WRITE.
WRITE ANYTHING.
WRTIE NOTHING.
WRITE IT ALL.
WRITE NONE OF IT.
WRITE.
SPEAK.
SPEAK WHAT YOU MEAN.
SPEAK WHAT YOU DO NOT MEAN.
SPEAK DIRECTLY.
SPEAK IN A CIRCLE.
SPEAK.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sam
Once upon a time in a land far far away, there lived a boy. He was a handsome boy.
He was a prince. Or so they told him. He'd never felt like
a prince; always being told what to do
and where to go and just what he should be doing when he went. He'd never felt that his
life was his own. And now it was. It was a secret. One that ran to the very core of his existence.
He was no prince. If fact he was far from any kind of prince. They told him that princes were bold,
brave, and strong. They told him that princes grew up to be valiant Kings, nobly serving their
subjects with honor and valor and unwavering conviction. This boy was none of these things.
He knew nothing of valour and courage; of strenth or conviction. He really felt he knew nothing at
all. He knew this though - he was no prince. And he was running away. He was tired of all the lies,
all the secrecy; always pretending to be someone and something he was not.
He knew that the life he was living was no life at all. There had to be something
else out there. Something more than what he had now. So he packed up and left just before the break
of dawn. And he was gone. Never to be a prince again. Never to be told where to go and who to be.
He was his own. He learned to play the harp and played in an inn not 50 leagues outside his home kingdom.
And he made certain that no one knew he was once called, "your highness" and "prince". As he played,
as he lived, he learned of all the things he'd been told about. All that the
lessons and books had described. He married and had a few girls and learned what the word courage meant.
Living taught him that valour wasn't just for kings, it was for all people.
He learned that every boy could be a prince. What he thought he had to be in order to be a prince
had always been apart of him. He just hadn't known how to see it. It was as if the boy hadn't known
his own name. When he played then harp, when he went home at night, he knew his name.
One day the boy ventured back to his kingdom. Things hadn't changed much, but he had changed. He walked with conviction and honor; the look of bravery etched in his face and the gleam of boldness in his eyes. The King and Queen hardly recognized the boy who had left them so many years before. They had sent many valient Knights to look for the boy but none had ever returned with word of his whereabouts. When the boy had left, he'd been a boy. The boy returned now a prince and a man. They welcomed him back with open arms.
His fellow townsfolk had
always known that the boy was the runaway prince. And they'd known the boy's name all along.
They'd seen in him the prince he could have been and the man he always had been.
They knew he needed to find a way to see. They never called him "Your Highness" or
"Prince". They knew he would learn those names in time. They called him Sam.
He was a prince. Or so they told him. He'd never felt like
a prince; always being told what to do
and where to go and just what he should be doing when he went. He'd never felt that his
life was his own. And now it was. It was a secret. One that ran to the very core of his existence.
He was no prince. If fact he was far from any kind of prince. They told him that princes were bold,
brave, and strong. They told him that princes grew up to be valiant Kings, nobly serving their
subjects with honor and valor and unwavering conviction. This boy was none of these things.
He knew nothing of valour and courage; of strenth or conviction. He really felt he knew nothing at
all. He knew this though - he was no prince. And he was running away. He was tired of all the lies,
all the secrecy; always pretending to be someone and something he was not.
He knew that the life he was living was no life at all. There had to be something
else out there. Something more than what he had now. So he packed up and left just before the break
of dawn. And he was gone. Never to be a prince again. Never to be told where to go and who to be.
He was his own. He learned to play the harp and played in an inn not 50 leagues outside his home kingdom.
And he made certain that no one knew he was once called, "your highness" and "prince". As he played,
as he lived, he learned of all the things he'd been told about. All that the
lessons and books had described. He married and had a few girls and learned what the word courage meant.
Living taught him that valour wasn't just for kings, it was for all people.
He learned that every boy could be a prince. What he thought he had to be in order to be a prince
had always been apart of him. He just hadn't known how to see it. It was as if the boy hadn't known
his own name. When he played then harp, when he went home at night, he knew his name.
One day the boy ventured back to his kingdom. Things hadn't changed much, but he had changed. He walked with conviction and honor; the look of bravery etched in his face and the gleam of boldness in his eyes. The King and Queen hardly recognized the boy who had left them so many years before. They had sent many valient Knights to look for the boy but none had ever returned with word of his whereabouts. When the boy had left, he'd been a boy. The boy returned now a prince and a man. They welcomed him back with open arms.
His fellow townsfolk had
always known that the boy was the runaway prince. And they'd known the boy's name all along.
They'd seen in him the prince he could have been and the man he always had been.
They knew he needed to find a way to see. They never called him "Your Highness" or
"Prince". They knew he would learn those names in time. They called him Sam.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Rome...Rome...Rome...
I'm finding that I spend a great deal of my time just thinking. Past, present, future... It doesn't really matter which of those I choose, thinking is done. I wish I were kidding when I say that some days I spend hours just sitting and thinking. Mostly I blame my adorable little sister for this past time. When Anne was little she used to not be able to sleep because she was thinking. No joke, she would spend a good hour or so starring at the wall, just thinking before falling asleep. She thinks and wonders about everything. When we were both younger, it used to drive me nuts. She had to ask questions about anything and everything all the time. Nothing was just accepted at face value. She had to know the why or how of it all. With growing into adulthood I have since ceased being annoyed with her inquiries and now admire the workings of her little mind. (Little - not noting the size but merely the age - comparatively - of her mind to my own or to ... the dinosaurs... ya, I should have stopped at dirt police.)I wish I didn't just accept the world around me but that I questioned and challenged it at every turn. Rome wasn't built in a day and hopefully there is still a chance for me to be like Anne.
Thankfully I now have a job where I get paid to do just that(...build Rome). Not that I get paid for the things I'm thinking because they are significant or profound... more that I now have the opportunity to sit in a cubicle for 8 hours, five of the seven days of the week. When I'm not studying or gabbing or otherwise filling my time, I just sit and think. My thoughts are sporadically interrupted by "Hello, thank you for calling Jitterbug"s but never for much more than 45 seconds. Then it's back to staring at Bekah's lovely colored pencil drawings and thinking more about:
my life and who it is that I would like to be someday,
or why it is that I'm currently in the emotional state that I am in,
or how it is that I've managed to screw up yet another set of relationships in my life without even meaning to or realizing it,
or which president was it that came after Jackson - Van Buren or Harrison?,
or which state is missing from the list this time - Mississippi or Kentucky?,
or who came up with the rules for naming bicarbonate sulfate and why is that the only organic compound I can remember?,
or why does the semi-creepy CS agent next to me have such a sexy voice?
or what do I need to bring on my trip to St. George?
or does semi-creepy CS agent man know I think his voice is sexy?
or where in the world DID my bandwagon go?
or how early do I really have to get up if I want to go to the gym tomorrow?
or why do I have NO desire to be in a relationship despite current situations being good and by all considerations the best prospects I've ever had?
or did Shopko have a matching necklace to go with those earrings and bracelet set I bought? Did I just miss it? What else can I wear with that? Pearls SO did NOT work!
...and so forth.
Now, I realize that this thinking isn't maybe as profound as some thinking, but I've come a long way.
Let's not lose focus here... Rome... Rome... Rome...
Ah phooey! It's all Greek to me anyways!
Goodnight, dear void.
Thankfully I now have a job where I get paid to do just that(...build Rome). Not that I get paid for the things I'm thinking because they are significant or profound... more that I now have the opportunity to sit in a cubicle for 8 hours, five of the seven days of the week. When I'm not studying or gabbing or otherwise filling my time, I just sit and think. My thoughts are sporadically interrupted by "Hello, thank you for calling Jitterbug"s but never for much more than 45 seconds. Then it's back to staring at Bekah's lovely colored pencil drawings and thinking more about:
my life and who it is that I would like to be someday,
or why it is that I'm currently in the emotional state that I am in,
or how it is that I've managed to screw up yet another set of relationships in my life without even meaning to or realizing it,
or which president was it that came after Jackson - Van Buren or Harrison?,
or which state is missing from the list this time - Mississippi or Kentucky?,
or who came up with the rules for naming bicarbonate sulfate and why is that the only organic compound I can remember?,
or why does the semi-creepy CS agent next to me have such a sexy voice?
or what do I need to bring on my trip to St. George?
or does semi-creepy CS agent man know I think his voice is sexy?
or where in the world DID my bandwagon go?
or how early do I really have to get up if I want to go to the gym tomorrow?
or why do I have NO desire to be in a relationship despite current situations being good and by all considerations the best prospects I've ever had?
or did Shopko have a matching necklace to go with those earrings and bracelet set I bought? Did I just miss it? What else can I wear with that? Pearls SO did NOT work!
...and so forth.
Now, I realize that this thinking isn't maybe as profound as some thinking, but I've come a long way.
Let's not lose focus here... Rome... Rome... Rome...
Ah phooey! It's all Greek to me anyways!
Goodnight, dear void.
East coast, Nevada
He laughed. It had been months since he'd felt this happy. He had known that the day would come when he'd finally be able to put things in the past but it had felt like an eternity to get to that place. So dumb. He still couldn't believe he'd gotten so upset. She hadn't meant what she'd said anyway so why did he have to make her feel so badly for it? It had been mostly his fault anyway. When you provoke a person into saying something, can they really be blamed for it? He'd been asking for it. And, boy, did he get it. It was the truth. They'd both known it the minute she'd let the words slip from her mouth. And then she was gone. For better or worse, they had stopped calling one another and eventually allowed themselves to drift apart. He might not even recognize her if she passed him on the street anymore. (He'd recognize her. How could he not?) And for what? A moment of stupid passion; aggression unmeant to hurt or linger permanently, like a scar on the beautiful face of their friendship. A friendship that was supposed to be so much more than just a friendship. And now... look where they were. Her - somewhere on the East coast and he - stuck in Nevada with no prospects of leaving and no ambition to follow the woman he secretly wished was still in his life. But she wasn't. Not today at least. And today was all he could live in. At least he could laugh again. He prayed she could too.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Feelings...Biznuz
Why your feelings gotta be all up in my biznuz?
I just trying to be friends and you go all whack on me?
What dat all 'bout?
Now we can't be no friends, dawg.
I say I no want to be lovers and you go a-wall.
Why your feelings gotta be all up in my biznuz?
Goodnight, dear void.
Disclaimer: I mean no disrepect to any reader. This is how my feelings chose to express themselves this evening. Please forgive. Peace and blessings.
I just trying to be friends and you go all whack on me?
What dat all 'bout?
Now we can't be no friends, dawg.
I say I no want to be lovers and you go a-wall.
Why your feelings gotta be all up in my biznuz?
Goodnight, dear void.
Disclaimer: I mean no disrepect to any reader. This is how my feelings chose to express themselves this evening. Please forgive. Peace and blessings.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
On the Job
I recently just got hired at a company called Dialogue Marketing. The project I am specifically on is called Great Call, or Jitterbug.
Here's the gist of it...
Ring, Ring....
Me: Hello, thank you for calling Jitterbug, this is Abby. Am I speaking with Ruth?
Ruth: Yes this is Ruth. Are you there? Hello?
Me: Yes, mam, I'm here. How may I help you tonight?
Ruth: Oh, thank you hunny. I was just trying to call in and vote for American Idol but I can't seem to get the number to work. I have to vote before 10pm, you know. I really would like to vote but I just can't get the number to work.
Me: Okay... Would you like me to try to find the number you need to call to vote then?
Ruth: Oh! You can do that?! Thank you, dear. I would really appreciate it. I need to vote before 10pm, you know. Thank you so much.
Me:I'd be happy to. One moment while I pull up that number.
Ruth: Of course. Of course. Take your time. I was just to tickled by that young thing tonight and the number has always worked for me before but I just can't seem to get it to work tonight. And I have to vote before 10 0'clock otherwise she won't win, you know.
Me: Looks like I have a list here for all the contestants with their corresponding voting numbers. Which contestant would you like to vote for tonight?
Ruth: Oh no. I've forgotten the name. Oh no. I need to vote before 10 and I can't remember...
Me: Would you like me to read off the contestants they have listed here?
Ruth: Oh! Would you do that?! You are such a dear. Thank you.
After reading all the names and spelling each one...
Me: Do you know which contestant you would like to vote for, Ruth?
Ruth: Oh. You know, I think it's best if we vote for the first one.
Me: The first one I listed?
Ruth: Yes, yes. I have to vote before ten, you know. Thank you, hunny. Thank you.
Me: My pleasure. I'll go ahead and connect your call, and thank you for calling Jitterbug, Ruth. Have a lovely evening.
Ruth: Oh, thank you hunny. I just love that American Idol. Thank you so much. God bless you.
Me: Not a problem, have a wonderful night.
Ruth: You too, sweetie. You too.
Click.
I love it. I know some of you are reading this and thinking this would be the worst job in the world. I am really enjoying it.
Every day I come in and sit on the anti-social side of the cubicals for 5 or 6 hours and I study and practice being productive. Then during my last break I pick up and move over to the main isle of cubicles to talk to my peeps, Courtney, Loren, Brittany, and Alema. I really didn't know if I would like this line of work and was really worried after loving work at Jo Anns so much that I would hate working for Jitterbug. I was so wrong. As much as I could have hated it, I have loved it.
If you ever end up with a Jitterbug in your hand, dial 0 then Yes and you just might get a pleasant surprise. :)
Goodnight, dear void.
Here's the gist of it...
Ring, Ring....
Me: Hello, thank you for calling Jitterbug, this is Abby. Am I speaking with Ruth?
Ruth: Yes this is Ruth. Are you there? Hello?
Me: Yes, mam, I'm here. How may I help you tonight?
Ruth: Oh, thank you hunny. I was just trying to call in and vote for American Idol but I can't seem to get the number to work. I have to vote before 10pm, you know. I really would like to vote but I just can't get the number to work.
Me: Okay... Would you like me to try to find the number you need to call to vote then?
Ruth: Oh! You can do that?! Thank you, dear. I would really appreciate it. I need to vote before 10pm, you know. Thank you so much.
Me:I'd be happy to. One moment while I pull up that number.
Ruth: Of course. Of course. Take your time. I was just to tickled by that young thing tonight and the number has always worked for me before but I just can't seem to get it to work tonight. And I have to vote before 10 0'clock otherwise she won't win, you know.
Me: Looks like I have a list here for all the contestants with their corresponding voting numbers. Which contestant would you like to vote for tonight?
Ruth: Oh no. I've forgotten the name. Oh no. I need to vote before 10 and I can't remember...
Me: Would you like me to read off the contestants they have listed here?
Ruth: Oh! Would you do that?! You are such a dear. Thank you.
After reading all the names and spelling each one...
Me: Do you know which contestant you would like to vote for, Ruth?
Ruth: Oh. You know, I think it's best if we vote for the first one.
Me: The first one I listed?
Ruth: Yes, yes. I have to vote before ten, you know. Thank you, hunny. Thank you.
Me: My pleasure. I'll go ahead and connect your call, and thank you for calling Jitterbug, Ruth. Have a lovely evening.
Ruth: Oh, thank you hunny. I just love that American Idol. Thank you so much. God bless you.
Me: Not a problem, have a wonderful night.
Ruth: You too, sweetie. You too.
Click.
I love it. I know some of you are reading this and thinking this would be the worst job in the world. I am really enjoying it.
Every day I come in and sit on the anti-social side of the cubicals for 5 or 6 hours and I study and practice being productive. Then during my last break I pick up and move over to the main isle of cubicles to talk to my peeps, Courtney, Loren, Brittany, and Alema. I really didn't know if I would like this line of work and was really worried after loving work at Jo Anns so much that I would hate working for Jitterbug. I was so wrong. As much as I could have hated it, I have loved it.
If you ever end up with a Jitterbug in your hand, dial 0 then Yes and you just might get a pleasant surprise. :)
Goodnight, dear void.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Sit it out? Or dance?
Dance.
I'm taking time in my life to just dance.
Who's watching? I have no idea.
Are they enjoying it? I don't care.
Dance.
It's about time.
From the blog of Abby Holyoak.
Goodnight, dear void.
I'm taking time in my life to just dance.
Who's watching? I have no idea.
Are they enjoying it? I don't care.
Dance.
It's about time.
From the blog of Abby Holyoak.
Goodnight, dear void.
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