So I'm home again and I feel like it. I feel like I am welcomed and embraced and in the place where I most enjoy being. I feel, much as I always do, that this place is more home than any I have know. I can't express fully how amazing it is to be so thoroughly welcomed by the friends that I love so very much. It feels amazing to be near my grandparents and our family.
I am so excited that this time has come, and am already fearing the day that I have to go back. Every fiber of who I am belongs here. And I won't lie, I wish that my family, that is to say, my mother, sister and step-dad, would move back here. I feel like two people between here and there, and I like this one better.
This is the first Christmas without Dave, it is the first time I have faced the notion that we will never have one of those perfect Christmas moments. He will always be a memory now. And let me just say, I don't really have any great Christmas memories with him. I have a few Christmas memories with his family, but they are not warm. Mostly, they make me sad. A bit lost even.
Part of me wonders if I will ever really be able to reconcile the loss of that ideal that I wished for for so long. I wonder if there will ever be a time that I can just say, it was all it could be, and simply accept that. Something tells me no.... but then again you never know what your heart will let you do. Maybe I will surprise myself.
Two of my friends are expecting a beautiful new edition to their family. I am so excited for them, and to have the chance to see a family come into being. I have never really seen the beginning from so close before. I am excited to see who this new person will become and how my friends will take on this new experience with her.
I went to a funeral earlier this week. A funeral for someone much too young. It makes me sad, but it is also a reminder for me that nothing stops, ever. Not life, not death, not the world. Nothing. Life has become routine, but even the smallest of choices means a new path and I have neglected that for some time now. Take with you, always, my love and the heart that I would openly share. Please always remember that you are with me, you are part of who I have become and what I will pass on to those in my life.
This has been a year of endings... and beginnings. Each event, each change has played into building a year I will certainly not allow myself to forget.
Happy Christmas...
and merry future... whatever it holds.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
AT LAST!
The time has finally come and I am at last coming home for some time with my family and friends! I will be there in less than 24 hours!!!!!
Monday, August 17, 2009
remembering...
As a little girl, with my cabbage patch doll face and sandy blonde hair in waves down to my butt, I knew nothing of fear. At least not of real fear. I knew about spiders and the dark. Of tall trees and the sounds my old house made as everyone slept. I never knew of addiction, depression, or the total loss of control that even the dark fears.
He was my hero. A man who would appear with gifts and treats. Playing games and taking me on adventures. He was strong, kind, casual. I never had to follow the rules that my mother set forth. I was allowed to play and laugh and eat ice cream from the container. I could watch movies until I was in a mental coma and then I could watch them all again.
We would camp under the stars, he, my step mother and I, sleeping on a mattress pulled out into the grass. Or we would go fishing and I would see the world from that place that so often I forget. That quiet alone place, where it was just him and me. I think he taught me how to love being alone. I also think that his love of isolation is why I have such a deep longing for the simplicity of silence.
We never went to the busy places, no malls or parks. When we were together we had adventures. We went to the places I always thought were secret. He took me to, what he called, a tribal cemetery once, somewhere in the Columbia River Gorge. He told me scary stories about the graves. I believed every word, despite the pin wheels and plastic flowers. He had a gift for that, for spinning tales. I think that may be why I choose to write a shelter that people can cling to in the stead of their own realities.
I think that it is very possible that he is the reason I have such a sense of whimsy. He was never very in touch with real life. But as a child I never thought twice about it. In those days of mud and the heat of summer, of tea time under the sun with plastic garage sale teacup sets, of limitless possibilities and the freedom of ignorance, he was my hero. Our time together, though limited, was a kind of magic in my life. And why wouldn’t it be? He lived his life as a work of fiction. He wrote the life he wanted people to believe. What eight year old wouldn’t want to believe every word as fact? Disbelief is only a product of those moments that leave a person world-weary.
My serious parent, my real parent, never made me see that part. I never saw the hesitancy, the fear. I never once knew the panic of her mind. The sheer loss of control that comes from relinquishing that which you hold most precious into the hands of the one who has caused you the most pain.
My fairy tale never included the drunken anger. I couldn’t recall the tension, the fear, the hate, the broken nature of a heart in love with someone who would not love her but would not let her go. Threats and despair never entered my young world… not from that responsible parent.
It wasn’t until things turned sour in both homes that I began to see the nature of discontent. In one half of my world despair manifested itself in work. In the other home, I was allowed to stay awake late enough to see the slamming of doors and the searing of tears. I learned what it was to fear my hero for the first time. I would wake in the night to the sounds of his retching or his bone shattering coughs. I know the moment that he went from hero to human. From Daddy to Dave.
I was eleven. My birthday was coming up and I was with his family for the weekend. I was settled into my makeshift bed in yet another rental house. I woke up to reality. The light from the bathroom creeping into the dark I no longer feared. The sounds of sickness. Again. And it was as if I had finished the puzzle. That last piece fell into place. The reason he never shared is soda bottles. The reason he was always free to have adventures and never had to work, the reason my step mother drove pretty much everywhere.
My daddy was drunk. Pretty much all of the time. I finally understood that look in my mother’s face as we drove away from her.
He was my hero. A man who would appear with gifts and treats. Playing games and taking me on adventures. He was strong, kind, casual. I never had to follow the rules that my mother set forth. I was allowed to play and laugh and eat ice cream from the container. I could watch movies until I was in a mental coma and then I could watch them all again.
We would camp under the stars, he, my step mother and I, sleeping on a mattress pulled out into the grass. Or we would go fishing and I would see the world from that place that so often I forget. That quiet alone place, where it was just him and me. I think he taught me how to love being alone. I also think that his love of isolation is why I have such a deep longing for the simplicity of silence.
We never went to the busy places, no malls or parks. When we were together we had adventures. We went to the places I always thought were secret. He took me to, what he called, a tribal cemetery once, somewhere in the Columbia River Gorge. He told me scary stories about the graves. I believed every word, despite the pin wheels and plastic flowers. He had a gift for that, for spinning tales. I think that may be why I choose to write a shelter that people can cling to in the stead of their own realities.
I think that it is very possible that he is the reason I have such a sense of whimsy. He was never very in touch with real life. But as a child I never thought twice about it. In those days of mud and the heat of summer, of tea time under the sun with plastic garage sale teacup sets, of limitless possibilities and the freedom of ignorance, he was my hero. Our time together, though limited, was a kind of magic in my life. And why wouldn’t it be? He lived his life as a work of fiction. He wrote the life he wanted people to believe. What eight year old wouldn’t want to believe every word as fact? Disbelief is only a product of those moments that leave a person world-weary.
My serious parent, my real parent, never made me see that part. I never saw the hesitancy, the fear. I never once knew the panic of her mind. The sheer loss of control that comes from relinquishing that which you hold most precious into the hands of the one who has caused you the most pain.
My fairy tale never included the drunken anger. I couldn’t recall the tension, the fear, the hate, the broken nature of a heart in love with someone who would not love her but would not let her go. Threats and despair never entered my young world… not from that responsible parent.
It wasn’t until things turned sour in both homes that I began to see the nature of discontent. In one half of my world despair manifested itself in work. In the other home, I was allowed to stay awake late enough to see the slamming of doors and the searing of tears. I learned what it was to fear my hero for the first time. I would wake in the night to the sounds of his retching or his bone shattering coughs. I know the moment that he went from hero to human. From Daddy to Dave.
I was eleven. My birthday was coming up and I was with his family for the weekend. I was settled into my makeshift bed in yet another rental house. I woke up to reality. The light from the bathroom creeping into the dark I no longer feared. The sounds of sickness. Again. And it was as if I had finished the puzzle. That last piece fell into place. The reason he never shared is soda bottles. The reason he was always free to have adventures and never had to work, the reason my step mother drove pretty much everywhere.
My daddy was drunk. Pretty much all of the time. I finally understood that look in my mother’s face as we drove away from her.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Tick Tick Boom
I feel like everything has this clock attached. Every moment has this bomb... waiting and slamming each tick out into the world, no matter what it hits. When is it all going to go off? When does time stop... lately it feels like the clock is ticking faster. Like everything is moving at such a pace that if you don't really live every second, life is going to leave you without the opportunity to make it all up.
Every second, I am filled with an urgency I have never known before. Some undefinable need to be exactly what I am... only I don't know who and what that is supposed to be.
Every second, I am filled with an urgency I have never known before. Some undefinable need to be exactly what I am... only I don't know who and what that is supposed to be.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Unlike Any Other
I'm not going to pretend I understand anything. I mostly know that I just don't. I know that when I look at a person or situation I am only capable of seeing them from my own perspective. I can happily impose what I believe that they are on to them as I make notes, but the reality is that I just don't know what they are feeling. I don't know where they come from, I don't know the tally of their life experience. Life isn't that simple. No matter how much I wish it could be. I can long for things my whole life, but I can't force anyone to be anything that they are not. I can believe in right and wrong but there is no way for me to enforce others to follow my standards. For that matter, there isn't really any way for me to know that my moral compass isn't completely off in the first place.
I know what I believe in... for now. I know what I feel. I wish I could show people my point of view. I wish I could share my feelings, my heart, so that people could understand what it all means to me.
There is sometimes such a desperation inside of me that seems like it is just going to shatter me from the inside. It's like my instinctual self just knows how to be, but my imposed self is struggling with allowing for those things to happen. I want to understand what it means to feel free to be myself. However, I don't want to disenfranchise myself based on the strength of my emotions. I know they can be off putting. I am very aware that I am capable of, what some might deem, an overbearing affection. I do it out of fear you know. The fear of losing these people that are so precious to me. I hold on too tight sometimes... and I think it is mostly because I am authentically scared that they will walk away... and that I will lose them. And they mean too much, have been too great a piece of my life, for me to just give up.
I gave up my dad. Because I was afraid of who he was. Because I was afraid of who he wasn't. And sometimes I regret it. Because by giving him up so early, he exists as this idea... and no matter how hard I try, the reality of the man will never be there. I never saw it, so all I have is the looming nature of vague memories from a too short relationship marred by bitter unhappiness.
I know what I believe in... for now. I know what I feel. I wish I could show people my point of view. I wish I could share my feelings, my heart, so that people could understand what it all means to me.
There is sometimes such a desperation inside of me that seems like it is just going to shatter me from the inside. It's like my instinctual self just knows how to be, but my imposed self is struggling with allowing for those things to happen. I want to understand what it means to feel free to be myself. However, I don't want to disenfranchise myself based on the strength of my emotions. I know they can be off putting. I am very aware that I am capable of, what some might deem, an overbearing affection. I do it out of fear you know. The fear of losing these people that are so precious to me. I hold on too tight sometimes... and I think it is mostly because I am authentically scared that they will walk away... and that I will lose them. And they mean too much, have been too great a piece of my life, for me to just give up.
I gave up my dad. Because I was afraid of who he was. Because I was afraid of who he wasn't. And sometimes I regret it. Because by giving him up so early, he exists as this idea... and no matter how hard I try, the reality of the man will never be there. I never saw it, so all I have is the looming nature of vague memories from a too short relationship marred by bitter unhappiness.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sounds like...
Do you eve wake up and just think... this is not what I had planned? I feel like that happens a lot. And then it makes me wonder if I should forget about the plan or if I should get back to it. The whole concept of doing things that make you wish you were doing something else seems to defeat the purpose of doing them in the first place... doesn't it?
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Crush
I think it's his smile. The way it takes over his whole countenance. The way I get excited to hear it in his voice. Even when I can't look into his handsome face. His voice fills with laughter. He makes it seem okay not to take life too seriously, as it is in my nature to do. So when we spend time together I am free. I would sit by the phone, just to hear from him. But he rarely makes me wait. It's nice.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Married
He asked me to marry him. Time and again. A joke that, let me just tell you, gets less funny with each proposal. It isn't that he isn't amazing. He truly is the most authentic person I know, and makes no apologies for it. But he doesn't mean it, and I'm good with that, but I don't want to hear the words unless there is meaning behind them. I love him, but not in the way I would need to if I was going to commit to a lifetime. He's always there, which is why I think he jokes with me about it. Because I don't think either one of us knows what to expect out of life if the other isn't available for those always necessary balance checks. He's a force in my life. He's always there. He isn't my true love.
I love weddings. I love what they represent. I think forever love is inexplicable and yet essential. My grandparents have it. And while I don't doubt that there have been ups and downs, when I see them together, when they are just living the life that they built, it is easy to see that they love each other. Fifty plus years later. I think it is as plain as that. If love can be described as plain. No. Love is not plain.
There is something about the notion of love that fixates people. Me included. Sometimes love is like the Tooth Fairy or Santa. It is this enigmatic concept that I can't quite make myself stop believing in, although I'm not sure I will known it. Again... or maybe in the first place. But then I see it. I see it in other people, my friends, my parents, my grandparents. And I know that there is a reason that people can't stop fixating on it.
Have I ever been in love? Maybe. There have been times when I felt as though something special was starting with someone I cared for. The thing is, believing in love means that I have to also be willing to feel heartbreak. That concept is one that I don't have to analyze. And thinking about that experience, heartbreak, reminds me that there is really no question that I have been in love. But now that I am not there anymore, in love, I am sure that love is something that doesn't go away. It stays with me, in some form or another. That is the thing that amazes me most about love. It is an energy, so it never dies, it just sort of shifts.
And so, like the fools that have gone before me, I fixate. Potentially having just written nothing new. But hey, I do what I want, right?? I will fall again I suppose. Requited or un, the feeling is pretty much worth it. Not so much with heartbreak. I could do without that for a while. Seems like that part is really easy to remember... or just hard to forget. I would be just fine forgetting that part. (Not really though, even that broken feeling has serious merit.)
I love weddings. I love what they represent. I think forever love is inexplicable and yet essential. My grandparents have it. And while I don't doubt that there have been ups and downs, when I see them together, when they are just living the life that they built, it is easy to see that they love each other. Fifty plus years later. I think it is as plain as that. If love can be described as plain. No. Love is not plain.
There is something about the notion of love that fixates people. Me included. Sometimes love is like the Tooth Fairy or Santa. It is this enigmatic concept that I can't quite make myself stop believing in, although I'm not sure I will known it. Again... or maybe in the first place. But then I see it. I see it in other people, my friends, my parents, my grandparents. And I know that there is a reason that people can't stop fixating on it.
Have I ever been in love? Maybe. There have been times when I felt as though something special was starting with someone I cared for. The thing is, believing in love means that I have to also be willing to feel heartbreak. That concept is one that I don't have to analyze. And thinking about that experience, heartbreak, reminds me that there is really no question that I have been in love. But now that I am not there anymore, in love, I am sure that love is something that doesn't go away. It stays with me, in some form or another. That is the thing that amazes me most about love. It is an energy, so it never dies, it just sort of shifts.
And so, like the fools that have gone before me, I fixate. Potentially having just written nothing new. But hey, I do what I want, right?? I will fall again I suppose. Requited or un, the feeling is pretty much worth it. Not so much with heartbreak. I could do without that for a while. Seems like that part is really easy to remember... or just hard to forget. I would be just fine forgetting that part. (Not really though, even that broken feeling has serious merit.)
Forgetting
Sometimes I forget.
We all do I think.
I forget that other people share the feelings that I bury. I forget to reach out when I am hurting because it is too hard to look outside of myself long enough to realize that others are hurting too.
The funny thing about being sad, feeling lost, feeling hurt, is that the more I feel that way, the more isolated I allow myself to become. It takes concentrated effort on my part to find myself again inside of those thoughts.
I am fairly certain that I have missed out on really knowing some amazing people simply by not seeing them until it was too late to break through.
I'm taking a second chance. I want to know you. Really know you.
We all do I think.
I forget that other people share the feelings that I bury. I forget to reach out when I am hurting because it is too hard to look outside of myself long enough to realize that others are hurting too.
The funny thing about being sad, feeling lost, feeling hurt, is that the more I feel that way, the more isolated I allow myself to become. It takes concentrated effort on my part to find myself again inside of those thoughts.
I am fairly certain that I have missed out on really knowing some amazing people simply by not seeing them until it was too late to break through.
I'm taking a second chance. I want to know you. Really know you.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
I hate it when people leave. When they can just walk away. When the personality, the person that they really are, is ripped out of my life. I'm not talking strictly death. I'm talking loss. Which is a different beast. Breaking up...with a friend, a lover, a stranger who made you smile... All of it leaves a mark... Each one very distinct. No matter how small. I hate the feeling that things are not simply what they seem. The veils that we are all so used to wearing, that make us all strangers to one another. I wish our veils could be removed. I can envision myself walking through life, ripping veils off of unwitting passersby. Surprise! I would say, and every face would tell me exactly who I was talking to... without agenda or pretense or lies. I just wish our faces reflected who we really were... and not who others wanted us to be. Who we wanted to be... for others. I don't mean I want to know the contents of your soul. I don't even want to know the contents of your thoughts in the moment. I just want to look at you and be able to see who you are. It's so complicated. I want it all I guess. The truth, the lies. The hidden little quirks and the mysteries. Can I look at you and see your naked self... without, you know... seeing your naked self? Maybe every word of this is more reflective of what I do... who I am, than it is of whoever is reading. Maybe everyone else really is showing me who they are... maybe I've just refused to really look. I wish I could say exactly what I feel. Without fear, without regret. Don't get it twisted; I say plenty of very honest things. But so often, too often, I want to say something that will make people think and I feel that I can't. At least not without concealing it in humor. While I love to make people laugh, I really wish that people could see how amazing everything is. Not sweet, not nice, just how amazing... without the sting of cynicism. Even when I know that the world is handing people harsh realities and bitter unkindness the mere function of it all is this amazing thing.I consider myself a person of faith. I do. I know what it means to sit at the feet of something greater than you and cry... because I know my place... because I don't know it at all. Even when I can't find the fit. I belong in this bizarre and jumbled mess. I do. Not because I have found my place, but more because I haven't. I'm not sure that I believe in destiny... mostly because I firmly believe in choice, responsibility, and thoughtfulness. But I do know that I believe in what I can't see... and hopefully I am doing it justice.
Monday, July 6, 2009
theinbetween
Read the lines
Not what they say
What they don't
What they can't.
I dream of places I used to be
run from where I am
I hide
and seek
and hide again
Dream with me
I begged him
Pleaded for what I knew
needed to be true
and then I woke
My dream is for peace
of mind
of heart
Quietly regaining all these things
that I thought lost
and maybe they are.
Maybe that is my lesson
to learn
to teach
that life is not what we dream
but what we live
I have lived running
from what I thought
to what I think
Instead of what is
what is...
Not what they say
What they don't
What they can't.
I dream of places I used to be
run from where I am
I hide
and seek
and hide again
Dream with me
I begged him
Pleaded for what I knew
needed to be true
and then I woke
My dream is for peace
of mind
of heart
Quietly regaining all these things
that I thought lost
and maybe they are.
Maybe that is my lesson
to learn
to teach
that life is not what we dream
but what we live
I have lived running
from what I thought
to what I think
Instead of what is
what is...
Sunday, July 5, 2009
GLEE
I have decided that life would unequivocally be better if people were required to sing and dance in a musical like fashion. And I don't care if they have no talent or are battling some debilitating ailment that prevents them from dancing... You would feel better if you were singing about it! I can't help but sit in my meetings at work and wonder if the great engineering and budgetary quandaries that come up during each and every meeting would not be resolved in a more time effective manner if people were required to make every argument in the form of a single verse and chorus. If you think I'm kidding you don't know me very well. I have these wonderful daydreams where I dance my way to the elevator and then in the middle of my meetings I wander into the fantasy that I am standing on the conference room table in full view of KSC and Marshall just singing! Maybe throw in a little tap number for posterity sake. I think that we would all feel better if the quiet minute writer just stood up every once in a while and belted out some wondrously off key version of OKLAHOMA or anything from Hairspray. Be honest... if you saw it, you would laugh, and your day would be at least 10% better.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Rehab... No I'm not Amy Winehouse
Rehab...
Do you ever wonder what makes it work for some people and not for others? Do you think that some people are predisposed to addictive behaviors? Do you think that there is a certain kind of person who is better able to cope with all that addiction entails? I know that my dad failed at rehab several times... (I just typed has and then had to delete it... the change of tense is so weird, I wonder how long it will really take for me to adjust. It's already been several months, but I am not sure it will all be real until I go to where he is, where he will always be.)... I wonder if, as he came closer to the end, he ever felt as though his life had been wasted. Not that I would have him change things... because those are wasted thoughts and I have life, as do my two half sisters, because of the choices he made. But really, the whole thing is so infuriating sometimes. Why in the world would you give up your whole life so you could drink? I mean why wasn't he stronger? Why wasn't he braver or more effectual as a human being? I know it sounds judgmental, but it just makes me feel like I come from this weak loser of a man. How do you look up to your father when you can’t respect him? How do you love someone… how do you stop hating someone… when it is eating you up on the inside? Is that my addiction… I mean maybe addiction manifests itself in me in my inability to forgive him. Forgive most people their transgressions. Not for him, but for myself. I feel like it will only be beneficial to let go of the resentment, rage, and feelings of abandonment. And there are days when I feel like I am there, but then I hear a story or see someone do something that reminds me so much of what he did and it is all I can do to stop myself from just losing it. I need to maintain these feelings because it keeps me aware of what life can deal out. But by maintaining these feelings, by allowing them to reside inside my mind, I really wonder if I am missing what life can give.
I often wonder if I am too concerned with the motives of others to truly allow them to show me who they are. More often than not, unless someone has really managed to stand the test of time, I assume that people in general are going to fail me. Think about it, most people operate out of a sense of self preservation. It isn’t something I begrudge. It is just something that I have to guard against, because there has been an overwhelming amount of loss in my life, even before he died. It’s been a lot. And no, I have not experienced the kind of pain that so many have. I know this. It try to maintain that perspective, but I won’t lie, feelings are sort of a relatively based deal. I’m at a broken nose… whereas there are people who deal with the full body cast… I get that. I’m not trying to whine. I just need to know that there are people who feel and care first… and worry about themselves as a secondary point. It takes a lot, and I don’t claim to be there for everyone I meet, but to those I love, well I hope they have no doubts about what they mean and what I would do for them. I’m still learning, but I hope that the people that come first to me know exactly where they stand.
Do you ever wonder what makes it work for some people and not for others? Do you think that some people are predisposed to addictive behaviors? Do you think that there is a certain kind of person who is better able to cope with all that addiction entails? I know that my dad failed at rehab several times... (I just typed has and then had to delete it... the change of tense is so weird, I wonder how long it will really take for me to adjust. It's already been several months, but I am not sure it will all be real until I go to where he is, where he will always be.)... I wonder if, as he came closer to the end, he ever felt as though his life had been wasted. Not that I would have him change things... because those are wasted thoughts and I have life, as do my two half sisters, because of the choices he made. But really, the whole thing is so infuriating sometimes. Why in the world would you give up your whole life so you could drink? I mean why wasn't he stronger? Why wasn't he braver or more effectual as a human being? I know it sounds judgmental, but it just makes me feel like I come from this weak loser of a man. How do you look up to your father when you can’t respect him? How do you love someone… how do you stop hating someone… when it is eating you up on the inside? Is that my addiction… I mean maybe addiction manifests itself in me in my inability to forgive him. Forgive most people their transgressions. Not for him, but for myself. I feel like it will only be beneficial to let go of the resentment, rage, and feelings of abandonment. And there are days when I feel like I am there, but then I hear a story or see someone do something that reminds me so much of what he did and it is all I can do to stop myself from just losing it. I need to maintain these feelings because it keeps me aware of what life can deal out. But by maintaining these feelings, by allowing them to reside inside my mind, I really wonder if I am missing what life can give.
I often wonder if I am too concerned with the motives of others to truly allow them to show me who they are. More often than not, unless someone has really managed to stand the test of time, I assume that people in general are going to fail me. Think about it, most people operate out of a sense of self preservation. It isn’t something I begrudge. It is just something that I have to guard against, because there has been an overwhelming amount of loss in my life, even before he died. It’s been a lot. And no, I have not experienced the kind of pain that so many have. I know this. It try to maintain that perspective, but I won’t lie, feelings are sort of a relatively based deal. I’m at a broken nose… whereas there are people who deal with the full body cast… I get that. I’m not trying to whine. I just need to know that there are people who feel and care first… and worry about themselves as a secondary point. It takes a lot, and I don’t claim to be there for everyone I meet, but to those I love, well I hope they have no doubts about what they mean and what I would do for them. I’m still learning, but I hope that the people that come first to me know exactly where they stand.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
I never get sick of thunderstorms. Never. When the rain pelts hard against the window panes and the sky gets lit up from midnight to mid-day. And the thunder.... when the thunder shakes everything in the room. Like the whole place shudders, a cold chill in the humid night. It's sort of like I can believe that there is more than... well more than I thought... when I see those kinds of storms. Nature is sort of amazing. When I really pay attention to it... Especially when I am back home looking out at the woods of Livingston Mountain. The green changes everything. The clean air. The sky. All of it is perfect in this indescribable way.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
In the end
I spent the day in a meeting. A meeting about things I didn't really understand. Taking notes and wondering how it was I got here. I sent a text to my mother. "I have a bad feeling," I wrote. "Please call and see." The meeting ran long. I figured she hadn't heard back. But in the back of my mind I knew. I knew before I sent the message. It was already a fact.
So home I drove, annoyed that I had spent my day so counterproductively. This wasn't the dream. It didn't even rank on the scale. Actually, it was something I would force someone to do as a type of purgatory. But hey, it's a job... right.
I complained to myself. But there are worse things. I knew.
I came home. To a kitchen in use. A rarity in my house. I got to the corner of the stove and everything was clear. I could read it in my mother's eyes. Even before she spoke.
"I'm sorry" she said. And in that moment, in those words a lifetime of sorrow built and the tears fell, for just a moment. I can't really do the emotion justice. I don't think. It was like knowing that the hurt and anguish of not knowing him had been released from but also permanently locked into my mind. I will always know that I didn't know the man who is half of me, but in that same thought, I never have to fear his reactions or judgments, his anger or resentment, ever again.
Sometimes I feel like this evil person. This woman, with no regard for the meaning of his life. But then I feel as though he never really appreciated the value of mine either.... and the relief is, well, it really isn't.
I know the guilt is perhaps misplaced. I know that the anger I bear him is somewhat useless... being that he is gone. But I can't seem to dismiss it. It is there, just as he never was. These mixed emotions that toy with my dreams and live in my mind, a resident that will not pay, but also will not leave.
Sometimes I find myself longing to shut off. So that I can forget. Just put the world on pause so that all of the anger and grief and happiness and regret and joy and longing can be held at bay. But a girl can't shut off a part of herself... can she?
Someday I will think of him and just be at peace. I will look inside myself and feel like he had this chance to change his relationship with his oldest child and he just didn't, but it will be okay. Because, in his own way, he did shape who I am. In his absence I experienced an entirely different life than I would have had with him around. And someday I will be okay with all of it. I will. Really.
So home I drove, annoyed that I had spent my day so counterproductively. This wasn't the dream. It didn't even rank on the scale. Actually, it was something I would force someone to do as a type of purgatory. But hey, it's a job... right.
I complained to myself. But there are worse things. I knew.
I came home. To a kitchen in use. A rarity in my house. I got to the corner of the stove and everything was clear. I could read it in my mother's eyes. Even before she spoke.
"I'm sorry" she said. And in that moment, in those words a lifetime of sorrow built and the tears fell, for just a moment. I can't really do the emotion justice. I don't think. It was like knowing that the hurt and anguish of not knowing him had been released from but also permanently locked into my mind. I will always know that I didn't know the man who is half of me, but in that same thought, I never have to fear his reactions or judgments, his anger or resentment, ever again.
Sometimes I feel like this evil person. This woman, with no regard for the meaning of his life. But then I feel as though he never really appreciated the value of mine either.... and the relief is, well, it really isn't.
I know the guilt is perhaps misplaced. I know that the anger I bear him is somewhat useless... being that he is gone. But I can't seem to dismiss it. It is there, just as he never was. These mixed emotions that toy with my dreams and live in my mind, a resident that will not pay, but also will not leave.
Sometimes I find myself longing to shut off. So that I can forget. Just put the world on pause so that all of the anger and grief and happiness and regret and joy and longing can be held at bay. But a girl can't shut off a part of herself... can she?
Someday I will think of him and just be at peace. I will look inside myself and feel like he had this chance to change his relationship with his oldest child and he just didn't, but it will be okay. Because, in his own way, he did shape who I am. In his absence I experienced an entirely different life than I would have had with him around. And someday I will be okay with all of it. I will. Really.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I'm so tangled
Father's day is coming soon. Slowly it is approaching. Radio commercials and television ads keep telling me the same thing over and over again. "You don't have a father anymore," they whisper to me.... like a subliminal message. I'm not writing for pity, it's just that the feeling is so weird. When he was an absent father he was still my dad, just a crappy one. Now he is a man I barely knew who was my father, but who really didn't ever see the happy end of a hallmark card. You know? It's stressful, this self indulgent sorrow. The jealousy I carry around for people who don't have to think about this stuff. I push it away, I do, but it creeps back. Every single time. I don't want to feel this way. But then again, I have felt this way pretty much since I was a kid. Okay, so this next part is hard to say and it is rather embarrassing, but that is sort of what this place is for me. A place to be the most honest I can, no matter what right? Well, if your father doesn't love you. If he doesn't love himself and half of him is you... me, then who will love me? I mean, and I'm saying it poorly, that I find it hard to believe that anyone could love me. At least all of me, not just pieces, based on the notion that I find it very hard to love the half of myself that comes from him. And I'm not simple, so I know that comes across to other people. I am scared. That I will always feel that emptiness. It is truly terrifying to be that person. With the missing piece. It feels like a kind of defect. A forever flaw. I hope that it doesn't last forever. It makes me feel sad.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
His heart
Dreaming of his heart
of the illusive nature
The never ending chase
Chosing to love someone
Who can simply never love you back.
Freudian???
Probably.
Escapable???
I hope so.
Found a pattern
Can't seem to shake it.
Want to be the apple
Turn out to be the core.
Essential,
Strong,
but tossed away.
of the illusive nature
The never ending chase
Chosing to love someone
Who can simply never love you back.
Freudian???
Probably.
Escapable???
I hope so.
Found a pattern
Can't seem to shake it.
Want to be the apple
Turn out to be the core.
Essential,
Strong,
but tossed away.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Choices
Trying to decide which Masters Program to pursue.... I'm thinking literature... cause how amazing would it be to teach classes about literature. I imagine that it would change the way I look at the world. To meet so many people and to read their ideas... to be able to honestly tell them how to improve their work... or better yet, to help them show each other how to get better... It is a prospect that I am so excited about. I guess I never realized how excited I would be about it... time to sleep and consider.... Humanities or Literature...
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
When the words build up
And I’m choked on the thoughts in my own mind
When I’m scared to speak
Because the words aren’t enough
And too much
When tears slide down my cheeks
And my mascara smears the cream of my pillow case
I drown in thoughts of you
Of the way you were a stranger
And forever a thread in the fabric of who I have become
When I dream of you
Because to forget you
Is too much to bear
When my love
And hate
And the need to forgive
And the unending confusion
Intertwine with every thought
And I am lost in where you end
And where you begin in me
My heart
The person I am
The days feed upon themselves
As I watch from outside of who I am
And see
That words don’t say it correctly
The words are too much
And at once
Never enough
When I’m dying to forget
And yearning to remember
You broke my heart by living
And ripped into my soul when you died
Strangled
And singing
A panic moment of relief
And sorrow
And fear
And joy
And shame
I wonder if I will ever feel right
About loving you
When you are the one person
I best know how to hate.
I miss you
But don’t want you back
And I’m choked on the thoughts in my own mind
When I’m scared to speak
Because the words aren’t enough
And too much
When tears slide down my cheeks
And my mascara smears the cream of my pillow case
I drown in thoughts of you
Of the way you were a stranger
And forever a thread in the fabric of who I have become
When I dream of you
Because to forget you
Is too much to bear
When my love
And hate
And the need to forgive
And the unending confusion
Intertwine with every thought
And I am lost in where you end
And where you begin in me
My heart
The person I am
The days feed upon themselves
As I watch from outside of who I am
And see
That words don’t say it correctly
The words are too much
And at once
Never enough
When I’m dying to forget
And yearning to remember
You broke my heart by living
And ripped into my soul when you died
Strangled
And singing
A panic moment of relief
And sorrow
And fear
And joy
And shame
I wonder if I will ever feel right
About loving you
When you are the one person
I best know how to hate.
I miss you
But don’t want you back
People I Love
To my friends at home... I love you all and I miss you even though I saw you only days ago... I can't wait to see you all again soon. I can't wait to be an Auntie to my "adopted" niece and or nephew to be... I can't wait to walk back into the best friendships I have ever know. I am a lucky woman... no matter where I am, because I know you are all there and I am here for you no matter what!!!
Dancing in the car
Couldn't pay attention today. The day was so long and people just kept on talking about things that I just don't understand. I had to walk back to my car on crutches after sitting in a meeting room for 10 hours. I wanted to cry. To wallow in the meaninglessness of it all. I really wanted to come home and be grumpy. To be mad at the whole world! And maybe a little part of me will be... But I got into the car and I danced all the way home. (I even danced to "the Climb" by Miley Cyrus)... An admission that may knock me down a little, but I will get back up... haha. I let go and I went car dance crazy. It was great. Just those few minutes of mental freedom.
It makes me wonder if my dad ever had moments like that. If he ever just let himself be goofy and fun and free. I never knew that side of him. The free side, the happy side. I never really saw him be a person. I always saw him be this once in a while mythical type figure that was so unhappy. He was angry and grouchy and I can't remeber what he looked like when he smiled. I'm sure I saw it... maybe, but I really don't remeber.
Did he ever dance in the car? Did he have rhythm? Did he sing along when nobody was looking?
The dad I knew drank while he drove. He smoked until it ate him from the inside. He cursed me for wanting a life without the pain of his presence. And I was no better, because I torchered myself, maybe I always will, because I think about him every day. Every single day.
Maybe that is what drives me to dance in the car... or sing in the grocery store. Maybe I have to make myself unlike him. But who knows... maybe he did those things. I really wish I knew. I wish he had been a different man. Or maybe that I could have been a different daughter to him.
He didn't say goodbye. Not once ever did he think to call... and I didn't either. It makes me sad to think that I will never have that moment with him. No moments with him...
So I will dance in the car. And I will choose to think that he had some good times... he had to. He loved the outdoors and he wanted to be free. I am like that.... I have the same wave in my hair that he had and maybe I got my creative spirit from him. He loved Westerns and I love them too. So I will dance in my car... and chose to believe that he was happy at least for a while in his life.
Maybe I will not cry so much if I think of him that way. Maybe I will miss him less if I can think of him happy. It makes me feel kind of empty when I think of him hating the majority of his life... So instead, I will dance in my car.
It makes me wonder if my dad ever had moments like that. If he ever just let himself be goofy and fun and free. I never knew that side of him. The free side, the happy side. I never really saw him be a person. I always saw him be this once in a while mythical type figure that was so unhappy. He was angry and grouchy and I can't remeber what he looked like when he smiled. I'm sure I saw it... maybe, but I really don't remeber.
Did he ever dance in the car? Did he have rhythm? Did he sing along when nobody was looking?
The dad I knew drank while he drove. He smoked until it ate him from the inside. He cursed me for wanting a life without the pain of his presence. And I was no better, because I torchered myself, maybe I always will, because I think about him every day. Every single day.
Maybe that is what drives me to dance in the car... or sing in the grocery store. Maybe I have to make myself unlike him. But who knows... maybe he did those things. I really wish I knew. I wish he had been a different man. Or maybe that I could have been a different daughter to him.
He didn't say goodbye. Not once ever did he think to call... and I didn't either. It makes me sad to think that I will never have that moment with him. No moments with him...
So I will dance in the car. And I will choose to think that he had some good times... he had to. He loved the outdoors and he wanted to be free. I am like that.... I have the same wave in my hair that he had and maybe I got my creative spirit from him. He loved Westerns and I love them too. So I will dance in my car... and chose to believe that he was happy at least for a while in his life.
Maybe I will not cry so much if I think of him that way. Maybe I will miss him less if I can think of him happy. It makes me feel kind of empty when I think of him hating the majority of his life... So instead, I will dance in my car.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Who is she and why is she strangling my spirit??
There is nothing sadder to me than the thought of leaving this world with regret. To spend your days living as someone you don't respect. Living as someone so entirely outside of yourself that you imprison that person you are meant to be on the inside... in some dark corner of yourself until you stifle all that she is and she slowly withers to be that creepy alien thing that comes out of that guys stomach at the end of Spaceballs... sure it will dance and sing a jaunty show tune, but it's gross... and you're dead once it escapes. And where is the fun in that? But really, in a more focused way, what does it say about your self esteem? Nothing good. Do I really hate myself that much? And if not, if I look inside and like the woman that is hiding in there, then why am I locking her so deeply away.
Dance I say! Speak, sing paint, draw, look, listen, yell, cry, walk, crawl. Love. Forgive. Feel. I will no longer stand inside myself. No longer do the dance of the self loathing American member of mediocrity building up my 401K so that I can retire with a house full of crap I don't use. I moved myself 2,000 miles, once again to bury myself back in that decaying pile of secretarial misery with a government name boost???? I don't think so. I want to love who I am enough to be able to enjoy the choices that I have made and the life I am living. Who cares if the world doesn't think that I am making the right choices... actually, most of the world isn't even thinking about my choices, or me at all, so why do I spend so much time thinking about them? I think that my greatest failure is wallowing in the fear that I am not living up to other people. I just want to know that I am capable of having what other people have you know?? That I will be able to find a healthy place in my own head so that I can allow someone to love me without feeling like they are going to disappear. I want to live. Love. Let go of the baggage and travel a bit lighter.
Dance I say! Speak, sing paint, draw, look, listen, yell, cry, walk, crawl. Love. Forgive. Feel. I will no longer stand inside myself. No longer do the dance of the self loathing American member of mediocrity building up my 401K so that I can retire with a house full of crap I don't use. I moved myself 2,000 miles, once again to bury myself back in that decaying pile of secretarial misery with a government name boost???? I don't think so. I want to love who I am enough to be able to enjoy the choices that I have made and the life I am living. Who cares if the world doesn't think that I am making the right choices... actually, most of the world isn't even thinking about my choices, or me at all, so why do I spend so much time thinking about them? I think that my greatest failure is wallowing in the fear that I am not living up to other people. I just want to know that I am capable of having what other people have you know?? That I will be able to find a healthy place in my own head so that I can allow someone to love me without feeling like they are going to disappear. I want to live. Love. Let go of the baggage and travel a bit lighter.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Overcome with emotion.
Taken over by a reaction.
Overwhelmed by the presence of chemicals in my brain.
It isn’t so farfetched.
Actually, it is a reality that I have grown rather accustomed to.
I am often lost in my own mind
Overthinking
Concentrating on the what ifs instead of the right now
I shy away from making plans for the future
But I fear that I won’t find one
It eats away at the very core of who I am
What will happen and what is happening seem so intrinsically linked.
Stuck together the way you can’t have day unless night follows
I yearn for the strength of night
To be the quiet sister to the brilliance of day
To be all right as the shadow
Instead of needing to be the spotlight, the center
Of course, the day is only the center of one small thing
The infinite possibilities of the billions upon billions of other centers is overwhelming.
I am like that inconsequential center
I don’t want to shine alone.
To face the notion that I may have to be strong enough to stand alone
Forever
The timeframe is just too long
Forever
To be expected to endure it by yourself…
Well that would just be cruel
I fear that I am destined to push everyone away
That in shining alone for so long
I have burned too bright
And have overshadowed my match.
My knight
When does a princess become the wicked queen?
Is it her time alone that makes her so embittered?
When will I find the home I have sought for so long?
When will I let the sun set on all of the dreams, so that I can embrace a reality?
Taken over by a reaction.
Overwhelmed by the presence of chemicals in my brain.
It isn’t so farfetched.
Actually, it is a reality that I have grown rather accustomed to.
I am often lost in my own mind
Overthinking
Concentrating on the what ifs instead of the right now
I shy away from making plans for the future
But I fear that I won’t find one
It eats away at the very core of who I am
What will happen and what is happening seem so intrinsically linked.
Stuck together the way you can’t have day unless night follows
I yearn for the strength of night
To be the quiet sister to the brilliance of day
To be all right as the shadow
Instead of needing to be the spotlight, the center
Of course, the day is only the center of one small thing
The infinite possibilities of the billions upon billions of other centers is overwhelming.
I am like that inconsequential center
I don’t want to shine alone.
To face the notion that I may have to be strong enough to stand alone
Forever
The timeframe is just too long
Forever
To be expected to endure it by yourself…
Well that would just be cruel
I fear that I am destined to push everyone away
That in shining alone for so long
I have burned too bright
And have overshadowed my match.
My knight
When does a princess become the wicked queen?
Is it her time alone that makes her so embittered?
When will I find the home I have sought for so long?
When will I let the sun set on all of the dreams, so that I can embrace a reality?
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Strangers
The stranger in the mirror is lying to me once again.
I guess to know yourself is an adventure that takes a lifetime.
My adventure begins anew each day.
Beginning as the sun skims the horizon of the small world I have chosen for myself.
Closing as the moon rides the waves or a swimming black sky.
With each star, there is a twist and a new chapter comes to life.
Shooting out on a tangent all its own.
I see that stranger in the false light of an energy saving bulb.
I wonder if I would know her had the bulb been full strength.
Light is said to change one's perspective.
I doubt it though.
I doubt that I will ever be anyone but a stranger to myself.
And maybe that is what I was meant to be.
Because if I don't know me, than neither can you.
And if I don't know myself, then I can't be disappointed if you don't like me.
Because you can't fault someone who won't befriend a stranger.
I guess the lie is that I do know at least a little part of that stranger
And sometimes I love who she is.
And sometimes I wish I could say she was a stranger.
Because not wanting her around wouldn't hurt so much.
I guess to know yourself is an adventure that takes a lifetime.
My adventure begins anew each day.
Beginning as the sun skims the horizon of the small world I have chosen for myself.
Closing as the moon rides the waves or a swimming black sky.
With each star, there is a twist and a new chapter comes to life.
Shooting out on a tangent all its own.
I see that stranger in the false light of an energy saving bulb.
I wonder if I would know her had the bulb been full strength.
Light is said to change one's perspective.
I doubt it though.
I doubt that I will ever be anyone but a stranger to myself.
And maybe that is what I was meant to be.
Because if I don't know me, than neither can you.
And if I don't know myself, then I can't be disappointed if you don't like me.
Because you can't fault someone who won't befriend a stranger.
I guess the lie is that I do know at least a little part of that stranger
And sometimes I love who she is.
And sometimes I wish I could say she was a stranger.
Because not wanting her around wouldn't hurt so much.
So... he died
I started talking about having a blog like a thousand years ago... okay like two years ago. I thought that it would be a great way to write something and let people read it, without the fear of publisher rejection.... but I wanted the best blog, the blog that would look all other blogs in the face and make them feel an overwhelming sense of dejection. I wanted to be the head cheerleader of blogs... But I was a drama kid. I stole the attention from the room by overtalking, over gesturing and outwitting the competition.
Turns out that neither option will work... Cause no matter where I am, there is always a blog who can look at my blog and say- ummm no. It's the blogerary version of a bitch slap... and it never stops stinging.
But in all seriousness, I needed a place to build up a comfort level with the thoughts in my own head. I place that wasn't a journal that I would hide away from the world... the way I lock up my goals simply because I am afraid to fail.
So, why after the two plus years of writing did I finally decide to start my blog... well, my dad died. And there is a whole story of disconnection and hurt and unrealized dreams for the future of our relationship that is wrapped up in that piece of reality. But all I am left with now is half of a lifetimes worth of animosity and confusion wrapped in a bundle of... me.
Do you feel a little awkward about laughing at me now other blogs? With your fancy backgrounds and cool linking functions? Don't... cause this blog needs to be kind of plain. I think I need to get comfortable with the notion of who I am, instead of who I always thought I was going to be...
However if you are reading this and you have any tips for improving on the mundane functionality, I'm all ears.
Turns out that neither option will work... Cause no matter where I am, there is always a blog who can look at my blog and say- ummm no. It's the blogerary version of a bitch slap... and it never stops stinging.
But in all seriousness, I needed a place to build up a comfort level with the thoughts in my own head. I place that wasn't a journal that I would hide away from the world... the way I lock up my goals simply because I am afraid to fail.
So, why after the two plus years of writing did I finally decide to start my blog... well, my dad died. And there is a whole story of disconnection and hurt and unrealized dreams for the future of our relationship that is wrapped up in that piece of reality. But all I am left with now is half of a lifetimes worth of animosity and confusion wrapped in a bundle of... me.
Do you feel a little awkward about laughing at me now other blogs? With your fancy backgrounds and cool linking functions? Don't... cause this blog needs to be kind of plain. I think I need to get comfortable with the notion of who I am, instead of who I always thought I was going to be...
However if you are reading this and you have any tips for improving on the mundane functionality, I'm all ears.
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