Adventures in Writing Land Part 3

I recently read a blog post about ‘writer’s fatigue,’ and suddenly my inattentiveness, lack of focus, and my ADHD approach to writing made perfect sense. I’ve got writer’s fatigue. Who’d of thunk? Boom, problem solved. No, not really, but it helped me to reach the difficult decision that will hopefully lead to a more focused, in-tune me. So, what is ‘writer’s fatigue’ you ask? Excellent question.

The blogger described how getting ‘tuned-in’ to the internet and technology turns off your creative process and distracts the brain from doing what you’ve set out to do, at least that was my interpretation of his writings. And it’s true, how easy it is to get on the internet and get completely sidetracked and distracted because of all the social media outlets like Facebook, Twitter, e-mail, Blogger…. Even music can be a distraction that doesn’t allow our minds to focus properly. I know that I do my best writing when I’m by myself in silence so that I can completely focus on my work. It’s been a long time since I was able to do that because of the pull and enticement of popping online for ‘a few minutes’ to just ‘check’ Facebook or ‘browse’ through my e-mail… we all know it’s always going to be more than a few minutes, and for most of us, it can be a few hours before finally returning to the task at hand. Ugh, too true.

I never wanted to be one of those people. You know, the avid Facebook checker, the obsessive smart phone user, the one who is seemingly controlled and diverted by technology… unfortunately, for as long as I held out, the allure was too much and I got hooked. I can’t tell you how many times a day I pull out my phone to check IMDB for random factoids that don’t really matter but helps me to argue a point about an actor or actress or movie that I saw five years ago but can’t remember the particular details about. It probably wasn’t the best movie if I can’t even remember who starred in it anyways, but there I am, whipping out my sweet phone to check it out. Oh, and Facebook? Forget it. I’m pulled in every few minutes to see if there are comments or new friends to add or messages in my inbox. It’s ridiculous and I’m embarrassed by the fact that I’ve stooped to this level. Really, should I care about how many friends I do or don’t have? Is it really important to read through all of my friend’s status updates? Is there life altering information every three minutes that forces me to check my newsfeed? No.

For a few days, I decided to try a self-imposed break from being online. Truthfully, it wasn’t as difficult as I thought it was going to be. I still had my phone, but I didn’t check my Facebook or e-mails from it, it served its purpose of telling me the time and being my alarm clock, oh and keeping in contact with people  I see on a regular basis. You know, the actual function of a cell phone before it blew up to be this mini Mecca of super technology. I even *gasp* left my computer at home instead of toting it around with me like I usually do. My shoulder miraculously didn’t hurt for those few days… needless to say, it was a huge relief not being so dependent on all of this technology that can bog you down and suffocate you without even realizing it.

After I read through the ‘writer’s fatigue’ blog, it was clear why it’s been so difficult to produce anything worth, well, anything. The endless distractions that not only the internet but technology itself provides is astounding, and I had hardly realized it before. Not to say that I’m going to delete my Facebook account, or throw my computer in the trash, come on my computer is like my baby, but the realization I’ve had will allow me to proceed with caution and awareness. I won’t be blindly jumping online every time I turn my computer on because I know now that that’s not what’s most important. Just because the technology is there, doesn’t mean I have I abuse it, and that’s what I’ve been doing for too long. Appreciate without letting it consume, that’s my new philosophy and I’m sticking to it.

I started writing this post with a pen (eeep!) and actual paper (no way!) and it felt really good. Awe Yeah.

I wear my roommate's socks.

Before you get all grossed out, they are clean whenever I wear them. Just sayin’. But this sock wearing business is just a scratch on the surface of this previously foreign concept I call sharing. Buh, I shudder still at the thought, but I’m getting better about it.

I’ve never had a sister before, and I’m still getting used to the whole thing, but sisters share, or so I’ve found out. I grew up with a little brother, and when I say ‘grow up’ I mean I was nearly nine when the little demon was spawned and ruined my only child mentality…eh hem I mean when the lovely boy was born and brought into this world… anyways we were not sharers. The only thing we shared was our DNA, everything else was, ‘That’s mine! Don’t touch it! Moooooooooom! Give it back!’ Yes, I’m embarrassed to admit that even with the almost nine year age difference, we still fought over everything and anything and wanted to share nothing. Seventeen years later, I’m proud to say that we’ve gotten better, but there is still that hard-to-kill habit of wanting to say no when it comes to sharing. What can I say? We’re both stubborn.

Anyway, when my roommate moved in about three years ago (actually exactly three years ago nearly to the day) I had never before been introduced to the idea of being okay with sharing. What I thought of as ‘sharing’ would have included air, living space, and taking turns driving to the grocery store to equalize gas spent on doing things. That was logical to me, I would most definitely not have considered ‘sharing’ to include food, DVD’s, or socks. Especially not socks. And by no means would I ever have imagined people willingly lending out their things to other people, or allowing them to eat their food without expecting payment or anything else in return. SO WEIRD!!! I wouldn’t say that I was necessarily selfish in my thoughts of not sharing, well maybe a little, but I had never been met with that kind of generosity before, and the first time my roommate said I could have some of her food shocked the hell out of me. I was like, ‘Uh, you sure?’ and she was like, ‘Duh.’ That’s basically how the conversation went. She explained to me that family is all about sharing, and whatever you have, you give to your siblings or your parents. I think I broke out in a sweat when she was explaining it to me, but very gradually I became accustomed to the idea of sharing. And of course the benefits of it too.

I actually think now before letting someone borrow something instead of automatically saying no. Don’t get all crazy now, I said ‘think,’ not ‘I always share my things with everyone because I’m such a good person.’ Definitely didn’t say that, but I will actually think about it, and consider if I know where they live and how long I’ve known them in case they don’t return it…kidding, only kidding. Something I find funny is that I’m the worst at getting people back their stuff. I still have a book from someone (well, more than a few books from more than a few someones) an anime series (sorry! I promise I will return it, and it will be watched! Swear!) and I believe I just returned someone’s binder that I’d had for a couple of months… yep it’s not on my shelf, definitely returned it. (phew). Sharing can be so stressful!

When my roommate got home today, I smiled hugely and said ‘I had some of your chips, oh and a little Sprite too. And, I’m wearing your socks!’ Her automatic reaction was a scowl followed by, ‘Bitch,’ and then immediate smile and shrug. As I said before, we’re sisters, and sisters share. You might be thinking what does she get out of this because it seems a little one-sided on the sharing thing… but I also share my food, and she wore my socks last night, oh and I have a wealth of knowledge that is completely at her disposal, along with the largest RomCom DVD collection in the world. Yeah, I’d say she’s sittin’ pretty.

Sharing is caring. Especially when you share socks.

Adventures in Writing Land Part 2

So, for those of you who follow me (and I must say that I appreciate every one of you) you know that I’m writing a book. Or attempting to write a book. And by ‘attempting to write a book’ I mean unsuccessfully filling blank pages with words that may or may not be completely useless phrases strung together with a flurry of punctuation. Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing right now, and I’m rolling my eyes at myself. ‘Come on,’ I tell myself, ‘it shouldn’t be this hard,’ again an eye roll, ‘hundreds of people get books out every year that don’t have as much time as you or don’t follow any logical sentence structure and they still find time to find someone to publish them…’ This is a constant argument that I have with myself, in my head of course because having it out loud would mean that I’m crazy, and I still can’t find the fire that I need to keep myself rolling. And by ‘rolling’ I mean find a steady pace with which words flow freely from my mind down through my fingers and alight prettily in a special font on my gargantuan computer screen. Try saying that five times fast.

And so, lately, I’ve taken to extremes. Nothing weird or abnormal mind you, although at this point perhaps that’s what I need to try in order to get my brain functioning properly, but what a friend and fellow writer told me to try was this: pick an alcohol. Okay, after looking in my freezer, I had whiskey or tequila. My spicy roommate is more for the Ta-kill-ya, so I pulled out the whiskey and put it on the counter. She then told me to pour three fingers, add a few ice cubes, and a splash of Coke if necessary, and proceed to get drunk. She swears by it. So, that’s what I attempt to do. I sit at my computer, brain fuzzy, and start writing what I think is fantastic stuff. Character development, plotline, amazing descriptions of places, visualizations of a map to use for the realm I’ve created. I think that I should do this more often, that writing is easy when I’ve been drinking because I don’t hold back…. Ya come to find two days later when I finally reread what I wrote that it’s all shit. And not even potentially-workable-shit. I mean I-must-have-put-more-whiskey-in-my-glass-than-I-thought-shit. Needless to say, I erased the whole thing (measly 3 pages anyway) and now I’ve started over. Sober. But I’m stuck again.

I’ve tried to do the whole clearing of the mind, putting myself in a calm, clear state, but my upstairs neighbors make that nearly impossible no matter what time of day it is. My lack of focus is really irking me, and now I’m whining to you. I feel that I’ve been doing a lot of unnecessary whining lately, and I apologize to those who have heard it outside of the writing realm. My inattentiveness might stem from the fact that even though I’m incredibly busy, I’m also bored, and when I’m bored there seems to be a lack of focus. I’ve said it before and here I go saying it again, I think I have a form of ADHD when it comes to writing a book. Whine, whine, whine, bitch, bitch, complain. Okay, I’m done. Thanks for listening.

Squirrel!

There I go again… onto the next project.

Men aren't dogs... they're more like cats.

Where did the association between men and dogs come from, anyway? Dogs have a bad rep when it comes to men and the comparison drawn between members of the opposite sex and their canine counterparts. Sure, dog might be man’s best friend, but behavior-wise, I say men are far more like cats. That’s not necessarily a good thing. What perpetrated this rant, you ask? A variety of observations as well as recent and ancient encounters with guys (both negative and positive) that collected in my brain to produce this. I don’t believe that all men are like this, I’m just trying to prove a point that when a man is associated with an animal, the cat is actually more apt of a description.

 Here’s why:

Intelligent. Their conniving intelligence is awe-inspiring. No really, it is. You might think that I’m giving them too much credit, but really, I don’t think we give them enough.  They know exactly what they want, they just sometimes pretend to be stupid so that they can get it. From the beginning, guys just know what it is they want, and are often single-minded in their pursuit of getting that. While it may be something material like an expensive car, this also applies to women. I’ve seen it, I’ve lived it, it sucks, but such is life. Now once they get that thing in particular, they want to move on to something else, something new, something different. A better version of that car perhaps, a newer model. Again, it happens, nothing we can do about it. If guys were more like dogs, their intelligence would be limited, and they would be unthinkingly happy once they got what they wanted. Have you ever played fetch with a dog? They never tire of that game because it makes them so happy, they only stop to sleep, and when they wake it starts all over again. Their simple stance on happiness is quite refreshing, if a little boring.

We clean up after their shit. Literally and otherwise. Stupidly, we choose to do it. ‘Oh, but he’s so cute! And look how he’s so loving! Of course I’ll clean up after him if I can keep him!’ While that may sound like I’m reducing women to nothing but brainless bimbos, the fact is that it’s true. Something in our brains is just preprogrammed to want to accept their shit in our lives. With a dog, it’s more of a legal obligation than a choice in accepting that responsibility. Don’t ask me why we choose to do it, I don’t understand it myself. It’s a conundrum, really, and one that is enough to be its own focus for a future post.

Hit it and quit it. While a cat might not follow that exact term, they do like to play when it’s convenient for them, and then peace out when they’ve had enough. A cat will rub against your leg, get your attention, and then when you give him enough scratching behind the ears, he’s gone to go fulfill another need. I feel like I have to mention again that this isn’t meant to encompass all men, just the ones that we would commonly refer to as ‘dogs’. I’m not trying to bash the entire male race, I’m just saying give the dog a bone and leave him alone, because the cat is the one you’ve got to look out for.  

I feel sorry for the dog. There’s no need to feel sorry for the cat. They’ve got it made. Just sayin’.

Adventures in Writing Land

So, my writing partner in crime and I seem to have the same problem when it comes to completing a book: we can’t finish one. I’ve just read her blog (writingsawitch@blogspot.com) and I found myself making comparisons to my own writing journey, so I decided to share my thoughts on the subject.

She’s absolutely right, writing a book is not an easy task. It’s been on my To-Do List and my New Year’s Resolution’s List for the past few years, and I’ve yet to actually check that one off. I expected it to be difficult, but sometimes it’s like I’m extracting teeth from my own head, and it hurts and I just want to stop for a while and let my head rest. But I can’t. I know I have to keep going. Even if I don’t want to, even if I want to sleep or read or play video games or some other form of distraction, I know I can’t let all of that get in the way. But I’ll still pout about it from time to time.

There’s a difference, too, between writing a book and writing a publishable book. Writers are perfectionists and the worst when it comes to self criticisms. We are way too analytical for our own good, and nothing is ever finished, not really. For us, when something is turned in (i.e. an essay, an article) we still cringe days later when we go back a reread what we turned in, wishing that we would have added this or taken this sentence out. It’s annoying and frustrating, but so set in our natures that we cannot help it. And would we really want it any other way? It’s good to not settle, and to always strive for the next level, even if it’s irritating. Right? I know when I post on my blog, I’ll go back and reread it and edit it if there are any errors that I catch (or that my roommate catches) because I’d rather not be judged by how I’ve written but what I’ve written instead.

Back to the discussion at hand, my friend and I have had the same issue with this whole writing a book thing, only she’s continued with primarily one idea this entire time, while I’ve gone from five different stories of varying variety and can’t seem to land on one long enough to write something worthy of continuing. Ugh. I’ve described it before by saying that I have a sort of ADHD when it comes to writing. There are few days that go by where I don’t write, but it’s mostly blogging and not on one of the many book ideas I have. I haven’t lost heart yet, I’m still diligently plugging away at ideas, but I think that my numero uno problem is that I don’t have one solid idea. I’ve got tons of little pictures in my head for several different characters and plot lines, but there isn’t one set world that stands out in my mind as something that I can write solidly from. I’m sorry if that doesn’t make sense. Some writers describe their book writing experience as being handed a perfectly wrapped gift, and everything unfolds neatly and prettily in their minds, so they are able to put to pen and paper exactly what they want to convey from the very beginning. As lovely as that is, my brain does not work in that way. At all. There are a bunch of half-wrapped, partially buried, some chewed on presents scattered around the floor beneath the tree that might contain something pretty, but it’s very hard to see. In fact, it’s so hard to tell what’s hiding in there, that I hesitate to poke my hand around for fear of what I might pull out. My brain is not neat, it is not orderly, but it’s the only one I’ve got, so I better start digging.

I just hope someone will drive me to the hospital if I pull my hand out and a few fingers are missing.

Work-Filled Days, Karaoke Nights

Busy. That’s an understated word used to describe my life. A thesaurus might say: full of activity, demanding, hectic, eventful. All of those apply, and more. No complaints here, either, I appreciate the turn my life has taken, and I love everything that I’m doing right now. I only wish there were twelve more hours in the day because I hate to have to tell someone ‘Maybe next week we can get together,’ or ‘I can stop by between work and a meeting for an hour…’ oh well. Nothing can change that fact unless I can track down one of those nifty time-shifting necklaces Hermione has in The Prisoner of Azkaban. Note to friends: that would be an excellent Christmas gift. Just sayin’.

In between my ever changing work schedule, two classes at the dojo, and writing, I’ve managed to fill up my extra time (haha, there’s not much of it) with graduation parties and going away parties lately. Needless to say, I’ve had the most fun in the past week than I have in the past few months, so a big THANK YOU to all of my friends who have hosted these life-transition shindigs. It’s been fun. And in its own way, it’s been a life transition for me, as well. For the first time, I did karaoke last night, and it wasn’t as frighteningly debilitating as I thought it was going to be. I always pictured myself standing in front of a crowd and barely squeaking something out as people booed me off the stage. I’m happy to say that that did not happen, and I’m still in one piece. My voice, on the other hand, is raspy and my throat a bit raw this morning, but it was worth it. It was my friend’s going away party last night and, in my whiskey haze, I agreed to go on stage and perform Lady Marmalade from Moulin Rouge. I did not relish being in the spotlight, quite literally there were lights shining down on us from a real stage, but I did enjoy belting out one of my favorite songs. Before we went on, my friends and I made the observation that a performance is based on how many people come and dance and cheer you on (there were a few where no one was on the dance floor…and once or twice where the music just kind of faded out…yeah that was a little sad) and all I hoped for was that we didn’t have an empty dance floor. When they called us out, I decided to focus, not look at the crowd, and just remember the words to the song that I’ve sung a thousand times, and so I did. My lovely co-singers decided to peace out on the singing in the beginning of the song (there are five parts to the song and there were three of us) so I did the best I could despite the range difference and the rapping and by the end of the song, we had a decently populated dance floor and some stunned friends. It was pretty awesome. Not something I’m going to do every weekend, but fun and exhilarating nonetheless.

I met up with some friends from work this morning for a much needed hearty, greasy breakfast and while we were being seated, we noticed a group of four guys sitting across from us, one of which was wearing a glittery flashing tiara and a colorful lei, and they were all wearing a bleary-eyed smile as they recounted the bachelor party they had come down for the night before. That scene made my day. It was good to know that I wasn’t the only one that had an amazing night followed by a fantastic morning with friends. I don’t think people take enough time to have fun, myself included, and the last week has shown me that even if I’m busy, even if I think I don’t have time, there are ways to shift things around and rearrange schedules in order to do what’s most important: to not live a stagnant, predictable life. There was no way when I got up yesterday morning at 545 for my morning workout class that I thought I’d be doing karaoke 19 hours later. I never expected to make it a nearly 24 hour day of nonstop fun and unplanned adventure. Even though I got less than six hours of sleep and I’m starting my eight hour closing shift in a few minutes, I don’t regret a single second of yesterday. Sleep can wait, life can’t.

Six months down, six more to go!

Half way through the year already… I’m kind of freaking out a little. Side note: I’ve heard that only women use the term, ‘A little,’ in their writing. I wonder what men use instead? Anyways, half way through the year and I feel that I’ve so much more to accomplish, and it’s making me nervous. My three New Year’s resolutions were: Finish writing a draft of a book, keep up with my kickboxing and total body fitness classes, and go on a date. So far, one of those goals I’ve surpassed my own expectations, another one I’ve been diligently working on but it’s not quite there yet, and the other one is not even close to being accomplished. Betchya can’t guess which one is which!

My fitness goals for the year have been amazing and I’ve continued my second class for over six months now despite having to get up at 545 four times a week. My upstairs neighbors make getting up that early even better because they are constantly playing music until way past midnight and they pound on the walls at random times during the night… I so don’t want to know what they’re doing. My roommate thinks that there’s some sort of sex trade or private stripper dances going on since the music doesn’t start until after 10 and there are a bunch of men that go up there… I can’t say that she’s way off target either because our interactions with them have been strange at best. Anywho, I just recently acquired my brown belt in Muay Thai Kickboxing, and am now a part of this year’s black belt candidates, so my continuous fitness education can only get better from here. Fitness resolution: CHECK!

As for writing a draft of a book… well I was roughly 125 pages into the first one when I realized that I had a different story that needed to come out instead. I swear I flip my concentration so much that I might have ADHD or something, but I’m working on calming myself down. The current story I have is roughly 30 pages, but I still have another 6 months to work through it and produce roughly 300 pages of writing… ya it’s a hefty goal, but not completely impossible. My blogging, on the other hand, has maintained a certain consistency for the past month or so, which has been helpful. The introduction of ‘Dear You,’ has helped to get some feelings out that were either unacknowledged or harbored for way too long, and not only has that been a cheap therapy session for me, I think some quality writing has come out of it. I’ve also rekindled relationships through it too, which was an unexpected and much appreciated bonus. One of my best friends said that she likes the way that she can relate some of them to her life, because a lot of them are nonspecific in detail, and the generalizations allow for her to imagine that it’s someone she knows, and I loved that comment. That’s the best thing I’ve heard so far about any of my pieces, because I want to reach out to people through my writing and that fact just brings me closer to my readers. Thanks to everyone that’s stayed with me! I just reached 1,000 views yesterday, and that made me very happy! Writing resolution: PARTIAL CHECK!

Okay, the third resolution… I’ve thought about giving it up, I’ve thought about rewording it, I’ve thought a lot about it and have decided that it wouldn’t be fair to myself to give up just yet. However, I’ve also concluded that I can’t go on a date with someone when I haven’t met anyone dateable. I don’t mean that I haven’t met sweet, good guys that like me, I have, and I appreciate and am flattered by your attentions, but I know I’m not right for you, and I know you know it as well. I haven’t met a guy where I’ve been like, “Whoa, I have to get to know this person and I want what they want in life!” There hasn’t been a single guy that has been brought to my attention where I’ve felt that I connected with them enough to warrant a date. I don’t think there are many of those left in my city, and that worries me. There has been one guy in the past year and a half that I’ve been remotely interested in, but low and behold, he’s got a girlfriend. Of course. But that’s besides the point. I know that there have to be more guys out there (and by ‘guys’ I mean men, not boys or young twenty-something man-child wanna be men who can’t keep a job or who still depend on their parents for everything) and I know I’m going to have to search carefully and thoroughly through the few remaining guys left here, it’s a bit of a process though. My roommate said that I need to go to places that I’m interested in (i.e. the bookstore) to find suitable single guys, but I frequent the local Barnes and Noble enough to blow an entire paycheck, and I haven’t met or seen one. So, my question now is, ‘Where are all the decent single guys?’ cuz I don’t know. And I don’t think I’m the only one. Date resolution: NOT EVEN A HINT OF A CHECK, OR DASH, OR, well, you get the picture ^_^

Things happen for a reason.

I’m not entirely sure what just happened.

I know there are times in our lives when things change, life is change, I understand that, but it’s hard to take when you never saw that change coming. I suppose it was inevitable. I was so set in my days, blissfully ignorant of anything going on, and now I’ve lost my footing and am trying to once again balance on uneven ground. This morning, we had a family, a happy, energetic, misfit lovely family and now we’ve lost our leader, our mentor, our friend. The numb feeling that came over the crowd was instantaneous. We were all trying to figure out if it was a joke, and when the punch line never came, the tears started to flow, faces fell, hearts sank. Confusion ensued. I’m still confused and unsure, I know I’m not the only one.

So what do I do when I’m hurt and confused and scared? I call my mom. She could hear it in my voice when I said hi, and she was patient while I tried to explain the situation that I didn’t even understand myself. I told her that I felt numb, that I didn’t even want to do anything for the rest of the day, despite plans having been made days in advance. I just wanted to sit and not do anything at all. But she told me no. That I had to get up and go out and get on with my plans, with my life. She said that even if I didn’t feel like it, I should go and not let it ruin my day. It started off positive, so there’s no reason why it shouldn’t end positive. And she was absolutely right.

There’s no reason things shouldn’t turn out positive, despite how heartsick and deeply hurt you are by the negative. Things happen for a reason, I’ve written that and said that many times before and will continue to do so because it’s a truth I stand by. Things happen for a reason, even if we don’t know what reason that’s for yet. Even if we can’t imagine how or why or what or when, things happen for a reason.

Expect nothing, prepare for anything. Tears threaten to fall when I write that because it is something that he lives by, that we’ve all learned from him. Expect nothing. Prepare for anything. We most definitely did not expect this, but because of what we’ve learned from him, from the family we’ve created, we are prepared to face this bravely and with integrity. Even if we don’t know why, we know that the decision was not made lightly. Even if we don’t yet understand why, we know that we will continue to thrive and build a new path together. That’s what family’s for.

We will miss you, Sir, and there will always be a place in our hearts for you. Body, Mind, and Spirit… the new logo came at an opportune time. It embodies not only what you’ve created, but the challenges faced and how we are to overcome this shift in balance. There will never be anyone that can replace you and the part you’ve held in our family for so many years, and I know no one will try. We wish you luck with your venture and look forward to hearing about the wonderful things you will accomplish in your life.

This isn’t goodbye.

It will never be goodbye.

Dear You Part 12

Dear You,

What were you thinking? Or perhaps the more appropriate question is ‘Why weren’t you thinking?’ Millions of people have now seen you, your actions, the destruction you’ve brought about and the devastation left behind after your acts of insane violence, and I have to ask, was it worth it? Did it solve anything? Does destroying someone else’s property make you feel good? How about when you woke up this morning whether in a cell or at home because you skulked away before you got caught, did you have remorse or even think about what those people are going to do without their cars? Without windows on their shops? I don’t think I need to point out that not only have your actions caused deep shame and embarrassment for your city, your country, but your economy will suffer now, too. All those businesses have to clean up after you, since you’re obviously not going to help. Some may have to close in order to put to rights what you set in motion last night when you destroyed it, others will stay open but receive less business because of the shattered glass that lines the streets, shattered by countless thoughtless people who incited this chaos just because. I wonder if you even thought about that before the first tipped car, the first busted window. My guess would be no.

There are moments that define us, times that are telling of who we are as people and show our true natures. In this moment, you have turned the peaceful, friendly definition of your city into a foolish mess. A mess that will be cleaned up by those around you to try and put some semblance of your former self together. It might be a while before that happens, though. It’s sickening and sad that it has to be done in the first place.

So many of us on the other side sat silently and watched live footage of the destruction you wrought. Our voices wouldn’t have been heard if we’d used them anyway because of your berserk behavior, like a spell cast upon you in the midst of battle. It felt so unreal to watch. It was terrifying, mortifying. To be reduced to a mindless beast is a scary thing. People who were witnesses said it was like a war zone, it no longer felt like they were in their city, but some place far away in the middle of war strewn streets.  They watched as strangers, neighbors, and friends transformed so easily into unrecognizable creatures. How do you think they fared through all of it?

I don’t need to reiterate just how brutally heartbreaking it was to see you like that.

I don’t need to explain any further that you did wrong.

I hope that you take the broken pieces and try to help build a stronger city, a stronger you.

But I can hope from here to eternity and it might not do a thing.

**A**

Riots today, what happens tomorrow?

It’s funny how many conversations I overhear on a daily basis. It’s not that I mean to listen in on what people are saying, but they happen to be quite loud and obnoxious, so I’m not getting much else done… and what I’m hearing now has caused a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Last night, there was a riot on the streets of downtown Vancouver, BC, and now I’m listening to four Canadians sitting around talking and laughing. Laughing. One girl just said that it was funny as she watched the riot because all of these people were running around with shopping carts full of laptops and big screen T.V.’s. And then she said, “I mean, where are you going to put those?! You don’t have room for that!” As if they were either homeless or poor. Neither of which matters, but the fact that she said watching it was funny and that she was laughing so easily about it is disgusting. Her country now looks completely stupid in the eyes of the rest of the world. I’m sickened. I don’t live in Canada, but my town is pretty close, and I feel for the Canadians inadvertently involved with the riot from last night.

As I was heading into work this morning, I was listening to a Canadian radio station (they are clearer than the ones that are local, and let’s face it, are more entertaining) and the host of the show said that it had nothing to do with the hockey game at all, but it was used an as excuse to be loud, stupid, and crazy. And he’s right. It’s not just boys going out and doing stupid acts, it was all sorts of people ready and prepared to cause havoc and chaos just because they wanted to, and the loss of a hockey game just gave them a cover to complete their acts of insanity. Because that’s what it was. Insane chaos. I watched live footage from last night and nearly cried. People were drunk and out of control and uncaring that they were flipping stranger’s vehicles and setting them on fire. I understand men getting in a testosterone driven argument with someone and getting into a physical fight to get their point across. But the premeditated acts of last night have no excuse. My question is why was that necessary? Canada has been viewed as the friendliest country, a beautiful country full of beautiful people, and now they look like fools. Uncontrollable fools who riot over the loss of a hockey game. My heart is heavy for the majority of the city that wasn’t involved at all. It’s sad that such a small group of people has ruined the reputation of such a place.

What happens now? Americans are being warned to not go into Vancouver, there’s actually a travel warning to stay away from our neighbors to the north. How long will that last? How long will it take to clean up the mess on the streets, the burned cars, the looted stores, the broken pieces of a city once viewed as one of the best cities in the world? Will that reputation be restored again years from now when this has blown over, or will it be a permanent stain on the city’s record?

Another couple just sat next to me and started talking about last night. What else is there to talk about when we live so close to the source? This couple is American, and they, too, are laughing. They’re mumbling about the clean-up, how this has happened before, something else that I tuned out because now I’m pissed.

What’s wrong with you?

Dear You Part 11

Dear You,

Sometimes, I want to punch you in the face. When you pop your gum when you’re nervous, or when you dramatically claim “FML!” when something goes wrong that you didn’t expect, or when you push my buttons to get me to go further than I think I can. But especially when you pop your gum. Just sayin’. There are other times, however, when I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been to have you as one of my best friends that’s, let’s face it, more of a sister than anything. You can’t tell me I never call you that because now it’s in writing for the entire world to see. So there.

You push me. Plain and simple. You push me to do my best, to go just a little further, to hit a little harder, not just in kickboxing, but in other things, too. I know you have faith in me when I don’t always have it in myself, and I can’t tell you enough how important that is to me. There are times when I ask myself, ‘Can I really do this?’ and you’re there to tell me that I’ve done it before, or that I made it this far so there’s no turning back now. I know I don’t thank you enough because it’s difficult for me to verbalize things, but I’m thanking you now.

Three years ago, I was broken and needed help. Living on my own was expensive, and I was struggling with a lot not just financially, but in other areas of my life as well. Then there you were, an eighteen-year-old spitfire with the maturity of someone twice your age. We became fast friends, and shortly thereafter, roommates. You know I’m not religious, but I know it wasn’t by accident that we met and are in each other’s lives. Me being the older (but not by that much) wiser (I’m kind of like an owl) full of knowledge sister and you being the younger (but not by that much) active, energetic, go-getter, stubborn (something we both share, I think, but you more so) little sister that gets on my nerves but I couldn’t imagine not being around. I couldn’t have asked for a better first roommate (let’s face it, the other one I had doesn’t count. At all.) and I know we’ve helped to balance the other out. I can remember how different we both were three years ago, and I’m astonished to see how we’ve both grown because of the other.

As we’ve both witnessed over the last couple of years, some friends are temporary, but family is forever. You can always count on family to be there for you, to support you, look out for you, and help you through anything. So, my sister from a different mister, (I totally came up with that before I ever heard it on T.V.) know that you can count on me even if you’re living in another city, state, or even country. Especially if you live in another country because I will be there visiting. Just sayin’.

Thank you for always being yourself, and know that you can trust yourself even when I’m not around. I’m not sure if you’ll want to hug me or punch me after you read this, but please refrain from either since you know I’m not all mushy and stuff.

Just sayin’.

**A**

Fear of Falling

I’m afraid of falling. I can’t figure out why. I can’t even stand on a curb without the feeling of vertigo, and forget walking down a stairwell without a handrail. Just thinking about it gets my heart beating fast. It’s not the height that scares me, I’m fine flying on a plane, or standing on a bridge, or riding in an elevator. But if there’s nothing between me and the ground (even if it’s only six inches away) fear sets in and I panic. I was on a hike last week and we came to a muddy part too deep to walk through without stepping in and getting mud to our calves, so we had to find an alternate route. My friend went first, nimbly jumping on a log and hopping across to the other side. I stared at the log for twenty seconds before stepping foot on it. It was wide enough for both of my feet, so I started to shuffle slowly across, ignoring the mud pools on either side of me. When I got to the middle, the log tapered to a single foot width and I could no longer ignore the fact that there was nothing keeping me on the log but my own balance, and that suddenly wasn’t enough. I looked up at my friend with a self-depreciative smile and said, “I think I’m stuck.” And I was. There was no going forward. She looked up at me and said, “You’re going to make it, just walk fast!” I shook my head. “Nope. Not walking fast.” Going faster makes it worse. I get wobbly and even more off balance when I go fast. “Yes, you can do it, just run across!” She smiled encouragingly and I bit my lip, feeling bad for not listening to her, but also knowing that I would most definitely fall if I went fast. I always do. “Do you want me to hold your hand?” She asked half jokingly, half serious. I knew she would if I needed her to, but I’m sort of prideful and I wouldn’t allow myself the weakness. “No thanks,” I said and took a deep breath. I didn’t want her to get frustrated with me for such a stupid thing, but I was afraid. I knew it was ridiculous, the mud was just mud, and there was no threat to my life if I did fall. Even with those rationalizations, I still couldn’t put my foot forward and go. “Just think of it like a hardwood floor,” she said. “Can’t,” I said, “it’s not a hardwood floor.” I looked down, a foot and a half separated me from the mud. I wasn’t up that high, but that fear still paralyzed me. So I started to shuffle backwards. “No, you can do it!” She said as she stepped onto the log to take my hand. I knew she’d lunge after it if I backed up far enough, she was quite determined to get me across that damn log. Once my feet were on the wide part of the log again, I started to feel okay. I looked at her, then down at the log, once again at the mud, then back at her. “Okay,” I said. “I’m going to do it.” I didn’t want her to be annoyed for cutting our hike so short (we were only a quarter of the way through at that point) and I didn’t want to be frustrated with myself for letting something so insanely ridiculous keep me from doing something fun. I stepped forward with my left foot, but instead of walking across like a balance beam, I turned my foot, and the rest of my body, so I could shuffle sideways. The log got even smaller towards the end, but it was close enough to jump to hard ground, so I did, and my friend smiled. “See! You did it!” I smiled tentatively and looked back at my accomplishment. The log really wasn’t that long, nor was it very high, and it nearly defeated me. I tucked away the incident to go over later, and we carried on our hike, which was amazing.

So where do I go from here? I don’t know where this fear stems from, it’s impossible to tell if it’s a repressed memory or feeling from when I was little, or me just being plain irrational. The moments where I can temporarily overcome it are small triumphs, but the fear of falling always comes back, and the next time I face that log I’ll still hesitate.

I suppose further research into the depths of my psyche is my only answer. Wish me luck.

Kind of a little Kindle obsessed...

So, I broke down and got a Kindle. For those of you who don’t know me, this is an unthinkable action that I admittedly feel guilty and ashamed about. However, I also feel relieved and satisfied, and those feelings far outweigh the negative ones. For years, I would bemoan the ‘E-Reader’, the ‘fake books’ that would bring about the downfall of those precious, comforting real books. As I took a look at my burgeoning collection, and my bowing shelves, I had to re-think about my many harsh replies and snide remarks about the uses of a Kindle.

I read ten books in three and a half weeks. I bought every single one of them, and five of them were brand new hardbacks. Yeah, my bank account took a dip during those short few weeks. They were worth every cent, but if I had purchased them on say, a Kindle, I could have read even more, and isn’t that the important thing? Or I could have saved the extra money for later and put it towards my upcoming trip, or fixed the crack in my windshield, or gone to a movie. There are a lot of benefits that I neglected to admit when I was naïve and in denial. I was most definitely in denial.

There are four book cases in my apartment. Each is filled to the edge, some are three books deep, and all of my middle shelves have started to cave. I’ve even filled the crevices between shelves with books placed horizontally to help with the bowing. I have boxes of books on my floor in my room, and it’s a mess. My roommate asked me if I’m a hoarder, and I laughed, not sure how to reply. It’s easy to see why she’d say that because of the overflow of books. There are roughly 1,200 books placed around my home, and while I love each dearly, I cannot find room to fit any more. Until I get a bigger place, that is, but that won’t be for a little while yet.

As you can see, there are several reasons why I’ve made the enormous decision to become a part of the Kindle-clan. It’s the best decision I’ve made in a while, I know my shelves certainly think so. However, I now have an itching every time I’m in a place with Wi-Fi and I can pop on to search new books, or old books, or whatever books I feel like searching for and purchasing. It’s become a bit of a problem.

Convenience. We, as humans, love things that are convenient for us. I have a gas station with a Subway and a Dominoes inside of it and I laugh every time drive by. The ultimate convenience: lunch, dinner, lotto, and gas all in one go! The Kindle is my one-stop shop for books. All I have to do is get online and go. But, oh man, is it dangerous. And lazy. I no longer have to make the trek to the bookstore, although I’ll still make it to my favorite spot at least once a month if only for the experience of being surrounded by shelves and shelves of new books. I’ll probably buy something, too. As I’ve said before, it’s an obsession. The fact that I can also bring my collection with me when I travel is something I hadn’t really thought of before. I usually put two or three books into my bag depending on what I’m reading and if I have a lot of down time where I’m going, and the weight adds up in my purse. I think that’s partially why I have a bad shoulder because of the weight of my purse, but with my Kindle… well it’s a lot lighter and not as crowded and I can choose to start or stop or change books on a whim, and I rather like my option to choose. It’s freeing.

There are good things and not so good things about everything. On one side owning a Kindle has the amazing benefit of condensing my growing collection and on the other side is that it hasn’t helped my bank account. In fact, I think it’s rather dwindled a bit further. But I can’t complain. For all the years I grimaced whenever someone hinted at an E-Reader (or sometimes my reactions were a bit more violent, like when my roommate got a Nook for Christmas last year and I chased her around the apartment) I have to say that I’m no longer going to say things like ‘never’.

Three years ago, if someone would have asked me if I’d ever purchase an E-Reader, I most assuredly would have said, “Never.” Today, although I technically didn’t purchase it because it was a gift for my birthday, I say, “Who wouldn’t?”

I’m a hypocrite. But damn, I love my Kindle.

Dear You Part 10

Dear You,

Yelling. Screaming. Shouting. That’s all I can remember. Those aren’t very good memories. It seems that every time I stop thinking of you altogether, you pop up again in some conversation, and then I am once again reminded that you exist. It’s not fair. I said before that I don’t think of you often, and that’s still true, but others do. Others have to. You directly influence their lives without actually being in them, and that also is not fair. I wonder if you’re clever enough to do it on purpose, of if you’re so dumb that you’re doing it by accident. To be honest, and let’s face it that’s all I ever have been, I believe it’s the latter.

Since you’re inadvertently in my thoughts, let’s reflect on what you might remember: the instantaneous flip of agreeable to insane blind rage. Yes, those were fun. And often. What about those moments when someone was having an amazing day (i.e. an ‘A’ on a test, a visit with a friend, a birthday…) and you walk in and make them feel so small and insignificant that their feeling of good is blasted away and shredded into such tiny pieces that to even think of that good moment hurts. Those were also fun. And often. Or the times when you would come down, nothing but crazy in your eyes, and yell and scream and shout about who knows what because you never made sense, all in front of guests who became so frightened that they never returned. Need I say those were fun and often? Because they were. And when I say ‘fun’ I mean my heart beats rapidly in my chest and my face flushes and I am brought back to those days, which were entirely too often, when I feared being there alone because I didn’t want to be the only one to face your wrath. I had to be quiet enough to not wake you, tip-toe around like I didn’t actually exist there. Need I tell you it was awful? I shouldn’t waste the words because I know you don’t care. But it was. Absolutely awful.

Does anyone ever mention us? Do you ever think about what we’re doing or where we are? Or do you keep going on as if we never were, that you had nothing to do with us, like we hadn’t a place in your life for twenty-plus years? If I were you, I wouldn’t be able to survive, knowing that I nearly ruined the lives of not only myself but of others. I wouldn’t be able to breathe knowing how I treated them and how I made them feel, how I made them live for so long in fear. I would have eradicated my existence long ago knowing that I was unworthy of what an amazing thing I had. Because you did. You had something that others strive for, dream about, die without ever knowing. And you threw it away.

So how do I feel knowing that I’m someone’s garbage? As long as I’m no longer bound to you, it’s the most amazing feeling in the world. I don’t think you could ever know what it feels like. In fact, there is very little that I believe you do comprehend or you wouldn’t be where you are now. No sane person would ever have done what you did.

But I guess we always knew you were crazy.

There was no hiding that from anyone.

**A**

Dear You Part 9

Dear You,

My faithful shadow, that’s what you are. You’re there when I need you, even if I didn’t always know it. For all those years, I knew you didn’t like him, didn’t trust him from the beginning. I should have listened. You wouldn’t come it, but stayed just outside, an outcast in your own home. The ironic thing is, I wouldn’t have you if not for him. It’s funny how things work out like that.

Sweet is the perfect word to describe you. There isn’t an ounce of meanness in you, even when your brother fights with you and you can’t defend yourself, all you do is hiss then lick his face. You can’t be mean, it isn’t in your nature. Those deep, soul-piercing eyes are always filled with love. That’s my favorite thing about you. Some people think it’s creepy how you stare at them because your eyes are so round and intense, but I know you’re just sizing them up, making sure they’re worthy. I trust your judgment over mine. I’m sorry I didn’t before.

You’ve been rendered defenseless, but not by my choice. I wouldn’t have done it if she hadn’t made me. That day was awful. I cried when I dropped you off. I thought she was so mean for making me take you, I couldn’t believe she made me do it, I resented her for that for a long time. A few days after you came back, I let you out of my room and you bolted downstairs to perch on your favorite chair in the dining room and chewed on the glue and stitches. I found blood on the white cushion and my initial reaction was,  “Serves her right for making me do this to you,” immediately followed by, “She’s going to kill me if she finds this!” So I cleaned it up and, luckily, it came out. That’s our little secret.

There was a time that I didn’t appreciate or understand how much you wanted to protect me. It took him being out of my life to realize that, and I’m terribly sorry. I will never let that slip my mind again. I look forward to coming home and seeing you sitting on my bed, sprawled out like a bear cub, yellow-green eyes gleaming because I’m home. The adoration and love that you emit I was unworthy of for a long time, but I promise to make that up to you every day. You’re my favorite. I know I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I do. And that’s you.

Thank you for your trust. I’ll make sure it’s well placed.

**A**

Dear You Part 8

Dear You,

I never knew what it was like to say someone has lived a thousand lives, but when I met you, I knew. Eccentric, some might call you, fascinating, world-traveler, alive is what I say. I could sit and listen to your stories about what you’ve seen, where you’ve been, who you’ve met, for hours. You might feel that you dominate conversations, but believe me when I tell you the silence from those around you isn’t from boredom or inattentiveness, it’s because we wait on your every word to hear more hilarious adventures from the life (or lives) of you.

Strength is what you have in bounds, is truly what you are. Since I’ve known you, stress and tragedy has not overshadowed your love for life, and that is what I love most about you. Even when you’re down, you get immediately back up and push through because of the internal strength you carry. The most important lesson I’ve learned from you is to trust myself and open my mind and see. See things for what they are, people for who they are. I wouldn’t say my sight was necessarily clouded before, but my eyes weren’t fully open, and now they are. You helped me through a difficult time, and I wanted to say thank you for your insight and your friendship that continues to support me even now.

A dear friend is what I consider you, an adopted mother, a confidant, an inspiration. The absorbing and stimulating conversations we have last for hours, and they could last much longer if not for our busy lives. Lives. Yes, you’ve had many. The experiences you’ve had have shaped you into the person you are, that strong, loving, intelligent person we all see. Not many could have picked up and started over again and again and stayed the same stable, forward-thinking person. Books could be filled with everything you’ve learned, the amazing experiences and foreign forays in France, and those ‘oops’ moments that make you you. There are a couple of those that bring tears of laughter to my eyes whenever I think about them.

No matter where you are, I want you to know that you and I will always know each other. I will always be there to hear you and learn from you and talk to you and laugh with you. Even if your ventures take you to the depths of South America, the Scottish Highlands, or the refined streets of France, I will know you, and yes, likely come visit…for a few weeks. Count on that.

Please, tell me another story Woman-of-Many-Names.

I’m listening.

**A**

Dear You Part 7

Dear You,

Anger roils around you in harsh tendrils, and it’s terrifying. That’s not all of who you are, but when your eyes flash and you let go of reason, anger consumes you and I can no longer see who you are. Sometimes, I think you forget, too.

You remind me of him. It’s not what you want to hear, that sparks your anger just hearing it, but you do. There are days that pass where you are completely different; thoughtful, intuitive, happy. But the other days are awful; dark, tense, scary. It makes my stomach hurt when I hear you and see you act that way. I don’t think you realize the effect you have on people when you shift into dark-mode. It’s uncomfortable, heartbreaking, sickening. That separate part of yourself is always under the surface, and when things change from what you expect them to be, or if things go wrong, it’s only milliseconds before you flip and the room gets colder, and the feeling of the sun slipping behind the clouds takes over. You become not you, but a different form of you. I do everything I can to temper the darkness, but It’s not enough, you need to be able to control it. But I’m not sure you can.

Can you feel it? When the change happens? Or does it just cloud your thoughts and you disappear for a little while until the rage is over and it recedes back into you until it’s sparked to life again? I can breathe again when I see the light part of you return, when your eyes focus and your face is no longer tense with rage. When your hands relax from balled fists and your shoulders are no longer stiff. I can breathe again, but I know it’s only a short while before the other side returns and my breath is once again taken away.

You hurt her when you act like that, you know. She gets sad and I can’t blame her. I think she partly blames herself for not separating you sooner, for allowing you to be around him so much that he soaked into you. He might not be around us anymore, but part of him is always there, within you, and I’m sorry for that.

I don’t mean to blame you for this, I know at least some of it is uncontrollable, but I do wonder if there’s anything that can help with the intense anger. If you talked to him again, told him how much you hated him, how much you loved him, if it would at least curb the outbursts. I’m no longer enough of a buffer between you and others. I’m not around enough for that. This is something you have to learn to control because if you don’t, you will be just like him, and I know you don’t want that.

There is lightness in you, a good, kind, intelligent light that shows through. But if the darkness isn’t controlled, the light may be lost, and when the light is lost, there is little chance of it coming back.

**A**

Dear You Part 6

Dear You,

It’s funny how friends slip in and out of our lives and how those precious few remain. It takes a lot to keep a friendship together, and I have to admit that I haven’t done my part. At one time, we were inseparable. Playing Zelda, listening to Britney Spears and spraying that orange spray in my room are some of best memories I have from being younger. I still listen to Britney Spears, and I must admit I still love video games, but I’ve lost track of that orange spray… and I’ve lost track of you.

Yes, there are things I know because of Facebook and such, but I don’t know you anymore, and that makes me sad. We spent years taking turns spending the night at each other’s houses, doing stupid things, crushing on boys, dating boys (and in your case, dating the same boys again… love that guy) but for some reason, it stopped. I don’t know if it was because we just grew apart because we were best friends so young, or if we were just too busy with different things, or if it was him that distracted me for so long. People change, I understand that, and we most definitely have changed, but that’s okay. We were best friends once, and I believe we can be great friends again.

We had so much fun together. Remember Halloween that one year? And when you burned a hole on the top of your tongue from sucking on too many Warheads? And the day we decided to walk from your house to my house and that dog followed us? We carried our instruments thinking it’d be a shorter walk than it actually was. I laugh whenever I think of how naïve we were. That was one hell of a long walk! I also remember when you got glasses and I tried them on for the first time and was amazed to see the board clearly. I went home and told my mom about it and she didn’t believe that I needed glasses. She thought that since you had gotten them, I wanted them too. It took her another two years to figure out that I was telling the truth and that I actually needed them. Thanks, Mom.

It’s probably long overdue, but I wanted to tell you how much I loved being your friend, and how I would love to be your friend again. Not just a “Hey, hi, how are you?” Facebook type of friend, but a real face-to-face type of friend. One that sees you from time to time, one that knows you. We’re busy, I understand that, but I would love to reconnect and soon.

I’ll bring Zelda, and you bring the Warheads.  

I know you still love Britney.

**A**

Birthday Blues No More

It’s nearly that time of year again… yes the day that has brought on a bout of depression since I turned sixteen. Indeed, I am talking of my birthday.  This time last year, I was freaking out because I was going to be a quarter of a century old and I felt that I hadn’t done anything with my life yet. Yes, I had graduated from college and lived independently but there was little in my life I was proud of, so I decided to change that. This past year, I’ve done a lot that I’m proud of and I’ve also realized that growing older doesn’t necessarily mean growing old.

Most proud moments of being a quarter of a century:

Ireland! Not only is it my favorite part of the year, but it’s my proudest moment as well. I took myself on an amazing trip and didn’t have to rely on anyone to pay or plan for me. My friend Liz and I had a fantastic trip that went pretty well considering we were basically virgin trip planners. When we arrived in Ireland, we hadn’t actually planned anything except where we were staying, and after a few days of fumbling around, we finally got our schedule together and had the best time. Thanks for the unforgettable trip, Liz!

Bella Blue! My Subaru is another proud moment because I bought her on my own in-full. No car payments for me! Granted I did cash in bonds that were given to me upon graduating from college from my grandparents, but it was still technically my money. (thanks MeMe and PaPa for thinking of me when I was born so that I was able to do it!)

Writing… okay for all the grief I give myself for not actually completing anything yet, I do have to give myself props for starting and continuing this blog. That is an accomplishment in and of itself, but I am also proud of at least starting five writing projects, even if they aren’t complete. There are a lot of ideas rolling around in this head of mine, and I figure as long as I get everything out before I forget it, then something has to come of it sometime. I’m in no hurry to rush the writing process (and no that isn’t an excuse for not having a story finished. Okay, maybe it is, but it’s true, I’m very patient)

Kickboxing and Total Body Fitness! I have continued with kickboxing, am currently a high purple belt going for my brown belt next month. If that means nothing to you, let me put in plainly: in one year from now, I’ll be testing for my black belt. Not a lot of people can say that. I’ve also started and stuck with my 6 a.m. Total Body Fitness class for the last five months. I love it, although getting up at 545 four or five days a week isn’t what I think of as ‘fun’ it is keeping my health goals alive, and let’s face it, me as well.

I do have a lot to feel good about this past year, it’s definitely the most productive year I’ve ever had, and I appreciate everyone that’s been a part of it. There was something that kind of woke me up a little last year on my 25^th birthday that I didn’t tell very many people about… it was completely embarrassing, and I’m only divulging this to you now because I’ve come so far and turned around my opinion of growing another year older…I was griping about getting old and karma bit me in the butt. To be more precise, she bit me in the back, because I threw it out last year on the day of my 25^th birthday while stepping out of the bloody shower and bending over to grab my towel. There was no significant moving of the spine in some twisting fashion to reach for the towel, and the towel didn’t weigh fifty pounds, so why did my back get thrown out? To show me that yes, I am getting older, and there’s nothing I can do about it. All the bitching and stressing and brooding cannot change the inevitable: I will grow older each year, but only my perspective on age is going to limit me unless I do something about it. Consider it a great epiphany at a quarter of a century, a lesson learned. I suffered through my back being out without telling a single person the entire day because I was too embarrassed, but this year I’ve got nothing to hide. Scotland to look forward to, posts to write and share, books to read and, hopefully, write, and friends to see and have fun with. Oh, and did I mention that this year is my golden year? That’s right, 26 on the 26^th. By looking back and reflecting in my posts, it helps to look forward to my future. I’ve got my black belt training this next year, too. That’s going to be interesting, intense, insane, and a ton of other words that start with ‘in’ (including but not limited to informative (about myself mostly) inspirational, and inclusive. Not sure how that last word’s going to fit, or what I mean by it exactly, but I’ll make it happen.)

26. Bring. It. On.

Dear You Part 5

Dear You,

There were nights I would sit up and pretend that you could hear me.  I stared at the moon in child-like hope that you were still out there somewhere. I used to call the moon Gushy, your nickname, do you remember that? It’s been fifteen years, and I still remember where I was and what I was doing when I received the phone call. I haven’t been able to watch the movie Money Train since because I think something bad is going to happen if I do. Every time it’s on, I flip by it on the T.V. and hope that by catching the briefest part I haven’t doomed someone else I know to suffer. It’s crazy, I know, but I won’t watch it.

We were young and quickly becoming best friends. I know we’d still know each other today if not for the accident. Just a few weeks before, we were at camp, freezing because it was early spring in the Pacific Northwest, and we were right on the water. Cypress was the name of our cabin. I can still feel the icy nights when everyone had to double bunk just to stay warm. Why they don’t have doors or windows on the cabins is beyond me. You were my bunk buddy. I was afraid to be away from my mom, and I’d never been on my own for so many days before, but having you there helped me get through it, and even enjoy my time with everyone. Your friendship helped me grow in such a short amount of time, and I’m grateful for that.

We planted a tree for you at school in your memory. A tree wasn’t enough, but I think the teachers were at a loss having lost such a young student. It’s still there today, with a nifty little plaque and everything. I’ll make sure to go visit the next time I’m in town. It’s been a long time since I saw that tree, but I have it on good authority that it’s still standing. I’d visit your grave if I knew where it was. Your mom left town not too long after it happened. I don’t know how to get in contact with her, or I’d ask.

It was the first funeral I attended with an open casket. My friend’s mom said it helped with the grieving process if we viewed the body one last time. I don’t know if it helped me, but it didn’t scare me as much as I thought it would. You didn’t look like you. They had you in a dress! You never wore dresses. You had purple sweatpants that you loved, and I think they should have had you in those. Comfortable. That’s what you enjoyed, being comfortable. I hated that dress. Your face was pale and flat. No roundness of life was found in your cheeks, and that only made me sad. The last picture I have of you is not how I’d like to have remembered you, but nonetheless it’s there. They really shouldn’t have put you in a dress.

People say that scent is the strongest tie to memory. I think that’s true. There was a scent at your funeral when the man walked down the aisle carrying something that burned in a little box. I will never forget that smell. It was thick, and clung to your lungs, and every time I smell it I look around and try to find where it’s coming from as the picture of you flashes through my mind. But it never seems to be coming from the same place. It’s kind of nice when it pops up because I think of you.

I wish you were here. I miss you.

**A**

Dear You Part 4

Dear You,

I love you. I never tell you that, but I do. We are very similar, and I’ve only just begun to realize it. You are so strong, and I look up to you for that, well maybe not up physically because you’re shorter than me now. I think I passed you in about sixth grade. There were times when I thought you might slip, fall, but you didn’t. You pushed through everything: all the worries, all the stress, all the bloody mess that was made of your life, our lives, and you are a better person because of it. So many things changed in such a short amount of time, but you kept your head held high, even if you did recede from the social pool for a while, even if you did shut some people out for a bit. You carried on, and that’s what matters.

I’m proud of you. I never tell you that, but I am. After so many years of not working, and not having to do the daily grind like so many, you went out and found a job and stuck with it. It’s been three years, if I’m not mistaken, and for your first real job, I think that’s amazing. It was difficult for you at first, but you overcame your fear: of working, of living on your own, of computers. That silent confidence you and I share carried you through, and will always carry you through because you have strength in abundance. Thank you for passing that on to me.

I’m happy for you. I never tell you that, but I think you know. Your life is so much better now without the constant feelings of dread and worry. The black hole of negative energy that nearly sucked the life and good out of all of us is gone, and your color has come back. Your eyes shine. The universe is once again aligned and you are stable. Finally. It must be a relief to be able to breathe on your own again, after having carried someone and lived for them for so long. Your kindness is also your weakness, but we’ll work on that. One thing at a time, right? You’re free, and that’s the first and most important step.

I miss you. I never tell you that, but I’m telling you now. When you first got your job, I accidentally called you at home during the middle of the day and was perplexed when you didn’t answer. You always answered. Silly me, I’d forgotten that you were at work and that you couldn’t just pick up the phone anymore, couldn’t wait around for me anymore. I was a little upset when I first had that realization that you weren’t easily accessible any longer like you had been my entire life, but I got over that. Now I just call you at 6:15 when you step foot in the door after a long day at work. You still always answer my call, even if you’re weary, hungry, sleepy. I can hear it in your voice that you’re happy I called, even if you’ve got ten other things to do. I’m selfish like that. But you don’t seem to mind.

I love you. I never tell you that, but I do.

**A**

Dear You Part 3

Dear You,

There aren’t very many days where you pass through my thoughts, and I rejoice in that. You did, however, come up the other day when one of my best friends told me she killed you in a dream. I laughed and asked how she’d done it. She said with a shotgun. My response was, “Shotgun… cool.” No joke. I have it in writing. It’s funny to think it’s been five years almost to the day since I saw you last. And it doesn’t bother me. I used to think that it was weird to feel so detached from you, but it doesn’t anymore. It’s freeing. I have no worries when it comes to you not being in my life, him, on the other hand, I worry about him.

He didn’t see what we all saw, he saw things differently. Saw you differently. Do you ever wonder why he held on when no one else did? You’ve hurt him through your actions. Ugh, I hate that word, ‘actions’. It implies doing something. I’ve used it inappropriately. You didn’t do anything, you did nothing. You didn’t call him back when he called you to beg you to pick him up. You didn’t call when he wanted to be with you over a holiday weekend, when he wanted to spend time with you. You did nothing, said nothing, acted on nothing, even though all signs in his eyes were pointing in your favor. I can’t speak for him now, but I think his eyes are closed to you forever.

We don’t speak of you. Not even in a He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sort of fashion. You’re so far gone that you probably wouldn’t even get that reference. I can see the hurt in his eyes, the pain. The tough attitude he takes on to pretend that it doesn’t matter that you’re not around. It’s painful to see, hard to ignore, but I don’t say anything. Won’t say anything. It terrifies me to see what I see in his eyes because I don’t want him to hurt that way, and I hate that you’re the one that put it there. The one that caused it. It’s sickening. I’ve never known someone to be such a coward.

You run. Not in an I’m-trying-to-stay-healthy sort of way, but in an I’m-trying-to-leave-everyone-far-behind-so-I-can-bury-my-head-and-not-have-to-deal-with-all-the-wrong-decisions-I’ve-made sort of way. Let me tell you, you’ve made a lot of wrong decisions, and deciding to ignore him for so long was the worst one.

He would have held on if you’d allowed it.

**A**

Dear You Part 2

Dear You,

Simply put, you inspire me. I’m there every day because of you, to be taught by you, to learn from you. You say, ‘Jump!’ and I don’t just say ‘How high?’ I say ‘How high, for how long, and would you like me to do it on one foot?’ I put all of myself into it not because I don’t want to disappoint myself, but because I don’t want to disappoint you.  That might not be what you want to hear, don’t get me wrong, I do it for myself, but you’re the reason why. I’m not sure you know how amazing you are, how people see you, and how you make us all feel. Seen. Appreciated. Loved. You care, and we know that, we see that, and we thank you for it.

Energy surrounds you, encompasses you, is you. A bubbling ball of uber energy that starts my day off in the perfect way. We leave with a piece of you, and we leave a little piece of us behind too, sometimes in the form of a sweaty puddle on the floor. That would be gross for most, but we know you appreciate it because it means we’ve given it all and more.

Sometimes we arrive and our eyes are still nearly closed, brains hazy, thoughts of ‘How did I get here?’ flit through our minds as we stand on the floor and start to stretch. Within an hour, you’ve worked us head to toe, have us thinking and planning for our day, making us better people mind and body and preparing us to make healthy decisions throughout the day. Those are decisions I would not have made on my own, but you made me think, and see, and choose differently. I know I’m not the only one that feels that way, and to be able to touch so many is a unique and amazing gift.

My favorite day of the week is Monday. Not a lot of people can say that, in fact, I think almost everyone I know would heartily disagree with me, but I always look forward to Monday. Not just because it’s the start of my weekly routine, and I LOVE my routine, and not just because I get to see everyone I’ve become friends with over the last couple of years, although that’s a plus too. It’s because I get to start my week with the most positive influence I’ve ever met: You. I begin Monday and end Monday in the same way: leaving a piece of myself behind on the floor, and leaving with a positive, energetic, amazing piece of you.

Thank you for who you are and what you do. You are an inspiration.

**A**

Dear You Part 1

Dear You,

My heart bled for a while. Well, more than a while. I think it still bleeds a little, but not for you any longer. Because of you, perhaps, and because of a few others, but not for you, and that’s what’s most important. It took so long for me to pull down the wards that bound me, hid me, healed me. So many times I thought I was ready, I wasn’t, and as each layer was painfully peeled back, I realized I was more raw than I’d thought. It hurt. There were many times I would lie awake, exhausted and wretchedly overtired, but unable to slip into the comfort of sleep because my thoughts were of you. For months, my dreams were haunted by images of you, and to be honest, they sometimes still are. When I waken, it’s no longer to the thought of you. My first thoughts aren’t of betrayal, infinite sadness, questions. ‘Why’ always seemed to be the one I asked most, but I no longer wonder or wish for answers. It’s a relief to no longer dwell on those thoughts, wasted energy, too much negativity. It was surprisingly easy to board myself up, close the lid tightly, and wait for the time where I was no longer numb. I don’t need to tell you that it took a long time, but I guess I just did.

There’s equal blame, although many close to me would say that’s not true, but I know it to be. Equal blame because of lack of focus, inattentiveness, and just plain not wanting to be there on both our parts. I’d checked out long before the incident, and I only realized that after you were no longer around. It took you not being present in my life to understand and see how far I’d fallen, what I’d lost in my pursuit of you, all things for you, and completely submerging myself in the blackness of delusion and blindness. Love is blind. Truth. Love is pain. Truth. Love is also honesty, and that word was never in your vocabulary, and that is also why there is equal blame. I knew that long before we were ever ‘us’. Foolishly, I put myself away to replace me with you, and that is one mistake I have painfully paid for. It’s taken me this long to put my feelings in words, but I’m whole again, and you no longer matter.

To say I loved you is far too simple a phrase. I lived for you, faithfully followed you, would have done anything for you, but it was never reciprocated and I shamefully allowed myself to continue on in a pathetic existence just to be near you. You have a power about you, something akin to charisma, but more, that just draws people to you. A magic of sorts, I suppose. I was addicted to it for years, and didn’t even realize it until you started to slip away. When my thoughts started to be my own, and your attention strayed elsewhere were the most confusing, intense months of my life, but I can’t say I hate you for it. I don’t.

You said you’d wished that it had ended differently, well I can’t say the same. You did what you did and that only helped to make me see what people are capable of. Dark, messy things we are, with infinite ways to disappoint, twist, and manipulate. Ugly. There are parts to everyone that aren’t as light as we’d like to think. Thoughts that lurk in our minds, deeds we might not plan on but carry out anyway, even if we know it will hurt someone close to us. That’s what you showed me, and I can’t say I’m sorry to have learned that.

I would have loved you forever, at the cost of hating myself. Luckily, that part of me no longer exists, and the new version of me would never allow for that to happen. I suppose I have you to thank for that. 

**A**

**Note about blog: The subject of ‘Dear You,’ differs between posts. This is the first, but it shall not be the last, I’m already working on the next one, and it’s a different subject. The focus always changes, and while some may be repeated, I won’t name names and I will try not to bore with bitching or complaining too much. Promise.

Genius strikes... in my car???

So. It’s been a while since I’ve posted. A looooong while. I’m just gonna jump right in.

I had an epiphany on my way to work today. I swear, I have my most brilliant moments while I’m driving… weird, I know.

I’ve been reading a lot of books lately, and when I say a lot, I mean A LOT. I’ve finished 10 books in less than a month. That’s more than some people read in an entire year. Shit. I’m constantly moving, going, pushing forward, wanting more, not getting enough, looking for something. Answers. Anything. And I’m not finding it. But, on my way in to work today, I’ve at least figured out a reason why my brain is constantly never focused on one thing at a time.

I don’t like it when things end.

Most people don’t like change, that’s not me. I like change, I like different things, new things. I’m all good until it comes to an end, and then my brain goes ape-shit. It doesn’t know what to do with itself. It sees the end coming, and then tries to procrastinate as long as it can so that whatever I’m doing doesn’t have to end. And it’s driving me fucking crazy. Well, at least it did until I figured out why I was doing what I was doing. I honestly don’t know why I haven’t noticed it before. It’s why I jump from book to book, because I crave the unending adventure, the fun, the characters and their quirks and personalities and how they interact. Go, go, go. That’s what I do, what I’ve done for years and it’s taken me this long to figure it out. I am relieved.

I’m slowing it down, and by ‘it’ I mean reading, not my brain, there’s simply no controlling that. But if I focus on one story, one book at a time (did I mention I often read two, or three books at once? Not literally, of course, but throughout the day I’ll read pages from multiple books) in order to allow myself to focus and calm the fuck down. My brain has been on hyper overdrive lately and it’s too much. *takes deep breath* I feel better already.

So, now to get the reason behind the post: my writing. Ugh, I’ve been suffering lately, well lately being since I finished college which was three years ago. Three years has passed and I’ve been unable to finish one book. Shit, forget one book, one short story. One outline! I’ve got nothing to show for all the writing I’ve done in the past three years. Having worked on five ideas in the past year, I’ve got hundreds of pages of writing, notes, rewrites, and nothing that’s even close to being complete.

Enter: EPIPHANY!

I don’t like things to end. At all. It makes me sad. And mad. And frustrated because why couldn’t it keep going? It was Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” that says the movie never ends, it goes on, and on, and on, and on.….. well, that’s the way I see it. I imagine that the movie keeps on going, the characters have a life after the credits roll. Because I don’t want it to end. *sigh* yes, that’s me, the helpless romantic that knows they will continue to love each other even after the movie’s over, even though the divorce rate hovers around 50%. Now that I’ve figured it out, however, I believe my incredible writer’s block/insane inability to focus and produce something has finally (after many, many years) come to an end.

The relief I’m feeling is tantamount to sitting between siblings on a car trip and having to pee for hours but your parents won’t stop because they want to make time, and when you finally do get to fling yourself out of the car, bladder nearly bursting, and shove your way into the dirty bathroom stall at a rest stop and blessedly get to relieve yourself in a rush akin to the flow of Niagra Falls, that, my friends, is what I’m feeling right now.

*sigh*