Chicken Teriyaki Bowl #7

I want a Flip Ultra. Every once in a while I get these wants. Not often, because despite having XX chromosomes, I’m not really much of a shopper or a gatherer of any kind. Probably because I’m obsessive compulsive and have enough trouble organizing and reorganizing the stuff I’ve already got.

But I’m digressing.

The Flip Ultra is a sweet little video camera, not much larger than a Blackberry. Even with accessories (OK, I do love accessories) it is less than $200.

I want to use it to create a series of short (1 to 3 min) travel shows, starting first in my home region of south-central Washington and eventually encompassing the Pacific Northwest. A view of what’s interesting from my point of view.

Unfortunately, my main business has been slow this summer, though now picking up. I just can’t convince my bookkeeper to let me buy one (I even sleep with him and do his laundry and he won’t cave).

So, in the meantime, I plan my episodes.

I’ve done better than expected so far this week. Morning pages all but one day, more than half of the exercises and an Artist Date. I’ve also written four poems so far this week, several blog comments as well as my own blog posts and journal. Far more output than in ages.

The theme for this week was “recovering a sense of safety”. This is obviously something that won’t occur in one week, but I anticipate the process will continue and combine with the themes in upcoming weeks.

One thing I still have trouble with are writing the affirmations. I get bored doing them which I suspect is a blocking mechanism from my Critic. Boredom seems harder to overcome than outright criticism.

One tool I’ve added is a personal blog. This blog is actually hosted on my home computer, so no one has access to it except me. I’m perfectly safe posting my poetry and some journal writing there. Actually my journal writing occurs in two places - a moleskin journal and the personal blog.

I always create my poems in my journal, scratching them out and rewriting and just posting them when complete. For some reason I can’t compose poetry on the computer.

Wow - what a horrible ooze of vile comments about myself came out today on my morning pages. The Critic in full swing. The thing is, I felt really good after finishing up. Lighter. In a good mood.

All messed up today. I was informed at the last minute this morning that our carpets were being cleaned, which meant hurry, hurry to get everything cleaned up and out of the way. It also meant being out of the house (and my office) all morning.

Now I’ve got family obligations to take care, so I guess I’ll catch up on my morning pages tonight.

I miss doing the pages, though. I can tell I didn’t do them.

I love the speed of Google’s new browser, Chrome and I really love the home page with links to my most-browsed pages. Other yummy parts of Chrome include the simple interface with no “junk” toolbars and the drag ‘n drop thing for the tabs to open a new browser. Very cool However, I’m not ready to abandon Firefox yet.

First of all, I have Firefox configured with shortcuts. All I have to do is type “i” for my Google inbox, “c” for my calendar, “r” for Reader, “ff” for Friendfeed…you get the picture. Additionally, I can prefix a search term with “g” (for google), “w” (for wikipedia), etc and do a super quick search. This is such a habit with me and so darn simple I can’t give it up.

Firebug is a MUST for me, as is the Web Developer plugin. I can’t work without them. Less important is ScribeFire, but it is so darn useful.

So, the obvious solution is combine the two - and maybe Chrome will go there - but until they do, I’m sticking with Firefox.

Look at them, all pretty and ready to be eaten.  10 pints of carmelized Walla Walla sweet onion jam.

This stuff is to die for on hamburgers and on my husband’s hot and spicy rubbed chicken it will make you see heaven!

I finished reading the first chapter of The Artist’s Way today and worked through the affirmation exercise. Affirmations always seem silly to me, but today I wondered if it reflects on how well I accept praise. The in-depth, psychological musings I’ll leave to my personal journal, but it has stirred some interesting thoughts today. I will follow through on the affirmations and post on whether my attitude towards them changes.

What to do for my artist date this week? My husband will actually be gone this Friday - Monday on a steelhead trip, so I’m free to do whatever I want. I’m tempted to go to the zoo in Seattle; I’ve been longing to go all summer. Doing something small and silly sounds good too - like taking $5 and going to the dollar store, or maybe going to some yard sales!

When I do my morning pages I find my writing getting much more free and flowing, sprawling and nearly illegible, about halfway through when I’m really zoned into it. Anyone else experience this?

After peeling, smashing and chopping 10 heads of garlic, everything smells like garlic. I scrubbed in the shower, and now my arms smell like Tahitian Passionfruit and garlic. My closet smells like garlic. My flip flops smell like garlic. The cat smells like garlic.

The smell isn’t unpleasant. In fact, it is making me hungry for bruschetta or Ajo Blanco. The problem is that my house doesn’t usually smell this way. I don’t usually smell this way. I don’t recognize myself or my house.

I dream in technicolor with surround sound and smell-o-vision.  These vivid dreams stick with me when I wake, polluting my brain until the coffee hits the cerebellum.

For weeks now my dreams have been filled with rage.  Not killing someone rage, but yelling at people rage or the cold rage you can’t express but just have to eat.  The rage that sits in your chest and makes it hard to breathe.

There is no identifiable target for this rage, which seems strange.  I mean, in the dream I’m obvious angry at someone or some situation, but that person or situation has no analog in the real world.

The dreams are very strange, like dreams usually are.  For example, last night I was a ghost getting ready for some big ghost ball.  Accompanied by a group of fashion-conscious ghosts we plundered the cosmetic department of some fancy department store to get ready.  I looked the height of ghost fashion in a Sweeney Todd sort of way when I realized I was wearing just one shoe.  I couldn’t find the other one. Rage ensued.

I’m fairly self-aware, I realize this dream is about loss or the inability to express something.  Is it related to my blocked creativity?  Will the rage resolve as I work through The Artist’s Way?

More peppers were ripe, so I make three bottles of garlicky heaven.  Garlic Lover Hot Sauce with a bit of cumin and honey for flavor.

I broke down and bought the bottles online because I was tired of half-empty pint bottles with hot sauce.  These even have the little dropper insert just like the real stuff.

I think my next batch will be a honey-smoked hot sauce with roasted peppers.  Mmmm.