Both blogs and super phones are common concepts these days. Sometimes, though, technology still just amazes me.

Breeze, Elizabeth, Michelle… others, whose names I can’t even recall. It’s been so long. Do they remember my face, like I remember theirs?

But it’s new, and it’s shiny, so I’ve been chipping away at it. So far I’ve gone from the base model they provide:

To something that looks more like one of my characters, Naraii:

She’s nowhere near done yet, but it’s neat to see just how much control over the model the program gives you. People who get really good at this can eventually animate the figures and make little video clips and whatnot. That’s still a long way off for me, but the whole process fascinates me.

So that’s what’s been eating my face lately. I’ve really had the bug to paint lately as well, though I’ve been less proactive about that. I moved a bunch of canvases over to the new place yesterday, though. It’s really got me thinking about it again. I’ve a paper to write for school this week, but after it’s done I’ll likely try to find my paints next.

Guh. I hate moving.

The new place is working out well so far, despite some tiny issues concerning the dryer and… well, the fact that all of our stuff hasn’t been moved yet, heh. It’ll come together, though. I can’t complain.

Today’s agenda includes a bit of hunting and gathering (we’ve yet to bring the contents of the fridge over to the new place), grabbing a load of boxes from the old place, and making a few small installations here (shower head, coat hooks, washer – hopefully) and then chilling. School starts again on Tuesday, and work tomorrow. We don’t really have an out date on the old place, so I refuse to feel bad about taking this afternoon/evening to relax.

Speaking of leisure, I’ve been playing around with Daz3D Studio the past couple of evenings. It’s frustrating as heck, though! The way it stores content is RIDONK. I’ve installed a grip of new stuff, but can’t get the program to see it and let me use it. At least, not in a way I can find. Thinking about picking up a book on it, if there is one. It’s tempting to just walk away, tho’. So frustrating, cause some of the stuff that people manage with that program is amazing.

I’ve never been one for resolutions, really. Every year, I think about things I’d like to do, or change, but I never commit to a hard, defined resolution. I think it’s just because I know my own penchant for losing interest mid-stream. Whether it lasts all year or not, though, I’ll say this anyway: I’d like to write something every day. Even if it’s just a couple of lines of prose, or a random thought about the day. So much happens so quickly, and I there are thoughts and ruminations I have that never get shared with anyone, because they go just as quietly as they come. The fact that they don’t get shared isn’t such a shame – some of them are truly silly. But talking about things makes me think more, and I think I miss that the most. I want to read more, both old things and new. I want to talk more about things that require more from me than a knowledge of pop culture, which I’m sorely behind in anyway. I want to art more. I’m making “art” a verb, btw. Hope you don’t mind. But “make art” is so cumbersome a phrase sometimes.

I want to write down pieces of this life, so when I sit down a year from now, I won’t wonder where the time went. I’ll know.

In between now and then, there’ll be a few weeks of absolute perfection, though. I ought to take a page from Marcie and start posting pics every few days. It really is gorgeous up here, and the next few weeks will be especially so. I love the crispness that comes to the air, the cool but not-quite-too-cold nights, the holidays and birthdays and gentler spirits in some people. This fall also means turning 31, for me, and though I’m not exactly where I want to be in most things, I am taking steps to get there, with most of them. It’s enough for right now, because the determination I feel around those areas seems solid, unwavering. 30 was kind of a rough year, internally. 31 will be better.

There are a great many things I don’t know. So I’ll start with what I do know: I know you’re out there.

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That’s pretty much where the “knowing” stops. I don’t know if you listen to us, or care for us, or if you’re even capable of either or both. I don’t know if you came to Earth as a man and died for us, or if you’re some huge cloud, a conglomeration of all of the enlightened souls who’ve made it off this rock. I don’t know what you think of us, or what you want/expect/need from us. I don’t know any of those things, but I know you’re out there. In some form. And I think… I think you touch down in our lives, sometimes. Not so much moving us around like a celestial chess player… but maybe reordering the board a little, every now and then. I grew up thinking about God and religion in very broad, general terms. It wasn’t until I was 21 or so that I was really made to consider the idea of Jesus. It was all so exciting, then. Here’s a new peer group, a new family, a new life. Here, take it,  enjoy it, thrive on it. I was suddenly surrounded by good people who had this… magic… thing. This strange, driving force to do good things, to stretch themselves and challenge themselves and grow and learn and love. I lost myself. Rather, maybe it just became clear that I never really had a strong grip on my identity to begin with. Thinking about it now, that makes more sense. I’ve always been so concerned with making people like me. I taught myself to like everything, to appreciate everything I could, just so I could fit in with whatever crowd was around me. Still, I never did it very well. Church was no different. I dove in with with all the excitement of a zealot because the people around me were zealots. Amidst all of the newness, though, you got lost somehow. I never would’ve believed it at the time. You were all we talked about. You and Jesus. The Bible. “Dying to self”. Everything we did, we tried to do it with a humble heart and as ambassadors of your love, because that’s what we thought you wanted us to do. And maybe we were right. But somewhere between the Sunday morning services, Sunday evening meetings, Monday night prayer meetings, Tuesday night worship team, Wednesday night classes, and Thursday night homeless ministry runs, I missed the fact that I didn’t really know you. I heard other people talk about you. Read about you. Sang about you. But never once did I experience you. Maybe it’s supposed to be that way, but eventually it wasn’t enough for me anymore. I needed to know you, I said. So I prayed. Fasted. Prayed. Cried. Begged. Still, no burning bushes and no voice from the heavens. Instead, the peer group fell apart. The church broke down. The skins of regular people started showing through the veneer of sainthood. Maybe I was supposed to find you there, somewhere in the loneliness that followed. I don’t know. If that was your plan, I failed miserably.

Fast forward a couple of years. Trying to please everyone for so much of my life has actually taught me to appreciate a wide variety of things. Many different genres of music, of humor, pastimes, artistic pursuits. Removed from my family and the last vestiges of my home church and relocated on the other side of the country, it’s entirely too easy to ignore you altogether. I’ve missed certain genres of everything, things I haven’t let myself indulge in because they weren’t ‘godly’. I see so much beauty in the world, even in the places that are supposed to be evil. It doesn’t pan out, in my head. I have questions, and no one I want to ask. It’s easier to ignore it. Enjoy life, enjoy all the beauty. How can anyone be expected to believe in Hell when I see spiderwebs covered in glittering raindrops, babies laughing, weeping willow trees, passionate kisses? It doesn’t add up.

Another year or two passes, and it slowly becomes evident that I’m doing something wrong. I’m not content. I miss having a purpose bigger than myself and what I want. I miss having a place outside of myself to place worry and fear and doubt, some place that I can trust it will be handled. I miss the way I used to challenge myself to be better, the spiritual shugyo that I used to force on myself, trying to be better. I can’t escape the fact that I know you’re out there. I’m doing it wrong. I’m missing something. I need to know my maker. I need to know my finisher.

Trouble is, there are so many stories out there about who you are. What you want. Where you came from. Where I came from. If I’d grown up in India, would I be struggling with the tenants of the Hindu faith instead of Christian? Or would I still be trying to figure out how a supposedly all-encompassing love manages to somehow exclude people who don’t love according to certain rules?

It’s late, and I have to sleep. I have more thoughts, but they’ll have to wait.

But I don’t think I deserve it.

How can I expect others to treat me in a way that I can’t justify treating myself? Why does it frustrate me so much when they don’t/can’t? I thought I was a rational person. Sometimes, though, I just don’t understand myself.

Flew to Twin Falls to witness a friend’s graduation, then spent the weekend with her before joining AJ in San Francisco with other friends. I was away from my house for a week straight. Didn’t deal with it as well as I’d ‘ve liked. I’m not the resiliant young optimist that I used to be; having to meet new people and cater my behavior to suit others is actually taxing, these days. For years I’ve been blaming AJ for a slow conversion to introversion on my part. I think I’m figuring out that there was no conversion at all. I’ve always been an introvert. AJ’s just gradually made it feel okay to not have to pretend that I’m not.

While I’m not sorry that I no longer stress myself out over making everyone feel warm and sunny, I can see some of the perils of letting myself retreat too far into this thing. It’s difficult now, moreso than I would’ve thought, to reach out of my shell now when I need to. No, I’m not responsible for the happiness of others. That part is still as true as it ever was.  That doesn’t relieve me completely of certain obligations required to retain basic humanity. I do have to care.

AJ and I went to church Saturday night for the first time in a long time. No, I didn’t spontaneously reclaim my faith. I did, however, come to realize that there is merit in “the church” beyond anything spiritual. It’s a group of people striving (for the most part) to be better people. Regardless of the why behind it, I can remember being happier with myself when I had that kind of goal.

I don’t like who I’m turning into. But I’m realizing that I’ve methodically cut myself off from the tools that would help me change myself.

Been reading a bit more lately. Very much enjoyed the Outlander novel that Tam recommended. I also enjoyed Lovely Bones. It wasn’t quite as gripping as the first, but it was still very well written, in my opinion. And a neat story, to boot. I’ve been carrying around Lord of the Flies for a couple of weeks now. It’s on my list of Books I Was Supposed to Read in High School But Never Did*. But after Lovely Bones, I think I want something more upbeat before I start Lord. I don’t remember much about the book, but I seem to recall it wasn’t exactly a feel-good sort of number.

Also, AJ and I have started playing chess again. He’s forgotten alot since his tournament days, and while this bothers him to no end, I’m thoroughly enjoying it. Of course, it won’t last. He’s reading chess books (geek!) and will soon be effortlessly whooping my ass in proper style. For now it’s fun, though. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy the game.

I realized yesterday that I’ve totally fallen off the 365 wagon. I wonder if it’s worth posting crappy shots again just to say I’ve finished the year? Or whether I should just let it take its time and only post when I have a decent shot…

Time to work. Have a great day, friends.

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*For which I’m currently taking suggestions. To Kill A Mockingbird and Lord of the Flies are the only two books on the list so far.