned to more or less just laugh about it.

For example for those of you that missed previous episodes of my car troubles of the past year, here’s a look at the last one which happened about a month ago.

If anything, getting “my life back” was, for the most part more of a series of errands and annoyances than anything else.  I went to the police station and filed a report about it, cancelled my bank card, headed to the dmv…

I missed roller derby for the weekend but ended up at 6 flags with Mr Shrader anyway.  I made the best of the weekend and wasn’t even late to work this morning.

The thing that bothers me most about the whole thing: that camcorder.

And not for what it was, but for what it stood for.  Those moments of film… my life… my story… my…

I believe that everything happens for a reason.

This weekend was yet another blur with Mr Shrader.  Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be on film.  Maybe those events were meant to be our secrets.  

A fantastical blur that I am not sure will happen again (I hope it does, as this was something I wondered the weekend prior) but one that is marked with…

He is enigmatic and magical in ways that he doesn’t even realize.  Oh Cancerous man… indeed you are inspirational.

Which brings me back to the project.

I have hit a snag due to this incident this weekend.  If anyone would like to help me continue you it, I would love any and all support that you would give me.  Even if it’s just kind words.

I’ve learned a lot through the making of this documentary.  Life, like this project is a process and a labor of love.  The things in life that are the most worthwhile are not achieved instantly… they evolves and grow.  Inspiration, patience, keeping your head up in the face of…it’s not easy.

And then I heard a song playing…

I once was lost, but now am found.

To that, I reply:

A few sentences on a page cannot possibly be enough justification to fully chronicle me. I am who I am. I don’t chase magic because I am magic… and only the stars can come close to defining me.
 

I once was lost, but now am found…

Per request-

Mia: Don’t you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don’t know. That’s a good question.
Mia: That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.

That, my dears, was my weekend.  But you’re going to have to wait to hear that tale.

With that, the sound begins again.

I know that it has been awhile since I’ve done this.  So much has been going on.  But don’t fret.

I have not stopped writing- I just changed mediums for awhile.

I have not stopped dating.

I have not stopped smiling.

(Non sequitor.)

I have not died.

(Well, that part is only partially true.)

I still exist.

I guess part of what happened is, as generic as it may sound…

life.

I was walking through the art supply store yesterday waiting for my friend to be free to cut me some canvas.  I can’t remember the last time I painted.  I was inspired and felt it was time.

My weekend had been a blur.  A punch drunk fury of hours come and gone like a gust of wind.  Perhaps the rain this week washed away more than just a few dirty streets.

I think I know what I’m going to paint.

My best had to help a customer.  I found myself lost in shelves lined with magic.  I called the one person who I knew was a combination of both worlds.

“Grandma what are you doing home?  You’re supposed to be in Dwight enjoying your childhood memories.”

“Next weekend.”

“I want to have sand in my paint but I forgot what I need for that…”

“To thicken it up you need a medium.  Or you can just use oils because its thicker.”

You see, and this should not come as much of a surprise, but my grandmother… is an artist.

“Grandma I had… All I want to do right now is paint.  I want to hike and paint and watch sunrises and sunsets over the city and paint for awhile.  It’s been too long.  I have a lot on my mind.”

“I think thats wonderful.  Do you still have those brushes your aunt and I bought you years ago?”

“I do.  I’m going to have to dig them out.  I’m buying a couple of artist pallates.  I want to go to the beach and paint so I want something that if I lose I won’t be super upset about losing.”

“Buy a plastic one or get paper ones for that.  Best bet would be plastic. It’d be easy to clean.”

“Grandma, tell me about how it was to date in your time  What was that like for you.”

“I don’t talk about that.  I did date before your grandpa but I’m a very private person.”

Oh what she doesn’t know…

We walked around and talked about life.

“Why as a society are we brought up and told “Be honest. Be yourself.  Be open.” but then when you actually are, people crucify you for it… because there’s something about them that they can’t fully express and they’re envious… because you are the colorful painting and they are stuck in black and white.”

“Because people are hypocrites!” She said with a laugh.

I guess that’s part of why I took a pause.  My scrawlings, despite being vague and relatively ananomous nature have been both uplifting and the knife of the final move of my demise.  Despite my openness about this blog before I ever even enter into anything, men seem to become entransed by the words and then… when the plot really thickens and the soufle is in the oven… well, they fall short.

“Choose your words wisely.  They make or break you.”

I am not broken anymore.

I may not be that black and white picture all of the time but…

Life has been busy.  I have eased into a semi normal lifestyle believe it or not.  I have slept some wonderful nights and I have also tossed and turned with dreams of a ghost.

But those tales shall come later.

Know that I have been to hell and beyond and… it’s good to be back.  We have a lot of catching up to do my friends.  And thank you for the messages telling  me to get back to this.

More later.  But for now?  I have to get dressed.  Someone got a normal 9-5 office job downtown.  Mind boggling huh?

Cheers,

j.