R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Sock It To me.

I'm getting older. This becomes apparent not very much in my form--thankfully, I'm sporting a hotter body than ever (albeit slightly squishified in the midsection compared to last summer, but once I get the punching bag up in the garage it'll only take a few sessions to be bikini-ready again) and I am always assumed to be about 24 years of age. These things are highly agreeable in the aging department. No, how I feel mildly offended by men I don't know speaking coarsely or just using overtly blue language with me before they know a single thing about me. Specifically, this comes working at a bar; approaching a table full of half-drunk men in their 20s who are dropping f-bombs more than any other word, I want to admonish them soundly for their language in front of a lady before I ask them what sort of domestic swill they'd like to ingest. But would it make any sense to them? I'm feeling that the understanding of this is rapidly slipping in those currently younger than 25.

Who would have ever thought that once a gal reached a certain age, she'd want respect. The curious thing is, outside of those brash f-bomb dropping men, I'm getting it. This may be the most telltale sign of all regarding my aging. It's not that anyone calls me ma'am now, but that a certain level of courteousness has crept into my social interactions. And maybe it is just as much me, my personality, as it is my age; I feel now I no longer need to apologise for my actions, I do what I wish, and I will not be repentant (this comes also with an inherent lack of doing things I should need to feel apologetic for, of course). My tolerance for putting up with other people's day-to-day bullshit is at a low. It all feels a little chicken or the egg. I am still the brassy, mostly unfiltered woman those who know me (hopefully) love, but somehow, in the growing pains of the last two years, a distillation process has also occured which finds me getting what I want from people with minimal fuss (and also finds me offering compromises with minimal fuss).

And these last two years, well, that is perhaps another thing. It's only become clear to me the past three or four months what it's been about. A chain of events put me into a chaos spiral which was ultimately incredibly beneficial, but lost in the whorl of it, it was hard to see a way out. A failed relationship, loving, tender, flawed, came to a necessary end spring of 2008. Hindsight shows me that up until approximately five months into my current loving, tender, flawed relationship, I was battling with the fallout of that failure two years ago. A two year bender came in its wake, both Liquor and Dick. Couldn't really get enough of either, and neither (or none) of it was right. I met Andy and still none of it was right, despite Little Brain Voice telling me it was. I was ready to be done with the bender, but a little more chaos was in store. I think once I reached the point of complete financial ruin, it all became clear: This Is Not What I Want. Of course, I'm a long way off from realising anything I do want, but it feels like I am making strides toward where those things exist. I'm making enough money right now to have myself almost debt free by 2012 (just in time for the apocalypse, wherein debt will not matter, hee haw). The student loans will remain, to the tune of about $5,000, hopefully down from their current standing of nearly $15,000. I'll have paid off my credit cards, my car, all outstanding small debts owed friends and the like. Once the student loans are paid, that frees up almost $700/month which can go toward a downpayment on a house. Or a lengthy move to Tennessee. Or both. Things with Andy continue to be difficult, but I know he's the one for me. It's odd to be in a relationship that's toeing it's strongest period more than 10 months in.

All things are always in flux, but it does feel that a future I want is on the horizon.

Someday, I'll be a real girl

I am struggling a ton with the future.

IT IS FUCKING TERRIFYING.

I want to make music. Very specific music. But I do not know musicians who could assist me, and I feel, more and more, that perhaps this is something I will have to do very much on my own. In a house. In the country. In Tennessee. The urge to flee comes on strong about every three weeks, and each time it's a little stronger, more desperate, than the first.

But, perhaps more desperate, is the complete lack of actual creative drive. I feel that there is shit working in there, and that one day I'll paint, or write or put together a tune, but fuck all if it ain't just dust right now.

Things I want in my future (projection of this "future" about three years from now):

At least half if not all debt eradicated (current: approx. $18,000)
Not being a waitress
A complicated, loving relationship that constantly keeps me on my toes; i.e. Andy
At least something resembling a firm plot to have a child
At least something resembling a firm plot to own a house
One solid showing of my art not in a coffee shop or middling gallery
A second book of poetry published (I think next year's the year for that; the first, Chaos to Grace, was published in 2001)
The completion or at least major progress on my novel(la), Sumtime Silver Snippety
At the very least, preliminary work on music project, A Deceit of Lapwings, which will include learning how to record music, accumulating instruments, taking voice lessons to regain my high range and hone tone
A stint in Tennessee of about 6 months to 1 year to refine/do most of the above

Careers I could take on/would enjoy doing to make a living which I'll likely never get in creative pursuits:

carpentry and framing
landscaping
anthropological work in the fields of Christianity and/or pop culture


Now that I've put all that down on "paper", how the fuck do I get there? It's that question which brought me to tears today. So I decided to figure out what I want, put a reasonable timeframe on it, and get crackin'. The debt goes first, and at the close of this year, I expect to have a solid dent in it.

Someday, I'll be a real girl.