rose or a thorn…

I am, in case you have not realized from reading my blog…recently unemployed, yet still employed in a position of which does not offer a monetary value beneficial to myself or employers, but the benefits alone make up for the lack of pay.

Don’t get me wrong. Some days my employers suck.

They make my hair turn gray, my blood pressure rise, and they make me want to scream every obscenity that I am not supposed to say in front of a child.

They bring me to tears.

They bring me to giggles.

They melt my heart!

They melt my heart in a way that while my heart is melting it only stands to secure the gates and deepen the moat.

Around that moat I hope that I have taught them well. I hope they see the colorful garden that I wish I could have planted for them. The one that I wish I could grow every second, and every minute, of every day into every season, of each passing year.

The garden that I wish I was always the groundskeeper.

Don’t take that one rose!

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Take the garden!

Plant the garden!

Be the rose among the thorns. Withstand the pain. People will remember the touch of the thorn, but they will always appreciate the true beauty of the rose.

And if your garden is wilting, or the rose holds too many thorns, and the petals begin to fall beneath your feet, and the rose begins to tremble, just remember roses look delicate in appearance, but they are hearty plants in the proper conditions.

Roses were meant to be enjoyed.

My garden is growing…roses and thorns, thorns and roses. But every night is a question of a rose or a thorn in a day, and you know what…the roses always… always roses, no matter what…they outweigh the thorns.

I wish unemployment were a rose, it has been a thorn, but yet it has given me time to appreciate and cultivate my garden.

Always roses.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet

 

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it just stinks…

Death stinks. I mean it stinks all around, but literally, it stinks!

Something has died somewhere in my front yard. A few days ago I smelled the funk as I was walking up my walk. It was just as the wind blew that I got a whiff. Today that funky funk is wafting in my windows as I try to relax with a book on the sofa. It is a breezy and dreary day, not raining, and since I live in an old house of no air conditioning, I am trying to enjoy the fresh cool air. There is nothing fresh about the air and the smell is rancid.

I walk around my front yard, hoping the neighbors are not watching me. I am constantly sniffing, poking at bushes, squatting and crawling around. There is no sense of sight. Just stench.

I have noticed that the one bunny, having been named Penelope, no idea if it is female, has been mysteriously alone lately. The neighborhood has been like Watership Down lately, with bunnies multiplying before your eyes. We have named a vast majority of them, however my neighbor child has the right idea, she calls them all Robert.

Anyway, something stinks, and I know it is not the world’s most expensive pig, Mr. George P. Hopper. He is alive and well after an hour at the vet, some extensive skin grafting, which if you have never heard a guinea pig squeal, it is truly loud and something to hear. Did I mention he is the world’s most expensive pig as of late?

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George, probably having caught something from the bunnies in the yard, since that is where he chills during cage cleaning days, now is convalescing in my living room. He is on a healthy dose of antibiotics, not to mention the twice a day cleaning of the skin grafted wound, all of which the asinine vet told me I had to clean, not the child who owns the pig! Oh, and not to mention he also told me that I had to clean the cage, not the child! So yesterday, I had to disinfect and scrub down not only the cage of George, but myself!

So not only does death stink, but so does a sick pig!

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do not hit the back button…

It’s easy to drink prune juice, or increase fiber, or even put a stint in the body whenever there is blockage. Not so easy when the mind is blocked. Believe me, a blocked mind can be painful.

Summer is upon us in this house.  All of my employers are off till the end of August. Wow! The end of August, it’s like an echo as I say that and I am standing on the edge of a canyon. The end of August, the end of August! Long time away, but it will be here before you know it. Time is flying.

I have officially been unemployed for a year. Unofficially, I never stopped working, just stopped getting a paycheck.

I miss the old days of finding a job. Waiting for the Sunday paper, circling the potentials in red. Monday would consist of doing some master sleuth work to try to find a contact person’s name at the company. Anything to personalize that cover letter, just getting a foot in the door!

Oh no, not today, as I say this after having sat in front of my computer for the last two hours filling out the same online application for one position.

Why two hours?

Well, even though I attached my resume, I still had to enter in all the data fields the places where I worked. The dates when I began, and when I left. The salary, the address, the phone numbers…everything, which when last I checked, are on my resume!

Not to mention, that even though the screen says do not hit the back button, the reality is we are programmed to hit the back button!

Know what happens every time you hit the back button? Yep, you have to start from scratch, from the very beginning trying to remember the exact day you started that very first job out of college way back in the 90’s!

There is no contact name, no personal touch, just a nameless, data entry field, which mocks you every time you hit the back button. Believe me I have a lot of names for the application process and none of them would get me the job!

Yikes! I seem to be on a little rampage. Sorry, sometimes a blocked mind can just release the first thoughts…the gas before the explosion. Again, bear in mind I am not in my right state of mind.

I am learning a lot during this time of reflection, otherwise known as unemployment. In this time I have come to appreciate the people that surround me inside my castle and outside.

You learn something new every day. Today it was not to hit the back button when filling out an application. I am going to pretend that is the fortune in my cookie today and try to apply it to unblocking my mind.

Seeds in the wind only fly forward.

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stay gold…

When I was a child a warm almost summer night was spent running through the neighborhood. A conglomerate of children, pick up games of sorts, just sitting on a park bench with a group of friends. There was no way to text a friend, or even call, to say where the hang out place was. It was a nice night, you were out, you found the hang out place. Those were the night’s where my memories were made. Those were the night’s where I cherished being a child. Those were the night’s that I wished would last forever.

Tonight my neighborhood took me back into nostalgia. A pick up baseball game of a conglomerate of kids. Children that go to the same school, children of different personalities, children that live next door to each other, children that are just that…children. For a few brief hours I saw what was once my childhood, I saw what being a child is meant to be, I saw a glimmer of hope.  I pitched ball to each of these children, watched them run, listened to them argue, and for that game I was parallel to them for a brief moment. Being a child is never easy in any generation.

There was laughter, teams being formed, rules being made as deemed necessary, bickering, mediation, water breaks, more children joining, and oh, did I mention laughter. But best of all there was not an electronic device in sight, not an aspect of socialization lost within the reflection of a screen.

To quote Robert Frost, “As dawn goes down to day, nothing gold can stay,” maybe good things don’t have to come to an end. Maybe we just need to act like a child with the conglomerates.

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have not a clue…

So, I am preoccupied with future endeavors, hence my lack of being here. I have officially given up my new years resolution of letter writing, so please, everyone, consider this your letter. I had another resolution, but I have already forgotten what that was?

In a brief run down of the inmates in the asylum…

Middle one’s frog died Friday before Easter. Then supposedly came back to life, only to really be dead the next day. A frog funeral, a trip to the store, enter two new frogs. One of the fish ate one of the frog’s legs, actually flipper? Thank goodness for 7 day warranties, as I took a dead frog in a plastic bag back to the store on the 6th day.Yes, we got another frog.

 

Little one is obsessed with learning the lyrics to DJ Easy Rock and Rob Base, ‘It takes Two.’  I wanna rock right now!

The boy has been MIA all weekend. Home today, still fascinated with sneakers.

The small annoying dog continues to get stuck in the groundhog hole.

Norman Betta continues to live with small amounts of water since the cat seems to be exceptionally thirsty.

A crime scene has occurred and a stinkbug was dead at the scene.

The fridge is becoming a meeting place, a water cooler collection place of sorts, quite possibly the family news center.

I am consumed with the geese at the park. Once there was six, now just five. Geese mate for life, so I am hoping the odd one out will find love again.

And the question that I am contemplating these days: Is creativity innate or learned?

Once again taking flight.

 

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step outside the norm, brand with a passion.

I remember a professor in college where the assignment was to write about something personal. Something that struck you, rocked your world, shook you to the core, something that you never wrote about before. Something so personal, dig down in your gut, find out what you are made of when it comes to writing, and just write from that emotion.

I was a junior in college when I got this assignment. I was as cold as ice in my emotions at this point in my life. Nothing could hurt me, nothing could take me, nothing, and I mean nothing, could phase me. This assignment called for me to what? Write with emotions? Write from my heart? What the??

I remember sitting in front of my computer and agonizing about the release of my emotions on paper. You see, I was at that time, tangled and knotted in my own ball of yarn. When in public I could pull maybe about a yard of that yarn, manage a smile or two, and for that moment stretch the thread about as far as I could extend. My length never reached as far as I wanted and stopped short of acceptance.

That night of the assignment, I finally did write. I started to unravel that ball of yarn, slow pace, but I started from that one loose piece and I went back to where the yarn was encompassed in a warm nest.

I was proud of my essay, and I was emotionally strained from the release, but damn it, I was proud!  I remember turning that essay in to my teacher and feeling that for the first time I wrote from my heart, I wrote with my emotions.

You cannot imagine my surprise when my professor handed back my paper with red marked comments, suggestions, all for improvement. I can handle critique of my writing style, my grammatical errors, those I could fix. What I could not handle was the want of elaboration. Elaborate more how this made you feel? Elaborate how you changed? Elaborate? ELABORATE!!

You just asked me to write about the most personal thing that has happened in my life! Something that rocked me, shocked me, left my world topsy-turvy! Write with emotion, write with heart…release the writer’s pain?

Shit!

Don’t circle me in red, question my pain, my emotions, my personal feelings. Circle my grammar, my improper pronoun, my dangling participle, my miss-use of a noun, or even my spelling. Do not question me on my pain!

Too make this long story short, I chose not to change a single word in my essay. I succumbed to a mediocre grade to a project that I had never felt more pride towards. I submitted that essay as part of my internship applications, as a showcase of my writing capability. Writing is like beauty. It lies in the eyes of the beholder.

My essay was published in a local paper and I was offered an intern my senior year of college. It was that same year that I questioned, “can I write?” or better yet, “do I want to write?”

My essay was about the death of my father my freshman year of college. My emotions to his death had been locked away for those years and many years after. My only writing after that internship existed only in my journals…until this blog.

So the assignment at hand on the blogging university is how to brand yourself?

Audit your brand. Audit.

I am not oblivious to needing some, okay, maybe a lot, of tweaking to my blog. Aesthetically speaking, and maybe even within my content. Who I am is maybe not ready for the blog world. I am after all gaining, achieving, and dreaming.

My blog is not my name. It is fiction of a life. It is a metaphor of sorts. It is a dream of where I was and where I am going. It is a memory in sadness, humor, and love. It is a compilation of the stories that I have yet to write. It is inspirations, hopes, and above all dreams.

There are so many names I could call this blog, so many taglines I could use, so many things I could change. I hate change. I especially hate change when it means altering something I created that makes me proud.

Welcome to my blog. Louie Behogan.

I hope to brand this name as one that stimulates and embraces creativity, accepts it all, and never defines, allows the experiment, and more importantly, encourages stepping outside the norm.

albert einstein

“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.”

 

 

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Why Blog?

Two steps ahead, three steps behind.

The music drums on, but my music plays louder. And longer.

Why do I blog? Put myself out there? Why do I do what I do?

I blog, because at this point in my life, I have nothing to lose.

I put myself out there because hiding, pretending, living in fear, well, it all takes too much effort.

Why do I do what I do? Why not?

Really. Why not?

What do I hope to gain?

I would be lying if I said nothing.

Gain? Achieve? Dream? Sometimes they all seem within the same.

By writing outside my journal, my scraps of paper, my twisted mind, I would hope to gain notoriety. Or at the very least, people to step back, jaw drop, and exclaim they never knew I possessed a talent.

By writing outside my journal, my scraps of paper, my twisted mind, I have within my own set limitations achieved success. At least the voices in my head are cheering me on.

By writing outside my journal, my scraps of paper, my own twisted mind, I will continue to dream that the talent I think I possess and the achievement of success is really not just within my dreams.

So if I am two steps behind, then let me be three steps ahead with blogging which makes me happy. My music plays on, louder and longer, not just in my journals, scraps of papers, or my own twisted mind, but in my first attempt at gaining, achieving, and dreaming.

 

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