Meanwhile, Misty sent in a piece of knitted cloth to some bit collaborative thingie, the Milkweed project or something like that. Honestly, how do they expect me to relax?

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And don’t forget to make some art. Write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. May your coming year be a wonderful thing in which you dream both dangerously and outrageously. I hope you’ll make something that didn’t exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you all have people to love and to like in return.

And most importantly, because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now, I hope that you will be wise and that you will always be kind.

And I hope that somewhere in the next year that you will surprise yourself.

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Misty and I drove south today to a pretty little town called Venice just south of Sarasota for the Venice Art Festival today. It looked almost as though We wouldn’t make it in time, but we pressed on reasoning that if we couldn’t make it to the fair, we’d be able to explore the town, have a nice dinner, and maybe take a walk around town. It turned out that we got there a half hour before everyone packed up their stalls, and the crowd had thinned out nicely. So we spent the late afternoon chatting with artists, taking in the work, and window shopping in a town peppered with little clothing boutiques and art studios displaying beads and smiling Buddhas.

The real highlight for the day for me was the drive back. We made our way up the federal highway rather than on the interstate, and we traced a long path alongside the Gulf coast through towns and past the Ringling Art Museum. When we got home, I found myself pleasantly relaxed and full of ideas for new projects.

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We should be back in Tampa by Thursday or Friday this coming week.

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This week, I noticed that our bedroom gets a lot of natural light. The room having two windows would certainly help with that fact, but what I really noticed is that the light is perfect for making art. In actuality, the layout of the apartment is such that the room we use as the office/studio is likely meant as the master bedroom, with its own walk-in bathroom. However, when Sam moved in a few years ago, he opted to make the other bedroom his own, because of the quietness of being on the corner of the building.

I was in no way suggesting that we swap the rooms (mostly because of the effort involved in such a feat), and told Sam that what I may do is lay down a drop cloth and paint in the bedroom.

I’ve noticed that since buying the laptop, the amount of time I spend in the (rather dark and drab) office/studio is nearly nothing. The sole window has the balcony/steps overhang over it, so while light does come in the room, it’s nowhere near as bright. The living room window is the same, except that it is larger.

I’m trying to reconcile the fact that 94% of the items in the apartment preceded me and belong to Sam. I, of course, have free use of just about everything, but it is difficult for me to start rearranging space without his input, because, well, he was here first. I de-cluttered so much of my stuff before I made the move, so I have little to pare down now. Unfortunately, this leaves Sam to do most of the work of sorting, because I don’t know if some book that hasn’t moved in the last six months is a book that was a gift, or if he was ready to part with it ages ago and just hadn’t. Then I’d have to interrupt him to ask, and the whole process would just take eight times as long to do.

My part is boxing/bagging up what is leaving the apartment. It’s about all I can do right now.

Anyway, I feel stifled creatively in the office/studio, so very little was done the first few months after I moved. Jewelry has been made since moving out to the living room, but the light in here isn’t the best, either.

Something Sam and I agreed on early was that our bedroom was to be a sanctuary. No video games, work, etc. Books are allowed, because we both like to read, and we’re reading through The Princess Bride right now together, as well as reading our own selections. The laptop has made appearances in there, but mostly is in other parts of the apartment. So, I feel mixed about taking art supplies into our sanctuary. On one hand, the light should be wonderful for working. On the other…it’s our sanctuary. No working.

For the sake of art actually being created, a compromise will either need to be made, or I’ll just have to get over my reluctance.

What do you do for creative space?

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I’m ready for more. I want to start making art with my whole being, not just the socially acceptable side of myself, I want to peer deeper into myself and draw from my entire being. I read and go out into the world to learn. Now I want to use art to explore all of that I’ve been learning. To understand. To know.

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Now, then…

Today Sam and I celebrate one year as a couple. I’m going to take a bit and tell how we got where we are today.

It was February, 2008. Sam and I both play a “game” called Second Life. I was DJing a party at an inworld bar called PIER. Sam, or xquitz, requested a song from me. My name ingame is Skaja. I think he ended up leaving before I could play the song, but I saw him a few days later, when I was DJing again (and I did that a lot in 2008, as in nearly daily), I played the song for him. We started talking and he asked for a version of Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes, but as done by Jeffery Gaines. I found the song and we kept talking.

In April, I opened my own bar and xquitz showed up a couple times with a female friend. I wasn’t interested in him, so it was no big deal. Within a couple months, my bar was closed, and I was spending a lot of time at PIER again. By mid-July (still in 2008), Sam started coming to PIER more often. Our avatars would dance and we would talk. One night, probably in August, I didn’t want to type, and voice chat wasn’t working for the umpteenth time, so we moved to Skype. And since I wasn’t interested in him, really, I told him about everything going on in my life. All the turmoil, happy things, whatever. I was also DJing 25 hours a week, and he would log in just to come listen to whatever I was playing.

[The picture to the right is our avatars on Sept 4, 2008.]

A year ago, September 2nd, he shows me a prim sculpture someone made of the Buddha, and tells me that if he wanted to date someone, he’d ask me, cause I’m really nice. He had previously stated that he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. And I wasn’t interested anyway. But, that night, when he told me that, I started to wonder. The next night, we were talking in instant messages while I was working at a club, and indicated that he was interested in me.

I knew in my heart that I shouldn’t blow Sam off. And, really, I think I was starting to fall for him (yes over the internet). On the 4th, we became a couple. By the 16th, our avatars were partnered, which is to say that Sam went to Second Life’s website and checked a box and the website sent me an email asking if I wanted my profile to tell the world that I was involved with him in some capacity. At this point, we agreed that we wouldn’t date other people in Real Life, even though the question of us being a Real Life couple was still unclear.

On the 28th, our avatars got married. Yes, it sounds silly and possibly deranged. However, I know and have talked to in Real Life (via the phone and skype) several couples who have met in Second Life, and are really together in Real Life as well, so it doesn’t sound so hokey. Also, I met my ex-husband on AOL back when that was the rage, so it’s not like this was anything new for me anyway. [end rant.] Anyway, that night we talked and committed ourselves to each other.

After further discussion, by the way, we decided that we had really decided to be together as of the 4th, as a Real Life couple, and just took awhile for that to become clear to us.

Next step: meeting in person. It was important to me that Sam make the trip to see me. One of his friends was pushing him to meet me, too.

Sam flew to Minnesota in early November, 2008. I took the weekend off from work and we spent about 4 days together. The picture here is from the 8th, when we stopped at my place to hang out in between different activities. Among them were the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, an independent film, dinner out, and driving around Central Minnesota, so I could show him where I grew up.

By the time he left to return to Florida, I knew I was in love. We started making plans for me to visit in the spring.

Fast forward to February. Things were not going well for me in Minnesota, and I was getting the feeling that I should get out of Dodge, so to speak. Like my time in the state had passed, and I was supposed to be somewhere else. After a lot of discussion (days of it), we agreed to move in together. I had many days in a row off from work, which worked to my advantage. I reduced my belongings by 2/3 and mailed everything I wanted to keep to Florida over the period of several days.

A week before my flight (which I had scheduled before any of this moving talk had been decided), I donated and shipped the last of my belongings, during a blizzard. My last visit to my brother’s house was to pack up the things I was giving to Vanesa, and what I needed for the next week.

On March 4th, I got on a plane for the first time and made the 3.5 hour non-stop trip to Tampa.

The day after I left Minnesota, the area was hit with a blizzard. I celebrated my shortened winter, in a sense.

I celebrated my 33rd birthday.

It’s been interesting acclimating to the more intense heat. My pale European skin has burned a few times. I’ve not lived with cats growing up, and now there are two (though adorably cheeky). Those close to me have noticed I’m happier overall.

The picture to the right is one of our trips to the local park, before the summer got too hot for me to spend a significant amount of time outside. We do most of our walking around the local malls (where we spend little money, because we don’t actually go into the stores), changing up the location for variety.

And, as I mentioned in my last post, we’ve done more “event” type things (theatre, etc) than we had before I moved. It’s given Sam an excuse to explore the area in which he’s lived for nearly four years.

A couple weekends ago, we had tickets to see The Wizard of Oz on a big screen at Tampa Theatre. Afterward, we took a drive across the Sunshine Skyway. This picture, to the left, is us sitting at water’s edge on the access road to the west pier on the bridge’s southside.

I took  this picture. Yes, Sam’s face is cut off on the original photo.

[Surprisingly, we don't have a lot of photos of ourselves together. We take many of the cats and things around us, but not many of us. In fact, we have no pictures of us displayed in the apartment. Is that strange?]

So, we come to today. September 4th, 2009. Six months in Tampa. And 365 days with Sam. We’ve grown more in love over the past months. We’re pretty inseparable.

He’s got this sense of humor that’s not easily described as witty and cheeky. Some of the stuff that he says is so odd, or unexpected. Or, it’s how he says it. Imagine the most stoic person you can think of and imagine that person saying “Woot.” That is my boyfriend, y’all. Except he’s not stoic. Sam’s patient with me and my periods of flakiness. He’s calming.

And I should bottle up his laugh and sell it. I’d be a rich woman.

Here’s to another year.

* title comes from a line spoken in the movie Juno.

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Which strikes me as amusing, because I was born on a Wednesday morning in 1976. And coming to Tampa was kinda like a rebirth, in a sense, because while I spent two school years in Nebraska a decade ago, I was still considered a Minnesotan. Now I have a Florida driver’s license and I have no real desire to return to Minnesota to live.

Digressing, though…

I was remarking to Vas yesterday that I’ve spent more time participating in the arts in Tampa (being only a spectator, but still) in the past few months than I ever had in St. Cloud. [I've not been to the St. Cloud in Florida, but am from the St. Cloud area in MN, so when I refer to St. Cloud in this blog, assume I mean the Minnesota version, unless specified otherwise. 'Kay?] Wondering how so, think about this: I caught an entry in a Tampa community at LiveJournal about the sneak preview of Pericles at Jobsite Theater. So we watched this awesome musical for ten bucks. Then won tickets to see Pericles again a week or so later. Then I caught a mention of tickets to Wonderland for only ten bucks if one bought them in person as soon as they went on sale. And while the official cut off for buying happened when I was at the front of the line (I know! Stood in line for nearly an hour and wasn’t going to get tickets? I was annoyed) the staff there was awesome and let the few who didn’t leave after the announcement buy tickets anyway. AND we have great seats. Right where Sam wanted to sit.

Then! I won tickets to see Jamie Foxx this past Monday at TBPAC. Cause I looked up the answers on Wikipedia and answered the question first on Twitter.

The look on Sam’s face when I told him (after I had won, having not told him I entered the contest) was so awesome.

We’ve attended, or are going to attend some fantastic events, and spent about thirty dollars. If you don’t include parking, of course.

And Jamie Foxx was fantastic. We didn’t know the words to any of his songs, but we were right there when he did a couple Ray Charles songs and again with the tribute to Michael Jackson. And you know what? The fact that we don’t really listen to hip-hop or R&B on even a semi-regular basis didn’t matter. It was the energy of the show that mattered. Sam and I had such a fantastic time, even though we were both tired from not sleeping well lately, and being busy running around with chores all day. Everyone around us was so into what was happening on stage. Singing along. Waving their arms. Cheering and shouting back. Taking pictures. [And you know, it's hard to prevent pictures being taken with so many phones having cameras these days.] I snagged some decent shots and got some video clips. I’ll likely never post the clips anywhere. I got them so I could remember the energy of the show.

I think it’s been at least two years since the last concert I attended. VAST, August House and Point One. In St. Paul, MN. The energy of that concert was awesome, too. All three acts were so into the music and interacting with the crowd. They were also awesome with interacting with fans on a personal level with pictures and autographs and just brief conversations. I hadn’t heard of August House or Point One before then, but walked away from the concert a fan of both bands.

That’s the really important ‘thing’ that artists can do for their fans. Be engaging. Be their version of high energy. For an introvert, like me, it is a really big deal to let the inhibition go and get into the music in front of other people. At home, oh yeah, I’m singing along and bobbing my head to the beat. In public, not so much. In front of Sam, it is getting better. Singing along with the music is, in my opinion, an inherently personal thing. How I managed to be in choir for three years, I’m not certain. Cause it was weird for me to be in the concerts. And the fact that I’m not a strong singer doesn’t help. I’m weird about having attention paid towards me. At my wedding to the (now) ex-husband, I had to will myself to not cry or freak out, and there was maybe only 35 other people in the room. If you know me, can you imagine me in front of 100+ people? Holy crap.

Back to Jamie Foxx and his show. Already mentioned the amazing energy. I also have to mention the opening act. A comedian named Speedy. Who is exceedingly funny. He bounced off the crowd and just had us in stitches. Which Sam mentioned later as we were leaving. We talked about the concert yesterday, and Sam pointed out how Mr. Foxx said he didn’t care how people got his music, as long as they were listening. How he didn’t need the money, so however one got it didn’t matter to him. He was (and is) passionate about connecting with the crowd. If you think about it, anyone who has anything to share really needs to be passionate about connecting with those Havi Brooks calls the Right People.

I think those right people can be even the most unlikely. If you think Jamie Foxx, do you think of a couple of caucasians who mostly listen to rock and indie music? Probably not. And to be honest, I doubt we would have ever considered buying tickets to his show, not because of the money, but because even though we think he’s hilarious on television, would we ever think that we’d connect to his music? At first glance, probably not. But, because we scored an extraordinary opportunity*, we discovered that we can relate to someone musically, even though we don’t listen to his music. Our connection to Jamie Foxx is in the music. I am self-professed lover of all types of music, because I subscribe to the idea of it doesn’t matter what the genre is, to me the song either sucks or it doesn’t. Yes, most of my music collection is indie, rock, alternative, and country. A very small percentage is rap, hip-hop or r&b.

It is important to appeal to your right people, but don’t forget the “other people”. Because you never know where or how you’re going to find someone who gets what you’re about.

*Winning contests aren’t necessarily extraordinary, but think about it: giving things (content) away for free, even with a bit of effort on the recipient’s part (such as entering a contest) is a great way to open up your message to more people. One of the messages I took away from the show was anytime’s a good time be wild and crazy, not just the weekend. How many people do you know party it up on a Monday night? Exactly.

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I think I determined, personally, that I have Borderline Personality Disorder [hereafter referred to as BPD] in 2005. My ex-husband and I read about it, and talked about it. I was officially diagnosed by a mental health clinic’s prescribing nurse and a therapist in January, 2008, along with two others: Anti-Social Personality Disorder and Dependent Personality Disorder. [Note: I was diagnosed with Depression in September, 1999, but had been depressed for years, and was also suggested to have Social Phobia/Anxiety. Also an introvert and slightly paranoid.] The nurse also diagnosed me with internet addiction, but I tell you… take away my internet and I will focus completely on something else. My brother actually rationed my internet usage for a few months when I first moved in with him, and I created a lot of clothing for Second Life during that ‘offtime’.

Anyway…after the official diagnosis, I really started reading what I could about BPD (initially rejecting the other personality disorder diagnoses) and a lot of time on the phone and texting with a small circle of friends, many I consider to be like family.

Let me stop here and give you a bit of background. 2007 sucked for me. Mostly. On my 31st birthday, I went to see my favorite band, VAST, play in St. Paul, MN. The day after until the end of the year and into 2008 really sucked. I shall spare you the (now) boring story and give you the short version: I flipped out, got divorced, made some bad choices, and moved in with my brother. A couple of my closest friends have heard the entire wretched story. One of them spent many a day with me on the phone. I thank the wireless phone gods for unlimited calling for five friends, by the way.

2008 started off a bit crazy, but slowly got better. I got stronger. I took that diagnosis and started working on things. If you don’t have anyone in your life who is a borderline, you may not understand any of this. I can probably safely say that my closest friends ride a roller coaster with me daily. I try to limit the number of people who see me flake out and lose my cool. I’m a difficult person to get to know, because I really don’t know who I am most days. Not like basic things. I know I’m Misty. I know I’m someone’s daughter, sister, ex, girlfriend, friend. What I mean is who I really am. What I stand for. What my identity is on any given day. Or hour, for that matter. You know the phrase “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes”? Translate that to my mood swing. Sam can attest to this. So can my ex-husband. And my closest friends.

I’m still trying to figure myself out. I”m sure there are some who’d say I should just live my life and everything will come with time. Maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re full of crap. What I do know: interacting with people is hard for me. (Yes, I know…probably for you, too.) If I went to the local bar and tried to have a conversation, I’d fidget, babble and have major anxiety. Conciseness would cease. There’d be no following my train of thought, because that train would have left the station and gone off into dark territory.

So really, thanking the internet gods for sites like Twitter and Facebook. And even LiveJournal. And I posted the same message on all three sites Thursday night: Right now, i feel like a complete loser who will never get to hang with the cool kids. I really hope this feeling is different tomorrow.

Then, I sent Sam a message through Yahoo IM (me on my phone, him at his computer on the other side of our apartment) that I needed him, and finally let the tears fall. All of Thursday was spent feeling mad at myself for not creating. For not posting things in this blog that will make people want to read. For living in a numb little bubble when I try not to feel anything. And I did feel. I felt terrible.

I know a guy who’s standard answer to “How are you?” is “I”m so bored.” And I don’t like to listen to whining, so I feel bad whining myself. And being pessimistic does get old, believe it or not. So I try to reserve the whining to a few people, who understand where I’m coming from, as well as they can, and try to be at least even-keel with everyone else. The message I posted was done partly to say ‘I need help’ and partly because I had given in to whining.

To my surprise, and I really was surprised, I received two responses. One said, “The cool kids are the real losers, hun, not you.” The other: “I think you’re awesomer than the cool kids.” Also, Sam said I am too hard on myself.

See, I’ve wanted to be part of the cool crowd ever since I was a kid. I grew up in a family that not only liked country music, but lived because of it (one parent is a musician). I was a heavy child (and a heavy adult; I think they call that plus-sized, though). The cool kids were nice to me, because I was, and am, a nice person. And I’m smart, which meant that I could help them. In truth, I was on the fringe of most of the groups in school, cause I have a difficult time relating to people. So now, as an adult, I see the “cool kids” on Twitter, and on blogs, and these people with thousands of fans, subscribers, followers, and I have to admit that I feel a little left out. Like not being invited to all the parties in high school.

And I honestly feel like a hack sometimes. Likely the esteem talking.

If I know you well, you get to see the wit. The intelligence. The cheekiness. You get to see me be the other half of Vas Littlecrow’s brain (and she has said this). The people close to me think I’m this incredible person and for the life of me, I can kinda see it. Sort of. If I look really hard on a clear day and all of the planets are aligned. Maybe with a magnifying glass.

I read a lot of blogs. And so many of them have this voice that makes me think this person would so get me if they knew me…we must be great friends in another life. And then I wonder if that’s because I don’t really know what my voice is and OMG they would think I’m boring and lame and then I feel like I’m in high school again, cause high school is never over, and I had my first major meltdown when I was 16 and within 10 years I’d had tried to die three times cause this pain doesn’t go away for crying out loud. (Yeah, I know that’s probably a run-on sentence.)

Living life as a borderline is a journey in trying to get through the day without losing it cause who knows if we’ll find it again. What’s funny to me is that in my most rational state, I know I’m a great woman with wit and charm and I’m involved with this fabulous guy who totally gets me. I have an ‘adopted’ sister who says that seeing me get married (again someday) is probably the only event to get her to cross the border, cause she’s never been out of Canada.

When the doubts start to chip away, and fear starts whispering that I’m not good enough….well, welcome to Emotional Storm Central. (That’s what meltdowns are called, by the way, in one BPD book I read. Well, not the word ‘central’, but the rest. You get it.) I get stuck in place and even if I can make a piece of jewelry, or knit a nearly perfect row, or paint something fantastically…it doesn’t matter. To me, it’s okay, but nothing to write home about. I’ll downplay the great piece of creativeness. Ehh…who cares if I made this piece of awesomeness. I have no real talent, so whatever. That fear monster is pretty mean, huh?

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I’ve often had issue with having attention placed on me. I get all nervous and fidgety, and start to ramble. I’m not really sure how to begin to fix this, so I ask you. The handful of subscribers to this blog. Based on what is here already, what would you like to see us write about while we work on finding our voices?

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