Later We'll Be Better

It's been a really long time, since I have felt inspired enough to even consider writing in my blog. I am overwhelmed with schoolwork and actual work and, whenever I get a chance to breathe, someone walks in and starts talking to me. Be careful what you wish for. When I was in high school, all that I wanted in the world was to easily talk to people. I do a decent job now and it came at a cost - my alone time.

I'm not complaining, although I can see where I might come off as if I am. Life is pretty good, but so busy and I'm tired, and I miss my family. I am listening to Adele's new song on repeat, Someone Like You. It is really good, but puts me into a bit of a melancholy mood remembering everything that has happened in my life in the past few years. It feels as if, after I graduated undergrad, someone hit the gas pedal on my life car and everything started to get really intense. Now, in grad school and completely consumed in work and school, I have done a pretty good job blocking it out, but then ghosts from the pasts reappear. 30 years ago, if I had lived this nomadic life, no one would be able to find me. I would be able to escape the people that fucked with my psyche, but today, I have facebook, the same email address, google...3 years ago I left Washington in a bittersweet haze. I continue to miss the children that I worked with, but the knot in my stomach from colleagues was in desperate need of being cut free. I successfully freed myself from the situation and was on my way from Michigan to Texas, Texas across the deep south to Florida, on a plane to New Orleans, a drive back to Michigan, on a plane to Galveston, onto a boat to float in the Gulf of Mexico, back on a plane to Michigan, back in the car to Texas, On a road trip to face bears and tumultuous relationships in Colorado to Michigan to Vashion Island to Chimicum, WA to feel the pain of failure and separation anxiety, I left to California to beat myself up for flaws, across the southwest, we stopped in Vegas, I pierced my nose, got lost in the desert, back to Michigan, and settled in Wisconsin in a desperate attempt to grow-up. That was quite a run-on of life. Sometimes I wonder, is life just one constant runaway game?

Honoring the Sunshine

Do you ever have moments in the grocery store, the airport, or the coffee shop, where you see someone out of your periphery who you know. You turn to look at them and maybe walk up to them and ask them how they have been, but then something stops you. It is not the person you think it is. The person you think it is, is no longer among the living. A few days ago this happened to me. I was in the airport, sitting down to drink my overpriced Starbucks tea, when I saw my Aunt Pam at LAX. Upon first sighting, nothing seemed odd about this acquaintance, until my memory kicked in. My soul reason for being at the airport was to gather with my family in her memory.

Our minds are beautiful body parts. Anything is possible, if only for a brief moment in time. Right now I want to take it all in, embrace the loss, learn about the finiteness of time and how we should cherish each moment. We should not wait to call our Grandparents, parents, brothers, sisters, family, friends We should grasp everyday with positive love for the new day given to us. We should love until there is nothing left to love, find something or someone new, and love again. Hope until we are exhausted, sleep, and hope some more. We should take care of each other without asking questions and without expecting anything in return. We should be as selfless as our sanity allows. We should dream and chase those dreams until something forms out of them. We should travel the world, but return home every few months just to give the people who love us a hug.

Life is really hard and I have found that it never relents. It is in our handling of the world that builds or destroys our character. We must remain within reach of our homes and pass on our spirit. This is how we live forever.

Time: The Misleading Factor

It's what we crave most in this world - more time. More time to to finish that project. More time to spend on our Spring Break. More time to share stories with family on Christmas Eve. More time to spend with the people we love. More time to laugh. More time in that final embrace. If only that last breath lasted a lifetime, we could suspend time, hang in a moment, dangle our lives over a life that is quickly dissipating.

Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever. No one stays forever. Eventually, we all walk away on our own path. We all abandon someone in the end.

In less abstract terms, the abrupt illness of my dog, Harriet has caused a catharsis of memories to erupt. Christina's Dad in a casket; Toe's Mom 4 years later; my Grandpa screaming for it to stop; my cat, Pizza, lurching her paws forward in pain; the last time I saw Kay...and then there is the worst sense of abandonment, loss, fear, grief - the day my Grandma, my best friend, my soulmate's eyes went stone. Her breath was still constant, her hands still warm, but she was no longer there.

More time. I would give my left kidney for more time.

My Worried Shoes

I'm hiding under the wicker table with my dog, Droopy. My Mom is screaming, running down the street in her pajamas, "Pizza!!! Pizza!!!! She's dead! I know she's dead on the highway." My Mom is crying. I am crying. Droopy is snapping at my face. My Dad puts a leash on Droopy and takes her outside to look for Pizza. Within ten minutes, Dad comes inside with Droopy hungry for a treat and Pizza under his arm. Mom and I gush over the cat, crying tears of joy into her fur until she scratches at us and wanders to the food dish...Tomorrow, Pizza will be dead, again. I will cry under the table once more, and Dad and Droopy will bring her home.

Fifteen years later, the daughter under the table's stomach will start to churn, her fingers begin to twitch, the memories of what has happened circle around her, laughing and taunting her with "you dumb schmuck. You let this happen to you, again." In the end, it will be out of her control and have nothing at all to do with her, but she will still think it does. Since she has been bred into this fucked-up illusion of a world, she will assume that the world is out to get her. If you got burned once, why not twice, and over and over again? If this is not about me, though, than something horrible must have happened. Someone must be dead on the highway and in some way it is my fault. Whatever the case, something is just not right. I can feel it in my gut. The normal has been compromised and I've picked up on it by 2pm. It is the curse that my Mom has gifted me - the curse to feel when something bad is happening or about to. It is a curse that leaves others thinking you are crazy, because you cannot offer any proof, but you can also not shake the feeling. It will consume you, until the answers are realized. When you finally find out, you look back at the situation and realize that the person you were insanely worried about, is a person you barely know. So who is this worry really about? It's really a fear of being left behind. The fear of someone walking out, again and again. The fear of countless broken promises. The fear of rejection. The fear of death. The fear of lonely.

The Time has come the Walrus Said

"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings." ~Lewis Carroll

I guess I was feeling pretty nostalgic as I awoke to my text message and could only stare at the ceiling. I know who it is. I don't need to look at it. I get texts from the same person everyday all day long and often times I wonder who I am this year. Perhaps this nomadic life has given me several lives and each year does not just bring a new level of character (or lack thereof) but a fresh start. How many people can I be? Is it the pills that make me act differently, unafraid of consequence or am just experiencing normal?

I was writing a letter to my 10 year-old self last night. I was telling her that life will not be as you imagined. You will not become the next Michael Jordan. You will not go to Yale. You will not have a steady job at 25 or a stable boyfriend. I'm not sure I wanted the latter at ten, but I'm certain I figured it would happen. You will cave into the shadow of homosexuality, a fate that scared the shit out of you at ten, but you did not understand it. You do now. "Shit" is all you have to say for yourself. You have never done drugs, never crashed a car, you always wake-up sober. You take your job seriously, dress appropriately, speak eloquently when provoked. The last one is a lie, but is sounded cool. You are better at being away from home, but the homesickness still stings, you just bury it and drive away. You know deep inside that you belong somewhere else, but you're a stubborn motherfucker,,,you still have a foul mouth. You are better at talking to new people than you used to be. This ability has been both a blessing and a curse. It has changed you.

Feeling Gray in Blue Skies and Sunny

I am having one of those days and I cannot wait until my Sister from another Mister gets here to relieve my pain. I guess that is life, especially the life of a depressive. We have our days of elation, when we think the pain has gone away and then we remember that it takes time to feel alive, again. Even my magical pills cannot mask everything.