mutantenemy: (humour::dear life)
The radio silence was not intentional, merely me suffering from a hardcore bout of Procraftinitis. So many things I wish to share and / or write about and when faced with the daunting task, I crumbled underneath the weight of my own expectations and resorted to watching my favorite episodes of "NCIS".

What did I learn? First off, that there is no such thing as too much Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Secondly, I learned I need to get off my ass and back into writing every couple of days rather than the odd chance sighting once in a blue moon.

"Oh my goodness? Did you see that? It flashed right by!"


"A UWP! An Unidentified Writing Piece! I recall seeing it a few times around Ember's blog so long ago, but now, golly gosh-gee-willikers, it has resurfaced. QUICK! TAKE A SCREEN CAPTURE."

All silliness aside, I shall try to do better. Now on with the update.

Last weekend I performed my first official duty as an Audubon Society Volunteer by helping them with Non-Native Vegetation Control. In other words, on the spring equinox I played in the mud and pulled English Ivy for six hours along the hiking trails.

I loved every minute of it. My body didn't, but I sure as hell did. I tromped through mud, played in the mud, placed mud on areas of my skin which brushed up against Stinging Nettles (not very annoying as some might think, but then my tolerance for itch is quite high), and came home with mud all over my cargo pants. Wheeee! I figured the equinox was a darn tootin' good day to give back to the Blessed Mother and to the nature loving community.

My muscles eventually did not agree. While they griped and moaned, I got myself all dolled up to take a dear friend out dancing for her birthday. We hit one of the popular clubs and, ee-gads, I cannot believe I used to frequent this joint three nights a week to dance my ass off. I did hit the dance floor, my body remembered the moves and created new ones, I was back in my element though I was quite a bit out of shape. Regardless, I had strangers approaching my friend saying, "You're redheaded friend out there is a really good dancer." Thank the gods, I have not lost my gift. While others feel lost if they're not writing, or photographing, or crafting, or singing.....for me, it's dancing. Why I haven't danced for so long...well....there are many excuses. The most embarrassing one is I'm not in the physical shape I used to be and my pride cannot imagine dancing if I'm out of breath. But then, how else am I going to get into better shape unless I exercise ala dancing?

Yup. Nasty catch-22 of the subconscious kind.

Sunday crawled into being and I crawled out of bed. Muscles were in a full throttle roar of such aggressive disappointment you'd think they were Republican or something. Pulling ivy and then dancing put me over the edge, but not without grasping four Advil Liquid Gels in the process. My left shoulder and right knee moved as if they were made of poppy paper (bubble wrap), as I shuffled around the house. Yeah, I need to dance more. I also need to stop making excuses for not dancing more. Before I was a writer, a reader, a girl with a crafty soul....I was a dancer.


I AM a dancer.
mutantenemy: (humour::shit happens)
Life has been a tad stressful, so my daily blogging and daily photos have had to take a backseat.

My job hunting has intensified as my UI benefits slowly dwindle down to zero. I've lost count to how many resumes I've submitted with nary a response in return. Fortunately, I did attend "Ignite Portland" last week and made a few connections thanks to a friend, as well as, received a few leads as to who is hiring.

Inside the Bagdad Theatre where Ignite Portland 8 was held.

Secondly, my adorable furrkid, Jameson, decided now was the opportune time to develop a nasty case of diarrhea. Two vet visits, two prescriptions, and about $400 later we still do not know exactly what is wrong with him. Popular theories are either an Irritable Bowel Disease or a food allergy. As the meds were screwing with his appetite, the vet recommended two days ago I take him off them. I did. And he wouldn't eat. Finally, this morning, his hunger overwhelming him, Jameson took to a plate of dry prescription cat food (Green Peas and Rabbit) and started eating again. I am thrilled. Nothing is more nerve wracking than a pet that will not eat.

Thirdly, I've been in a bit of funk the past two weeks. Nothing specific, just everything and nothing. When I'm in a funk, my creativity takes a dive and my motivation is full of blah. Jameson feeling better has relieved some of the stress, but I will feel more sure and secure once I find that elusive job.

In the meantime, let me share with you some photos I took in February at the Audubon Society's Wildlife Care Center Open House. My first venue in volunteering will be this month as I help maintain their sanctuary and hiking trails.

Clickenzee to biggenzee.

Aristophanes, Common Raven

Finnigan, Peregrine Falcon, Nature's Skydiver

Julio, Great Horned Owl

Hazel, Spotted Owl, sees what you did there

Syd, Red Tailed Hawk
mutantenemy: (humour::cricket sees wut u did thar)
So much for being able to do NaBloPoMo for January. Le sigh. I tried, I really did. But rather than look upon this as a failure, I'd rather look at this as quite the accomplishment.

No, really.

In the past, out of 30 days, I would probably only post about ten times. Maybe less, maybe a little bit more. Yet with NaBloPoMo, I actually posted about 25 out of the 31 days. That's freaking fabulous for me! Me, who attempted the Embodiment Project** twice and failed. Me, who even though has not been posting lately is STILL doing her daily photo.

On the agenda today, rather than frantically write up posts to back date to give the illusion I've written every day, I'm going to spam my own blog. Just post roughly three or four entries all marked today. I don't have to prove to anyone but myself that I am capable of achieving my goals. And on many levels I already have.

**The Embodiment Project is a Livejournal community where starting on January 1st, one hand writes in their journal every single day for the entire year. Many folks sketch, paint, do collage, doodle, or merely write and they post photos of their artistic entries. My first year I bit off more than I could chew (shocker) and tried to pursue it via an altered book. I lasted about two months. The next year I kept it simple with just writing and I also lasted, again, roughly two months. Doing something on a daily basis, other than getting out of bed, is simply not my thing. I learned that the hard way.
mutantenemy: (misc::animated lantern glow)
The rain started to soak through my rain "resistant" hoodie by the time I made it to the front door. Huffing underneath the cold clouds, I took pride I was able to accomplish another 2.7 miles in my morning ritual. Alright, every OTHER morning ritual. As I breathed in the wind, I felt exhilarated that I could accomplish just about anything I set my mind to today.

Inside the cozy blanket of my house, I brewed a cup of caffeinated ambrosia and began shifting through the emails. I received notice that yet another person had removed me from their Friends List. Earlier this week it was on Dreamwidth and that person was more of the dark, artistic vibe. I was cool with that, but apparently she wasn't cool with my day to day sundries.

Today's came from LiveJournal and whereas I was initially bummed, in the long run no harm, no foul. She was well within her rights to take me off her list because, let's face it, she was very into writing about her shamanistic experiences. Me not so much. Our interests diverged and whereas I read her entries, I never commented. I did leave her a comment wishing her well and that I completely understood.

Then I started thinking about my blog and the entires it contains within its virtual pages. Lately, I have NOT been writing about my spirituality or shamanism because I've felt there's really been nothing to write about. I feel like I'm in limbo. Not dead, mind you, I still have some amazing dreams. Why just recently I've experienced some with me climbing up hills, soaring / flying down hills, opening doors / portals to other realms others in my dreams are unable to to, etc. It definitely has been interesting, so why have I not been sharing?

Somehow, somewhere, I have misplaced my Voice. I want to share, but I'm conflicted as to how. In my mind, I want to manifest my blog into something truly magickal and inspiring. But unlike other blogs which have a running theme (crafty, shamanic, opinion, political, etc), I realized mine lacks one. My interests are all over place and I have several fingers in different pots. I possess no masterful expertise in simply ONE thing; just intermediate know-how in dozens.

Jill of All Trades here. Pleased to meet you.

Do I wish to write my blog with "Slice of Life" pieces or opinionated rants? Quirky humour or deep intellectual thinky thoughts? My day to day shamanic stumbles or my inner revelations which I've finally grasped? Some blogs are scholarly, others are artsy, many are hilarious, and a few are quite the hidden treasure chests only if you know where to dig.

I spoke of this limbo to a dear friend of mine and she confessed to be inflicted with the same dilema. Where is our Voice? I laughed and being the smartass I am said, "Great. We are both experiencing metaphysical / creative laryngitis. Do they have a lozenge for that?"

We laughed.

"Do they make an app for that?," I asked, "Perhaps turn an iPhone into a dowsing rod so we could find our misplaced Voice? Like looking for one's car keys?" We laughed some more and, honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if some genius out there does program such a nifty tool.

In closing, I suppose all I can say is bear with me. Some days will be dreadfully dull to read my blog, yet others will surprise you as I continue to search for my individual Voice. Perhaps I left it in the icebox?


Under the Weather

Friday, 8 January 2010 06:55 pm
mutantenemy: (Default)
The irony of it.

I write a post about not being a Slave to my laziness and what happens? I've come down with a bit of a cold which has forced me to be in bed all day.

Ah, the gods have a sense of humour.

This was the view from my bed: Jameson The Hunter.


Today's Theme: BOOKS

Saturday, 2 January 2010 08:19 pm
mutantenemy: (geek:: book spines)
Treated myself to a little jaunt over to Booktique, a wonderful, amazingly enabling nook of a book store where the prices range from $0.50 to $3.00 per tome. Allow me to demonstrate.

See those boxes and that bag brimming with literature goodness? That is what $29 looks like. Oh yeah, it rocked.

Next I traipsed over to Powell's, the west side branch, and became very grateful I did not spend my allowance on yarn pr0n yesterday. I picked up three books on the Virgin Mary to add to the Spiritual Section of my library, a lovely copy of "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy", and a new book from author Walter Moers. Add that to some of my gems from Booktique such as: "The Bible as History", "Greek Myths by Robert Graves" (part 1 and 2), and "Reader's Digest Reverse Dictionary" and I am one happy geek.

mutantenemy: (Default)

Wow. That simply looks odd. Another odd bit is the back and forth between scholars, writers, linguistics, and geeks on how to pronounce this new decade of ours. There are those in the Camp Two Thousand and Ten. There are those in the Twenty-Ten. There are even a few spattering of clever folks calling it Aught-10.

Personally, this is how I resolve the issue. I was not born in "Nineteen hundred and seventy", nor was I born in "One thousand, nine hundred and seventy." I was born in Nineteen Seventy. Plain. Simple. Fewer syllables. We could not at the beginning of this millennium refer to it as Twenty-Oh-One. Or Twenty-one. And as we got on in years, Twenty-Six or Twenty-Oh-Nine. Not until it reached the double digits can we now revert to the good old standard we were used to in the former century.

Ladies and Gents, I introduce you to 2010. She likes it pronounced "twenty-ten".

On a completely different subject, a friend dared me to attempt the 365 days of photos. One photo. Every day. I'm a bit skeptical I'll be able to accomplish this goal thanks to my lack luster ability to complete National Blog Posting Month for December, but I suppose it could not hurt to give it a go.

Viola, dear readers. Photo numero uno.
©2010 Ember K. Miller
mutantenemy: (elphaba::insert evil cackle here)
To beat the heat, I ventured to The Maul yesterday to do some walking and window shopping. I was a good girl. I purchased a magnet bumper sticker which read, "Trust me, I'm a Pirate" and one stripey shirt with thumb holes on CLEARANCE. "Clearance" was a popular word at The Maul.

I swung into Victoria's Secret to take a gander at their new cotton panties (now with stretchy spandex!)and do some recognizance on new bras I will eventually have to acquire once I get a DAMN JOB (no, I'm not bitter).

Nothing truly caught my eye, so I turned on my heels and started to leave the boutique and dodge the black-clad saleswomen in the process. As I sauntered by the registers, my eyes caught a little girl roughly 5 to 6 years of age rummaging through the bins of lip gloss. Her mother was nearby paying for her newest lingerie. Sticking her hands in the bin and pulling out one by one the lip gloss, the little girl looked aghast at the colour selection and said with PERFECT intonation, "What the HELL??"

I lost it.

I cackled all the way through the store, past the oblivious customers, and out the door. The mother was clueless, she didn't hear, and I wasn't going to mention it to her because the moment was too perfect and harmless.

However, I believe it wise if the mother watches what she says around her daughter because it was obvious the little girl was only mirroring what she has heard her mommy say.