Sunday, April 29, 2007
The house plant is giving me eyes...

Yes. Thank you for dinner.

Thinking that you want something, and knowing that it's wrong for a multitude of reasons, but being perfectly willing to do it anyway, usually comes to an end at some point in a person's life.
When you say to yourself "EVER-Y time that I do this, the end result is ALWAYS bad..." then you're either going to learn to stop doing it, or experience divine intervention, or DIE.

In my case, most of the bad habits that I insist upon perpetuating won't end tragically. Some things I learn to get better about, and some things God has given me signs about, in varying degrees of obviousness from the appearance of a butterfly to a flashing neon sign that says "hey MORON, knock it OFF", indicating that I should not keep doing what I am doing. What I find interesting about myself, and humanity in general for that matter, is how much we are willing to listen. Or not listen at all, to be concise. We stumble around in our lives trying to make the right choices, and trying to not get too upset over our mistakes.

There are some mistakes that are so easy to make, that feel so good, we just can't seem to get the point...BAD. And even if we do - "ah, what's this time gonna hurt? One more time is not gonna throw me too far off the path..." even when we know good and well that it does. Why? WHY do we do that?

I, for my part, am getting damn tired of feeling like a kid with a helmet, banging my head against the same wall over the same tired junk.

I think I'll take the helmet off. At this point, busting my head open or breaking my neck might just be the f-ing wake-up call that I need.

Friday, July 06, 2007

The Things That Make Me Happy:

Sunglasses, a bikini and my camera.
Rough waves...any waves, Starvin' Surfer at Stir-it-Up, the Monkeys, a happy baby, old crushes, Brown Ale, a brazen racoon and bare feet on hot sand.

A sketched out cat and an itty bitty teeny little dog who sounds like a herd of elephants and tries to gobble my nose, parallel parking, funny stories "remember when we did this?", watching the clouds pass while trying to absorb the sun, my infamous funny tan lines "I swear, you're just meant to be striped!" The half-moon making a trail across the water, practically crooking a finger to invite me to dream.

Blueberry picking and clever, funny kids who are growing so quickly, seeing a guy who now has enough patience to wait for me to settle down and look at him, talking to the woman who has made me cry more than any person on this earth, coffee in a go-mug because I don't have time to sit and drink it...
Grinning at my life. Resting my heart and soul with people who taught me how to be peaceful on the inside, not just trying to look peaceful by cloaking my face with a smile. Resting the same on the beach that is everything spiritual that I will ever need, and knowing that in the end, it is what I will always return to.

Right now, this is ten minutes that I could be at work, knocking out some applications.

But I will write, because it is all I seem to really want to do.

And when I think about that, I think about missed opportunities, and about how I didn't try hard enough to be who I was, to figure out what I wanted to do. I had a conversation with my Aunt when I was in Philly - I think I scared her a little because I was almost manic in my desire to figure out a way to impart that lesson on my cousin - figure out what you're good at, several things, and do everything in your power to integrate them into you life. If not, you're constantly looking at your life and thinking, "what the fuck am I doing this for? What is this FOR?"

I am good at writing. I can do it all day, about anything, bullshit, politics, horseshit, current events...oh wait, that's all the same shit. But I choked when decision time came, because I felt that my writing was too personal to me and I might just be killed if it were to be criticized. Coward. While it was the only therapy that was cathartic and that I would accept, I think the only way to bring all that full circle is to write it, to share it with other people. Otherwise, all that I have learned, all of those words in all of those notebooks are gonna rot like the blood orange sitting in my line of vision right now...

Such a waste. Such a fucking shame.

OK. Ten minutes everyday....go...

........

Well, I figure I have ten minutes until I finish my coffee, so here goes:

the square patch of sky that I can see out of my window is cloudless-blue. I woke up at noon when I should've been up hours before because I went out for two nights in a row and was in at 3 am and 5 am, respectively. This made for a Worthless Kelly Sunday, which wouldn't have been that bad had I not been in the mood for wallering. There, that was a minute...

Main Entry:
in·tim·i·date
Pronunciation:
\in-ˈti-mə-ˌdāt\
Function:
transitive verb
Inflected Form(s):
in·tim·i·dat·ed; in·tim·i·dat·ing
Etymology:
Medieval Latin intimidatus, past participle of intimidare, from Latin in- + timidus timid
Date:
1646
: to make timid or fearful : frighten ; especially : to compel or deter by or as if by threats

As if by threats....? I got this one thrown out at me again on Saturday, Valentine's Day, wearing a fru-fru dress and spike-heeled leather booties...yes, real frightening. It actually kind of made me mad and I called bullshit. And then I called for another beer and shrugged it off, but still, baffling. Especially since I almost fell off of the booth when I was trying to push myself into it with my spike-heels, but whatever.

Five minutes, bully. Halfway through...

God, gorgeous
she has to tilt her head back
even in her spiked heels
to look into your open face
you wonder what other
facial expressions you might create,
and think you want
to find out
right now. Right now, is all.

Right now, this moment, this heartbeat,
there is a grin, head to the side,
eyebrow arched...
God.
Gorgeous.

Then someone screams
loud
and suddenly she is packed into her coat,
her bag crooked into her elbow,
she winks, bye, and is gone.
The air is cooling now
where her body had stood, all wrapped up in you.
Your fingertips smell like the nape of her neck
when you drain the last of your beer...
God.
Gorgeous.
And Gone.

Note to self: It's never a good sign when someone makes you feel like getting sick in your mouth a little...common sense to most but I am forever the idio....t....er...optimist. Uh-huh.



So I kicked a girl in the ankle today, walking on the sidewalk. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, but I thought it would be an all out, wound up, punt to someone's shin. This wasn't actually on purpose...she meandered across my path like the UES brat she likely was, and I just didn't yield...and kicked her in the ankle. I'm not proud, but she seemed an idiot and there really wasn't any other option.

And P.S. - I want this one. If it is right and real, I want it. Because, my GAWD.

I'm just sayin'...

Old OLD stuff that yous guys asked me to bring to the forefront again. Not so much to remind you, but to remind me, huh? I get it ;-)




Saturday, February 23, 2008

Figured I’d trot this one out again.

I've stopped trying to explain a long time ago, in order to preserve my sanity and my faith in mankind. What I will reiterate, even though I'm more than fairly certain it won't make a tad bit of difference, is that when I write, it is for me. When I write on here, it is for me and my friends, who know the deal and the demons, to see what's going on in my brain b/c I either cannot express it verbally or don't get to talk to them much. When I do write about "you" it is a way for me to process; to try and figure out what I think and feel about things. My communication talents and my introspection abilities are rustic at best, and this is the one way I've learned to work things out.

Therefore, if you are offended, I will not apologize. If you don't like it, then don't read it. If you think it's about you, it's probably not. In moments that there is a specific "you" it's more than likely a trial of an issue that "you" have brought to the surface than a specific indictment of you as a person or a friend.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

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?

Saturday, June 30, 2007

This one seems to be doing the rounds for a reason

..> ..> I wrote this over three years ago. Matt reposted it on his page, and I am reposting it now on mine...Every now and then, old friends need a reminder. And then there are new friends who need to be informed, because they clearly have issues with understanding.

But for real, thank God for my Monkeys.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006
..> ..>
i hope she doesn't hate me for this...
the following, my friends, is why i feel it is necessary to wake up on days that i would normally pray the sun would never rise. its not enough just to know someone who can write these words; rather, the ultimacy lies in the fulfilling nature of being a part of it. knowing that any percentage could be directed at you.

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.

my only wish is that everyone could know somebody that wise and willing to love. as for you, you know who you are, thank you for letting me in.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Zombie thoughts of a tired girl

There is a "special needs" cat named Ty that I want to adopt. My heart always yearns to love something broken. It's not sure what do to with offerings from other hearts that are whole. My computer is not working and I will continue to die a slow spiritual death if I can't find some sort of creative outlet. Other than drinking. But that's not creative it's numbing.

I have no TV and just bought a Jack Kerouac compilation b/c when the book fell open in my hands he was writing of San Francisco on one page and New York on the opposite page...I spent five minutes dreaming of the descriptive words of opposite Beloved Cities being mashed together when the book was closed and reshelved, spending the night in it's place between the other books and wished suddenly and passionately that I could somehow mash myself in between those words and breath. I took it as a sign and bought the book. Along with Friedrich Nietzsche's "Thus Spake Zarathustra" simply because it mentioned discussion of the intricate relationship between Christianity and Judaism.

I have a crush on an Irish Bartender whose music makes my muse run high and who doesn't seem to have enough pens; not to mention it is evident that he's no idea what to do with me (surprise) and who would (once again) be a bad choice in the long run, but (for the first time) I don't think that I will choose him.

I am restless, I know that things are changing I can feel it in everything and I know that I have to wait and act. All at once. I can't keep my body still I could never make my mind stop and I see that I am going to start testing my boundaries more than ever very soon. I am told that I am hyper-aware of time, that I just know things and have always known things and will always know...that I will save women and those weaker, that I run away from what I don't know how to deal with and will be stuck in this very same holding pattern until I deal with why and stop acting like I don't care.

I realize that what I have been stuffing back down my throat for years is power that I am afraid I can't contain once it's been released...and I find that I am not afraid anymore. Stirring the pot is a good way to make everything come to the surface - I'll take the good that comes from upsetting that balance even if it means that there is a lot of bad that comes up with it.
Safe is nowhere in my heart, my head. Not for awhile.

Someday.

Friday, October 19, 2007

Shouldn't we get an f-ing manual? Some sort of guideline/rule book/in case of emergency outline...something?

There must be some way to deal with this other than avoidance, resistance and shots. Of Jameson, God yes please. There's gotta be some zen-esque plane that we can all relax on - a sort of male/female common ground that nobody will fuck with.

It's quite a shocking revelation to notice that I've been throwing stones at a mirror; not quite living in a glass house but really tossing some monster unfairness around at others when I should be looking long and hard at my very own green-eyed reflection. Entienda? No? Me either. Intente explicar? Ok. I get impatient with people who are closed. Unresponsive. Passive, nonchalant and unforthcoming. If you will not offer yourself up to me, I cannot be bothered with you. So be gone.

Or so it seems...because I know I am not that way. I just haven't a clue how to tell any of you that I am not that way.

Anybody who has dated me, feel free to chime in with all of the instances in which I have been all of the above towards you. Don't all rush in here at once, now. Because while I am just as guilty as anyone who I try to poke a finger at, these things are a defense mechanism (it does sound lame, doesn't it?) honed to perfection by years of disbelief over all of the scandalous ways that people treat each other. It's not because I don't care. It's not because I am aloof or duplicitous, it's not because I can't be moved or don't have any feelings. It's because I have watched and learned, vicariously and personally.

It's a thick skin indeed that I have crafted around this painfully sensitive soul.

I'm ready to feel the tiny pin-pricks that mean my being is becoming un-numb. I am ready to get hurt again, be angry again, and deal with it. Because until I allow myself to feel these things, I won't be ready to love.

And that's what I'm here for, really.

OLD STUFF:

Wednesday, July 09, 2008
"Who’s butt did you kiss to get in here?" Current mood: determined
..."Well, the list is long, but distinguished."
A cute reference to Slider's package is made at this point in the movie, which I will substitute with:
"Yeah, so is the list of frogs that I am accumulating..."
Evidently I am on a Top Gun quoting spree today, good for me.
I am the kind of dork that likes to type. I like to hear the sound of the keys click-clacking, the fact that I've been able to type without looking at the keyboard since I was about 10 or so; I like to watch the words form quickly, letter by letter across the screen. What was once vast whiteness is now marked with something that I created. Even if it's just an e-mail.
I like writing with a pen better, though. Especially gel or fountain pens with that richly pigmented ink. I like to watch it sink into the paper, tatooing the pulpy skin of a fresh sheet. I like to imagine writing on my own skin, letting the ink sink in and mingle with my blood. Ink and blood in my veins. Words to spare, sentences forming as quick as the sheen of sweat on a muggy day. I got your stories. I got your words. I got it all right here...
...yeah. Right Here.


Monday, March 24, 2008
Souls on a River Current mood: sad
I’m walking along the streets of New York and my eyes are day-glo green because I’m crying them out. I walk along, never slowing, not even noticing that people are looking at me, and listen to my Mom tell me that my 82 year old Grandfather was happy that he got to hug and kiss his 92 year old brother good-bye before he died.
Sure puts an interesting spin on the happiness we strive for, right?
One day I think we’ll all be by the River again. Catch a few for me, Uncle Wilmer.


Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Oh for God’s Sake.
Ag, GOD!!!! Grrrrr...back up OFF of me!! I swear to God, it was like I was a magnet for...just...CRAP this morning!! I get up at 5:30 am. That's disharmony enough for the day, right there. My pants were too tight, the cat shredded my hamper, and then proceeded to scratch me in the face for good measure. It was too warm when I was walking to the train, so I try to wiggle out of my coat, looking like a maniac in the process, only to find that somewhere in the shuffle I lost the rubber part of my earbud to the abyss. I HATE riding the train without my ipod. BOO! Then I get on a nearly empty train, and at the VERY NEXT stop some jackass with personal space issues gets on and stands about 2- seconds-away-from-getting-a-back-hand away from me. He proceeds to pull out his broke down refilled since last April water bottle that sounds like 35 sheets of bubble wrap being popped at one time when he drinks from it and suckles from it like a baby COW. And he's still 2 inches from me, by the way, no matter how many times I do the "get away from me" dance. Then at the NEXT stop (I've only been awake for two hours at this point, folks. This day is looking questionable) a power-walking purse-flauntin' Starbucks-carryin' woman gets on and stands right behind me. Well hell, now I'm boxed in. I got bottle sucker on the side and Louis V gym rat to the rear. I'm pretty sure I had a small seizure trying to keep my composure. I looked around at 23rd St. when I got off to find that I had left a hole in the crowd of every single standing person on the train, while tumble weed blew by down the emptiness that was the REST of the car.
...WTF!?!?!?
Now all I can think of is soothing my frayed nerves with a large dose of caffeine. As I am making my way to my usual coffee station, this big bleary man with the coloring of a tomato steps IN FRONT OF ME, takes a cup, and gets his coffee. I just stand there, jaw agape and wagging in the wind. I say "WOW." 'Cause I really am just amazed right now. He turns around looks at me and says, cheerfully mind you (can't he even have the decency to be rude at this point?) "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you behind me."
Huh.
Then how'd he know why I said wow?


Monday, February 11, 2008
Acting as opposed to... Current mood: chill
Reacting, no?
Instead of "here's what I'm going to do b/c of what you did."
I prefer "Here's what I'm going to do." Period.
I know what I have asked for is going to be a hard one. I know what it will take and when I don't know what it will take I know that I will have the where-with-all to figure it out. My mantra, as my fingers worry the cool stone beads of a rosary made for me by a woman who, in her illness, learned of "faith" instead of "religion"...my mantra is act instead of react.
If I spend my energy dancing whenever you aim your gun at my shoes, I am going to lose. Lose a lot more than the leather from my boots, too. I am going to lose me. And I am working so hard to maintain that girl. I"m not ready to let her go yet to bad habits and ghosts.
Tangible is my goal. I'll look you in the eyes someday. Stroke your check.
Until then, I'll worry my beads. And listen when spoken to.


Thursday, December 13, 2007
"When you fish for love... Current mood: giddy
bait with your heart, not your brain."
That Mark Twain. Whatta smart man.
Although, as I've recently come to see it, I ain't fishin' for shit. My heart can be fed with other nourishing things and my brain can be occupied with making my life what it will be. Besides. When I used to fish with my grandfather off the end of their dock with bamboo poles, he always caught more fish than me. Ya know why? Because while I jiggled my foot, slapped at misquitoes, made the bobber dance around on the surface of the water, pulled my bait up ten thousand times to see if it was still there, jerked my pole back b/c I always thought I got something when I didn't, he would just sit there. Sometimes I thought he was dead. He didn't talk. He didn't sigh or fidget, he just sat. And the fish came to him. When I was little I always wondered what he was thinking about to keep him so quiet. When I got older I realized that he wasn't thinking about a darn thing, and that's why he could sit there like that. He was content. Just happy to be sitting on his dock, with his granddaughter and a pole in the water.
And the fish came to him.

The light you give off
did not come from a pelvis.

Your features did not begin in semen.
Don't try to hide inside anger
radiance that cannot be hidden.

-Rumi


Her fingers brush the glossy wood railing - she pauses for a moment in her concurrent yet gushing thoughts to appreciate the old-school craftmanship of the warm piece of wood, worn to a shine by all of the hands that had come before her. She is skipping up the stairs now, but knows by the time she reaches her destination she will be puffing slightly and wondering why she never paced herself.

Images of a winter day short-stopped in front of her through windows set into each landing. She saw the snow making it's descent in fat, succulent flakes as she stopped for a breath - it wouldn't do to arrive with a sheen - and she flashed back to a time, not so long ago, that she brushed such fat flakes from his hat, taking her glove off to cup his jaw in her hand so that she could use her thumb to skim off the condensing crystals that had dusted his long lashes. She had looked into his eyes then, something that was hard for her to do, and had found all of the different inflections that life had left in their hazel discs. She knew then how judgemental and wrong she had been, but knew at the same time that it was time to move along...there was no back-peddling anymore.

She came back to the surface of reality and realized that she had dallied for too long...daydreaming was such a luxurious bad habit and she couldn't afford it right now. As she continued her climb upward - halfway there - she remembered how powerful the edge of his jaw had felt in her palm and how absolutely she surrendered to the thought of his trust in her hands. Her dismay came over how quickly she dismissed that power and her ability to handle it.

Her step slowed to a trudge and all of a sudden she felt like a pack mule...very useful but totally expendable.

I need to find a way to detach my mind from my mind - the creative subconscious from the nagging conscious, the feeling thoughts from the plaguing, worrying ones. A delicate balance, it would seem - to keep from detaching myself from reality...whatever that is. It's like I need to float over my body, come completely out of whatever inhibiting skin that surrounds my heart and just form this other self. Deal only with this other complete person that hasn't been created by nature or nurture, she just is. She is nothing else, nothing described, but herself. I know that person - I run into, no stumble (because it's never quite on purpose), upon her on occasion. I see moments of her and they make me so happy. When I see her, images of Matanzas Bay from my perch on the seawall come to mind. Sitting on the balcony of A1A with Shawn, Amber and Jolie, tellin' each other about each other. I feel myself, lying flat on my back on my beach chair, trying to absorb the lazy, heavy heat from the sun into my bones.

I know where she is, but I can't return to her until I learn to quiet, or at least contain the other girl. The one who personifies suppression. I don't want to be rid of her completely, she's a part of who I am, but she clamors so much more loudly than anything else that I can hear right now. She stomps around, banging pots and pans while humming into a kazoo...the problem is, if you corner her, take her pots and pans and rip the kazoo out of her mouth, she can't honestly tell you exactly what she wants. It's like being possessed by a poltergeist. They make a lot of noise but have no way of telling you what the hell they're doing there. You, the chump, gotta guess how to make that ghost follow the light to her peace.


The point is, contentment is not something I consistently am at this point in my life. But I can't claim my place as content girl until obnoxious hey look at me I've got homes and ambitions girl is pacified.

Murph. Came around the bar to hug me before I left the bar...

Do what now? I was so flustered by this sudden display from the typically crank-ass bartender that I didn't put my coat on for two blocks...it's 20 degrees outside!!

I guess it doesn't take much now, does it?

I would like to ground down my soul; powder it into a pigment, the deepest hue- to show you, the world and myself the true color that I am.

WET. SOCKS. SUCK.

Facebook updates...
Kelly...
wonders when it became standard operating procedure to go home and have a good cry.
has just learned that scotch warms from the inside out.
is also starting to realize that other people are becoming impatient with her "single choices."
thinks she knows how Tinkerbell feels.
noticed that the only time she feels “right” is when she “feels” instead of “thinks obsessively.”
is so in love with music it hurts sometimes.
wonders what belonging means.
wants to define her own success…but doesn’t.
likes the smell of her finger tips after slicing a lemon.
thinks her freckles are cool.
loves what happens to her mind when her hands aren't idle.
wonders why her lips feel bitten when they haven’t been.
is the most eternally hopeful cynic you will ever meet
would like to know how, exactly, cold manages to seep into her bones
wants to ingest everything beautiful she sees, hears and touches…she wants to make it a part of her.

knows that she might not get it now, or ever. Period. But still feels, all the way down to whatever is her center, that she is extremely blessed. Period.

Sleepy.

And disquieted. I went to visit Evan and he fussed at me for not getting my locks changed...I kinda knew I needed to do it, but now I have to. I only hope I see the person who did this...I might look purely sweet and innocent, but I got a lotta rage...especially when you f with things that are meaningful to me.

I'm just sayin' ;-)

Anchors Aweigh


Stand Navy out to sea
Fight our battle cry:
We'll never change our course
So vicious foes steer shy-y-y-y
Roll out the T. N. T.
Anchors Aweigh
Sail on to victory
And sink their bones to Davy Jones, hooray!

Yo ho there shipmate
Take the fighting to the far off seas
Yo ho there messmate
Hear the wailing of the wild banshees
All hands, fire brands
Let's Blast them as we go. So

Anchors Aweigh my boys
Anchors Aweigh
Farewell to college joys (or "Farewell to foreign shores")
We sail at break of day day day day
Through our last night ashore
Drink to the foam
Until we meet once more
Here's wishing you a happy voyage home!

Heave a ho there sailor
Everybody drink up while you may
Heave a ho there sailor
For your gonna sail at break of day
Drink away, Drink away,
For you sail at break of day, Hey!

Blue of the Mighty Deep
Gold of God’s Sun
Let these our colors be
Till all time be done
On seven seas we learn
Navy’s stern call
Faith, Courage, Service True
With Honor Over, Honor Over All.

Country music on a Friday morning was probably a bad idea...eh. F it.
It wasn't Tim McGraw though, was it?...Trisha Yearwood? Yep.

Tim McGraw
(Taylor Swift)

You said the way my blue eyes shined,
Put those Georgia stars to shame that night
I said: "That's a lie"
Just a boy in a Chevy truck,
That had a tendency of gettin' stuck,
On backroads at night
An' I was right there beside him all summer long
An' then the time we woke up to find that summer'd gone

But when you think: Tim McGraw,
I hope you think my favorite song
The one we danced to all night long:
The moon like a spotlight on the lake
When you think happiness,
I hope you think: "That little black dress"
Think of my head on your chest,
An' my old faded blue jeans
When you think Tim McGraw,
I hope you think of me

September saw a month of tears,
An' thankin' God that you weren't here,
To see me like that
But in a box beneath my bed,
Is a letter that you never read,
From three summers back
It's hard not to find it all a little bitter sweet,
An' lookin' back on all of that, it's nice to believe:

When you think: Tim McGraw,
I hope you think my favorite song
The one we danced to all night long:
The moon like a spotlight on the lake
When you think happiness,
I hope you think: "That little black dress"
Think of my head on your chest,
An' my old faded blue jeans
When you think Tim McGraw, I hope you think of me

And I'm back for the first time since then:
I'm standin' on your street,
An' there's a letter left on your doorstep,
An' the first thing that you'll read:
Is: "When you think: Tim McGraw,
"I hope you think my favorite song"
Some day you'll turn your radio on,
I hope it takes you back to that place
When you think happiness,
I hope you think: "That little black dress"
Think of my head on your chest,
An' my old faded blue jeans

When you think Tim McGraw,
I hope you think of me
Oh, think of me,
Mmmm
You said the way my blue eyes shined,
Put those Georgia stars to shame that night
I said: "That's a lie"

My whole body hurts and I want to sleep but I won't.

The television tells me that a pretty little pill will sooth the pain but I know the only thing that will work is heat...I've recently noticed that I seek it out like a fiend during winter in NYC, in any form that I can take it.

Jesus Christ, I am annoyed.

Part of this irritation stems from the chip on my shoulder, but knowing that doesn't help the irritation that I am sure is displaying itself boldly on my face.

Dammit.

George Bailey: What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary.
Mary: I'll take it. Then what?
George Bailey: Well, then you can swallow it, and it'll all dissolve, see... and the moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair... am I talking too much?

's not too much to ask, is it?

Just the moon. I don't need the sun - someone else can use that as their token of affection.

My thoughts are flying randomly around the apartment like the 50 cent rubber ball I bought this weekend...God this book is long, God he's pretty, you're a hugely frustrating human being and I move between wanting to hug you and wanting to smack you all in the span of 6 minutes, I wonder if I can just will my laundry to get done...5 am is gonna come really quick tomorrow morning............

I've been thinking (again, yeah I know) of getting a street bike. Sometimes having no way out of the city beyond a bus or train is stifling. And since I am having the "I gotta go" stirrings again *checks watch: three years, well that's about right* I feel like I need to find more ways to coax my roots into growing deeper here. I don't feel like starting all over again, or going home to...I dunno what...not yet, anyway. But, regrettably, I barely have enough money for the hot shoes that I want, so getting a hot bike is probably right on the outskirts of my budget.

Shrugging my shoulders and crooking my lips to one side in "oh well" are becoming surprisingly familiar gestures to me.

Gotta post it every year...who says a brat lacks tradition?


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

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.