Things I Want To Make

A list of things I've always wanted to do, but never have attempted.

A list of things I will attempt to make in 2015. That's better.

1. String Art 
   
2. Lace jeans patch 
   
3. Bubble Quilt 
   
4. Paint Chip Art 
   
5. Origami Bookmarks 
   
    
6. No Sew Dog Bed 
   

So I'm hoping that by constantly looking at all these to-dos I'll finally be motivated enough to get them done. I had a goal to make a "big deal" craft or DIY every month of 2015, but so far I have about 3 unfinished projects laying around the house in varying states of distress because they aren't getting any attention. Come on Damaris, do something productive. 

Moving Furniture: A Need For Newness

     For the past few days, P and I have woken up to a rather horrible doggy smell all over our living room. I didn't know what was causing it until I saw just how often I was emptying out my vacuum, and then realized Venom must be shedding. Ewww. Dog hair everywhere. Literally everywhere. 

     As soon as I got home yesterday I began a vicious attack on every surface in our living room, set our air purifier to working overtime, and lit some scented candles. As often is the case, as soon as I started cleaning, I couldn't stop. I vacuumed, and vacuumed, and vacuumed. Then I single-handedly moved our extra-heavy sofas and my book-packed shelves and vacuumed underneath those. I ripped the covers off all of our sofa cushions & pillows and threw them into the washer, and then vacuumed some more until my faithful little Dyson could go no further. By the time P arrived home from work, everything we owned was out of place... but it was clean.  

     Our extra-heavy sofa ended up against a different wall, so rather than push it back to it's original location, I voiced the idea of leaving it be and rearranging everything else. P seemed creative and willing to help, so after much shoving, pulling, doorway maneuvering, and Hulk-like roars, we got everything in place. And it feels wonderful. I know it's the same old stuff we've always had, but something about new layout and the clean state of everything just invigorates me.      I was almost sad that I had to leave the living room and go cook dinner while P wrestled the sofa covers back on, and that we only had 1 hour of sitting in our "new" living room before it was time to go play some volleyball with our friends. Isn't it great what a small change of scenery can do? Here are my thoughts on why it's a good idea to switch things up a bit now and then:

• Ergonomic opportunities. I've been living in a semi-annoyed state for an entire year because our previous setup didn't have any surfaces for us to place the TV and Xbox remotes, so they were always lost between the couch, or tossed on the floor. I couldn't get P to ever pick them up, so now our set-up is such that there is always a table close by, no matter where you sit. Yay for more neatness.
• Breaking the habit. Oilfied jobs are going downhill these days. P has been home A LOT in the past month or so, and I had grown tired of coming home to him laying in the exact same position on the same couch every day. Thankfully, he now has a job... and a couple of other options of where to sit should he ever have that kind of free time again. 
• The "New" Mentality, without the price. You know how when you buy a new car you try extra hard to keep it clean and fresh and don't-you-DARE-eat-a-hot-dog-in-here? Same principle. I'm excited to just sit and enjoy my living room because it feels new, but it's really just my same old stuff. I want to keep it looking neat, keep the cushions off the floor, and rearrange the pictures on my walls. Above all, I'm downright happy that I created such an atmosphere so easily. 

Please Hear What I Am Not Saying

A short time ago I had a deep talk with a friend and I opened up about many things that were troubling me. This person thanked me ardently for speaking up and allowing them to help, and they said "when I see you, I see a person SCREAMING inside and nobody listening, and I'm glad you finally opened up and told someone about it." 

I didn't realize my emotions showed up that much... I suppose I'm not as masked as I thought I was.
Anyhow, those words remind me of a poem I once read, and I wanted to post it up here so that I don't have to go hunting it down again later. It's very powerful, please read:

Please Hear What I'm Not Saying
Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
masks that I'm afraid to take off,
and none of them is me. 

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,
but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command
and that I need no one,
but don't believe me.
My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows. 

But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,
and I know it.
That is, if it's followed by acceptance,
if it's followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,
from my own self-built prison walls,
from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.
It's the only thing that will assure me
of what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.
But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to, I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,
will not be followed by love.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me,
that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing
and that you will see this and reject me. 

So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,
with a facade of assurance without
and a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,
and my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that's really nothing,
and nothing of what's everything,
of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,
what I'd like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can't say. 

I don't like hiding.
I don't like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you've got to help me.
You've got to hold out your hand
even when that's the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings--
very small wings,
very feeble wings,
but wings! 

With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator--
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to. 

Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach to me the blinder I may strike back.
It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive. 

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet. 

Charles C. Finn
September 1966

Sleep Talking

Last night I was reading in bed and Philip fell asleep next to me. He didn't seem to mind the light, so I stayed up a little later than what I usually do. When I decided it was time to sleep, this is what happened:

Me: lets book fall off the side of the bed *loud thump!*
Phil: ninja-jumps awake and sits straight up
Phil: "My fifteen minutes for tomorrow are up!"
Me: "Your fifteen minute break?"
Phil: "Yeah, my break is up!"
Phil: falls back onto the pillows and is instantly asleep

It was pretty hilarious. I bet dropping my book woke him up and he thought he was sleeping during his break at work, so he jumped awake. Today, he remembers nothing.