1. One of our regular patrons brought in a dozen doughnuts for us on Friday from Joe’s Doughnuts. He said that he was helping us acquire our layer of “winter fat.” You know, because he cares about his friendly neighborhood librarians. How thoughtful of him!
2. Good thing I didn’t give away my Gap Curvy Fit pants.
3. I really miss running.
As I mentioned previously, when I moved my blog to WordPress.com I lost all of the categories and tags to every. single. blog post I’ve ever written here. How long have I had this blog? Since January 2003. So yeah. Lots of updating and cleaning up for Miss Monica (because I compulsively have to catalog and organize. I am a librarian. That is what we do.)
The process has been interesting though. I’ve actually taken the time to read the posts. I am shocked at how much I have changed. How much has changed. My surroundings, My whole life. I was reading some of my posts from 2009. I was so sad and depressed. Living in Spokane, I felt like such a fish out of water. I never could figure out why, and I still can’t. But I just never felt like I belonged there. I was on the wrong track, or something.
I still suffer from depression, don’t get me wrong. I will probably always have to fight that demon.
But I wish I could go back in time and tell the Monica from 2009 that things will get better. And so soon! In a matter of months I would be moving away and I would be living in Sandy and I would be so happy to be in a place where I feel at home again. Of course, I would have to deal with saying goodbye with Doug, which was horrible. But otherwise, things are pretty great now.
As I read these old posts they transport me back in time. I remember how badly I wanted to get out. We made so many plans but I never really thought they would ever come to fruition. I thought I would be stuck living my ghost-like existence in Spokane forever. But then I log off of my computer, open the door and step outside, and look East and I see Mt. Hood and I am so fucking stoked. I am home.
The type of art I appreciate most is the the art that speaks me at a particular moment. Sometimes I can’t verbalize why I like a particular piece. Most of the time I can’t, actually. And if I can I’m probably bullshitting my way through the explanation. Usually the piece hits me deep within my guts. It hits me in that place where the artist created it. And because of this our souls are communicating with each other. I love this the most about art. That it connects us together at a profound level. A friend said to me once, “Creative spaces are holy places” and I couldn’t agree more with that statement.
I tend to love the visual arts and the language arts more than any other art form, though. Good writing will make me weak in the knees. And reading a good poem will blow my mind. I LOVE reading or hearing a poem and thinking, “Damn. That was a GOOD poem.” I love looking at a painting or a photograph and thinking the same thing. I’m not sure there is a feeling better than that, that feeling of your soul being touched by another person’s creation.
(I’m actually quite pleased with this composition.)
