So it is a beautiful day. My godson turned seven. I woke up to my three favorite alarm clocks. I even managed to successfully tie my shoes. Yet here I sit again, pondering what could have been.

I know that there is no point in bothering with some people and some things that claim so much of my attention. My mind knows it, but my heart is not convinced. I lament the gift of love because I don't have the strength to give it anymore. My heart is more than willing, but I hear rumors that this muscle is the most capable of dying. I know that rumors can be pretty hit or miss, but everyone else around me likes to believe them, so I have decided to be a joiner. A joiner who needs some serious sleep because her body seems to be at war--with itself--again. Ah....BATTLE!!!

"Every individual makes a difference. We cannot live through a single day without making an impact on the world around us. And we all have free choice--what sort of difference do we want to make? Do we want to make the world around us a better place? Or not?" ~Jane Goodall

"The most important single influence in the life of a person is another person...who is worthy of emulation." ~Paul D. Shafer

"A kind word is like a spring day." ~Russian Proverb

"The nicest thing about the promise of spring is that sooner or later she'll have to keep it." ~Mark Beltaire

If my observational powers have not faded away, I believe I have been seeing more of my desk than I used to. I don't mean I spend more time there. I mean that I have discovered it under all of the piles. It's amazing. I used to think that it was a figment of my imagination. Don't worry. The work is still there. It is just arranging itself in a less cluttertastic way.

"The world is a dangerous place to live - not because of the people who are evil but because of the people who don't do anything about it." ~Albert Einstein

If ghosts do walk the earth, do you think they see it as we do? Do they see in shadows the things we see in light. After all, they don't belong here anymore. Ever see the world like that? Ever see people like that--faded out because they overstayed their welcome or tried to breach into a circle of friendship that they have no right to enter? The world can seem so dark even in the light of day...

"If you look up, there are no limits." ~Japanese Proverb

"One doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time." ~Andre Gide

I'd hate you if you didn't make the world so beautiful albeit for such a brief period of time. You flutter about being lovely and making small children dream of days off. Then you fall to the ground and make driving conditions treacherous, but we love you, especially around the holidays. But today, we only have Fluffy Snowflurry and her cousins dancing about to entertain us. I wonder if their flying circus is enough...

I conquered the FRs today. I made them all go back into the drawer from which they came. They are gently nestled away, but if anyone has a need for them, they can find them thanks to me and some random catalogers across the country who created most of the records that I dropped in. I say most because I spent my fair share of time cleaning up and doctoring records over the past couple of days. It almost seems like we have some fiche that the rest of the world has forgotten about or lost.

So many things are so easy to forget. I wish I could master that art. My mind, however, is full of memories and knowledge that people don't realize I have. This can be dangerous in the wrong brain, but that's another story. Anyway, back to drowning it out with amusing literature and shiny pixels...

All the rumors say that you can't care about others unless you care about yourself. I wonder if that is just an excuse for us to be narcissists.

It occurs to me some days, usually as I sit staring at the piles of projects that seem to define my life, that our real enemy is time. We don't have enough of it. In fact, we spend more time finding ways to waste our time than to use it in useful ways. We have technology to save us time *stares at the roomba*, but we still find ourselves with too little time. It's odd, isn't it?

Their tiny faces turn up to the face of the clock. They watch its hands dance their slow dance. They linger. They wait. Is it time, time, time? No. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It is not quite that time. It will never be that time again. Trapped inside an episode of an eerie show from the late 80s or was it early 90s, they all turned their clocks forward an hour and are stuck in the lost hour. Are we stuck in the lost hour?

So what would we find in this lost hour? I found a nice long bath, complete with bubbles. A grown woman taking a bubble bath? Yes, but I managed to control my urges to bring my toys. I still have said toys, so it really did take an effort for me. I read recently that guys don't like girls who still have their toys on display. And now we know how my cat keeps me for himself.

So, my work has brought me into the realm of Government Accounting Documents. Now this may not sound exciting to the rest of the world, but I feel some potential here. I have seen titles about beauty shops and even my beloved GPO. Oh, the things I can control simply by putting people to sleep by reading the content of these lovely documents in a monotonous voice...

So I was at work today, minding my own business. I wasn't even thinking of my recent journal rants. I looked at the clock on my computer. Then I looked down at a fiche. I found a pretty record for it. I made the record a little prettier. I looked at the clock again and found that I had lost an hour. I was a little afraid I had blacked out, thus missing a fabulous hour of fiche and fun. Then I realized that the normal clocks said I hadn't lost any time at all. Apparently, the computers in the office read my journal and decided to play a practical joke on me. Isn't that sweet?

A little bit later, one of my coworkers appeared behind me and announced quite cheerfully, "Your wish is my command."

Now all of my mortals say this to me on a regular basis, but other exalted knowledge traffickers are not known to say this. I turned around to find that he was standing behind me with an immense stack of papers. These were not ordinary papers, however. These were sheets and sheets of eye-catching, hypnotizing, prepossessing barcodes. Sadly, he claims that only about ten thousand of them consented to be our slaves. The microfiche won't stand for that. They must have their barcode minions to help them keep track of the world. With fiche and chocolate, I will someday rule the world. My boss wants me to expound on that, but I like to keep some of my more interesting plots a secret. (Though the secrets of fiche and chocolate are for sale to the right buyer *wink wink*)

I've spent a fair portion of the evening being a happy homemaker. My cats like me like that. Actually, I haven't felt like doing much. I intended to work on the amazing story beloved of my Cali and Penn girls, but it just isn't in me right now. I think my muse is on hiatus again. I wish she wouldn't do that. It makes me feel rather lonely, but not cold because Rodney is always here to sit on my feet. What could show more love than that?

"This is not a phone booth."

I passed so many people today whom I wanted to state that obvious fact to. The sad thing is, I am pretty sure they would have looked at me blankly. I don't think they would even know what a phone booth is. Nor would they be able to discern the need for one if they happened upon one in their daily travels.

It brings a bit of dewiness to my eyes to think of all the joys the cell generation is missing. After all, that sexy Clark Kent kept going into phone booths and coming out in tights. Even Bill and Ted found some amusement when they entered a phone booth. Prank calling phone booths (as opposed to from them) can be a fun way to spend an afternoon, as well. Though I wager some little children who got yelled at for making prank calls when they were simply answering the phone may disagree. Even more disappointing is knowing that giving someone a quarter and telling them to call someone who cares has even lost its greater significance. This is all very appalling.

More to the point, however, people who feel they can just stop anywhere and chat away on their cell phone are demonstrating a great degree of rudeness. As interested as I am in the fact that you are walking through the rain on your way to class, I can discern this without hearing you tell someone. Also, once you stop walking, the people behind you are forced to keep listening to whatever drivel you find intelligent if enough people are milling around (which tends to happen between classes), that person may be stuck long enough to want to rant about you to their faithful readers.

Need I say more?

Awake with a start, Shamus finds himself peering blindly about his cave. Something doesn't seem quite right. It could be his bleary eyesight, but that can be quickly resolved. He reaches for his glasses which he stores handily on the nightstand next to his bed. His hands rest on empty air. He shakes his head and reaches out again. Still nothing.

"Tweedo, you ill-formed hobbit," he mutters under his breath.

Now before the reader takes offense, it must be stated that Tweedo is indeed a hobbit. He is also ill-formed in that he is a good three inches too tall for anyone to really believe he is one. His astonishing height combined with an accident that resulted in the inability to grow hair on his feet did not lead to his proper association with other hobbits. Hence his travels from the Shire to the Emerald Isle, where his penchant for wearing a tweed suit designed for a hobbit of less than average hobbit size earned him the name Tweedo and caused his real name to be completely forgotten, though a fair portion of his hairy calves is well-known.

Shamus thinks ruefully of the circumstances that brought this prankster into his life as he looks about his cave. The dim light of the smoldering ashes does little to brighten the granite enclosure. Not that it would make a difference, as everything would still be fuzzy.

"Really, where are my spectacles?" He intones to what he knows is an empty room.

Tweedo rarely stays to watch his antics in person. Since the invention of the webcam, he has been able to monitor his victims from the comfort of his own home. He even knows when he should leave for a mini-vacation before they come knocking on his door seeking retribution. Oddly, even the image of Tweedo's pleased and giddy face is blurry to Shamus's imagination. He sighs heavily and begins walking about the room, looking at all the familiar blurs in unfamiliar locations...

The constantly wavering weather has got me thinking of hiking through the woods, all bundled up and trying not to slip in the creek. I love the smells of wet moss and the feet of shifting sand beneath my feet on spring days. I used to enjoy a good tumble in frozen water as well, but it doesn't have the same glamor when the water tends to look like a small scale Technicolor picture of floating debris. Among other things I have lost, I wonder where my woods are tonight?

Bring me fire to burn away these scars
Bring me the sun, brightest of my stars
To release me into spring, a new flower born
On the winds of a time that is so careworn
So that one can see again, the woman I can be
Not the woman they think they shaped, think is me

Bring me fire to cleanse the last remnant of the sin
That wishes to control me, bind me, let them win
Over me in a carnal battle to control my heart
Though they can't conceive this love, this art
Of caring too much though fires rage to burn them out
Those who don't realize what I am all about...

The rumor is that the first day of spring was yesterday. I have seen the sun shining, but the wildflowers have not yet come to my attention. The bluebells are still growing somewhere, sending up a fragrance that could take me back to a time before I let myself see the people around me too clearly. Perhaps, it is the concept of spring cleaning that makes me want to flush some memories and people from my world for good. Some would be surprised...Eh, let's talk of grade school instead.

TOP TEN REASONS I SHOULDN'T WANT TO BE BACK IN GRADE SCHOOL

10. You can't buy your own toys.
9. No one takes you seriously.
8. Little boys are no fun to kiss.
7. Cafeteria food can be fatal.
6. Recess is never ever long enough.
5. You are frequently required to use a number 2 pencil. (At least adults can pick between black and blue ink.)
4. You have teachers bossing you around (and they are big enough to enforce it).
3. You have to take naps with people that you know have cooties.
2. The pay is not so good.
1. Primary food groups include paste and crayons.

I probably got too much sleep last night. This could explain why I found myself awake briefly at almost two in the morning and again around five. In between those moments of wakefulness, I think I dreamed a life. It wasn't quite mine, but it was pretty intriguing. I think it is what my life would have been like if this world wasn't so centered around individuals as separate entities as opposed to what we are: the human family.

Sadly, thinking like that can lead one to become a fabulous pariah and the object of much consternation. It is amazing to find that people think you are fake when pretending is something you try very hard to avoid doing. Some of us avoid doing things that are too easy because we want a challenge in life. I begin to wonder why I choose to live my life like that. I see other people take the easy road in blissful ignorance. Sounds like something I keep saying. I really should listen to me.

So I am sitting around on my butt again. My butt is no longer happy. It was content for me to stand around in my kitchen doing unthinkable things to whatever caught my fancy (I maintain this is the best way to cook foods that I will not forget though sometimes I wish I could.) My feet are not used to such abuses, however, as I have been living life as a sedentary couch potato. I wonder how possible it is to change such behaviors overnight. I still love my couch, but I think it is time we spent time apart. We come to rely on each other too much.

Besides, the weather has turned fabulous. This makes the stitching of quilts seem rather silly. Why would one need a nice warm cover when beads of sweat are moments from peeking from their pores. Okay, it isn't quite that warm for the normal people, but for the active joggers, runners, and bikers, the sweat has been pouring as they take advantage of the warmer weather. Maybe I should find a walking partner. Any volunteers?

I got some boxes at work today. They promise to be full of a project that has been wanting to officially meet me for quite a while. I only hope I am everything it dreamed of and more in a cataloger. Only time will tell as we dance our dance of meta-data love.

Anyway, the warm night air calls me to reflections of what was, what is, and what shall be....