Life's Road Signs...

True dat!

Much to my constant chagrin, on this journey of life there are no signs along the road which say truly helpful things like:
Buckets of money over here!
Turn this way for ultimate success in your professional endeavors!
Three miles straight ahead to your perfect human companion!
Satisfaction with the state of your life and acceptance of who you are just through this thicket of brambles on the other side of the mountain!
Free puppies (already wormed, neutered, chipped, and with free food for a year)!

Wait... that last one actually does exist sometimes and is for me, in a brief moment of extreme optimism, always a sign which leads to happiness both for the recipient and the puppies.

You get the point, though. And if any of those other signs has shown up in your life and led to what is indicated, please give me directions to your road... unless that road involves joining Scientology, becoming a total slut, or sacrificing all my ethics in order to achieve my desires (gee, and I wonder why I haven't found success in Los Angeles yet...).

There are, however, signs which alert us to events, situations, traps, pitfalls, and such to avoid -- sometimes the signs are even multiple and give us a way out, if not to a better road, at least a different one with better potential. These signs aren't always obvious, but often they are, and in either instance there are times when we are either too distracted looking for the signs we want to see, or too stubborn to pay heed to the warnings, or too distracted by a drifting plastic bag across the road to notice the signs.
Then, one day, we look around and realize we're on a road we never intended to be with (seemingly) no idea how we got there, nor how to get away. Whatever triggers our realization, we ultimately have few options: stay where we are, accepting that this is where we took ourselves and just deal with it -- or find a way out.
Option one is safe. We may not be in the place we intended, or even want, but we're here now. Why not make the best of it? Accept, deal, and hang out here. Maybe we'll adjust to this place and find some type of satisfaction in it... eventually. Maybe.
Option two is terrifying. Exhilarating. It has the potential to alienate us from those we've been heading down the same road with and formed bonds with along the way. We could crash our proverbial cars or drive them off a cliff trying to get out of this place. We could also find our own road, build it if necessary, that leads to what we really want -- what is good for us.

I'm finding myself currently looking back and seeing the signs reflected on the road where an oppressive heat beats down and causes the signs to gleam in reverse off the pavement. I look at where I am and see how lost I truly am. I'm standing in the center of what looks like an oasis village, and yet I know what it really is. I've known for a while, I just haven't admitted it to myself.
It's a mirage.
That promise of security and balance is an illusion, and as much as I crave those two stabilizers I know I was made for more. I'm not one to run back out into the desert down unknown roads without drawing myself a map first, but I'll be damned if I settle in this little pocket of life and accept it as my one and only inevitable future. The water was soothing at first; now it's growing stagnant and wretched. I'm tired of trying to boil it and tossing in a few additives to make it more palatable.
I don't want palatable. I want savory, sweet, exotic, surprising, and I want it assaulting all my senses.

I'm going to start my own map, watch for the important signs, and build my own road out of this mirage. Anyone who wants out of theirs, let's build that road and head down it together.

NaNoWriMo Year Five: The NSFPureMinds Version

Or: What in the name of all that is sacred or profane am I doing?

There's something participating in National Novel Writing Month does to you, year after year: makes you fear for your own sanity.
Much as I love it, and proudly wear my writing geekdom with pride, and encourage (faithfully and truly) other people to participate, I acknowledge the mind-shattering marathon that is attempting to write a novel in a month. It is a crazy idea.
It's also a fantastic one.
It's magical.

(Yeah, I got caught up in the leprechaun nonsense of GLEE last night. I'm a sucker for blue eyes, a cute brogue, and a stunning voice. No apologies for it.)

Every year within the first few days I experience the trauma of the OMGWTFs. It can paralyze a writer to start contemplating the 'what ifs' and the 'why the hell am I doing this-es' and the 'everything I write is crap so why bothers' of it all. It can paralyze you at any time. The added pressure of thinking you have to complete something as massive as an entire novel in one month can daunt you into a fear spiral so dark it causes the worst possible black hole: the 'I can't do it so why even bother' hole.

You know what?
Fuck that hole.
Take a giant phallus of words and plug that hole up good. Show that hole the plot it's been missing. Use that hole up with great big sentences inspired by writing prompt, plot bunnies, song lyrics, and everyday objects like carrots and long glass tubes and staplers.
Screw that hole good by showing it you know best.
Then walk away from that hole, satisfied in the knowledge that you fucked it so well it exploded into the brilliant light of inspiration.
Then keep writing. All month long.

And THAT is your pornographic NaNoWriMo analogy of the week.

It's also about 300 words. That's a powerful amount of foreplay for starting work on your novel today.

Just to complete the inspirational mental screwing, here's a picture of Arthur Pendragon, wet, in front of a waterfall.

Yeah, you KNOW you can write something about that.

"Weakness is tiring, but strength is exhausting."

"I am tired of being strong."

My life, it seems right now, is a series of snippets mashed together. There is no linear progression from task to task or day to day. I go through the same procedures yet the feeling is one of constant interruption and chaos. Long, novel experiences and thoughts are suppressed beneath layer upon layer of brief interludes. Some thoughts and feelings and experiences are pleasant; some are reflective or inspiring; many are stressful and exhausting. All seem fleeting and inconstant. This does not sit well for someone who, though adaptable and capable of eternal juggling, requires a certain level of consistency and stability. Not a lot, really, just a bit to keep me tethered to a plane that resembles reality.
There’s too much shifting, too much uncertainty. Too many good ideas without a home and too many depressing and/or stagnant thoughts which arise and fester.

To put it succinctly:
I’m in a major funk with no semblance of how to rise out of it. I’m outwardly trying to hold on to the calm while inwardly feeling like a ship being ripped apart by a storm with no break in the weather or rescue boat on the way.

I have brief periods where something inspires me, and then am bombarded with an avalanche of negativity from varied directions and those fleeting moments of possibilities are quashed by the heavy burden of reality. I know it cannot remain like this forever. I know, even now, there is hope left… but I cannot see it. (Yeah, been retreading a little LotR).

I can’t even watch films properly right now as everything only settles in increments of a few minutes. The greater picture is lost while the few moments of true emotion I try to cling to are soon overcome by more confusing and aggravating ‘real life’ occurrences. Not being able to escape blows.

To use a current, popular yet crude, analogy being tossed around my office: I need to get the cock out of my mouth, but I can’t find it right now. I need someone to help find the cock and possibly help get it out.

And this is my life right now…