The problem with being a semi-recluse.

And there are many.

I'm not good with people;  meeting them, being around them, socializing.   Every time I have to go out to the store or am forced to be social I have an anxiety attack.  Which has gotten worse, may I add,  since my semi-hermit lifestyle began.  It started off as a joke but quickly turned into a state of being.

The problem is that I want to get out there.  I want to meet people, talk to them, get inspired by them because there is something to be gained by social encounters.

I panic when I think about taking my writing seriously.  What if I want to get published by an actual publishing house.  What if they ask me to have meetings or to talk about what I've written?  Then there are book signings/readings where I'd have to stand in front of a group of strangers reading excerpts. (My throat is closing up as I type this.)  What if no one shows up and I'm sitting at a small desk with unwanted copies of something that I treasure?   

To save myself from this hypothetical situation, I don't write diligently. When I write, it's for fun. I reach a point where I think, "This might actually become something."  I get all excited, then the next day I ignore the document like it's an aging aunt who likes to pinch cheeks.

The truth is, though, that I still want it.  I still want to write stories that people want to read and get excited about.  I want to be good at it.  Good enough where at least five people would show up to support me.  I'm not looking for fame or to get insanely rich, I just want to share my stories.

If I can sort out my sh*t in 2017 and gain some courage, maybe it will happen.  Maybe I can face my fears and take the bull by the horns. (Though, why would I want to do that?  What's the purpose of taking a bull by his horns? Can the bull and I not just be friends? Can he not just give me a gentle nudge forward in support of my efforts?)

I'm proud of what I've written. I want to share it. I want to promote my poems and my book because it was a challenge for me to publish them.  They're an expression of a lifetime of pain, confusion, sorrow. They're an admission and acknowledgment of my "weaknesses."  They are the things that no one close to me knows about.  I know that there are people out there who can relate, and perhaps find comfort and kinship with it all.

I wish that you were waiting

I wish that you were waiting for me.
Not to be happy,
Not to find love,
Not to be fulfilled.
You should have all of those things already,
Because you are sacred.
You are "it."

I wish that you were waiting for me.
Waiting to know me,
Waiting to set me free to find my purpose.
Waiting to release me from the darkness.

I am always searching.
Searching for happiness,
Searching for love,
Searching for fulfillment,

There must be someone waiting at the other end of doubt,
To stop me from spiraling out of control,
To slow me down from shooting passed self-worth like a bullet.
To awaken and acknowledge the sacred in me,
A thing that I was born with but am blind to.

But we are strangers,
and I am strange.
Estranged from the divine within myself and the divine upon the earth,
The Earth itself.
The Moon,
The Sun,
The Cosmos.
Another thing that I was born feeling and knowing but time and circumstance stripped me of this truth, and we too are disconnected.

I look for validation from others because I don't value myself.
I am separate from my soul,
Detached from who I could be because I am broken.
The pieces that I find don't fit together which leaves me restless and anxious and constantly wanting to be anywhere other than here,
Anyone other than myself.
Because who am I really?

A speck of moon dust,
A grain of sand.
I am a minuscule amount of everything and nothing,
Never evolving into something greater,
Something substantial.
So in my mind, I am worthless because only great people accomplish great things and I am nothing and will never be because I don't care enough to pull the greatness out of myself.

You can't bring forth what you don't see.

So, I wait for someone else to see it in me.
I wait for someone else to take a stand against my insecurities,
To fight the fight I should be armed against.
I wait for someone to haul me up out of the bog I'm trapped within,
To lend me strength and assurance,
To whisper,
To shout,
To state simply that I am relevant.
That I am not a waste of space.
That I too, am a sacred being.

I wait for someone to bring me back to Oneness,
So I can be reborn,
Emerging from a lotus like some long slumbering, ancient and forgotten deity.

I wish that you were waiting for me.
Waiting to show me a possibility that doesn't otherwise exist for the unenlightened.

~Yarrow

Yarrow's Book Review coming in 2017

I decided that I'm going to start posting my thoughts on books.  I'm not sure that I'll be "reviewing" them in a traditional sense.  I get a bit rambly (as you'll notice if you read my audible post.)

I'm doing this for two reasons.  The first reason is to force myself to read more frequently.  I have so many books, an obscene amount, in fact, that it's ridiculous that I keep "wasting" money on them. I have enough books to keep me occupied for at least 3 years.

The second reason that I want to start posting about them, is to keep up with the blog. It will give me something else to write about and hopefully, people will find these "reviews" helpful.

If it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out but at least I'm making an effort I guess.

My thoughts on Audible

I subscribed to Audible on a whim.  No, I didn't.  What had happened was, they (Audible), and Amazon Prime joined forces at some point a few months ago. Prime Members are now offered a selection of books from various categories, for free.  I was happy about this because I've had a "Should I?" "Shouldn't I?" ping pong match going on about if Audible was for me or not, for quite some time.

I took this union as a sign and promptly downloaded the app and started listening to a book.  About halfway through listening to the book, it was no longer in my library.  Apparently, it was only available in the freebie zone for a certain amount of time.  I was annoyed.

I took a few days to mull over the idea of forking up $14.95 a month to continue using the app without restriction. (Meaning, I would be able to download books and see a larger selection.)  In the end, I decided that I would. Especially since you get the first 30 days free.   I also had a free credit that I could use to buy a book.

I'm not going to lie, if they didn't hand out the free credit each month, (Certain plans give you more. But you pay more.) Audible and I wouldn't last.  Some books are over $30.  I'm not spending that much money on a book just because someone is reading it to me.  Don't get me wrong; I understand that this is a job for people and they need to make money for their services.  If Audible was a free service, but you had to buy the books, things might be different.  But having to pay a certain amount of money to use the app, then pay more money to buy a book it's just not going to happen.  I'm not a cheap person, but I'm not rolling in cash money, ya feel me?

I didn't purchase the book that they took away from me, in case you were wondering.  I'm a bit bitter about our separation and refuse to waste a credit on something I've already half listened to.  But, I saw the movie, so I know how it ends.

I'm still on the fence about how I feel about Audible.  On the one hand, I've already listened to  3 books, and am almost at the halfway mark on a 4th.  It would have taken me a year to get through 1 book, so I feel really happy about that.  Then there's that "old school" part of me that feels like listening to a book doesn't count.  I feel like I've cheated somehow.  Each day I walk into my "library,"   accosted by the hard bound books, jeered at by the paperbacks.  Each volume, disgruntled and offended that they've been sitting on my shelf for years without so much as a scan through the pages.  I've let them down.

I love books you see.  I love the possibilities within their pages.  I love the ideas that their titles conjure up in my mind.  I am a tsundoku- A person who buys books but doesn't read them.   Eventually, I will.  In that magical, far away "one day."  But for now, I just buy them because I need their physical presence in my life.

Halfway through 2014, I read a book a month.  My best record ever.  I made an effort because I really wanted to exercise my mind.  I enjoyed it.  I made time for it.  It was the best thing that I could do for myself.  So when 2015 rolled around, I thought, "I could do more."  How many books did I read in 2015?  None. -_-  I did better at the start of 2016, having read two novels and 28 manga volumes but haven't finished anything since July. 

I've been very restless.  I'm reading two books at once (actual books, with pages. Not listening to them.) because apparently, my mind doesn't know what adventure it wants to be on.  Some days it wants to hang out with a group of Conures on Telegraph Hill, while on other days it wants to read Isak Dinesen's, Last Gothic Tales.  I detest this feeling.  I hate being in between two stories.

At least with Audible, I'm finishing books.  I listen to them on the drive to work, or whilst cleaning, in lue of listening to music.  Because let's face it, my music choices are dated.  I don't listen to the radio anymore; that's a lie.  I listen to the radio sparingly because they play the same four songs.  Every once in a while, I'll check it out to see what's been going on in the music industry.  Ruth B, girl, you have me tearing up with Lost Boy. (I wrote a post about it.)

For the most part, I'm not impressed with what's "hip," so I go back to my Billie Holiday, or cycle through Breaking Benjamin's "old" stuff.  (My music taste varies.) Being able to alternate music with listening to a book has really been a good move.  ::high five::

However, having to listen to someone else's voice for 9+ hours is a chore.  Some people are meant to narrate and some people, plainly speaking, and I mean no offense (but having said that, I already acknowledge that I'm saying something degrading.), shouldn't.

So, I've purchased three books that famous people have written because they do the narrations, and I already know I like the sound of their voices.  Only one of the books was read by someone I didn't know. She could be famous? She sounds like she should be famous. However, she was made to narrate.  I really enjoyed listening to her.

 I think at some point in the new year; I'll start reviewing what I've listened to.

The bottom line is that I think Audible is definitely worth a gander.  Especially since they offer a 30-day free trial and I think sometimes they even throw in a credit or two.  I also like that they offer different plans.  You get a certain amount of credits, depending on your membership plan, each month that you use to buy books.  Regardless of if they're $30, or $11, each book costs one credit. (As far as I can tell.  All the books I've wanted have only been one credit.)

The plan I chose only gives me one credit a month.  But that's fair for me.  I listen to a book, then get back to my music.  If you're a person that doesn't care about music and would rather listen to books, you might want to get a plan that offers you more credits, unless you don't mind paying the $30 for the book.  

I also haven't run into any problems with selection.  Pretty much anything that I'm  interested in has been available as an audiobook.  Having said that, though, I feel like Audible can do a better job with how you can search for a book.  I feel very overwhelmed when I go on their website.

Which reminds me!  You can't make purchases on your phone app.  Purchases can only be made through the Audible website.  I'm not sure what the reasoning is behind that, and in all honesty, I don't care enough to look for an answer.  I have access to a PC daily.

So, that's really all I've got to say about Audible.

I should be thankful.

I should be thankful?

I should be thankful that I can watch cute videos of otters swimming, while other people are getting beaten for the color of their skin.

I should be thankful that my main concern is what I’m buying for whom this holiday season. While other people’s homes are being bombed.  They don’t know if their loved ones are alive or dead. Meanwhile, I’m fighting with one relative or other because they hurt my feeling back in 1999.

I should be thankful that I get to fill my belly excessively, while some poor stranger starves to death in an alley somewhere in the same town.

I should be thankful that I get to sit for a moment and doubt the existence of God, while someone else fervently prays to Him for help out of the nightmare that is their life because God is all they have.  God is the only one who listens.  God is the only one who tells them that everything is going to be alright, despite the shit around them.

I get upset at the thought of dying alone because not one man I loved, chose me.  Ignoring the fact that some girl, still a child just got sold to a man she’s never met, forced to live as an adult and act like an adult when she should still be playing with dolls and dreaming of unicorns.

I should be thankful that I get to walk around with my tattoos exposed and short sleeves on hot days, my hair getting windblown and tangled when the winter winds come howling, while another woman gets beat half to death for showing her hands accidentally while trying to make a purchase. 

I should be thankful that I moaned and complained about having to go to school and learn, to better myself so I could be something one day. While another little girl is banned from attending, yet she holds onto that dream of “one day.”  If she’s lucky, her parents are supportive and teach her quietly behind closed doors.  Maybe she'll have a chance.

I should be thankful that I live in a country where I don’t have to live in fear.  

I should be thankful that the color of my skin offers me more freedoms and choices than others.   

I should be thankful that even though I’m struggling, I have a better chance of making it through. 

I should be thankful.

I should be thankful.

But I’m not.  I’m not because I’m ashamed of my privileges. 

I’m ashamed of my liberties and my freedom because I take them for granted.   

I’m ashamed that I get to “forget” and go on living my life with the certainty that everything is going to be ok, regardless of if I pray or not. 

I’m ashamed that I’m pitying people who have more strength than I’ll ever have.   

I’m ashamed that I’m helpless.