I can call you Betty,
And Betty when you call me,
You can call me Al.

I was going to start with, "it's strange" but who is callin' me strange except myself. Hadn't I better start saying "it's really cool" when I begin an observation about me?

So I got a text today. In this text, some news, happy news, was shared with me. The happy nature of this text caused me to chalk up the weakness in my knees to the 3 mile walk/run that I had just completed (I am way out of shape even though I walk up six flights of stairs everyday). I went about my business, merely putting my friends on alert should I "decide to freak out." Because, for the most part, when it comes right down to it, I really do decide whether or not I am going to flip my shit. Granted, sometimes it's better to decide in favor of flipping it, because internalizing it is clearly the wrong choice. Or so I'm told.

Most everyone knows that my ex-fiance is remarried. Nope, this isn't the maybe-I'm-gonna-shriek-and-pull-all-of-my-hair-out inducing moment. While I am appropriately happy with the fact that he is wed, what I concentrate on as being more important to my life is the fact that I am happy with myself and everything that has happened since I knew him, indicating to me that I made the right choice. Though, J.R. Moehringer makes an interesting point in his book, The Tender Bar: "...I didn't know why fate and free will needed to be mutually exclusive. Maybe, I thought, when we come to our crossroads, we choose freely, but the choice is between two fated lives."

Interesting.

Anyway, I bring it up to point out that I have loved, twice in my life. Shocker shocker, I know. The first love is wed, and the second, as I was informed tonight, is about to be. Cue the "well this is interesting and I feel as though I should react but I'm not really even sure that I care but of course I do but not for the reason that might be obvious, so...freak out or no?" conversation in my head.

The thing that I feel troubles me the most, and I've heard a couple of girls lament about something similar over cocktails and stolen glances at the cute bartender, is that essentially, I was the one before they met the one. Hmmm. One friend told me "I prepared him for her. I did all of the work, sorted through all of the baggage and put it away, made him settle down and appreciate being domestic..." Whoa. First of all, this chick is taking way too much credit upon herself for "raising" her boyfriend...isn't it just the case that guys (girls too, we should be doing this too, right?) mature and grow from their experiences and finally decide (sometimes) through a combination of "I'm done with worrying about pyscho girls and whether or not I've contracted something dirty" with "this is a girl who makes it worth it to stop worrying about these things, because after all, even though it's a bit scary, it's kind of fun" that makes them ready and willing to "pick just one girl"? And second of all, appreciate being domestic? Gross.

I struggle with this because on one hand, it doesn't really bother me. If you asked me now if I was ready, and I mean, stable enough kind of ready, to deal with either of them, I might giggle maniaclly and hiccup "ahaha uh NO." I STILL have a thing or two to learn, a demon or ten to put to rest, and an urge or 330 that I need to be out of my system before I am humming "dum dum de dum." I realize that, and on a good day, which is most of the time, I a golden.

But as I walked down 79th street tonight, typing away a congratulatory text to the ex who just got engaged, I got all choked up and weak-kneed again. As strong as I am, as much as I know that things are going the way that they should be, I can't help but think, why wasn't it me? And then I walk past a couple having a stand-off on the side walk. She had her hip cocked, her hand balled in a fist and rammed onto her hip as if she was afraid of what she might do with it if she didn't rest it there. He had his shoulders squared, jaw set, defiant. And no one was sayin' a word. They were just eye-balling each other...a similar stare that I remember holding all too well. I remember, when I did speak, I said "I can't talk to you anymore. Ever. I just can't." I remember when I did speak, all I talked about was moving. I'm leaving. I can't stay here. I gotta go. I gotta go now...

I remember making choices. Most were conscious, some I didn't realize that I had made until years later. But I chose where I am now, and there is not a bone in my body that feels that I might be happier had I not.

So, freak out, or no?

I took my red lipstick off so I could drink my beer.

It used to drive you nuts that I would leave the cabinets open when I cooked. I nearly banged my head for the third time on an open cabinet door in the bathroom, and thought about that.

I wonder if you remember the things that I do.

You know that college football is better, more real, than pro when the commentators get indignant and loud over stupid plays and bad calls.

#1 Alabama against #15 LSU - LSU was the first game that I was nervous about this year. The second was Georgia. We won both, but now I've got my eyes trained on bigger things, hopefully the SEC Championship.

'Bama scores first but then pulls an unsportsman-like conduct call because John Parker Wilson decided to taunt the crowd a little bit by pretending he was on a cell phone - fair enough, I guess...I would be a little touchy if a whole university campus and probably all of their fans had my cell number too.

I just don't know what I do when it's not football season...

There is no way that the words will ever be just right, so I might as well just write. And write and write until I just bleed the perfection right out of my fingertips.

I hold too many enoughs to the light in my life...strong enough wise enough pretty enough different enough that I will likely never be satisfied with anything and before I know it my whole life will have breezed right past me and then I won't have lived enough. Can't you see me shaking my fist at God with my puny little fierce indignation over the fact that I somehow worried my life away?

Writing is who I am. And because I take it so personally I literarily cut myself off at the knees because it means so much to me that it can't be wrong. I just can't mess it up. Sometimes everything else is wrong and when the writing is wrong it just hurts too damn much. Sometimes words, music, they are what I cling to what makes sense to me they are what I have to turn to. It might all be in my head and I accept that but there have been few constants in my life and words have been one of them.

I know that I am rambling but I don't care because this is for me to look back on and use to guide my life. I looke back on things that I wrote three years ago, and I was amazed...

I stood beside you
and knew you were there without looking
I absorbed all that was real to me, all that mattered and counted in the world on one beach. I smiled large enough to split my face and sighed in relief...home. Home home home. I gave wing to the belief that what I saw before me was real, because it was. I kissed that dove's back and let it free. In a few minutes, we will celebrate.

You came over to see me, I knew you would and I was glad. I have come to learn that five minutes of pure one on one time with any of My People is worth at least a year and I was just happy to be standing so close to the ocean, the source of my soul, and to be in your presence that I barely remember what we spoke about. I barely remember anything but being spiritedly ready to party and rejoice over the company that I was keeping with my love and the wind. We're old souls, you and I and I knew that time would tell me. Time is the best secret keeper and secret giver in the world, if you are patient enough to let it be so. I don't know that I am yet, but I'm tryin'.

The evening was a swirl of music and light and the sound of the waves and double rainbows and children. "I love the pool. I call it Fourth of July because it is beautiful." Every mouthful, every sound every smell I hold dear because it is a part of My Peace, a part of this Earth and a part of me. Content does not come easy to me and while I am over being amazed when it is there I am still so overjoyed to see it I cannot contain myself.

I stood with you again, towards the end of everyone's night and tried to explain why I had not loved again. I tried to give shape to the words on my tongue "because there are no Yous. Because I have had that five minutes, and I won't take a lifetime of anything less." I was so sad to see you walk away so suddenly and even sadder to realize that I missed you a second time. I miss you. I miss. It's odd. But I do. I wonder how many times we will miss before we finally stop circling desire for everything and give in to content. I wonder if we ever will.

Everyday.
I die.

Do you die?

I stare at the cursor blink
and wonder do you stare
at my reflection in the subway window

Or your own?

I try to decide how much of me
I have to give in
before I am deemed right
In my head
or your own.

I never wanted to be like you.
But you were there to emulate.

Who is your hero? Your disgrace?

I measure my step
with every iPod metered breath
and decide.
Survival of the fittest is realer than it every was.

And I don't care if you die.

The true genius of America...

I am thoroughly excited by the notion of change. I am intrigued to see what "change" will be. The only thing I know, is that my vigilent prayer will be that we never underestimate the power of belief and of hope. I pray that we understand that one Man, one Party cannot make change, but a Nation, a beautiful, adaptable, strong and independent Nation working as one, can better the world.

If he is not ready for anything else, I pray that he can be, in part, the balm that brings us together to make this change.

Bless.

The feeling...it's getting dug deeper down inside...harder to get out. Harder to call forth and feel. Harder for me to show that I am a real girl, and not just a puppet.

Who am I showing?

When I think in my head, all judgemental, "why doesn't she dance?" I immediately chide back "why didn't...why DON'T you?" I am so happy to have found my people. And to know that My Peace will be with me always.

Now I wonder where my talent has wandered off to...

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Alicia Keys
Current mood: thankful

I love that her voice changed.
Most times, you listen to a song, you are touched by the words, graced by the music. There are artists that have powerful, beautiful voices; captivating and well trained. Sometimes you get all of the above - God, there is so much great music in this world. That's amazing and all, but rarely am I so moved by a voice; to put yourself so wholly into your art, your passion, that it actually changes the way you sound when you sing...it's breathtaking. It brings tears to my eyes because it's so raw. My fingertips are tingling.
I love the way this feels.

Monday, November 19, 2007

I can barely...
Current mood: giddy

contain myself.
Yay for the hilariously juxtaposed ebb and flow of a late-20's female's emotional range. Who needs drugs when ya got hormones. I'm sayin'.
At the risk of being effusive, and then reading my writing later and regretting gushing so much b/c it somehow once again came back to bite me in the ass, life is good. I've turned a corner as far as my ability to deal with some things, and this is a milestone that I have really been praying for. I love that I can be sad, I can feeeeelllll sad, and it doesn't land me in the bed for three days. I can feel sad and still laugh, be happy about my life, see the positive light instead of letting the negative shadows overwhelm me. You see, this is why I avoid a lot of things. Because I think I can't handle them. And that makes me feel weak, which is absolutely no bueno. But what I've realized recently is that to learn to handle things, I've got to give myself to them, and let it be what it will. The first time I got punched in the face hurt like a bitch. The second time hurt just as much but it didn't scare me anymore. And I learned to dodge the punch or deal with the impact with my face accordingly.
Counting my blessings has never left me coming up short for anything. There is a lot that I want passionately and know that I can achieve. THIS is where my patience is best utalized. And my attention wanders once again...

Sunday, November 18, 2007

After you read this, hit delete...
Current mood: good

Football makes sense to me. Each quarter, 15 minutes. 1st down, ten yards. Extra point? Sailing through the uprights, or not. The goal, touchdown. As many as you can make. Two point conversion. Defending your goal...there really are not many grey areas. Sure, there are moments in the game when I am sloshing beer all over myself from gesticulating at the screen..."what the HELL was THAT?" But for the most part, I get it. I may not LIKE it, but I get it.
What I don't get is you. And what you fail to understand, and have probably failed to see the entire time, is that YOU is always collective. Until you single yourself out. Until I realize that you are categorizing me with the sum of all the female parts that you have come to know. That you are assuming, judging, and dismissing all in one fell swoop of rationale..."I've been through this before, I know what this girl, while never having been in any similar situation with her specifically, is going to do, because she is a GIRL."
Good call.
I sit back and watch. And see the inaction, the nonchalance, the ridiculously inadequate game, and I laugh. Now I laugh. It hasn't always ended in laughter. But now, I ruminate for a good five minutes, lick my finger and tick the air. I check myself for bruises and gashes and once I see that the damage is minimal, I turn in for a good night of sleep, because I know that the bruises will quickly fade and the memories will be sweet. Cute, if you will. A little "awwww" with a nice pat on the head kind of cute.

Since you don't know me, here's what you missed. And here's what might actually apply universally to the next girl you judge "unworthy" of your...time? Whatever.

Honey, I've been through too much in my life to get all bent b/c you don't think you can hang. The Dixie Chicks song "Let 'Er Rip" jumps readily to mind here. There is nothing you are going to lose by being honest with me. Having what seems to be a good day; kissing me like it really means something on a street corner, and then turning around the next day and acting like you could give a fuck less is not being honest. It's being a coward. Wishy washy is the worst trait in a man, and I don't have the grace to tolerate it.
You don't like? I understand. And I don't fault you for that. What I do fault you for is the lack of...common courtesy, basically. Especially when your claim to fame is being a good guy. And I believe, ironic as it may be, that you are a good one. A very good one. And I know good guys. They are few and far between, but they define good. Not just think about it when they are bored with what society is throwing in their lap.
This is where you shake your head and go "whoa. Crazy." Or, "dodged that bullet." Whatever you're thinking...the point is, I don't care anymore. I did. I really did. But I've gone from "interested in the ways of your mind" to "I can't even fathom what the hell is going on in there." And I bear no ill will. I just cannot even begin to wrap my head around your behavior, and I haven't gotten enough positive feedback to be patient. So I am making the decision, and I am done.

Bless.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Double-edged sword
Current mood: dorky

I love Jay-Z. Anyone who is so unapologetic about who he (seemingly) is, gets marked down in my book of grudging respect. But this http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601109&sid=azto7U.TmGX0&refer=home, this is just...well I started to say silly, but then I wanted to go with funny, or something along the lines of tragic, but settled for society's typical response to even the most inane:

go figure.

Yet another reason why I grumble under my breath daily, after dealing with and hearing about technology that doesn't work, rude people, the general state of our country and the world, etc., etc., that I want to buy my own island. I will survive there by fishing, growing my own fruit and veggies, solar power, and breathing. At some point I expect the Monkeys will join me to form the compound we've discussed in detail over the years, complete with swimming pool, hottub, and fire pole. Of course the significant others will be invited, and a few people we've all met in our lives that are wicked cool and understand the exact reasons we've abandoned civility for living by our wits and whatever other scant relatable skills we have.
I really am only half joking here, folks.

The cats resting her chin on my toe.

Not my foot. Not my toe-s...her tiny furry little chin is propped on my big toes.
And she's lookin' at me like, "AND what?"

I am sleepy. A little cranky, but satisfied...ish. Good, new to me live music makes me happy. Getting all gross and sweaty and into the crowd makes me elated and calm, at the very same time. Dodging the bartender at the gator bar makes me giggle..."WOMAN. What are you DOING?" Burning the skin off of the roof of my mouth on a slice in the wee hours of the morning makes me repeat in my head once again "I need more grace than I thought."

I want to be able to have more tea parties. I want to be in a place where I am comfortable doing that. Not cringing the whole time. And I wish that I had little delicate china cups instead of mugs, 'cause that would be a lot funnier...three large boys sipping tea from a floral pattern at 2 am, pinkies up while Stacey snores. Jokers. :-)

This is where the ish came from.

And the fact that I feel no stronger desire at this moment than to reach my hand out to you. I want to be the hand you reach for. And I don't think I'm wrong about that.

Grace. Grace grace grace.

It'll come.

4th Floor Serenade


It’s like you’re placing
every song
from the soundtrack
of her life in the air,
for people on the street
to hear
and remember their own scenes
accompanied by these lyrical sounds;
when the notes invade
their preoccupation,
it is when they pause.
She loves the public diversion,
the melding of street noise
with the serenade through the
Parquet floor that supports her feet
and covers your head.
It is so complicated and simply sweet;
of all of the things to communicate with
your mind to her heart,
you unwittingly have chosen
the one that enunciates the loudest.
She doesn’t know you
her eyes have glimpsed your
form once
but she feels gratitude
and stops to grin in wonder.
For in the selection of resonant
riffs and hooks
that you use to inspire yourself
she sees a comrade
a co-conspirator
who never needed to see, touch, hear or
miss her
to understand.

Morning Motivation Poem

Weird, really. This double life.
The one inside my head,
and then the other one
...that you seem to have such
a marvelously hard time with.
Sometimes I wonder
which you're seeing.

It strikes me as odd
your confusion
the way a small child
is confused over why
a square block won't fit
into a heart hole.

Then I realize:
it's me trying to
force the wrong block
into the right heart.
And I grin
and offer you my hand.

Evidently the Power Point presentation wasn’t a bad idea after all, Alicia.

Because I am at a loss. I, throughout my life, have done everything I know to make you understand. Pictures, charts, maps, mimes, informational films (and not the good kind), smoke signals, pig latin, hieroglyphs…you name it, I have done it all, while standing on my head, holding my breath, painting my toenails and whistling Dixie. And for God’s Sake I am quite sure that I don’t even know the proper tune, I was always just winging it. All of that to have you look at me like I am speaking another language (although I think I’ve tried that too) altogether different from the one that you know.
A little dramatic? Well, yeah, sure. Duh. But it is how I feel sometimes. Like I did something in a previous lifetime that sealed my fate in this one to be invisible and mute. Even as I continually shriek with all of the force of my lungs and pirouette at odd, jerking angles that make me stand out from the back of the fluid, albeit unremarkable, chorus. Listen, I’m not trying to be a pretty ballerina here, just an expressive one.
The theory of "what’s that girl doin’?"
"Don’t know but it looks different. Let’s pay attention to her."
Has clearly failed me. But where I once thought it was for your attention, I have quickly come to realize that my black sheep, odd man out, carve my own path out of stone mentality had nothing to do with you, them or anything else at all other than becoming who I am.
Huh.
You mean I am not a bobble-head doll, here to please you?
You mean, even if I make you angry or hurt or confused, or God forbid if I make you think, that it is ok because it’s all coming from a pure place, instead of a calculated, ill-contented, off balanced one?
Interesting.
So, what I’m hearing here is, all this drama could be about me, and not you? Ok, let me catch up. This could be about me figuring out my life, exorcising my previously internalized demons and healing the wounds that they left so deeply inside of me? I could be re-learning how to communicate; i.e. open mouth let words that express true feelings escape without the strange urge to throw myself into traffic and then, be patient enough, not cringing and twitchy, to see how they were received and then reciprocate accordingly? I could be learning how to let my walls down…you mean to tell me that I could be testing the water to see how it feels to me? To me without being concerned with you?
Well, that is astounding, really.
That all of my fumbling and fussing, loving and hurting, clarity and confusion when it comes to every last one of you can be about me until it becomes about us. That it doesn’t matter if you understand, as long as I am true to myself, my family, my friends and my faith. All of this is going to come together eventually no matter how hard I clamor at the wrong human being to be heard.
This is all very mind-blowing and revolutionary. I might need to sleep on it.
For a few years. Until I get woken up.
Or until I get tired of chasing my tail and entertaining myself for the moment in my dreams.
Whichever comes first.
Because, believe it or not (and I know you don’t believe it at all) through all of this, I still believe in Prince Charming. I just don’t believe that I have to wait for him to wake me up. I’ll do that myself. Then draw my sword to slay a few dragons and ogres before I meet him in the Land of Happy Medium. I work my way towards him, he works his way towards me. Get it? (Sorry, still a little bit stuck in the spelling it out for you phase).

What? I can’t write my own fairy tale?

If you must be ridiculous, please don't take yourself seriously while doing it. None of us are.

I have to.

There is nothing else I can say.
Every time I ache and cry, smile and hope, look into another's eyes who knows...it is a prayer from my soul - my true intention. My whole being's communication with God.

I have to.

There is no if I do not. This is not an ultimatum, a bargain with my circumstances or the universe.

I will.

Baby.

The way that I will love you will be to let you know that I am here, right here, always for you and your Mom and Dad, no matter what...always. Little Man of Many Blessings to be born to two people who will love you with all that they have, and who love each other as much as they do. Welcome, baby boy.

Here we go...

To My Boys,

Thank you for showing me that disappointment is part of loving someone, and you don't die a horrible, painful, jerky-limbed death when you are in fact disappointed. Even though it hurts a lot more than you expected sometimes.

Thank you for proving to me that you can argue with someone and the relationship is not instantly over, or bad, or not worth it. Thank you also for allowing me to realize that even when you irritate the crap outta me, or I outta you, that in some capacity, you'll still be around to make me laugh or listen while I cry. Oh, and for helping me realize that I can disagree whole-heartedly, or maybe just half-heartedly, or a third...with your life-policies, or you with mine, and we can still respect each other as people, and as friends.

Thank you for realizing who I am, that I am not perfect, that I make huge glaring mistakes and for loving me anyway. Thank you for showing me that you are not perfect, just human, and it's OK to still be enamored of you, in all of your boyish charm.

I've learned a lot from you two boys, specifically...you know who you are. I want passionately for you both to be as happy as you can be, and not just because it will make me happy, too...OK, maybe a little. I want the most for you to follow who you are, and I trust that you know how you will do that. All I ask is that you listen, and pay attention.

If you don't, I will kick your asses.

I love you boys.

What if fine isn't good enough?

And that, my friends, is what some of us will ask ourselves daily until we choose to ignore our hearts. Or we die. Either choice means the death of something, regardless.

To the late bloomers, my brethren:
The struggle is the reason why we whine; bemoan our precarious and murky positions. It is why we compare ourselves to others, second guess the instincts that we are meant to believe in, and undermine our confidence until it is nothing but a shadow of who we could be. "What is wrong with me? What can I do differently? Why is this/does this/will this keep happening to me? What can I do that has not already been done, and better? Who am I to stand up, stand alone, stand at all when my way is no clearer to me than the next? Will I always fail? Die trying? Leave this earth wanting and wondering and never knowing what I could have done if I did just STAND UP?" The niggling questions are by the thousands, and their multi-faceted, layered answers are responses that we will continually seek...and when we do happen upon any of those answers, we stare in disbelief, and think "no way"...and thus the vicious cycle begins anew.

What I am coming to realize is that the struggle is who we are. What we do, how we live, how we handle the mundane to the unimaginable...it carves us out of the crowd to be what we choose to be. Consciously or not. My writer's block is mightily frustrating, but it will be how I overcome it that lasts as an imprint in this world. The lack of a career that I am proud of makes me restless, jaded and bored until I act out just to entertain myself. The question here is what exact type of fire needs to be lit underneath my feet for me to stand up and start a journey...not just an existence. I long for a family and feel it like a phantom limb...I feel that even though I haven't even got a whiff of "THE one" in my life right now, the man that I want to share my life with and the family that we will create together already exists. Inside of me (alright, in him too, but I still get to name all the kids). My biggest challenge will be to learn how to make that ghost-like limb grow in, real, solid, healthy and strong.

We all know, I can't be growing anything (even a plant) until I am right with myself. And learn how to deal with this struggle. And thus, the vicious cycle...

There are a few things that I know to be true, that I will never doubt.
One of them is that I am not meant to fail.
I will certainly fall. But I am meant to come up swingin' - even if I have to cherish the feeling of the hard earth beneath my cheek for longer than most.

Damn.
November again.



It’s only November
passing swiftly
as I plead for you
and fight against everything
that being on my knees will bring

It’s only November
and I wonder
fleetingly
whether or why
there is any reason to cast tears
or remain with grudges everlastingly

It’s only November
and I marvel constantly
why I give small aspects
of me
only to snatch them back
and judge them all unworthy

It is only November
and I am tired
the strain of my forged smile
wearing on the person that I could be
if only I could just let go of November

-------------------------------------

You were right.

I am holding back. I have always held back.
And it is with great consternation that I realize that I am stuck.
Inside of me.

If you can make the floor move under my feet, you're in. (10/26/06)

The knife that cut me was expertly sharpened - the wounding was quick. It'll heal nicely, already starting to scab. But trauma like that is bound to leave a scar. Whenever I look at it, I'll remember. And I'll be damned if I don't learn something this time. It won't be much longer that I take seven steps back for every step that I take forward. One day I'll win this knife fight. And this particular demon is gonna die. Bless.

As for you, maybe your place on the pedestal wasn't completely wasted...you can be the one revered as the ghost that I finally learned from, and laid to rest...RIP.

NOW. Let's just wait and see if I can supress the urge to pick the scab.

Here's what strikes me the most:

The difference in reaction from one person to another. Some people you just instinctively trust. Others get your gaurd up so high, there is no way they're climbin' those walls. And you get to the point where you don't even feel apologetic about it.

I know I don't.

YOU LAUGH TOO LOUD...God, can I never win?



Check THIS out...

The focus of the lens was blurry, as was the focus of my eyes after having crawled out of bed just seconds before. I crack open a lid (yes, I open my eyes after rolling out...that's probably hazardous to my health, huh?) to find that the sky is blood red, doused with black clouds...and I am instantly, painfully, shriekingly awake... "Holy Crap!" then a lot of tripping and slipping and cursing until "yes!!" I found my camera and then "NOOOO!!" I found it with a dead battery. No worries, I will never be defeated for long... you can count on that. I scramble for the power cord, attach to camera, then to the closest outlet to the balcony. Picture me standing in the sliding glass doorway at 6 am holding my camera which is cradled on its port which is plugged into the wall, trying to be steady enough to capture five seconds of beauty. As you can imagine, I bite my lip through from concentration and several more foul words formed on my tongue before I got this...



I stood there in my bare feet, on my balcony that may well be tested for samples by the CDC, and...just what? I was just very still (odd) I just wasn't really thinking much (really?) and I was just very awake (amazing for the sleep to wake ratio that I continue to torture myself with.) I find that I worship these little things...and I am afraid. Adaptable to major change, but afraid, none the less. My biggest fear? Loss. Everything else, tied in somehow. But fear Will not always rule me, even if it is the only thing that I manage to do.

I stare, and breath, stare and breath to imprint, tatoo the image on my brain, sear the colors into my heart. I thank God for this, I ask him to continue such little blessings. Wonder what would happen if things changed...would I find them however I could, or would I let myself be destroyed along with the rest of the world...and I break. To rush into the shower. To shake my fist at the fairies that were supposed to come in the night to do my laundry, but didn't. I sigh when I think of prodding myself onto the cattle car of the subway, and then sigh again when I think of the day that's ahead of me. I continue my day in this vein with a lot of eye-rolling, impatient hand gestures, smart-mouthed comments, tapping fingers and wiggling feet. My only goal, make it to the end of the day so that I can distract myself with whatever I find interesting until I get to do it again...yikes, and again the next day.

FINE.

So I'm describing a large percentage of our society. I will never argue with you when you tell me that everyone does this. At some point. For some amount of time. Or, forever. Fine. And just so's ya know, there enough of the above tiny blessings in my life to keep me a very happy girl. Here's the point (finally!) I have much to be thankful for, a lot that I have been given, and a lot that I have been lucky enough to learn (without dying, going to jail, or...well you get it) But I also have a lot to give. Personally, professionally, spiritually. I know the time will come. Or rather, it's all just going to come busting out, and I'm sure in the strangest way. And I am patient...ish. I guess I feel the need to tell as many people as I can that I will do something, until I actually do it.

My proof? The pictures above. I was my biggest nay-sayer. I will always be. But I walked away from the no-ways and stays when I thought I couldn't. When I thought that it would
be easier to unearth my heart from behind my ribs and hand it back to them. I did. I walked away.

And I guess I will again. It'll be something huge that will inspire me to stay.

Love you, bigun.

All in all, I'm fairly proud of myself. But really, nothing can beat throwing bananas, fighting in bar parking lots, and wandering around the 'hood in nothin' but a robe, holding a painting...

I guess you could say that growing up and gaining perspective has its price, eh?

------------------------------------

It's a damn shock when we realize what we learned from fairytales and Barbies is all a hoax.

"Really? Huh. No white horse? Plenty of handsome men, driven and...wait, they're all self-absorbed idiots who chose work over growing up? Or carousing over building? Or power over love? Or easy over hard? And what do you mean Corvettes don't actually COME in pink? Right then, what you're telling me is, prince charming doesn't exist, there IS no castle, and those friggin' glass slippers I've had my eye out for since I was twelve...those were make believe?....Dammmmmmn it."

Some of us realize this earlier than others. Some of us will always believe and always be dissapointed. And some come to realize that you just have to make your own fairytales. Once you give in to the fact that it might take a little longer than you expect, you're all set. Prince Charming always seemed like a bit of a tool to me, anyway.

So that's ok. I'll wait.

Or rather, I'll try to Listen and create a life that I can be proud of. All I know to be true is that I'm having a hell of a lot of fun in the meantime.

When it all comes down to it, maybe it is a question of how much you mean to me.

Maybe you don't understand.

Fair enough. Now I'm telling you.

My love is strong, and pure. If I love you, I worship you for your strengths, and realize who you are for your weaknesses. Because I am such a potent mixture of both strength and weakness, I see the beauty even in the things that you hate about yourself. I am the one who will see the greatness in you, even when you hurt me. I will defend you, your right to be mixed up, anti-social, angry, sad, silly, skippingly happy, glaringly wrong or triumphantly right. Whatever in this world you could possibly feel is necessary to being you, I support you.

Once I have told you, there is still room to mess up. To disappoint. To annoy and ignore. Because when I say I love you forever, I mean forever. If I have claimed you as mine, a possession of my heart, which is rare, you will exist there always. Love is something that I was born to give, freely and generously with no exceptions. Relationships and friendships are existences that follow the tides. Sometimes full of warm, lolling waves and moon kissed waters. Sometimes waning and choppy, dark and cold. There is no way in our power to control the consistency of the surf, and where the waves will break. But that doesn't mean that we ignore the ocean...we jump in, embrace it, and just hope that we make it out alive. I've come to the point that I've made it out alive enough to know that, even if you hurt me, I will continue to live and live well.

Here is where I warn you:

It takes a strong person to love me back. I deal in respect, consideration, love, loyalty and honesty. All of these things are intertwined. Even if I love you eternally, if you hand me back anything less than what I give you, continually or maliciously or flippantly, I don't have room for you in my life. In my big and strong heart always, but not my life. I will always take care of myself, and if knowing you detracts from the complicated beauty of my life, than I just won't know you anymore.

I'm letting the thoughts in my head put themselves in order.

Then I'll think them.

We'll see how it goes from there.


I want to find the words, so that I can speak my feelings. Currently I wait for Music to pull tears from my eyes, or something beautiful or stark or simple to make my heart swell with whatever to the point of pain...I thought that I was constantly searching for things to make me feel...but it's starting to look like I'm looking for things to make me speak.

Is there really a difference?

Sooo o o o o o sleepy...

It may be the best thing, this being patient stuff. But it's damn BORING...

But I said I wanted it, didn't I?

Ya gotta keep telling me that, folks. Otherwise, this can only end in ruin. And me taking a serious look at cats for the collection.

What it all comes down to is this:

I LOVE my life.

I am in love with the fact that everyday I get to be myself, I get to struggle, to fight, to smile, to cry and laugh. I get to feel a full range of emotions and step in gum, fall off the last step of my spiral staircase when I'm late in the morning and yell at the lady who shoulder-checks me on the side walk. I love the stab of pure pain that I feel when a friend's kid tells me "It's time for you to come home...ok, that's fine, I think I can wait a month," and the rush of sheer delight that somebody misses me, somebody really cares that I am gone. All the more powerful that it's a five year old. I love that I can curse until my very lips turn blue over the fact that people who should know better, don't. Just the feeling of that ripe, juicy f**k squeezing itself from my upstanding vocabulary...bliss. It is the most amazingly beautiful confusion to have loved so hard, so fast and to still feel that love and have absolutely no idea what to do with it. And then to feel the hope and faith that I've known love, I know it's there, so I'm sure that I will find what I'm looking for again, or eventually. Whichever comes first. The sleepless nights that are caused by the terror over the state of the world, and the question of whether or not I will even get the chance to know the love that I'm looking for, that's meant to be in my life always, not just as a lesson. I get to taste the first bittersweet sip of coffee that is used to revive me from that night with no sleep. The exhilaration of busting my ass and and pausing long enough to see that I've done something. I love the assuredness in my soul that everything I do is for me and not them. I may have to nod and smile at the jackasses, but they can't have the script that I'm writing in my heart while I blind 'em with my grin. The first warmed honey feeling that slips through my veins when I can collect myself long enough to write, to relax, to sit down or wind up with my friends after that first cocktail and realize how wonderful things really are.

Everything. I love it. Just to feel. I love it. I can stand on my own two feet and breath, look around and be. A lot of it sucks. And damn if it isn't hard, everyday it get's harder. The lines blur just a little bit more. But even if it's bad, it means that I am HERE. Every moment that I am fully capable is a blessing.

By no means am I dropping the cynicism and getting all pollyanna-ish on you guys - two days from now I'm sure I'll have a proper rant over something worthless like how "people have no awareness of themselves in space, frikkin' A-MAZ-ING." But even those rants make life worth living.

UNFINISHED

I'm all ears
and I'm all doors
all open windows to my soul
with an invitation to
"come on in, love"
without even makin' you
wipe your feet on the threshold.
No worries. That's what I'm here for.

This was posted elsewhere a few months ago, but then I realized that some of you don't read there, so I'm posting it here.



I was out a couple of weeks ago at this place called the Beauty Bar, aptly named b/c it sports a full bar and a nail tech (no I'm not a Manhattanite pro, I just can't think of a better term) who will give you a manicure whilst you kick back with your friends and enjoy a nice cold Newcastle. Bliss.

I, unfortunately b/c my nails are RAGGED, did not partake in the spa moment, but I did meet a very interesting character. I'll set up the situation by telling you that my last words of the evening to this Man were "I wish I could have met you when you were sober." Ah, how many nights have I ended on that note? Anyhow, this guy was, well, what I consider the full package...minus the fact that he was listing-to-the-side-intoxicated...usually not enticing by any means, but this was an exception. What can I say, maybe my standards are slipping.

I pause for a moment to pose this question to you: when you are out at a bar, or in any social setting, what are the first few things out of your mouth when you meet someone? In Manhattan, there is actually a script. Good God, there must be, 'cause everyone you encounter asks you about the same thing "where are you from? Why are you here? What do you do?" I find that these questions are asked everywhere - they are a good way to find similar interests and people in common, but all in all, it's the lazy approach.

So, the aforementioned drunken package (take that term however you want) peered at me blearily when I got past his name (I have since forgotten it), asked him where he was from (New Zealand) and moved on to what he did for a living. "Right," he says, "the interview questions." and heaves a big sigh.

Huh.
I must say, that statement right there piqued my interest. I do love a challenge. Put on the spot like that and a little bit frazzled over having an intelligent, verbal sparing match with the human Leaning Tower of Pisa, the best rapid fire, indignant response I could come up with was "Fine! Then what's your favorite color?" Wha'? Who replaced me with the lame girl?
We managed a few more lopsided encounters, with me eye-checking my friends to keep them from intervening at one point when boy wonder actually started leaning on ME. His exit came when I had focused my attention on the bartender, turned back around, and found him vanished. Actually, Lindz said he stumbled away taking out several bystanders in his path, but the bar was busy and it took me awhile to get my beer so, to me, *poof* he was gone.
But what good is someone if they don't make you think? Here are my mental notes from this chance encounter:
1. Stop meeting men at bars (this doesn't count, it's on every list and it's really only worked out for me once)
2. Mix it up a little when meeting new people. If they're cool, they will play along when you ask them "what color are the walls in your apartment?" or "what was the name of your childhood teddy bear?" If they are not, they'll look at you like your head is on fire (a look that I am well acquainted with) and slap out of the boxing ring gracefully.
3. As I am a girl, my handle on the guy perspective is a little skewed. I try to put myself in their shoes, and sometimes I'm told that I should have been a guy 'cause I tend towards thinking and acting like one, but really I haven't a clue. What they must think when girls trot out the standard fare of introductory lingo...seems like they might be wondering why they felt like they were on a job interview instead of meeting a pretty girl.
4. From here on out, I will be disappointed if these questions come out of my mouth. I hereby pledge to ask guys questions that will allow me to get to know them, instead of sizing him up like a prospector inspecting a gold nugget.
Discuss amongst yourselves.

Do you like it like that?

Good.

Me too.


For the life of me, I cannot stave off that impatient nature...right NOW...
I want to make my "nature" tangible, and then shake it by the shoulders, slap it lightly about the face, douse it in cold water, and man, if that doesn't work, beat all hell out of it with a stick...whatever it takes to keep me from leaping before I look only to end up right back where I started. I would rather deal with the rocky shores of being alone than be back in the vast ocean of where I came from. That's a road that needs to be less traveled for me.

I want to reap the benefits without sewing the seeds that will lead to the REAL rewards - why am I such a pop-culture instant gratification no patience kinda kid?

I believe that God created the Fire that I am messing with.

I believe that I have been akin to an insolent teenager in my relationship with God. I've basically told him with my actions, or lack there of, and thoughts that "yeah, I get it. Higher power. You're in charge. I trust in You, here to do Your will, but I'm gonna do things my way first, 'k? Only to ask for you to pick me up and brush me off, set me in the right direction, every time I stumble and inevitably fall. Again and again."

Age old story really. "Nothing to see here, folks. Move it along." As humans we are equally cocky and needy, invincible and fragile, all knowing and without any damn answers at all. NO ONE knows what they are doing. Your best bet is to figure out how in this world to stand above it all, every day and every heartbeat. While it is a struggle for me to get out of bed each day, and stay out of it for the whole day - there is such a desire to leave my time stamp on this place that it's frightening. I am not scared of that passion. I am scared that I will never bring it to life, never hold its brand new head in the moonlight to sip at the atmosphere and the salty water that it would need to create the red blood and tough skin that it takes to survive.

If whatever this is stays stuck inside of me, it will die. I'm running out of things to feed it - it's growing tired of sampling the buffet of old bad habits and ridiculous rituals, drinking from the tonic of fear and laziness that I've been using to numb its fervor for years. It doesn't want to play with society's toys anymore; the offerings of beauty and money and SAMENESS are batted away, making it frustrated and enraged. Now it's become menacing, threatening to give up and lay down and wave the white flag of regret and resignation, fade away fitfully with the millions of other souls that have done this very thing.

If whatever this is dies, then...WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS THE POINT?

Some say faith. Some say money. Power. Making a difference. Making yourself happy. Making others happy.

Well once again I feel the buoyant need to welling up inside of me to scream "AHHH! Shut UP!" To all of those voices. I am tired of them clawing at me, distracting me, making me the poster child for adult ADD, leaving me feeling inadequate and empty. You may be reading this now and thinking "what is she ON about? Batty girl." And I am thinking that it is my desire to say "I don't care if you don't get it" that is pulling the polar opposite direction of my desire to make you all understand me. If I can't stop that tug of war then I will be nothing. that I am proud of. I want nothing if not to be unique. I enjoy the beat of my different drum, and I'd prefer to dance, not march, to it. Insert whining here "why's it gotta be so hard?"

Penney says that the world is gonna end.

Well, I say...

PONY UP! Let's get this shit done right!

Now that I've gotten the redneck outta my system...

I'm going to try and strive for NOT VAGUE. I know at least one person who will appreciate that. The rest of you might wish I would have let Pandora keep her box shut.

It is a blast to find out my only cousin has good, sensible, diverse taste in music. That way, if he's the only one left to take care of me and the cats when I get old, at least I can rest assured that my ears won't bleed or I won't be killed from boredom.

That's all I got.

Let's talk about anger for a minute. How sneaky, how elusive. How fucking destructive it can be. And then, while reflecting on anger, let's talk about love.

You want more?

Then tell me about anger.

'Cause I am at an absolute loss.

We toasted with rose champagne and ate blackberries to celebrate your existence, all the way up here in The City. I am so excited to meet you, little one. You and I are going to be fast friends.

If the actual event could invoke the feelings that the anticipation created, life would indeed be grand.

I live in a pretend world.
I may joke, call my existence parallel and extoll you with tales of talking to myself and how things happen in MY world...but really I'm not fooling...myself - I CREATE MY OWN UNIVERSE. And I am slowly beginning to avoid living in the "real" one all I can.

I can see
myself
calling out your
name
and meeting
a knowing glance.
Is it fair
that when it
rains
it pours?


Why do we have to kill the magic with reality? Will I always have to hold and see how long it'll be before the bomb drops?

That's exactly
what a muse is...
music
ambiance
and the gentleman barfly
touting a very interesting
prospect.

When exactly did I become a Gold Miner?

Awww! The Kids! Everybody, meet Ashley, Eric, and Tim. That's me on the right, for those of you who haven't seen me for awhile!

So I managed to get an internet signal for, oh, probably six seconds. Now watch, though. I'll write the prize-worthy prose of my life thus far and lose it all 'cause I'm still too cheap to get internet. *Knock on wood*...wait, is cheap IKEA furniture even made out of wood?

I have to say this. Because I can't control my mouth...what? At least I know...but I have to say that I really do hate you. I do. I hate you. Even though I believe that hate is wasted energy. Even though I understand that hate indicates true, deep feelings, whatever those may be. I do. It'll go away and I'll read this years from now and laugh and be embarassed that I was so intense, once again. But I've never really been one to deny how I feel. Why start now?

K, now that I've gotten that outta the way...

By the way, I'm scheming. And by scheming I do mean planning and biding my time until I get what I came here for. If nothing else, being surrounded by all that surrounds me makes me salivate over what I want even more. And ya'll know me when I'm hungry. I drool. tehe. Or I indulge in what I want.

There are definite benefits to knowing what I want. Cheers to being an only child.

The spell check isn't working right now. Forgive me.

What right do I have to lose hope? To lose faith in myself?

Who am I to not do everything in my power to live the life that I know I'm supposed to live? When the only struggle that I face is a struggle against myself?

I am gut-wrenchingly tired of hiding from myself.

"Eddie, huh?
And you're a Marine?
Right. I gotta go. "

I swear to you I have radar.

Happiness of the day:
A new little person has been added to our extended family list. Welcome, Lillian Claire Kibler! You're just here, and there are so many that love you already. Bless, baby girl!

Saddness of the day:
Stace, it's so hard. I'm here for you babe, and we're keeping your Grandma in our thoughts. I love you.


You broke with your pattern
you want to let flow
the trillions of addicts
that make you so slow.
Each love that you're scared of,
each failure you meet
passes you the handcuffs
with a smile, so sweet.
Daggers will cut you
boulders will sway
only to tempt
all the passion away.
Chains will embrace you
and although you weep
your best bet for freedom
is getting to your feet.
Champion of nothing
but master of all
when beauty and charm lose,
what will save you from The Fall?
You can't stand the darkness
the light burns your eyes
grey areas create patterns
and no one will ever be the wise.
It all may destroy you,
your hard earned facade.
But do you want the world to lose you
and not even feel odd?

As the tears
penetrate the Level V
of my eyes,
the Pureness of
the First
Raw
un-thought of emotion
rolls down my cheeks,
Recklessly abandoning
The spirit of my
stubborn, sacred rigidness.
Finally, I am spent.

There is nothing so powerful as letting the walls fall down.

Even if only for a slip of time. Even if only in the dark, alone. Ironically, being alone in the dark with no walls makes me want to laugh, and cry, and lay my cheek against your heart...maybe not again, but definitely someday.

How's that for vague, Monkey?

Thanks to William and the Girls for a beautiful evening. My heart is too big to pin on my sleeve, filled as it is with love for this City. Filled as it is...my memories will always warm me.

I slept away the better part of yesterday...

Woke up long enough to speak to my Mom, and what did I tell her, of all the things I did yesterday?

I held a baby.
Might not mean anything to you, but it's Miracle Grow for my mind, apparently.

Well, the discovery was delayed, but I've finally found what Broadway shows are all about. The are all about FABULOUS! Yea, I said it. I was skeptical at first, but they really are quite magical. We saw The Odd Couple the first night, and it was flippin' hilarious. The energy between the actors, the detail of the sets, the reverence and tradition of the theatre goers...I'm tellin' you some of those people took this VVVERY seriously. The best thing was, I knew one of the actors (Mike Starr, who played Murray) and I got to see him on his second night with the show!! We went to see Rent the next night, and there are very few times that I can say something like that has made my face leak...literally, tears with no effort what so ever, they just CAME OUT. It was so beautiful, so passionate and sweet. What talented, amazing people.

I'm fighting all of the old demons, full force. Some I feel like I have under control...ummm, kind of, and others are really winning the battle. I feel like I've got the war all sewed up though, so I won't be too picky.

It's supposed to snow again tonight. I find myself looking for it every five seconds, because the first moments of snow freeze time. Makes everything quiet. It all stops, just for a fraction of an instant, and it is blissful. The flakes are fat and soft, feathery, like down from an angel's wing. Now I know I'm not caught smack in the middle of the bunches of snow storms back to back, so that's why I still like it now. Catch me next month when I'm bitterly cursing every particle of the white condensation.

I'm getting strong enough to face it all. I'm just becoming quite curious as to what "it" will be.

God. Fiiiinnaally...

TURN THE WHEEL, PULL THE BRAKE. "I turned the wheel, and pulled the brake. I am sooo not trying to be funny right now!"

Thank you Sammy Wright. You broke my heart, but I came out of our "relationship" with more than a few valuable lessons. Most having to do with cars, but none the less...

And YOU...I was so HAPPY to see you. Settling into yourself. Becoming more of the woman that I knew you will be. Whatever. It makes sense in my head.

Man, I can just HOPE that you read this.

What a ride this has been. 4 months gone, and it's still the same. Shawn says that it'll never change. I tend to agree with her, but then there's the fact that I refuse to say never. And I cannot even begin to describe the mixed emotions that I feel finally finding a home and then having to leave it. I say have like it was a necessity. Those that know me, know I'm not being typical drama queen. I HAD TO GO. The flip side of that may eventually be that I HAD TO COME BACK. But oh my GOD, I am loving every second of being there. Can my soul belong to two places and still find another soul to belong to?

"It's a beautifuull day..."

Yeah for the Ashley, AKA the Weather Girl, calling me three time from the U2 concert in Hot-lanta. I'm miles and miles away, and I still got chills listening to them over the phone. Two of the Four get to rock it out - I'm so simultaneously jealous of and happy for you.

Matthew if I knew your middle name I would put it here Hevey, if you do not call me soon I will begin to take it personally it's not as if I smell bad or look funny because I am far far away and I would rather not be worried about you anymore at least e-mail me your address so I can send you a CD that I bought specifically for you because the band made me think of you and I miss you so throw a sister a bone here. Whew!

I HATE BEING A WAITRESS. It's all in the title; SERVE-R. One who SERVES. Blech. Is what I think about that.

Oh boy, am I in a mood. Think I'll go to bed and let my spirit ruminate on this one in my dreams.

"Met a girl in the setting sun...
knew right away she was a special one...
lost the girl but she soon returned...
with one more chance and a
lesson learned..."

Alonely - Panic and the Rebel Emergency

That's right, I'm talkin' to you.

I saw a band tonight, at Arlene's Grocery in the East Village. A bit of sublime revisited. A bit of the St. Augustine, Stir It Up flavor. "Every little thing's, gonna be alright..." MY GOD. I fell in love again tonight. Such a voice. Such a combination of hemp cord and silk...the way life should feel, the way love should be. Rough and hard and beautifully sweet. And the energy - these guys loved each other, what they were doing, the music that inhabited their souls that they were now able to share with us. I know that I have some creativity of my own to share. And I think I should be so blessed.

So naturally my mind goes into high gear, and I start thinking of all the wise things I've heard people say about doing what you love. It seems to me that letting go of the inhibitions, reaching for what you want and what you really and truly desire, starts those things that are supposed to happen in motion. "Here I am life. Here is everything good, everything bad that I possess, take it, it's yours." In return, you get what you came here for. Not to say that life is a fairytale; all will be perfect in the end, with white horses and wonderful princes and castles in a cloudless, sunset-tinted sky. But life will be real, ya know? Something that just is, instead of an existence that is forced into some little mold that everyone assumes is happiness.

Thank God. Thank You so much for the music. The words. They are what life is to me. And thank You for allowing me to be in a place where all of this is at my fingertips.

"Here I am waiting...
waiting patiently...
'cause I know my blessing
is coming to me yeah
here I am kneeling on my knees
giving thanks and praises
for all I recieve yeah

Oh it's never as hard as it seems...
as long as there's life there are hopes
and dreams..."

Here I am - Panic and The Rebel Emergency

I really appreciate Irony. That's all I'm saying.

"This bread is cold."
"Well we can't have that, may I bring you some more?"
"But this bread is cold."
"Yes ma'am, and I'll be right back with some warm bread for you."
"Are you going to bring us some bread that's warm?"
"I sure will, and would you like some more warm bread as well?"
"Yes, that will be fine."

I swear, this woman was well over three hundred years old and that was the only reason her life was spared. My sanity, however, suffered a serious blow. What's funny is, the bread wasn't supposed to be warm. But you're not gonna find me arguing with an eccentric blue-hair whose got more money than Trump and probably more influence. She even asked me later if I was ok after I dropped that big tray. I wasn't in the dining room when the tray was dropped but I told her I was fine and it was nice that she was asking after my well-being. Her concern was touching really, even though she couldn't have picked me out of a line-up with all of the male waiters. It's not her fault she can't see.

I joke around, but really this lady was quite charming, if quite deaf. That's one of the things I love about working at this restaurant, the distinguished, older clientele. Two in particular stand out as my favorites.

The Gentleman

By far the most impressive gentleman I have yet to meet, a man who still lives up to the title, is Mr. Butler, who comes in every Sunday for brunch. He dines alone, though I am sure there would be several people willing to break bread with him. Many people know of him; you might say he has a fan club of sorts. Dapper to the point of beauty, he arrives dressed in a three-piece suit, overcoat, and umbrella, even when it's not raining. He knows several of us by name (including me, I am proud to say) and nods and smiles regally at the other guests as he is shown to his table. He has an appetizer, an entree and two glasses of red wine. The red wine served with his meal is always Italian...he is actually the reason we changed our wine list to include more Italian wines, because he diplomatically expressed his disappointment with the fact that there were so few on the list. Sometimes he splurges and orders dessert, but not often, and sometimes, between courses, none of us are surprised to see him catching a quick cat nap, chin resting lightly on his chest. I'm not sure how old Mr. Butler is, but if asked to venture a guess, I would say between 70 and 80. I am impressed by him simply because of the class that he exudes. He is gentle and kind, but commands respect, and I wouldn't be surprised if he knew the true meaning of life and several of the secrets involved with living well and happily. He wishes us all a good week when he departs, and heads on his way home. If only there were more like him.

The Retired New York Broad

I mean the term broad as no offense, but more of an admiring recognition of one of my own, well aged and funny as hell. Her name is Madeline, Miss Madeline to me, and while she annoys the aprons off of most the staff, I think she is brazen and therefore great. When I waited on her, she asked for a Bloody Mary "Less bloody and more mary...I swear I ask for it like that everytime, but it always come out the same way." complimentarysay, she enjoyed her complimetary beverage, as well as her friend's, because the hand that poured each drink was a bit heavy - I swear somebody knocked my elbow...both times. Madeline might come alone, or with a few friends, but she'll tell you that everyone she likes is dead and she's only passing the time with these people. Her friends may or may not be sitting there when she says it, and they'll either insult her back or blatantly ignore her. If her companions are a pain she'll tell you to ignore them, nevermind that fact that she is pushy and picky as well. But she can be charmed and becomes fabulous when she relaxes. It's the attention she desires, and she'll do what she can to get it. I'm all for giving to this wonderful character.

I hope I get to be as impressive as these two.

If I could expose my breast to you
open the cavity
that holds my reality
that tangible symbol of life
no doubt would be that I am alive.
Right?

Simplified, life is breath
sustenance, waste, and renewal.
It'd be a magnificent trick
to coax the soul into
thinking that life was simple.
As my attention fades
I think of all the simple things
that create life as a maze.

My sanity wanders
head thrown back
arms outstretched,
I turn in faster and faster circles,
spinning, dizzying. Giddy.
Embracing it all and understanding
nothing permanent.

The perception shifts every second
that I turn in this spiral
here a question
there an answer
then a feeling
next a logical derivative
explaining said wayward toss of my heart.

When I stop spinning
the horizon tilts
I grasp my knees,
and know that I must become intent
on a fixed spot in the distance
so as not to faint dead away
fall permanently
into spinning routine
of doubt and expected deliverance.

It is fall.
And my nose is cold,
and I am happy
from acting like a five year old.
As my head clears,
Hazy Distance becomes sharper
colors bolder, impressive.

It is so still in this cold.
so beautiful, and yes, simple.
I will that cold clarity to seep into my bones
even with the recognition
that anything warm
will be gratefully accepted to change it.

Your words
behind me
leave subtle grievances...
but nothing I can't handle.

When you nurture your soul, and will it to radiate from the very core of who you are, you will find others who are doing the same. No matter where you are, no matter what you have been through. Life is hard, but it is so worth it.

Never deny Me.
Never deny My children.
You might not know why, but take care of My people.



Do you know that I think about you?
And my guilt makes me guilty?
I can hear the pittance
rattling in your cup
like your bones
in a body ravaged by the world
and your mind.

There is a double-edged sword
that hovers always round my pulse points
drawing not blood but hot white tears
of frustration and confusion.
I cry searing intentions and doubts
then get wounded by the blade of the sword
inscribed with
"But what did you do?"
next second
a fresh cut is opened by the side that says
"But what can I do?"

In a blanket
seeming to have grown out of concrete
you appear but invisible.
people hand you their shame
disguised as clinking metal coins
and I wonder if you can even see them anymore.
Do you judge them,
as they judge you?

I'll sit across the street from you
forever in my mind.
I'll watch as you tremble
with a sickness,
stare as you writhe
in your own private hell.

My arms ache to hold you,
to hand you to God.
My mind glues my Indignant Hero Skin
to the other side of the street,
where I have been blessed enough
to arrive...

SERVER NOT FOUND. Hmmm. Well, that's Ironic, idn't?

When I stand in my bathroom, I can hear opera. A strong, cultivated voice wafts up from somewhere in the building, and I smile. Even when I am sloth-esque and dim eyed in the morning, the sound of her voice makes me breath. She is practicing her trade, here to fulfill a dream like so many others. I may have seen the opera singer in passing, but other wise she is completely anonymous to me. Even so, I feel connected to her. Which is something that is unusual to my mind. Roots are a coveted thing in my imagination, and very rarely have I felt the rich earth permanently surrounding mine. Here, the energy is something that you can just plug in to. There is not a precise something that you need to fit. You take the energy and make it your own, whatever shape, form, consistancy you want it to be. Sometimes I feel like I'm the round peg getting shoved into the square hole, but it's fleeting, and that's a good thing.

I went to a Rosh Hashanah service with Robbie yesterday. Of course my appetite for all things religious was whetted immediately. I was very touched to share this New Year celebration with Robin and Dotan, to experience the community bond and feel the current of a different type of faith. Different principles, different beliefs, but the message is the same to me. It's all about love and acceptance. Making peace with yourself and the world, and nurturing your relationship with God. Doing good things and contributing positiveness into this convoluted world.

Here are two prayer that really struck a chord in my soul:

Prelude to the Amidah

Don't let me fall
Like a stone that drops on the hard ground.
And don't let my hands become dry
As the twigs of a tree
when the wind beat down the last leaves.
And when the storm rips dust from the earth
Angry and howling,
Don't let me become the last fly
Trembling terrified on a windowpane.
Don't let me fall.
I have so much prayer,
But as a blade of your grass in a distant, wild field
Loses a seed in the lap of the earth
And dies away,
Sow in me your living breath,
As you sow a seed in the earth.

**************************

And I have felt
A presence that disturbes me with a joy
of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
of something far more deeply interfused
whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
and the round ocean and the living air,
and the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
a motion and a spirit, that impels
all thinking things, all objects of all thought
and rolls through thinking things.

*****************************

Introduction to the Amidah

I yearn for God,
I seek God's face,
I ask of God the power of expression,
so that I might sing, amid my people, of God's power.
I express my joy in God's creative acts.
I know that thoughts are human but that poetry belongs to God.
I ask of you, my sovereign, open my lips. Then shall I tell your glory.
May my words of prayer, my heart's meditation be seen favorably, Precious One,
My rock,
my champion.

Amen.

I CAN'T HELP THE WAY MY FACE IS. SO BACK OFF.

Listen UP:

I am 4 years away from 30, and I have been playing with you fools since I was 22. I have not the tolerance for your tired mantras, so find a girl who looks like she's listening, and throw your BS game her way. If I look aloof, it's because I'm not interested in you. I don't have the energy to be cute to your face and then roll my eyes when you walk away. I prefer for you to know from the beginning, that way we're not wasting each other's time. Bitchy? Probably. The reason that I'll be single for a long time? Maybe. Please forgive me for not settling for typical. If you think that I'm down for what you're after, I'm not. And if you really want to know me, you have to try as hard as I do. And I try hard. Sheesh.

New pet peeve:

Guys that I've just met telling me to loosen up. "Smile girl! Have some fun!" I saw a girl nestle a drink in her cleavage last night, and then a brawn but no brains picked her up and tilted her just the right way so that he could drain the drink from its precarious position. What, because that's not my idea of fun, I'm not having any? If I don't have a 3000 watt perma-grin shellacked onto my face, I'm not a happy person? Bite me, how's that for happy? I couldn't behave that way if I wanted to (lack of cleavage). Quit harassing me because you don't know what to do with the girl who doesn't simper and stand on her head to get your attention. And what about this for a novel approach: "Hi my name is (insert your name here). What's your name? Nice to meet you!" So easy. So refreshing and attention getting. Absolutely and utterly impossible, apparently.

But I digress from my happy outlook on life. Uhhh...yeah, ok. We'll go with happy outlook for now.

Kick back in my step, smile on my face, and confidence back in my voice. Yeah...yeah, I can do that.

That was one of the best conversations I've had in a long time.
Thank you, Daddy.

I miss you all. A lot. And it sneaks up on me, making tears leak out of my eyes, no matter how much blinking and fanning I do. I'm not above crying in a bathroom stall, and I'm trying not to strain beneath the weight of my own criticism. I am happy for the new smiles, the new languages, the new grace...it's the old smiles and familiar tones and worn in, comfortable grace that are reminding me of who I am right now, that are whispering to me even if I think the air is silent. I find power in knowing you are there, and you know me for who I am. And love me so.

Even if I forget to give you a spoon.

A fight broke out. Origin, unknown. Yelling, bowing up, removal of clothing to prepare the fists for full swing. Women, screaming on the side, using logic and shrillness to diffuse the climax of this scene. A child darts out, and yanked aside by the arm like a precious stuffed monkey, she might have wondered during her arc through the air between the sidewalk and safe haven of store door, "why are they fighting?" Circling ensues, like prize fighters in the ring, like a bull and a matador intent on the others first move. An arm is extended, the hand rigid. Fed by the world's movie bred illusions, the air waits to be filled with gunshots. But no, it's an olive branch, not a piece of deathly steel. The opponent's body language stutters, and then comprehension clears the tension from the air as if it was erased. They grasp hands, a man's handshake. Much gesturing and explaining leads way to a man hug, the stout grip of opposite paws, the chest touch, and the vigorous back pounding. Resolution sings a bittersweet song. It is much better to be relieved and whole than to be proven right and dead.

All of this was executed in English, in my neighborhood, at the end of a busy day. It could have happened on mars in a Martian dialect, for all I understood. I don't even have to leave my house - there's theatre in the streets.

I walk A LOT. Which I love. And my feet hate. My toes and heels look like they're about to fall off. I think they might, just to prove a point. And walking in fit-lops in New York City gives new meaning to the term "Jiffy feet." Alicia ain't got nothin' on me no more.

So, I'm trying to take mytendenciesendancies and use them as a ladder to climb to a different level in my life. Because, as I've said countless time before, the things I fret about, the things that I really let fray my nerves, they are stupid things, compared to what others have to worry about. I have to concentrate on being as large in reality as I am in my mind, in my fiction. It is a struggle for me to use my voice, but I have to find ways to give it strength. My life is GRAND, isn't it?

I've mentioned it here before, but I just want to put the thought in your hearts again. My Aunt Jan Kibler (not my Dad's sister, but my Mom's best friend) is not doing well. She is in the hospital right now, and the easiest to say is that it's complications from surgery. Please pray for her. For her recovery, her strength. And pray for her husband, and My Boys. She really needs all of the positive energy she can get. She has much to live for.

PURSUE HAPPINESS.

Who knew that happiness could take so many forms?

I don’t suppose
That you could hold my heart
For but a minute
I’ll take it back
When it is done
In the meantime
It’s better that you have it.

Meaning no offense
Just trying to be heartfelt
Itself
This beating thing
Has turned me in again
To a fluttering bull
Pirouetting through
The Devotion china shop.

This thing
Out of touch with my brain
Tells me that the china shop
Is safe
Is sane
But no, oh not to be fooled
I belong in a heartland
Where I can stampede.

Not tiptoe.

So you can have it
For now
Give it back
When it’ll let go
And has learned the lesson
That most seem already to know
Risk is necessary
Chance is the nourishing blood,
Understood, but love is dual.

Pride and disinterest are not.



Step aside please. I have a beautiful life to attend to and create everyday, so I don’t have time for you, damn meddling thoughts. I am right with the world. Living my dream. Stepping out of my comfort zone and pushing myself beyond my limit every chance I receive. So be gone, your shenanigans are not needed here.

Once again, I am turning to ambiguous, generic yet meaningful encrypted thoughts to convey how I feel, instead of trying to push an envelope that I have mailed and gotten back, return to sender, countless times. I have to be constantly reminded that just b/c I feel a certain way, have standards of treatment and a specific way of doing things, doesn’t mean that all of the people I have interacted with share my views.

For example…you, you big f-ing shadow.

I have the worst possible track record when it comes to caring about men who don’t reciprocate. Or maybe they did care for a fraction of an instant, and I chose to interpret too much or just not let go when the time came to do so. Or maybe they did but I was just much more than they could handle. Or maybe they did but I pushed too hard. Or maybe they did but they were UNABLE TO DEAL WITH THEIR OWN SHIT and therefore had not the capacity to try and deal with mine too (do you see why just THINKING is exhausting for me?).

You will notice, of the above “or maybes” only one shares the burden with one of the past…things. Some people can accept the fact that things don’t work out, for whatever reason, and then they, what? Say it with me, class, “MOVE ON.” I have a horrible habit of blaming myself and thinking that I could have changed things, when really things weren’t even worth the effort to change, because I was the only one trying.

Well, I’ve moved on. I am willing, ready and able to step away from fear and stop holding doubt’s hand. I am trying to make better choices, and take more risks, if you can do both at the same time. My life is constantly reshaping itself, and my brain and heart and soul are constantly shifting their focus, so that eventually I will be able to obtain my goals. I know how I deserve to be treated, because I have been treated so well all of my life.

What I’m having a hard time understanding is why I cried. Why I worried. Why my first instinct (and my instincts are usually true to form) was to call, and even if I wasn’t acknowledged, to let it be known that I was praying and thinking about someone who finds it easier than breathing to pretend that I don’t exist. It may be taking the higher road, and learning to swallow the swords of pride and stubbornness.

After I have dealt with the rollercoaster o’ crap that usually accompanies anything having to do with those who were once in my life but now aren’t for whatever reason, I am moved to this shocking sentiment. Whatever. All of the thinking in the world will not bring me the answers. But living my life without looking back at regret will bring me a better future. For all of the ways that I struggle, I know one thing to be true…

I am me, and I am damn good at it. And that’s all I can ask of myself, isn’t it?

That being said.

I heard about your accident, and I am terribly sorry you are hurt. My family is praying for you, and I wish you the best and quickest of recoveries. I would say that if you need me, I am here to talk to, but that would be futile, because you should already know that. If you don’t, it’s not because I haven’t tried. Too much.

I love you, all of you, and I miss you so very much. Thank you for listening, for cheering for me, for reminding me that I can do this even when I am sobbing and hollow with homesickness. The plan is to surpass even my expectations, which are very high. But whatever I do, I love it here, and there is no doubt in my mind that I am doing the right thing.

The things that I am worried about are so trivial.

There are things in this world that terrify me, infuriate me, insult my sensibilities right down to the very being of who I am. There are countless situations that I cannot control, and standing on the side-lines, feel that there has to be better solutions to a multitude of sins. But what am I doing? Worrying about whether or not I text-messaged a stale old ghost? Wondering where I'm gonna get a job, IF I can get a job that I want, if it will afford me the ability to live the life that I've been accustomed to?

Well, a big fat shut the hell up to these petty grievances. I have a place to live. I have food, clean water. My family and friends are safe and even if I get a job at a DRY CLEANERS for the interim, at LEAST I HAVE A CITY TO FIND A JOB IN.

I am SO SORRY. Half of the world that is not bitching about gas prices is wondering what to do, where to start, if they could even do enough. I believe that we could all walk out of the door today and find some way to help. If you don't know, figure it out. I think anything would do right now. If you can't afford money or time, which I understand, then pray. In whatever form you find prayer useful. We can all be useful, and if you find a need, please let me know. I will be searching too.

A few lines that calmed me today:

"...How do I guess at the future? Based on the omens of the present. If you pay attention to the present, you can improve upon it. And, if you improve on the present, what comes later will also be better. Forget about the future, and live each day according to the teachings, confident that God loves his children."

"There is only one way to learn...It's through action. Everything you need to know you have learned through your journey."

"Don't give into your fears. If you do, you won't be able to talk to your heart."

And most importantly, which you all remind me constantly of:

"This is what we call love. When you are loved, you can do anything in creation. When you are loved, there is no need at all to understand what's happening, because everything happens within you, and even men can turn themselves into the wind. As long as the wind helps, of course."

-The Alchemist

My prayers are with you, you people of the ruins. I am sure that your hearts have filled past bursting, and you are just concentrating on getting them to beat again. I am so sorry for what you have been through and what you still have to go through. My prayers are for strength, unity, and healing. Bless.

A member of my extended family, as well as the loved ones that surround her, is suffering right now. Aunt Jan Kibler, I am thinking of you, and sending good energy your way. I love you very much and hope that this road isn't too long or too hard to bear.


I can do this, because I can do anything. I can keep my chin up, and I can rock this place. The way that I want to rock this place. I have so much at my finger-tips right now, it's humbling. But the energy of this city is empowering. I tell you, you can feel it. It's palpable. I don't know what's going to happen or how I'm going to do this...hell, I don't know anything at all. But I think that's half the fun. That's half of the experience in itself.

I have a view of the river
the strain of a song
tiny feet that will pitter
and a resolve that is strong
I'm watching aliens in windows
their naked expressions
my landscape
and great joy in a hand shake
this city is in me
been all along
I will court it and nurture it
and see what will come.
You wrap your arms around me
and I will accept these urban flaws
You use my energy to power your lights
And I'll use your lights to build
my energy into the power I desire.

Thank you for the opportunity.

Check list:

Yankees game (ten rows up, phenominal) check
Harbour cruise to observe the skyline of my New City, check
Getting on the wrong train, check
Giggling hysterically at the fabulous accents, check and double check
rushing off of the subway to find a break-dancing crew performing, then thinking, "My God, this is what I came here for," check
getting my ass grabbed twice in two days in the subway, check
wittnessing some kind of drama at Grand Central Station and thinking "God, what am I doing here?" check, once again.

The list grows everyday. All of my senses and emotions are %100 engaged and it is gloriously draining. This is what I wanted. Being gloriously drained leaves absolutely no energy for misbehaving.

I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT I'M HERE!!!

"So tomorrow is just another day that I get to dance..."

I may falter, stumble, hesitate, and fall, but I will always get back up to dance. You can be sure of that.

Everything I see, everything I hear, all of the signs...

they're all about New York.

And that's good.

I could sell a book filled with all of the pep-talks I've been giving myself everytime I see a photo or a shot of the city on TV. I have a feeling I am going to be bruised from pinching myself for several weeks to come. And honestly it hasn't all really hit me yet. That may be a long time coming, definitely when I least expect it.

So now, I have to condense all of my into an essence. And I have to find the words to say thank you, the RIGHT way. Because without you people...I can't quite even imagine.

"Awww, yes sir! I am a bitch. A crazy bitch! Ask him," she says, pointing to yet another specter of boyfriends past, "I'm sure he'd love to tell you all about it." Leaving him with a wink and a blown kiss, she walked away, grinning through the turmoil that festered inside.

And the truth is, I just can't help myself. You, collectively, might think that the inability to let go is something that is unique to the situation you were a part of. Nope, this is a personality problem that will always handicap me. I've had thoughts of changing it, and maybe someday I will develop the resolution and willpower to do so. But until then, I'll just have to work around it, won't I? Who knows; maybe I'm addicted to the drama, and I call it upon myself...wait, that's the absolute truth, what do I mean, who knows?

I am a walking contradiction in terms. I don't need a man to be happy and have a fabulous life doing what I am doing, even if I drive everyone, especially me, crazy in the process. I don't need that space in my life filled right now, but I want it to be eventually. I want the ideal, and I am so busy trying to locate it that I'm blind to all other things.

"Kelly, the dog did it."
"Do you believe in fate?"
"Call me when you are the person that you want to be."
"Please welcome, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Chastain!"
"What do you want me to tell you, Kelly? What do you want me to say?"

I "fall in love" with everything that stands still long enough to deal with me. I find the ones who are intense, who are hurt and confused, and I am drawn to them because I am fascinated by larger, male versions of me. I mistake physical things for emotional things and even when I know better I try to self-medicate with hugs and caresses that leave me scrubbed completely clean of anything real. I think that I miss a person when really I miss wrapping him around me as insulation against all of the issues that I am trying to ignore. I push too hard for too long 'til eventually even I'm asking me, "what the HELL is wrong with you, psycho?"

And I am filled with the pervasive desire to apologize, everytime I horrify myself. I want everyone to know that I am not really like this, that I am strong and not needy and I don't really need anyone. I constantly want to make right what I am constantly doing wrong, which is giving you the impression that this is about you. No need to pretend that either of us was perfect. It just wasn't right, and even though I know that, true connections for me are so few and far between I am fierce about letting them go. What I forget when my brain goes numb is that there is nothing that I can do when the feeling is not mutual.

All I ever wanted, before I periodically make things magnitudes worse than they really are, was closure. From all of you. I struggle with a lot that none of you know about, and it has become the pattern for men in my life to perpetuate my worst nightmare. I also hold with the cycling of wanting the ones who are most likely to do this.

The one who I know isn't likely at all to do this might well be out of my reach.

God's will rules my life, so I'll just have to say he must have bigger and badder lined up for me.

If you read this, think whatever you want. I am done with the parallel universe thing. I am tired of floating over my body watching myself do things I would never do when sober or thoughtful. I will always be praying, and you will always be a thread in the fabric that I am creating. Even if you couldn't find it in you to do this, and I couldn't find it in me to not take it back...

I am through.

I am really struggling here.

I am dealing with some anger. Some fear. Insecurity. Of course some anxiety but I can't stop breathing, can I?

I am trying to figure out what makes me shut down. So I can stop it. I don't like working against myself because it consumes so much energy. I draw into myself and become despondent, disappointed when I am lonely. The very independence that has become my anthem and my sole reason for being single and bitchy tends to isolate me, and I am frustrated by it.

My body is numb, and my being is listless. I have to stop this.

I refuse to keep on defeating myself.

Success, love, faith...No, wait a minute.

Love, faith success-better, but...

Faith, love, success. There we go.

A wrangling of my priorities into the right order. Harder than it looks.

This will make me stronger. I know it will. I'll be damned if I'm backing out now, I've already planned the party.

Strong is good. Hard-hearted is terribly inadequate for me. It's tough skinned, the old ticker is. But it's not solid brick. Yet. Work with me here, ok?

I don't need you.

I've got friends who will stand up for me in the face of an asshole consumer...
and a computer that plays DVDs. Sounds simple, but after what you had to offer me, what more can a girl want?

And yes, I did say thank you. Thank you for making me realize that there are things I need to change, but there are also things that are so good, the purity of such is enough to make me cry, again.

As long as I'm crying, I know that I'm still real. And there is not much that's more important to me than being real.

God, I am such a train wreck. It's fascinating, really.

And I don't understand it. Happy as can be, excited over a big step in my life, all my friends surrounding me, plenty of dates to take or leave...and what do I do?

"I like the dark and mysterious look."

I go out, I have fun goofing around and watching my dancing partner dance and dancing myself. I have good conversation with Amber, I fall into bed exhausted...AND WHAT DO I DO?

Plenty of people that love me and want to know me and care about my well-being. All these people who DON'T ignore me, DON'T make me feel bad, and ARE productive parts of my life. AND...what in the HELL do I do?

I...me myself and I, make me feel bad. I blame it on no one else but me.

"What do you want me to say, Kelly?"

I feel so bad right now, I don't ever want to hear you say anything again.

I'm such a fool.

I am strangely calm.

Even though I have a little over 2 weeks to sort, organize, have a garage sale, buy a plane ticket, pack...etc., etc., etc.

Calm before the deluge, I would say. I'm in the eye of the hurricane right now.

Very soon I am expecting emotional raindrops the size of basketballs. Winds at gale force pulling me in every direction. a vacuum inside where a lot things used to be...

Will they really be gone, or just jostled into another position out of necessity?

I know you are there. I know things are rough. And I wish you would talk to me, 'cause I'm scared out of my mind. You know it's not often that I say the word "need" to another human being. And at the same time, I understand the silence. So, I'm just waiting patiently.

Um, so now they have Peach Absolut...or Absolut Peach, or whatever other moniker they've attached to this new peach flavored vodka...yum-ee! As if I needed an excuse to drink more vodka, hmmmm.

Well, typically I bitch about my job and all of the idiot people that I encounter, so let's change it up a little. I had the nicest group of tables, collectively, than I've had in a LONG time. Sometimes I have A nice table or A nice round of tables, and this time, every table from beginning to end was cool. So there is hope for human kind as we know it. Because I had one evening of nice tables. I think my perception is a little off.

While I'm on a pleasant faux-rant, which is rare for me, I have to say anger at another's situation has made me reflect on my past in a more positive light. I've run the gamut with ex-boyfriends, from a guy who took up cheating on me like it was a sport to one who really and truly held my heart. Throw in a non-relationship and a man that still makes me want to scream, with a sprinkling of "you've got to be kidding me's" and you've got my basic recipe for love. But while the treatment might have been lacking, they all were really good guys. Well...yeah, some were/are/will always be really good mixed up guys. I am angry for my friend (angry meaning it's gonna be hard to keep from knocking this guys teeth into his head) but it's made me realize, as much drama as I have been through they never would have done me like this. And that makes me weirdly happy.

I'm prayin' for ya, little thing.