Oh, yeah...I have a blahg.

More than a month has passed since I last graced you with my writing presence. I have no idea why. I've had many, many things to write about. A friend recently said to me, "It's a bit ironic that the last blog entry you wrote was about writing, even when you couldn't think of anything to write about."

Yes, indeed, my friend. Quite ironic.

So, now...on February 16th, 2009. I dust off the ol' laptop and hash something out. As I was trying to decide on a topic for tonight's blog, I kept thinking about something that the aforementioned friend had said earlier. She said, "I observe everything." I have thought about this statement for weeks now. It creeps into my mind when I'm staring out my window on the hour drive to Stillwater, three days a week. Each time I drive, I make a point to look completely to my left and right, forgetting the road and what's ahead of me. I tell myself, "No one notices the distance to the right and left side of them when they drive...only what's in front of or behind them. I am different. So, I will look out my side windows." Usually, what I see is a beautiful old barn that I hadn't noticed or a plane, spreading fertilizer or a single, brown cow staring back at me. These things make me happy.

As I was contemplating the phrase, "I observe everything," I started to realize that I think this about myself, as well...except I observe everything that's weird.

It's true. Over the past month, I've seen/noticed quite a few odd happenings. The first in this long line of strange occurrences was a squirrel that fell. I was sitting on the balcony of my apartment, and I watched a squirrel climb up the side of the building. It was climbing on the bricks, and I kept thinking, "I don't think I've ever seen a squirrel climb up a building before. Ever." Then, it fell three floors down, smacked on the ground, shook its little, dizzy squirrel head, and ran away. My first thought was, "I will most likely never see that happen again."

Number two in my list was during the ice storm. Once again, I was out on my balcony. (I spend a lot of time out there because, sadly, I still smoke. Don't hate. I'm working on it. Leave me alone about it.) Anyhoo...I'm sitting on my balcony, and I see a woman, scooting on all fours along the ice. Her husband was just a few steps ahead of her. At one point, he looked back at her, paused, and then just walked cautiously and easily to the car. Instant anger filled me.

"Why are you not helping her? Just reach out your hand and help her! That is so rude!" is all I could think. Then I noticed his arm, flapping in the wind. Wait. Strike that. Then I noticed his sleeve flapping in the wind. Yes, this man that I had so harshly judged, had only one arm. No wonder he couldn't lend a hand. I then proceeded to laugh hysterically because my sense of humor is morbid.

About 3 weeks ago, in the bitter cold, I walked past a homeless man at QuikTrip. There are quite a few homeless people in Tulsa, Oklahoma...more than you would imagine. I also live Downtown, and all of the homeless services are down here, so I see just how many people there are without homes on a daily basis. This man had a tube coming out of his nose. He had obviously been in the hospital at one point during the day. I gave him $25.00. The way he said, "Oh, my God," after I gave it to him will haunt me for the rest of my life. This, "Oh, my God," to anyone else, would be the type of, "Oh, my God," you would say if you saw your grandfather, back from the dead. The kind of "Oh, my God," you would say if you stumbled upon gold bars. But, it was just $25. I walked in, bought some chips and a Diet Coke, came back outside, and started to walk to my car. He yelled after me, but his voice was tired and weak. He said, "God loves you!" I walked right back up to him, crouched down to his level (he was sitting on the ground), grabbed his hand and said, "God loves you. Try to stay warm. It's too cold out here." He said, "I have a place to stay, but I can't go until midnight, and it costs five dollars." It was 17 degrees outside. It was 7:15pm.

I went home and cried for 2 hours.

Yesterday, I thought about why I like astronomy so much. Then I thought about the Hubble Space Telescope pictures and how they make me so incredibly happy...like, those are pictures of "home" and this life is something that happens before I get to back to my nebulous of colorful, sparkly things. For some strange reason, I keep telling myself that I'll do such-and-such when such-and-such happens. I give myself time lines and labels and judgements and so very many "ifs" and "maybes whens." I let doubt and fear make a mockery of my talents. I, at one point, think about the randomness of it all, and another, the complete and total connectedness.

I think about the woman scooting on the ground on all fours. I think about the squirrel falling from the building. I think about looking out my window, 90 degrees to the east and west so that I can notice things that other people don't notice. I think about the homeless man and my friend's gall bladder surgery and coffee and plane crashes and on and on and on...and, I realize:

This stuff happens if I notice it or not. Then, I get really confused. Because once, someone told me, "Life is really easy if you remember these two very important things: You are not the center of the Universe, and you ARE the center of the Universe."

The balance of that statement is what I aim for. The balance of that statement is why I'm trying to actually do something that I love and not worry about the naysayers.

The balance of that statement is why I'm trying to not step on people on my way to the top. I am not the center of the Universe, but I AM the center of the Universe, so it's about damn time I step up and do something.

Life is so very short. I don't understand it sometimes. But, I do know what I want to do. I want to make more art. And, I want to care more.

Stay tuned for more on my plan for my own little world domination. And by "my own little world domination," I mean, "Doing what I know I can do and love to do without fear."