Horse and Home

It's been quite some time since I've not been able to fall asleep.

This is of course something for which I am incredibly grateful considering how much I enjoy the occasionally rested feeling I get from sleeping a full night.

Tonight, however, seems to have slipped away from me like a wild horse too quick to be harnessed. It's 6am and here I am in the living room with the company of a single lightbulb and far too many thoughts.

In the two years since climbing on that airplane and utterly dismantling my life at large I've been known to have quite a few 6am moments like this. The primary difference (which I am all too happy to report) is that, in the past, these moments have been riddled with an insurmountable worry. For the moment I am in total calm despite the still present worrying (what can I say, it's in my blood).

While I think of the need to find an apartment, to make more money, to save for bigger and better adventures I am finally permitted to look around and love the life I have. There is love, there is joy, there is chance and spontaneity, there is art and there is freedom.

Truthfully, I couldn't ask for more without beginning to feel like a glutton.

Sure, there will always be more that a part of me will want. That's my role as a middle class white boy. However I am now in an authoritative place of dominion over that wanting. The roles have switched and I am now holding the reigns.

So while the black horse of a restful night's sleep may be off and away, at least I know that the steed of contentment stands loyally by my side.

A Professional Dilemma -or- And Now We Wait

A week ago today I met with the Designer's assistant.

Yesterday I met with the Designer's Managing Director and briefly met with the Designer herself.

Today I was asked to meet with the Designer's Production Manager this coming Monday.

The expectation is that I begin working for the Designer no later than Wednesday of next week.

This gives me all of one day (one!) to let the President know I will no longer be working for her.

Are we beginning to see the reason for my present joyful angst?

Having deferred to a small number of confidants re: WhatTheHellShouldDo I've come to the following three conclusions:

1. This new position is an opportunity I cannot afford- financially, ambitiously, psychologically- to deny.

2. My present position, while gratifying of some of my artistic wants, is not as much of an avenue toward living-making as it is a temporary means of (barely) supporting myself.

3. I must act with love and equanimity- but also cunning and wit- in ALL professional and life endeavors.

So here I stand.
And I shall continue standing until next Monday afternoon.

Final Round: I'm expecting a KO

Today I met the Designer herself.

She seemed in all ways agreeable although not anything less than fully impressive.

I can only hope to one day be described in the same manner.

It would seem she appreciated both my resume and my demeanor. Her managing director requested my references and told me to expect a call today or tomorrow.

To think of the number of times I've been on this very place- at this precise juncture- only to have on small thing fall out of place is quite frankly maddening.
Thus I've elected to put full stock in the vitality of my instincts and trust that this is meant to be.

I mean after all...

...I'm the Champion.

Morning Glory: A Short, Short Story

Marva Hootsman awoke with a start. The digital clock on her bedside table read "3:00am". Her grandmother's voice rang through her groggy thoughts, "when we wake at the witching hour, we wait and pray for God's good graces."

Struck with the terror of her Grandmother's superstitions, Marva pulled the sheets decisively under her chin, knuckles white with absolute resolve.

Outside her window a tree's dry branches shucked against one another. An owl let out a mournful hoot. Rubber tires upset gravel.

Marva had been trying to go back to sleep for approximately four minutes when the meteor slammed through her ceiling making a crater of her home, her body, her dreams and ambitions.
And when the bright light of impact faded she was with God.

Climbing back on the horse

Dear blog,

It's certainly been a hot minute since we've made memories together.
I'll admit that I've been somewhat distracted over the last - oh, I don't know- Year! But those dog days are over and I'm now in it to win it.

Let's kick it like picket fence neighbors.

Warmly,
Noah

Homeward Train Ride Short Fiction #1

31 August 2010
A Sexy Shade of Platinum
By Noah Buck
Marcie waited with mounting impatience. She sat alone in the brightly lit room; fluorescent lights making the white walls seem icy and unsympathetic. “One would think a doctor’s office should try to seem at least a little comforting,” she thought to herself. She was not accustomed to counting on other people for anything…especially anything having to do with her health.
She shuffled restlessly where she sat on the edge of the medical bed, her movement causing the tissue paper covering the dense cushion to crumple like crushed autumn leaves.
A moment later the door swung open and Dr. Bloomfield walked in with his gaze glued to the clipboard in his wrinkled hands. “Well,” he said with a sudden smile as he looked up at Marcie, “if it isn’t my favorite supermodel!”
“Hey Dad,” Marcie sighed. She hated when he used his silly nicknames. While she knew he meant them to cheer her but they somehow always seemed to have an inverse effect. Once, when she experienced a late onset of chicken pox during her Junior year of high school, he had called her his favorite leopard-print daughter. She stayed in her room for three days out of sheer embarrassment.
“So,” he continued, chipper as ever, “what’ll it be today?”
“I’d like to change my hair color.”
“I don’t know why. It seems to be a perfectly healthy shade to me!”
“You’re missing the point, Dad! I’m done with brown and that means my cheeks need some serious work!” Marcie took a tone of absolute seriousness which, had anyone other than her father encountered, they’d have thought her utterly crazy.
But lucky for both of them, Marcie and her father were equally ridiculous.
“Alright Pumpkin, you seem to have gotten yourself all worked up and I think a little lipo will do just the trick to calm you down and bring out that gorgeous smile of yours.”
Marcie cooled visibly, her expression now matching the austere white walls. Meanwhile, the doctor set down his clipboard and picked up a small red marker, uncapping and brandishing the implement as a painter might hold a delicate brush. Squaring himself opposite his daughter, he thoughtfully squinted his eyes, tilted his head from one side to the other, then began sketching in small red triangles just beneath Marcie’s strong cheekbones.
“Have you spoken to your agent recently?” he asked her without breaking his stony concentration.
“Felipe and I had lunch this afternoon,” she replied through tightly held lips. She didn’t want him to smidge the lines.
“And what did he say about auditions this week?” the doctor asked, stepping back a moment to review his handiwork.
“He said he thinks I’ll get a lot more call backs if I go platinum. Apparently blonde is huge again.”
“I can see that. All those pop stars. Porn actors- is that what they call them? Actors?”
“I don’t have any idea, Dad,” Marcie replied with a flash of frustration, “next I bet you’ll want me to try out for parts in that whole smut industry!”
“Well,” he replied, “I mean you could really make it in that industry. Look at you, you’re perfect for it!”
“Dad!” Marcie cried out, “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing! I’m your DAUGHTER!” Tears welled at the corners of her blue eyes.
“Marce, you know me well enough to know I am not the kind of person to judge. I just want you to be-”
“-successful! You always say that! Never once- I mean, have you ever- there’s plenty of girls whose parents want things for them- GOOD things! And what do you want? Just a trademark. To revel in somebody else’s compliments. ‘That’s my work,’ you’ll say. ‘Her eyes took four different procedures,’ you’ll say. ‘Not one visible scar,’ you’ll say.”
By now Marcie’s tears had begun running profusely, flowing blood red through the ink still on her cheeks.
Her father stood stalk still, the red marker still poised in his hand. His mouth opened then closed, open then closed. Like a fish. No words.
“Well?” Marcie demanded.
Silence.
“Well,” in an instant contrast she calmed. It was as though she’d had a coughing fit and only just managed to catch her breath. Her face went still again. The tears stopped. The red ink still ran a little, pooling just above her chin.
“I- I’m sorry doctor,” she said embarrassedly, “I don’t know what came over me.” Dr. Bloomfield continued to stand.
“I had a brief- there was a lot of wine in the sangria at lunch- we had lobster. Could we pretend that never happened? I’m ready now.”
The doctor stood a moment longer, looking over Marcie like an archaeologist puzzling over a newly unearthed skeleton. Marcie waited. Then, taking a large breath, the doctor sighed and said, “nothing happened. Nothing at all.”
He stepped in towards her face again.
“But now I need to fix all this damage.”

Momentous and Now

In order that the day not pass without note, despite it now being past midnight, I have to write a little something about what's finally come to be.

I got a job.

A real life job.

A Monday to Friday, actual salary, actual title job.

Moving here in January was something I did with a haphazard plan and a bundle of hopes. The plans unraveled, changed, became hybrids of themselves over and over. The hopes were challenged, wilted, nearly died, but somehow maintained just enough root to finally grow into something just now beginning to blossom.

And I couldn't be more grateful.

A friend and I were talking today about the importance of religion as it relates to the way humans go about their daily lives. Belief in something larger, ungraspable even, fuels the notion that the damn near impossible is actually within reach. Days like today remind of the truth in this idea.

Yes, I worked hard and will continue to do so.
Yes, I made my intentions known.
Yes, I refused to give up.

And no, I will not forget the difficulties of the path that led me to where I am right now.
All of the twists, turns, trip ups, and down falls have chipped away the superfluous parts of my person and left a young, soft, ready-to-grow form. The journey I now face includes the ways in which I'll carve a new face out of the battered features still intelligible on that form.
The craftsmanship is paramount.

I will commit to making it the best I've ever done.