Do you ever want to push the mute button on yourself and everyone else?
Right now, that’s how I feel. For several weeks. I have plenty to say, but I’m so angry. People like to make it about them and not what I’m saying. I’m so sick of politics and getting old. Why can’t people just do and think with common sense?
I have plenty to say, but I lack the energy to say it .
The front yard must be very exciting. I don’t see the appeal of dragging your kitchen chairs out into the yard and sitting there for hours, all hours of the day or night. But whatever.
This is not a racist post.
What do you think?
So even if my life is wasted (which I often feel like it is), and I’m just sitting around all day self-indulging and generally feeling miserable not seeing another soul, and my only human contact being video games and the person at the McDonald’s drive-through, the least I can do is love God, right? And try to avoid grievous sin, right?
I was an Irish dancer in high school for a few years. It was back during all that craze about River Dance, Michael Flatley and all that. So my dance studio where I took normal ballet, tap, and jazz also offered Irish Step Dancing. That was fun.
So fast forward to now. I’ve done quite a bit more dancing…tap, shows, etc. I don’t take formal dance classes any more because I’m not a professional dancer and around here it’s only kids’ lessons. I’m also busy performing (though I should be in classes, really). About a year ago I got interested in Celtic dancing again, since that’s my heritage. I looked around at Irish step again, but the places I called seemed more like beauty pageant studios than dance places. So I looked a little farther and found a place that does Scottish Highland Dancing. It’s similar to Irish but different. Obviously, since it’s Scots. I’m Scots-Irish in heritage, so I feel an affinity to both of them. But the lady never emailed me the info like she said she would. So I was bummed and didn’t do it.
Now…a year later, she finds my old email and contacts me. Last night I started classes. Oh my gosh, guys…the arches of my feet are killing me! Well, between this and the 2 hour professional tap audition I did on Tuesday for 42nd Street. But I’m excited about this! This is a great group of adults who travel and perform and also compete. I’m so excited! Can you tell?
I’m still set for All Hands On Deck tour in late September…in Macon, GA and Irmo, South Carolina. Performing is so much fun!
Now I just need another job …
I am developing a plan of action to supplement my income.
If you have any ideas, let me know.
Home…you know you’ve arrived when you walk in the door. The smell, even though you long forgot it, it floods your nostrils and brain and you realize how much you missed it. I’m home. I’m neatly tucked into my four poster bed, white Christmas lights glowing…black and white Zorro cat purring near me, the faint smell of Lush Karma in the air. I’m home.
That is…intolerance toward Christians. In the name of tolerance, of course.
You can always praise tolerance unless someone has Christian beliefs. Then the war is on.
These Christians were preaching the gospel at a “gay pride” rally. Which is the screaming, angry side here?
Can’t we at least play by the same set of definitions? Tolerance does not mean agreeing. It means being civil and respectful to those whose beliefs might be your polar opposite. For example, I detest the stuff that Westboro Baptist Church does, but I tolerate their right to do so because I’m tolerant (in the real sense of the word).
I will preach the gospel, and I will do so with kindness, grace, and not screaming. But I will not alter it in any way to make it less offensive to sin.
As usual, I stayed up too late playing a video game. I’m tired, emotionally drained, feeling like crashing. I’m chatting with a friend so I move the conversation to my laptop, turn off the lights, get into bed, and pull up the covers. I feel something run across my leg, so I instinctively kicked. Then I feel it go across the other leg. I proceed to freak out, jump out of bed, and turn on the light.
I guess my new friend, Brownie the Recluse just wanted to cuddle, or something.
Needless to say he’s gone on to the next life, if there is a spider afterlife. He’s no longer with us.
Also needless to say, I didn’t sleep till the sun came up.
If you’d like to make a donation in memory of Brownie, send money to my paypal account.
Sweet dreams!
Recent Comments