Open letter

Open letter to the cricket in my closet:
As you know, I live in a basement. My "window" is about four inches high and maybe 8" wide, and has trees and bushes planted outside of it. Very little light ever passes in. It is what you in the cricket world would call a "dream house" but what we humans like to call "very basement-esque". It is dark, it is damp, it is your dream come true.
However, it is my dark, damp room and not yours.
I'm assuming you moved in last night. Maybe you moved in a few days ago and if that's true then you were a very good roommate for those first nights. I felt like we could co-exist. However, I'm writing you about your behavior last night.
First off, 2AM is not a good time to belt out your cricket version of "Endless Love".
It is when I am trying to sleep. And though it was probably a very good version, it was not the time or the place for it. So I gave you subtle hints.
I closed the curtain at 4AM to separate you from what I can only assume is your captive audience, thinking maybe if you can't hear them, you'll stop singing. I was wrong. Your solo version of "Islands in the Stream" was lacking the beauty of the Dolly/Kenny version. I'm sorry I'm being honest.
And maybe you were drunk and didn't know they couldn't hear you. Or maybe you like to sing like no one is listening. Making your joyful noises to your cricket Jesus. I don't care.
So at 4:30 I turned on the AC, which can be fairly loud. I thought it'd be like the music they play to get people off the stage at the Oscars. I mean, the AC unit was winning in the ambient noise contest with you. But no, you moved on to Peter Cetera.
At 5 I was done with subtle hints. I closet the closet door and put a pillow over my ear. I think you got the hint then. Or I just drown you out. I don't know which was true but the fact still remains that we are at a crossroads. We need to come to an agreement, or I fear I may harm you with something large and heavy.
I'm out of my room from about 8am until 6pm. That is a long time, and with no light in there, I feel it is a more than adequate time to get your karaoke on.
If that doesn't work, I have two other roommates who would be more than happy to host you. Maybe do a little tour of Shady Grove.
I'm sorry to be so harsh, I just need to really set some boundaries. It's for your own good, really. When I'm awakened I'm not responsible for my actions, or the things that I may throw.
Regards,
-S

"The World's Fastest Table Sport!"

I know that visiting camp is sold as "the best week of your life" what with all the activities and games and loud and/or shiny things to look at (ended in a preposition! Ha!). But I live at camp. Score one for me.
Well, actually, I don't get to do all that stuff, so I really don't win, but it's still fun to watch others doing it. Out of the plethora of things to do, what with the zipline and giant swing and blob and climbing tower, etc the only thing I've gotten to do is the game room. You know, shuffleboard, ping pong, billards, fooseball, and, what inspires me to write this, air hockey.
I love air hockey.
Like have an irrational love of air hockey.
There is something simple and beautiful about air hockey. It requires little or no skill (except some elementary hand/eye coordination) and yet I hold the firm belief that I am quite good at it. My defense is much stronger than my offense, though I have a great left bank shot. Seriously, I rarely lose. You wouldn't want to play me. (To learn some sweet air hockey moves, check this out. )
There is a professional billard leaque; ping-pong is an Olympic event. Fooseball is found in most good American bars (including Taps--holla to the Westcott Nation). But air hockey? No such thing. There are "world rankings" but they consist of people from mostly Ohio and Colorado. Spectators don't gather to watch two players battle over that little plastic puck, there are no professional leagues, no way to raise through the ranks of air hockey-dom. That is one thing I love about it; it is still unmolested by sponsors, ESPN, elitism and doping scandals. There is aggression with no physical contact. There are moves but mostly luck. I live for that satisfying TWAAK of the puck against the mallet, the corners.
Everything I do has some sort of purpose to it, to gain something, get past something, feel something, get over something. Not with air hockey; I love the purposeless of it.

Aquifers and granite

Lately dreams have been vivid and searing, blurring lines and lives. I wake up feeling a message has been passed, an insight given and yet I do not possess the codebreaker needed. It's frustrating. And those Internet dream dictionaries are full o' crap. Fascinating how little is known of dreams, their powers and headwaters. I wonder how much are aquifers of hope; little pockets of the untainted. Does that make sense? Optimism encased in the granite of adult realism. Dreams of floods, exes, weddings, ships, music, chaos, fire, secrets, trysts, a red minivan, death, peril, and playing Ani DiFranco's “Adam and Eve” on guitar. I do not like waking to a head more full then when I consciously left it.

Soo...Moved.

* I got a new laptop. Blog, meet Lappy 9000. Tall, dark and shiny. Likes cheese. The mouse works too. How novel.
* I moved like four times in one week. I own a lot of stuff. Also, my car needs some serious TLC, and by that I don't mean more QT with T-Boz and Chili.
* Have a love/hate relationship with Interstate 81. Have spent a ridiculous amount of time on it, from Canada down to TN. Have lived close to it my whole life. In three states though.
* Realize that I am still struggling with things I thought I got over long ago--things about self-image and self-worth and desirability and purpose. I have great belief in what I could one day do, I have little faith in who I simply am.
* The mix CD that Chris and Rachel made for their wedding this past weekend is fabulous. Everyone should be so lucky to have a copy.
* There are three brothers that live next to me aged 4 to 10 and they all love me. I worry that it's because I am such a child myself. Part of me hopes that's true.
* Wish I could say I have been learning a lot; feel like I've just been sorta surviving this summer, sitting on Go. Now I've gone and I have no idea what to do next.
* Found my Cranberries' "No Need to Argue" CD when I was packing. Forgot that I really liked it.
* I spent half my work day with three 60-something ladies who have lived their entire adult lives within 15 miles of where we work. Life really can be simple sometimes. I love to listen to them talk.

Serious Business

Since I've been at Windy Gap I've gotten even more serious about social justice and historical preservation. Such as this.

It's ok if you aren't as conscious as me. It'll come in time.
Stay strong.