- Stop being so goddam late all the time
- Improve memory
- Write more often
- Do some stuff that scares the shit out of me (driving in SF, performing, etc)
- Stick up for myself without blushing
- Speak with a louder voice so as to frighten people
- Go to sleep at a decent bedtime
- Don't get worked up about the little things that end up affecting #7
- Be healthier
- Practice music more often. In fact, practice music way too often.
January 3, 2009
New Year Resolutions (in no particular order)
I'll flesh these babies out later when it's not so 3:52 am-ish:
Who locked the door? 1 2 3 not me!
Aw, I just scrolled down to the bottom of my journal looking for the Post New Entry link. JS style. I've gotta remember that Blogger has it up at the top.
Before I forget this weirdness I'm experiencing, I want to write it down.
I went back home for Christmas and I think I even left reasonably early. (Usually I'm late for everything I do--I'll talk about this in a New Years Resolution entry or something because I'm resolving to stop that.) The thing is, I don't remember rushing. I do remember going back up for my umbrella after I'd packed stuff away in my car, but I don't remember locking my bedroom door or leaving the light on in my room. After seven months of living here, I have never once locked my room door. The main reason being because it has no key. It's a regular door lock--one you'd find in an office or something--not one you'd find on a bathroom that can be unlocked from the outside with a screwdriver. What I'm saying is there's no easy way to get in without some serious picking. But I came home from my Christmas vacation and it was locked.
I called the locksmith to open it and I remember running up the steps to my room so I could give him the new doorknob. (Back when the creepy roommate was around and we suspected him of going into our rooms when we were gone during the day--which he was--I had purchased a new doorknob with a set of keys so I could lock it if need be. I just never got around to putting it on because the roommate was caught and kicked out soon after.) If I remember correctly, it appeared to be daylight in my room when I ran up to get the doorknob. The thing is, I have thick fleece blankets covering my windows to keep the heat in and it's always dark in my room, no matter what time of day. I don't think I would have run so quickly up the stairs if it had been dark. Then again, I could be remembering incorrectly. I wasn't paying close attention. Maybe I did flip the light on.
The reason I'm bringing this up is because, although nothing was missing, it's really out of character for me to leave my bedroom light on when I leave the room and even more strange that I would have locked my door knowing full well the consequences of doing so. Just a few minutes ago I opened my closet and saw an open space on one of the shelves. I never have empty space in my closet because it's the only place I have to store anything and I make good use of it. Unfortunately I can't remember what was there in that space to decide whether or not anything was taken.
Nothing in the house was messed with and there was no sign of forced entry anywhere, so all I can chalk it up to is me being flaky as I was leaving that afternoon for home. Maybe I should add "paying attention to what I'm doing when I'm doing it" to my list o' resolutions.
Before I forget this weirdness I'm experiencing, I want to write it down.
I went back home for Christmas and I think I even left reasonably early. (Usually I'm late for everything I do--I'll talk about this in a New Years Resolution entry or something because I'm resolving to stop that.) The thing is, I don't remember rushing. I do remember going back up for my umbrella after I'd packed stuff away in my car, but I don't remember locking my bedroom door or leaving the light on in my room. After seven months of living here, I have never once locked my room door. The main reason being because it has no key. It's a regular door lock--one you'd find in an office or something--not one you'd find on a bathroom that can be unlocked from the outside with a screwdriver. What I'm saying is there's no easy way to get in without some serious picking. But I came home from my Christmas vacation and it was locked.
I called the locksmith to open it and I remember running up the steps to my room so I could give him the new doorknob. (Back when the creepy roommate was around and we suspected him of going into our rooms when we were gone during the day--which he was--I had purchased a new doorknob with a set of keys so I could lock it if need be. I just never got around to putting it on because the roommate was caught and kicked out soon after.) If I remember correctly, it appeared to be daylight in my room when I ran up to get the doorknob. The thing is, I have thick fleece blankets covering my windows to keep the heat in and it's always dark in my room, no matter what time of day. I don't think I would have run so quickly up the stairs if it had been dark. Then again, I could be remembering incorrectly. I wasn't paying close attention. Maybe I did flip the light on.
The reason I'm bringing this up is because, although nothing was missing, it's really out of character for me to leave my bedroom light on when I leave the room and even more strange that I would have locked my door knowing full well the consequences of doing so. Just a few minutes ago I opened my closet and saw an open space on one of the shelves. I never have empty space in my closet because it's the only place I have to store anything and I make good use of it. Unfortunately I can't remember what was there in that space to decide whether or not anything was taken.
Nothing in the house was messed with and there was no sign of forced entry anywhere, so all I can chalk it up to is me being flaky as I was leaving that afternoon for home. Maybe I should add "paying attention to what I'm doing when I'm doing it" to my list o' resolutions.
January 2, 2009
Multimedia message experimentation
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This is my backyard, btw.
January 1, 2008
Out with the old and in with the new
It's funny how one seemingly insignificant decision can have such a huge impact on your life. Back in 2003 I decided to begin an online journal at what was then a small online journaling (not to be confused with blogging) community-based Web site. Originally I signed up because a friend wanted to join and thought it would be fun if I joined with him. To be honest, I didn't like the idea and doubted it would be enjoyable to write in an online journal that the world could read. After all, I was a private person, and still am for the most part. It's kind of ironic that shortly after he joined, he canceled his account and left and I was the one who ended up staying...for over five years.
The greatest thing about the site was the community. People were there to both listen and be heard. I was 20 at the time I joined and pretty angsty. (Nowadays my angst comes and goes.) I used my journal as a way to vent my frustrations with life, family, relationships, school--anything, really--and ended up getting to know people on a very personal level because of it. It was a good feeling to know I wasn't crazy for feeling some of the emotions I was feeling, or that others would have reacted the same way I had to particular incidents.
Not only were people's journals in the traditional "dear diary"-esque format where they divulged details of their day the way I had, but some chose the more artistic route. I distinctly remember every English class I'd taken in school skipping right over the poetry section so I was never able to fully exercise that part of my writing. I soon met a man whose journal, had it been paper, would have been so saturated with rich imagery that it would've dripped when he wrote of rivers and warmed when he wrote of love. His writing was alive. He is the sole reason for my ever attempting to appreciate or try my hand at creative writing. Because of him, my own songwriting and my appreciation for others' song lyrics was never the same, and for that, as a musician, I am truly thankful.
As a regularly active member of the journal community, I developed deep relationships with many people. I had the opportunity to meet several people in person, one of whom was a lawyer who actually helped me get out of a sticky situation with a not-so-friendly real life "admirer." Others were just there for me when I needed a cyber shoulder to cry on. The community is very tight knit and I know for a fact that I am not the only person who feels this way.
As all things must come to an end, I always wondered how this cyber world would come to a close, and now I know. My favorite journal site that allowed me to make connections and grow as a writer and as a person--the site I called home for so many years--is no longer. The site adminstrator put a note up on the now barren homepage informing the community that the server's drives had been completely wiped over Christmas week. The culprit is either a faulty operating system or--even worse--a faulty person. (The note also left a link to a forum where site members could reconnect with one another.)
It's upsetting to think that someone would purposefully be so malicious as to delete thousands of people's life records, and may the heaviest guilt-ridden shame be upon him (or her), but what's done is done. I'm neither completely devastated nor ecstatic about losing all my digitized memories. Of course I would like to have them back, but I refuse to get depressed about it. Maybe it's no coincidence that this situation coincided with the New Year. Maybe it's a sign that after five years it's time to move on from the past and start living for the future. That's how I'm deciding to see it.
The greatest thing about the site was the community. People were there to both listen and be heard. I was 20 at the time I joined and pretty angsty. (Nowadays my angst comes and goes.) I used my journal as a way to vent my frustrations with life, family, relationships, school--anything, really--and ended up getting to know people on a very personal level because of it. It was a good feeling to know I wasn't crazy for feeling some of the emotions I was feeling, or that others would have reacted the same way I had to particular incidents.
Not only were people's journals in the traditional "dear diary"-esque format where they divulged details of their day the way I had, but some chose the more artistic route. I distinctly remember every English class I'd taken in school skipping right over the poetry section so I was never able to fully exercise that part of my writing. I soon met a man whose journal, had it been paper, would have been so saturated with rich imagery that it would've dripped when he wrote of rivers and warmed when he wrote of love. His writing was alive. He is the sole reason for my ever attempting to appreciate or try my hand at creative writing. Because of him, my own songwriting and my appreciation for others' song lyrics was never the same, and for that, as a musician, I am truly thankful.
As a regularly active member of the journal community, I developed deep relationships with many people. I had the opportunity to meet several people in person, one of whom was a lawyer who actually helped me get out of a sticky situation with a not-so-friendly real life "admirer." Others were just there for me when I needed a cyber shoulder to cry on. The community is very tight knit and I know for a fact that I am not the only person who feels this way.
As all things must come to an end, I always wondered how this cyber world would come to a close, and now I know. My favorite journal site that allowed me to make connections and grow as a writer and as a person--the site I called home for so many years--is no longer. The site adminstrator put a note up on the now barren homepage informing the community that the server's drives had been completely wiped over Christmas week. The culprit is either a faulty operating system or--even worse--a faulty person. (The note also left a link to a forum where site members could reconnect with one another.)
It's upsetting to think that someone would purposefully be so malicious as to delete thousands of people's life records, and may the heaviest guilt-ridden shame be upon him (or her), but what's done is done. I'm neither completely devastated nor ecstatic about losing all my digitized memories. Of course I would like to have them back, but I refuse to get depressed about it. Maybe it's no coincidence that this situation coincided with the New Year. Maybe it's a sign that after five years it's time to move on from the past and start living for the future. That's how I'm deciding to see it.
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