A Mothers Shame

Now that my daughter is almost two years old I can look back on the time when I first discovered I was pregnant with more clarity than before. My mother's words, however harsh, we not intended to hurt me. But it's difficult to take your mother telling you that she never thought you would be a mother because you are "all about Kirby" any way other than personal when you have a positive pregnancy test in your hands.

During my unbearably difficult pregnancy, and entering into single parenthood when Evelyn was only 4 months old I began to worry. Would I be a good mother? Am I too selfish? Self absorbed? Ambitious? Can I provide her everything she needs? But, I knew one thing for certain. I loved that little girl more than anything.
In the past 16 months I've worked hard. I've waitressed, and worked in a newspaper, and recently got hired as a copy writer for a large marketing firm. I play with her, bathe her, feed her, take her to the park, but when I am constantly working anywhere from 45-60 hours a week it's hard to feel like I'm sacrificing my relationship with my daughter, and her childhood in an attempt to provide stability for us.

During the times I do get to spend quality time with my daughter I have noticed for months now that, although she is incredibly bright and comprehends what I am saying she makes no attempt to speak back to me. Sometimes she grunts. Sometimes she coos but when it comes to language Mommom, and byebye are all that linger on her lips. And never combined, always repeated as if babbling. When I took Evelyn to her pediatrician for her 18 month check up she became concerned with my daughters lack of speech.
"We can try speech therapy, but it's possible she is just taking her time."

I thanked her kindly for her suggestion, and discussed it with Evelyn's father. We agreed to let her continue developing at her own pace and reassess the situation when she turned 2. The next three weeks I watched her as carefully as I could. I saw frustration, and exasperation. I watched as she would try to communicate, and seemed to grow almost exhausted by her inability to say anything.

I called Rick crying. "Maybe it was a bad idea to not put her in speech therapy. Am I not giving her enough time?"

He assured me I was a terrific mother, and that if I felt speech therapy was the right thing to do we would do it. I made the calls and proceeded to get the ball rolling. I was both excited and nervous.

It took a few weeks for any of the offices close to me to find an available time to meet with Evelyn. We walked into the office early Monday morning. Evie smiled and waved to the ladies and began to play with the toys in the lobby while I filled out the necessary paperwork. Shortly after our arrival Ms. Kathy lead us into a back room for Evelyn's evaluation. While they played with a toy bear, and tea cups Ms. Kathy tried repeatedly to get Evelyn to speak with her, or to reenact the things she was doing. "Bears sleepy Evie, can you cover him for me? He wants to go night night." Evie did what she always does, she would play and coo or even grunt but she refused to even attempt to speak a word. After we spent the hour together Ms. Kathy set me down to discuss her observation of the day.

"She is very bright, and perhaps even a little advanced in comprehension. She plays pretend extremely well and knows what you are asking her to do. But as far as vocal expression she is severely delayed. She has the expression range of a child 10 months a year a younger than her. But we will work with her, and see what we can do to help her over this hump. Do you talk to her a lot, describe things, explain things?"

I shook my head. "A little but I work a lot."

"I see. When was the last time she had her ears properly checked?"

I shrugged. "I don't really know."

Ms. Kathy frowned an expression that sent shame washing over me. "You need to get her ears checked. It may very well be the issue."

I nodded. "Absolutely."

I've replayed that expression in my head for days now. Have I hindered my daughters development because I'm quiet and introverted? Have I caused her delay because I work so much? Am I too much about "Kirby" that it has effected my daughter somehow? Have I failed her already as a mother?

I can't help but feel shame and wonder if it's normal. Is it?

Haiku War...

Sad Zombie:
Wondering through death

lost, lingering among lives,

devouring them.

Awkward Moments:

Stale silence stranded

like burnt orange paint on the wall

caked, and hollow.

Fresh Prince of Bell Air:

Just shooting B-ball

and suddenly you're filthy rich

willow whips her hair

In case you were wondering...

Dear Mr. McDreamy,
Can't help but miss you. And I hate that.
Sincerely,
Not really able to compare with paradise, and therefore forgotten...

Happy Halloween

Today was a great family day with Evelyn. We made spooky pancakes for breakfast, watched Halloween cartoons, spent some time playing in a pumpkin patch and went trick-or-treating.

 

AARGGG!!! I'm after my booty!

Evie loved every minute of it. With each giggle I'd watch her face light up as she would point at the pumpkins, or stare with her head tilted to the side at the cartoons. She would sing and clap her hands as I would flip the pancakes in the air. And she dragged me through the cold night, from door to door to door, opening her bag for each person and smiling sweetly. She would wave to the children and their parents as they passed us on the street. I half expected her to start kissing babies. She's such a future politician.

But as I watched how lovingly Zach and Kasey took care of Camden as they took him from door to door together, and the countless other families who were trick or treating together and I began to feel that hint of sadness. Maybe Evelyn isn't old enough to realize the absence of her father yet, the sheer brokenness of what a traditional family and childhood is suppose to be like compared to what she experiences on a day to day basis but it is not lost on me.

How do I balance what I know and what I want? I want the things for her I never had, which include her father being more than just a passing figure in her life. I never wanted a part time dad for my children. But on the other hand, I know no matter how much Rick and I may care about each other it's just not good for either of us to be involved. He's already moved on and is creating a new world and family for himself where as I have found myself with a strong foothold on knowing what I want in life and the balls to demand it without settling. I may have a lot of love for him, but a life with him is settling for me.

Now does that make me selfish. Are we, as parents, selfish? Because he wants to pursue this relationship with another mother and her children and enjoy his freedom to come and go as he pleases because he doesn't have anyone or anything to answer to. Because I want a partner who adores not only my daughter, but me as well and has the ability to cherish and challenge me at the same time. Should we be putting those things aside, and making it work regardless of the things we have to sacrifice to give her the family she should have.

I don't know which way is up? I feel so twisted right now

Drunken Rant...

I'm tired of trying to fit into these impossible molds people keep developing for me. Be emotional and affectionate without being emotional or attached. Be strong willed, but need me all the time. Be resilient, but please fall apart when I'm not there. Want me, even though I don't want you.

Seriously people? You suck.

And secondly... people really should take my phone away from me when I've drank a bottle of wine on an empty stomach alone because I text people silly and random things that are MUCH better left unsaid.

::sips wine::

And I said good day sir.

Play[ing] a Cold shoulder

I have immersed myself in Coldplay today. It's helping...

just because i'm losing doesn't mean i'm lost...

tripping

Even if you fall on your face, you're still moving forward.  -Victor Kiam-




All this time I thought I was tripping... who would have guessed it's actually considered progress.

Grey

but when the sun hits your eyes through your window 
there will be nothing you can do.

confession

There's been a lot going on in my life that I don't feel comfortable talking about openly on my blog due to the fact that so many people who really know me read it. I've taken refuge in another blog, one that is cloaked in secrecy.

“I am a happy camper so I guess I’m doing something right. Happiness is like a butterfly; the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder.”
― Henry David Thoreau

Calling You Out

“Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those. ”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

The Bitter Truth

People disappoint you.
It's sad.
But it's the truth.
I just wish my judgement was better.
I evidently do not trust the right people...

Overhaul

I've made the conscious decision that I am tired of feeling broken all the time. So I am instigating an overhaul of my life. 6 months is what I am going to give myself. I'll be 27 in 6 months. The focus: everything. Appearance. Career. Spirit. Focus. My creativity. 6 months from now I'll stand a different woman. A better woman.

Mark. My. Words.

Fact or Fiction

Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."

Five years ago when I locked up my muse, put away my pens and burned the pages I'd spent years bleeding into it was because I had reached a point in my writing where all I could write was the truth. That rawness, the pure nakedness that brutal honesty provides scared me.

So I ran. I changed my identity. I silenced my voice. I hid the uniqueness that I had spent my entire life developing because I was afraid.

Now, five years late I sit and stare at empty pages craving the release of the truth.I want to feel special. I want to feel complete in the only way I have ever known how. By fully embracing that which I love. But, I feel like I am completely incapable of writing it, because in writing it I have to accept it. The truth is a hard, cold place. It provides no warmth, no comfort, no hope.

I know that until I can write one true sentence, the truest sentence I know like Hemingway suggests, I'm doomed. Breathing, but a shell of who I am meant to be.

I just need to find my truth.

Black and Red

So I'm debating on changing my hair color...

Do I:

 

dye it black again?

 

or leave it the shade of red it is...

Please feel free to discuss <3

Of the mess you left when you went away....

I've been feeling extremely unraveled today. It's been an Alanis Morissette and Garden State kind of day. Jagged Little Pill was such an amazing album. I just feel a need to run. A need to escape. I need to get away from myself for awhile.

I was talking to one of my best friends today, telling her how I haven't felt loneliness like this in a long time. For the first time in I don't know how long I want to open up to someone. It feels so strange feeling like I'm ready to let someone else in. I don't remember what it feels like to want to give part of myself away. All I know is I want to feel loved again, and want to love again. Life feels so empty and pointless without it.

I'd love nothing more than to nuzzle into the crook of his arm, sweetly kiss his ear-lobe like he likes and just breath him in...

Oh the messes we make. 

My Heart...

 

Evelyn and Tristan... September 2011

This picture is epic <3

A Little Slice of Heaven

I've been debating for a few days what all to write about my trip to Pensacola. I have been writing in a journal lately, so my blogging has been falling behind. Mainly because of the eyes that linger along these words compared to the eyes that linger on the other. I could go on and on about how beautiful the beach was, how delicious the food tasted, how wonderfully entertaining Rosie O'Grand's was or the million other things that made the trip relaxing, special and one of the most amazing experiences ever but when I look back on that weekend the things that stand out the most to me are... the way his eyes lit up when he jumped into the car and out of the rain when I picked him up at Corry Station, the sheer calmness of sitting on the beach, harmonizing Nickel Creek "Reason's Why", or his unbelievable ability to make me feel like I am one of the most special, beautiful women... a woman worthy of a man's effort. It's something I'm going to carry with me. Something that excites me, and breaks my heart all at the same time.

Just makes me wonder where I go from here. It's like Dorothy... leaving technicolor for black and white. Kansas will just never be the same.

harder than it looks...

I tell him I don't know what I'm doing anymore. He tells me to be strong. I tell him I'm sick of being strong. I just want to be deliriously happy for one day. Can I not have just one day?

The Truth and The Fairy Tale

I will be 27 years old this up coming March, just five short days before my daughter turns 2. Raising a child, and trying to teach them everything can really make a person take a hard look at their opinions, ideals, morals, beliefs. I've always been a person who sees things as black and white, cut and dry. I can't help it. When you are in the grey there is too much uncertainty. I don't like illusions.

One illusion that I have had to really reassess, regrettably, is the childhood ideal that "love is all you need." I hate admitting that love isn't always enough. Just because you love someone, or because you miss someone doesn't mean that the person is good for you. I've been in love three times in my life, really TRULY in love and none of them where healthy relationships for me. Honestly, I can't really remember any healthy relationships. But I didn't exactly have a role model for faithful, devoted relationships that were rooted in loyalty and mutual respect.

I want better for her. I don't want her to see the kind of relationships I have with men, and think that it is the only way a relationship can be. I want her to be strong and defiant and loving. I want her to expect more. One thing I IDOLIZE about my best friend, and Evelyn's god-mother, Kathryn is the fact that she is so strongly set in her standards. She will not settle for anything less than she deserves. She wants to be chased, and her mother has instilled in her not to settle for anyone who won't. I LOVE that about her family. I LOVE that about her and can only pray Evelyn picks up on some of it.

So now how do I teach her all the wonders of the world and still let her believe in the fairytale?

What doesn't kill you...

People who build you up. People who inspire you. People who break you. People who enter and exit your life without you noticing. People who shape you. People who you help create.

The other night I was conversing with a dear friend of mine when he said, "... I am a master at keeping people well past an arms length from my heart... She not only broke my heart, but my soul as well..." This conversation, these words have lingered in my bones for days. They have dangled like chandelier earrings while I brush my teeth in the mirror each morning. They have massaged my scalp, repeating as I wash, rinse, repeat. It's not the notion, the idea of being broken by someone. I am more than experienced with the devastation rooted in a broken heart. It's the idea that has wedged itself in between the curve of the B, lounging like James Dean on the T. People, and how a person can effect us.

It is wildly debated, does a person have power over us or do we ALLOW them to have power over us. I really don't know how I feel about that. I know that even though I walk around daily with a false bravado and confidence brushing my shoulders like my red curls what people say haunts me. Is that because I ALLOW it to, or because the truth is people are what makes the person?

I can think, without strain, of at least five people who have helped shape me into the woman I am today. A neighbor who let me borrow her sexy romance novels when I was 12. A man who I was too scared to call "Dad." A teacher who taught me to read. A man who engulfed every ounce of me like a Cuban cigar, letting me stain his fingertips and make a home of his lungs, just close enough to his heart to make me feel warm before releasing me into the stale, cool air. Women who inspire me. Women who encourage me. Women who are better than me.

A person is the company they keep. A person is the experiences they have.

I think people need to focus more on what is going on, instead of what is ahead. The stranger sitting two seats in front of you on the bus, the girl who brings you your pasta bowl refill, the boy who rotates your tires... who is the judge on what is significant? Who decides what is significant, and what will or won't effect you years down the line.

I know I carry with me far more than I ever expected from the people who I have crossed paths with. But, at the end of the day it is those things I carry that create the creative, loving, affectionate, ambitious, ruthless woman I am today.

I feel no shame in that. Maybe hesitation. Perhaps a little fear. Even a little resistance. But no shame.

COUNTDOWN!!!!

7 days until the release of Season 3 of Sons of Anarchy on DVD

14 days until the premier of Season 4 of Sons of Anarchy on FX

32 days until Pensacola Florida with Ryan... and my first day off in 38 days.  

124 days till Christmas

211 days until Spring

212 days until Evie turns 2...


time is spinning way too fast...

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

I know I keep bringing up my divorce, and my [ex]husband a lot these days. The truth of the matter is since we set down last month and "cleared the air" our relationship has been slowing creeping back to that eerie, comfortable place it once was. Although I am thankful that Rick and I can now get along, and spend time with Evelyn it does make things slightly more difficult on me. I keep making the joke that hating him was so much easier. That anger was like a shield from everything else, and now that it is gone I feel as vulnerable as a newly bloomed posey. It's one of those things I know I'll be able to manage, I just haven't quite got my bearings on it yet. I tell myself that I would handle it better if I wasn't constantly reminded of how smoothly he moved on to his new [girl]friend. But that's just me making excuses, passing the buck, placing the blame on an anonymous face (although not really anonymous since I know what she looks like.) But that's not my point. This has nothing to do with what I set down to write.

With this new found [fri]endship with Rick I've been thinking a lot about the past, and the things that were suppose to happen. Plans we made, things we said we'd do, dreams we had. One thing I think the most about is college, and how we had planned for me to go back to school. As each month takes me further from my memories of late night cram sessions and editing pages upon pages of written material I find that of all things during this separation and divorce, this is one of the things I'm most bitter about. I feel like he's taken that opportunity from me.

But realistically, he hasn't. Lots of single mothers work and go to school. Lots of single mothers get degrees, and map out careers, and feel no shame in their pursuit of higher education. And really, why should they? Every step a mother makes is to create a better path for them and their children. Recently a friend of mine was talking about school, and finishing up his degree. "I miss college," I sighed. "I'd love to go back."

He laughed at me, "then go."

"I can't." I replied. "I already work two jobs, and I have Evie. I can't throw something else on top of that."

He braced both of my shoulders and looked me square in the eye. "Kirby, stop making excuses. You are not a woman who says 'I can't.' You're the woman who ran half naked around a crowded theater, the woman who drove to DC alone on a whim, and the girl who went through an entire difficult pregnancy alone. If you wanna do it, if you really wanna do it you will find a way to do it."

I've been thinking about what he said and he's right. I use to be so relentless about getting what I want. When did I become so passive, just willing to accept the cards I've be dealt and settle for something less than I want. So I've been going through the CVCC and the Gaston College web-sites looking at their programs and schedules, financial aid and application processes. But still, that voice is going back and forth inside my head:

You don't have the money to go back to college. You already have $25,000 in student loans. Do you really think someone is going to give you more money?

There are hundreds of thousands of dollars available to single mothers who want to extend their education. Grants, and awards, and scholarships, and loans. I mean, look at what a little research did for me 8 years ago. A $100,000 education for a quarter of the cost. I can make the money work. 

What about work. You work two jobs. Currently you're working 50+ hours a week. Can you really throw even more onto that? 

I'm not saying I can be a full-time student, but I could work around the work schedule. And besides, I already have my Bachelors in English and Creative Writing... a lot of my basic requirement classes will transfer and I won't have such a hefty course load.

And what about Evelyn. You already spend to much time away from her working like you do. Do you really want to risk missing more of her childhood? 

No, No I don't. And I struggle with that everyday. But I can take some classes online, and I can make it work. It's to make things better for her anyway. So I can find a better, more stable job. So I can make more money to provide for her. So I can show her the kind of woman I want to be and that is the kind of woman she can look up to. I just want to be better. 

You don't even know what you would major in!!!! 

Well no, I don't. I could do many different things. Get my teaching certification, or do a communications degree. I could indulge my inner creativity and major in photography like I've always wanted to do. Or hell, I could do something completely different like a business degree. The point is I have options. Those aren't so bad. 

Well I still think it's an awful idea. 

Who knows. Maybe it is. But shouldn't I try. The longer I'm out of a classroom the less I feel like I can breath.

I don't know what to do. A little guidance would be nice right about now.

Love Letter

Dear Ani Difranco,

If I had one wish in the world it would be for an infinite number of other wishes. But once those wishes were granted to me I would wish that I could cuddle up like a little ball and live inside your mind. I realize the trauma and pain and difficulty that must have been endured in order to produce the poetic life-source you provide and that perhaps to witness the memory of these events wouldn’t quite be the holiday I would normally enjoy. But to be in your mind and see the way you think and develop ideas would be spine tingling.

I remember the first song I ever heard of yours. Grey… “As bad as I am I’m proud of the fact that I’m worse than I seem.”

Your brilliance has been a light to the undertow of my darkness.

I thank you.

A VERY loving fan.

Happy Marriage

Happy Marriage 

My life, like a sandbar,
has been taken over by a monster of a man
who wants my body under  his control
so that, if he wishes,
he can spit in my face,
slap me on the  cheek,
pinch my rear;
so that, if he wishes,
he can rob me of the clothes,
take my naked beauty in his grip;
so that, if he wishes.
he can chain my feet,
with no qualms whatsoever whip me,
chop off my hands, my  fingers,
sprinkle salt in the open wound,
throw ground-up black pepper in my eyes,
with a dagger can slash  my thigh,
can string me up and  hang me.

His goal: to control my heart
so that I would love him;
in my lonely house at night
sleepless, full of anxiety,
clutching at the window grille,
I would wait for him and sob;
tears rolling down, I would bake homemade bread,
would drink, as if they were ambrosia,
the filthy liquids of his polygynous body
so that, loving him, I would melt like wax,
not turning my eyes toward any other man.
I would give proof of my chastity all my life.

So that, loving  him,
on some moonlit night
I would commit suicide
in a fit of ecstasy.


-Taslima Nasrin-

I will write myself out...

I recall times when I
Would tell myself
I got myself into this
I will write myself out

With you and I
I plan to conceive
Something different
You will know it

By the imperfect
Fingerprints
Left
Against the window

Of your dreams
As I prowl
My way
Through this reality

Licking Smirks

Licking Smirks
She lays stretched thin,
her paws draped
almost weightless, over the edge
of the bed, toes curled, back
arched, belly exposed
waiting to be tickled.

His finger slides like a pen
over her smooth pages. Pulsating
blue ink crinkle
along the sheets,
crumpling her softness.

She writes
line after line
of nothingness
along his back.
Jagged red letters
dug deep
into flesh.

They’ve rewritten
and edited
the lines of this story
the ending remaining the same.

Exhaustion
mixed with licking smirks
lapping
at their ink stained fingertips
like a cat to milk.

Talk Poetry to me Billy

“Vade Mecum

I want the scissors to be sharp
and the table perfectly level
when you cut me out of my life
and paste me in that book you always carry.”

-Billy Collins-

Lingering Along a Broken Path That Leads to a Distorted Past...

I've been reading some of my old blog lately. Call me a glutton for punishment, or perhaps just call me intrigued with the difference between my writing. You could also just call me curious, and desperately seeking inspiration.

I don't really care what you call me.

I had a blog titled Fading Phoenix. I didn't write in it for very long, but some of the entries just kill me to read.

This one specifically:

It is a well expressed belief that we find who we really are in college. Rather it be through classes, activities or the people around us the short period of exploration, and growth develop us into the personalities that will feed into the type of adults we are. It parallels in our friendships, relationships, career paths. It mirrors the type of parents and partners we will be.

Part of me, I'll admit, always believed in this belief.

I longed for college for this reason.

I now sit behind the keyboard and realize that college was not a time of self discovery for me personally, but a time of absence. I went into College knowing exactly who I was, what type of character I held, my morals, my standards, my dreams and passions and talents. By the time I walked across the stage in the Maydell on that May morning almost three years ago I had lost almost every piece of her.

And as I lingered in broken relationships, and career paths that made me want to slit my wrists, who I was became buried deeper within my sub conscious.

It is only now as I sit on the cusp of parenthood that I have been able to examine who I was compared to who I am... and how I've changed. It's difficult not to dwell on such thoughts. How am I suppose to teach my daughter to be proud, be strong and independent, that there is no limit to her abilities when I myself have silenced so much of what makes me me.

I have lost inspiration. I have lost my creativity. These being the very things that gave me reason to breath. Afraid of my confessional nature, I have spent years hiding from my muse. She chases me down dark alleys and side streets, relentless in her pursuit calling after me. I sometime lose her at a red light, but she always seems to catch up to me... to be two steps behind my heels shrieking lyrics and prose through the fog toward me. The desperation in her voice pierces my lungs as they burn for air, but I never stop.

This is me stopping. I'm turning to her, as if she is an old friend and not a menace I have tried to elude for years. I will embrace her, engulf her moth eaten scent and let the tenderness and fear and passion rush over me like a soft Spring Rain.

It is in her embrace where I will cry, soft tears of blue ink. It's too soon to slit my wrists so that the page may feed on my blood like a Vampire.

It is all one step at a time. 


Then of course there was my blog, Sophisticated Chaos. That blog held a lot more pain then I realized, but with small glimmers of hope. I remember writing:

But I don’t know. Maybe none of this matters. Soon Winter is going to turn to Spring with it’s sunny flowers and soft scent of honey. The Winter is always brutal, but it never lasts too long.

Going through this blog was both heart-wrenching, and entertaining. Entries like, A Mothers Legacy or Sophisticated Chaos, haunt me in a way that I can't explain. A Word By Any Other is a blog that is just very true to my normal thought process. And it's nice to be reminded of when Evelyn was younger, like the blog Student of Parenthood. I'm lucky to have all of these memories documented. Or this one, from mother to daughter to daughter, it's a gem I'm glad I haven't lost.

In short, I've been enjoying my emotional, and entertaining trip down memory row. Hope you do too.

8 years not wasted...

Il ya quelques jours quand tout ce que je veux faire est de crier au obsenities au estrangers. Il est des jours comme ça quand je suis reconnaissant que je peux parler français. Quatre années de collège et quatre années de lycée français vaut bien le soulagement que je reçois.

Ok, I feel better now. 

Thought of the Day

"Do I really live in a city, a county, a town where the most recent schedule for local government meetings and events on their official website is from 2009?"

Why yes. Yes I do.

:hangs head in shame::

Living in the Land of Make-Believe

Last night the AC wasn't working so I decided to open the windows and the doors so that the breeze from the storm could cool off the house. I loved laying there in the dark, listening to the rain. I decided I would just sleep on the couch, since it felt a lot nicer in the livingroom than in my bedroom. The longer I laid there the more inspired I felt but I couldn't bring myself to actually write anything. I felt like the slightest disturbance would ruin the simplicity of the moment. So I just closed my eyes, and wrote line after line in my own head.

Once the rain stopped I realized I was much too wired to sleep, and far too drained to write, so I decided to catch up on one of my favorite shows- Weeds. I was introduced to the show two years ago when I was pregnant with Evelyn. Rick and I had just moved into my moms place in Denver and hooked up his XBox to the internet so we could stream Netflix in the bedroom. I was on and off bed-rest most of the time since I was in my third trimester, so I would lounge in the bed and go through season after season of TV shows. I think in those three months I went through Charmed, Buffy, Angel, Firefly twice, along with a number of ones I can't even remember. One night, Rick and I decided to start season 1 of weeds and we were both instantly hooked. From then on out it was sleepless nights where we would promise to ourselves at 3 a.m. we would watch just one more, and then turn off the TV and go to sleep. We weren't good at promises then either.

His schedule eventually picked up, leaving me to finish the fifth season alone which upset him far more than I expected it to. I was able to stream season 6 after it had aired on Showtime, and BOY! was there some fireworks. The ending was epic. One of the best of all the seasons by far in my opinion. And it opened up so much to be addressed in Season 7. I've been eagerly waiting for season 7 to air, so that it too would be streamed via netflix when I received a free 6 month trial of Showtime from Charter, my cable provided.

REALLY?!?!?! You mean it! I can watch Weeds, and United States of Tara, and Dexter!!!!! For six months. :-D

So I decided to catch up with season 7. So far there are only 7 episodes, and I'm not as enthralled with this season as I have been with other seasons. But it seems to be getting better. It was just a slow start. I need to finish United States of Tara season 3, and completely catch up on Dexter since I've only watched season 1 and it just finished airing season 5. I want to be caught up before the new season starts.

But. I will say I am the most excited for the release of season 3 of Sons of Anarchy the end of this month, and the premier of season 4 early next month. I am in some major need of that show. It is by far my favorite. It's just amazing.

But, there you have it. My lazy, sloven, tv obsessions. There is no shame in my game.

Addiction

I kind of feel like a crackhead right now. Three days without facebook and I'm itching for it. Maybe it's because of the amount of time it takes up in my day, especially when I am slow at work. Maybe it is my need to complain about the bad, or exclaim about the good and have instant gratification. Notification that people are paying attention to what I say, and why I'm saying it.

It may leave me feeling disconnected, but I never realized how facebook makes me feel important. Sad. Yes, it's very sad. Go ahead and judge me. I can take it.

But so far I'm doing well. There are two letters in the mail, going out to a friend in Florida and a friend in Ohio. I have dinner plans tonight and tomorrow night. I have spoken with people almost every day and yesterday I got to spend some much needed time with my brothers. So in-spite of my boredom, I feel like I'm doing well.

I will admit, shamelessly, I have not been able to give up texting. It is just far too convenient! Especially when it's 2 a.m. and you just want to share a thought with someone. I feel good about the battles I've picked thus far.

Women Seeks Connection, not the blog you expect.

Connection. I’ve been thinking a lot about this word ever since I had LUNCH with my friend Allen. In the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the word connection is associate with many different meanings. The act of connecting, be it a casual or logical relation or sequence, a contextual relation or association, or a relation of personal intimacy. Something that connects. A set of persons associated together.

I’ve been feeling strangely disconnected lately. From my family. From my friends. From myself. I always refer to is as unraveling, as if something that was so tightly tied to me once is slipping from my grasp, and spinning itself into free strands that flap violently like my hair when I’ve left the windows down in my car on 321. I understand the disconnection from myself, it’s easy when people experience traumatic experiences or emotional turmoil to lose pieces of themselves. But writing, it’s helping me to reconnect to me. It’s forever a work in progress.

So I begin to think, why do I feel so disconnected to my friends? Why do I feel so disconnected from my family? Don’t I know what is going on in their lives? I know Mom enjoyed her time with my grandfather in Ohio, and Ricky is adamantly looking for work. I know Kasey has finally found a job (couldn’t be more excited for her!) and my adorable nephew is rocking a Mohawk these days. I know Kathryn is loving spending time with her family visiting from out of town and is looking into grad-school. Carey has had to restart her knitted hat three times. I know so much about so many of my friends right now, who’s losing weight and who’s expecting a baby, and who’s selling a house, and who’s struggling in their relationships.

But I haven’t seen my brothers or Kasey or Camden, my nephew, in weeks. I haven’t spoken to them either. I haven’t seen Kathryn in weeks, I barely get to talk with Carey more than ten minutes here or there.

Disconnected...

Every morning when I’m brushing my teeth or drinking my coffee I’m staring at my phone: facebook, texts, blog news-feeds. Our generation is plagued daily with false sense of connection. What happened to conversation, verbal face to face conversation over coffee or wine or good food? What happened to hand written letters, not emails or texts or facebook chat conversations but long, sloppy, hand written letters that hold their own stories as they travel across the world?

I miss the organic simplicity of the past. Having a handful of people you keep in contact with through letters, or weekly dinners, or even phone conversations. I have had two phone conversations all week! Everything else is text, or facebook, or email.

And I understand the appeal of it, it’s the connection without the work. I don’t have to sit and talk, or make time to have a conversation with someone. I can keep up with their life by reading their blog. I know they’re engaged because their facebook status changed. How simple it is to “like” something on someone’s facebook than it is to seek him or her out to congratulate him or her, or send him or her a card to let them know that you appreciate the help they do. Hey, lets not call someone to wish them a happy birthday, let’s post it on their wall!

I know I sound like a hypocrite. And maybe in a way I am. I work two jobs. I have a 16-month-old daughter that I take care of by myself all the time. It’s easy to send a text asking someone how he or she is doing instead of making a phone call. It’s quicker to jump on facebook in the mornings and see what is going on in the lives of those who I keep close around me, and those who I’ve only met once. We are a very voyeuristic generation. Why do you think reality TV is as popular as it is?

It is in our human nature to crave connection. I said before it is the very thing that keeps us tied to the things around us. It’s what keeps us grounded. Reminds us we are not alone. These false connections we feed off of everyday, they are just a way for us to play life safely. I’m tired of taking the easy way out. I’m not built for it any more than I am built for failure. I tattooed the phoenix on my wrist for a reason. To remind myself that I am a fighter, not a survivor, and there is nothing in this world that can destroy me. The only thing in this life that will kill you is death. Everything else is manageable. Everything else is just a building stone to what is to come. Everything else is temporary.

Life in and of it-self is fleeting. And I’m tired of feeling like I’m wasting it. It’s not the kind of lifestyle I want to pass down to my daughter. I want her to make every day count.

Anyone who is still reading this is most likely wondering, what the hell is she getting at?

Well, here it is.

I’m taking a hiatus. I am going to start with a week, an entire glorious week without facebook. No reading the feeds. No liking the status’s. I’m going to disconnect my phone from it so I don’t get messages, or chat comments, or updates. Nothing. I am also going to make a conscious effort to stop texting. Now I realize with working, sometimes this might be difficult. But for the most part I won’t be texting at all. A few other things I am going to do:

1. Write a hand written letter at least twice a week.  

---If I call and ask you for your address, you will know why.
2. Focus on talking to someone different everyday.
3. Have dinner with a friend at least once a week.

One of two things will happen. I will either finally feel a real connection to the world around me, or this week long challenge will leave me feeling lonelier than ever.

Wish me luck.

Counter Balance

A lot of people commented to me about my "I Hate" post.
One friend asked me, "Kirby, why be so negative. Focus on what you love and not what you hate..." so I decided to take him up on his advice and follow my "I Hate" post with an "I Love" post. Enjoy.

1. My daughters laugh, seriously... there is nothing like it in the world.
2. Sunrises, the shades are so much more crisp coming from the darkness than the colors that scatter across the sky during sun-sets.
3. An open highway lane.
4. First kisses
5. Dancing spontaneously in public places
6. The spring-time
7. My Grandfather's Home... it's rich with history
8. Good red wine, especially when it is poured to me by a handsome soldier ;)
9. Really connecting with a piece of art, rather it be a song, a book written, a movie, or something on display
10. My brothers. I would be completely lost without them.

Your Typical "I Hate" Blog Post:

1. summer colds
2. peas
3. speed limits
4. flaky people
5. feeling ignored
6. silence
7. the girls on Jersey Shore
8. cheap people
9. dirty dishes
10. that feeling of insignificance that all women are plagued with at least twenty minutes of everyday

*edit* lets add SBM to that list too... 

The Human Pursuit for Connection, or My American Best Friend-The Buddhist Priest...

Hood Canal, Seabeck, Washington

Yesterday I enjoyed a lunch with one of my oldest and dearest friends. I met him when I was 12, and we have been extremely close ever sense, dubbing each other our "favorite person" and that is a title that has ceased to change.

One of my favorite things about this friend has been our ability to have extremely philosophical, and intellectual conversations. He has always challenged me mentally, and thus making me feel brighter and more educated just about every time we see each other. Where as I have always found myself drawn to the historical and artistic side of knowledge, he indulges more in philosophical and spiritual. Our conversations have become heated before, since we are both such opinionated people but generally they just seem to focus around a mutual desire to learn new things, despite our disagreement with them.

Once upon a time he planned to become a Catholic Priest, and even converted along with his family to Catholicism so that he could. I listened to him as he would embark on study of this religion or this religion while he studied theology in college. For awhile he's followed the spiritual path of Buddhists, and has even began training to be a Buddhist Priest. Listening to him talk so broadly about the Buddhist belief of reincarnation and the simplicity of just living a moralistic life I decided to look up, and read into the religion.

Just from the bare basics of information on the religion I must admit I like it. I love that the main three principles are to lead a moral life, to be mindful and aware of thoughts and actions, and to develop wisdom and understanding. I also really appreciated that the Buddha wasn't a God, but simply a man who seeked and taught a path to enlightenment. I really appreciated the Four Noble Truths. I love that the third truth's focus is that we need to focus on today, and not the past or the imagined future. It was something Allen and I spoke about briefly during lunch, and is something I have always tried to do. That belief that today is all that matters because yesterday is gone and there is no control over tomorrow. Life is unexpected, and it's difficult to plan for the unexpected so why try to?

Now, don't expect me to suddenly become Buddhist. As impulsive as I may be, I personally find aspects of the 5 precepts as things I would struggle with. Things like intoxication and loss of mindfulness, or sensual or sexual overindulgence... which lately hasn't been an issue but I could see it being one in the future. Still, it felt nice to have an intellectual conversation. It felt nice to read and discover something I knew nothing about. That has always been one of my favorite things about my friendship with Allen. Mutual respect for different beliefs and a mutual curiosity.

Still, I can't help but envy his pursuit for enlightenment. The calmness that comes from it. It would be a nice change from the chaos and emotional turmoil of my day to day life.

Just saying.

But that is just one aspect of the human experience isn't it. Connection. Rather it be to a person, or a theory, or an ideology, or a religion. We are all wondering aimlessly seeking a connection because it is one of the many things that grounds us to this world. However fleeting, or significant they may be, these are the things that tie us to what is around us, and alleviate living too much in our own minds.

But maybe that's just me.

Escaping the Silence

I had planned to wake up earlier this morning to work out, but Evelyn was up till midnight being a very grouchy little Princess so I decided to change my alarm from 5 a.m. back to 6 a.m. so I could sleep instead. I'm not sure why, despite my general exhaustion, I woke at 4 a.m. I tossed from my left side, to my right side. From belly to back. I curled into a ball. I stretched out long. I couldn't get comfortable. I couldn't get calm. Blood coursed through my veins with intense determination. Something was not going to allow me to go back to sleep.

I sat up in bed, peering through the darkness. Silence echoed through the house, unyielding and unforgiving. Sometimes silence daunts me. It taunts me with is openness.

I stood up, slowly dressed in long pants, sports bra and a tank top. I sat in the living room as I tied my shoes, first the left and then the right. I peered at the clock on the front of my cable box. 5:39 a.m. I knew the sun wouldn't be up for at least another hour.

The air was misty, and almost smelt of mold with the dampness of the heat that lingered from days of sun pelting the town without resistance. I didn't take off in a sprint. I knew my mother was right, as I cringed at her laughter when I told her I wanted to start running again. "Good luck with that." She mocked.

And I can understand her concern. Once upon a time my legs were strong and firm, allowing my feet to carry me miles at a time. I use to be a runner. I loved it, craved it's bare simplicity. Until my lung collapsed in High School, and three doctors all informed me I would never have the lung-air capacity I once had. "You will never be able to take in a full, deep breath again like you use too." I spent years walking after that... but it just never had the same effect.

I started slow, letting my short legs carry me in a quick paced walk as I began to near the end of my road. I knew the distance, from my driveway to the street sign- .2 miles. From the street sign to the very end of the road-.25. From the very end of the road to my driveway-.05 miles. The goal was to run the length of my street twice, totaling one mile. It might not seem like much, but when you are as out of practice as I am you have to start somewhere.

As I felt my pulse quickening, I decided to break into a brisk jog. I had brought along my phone so I could listen to music but decided to let the creepy sounds of the night that lingered around me fuel my need for flight. I figured being freaked out would be better encouragement to get home quickly than some fast tempo-ed hip hop. With in minutes of breaking into the run my chest ached, followed by the creeping pain in my side. My legs began to tighten up as I turned at the top, and tried to keep a steady pace. Silence creep-ed around me, and I began to realize just how uncomfortable I was with the thought of being alone, in the dark, on this quiet little back street. I began to realize how uncomfortable I was with being alone period. I forced myself to push past my driveway, knowing that if I slowed down I might give up.

Once I reached the very end of the road I had to stop, just for a second. My lungs burned begging for the air that they could not be filled with. I coughed, hacked, and felt like I was going to throw up. 12 years without running and I was suddenly face to face with the struggle before me, what exactly it was going to take for me to get where I wanted to be. The brisk walk continued up the hill, pushing my aching legs that throbbed forward... forward... forward. Always in a steady motion. I need to push myself, force myself to move forward. I can't keep sitting in the same spot. I passed my drive way again, breaking into a brisk jog. My legs threatened to give way from underneath me, but I refused to give in. I remembered my breathing- in through the nose, out though the mouth trying to manipulate my lungs. Just one deep breath, that's all I needed was one deep breath.

I reached the top of the road and felt the wind at my back. a slight hint of lightness began to spread across the back of the sky. Not sunrise, not yet. Just the hint, the promise that it would be light soon. Every inch of my body ached from the lack of oxygen, my side throbbed and my heart thudded like my feet against the pavement. I tried to sprint towards the house, trying to push past it faster than before.

As I came to the end of my run, I began to walk the length of the road. I could feel my heart beginning to steady, my pulse no longer raced as it slowly eased to the rhythm of my heart. I had passed my drive way, so I turned around and headed for home. I ached, and I hurt, and my heart wouldn't quite beat on it's normal rhythm but it felt strangely good to run.

Who knew something that would hurt so much would be the best thing in the world for me. Sounds kind of familiar doesn't it.

I don't know if it's something I can keep doing. I hated leaving Evelyn asleep in the house, even with the baby monitor on and me just walking a short distance away. Maybe I need to join a gym. It just felt too good to stop.

And despite only 4 hours of sleep, I sit at work right now awake, alert and calm. I feel calm, and I haven't felt calm in months.

Conversation...

conversation between a friend and me...

ME: makes you wonder about what love?

HIM: About the person u are with and who that person has been with and if its still going on....lol... i could rant forever on that topic.

ME: I'm not with anyone

HIM: Just in general

ME: oh, ok

HIM: besides you arnt with someone by choice

ME: not entirely true

HIM: what part is false

ME: i am not alone by choice, i am alone because i won't settle for less than what i want

HIM: i like that, just dont make my mistakes

ME: what do you mean?

HIM: finding what you want and not knowing until it was to late

ME: I know what I want... I just doubt it's in the cards for me

HIM: and that is?

ME: specifically... someone who knows me well enough to know when to be sweet and when to allow me to be argumentative. Someone who cherishes me, can make me cackle, calms me down. Loves Evelyn. Loves the good and the bad in me while still letting me indulge in the fact that I am a crazy girl occasionally...someone who is going to make me feel like I'm worth a damn. thats just the tip of the iceberg though

HIM: sound like unconditional love

 

 

PRECISELY... 

Inches from falling I catch myself...

... sugary sweet words
lingering on the tip
of his tongue
as he brushes
paintstrokes
across my lips
my cheek
my ear. 
Intoxicatingly disarming
stripping layer upon layer
of bared wire and stone
from my core
like pieces of clothing 
ripped and strung
across broken lamp shades...


It's a work in progress. Man I love things with promise... :)

Untitled

The shadows of the clouds outside form into blank spaces beneath pink and orange shades. They glow on slick wood surfaces. Untouchable, unstained like our voices.

Written 6-7-08

Behind those double A's 
I found 
a twelve step program 
down. 

Step 1: Jim. 
Step 2: Jack. 
Step 3: Jerry.

I began to believe 
Jesus was a man 
in a baseball cap with his lips 
on my ear lobe 
as if he was trying 
to whistle but has forgotten 
how. Huffy, sugary 

lingers on his voice 
as he leads me down, 
down, down the street. 

His finger prints burn into my flesh. 
Branded, I still notice 
his purple touch 
two years later 
and smile 
at my own reckless abandonment. 

Lust is swollen thighs  
loss of breath, tangled, 
torn and tainted 
then tame in a foggy moment 
when all has been said. 

Potential

In one of my favorite scene's of one of my favorite movies, the 2006 Jason Matzner movie titled Dreamland, Justin Long who plays Mookie tells Agnes Bruckner who plays Audrey "I want to read everything you write" right before they have a very extended, passionate, almost kiss. It's a big climax in the story for both characters for different reasons, and the intensity just lingers along the sandy desert as the scene fades out with Mookie walking away.

I've always loved that movie, especially that scene. To read everything a writer writes is like stripping them naked and discovering every inch, every freckle, every imperfection and perfection about their character, their soul and there heart. It's more than being naked, it's being ripped open.

I had a similar experience recently. It didn't include a long, extended, passionate, almost kiss or the extent of deep emotional climax... but to hear the words "I want to read everything you write/I love everything you write," was touching and flattering.

Truth be told, my heart is still fluttering from the unexpectedness of it.

I suspect it will be for quite some time.

Aspiration

A good friend of mine invited me to an open mic night, poetry reading next weekend. He also sent me a link of the kind of women who read at this event.



I feel highly intimidated. These women's words are so strong, and flow with such ease proudly, without an ounce of hesitation.

I once walked with them on damp dark pavement, the crispness of truth extending from ink stained fingertips.

Now I linger in the shadows, watching them with eager anticipation, reminding me of when I was a child and I'd watch my mother put on her eyeliner, dreaming of the day when I would be a woman.

Cool Night Air

Driving home from work tonight I left the windows down. There had been a light mist of rain throughout the evening so the air smelt damp, and had a crisp chill that circled my bare shoulders and grazed my ears. This place has always been home. I know the roads like the lines in my grandmothers hands. I have memorized faces, can recognize voices like dreams from my childhood. This place is my comfort, and it's been my sanity for as long as I can remember.

I am beginning to feel like the arms that once rocked me, and kept me safe are now the arms that are strangling the life out of me. I find it hard to breathe here, I find it hard to grow.

I want new roads, new voices, new faces, new landscape.

I really want to start over somewhere. I feel like I need a new beginning. I need a new start. The past gripes my arms like vines, controlling every move I make, all meticulously picked words in every carefully selected phrase. I can dream of buying an old jeep, and moving where the air is dry and cactus's thrive in the heat. Or dream of owning a little used bookstore on a boardwalk where my soundtrack is seagulls and you can taste salt in the air. I can picture me freckled from the sun, hair damp and curly. Evelyn dancing in the sand and gawking at the starfish.

I need an escape. I just can't keep spinning my wheels here. The longer I stay, the harder it is for me to get out.

Brutal Honesty

You Ask Why Sometimes I Say Stop

You ask why sometimes I say stop
why sometimes I cry no
while I shake with pleasure.
What do I fear, you ask,
why don't I always want to come
and come again to that molten
deep sea center where the nerves
fuse open and the brain
and body shine with a black wordless light
fluorescent and heaving like plankton.

If you turn over the old refuse
of sexual slang, the worn buttons
of language, you find men
talk of spending and women
of dying.

You come in a torrent and ease
into limpness. Pleasure takes me
farther and farther from the shore
in a series of breakers, each
towering higher before it
crashes and spills flat.

I am open then as a palm held out,
open as a sunflower, without
crust, without shelter, without
skin, hideless and unhidden.
How can I let you ride
so far into me and not fear?

Helpless as a burning city,
how can I ignore that the extremes
of pleasure are fire storms
that leave a vacuum into which
dangerous feelings (tenderness,
affection, l o v e) may rush
like gale force winds.

-Marge Piercy-

Back to Basics

Anyone who knows me, or reads my blog regularly knows I've had an extremely difficult year. In July Rick and I separated, and then in February decided to formalize our separation with a pending divorce. With countless fights, numerous emotional breakdowns, broken promises, lies, two moves, two jobs and countless sleepless nights I lost myself. I could feel that things were off. I didn't feel like myself. The night of my second move this year I sat in the backseat of Mitch's jeep while Mitch and Cale sat in the front. With a few beers in me, and the top of the jeep down I leaned back and let the crisp air wash over me like a baptism. I felt calm, I felt happy. Laughter erupted from me without hesitation, transforming from a chuckle to a full blown cackle. I remember Mitch smiling and saying to Cale, "oh the cackle, how I have missed the cackle."

His words have lingered in the back of my mind for a month now. I've tried to remember instances in the past year when I have laughed like that. I can't remember a single one. Until recently. I've been lucky enough to spend time with a friend recently who makes me cackle, and that alone makes me feel more like myself then I have in over a year.

I know it seems odd, to associate so much of myself with something as simple as a laugh. I just hope the cackle remains. It feels good to be able to laugh so hard again.

Almost only counts in horseshoes and grenades.

This past week it was announced that under the health care reform female oral contraception will now be available with no co-pay. Basically, that means that women will be able to receive their monthly birth control prescription without having to pay a monthly fee for it.

I've never been one to follow politics or policies. I'm not extremely educated on the difference between liberal or conservative views. I always felt I kind of straddled the fence on most of the major issues. Where as I believe a woman has the right to decide what happens to her body I can't agree with partial birth abortions. With affirmative action I tend to lean more towards a conservative view, but when it comes to the death penalty I am liberal all the way. It's a back and forth cross through all of the issues.

That is why I am torn with the governments recent decision. I agree that health care needs the reform. I agree that a large issue in this country is unplanned/unwanted pregnancies. More and more children are being abandoned, and with the economic decline people need government assistance with health care, child care, living expenses, food stamps and ect to provide for these children. Of course the logical idea would be prevention... so in that sense free monthly birth control is an excellent idea. Especially since not every woman on birth control is sexually active. Sometimes it is a medical necessity.

But what about the individuals who don't need it. Rather it be men, women who are of an older age, women who choose to not use oral contraception for whatever their reason, why should they still be paying for it if they are not receiving anything out of it. I believe we should be helping each other... but we can not keep demanding and demanding and demanding help for all when we are only helping most.

It's an excellent idea, I support it... but it's not solving all of the big issues. Perhaps it's really just a step.

Not That Girl

Last night I was hanging out with a friend of mine when a conversation began about how I've never been a "pampered" woman. It never bothered me before now, I always felt that girls who were spoiled and pampered like princesses were needy, and difficult. I was different, self sufficient and independent and understanding.

Once you get a taste of what it is like to be pampered though, even for just a second, it is easy to see why women love it. Why they desire the ease and adoration that comes from being taken care of, even when they are able to take care of themselves.

It feels odd to want romantic gestures like flowers or surprises. I've never liked surprises. I've always despised them. But now, it's almost like something inside of me is craving that kind of determination. Something inside of me is craving that kind of effort.

It's uncharted territory, and I doubt it will last long.

But who knows... maybe

Life Lessons Curtosy of LTN

Lesson 12: Be very careful not to switch an M for an N... you can easily turn the name Shane, to Shame.

Todays post is brought to you by the letter D:

Dear Dim-witted Douchebag,
I realize that is may seem like I am walking around with a "Fuck Me" sign on my back. Despite my attempts to remove the sign, cross it out with magic marker and continue on it just seems to be there, obvious to every male in a 50 mile radius. I am, however, quite positive that there is nothing on that sign that insinuates that I will, in fact, have sex with you, or that sex with me is something you can buy. I understand it might be hard for you to believe, but not everyone can be bought... even if it is for only 30 minutes. Please remove your foot from your mouth so you can walk swiftly away with your three inch tail between your legs.
Sincerly,
You have got to be kidding me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear DBBMF,
Stop ruining this for me. Seriously, stop taking the things that make this whole experience worth while away. It's bumming me out.
Yours Truly,
The Silent One in the Corner.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear  Douche-lord,
Please, stop being an epic douche-lord. It pains me to use such a title for you when I know the deepness of your disdain for the man who was the initial inspiration for such a characterization. It's unappealing, and exhausting, and just time consuming. Stop trying to play mind games. I don't know if you realized it but I haven't been playing back in awhile so you look kind of stupid sitting there playing with yourself.
Sincerely,
Not Budging...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Dork,
Thank GOD you stopped making things weird. I like this so much better.
Sincerely,
The Sweetest Red Head You Know ;)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear McDreamy,
Circumstance sucks. And I hate missed opportunities almost as much as I hate the thought of Sunday. I love being random with you. Thank you for helping remember what it feels like to be me. I am sincerely and genuinely going to miss you more than I think either of us realize.
With A Lot of Heart,
The giggle queen of your dreams ;)

rest in PEACE

Dealing with all of the emotional turmoil of the past several days I have yet to comment on Peace College’s announcement Thursday that they are transitioning to a co-ed college and changing their name to William Peace College beginning Fall 2012.

I hate to admit I was not surprised by the announcement since Peace College’s admissions have steadily been declining the past few years, but my lack of surprise does not alleviate my sadness at their finalized decision.

I was privileged and fortunate enough to graduate from Salem College, a women’s college, in 2007. Salem is an institution that has stood for tradition, honesty, and academic excellence for nearly 239 years.  When you first access the website you see the words “Confidence,” “Education,” and “Career.” A women’s college education is about seeking the best, and being the best. It was one of the many reasons why I chose a women’s college compared to a more traditional co-ed education. Tom Matlack described it best in a recent article published at Scribd.com when he quoted a senior at Barnard College. “Three percent of women graduating from high school go to women’s colleges, and yet 30 percent of congresswomen went to women’s colleges and 20 percent of the female CEOs.” We are women who do not discuss change. We are the women who demand, instigate, and channel change.

I am fully aware of the stigma that surrounds a women’s college education. They are a breeding ground for radical feminists. My close male friend’s favorite opinion during my college years was that a women’s college is basically a brothel. I don’t think people realize the benefits that a woman receives from a single-sex education. First off, there are smaller classrooms, more intensive curriculum, better networking opportunities, and the ability to focus. Salem had even more to offer it’s students, including the Center for Women’s Writers, hundreds of years of sisterhood and tradition, the beautiful surroundings of Old Salem, and my personal favorite, Dr. Jo Dulan who, to this day, is one of the most brilliant women I have ever encountered.

So despite some peoples belief that Women’s Colleges are a dying institution, that they are outdated, and an ancient ideology I am truly sad by Peace College’s decision to make the transition. So many colleges are making the change and it’s denying so many young women the same opportunities that I had, and that all the women before me had.
There are nearly 60 institutions in the United States that offer a same-sex education for women. Compare that to the 5 institutions in the United States that offer a same-sex education for men and begin to wonder why there are so few.

One could wager a guess. But I suppose that is an entirely different subject.

Regardless of my sadness and disappointment, I will support the women and the alumni of Peace College. I feel for their loss, and fear the eventual loss of many more women’s colleges in the upcoming years.

Women’s Colleges and Salem College stand strong.

Something is better than nothing.

Shattered promises
torn at corners
like broken pieces 
scattered across hardwood floors.
Illusions linger in the shards,
flirting their way into the crevices
of my fingertips.
It seeps into my blood stream,
like venom tainting
the well oiled machine 
I have created in the wake
of sunlight on an empty bedspread. 
Broken.
I crumple across the floor 
and force a connection with the reflection 
scattered beneath me. 
The girl who was.
The girl who is.
The girl who should have...

Epiphany...

I'm going to try to write this all down, but between my general exhaustion and the emotional exhaustion I am now consumed by I am not entirely sure if I can.

The last 24 hours have been very, enlightening to me. I realized I'm not ready to be dating. Charles was a very nice guy, and I really enjoyed dinner and the conversation but I'm just not ready. It's not that I'm not over Rick, I'm not over the relationship and I'm not over the hurt. I've spent the last eight years of my life in emotionally tense, exhausting, difficult relationships that had me turning myself inside out and twisting the pieces. I'm so burnt out on relationships that even the thought of  getting involved with someone makes me nauseous. I'm not guarded, I'm locked down and I don't see anyone changing that any time soon. So what's the point? I'm just washing my hands of men, I'm washing my hands of dating. I'm just done.


In other news, Rick and I sat down tonight and talked. We "cleared the air" so to speak, agreeing that the anger, fighting and jabs back and forth needed to stop. We've lost focus on what's important, which is consistency and stability for Evelyn. The conversation was a lot calmer than I believe either of us thought it would be. We were both apprehensive. And a lot of things got settled. Things still feel awkward, and things will never be as easy between us as they were... but it's a start. Like Rick said, we are now on the same page, and we will just keep trying when it comes to everything else till we get it right.

But as he drove away I sat in my car in my driveway and cried. I don't know exactly what came over me. If it was letting go of all of that hate, or feeling shame in the way we've been behaving, sadness to see him go... I don't know. But it felt good to cry. I feel like it was something I had been bottling in and needed to let out.

Perhaps I can finally get some sleep. Or better yet, write some more.

I'd had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded that for me it isn't over...

I am loving Adele's new CD, 21 this morning. It has kept a permanent spot in my CD player for months, and it just gets better every time I listen to it.

So, I have a date Saturday night. And I'm really considering canceling it. I have been on exactly three dates since Rick and I split over a year ago. Three, and only one of those was with someone I didn't know. The other two were people I had known for years. Three... and all of those first dates. One hung out once or twice after, the other two not so much. Regardless, I can't seem to get past date two with anyone. I just don't seem to have it in me. They either have some small feature that I loving refer to as a "Scottonism", meaning some aspect of their personality reminds me of Rick rather it be good or bad and that leaves me feeling sick to my stomach or I just can't make the time.Actually, the more I think about it... they ALL had Scottonisms. :-/

And it's not that I'm not ready. I've been over the whole separation/divorce thing for awhile. I'm just nervous. I'm ten times more guarded then I was three years ago when I met Rick. I'm not as open to the possibility, or hope of good things. I don't know if I even really know how to let a guy be nice to me. I still don't feel like myself.

My best friend Kat asks why I want to date then, if I'm so anxious and nervous and nauseous over the idea. It's really simple. It's not that I want a relationship, or to replace Rick, or find Evelyn a "new daddy" as some people joke about. I would just really love to meet some new people. Being a single mom, and working two jobs I really have no time for me, and so the thought of sitting down for a nice dinner and adult conversation with someone I'm trying to get to know excites me. And he does seem like a very sweet guy who I would get along with really well.

I just wish I wasn't so burnt out on the idea of being involved with someone. I wish it didn't feel so pointless.

Milestones.

So today is the day. A big day. Who would have known that July 21 would feel so significant to me. It looks like any other day. The air is muggy due to the humidity. Lincoln County desperately needs the rain that we have been promised all week.

So what makes today so significant?

Well for one thing Evelyn turned 16 months old at 4:20 a.m. this morning.

Today also marks the 1 year anniversary of the day Rick moved out. I should feel relieved I suppose, the year of drama and anxiety and stress and exhaustion and harsh words and hard times and pure brokenness is almost over. We can officially file for our divorce, and hopefully with our conversation scheduled for Sunday night clear the air between us so we can move past our mutual animosity towards one another and get our focus back on what is important... Evelyn.

Regardless, I think I will allow myself to indulge in a little sadness today. And reflect. It's been a hard year. One of the most challenging I've had since 2007 when Gene passed away.

But I survived. Hell, I've prevailed.

You wouldn't believe me if I told you...

Flesh
with it's constant motion
like a humming bird
fluttering frantically, 

seeking a connection 
to the blue
sky that expands
with each
exhausted breath. 

Melt 
into the carbon
fibers lingering along,
inch by inch,
tickling like the finger tips
of a stranger.
Heavy, 

Weave into them
like patchwork, mending brokenness
in the silent still moment
when i inject my veins with poetry

and drift 
like wheels on the pavement.

unraveling...

I'm trying really hard to hold it together. I took the pieces of my soul and looped and twisted until they were wrapped around and nuzzled into each other. I can feel them beginning to fray, piece by piece and the knot I tried to tie is beginning to loosen. I grasp at it, trying to hold the pieces together, trying desperately to make the knot last and stop the fraying.

I'm unraveling.
My heart is betraying me.
And I'm feeling lost.

Signs You're Losing You Mind

You spend 20 minutes looking for your keys only to realize they are attached to your belt loop.

You walk out of Foodlion with $40 worth of groceries in you buggy, and then realize you never went through the check out line.

When you lose your glasses you tend to find them in the cabinet, on top of the fridge, or in the dryer.

Popcorn gets cold because you forgot you made it until you go to make something else in the microwave the next day.

You can't remember if you shampooed your hair in the shower.


I feel like a basket-case some days...

I remember...

Once upon a time there was a man who looked at me like this. It kills me to admit how badly I miss it, but I do.



You had a lot of crooks tryna steal your heart
Never really had luck, couldn’t never figure out
How to love
How to love

You had a lot of moments that didn’t last forever
Now you in the corner tryna put it together
How to love
How to love

For a second you were here
Why you over there?
Its hard not to stare, the way you moving your body
Like you never had a love
Never had a love

When you was just a young’un you’re looks but so precious
But now your grown up
So fly its like a blessing but you can’t have a man look at you for 5 seconds
Without you being insecure
You never credit yourself so when you got older
It’s seems like you came back 10 times over
Now you’re sitting here in this damn corner
Looking through all your thoughts and looking over your shoulder

See you had a lot of crooks tryna steal your heart
Never really had luck, couldn’t never figure out
How to love
How to love

See you had a lot of moments that didn’t last forever
Now you in the corner tryna put it together
How to love
How to love

For a second you were here
Why you over there?
Its hard not to stare the way you moving your body
Like you never had a love
Had a love

You had a lot of dreams that transform to visions
The fact that you saw the world affected all your decisions
But it wasn’t your fault
Wasn’t in your intentions

You the one here talking to me
You don’t wanna listen
But I admire your poppin bottles and dippin’
Just as much as you admire bartending and stripping
Baby, so don’t be mad
Nobody else trippin
You see a lot of crooks and the crooks still crook

See You had a lot of crooks tryna steal your heart
Never really had luck, couldn’t never figure out
How to love
How to love

See you had a lot of moments that didn’t last forever
Now you in the corner tryna put it together
How to love
How to love

Oooh,
See I just want you to know
That you deserve the best
You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
Yeah

And I want you to know, you’re far from the usual
Far from the usual

You see you had a lot of crooks tryna steal your heart
Never really had luck, couldn’t never figure out
How to love
How to love

See you had a lot of moments that didn’t last forever
Now you in the corner tryna put it together
How to love
How to love

See you had a lot of crooks tryna steal your heart
Never really had luck, couldn’t never figure out
How to love
How to love

See you had a lot of moments that didn’t last forever
Now you in the corner tryna put it together
How to love

The Notebook- A Drinking Game

1) Every time you see THE notebook.
2) Every time that Noah ignores that NO means NO.
3) Every time you here the word "love". (guys, this one was serious)
4) Every time they fight.
5) Every time you see one of Allie's paintings.
6) Every time a storm outside symbolizes their passion inside
7) When you here Noah say "it's going to be really hard." Giggityl
8) Every time Noah imperils himself for Allie's love.
9) Every time Noah does something stupid and crazy but SUPER romantic.
10) Every time you see a symbolic swan. (Not one drink per swan, but one per swan-seeing, unless you want to get super trashed).
11) Every time you hear "I'll Be Seeing You."
12) Every time you see or hear about the dream-house.
13) Every time someone cries.
14) Every time you feel sorry for Lon, because come on, he's kind of hot.
15) Every time you think about Rachel McAdams's boobs.
16) Every time they make the sex.
17) Every time it's implied that:
- Noah is from the wrong side of the tracks.
- Old people have sex.
- If she's a bird, he's a bird.
- Their love might make miracles.
18) Have a nice big sip for ALL THOSE FUCKING LETTERS.
19) Every time someone is seen rowing a boat.
20) Every time someone (especially Noah) says something creepy.

Among Tattered Pages

"Awkward moments reveal the truth. You can't have a truly awkward moment without your heart on your sleeve, because it's the dropping of that wall between two people. Anothers eyes at an awkward moment are the most beautiful things in existence. I live for awkward moments with you." (3-1-07)


I found this scribbled in capital letters in an old journal of mine from 2007. I remember the evening, sitting with Cameron at Olive Garden and explaining to him that the walls were the color of awkwardness. He snatched my journal when I was in the restroom, and wrote this before I returned.

A small treasure from a lost life.

Independence

3 years.
1,095 days.
1,576,800 minutes.

Today I breath a very calm sigh of relief. The freedom makes my head a little dizzy realizing and remembering. And I will allow myself one moment of sadness. I will close my eyes, and count 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... and embrace the sorrow and the pain and the harsh reality, and once I reach five I will exhale and release all of it. And I will take my daughter to the parade and surround myself with her cackle. I will watch in awe as fireworks light up the clear night sky. I will embrace the possibilities of tomorrow. And I will be happy.

It is my independence day.

Hey YOU!

A fool knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.

Franklin & Bash

So Very True...

Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work. ~Thomas Edison

Divorce, the Devil and a dying idea.

I've been thinking a lot lately about marriage, and commitment. Perhaps it is because of the number of broken relationships I see around me. Friends who are stuck in loveless marriages, friends who are on the verge of separation, friends who have found out their spouses have been having long standing affairs. A once solid, and eternal idea is now becoming temporary.

And this makes me wonder, why? If people lie, and cheat, and break hearts what is the purpose of entering into something permanent like a marriage? Why enter into a relationship with someone, and willing stay in the relationship with them if it's not where you want to be? Married or not. I see it in my friends who are just dating. The same idea, I can't leave... I can't move on... it was good once it can be good again.

I understand the importance of stability. I hear a lot, "I can't leave because of the kids," but don't you think that watching your parents indulge in affairs, and fight, and harbor resentment and disdain for each other is equally detrimental to their development as growing up in a broken home.

I was thrilled when my parents divorced, not because I didn't want them together but because for the first time in years my parents were happy. My mother met and entered into a relationship with the man who she still calls the love of her life, 4 years after his death.

I guess my point is I don't understand why it's so hard to just be happy? If a relationship isn't working... then it's not working. As cliched as it may be, it's called a break up because it's broken. It's a cheesy self-help book, but the title is accurate.



And I realize I might get some backlash for this. Marriage is a sanctity. Marriage is suppose to be forever. Divorce is the Devil. Yeah, it is. I would completely agree with that. But too many people enter into relationships, and marriages lightly. To many times people get married for the wrong reasons (trust me, I could write a book on the subject). Why stay in it if it's broken. Life is too short to be anything less than happy.


So be happy. It really is just.that.simple.