my old journals

hi, ladies. you are probably wondering why i put you in the title - just wanted to remind you how quickly things change. love to you all.
***
I am: a person who saves a lot and writes down even more

I have kept a journal since I was nine years old.

I was born in 1985. 1985 to 1998 was a good time for me. Before 1998 there are dried flowers, rhyming poetry, dramatic gestures – and the occasional “guest” entry from my sister, Jackie.

But then, the real fun begins! (sarcasm: i need to define it for the californians). Here are some (tiny) excerpts from my past:
1998
His overpowering hands
I am nothing, left with a memory of a girl
And nice
Long ago

1999
I don’t know why I am not good enough for -----.
I feel horrible for ---- sometimes.
Sometimes I wish I could leave here forever. And never look back.
2000
I love myself.
I hate myself.

2001
Why am I so screwed up about boys?

2002
So it’s gone. They’re gone. The only familiar faces from my seventeen years have just left me, parted from me, blustering and red faced at a security checkpoint. I woke up to my new mother calling “Robine” into the room. They are young! I don’t know how to say anything. Or if I did know the language, I wouldn’t know what to ask! and wtf, why does Luis (loo-eeeeeze is how they say it) leave the toilet seat up? Last night I FELL IN!

2003
I love Spain. I love it, I love it, I love it – I never want to leave!

2003 – Summer
------ calls last night at five in the morning. Why? Booty call? Weed run? Or to talk? Fuck him. Every few nights I have a drug dream. Fuck me!
2004
Am I turning into Papa?
2005
Wasps breath alcohol – that's what ----- says. Am I a wasp? I’m British and Irish. Yes, I am probably a wasp.
Wait, I'm not protestant. Hell, I’m probably a hornet.

2006
I just met the ----- sister who was really into coke and sex. And then I met -----------. She has a pinched face.
How did I end up here?

2007
California light is gold. Am I ever going to return to Michigan? Jackie’s calling, gotta go.

2008
Now.
Funny how things turn out. I could pull different tidbits from my journals and present an entirely different past...
... but no worries, I'll leave you with this random assortment for now.
Happy Thursday!!

good deed today: cleaning the ernster's dirty dishes. 9 - it was a foul job.

22nd kindness: planting a tree

so i planted one of my house plants (a small tree) at the backbay today. probably broke some hyper-anal orange county law, but hey! it's earth day! had to do it. 

also... went on my first official "date" as a single girl. it was strange. realized i am not ready to date - especially go on a BLIND date, for the love of god, no. no, no, no. i am too critical, too cynical, and too closed at the moment to really give anyone a chance. i am deep in the missing my smart, funny, and kind ex-boyfriend mode... sigh. 

i want to be alone for awhile. it's what i need. and what i want - most of the time. 

more coherent thoughts and less rambling tomorrow, i promise, and for now a little fun in the sun from the desert. 

 

yeehaw! and 21st kindness

amigos 

desert flower 

another desert flower

hecho en mexico 

waiting for the meeting to start 

some pics for now... i'm off to snooze with my sampson-head. i've missed him. 

21st kindness: giving sampson a big bowl of peanut butter. warms my heart :)

 

19th kindness, 20th kindness, ball blastin' fun

20th kindness: told "compass," our horseback riding guide, that she did a great job. in reality, she was a bitch with a 'tude who made me feel like a no good city slicker.

(how is that for westernspeak)

19th kindness: shared my bulk candy with my best friend

more on the arizona adventure tomorrow - but one funny thing, we were watching children at the water park, and omar took this pic on his iphone -

accompanying quote:

"what are you scared of? that he's going to blast his little balls? ....... fing creep."

18th kindness: happy, happy girl

The Red Wheelbarrow
William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

robin's good deed today: making omar laugh about kids in the fountain. oh, and being EXTRA nice to the airport employees - two even commented on my good attitude! yes!

17th kindness: planting nice notes and a lil' history of photography - early 20th century

my best effort to capture what pictorialist photography was like...

a real pictorialist!! heinrich kuhn. see how this resembles a painting?

how do i move through the world? reading and researching. blame my private school education, blame my bookworm mother, blame my extremely inquisitive sisters - just don't blame me for being a nerd.

so, the subject on the brain today: photography.

A very strange art, concerning discovery and innovation. Light and shadow. Man, machine, and image.

Imagine the world when photography exploded into a fad. Can you imagine how jarring realistic images must have been? People didn’t know how to read photographs– they read them like paintings. Photography “exhibits” displayed small, framed prints thrown onto large walls. Instead of one or two prints per wall, there were tons of them, floor to ceiling – the “good” photographers aimed for viewer’s eyeline.

this is what pictorialism was all about. trying to assuage the stark exactness and details of photographic representation. even tones, selective focus, bland images - boring colors. etc. (ok, so it isn't my style)

I ask questions about photography, and the questions lead to more questions.

For example:

How does one classify photography? A means of mass communication, a mechanic process, an artistic process, a scientific process... One of the very few arts that can claim objectivity. This must have pissed all those highly subjective impressionists OFF. Freedom from the artist – it’s about the machine and the process.

So wtf? Is it a form of information or artistic expression?

Only in the second quarter of the twentieth century was the medium considered study-able. Nobody recorded the history of photography until the 1930’s. In the early 1900’s absolutely no museums had photography sections. Now, most of them do.

The layman’s art – anyone can do it! Grab a Kodak, a snapshot camera, and make a moment. Joe Blow is the next Da Vinci –

This must have INFURIATED artists who spent years and years honing their artistic skill.

Anyway, a little food for thought. Above is one of my favorite pictorialists and probably the raciest image i could find. look at that bod! hot.

good deed today: slipping nice notes into random books at the library. 5.

16th kindness: money bags and neurosis

an image to keep me calm

recently some girl friends from way back - i'm talking high school- have resurfaced.

...and i'm not sure how comfortable i am rebuilding bridges.

i grew up (part of the time) in palm beach county, florida - toxic people aplenty. land of the botox beauty and the silicon snake. shiny people with big hair and small hearts whose friendships felt more like death sentences. **

... or was that my hold on myself? did i create the drama in my head?

am i absolutely insane for resenting people from that long ago?

how do you handle past demons? slap a halo on their heads and forgive and forget? or slam that door and keep it locked?

help!

good deed today: donating money to the newport club.

** there are many people who do not fall under this category. the cowie clan, the larkins, the mottas, the parkers, the hickels (aha), our neighbors with the yapster dog - just to name a few.

15th kindness: surf and sand

One Heart
By Franz Wright

It is late afternoon and I have just returned from

the longer version of my walk nobody knows

about. For the first time in nearly a month, and

everything changed. It is the end of March, once

more I have lived. This morning a young woman

described what it’s like shooting coke with a baby
in your arms. The astonishing windy and altering light

and clouds and water were, at certain moments,
You.

There is only one heart in my body, have mercy on me.

The brown leaves buried all winter creatureless feet
running over dead grass beginning to green, the first scent-
less violet here and there, returned, the first star noticed all
at once as one stands staring into the black water.

Thank You for letting me live for a little as one of the

sane; thank You for letting me know what this is
like.
Thank You for letting me look at your frightening

blue sky without fear, and your terrible world without

terror, and your loveless psychotic and hopelessly

lost

     with this love

today's kindness: walk on the beach and picking up litter. 5.  

this is a poem i return to often - especially the last stanza. given the last few day's events, i thought it would be appropriate to share. 

memorial for jenny s

fresh cut flowers

one of my good friends passed away this weekend. we met each other two years ago through a mutual AA contact... she had 8 months more than i did.

in may 2007 she relapsed, to everyone's shock, and took 36 vicodin in a 12 hour period. she was promptly sent to another rehab - her fourth, i believe? - in texas.

i felt a range of emotions - devastation, sadness, pity, concern, anger - the usual host of feelings surrounding a relapse – mine or someone else’s.

but as time went on, I heard from her less and less. a whole lot of life was happening, and we lost touch, save the occasional email here and there.

i hate this disease, this silent assassin.

there is nothing you can do for someone in the throes of alcoholism. i don’t care what the manifestation is – drinking, drugging, fucking – it’s all the same.

i am lucky i got this sobriety/ recovery thing before it was too late. i flirted with death, and wound up in the hospital more times than i care to admit.

Anyway…. Jenny was smart, funny, and beautiful. 26 years old. Last year we celebrated her birthday with a day at the beach. She was Jewish, and had a profound connection to her religion. On Wednesday nights she would cook us dinner – her specialty was pico de gallo – and finish it off with a desert of ice cream and gummy worms. She loved clothes, she loved makeup, she loved her family and her friends. Unfortunately, she loved pills more.

She relapsed another time in Texas, and was taken to a detox center. I guess the pills and alcohol were still in her system – because that night she took a bath and drowned.

please, if any of you are even questioning whether or not you are an alcoholic/ addict – just get in touch with someone who is sober. You can ask me, or someone else, just please reach your hand out.

my good deed today: organizing a memorial service here in newport. no rating.

14th kindness: a memorial for Jenny S.

fresh cut flowers

weekend round up

12th kindness: donating blood to unknown recipients / 8 (I passed out)

13th kindness: buying a birthday present i can't afford for a friend i really love/ 5 (it's my duty!)


explanation: 

I think I post too often. I'm going to skip the weekends from now on... don't want to bore you readers! plus blogger isn't working, and won't let me upload pics. infuriating! time to call on my destroyer!

here is the test! 

http://www.capt.org/catalog/MBTI-Book-PMAIonline.htm

results

I took the test. Here are my results:

Your PMAI Scores:
Lover - 28
Creator - 25
Magician - 25
Ruler - 24
Sage - 23
Jester - 23
Destroyer - 22
Warrior - 22
Caregiver - 22
Seeker - 22
Innocent - 20
Orphan - 13

I am a lover/ creator/ magician – these are the roles I play most of the time.

These archetypes are available to me, but do not determine how I view the world: Ruler/ Sage/ Jester/ Destroyer/ Warrior/ Caregiver/ Seeker/ Innocent.

I do not call on the Orphan often, and have trouble understanding why people play this role.

Lover:
I assume that love is the answer. I am sensuous, alive, vital, and full of love for others and for life. I see others as peers, not people in need of help.

Creator:
I assume what can be imagined can be created.

Magician:
I assume that perception defines reality.

fitting for someone with a disease of perception, eh?

I DON’T understand the Orphan: someone who “assumes that it pays to be careful”. Someone who uses realism and logic to combat day to day problems...

….psh! This is so not my proverbial cup-o-tea. I tend to play with fire until the point of third degree burns. I guess I could learn from annies.

a thought: every boy I have ever dated fits this profile. opposites attract?

11th kindness: help from Jung & helping the young

balboa boardwalk.

some history 

We all have stories – we all have plots. I’m going to call your life your plot, and my life my plot. This is a change from my Wavy Gravy days – remember, friend? – when I called my reality my “movie” and your reality, your “movie”. **

** NOTE: This was also the time I lived on the beach with out air conditioning in the dead middle of Florida summer. Upwards of 100 degrees. I spent my days painting on walls and my nights skinny dipping in neighbor’s pools… need I say more? 

Carl Jung called the roles we play in our specific plots our “archetypes”. Father, mother, child, lover, sister, creator, warrior, caregiver, blogger, dog lover – whatever.

There are as many archetypes as there are “typical situations in life”. But we tend to use a select few – our “dominant archetypes”. Sometimes we screw up – we use the wrong archetypes in the wrong situations. Like trying to fit a round peg in a square hole, it just doesn’t fit. Jung said, "there is no lunacy people under the domination of an archetype will not fall a prey to" (Jung, 1959). Powerful stuff, huh? That Jung. Jokester. 

A woman I admire very much suggested I take this test, and I’m going to… but first I wanted to present a little background!

I know at least one of you – ahem, Cassandra – will want to take this with me.

good deed today: introducing myself to a newcomer (she is 15) and giving her my unlisted phone number. i just hope i can be an example - not a cautionary tale. 6. 

have a wonderful weekend, everyone! and thank you so much for your smart, thoughtful comments. they really make my day. even your's, my omy friend.