The Great Act

Have I grown in a direction away from everyone I know? I feel isolated in my thoughts, and don't know how to express the vastness I feel. Peace is in the moments between life. In seeing the world in front of me as the snow takes over the plains and the horizon is nothing more than a place I could have once known. Or how I can drive for miles listening to melodies, and in one moment the corner I turn with tenacity paired with chords full of memories with sun shining across fresh snow on decorated lawns awakens me to this act of living. But why am I living? Today I feel as if I share this grand experience with myself. Longing to let someone in isn't the same as being able to. How much of what I do is real? Is my kindness a charade? Am I acting every day of my life?

the world became white around us.

I had a wonderful birthday.

First, a rather foggy Saturday night, the clouds in part to 3/4's on The Innocent wine that I killed while getting ready. Quick macbook photo shoot as a Sexy Lumberjack (Ha, be more hipster) and I was out with Hobbits and Superman I'm sure I was drinking somewhere, and I don't know how I got to that House, but happy birthday, I've lived!

In the morning, when I was twenty three, snow had fallen all over this perfect little town. It wasn't cold, but it was there in abundance, and the hills were covered and my hair was wet. Brunch was delicious and intimate. There was no competition, nothing passed unsaid. We were happy with each other as we filled in along the endless table.

A quick shuttle up the mountain in The Subaru, my motorized extension of self. We three stood on the edge of the world, and laughed at our height while we looked out into the endless, and then into nothing as the world became white around us.

Pie. Yoga. Noodles. Sleep. And here I am: a day later, a day older, and happy.

first day of fall.

Here's the thing: Nobody knows about your bullshit.

I'm discovering it more everyday as I continue to be only face value friends with co-workers and patrons. All anyone will ever know about me, if I choose so, is that I'm a snazzy dresser, with a honest and kind disposition, who can be a little bit of a sarcastic asshole. I have good posture, I walk around (strut, ha) with confidence, and I have an impressive vocabulary which indicates that I'm at least a little educated. Yet I hold in my memory, years of being teased by other girls, years of only my mother telling me that I'm pretty, years of delicious nerdiness and obsession, years of daddy issues, years of sexual failures, and years of working my ass off for institutions that could give two shits less about me now. But you don't need to know that. All you see are the good things. I carry these things around with me, but they are only manifestations in my development as a human being as a whole. No one gives a shit what you did in high school, or where you're going this afternoon, or who you're friends happen to be. Are you being nice to me in our thirty seconds of time together here on this big bad earth? Awesome. I guess that's all one can ask from people that see each other day in and day out who have no real relationships; be good to each other.

Sitting in front of a computer all day has really killed the laptop junkie in me. When I get home, the last thing I want to do is look at a computer screen anymore than I have to. I think this might be the best thing that has come out of my corporate mind numbing job. That and how much I truly relish every second I'm not here. When I get to step outside and have biting wind pierce my lungs, and sting my eyes I almost account the cold tears to tears of joy. Escape, Air, Life, Space, Terra Firma; my Soul releases and flies for thirty minutes of hazy lunch until I am caged once again and chained to this PC and multi line phone.

Regina and Hugh (the nice older couple :cough: that I'm living with) are under the impression that I go out far to often. I think they're just not aware that when you get home from a long day of work, you do not have to sit in front of your television until you go to bed. I am not the sort of person (as they are) who thrives on stability. Obviously my life has stability, I HAVE TO show up every single day, Monday to Friday before 5:30, and I leave this concrete jailhouse every day at 2. This is more stability than I even need. I also have found true personal, physical, artistic, and emotional stability in yoga. So yes, I am spending about an hour of my day commuting to different studios around Denver, but the results and the peace it brings me are worth it.

Thank god for my friends, and the sebmlence of a life! The saving grace of the working stiff! The instability I crave is found in staying out late and going see my friends band, or hitting the bars, or living like any other twenty something. This does result in lack of sleep, but like a some high school kid, I make up for it on the weekends in fifteen hour mini hibernation's. I honestly see nothing wrong with this. I would rather spend every day doing something new and absurd, where I feel like my human experience is activated, than sitting at this desk feeling my mind and body rot slowly away.

So, I shall use my powers of 7 1/2 hours of seated internet access for good. I'm reading the entire cannon of Shakespeare.

musings within a brightly colored room..

I've got some thoughts about babies.

No, I do not want one, nor do I feel my internal clock going off. Its just that...
They're so small. They are just these tiny little people that have nothing on them: No weight, no deeply rooted issues, no fears. They have not yet done anything to make their parent's disappointed, hardening their skin to a frequently morose world. They are receptive and appreciate of love from all directions whether familiar face, or new smiling one. They trust, because they have no other reason to believe or even question the existence of another option.

Just something I noticed.

------

I sit in this waiting room and I can feel my life slipping away from me. No one should experience the sense that their time is being wasted. Now I know I'm getting paid, so it's not a complete waste, but that's not what I'm talking about. I mean my abilities are going to waste. My capacity is dying. I am doing monotonous tasks and feigning polite conversation for eight hours of my daily existence. I should never have to pretend like this because after having stewed in the daily pleasantries, numbness is setting in. My eyes glaze towards these family. Hi. Do you like spacemen? Blah, Blah, Comfort, Kindness. It's getting fake; and that is what hurts. That I am forcing these emotions that I honestly felt a few weeks ago. Such repetitive human interaction has removed my humane feelings.

Apparently, The health care system has crushed my idealism. Now I know how Obama feels (Ba-zing!)

Pitch this.

I am not turning 23.

I am turning 16.

Not a time traveler, but in a new situational comedy ripe for the sitcom audiences of CBS or Mid-Ninties America. I can't think of a clever title for my basement dwelling sitcom, but it involves such riot situations as:

Hearing my parents have sex in the creaky four poster directly above my bed.
Always having explanations for where I have been until 3 in the morning.
Their understanding my needs for hangover cures and birth control
Sleeping all day on Saturday
... and Sunday
Getting up and out of the house for work before they do.
Doing the crowded morning shuffle when I don't
Hearing comments on how I'm not eating enough
(my favorite)
Getting called on the hickie on my neck before leaving for work this very morning.

High-sterical.

It's a surreal situation in my life. Both personally, and on the homefront. I'm redefining who I am, through the small actions of the everyday. This is the latest edition of Cailin, and this is the way she moves, and reacts and interprets the day to day. She is not the same model from three years ago, or even one.

I am not a student, I live with a "very nice older couple", I have a job where the title "Corporate Compliance" is on the tongues of Management. And yes, all of these things are killing me a little. At the same time, I am starting to save money, time is available for practicing, reading and furthering my audition fundamentals, I am doing a lot of yoga, personal meditation and reflection are up threefold, and I've never felt more comfortable about who I am, and that I am special. Seeing so many in this office world settling for any lot in life, or neglecting opportunities to continue their lifelong pursuit of education only affirms my own belief that; Yes, I am smarter than the Average American worker, and Yes, my dreams can be fulfilled, and Yes I can continue to take out years of loans to someday have a PhD and teach at some romantic sprawling-lawned academic utopia.

I am in Flux. Transition. ReDefinition. All of these things are fine.

In these rooms.

When I am asked what my regrets are, I always reply that I have none. I honestly regret nothing I have said or done, because whatever action was taken was how I felt in the moment, and those moments have lead me to the exact place I am in right now. So instead of saying that I have a regret, I will say I am saddened by circumstances. The circumstance I find myself in right now is that I am moving out of my college apartment. I feel like my collegiate experience had two distinct periods, which is very true considering the brief foray into an English existence. I honestly feel an incredible disconnect to who I might have been before going. Not that I am particularly different in attitude or appearance, but my mind can't recall quite how I felt before. The circumstance that saddens me is not moving out of an apartment I have inhabited for over two years since returning (because that is part of moving past this college time in my life) but that I could never share it with anyone. I always wanted to wake up on a Saturday and lay in bed with someone I care about for hours, just watching the sky out the window, and listening to music while we nakedly talk about nothing. I wanted to make someone breakfast in my underwear, or take showers, or take long inhales in this place that feels more like mine than anywhere else I have ever lived. That somehow this apartment is an extension of myself, and by having someone who shared my bed and my comforts I could earnestly be close to someone. So, I am saddened by circumstances; the knowing that this will part of my heart will never been opened to someone. I wanted to fall in love in these rooms.

I am what I am not wearing.

Every morning, I wake up and proceed to dress myself in the colored charades of self that we call clothing. I choose who I shall be perceived as today, what image will strike people in a glance, and how does that then relate to how they approach me for the rest of our brief time together. They say I'm eclectic, that I've the taste of Little Eddy. I'm just waiting to find someone who will see me and love me in the early hours of the morning, when the smoke and mirrors game goes away and I am presented in the first touches of daylight as who I really am. A soft feminine person, with frequently messy hair, who is happiest when we can just be, no exterior facade necessary.

Truth.

I lead a pretty fantastic life. I get up every morning, breathe fresh air, walk out to see these beasts of mountains in front of me, and I go to a job where I am respected and respect the people I work for incredibly. I get to be creative with my mornings, and help people to find their own creativity. I discuss life with beautiful strong women who have lead theirs and find themselves happy in their golden years; and happy on so many levels. Today I left their company and walked through dollhouses in West Boulder. Mickey and I, power walking past hundred year old homes that have been painted soothing and wild colors. In their lush setting, the remind me of how I always pictures homes as a child. Like big dollhouses, but set in rustic yet urban spaces and full of my own creations. We hit the creeks, drop our clothes and jump in over a water fall. This is of course passing the most multicultural section of this entire goddamn granola town. Suddenly, next to one another, the Muslim, Mexican, Yuppie White, College Kid Families and all gather and enjoy our little bubble. I note this, and Mick responds: "Everybody loves free fun." Truth. We've jumped and suddenly our bodies are shocked and rocked to our cores where the steam of the day hit the glacial melt off, and the rush of days of rain whipping by at occasionally deadly speeds hit us like spiritual experiences. After some otter-like play, we walk all the way home again, and we talk, and I remember that I've known him two and a half years already. Time keeps going. In a flash I'm dry from the sun and a walk back, and quick sponge down and I'm driving like a dick to get to Hallie and Nate's to see the Rockies win. Sitting in the club level is certainly better than the Rock Pile. God bless America, and this American feeling I guess, that is following on the heels of an invigorating night hike two nights ago to watch fireworks with brilliant people on a crag two miles into the mountains to see all colorful explosions across the eastern slope. What a beautiful place. I'm spoiled rotten. Sitting with even older friends, we see Laura's mom at the game, and she has tears in her eyes, just to see her daughters friends while her's is so far from home. I've always loved that family. Wonderful days, full of beautiful people, who love and give and make me feel alive. I read on a bumper sticker while walking down to the bars: 'We are not human beings having a spiritual experience, we are spiritual beings having a human experience.' Truth.

True Story

I am bad at blogging.

Sorry, self, who wanted to keep a solid memory of her thought process as she neared the end of college. Now I'm just bitter-day-job-employed-twenty-something, waiting to get her life started and i attempt to learn how to save money and be an adult.

I should at least do something creative with this woe. I've thought about writing a play. Why? Because I spent a large portion of money for four and a half years to have studied them. I feel that my brain power added with mildly intensive studying memories should produce a not horrible play. The problem of course comes with being motivated enough to start writing it, and feel creative enough to feel like I've managed to come up with something worth writing about.

I could always just start writing absolute bullshit and see where it gets me creatively.