Polka*Dotted Muse

I'm so thankful that I have beautiful Daniela and brilliant Ace and Arya, chicly attired in her sleek Lizard garments (she must be enrolled in the Slitherine school at Bloggwarts) smiling inside my computer screen daily. Writing is such a lonely profession and tapping out random thoughts on cyber post-it notes assuages the loneliness and makes me happy; even more so it gives me encouragement. From a Baha'i perspective bloggings been the most conducive, spiritual excercise I've partaken in since I declared one year ago this pending Monday....

I've been lacking support in college this year. From the Financial Aid office to the registrars office to the Health center to sadly, even inside the classroom. Every authority figure looks like a black coated Major league Umpire pointing their craggily old finger-tips back into the blur of the dugout. It's frustrating, cause everytime I step up to the metaphorical academic plate, I try so hard to make contact with whatever pitch is hurtled in my direction. Lately, I've been striking out, but I still have faith that as long as I keep swinging the bat, eventually, when I least expect it, I'll be circling the bases, I'll be tipping my hat, things will happen.

From an artistic standpoint I get encouragement from local Bohemians. I've feel blessed that I'm friends with so many formidable artists, a few strugglin' writers, but mainly artits and musicians who "haven't" made it yet who still, like the blissful inhabitants of my blogging Narnia, inspire me to create.

Tonight I was frustrated. My sleeping schedule is split, three hours after work (4-7am) three hours during the day between classes. I received an ugly B scribbled inside my project and I indifferently tossed the paper out in the wastebasket when lolling out of the classroom. Kurt Cobain nonchalantly launching up his $30,ooo guitar at the end of a performance, unaware of where it lands and shatters.

The teacher was pissed, but I didn't care. I was heading back to the dugout after striking out, dressed in a team uniform I had to mercilessly scramble to pay for.

After a quick power nap (where my rash is, thank god, slowly healing--thanks daniela!) I stumbled into the library and tried banging out a few sentences. Nothing. I seemed unable to type anyword showcasing the letter B.

I'm lodged in here until 2 tonight and it's full-fledged autumn in P-town. It's wet and damp and leaves are scattered like wet halloween candy a week into November. I was walking around shuffling my thoughts when I saw my friend Suze and her boyfriend. Suze is a folksinger and she was having a show tonight in the student center.

Although Suze is about the size of Paddington bear, her heart is about the size of Texas. She sings these AMAZING acoustic folk songs. Her voice BELLOWS! Her lungs must drip into her kneecaps. It's almost like watching a hippie-ewok keen like Billie Holiday.

Suze was opening for a duo that used to open for Dave Matthews. She still hasn't "made" it yet but she seems so content just telling stories, drifting into the occasional cover tune, blithely orchestrating the tips of her fingers across the chords of her acoustic belly.

The song I requested her to play (a song she wrote called "Blue") she played first and gave me a lil' wink. Through her stomping chords and crisp vibrattos and vocal crescendos she seemd to tell me that it's ok. She wrote the song a couple of years ago for a friend of her's who was manically depressed. The song seems to fluctuate through every solitary emotion I've skipped over the last decade. It's a folk anthem of hope.

Thanx Suze and beautiful fellow-bloggers, simply for being here when I need you. When you strike out with the basses loaded, it's nice coming back to the dug out and still getting a nod for your efforts.