I am seriously lucky. I am totally grateful. I can’t believe how amazing people can be sometimes. You know who you are. Thank you!

Sometimes in this blog, I wench a lot. In fact, more often than not, I am wenching about something. Sometimes I do it comically, sometimes I do it without any grace or precision whatsoever. And then sometimes, I am inspired to say something more.

I believe that there are Lightbearers on this planet. The task of being a Lightbearer is to illuminate where darkness is, has been, and to heal wounds left behind when darkness has left damage in its wake. Everyone, I believe, unless you are something other that human, has the potential to be a Lightbearer. Some people are born knowing they are here to do something to help, to heal, to be of service to others. Some people discover it later. Some people have to journey through darkness to discover that they have the ability, and the choice, to hold light. Each Lightbearer has a specific talent, sometimes many talents that create joy and happiness where it was not before.

So, I believe that there is a spark of the divine in each one of us. When we recognize someone we’ve never met, when we meet someone we never expected to meet, when we become amazed, awed, overwhelmed by beauty, by art, by performance, by music, by a story, by reality, and we feel so incredible in that moment-that is a connection to the divine.

Really, we have that spark all the time. It can become difficult in ordinary, normal, uneventful days to forget about it. But I think the point is that we are supposed to create it, bring it out to shine on those days, to look for something amazing within the apparently mundane.

Think of how terrible is feels to be lost, disconnected, to feel unimportant, untalented, unloved, unnoticed, unappreciated, unrecognized. That is a smothering of your spark. Sometimes it’s you, doing it to yourself. Sometimes it’s others who have snuffed their spark, or have forgotten.

Don’t forget. Remember the truth. If you’ve snuffed out your spark, rekindle it. There is no finding yourself. You create yourself. Answers are within you, and all around you. I wish you all well, and to be at peace, and to enjoy the magic of the season, but to keep it with you, all year round, by remembering your spark.

Last night, I went home very tired. I spent about 10 hours at work, even though that doesn’t count for anything. So, I asked my husband to let me sleep for an hour and a half. I woke up later and knew that I had slept much, much longer.

“What time is it?” I inquired.

“Eleven!” He smiled.

This created a conversation about why he let me sleep so long and he said he was hoping I would sleep through the night. Sigh. No. I have tried that game.

So I felt like I had never left work, really, by the time I took my new goodnight medicine, although I did make it through a Farscape and some downloading of an ancient but enjoyable game.

And then I crashed out. Waking this morning was awful. I definitely didn’t take the new med early enough. You know when you have that waking where you can barely get your eyes open and you try really hard, but you can’t really move? That is me every morning, although this morning it was times 5.

Yeesh. As I write, I feel like I’m underwater. I’m praying the coffee helps wake me.

I never really did leave work either, as I dreamt of my boss telling me that she was only keeping me around until she hired other people. I was protesting, telling her I do good work, and she said she didn’t care, I was part of a bad crew of people, but she wouldn’t let me quit either, so I could go looking elsewhere. You think I have some nerves about work? Definitely. 4 people have been fired in the last 3 months. Dropping off like flies.

But hey, if I want to keep my job, I better “Get to work slave! YAH!”

I saw a saying somewhere about blogging…something to the effect of “Never before have so many people written so many things that other people don’t care about.” This, is, probably, sadly true.

But I’m still going to do it. Nyah.

Where the hell are the computers that I want? The ones that aren’t even touch screen. The ones where you can wave your hand over the panel and it senses where you want to go and what you want it to do. Where is my computer that understands my voice perfectly well, and will follow the command I give it?

I think someone is hoarding this technology, and I suggest we storm the castle, because I think that would be much cooler than what we’ve got going now.

You can tell I’m tired of dealing with my work computer. Since I have discovered the glories of Linux and Ubuntu and Kubuntu, I have little patience for Windows anymore.

This is another thing that could be destroyed when the barbarians kick the door in.

Today, at work, at the risk of being the only person who didn’t decorate my office door besides the boss, I decorated the damn door.

Now, Wendy and her mother observed me wrapping Christmas presents many moons ago, and asked, “What the hell are you doing?” The job I thought I was doing was just fine. My mom wrapped them in a sloppy way I guess, and I was just following her lead. We never cared. We were children-greedy to see what was inside.

But the Myers family does not do this. And since I wrap at their house, because there is a lot of room to spread out, they have taught me to wrap presents. Carefully. Neatly. Where ends meet up. I now know how to make bows. I can make those neat springy ribbons with scissors. Last year, I did so well, I was even complimented. That’s saying something. I think Santa trained them or something. They are grade A wrappers. IT MUST BE PERFECT.

But nothing in my wrapping training taught me how to wrap a door. And, as per usual, I went for asthetics, rather than practicality. So, did I get several loooooooong rolls of paper, since these are like 7 foot doors? NO! Of course not. I bought short rolls of shiny stuff, because I liked it. Then I went to the damn craft store, which I hate, because I feel like they KNOW that I am not a crafty person. They give me a LOOK when I ask where something is. I think I shall start referring to the craft stores as cult stores. They are a secret society, as far as I’m concerned.

I went to the craft store for two reasons. One, to get something for a friend who is part of this cult. Two, to see if they had spraypaint, which would save me from going across the street in the traffic. They DID have spraypaint. So now, the plan is to spraypaint some old Halloween black angel’s wings with gold and silver and some pearly stuff, and then glue gun them to the door.

And even though the wings will look cool, I did not enjoy this process. I kept thinking evil thoughts, like, “I bet warriors wouldn’t decorate a door. Xena wouldn’t decorate a door. Aeryn Sun wouldn’t decorate a door. Starbuck would not decorate a door. Amazons wouldn’t decorate a door. THEY would kick the door in. I WANT to kick this frelling, fraking, effing door in. THAT would be fun.  Not only would they kick the door in, they would light the paper on fire, use it to humiliate their enemies, and possibly use it as toilet paper. They would destroy everything in the office, except if it was good loot.

I kicked a door in once. I LOVED it. It opened on the first try and everything.

But this is not fiction. This is real life. And I had to show willing, and decorate a door. I am just not one of those women who has craft bred into me. I don’t know how to sew on a button. I mean, I could figure it out, I suppose, but it probably wouldn’t be the exactly correct way.

Other thoughts that went through my head: “Why doesn’t this effing paper stick? What the hell is wrong with this tape? What the hell is wrong with ME that I can’t make this tape do what I want? Why won’t the godsdamn ribbon stick? Shit! The paper is crumply-even through I stretched it out and it was even when I taped it. Oh NO! I used one roll and the other roll doesn’t match up. Why am I doing this at all? Everyone is going to laugh at my door. They will know I’m not crafty. I hate this door. “  

Why are we decorating doors? Well, in theory, because we want to make the office look cheery. But in reality, as with all things relating to women, it is about competition. The best office door wins a prize. Of stained glass, that one of the women who works here makes. So we can all admire it and go “ooooooooooo.”

Am I upset because my door is crap and will not win the prize? No. I just think it’s silliness that I bent to peer pressure. Office spaces are worse than drugs by far. They will get you to do things you never wanted to do, never dreamed of doing, and will do things that you look back on with 20/20 and think, “Why did I do that? I will never do THAT again at any other job. Life is too short.” But you have to work, so you’ll fall off the wagon, eventually. You’ll decorate some other damn thing, or participate in their yearly Fun Run or their Party Picnic where everyone is awkward and wants to get drunk, but not too drunk, because then you will be drunk in front of co-workers. Or the party at the bosses house, which is, by the worst kind of party, because you are totally obligated to go, and you are also obligated to not have any fun, but to make it look like you are.

Alas.

But hey, Kristi arrives today! AWESOMESAUCE!!!

Well, the way to get cheered is to do things you like. And appreciate things and people. SO.

I love my husband. I love Kristi and Wendy, and all my other awesome friends.

I love Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s writings. I love Charlaine Harris and her Sookie Books. I love Harry Potter. I love Zalazny books. I love books in general.

Right now, husband has me on a Farscape binge. If you missed this wonderful show, go find it and watch it. Muppets. Outer Space. Sex. Guns. Weird Aliens. Good writing. Good effects. What more could you want? And it’s 10 years old!

I love reiki. I love spiritual pursuits.

I love kickass action movies. Matrix, V for Vendetta, Star Wars….there are so many.

I love good food. I love to be warm. I love my sister’s music. I love Tori Amos’s music, even the weird stuff, even though I don’t know what the hell she’s trying to pull off with that. Perhaps keeping herself OUT of the mainstream.

But I do not love this kind of rubbery and tasteless hot ham and cheese sandwich I got at the deli in the basement of the bank. I love that I have a cookie and cheetos though.

I don’t really know what the wise men and women have to say about things that go wrong in civilization. Does a yogi in Tibet have to worry that he met his productivity numbers that are arbitrarily selected? Does he have to deal with the fact that his effing paperclips tangle? No. Because he’s a yogi. He sits on his zen pouffe and has no bills, and lives on prana and yak’s milk. He does not have to deal with effing “TPS” reports. (Thank you Office Space.)

I am not a yogi. Today, the zen I have is allowing myself to feel how I feel without judging it. So, I’ll say this. Today I wish I was Darth Vader, or any Darth really, they were all a bunch of assholes who knew how to get things done in the way that dictators everywhere do. They made it somebody else’s problem. (SEP) Thank you Mr. Adams.

My problem is that right now, I am the someone else. I actually don’t even want to be a dictator to others, I just want to be my own dictator. I have been to 7 years of university. I am getting too old, too skeptical, and too something-or-the-other to be the person that deals with SEP.

I hate working for the man right now, even though the man pays me well, because working for the man means you are expendable. I have watched 3 co-workers get fired in as many months. It’s been kind of like watching Darth do that slow squeeze thing to people’s necks without touching them.

So, am I envious of the power to do that? I suppose, because I think I would put it to better use. But, that’s the problem with people-we all think we’ve got the best idea.

I think the best idea for me is to be my own boss, asap, and never again allow the empire to interfere with my business dealings.

However, I am very excited that Kristi is coming soon! YAY DE SEESTOR!!!!!!!!