This Is Dr. Elemis Pott. Lost.

I realize posting too much at one time can make you lose fans.  Oh well.

*Mom looking around for Dr. Elemis Pott, who apparently got lost again.*
Mom:  "If I were Dr. Elemis Pott, and lost, what would I do?"
Friend:  "Write a blog post about it."

I'm gonna switch it up a little.  Instead of writing about all the countless times I've gotten lost since receiving my drivers licence, I decided I'd draw it.  If you still can't picture what the heck is going on in my head while I'm lost, now you can.

The Janitor

Poems come to me at the most random of times.  I've attempted to sit down and make myself write a poem, and it never works.  I haven't been able to write poems as often as I've use to.  But every now and then I'll barf out a real winner, like this one.

The Janitor 

I'm your faithful Janitor. 

I kneel beside the dirt.
I mop up Jimmy's puke,
After he saw Patricia flirt.

If you pass me in the hall,
I'll try and make my greeting curt.
Because I know that you don't want to talk,
And I'll pretend it doesn't hurt.

Short Story Challenge Result, by Grandma Banana Jessy

You guys thought I forgot about my little short story challenge.  (Or were hoping so).
Too bad.  Here was the short story challenge I posted:

Here's a challenge for you little artsy nerds such as myself.  Watch this song, by: Of Monsters and Men.  Write a one page long short story based on this song.  Pay close attention to the video, the lyrics, and what kind of feeling you get from the tune.  Looking up the meaning of the song is cheating, this has got to be your own story.
I'd love to read what you come up with, and I'll post your work on this blog with your permission!

Have fun.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FubvitXV_zM

And now, a short story challenge result from my dear friend Grandma Banana Jessy!  Thank you Jessy!  Plus the note she left me along with the story:

Here! Do what you'd like with it. Share it on your blog, post it on the Wall Street Journal, put in a blender and whisk away, you name it.

Hope that you have a good day. Love you!

Jessy

P.S. You said "Have fun." 

  

“Dad! Dad! Help! Help! The seaweed’s got Chuck!” But it was too late. The tide had carried both the seaweed and Chuck away, deep into the sea, far out of sight. “Sorry, honey, it’s no use now, Chuck is gone.”

       Lying on the carpet in the basement that afternoon the kid thought about Chuck. He thought of the fun they had just that day together, and remembered earlier times when they used to play Tag in the neighboring forests by their house. The kid remembered the books he had written about Chuck. He took the books off his nightstand and looked through them. They were stories about imaginary adventures they had together at Niagara Falls. In reality the kid had always wanted to go riding down the falls in a barrel with him but Chuck never got over his fear of splinters in time to go. It sounded like a nightmare to Chuck. Ever since hiding in a barrel where Chuck’s arm accidentally rubbed against the wood, causing a sliver of it to stick him, he would have nothing to do with barrels. That last time they were together Chuck had finally forgiven the kid for insisting that barrel was the best spot to hide in their game of Hide and Go Seek.

       The kid was sad thinking about him. “Emmanuel and Rachel miss him too,” he thought. The kid found his brother and sister and went to his parents for to be consoled. Arrangements were made for a memorial. The kid and Rachel gathered flowers for it.

       Walking home from the memorial service that evening even the streetlights seemed sad. And it didn’t help that the kid was afraid of the dark. The dark made everything look like something it wasn’t. Suddenly a “monster” greeted his eyes. He knew it wasn’t real but he was about to dash on before the others when he remembered something he used to sing with Chuck: “Even the darkness is light to Him, night is as bright as the day.” Just like that the strange object didn’t scare him anymore, God could see what it really was. The kid was enlightened himself and saw that it was his neighbor’s sweet little cat. He repeated the words of the Psalm out loud as he walked the rest of the way home with his siblings.

       An elderly man nearby heard him. He smiled at the kid as he walked by. This man reminded the kid of his grandfather who had been in heaven these last two years. The kid thought about heaven and what Grandpa might be doing. He felt better and had peaceful sleep that night, even though he still missed his stuffed monkey, Chuck.

Character of the Month: Lazer Hawk

Character of the Month:  Lazer Hawk

Yeah, okay so I shouldn't post about real people.  What ever.  I already broke that rule.  May as well break it again.
This is Lazer Hawk.  Her sense of humor is far too superior, she makes Tim Hawkins look lame.  (No pun intended).
Lazer Hawk is my spirit animal.  She's a person I only get to see once a year, but when I do, it's like we never left.  Yet, after a few hours when we find each other from across the room, we will then proceed to perform our 'bird call' which involves us yelling at the top of our lungs like imbeciles.  

Her many various talents include: novel writing, a flawless Donald Duck impression, the ability to mimic basically any noise she hears, writing poems, art, singing, acting, and she can rap like no-ones-business.  The list goes on.

This is Professor Sparkles.  One of many beautiful pieces of art work
by Lazer Hawk and Dr. Elemis Pott  

But beyond all that, she's a real human being.  Despite how clever she is, she doesn't feel the need to have the spot light.  She's honest.  She's not just a person I can laugh with, but a person I can cry with.  When I think "Complete personality," Lazer Hawk is one of the first people that come to mind.

Being a Human

Embarrassment.

Embarrassment follows me around like rash that keeps growing larger and larger the more I scratch.  Last year I had a job.  I would make at least one or two big embarrassing mistakes a day.  My co-workers thought my mistakes were hilarious, so I would make fun of myself and laugh along and it was all good. 
And I would go home wanting to die, and wake up in dread of what mistakes I'd make that day and what my co-workers would say about me.
But I have weapon, a weapon I use often to fight my embarrassment.
I'm funny.
I love it when people laugh at me.  Humor has saved me in countless situations.  Situations where I'm terrified.
I've been called things like, "Brave" and "Shameless" and "The Queen of self confidence" And other baloney, just because I'm comfortable in a crowd or on stage. 
Actually, I'm more comfortable on stage then I am anywhere else.  Because on stage, people already look up to you.  I'm really good at pretending I'm a good person when I'm on stage.  (Or writing blog posts).  And people cheer and give complements, and then I pretend to be humble, and it feels really good.
When I'm not on stage, that's when I feel vulnerable.  People will be able to see how selfish I really am.  I hate admitting to myself that almost all of my disagreements with people have started with me choosing to be selfish.
I'm not brave because I don't have stage fright.  I have stage fright.  It's just not on stage.
There's a lot of people like me, I've found.  Sarcastic people.  Where it's fun to make fun of them because you know they'd just make a bigger joke out of it.  People who are very good at laughing at themselves. 
I keep hearing, "Laugh at your own mistakes." And yes, that's a good tactic.  I'm all about not taking yourself too seriously.  But I don't often hear, "Stop laughing at other peoples embarrassments."

I can think of several people who I've been an absolute jerk too.  And not even realized it.  Because they acted like they didn't mind.  Because everyone else laughs too, including that person.  I remember a friend trying to say something honest and sincere to me, but I chose to make fun of him instead.
People with masks are easy to be sarcastic too.  Being obnoxious and sarcastic isn't an invitation for insults, it's a coping mechanism.  A shelter.  A safety helmet.  At least for some people.

So if you're the 'entertaining' type character, just be real.  Fakeness has a smell like perfume over puke.  It's disgusting, and there are only so many people you can fool.  So be real.  And I'll take you seriously.
And by all means, when someone is funny, laugh. They love being laughed at, that's why they choose to be funny.  But for goodness sake, they are human too.  Don't talk bad about my bro's behind their backs.  I think sarcasm is lovely, but you may not realize when it hurts someone.

I guess I could have just said, "Be a human being" instead of writing this extensive blog post.  But its funny how we think a job like that is so simple, we forget to even do it. 

I like to write as thought I'm mentoring someone else, but really this is a note to myself.  Writing this way just helps me understand my own thoughts better.  Posting a thought makes me feel as though I'm wise enough to instruct others on it.  But I'm not the person to come to for wisdom.  If you feel you have advice for me, please share it.  I would like a mentor.  I don't write because I have things figured out, I write because I really don't.

To Be Awake

I don't think people like hiking with me.  I understand.  What takes one ten minutes takes me three hours.

When I hike, I have to touch everything.  All the rocks.  The leaves.  Water.  I'll try to catch a lizard.  A fish.  A bird.  I have to climb all the rocks.  Even if they are little ones on the road I can jump off of.  I have to climb a tree.  At least once.  If there's a river, I must be in the river.  I don't believe I've accomplished a real hike until my legs feel heavier.  My heart lighter.  I must be browner then I when I started.  My hands must be sticky with tree sap, my fingernails and in between my toes lined with dirt, if there was a river, I must have dunked myself completely, head to toe.  And when I shower, there must be a pool of mud that collects around my feet.

Some bonuses would be bloody knees and elbows.  Ooh, and freckles.  I've always wanted freckles.  Sometimes the sun will reward my time with it, and bless me with temporary freckles.  

This is a hike for me.  I have to smell everything, see everything, touch everything. 
On getting out of the plane in Ecuador, the first thing I did was rush over to a palm tree and hug it.  

I can't tell you how painful it was to sit in the buss, watching the jungle pass by and not being able to walk in it, to touch all the new plants and trees I'd never seen.  I wanted just one opportunity to hike, and I didn't get to.  But just seeing it, being there was good for the soul, like a friend saying, "Hey, you're always welcome to come back when ever you need me..."

Hikes are done wrong when I return still thinking about how stupid I am.  Still wishing I was prettier, smarter.  If I return from a hike not sore, perfectly clean and dry, thinking about my to-do list, then that hike was not a hike.  Hikes are not hikes when I stare at the ground and just follow the track.  Too tired to pay attention to the rocks.  The rivers.  Mountains.  Cliffs.  The sun.  The smells.  God.  

If life were a hike, I would have failed it. 
I'd rather be my rage monster self then go about life looking at the ground, thinking about my inadequacy, my unchecked to-do-list.  Too tired to get wet, too afraid of bloody knees and elbows, of dirt between my finger nails and toes, of sore legs.

Beware when a word that often enters your head is "Whatever." 'Whatever' is as dangerous as sleeping at the wheal.  Life doesn't make sense when you're asleep.

 

And be proud of me.  This is probably the first time I didn't use an acting/theater analogy describing the meaning of life.

It is faith and there's sleep, 

We need to pick one please because 

Faith is to be awake, 

And to be awake is for us to think, 

And for us to think is to be alive, 

And I will try with every rhyme 

To come across like I am dying 

To let you know you need to try to think.

-Twenty One Pilots, Car Radio