A Fresh Start

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this place is a prison and the first day of my life

The year is coming to a close and I am feeling so unbuttoned and exposed. I set myself out to see the world and as I have resolved many of the issues I was facing, new ones have piled themselves up. I was once told that everyone carried a box with them through out their lives. In this box they were allowed to store whatever they pleased. Everyone chose to put different things into their box and everyone chose to pack it in different ways. While some keep only their deepest secrets, privately tucked away, rarely to be re-opened, others shove every issue they ever face into every nook and cranny imaginable. You may have witnessed someone from afar toppling over from such a weight while others can only make you wonder how they walk as though aloft with no sense of instability. While some manage to deal with the things as they come others find themselves seeking help to balance all that they have. I think in the time that I learned that we all had a box it was right around the time in my life when I was so sure of myself and my foundation that I balanced that box with great tact and allowed everything to pile high, convinced that I could manage that one task till my dying days. I was told that I could not ignore all of the things I tossed aside forever and that one day my box would break and I would break with it.

I have long since then been defeated and broken but I am now learning that I want to treat my box as a nest. I will treasure each and every thing that I face as though it were an egg. I will nestle it deep and give it time to, oh I dont know...... do what eggs do. I will then address each and every egg when it has had enough time and is ready. Of course, my eggs are special, because some will surely take much, much, much longer than others. I know that I can maintain the balancing act for a long time but the crash that inevitably comes has left me with bruised knees and scars. I am going to try new tactics. One day I may even ask for help :)

That idea should develope further but at the moment that is all I have to say about that. On another note, I am waiting out an uncomfortable grip that life has put me in. I am holding out to see what the new year will bring and how this one will come to a close.

máš krasného ptáka....

Here is a story: Tales of Travels; an ugly duckling meets a rusty spring.

In a land far away (or maybe not so far away at all depending on where you are, but that is how it always is with distances; you are always near or far or somewhere in between from something no matter where you are) one may stumble upon something unusual or maybe more normal than most things. Like many tales that exist in the world, this is a tale of love. It is a tale of adventure and unavoidable emotions. It is a tale of scandals and a sweet softness that one can only compare to the brush of a fingerprint to an earlobe. Like many tales that have been written and told before it, it is a tale of heartache and flushed cheeks alike. It is a tale of a sadness that will never be forgotten but it will shed a light that will never wither at the face of darkness.

In this land, however far away it may be from you, a rusty spring inhaled deeply, with all that his coils could stand, and released a slow, smooth stream of smoke. Smoking came easily at this stage in his life. There was no attention to be paid to the weight of the fag on his lips and there was no mind to be given to the toll it may or may not be taking on his well-being. Cigarettes and coffee, which often complement each other both on paper and in actuality, were part of the rusty spring’s existence. Even in the most refined of occasions he would look incomplete without one or both within range. If one were to watch him look at the world they would be lost in a gaze that carried an indescribable weight. It was filled with an unacknowledged sadness holding hands with a twinkle of wonder and inspiration. The rusty spring casually flicked the butt of his fag with a complete ignorance to the ground that embraced his being but one would forgive him because of a hidden hope that he will do something great with his life and therefore be redeemed. His walk was a mixture between that of an old cowboys’, painfully drawn out and almost unbearably calculated and hard to watch, and that of some primate, adding a fresh hop and lightness to the shoulders and toes. On this day, one could follow the rusty spring into his office. He will move as he moves on most days; from email to phone conversation, to consultation, to tinker toys, to the ends of his great abyss; the confinements of the life he willing chose because it was the only one laid before him by the generations before. The rusty spring was not unlike those in his life. Camaraderie was found among them at the bottom of each bottle and each freshly tapped beer. Friends were made circularly and everyone belonged. If anyone had anything to say about anyone else it was passed around the circles, but only behind backs of course. It was the common thread and only means of communication. Everyone knew everything about everyone but no one was known because nothing honest or truthful can ever be passed along in such a fashion.

The spring sat down, sloppily distributing his weight into the chair beneath him and allowed himself to take comfort from the table he now rested against. There would be music playing, which is not unlikely at whichever pub he may have chosen for the evening. Inhaled, exhaled, released in the shape of an O. The rusty spring looks up suddenly, he must have lost track of time, he gazes into a gaze that is familiar but unknown to him. An ugly duckling challenges him and his gaze openly and out loud. For a brief moment, but most likely longer, the future overwhelmed them equally. The sacrifices revealed themselves and the throbs of feelings were felt. They secretly lived a life together within those moments and it wasn’t shared with anyone. Within those moments they created their own circle that exceeded the limitations, the expectations, and the generations before them. They lived through the hard times, they held each other tight and walked hand and hand. They traveled lands down under and built a home. They fled for the sake of love and did so unabashedly. They watched each other through those moments grow old and saw it through to the end.

Everyone knows that springs and ducklings are never meant to be. Springs are made to get rusty and ducklings are made to fly. The gaze was lost. The rusty spring watched the duckling stand up to leave. There was a feeling of pain and a small window of opportunity to stop her before she reached the door, but he ignored all that was irrational and let her go. It ended before it started which is much better than starting something and realizing that all it can do is end.

Turkey Resolutions

I am realizing now that I am going to struggle my way through the end of this year. Why? Because I don't listen to my mother and all that she tells me to do. If I did I would be much safer from the cruelties of the world and most likely in some state of ignorant bliss. I have begun to draft a list of things that will help next year be better....

1. Don't drink so much. Not because I drink excessively or anything but because without fail, whenever I drink, I make an ass out of myself or say irrevokable things (as many of us do, so I imagine).

2. Don't smoke so much. Again, not because I smoke too much but because I believe that one loves from their lungs. It is a choice to breath each and every breath and release it, just like love. Smoking is like saying, fuck love.

3. Don't kiss/love/get involved/make best friends with men that you cant futurize about/with. Not that I am involved with many married men but it is just a terrible idea and causes too much emotional confussion and pain.

4. Believe in the ability to do good things in the best interest of people and their hearts and selves. So, I can affect people but do I really want to shred them up and leave them just because I can and it is less painful for me?

5. If you do something wrong, apologize, don't turn it around on someone else. I blame rhetoric and the ability to debate through words as opposed truth. I find that I can generally win, but should I?

6. Explore hard and always give into the hunger for more. I am where I am because of the unwavering thirst to know and be known. I am miserable when I give into anything other than that.

7. Really work on the drama thing. I would like to say that I am less drama but good with words. That translates into: through words I can magnify the small amount of drama in my life to make it appear more interesting. I would like to be a little bit more plain and softened next year.

8. Keep on truckin'. Rough patches will smooth over so don't dwell. dont dwell. dont hold on too tight. dont hold your breath. when you do hold your breath. dont forget to gasp for air. dont let yourself be blinded. always run faster.

I am sure there is more but resolutions are a work in progress. I am trying to figure out where I want to go with this blog thing. I am not sure if what I am going through these days is really worth writing about. Not as in worth of being read but as in worth what I have to go through to filter out how I feel, who is reading, and what I actually want to put into words.

My grandmother hates the idea of me writing because everything she reads seems like it should be private..... if she only knew. I am now beginning to feel more aware what it means to make emotions public and I think that goes against my resolution number... 7. Overall the resolutions have all been heard before. We are all going through generally the same things we just choose different ways to learn our lessons. I may want to take a humble bow and learn my lessons more privately from now on.

Don't worry. If I actually do give this all up, I will provide a nicer bow out.

welding and dancing by the pane of glass

I read that people are advised to try a "peaceful mind exercise" if they are struggling going to bed at night. After tossing and turning or slipping out of drug-like experiences of sleep I have started to do the exact opposite of mind-easing meditations. I have found on multiple occasions that bringing myself out of my bed and dancing like a crazy woman in the darkness is my only resolve. Streaks of moonlight and stripes from streetlamps chase my bare legs and belly through the slats of the blinds. I am painted and dicernable only through movement. I listen to the most riling music and motion inspiring jigs that I can find on my i-pod and rock my body as though I never wanted tomorrow to come.

and the stress, and the thoughts, and the unease, and all that comes with facing the cieling as night draws deeper into itself........ it washes away.

It slips off the sides of my hips as they sway into some imaginative figure with power and purpose. It bounces away as I lollygag with such determination in the darkness. One would never know it from listening at the door that there was even a mouse (which there is). The pads of my feet as they two-step and shuffle about make nothing but smothered sounds against the hard linoleum floors. Not until my breath overpowers the air that I am blending with my body would one know that somthing is stiring and overflowing within my little room.

And what do I do before that? I weld. I put on my blue workers uniform, a strap on the multiple layers of leather to protect my gut, arms, and anything else that might be exposed to the orange glow that I have come to love, and I bind metal to metal, mask over face. I have given up on any other sort of romance or love because so far it is the only one that I can actually make something out of. Of course it is nothing to know that I am the first woman to weld at UNEX and that I am damn good at it for my first time.

Twine Unwinding

This week has been of emotional highs and lows. The stress of being stationary is pushing me from all directions. It is the raw truth of the matter; if you stay in one place, make yourself known, come to know others, you are making a commitment to deal with whatever comes to the table. It is hard to know about yourself that under a certain light you are wonderful with people, love them, and love getting to know them, and as that light transforms so do you. In the slightest difference of shade you want to run and hide and not deal with people at all. The wise ones tell you that boundries are to be learned but even in the most insightful moments I think to myself "Why do I have to have boundries? People should know what they are getting into all on their own and whether or not I have boundries does not decide whether or not they hold their own".

I am tired of the place that I am in and am wondering how I got to a place where I feel stuck. Is leaving tomorrow as easy as I am allowing it to be in my mind? I have learned by now, always have an escape plan. If you dig yourself into a hole you at some point have to figure out how to dig yourself out of it. I need to learn to throw a long enough rope from the top before I get to deep to leap out. Next time I will remember this period of my life and force myself to provide a way out from the maze. Paper trails or something.

The wind is blowing today. It may just take me away with it.

červený mlýn

Something like Tolkien's "cellar door", červený mlýn just sounds beautiful to me. Aside from that I have nothing much to say about red mills.

The pads of my feet are hitting the pavement with less weight and more purpose. A lofty something or other has taken hold of me and whispered sweet nothings into my ears. I am feeling a sensation that one can only feel before something is going to happen in their life. Spending a weekend in Prague with Patrick was refreshing. It was nice to speak with little force or concentration for long periods of time. I had forgotton what it meant to talk freely and fluidly with someone who knows about where you come from. There was no explaining about badass happenings because we both just knew that they happened where we come from. There was no forcing conversations and filtering them. There was laughter, and romping, and cheersing, and haircutting, and singing, and long walks through the streets. I was much more frightened of seeing someone from home than I should have been but Patrick was the perfect person to relieve that.

I am anxiously and almost drunkenly suffering through this day. I am so ready to be proud of being an American when Obama takes his rightfully desereved spot in the White House. Aside from the fact that I was out all night making company with the rims of glasses and partaking in potentially scandaless activities, this new feeling of giddy and anxt has much to do with the election. Things are happening around the world and it feels good to be able to feel it.

I would love nothing more than to go dancing. At this moment I would do anything to be at Blevins Junior High or back at a Splash Dance nervously waiting to be asked to dance by Nathan Minatta. Which never happened by the way, he was much too cool for me. Anyways, the point is, I feel silly and young and I would love to go to a dance.

This is officially the worst post I have ever written and I am sorry for exposing you to such drabble. I will do better next time.

Stick your head in the sand

I started to write last week that I wasn't planning on visiting Petr but that I did anyway. I never had the time during the week to finish that post and so it became forgotton. I intended to get on this week to write and found that what I wanted to write had already been written.

I wasn't planning on visiting Petr last weekend but I found that I did anyway, again. There is really no reason not to go. I have fun when I am there, it feels homey, and I can speak Czech all weekend. I was reading Paul Theroux's story about how when he was traveling at twenty-two he new that all of the foreign girls that he found himself entangled with would do anything to hear those words. The words that mothers tell their children and lovers whisper to each other. Theroux, knowing the sacrifice, refused to say it and worked his ass off to get where he could with the next fresh thing on the market. He knew that it was a painless three words to erase the unease of a heated conversation. He knew that his pride would be carved away when he released his firm hold on what he loved and what he didn't. I just lie. I, like Thoroux, know the damage those simple words can do. We both knowingly and willingly admit to loving everything and everyone but some, especially those who want to feel different from the croud don't understand how one can love everyone and everything. They puddle over the idea and that is why Theroux chooses not to say it. I on the other hand have no fear in saying it because at any moment I can jump ship. When he finally does say it, to get somewhere that is and not truly, it is a scandal. We are both scandaless I guess. All paths lead home and we each choose our own to get there.

The point is. One day my dear Petr will learn English, explore into my writings, and all will be revealed to him at a time that is appropriate.

On another note. For the past six months I have kept myself from home and kept home from me. It has been my only way to protect myself from the cruelties of truth etc. Well, home has begun to hunt me down. I picked up Patrick on a whim at the train station in Brno and I was truly excited. Thrilled to see his little face, pronounced nose, sharp but child like sparkle in his eyes, peeking out the window of the cabin as it raced to a halt in front of me. A leap and a bound later with a few shreaks and school girl noises into our greating it was not as painful as I suspected it could be. Familiar faces really can ease out wrinkles and callouses. It was nice to have time with a friend. Someone that knows me and forces me to acknowledge that I have a past.

On the Side: Collected Tales of Mistresses

Deep in some jungle in a country unknown to us there was a young man, growing older at an unusual pace. His years preceded his behavior and one would blankly stare at the thought of him being as old as he actually was. Even his face, with a significant amount of imperfections and scars, reminded one of a young man suffering from a slightly bad complexion. He, like most young men in those parts, was openly sexual but had exclusively been seeing one woman for a long enough time that it was nearly impossible to escape. They were a perfect example of how young love can turn into a thorn in ones side. There is no out because there is doubt in the want to flee. But, alas, there is still the desperation for greener grass, wetter loins, and more passion. A young girl would eventually enter into his life and tickle his fancy. He paid no mind to the fact that he had a woman, he openly paid mind to freshness. The young girl was by no means looking for love but enjoyed playing the games of flirtation and secretly took pride that she could woo those who were taken. She never faltered in designing a character and a love that to him seemed as though could last forever. The design is perfect and of lofty intentions. He was happy to have her in the driveway behind gates, and she was happy to not give it another thought. Such scandals she coaxed out of others lives. Although it is only a scandal if it is revealed. That alone may be cause for defining the different breeds of mistresses. One day she moved on only to think of him under a certain light that rarely shown. He longed for her endlessly but was happy that he still had a thorn in his side and was glad to have kept her.

. . . .

An underage smart ass with too many names for the city to keep up with walked into her usual bar. The bar tenders' eyes light up and an of character smile with a hint of sleaze and anticipation welcomed her in. Her confidence confused him and aroused him. From the first time she ordered a Bloody Mary he didn't think twice about carding her. If she was underage, he didn't want to know. He had been open about his marriage and yet on one particular night, up against a wall one would find them on the brink of heat and pressure. She had no interest in him at all and found it pathetic that he would get married in the first place if he would feel any desire to stray. She was more interested in the man who worked across the street in a little coffee shop. He too had a nice young girl waiting for him at home but couldn´t resist sneaking into the basement after hours with his mistress for a different aftertaste.

. . . .

In another corner of the world a seemingly happily married man was driven to near madness by his jealous wife. Despite the fact that they were still young and attracted to each other, had made a beautiful family, and lived in a beautiful home, she would not release herself from the thought of him wooing other woman. That same man, kinder than most one would meet in the period of a month, befriended a woman. They did not seek each other out based off of attraction they merely met under normal circumstances and conversation came easily for them. Conversation came easily for both of them with everyone but it was nice to meet someone of the same mind and relish in diving into it. Had she been of homely features the wife would not have paid much mind, but the woman was younger, had a lot in common with her husband, and had a look about her that felt like a threat. Deep down the woman and the husband were truly sad that they could not enjoy each others company and conversation but hid the sadness as proof that not every attraction had to be an affair.

. . . .

Some girl stared off into the mountain side through large panes of glass. The heating vent is blasting hot air straight onto her and she still shivers. Her sadness can be described by anyone else left for another but she still seems alone in her new feat to face each day alone and with a love lost. Somewhere in the same scope a mindless girl who wooed the broken heart's love will face the same mountain side another day because of her stake in the affair. Over and over and over again.

. . . .

I very unhappily married man is stunned by a new light that enters into his life. He has the opportunity to flirt and feel attractive so he takes it. He grabs hold of the opportunity to complement honestly and whole heartedly. He has the brief pleasure of being able to warm up to her in the night and hold her close and feel like everything is going to be ok. He forgets that he is miserable and allows himself to feel the happiness of wrapping his arms around another. When the morning comes he reminds himself that though he may still be young and attractive, he is still married. He puts off thinking of how to be happy and free without being a failure and a cheat.

Uničov: the world is my pup tent

This part of the Czech Republic is like walking through a story that is trying to illustrate a history so deep that it fails miserably in doing so. When I say this part I mean the seemingly large but fenced of area that my new job is contained in. The streets are grey and worn down just as the buildings that are scattered and placed beside them. Thousands walk around in their thick cotton trousers and matching button up shirts in an unaturally vibrant blue dulled by hard labor. Oil, smears made by remanants of metals, and an aroma of all that is flesh and all that is not melded into one.

My first night in the bloc inspired temporary housing reminded me of my first night in San Francisco. Now, over two years later, I can tell that I have aged. That night I cried. I was there on the basis that I had something to prove to the world, that I could in fact do whatever I wanted and be great at it. I was sad that it was harder than I wanted it to be. Now days I have no one to prove anything to. The people that I wanted to prove something to I dont really care for anymore. The people that humored me at first now just think I am long gone. The rest dont know me and so I have nothing to prove only a life to live to meet my own expecations. If they find it strange they came to that notion on their own.

The girls at the office have been more than welcoming. I think they are happy to have a fresh face around and it helps that I have a substantial amount of Czech because I was immediatly treated with a higher respect. Every morning I walk the fifteen minutes or so from my door through the many blockades and diversions, I make my way through the monsterous concrete building and step into the office for the day. An assortment of emails and conversations are sifted through and then I make my way bake. I have been reading some travel journals and flirting with the idea of getting bolder in my writing. Thoroux, at sixty, after a lifetime of travel and storytelling wrote that a true teller of stories really has only one to tell. I want to make sure that I dont let go of mine to soon. So, I will continue filtering out tales of impure thoughts and unthinkable acts and encouters and stick to the daily hum drum. I am feally weak though and have the urge to get it down on paper. It is a shame that is something I will have to train myself to do. To have a mind for writing for myself in a book bound only to me.

The pup tent was his space away from uncomfortability. The kitchen table, the conversations, the people who loved unconditionally, they made him uneasy. He always ran to the pup tent to feel safe, to feel alone, to feel alive, and to feel real.

plastic breaks : metal reinforces

I guess I am ready now. I am not sure how it happens but I have found that inspiration is lost when you so desperately want it. I was living in Prague for over a month and I scowered the town for a chance to let loose. I was hungry to feel passionate about something or involved in whatever I could, but I went home each night feeling all the less moved to do anything with the town other than explore mindlessly and aimlessly. I found pleasure in silly things. Watching people navigate through an old town with a repressed history as they refused to look up and face the day. Claiming to not speak English when my Czech wasn't perfect. I also baked a lot of cheesecakes...

About the ex-pats. They all have that punch in the gut story. "Ha ha ha" chuckles one poised over his beer "I was supposed to be in Prague for three weeks." And some odd years later, maybe five, typically three, often times surprisingly longer, they are still here. Seemingly unhappy but reassuringly not. I am not one to speak to loudly, I have well overstayed my initial intentions. Somehow I feel kept. It is as though there is something magical that has the potential of showing up here and although it never really pulls through it draws you in enough to wait.

The past week has been a blur. Karel and I met and made arrangements for me to start working in his other company as opposed to in the restaurant. One reason being the restaurant has been delayed and is not ready to be opened, another being that Zuzana has confirmed that she does not like having me around (apparently not giving her husband nor I the benefit of the doubt), and I am sure there are a few more but of less weight. The downsides are that I am not in a position financially to deny any new source of income and that I will miss the land that I became so close to as well as the people I was excited to see again. The upsides are the pay is exceptional, it comes with a visa of one year in the EU, and I will get to experience working for Europe's leading manufacturer in industrial steel and metals. My work is set in a large cluster of foundries filled with a romantic black cloud that settles among men of such chiseled composure diminished by the sharpness of matter more rigid than their own. As I walked through the other day I felt a deep pulse in my veins that made me feel as though I didn't belong for the first time. As these men maneuvered with little grace but no hesitation I was breathing in every scrap of metal, every spark of orange against the warm grey mass behind it. I was surprisingly aware of what was going on around me and walked as though I had something to prove. Not in how I held myself but in how I returned the stares steadily as though I was saying "You don't think I belong here with my black, linen, capris and matching assortment of shirts layered on one another in a simple but composed way. You don't think I should know this place but I will come to know it and you will come to know me in it." The communist era setting made me feel like I was in some sort of prison camp. The offices are cold to look at within their cinder block walls and I know I will feel the weight of it by the end. I am excited for the challenge and although I am confident that I will come out on top I am not afraid to be broken.

. . . . . .

I packed up everything at Sarah and Ryan's and was upset by the fact that I had acquired enough belongs to pull me through the winter to come that I had to borrow a bag to relocate. I was the perfect roommate, above and beyond in every way imaginable. I always tried to tip-toe over normal trudging, any cleaning up after myself or them I jumped at the chance to do, I held back all instincts to cook like a mad woman and show off my true skills in a kitchen because of their own established love in the kitchen, and yet I know when the door shut behind me after we said our goodbyes that glances of relief were exchanged between them. Couples are happy to have the kitchen to themselves. Or any room for that matter if you know what I mean. All in all I was so happy to have lived in the city with people that truly lived in it. While at times I felt like I wish I didn't always "tag along" in fear of intruding on their dates, even if I had scavenged the events of Prague on my own I am sure we still would have ended up at many of the same places. It was nice to have been connected to people that were connected. It was also nice to come home to people that had a clue about the world and some of my own struggles to make it through it.

Petr picked me up at the train station Friday afternoon and although we hadn't spoken much at all since he came for a weekend in Prague, he seemed to be happy to have me back. I unfortunately was indifferent, but obviously didn't show it. As we got moving in his little sea-foam beater, as the thud-thud music started to play and the landscape surrendered to our speed, I was happy to be back. The weekend was filled with warm familiarity back to a family running around in their underwear, being policed by the matriarch of the house, and being forced to eat meals by the constancy of a pushy womans instinct.

I find myself on this cold morning back at Clubwash in Brno. I took the train last night and made my way back to its' doorstep for a long night of poker. It was refreshing to be meeting people again, making witty conversations, laughing, competing, etc. In a tournament of twelve I placed fourth and made 200Kc. Now that I am going to be living much closer and dying for entertainment I am sure I will be coming more often to my favorite bar/launderette in the CZ. In a few hours I take the train to Olomouc and move into my cell until winter.

The deed is done.

I died my hair. It is official and officially lighter/darker than it was before. I mean why the hell not? I have joined the club of many a women before me that solve each new mid-life crisis with a new color. It feels great. Subtle rebellious and fresh. I think the new mane makes up for the roar that was attempting to let loose but didn't have the umph to back it up.

The past week or so has been a blur. So many shows and random gatherings. People leaving, people getting older, all the celebrations.... I am attempting to sort through my drunken lullabies and revelations from my factual, actual, realities. I have learned that you never want to get to the state where you have to hug a toilet that also serves as a domestic cat's potty training campsite. I have also decided that if in doubt, stay away from the bar squatters past 2 in the morning. they may turn out to be rowdy, over the hill, Liverpuddlian's that will keep you up way past your bedtime and won't offer to walk you home afterwords. My class has just ended which I am terribly depressed about and I am now trying to figure out what is next. I met with Karel tomorrow to discuss the next few months. The restaurant is on delay another month and he wants to talk about some "ideas" that he has. I hope that I don't get screwed over in the end. I am in no position not to work and if that means I have to be a sheep medic I will have to do it. Or hunt for work in the city until I can round up enough to make a move again.....

Too short and not so sweet.... I will do better next time.

cheesecake, projections, and eli the cat

I am losing my touch and there is no way to start something properly when it is long overdue. Prague. Let's talk about that. It is not that I do anything in particular or even that I feel as though I have found a particular place of my own in this city but it seems to suck people in. It lures people from their week long vacations into domestic lives. It tempts people into ex-patriotism and provides one with many a bars down dingy, mangled streets and allies. To say the least it will be missed. I have established that going back to the farm will be much harder than I intended it to be. On that note, the lack of drawn out conversations and flirtations in my own language will hopefully lead to a puddle of time that lends itself towards creativity. I have goals dammit! I wish I could list them all right now two after one ten after nine but I am selfish and I want to secretly check them off with no one's hand but my own patting my back. One day the list of things that I have done with my life will reveal itself.

I am having a hard time tracing steps into the past few weeks so I will try to start informing my way back. I woke up this morning next to a guy from some town next to some Dot on the map in Kentucky. I would say that he is a not so nice boy that is very nice to look at. Everything about the evening was predictable. We met the evening before at Ken Nash and Sarah's headlining show and after an evening of flirtatious jabs at each others lives, which was only a means to blatantly make fun of ourselves and find comradery in the fact that we were mirror images of the same tragic tale it was almost fate that we would suffer through it again. He advertised his emotional unavailability in the most inviting of ways and the poor Czech girl who sat starry-eyed within range went home with him, as she has many nights before, feeling like one day he would admit to being her boyfriend. I will remain to feel emotionally unattached and continue to take all life and joy out of analyzing my own tragic existence through his. That said, the morning this was great. We passively aggressively made breakfast, ate it, and listened to (smog) and seemed to do it with a sense of familiarity and ease. Strange how that shit plays out but overall it was only how it could be expected to be. You meet someone but you see them from across the room first and let it happen. You say things and it is as though you are both allowing one thing lead to the next as though the rules of engagement are only for humors sake. You very well could have said "nice to meet you, now lets skip to the good part". There were no formalities in our goodbye. I could just as well never see him again as start bumping into him all the time.

Mom and Dad AKA Sarah and Ryan have taken me in, fed me, given me a place to sleep, and in turn I started making cheesecakes, organizing cupboards, and trying to show my appreciation in any way I can. They are the picture perfect, ex-pat, domestic residents of Prague. Sarah stuns the very walls that surround her with her quirky yet refined appearance and grace. Ryan manages to make that very same room laugh out loud in calculated bursts with his presence, and Eli the cat is the yogurt to the soup...absolutely complementary. It has been a true pleasure to be a part of their world.

My time is coming to a close. The late night drawing classes, the Bikram Yoga, the days after days of shoving Czech into every orifices of my body, the homemade soups and various delectable cuisines, the moving of the cat poddy trainer to use the bathroom late at night.... it will all be missed. I am wondering how winter will treat me here and weather or not I will wilt with the coming of the season.

making ones way

I came to a realization this morning that with each city that I have spent a considerable amount of time in I prefer one method of transportation over another. The buses of Quito counseled me through my struggles in coming to know my own imbalances. They calmed the warrior at the end of the day and reassured the woman within that there was more to life than shocking the men of the world and their mentality that was so embedded in the culture. The streets of San Francisco knew the pads of my feet as well as the drops of rain that washed it clean the entire summer that I lived there. Their concrete beings were embracing and coached me through my unrest by providing me an endless journey of unlimited routes and corners. I am now cradled by the darkness of Praha's metro and despite the fact that all whom I have come to know prefer the trams I find comfort in revisiting the sun as many times as possible through out my days.

I am on the verge of an emotional breakdown.
I am ready to yell aloud from the frame of every open window.
I lie in bed with only unrest to keep me company.
I fight anxiety with a placid stare into others illuminated windows.
I need to laugh out loud at my own faults.
I beg myself to forgive all that I have done.
I worship the sweet nothings that happen in precious moments.

I ignore these small tributes to my existence by assembling an appropriate, slightly looked after, but generally tame outfit, stuff my bag with things I know I will not use on my venture and proceed to slip it over my shoulder. I imagine my life playing deep inside the mind of someone else and try to provide the most appropriate soundtrack to the script. I walk down five flights of stairs, retrace the well traveled route to the metro station, and watch myself descend the steps in the reflection of the billboard above.

I don't hesitate to keep eye contact with people who dare to look and when they finally decide that they are no match for someone who doesn't care to be noticed they shy away to their own familiar territories. We are bound by a contract of understanding. They do not want to know who that girl is that so boldly challenged their curiosity.

* * *

PETER GOAT

Petr surprised me the other day by taking a stand for something he believed in. Unfortunately, as the drunken, mindless sentences began to unravel I have come to the conclusion that he is but a mere product of a childish, collective thought. He sternly claimed that it was not normal for me to stand naked in front of other people and that he was not my boyfriend. If it were not for the audience in the background I would have tried not to laugh at him. I knew very well that he would not have been able to spit out such dribble without the support of his equally immature clan of friends but I had given him more credit in the past for a more evolved and modern mentality. You are right Petr. It is not right for a woman to unabashedly show her body to whomever wishes to draw it when she has allowed one young man of only 18 to think that it was his own private right to gawk at. It has always been knowingly cruel of me to watch him inflate his own ego with such pride and assurance. He has since apologized for implying that I am a whore, would like to remain disillusioned that we will live happily ever after in some fabricated wonderland, and politely pleaded that I keep my clothes on. I will from here forth have to stop trying to turn him into a man and allow him to live within his own years and only hope that he will turn out alright in the end. I despise the sense of superiority and indifference that I have adopted in terms of love and compassion.

Today I am an unstoppable flame sweeping the streets and outshining the sun. I am elated at the sight of nearly everything and cant help but smile at all that I pass. I will drift into this evening and relish my new sense of self.

A Tale of Two Tangled

A week ago I made a list of things that I wanted to accomplish while riding the bus to Prague.  I wanted to find a good language institute that offered an intensive Czech course in a short period of time.  I had my mind set on finding a place to live for the next month that would taylor to my needs as a student and as as someone ready to be let loose in the city before locked up in endless fields and horizons.  I also wanted to kick off my new lifestyle, however brief it was going to be, with a nice detox, a haircut, and a few new articles of clothing that would allow me to blend in comfortably.  I am pleased to say now, as I am getting ready to start my first day of a month long, five hour a day, intensive Czech class, that I have checked all of the above off of the little scrap of paper that I wrote them down on.  As I was on the search for a little flat of my own and was close to sealing the deal, Sarah and Ryan offered me the extra bedroom in theirs.  I am paying less and they have a little extra pocket money to get through life with.  I think that it will be a really nice arrangement.  One week into my detox, which consists of nothing more than lemon juice, cayenne pepper, maple syrup, and water, I am feeling great but desperately trying to avoid the scents of anything flavorful until the next seven days go bye.  

Petr picked me up at the train station on Saturday afternoon and I was surprised to feel just as happy to see him as he was to see me.  I must admit that I am aware of my calloused existence and that he doesn't stand a chance in the long run and I am not ashamed to say that he will be the better for it in the end.  I have been admiring the ways of Dominique Francon and how bound I feel to her.  She knows how she affects people, she knows what to say as though her words formed the rules and the realities.  She has no friends and no particular like for anyone in particular but she makes others feel as though they need to be around her and want to be wanted by her.  She plays no game, only comes and goes as she pleases, and while some may feel as though they reached someplace special they dare not ask because she would not hesitate to express the nothingness that they really shared.  I know it seems cold but it is mere honesty.  I can be whatever Petr wants me to be but I can never be his and he is not so naive not to know it.  While December lingers over his head in a manner that he must fight and relish in every moment we have together.  I am happy to drift along the moments with ease, take pleasure in all that I am doing and in the slight excitement and twinge of pain that it causes.  It must be a hint of self torture that is the driving force of my being.  Making friends with Distaste and Unfamiliarity brings excitement and mental problem solving.  It seems to be one of the only ways I can actively use my brain these days, knowingly putting myself in difficult, emotionally involved, and undesirable situations. 

Enough of that.  I am happy for the time being.  I know the above paragraph will be read by many as unhappiness but for those of you that understand, it isn't about being happy, it is about being in control of ones actions and beings and not depending on anyone else to live.  

Winter seems to be coming closer because my leg finds itself under the covers at night as opposed to being draped over the edge of the bed.  It is almost as though this detox is clearing the way for my dreams to release what I keep neatly tucked away every moment of every day.  The dreams are horrible because it forces me to think I actually talk about the things with people.  Then I wake up and it seems to be ok.  I have some sort of bodily obsession which I can only assume most people do, but mine seems to consume so much space.  I have no standards but my own which I think must be the worst kind because who is ever pleased with themselves other than the ones that believe in happily ever afters?  Since living on the farm I have been more physically active since I don't know when.  It is not that I, in my own nature, don't appear physically active, but I am generally a procrastinator and if you at least appear physically active you can put off the actual activities as long as you want.  It takes the slightest strike of truth of absolute hatred towards ones body that brings action.  I have had mine and as painful not eating for fourteen days may be it is all an act.  I rejoice in front of the mirror every day because the muscles that I have become more pronounced as the fat withers away.  It is interesting how the body can turn on itself.  "You aren't feeding me!" it shouts.  "Fine, I will start eating myself inside and out."  I swear I laid in bed and could hear my ass fat screaming in horror and running away into some unknown place.

I attended a yoga class the other night.  It wasn't nearly as refined or disciplined as I like but it felt nice to consciously provide breath to my body and to activate the muscles to assure that they will never be neglected and only bowed down to.  I plan to attend again even if the music drives me crazy.  I can seek for mental clarity elsewhere.  I have found an indoor climbing gym and that is where I will let my mind let loose.  There is something about it that I can't quite describe.  It is complete surrender to something bigger and stronger than you and yet a sense of accomplishment and effort in dominating its exterior.  I am also, once again, scheduled to bare all in the small art studio and am not afraid to say that I am excited for it.

back to stealing spoons and longing for san francisco

Starting tomorrow I am free for one month to do what I please and then I start work at the restaurant on the first of October.  I plan on spending my days between Prague and Brno getting some intensive Czech tutoring and taking a few little trips in the middle somewhere, one being to Budapest to give an old friend a big hug.  I am starting off my new sense of freedom with a detox and some art.  I am going to try to work on some pieces and feel more accomplished in my art.  Speaking of..... I applied to an art school holy shit!  I mean I feel like many people are saying to me that it is about damn time but the school will be there forever so whether or not I actually go next year is entirely up to the world I think.  I am just leaving room for the idea that after a year of traveling I may want to take some time to get my fingers inked up etc.  For all of you on the same boat as my mother.... don't get too excited.  I am still a bomb waiting to explode and the chances of my following through with school as opposed to following the next best thing that comes along are pretty slim.

Today the ladies and I listened to woman rock and they pumped out 28.5 liters.  That means that I am winning the race between Pepa and boy am I excited!  Seeing as I will be here until the end of December I think that I am going to follow through with my original thought to end up in Thailand around that time.  There are a few deep water soloing companies there that I am going to try to finagle my way into so that I can get some good climbing in my life.  It is all so disastrous and scattered but isn't that how it was meant to be?  Unknown?

I am reaching a place where it would nice to see people that I loved for an evening or two.  Maybe go to coffee?  Or a date?  A real one with fights over who has to pay for dinner and laughs.  Then again, Meredith Gray didn't date, she just got laid and she has ended up with Mc Dreamy so far.... Then again, I don't have a Mc Dreamy and I am not Meredith Gray.  

Also, I want to be an architect but only in theory.  In actuality I want to build the house that I designed.  I also want to plant vegetables.  I also want an herb garden.  I also want my life to open and close nice and tidy like into the belly of beautiful fairy tale bound book.  But alas it just will not be so.

Peacing out for a month......

on the side

keep eyes on her

she could see his sweat follow the trails of the pads of her fingertips

and followed it back to the night that she dug deep into his back

as he dug deep into her

she wonders if he found what he was looking for

if you find what you are looking for

do you then start looking for more?

and the clocks are ticking but she can't hear them

and when she sees them

ahem hem hemmm

cough, sneeze, cover your ears

why give into them and fall on your knees

when you can pass each day from one breath to the next

if you have nothing to loose

you have everything to get

and even more to give

and oh so much to take.

she admires her bruised thighs and wonders how they came to be

could that have been the night

that was never within her reality?

she aimlessly passes passengers passing by on the train

and wonders which one of them sees her for what she is

she smiles at everything and cries at nothing

she does things because she can and their are no bounds

her world is circular and she can circumnavigate

keep eyes on her and she will keep eyes on you

she doesn't allow herself to exist because what will that do?

It will force her to believe that there is a me 

and there is a you

and why should we be subject to such silly

rules of engagement?

a will of sorts is all she really has

because at the end of the day of the day she is no more

she doesn't take things with her and to let them rot would be a bore

and to let them go to the wrong places would be treacherous

how will people know her if they don't receive what they were meant to learn?

the creation in her imagination is all she cares to keep

and the only thing she can hope for is to categorize it properly

maybe in boxes of various sizes

stacked high in many rooms

all she wants is to know herself and how can she

if she doesn't know where to put all of the stuff she knows?

teepees and umbrella stamps and blue glass earings

I have come to recognize that life picks you up when you are down and throws you to the ground when you think you have reached the summit.  This sentence leads to a fork in this post.  Left tine: the term life.  I am referring to life as one would refer to whichever God she prefers to reference.  Life is the controlling force of my existence.  Right tine: the idea of reaching a summit on ones journey.  It reminds me of a time when I went on a backpacking trip with a collaboration of modge-podge friends.  Through out the journey we drew upon our hardships, our physical shortcomings, our mental incapacities to reach an actual summit etc. and defined them under the terms of life processes.  You walk and walk and walk and sweat and become so embedded in the belly of the mountains that you have lost touch with the idea that you are actually getting somewhere as well as the ability to see or remember where you came from.  When you finally manage to painstakingly make it to the top of whichever summit you have chosen to claim you have the ability to see not only where you have been but where you are going quite clearly.  The only catch is that you are no longer able to grow.  Nothing grows at such high altitude.  It remains static in existence and until it manages to muster up the courage to go through it all again and climb down the peak it will remain so forever until death.

The middle tine: the actual point of this post.  I have managed to force myself to surrender to the world.  I have managed to force myself to belittle love and what I thought it was and could be in order to love more and more intensely but with less attachment.  I have managed to travel alone and actually relish in the idea that I may well want to do it forever.  I have managed to be unsettled always but also to leave impressions.  I have managed to allow myself to be cruel for the sake of survival and not for the sake of the game.  I have managed to take my own existence and come to know it more and I have managed to enjoy the idea of wandering as such.  I am my own Howard Roark.  I am my own Harry Haller.  I am my own Dinah. I am my own Jack Kerouac.  I am my own version of all those that I have admired beyond ink pressed into paper.  I can only hope that my aspirations to live life to the fullest will be more than just aspirations.

Karel has asked me to stay in Habří through winter.  They will be opening up a restaurant in a month or so and he would like me to be the waitress.  I am not only flattered that he thinks my Czech is substantial enough but touched that he would like me to stay in the family.  He has offered me the guest house with my own kitchen and bathroom with a little more privacy and I am pretty sure I could get a small car out of the deal for convenience.  The struggle begins here.  I think I was raised, not necessarily within my home but within my culture, that there is a timeline to abide by.  Of course one can skip some steps, take a ladder here and there, but generally the timeline leads up to the defining moment of someone's existence;  who they are, what they do, who they love, where they have been, how successful they are...... It is as though the timeline shows that you have taken the appropriate steps in life for people to know that you are an admirable human being.  You finished high school and carried on to get a degree.  Maybe you didn't go to college but you have proven yourself educated in some way that gains approval.  At some point you pick a place that you love more than most others and you know you did because you "backpacked" around Europe for a month or so and saw it all some where in between.  You live here and maybe start a family or at least connect yourself with some community etc.  All of these things I could see myself truly wanting.  I want the picket fence and the big dog and the little baby on my hip and the nice garden and the sweet kisses from the perfect man.  I want to be doing what I love and contributing to a community and I want to be able to look back on all of the success and achievements of my life.  I could probably do that here....

I have an incredible living situation which could only get better and more mine if I let a career somehow shape itself into something.  I have incredible people around me and I am set in the most beautiful landscape.  I could stay and  I could fall more and more in love with where I am and what I am doing and who I am becoming but that then puts pressure on my journey.  I have to resist the idea that there is a timeline.  I can stay here for three more months, maybe even a year.....I can stay for a while and then leave and return.  There are many options out there but the bottom line is my gut and my mind both agree that I want to see more of the world and I have not yet covered that much ground.  At some point in the next week I will have to decide if staying here longer will interfere with that one thing I know to be true or if it will be good for everyone for me to hang out for the winter and leave every month on small trips.  

Teepees: Yesterday we set up a gigantic teepee and had a little bash.  There was a big pig leg the size of my entire upper body roasting over an open fire and lots of music.  I stuck around for a few hours and then started to walk to Strážek to meet up with the guys.  

Umbrella Stamps: There is a weekend long festival thing happening in the center of Strážek that all of the youth goes to to listen to punk music and get wasted.  We should keep in mind that Strážek is a city that combines six small villages under one district and the entire district is only 1000 people.  So, while the festival for them had a massive turnout of 200 people I couldn't help but imagine them in my old living room at the schoolhouse.  The umbrella stamps they gave us as we entered did nothing for us when it began to pour, thunder, and lightning all night.  Last night was my turn to take care of Petr.  It was quite the scene walking home in a complete down pour occasionally illuminated by a sky full of lightning.  Petr was draped over my better half and we were both babbling in whatever languages we could manage.  Him being plain incapable and me struggling to keep his attention with my Czech.  I woke up in the middle of the night as Petr was sleepwalking himself out of bed, pulling down his underwear, and peeing on the floor in the middle of the room.  I shot out of bed faster than he could get more than 4 drizzles out and pushed him into the bathroom.  In that moment so many things came to mind.  Lily, and all of her drunken peeing stories from the ranch mostly.  Like how it was very common for her and Mark to wet the bed together or the time that Mark peed in the corner of some room or like the time that Mark peed in the front seat of her car.......I also remembered the time that Jess sleep peed when he was a kid on the road map carpet in Wellington.  I have always found the ability for one to lose control of their bladder while under the influence to be quite ridiculous.  Namely because I have never done it (minus the one time I peed my pants while on mushrooms, but that is a completely different thing because I knew that I was doing it), but for some reason watching the whole thing play out was surprisingly cute.  I mean who would have thought witnessing a drunk, sleepwalking, boy, peeing on his own bedroom floor could be anything more than pathetic?

Blue Glass Earings: My pair of blue glass earings seem to have an innumerable amount of lives.  As I started to jog to Strážek I could feel that one was missing because of the lack of weight.  I knew that it was only a matter of two hours from the time that I showered and put them on to the point that I started jogging so as opposed to my normal reaction of complete horror in the thought of not having them in my life I calmed myself down and said that I could find them somewhere in the grass tomorrow.  They have made there way back to me so many times and sure enough, Karel found it and gave it to me today.  

This morning I woke up to Mrs. Koza asking me what I wanted for breakfast again and it was so nice to be at their house.  In the morning we all walk casually around in our underwear, drink coffee, and laugh about the night before and the day to come.  I started milking a little late this morning and was in such a good mood that I gave a shot at plugging in the portable I-pod player and jamming out.  I mean hell, it is the weekend and I was milking on my own slightly hung over.  Karel now wants to start an experiment on the affects that music has on the milking because I got more milk out of those tits today than they have all year!  Looks like the ladies like a little rock and roll to spice up their lives.....

Today I am off on day two of the great festival. 

pštrosí

Today I spotted an ostrich egg and I have no reason to deny the fact that I felt a deep connection with it.  Mirek and I were changing out the water and tending to the kid rams and I could see it from 400 meters away.  Not that they are very hard to spot in the first place but it was as though it was meant to be found by me.  We drove over to it and I reached my hand through the gap in the fence and pulled it through.  The heaviness of it seemed to be the only thing weathering the life it displayed to me.  It was cold and the heaviness only added to the fact that it homed death.  I have not quite been able to translate/sort out (seeing as it is always said to me in Czech) but the basic things that I have been able to draw from the conversations are that our ostriches have not yet "nested".  They have chosen not to dwell in the little home that has been provided for them and so they remain wild in their designated plot of earth.  

Something about holding an egg as big as my head did a number on me.  It does every time but especially this one because I was the first to hold it.  I carefully held it with two hands at all times, knowing that even if it were to fall it would surely survive without a crack, and kept insisting to myself that it was in fact an egg.  Somehow I am going to figure out a way to make it mine.  I think I can keep it.  Well, eat it first and then preserve the shell and somehow send it home.  I have to.  Every moment it becomes more of a necessity and more of an obsession.  I need to be able to hold it whenever I want for the rest of my life.  I need to be able to put it up onto a shelf and look at it and remember the moment I saw it.  I am not sure if this will all follow through but I hope for my sake, and the eggs too, that it does.

Thad should be on his way to Colorado right now and it was nice to say our goodbyes this weekend in Brno.  We did nothing special seeing as there was lots of laundry and tapping to do at Clubwash but I think it was nice to have fresh company on both sides.  The girls have been gone and will be gone all week and I am beginning to wonder how it was they decided to have me come and teach English when they are never here.  I am getting the better end of the deal surely seeing as I am the one learning a language fully and living the life.  The slightest bit of sadness approaches with each passing day.  At some point I will have to leave.  The date has not been set but it will come.  Never in my life had I imagined I would pass my days as I have been but I am very grateful for them and hope to see the land I have come to know and love again.  One the other hand I can here the land past that which I can see call out to me and I am excited to once again pack my bag, stick out my thumb, and head straight into it.

Intermission

The egg is mine!  Now, all I have to do is figure out what I am going to do with.  I only recently found out that it is possible that the ostrich could live!  Apparently they are experimenting with incubation because due to the fact that the shell is so thick the bird has a better chance of survival even if the mama doesn't take to it.  So, we are going to give it a shot and if it isn't in there I am sending it home.  If it is... well, I am adopting it and I am never leaving this place.  

It is nearing nine o'clock now which means I am pulling some pretty hefty days.  I woke up to the light cracking through my window ready to milk.  The girl always has something to prove at least my type of girl anyways.  Especially in countries where girls are typically driven towards homemaking.  I wake up when the boys do, I shovel the same shit, and stay as late as they do.  There are of course ways around it for me and both they and I know it and all the more reason to prove that I am just as capable of going through the same shit that they have to.  Twelve plus hour days of hard physical labor is basically what that entails.  My body feels more alive then it ever has and I think that is because it can feel ever part of itself in every way.  Like, damn, where did that muscle come from and why is it sooo sore?

Hangover is a bitch.

Proč nemůžu spát tady?  Well, Emily, you can't sleep here because it is a field and it is cold and it is wet and you are drunk and wearing a nice dress that now has white field marking paint on it.  GET UP!  What a good guy that Petr taking care of his psycho drunk wild American love interest.  Although, I almost would have preferred to sleep in the field and die over night over waking up and feeling like death and having to milk a bitchy, pregnant, cow, and sheep.  Oh well, at least I was drunk enough to notbe able to hear Petr grind his teeth at night.  That is the worst.  In fact, I am taking my mom's advice and while I am in Brno I am picking him up a mouthguard.  Not that we sleep in the same bed very often, it is more for his sake and the sake of his teeth.  

Last night was a blast and I am almost positive my Czech improved as the night went on.  We all met at this little building which is the designated futbol locker room and listened to terrible music.  There were maybe twenty of us and there was keg and a handle of whatever liquor you preferred and enough for each person. Damn these Europeans.  They drink themselves and everyone else around them stupid.  It is nice to let go every once in a while.  I will now take this time to quote Meredith Grey in a not so quoted fashion.  The gist is.  She drinks tequila when she needs to strip herself of the days heartache, unease, stuff..... and she basically rocks my little make believe world right now so if she can drink herself under the table and kiss boys she has no intention of loving SO CAN I!  And no Derek, you have no right to call her a hopeless whore, you did this to her....blah blah blah.  

Thad is finally leaving and I am heading down for the weekend to bid him farewell.  I haven't seen him since he left for Poland but it should be nice to catch up.  I hope we do mindless activities like watch movies and eat.  I would do anything for baked goods right now.  I am tired of running also.  I hate it.  I hate running and I do it everyday.  My record is 11 miles.  Who runs 11 miles?  Only psycho people that have too much shit going on in there head and no where to unload it.  I run and listen to music and stare at an empty bottle of whisky that rests on a shelf in front of the treadmill.  I should also mention that the treadmill is in a little cellar where we make honey.  I should also mention that I am a bee keeper.  Well, was, not anymore because we got the honey.  It is a really incredible process and one day I will write about it but the point is  that I run in a dark little room that smells of wax and honey and stare at a whisky bottle.  It is routine.  It is mindless and meditative and I hate doing it but I love what it does to me.  It makes me so tired that all I can do is go to bed and not think so much.  

This is a truly pointless post.  It contains no real substance or continuity.  It also lacks in evidence of the author (me) having any ability to write meaningfully but to top it all off here are some windows that may or may not be opened:

1.  I found a really great company in Thailand that holds deep water soloing clinics and climbing expeditions.

2.  I have researched and contacted a few cooking schools in Prague and landed myself a job there if I want it and potentially a place to live.

3.  I am getting some vaccinations for Africa because they are sooo cheap here.

4.  Patrick flies into Budapest in September and I may go meet him because he asked me too and because I can!  How cool is that.  I have never been there so why not?

5.  I am so overwhelmed by the unlimited amount of possibilities and the ability to do whatever I want.