"It's bad timing and me
We find a lot of things out this way
And there's you
A little black cloud in a dress..."

Ahhh, Billy. I love you, dear.
(Remind me to show you guys the pics of Billy Bragg, his bass player Wiggy and I in a photo booth some time... )

For some reason, whenever I feel especially restless and girlie, lyrics from Worker's Playtime pop into my head. I think that most true B.B. fans find that album to be too sentimental and frivolous, but they are probably just suffering from the long-term results of severe testosterone poisoning* and so their opinions on such matters probably don't really count. The next time I'm in a photo booth with Billy, I'll ask him what he thinks about all of this - taking into consideration that he's probably got some testosterone poisoning, too - though it does sound as if he's been treated for it.

Raar. EVERYthing chafes. I feel like I have a bra on my LIFE. It's back to bobcat fence-pacing again. And so soon... raar. The thing is, while I was in California, I heard the proverbial 'baby cry'*** and now my pacing seems simultaneously more frantic AND pleasurable. as it, maybe it has a purpose, now. Maybe when that bobcat was pacing for so long, it had forgotten that there was, um, real prey**** out there... but after it heard that sound, maybe it's pacing felt better. like there was a reason for doing it, and for a little while, it could remember.

My friend Mark made a comment the other evening about my being a "free spirit", and then he signed my guest book and said "My comment to you that "you are a free spirit" is a little short of the mark... I feel you dear lady." Such a sweet thing to say, but it really made me think. I wrote him back and told him that as nice as the thought is, I am definitely NOT free. No more so than anyone else in this enormous monkey-cage. I also said that the only difference between me and some other people is that I see the cage, and I am CONSTANTLY looking for holes.
I realize that there are probably no holes, not anymore. The world is WAY past full, and relatively "safe" places to fly away to are non-existent; but that doesn't mean that you have to just pace and accept the section of cage that you've been given. What in the hell kind of bobcat
ARE you if you don't search EVERY INCH of your borders?

A very few brave and/or stupid people have asked me "So, what are you running from, Sam?"
Well, other than abusive family members, places that remind me of horribly murdered dear ones,
the oppression of being surrounded by ignorant, close-minded people who just can't handle the all of ANYthing - much less ME - oh, and ROADS FALLING OFF THE SIDES OF !@#$ MOUNTAINS....
I'm not running from. I'm running TO. New. New experience, new sky, new smells and faces and thoughts and ideas.
I'd have never been the person I am now (someone I happen to like very much) if I'd never made the jump to here... Who ever decided that "settling down" was the prime objective anyway? I mean, look at the Vikings and the Mongols (see Fri. Feb. 7 blog). What were THEY running away from (besides the worst !@#$ winters in the history of ever and no !@#$ FOOD, of course...) Not a damned thing. They were discovering new lands. They wanted a variety of things to rape and pillage - and who could bloody blame them. One gets tired of the same old raping and pillaging, day in, day out. Sheesh.
I have a card on my fridge that says "In order to discover new lands, one has to be willing to lose sight of the shore for a very long time." I AM WILLING.
I ache to discover new lands, even if they're mostly just in the Archipelago of Sam's Psyche.

I am already making a very small catalogue of the things I'd miss here... rainy lush summer is one. Satzes and other rennies is another... But i have become a pro at learning to lose things gracefully, and frankly, one feels a lot lighter when one loses things. I've also learned, thanks to my last big jump, that the important things - the things worth missing - can never be lost. As Buffy told her girls "Well, we'd just have a reason to visit California."
I sure do love that lady, and i feel as certain of her as I do of Sandy Parker and Charlyn... No matter where I go, Half Moon Bay or Ulaanbaatar, we will still be close. All the chaff will be left behind, and I will have a handful of golden wheat - not to mention a new sky to grow under.

"If no one seems to understand
Start your own revolution and cut out the middleman -
In a perfect world we'd all sing in tune
But this is reality so give me some room -
So join the struggle while you may
The Revolution is just a T-shirt away -
Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards"

MUCH love,
-s

*as dear Dave Barry points out in his 'Complete Guide to Guys'**, steroids - INCLUDING testosterone are a controlled substance and are DANGEROUS.
**buy this book, steal it, or check it out from the library. DO read it. DO NOT attempt to drink anything WHILE reading it.
***see Saturday, Jan. 18 blog for the original reference, and Friday, June 27 for the sequel...
****sorry, i know it's a creepy thought, but it's real life.

To live content with small means,
to seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion,
to be worthy, not respectable,
and wealthy, not rich.

To study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly,
to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart,
to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions,
hurry never.

In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious,
grow up through the common.

This is to be my symphony.



-William Henry Channing-