I have so much homework to do. I have been busy working now for the past 2 hours (perhaps longer) - not counting last nights reading assignments that took me about 2 hours, too! - and I have not made a dent.

But I know myself. I will sit (as I’m sitting now) and find something to do - anything but the hell that is waiting for me. Please remind me next summer to NEVER EVER again take 2 full 4 credit classes in 4 weeks. Put my hands over my head - pin me against the wall - and … wait. I’m getting excited and may just do it again to get that type of punishment.
KICK MY LITTLE ASS if I ever do this to myself again. Ok? Ok!

I’m just quickly stopping in to tell everyone who may be looking for me tonight that it’s not going to happen. It just isn’t. I thought at the beginning of the day that maybe - just maybe - I could log on tonight and do a few calls. But nah uh. It’s not going to happen. I thought that maybe I could go on alerts - or take a few calls now and then but I know myself too well. I know that I would sit here and not work in between calls. I would do it because not only do I enjoy talking with you all but I’d also be using you as very entertaining distractions from the work I need to do. I know some of you are thinking, “use me… use me…” and you will be dealt with in a few days. Others of you are looking at your watches and pushing me away from the computer so I can hurry up and get done with it already. I’m leaving. watch…

Speak with you in a few days… I may be on tomorrow evening for a bit before I pass out from my (what seems inevitable) all nighter.

Pray for me.

I know it’s been awhile since I’ve written. I’ve sat down plenty of times to write, but for one reason or another I don’t finish. I’m not NOT writing because of the typical reasons - by that I mean, not for the typical reasons I usually get stuck: not wanting to disclose certain things, uncertainty, writer’s block, or even not liking a thing that comes off of my fingertips and lands on this ‘blog’. I’ve been extremely busy, and taking the time to write in my blog has now been pushed into some luxury I feel guilty for participating in. Time has become so valuable, and time writing in here takes away from time writing the hundreds of outlines I feel I need to write for my film class, and the rough drafts that are due on Tuesday for my English composition class. I need to learn that saying a quickly, well written “hi” sometimes is enough. I don’t always have to go knee deep in thought, but I’ve never been good at the place between all and nothing.

I need to unload a few things, though - so my diary is coming to my rescue yet again.

This feeling came over me during my composition class. One of our assignments is a career driven paper, I guess you would call it. We write a paper about what we want to be when we grow up - and how we are best able to achieve this. My problem/dilemma? When I told my teacher what I wanted to go to school for - he informed me that I should have a back up plan. If I do something for a living - I don’t want to do it knowing it was my “back up plan”, I want to do it because it’s something that moves me and makes me happy. We spent the better part of last week listening to a lecture from a professor I guess has some ulterior motive for squishing out dreams like some nasty spider crawling in the corner seam near the ceiling. He insists that it’s about helping us, but I can’t help myself from wanting to ask him who blew their nose in his dream kleenex when he was growing up. And that hurts me to think of - because he is, after all an English teacher. And an English teacher is, after all, the most superior position one could ever hold in my very honest and humble opinion.

I decided that I want to major in creative writing and screenwriting in school. I was thinking previously about becoming a teacher. I had always planned on teaching during the school year, and then writing (my true passion) during the summer breaks, but when I brought up my goals to several of my teachers they looked at me as though I had told them I was going to build a rocket out of lays potato chips and spend weekends on the moon. “You’ll never have time.” “Teaching is a full time job!” “During the school year all you want to do is sleep - you have no life.” I started to look at teaching as some “for sure” thing. My meal ticket. The job that wouldn’t let me starve. The movie business is like the soup kitchen in the scene of The Pursuit of Happyness. Hollywood really has no problem saying no. They don’t care if your ribs start to show. Actually they prefer it. Everyone has a script here in California. Screenwriters are as common as hookers in the state of Nevada. Everyone in Southern California is in the movie industry - or working on their next record, or producing the next Justin, or studying at USC to be the next Steven Spielberg. I live in the land of layaway dreams, I think. And no - I’m not being dramatic.

I hung on to my dream even though I knew that there was a chance I may not make it, because I have seen the carcasses of those people who haven’t even dared to reach for their dreams. I would rather reach up, then constantly be looking down in regret. How utterly poetic was that line just then? But I mean it.

My teacher instructed me to put teaching into my paper. As a fall back. As a plan B. I asked him if he felt I would be a good teacher knowing that I really would want to do something else. I asked him if he had any friends (lol!) who maybe worked as a manager of a retail store who really just picked up the job to satisfy a parent who didn’t want him to starve. And there he was - 10 years later - still stocking the shelves or whatever. At first he would write every day after work, then he would write only on the weekends, and now it’s amazing if he even writes once a month. My teacher nodded sadly. He reminded me that I may never sell anything that I write. He reminded me that there are long periods of time that I’d be waiting for another script to sell. He reminded me of the graveyards filled with screenwriters and novelists and poets that may one day be my neighbors. Ok - he wasn’t that much of a bummer, but it sure felt close.

I found a school that focuses on screenwriting and creative writing. Across the campus is a the school of education, where I could get my single subject teaching creditial. I refuse to see teaching as a “fall back”. A fall back conjures up pictures of an overweight kid in grade school who waits and waits only to get picked dead last for a team. And if being a teacher is the something that I “fall back” on knowing the novel didn’t get published or whatever, how well will that “overweight kid” perform for his “team”? Translation: How good of a teacher will I be knowing what I really wanted was not to be? Maybe I will be handing out some “what do you want to be when you grow up, kid?” assignment in highschool and pissing all over the dreams of students in much of the same way he pissed all over mine.

So I’m wondering. Are passions ever realistic? The things that we want to do - the things, the very things that we yearn to do and need to do in order to just fuckin’ breathe, are these things ever realistic? And should they be? Am I going to spend the next 4 years dissecting my dreams until only a whisper of them is left? Is college another bullshit ploy to turn me into some bitter old woman with dreams deferred?

I’m kinda serious - even if I’m being somewhat dramatic about it…how could I NOT be dramatic? I am a writer after all!

There are certain sights, sounds, smells - that always lead me home. I’m directionally impaired, however, given enough sensory stimulation I could always find my way back to where I belong; any Lutheran church, the sound of loons or doves, the taste of apples with cinnamon, and the smell of fresh picked strawberries, all of these things remind me of home and in an instant I am happily swatting away mosquitos and wishing summer would never end.

My great aunt had a farm when I was younger, and our family managed to visit it every year around harvest time. With gallon pails packed into the back of our suburban we would travel over 45 miles of gravel roads - disturbing little stones along the way that would ping ping ping their annoyance at being unearthed against the metal of the car. Our windows would be open because my mother insisted that that is what was meant by “air conditioning” and my brothers and I would have settled into our daily game of “don’t look at me”. When our car finally reached its’ destination we would pile out of the car - taking a pail with us and walk to the end of the little green rows. Kneeling down we would start to pick strawberries - competing as usual to see who could fill up the most pails. We knew what to look for and our fingers greedily searched and plucked.

The rows of strawberries seemed to stretch on forever. We hardly noticed. Half way into our race - we would fall prey to the temptation that lay before us. The plops of the berries hitting the pail would stagger…our motions would slow and soft little groans would erupt from the patches of green and red. One berry for the bucket. One berry for us. One berry for the bucket. Two berries for us. Even though we paid by the bucket no one stopped us. The berries would just … melt in our mouths. There was no need for sugar. There was no need for cream or shortbread or even vanilla icecream, even though we knew that the berries we picked would later meet any of those fates. Our fingers would slowly turn red - and the juice from the berries would run down our chins onto our t-shirts - a dead give a way to our theft. My brothers and I would stuff our faces full of berries - and I remember thinking then - even though the mosquitos were biting every inch of our bodies in search for the blood sweetened by those berries, that this was the best place on earth.

I missed the farmer’s market today - but I managed to take a quick drive to the fruit stands near our home in search for berries. It took two stands to find them - but when I did I yelped. Seriously. The strawberries aren’t as sweet as they were in my great aunt’s strawberry farm - but they still hold the same smell - and evoke the same memories. I washed a big bowl full of strawberries - plucking off their little green caps - and cut them in half. I ate until I felt that feeling in my stomach - the same one I felt when I was picking them with my brothers on the farm. I ate them with my fingers, too, because - well - it’s tradition.

And I was home.

I need to go to bed, soon. But a quick thanks for the great weekend. I started a bit late this weekend and I always feel like maybe you’ll forget me or not wait for me… lol. Then I get 4 hour calls that tell me that I haven’t been forgotten at all - so thank you!

I did manage to tell a few people about their surprises - which is something very special just for them - but I wanted to at least put out a little teaser about it and let the rest of you know that it is possible for you to be admitted into this special club, too! Keep an eye on those emails, guys… I still have a few more to send out!

I have so much more to write about … I feel - rejuvenated in a way - stimulated (definitely) and creative… so this week (provided I finish my dreadful outlines) should have some great stories/posts or whatever else I can squeeze out of my head/heart/toes.

I’m on alert for the morning. Give me a call… chances are I’ll answer and tempt you with nice sweet strawberry juice you can lick off my fingers, toes, and other body surfaces… who knows? Maybe the taste, scent, and feel of a sticky CeCe will transport you someplace friendly and familiar, too!

So I was thinking today… (what were you thinking, CeCe?) Well…(! lol !) I was thinking about books. I was thinking about all the wonderful books I’ve received lately - and all the books that I have yet to receive - and all the books that I’ve been reading - and all the books that I’ve bought for school ($$$$$) and then I thought to myself as I was admiring all the books that I’ve gotten in the past few days (and I’ve been surprised by a TON of books!!!) this really negative doomsday type of thought came into my head: What would happen if I don’t have time to read all of these books? What would happen if I lost an eye or something (My mom always warned me about playing too hard and losing one so I have to think it COULD happen!) and I couldn’t read all the great books I have? Then I started to think about movies and I realized that I need to stop watching movies before bed. It’s a habit I got into that I haven’t been able to break. I tuck myself into bed - I put in a dvd - and I curl up in bed and watch it and usually fall asleep during it. It’s the best feeling in the world - but I think I need to stop all of that. I should read books instead. I should read and read and read and soak up all the literature that I possibly can before it’s too late!
So my new goal by the end of this year is to read 10 books. And they can’t be text books.

I’m finishing up a Truman Capote book right now called Other Voices, Other Rooms. It is by far the most poetic bit of prose I have ever read. The words just sing right off the pages and his descriptions make me want to cry they are so damn beautiful. Even as I write these words I’m painfully aware that my limited vocabulary doesn’t even touch what I really feel about this book - and that pisses me off. How can I know so many words but be struck dumb when it comes to describing such a masterpiece?

After Truman I think I’m going to read Sense and Sensibility. My 2 n’s sent me the book the other day and I think I owe it to myself to read a little bit of Jane Austen. Sorry Doc - Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima will have to wait until after Jane. As an English major/Creative Writer of sorts not having read Jane will not go over well in my classes. That’s like saying in film class that you haven’t watched Citizen Kane for crying out loud. Sure I hated that movie - and I’m not very certain that I’ll like Jane Austen either - but some things you just do for the sake of Art and image. *wink* While I’m reading these books I also am going to be reading another book called Conversations With Wilder by my 1st ever brain crush Cameron Crowe. *double sigh*. I received a package from Nationwide Education and Learning today and that masterpiece practically jumped out of the envelope and into my willing and capable hands. When I say that I’m growing moist from the book (I’ve already read the foreward/introduction to it) I am so not kidding. As much as I love my hitachi wand - Conversations With Wilder blows that little electric tool clear out of the water. I’m serious. If I was on a deserted island and had to choose between my wand o pleasure (sorry again, Doc) and that book - I would choose that book and use my fingers to masturbate with. Come on… did you really think I wouldn’t masturbate at all on the deserted island? *shaking my head*.

What else is on my list for the end of the year? Harry Potter - the series, of course. Thanks to my dear sweet Uncle Ralph I will be wading into the Harry pool and enjoying every inch of the water. My 2 n’s also sent me a book of writing exercises that he will be doing with me. It doesn’t really count that much as a book - but I’d like to finish all the exercises in it. The Secret Life of Bees & The Mermaid Chair (both by Sue Monk Kidd) are also on my list as well as Invisible Man by Ellison, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. That may be more than 10 books - but I’ve always been a bit of an over achiever.

And yeah - I’ll still be going to school. And yeah, again, I’ll be working here, too - taking calls inbetween pages. *wink*.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (and again and again and again) - one of the things I will inevitably ask you (so please prepare ahead of time…it will save us time and perhaps even a bit of embarrassment at being put on the spot!), is: “What are 10 books that you’ve read that have impacted your life - that you would recommend to me - and that you feel are essential books to have on your shelf”? You may feel like just jotting them down now and sending them to me via email. You may even feel that 10 books is somewhat limited and wish to give me 20. You may sheepishly tell me that you don’t read - or that the book of CeCe is the only book that has caught your attention in the past 20 -30 years. I would of course call you a liar (and quickly send you free minutes for the compliment!) but it may be pretty darn close to the truth. That is okay. It’s really not - but hey… you already probably feel badly for not having read in 20-30 years so who am I to pound more nails in your coffin of guilt and shame? Whatever your reaction to your little “assignment” - please know that by the end of the year I will be looking for more books to add to my wish list - and will be sitting here twirling my blonde hair in between my fingers, batting my pretty hazelish eyes at you, and hoping that through this little bit of flirtatious persuasion you buy me a few books off my list. You do want to faciliate my higher learning, don’t you (flutter flutter, twirl twirl…)?

One last quick thing before I leave…(because I said that I would…) I have a new little friend that I’m so enjoying these days. Tiffy Tiff Tiff Tiffers is so damn adorable. I loveth her like a flower loves the spring. (lol!) I do, Tiff. She is so fun to torture and so delightfully pretty in pink that it warms my heart. When we speak together it just … makes me want to paint her toenails, sit her on my lap and play in her hair. Tiff has expressed a desire to belong to only me and I’ve allowed the game of wooing me to commence. What is so special about this whole thing is that I became suddenly aware of her putting me through the same mental gymnastics for HER attention! All is fair in love and war, huh, Tiffy? This is my third call with CeCe. I’ve seen words like ‘awesome’ ‘amazing’ ‘great’ bandied about, all true. I’ll add my take. CeCe is flat out, pedal to the metal FUN FUN FUN! I am really enjoying our time together and through the calls we’re getting to know each other and our play is getting that much better because of it! Oh this girl is a KEEPER - DIBS!!! lol Anyway CeCe is yummy and I can’t wait for another taste! - sincerely, Chatty Cathy *thumpity thump thump thump*

I’ll be around in the afternoon for a bit (Sunday afternoon) and then will be returning for the evening… (probably 7pm - whenever) - and will be on Monday morning until the afternoon 3:00pm/4:00pm PST or so - and then on again from 8pm-midnight. I have school on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday remember - evenings will be cut short but I will be on when possible.

I better run - it’s 2:17am now and I need to sneak off to bed and read some homework before I sink into Truman Capote’s poetry. Please know that through your calls, gifts, and confidence - you’ve all secured a remarkable page in my heart. I will treasure your stories for a very very long time.

Just a quickie, in other words.

I will probably write more a bit later … but just wanted to let all who “stumble” here know - I will be on later this evening (that would be Saturday). I have been invited out with my family to a going away type of party thingee - and will be coming home probably by 9:00PM (PST) - 10PST at the latest. I am planning on staying up for a long long time… so you’ll probably catch me.

Oh - and remember when I said that some of you are going to get a reallllly lovely present from me sometime soon? Well - are you just balancing at the edge of your seat?

You should be!

Gotta run!!! I’ll write more later - promise.