5 years... and so on

Everyone has those moments in their lives when they can tell you exactly where they were when something significant happened. This past September millions of American’s spoke of where they were the moment the Twin Towers fell, veterans express where they were the moment Pearl Harbor was being bombed by Japanese pilots. I am no different. I know where I was the moment the Columbine tragedy reached national news stations. I can tell you exactly where I was when the Virginia Tech shooting began, and which desk I sat in while we watched the Twin Towers crumble in a cloud of dust in my tenth grade Military History class. I remember those moments that bind us to every other living person in the world. This is not about one of those moments.

I can tell you exactly where I was five years ago today. Not because of a national scandal or tragedy but because of its significance to me. By this time, 10 a.m., I had awoken to the smell of bacon and eggs in the kitchen that raged a war bringing a wave of nausea I had never experienced before.  My mother’s house, located in Cherryville, was buzzing with family who took quick naps, and spoke of arrangements. These people patted my head, handed me flat ginger-ale and crackers and all agreed it was my “nerves”.

A few hours before, somewhere between 12 and 1 a.m. we had officially lost my step-father in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. The doctors had diagnosed him with pancreatic cancer the previous April, and declared he had 9 months to a year. We were just a few days shy of 9 months.

In between being violently ill, and sobbing I plagued myself with thoughts of everything I had meant to say but had forgotten to, everything I still had to tell him. Phrases as simple as “I love you” and “Goodbye” wouldn’t cross my lips, and it I felt the shame of it stained across my flushed cheeks and weakly shaking hands.

Death had never felt so close. In high school we lost three members of my graduating class in car accidents. It was sad, and I felt the disappointment that lingered in knowing these lives were lost so young but these were not my deaths to carry. I had watched two of my aunts lose children during childbirth, and understood the sadness that engulfed my family during that time but again; these were not my deaths to carry.

This death, Gene’s death, was mine.

And in that I became a member of that world. The world where there is always a sadness haunting the edge of every moment. The world where the pain never ceases, and the guilt never fades but they become a little more tolerable every day. It binds you to complete strangers, people you’ve known for years, or someone you pass daily but never notice. It’s branded on our skin, SURVIVORS… the people who have been left behind.

Since Gene passed I’ve lost more. My grandmother, great-grand mother, my father, two aunts, a cousin… one by one. I suppose it is a fact of life, when you get to a certain age you start to expect it. Funerals almost become like family reunions.

But it doesn’t change the things you’ve lost. The moments missed. The words unspoken hang stale in the air. We remain, but we are haunted.

So today, I will raise a glass to toast one of the most influential men in my life. A man who built me, and broke me in many ways. A man I see in my daughter, appropriately named Evelyn Gene, every day. Because regardless of the amount of time, he is a man who deserves to be remembered and honored, on this day if not any other.

We miss you Gene.

cross posted at Mommy Mayham

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...

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. 

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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