Chester: Still Trying

Somewhere in the midst of the slowly mounting pile of responsibilities in my day to day existence, I keep expecting to find a balance. A way to get enough done to continune progressing, but still stick to those things that keep me sane and make life enjoyable. Of course, any equation that seems to work never works for long. Life is amazingly adept at pulling out the rug, sending things crashing back to the ground, and generally making a nuisance of itself. Oddly enough, I think fate functions as a little sister for anyone who might be lacking in such things, or at the very least helping them get the job done. Perhaps I can convince my own little sister to leave at least a little bit of the work for fate before she gets herself in any more trouble.

Chester: "It's five a.m. and you are listening..."

Have you ever found yourself stairing at the ceiling at five a.m. knowing that you have to be up the next day and coherent enough to make it through a set of tasks you dread, but your head just wont stop buzzing with a seemingly infinite number of thoughts and worries and hopes and... and... giberish. It never seems to coalesce into anything worth mentioning except for a few sleep-deprived delusions the next day. Except on that rare occasion when that nervous energy focuses enough to get something done. Dishes. A report. A re-arranged room. Maybe, just maybe, a poem. Which sometimes can be enough to let it all go or at least give you enough of a boost to make it through another day. I've never liked doing things just to make it from day to day. That seems all wrong. If you never focus on anything but tommorow, well... all those cliches about missing today. Seems a grand way to find yourself eventually staring back and wasting the rest of your time regreting what never happened. The best you can hope for then is that you might make it as a non-fiction writer. Heh.

Chester: Meet Mab

Have you ever known one of those people who have probably twice as many books as they do bookshelves? Take that effect and use it on books, crafting supplies, random occult knickknacks, and general stuff and you might be able to imagine visiting Mab's home. She is a goddess of the thrift store and just always seems to happen to have something that will work for whatever project you are working on. Assuming that she can find it, of course. Which is where I find myself today, looking through a bookshelf, constantly being distracted by one thing or another, while I look for that book on epic poetry that we both swear we saw just last week.
"Huh, Japanese Gardens. Pretty," I say, looking over pictures.
"Yeah, I think I might have gotten that one for a decoupage project. I forget. How about The Nibelungenlied, that IS an epic?" says Mab.
"Which one is that?"
"The German epic."
"Ah. Yeah. Not quite what I'm after. Bah," and I retreat to flop on a patch of clear floor, "It's not that important anyway. Just a whim" I say.
Mab shuffles through things a moment longer, then crosses over to the couch to resume work on an afghan. She has gone back to the shorter black hair for summer, which always did frame out her face better. "I'll keep my eyes open for it."
"Fair enough. So. Going to give in and switch over to the goth/dominatrix look this summer?"
"I still don't think leather is the way to go. And I don't know that the landlord needs another reason to be giving me funny looks."
"Oh come on, tall women wearing leather and demanding that leaky faucets be fixed are totally awesome," I say.
She pauses, raises an eyebrow, shakes her head and continues crocheting the afghan into existence. "I still see no reason to invest in leather for your amusement. Especially since you wouldn't go to the club with me even if we did drive out to one."
"No, I WOULD go. I'd just sit in a corner and glare at people a lot. I should fit right in if we go somewhere gothy. Though the music is kind of a crapshot then."
"Uh huh. You are so very persuasive."
I drift closer to idly swat at the ball of yarn, only to be swatted in return by Mab. I poke my tongue at her, pull myself up onto the arm of the chair next to her and begin braiding her hair to spare her project and amuse myself while the bad movie continues to assault us in the background.

Chester: Summer

It arrives not with the last final or with the posting of grades or the scattering of college students back towards home, but with that first long walk. That long ambling wander through the campus and then out around the city. No agenda. Just walking with a notebook and a pencil and if everything goes well an image will slip out of the darkness, that lovely soft hum of city life that only really can happen when it's late enough to have driven everyone else indoors, and I can write. Sometimes ducked under a streetlight, trying to stay positioned to read without blocking off the light and other times, when the moon is enough to manage by, perched up a tree, removed even from those few other people who take the time to wander. Eventually though, feet get tired and the draw of bed pulls me back home to settle in. Besides, that first wander usually happens about 5 degrees too early.

Chester: One More Down

Any minute now my shoulders will go loose, my stomach will relax, and everything will be ok. Breath slow, in through the nose, out through the mouth. I should go inside and get my sword, but really it's too cold to be outside, let alone trying to do forms. Numb fingers are worthless for guiding chi and gloves separate that feeling of extended-self that I need to really work through the forms at all. That paradoxical burn of cold across my cheeks warns me that if I don't head inside soon frozen ears are going to give me a headache to build on top of everything else. Of course, the stars are just starting to sneak out from behind the clouds. Some things are worth suffering for a little. Sometimes that look at something more vast and more isolated than yourself is just the way to get past the trivialities of grades and school and just let the semester be over. Sometimes its just too late to change anything else. Then again, sometimes not knowing when to quit is the only way to get anything done.