Bring On The Balloons...

I've just finished devouring my 3rd piece of leftover pizza and I'm sucking Diet Coke out of the 2 ltr. bottle.  I'm slamming things around and beating at the keyboard with my fingertips while tears stream down my face.  This is not my proudest moment. 

Before D left for work, I said some pretty shitty things and was promptly told that I had an ugly attitude.  The longer I sit here and think about it...the more I agree with her.  Now, dear reader, this is not an "all-the-time" thing.  I don't go around saying nasty things...but when I'm in a foul mood (for whatever reason) I've been known to pop off at the mouth with some mean shit. 

I have to ask, though, am I the ONLY one who does this?!?  Surely not.  Everyone probably has an ugly side that they let out on occasion, right??  Right?!? 

Anyway...I now have two choices.  I can follow along in the same vein and be nasty and mean and ugly all day.  Or, I can recognize this for what it is...and move along; refusing to allow it to color my day. 

*Sigh*  I don't feel ready to make that choice.  I feel like I need some more time to be whatever it is that I'm being, just on a smaller scale.  So, I'm choosing Option C.  I'm going to eat a lil chocolate while crying the rest of this ugliness out.  Take a shower.  Put on my best face, and go do a couple errands. 

So now, gentle reader, if you'll excuse me I need to go throw myself a pity party.

Blathering...

I look out of my office window and all I see is white.  There is a soft blanket covering the city and causing everyone to slow down a little.  The trees are quiet.  Sleeping giants who await the Spring.  Branches covered with ice and snow, their roots dormant beneath the frozen ground. 

The holidays are fast approaching...we're down to 4 days 'til Christmas and 9 days 'til my 31st birthday.  (yes, I count my birthday as a national holiday)  All the shopping is done (except for a red knit hat that my dad wants...).  Next comes the wrapping.  Ugh.  That is D's forte...not mine.  When I wrap a square box it ends up looking like a large blob of paper and tape.  It's a little embarrassing. 

I went shopping with Maxine today...I had $0 yet I managed to spend $67...?  I love credit cards.  Anyway, I bought a great new outfit for my birthday.  I'm spending the day with my sister and then probably going out to dinner with D.  I'm pretty excited about hanging with my sister.  She's a cool kitten.  She's planning the whole day...lunch, shopping, and a movie.  Hooray!

I'd say it's just about time for a nap.  Well, maybe I'll eat an orange first...but a nap is definitely in the near future. 

Viva L'italia...

ItaIian. Io amo la lingua. Amo il cibo. E, un giorno farò visita. Il mio sogno è di vivere in Italia. Anche se è solo per un breve periodo di tempo. Voglio visitare il centro di Roma, voglio visitare le chiese, ho voglia di mangiare gelato da un venditore ambulante. Forse un giorno avrò la possibilità. Ma, per ora, io sogno.

Vacay...

As of about an hour ago, I am finished with the semester.  All the finals have been taken, all the papers written and submitted.  Nothing left to do but enjoy the next 25 days off.  Ahhh...

Not Even A Mouse...

Ahhh...Christmas.  It is nearly upon us and that warm, fuzzy feeling that you get around this time of year is in full swing.  Christmas music on the radio...pictures with Santa.  A beautiful tree with half the lights not working.  Snow on the ground and more in the forecast.  Frantic shoppers descending upon the mall in droves.  Hot coffee in my giant "Meow-y Christmas" mug.  Who could ask for anything else? 

The house is quiet.  D's still in bed and I'm watching the cars creep down the snow-covered streets.  The apartment is chilly and I'm fantasizing about crawling back into bed...even though I know I'm not going to.  I've got two classes tonight, an online final on the 15th, and an exam on the 16th...then, I'm finished for the semester.  I'm anticipating all A's...perhaps a high B in Italian.  (Learning a language is tough!!)

We finished up our Christmas cards yesterday.  I'm going to pick up stamps today and then they'll go out tomorrow.  I'm so excited!  I love sending Christmas cards because it's like letting the people in my life know that I appreciate and love them.

Well, D's up and the silence is broken by the news on the television.  It's time to start moving.  Maybe I'll do some yoga this morning...Namaste.

Damn, It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta...

It's nearly christmas.  Which means it's nearly my birthday!!  I'm turning 31...so I'm going to have a 13th birthday party.  I want the perfect birthday that my inner 13 yr old would want.  Right now, I'm thinking mall...eating at the food court...window shopping...and Nordstrom's makeup counter.  Everything that would satisfy my inner 13 yr old. 

I get pretty stoked about my birthday.  It's like a holiday in my  honor.  Everyone is celebrating ME for one day.  It's like I'm famous!  It's gonna be a good day...

The Day Is Dreary And So Am I...

It strikes me as funny that 3 days prior to Thanksgiving, I have the windows open.  The computer tells me it's 66 degrees and the clouds are unbleached cotton.  The sky looks as if it could open up and begin drizzling at any moment.  I've waited for hours to hear a clap of thunder or see a bright jagged line of lightening crisscross the sky as promised by the morning news.  I think it's time to give up.

Inspired By Maxine...

When did 23 turn into 30? Growing up, filling out. A well-rounded individual, I am not. I still pine for self-assurance and sometimes even self-confidence. (Although, that part is slowly growing and it's all thanks to the mantra: "I'm fierce".) Clothing changed; I now wear hats far more often and am never far from a sweater. I spent the summer with bare arms for the first time in my life.

When the wind blows my back aches and I hug myself to keep warm. Ibuprofen is never far from my arthritic hands and the pharmacy has begun putting easy-open lids on my myriad of pills. I do yoga to keep me limber and follow it with coffee and conversation with a trusted friend to keep me going.

My body has aged but my spirit is still lagging behind in my mid-twenties. At 30, I pierced my nose, moved to the city, and went back to college. Being surrounded by youngsters is keeping me fresh. (Did I really just refer to them as youngsters?) I pore over textbooks and write papers that deserve and receive the coveted A's that will take me into Grad school and deliver me as faculty someday. At 30 I am racking up school loans that will take the rest of my days to pay off. I'm okay with that.

I deleted those who kept me down and whose drama I let spill into my life. I now spend my precious time with friends who support me like a good bra (which we all know is hard to find) and help me grow into the woman I'm becoming.

By 31, I'll be married to my best friend. I make adult decisions and opened a savings account. I stopped procrastinating and learned that I love lists. I have a love/hate relationship with my daily planner because I find myself forgetting things with a bit more ease.

At 30, I still don't have it all figured out. I'll let you know what 40 brings.

Uprooted…

I'm melancholy today. Thinking on my life and measuring how far I've come; I feel a sadness for those I've left behind. Yet, I know they were left behind for good reasons, be they public or private. Sometimes I find it hard to let go, although I know I'm letting go for my own sake and sanity.

I've turned to a new chapter in the book of my life. I'm happy. Finally. I've let go of those few people who let their drama bleed into my life. I'm making decisions that are beneficial to my well-being. I may be growing up and branching out; although I would not compare myself to a tree. I don't hold those deep roots full of the past.

My Story...

I wish I had a story to tell.  A story that others would lean in close to listen to.  Their eyes would light up at the exciting parts and moisten at the sad ones.  A story that those who hear it will want to pass it along to everyone they know.  They'll say, "listen to this..." and recount my tale of happiness and woe. 

The Warrior Pose...

I am a warrior woman.  Strong and proud.  The air that I breathe is sweet and clean.  I stand tall; head high and shoulders back.  Inhale, hold it.  Count to five and exhale, letting go of my cares and worries.  My body relaxes and my muscles are loose.  My heart beats out a staccato rhythm that says I am not one to be messed with. 

The Long Way…

So, I decided it's time to make some changes. I'm going to start walking more. Hoping that making these small changes will help lead to bigger changes. Like less binging and more healthful choices. I know it seems like I'm harping on the whole thing with this being my second entry about it, but I am hoping to turn the corner and stop some of my bad habits that have led me down this path. Fair warning: my blog is going to contain a lot of talk about this in the coming posts because I'm hoping this is going to consume my life and take over the eating. We'll see what happens.

Airing Out The Laundry...

There are 5 more weeks left in the semester.  I'm losing steam.  Here I sit, writing for enjoyment when I should be reading my Gender and Society textbook.  A mere 2 chapters left and I will have worked through the entire book.  What a good feeling that is!  Apparently it's not a good enough feeling to sit down and read through them, though! 

What I'd really rather be doing is napping.  Or eating.  I've been struggling with my eating as of late and it's taking it's toll on me and my weight.  It's compulsive.  I don't want to binge...I tell myself to stop while I'm doing it.  I feel powerless, though.  I stand in the kitchen, eating whatever I can put together while calling myself names and doing the whole 'negative self talk' gig.  It's disgusting.  And sad.  It's not a matter of willpower, it's more a matter of...well...I don't really know.  It's just this thing I do and I feel horrible while doing it.   

This is the second time I've written publicly about it.  I wrote a monologue for a course last Spring.  I was encouraged to perform it.  Do a 'one woman show' sort of deal.  It's always in the back of my mind.  Writing it was so cathartic...but I only showed it to a select group of individuals.  My professor, a couple of classmates...and I read a short bit to my whole class.  D mentioned it the other day.  Said I should reconsider getting it published/performed.  I dunno...it's so private.  Maybe, though, that is the boost I need.  Taking the private into the public might help begin my journey of healing. 

Another thing that would help the healing and maybe help me stop the binges...discussing this in therapy.  I feel such immense shame while I'm binging and even refuse to discuss it with my closest confidant, D.  I wonder sometimes if she knows the extent of my issues.  Something tells me she does.  She just *knows* me like that.  My therapist doesn't know, though.  It's my dirty little secret.  I think I'm afraid to mention it.  Mostly because I know this is probably an eating disorder.  No, not probably.  It is an eating disorder. 

Wow.  Where the hell did that all come from?  I considered erasing it.  Writing on something lighter...but, instead, I've left it where it is.  Staring me down.  Taunting me.  Tempting me into the kitchen because I feel vulnerable and that is one of my triggers.  I'm trying to resist.  God.  It's so hard.

Test…

I found a free app for my iPhone that posts to my personal blog. We'll see. This is the test run…

A Jumble Of Thoughts Deposited Here For Your Viewing Pleasure...

November 1st.  Where has the year gone?  I feel like I have been sleeping for months and just woke up this morning...November 1st.  Here it is, nearing the end of the year and the semester.  My 3rd semester at IUPUI.  I'm plugging right along.  The world is happening around me and I'm plugging right along.  Let's revisit that.  The world is happening around me.  Am I happening, too?  Am I making my mark, leaving my legacy, causing general mayhem?  I try.  Perhaps not quite hard enough, though.  Do I need to find a way to leave a footprint the size of Bigfoot's to feel accomplished?  Feels that way sometimes.  I carry the need to make myself known.

One of my therapy goals is to get out and DO something.  I think she means it literally...I'd much rather take it figuratively.  I want to get out and do something, make something, cause a scene.  But, quietly...so as not to draw attention to myself.  Speaking softly but causing a stir.  A disturbance in the air around you.  Something you aren't quite sure about, but know it's gonna be good.  You just know that something is afoot but it's not yet tangible.  That's me.  A disturbance.  A Whirling Dervish.  A tornado.  Okay, maybe not that much of a commotion.  But still, a commotion.  

Switchblade Posse...

Me and my crew (part of my crew, anyway...D and Maxine Dangerous) are headed out tonight to Talbott. I've got my digits crossed that April can make it, too.  Not sure what in the hell possessed me to wanna go out tonight.  I dislike bars, for the most part...but I woke up wanting to be stimulated.  (Minds outta the gutter, folks!)  Usually, stimulation like bars and concerts and the like throw me into a panic attack.  Large crowds pressing in on me...the excitement in the air...it takes it's toll on me.  I guess (to a degree) I am a bit of an emotional vampire.  I tend to absorb the energy of others or of a situation and take it on as my own.  It ends up overwhelming me and I have a panic attack.  Weird, I know.

Anyway, all vampirisim aside, I'm looking forward to this evening.  I feel safe with my crew...and I know they have my back and my best interests at heart.  They all know the signs of my panic attacks and how to deal with them.  My panic attacks manifest themselves as Oculogyric Crises.  Basically, the only way to describe it is like a seizure of my eyeballs.  They roll up into the back of my head and to the right.  It's nearly impossible to bring them back down and hurts like a mofo while it's going on.  After it's all over and I've calmed down, I'm exhausted...just like I'd had a seizure.  There is only 2 ways that I've found that work to get me calmed down...an extra nerve pill...and, well, another way.  (Don't ask...you don't wanna know.)  Takes about 30-45 mins for most of them and I have a couple a week.  Sucks, I know.

Hopefully we have a smashing time this evening.  I'm really excited about seeing Maxine.  It's been a minute since we've hung out.  And...I'm really excited about getting dressed up all spiffy-like.  I love dressing up to go out.  I've been thinking about my outfit all day.  I'm thinking that I'm wearing black, wide-leg pants and either a sleeveless black and white corset-looking top or a shimmery gold top with short sleeves.  D will get final say once I model them both for her. 

Now, it's time to go fiddle with the Wii, make some dinner, and get ready.  Hope you all have as good a time this evening as I'm planning to!

Sleep...

The dark curtain of night falls down over another day. Ending the play with a standing ovation in pinks across the horizon line. I glance to my left and smile at the Shamrock plant in the windowsill. The sun has gone to bed and so has the pretty little plant; its tender leaves and diminutive white flowers closing up and drooping their heads in slumber. Night has come and the softness of my bed beckons to me. I await the sleep to cover me with a drowsiness that will carry me through another night of lucid dreams. I wonder what tonight’s sleep will bring as I anticipate Mr. Sandman.

I mentally run through the day. Focusing on the parts that I want to relive and tossing away the unpleasant memories. Once I vow to forget, it’s relinquished from my psyche; a skill I have possessed since childhood. Most likely brought on by one of the more unpleasant experiences, my mind has the ability to become ‘selectively Swiss’. Objectionable memories fade out to form the holes in the cheese, whereas the agreeable ones stick around to grace my dreams-both day and night-with their presence.

My eyes flutter closed. I don’t fight the pull of the night as I slip away, easing into the blackness. The dreams wash over me like waves licking at my toes. Season after season, the night is a constant. Throughout the changes in my life, the evening invariably comes. With it brings the vividness of the hours of darkness. Colors light up the nighttime. I’m visited by ghosts from the past. Through sleep I am reunited with those I’ve lost, if only for a brief moment.

The spirits of my history comfort me throughout the dark of night. Easing the pain of loss by stopping by for a quick hello. I feel at peace while I softly snore and murmur hello’s to friends and family past. It cannot last, though. I know this and am okay with it. At least we have the night. At least we have this time of peace and respite to interact once again. For this, I am grateful. I do not take for granted my dreams.

Here Comes The Rain (du dn du du)...

i'm waiting on the rain. i can smell it coming. the clouds are fluffy but beginning to darken on the horizon. i can't wait. rain does something to my soul. just as it waters the flowers and grass, it replenishes me. summer storms popping up. booming thunder and sharp slices of lightening through the sky. coming and going just as quick as the seasons seem to change. new growth follows in it's wake. flowers (and weeds that masquerade as flowers) spring from the ground and say hello to the sun that follows the rain.

i hum an old Beatles tune...'little darling, the smiles returning to the faces, little darling, it seems like years since it's been here'.

At The Moment...

well, it's all over. school, surgery...all of it. i finished the semester with a solid A in Professional Writing Skills, A-'s in both my Journal Writing course and Women's Studies, and a B (insert shocked face here) in Biology of Women. The last 3 or 4 weeks were hell because i was struggling so much with my back and all the pain i was in. (not to mention the myriad of narcotics i was on) i had to quit attending Biology because of all the stairs in the lecture hall. i just couldn't walk up and down them. i also missed quite a few of my other classes due to not being able to sit for long periods of time. honestly, i'm shocked i did as well as i did. i should still be on the dean's list...i'll find out sometime this summer when they send out the certificates.

i had lumbar disc microsurgery on may 13th and now i'm on the mend. the surgery was in a hospital in lafayette. brand new hospital...only been there for a few months. the room was lovely and the staff was great. the food was good. all in all, it went really well. i went in on the 13th at 8a and was out on the 14th by 4p. after leaving the hospital, we had to stop and pick up my new "wheels". i had to get a rolling walker for the first week or so post-op. i traded it for my cane a couple days ago. probably should have kept the walker a lil longer...but i'm feeling strong enough now to use the cane correctly. hoping that my leg with strengthen up enough soon that i can get rid of the cane, as well!

since the surgery, i've left the house 2ce and entertained a couple of guests. April came over and brought me a cute little stuffed puppy dog and (!!) some wax and a seal. the seal is a rose and the wax is pink. April, being the queen of Goodwill that she is, found it at the Outlet Center where you pay by the pound. she's amazing...she finds the best stuff there! i was, obviously, thrilled by it. i've already used it once to seal a handwritten letter to my mom and have plans for 2 or 3 more handwritten letters i plan on sending out. Maxine Dangerous came over yesterday bearing plenty of goodies for a lunch of finger foods. we had a lovely time chatting and nibbling. it was great to see her...it's been a while. hell, it's been a while since i've seen any of my friends. that will be remedied this summer.

i've also received a couple of cards via the USPS. (it's so much more fun to use acronyms than just saying 'the mail'...don't you think?) one was from Stacy and one was from Ashley...both are friends of D's. they are lovely ladies. i've met them both a couple of times. i thought it was incredibly sweet of them to send me 'get well wishes'. i plan on sending them both a little note (sealed up with my new toy, of course!) to tell them just what it meant to me.

i suppose that is just about it for now. today, D and i are spending some time with Shay. we're taking her to the park. she told me last night on the phone that she wanted to bring her baseball bat and her golf clubs and take a walk. not sure how much walking i'll be doing...but i'll give it a go!

The Taming Of The Squirrel...

I think I’ve previously mentioned my love of squirrels. If I haven’t, then let me mention it now. Squirrels are so cute with their bushy tails (except for this one that I saw a couple of days ago. It had mange and was mostly bald. It was really rather gross) and their little hands. Sometimes I feed them out the window of our 2nd story apartment. I have a few snack sized bags of chex mix that I sprinkle down from the open screen and drop to the ground. My squirrel (I call him Paul after Paul McCartney) comes over and eats it. Squirreling (ha!) it away in his cheek pouches. A-fucking-dorable.

Anyway, so even though I love squirrels, I’m wary of them. I won’t hand feed them the way some people do. I know from experience that a wild squirrel cannot be tamed. When I was 19, I was attending college at Indiana University-Kokomo, or IUK. Being such a small satellite school, it only had 3 buildings. They were arranged in a triangle and in the center was a little grassy area with sidewalks between the buildings. There were trees aligning 2 of the sides of the campus and a parking area aligning the 3rd. It was (and I’m sure still is) a very nice looking campus.

As I said before about the squirrels, sometimes folks try to tame them. They are able to hand feed them. The little squirrel inches its way up to you and gently takes the food from your fingertips. Sounds lovable, right? Don’t be fooled! They are vicious, wild animals. They will attack you in the wink of an eye. And, it will be without warning.

One day, I was walking with a friend who was also attending IUK. His name is Ryan and he’s a queenie bitch of a man. His mannerisms are extremely feminine. When he screams, as he did one fall day, it sounds like a woman. What made him scream was a ferocious squirrel. Ryan bent to offer a bit of stale bread that he always carried with him to feed the squirrels. The squirrel crept up to Ryan and took the proffered bread. Nibbling at it quickly and shoving it into its cheek pouches. It sat up and waited for a moment, as if silently asking for another bit of bread. Then, without warning, it got a crazy look in its eyes and leapt up into the air, hurling its tiny body towards Ryan’s skinny little chicken’s leg decked out in some sort of designer jean.

The squirrel latched itself onto Ryan’s leg with that crazed look, hooking his tiny paws onto each side of the leg of his pants. Ryan squealed like a woman and began to violently shake his leg in an attempt to unlatch the squirrel. His arms were flailing and the messenger bag on his shoulder dropped to the ground. All of this seemed to piss off the squirrel so he bit into Ryan’s leg-through the denim-with his sharp little teeth. After biting him, the squirrel pulled back and looked up at Ryan for a brief moment before releasing its talon-like claws and jumping back and off of him and running up the nearest tree, the taste of blood in his mouth.

Ryan’s poor leg needed a couple of stitches and he had to have a series of rabies shots in his belly. The day after it happened, the Dean sent out an email to all students, warning them against feeding the seemingly tame squirrels. Everyone at the tiny school heard variations of the story as it flew around the campus from mouth to ear to mouth. I, myself, heard a few deviations from what happened as an eyewitness to the account. I never corrected anyone; instead, I just enjoyed the stories and laughed internally at the varying degrees of severity of them. The next semester, I dropped out. So did Ryan.

And The Beat Goes On...

I've got a nice mix of Lortab, Percocet, and Coke Zero coursing through me. I'm not the most lucid I've ever been so I hope, dear reader, you will forgive and forget if I make no sense.

I thought it was time for a life update. My semester is nearly complete and I've got a whirlwind of papers to write and exams to study for. 4 more weeks. This semester has flown by. Hell, this whole school year has flown by. June will be my one-year anniversary of living in the big city. There are days when it feels as if I've been here all along...and days when everything seems fresh and I feel so green and new. It's coming together, though. Our apartment has become a really kitschy and comfy pad. We are currently lacking a dresser and a bed frame...but they are simmering. D talked about going to get a bed frame today. By herself. I don't think it'll fit in my car...but who knows.

Anyway, so I'm sure you are curious about the pain killer cocktail. Somehow I've managed to injure my left leg to the point that it's in constant sharp, nerve pain and goes numb on occasion. Having an MRI tomorrow...I'll keep you updated, dear reader...for, I'm certain you are biting at the bit and dying to know what is wrong with my poor leg.

Shaylin is in daycare now because D needs to be here to help me. I have to admit I feel a little guilt for this. I know that Shay needs to move on to a learning environment where she is exposed to kids for long periods of time...but did I really need to be the catalyst that sent her to daycare in a whirlwind? D is having a rough go of it. I completely understand...after being with her daily for nearly 1.5 yrs, you are gonna go through a lil separation anxiety, amiright?

I think that's about it for now. It will be nap time soon. I suppose I'll wrap up this installment by sharing a blog that I have recently (yesterday) fell in love with. It's called six sentences. Check it out and you'll understand. I'm working on my 6 sentences so I can post, too. Look for me :)

An Attempt At Poetry...

if you know me on an intimate level, you know i am a writer at heart...but not a poet. i decided to step outside my box and try my hand at a poem just for the fun of it. it is a rework of this piece. any and all feedback would be appreciated and welcomed with an open mind.

*deep breath* here goes...

Struggling to find words that illustrate me
Shaping who I am and where I’ve been
Thoughts and opinions get expressed
In words far too big for my pretty mouth

By the time it’s made it all the way ‘round
I’ve lost the words
Sentences flying out the window of a moving car
Spitting against the wind and all of that jazz

I’m mute
I open my mouth and flap my jaws
Snapping my teeth at the moon
Snarling at the heavens

Yearning for a being higher than I
Longing to be in touch with spirituality
Hungering for acceptance
And craving prayer I feel gets heard

I need peace
Piece of mind
Self-worth
And self-control

Do you know me?
Am I familiar?
Why won’t you answer me?
Are you even out there?

Is it enough to just be?

Getting Freaky In Front Of Jesus...

It’s a quarter after noon and I’m doped up on caffeine and Klonopin. I’m freaking the fuck out because I feel like I’ve wasted my break. It’s only Thursday. I still have time. But, I feel like it has to all be done today. A chapter to read in Women’s Studies and a 2 pg journal about it to write, a chapter I don’t want to read for Biology, at least 5 journals and a reflective piece that I have no clue how to write for my journaling class. Fuck. Take another drink of coffee. Try to focus and write this damned entry. Try to make it worthwhile enough to be used for my journal. Write a little, swig the coffee.

I’ve got lyrics in my head that have nothing to do with anything but they run like a broken record in my brain. Maybe I should open the window to listen to the rushing cars as they zoom down College. It’s as close to nature as I get living in the city. Cars hurrying past and mimicking the sound of a river.

I turn on my mp3 player on the laptop, search for the song that won’t end, and play it. “Come on people now, smile on your brother. Try to love one another right now…” There. I can ease up a little. I stretch, reaching to the ceiling for a moment before slumping back over the keyboard.

A noise outside the door makes me turn my head. I catch a glimpse of D’s newly acquired Black Velvet Jesus Paint By Number…unpainted. In great condition, too. She’s excited to paint it and frame it. Where it’s going to go, I have not a clue. Hopefully not in the boudoir, I don’t want Jesus watching me get freaky.

A Big Dose of Vitamin "D"...

i live a pretty interesting life...but yesterday topped out pretty high on the interesting scale. d and i were doing our usual wednesday gig...lots of running around doing errands. we caught an eyeful (think drag queen and posse)...and an earful (thanks to the little gay boy at mc donald's) during our travels.

it started out with our diabetes education class in southport...we were late (as usual) because we weren't paying attention to the time. class starts promptly at 1:30...we rolled in about 10 mins til 2. (not a seat was left...no table...we had to sit in chairs in the back and write on our laps) oh well...at least the class "diabetic overachiever" (he always monopolizes the instructor's time after class is over and we never get the chance to ask questions) came in after us. he sports a goatee-type thing that runs all the way down his stomach. he binds it with little rubber bands to seperate it into sections...much like you'd see in the intestines with the sphincters that cause peristalsis. (at least that is what it looked like to me. i'm currently taking biology and our last chapter just dealt with the digestive system. what i don't get, though, is how i nearly failed my midterm, yet i know all about sphincters...how queer)

so, 3:30 comes around and we leave our class with a little more knowledge than we had originally. on our way home, we drive through homecroft. we spot a golf cart fully decked out with colts attire and two young guys waiting on a side street to pull out into traffic. we are mildly entertained at the sight and laugh about it in the car.

we are now homeward bound. just as we're pulling up to our apartment building on college ave, we...no lie...spot a modern day cowboy, on a white horse, galloping full-speed down college towards downtown. what. the. fuck. he was fully decked out in cowboy attire...ten-gallon hat, included. once again...what...the...fuck?!

after running by the house, we headed back out to do our weekly shopping. first, though, we drive-thru the mcd's on the corner of meridian and 16th. we are serviced by a friendly lil fagboy who informs us that although he has to be indoors all day, at least he is getting a good dose of vitamin d through the window...which, according to him..."vitamin "d" is the only vitamin i don't mind taking". wow...i really feel like i know a lil too much about you, dude.

next, we run by d's brother's apartment. upon leaving, we spot children out in droves. i literally mean between 40-50 of them just milling around the parking lot. it was like driving through a herd of sheep. d had to keep beeping the horn so they would part and let us through. this may not sound as exciting as the urban cowboy or vitamin d boy...but have you ever seen a herd of small children? it's scary. they are like clowns to us. *shudders*

so, after leaving joe's apartment, we are driving down lynhurst and lo and behold...there is another golf cart! this time, it's parked by the side of the road and two old men are drinking coffee and watching traffic go by. i really doubt they had any intention of pulling out onto the road. they were just enjoying the day...in a golf cart...on the side of the road.

finally, we've made it to wal-mart. i get my eyebrows threaded and then we have dinner at subway. if you don't know d, you don't know how much she enjoys people watching. our wal-mart always has interesting characters to watch. (i especially like titi the cashier-phonetically that is teetee-and the cashier who wears a wig) on this day...we were blessed with the presence of an over-the-top drag queen and her entourage of gayboys. she was wearing...what appeared to be...an argyle sock with the toe cut off on her right arm and a leather glove on her left hand. she was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was 8p.

sensory overload.

The Sum of My Parts...

I struggle to find words to describe me. I have thoughts and opinions that I express with words far too big for my mouth, but when it comes down to me…I have nothing to say. What do I want? I want to find a peace and sense of self worth. I crave a higher being. I crave spirituality. I crave prayer that I feel gets heard. Who am I, and why is it so hard to answer that question? I am. Is it enough to just be?

Who do you think I am? As much as I would love to say that I ignore what others think of me…in truth, it makes up who I am. What others say or think of me validates who I am. Perhaps it even makes up the sum of me. If I could ignore what others thought or said, would I even exist? Would I become a shell of me? So, instead of me telling you who I am…tell me who you think I am. Tell me what you think of me…and that is who I will become.

Taco Salad Night...

Rain patters on the windowsill. I peek out the blinds just in time to catch a glimpse of a bright streak of lightening across the dark sky. I clinch my teeth and duck my head as the loud clap of thunder follows the lightening strike. I feel foolish for having this knee-jerk reaction. So silly. It’s just a spring storm. It popped up suddenly and I’m sure it will end just as quickly. The droplets of water make little puddles in the craters of the asphalt. I watch intently as the oversized drops plop against the ground. “I hate mud,” I grumble softly to myself. What a silly statement. How can you hate something so commonplace as mud? I do, though.

The rain begins tapering off just as quickly as it began. The sound of thunder has been replaced by the clatter of pots and pans. I rise from my spot on the couch and wander into the kitchen to find my partner beginning dinner. Taco salad night. I move to her side silently and she turns her face to offer her cheek to me. I lean in and kiss it lightly; brushing my lips against her soft skin. “Storm’s over,” I mumble around the piece of tomato I’ve just popped into my mouth.

“That was quick.” She continues fussing with the meat, stirring it to break it into crumbles. I survey the kitchen. The counter is covered in little piles of vegetables; tomatoes, lettuce, onions, bell peppers. I smile to myself. Her organization always amuses me. A place for everything and everything in its place. Even the vegetables aren’t immune to her need to arrange things so they are aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

My ears prick up at the sound of a distant rumble. The storm has moved on but it’s left the thunder trailing behind. “Can I help?” I reach for a pepper this time and her hand darts out quickly. She lightly bats me away from the perfect little piles she’s worked so hard on. I pout and draw my hand back, pretending to be hurt by her playful admonishment.

“You can help by leaving the veggies be and getting down some plates. The meat is almost ready.” I’ve knocked one of the peppers out of place. She’s rearranging the pepper pile as the words fall out of her pretty mouth. I can’t help but laugh a little. It bubbles up and comes out as a short “Ha!” She gives me “the look” and I bite back my laughter. I hide my smile behind the open cabinet door while I’m reaching for the plates.

I set them down carefully on the counter. She’s so picky about the dishes. They were her great aunt’s. I wonder, sometimes, if she loves me as much as those dishes. “Dinner looks great, babe.” My stomach rumbles hungrily while I watch her begin making our plates. Careful piles of lettuce topped with meat, cheese, veggies. Her graceful hands work quickly and before I know it, the salads are ready. I drizzle just a little taco sauce over mine and hand the bottle to her. Our fingers brush.

I feel the electricity between us. Ever present, even after all these years together. I glance up at her. She’s watching me. I smile broadly and give her a wink. She blushes and giggles girlishly. That giggle. I call her Betty Rubble sometimes. She pretends not to like it, but I know better. It’s just another part of our dance.

Rearranging Letters...

i’m a writer.  say it out loud.  say it twice if you think it’ll make it stick.  i’m sitting at my desk in my office in what used to be the dining area (i’ve set up a screen to separate it from the living room) and i’m pounding loudly on the keyboard.  i’m angry.  i’m scared.  the words won’t come out and i’ve got a deadline to meet.  i can’t force them, that just makes it worse.  i take a deep breath and count to 5.  i stand and stretch…reaching towards the ceiling and arching my back.  “i’m a writer.”  say it louder.  “I’M A WRITER!”  that’s better.  i sit back down and begin to type again.  a little softer, not beating the keys into submission, just letting the words flow.  i look up at the photos of my life decorating my desk and think about all the wasted time in the last 30 years that i could have been doing what i love.  but i wasn’t.  i was playing games.  just teasing the surface of what needed to be said.  i know those years were wasted.  i’m fighting to make up for lost time now.  this thought makes me angry and i begin beating at the keys once again. 

it’s time to stop for the night.  i don’t want to wrap it up but it’s gotten late and d’s already in bed.  she kissed my forehead hours ago and told me not to be too long.  here i sit, hours later, still typing.  nonsense and gobbledygook.  damn.  i want this to be good.  i want THIS piece to be the one.  the one that i get brave enough to submit to an anthology or a magazine and not just some website.  i feel like crying.  i want to bang the keys.  i want to pop them off and rearrange the letters.

The Carnival Was Ringing Loudly Now...

the decemberists -- here i dreamt i was an architect



And here I dreamt I was a soldier
And I marched the streets of Birkenau
And I recall in spring
The perfume that the air would bring
To the indolent town
Where the barkers call the moon down
The carnival was ringing loudly now
And just to lay with you
There's nothing that I wouldn't do
Save lay my rifle down

And try one, and try two
Guess it always comes down to
All right, it's okay, guess it's better to turn this way

And I am nothing of a builder
But here I dreamt I was an architect
And I built this balustrade
To keep you home, to keep you safe
From the outside world
But the angles and the corners
Even though my work is unparalleled
They never seemed to meet
This structure fell about our feet
And we were free to go

And try one, and try two
Guess it always comes down to
All right, okay, guess it's better to turn this way

And here in Spain I am a Spaniard
I will be buried with my marionettes
Countess and courtesan
Have fallen 'neath my tender hand
When their husbands were not around
But you, my soiled teenage girlfriend
And how you are furrowed like a lioness
And we are vagabonds
We travel without seatbelts on
We live this close to death

And try one, and try two
Guess it always comes down to
All right, okay, guess it's better to turn this
But I won, so you lose
Guess it always comes down to
Alright, it's okay, guess it's better to turn this way