Pygmy life

Impatience eats me up like fire. It controls me, fixating in my limbs like a fruit fly you can only spray organically, because, well, you don’t want to ingest the pesticide. I can feel it in every tense movement. The adrenaline of desire flits around my nerves and carves up the space between my shoulder blades. My temples tingle with the impossible thought that I can fix whatever it is, I can right it, if only I could force it to be the way I want it to be, I could untangle and push through the roof of dead leaves that block my vision.

pygmy branches

Honestly, I just can’t help it sometimes. It seems like I literally walk past the realm of my ability to see things logically. And once I get to that side of reasoning, I get lost in myself, and that’s it.

However, that’s not why I started this post. I actually started this two weeks ago, but since then, I haven’t been able to complete a personal thought and tease it along to a satisfactory ending. My brain broke with a sore throat, sinus pressure, and a cough, and unfortunately, I still haven’t quite got it back yet.

But yes, I’m impatient. It’s a vice, but I kind of like it. It breeds this need to act inside of me, and that’s what it takes to feel alive: Movement in any direction but stagnation.

I can’t quite pinpoint what is bothering me this time, I just know it’s there, and I want to root it out and envelop it with my insatiable need to self-reflect. It’s tickling my neck hairs, but I haven’t seen it take form yet.

All I know is it’s closest to me when I leave my home for someplace else.


The Elfin Forest is a village of pygmy oak trees with sagebrush villas. A wooden boardwalk snakes between neighborhoods, often moving between sandy steps and clunky ones. Trespassing from plank to plank, slatted sunlight plays with shadows that streak between the green moss that hangs from branches and the naked bark-covered sticks that push toward the sky.

And well, the Saturday I walked through the Elfin Forest, I slipped on hippy grease and fell into its magic mantra with gusto. It feels good, no matter what the casual judgmental feeling about that state of mind is, and it’s hard not to play the part when you feel small like the short oak trees that gnarl into canopies just inches above your head. Peaceful and quiet, it’s another place that’s easy for me to get lost inside myself, until the wind calls upon itself to rustle leaves at my ears’ level into shouting the existence of the rest of the world. Until the squished canopy of elfdom breaks into the Pacific Ocean, which is beyond the estuary of water, birds, and sunken vegetation that paints the space between Morro Bay and Los Osos.

oaks panorama


It’s over

I can’t believe I haven’t written anything to post on this blog since November. I could have sworn I was going to write stuff and I know I took photos specifically for this thing, but I guess I was a little distracted.

I’m so glad 2013 is over. For the last two months, I’ve been counting down the days, and now we’re a full week into 2014 and I feel fantastic. It’s not that 2013 was a bad year, it was just an unusually rough year, one of those year’s where even through all the progress that I made, the hits just kept on coming.

And it ended on a high note too, with what felt like all-out family warfare. That’s what the holidays are for. Reunification with loved ones and you can always mix it up a bit by throwing in some anger, crying, and yelling. It kind of completes the vacation package.

I don’t know, I suppose I’m a stronger person because my brain turned to mush a couple times last year. I was tested and triumphed, however freaking slow those repeated routes to the summit took. I did realize, I am a very impatient person. I like things to happen quickly, especially when I’m ready, and when those things drag out, I go a little crazy on the inside.

Life, mine in particular, is indeed a shitshow at times. It’s a total, complete ball of nondescript brown mess that just keeps on giving until it can’t give anymore, and then—wait for it—it gives again.

Now that I think about it, that’s really gross.

At the beginning of 2013, I had a new job to look forward to, a new place to explore, and a new home to hopefully move into. Although I nailed the last two on the head, that last one was a little tricky. I moved four times in 2013.

My last move was on Dec. 29. I like to cut it close.

For that last month and a half, I slept, not in my home, but in the home of a generous friend. And every week, I would tell myself, “this week is the week, by the end, you’ll have a new place to live.”

Yeah … let me just say, it doesn’t really work that way.

Even more inspiring, was the fact that my dog took up residence at my folks house. And while they were giving and kind to offer shelter to my poor, homeless dog because of his not poor, but homeless mother, it’s not something I really ever want to do again. Let me repeat that—EVER again.

It was miserable. Not because of the outright compassion shown to me by family and friends, but because of my own feelings. Lost like the dog who rented a space on my parents living room floor, I felt trapped and it seemed like the door I needed to open was refusing even to just creak a little on its hinges.

I know, I wasn’t destitute, I was fed, I had a job, blah, blah, blah, but still, it was rough for a little while there. Being dependent on other people stresses me out, it gives me guilt. I had guilt. And still do, a little, but that’s over and it’s time to finally MOVE ON, BABY!