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To-day was a good day…

It started with my beloved morning pages…at six a.m. I had to get up early for my first day at Hope Lodge(also because I left my flippin’ bicycle at Busch Gardens).  Hope Lodge is a place affiliated with the American Cancer Society, that houses cancer patients while they are being treated(chemotherapy and radiation) at the Moffitt Center. The Hope Lodge is completely free and accepts anyone who fits the description as long as there’s an empty room.  I am a volunteer receptionist. While I’ve always known I was capable of holding a job of this nature, I’ve never actually held one.  The day began as one would expect: rules and procedures, lots of “Ooh! When this happens’…”   I was keeping up very well for someone who rarely sleeps anymore and for someone looking at my boss.  She’s like, drop dead, pinch-me-to-see-if-I’m-dreaming, I-can’t-bear-to-look-you-in-the-eyes beautiful(for those who are tuned off by my celebration of outer beauty, just know she’s just as beautiful on the inside and I bow to her warm and humble spirit).  I was on my own pretty quickly and went with the flow. Great day.  I won’t bore you with a play-by-play but I do have one story:  A lady called Hope Lodge and she seemed to be sick or something.  After I greeted her, she said: I heard I can get a free wig there?” This is true. The resource center provides patients with one free wig a year, a hat and a scarf. Amazing.  I said: “yes, ma’am, that’s true.”  She asked if I knew the precedure.  I was pretty sure I did but asked Lillybeth(my boss), just in case. I got back on the phone to tell her that all she had to do was arrive.  She went on to tell me that the past few days had been rough for her.  As I listened more, I realized that she was crying!  She said “that will work. I’m going over to Moffitt(or some place in Moffit) and they said they’d shave my head for free…”  I had a flashback of my mother’s shaven head.  She said “it’s just keeps getting worse.”  I wanted to pray with her, or tell her everything would be ok…………

This is what I was writing tuesday afternoon.  My day took a sudden turn, then everything else did.  It’s been an off two days.  Off and on goodness and not-so-goodness.  I don’t know. Just living, I guess.  Basically, I was really touched by that phone call and when I hung up, I cried.  I read some poetry to the great Philosopher Stone and talked for a few hours. I was so excited that I didn’t even care about getting caught in a storm. Blah, blah, blah. Sings: everything’s changin….Up and down.  I’ve been writing a lot and that’s really exciting.  Might have an artist community.  We’ll see…

Sent Dari www.youtube.com/applesandmustard a happy birthday/feel better message and video and got my Juniper job back.  Something else happened that touched me…hmm…what the heck was it?  Umm…I’ll think of it later-hopefully.  Been hearing Mommy like CRAZY!  Don’t know how long I’ll be ok working for the American Cancer Society but I wanna give back. OH!  Check out this like from one of my current work in progress:  “Fear is our nuevo lost juevos and stolen halos.”  It’s my fave.  Babbling, I am.  I should be sleeping.  Maybe I’ll try(and maybe I’ll remember what touched me yesterday…).

A work in progress-Loving is scary

Loving is scary because when you’re loving, you’re open, and when you’re open, you can be caught off-guard and when you get caught off-guard…I don’t know, you might have to be in the moment, or have faith in yourself, or something…
Loving is scary because if you’re doing it and someone’s doing in back to you, it might mean you’re worthy of being loved, and if you’re worthy of being loved, then you might have to start loving yourself, and if you start loving yourself, you might have to go out for that promotion you’ve been secretely earning for five years…or start exercising…or stop smoking.
Loving is scary because it may make you feel good, and if you start feeling good, you might want to make others feel good, and if you want to make others to feel good, you might want to share this love, and if you share this love, you may get rejected by someone who’s frightened by this, and if you get rejected by someone who’s frightened, you might have to decide to lead by example, and if you decide to lead by example, well, you may be standing on your own for a while, and standing on your own is scary too, but that’s another story…

Loving is scary because it might make you take responsibility for your actions, and if you have to do that, than you might have to think before you act, and if you do that, then, you might have to admit that, all along, you knew your father’s baggage-heavy taunts about being selfish and inconsiderate were just: BAGGAGE-HEAVY, GUILT-RIDDEN taunts about his selfishness and If you have to admit that, then you no longer have to harbor anger about what a horrible human being you are, and if you no longer have to do that, then you don’t have to listen to your father say it anymore, and if you don’t have to listen to him say it anymore, then how will you fill those awkward bits of silence between the two of you, and the new silence in your head?

Loving is scary because it’s the first step to our own divinity. Knowing you’re divine is HORRIFYING. It’s horrifying because…

Bloggy McBloggerson

It is 3:49 and this is me:

I’ll follow you into the dark lyrics stuck in my head.  Worries about my next source of income. Excitement about my untapped potential. Nervousness about my untapped potential. Focussing in and out of reality…I’m still itchy and in my underwear trying to figure out how I’m going to clean house, shop and cook before Tiffany gets home. A hydrocortisone box sits to my left. My cat, Paisan sits about six feet in front of me, laying on a TV that’s not technically mine. My other cat, Cleopatra, rests in the direction of my late mother, 17, holding her highschool diploma. Homemade flashcards are scattered on the floor. They contain info of enharmonic scales and scale degrees, key signatures.  They are EVERYWHERE. Wow…I’m turning into a college student. For free! YES!

Humming and tapping, clicking and licking, my universe.

Sunlight and itchy frights and messes abroad.

Longings and hopings, cheerings and mopings.

Music surrounds, it’s in my downtowns(if you’re going downtown, I might as well be on your way…).

Urgings and purgings, dreamings and schemings.

I gotta get goin but the shit keeps a flowin’ and I hope the winds a’blowin, cuz  I’m on a frickin’ bike.

Like…

Anxiety and Artistry.

I have it. I am currently covered in a rash from neck to ankle. Reason being? Auditions. Disney, more specifically. I got myself so worked up about an audition(that-surprise!-I missed), that I woke up covered in hives. I wish I would use this power for good…like, getting me to Canada, or on a film set. I’m blogging to slightly make up for not blogging. I try to blog whenever I am moved but I realized, I should blog because I need to. Whenever. So…The 48 hour film festival: Yes! Got that! Another audition that rendered me anxious but I somehow ended up with a good audition, filled with laughs, “she’s so funny” ‘s and shaking hands. My first film audtion, thank you, thank you. I just bowed. Regular job hunting, preparing myself for future auditions and GREATNESS. I’m reading The Artists’ Way: a spiritual pathway to creativity…or something like that. It’s gonna help me unblock and write beautiful songs that are gonna get me out of here and cause lots of people to sing along and have me meet other people like me. Cravings: sweet stuff and house parties and my guitar and my MacBookPro but mostly being around other artists. I got a taste last Saturday at an open mic night followed by a poetry slam. My friend Ben B. slayed(thank you, Tegan), and went home with the grand prize: 90 bucks! Amazing! He inspired me because-well-he is happiness, as a poem of his states. He also inspires me because he brings humanity to art. This should sound oxymoronic but then again, we live in the age of William Hungs and Paris Hiltons. He’s able to spit straight fire as a slam artist without falling into the slam trap: That-rhythm-that-trite-pattern-of-breaking-up-your-words-for-dramatic-effect…ugh… Your words should be your dramatic effect. Your passion should be your dramatic effect. I love poetry and I hear some really good shit that’s tainted by trying to appear a certain way. no disrespect, I get it. I’ve done it in my own way. Musical theatre has it’s patterns too. Anyhow, I was very grateful to be around artists and I thirst for the next encounter. I know they’re out here, I just gotta find ’em. Off to learn minor scales.

MWAH!

Artists, Irony and Nostalgia

I’m horribly nostalgic these days. I miss being around “theatre kids.” I miss the world where people saw crying out loud as passion and bold energy, before the world turned it into a bad thing because vulnerability is too scary.  I miss the world where, instead of being judged(first, anyhow), someone asked: “why did you do that?” 

I miss three-part harmonies in my dad’s truck.

I miss sitting up under my mother like I was five and her pretending that it annoyed her when we both knew it was awesome…and really fun.

I miss Piney Point and the family we built in one month. Flat.

I miss Hawaii. I wasn’t moody, worried, irritable and I never called myself fat(granted I dropped a dress size a month for three months from working 70+ hours EVERY week).

I miss my friends who could listen to my circled logic and warp-speed speech and actually understand. My mom did too. My sister still does.

I miss sharing a bedroom with my sister.

I miss being able to write good poetry-gotta get it back.

I miss NoDa. The gallery crawls, Kevin and Michael’s mojitos, the drum circles, the park, the parties at the HUMANS pad, the freestyle pieces that included singing, instruments-or not, rapping, poems and whatever else anyone felt, that could go on for hours…the fact I could get trashed and cross the street to get home.

I miss the old Children’s Theater and the people who made that place what it was.

I miss when I had friends who went out just to be around people.

I miss $2.50 pint night at the flying saucer.

I miss.

I miss.

I miss.

ROOOOOOAAAAARRRR! I mean, *sniffle*

Women hate each other. That’s just the way it is.  Why? I don’t know…I sure didn’t learn to hate women from my mother.  She was my favorite woman.

Where in our DNA is the hater gene? Why must we revel in being thinner, or wearing more expensive clothing or hitting higher notes? Why can’t we form a united front so that this country, this world, can learn that WOMAN is a force to be reckoned with?! My very first best friends were boys. There are many reasons this might be: shortage of girls, the fact that I was a flirt at, well, birth, I’ve always been a tomboy in disguise, etc. All I know is that, though the word wasn’t made popular until this decade, I understood the concept of a “frienemy” a long time ago. Too long ago. I decided a few years back that I was no longer allowed to be one of the woman who go around saying things like: “I don’t do females,”  or calling another woman out of her name because she’s assertive, or drove me crazy, meanwhile, fighting and screaming at the men who do the same<humans learn from observation, psychology 101>. I saw that this was a real problem and it started to make me sick to my stomach when I saw that sisterhood was something that was defined only by blood. I prayed about it. This may sound dorky, but I prayed: God please open me to learn more about women and learn to love all that is woman. Let me be accepting and sisterly, loving and warm. Show me what it means to be a woman. Now, though this is off topic, and arguably ironic, I must point out that I now have a girlfriend. It’s kinda funny, come on…

Anyhow, I started to listen to women talk and watch women walk and I dropped my hater-guard and attitude and I began to realize how beautiful we are! We are amazing, powerful creatures! Now, in my growing and learning, I may have become a bit elitist but you’ve gotta think about CHILDBIRTH, and  dancers-yes, men make great dancers but they don’t look like we do dancing!-and mothers in general, and the nuturing that only we can provide.

I am SO PROUD  to be a woman and tonight-or this morning-while looking through my “facebook” friends I had this warm, apple pie kinda feeling and I felt so grateful for the beautiful, inspiring, warm, loving, intelligent, talented women I have gotten to know. You will ALWAYS have a place in my heart and just know, I’m ALWAYS thinking: I wish she was like RUBY EDWARDS, mysterious while open, cool as water but hot like fire, or LAURA FIELD would never leave a girl hangin’ like that! Where’s your heart?!  Step it up! Be a true friend! I have thoughts like: God, she’d be so much more pleasant if she had a tenth of JAN-EMBER HART’S charm and grace. I’m always wishing that one day, I’ll be at starbucks and I’ll hear a giggle and it’ll be someone who reminds me of RACHEL ANDERSON(the most fun and scariest part of me) or LATASHA MONFORD(my heart that’s reserved for family only, my loyalty) and I’ll end up talking to her like I’ve known her since I was a child, and I won’t be able to stop because the exchange is intoxicating!

I love you, AMANI WRIGHT(you are my strength, my home), ESTHER PATTON(you are my fearlessness), MORAYO ORIJA(you are the funniest part of me), ASHLEY ELLENBURG(you are my groundedness, my spritualily), RATASHA HUFF(you are my rawness, the me behind the scenes), MICHELLE NGUYEN-I mean, DULIN; )(you are the purest, most youthful part of me), KAALA SMITH(you represent what keeps me out here dreaming and fulfilling what I’ve wanted since I was a kid), TIFFANEY MOORE(my inner peace and acceptance)!

God put you all in my life to teach me that I was beautiful partly BECAUSE I am a woman. I will never be able to explain what my heart feels like at this moment or how high my blood pressure just shot up thinking about your love and pure brilliance.

Thank you for sharing. Thank you for caring and teaching and loving and being your beautiful selves. This is my bow to you.

Love Letter to my Sister/Response to her last blog(amanivernell.wordpress.com)

Dear Amani,

You know me and you know whenever you want to pack and go, I’m there. You’re my very best friend and my true other half and I would LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to travel and perform with you. Remember when I told you that secretly, I wished that you’d leave school and be with me all the time? It’s still true. I think it’s great that you’re in school and are learning so much, but I wish that we could be together everyday. I know we’ll get annoyed with each other at times but I’ll probably still wanna be around you-even rolling my eyes. I only feel honestly like myself around you and while I know this is something I need to work on, it’s still so. I need you because you’re all the good stuff inside of me that I don’t remember I have until you’re around. You’re my strength, my courage, my heritage and my core. I guess this is why I never felt like I needed a romantic relationship. You remind me of how close our family is, even though sometimes it seems we’re emotionally, miles apart. We really aren’t. Because of you, I know what a real friend looks like. Thank you for being you. I love you.

Sincerely,

Ayana.

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