Just that.

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I am at a comma in the sentence of my life. Perhaps a semicolon; I’m not sure yet. (Vonnegut says to avoid semicolons, but I rather like them, and in any case it will be what it will be.) Whatever, being where I am, I now realize that up until today my life has been a bit of a run-on sentence, by which I mean, I have never stopped and even this (brief? extended?) pause feels unnatural. If all this was a speech, I’d verbally stumble right about

here. Ouch.

But it’s not. It’s my life.

I have done all I can with this part of the story. Time must unfold to reveal what’s next, but until it does I am at a (brief? extended?) pause which for some reason I don’t feel entitled to take, which for some silly reason I fear will become a full stop, which for some odd reason I want to erase and write over, but which is still here regardless of all my wishes and which I now must live.

So I pause. I breathe. And I wonder, what comes next?

It's more just unedited rambling.

Look. I’m not one to run away from my problems, honestly. And I don’t want to do so now. That’s not it. It’s just that occasionally I wish I could maybe make like a snake and strip off a layer of life to reveal something fresh underneath. Or could shake up my brain like a kaleidoscope to see brilliant new shapes. Or hell, maybe I could just switch brains with someone for a while. This one’s probably broken, anyway.

Don’t get me wrong, life is not bad. It’s complicated and crazy and beautiful, really, but it’s not bad. I stay busy and occupied and I laugh and smile and find things I enjoy. I’m just feeling restless, like I want to crawl out of my skin, like I need a new direction.

Like I want to stab my brain with a few dozen sharp pencils.

But anyway. I need more, bigger, better change faster than I can make it happen. If it were possible to just go get a giant box of new and improved (!) life (not to be confused with the cereal), I would totally do it. But it’s not. So I have to do it the hard way. The slow way. The way that feels less like change and more like wisdom tooth extraction. And it sucks.

And that’s really all I have to say right now. Feel free to leave a comment that isn't real either.

Although the bloody hot temperatures make it clear that we’re now far past spring, I’m doing a bit of belated cleaning, anyway. First item to clear away? My job. Might turn out to be a stupid thing to do away with, but I had to start somewhere, so yesterday I put in my notice. July 30^th is my last day. I’m also planning to return to school for a master’s in library sciences. Still not sure how I’m gonna finance all this, but I had to force action. Sometimes it’s the only way I get anything done. Otherwise. . .well, my last post says it all. Anyway, I’m nervous but thrilled to be moving out of the rut I’ve inhabited for too long now.

So, help me feel less crazy. Any of you do any major spring cleaning this year? Eh? Eh?

In grad school, my good friend Leah and I had great fun with her word-a-day calendar. Top of our list of favorites was Abulia. We both decided we suffered from it, and found as many ways as possible to prove it (in jest, of course). Today, it seems I suffer from real life abulia. I make list after list of things I must act on, yet do not act. Instead, I make more lists. In fact, I am so prone to procrastination that I will even add “make new list” to my list. At least that one I can usually act on.

But I suppose this is not uncommon. Perhaps it is just a phase. Much of my list is pretty heavy stuff. Life altering decisions like a career change take plenty of time and thought to carry out. So maybe I’m just being too hard on myself.

I dunno. Whatever the case, at least I can now cross one more thing off my list. Although this was an incredibly lame attempt at updating my blog, I did it. Words appear on the screen. They are new. Check.

Now on to the more difficult stuff. . .

“The word chincuales, said Augusto Guerra, like all words in the Mexican tongue, has a number of senses. First, it means flea or bedbug bites, those little red welts, you know? The bites itch, and the poor victims can’t stop scratching, as you can readily imagine. Hence the second meaning, which is restless people who squirm and scratch and can’t sit still, to the discomfort of anyone who’s forced to watch them.  [. . .] Related to this is the final sense, call it the Guerrist sense, which applies to a certain class of traveler, to adventurers of the mind, those who can’t keep still mentally.”

-          From 2666, by Robert Bolano

Tonight, I fit all three senses of that strange new word.  The newest batch of mosquitoes to visit our back yard has taken a liking to the taste of my blood. I itch and squirm and in general feel no relief from the terror contained in all those tiny bites. Worse yet, even though I’ve already had more than enough movement for the day, I can’t seem to sit still. I wander the house, the yard, the street, like a lost animal searching for food or affection or a buried treasure, perhaps. But I’ve none of those things in mind, of course. I just can’t be still. Nor can my mind. Mentally, I’m all over the place.  Past, present and future concerns fight for frontal lobe space, and no one is winning. Can’t rest on a thought so the mental itching gets worse, with no way to relieve it in sight. In short, I’ve no idea if I’m using the word correctly, but I sure feel like one big ball of chincuales.

Anyone have a cure?

One day, I suppose, but not yet. For now I’m still lurking about, drinking more coffee than I probably should and making mistakes with the frequency of an excited teen. I haven’t been around here much because I haven’t had much to say, and even if I did, I haven’t had much time to say it in or, really, the words with which to say it. So I’ve stayed away and life goes on.

But tonight, for some reason, I’m feeling full of thoughts. So I return to my old stomping grounds because this is as good a place as any to put them.

My current thoughts are focused on chaos. These days, chaos reigns in the lives of many of my friends and loved ones, and in my life as well.  Nothing is mundane right now; it is all crisis or something that feels like crisis. But as awful as it feels, as crazy as it seems, I know it’s also a blessing in disguise. From this chaos can emerge new creations, new direction, new life.

I realize many people won’t buy this argument. There are those who will always live vey stable, predictable lives, who, in fact, prefer them that way. But they aren’t my people. I fear I am a creature born of crazy, change the only real constant I have ever known, the only thing I’ve ever been able to predict. This makes me both highly adaptable and never content. Which is why I face this chaos with a smile. It is an old friend, and I know how to play with it. Contentment, after all, leads to complacency.

And so it is that in the midst of this chaos, I plot my next creation, decide my next direction, envision my next incarnation. I use the images of what could be to ground me, to keep the chaos from feeling, well, chaotic. Despite the uncertainty, somewhere within this state lies my salvation. That I know. And after this salvation will be another, and another, and another, and somehow, for some strange and crazy reason, I find this comforting.

The first time it happened, I was in third grade. I went to a friend’s house to play and at some point in our adventures, something occurred, I don’t remember what, that made it clear I came from a Godless home. My friend’s mom overheard whatever it was, and gave me a look you might give that neglected dog you just found, skinny and full of mange. She touched my arm, with something like fear in her eyes, and said, “Naomi, have you ever taken Jesus into your heart?” Not sure exactly what that meant, I replied with a hesitant “no.”

You could tell by her silent head nod and downcast eyes that this is exactly what she expected to hear from a child whose family did not have religion. “Naomi,” she said, “Will you take Jesus into your heart now? I’ll show you how.” Thus began her sermon, with words I was to recite, and at the end, she cried a little.

I said the words and made her happy, but I no more had Jesus in my heart than I had a unicorn in my sternum. And life went on.

Over the years, more and more people tried to make sure I had Jesus in my heart. My aunt gave me bible verse after bible verse; my grandparents promoted agape; another friend’s mother asked that I recite those words again. By 8^th grade I should have been simply chock full o’ Jesus, but I wasn’t. Whatever magic it was they expected my recited words to produce simply didn’t take in me.

I should mention here that it isn’t that I didn’t have an open mind about it. As a child, thinking that someone all knowing and powerful had your back certainly sounded like a good thing, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Didn’t compute. And so it wasn’t happening. No Jesus for me.

But, truly, I didn’t and, quite frankly, don’t feel I was or am missing out on anything. I managed to develop a strong sense of right and wrong without fearing the fires of hell or dreaming of a land of unbridled joy and happiness. I am comfortable with being irrelevant, if I am anything at all, to the universe, and in fact, prefer it that way. I do not need the question, “why are we here?” to be answered and am happy with simply exploring the possibilities for as long as I can.

Perhaps most importantly, I have felt unconditional love, only not from an omniscient being. I have known the unconditional love that comes from being yourself around another human (or humans), standing exposed, as it were, and being completely accepted, loved, forgiven - quirks, flaws and all.

Now if this is what you get from your God, if this is what it means to you to have Jesus in your heart, then I am overjoyed for you. I hope it is. But I hope you’ll understand that I simply can’t do it that way. My love must remain here on this earthly sphere, and I am fine with that.