Conservative, nonetheless...

I think that all this foofaraw about the wreckage of America's economy if we pull away from petroleum-centered industry is absolute poppycock. Over at The Swanky Conservative I've had a quite animated back-and-forth with Mr. Swanky himself. Below is my latest response about what could be America's leading foray into clean, sustainable industry:

The cutbacks on industry are already happening. It's well-known that automobiles emit 58% of the chemicals that react to form ozone and about a third of the CO2 that is trapped in our atmosphere annually. More and more people are choosing their next automobile purchase to be a more efficient, foreign-made model that is more likely to pollute less and cost less (due to decreased overhead for the lack of auto-worker unions).

What you probably didn't know is that energy-producing enterprise, or what most people would refer to as "power plants," is one of the most regulated industries next to medical manufacturers, big tobacco and petroleum. Coal-burning power plants have made huge strides in recapture and carbon sequestration, but they are becoming outdated by cleaner-burning natural gas. However, neither is optimal, and nuclear power is like masturbation; when you're done doing your business you have a whole lot of really gross stuff that you won't want to clean up.

So, let's put our money where our mouths are and start building up domestic businesses based on Earth-centered ethics, like renewable or sustainable power (Wind, Solar, hydroelectricity, biomass, etc.), zero-pollutant industry, hydrogen fuel cells and better streamlined recycling. Then as we build these businesses with greater capital that we're saving by taxing the businesses who are not crossing over to cleaner, more responsible industry, we'll gradually have a shift, which may take a little while (10-20 years) but the benefits will be astounding and won't be the harsh transition that you fear (the '70s were only a decade, right? and the trouble you speak of was what, in the period of 5 years?).

Dry your tears, little neocon. Buck up and just do what's right. Remember, just because it's dictated by the free market doesn't mean that it's moral.

The night without you

It's crazy to sit in this big house and feel lonely just because you left moments ago. You and I were just trying to make up, and you leave, and I'm lost, or to be more accurate, I'm at a loss.

Sometimes there's something missing. You're my best friend, the only real friend I have here, and maybe that's why it's so lonely, because when you're gone my world becomes smaller than the dust bunnies left behind from Mr. Orange's winter coat.

I want you to love me, and say it like they do in the movies. I want you to surprise me in the kitchen with a soft kiss on my neck. When you curl up next to me in our vast bed, I always hope that you'll reach for my hand.

I tell myself sometimes, and I know this is silly, but I keep thinking, "What if I was prettier, or if I drop 15 or so pounds? What if I was better looking, would he do all the things I dream of? Would he love me like Joe Gillis embracing Betty Schaefer in Sunset Boulevard?"

This is such crap. I am officially co-dependent ... and that's bullshit.

One too many blows to the head...

... left me for dead, but still I fight on.

I know that I'm far from infallible, but when I make stupid mistakes and they are pointed out to me rather pointedly, my heart rises in my throat and it feels like a punch in the gut. Then I can't help but think, "GOD, I'M SUCH A @#$%ING MORON!"

After reading Sarah Hepola's last blog entry, I tried to remember why I'd started my blog in the first place. I used to post regularly in another one, which is no longer linked to this profile, about philosophy and trying to understand the human condition. THe purpose of this blog is somewhat related to that cause, but it's more like looking at the situation that Dallas is in and what I can do as a citizen journalist to pull it up by its bootstraps. It started as a place to lament my first year out in the "real world" as well.

Now it just seems like I bitch a lot and melt over Dave, which in retrospect makes me look like a huge, ineffective pussy (pardon me, but it's true). What happened to the tough-as-nails, devil-may-care attitude that was the original author's voice? Well, she got engaged and started fretting over her career.

I thought about freelancing a bit. Like just testing the market with my opinions. But after reading Sara Hepola's column on freelancing, I should definately keep my day job. The thing is, if I did freelance, where would I find time to cook, to clean and knit and sew and all the little hobbies that I enjoy? Would I ever really relax? What about yoga? Would I ever be able to sit still or quiet my mind?

I keep wanting more, and I guess that's the point of life. Not the material more, but the spiritual and ambitious more, the one that fills your spirit and not your house with junk. But when can I fulfill these ambitions? When can I find the time to dedicate myself to this? When can wanting more mean actually having it?

Maybe I should just suck it up and stop waiting for an opportunity and make my own...

On the surface...

Breathe in...

My muscles are tired and sore as I ease and then collapse into my desk chair. It was a long night, made restless by the staccato of thunder and visual crescendos of lightening that lit the densly windowed bedroom. Thirst. I climb clumsily from the bed, wrenching my body from his dead-weight arm, and make a long forge in pitch black hallway bathed in the intermittent flashes of the storm. Quenched, sated and achy I roll back into our bed.

Breathe out...

After a five-run lead, the Rangers lost, and this morning you cursed them while I haphazardly stuffed my bagel into my tote. The coffee is creamy, sweet and strong, but not nearly enough douse my mind in awareness. We're running late for lack of sleep and because making two separate lives synchronize is harder than we thought. It reminds me of a conversation I once had with a mother and how she referred to her sons as "this one" and "that one." But we can't go back to this or that; now we're an infinite "we," an unending "our."

Dive deep...

But I'm just tired. Tired of my propensity for worry and the resulting proclivity for inaction. I'm tired of hungering for success, praise and acclaim while knowing that it's just not my time. I'm an adolescent boy that dreams of climax but dreads my peak. I'm a sports car that craves the open road but cringes at the thought of mileage. I'm a middle-aged woman, remembering everything that led to this point, all the memories and love, but I can't come to terms with the wrinkles from my laughter.

Come back to the surface...

Give it time and the hours will pillage.