i got nothin. although this could be something.

I've been thinking about writing a new post. But nothing comes. I'm sure I have stuff I could write about, lots of things are happening. I just don't feel anything forming. I usually write after I feel something "on the way," which would explain why my blogs are so sporadic. It was a really long time between blogs there. Really most of the summer. I was sort of disappointed in myself.

So, I've been making myself sit and write.

I usually write a little bit, then delete it. Then write something else, then delete it. Then get irritated and turn off the computer. I wonder if I'll end up deleting this one?

Maybe not. I really want to put something out there. Just so I can make writing more of a habit. Maybe that will help. Routine.

Although maybe not. We'll see what happens tomorrow.

correction:

To the previous post, I was recently informed that Seth is, in fact, NOT the "Godfather." Joe Gowans is. My apologies to those I have offended.

The TUFFNESS

I love my brothers. David and Seth have kept me well entertained since 1982 and 1985 respectively.

They certainly are interesting creatures. In some ways I think it's possible that throughout their teenage years (and I still find this to be true occasionally), that they were moodier than myself and my sister, Sarah, put together. Hmmm. But this is not what I'm trying to say. What I really want to say is that they are HILARIOUS!

Seriously, HILARIOUS.

They always come up with odd sorts of games and tricks to play on, well, mostly family, but others as well. When they tell stories, they always turn really red when they get into it and really excited about it. (Although, I find this true for myself as well.) And the voice levels tend to increase with the amount of excitedness involved. Again, this is common in my family in general.

Two of my favorite games are the "break your neck" game that David gets me with EVERYTIME, and the "ah shaddup" game, which I catch onto once in a while. When they get me, I try to pretend I don't get it, or I blatantly try to get them back right away just to save the little dignity I have left. Usually because I am completely baffled as to why I let these silly games get to me. Although, I've had some good comebacks when they've least expected it.

Recently, well, over the past couple of years (I think), my brothers have come up with a "Tuffness" scale. Apparently there are tons of rules and you can find these rules in their "Tuffness manuals." The JGTM and the UJTM. I forget which one is the "Tuffer" one. But I'm pretty sure it's the UJTM. (The first two letters are initials of the "Tuffest" guys they know) These manuals are not written down. And, quite frankly, I'm not sure anyone else really knows about them or what exactly the rules are. Recently they've also created a "fraternity" of sorts by the name of Sigma Tuff. And Seth is supposedly the "Godfather." But I'm not really sure because it's gotten quite complicated. I do however know that Seth and David along with a couple of their friends are the "founders" of said frat.

So, from what I figure, "Tuffness" is something that happens, whether it's an event or something said, that you can't believe just happened. For example, one day Seth was burning incense in his room. My Dad, who is a smoker, said (with cigarette in mouth), "Put that shit out, I can't breathe!" Hmmmmmmmm...

That's Tuff.

So, Dave, what's that over there? --------->

And, hey Seth!......"ah shaddup!"

Cacophonous Eruption of My Soul

Seriously, this is not going to be pretty.

When I decide I'm ready, promise me you won't listen.

It will be obscene.
Profane.
Unruly.
Probably even blasphemous.

The clangor produced will be difficult to get around.

But there's something to come out of it.
It's sitting in the depths, waiting.
Breaking through will be the challenge.

The myriad of noise to come through may not be bearable.
No doubt an impenetrable silence will follow.

Let it come...

en francais

J'espere que j'ai les mots. Je ne sais pas comment je me trouve ice. Vous ne comprennez pas, oui, je sais, mais c'est comment je veux ecrire maitenant. Il y a beaucoup de liberte quand je peut parler comme ca, et personne ne comprenent. Vraiment c'est chouette! Peut-etre quelqu'un le saura, mais je pense que non. (Si vous savez, s'il vous plait, ecrivez une remarque!)

prying open my third eye

When I was 16 I started working at a restaurant in a very exclusive country club. My neighbor was a waitress there and knew I needed a job for the summer. I ended up working there for four and a half years! I worked in the kitchen as a prep and line cook and it was HILARIOUS!

A chef that I worked with was one of the most "experienced" people I have ever met. As I look back now, I realize he is the reason I never wanted to experiment with drugs. If I was ever curious I would simply ask him what it was like, and if it didn't seem that interesting why bother? Needless to say I didn't find my options of illegal drugs very exciting. Except one. And I constantly hounded the guy with questions. He probalby figured I was merely living vicariously through him. Oh, no. I had been preparing myself if ever the opportunity was presented. 10 years later...It took long enough to show it's face.

Ensuite, I feel that I was VERY well prepared for that deeelightful peanut butter and jelly sandwich I ate a few weeks ago. (I need to tell you here that I was at a music festival, otherwise things will get confusing.)

However...when those little fungi REALLY kicked in...what happened could not have been more unexpected. At first I felt really giddy, as if you have a fantastic secret to tell someone but you haven't told them yet. EVERYONE looked familiar and I found it difficult to NOT smile. (Apparently that's called "permagrin," who knew?) I was sort of afraid to use my arms because every time i moved them it felt really weird. Almost as if they were beyond my control and I didn't want them to fly away. I wanted to touch EVERYTHING. It was as if my body was new. And then...

I was in the midst of the crowd while Trey was playing and I got REALLY hot, all of a sudden. I looked to the side, then I looked at the stage, then off to the side again...and the atmosphere pulsed. I rubbed my eyes, and thought to myself, "hmmm. that was weird." Turning to Ashley I told her how I felt, and then I said, "It's like it's coming though in waves." Giggling at myself for saying that, I realized it was a Pink Floyd line that now had a brand new meaning. (For those of you who don't know me, I am a GIANT Pink Floyd fan - and I've been stone cold sober all my life. Odd isn't?) Moving on, Ashley asked if I wanted to get out of the "pit" and I did actually think about it for a minute, then decided that it would be a good idea. On the way out I grabbed her hand and wouldn't let go, as I started stepping over things that weren't there.

I found my "pusher man" where I left him, looked him dead in the eyes and told him, "I feel COMPLETELY WEIRD." He smiled and just started laughing. I started laughing as well, but was not nearly as controlled about it. Feeling as though different parts of my brain were fighting I took a deep breath and managed to stop laughing.

Lenny came over and I explained the situation, at this point it was starting to look like I was in an IMAX theatre and Trey was glowing in a lovely shade of blue! He said I shouldn't fight it, just let it happen, and to try and focus on something. Thinking it over in the part of my brain that was still functioning normally, I asked myself, "What DO I want to think about?" Suddenly I felt really hot again, except only my forehead, and all that came to mind was Maynard screaming, "PRYING OPEN MY THIRD EYE!" It wasn't frightening, I actually giggled and thought that was pretty cool. Then I decided to let it completely take me.

Let the vomiting commence! Not exactly the highlight, but I did feel better when it was over.

Sounds around me were amazing. It was sort of like every sound had a different color, and each time I heard a new one it made my mind race trying to place it. There was such a familiarity with everything around me and yet I couldn't quite figure out what some of the objects and sounds were.

Speaking and keeping my eyes open, were my two most difficult tasks through the duration of the experience. So I decided to remain silent, although I was completely aware of what was going on around me. There were two instances when I really wished I could have said something. There was so much effort involved, however, that I decided to let it wait until morning. The first was when I was bent over a garbage can; two people wearing purple shirts with crosses on them came over to see if I was ok. I really wanted to look at them and tell them I was fine, I just needed to throw up, but I really didn't want to get too far from the garbage can. The second was when Ashley was really worried about me at our campsite, I could hear her talking about it. I wanted to let her know I was fine and that it was just difficult to speak, and I did try to say something, but it didn't come out louder than a whisper.

I fell asleep eventually, and the next day was completely out of it. As if I had taken a nap in the middle of the day and woke up in a daze.

I have to admit I am quite glad I didn't have the opportunity when I was younger. It was way better this way~ to do research and ask questions from "pros" and contemplate if I really DID want to try it or not.

For now I'll let my third eye rest...

History Lesson

Recently I haven't been visiting my grandparents that often. I used to go and see them at least once a month, occasionally once a week. Free food and the entertainment I received from my "Baci" yelling at everyone was all the reason I needed for a visit. Over this past year, however, my grandfather's alzheimers has gotten worse, and it's sad to see him. I still go, just not as often. I know my Baci appreciates myself and my siblings visiting her, she always tells me. So, I keep going.

Today I went to see my Aunt who lives there and takes care of them. We went to dinner and then back to her house, and my Baci told us that she didn't know where my grandfather was. My Aunt looked through the house (at which time I joined my Baci in the living room), and she found him in their bedroom. While my Aunt Kathy was getting him ready for bed I had a chance to speak with my grandmother, about her for a change.

It was AMAZING!

Along with the fabulous tidbits of family history i soaked up i realized that i am like her in so many ways. I think most of us are. She was telling me that she wished that she had asked her parents so many more questions about who they were, and where they came from. She said that when you're young you think of them as the "old times" and who wants to be bothered with that? As you get older though you tend to forget most of what has come before you, and weary trying to remember. The look in her eyes wasn't exactly regret or sadness, but perhaps, disappointment. Each time I asked her a question she seemed really excited that someone wanted to know who our family is and was.

I found out that my Great-Grandfather's name was Peter, and he was born in Russia, but lived in Poland for most of his life. Until the military wanted him, so he ended up jumping out a window to avoid them and probably found the first train to the first boat to Ellis Island! My Great-Grandmother, Stella Janeck (I actually vaguely remember her from when I was a little girl) came to Ellis Island shortly afterwards in 1907, when she was 20, with her 1 year old. My grandmother's sister Meda.

My mother's maiden name is Szulwach. But it's spelling had been changed along the way, when my Great-grandparents first came to NY, they spelled their name: Szculch.

All these things my grandmother told me, and she told me that she had written it all down in 2 seperate journals, but she wasn't sure where she put them. She said she'd look for them so I could see them.

I hope she finds them.