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...
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
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?
What about work. You work two jobs. Currently you're working 50+ hours a week. Can you really throw even more onto that?
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?
You don't even know what you would major in!!!!
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
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.
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-
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
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.
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:
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.
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.
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::
Why yes. Yes I do.
:hangs head in shame::
Monday, August 15, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Friday, August 12, 2011
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.
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:
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
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...
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...
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
The Human Pursuit for Connection, or My American Best Friend-The Buddhist Priest...
 |
Hood Canal, Seabeck, Washington |
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.
Monday, August 8, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
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... :)
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.
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.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
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.
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-
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-
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Monday, August 1, 2011
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
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 ;)
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 ;)
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