Notes from the Red Bird House

Most nights I want to go to bed. Tonight isn't necessarily one of those nights. I'm tired but I'm off tomorrow and kind of want to take advantage of that. My life has near constant purpose from getting up early to planning my runs and workouts to squeezing in a little writing here and there to working a wild and often crazy retail schedule to going to bed early so I can get up and do it all again. Sometimes, like tonight, I really, really wish I could fuck it all and just stop. Maybe stay up late and watch a movie I've seen a dozen times or a documentary on some channel I didn't know I had. I love my life and, don't get me wrong, I know it's a hell of a lot easier and better than the lives of most people I know (the ones who are married with kids or miserable with chronically chaotic girlfriend). I'm blessed with strength, wisdom, and fierce independence. I do what I want when I want. I'm free. It's just that sometimes I'm not sure if I

Something in me wants to move to a country where I don't speak the language. While random, it's not as random as it seems. I've made a few long distance moves in my adulthood, so moving seems to be in my blood. Perhaps I'm making up for lost time because I didn't get to move around much as a child. I lived in the same house from age three until I left for grad school in Kansas, a total of nearly twenty years. Life was stable and, really, I don't think I ever thought about moving. I assumed I'd go 'away' to college, but I don't know where I planned to go after that. Maybe I dreamed of moving far away, maybe I didn't. I simply can't recall. My parents were both transplants. My dad was from L.A. and my mom was from Michigan. They moved to San Diego for my dad's work in 1972 and then they just stayed. Well, until they divorced in the early 90s. My dad chose to remain in San Diego and my mom moved back 'home' to Michigan (she now

I learned to walk when I moved to Austin. I'd never liked to walk. It was too slow and didn't burn enough calories. Besides, I was an athlete and a former competitive distance runner. Walking was for people who couldn't or for people with dogs who lived in apartments. I was too busy and needed a more efficient form of exercise. Then I moved to Austin. Too poor for a gym membership and not willing to begin running again, I started walking. A friend took me to the Hike and Bike Trail at Town Lake my second day in Austin. I started going there a few times a week. I'd walk an hour at a pretty good pace, listen to music, and finish feeling good about myself. Life in Austin sucked. I was alone in a world with too much noise and too many distractions. I was unfocused and lost. My sanity hung on single thread. Except when I was walking. The crunch of gravel under my feet and the music blasting in my head gave me a silent place where I could just be. I walked, I thought, and

It's no secret. I dislike Christmas. I hated it when I was non-Christian and I haven't changed my stance since becoming Christian. I've written on the topic many times, but I've never laid out the many reasons that color my opinion. To make it easy, I decided to put together a Top Ten list. As usual, the order has nothing to do with importance. 1. 'As Seen on TV' products. They define the inanity of Christmas retail. No one needs these products. No one. So why are people buying them? Because they need to buy gifts for everyone and have no idea what to buy. News flash - if you don't know what to buy someone, you don't need to buy them anything. 2. The proliferation of re-gifting. If you didn't like/want/need it, what makes you think someone else will? How about you just skip the gift giving all together? 3. Jesus in a Santa suit. I'd rather see Santa in a Jesus suit. 4. Let's be honest and call it what it is - Santa Claus Day. No one

I don't wish for much. Just peace really. It's not something Santa can bring or that my mother can send for Christmas. I mostly believe that if I wish hard enough, I'll get it. I'm mostly right. And completely thankful. I've been a non-celebrator for awhile now. It started because I was broke, non-Christian, and far away from my family. It didn't help that I worked retail. Religiously, Christmas didn't fit and I refused to go into debt to buy gifts I couldn't afford. It's an easy holiday to get away with not celebrating. Once you say you're non-Christian, people tend to walk away and not ask too many questions. They don't get it and have no inclination to. Distance is their polite way of coping with something so far beyond their reasoning and ensures that they avoid the lightening bolts they feel will inevitably rain down from the sky at me. Thanksgiving isn't as easy. I'm not a vegetarian nor an anorexic and refuse to pretend eve

'Pray that ye not fall into temptation.' ~ Luke 22:40 Can I get an 'Amen'? I'm on Day 3 and I can't say I'm struggling, but I'm not skipping along with confidence either. I'm tired - just plain tired and tired of it. I feel like I've been doing this awhile now and I have, with piss poor results. That's why while on vacation (never a good time to plan anything, by the way) I took a cold, hard look at the landscape of my life and decided I needed a change. I've gained nearly eight pounds in the last year, most of them in the last six months. After I started running. I don't quite understand that very frustrating connection, but needless to say the weight gain has to stop. Two weeks before my vacation (a horrid time to make changes, by the way), I made a few changes. I cut back on a couple random excesses that had become habits - no more french vanilla creamer in my convenience store coffee and no more donuts.  Unfortunately such m

I am determined that Grace happens. Whether we want it to or not. Whether we see it or not. It's there. Happening. Right before our eyes. Maybe I'm biased somehow, though I'm not sure how that could be. God didn't pluck me out and make me a 'glass half full' person. I'm not unnecessarily special or unusually buoyant. I refuse to be Suzy Sunshine and, believe me, I've seen my share of shit. Perhaps it's my view from the high road, which I seem to take more often than not. It's the long view, not the short sight, that makes Grace happen. At least for me. And remember, I'm nothing special. Others aren't me. They are determined that the world is a rough place. Shit, not Grace, is prone to happen. It's everywhere, just look at the bottom of their shoe. They've slogged through plenty and stepped in their share. Life sucks. They may not always lose, but they never win either. Happiness is as elusive as the sun on a cloudy day and sadne

I realized something last night as I put on a sweater that I know is at least a decade old. I want it on the record that I'm not a hoarder. If I haven't used it or worn it or looked at it in a year, I toss it or donate it. When I finally moved all my things out of my house in Texarkana a few weeks ago I took four trips of crap to the Goodwill. So no... I'm not one to hold onto things. The sweater, though, is different. I've worn it every fall/winter for the past ten years and apparently still have use for it. I'm sure styles change and I probably look like I'm a few years behind, but it's not something I worry about. Why not? The answer to that leads us back to my realization. I've been on the cusp of broke for most of my adult like. Not ramen-noodles-every-night-for-dinner broke or where's-my-next-meal-coming-from broke, but broke nonetheless. I've worked hard but made some interesting choices with my money. I've chased women to other st

At the very moment you say you don't wanna, God says you do. I've spent the better part of two days trying not to remember. It's not that I want to forget. I don't. I've held on for nearly ten years and I'm not going to give it up now. I simply like to pick and choose; in other words, I like control. Not always, but when it comes to her, I have no choice. Control is the only way. If I don't have it, she does. Sort of. I'm sure it's not something she wants. It's just that when it comes to her, it's never easy. I've been good. Strong even. I told the latest part of the story to a friend tonight and I felt completely in control. Clinical. Yes, clinical. Matter of fact. It's not that I don't care. I do. Potentially too much. Still. This is why I choose to leave her behind. She is part of my past, one of the best parts of my past, but my PAST nonetheless. Gone. Done. Over. Not forgotten, but not often remembered either. I'm not

I'm different off the meds. Sanity takes a lot of vigilance, which in turn takes a lot of energy, which in turn leaves me with absolutely zero tolerance for anything that smacks of bullshit, which in turn makes me incredibly anti-social. I haven't yet decided if this is a good or bad chain of events, but it is a necessary one. I like not having to take a pill every day. Sure, I probably forgot to take them almost as often as I remembered, but either way I was medicated and sanity came easier. At least I think that was 'sanity'. I was easier going on the outside and far more social. I guess that's normal/sane. Now I'm easier going on the inside and far less social. I guess that's abnormal/insane. I'm good with the unmedicated me; I just don't think the rest of the world (at least the close-by world) is cool with it. I get disappointed comments, questioning looks, and the occasional guilt trip. They don't get it. They say they do, and maybe the