Everything is all I have to give to you, and I'm afraid it's not enough

This is going to be long, and filled with my normal monologue, an excerpt from a new story of mine, music, maybe some photos, and ending with a poetry quotation. Most of it won't be in that order, except for the first and last things. This is your chance for an out if a long, rambling blog post is not your scene right now.

It's been a blissful week of relaxation.

I've made a lot of decisions in the last seven days, and I'm happy with all of them.

The new office is fantastic, I love the people, and I've been getting offers to work for a few of the agents privately.

I've been really concentrating on painting, writing, and listening to music in my downtime. I've been running again, going to the gym, hanging out with my friends, and generally just being happy. I haven't been happy in awhile. I've been stressed and tired and sad, but things are looking up. I think school being out has helped, my volunteer work at hospice (strange as that may sound) has helped, a few new friends have helped, and getting rid of my stress through my old favorites has done wonders for my mood. We had a get-together yesterday with lots of delicious food, lots of fun people, and lots of booze. But I only had one drink. And then I took a refreshing nap. It was a gorgeously breezy day, perfect temperature outside, and some of my favorite people were there with me. It was wonderful.

I have a very busy night in front of me. I have to do my laundry and pack my stuff for going to Alabama tomorrow. I get jittery about flying before I get on a plane, but once I'm on the plane, I'm fairly well resigned to whatever happens to me. Mostly because I don't have a choice. I AM excited about whatever it is I'll be writing while I fly, though. I always write when I fly. I'm sure I'll post it, as long as I, you know, survive. I have two stories that I could write more of, but I prefer writing something fresh. We'll see how it goes.

This is my new favorite song right now:

I've had this CD for a long, long time, but I haven't really paid much attention to it. I had sort of a long drive yesterday, and I felt like listening to Atmosphere, so I popped this in. I remembered a few of the songs on there that I enjoyed my first few listens, and some of them have been greatly enjoyed by me since (I think I've posted Guarantees in my blog before, but there's also You, Your Glass House, and Me). But I've listened to this one quite a few times today. It's very 90's kind of jazz-pop, and of course, I'm a sucker for a well-sung story, and Slug delivers those immaculately.

I went to Cripple Creek to take some photos a few days ago. I wasn't terribly pleased with them, but here're the few I didn't necessarily mind:

 This building was wonderfully cute, but it was on a slanted street. So, it didn't matter much how I positioned myself, the angles of it are odd. Which keeps me from actually loving it.

 It's a little bit like Gladiator. It makes me a bit wistful, and a bit sad. But I loved the colors. I was at -2/3, so I didn't even need to do any post. I mean, I did, but I didn't need to.

 Welp. That's a lamp.

 This house made me think of the Keys. I wonder if I'll have time for a small day trip to the Keys when I go visit everyone in July. It's so tacky and colorful there. Plus, conch fritters! Which I won't take pictures of, I'd just eat en masse.

 The back of the police station. I. Love. It.

A quick stop on the way home grabbed this. The clouds were fantastic, the light was wonderful, and while the picture isn't great, I wanted to have a small snapshot of the gorgeous drive home.

I started a new story, and the devices I'm trying to use are making it slow going. I know exactly what I want to do and where I want to go, I just don't know how to say it. Here's what I have so far:

There was a window in The Workshop. It was huge, and square, and split up into sections by ornate iron dressings that broke up the sunlight and spilled it onto the floor, casting gorgeous shadows and interesting patterns. None of this should have mattered to Idris, because Idris was made of metals and gears. Everything here was, and in The Workshop, things like sunlight were nothing more than something that was. Time, too. Time passed, but it didn’t matter. The metal and gears that would go into a clock served a higher purpose in The Workshop, and everything came through The Workshop at some point or another.

Idris had metal fingers that worked efficiently when they were supposed to, which was exactly the way of The Workshop. Idris had come through The Workshop, just like everything else. Idris was created to create, and that’s precisely what Idris did. Very precisely, as was the way of The Workshop.

The sounds of The Workshop were everywhere here. The clattering sounds of creation, the clangs and booms of destruction, and the gentle whirrs of the in-between hung in the smoky, oil-heavy air. But the sun still shone, and it made it through the noise and the smog, through the bars on the windows, leaving its mark on Idris’ floor. Idris should not have been distracted by something as organic as sunlight. Organic didn’t matter in The Workshop, because nothing was.

There wasn’t a word yet for the moment when Idris noticed the sunshine. That’s what Idris called it. A moment. The metals and gears clinked a little when the moment happened. Idris thought….Idris thought. That hadn’t happened before. Idris thought that the shapes on the floor looked….they looked. They looked like something not made of metal and gears. Idris shook and rattled, and looked upon the floor. Efficient metal fingers reached out to grab the shapes, but the precise tips clicked against the floor of The Workshop. Idris thought. The jointed metal in Idris’ neck tilted. Idris tried again. 

It feels clunky to me, and I know it absolutely should, but it's hard to keep going when I can't get that thought out of my mind. 

And now, I think I'm about done for today. So, I will end this with an excerpt from a poem. I don't like the beginning, but I do love where I'm going to pick it up from. 

He can never find

how true you are, how ready.

When the great wind comes

and the robberies of the rain

you stand on the corner shivering.

The people who go by- 

you wonder at their calm.

They miss the whisper that runs

any day in your mind, 

"Who are you really, wanderer?"

and the answer you have to give

no matter how dark and cold

the world around you is:

"Maybe I'm a king."