It happened, I turned 29 and I don’t feel very different. Last time I was thinking about this I was going to be 29 but now, I actually am. I don’t feel like I have inherited some mythical power or was graced with some ancient wisdom, I just feel a little more…aware. I don’t know if this awareness is a gift of turning a year older from something bigger, or if my brain is just finally maturing as a part of the natural aging process. I don’t know, and I like not knowing, “It keeps me on my toes,” It was Doctor Who that said that by the way, the 10th doctor, my favorite.
I have been doing some leisurely research about the Quarter Life Crisis that I mentioned last time and I don’t really feel like I am going through that. I feel pretty content with how my life is right now. I’ve been married for about two years to a man I have known since I was 21 and we have two kids together a girl and a boy, so in the family and love department I think I am doing okay. I know of some people who freaking out right now because they don’t even have a prospective boyfriend/girlfriend. My only thing is that I don’t have right now is a career or job, so money-wise, I’m not doing so good.
I know I should be very worried about the having a job part, but I’m not. I feel like something is coming, an opportunity and all I have to do right now is worry that I raise my kids to be decent human beings who know the difference between being a bully and being classy. Raising decent humans concerns me more than raising my net worth, and I feel that is not a bad outlook at all.
I like getting the words out of my brain and turning them into something real, something tangible, something that can be seen.
I just like thinking and then getting it out of my head. I never really know what I am going to write, it all just comes out and then I see if anything makes sense later.
I can’t recall the first time I ever wrote something. I wish I could remember if it was a journal entry, or a story of some sort. I just feel like I was born to write.
There is some part of me that thinks, something great can be done with my words, something big but I have no idea what it is and I’m trying to figure out what it is.
However, every time I look over my work, I think, nothing makes sense and I should just give up and go get some retail job and keep my writing as a private hobby.
I really am my own worst critic.
Greetings and Salutations all you wonderful people!
The Dudeist Priest is back and I love saying that. I feel so…chill. I do realize it has been a long while since I have posted anything, and yes, that is my fault. However, my blog is called “Random Acts of Blogness,” so I hope nobody expects a strict posting schedule because this blog is random, like me. I am going to try and post things a little more frequently though.
I’ve had some ideas that seem pretty awesome and plausible, and I’ve been adopting some habits to help me get into a more productive writing flow. In the poetry arena, my haiku’s have adopted a new angle, Post-Its. Post-Its are the perfect shape and size to hold such a complex, and yet tiny poem such as haiku. I just write my haiku on a Post-It’s and share it with the world. It’s been pretty fun so far, and plan on doing as many as my creative muse will allow, and lately I’ve noticed my creative muse has taken a liking to a very simple writing tool that has been around for a long time.
Writing prompts, I’ve never really understood their potential for creating and have always overlooked them .It wasn’t until I was rereading my favorite writing book, Writers Book Of Days and took another look at the writing prompts, all 365 writing prompts. I decided I would give it a shot and tried out the first one, Write About A Sunday Afternoon. I picked up an ole’ fashion yellow pencil and a clean sheet of college-ruled notebook paper and starting writing. Before I knew it, I had writen a few paragraphs and a couple of haiku’s and, had a great sense of accomplishment. I also had enough energy to continue on, and I did. I wrote until my hand hurt and I couldn’t stay awake anymore. I went to bed a happy writer that day.
My last Tarot Card post was about the Emperor, the card of control and discipline. I feel confident in saying that I have taken some active steps in controlling my creative endeavors, but now I have to work on the latter of the two, the most difficult one. The one crucial characteristic of all ambitious and successful creators, discipline.
The High Priestess, the card of intuition, and all things esoteric. The High Priestess tells me to be patient and to trust the journey that I am on, kind of the perfect card when studying the mystical art of Tarot Cards.
However, when it comes up reversed, I need to be wary of deception and not rely on myself completely. There is a big world out their with a billion people life experiences that can help me along my path, that is going to be tough for me, I have a hard time trusting people; a pitfall of being me.
The Fool is numbered as Zero, and sometimes comes at the end of a deck. I like to put it at the beginning of my deck and consider it the baby card. All beings start of as unknown little baby who grow into beings with the power to create almost anything, like a Magician.
The Magician is numbered as One. We all have the power to create, we just need to really see what it is that we can do and find a way to harness it.
I know I have the power to create some really great things. I like to crochet. I like to write. I like to cook. I like to make art. These are all things that I like to create. I can create, just like The Magician, I just need to focus on what I can do, not what I can’t do.
I was able to withstand the delicious urge of sleepiness and not only get a few pages written out, but also able to put a dent (100 pages read) in my current read, The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck.
This one is a tricky read; Steinbeck really knew how to describe everything; he really went on for paragraphs describing a person, and their mannerisms.
I have about 300 more pages to go, but I should be okay. In the first 100 pages banks are monsters, a preacher doesn’t want to preach anymore because he was only doing it for the girls, a family is run-off their land and heads to California for a new life, and a man who just got released from prison is violating his parole to travel with his family. Did I mention that all of this takes place during the The Dust Bowl Era, the 1920’s. It seems like all of this could pop up in my Facebook feed today.