So, I'm very glad that all of my loyal blogger fans also read my livejournal site. That's sarcasm, by the way, since I asked for a response four days ago, and got zero. So, either no one cares, no one reads it, or no one wanted to "break the response ice". It really doesn't matter, because I do what I want anyway, but it was still heartwarming to find that no one had responded. Not that I should have expected anything. Most of the blogs I try to keep up with are updated so infrequently that I can only think you visit other blogs infrequently as well. March 13, Raph? I mean, do you even consider yourself to have a blog anymore? Are you ever online when you're not doing business email? I don't need to know about your life. But you got me reading your blog entries, even putting you in my list of favorites, and then you forget about it entirely. [sighs]

But no, really, even I have been thinking about how needless blogging has been feeling lately. That compulsion to write about my life just hasn't been there. I'm not sure if it's because I've been spending my time writing other things (as my LJ demonstrates), or if I'm just in the far end of an elliptical orbit around society, feeling little pull from it either in terms of time I spend in it or communication that I give it. Both are probably true. Even this feels totally unnecessary, and only my scruple of never deleting things will cause this post, which began as a mini-complaint that required nothing more than the first 4 sentences, to be published in my blog.

My moment of clarity and blunt honesty: I miss you all a lot, but I get sick of spending time with you, so I'm glad your lives are keeping you busy. I enjoy days when I'm not interrupted, but I wish you'd call anyway. There are really only two compulsions in my life, and neither involves you in any way. One is Grace, and the other is my writing. And they're the compulsions I seem to be fighting against the most. Boy, I'm an idiot, aren't I? I'm going to end this post before I start into stream of consciousness gibberish.

Recipe (that I made up yesterday) for Spiced Pecan Chicken (successfully).

I have no idea how to adapt it for miniscule amounts like dinner for 4.

Spiced Pecan topping

Ingredients:
Pecan Halves, 32 oz
Red Onion, diced, 3/4 cup
Celery, diced, 3/4 cup
Cumin, .5 oz
Coriander, .5 oz
Kosher Salt, .5 oz
Sugar, 1 oz
Cayenne, .1 oz
Egg Whites, 4

Whip the egg whites until stiff. (If you haven't done this before, when you think it's stiff, whip it more). Add the spices and the pecans and toss until the pecans are well coated. Add the red onion and celery and toss until evenly mixed.

Spiced Chicken

Ingredients:
Chicken Breasts, (I had 9 thick ones and didn't run out of marinade or topping).
Balsamic Vinegar, (I poured from the bottle, so I'm not sure how much I used)
Frank's Red Hot Sauce, 1 Tbsp.
Worcestershire Sauce, 1 Tbsp.
Dry Tarragon, 1 1/2 Tbsp.
Lemon Juice, 2 Tbsp.
Egg Whites, 3

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Combine egg whites, hot sauce, worcestershire sauce, tarragon and lemon juice and stir together thoroughly. Place Chicken Breasts on a non-stick broiler pan. Pour balsamic vinegar onto chicken and brush to cover edges. Place chicken in oven 4-7 minutes, or until bottom is slightly sealed. Pull the pan out of the oven and turn over the chicken. Use a brush to apply marinade liberally. Place chicken in oven 8-10 minutes, or until chicken is steaming. Pull out the pan and turn over the chicken. Use a brush to apply marinade liberally. Then layer the chicken with spiced pecan topping. Place remainder of spiced pecan topping on a non-stick cooking sheet and place in oven 7-10 minutes. Place chicken in oven 10-15 minutes, or until cooked thoroughly. Serve chicken with extra spiced pecan topping on side.

Quick post. I'm cooking dinner tonight for family and swing dancers, a chicken dish based on the chicken salad recipe from work. wish me luck turning the cold mayo-based dish into a hot chicken dish with a cold dipping sauce. [laughs].

April is National Grilled Cheese month. So, Grilled Cheese. [grins]

On Sunday, nearing the end of the day, I realized that they might need clarified butter on monday, since the new chef Joe tends to use a lot when he uses it. So I made some (it takes me about two hours to make it without darkening it) and left it in a tall metal pan. On tuesday, I arrived in the morning to find it sitting on the counter, the plastic-wrap over it was broken, and something that looked like a clear thick-plastic ball floating in it. Upon getting the time to fish it out, I discovered it to be a thick glass light-bulb covering that had broken off above from above the grill. It fell onto the counter between the grill and the fryer...right into my pan of clarified butter. So, while my butter was ruined, the fryer was saved from glass shards. Thanks, God.

Ok, time to cook dinner. I'll tell you how it turns out. No work tomorrow, so when I languidly arise from slumber, I'll spend some time on the computer.

The isolation of my room is an interesting phenomenon. I know several people who read my blog, and people post comments on my livejournal now and then, and I get emails and instant messages and phone calls. But somehow, despite all that, I feel like I'm "in my own little world". I feel that as long as I'm in this room, everything will be ok. and by everything, I mean Everything. The world's pollution won't reach me. The corruption of the government won't affect me. The war around the world won't hurt me. Capitalism won't press me beneath its monstrous greedy fingers. Democracy won't force me to dance to tunes I don't like. Animals in shelters will find homes. Crime will decrease as the police force becomes effective. People will solve their emotional problems and, growing, stop having so many emotional problems. Religious organizations will lead people to positive afterlives without attempting to convince anyone else of their self-actualized damnation. My job will get done. My friends will be happy. I'll start doing things that make me happy. And yet, no matter how long I stay in this room, I can't seem to reach that world I can pretend is outside. and it's because while I'm in this room, I'm not doing anything to actualize that world. Paraphrased, "Dagny, don't you realize that we are infinitely more capable of enjoying this place than they will ever be?" Characters working their fingers to the bone, risking their money, their relationships, their very lives to accomplish something that they feel is important, are the ones who know the meaning of "happy ending" and actually earn it, and deserve it, and can enjoy it. All the rest of the characters, carried by the actions of the heroes, will never be satisfied with the happy ending because they did nothing to help it happen. I have no more words on this subject today.

So I haven't blogged in a while. I've been working a lot. This past week was about 70 hours, and the week before that 55ish. But, we have a new head chef Joe, plus the dishwasher kid Josh that comes in after school. And Joe just hired someone else who will start next monday. He's pretty cool. Gets there early, stays late to clean, lets me stay late to clean, which is Wonderful [laughs]. I like cleaning at work. Maybe someday I'll think of my home the same way and enjoy cleaning it, but it only happens very rarely right now. [laughs and shrugs]. Anyway, he's already running specials that he hopes we'll be able to add to the menu, reorganizing the shelves and the fridge (to some degree; inventory is this weekend, so he'll have to reorganize more as he's checking everything in), and cleaning the kitchen top to bottom while he does it. And he considers all that "very relaxed", since he can do it all at his own pace instead of getting badgered all the time, like his old job at Rainforest Cafe. And, since he cooked on an air force base in afghanistan for 7 months as a civi, cooking for 3000 a day, our kitchen is tiny and our parties of even 100 are nothing; he can get out in no time. [laughs and shrugs].

On the dance side of my life, there is very little to update except that I learned some fancier dips for swing, and we have not yet decided on a summer schedule for continued lessons, and tango on sunday night was very fun, but I need to practice connecting with my partners more. The music was 80s and disco and stuff, so that was very much not "connect like tango" music, even if I was doing tango steps. Eh, I'll get it eventually.

And on the church side of my life, I was very worried because Easter didn't feel like Easter at all. I was working so much, and church just seemed like something else in my day instead of a celebration of the resurrection of Christ, so I didn't feel very spiritual at all. Well, I went to XLT tonight, hoping to make up for it, and I did phenomenally. The speaker was talking about stuff from her own life, proof of God's hand in our lives, like direct signs and messages she has recieved, and a miraculous healing she recieved hours before she went on the operating table to remove her appendix and bowels. She talked about how giving up our life to the holy spirit is not "giving up this part to God, but keeping this part for myself." Which resonates with me. But I'm not ready for that, and I know it. I will be one day. But she also talked about her favorite line from mass, which is also my favorite line: "Lord, I am not worthy to recieve you, but only say the word and I shall be healed." She adds to the end of this, "Body of Christ, lead me to eternal life." Blah blah, now it's time for adoration, Christ's body coming into the room with us. The first song made me want to close my eyes while I sang along, and I looked up to see the host being held high in front of me, having missed the procession in, and I had an almost overpowering need to bow down to the floor, so I moved the chair in front of me forward a bit and did so. While down there, as I usually do when talking to Christ, I imagined the room in which we sit and talk, but I was at his feet, feeling totally unworthy of being with him, because I had been a shitty friend. My feet got uncomfortable, as usually happens when kneeling, so I crossed my legs at the ankles, and Jesus said to me, "Even that is only possible because I died for you." And it just hit me hard. I mean really hard. I was sobbing there, kneeling and curled up with my face near my knees and my hands in front of me. I was holding his foot, because I didn't feel worthy of doing anything more, and I just started saying under my breath (so as not to interrupt the second song), "I am not worthy to recieve you, but only say the word; I am not worthy to recieve you, but only say the word and I shall be healed; only say the word and I shall be healed..." and it wasn't doing anything, I mean, he wasn't responding and it wasn't giving me any peace, so I tried adding to the end, "Body of Christ, lead me to eternal life; body of Christ, lead me to eternal life." And it started to give me peace, and Jesus smiled. I repeated that a couple times until I was able to stop crying, still kneeling and holding his foot, and he tried to get me to stand up, but I didn't feel like it, I was embarassed because my face was all red and tear-stained (even though it's dark and no one is looking at you), and I was still feeling ashamed of being unworthy of his love, and I told him I didn't want to get up, and he took my hand in his and said, "You will never have to turn your face from me. I will never turn my face from you. If anyone looks at you, they will know my love and mercy. Now get up." So I did, and it was just wonderful and glorious, being able to look him in the face, being able to sit with him on equal terms again, being able to sing to him, not just sing his songs but actually sing To him again. Being able to let tears run down my face and just smile more. I felt I had to write this. A quote from the speaker, who was quoting the bishop, who was quoting a saint, is, "It is my job to tell you my story, not to make you believe." And it's so true.

So, I just thought I should let you know that my brain exploded today. As some of you know, I finished the story I've been writing for the past couple months for Grace, and she recieved it today. She randomly made the comment, "it made me wonder though, if Evelyn isn't the tree spirit...or the spirit of the wildflowers," and later, "I was just thinking the cottage seemed so incongruous.... Evelyn really lives under the tree." (and I am told, in response to asking if I should change it, "for future stories; you can't really edit this one. it's mine." Which is very very true.) [laughs happily]

Well, the reason that this caused my brain to explode is this: I realized that most of the story worlds I've used recently (i.e. in the past 4-6 years) that, for one reason or another, I could not "finalize", are linked together by this very idea. If this Evelyn, who represents loosely the dream-Grace and therefore involves the dream world and all its stories, is a plant spirit (think dryad, but not quite), then this connects her to the story of the flower-girl I wrote for my correspondence class a billion years ago, which is connected thematically to the rescue short-story I wrote that was based upon the characters mimic-boy and mute-girl (they don't have names), which were created through my experimenting with "drabbles", or scenes written using exactly 100 words, which I was stringing together into a plot-map until discouraged by a site-administrator, and mimic-boy will eventually grow up to become Wyn, while mute-girl will grow up to become a sidhe princess, which connects her to the Changeling world in which I started a story; and, the green watcher, for whom I have not given a complete storyline much less any intention beyond the fulfillment of the reason he personified, becomes Evelyn's father, and is a God-figure in the world in which "Searching for The Rabbit" is set. The only thing not connected is the garden world, which is an epic of its own and cannot be confused with this other. I came to tears realizing that the epic I knew I would write freshman year of highschool, that I lost to memory because I would not commit the atrocity of writing before I had the skill to do it justice, is back.

If all that I just said makes no sense to you, then understand this: I am a writer, first and foremost, and this has proven it to me beyond any doubt brought on because of my dance habits. And it has filled me with more joy and purpose than anything else in months. To anyone who cares for me, when you see me, ask how my writing is progressing. Because I would let the world fall to ruin and all the people in it die horrible flaming deaths if I could write this book and be happy with it. [laughs] which, luckily, you don't have to worry about, because it will take forever to write, in stages as I've been doing, forming the nodes that will create the net, and there is almost zero possibility of my being completely happy with it, because I'm never completely happy with anything I write. And I get distracted too easily to commit myself entirely to a hermetic lifestyle. [laughs again] Ok, I need sleep. So do you, so go away, blogger!

So, I'm busy doing work, and eating cereal, and listening to my own music, and mom, to relieve stress that wasn't relieved by playing solitaire at the dinner table, sat down at the piano. I have to admit, I really like hearing her play, both the runs she has memorized, the parts she picks at to work on her memorization, and even the cautious stepping while reading the music that she once had completely memorized. I don't have anything memorized on my cello, which is very sad, but I never work on it anymore, which is even more sad. I hope that when I have enough money to get a house, I have enough money to get a piano as well. Not a keyboard, a real piano. I'd almost prefer a piano to a pool table. almost [laughs] I hope I marry a girl who I can teach the song mom was just playing, so that she can come in and sit at the piano while I'm working and just...carry me away to another place and time. A much better interruption than the call to minesweeper [laughs].

My work schedule now until easter:

today 8:30 to 3:00, 6:30p to 8:30p
thursday 8:30 to 3:30
friday 8:30 to 3:30
saturday 8:30 to 4:30
sunday 8:30 to 4:30
monday 8:30 to 3:30
tuesday 8:30 to 2:30, 5:00p to 8:00p
wednesday 8:30 to 3:30
thursday 8:30 to 3:30
friday 9:00 to 6:00
saturday 10:00 to 10:00
sunday 7:00a to 5:00p

and then Matt will leave, and I will be alone. I console myself that I'm making money to get me closer to visiting Grace. When I will have time? I have no idea.

Anyone reading this, please pray with me:

Lord, please give peace to those who cannot find it for themselves. Let them sleep restfully and wake ready to face the next day.

Lord, please give strength to those who struggle against themselves, that they may endure through their hardships. Let those who help them have the strength to stay with them, and be there when they are needed.

Lord, please give faith to those who forget your love, and to those who do not know that they are lovable. Let those who walk in darkness know they are not alone, even when they cannot see the light.

Lord, please have mercy on those who do not ask for themselves, and give them the full blessing you bestow on your beloved children.

So it's time for another blind stream of consciousness post. I don't quite know what I want to talk about. There are so many things running around in my m ind. Words have no meanings or they come withou tthem until we give them meaning. Fools play with things they do not understand in dark nights. Worlds we have never seen before, never interacted with, still exist and reach out for us now and then, especially if we reach for them first. There is a bright light inside, and it is not me, abut it is me, and it will always me, and I will become one with that light after I die, for then my body will wither and my soul will fly out. a gift is a gift because we believe that the person who recieves it will like it, not because we must follow a standard formula for gifts. What are red roses but a symbol? What is a symbol that does not carry the smae meaning because one's personal experiences trump the social conformity to meaning. Then words become gifts as much as flowers, because the meaning of the words is greater than the meaning of the flowers. A smile can bea great kiss, and a great kiss can be an insult, and an insult can be a tease, and a tease can be nothing at all. Blow away in the wind, weightless one. There are far better places upon which to alight than this heavy body of mine. Fly away before I infect you. [laughs] But I'm not "infectious, am I? I'm not disease-ridden except in my hypochondria. Which is all-encompassing. I never told a lie, except thsi one: that I have never told a lie. I am vain more often than not. I wish I could be humble. I wish I could be confident. I wish I wish I wish upon a shooting star. I've only ever seen one shooting star. I always look too late. Isn't that how it always goes? The wish would have come true if you hadn't looked too late? We are only pebbles in a stream, the stream that is our own lives even. But enough of that, life is for smilining and laughing and enjoying oneself. I mean, what part of no don't you understand? It isn't me that's talking, it's the other me, the one that I try to tell you I am, but you never believe me, because you're too busy seeing who I am when I walk out the door. Follow me no more, satan, for words have meaning. I command you to leave me, in the name of the Father and the Son, in the name of the great Beginning and the great End. I sometimes wonder what was meant by "and he said it was good." What is good, really? sometimes it is obedience. Sometimes it is happiness. Sometimes it is honesty. Sometimes it is compassion. Sometimes it is necessary evils. Sometimes it is foolish unyeilding honor. Sometimes it is love. I have seen these all contradict each other. I have seen myself contradicting myself, and being true in both cases, good in both cases. I fail when I try to succeed, because I see the failure in light of the success. I can never avoid failure, I can never avoid success. I want so much, but a sacrifice isn't a sacrifice if you're giving up something you never wanted anyway. A sacrifice is giving up something you want, because what you give it up for is worth it. I wish those around me would realize that. I wish I would realize that. I need to sleep, but I won't. It's many hours away, and a new day begins each second when I open my eyes.