Adventures in Online Dating

I have been messing around with Match.com and e-harmony quite a bit recently, keeping my eyes open for potential encounters. I haven’t been getting out too much recently and as I have mentioned before, my options in the area are quite limited. Which is to say, the best way to meet women in Sandpoint is through the bar or church. I don’t really like the bar scene except socially with friends anyway, and I don’t attend church, nor intend to. I try to keep an open mind, but I have been burned too often dating religious women and I think it would simply be easier not to play with fire. I have faith in love. They seem to have more faith in their own self-righteousness than love, most of the time.

I briefly put my letter to Ella up as my profile, but in browsing the web researching how to do a better job I ran across Geeksdreamgirl.com. It’s a small business ran by a copywriter, E, from thinkgeek.com who helps geeks find love via online dating. It encourages geeks to be themselves, and offers advice on how to present one’s geekness in a way that potentially could appeal to a non-geek willing to be tolerant of geekdom. She has a 100 page e-book called You Geek, They Grok or something like that. She had me at Grok. It’s $15 bucks, but I agree with the reviewer who said that it’s not only applicable to online dating, but to resumes and cover letters as well. If you are into online dating, whether you are a geek or not, I recommend it. While it is tailored toward geeks and often makes allusions to rolling twenty sided dice and making saving throws, (Dungeons & Dragons references), I think it is well written, easy to read, and the advice applicable to anyone with a profile, whether it is on Match or LinkedIn. 

If more people used the tools E offers, I think matches made online would skyrocket. I know that I encounter endless profiles that are so blah or mundane that I am not moved to email the lady, no matter how pretty I think she is. And I like pretty girls. I am glad you are a nice, down to earth, woman looking for Mr. Right or Prince Charming or a gentleman, but hey, so is Mary, Sue, Carry, and George. If the only thing you have going for you is a nicer smile, a trim figure, and more interesting plumbing than our friend George over there, than I’m going to keep looking. Maybe Sarah actually has something to say about herself. Let’s check out her profile:

Oh no!!! I'm putting out a World Wide Web bulletin to get everyone's help. You see, I've lost my smile. I'm not really myself without it. I have a couple leads that give me hope that it may have been found, including a vague description. He appears to be between 26 and 36 years old, but may act younger than his age? (fun not immature). He is at least 5'7" (I am 5’4”) not a slender man but doesn’t live at the gym either. He has relaxed/rustic looks with a down-to-earth attitude, values, and personality. He loves music and may be found at concerts. I have conflicting reports that he's either old-fashioned or romantic. He's intelligent with his own career and is goal oriented. Spontaneity and adventure is a given, in most situations. If this person can be found, I can offer a reward of lifetime devotion, long, slow kisses that last for days, midnight massages, a partner that loves to cook and doesn't mind sharing the household chores, someone to leave love notes, a shoulder to lean on, and someone who will hold you at night. If you think you may have found my smile, please e-mail me as I really need it to be myself. Thanks.

I love this. If she never emails me back, I will still have enjoyed reading her words. It was fun, engaging, and endearing. It was charming. I was charmed. Her words resonate with what I want, enjoy, am looking for myself. It isn’t a perfect match, but life isn’t. My beard is about as rustic as my look gets and my idea of relaxed is flip-flops, jeans and a plain t-shirt or button-up with the sleeves rolled up. For lifetime devotion, lifetime kisses and someone to cuddle? I could be happy with a woman who never wore a skirt or dress.

Sarah’s is one of a handful of profiles that I have ever seen with something truly interesting that awakens my imagination. One of the others is the reason I am even subscribed to Match right now, even though, sadly, she took her profile down. C’est la vie. While my subscription last, I will continue looking.

What do you think? If you’re in the online dating scene, would you be happier with more detailed profiles?

P.S. If you’re on my friend’s list and want to check out my profile and tell me what you think (and point out whether or not the pictures I chose should stay or go), let me know and I will leave you a private message with my Match username.

And 877 words, goodnight.

-m0rg4n

Dear Ella

My dear Ella,

I am writing you in epistolary form because I have more practice writing letters than anything else. I enjoy writing letters, usually by hand, and have had several pen pals over the years, though only one now. (You remind me that I need to write my grandma, very soon, thank you.) If you’re curious as to who Ella is, well, perhaps you are. Ella is related to the German word, “all” and in my mind, the French word “she”. I write my songs to Ella, my potential future, because I am tired of writing love songs for no one. (See John Mayer’s song, Love Song for No One.)

While I am eager, ma chere, I am not impatient. I have waited a long time to meet you and will wait as long as I have to. I will always believe that you’re there, somewhere, waiting for me as well. We are both looking for a friend, a confidant, a companion, a lover: someone to play and explore the world with.

What I want from life is simple. Work with meaning; a simple, comfortable lifestyle; and someday a family. I don’t need the newest gadgets, nor expensive toys. I want my dog by my side, or in the back seat, since she won’t fit in either your lap or mine for much longer, depending on who is driving. Someday soon I’ll trade my Accord for a Forerunner or Tacoma, ideally, and have a 16’ Hobie Catamaran sailboat to pull behind it. I dream of spending weekends sailing on the lake, setting up a tent on some forgotten or rarely visited beach and sailing back on Sunday evenings. In my mid or twilight years I’d like to live above, or close to, a coffee shop/wine bar/used book store, with a dance floor off to one side so I can teach swing once a week or so. I intend to run this establishment. Hopefully this will be in addition to being a successful, published writer. That’s the dream, subject to change. In the meantime, I have a regular job.

If I were an animal, I would like to think I would be a mastiff. (Which is part of why I chose to get one.) They’re loyal, strong, loving, and affectionate dogs that enjoy exercise and play but equally love to laze about with their loved ones and get lost in a good book. Hopefully you enjoy that image as much as I did.

One of my ultimate life goals is to be a Renaissance man and on the road toward that achievement I have traveled and moved a lot in my life, both as a child and adult. I have lived in four countries, including the US, and three states. I am constantly looking up stuff I don’t know on Wikipedia and I study things that interest me, such as Positive Psychology, regardless of the fact that I graduated from college ages ago.

I am a lot of things, some of them juxtaposed against each other. I like to be clever and get along with people who laugh at my appreciation for my own cleverness. I laugh at my own jokes, because then at least one person is laughing. ;) I am serious and playful, sarcastic and sincere, confident and shy. I believe in being good for good’s own sake, loving freely regardless of what you get in return, and constant self-improvement. To really get to know me will take someone with patience, someone willing to forego labels and wait and see who I am in a variety of situations. I promise to do my best to give as good as I get.

I won’t tell you who the girl of my dreams is. I am hoping you far outshine her.

I have been around the world, and I have done a thousand things. But as one of my songs goes, “I’m tired of playing at being a tumbleweed. I want to put down roots and grow into a tree.”

I can’t wait to meet you, Ella.

Sincerely,

m0rg4n

A Waltz for the Chance I Should Take

Life moves forward. Mira went to the vet on Monday and weighed in at 18 pounds at 9 weeks. I got her new food on Tuesday and started transitioning her over. She likes the new food a lot. I even use individual kibble bits as rewards for good behavior. Haha. Best “treats” ever. I am absolutely taking advantage of this for as long as it continues to work. After Mira, I don’t know if I will ever be able to own anything but a mastiff. She is a great puppy and she promises to be an awesome dog. So awesome that I am considering breeding her once she is old enough. Have to find another Newfoundland/English Mastiff mix for the sire though. That possibility is a long way off, however. I wouldn’t breed her until she was at least two. I won’t be spaying her until then either way, since it can cause stunted growth and incontinence in females if done earlier.

I have been browsing dating sites in my spare time. Meeting women in this area is a challenge anyway, particularly since I don’t really enjoy spending time at church or bars. The activities I enjoy (dancing, acting), have yielded acquaintance with very few women between 21 and 30, sadly. It’s just not a common age group for singles in my town. There’s a wider pool in the more populated area 45 minutes to an hour and a half south of me, which doesn’t excite me, but is probably my best bet for a decent romance.

Online dating doesn’t really excite me. I would rather meet someone the old fashioned way. I am considering e-harmony once I am in a better position to afford it, but we’ll see. I have a profile on match and well, that’s why I am really talking about this today.

I ran across a woman’s profile on match.com earlier this week that I am really excited about. It was well and extensively written with a lot of personality. If more women had profiles like hers, I would be a much bigger fan of online dating. But, as I said in an email to her, I think it’s better this way. I want someone special, and I imagine she wants to be someone special. (Who doesn’t?) If I wanted just anyone, I’d chase any pretty face.

Initially I sent her a wink and modified my profile for a personal note to her. However, I was so inspired and excited by her words, (and pictures, I admit that I want both), that I went ahead and approached her through the email system. The giddy feeling of hope and the inspiration it brings is enough for me. I love feeling this way and should she never respond, I will still be happy to have even a momentary muse.

I want to share the email I wrote her. You know me. I like sharing. Since her profile encouraged a little persistence, I’ll probably wait a week and write again if she doesn’t respond.

Mademoiselle Spunkyhook,



It is always with some trepidation that I actually subscribe to Match. I am rarely inspired enough to make the first move online, largely because I have what I like to call high standards, but others might just say I am picky and leave it at that. Or something less kind. What others say doesn't really matter in the end, right? How's that Dr. Suess quote go? "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." I think however, that you are worth the risk, whether you decide to keep your dresser or someday trust me enough to let me see this infamous piece of furniture.



Before I go on, I would like to introduce myself. My name is Morgan [Lastname]. If you read my profile you'll see that I actually wrote you a personal note for all and sundry to see. I think I made a glaring assumption about what This American Life is, but if you'll agree to find it somewhat endearing, I will happily be appropriately embarrassed. (Ok, I might be a little already, if my suspicions are correct.)



It is my hope, and I am a big fan of hope, that you will take my excitement with a grain of salt. Hope, after all, was the finest thing Pandora let out of her box and without it, what are we? I equally hope you will consider corresponding with me, and I am willing to jump through whatever hoops will make you comfortable enough to meet in the future. 



I have often wondered why stories don't end in morals anymore, and intend to pay attention to the moral in yours. I must admit though, my favorite moral is from Little Bunny Foo Foo: Hare today, Goon tomorrow. One of my more endearing traits, obviously, my taste for bad puns. . .



I say earnestly, because being earnest is important and I'm largely incapable of being otherwise, (almost to a fault), that I look forward to hearing from you. As I said in my profile-note, I have never encountered a profile I enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed yours. In a perfect world, everyone would have as much to say as you did, and be as charming doing so. But I am inclined to think it is better this way. I am looking for someone special and I would like to imagine, even at the risk of making another assumption, that you want to be someone special.



Sincerely Yours,



Morgan [LastName]

I realize that it may not all make sense, since I referred multiple times to information from her profile, but I think you can get the gist of what I said. To be honest, I am always a little worried about coming on too strong, but at the same time, I want to be myself, and being passionate and excited about people I find reason to admire is part of who I am. If someone can’t accept that about me early on without taking it too seriously, I will just continue with that forward movement. Life is a river, and it flows on.

But there’s hope. Always hope. The possibilities excite and inspire me. Even if she never gives me answer, she’ll still have given me a song. Some people want to fill the world will silly love songs, and what’s wrong with that, I’d like to know? Because here I go again. . .

And a thousand words, goodnight.

-m0rg4n

A Mastiff's Best Friend

I have been excessively lax in my writing of 1,000 words a day. Like most habits I try to build, it went strong for about a month then collapsed under the weight of life. It is still a goal, however, and I do intend to try to move back toward it. I have different distractions now than I did a month ago. First and most important, Mira!

Mira is two months old as of Sunday. I am fairly convinced that she is the best puppy ever. As they say, a parent’s delusions of their child’s beauty, intelligence, personality, etc. is what keeps us from drowning them at birth. Ha ha. Mira is a great dog for being as young as she is, though. She isn’t housebroken yet, but we are working on it. On the other hand, she likes to stay close, cuddle and I am breaking her of her biting habit finally. For all that I have been working on it for just a week, it was a long week of frustrating biting whenever she wanted to play.

If you’re new to the discussion, Mira is a mastiff, (1/2 English, 1/4 Brazilian Fila, 1/4 Newfoundland). If you ever decide to raise one, throw out everything you think you know about dog training and start researching. (I recommend mastiff-forum.com, where everyone has already asked every question you can think of.) Some things remain the same, but they have a peculiar temperament that requires specific behaviors from their owners. Mira’s biting habit is a perfect example.

I tried a firm voice, repeating “No.” to her. No luck. Mastiff’s, in spite of their strong desire to please their owner, don’t respond well to negativity and they’re stubborn. The more you tell her not to do something, the more she tries to do it. I can out-stubborn her, but it’s easier to distract her. When it came to biting I read a suggestion from someone who recommending yelping and walking away so the puppy would know that if she bites, playtime was over. I didn’t go so far as to walk away, since often the biting was taking place in my lap. I did start saying “Oww” in a loud, high-pitched voice every time Mira bites me. She doesn’t like it, and I think she understands that the sound means it hurts when she bites. She just wants to play, without hurting anyone. So she’s been biting less and less and stops quickly when I start saying “Oww.” She will try a couple times after the first time, as if to test me, but I repeat the sound and she stops. It did result in more puppy kisses though, but I am not going to make the effort to train that one out of her.

One of the best parts so far is Mira’s response to crate training. I didn’t actually have to make any effort to teach her. My mom, who is understandably in love with her, took her to a luncheon she had with several of her friends. On the car ride she put Mira in the dog carrier. When I was preparing to stop sleeping on the floor with the puppy, I put the carrier next to my bed. About halfway through the night I grew tired of being eaten during “playtime,” slipped her into the kennel and closed the door. She didn’t complain, just curled up and went to sleep. She still gets me up about 5 am, but that’s a blessing compared to every couple hours or so. The only real problem is the fact that she’s going to outgrow that carrier REALLY fast. There’s a good chance she’ll be 30 pounds by the end of the month. I haven’t weighed her this week, but she’s definitely getting harder to carry around. Great exercise though, since we don’t let her go up and down our main stairwell by herself due to it being hard on her joints. We will see how I feel about that when she weighs over 90 pounds this winter.
The Brazilian Fila mastiff is the lightest of the three breeds Mira is descended from. She is only a quarter Fila though. I figure she will have a final weight ranging between 90 to 200 pounds. The other two breeds are true giants, however, so it is likely she will end up in the middle of that range. I am ok with that. People keep pointing out that her food is going to be somewhat expensive and her poop huge. Not such a big deal to me. I want a big dog. She is going to be perfect for me. I wish I could spend more time with her, though. That will get easier when she is housebroken and older, however. My work allows people to bring their dogs on Fridays.

If you can’t tell, I am very happy to have my puppy. She will be the first dog I have raised all on my own. So far she is everything good about a mastiff without any of the socialization problems they sometimes have, particularly the Brazilian Fila. I think it helps that we have had a lot of company in and out since I got her, and she’s been on a couple of social visits and she’s yet to have an adverse reaction to anyone. She always comes back to be close to me, though, which is exactly what I expected from the reading I have done.

Beyond spending as much time with Mira as I can to strengthen our bond, I just finished our final performances of The Music Man. I played Charlie Cowell, the antagonist, and made the most of it. Of course, singer and dancer that I am, I somehow was cast in the only pure acting role. I did my part and did it well, so no one can complain if I express a little disappointment. The role became one of things that “Is what it is” rather than any source of pleasure, really. Then again, I don’t really act for the love of acting. I enjoy meeting people, the validation of those who appreciate my talents, and having my time full of something more than sitting in my apartment. I was nervous less in this production than I ever have been. I just did my part and knew I would do it better and better each time. Whether we had 250 or 450 people in the audience, it was simply what I had committed to doing in the moment. So I did it. Charlie Cowell was a slimy, arrogant jerk, but he was still trying to do the right thing. You have to pity him a little, he was trying to protect people from a con man and got shafted due to poor circumstance. Any other town and he would have been a hero. That is how I saw him, so that was how I played him. It is hard to imagine we haven’t all felt that way at some point.

The play is over now and I am excited to see what I do with the time I have free. I will be starring in a short film written by a local come the first week of August and a family of actors from Music Man asked me to play a British character named Froggy in a comedy called the “The Foreigner.” The rehearsals and timing of the later have yet to be determined. Beyond those two things, I am done with theatre for a while. I have things of my own to take care of. Like Mira! That may mean saying no to the people who want to cast me as Orson Wells in a radio play rendition of War of the Worlds. Well, knowing how to say no is just as important to one’s happiness as saying yes.

Forty-five minutes before I get to head home to my puppy! Always exciting.

And a thousand words, goodnight.

-m0rg4n

The Names of Things

So, it seems as though things may be moving forward in one direction or another. I came to a decision about moving back out to the property, and I’ll start moving over the next month. I’ll take a little time doing it, since I’ll have paid my rent, but I expect to be out sooner rather than later. Not least of all because I may have found the puppy I want.

Since I made my decision, I started looking online for dogs available in the area, researching breeds, etc. I’ve been loosely interested Newfoundland, Bernese Mountain Dogs, German Shepherds, Mastiffs and possibly a wolf/hybrid. Most of these are far, far out of my price range and I spent a little time looking at rescue sites as well. I really want to raise the pup myself, however, so my heart wasn’t into the rescue idea. However, through my search I discovered a litter that is 1/2 English Mastiff, 1/4 Fila Mastiff and 1/4 Newfoundland. Coincidentally, I also discovered what my top price is. Haha.

I emailed the breeder to see if they had any puppies left (they won’t be available until July 8th), and he returned my email promptly. There is only one male in the litter, which I’d prefer for practical reasons, (they’re much cheaper to get neutered), but I will wait until I have met the pups to make a decision.

Finally, I have to decide on a name. For quite a while now I have told people I want to name my next dog Metaphor. I had a classmate in my creative writing poetry classes who would always make statements like, “That’s not a baaad metaphor,” and I was endlessly reminded of someone berating a dog. “No! Bad Metaphor. Bad dog.” In fact, I was so enamored of the idea I was actually going to name the dog Metaphor Bentley, after the fellow. I am no longer certain. As a fantasy, it’s a great one. Realistically? I don’t know. We will see. It depends on whether the pup is male or female and how it behaves.

Names are important to me. I have named or supplied the names for all my family’s pets for ages. Between my own past pets and my parent’s we have had the cats: Midas, Bast, Moomba, Cheshire, Isis, Osiris, Athena, and Jasper. The dogs are/have been Topaz, Hero, Sebastian, Viola. I had a Doberman named Charlie Brown, but I didn’t name him, nor would have. I believe names are symbolic. In many ways the name we give something defines our expectations of it. That’s one of the reasons I have a hard time when people give ridiculous names to characters in games.

As you can tell, I am fond of mythological or literary names for animals. I would consider Prospero for a male mastiff or Hero for a female. (I couldn’t stand the last pup I name Hero, in some ways I don’t want to be reminded of it, but in others I want to reclaim the name, because I love it as a name.) Prospero is Shakespearean, and Hero, while also Shakespearean, stems for me from the poem “Hero and Leander” by Christopher Marlowe, one of Shakespeare’s contemporaries. Time will tell, and when/if I get the puppy and decide, I will share.

I am sure it comes as no surprise that I have spent a fair amount of time thinking about what names I would like to give my children should I ever be lucky enough to have any. I find it’s a lot easier to come up with girl’s names, which makes sense. After all, I want a daughter more than anything. It is much more challenging to give a child a name than a dog, or should be. I consider the meaning, the historical references I know, and the flow of it. I intend to name my children something that sounds good to the ear both as first and last name and first middle and last. (Though I am not certain a middle name is really all the necessary. Traditional, but unless there’s someone you want to remember, I have difficulty seeing the point. I will see what my eventual significant other thinks.) The names I like change over the years, of course, but the concerns remain. In fact, one of the many things I find appealing about Eden thus far is the way her name sounds. Should I never see her again, I will still seriously consider it a name for a daughter. It fits with my last name like a glove. I also really like the name Penelope. It sounds good, it’s a cute name and yet it is the name of a wise, good woman in Greek mythology. Penelope was Odysseus’ wife and stayed true to him in spite of all his journeys. On the opposite end, for comparison, as pretty as the name Cassandra is, I couldn’t give her name to my child. I would endlessly be reminded of the woman from the Iliad, who could see the future but was cursed to never have anyone believe her.

Time to go!

Enough words, goodnight.

-m0rg4n

Paradise Met

I have to remind myself sometimes, alright, often, that my tendency to understate things actually belittles my experience. It is very easy to respond to a question about my weekend with a shrug and, “It was okay.” It wasn’t just okay. It was actually pretty good. Good things happened. I enjoyed myself. To say otherwise isn’t fair to my weekend or me. It is a more subtle negative, but a negative nonetheless.

In spite of spending maybe 15 minutes on stage and 5 hours in/around the theatre for rehearsal Saturday morning, I didn’t mind too much. The most eventful thing I did in the time between the beginning and the end was to fetch a bag of ice for a girl who came down hard on her ankle. I finished reading The Sun Also Rises for the second time and briefly spoke with a woman in the play who wants to mentor a single young professionals group.

Our conversation was interesting, particularly due to its resonance with my current frame of mind. It was the second time that day that I heard my concerns echoed, albeit from two vastly different sources. A friend of mine who owns an organic food café told me about the astrological significance of the present. Apparently it is the best opportunity we have for growth, according to the stars. It is a time to break out of our cycles and move forward. Considering my recent feelings of being stuck on a carousel, it was an interesting coincidence.

The other conversation was significantly less spiritually oriented, which meant it was easier for me to discuss and listen. In the end however, it was the same theme. Our generation doesn’t want to work mindlessly without purpose. We don’t want to further the corporate machine unless we’re doing some kind of “good work” while we’re doing it. Kate, the woman I was talking, recognized that the business mindset in our town is driving away young professionals and she wants that to change. I hope she does start some kind of group, I would be very interested in attending.

At the end of the short rehearsal break we took for lunch, I walked up to a local café for a mocha. My path took somehow meandered through the Farmer’s Market, where a young woman selling flowers had caught my eye last weekend. We’ll call her Aeris for a brief moment before I reveal her name. Sure enough she was there again and though I didn’t linger, I was pleased to see her again. She is about my height, (5’9”) give or take an inch, with light blonde hair and a genuine, constant smile. I wandered by, got my coffee and wandered back through with a smile of my own that I shared with no one and everyone in particular.

After rehearsal I did a little personal writing, breaking the paradigm of my computer desk and moving the monitor and keyboard to the floor. It is a curious thing, but such a tiny way of arranging my world to suit me instead of vice versa is very satisfying. My guitar received a little attention as well. I played through Rufus Wainwright’s version of “Hallelujah” and Jimmy Buffet’s “Love in the Library.” I don’t often play covers, so it was nice to practice a couple.

At 6 o’ clock I met up with my friend Liz and we walked the couple blocks from her house to a new sushi restaurant in town, Big Tuna. Three of our co-workers were sitting outside when we arrived, so we joined them. They only served rolls, no nigiri or sashimi, but combined my two favorite kinds of sushi into one roll, so I wasn’t too disappointed. Cucumber and tuna? Thanks!

In spite of Liz’ several attempts to back out, after dinner I dragged her another couple blocks to the monthly ballroom dance. I don’t know many people as expressive as Liz is, so it quickly became clear that she was having a lot of fun. There were also several people from the play there, all much younger, but it was good to see them outside of the theatre.

I hadn’t been in the room for more than a moment when I saw my Aeris. She had changed into a simple, elegant black dress, and a pair of heels, but only stood out even more than she did in jeans with her hands full of flowers at the Farmer’s Market. I pointed her out to Liz. After I’d danced with Liz a few times and one of my students, I asked her to dance. Not only is she lovely and bright enough to notice in any crowd, she’s a very graceful dancer as well. Her name is Eden.

Liz left after an hour or so, as she wasn’t feeling great. She made sure to give me some pointed advice on how to win the girl before leaving. Since her advice was simply what I wanted to do and not something I had planned out, I took it. I made certain not to ignore the other people I knew or take too many of Eden’s dances, but I claimed a lot of them. When the night was over, I asked for her number, in the interest of dancing with her again. She gave it to me and we exchanged goodbyes.

Afterward, I went back over to chez Liz, where we drank sauvignon blanc and watched BioDome. I haven’t seen that movie in ages, but it still makes me laugh. I don’t know what makes good stupid humor and bad stupid humor, but there’s definitely a line out there somewhere. When it ended, I went home and slept until it was time to greet the new day.

Sunday was less eventful, but pleasant. I woke up early, since I only seem to be able to really sleep in when I don’t want to get up for work. I had breakfast with my dad and spent the rest of the day playing Civ V: Gods and Kings with a brief interlude of D&D that I wasn’t really feeling up to. I talked to my dad about moving back into the cabin, which is something I have been thinking about recently. I have to give my landlord thirty days notice, so I have to decide by the end of the week whether or not I am going to do so. Dad can use the help around the property and I think he gets lonely with Mom off in Arizona for the school year. I could use the money I will save when I don’t have to pay rent and will be able to get a pup of my own. I think it’s time. It’s been over a year since I last moved. Not sure how to deal with that. -playful grin-

It was a good weekend. Don’t believe me if I try to tell you otherwise.


Her name,
a bell ringing
‘gainst the song of the world
a cello, bow on its strings
a trumpet, calling out,
resounding,
echoing on my tongue
the sound of a note
I had almost forgotten
I have been waiting to hear.

And a thousand words, goodnight.

-m0rg4n

What Do You Live For?

When I write lyrics,
I feel like my words are trapped.

The line break there was completely unintentional. It was just one of those things that happens when you’re typing. Less intentional than a typo. More like a Freudian slip of a finger that got excited without being asked to, like a dog when you accidentally drop the word “walk” into a conversation he happens to be listening to. Perhaps I should apologize to my finger as I would a dog, No, I’m sorry boy, not right now.

The voice you hear right now isn’t quite my own. There are echoes in it, echoes of Neil Gaiman and Patrick Rothfuss. I am ok with this. They are echoes I want you to hear when I write, along with Orson Scott Card, a dash of Heinlein, and some trimmings of Hemingway. When I write lyrics, I want you to hear a little Collective Soul, a tea/tablespoon of Our Lady Peace, spiced with Rob Thomas and seasoned with Jason Mraz, Train, and Joshua Radin. Of course, I just want those things to bring out the main flavor. . . I want you to hear me.

My problem then, stems from two sources. The first, which may render the second null and void, is my favorite critic. The problem with him is that he’s just about as good for me as drinking too much the night before, or singing karaoke in a smoke-filled bar when I have to get up at 7 for work the next morning. He’s a pretty good critic, he’s had a lot of practice. He’s been following me around like a bad hangover my whole life. He needs to work out, he’s fat from all the negativity he’s fed on.

The second problem? I feel like my words are trapped. I run in this endless cycle of themes and words that beat their heads repeatedly into my haphazard rhyme schemes. Destiny. Fate. Shadows. Silhouettes. Moment. Me. You. Love songs written through the lens of fiction, folk and faerie tales, mythology. My critic is discontent. He says I can do better. He points at Collective Soul, Our Lady Peace, and Jason Mraz and says. Look at them. Look at what they can do with their words. I want to scream in his face, STOP FUCKING COMPARING YOURSELF TO OTHERS. Somewhere, a skinnier, not-quite-malnourished wolf in the background whines discontentedly and paws his empty food bowl. It’s hard to remember to feed him with the other so demanding, so strong.

I haven’t always been hard on myself. I meant to write the opposite, that I have always held myself to these expectations that I keep failing to meet. The absolute of it ran into a wall at my sophomore year of high school. I remember how much I worked to study French. It only seems like work in retrospect, because I know I didn’t notice back then. It was just how I studied. How I met the goal set before me. I miss that sense of effortless effort. It just was, and it was just what I did and how I did it. It may have even been fun. I can’t remember, that part of the memory is obscured by the mists of passing years. I think it was. A lot of the things that grew up to seem like work were just things I did for fun to pass the time when I was young. I wrote my first attempt at a story when I was in elementary and middle school. Only once since then have I had an attempt at fiction break the page count record I set then. I love writing. . . but it isn’t so effortless now.

Perhaps it is simply the lack of practice. The drowning of imagination in the worry and care of being an adult. The attempt to slog a path through a bog of life that has never had a clear one for me. I am where I am now simply as an effort to survive. Career doesn’t have much appeal to me. Corporate life has much, much less. Where once we worked in tune and time with our bodies and the earth to make it through our days, now we cast ourselves into meaningless factories of information and profit.

When I write lyrics,
I feel like my words are trapped.
My life lacks purpose.
I need more meaning than God,
I need a higher goal than heaven.
I am still floating
or trudging or slogging
through one of the boggy sections
of the river of life.
The water is clearer than it once was,
but the day is still young
and the fog that rose from the cold night air
where it touched the warmth of the water
(or was it the warm air on cold water?),
that fog still lingers and I can’t see
even to where the river bends.

A purpose gives people a lodestone, a compass, a North. It is a north star, a guiding light. There must be more to being than simply being and more to a journey than a road that is both path and destination. If I am to simply be, than why be at all? Not being is unacceptable. The fog-ridden bog I am in feels like not being. I am like the plant I keep on my counter in my apartment. It is alive. It is strong. It can’t grow. It has fed on nothing but water for over a year. There is no soil for its roots. No nutrients. Just subsistence. Survival. That plant and I have a lot in common. We both want more. More. More. I want more.

A friend of mine went sky diving recently. I thought the idea of it would leave a bad taste in my mouth, the way the idea avocado and cheesecake does. It was one of those things I could never imagine myself doing. I don’t enjoy jumping off of high things. I don’t enjoy the battle inside myself between fear and action. She made her experience sound so beautiful, so freeing that I don’t know anymore. If the opportunity arrives, I may not be able to say no.

And secretly, so secretly, if the opportunity arrives, I hope it doesn’t come when the moment will be defiled by a private desire that my chute won’t open, that the next car will claim what I refuse to, that some terminal disease will steal me from the world early. That tiny dark voice is not me. It doesn’t belong to the man I am. It doesn’t belong to the man I want to be. But it comes from the dark forest into the clearing of my soul, and lingers on the edges. How I wish to walk further down the river, and be swept away from this piece of darkness inside of me.

The sky is blue. I am not sure I see it.
The sun is shining. I am not sure I feel it.
But out in the sun and sky is where I want to be.