melancholy

I can't believe it's been over a month.  Guess everything in my head's just been staying there, or coming out in conversation or on paper than on here.

I'm sitting at work, alone again.  I'm frustrated, a kind of sad frustration that wells up in me sometimes.  In another time, I'd say that I was just a little melancholy, and that it'll pass in a while.  That's probably the best description of that feeling - it's not a depression or a dissatisfaction, but more of a simple sadness of the experiences in life that are going on without me right now.

I spent the last half hour or so grazing though pictures of the north coast.  There are few more beautiful locales in the world than the northern pacific coast, the fog and ragged points, lush primal forests and rolling hills weaving a beauty that takes on a dream-like quality.  The slower feel to life, the perception of appreciation of one's surroundings.

Translating emotion into a common medium - i appreciate that, and in a way envy that.  I keep looking for that canvas, the medium to convey what it is that i feel into something that i can share.

Life is amazingly good, this melancholy is just a day's thing.  It's good for the soul sometimes, spurs change and introspection.

coming weather...

Looks like it's going to be a perfect weekend up in Mammoth...clean, highs in the 50s, lows in the 20s.  Perfect fall weather.  Reading all the photographers' sites i can find, it sounds like the color's already peaked in the higher elevations, and the cold front that dropped snow a week ago really hit the aspens hard.  Down low, under 8,000 feet it's either still green or just starting to go.  Should be gorgeous.

Sure do wish I had a few more days to be there, though, since it sounds like there's a pretty good sized storm rolling in monday/tuesday.  It's not supposed to be all that cold, and will probably take the last bit of snow hanging around from the previous storm with it.  Sierra storms though, I just love 'em.  Feeling the change in the winds, the high clouds and the moisture in the air the day before.  Maybe sunday will be like that, if we're lucky.

A couple more hours, then on the road.

thursday malaise...

Slow, quiet day here in the office.  Pounding away here on the keys, drawing squiggly lines all over the screen in the name of AutoCAD.  This job just seems so meaningless at times...making maps of buildings for a report that no ones going to look at, for buildings that are going to be demolished.  Sigh.  

All the talk lately of trips, of taking off for weeks, months at a time have me restless.  I know some of it has to do with this being sick too, the feeling of not getting out, being confined, that slowing down i was talking about before.  It's more than that though.  It's the need to really get out for a time, and not a time insignificant, but a sizable chunk of time.  It's that wanderlust, the pull of the 'out there', that seemingly unslakable thirst for experience.  Experience...that's more of what it is.  It's not a need to necessarily go far, but it does seem that after a while going far does become a necessity.  An artificial necessity, but a construct that I have there none the less.  I get jaded with what's all around me, and have to check myself sometimes.  I forget the simply enjoyment of driving to somewhere like laguna and just walking along the cliffs and the beach all day, and instead spin myself up in to the idea that i need to get in the car at 5am and drive all the way to morro bay to do the same thing.  And even then it's not the same thing, since I'm always thinking of the time i'll have to take to get home, of where to eat, of traffic.  I forget sometimes just how good it can be down here.  Especially now, with summer gone, dropping into the cooler fall and winter.  Damp cold sand, cloudy afternoons, sweatshirts and coffee well into the late morning.  I love this time of year, love the open and mostly empty coast, the damp, the fog.  Summer's great, but fall and winter are some of my favorite times to be down there, albeit for different reasons than the summer. 

That sort of rambled off track, but the whole idea is that I'm now really feeling the itch to get out.  Sometimes I think the little weekend trips make it more difficult, other times i don't.  I need those trips, the friday, saturday, sunday jaunts up to mammoth, to the wine country, out to joshua tree.  I need that in my blood.  Days are good, but my heart craves weeks, months.  

It's not the first time i've talked about this.  I just need to do something about it...

Off to Beachwood in Seal Beach for a MS Ride fundraiser, and a few good pints.  Nice thing about having beer dork friends - when they throw an event, they know how to get the beer right.  I know i'll be having Racer X, some beers from Moonlight, and who knows what else.  All in the name of charity.  Gotta love it...

sick, thinking...

Being sick has me feeling...I'm not sure really.  Introspective?  No, that's not from being sick, that's just a normal condition.  Contemplative?  Restless?  Maybe it's something akin to restlessness.  It's this feeling that I get sometimes, those few times I allow myself to slow down.  Hmm...maybe there's something to that...when I let myself slow down, I start feeling that I'm somehow not capitalizing on anything and everything possible at that moment.

I'm not good at slowing down.  Not good at it at all.  I don't like it, the feeling that comes the second or third day of not doing anything.  There's this sticky stagnation that seems like it's trying to catch up with me, pull me into that space that most every one else occupies.  It's like gravity working to pull me back, like climbing up the face of a sand dune.  Taking steps quickly will get you to the top; taking them slowly keeps you sliding backward, until climbing the actual thing seems pointless and you justify stopping with the explanation to yourself that "who want's to climb some stupid sand dune anyway?".  After a while, the ones at the bottom of the dune can't even justify starting up the dune anymore, and instead look at the ones up top as some oddity, wondering why they'd want to be there in the first place.  Forgetting it used to be them up there, looking down and wondering, just as those up top still are, why so few people are coming up.

Anyway, i get annoyed with being sick.  It's a funny thing, I think.  I could care less about the physical illness, I'm more annoyed by the fact that it slows me down from riding, running, or just being out.  I'll get out and walk when I can't run, hacking and sputtering the whole way, just because I can't stomach the idea of lying prostrate and reading another book.  I'm  a firm believer that, in the vast majority of cases, exercise does nothing but speed recovery, and that lethargy simply prolongs it.  And even if not, at least it feels better to be out and enjoying the evening, the changing colors of the trees and the different feel of the air now that fall's coming.

Last night I, for the most part, pulled the lethargic thing...read, drank tea, read more, drank more tea, and finally went to bed early.  I was trying to do all i could to get better quickly, as much as it killed me to just be sitting on the porch or inside, looking out.  I think it worked though; I'm feeling, if not 100%, then closer to 75% today.  And after work I'm going walking, at the least, though I'll probably ride to kick the remainder of this thing.  And then cook, homemade chicken noodle soup.  I may not be the only one sick with this now, and if not, it's kinda my fault...so i'll take care of the nursing back to health then.  And if not, it's still going to be fun to make a homemade soup, all the chopping and simmering and smells and warming of the house now that the evenings are cooler.  Mmm...

I absolutely cannot wait to get up to mammoth this weekend.  I was going to write "for a variety of reason, all of them good,", but somehow good didn't seem the right descriptor.  Somehow, I'm finding myself unable to come up with proper adjectives from time to time lately.  I'm finding I can express feeling far more cohesively writing in situations, and actions, than in actual words.  More metaphorically, i suppose, than literally.  That's not exactly right...I guess it's that I'm more comfortable, when trying to covey emotion, using prose than effusive language.  That's still not it on the nose, but it's somewhere along to figuring it out.  Guess i'll just have to work on writing more to work though it.

winter, and daydreaming

I was reading the Dharma Bums for a while yesterday afternoon...so now, naturally, i'm feeling the urge to simply pack up a rucksack with some clothes, a few books, a journal, and a bottle of wine and get out on the road.  It's pretty much par for the course for me, reading Keourac like that.  Every time I do, there's this feeling that I'm missing so much by being here, passing days in an office thinking about doing rather that actually out being.  It's a frustration at the structure and pace of "modern life", which itself is really just an artificial construct that we use to justify going about life in ways counter to how we'd choose to.

I was just thinking "as though we'd be given that choice anyway", and then got frustrated at myself at thinking that.  It's such a cop-out, the idea that we can't opt out.  Maybe not at any given point; bills, things like that might get in the way.  But it can be done.  It should be done.

Just the other night I was talking about this recurring idea that I've had, something I've been bouncing around in my mind for a long time.  I want to rent a summer cabin for the winter, one of those little places that you have to hike back into in the Sierras that are all boarded up and secured by this time of year.  Take it and spend the winter there, just me, my books, my gear, a bunch of food and firewood and good music.  Watch the fall progress to winter.  Stand outside as the first tentative snowflakes fall in late October, barely making it to the ground before subliminating.  Watch the drifts gather on the lee side of the cabin, shovel the deck, thaw the pipes.  Feel the cabin shake to its foundation as the sodden winter storms come roaring in from the Pacific, over the passes to dump feet upon feet of snow, with their strong, joyous winds that bend and snap even the greatest of pines.  Feel that soft silence of winter night, a lush, full silence after the tempest passes.  Be there again for the sharp, frigid, utterly crisp clear nights, stars brilliant pinpoints in a sky so black that it feels fathomless, making the earth and me seems so insignificant.  All of that, and all that i'll never conceive of until i'm there...that's what I want.  Be it alone, or not.  I need my time alone, cherish and welcome and enjoy it; i don't think i'll ever understand how some people are uncomfortable alone.  That said, there is something to be said by the company of others, to have someone to share an experience like what I'm talking about with.  I think you'd both have to be on the same page with the idea of time together, time apart.  If both could appreciate that, knowing intuitively when to pull together but understand the need for time apart...well, it does seem a nigh impossibility to find that kind of pairing that works like that.  But if it could, what an incomparable added facet to what would be an amazing experience alone.  There's time for experience alone, in it's most raw and unfettered state.  And yet, to share that experience, to see how that experience affects someone other that one's self, can be equally fascinating.  If not, in some cases, more so.

Anyway, enough daydreaming about that for now.  My Stone/Maui Brewing/Ken Schmidt Collaboration beer should be chilling in the cooler at Vendome right now.  Macadamia Nut/Coconut/Kona Coffee Porter.  Seriously, I have no idea how that could be anything short of amazing.  Can't wait to try it, either tonight or tomorrow, and not alone; that's definitely a beer for sharing!

Autour du Rocher...

It's a slow, quiet morning here in the office...just me, my coffee, an old jimmy buffett album, and my keyboard.  Too many days away from this, time to get back in the groove.

Getting out in the water last night left me wanting it more, all over again.  It's that feeling I got at one point over the summer, when i found that my climbing was effectively done for the next 2 months.  The ocean's always been an ephemeral thing to me; our relationship has waxed and waned so many times over the years.  I've gone from full immersion into climbing, then riding, back into climbing, and then in the beginning of this year striking a sort of balance between the two.  Getting back into the water didn't happen until last summer, at least as a more than occasional type thing.  It took having my summer entirely to myself this year to get back in tune with the ocean, to be back out in the water whenever I could.  Body surfing became something that was more than just being at the beach, more than simply flailing around in the surf.  I've become more comfortable in the water again, which has taken nearly ten years.  There are still moments in bigger surf when I'll get freaked out, swimming far outside and waiting for the largest of the set to pass.  It frustrates me when I catch myself doing this, and i'll consciously make myself stay inside and simply duck dive white water just to soothe that part of my brain that's far too active sometimes.  Once I do, i'm usually good for a while, or at least until i get myself sucked over the falls and balled up.  Then it's all over again.  The thing is, it's so worth it to me to keep fighting that discomfort, that latent fear because there's something that's just so enjoyable about being out there in the water.  I can feel it being worn away, little by little; that progress makes all the times i manage to freak myself out all the more worthwhile.  I quite honestly can't wait to get back out and surf again, the more that I think about it.

Watched The Cove last night, and was both summarily depressed by the fact that anything like this sort of wanton killing actually happens, and encouraged by the fact that the actions of the individuals that made the film had a concrete effect on changing that.  The whole models of what used to work as protest have broken down; this is a tangible piece of what modern protest is, and it is encouraging.  There's quite a lot i'm ruminating over from this film...this won't be the last I write on it.

Missed my run this morning.  Damn.  Shifting the whole schedule by a day, which means tomorrow morning I get to run 5 miles, after riding 16 (or maybe 22 if I head up to Sierra Peak) tonight.  Sweet.

my brain just swelled up...

My brain's not done yet today I guess...

This here, I feel like, is the start of something. I'm not sure what yet, but I'm starting in motion some sort of process that's going to allow me to develop my....self, I guess. I've always gotten this feeling that there's something else i need to be doing, something creative, something artistic. I think I've found so much interest in the scientific end of the world that somewhere the creative end of my cord got frayed. I keep pulling at strand and getting pieces, but there's more of it out there. It's an odd feeling sometimes, thinking that I have this well of something, but I don't know quite how to access it yet. It's there, though I don't have a firm definition of what exactly 'it' is, or what it'll do. It's an eye for the way light and figures interact, a way to covey that into words, an interpretation of those ideas into some other tangible form. There will be times that I'll be thinking, considering, writing out straight from my mind without a filter that I'll feel it flexing itself, pushing me. It becomes a palpable swelling in my body, a deep flowing in my ind. A sort of deep...not calm, but almost certainty will settle over me, and I'll just go. It's where the stories that develop the best come from, the ones that ring truest and most honest. They are honest, and driven by something that's at the same time ephemeral. I can't always go to that well, but when I can, I know something special is happening. I don't know If there's other ways for me to tap into those waters, to harness the energy and flow that make those moments. There are times i feel as though i have some sort of dulled blade, and occasionally it's sharpened without my knowing until i draw it across the cloth and the cut is incredibly fine and true. A clouded window, a parting of cloud to reveal the horizon. Something difficult to name, harder to grasp. It's at the same time inspiring and frustrating - i want it to be there all the time, at my disposal. I don't want to have just occasions when i can dip into that well. I guess that comes full circle to the whole point of this writing exercise. To familiarize myself with something of mine that's languished for years, hunting down all the frayed ends of that cord, reweaving it into something accessible when and where i want it.

Phew. That was a mouthful.

Ok, back to work.

back into practice

And away we go...

So it's a kinda blah Friday. Lab results in, reports going out, coffee brewing, fluorescent lights humming away. Nothing really interesting, so to speak, just another one of those days that kinda while the time away while I'm waiting to move on to something else. Of course, that something else is heading out for a ride later, and then off to the Bruery for a pint or three, and then off to the airport. 9:20 arrival, which means if I actually leave from Fullerton at sometime around 9:15 or so i should be able to pull up to the curb just as they're walking out from baggage claim. Or that's the intent anyway...

I need pictures on my walls. I REALLY need pictures on my walls. As it is, I've got a sort of eastern-bloc grey carpeting on the walls in front of me. Why in god's name anyone would think that grey carpeting doesn't contribute to the gradual deadening of creativity, veracity, and general joy in life is beyond me. Grey carpeted cubicle walls. Sigh. So yes, I need pictures. Bright, vibrant, energetic pictures; mountains, big surf, rivers. Pictures to lose myself in during the afternoons that my creativity's been tamped down. I need windows to stare out, just to let my subconscious wander. It's almost tough for me to work on this in the office - I feel like being inside here puts a damper on my writing. Probably why i started doing my writing at Taps before. Sitting there at the bar, away from harsh fluorescent light, buzzing phones and annoying office sounds I could truly let myself flow. That is a habit I'll be slipping back into really quickly. Seems somewhat ironic though, sitting down at the bar and journalling, and then coming back and typing it into my blog. Isn't that what blogs were supposed to supplant in the first place? The best thing of reigniting that habit? The lunchtime pint.

Speaking of annoying office sounds...(rant on)I'm about to strangle our air quality guy. In the past week I've been subjected to everything from unbelievably long, basso profundo belches, to hairball-like hacking, to nose clearing episodes that I'm positive took grey matter along with the green. It's absolutely disgusting, not to mention entirely unprofessional. The fact that he's old and eccentric is no excuse. Ugh.(rant off)

I've got more ideas whinging around in my head right now, writing pieces, stuff like that. Maybe I'll work on some and post them up on here later. Until then, I'm off for more coffee, and a good set of earplugs.

One last thing - I love having a hammock. Best thing ever.

revival...for now

So this didn't really just go dark and dead, lost in the ether like one of those lost website addresses that you find scribbled down on the back of a receipt from 2003 and try to revisit, only to find it's now hawking some sort of kenyan money scheme. I am, in fact, not a Kenyan prince needing assistance to wire 7.5 million dollars to the United States, willing to offer you 500,000 dollars for your assistance in accepting my wired money. In fact, I just got tired of typing, and started journaling again. Now, I'm back to doing this. It may last, it may not, but at least for the moment, there is a flicker of life back in this little corner of the internet.

I realize that before, I made a great effort to discuss all that I was reading, and to weigh in at least somewhat critically about it. We'll see if I can keep that up. There's so much to try and catch up that I've read in the last year...more McCarthy, Bowles, Borges, Marquez, Bolano, Lowry, Nabakov...
I'm going to have to look over my shelves tonight just to come up with a list of the books that I've gone through in what's been a short, yet at times excruciatingly long year. Right now it is yet again a combination of books I'm wading through: The Tree of Man by Patrick White, The Sunset Limited by McCarthy, and a re-reading of The Control of Nature by John McPhee. The last seemed rather pertinent, give the vast likelihood that the exact area that he wrote about on the late 1980's (the areas of Altadena, sierra Madre, and Glendale) are staring down a loaded barrel of landslides this winter following the fires of the last 2 weeks. White is reading slowly, if nothing more that for his style; almost somewhere between the humanness of Steinbeck and the stoicism of McCarthy. Maybe I'll get into Bowles tomorrow.

Anyway, I'm going to try and force myself into making this a habit (again). I need to hone my writing...which I suppose is the whole point here, isn't it?