The wheels are always spinning. Most of the time like wicked gears in an old clock. Sometimes out of sync, sometimes too slowly, but most of the time much too fast. And curiously…
I’m walking to drop off our rent check today, eating some Tic-Tacs and I’m thinking to myself, “Why am I eating? Is it because I am hungry? Is it because I crave it? Is it habit?”
I know this may seem trivial, but is it?
I am wondering,
What is my motivation?
What are my motives? For everything.
Like what were my motives for this quilt block? To achieve the equivalent of a Jackson Pollock with Amy Butler fabric. I know, it looks like someone ate them and then threw them up into a sad attempt at an Ohio Star, not yet pieced together (and I’m not sure if it ever will be).
And honestly, I don’t know. I am a very habitual person, that’s for sure. I wake up at the same time almost every day without fail and without an alarm, following the same using dream. And, as a matter of fact, I had the same recurring dream from the time I can remember dreaming, until just a few years ago. A very strange one involving crows, a beach house and a circular outer deck with no stairs down, and the crows were always chasing me around saying, “vagina”. Yeah, I know. It’s whacked out. I’ve never really been a fan of the term- so medicinal and sterile, but coming from a giant crow it becomes exceptionally creepy.
Back on track…
I guess my point was based in a fear of sorts. Are most people just functioning? Going through the motions. Is anybody thinking things through? What about intent? What are the motives here? What are mine?
I don’t want to live so purposefully that enjoying the freedom of appreciating what happens to be put in my path, however accidentally or not, becomes an impossibility. But I also dread and fear not being awake enough to notice these things.
I never want to wake up and realize that I’ve been sleeping through the best parts of my life.
And I’m starting to see, in complete contradiction to what I have believed, that there is so much beauty everywhere.
Walking home from the gym a few days ago I saw a guy in a sleeping bag on the sidewalk, probably not much older than me. Maybe even younger. He smiled at me so brightly that I couldn’t help but smile back. He didn’t even speak. He didn’t have to.
And maybe he was fucked up. I mean, I was fucked up on life at the time. But that changed me just a little bit. Woke me up, just a little bit. It was like something was saying, “Wake up Ash, you can choose to see something else”.
I am anxiously waiting for my Mom to get her package I sent (late) for Mother’s Day
I don’t think I have ever gotten my Mom something for Mother’s Day. I have always been too caught up in using. It feels pretty awesome to be able to be there and let her know how much I love her, as corny as it sounds. Even if it is a little late. (sorry Mom!)