zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Fuck this)
IMMA GOIN' TO NARNIA ORLANDO.

So, after my bitch-mood continued on through the night and well into this afternoon, I became resolute in my conclusion that I need to get the fuck out of town for a while. I haven't had a weekend off since December, and I haven't been anywhere but school or home since September.

I had decided to just take my paycheck and disappear for a while when I texted [livejournal.com profile] zece in a fit of sullen melancholy, and she responded promptly with, "Bitch, get your ass down to Orlando."

And I was like, "... fuck yes."

So, next weekend, I'm putting this town in my rear-view the fucking instant my last class is done, and God help anyone that gets in my way.

Like I said, I am skirting burnout the way I am right now. Something's gotta give, and I'd rather it not be my source of a steady paycheck.

So. MOTHERFUCKIN ROAD TRIP.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Fuck this)
I find myself getting bored.

This hasn't happened in a while, mostly due to the fact that I've been working like crazy. But I have an easier semester this year and a lot of down time. And now I'm like, "... gah."

I now know that I am flirting with burnout with my job. Every time I turn around, the idiots in charge are making another unenforceable decree that just makes everyone's lives more difficult. So much so that I'm getting tired of bitching about it, which is the real testament here, I think.

Stupid, humorless, near-sighted morons = ideal leaders, clearly.

I think I just need to get away from here for a while.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Highway)
Went to a vegetarian bar/restaurant/concert venue last night and had a blast.

It was, literally, a little hole-in-the-wall place with an empty back room, a couple of lights, and $2 PBR.

It was $5 for three bands, and it was a god damn bargain. The bands were the grassroots blues-inspired kind that I didn't think existed, anymore. The band members sported gauges the size of bottle-caps (empirical evidence was provided), dreads to their hips, and the occasional pair of coveralls, and accompanied themselves on washboards, saws, and banjos. One washtub player showed up in a penguin suit.

The crowd sported everything from capes and skirts to 1920s-esc gloves and heels. I saw pockets bulging with smart phones and pocket knives in equal measure. No one seemed to care what they looked like; we were all just comfortable and we were there for the music. The musicians were talented and easy-going and didn't seem to mind that there were all of thee lights in the place. They played their hearts out, we danced and clapped and stomped, and everybody had a good time.

I was absolutely delighted by the music, too. There were funeral dirges, road songs, and one rousing ballad about stealing chocolate bars.

It was, altogether, a very liberating night. I used to be the quintessential art student, complete with found clothes and questionable bathing practices, and while I have moved past that into 'white bread college kid', I definitely miss the expressive and unapologetic attitude of the arts.

And it was nice to not be the only person in the crowd with holes in the knees of my jeans, for once.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Never love a Wild Thing)
Sincrerly, L. Cohen by Resonant
Fandom: Famous Blue Raincoat (song)
Pairing: Narrator/Rival
Summary: I always tell you the truth. I can't seem to help it.


Never have I ever read a fic based on a song. Never have I ever read a fic based on such a good song. Never have I ever read such an amazing fic based on such a good song.

Leonard Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat is written in the form of a letter from a man to another man, called only "my brother, my killer". The letter discusses a love triangle between the two men and a woman named Jane.

It's probably one of the most haunting songs you'll ever listen to.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Don't Blink)
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.

To tell the truth, I just hope that I don't settle.

I'm not ruling out a white picket fence and 2.5 rugrats, because that's just tempting fate, but it's not what I really want, right now. What I really want from my life is to be free from unnecessary fetters and the urge to just take the easy path. I want to go the hard way, the way that may end up making me broken, bitter, and poor. I want to see things and do things that everyone is afraid of, because I might just learn something. I want to make waves and kick sand in the face of convention. I want to go as many places as I can and learn as much as I can, because to do anything else is to break down and give up. I want to make a difference by being different.

Basically, I want to hitch a ride on the TARDIS.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Highway)
Day 29: A song from your childhood

This is a song I have loved since I was a little kid. I never knew who wrote it until my mother handed me an Outlaws CD one day and told me to read the tracklist. I saw this song and screamed, jumping around with glee.
Hearing it now brings back memories of long days at the local pool, wrapped in a towel in the back seat of our red minivan, the Speedy Tomato, begging my mom to play this song one more time.

Hurry Sundown by The Outlaws

zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Never love a Wild Thing)
Last night I had two dreams, the first of which involved me having a fairly decent 5 o'clock shadow and a well developed mustache and freaking out about it.

The second was about France.

Guys, traveling's a sickness. Once you're gone, you don't really come back.

...

Jul. 18th, 2010 09:41 pm
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Never love a Wild Thing)
The Call of the Wild
by Robert W. Service

Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,
Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it,
Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God's sake go and do it;
Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.

Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush desolation,
The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?
Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all creation,
And learned to know the desert's little ways?
Have you camped upon the foothills, have you galloped o'er the ranges,
Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?
Have you chummed up with the mesa? Do you know its moods and changes?
Then listen to the Wild -- it's calling you.

Have you known the Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver?
(Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies).
Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up the river,
Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?
Have you marked the map's void spaces, mingled with the mongrel races,
Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?
And though grim as hell the worst is, can you round it off with curses?
Then hearken to the Wild -- it's wanting you.

Have you suffered, starved and triumphed, groveled down, yet grasped at glory,
Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?
"Done things" just for the doing, letting babblers tell the story,
Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?
Have you seen God in His splendors, heard the text that nature renders?
(You'll never hear it in the family pew).
The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do things --
Then listen to the Wild -- it's calling you.

They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their preaching,
They have soaked you in convention through and through;
They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their teaching --
But can't you hear the Wild? -- it's calling you.
Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,
And the Wild is calling, calling. . .let us go.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Highway)
8. What's your favorite genre to write? To read?

Road stories, road stories, road stories, road stories.

And did I mention the road stories?

I love to read road stories, and I don't think I've ever written a story that doesn't cross state boundaries. At least.

I can't really explain why I love the open road so much, other than to say that it is in my blood. I'm the descendant of two well-traveled military brats who took me to swim with dolphins when I was nine and made sure I got my beignet (pronounced ben-yay) hit at least once a year. I was born on the East Coast and live in a land of beaches and swamp, but I also love the jagged, raw mountains of the Midwest and the enormous sky of the desert and the prairie.

And it's not just the places that fascinate me. It's the grit and the freedom of transience that will dig under your skin and carve itself into your bones. Change scares a lot of people, and it really should. Because once you step off that ledge and find yourself in someplace you don't recognize, you can't ever go back to the same way you were.

And that is what road stories are about. At point A, you're you, the way you've always been. You've put down roots, you're resistant to change, and you're happy to stay that way, forever. But for some reason, whether you intend it or not, you have to uproot yourself and go an entirely new and possibly terrifying way. You have to face things that you are not prepared for and, to survive, you have no choice but to adapt. And, when it's all said and done, you come to realize that the person you see in the mirror is not the soft and clueless being you were, before. You're older, wiser, harder, and aware of what exists beyond the edges of your own little world.

I could go on for days, you guys. Just. Yes.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Highway)
THE PLAN:
- Either score a job as an SA or get a second one
- Save lotsa cash over this coming school year
- Get my surgery early next summer
- Recover
- Run off to the mountains for however much time I have left
- Live it up.


I have a lot of plans this coming school year now that I have a car and a steady job. They also include a ticket to the Halloween Voodoo concert fest in New Orleans, but that's about as flexible as everything else I do (which is to say, very).

I don't have a lot of money right now, but I think with the new year I'll be able to change that. And then I'm gonna take some road trips, because that, ladies and gentlemen, is what cars are for.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Coffee)
Watched My Blueberry Nights and now I really want pie.

That is all.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Highway)
Augh. GOD.

If you have ever in your life experienced wanderlust, then don't ever listen to any of the Wolf's Rain soundtracks.

They will stir it up so bad, it hurts.

Too bad they're so good I can't. stop. listening.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Legs)
Ahaha, so I had a gypsy kind of day, today. I bribed my roommate, Ren, to into taking me down to the Social Security office to apply for a new card, so the lady in payroll will shut the hell up. It was a relatively painless process.

Afterwards, we went to get her car checked out, because the engine light had come on. Ren is no dummy, and was quizzing the guy on whether or not he was making up symptoms for her car so she would have to pay more. The guy got indignant, and Ren ignored him. Finally Ren agreed to let the car get checked out, and we went to go get some food at Hardee's. After that, we walked over to Walgreen's, where I promptly grabbed a Santa hat and put it on my head. Ren shopped around for Christmas presents, and I read magazines.

We were called back to the car shop, where they said that she needed a flush and an oil change. Ren coerced her father into paying for it, and we then marched across the street to browse a dying Blockbuster. We then went by Target, where we fought with lightsabers, messed with the electronics displays, and sat in the aisle to read more magazines.

We got the call that Ren's car was all better. We loaded up and sailed away to go pick up her paycheck and meander back to campus.

It was a gypsy kind of day because the day was warm and windy and wet (my favorite kind), and nothing felt better than to be dashing through traffic and wandering through stores with nothing in mind other than to kill time and just being bums.
I love the feeling of being outside the normal rhythm of things. You have no place to be, and no reason to hurry.

It's also funny, because many other people consider walking around a shopping area for hours with nothing else to do a living hell. They would get impatient and bored and frustrated very quickly. They might even feel stranded or cornered.

But Ren and I are both very easy-going people, and we had no problem entertaining ourselves.

I can't really describe why I had so much fun, today, doing nothing at all. I guess I'm just that kind of gal.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Legs)
I was reading back in my own tags, and found a constant theme of restlessness and bucking the system.

In case anyone cares about what's changed... )
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Default)
Sudden-onset restlessness sucks when you don't have a car.

This isn't really wanderlust. I don't have any desire to leave where I am right now, which is a big change from the past summer. Then, I would have been terrified of feeling like this.

This is more like I want to drive.

I did a lot of that over the summer as a form of frantic stress-relief. Then, all I wanted to do was pick up and go. Now, it's not nearly as desperate. It feels more like boredom.

I want to take a trip. Not forever. Just for a weekend. Drive into the mountains, camp out in a borrowed tent. Roast marshmallows. Make a bunch of noise.
Actually, I probably will do that. Make my friends drive me.

So, I guess what this means is that I'm settling. Putting down roots. Which isn't as scary as I thought. And anyway, I've got time to pick up and drift.

ding.

Mar. 29th, 2009 08:40 pm
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Highway)
Yep.

This time, it wasn't all of a sudden, or because of one little detail. It was a steady buildup throughout the entire day. Washing out a shirt in the sink. Eating maybe a meal and a half. The way my blackberry-sage tea smelled. The way the wind smelled, after the sun went down, sweet and damp. The fact that I'm getting tan. A story I just finished reading. The fact that the moon is a perfect little sickle in the sky. The knowledge that my family will be coming through town, tomorrow, on their way elsewhere.

It doesn't hurt this time. It's just... there.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Highway)
Oh hai, wanderlust.
Was wondering where you'd gone.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Bubbles)
I think my problem is that I listen to too much grunge and classic rock.

Two full generations of musical nomads, poisoning my subconscious. Clearly.
zfreelance: (<lj site="livejournal.com"  user="timepunching">) (Highway)
This is perhaps my favorite song. The sax still gives me chills, even today.
Give it a listen.

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