Sometime during a span of my college career when distance split my sister and I a sort of game began where we would IM each other lyrics to the songs we were listening to. Through the joys of internet chat we could sing together and try to stump the other as to the name of the song or the next line. It was fun and certainly killed the time, but on a deeper level what it really allowed us to do was bring the other where we were and pretend for just a short while that they weren't hundreds of miles away.

Last night in the middle of a short chat the words "and I wonder sometimes about the outcome of a still verdictless life" appeared on the screen. They come from a fantastic song off of John Mayer's first CD called "Why Georgia" that I highly recommend. She followed up this lyric with the question, "How true is that for us right now?"

I would say it's far more accurate than I would like to admit. The jury is very much out on what happens to me from here and there is no way to hypothesize what they will come back with. A friend of mine once told me that you go where you look, but I have come to find a number of fallacies hidden beneath what once sounded like reasonable advice. The most important error comes from the fact that I'm someplace I was never looking to be at all, yet I'm here just the same. There are some things all the looking in the world can't stop.

As I caught up with a woman I know at church last night I expressed my frustration at lacking any direction whatsoever in every area of my life. Her remarks as we talked touched on what an incredible opportunity I have where I am and how not having a specific focus means I have infinite possibilities. I understand that perspective completely, but it doesn't fix the pressing issue of how I'm supposed to respond to the peaking crescendo of voices demanding to know what my plan is for a span over fifty times further away than anything I can see or imagine. Have I prayed on this? Yes, of course, but all I can figure is that He's not ready to deal with me just yet. The world does not run on Bec-time which, I believe, all would agree is a good thing.

What I really want is my life to exit this period of flux and find some consistency. I want to be something more than "other duties as assigned" and know what I'm moving toward. I need good people around me and meaningful ways to spend my time. I'm ready to finally have some answers and be settled into what my life is supposed to be. I don't know how you do that, but I need to.

For as much as I sit here confused I should be thankful for the remark after the song lyric, which clearly displayed that I'm not the only one in this position. I do a terrible job appreciating that I have someone so close to me going through similar things. Maybe that awareness itself is part of the answer.

Captured At:1309

"Why the things we do..."

Yesterday afternoon as I sat with others on the porch a visiting friend and former classmate shuffled by and commented that my hands were empty. His remark wasn't a statement of the obvious so much as a subtle hint that I, too, should be imbibing in the spirit of the event. Much to my surprise, the reaction I received when I informed him that I don't drink anymore was both simple and moderately supportive. "You're smart." That greatly contrasts the friend who thinks my decision is allowing somebody else to control my life.

My question to the second individual was what I had really lost. Ironically enough, I cannot claim it to be one I asked myself when I completely ceased my generally low and infrequent alcohol consumption. In years prior to that I had stated several times that I wasn't going to drink anymore, but this decision came with a sense of finality the others lacked.

What I have chosen to do is more difficult than I would have expected, especially when placed with the very people I used to engage in the activity with. It means I watch them play games I can't participate in and remember stories of a nature I will no longer be building upon. I observe a way of life I'm even further removed from than before - not because I can't take part in it, but because I won't.

This is where the idea of motive comes in. While most will only see the "what", the driver behind our actions and decisions is incredibly important. In some instances the "why" also becomes a determining factor in how successful we are. This could be youth and naivety, but I would rather make a bad decision for the right reasons than a good decision for the wrong ones. There is no escaping time, and things do catch up to us eventually.

Choosing not to drink was a purely selfish move on my part. Every reason I could cite yields that same conclusion. I won't claim I don't miss it from time to time, but the rules don't change just because I feel like it. What keeps me from drinking now, and will continue to do so in the inevitably difficult days ahead, is me. I haven't given up control, I've regained it. The challenge now is making sure it stays where it belongs.

Captured At:1320

"Love and sex and lonliness..."

Years ago there was a website popular among the college circuit for its selection of bizarre quizzes. Among the offerings of this procrastinator's paradise was one titled "The Sex Test", which would ask a number of questions and, upon completion, provide the user with a count of how many people they would sleep with in their lifetime. The results always came back saying something like "You'll have 4 sexual partners, and you'll actually love 2 of them". Obviously this phrasing was more than slightly disturbing to the girl who answered "No" to the question of if she believed two people could "have sex like rabbits" without any sort of emotional attachment.

I remember watching others my freshman year unable to comprehend how they could jump into bed with people so quickly and change partners after a meager count of anything from hours to months. I seemed to be in a minority; not just because I was inactive, but also because at eighteen I had never had a boyfriend or been on a date. More experienced people I met told me sex wasn't that big a deal and advised me not to worry about the zero count. It wasn't until years later that I would come to truly understand how wrong they were.

What triggered the realization isn't something I can identify, but I distinctly remember walking between rooms in my apartment one afternoon and being stopped in my tracks when the significance hit me out of nowhere. I was overcome with an innocent, vulnerable fear as I absorbed a deeper understanding of the trust and comfort implied in the intimate act of allowing another person to enter your body and join their very essence with your own.

This is what they don't teach in school. This is what parents neglect to include as they stumble awkwardly through "the talk" with kids desensitized to intercourse somewhere between playground games and their immersion into the pop culture universe. This is what's discarded by the world my children would grow up in to promote the idea that sex is a game. It's all for fun. Whoever has the most notches in their headboard at the end wins, boys and girls, so always be on the lookout for who you can do next.

Naturally I don't agree with that attitude at all. Knowing most people aren't on the same page as I am, let alone reading the same book, helped lead to a rule I had with my previous boyfriends. If they looked at another girl I didn't want to see or hear about it. I didn't like the thought much, but I didn't feel I could or should attempt to control them and it was the best compromise I could invent.

I have since been told you learn to avert your eyes. My guess is that this skill is one developed not as an answer to constant nagging, but rather out of a desire to ensure the significant other knows their importance. The person who first pointed out that I had enabled my ex's to be disrespectful of me also carried tremendous sincerity in his voice when he stated that to him I was the most beautiful woman in the world. That remark always seemed extreme, but my hope is the next guy falls a lot closer to his end of the spectrum and I can ditch the rule altogether.

What makes that hope difficult to keep is that today's society says guys should be ogling. They should have scantily clad models on their walls and computer screens. It's not only acceptable for them to have pornography stashed somewhere, but it's to be expected they do. Even worse is watching how girls play right into this and enjoy it. Both genders have any number of rationalizations to justify their actions but, quite honestly, it's disgusting.

My senior year of high school I remember hearing a rumor that the freshman girls were having some sort of competition to see who could get laid that year. I have known people whose list of partners totaled a sum higher than my age. I hear individuals complain about how long they have gone without that sort of physical attention - be it months or a lifetime. These things sadden me greatly. Often I feel I have missed the point when it comes to love and relationships, but how much more have these people been misled? As Mr. Buffett would say, it's just another example of love in decline.

I continue to grow thankful for the power of revelation. Approaching a year since that moment in my living room I still believe it forever shaped my view on a highly delicate subject that I had never previously given the consideration it deserved. Again I find myself looking at something I wish I had known much sooner than now, and again I see in it an opportunity to overcome the past. Being able to look forward with confidence and know I'll get it right is an incredible thing.

Captured At: 044

My latest visits to the NHC and Weather Channel websites seem to indicate that weather conditions early next week will be favorable in every location of concern. I feel like I've slept too late today and have too much to do before Monday rolls around, perhaps because both statements are true. My problem, as always, is figuring out the best place to begin.

A new start in any respect is generally accompanied by a certain level of difficulty. That step into the unknown or attempt at something seemingly impossible can be terrifying and laborious to make, and is a fantastic example of true courage in action. I watch with joy as others set out on their own paths because I know the most difficult trails are often the most rewarding.

That said, it's time to make my next move.

Captured At:1313

Welcome to Mars. :)

There's a better update to follow once I'm home and no longer beyond exhausted. There will be more pictures too, but those are things for another sol. Time for rest.

Captured At: 015

What's all this Mars garbage?

Monday morning I met a group of ten other KSC employees at Patrick Air Force Base, where we boarded the Center Director's jet, NASA 4, and flew to Flagstaff, Arizona.

"Your touch has me so unover you..."

September is a gift to any suburban neighbourhood. It's the month when the shouts and noises that had kept the streets awake during summer days are carried away on a school bus each morning, allowing time for a peaceful recovery. It rests in silence while the sun arcs overhead until the afternoon calm is broken by a diesel engine navigating the sinuous streets. This yellow disturbance halts outside one of the homes allowing a young child to exit. She runs up the driveway, her backpack bobbing up and down with each hurried step. One small hand grips the strap to keep it from slipping off, the other loosely clutches a piece of paper flapping for freedom in the autumn breeze. Once inside, her smile lights up the house as she shows off her latest masterpiece. "Look what I made today!" The images on the page have been decorated with bold strokes of crayon drifting shamelessly outside the lines. "It's the five senses," she beams. "Smell sight touch taste sound."

Mouths and noses glued to a sheet of construction paper provide an excellent demonstration of the simplified world we live in as children. The only sight known is that done with the eyes and there must be sound to hear. It is not until much later that we discover the ability to use those senses without the parts they were assigned to in our formative years.

On the basic level taught for classroom projects, touch requires physical contact. It creates understanding of words like soft, sharp, hot, smooth, and wet. It is also quite possibly the most vulnerable sense we have. Touch on the higher level happens when something unformed becomes tactile inside of us. It builds upon the other senses, weaving them together with memory, emotion and thought to construct something entirely new.

Touch in this form is powerful. It takes us from where we are and places us anywhere else. It's strong, often unforgettable, seldom diminishes with time, and as I ponder the effects I find I've been swept away by...

It almost seems too easy. One touch and I'm gone. My mind. My words. Everything. So much so that no final summary could capture it accurately enough.

Captured At:2051

I have just returned from what is easily the most depressing errand I have the privilege of running: the not-so-regular grocery shopping trip.

Growing up I remember the journey around the corner to restock the refrigerator and cabinets as being one my parents almost always made together. When they returned home my siblings and I would be called to unload the car, and once this was complete there would often be two or three of us in our tiny kitchen bumping into each other as everything was put in its proper place. I can't say I always helped with a cooperative or willing attitude, but what was once a slight annoyance has become a nice memory that I'm surprised to miss with such intensity.

Although Liz and I alternated paying the grocery bill when we shared an apartment, it was rare that the buyer went alone. How we managed this with such cluttered schedules is still a mystery. We'd pace the aisles wondering what to buy, hoping for something different but almost always ending up with the same things. Looking back on it now, I'm not sure how much we actually cooked given that both of us had gotten used to living on one meal a day because it was all we had time for.

Since I began living alone I have come to hate grocery shopping. Tonight I could not convince myself it was worth spending money on food that I knew was going to go bad. I gave up on my trip after navigating half of the aisles and walked to the check-out with just over $50 worth of items - not all of which were edible - in my cart. All being in the store did was remind me how lonely and meaningless an existence I have. I suspect this is why I seldom go.

As I stood waiting my turn with the cashier it crossed my mind that for as much as I loathed the task I had half-heartedly attempted, I am incredibly fortunate that I have the ability to choose whether or not I'll shop, cook, and eat. They're luxuries many in this world don't have. They're luxuries many of my neighbours two or three states to the west lost weeks ago. They're luxuries I take for granted with each meal that passes; many of which I don't partake in. What a sad, ungrateful creature I am!

Perhaps it's time for more serious evaluation. If I'm not going to put that grocery money to good use maybe I should give it to somebody who will.

Captured At:2212

Wake Up Slow

I am fairly confident many will agree with me that rainy mornings are the best for sleeping in. I ignored my alarm when it initially went off. I went back to sleep after waking suddenly from another terrible dream. When I finally awoke it was to the sound of thunder and strong showers that I suspect originated from the hurricane currently targeting NASA Center #3. There are people from the first two that still haven't been found, and some my office works with that we haven't heard from. It's sad when a person you can count on hearing from almost daily vanishes without a trace.

The rain has since stopped and I'm lounging on the futon adorned in my infamous fluffy purple bathrobe. For whatever reason it had retired to a hanger in the closet some time ago and this is the first it has been out in a while. I have to admit it's nice to be able to take my time in the morning for a change and not rush around because I've overslept. There's plenty to do, but I'm content to pass the time as I am.

Outside the world is grey and resting at a temperature I am unable to describe. When I briefly opened my front door the only feeling I had was that if I stepped outside it I would find myself fourteen months in the past. It was terribly confusing and I am unsure what to make of it. Uncertainty aside, it reinforces my belief that no matter where I'm focusing my attention, what was always comes back to catch me somehow. As with many of attributes and abilities I possess, I both love and loathe my memory.

I have always wondered how our brains determine what we remember and what we forget. We only have one set of eyes through which to experience the world, and what we can recall of our time is skewed by some natural process we generally pay no mind to. Are these things lost forever, or are they tucked away somewhere waiting for the right trigger to pull them back?

Sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten something that would change my life if I could only remember it. It's a silly thought, but if that person, that event, that lesson was clearer in my mind, how would I be different?

The clock in the corner of my screen tells me I have to leave for Orlando in an hour. Aside from the watch my parents gave me for graduation there isn't a piece dedicated solely to telling time in my entire apartment. All clocks reside hidden from causal view - most unset - on some sort of electronic device with another primary function. As I wonder what this says about me I can see the path from the side door into the garage back home. I'm the last one out and can hear my parents saying, "C'mon, Pokey" as they usher me into the van so we can head off to whatever event my dad wants to make sure we're not late for.

Maybe some day I'll understand the rush, but clearly it's not this one.

Captured At:1100

Constantly amazed by the blades of the fan on the ceiling
The clever little glances she gives me can't help but be appealing
She loves to ride into town with the top down
Feel that warm breeze on her gentle skin
She is my next of kin

It's raining, it's pouring
Your old man is snoring

Boundaries

While talking to a friend of mine months ago I made the statement that if they knew anything about me they knew that part of me is always looking backward and the rest is looking up. The two directions in this statement intersect again today as I recall an interaction I had with one of my older cousins as a child. I am unable to make a guess at how old I was, but I remember telling him that I didn't understand how people could have believed the world was flat when it was so obvious if you looked up that the earth was rounded.

The response I got back was less than desirable. He made fun of me, including the statement "you can't see the ozone" in a mocking tone of voice. I remember feeling terribly hurt and deciding to never make that statement to anyone again despite feeling certain I must be on to something. Fortunately my interest in watching the sky wasn't destroyed as the pieces of my self-esteem and self-confidence he tore away that day drifted to the ground.

On most occasions looking up makes me feel very small, yet incredibly awed. Many of the hours I have spent alone under clouds or stars are among the happiest in my life because I felt like I was part of something much bigger than myself. Knowing this made me especially sad when I got out of my car weeks ago, took a quick glance straight up, and felt stuck. Suddenly a world enormous with possibility was no longer anywhere near large enough.

Sometime recently I came across a story on National Geographic's website from a few years ago about a study that says the universe is finite. Finite, and shaped like a dodecahedron. Aside from the shape being a throw-back to my days of watching "Square One" solely for "Mathnet", I found this very hard to be comfortable with. Granted there are few places humankind can go at this point in time, but if the universe is in actuality not infinite we are an entirely different kind of trapped.

Naturally this prompts my inquisitive side to wonder what exactly the end of the universe looks like. What's it made out of? How would we know we have reached it? What's on the other side? Can we ever break out of it? If the universe is a closed shape, just how big is it? Somewhere in here images from "The Truman Show" of Jim Carrey's boat hitting a pale blue wall also come to mind.

In general I am a strong supporter of any intellectual odyssey attempting to satiate the human thirst for knowledge and understanding, but sometimes I wonder if we're going too far. I can see it now; we're going to solve one of life's mysteries, discover something truly terrible in the process, and we're not going to be able to go back. There aren't strong enough words to describe the dread and anxiety that push on my heart at that thought.

I firmly believe that limits exist for what we can and should do. I also suspect I'm not the only person in the world who believes such a thing. The difficulty comes first in recognizing what those limits are, next in conveying the message to those too arrogant to acknowledge human inferiority, and lastly in succeeding to stop before it's too late.

Can we make it? I hope so, but I just don't know.

Captured At: 109

Jumpy and excited with anticipation has got to be one of the best, yet most frustrating feelings in the world. I now have two trips set for October and I'm ready to be on those planes already.

I'm currently chatting with a friend of mine who it looks like I'll be catching up with on the first hop. Somewhere in the conversation I realized that my travels this year line up closely with the weekends I was gone last October. What's even more ironic about this is that the nature of the trips doesn't deviate much either. The first weekend is an extended stay during which I'll explore a new city, and the last weekend will be spent away in more familiar territory.

Granted the first location isn't completely "new", but my only other visit was well over a decade ago and I've been saying for a while now that I really want to go back to explore. I will also be enjoying it with total freedom. That makes a big difference.

As a child the idea of traveling was more formed in my mind than any career I could aspire to have. From the safety of my neighbourhood I would journey across worlds both real and imagined believing I would go everywhere one day. When I became old enough to make use of airports I found I loved walking through them with a bag slung over my shoulder because I knew I was in a portal to the rest the world.

The desire to travel and experience more is one that only seems to grow stronger within me as time passes. It has become a persistent tug requiring pacification; its latest demand being that I refresh a passport now expired to unlock the planet once again. I haven't given in yet, but I can feel it coming. Where I would go and why are mysteries I am unable to chalk off as wishful thinking despite my desire to do so. It has nothing to do with wanting to run away and everything to do with feeling like I'm supposed to be somewhere else.

It's a strange sense to claim, but one I'm not about to fight. As always, I'm going to hang back and see where life takes me. The ride thus far hasn't been without bumps and sharp turns, but it has been incredible.

Captured At:1941

Weeks ago I flipped the switch next to my door and created a spark that lowered the count of working light bulbs in my living room to one. It sheds a dim, relaxed light similar in hue to the one currently illuminating the rack of cooking utensils resting on my stove. The ceiling fan rotates in tune with the whirring of the dishwasher as it whips a light breeze over my legs and sends the blinds gently colliding into each other. I'm laying on the futon, head propped up on a pillow, knees bent to support the laptop I'm clicking away on. Attire of choice for the evening is a pair of dark blue Umbros that extend just above the knees and a Crimson t-shirt I shrunk into sometime since it was given to me.

The mundane details of the moment are easy to share. It is only in writing them down that I find the ability to focus on anything. As days go this one has been terribly confusing, and I suspect this to be a fragmented, poorly written post as a result.

Walking to my car this morning something caused me to turn and glance back at my living room window. It's a habit I thought I had broken months ago so, needless to say, it caught me off guard. I remember noting something in the air when I had walked down the steps, but over twelve hours later I am somehow unable to recall exactly what.

When I arrived at work I entered an open, empty office. I could tell something was off as I mindlessly carried out the normal computer activities and shut it down. After it had gone quiet I found myself turning my chair away and sitting silent until one of my coworkers came back. The only thought I can remember having in the pause was hoping the day would bring me plenty to stay busy.

In some respects I suppose I got what I wanted. I have no idea where the morning went and, much to my surprise, when I looked at the clock while working on my travel stuff for next week it was around 330.

It was on the way home that I guess I got really stupid. I didn't think "Stand Up" was going to help me any, yet I put it in my CD player regardless of the suspicion. What a mess. I was taken back to a month earlier in the year that, prior to my lapse in judgment, I barely remembered. I miss a lot of things when I listen to music, but I was amazed to find that I missed missing. All of the thoughts and stupid optimism characterizing that time hit hard enough to confuse me, but not enough to take over.

I was suddenly tempted to direct Milo toward my river tree for sunset. That decision was overruled by one that said wandering the park was an appropriate April activity. One change of clothes later and I was walking around the pond with no concept of when I was. I worked my way counter-clockwise up the stretch of pavement and found my mind had jumped to at least fifteen different places. I was emotionally divided, mentally confused and, strangely enough, incredibly homesick.

The loop was never completed. When I got part of the way around I decided to veer left toward the dirt road and make my way to the playground. About a dozen children were running, playing, and screaming with delight as I made my way to a green bench with an elderly woman sitting on one end. I began to sit down and asked if she minded only to discover she didn't speak English. I was at a total loss. I had wanted to be friendly and failed miserably. She tried to ask me a few questions, but I was unable to understand her or make a guess at many of the things she tried to say. I don't even know what language she was speaking.

As the sky grew darker the children running circles around the play area began to be called away by parents looking to take them home and put them to bed. Eventually I was left alone on the bench feeling a strange sense of loss as I occasionally glanced at the empty space to my right. It was only after I was sure everyone was gone that I got up, but not to leave.

There's a red, twisted piece of plastic out at the playground whose exact purpose I cannot be sure of, but it has intrigued me since I first saw it. I took advantage of the holes infecting its surface and managed to climb myself to the top, where I sat down and pulled my knees in toward my chest. A truck that I suspect was looking for stragglers slowly drove up the adjacent road sweeping a light across the area. I remained still as it made several passes before the vehicle moved on and I was alone again.

I was torn between contentment and despair, peace and tears. I knew it was getting later. I knew I should go home. I knew anyone aware of my location would be warning me of how unsafe my actions were. Somehow, though, I felt safe. I could not bring myself to leave. I lay down and gazed into a sky turning from pale to black failing to grasp any understanding of where I was and what exactly I was thinking. Were it possible I would have let the breeze melt me into the piece of plastic I was perched on.

"Rebecca, it's getting dark. You need to go home." I was initially reluctant to listen, but finally sat up and dropped to the ground. Walking home I thought about how much I like being places after they've been abandoned. I like the quiet, the empty, the peace. Truth be told I think something in me connects with the solitude and sadness woven through them. I remained silent and confused, but was slightly more stable as I crossed the streets and stretches of grass that brought me home.

This dull narrative spanning unchecked over a thousand words in length can really be summed up in less than ten. Tonight I am sad for no reason in particular. There's no word, no action, no person that can change it. I can only hope it will do so on its own.

Captured At:2205

And then I fell for the beauty of Wynona

Among the idiosyncrasies that make my grandmother the wonderful woman she is resides a tendency to identify celebrities that she believes various people she knows bear a resemblance to. My father, who doesn't understand why everybody has to look like some one, has been assigned two or three that I know of. Be they actors or country singers he hasn't agreed with a single one.

I was probably late in my middle school years or fresh into high school when my celebrity was assigned. Grandma decided I looked like Winona Rider and, naturally, my grandfather agreed. It's something they said not once or twice, but on several occasions as it struck them. As generally happens with these things I couldn't see it, but I nodded and smiled anyway.

Then there was Angela, a woman from my days at the garden store. (It's interesting for me to note that I refer to her as a woman when I know for a fact she was no older then than I am now.) One day, out of nowhere, she came to the same conclusion. I laughed and informed her she was not the first to decide this; my grandparents had been saying it for years. As part of the playful relationship we enjoyed she often called me "Winona" instead of "Rebecca" after that day, and I would laugh at the absurdity of the whole thing.

Tonight I randomly received a call from a friend inviting me to meet them out someplace. He's friends with the girl who ended up being our waitress, and as she sat across from me the words "You know, you look like Winona Rider" came out of left field. She said this parallel wasn't just in how I looked, but my also in my expressions and how I talked. My friend laughed, told the girl this seemed to be a common belief, and mentioned that Ms. Rider is a shoplifter.

All I could do in response was point my finger, give an admonishing look, and say, "Don't even go there". I would have been better off having not done this as he suddenly remembered who he was talking to. Laughing a little harder he explained that I had once shoplifted a "No Shoplifting" sign. Somewhere between realizing the irony and stupidity of this action most people who hear of it come to the conclusion that it's one of the more amusing things they've heard of somebody doing.

It appears that past behaviour didn't help erase any of those lines people keep drawing between me and some celebrity I don't believe I resemble in the least. My one comment in all of this was simple. Why can't I just look like me?

Captured At:2344

My brother called me while I was driving home from work tonight. As we talked I glanced out the window and was caught completely off guard by a brilliant series of stripes arcing across the sky. I had never seen these reflected colors so bright or a double rainbow so clearly defined.

As I crossed the 528 causeway I noticed this apparition touched the river with a glow so bright it appeared that it was drawing extra fuel from the water. I changed my path home in an attempt to snap a good picture, but the further south I chased the fainter the end I was trying to reach became.

This feels a lot like the rainbow post from last July with one major difference. I actually did manage to get a picture, this one being from a stop light somewhere in Cocoa. It's not the end that originally caught my attention, but it was equally spectacular. Behold the power of perspective.

Captured At:2311