The Logic of Insanity

A Masterpiece of Blue Nail Polish

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 09:08:21 GMT

Today as I was in the middle of my shift at work a woman told me that she thought my nails were beautiful. She spent about thirty seconds just staring at them like they were something glorious to behold. Her sister smiled serenely behind her as I finished the transaction and they left without incident. Yet while most customers leave vague impressions on me I couldn't get this woman out of my head. More imporantly I couldn't get what she had said to me out of my head.

The truth is, I had been a little ashamed to leave the house with my nails looking like this. The Robins-egg blue enamel chipped and worn to the point that it was just arbitrary flecks and smears across the nail bed. I'm not a vain person, but I don't like to be messy and thats what my nails had made me feel like, messy, unkempt. It was that exact reason that I couldn't get this womans comment out of my head.

Beautiful? Really? This worn, ragged paint job?

I found myself staring more than once at my own hands, squinting my eyes or screwing up my face to try to see what was so beautiful about my nails. I didn't see anything extraordinary. Nothing except perhaps extraordinarily ordinary destruction. Maybe thats it though, the destruction of it. Not the color that I chose, or the shape of my nails, or the time spent manicuring, maybe it's the simple act of destruction that made them beautiful. I know, it seems like a foreign concept to a lot of people, but it's something that I can't get out of my head.

I looked at that first chip in the polish as the end of perfection, the end of the life of this nail enamel. That was it for me. It had lost it's purpose, it had lost it's luster and worth. For all intents and purposes it no longer existed to me. I was done with it, but the more I looked at the chipped and worn blue coloring the more I began to see the beauty in the destruction.

Maybe it isn't a point of good or bad, maybe it's a point of perception. The end of the nail polishes perfect finish wasn't the end of the polish, it was the end of that phase, merely the beginning of another. And even now, as I chip it off with my other nails out of nervous habit, it is entering a new and equally valuable stage. I know this all sounds like a lot of thought put into nail polish but it's not really about the nail polish. It's about existence and growth, and the understanding that the end of something is just the beginning of something else. An overused and cliched concept but a true one. Nail polish is just as stunning and valuable in the end as it is in the beginning. Each phase a little miracle, just as our lives from beginning to end to beginning again are. We have all experienced the miracle of our own births and we will all experience the miracle of death, both stages and all of those in between just as stunning as the ones around it.

And so my nail polish, from first stroke to last chip, just as our lives, is a masterpiece.

Stupid People, Penises, Mood Swings and an Assortment of Other Complaints

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 07:50:17 GMT

What's the point of this journal entry? Surely not Penises. Actually, kind of. Well no, not really. See, there is this weird storm of feelings and moods going on inside me, and I feel kind of like I am drowning in a sea of my own creation. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

There are a lot of people in my life that have made the past three months of my existence something for the books. Hell, the past three years (four? Five? AJ, Channi, how long HAVE we known each other?) Some have been my support system some have been stressors, lovers, shoulders to lean on, people to laugh with, new friends, mentors whatever. Some have been all of the above (Wait, that's not true. none have been new friends AND lover. Oh wait... Neeeeiiilllll.) I'm blessed to have these people in my life, I know I am. Amazing friends like Melanie and Katie who will smack me upside the head and tell it like it is, AJ, Chantal, Miranda girls who have been there for me creatively, emotonally the whole nine yards. Jace, Lindsey, Danny, Grant, Travis, Neil. These people who are huge parts of my life lately. I'm blessed but sometimes I feel like I can't always catch my breath.

The things that went down between Danny and Grant and I. That whole drama and now Kwyn is making this appearance into my life and shit is getting crazy again and my chest has had this dull ache for days and... okay I am not handling this journal entry properly. I'm just going to tackle things section by section.

I love the people that I have in my life (for the most part) I love that when I'm down the sound of a certain persons voice can make everything seem a little bit better. Tonight that person was Travis, who offered up his time for my amusement. Something about the way that he always sounds like he has a little bit of a stuffed up nose that makes me feel better. I couldn't tell you why I find it so comforting but I do. Also, he just generally has a very pleasant speaking voice. I'm having these mood swings lately, brought on by PMS I'm hoping. Bringing back these feelings of a time in my past that I'd rather never relive. A lot of people don't know it, but there... there was a long dark period of my life early and into my mid-teens. Terrible depression, bad thoughts, bad things. I wasn't a little bundle of sunshine. It's a point that I don't talk much about because it makes me upset just to think about that time and now that I have these feelings that remind me of it... It's just not good stuff. And Travis... Travis is a glorious jackass who also happens to be a huge sweetheart. Someone who understands some of the stuff I went through and so tonight it was his voice that soothed me. Even though I sighed a lot and left a lot of silences over the phone and was generally a pain in the ass to talk to, it meant a lot to me that he took a chunk out of his busy life for me. I love him, truly. He's fantastic. I already thanked him but another is in order.

My next order of business: I can't control these mood swings and I really wish people would stop riding me about them. I don't know if anyone really puts stock in the zodiac but really guys... I'm pretty much a textbook Capricorn in a lot of ways. I'm pensive, I'm brooding, I think ALL THE TIME. I know, I'm a chatty person by nature but if I'm not speaking it doesn't always mean I'm angry or upset. Sometimes I just need a shit load of space to sort through my own stuff. I take in a lot, I have a lot to process. The fact that I can't seem to get a reign on this wave of moodiness hasn't been fun for me. I don't like feeling out of conrol, I'm kind of a control freak.

That said and as much as I've been saying how much I love people in my life I need people to back the eff away sometimes. I get that me not being peppy and bubbly might make your day a little less sunny but for the love of everything that is good and decent in the world suck it the hell up. I'm not even joking here. I really cannot deal with more people going "it makes me sad when you're sad" I can't be freaking responsible for your emotions and try to deal with my own a the same time. If you empathize with me that's great, I'm glad that you can but I honestly can't carry the extra weight. Believe me, you aren't doing me any service by telling me that my sadness/pensiveness (w/e)/anger/annoyance upsets you. You're probably just making the problem worse and it's - honestly - seriously selfish of you to manipulate me in that way. So don't be an asshat.

I feel the need to air out some things that irritate me, and you can take them however you want because in the end whoever reads this has the option of turning back anyway so don't get pissy with me if you don't enjoy the honesty.

I can't stand it when people don't take responsibility for themselves. Life is this gift that we're all given, this miracle that we get to wake up into every day. Some people have genuine hardships in their lives. Shit happens and I'm not going to refute that. Shit happens to good people, people who don't deserve it and I have no problem with people processing and greiving their issues in whatever way they need to. I encourage it. Emotional exploration and fulfillment is good. What I can't stand is those people who have no legitimate hardships but make a huge production out of themselves. People who refuse to take responsibility for creating their own happines or opportunity. People who refuse to recognize the gifts that they are given. It's childish to complain when you lead a relatively charmed effing life. Open your eyes, take a look around you, the world isn't in such great shape and you're going to sit there and act like the end is nigh because reality won't bend to your whim? I'm nineteen years old people, if I can grasp this then so can you: It's all on you. You are responsible for your life. I'm at a point where I feel like I'm going to have to cut some people out of my life if they can't step up to the plate. Because just like I said earlier I CAN'T take responsibility for other people's happiness too. It's not my burden to bear. I don't like cutting people out of my life, but for my own mental and emotional health it's looking kind of necessary.

In a similar vein, I can't stand clingy people. Clingy men are unattractive. They're unattractive because ultimately I don't WANT you to not be able to live without me. I don't want you to need me to "survive". I don't want to be your entire life. Because I don't want to be responsible for you, and I shouldn't have to be. And clingy women...? Hello, I'm not your boyfriend. And I should be very clear on this: As much as I might consider feeling up Mia Michaels if I had the chance I am 100% straight. I like penis. A lot. Sorry ladies, I'm just not that into you. So don't cling to me and treat me like I'm your lover because I'm not.

I enjoy boundaries. And yes, they are different for every person. Like Melanie can be like "So... Wanna make-out?" And that's fine. and we'd laugh because our boundaries as friends have been well established and there is a mutual understanding that it's a joke with no funny business behind it. It really bothers me when people disrespect or disregard my boundaries. I don't care if other people are allowed to do something, it doesnt' mean you are. Just like certain people can call Jace the Hairless Wonder and get away with it, but other's can't. And for the love of jellybeans people, boundaries change. And not always in the realm of expansion. Sometimes people cross lines, or give me the impression that they're having difficulty separating things. If I feel like someone is having a hard time not "blurring the lines" I'm going to pull way back and set up new boundaires. Because I don't enjoy being uncomfortable. Sorry to anyone that is blurring lines, but I just can't deal with it.

Right now I am too tired to even keep my eyes open. I have work in the morning and this journal entry is nowhere near done. I know it's long and it's bitchy but I need to get shit off my chest just to get it out in the open so that it stops eating through me from the inside.

I need sleep, I'm really irritated with some people and some things, saddend by others, confused, upset whatever. In the long run and in the grand scheme of things I'm happy but right now I am PMSy, my foot hurts, I can't keep down anything that isn't kale salad, I had a sex dream about one of my best friends while being spooned by someone else, I feel like a general failure at life and I have a bug bite on one of my ta-ta's. And so much more that I wouldn't dare put in a journal entry because its so effing private and I seem crazy enough already.

Goodnight Livejournal. Goodnight Internet. Goodnight Issues. Goodnight Moon.

List of Questions That I Desperately Want (And Sometimes Need) Answered:

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 23:45:01 GMT

1. How do mom's always know the exact thing to say to make everything better?
2. What came first -- The chicken or the egg?
3. Why do boys smell so funny in the mornings? (1)
4. If the word "no" is only two letters, why does it intimidate me so much?
5. Why are some people so clingy?
6. What on earth is in "American Cheese" and how does it get that plasticy sheen?
7. Why do we want things we cant have? (2)
8. How can you have a war for peace?
9. Why do some people enjoy being cruel?
10. What happens if you count your chickens before they hatch?
11. Why do some friendships end over nothing?
12. Why does being kind sometimes make people dislike you?
13. What is with people pulling ridiculous stunts to get attention?
14. Why do I find Dutch-Ovening so funny? (3)
15. Is it wrong to lose faith sometimes?
16. Why is the most wonderful, healing, nurturing thing also the most terrifying?
17. Why did the chicken cross the road?
18. Why does fame not appeal to me?
19. Why do people find it so easy to hate, when it feel so good to love?
20. Why do people make happiness so difficult? (4)
21. Why is it that the things we feel the strongest are the hardest to say out loud?
22. Why do so many rhetorical questions involve chickens? (5)

_____________________________________________________________________________

1. Danny calls it "Musk", Grant calls it "Stinky Time".
2. Pat Monahan put it eloquently in "Calling All Angels" with: In a world where what we want is only what we want until it's ours.
3. It's HILARIOUS!
4. They act like they need all this stuff. A big house, fame, fortune, "the one", a million friends, people adoring them heedlessly, people bending over backwards to fill their wishes and desires, cars, trinkets, treasures. Why can't they just realize that they breathe and beat and exist, and that alone is enough?
5. Seriously.

Heroes.

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 09:44:48 GMT

I don't have a story for you guys this time. Just me. Sitting in my empty apartment, watching life around me.

I've been thinking a lot about heroes tonight. Not the halftone, vintage figures splashed across the pages of comic books, but about the real heroes. At least, the ones we really look up to. They come in all forms, shapes, mediums. Some are our parents, friends or relatives. Some are philanthropists, do-gooders. Most commonly though these days, the heroes of the younger generation seem to be artists, or those who have managed to obtain that ever elusive "it" factor and have passed the velvet rope into celebrity. Musicians, actors, sports stars, with the innovation and creation of so many new types of shows even dancers are hitting the mainstream and have been evangelized into household names and every day conversation admist masses of previously ignorant consumers.

Suddenly names like Benji Schwimmer, Travis Wall, Mia Michaels, Wade Robson, Ivan Koumaev are popping up and people are aspiring to be half the talent, have the gift. But that's a different story. Famouse dancers are another topic altogether and for an altogether different time.

In particular tonight what has been on my mind is that inevitable moment in everyones life when a hero lets us down. Or maybe even more simply: we realize that our hero is human too.

We have these images that we create in our minds. These molds that we fit our heroes into, pedestals that we set them all on for one reason or another. We look up to them, some of us worship them, create false gods for ourselves. They are infallable in our eyes. Which is why that moment when we realize their imperfection is so damaging. It rattles us right down to our core.

I had one of those moments tonight. An artist that I've admired for years, and have looked up to surprised me in a way that left a bad taste in my mouth. He was a man that had opened my eyes in some ways. Reopened a personal dialogue about God, reopened a passion for honest poetry. I'd been closed off for what felt like a lifetime in reaction to a relationship gone wrong and his words, his voice, something in it had touched me and helped bring me back. I am not innocent of the things I've described. I created this image for myself of him. A gentle, wonderful being. Who was only good things, good thoughts. Cotton Candy and stardust. The usual order for reckless adoration.

I was brought quite suddenly down to earth tonight, in reaction to some things he had said. Casual and rather frequent cursing, slightly lecherous comments thrown out nonchalantly, some ill-placed ridicule and so on. Things that I never thought I'd hear from him, this wonderful figure that I had built up in my mind, aspired to be like in some ways. There was that instant plummet in my stomach like someone had pulled out the stopper and my insides were slowly slipping down the drain. It's an uncomfortable feeling, to be faced with the reality that we're all, in the end, human.

I felt let down, and that was silly of me. Not just silly, it was unfair to him, though he'll never know it. The slight betrayal I feel like he'd made all these promises to me and casually forgotten to follow up. But he didn't make promises, I made promises for him. Which, I think, is something a lot of us do. Our numbers do not make it right, just normal.

It was that moment that got me thinking. We look up to these people and expect them to live up to these expectations that we could never fulfill ourselves. I guess that's sort of the point though, isn't it? We look up to them because they have something that we don't, or are something that we're not. It becomes harder to idolize someone when you realize that they're not the perfection that you once assumed they were.

That got me thinking even further though... does it matter if they are or if they aren't? This man, the things that I idolized about him were all wonderful things, even if some of them appeared to be completely falsified (at my own hand). But does it really matter in the end if he doesn't possess these traits? Does it make the ideal any less admirable? I think we place these expectations on someone else because we want to believe that all of these things that we appreciate and admire can and do exist inside a single person. We want to believe that someone else has achieved all of these things because if someone else has done it before us, then it's not impossible. If someone else is, then we can be too.

But why? Why do we have to have them right before us? Why does this letdown shake my faith and what faith is it really shaking? Faith in him? Or faith in myself? I think the answer is obvious, even if it's not pretty or nice to look at. It makes me lose faith in myself. If he can't be all of these things and my mind still has him on that pedestal, then what chance do I have? If he is so flawed yet still so far ahead of me, where does that leave me? It's terrifying and terrible to be faced with the fact that the things we hold closest to our hearts may not be what we thought they were. The small things that helped pick us up and keep moving may not actually be there at all. At least, not in the way that we had originally thought.

Still, my question stands. Why does it matter if he isn't all those things I expected from him? Why can't I still hold onto those ideals, and that aspiration in the absence of a surrogate idol? Why do all of these things have to exist in someone for me to push forward? Why can't I take it as a lesson, keep my faith, keep my head and my goals and keep going. Why do I need a hero? I guess more importantly, why am I not my own hero?

Why am I looking outside myself for validation and direction? I created this image of this person that I admire, so why in the wake of this letdown do I not take up the torch? I fabricated this hero, so clearly I know what I want to be, why don't I become it? Why don't I stop looking up and start looking within? Cheesy, I know, but so what? If my hero had said it, I would have agreed. It would have inspired me and empowered me.

So I'll say it. I'll work hard and do my damned best to be those things that I projected onto someone else. Just because my pedestal doesn't have a person on it doesn't mean I am without a path. I won't fault him for my disappointment. Maybe I should thank him, if he hadn't shown me his human side I may have never realized that I need to stop looking around me for a hero and start becoming my own.

I'm flawed, and there is a journey ahead of me. Long, arduous, lots of chances to fall and probably crash and burn, but perserverence is one of those things I admired about him. So now it's time to admire it in myself.

Safe travels, all. And don't forget your cape.

Spring-- er... Summer-- uh... Nearly Fall Cleaning.

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 10:11:31 GMT

I'm cleaning out my livejournal of some old posts that just needed to be gotten rid of. I don't have anything against looking back on past issues, or past failures, but there are some things that don't I don't need to be reminded of.

Slipping Through My Fingers

Mon, 17 Aug 2009 20:33:10 GMT

If you change your mind, I'm the first in line. Honey I'm still free, take a chance on me. If you need me, let me know, gonna be around. When you've got no place to go, when you're feeling down.

Without fail this song makes me happy, and so I am dancing around the empty apartment cleaning and singing along. There is something impossibly cheerful about ABBA music that melts even the coldest of hearts. It is one of those rare moments in the past week that I am truly happy. It is a welcome reprieve.

My cellphone buzzes and I hop over to check the text message. It is my friend giving me his ridiculous reply to an even more ridiculous question I have asked him. We have been speaking in "code" to each other all morning. I'm relatively certian he just said something dirty but between the zebra and cupcake references it's very hard to tell. I giggle and place the phone down, electing to wait to respond until I have formed a sufficiently absurd answer.

Oooh... you can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life. Ooh ooh ooh, see that girl, watch that scene. Digging the Dancing Queen.

The song has changed and my silly dancing continues with a renewed fervor. I am the Dancing Queen.

There is a loud whoop from outside and I glance out the sliding glass door to see someone observing my moves. I pause momentarily, deciding if I am embarrassed or not. I am in my own home, afterall. I can dance if I want to. I can even leave my friends behind. I know my civil rights. This decided, I glance at my speakers and then launch into an elaborate disco routine, much to the glee of this stranger who even shows off a move or two of his own.

Today is a good day.

The song ends. I shrug and go back to cleaning as Honey, Honey starts playing. It's a little more mellow and so I can actually get some work done.

Honey, Honey, how he thrills me. Uh huh, honey, honey. Honey, Honey, nearly kills me. Uh huh, honey honey. I heard about him before, I wanted to know some more. And now I know what they mean. He's a love machine. Oh he makes me dizzy!

My voice follows the trilling of the song, my hips bopping from side to side. By the time the middle of the song has reached me, I realize the apartment is immaculate but I don't stop dancing. Instead, I grab one of the triple chunk brownies I made last night and commence undoing all of the healthy choices I have made this week.

I act out the diary scene from the movie Mama Mia, playing Amanda Seyfrieds part for no one but myself, half a bite still in my mouth. Frolicking ensues, I'm sure my downstairs neighbor loves me right now.

I can hear someone coming up the steps. Three knocks sound and I immediately swallow the food in my mouth and dive for the volume dial. The music is reduced to little more than background noise and I pad my way over to the door, sure that my neighbor will be glaring at me when I open up. I grip the knob and twist it with a flick of my wrist.

There he is.

It isn't my neighbor. Oh... he makes me dizzy. All of the smiles and giggles from the dancing drains from my face and there Daniel is, his brown eyes oddly blank as he looks me over in the bright colors I'm wearing.

I don't know when he comes in. The second I see him everything sort of goes blurry and time has a weird way of catching and looping. The universe has given up it's linear existence.

Dully, I note that he is wearing a shirt that I bought him but he opens his mouth and is speaking so I try to pull my attention to what he is saying.

Don't go wasting your emotion. Lay all your love on me. Don't go sharing your devotion. Lay all your love on me.

"I know we're on break. I know that you said you need space right now to think but I've been thinking too, and I need to say this before my selfishness takes over and I can't bring myself to do it anymore." The song continues but I barely notice. "You once asked me why I want to be with you. Why I even want to be around you." I can see the glistening in his eyes. I don't want to hear this, I have the sinking feeling I know exactly what will happen after this. "It's because... you have this copacity to... to just love. Anything and everything. You have this perspective on the world that inspires me, and scares me because I've never met anyone with that much compassion and joy and love. You do things without thinking, without trying and you have no idea the profound effect they have on people for the better." He chokes and turns away from me.

If I knew where my voice was, I would speak up. But I am mesmerized by the terrible scene unfolding in front of me. He breaks his static position and paces a few steps away before he turns back to me. "You give your time willingly, you devote yourself to helping people and the earth, and animals. You're like this bright light that makes things more beautiful just by being in your presence and I... how could I not fall in love with you? You see beauty in everything and take blessings from the smallest things. You read truth in the most mundane and impossible situations. How could I not want..." He glances away with a soft hic. The song dies into silence in a world a million miles away. "But sometimes what I want isn't what I need. Or what you need."

You seem so far away though you are standing near. You made me feel alive but something died I fear. I really tried to make it out, I wish I understood. What happened to our love, it used to be so good. So when you're near me, darling can't you hear me S.O.S. The love you gave me, nothing else can save me, S.O.S.

Somewhere inside me my soul is crumpling in on itself like a styrofoam cup on the sea floor. There is a rushing in my ears cut through only by the sound of a bird fluttering by the balcony twittering away jubilantly. My head turns and I am struck with surprise at the absurdity of the sun being out. Grass growing. Things existing. I can't take my eyes off a little girl jumping rope across the street and smiling.

"I've asked and demanded so much of you even though you told me you weren't ready and I knew you weren't. You need more time. Time to experience things that you weren't able to, that I've kept you from. And I'm sorry for doing it. You deserve wonderful things... and I don't know if I can give them to you right now." He is moving towards me and I finally look back at him. I can feel the warm roughness of his palm on my cheek and the gentle tug as he tilts my chin for me. I want to vomit.

The kiss is gentle and quietly murderous.

"I love you so very much. I am always here, if you ever need anything." Then he leaves.

He is gone.

I am standing alone in my dining room. Cars rush by outside. A dog barks. And I am empty. My face is frozen, my limbs are lead. The weight on my heart drags me down, my back against the side of the counter. The wind blows and I feel a chill on my cheeks from tears that had been his.

Through the deafening crash of my life around me, the melody of the new song plays obscenely.

Is there a man out there, someone to hear my prayer. Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight. Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away. Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight...

My chest cracks and the tears are spilling down my cheeks.

...Take me through the darkness to the break of the day.

Miracle Miles.

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 11:48:55 GMT

I lace up, I hydrate, I turn on my music and walk to the door.

One last glance at the apartment that had once been my safe haven, my cocoon, but now it was suffocating. A cage, my prison.

I make a break for it. Down the stairs, down the stone path that runs between the two halves of the complex, around the corner and into the sun. There is no looking back. There is only going forward. Only getting away.

My body knows where I am going before I do. A familiar place, a familiar path. I pass by an abandoned, dilapidated barn that looks fitting for an episode of Supernatural. A mural of Snowy Egrets and Blue Herons. The smell of the wildlife sanctuary meets me before I find the trail and I breathe it in. Earthy, and natural, and full of life.

Drops of Jupiter is shuffled into play on my MP3 player, and I click the song forward to keep going. I don't want to hear it, I think I'll be happy if I never hear it again.

The sun is beating down, coaxing the sweat from my skin with every passing stride. I revel in it. I take comfort in the strain on my muscles, the primitiveness of the pain. Satisfaction from the sheer lack of beauty in it all. The glistening sweat, the pink in my cheeks. It soothes me. This is mine, this I can do. This pain was uncomplicated, this process was simple. I love it. I push forward.

"What are you running from?"

The voice pops up unexpectedly through a lull in my music and for a split second I consider if it came from within my head. I pause the music mid-stride and glance to my flank to see someone. I know him, kind of. I had spoken to him just the past Saturday. Four days. He worked at a cafe. We had chatted about EMT training. He made good hot cocoa. He was from the Bay Area.

All of this information came trickling back into my memory like a checklist. Like sliding a file from my subconscious and I take a moment of pleasure in the directness of my mind. Uncomplicated. Facts.

"Elliot." Is all I say. He seems unmoved by the fact that I recall his name, he just squints at me from beneath a pale eyebrow and falls in stride. All at once I am not alone, and I almost dislike him for it. Saying his name had not been an invitation. I had not welcomed him into my sanctuary of sweat and strain and anti-beauty.

"What are you running from?" Again, his voice sounds and I glance at him with some irritation.

"Why do you think I'm running from something?" It's a thinly veiled attempt at deflection. The second it leaves my lips I know that he is locked in, I am locked in. The simple phrasing gave-away my intentions for this run.

"Because it's eighty degrees and the sun is right above us." His arbitrary reasons do nothing for my mood.

"Then what are you running from?" I catch a glimpse of a crooked smile as he shakes out his blond hair. The sun catches and glints off the gold band around his left ring finger and I feel like it is taunting me.

"I'm not. I'm just nuts." This, I feel, is worth mulling over and we lapse into silence. I wonder how long he's been running, and if I have any hope of getting him to go away so I can finish my course in solitude.

Minutes pass, nothing is heard but the crunch of our sneakers on the gravel and the distant call of an Egret. I move my hand and tug on the retractable headphones in my ears, feeling them shrink back around their coil and rest against my chest. There is still silence. Elliot has stopped looking over at me and we are just running. I could not say another word to him, we could finish our run and part ways without a word and I know that this would be okay but I've abandoned my music and my mental solace.

"I was engaged." He makes no move to respond, but I know he's heard me. He seems to know that this is neither the ending nor the heart of the matter. Another few minutes pass, or maybe it was seconds. Time is different when you are running. "And then one day I wasn't engaged and the entire world was different. Mirrors were different, people were different, I was different. It was like learning to walk again after being beaten two inches from death. Only it was like learning to walk again while people kick you in the shins every few steps."

I look over and can see the comprehension in his face though it barely moves from the running induced concentration. I am at a loss for where to begin my continuation. Even looking back, it all seemed like an impossible tangle of miscalculations and mistakes. It was just this hellstorm still rumbling in the distance.

My life is a cluster-fuck.

And not the kind with nougat.

Somehow I find my voice again, and words begin to tumble out. Stilted and stalled by my increasingly labored breathing but they keep coming. Daniel, Grant. The symphony, New Zealand, the ring, the baby, the breakdown, the bookstore. By the time I am finished I know I've hit the two and a half mile mark. I ache, I burn, my mind tells me to just give up, give in and lay down in the grass but I keep going. The words took more out of me than the running.

He says nothing still. I know that he's heard me, but he says nothing and it infuriates me. Why isn't he putting in his two-cents? Why isn't he going to offer me advice like people before him? I need guidance, dammit! I glare at him, his pale eyes meet mine and there is a sympathetic glint in his gaze. My momentary anger slips away and I know that he's not going to give me advice or tell me what the right thing to do is. That was never his endgame. He just wanted me to talk.

I frown self-indulgently, unsure of how to handle how transparent I feel to him. Coffee-slinger.

"That is a problem."

What?

I almost stop in my tracks, the rush of anger inside me is so severe. A problem? I knew it was a problem! I had spent hours on my bathroom floor, realizing and epiphanizing on the fact that this was and is a problem. Were I a violent person, I would have struck him for the disrespect of that simple classification.

Silence wins again and I focus on my breathing, the little things that I can control. My pace, my stride, my form. I start making a list of things that I can do at home, that I can organize because I'm so tightly wound and so out of it that I have deluded myself into believing that organizing my closet by season, color, and use will somehow make this all easier.

"I'm scared shitless." The words tumble out and I'm struck with the weight and honesty in them. He doesn't say anything again, but I can see the smallest flicker of a smile out of the corner of my eye. It irritates me that he is so passive, but it's lost in the mulling and tilling of my mind. "I don't know what I feel. I don't know what I believe. It's like someone pulled the rug out from under my feet and put a black bag over my head and told me to find the cheese in the maze. I don't know where I'm going, I have no idea what is in front of me. And I'm... terrified that I'm going to screw it up." Thoughts, revelations, churn and tumble around inside me as the profoundness of my fear is revealed. "Fuck. Is there even cheese?" I can't tell if he's smiling at my ridiculous metaphor, or at my miniscule discovery.

"I think the question is do you even have to enter the maze?" This, actually, causes me to stop. Elliot's long legs carry him a yard or so away from me until he stops and looks back at me. I can feel the expression on my face, and I know that if I were outside this situation I'd probably find it comical but I feel more like vomitting than I do laughing.

"What the hell is that! What the fuck does that mean?" I can tell by the look on his face that he finds my incredulity amusing and I feel like throwing a rock at him.

"It means that you keep telling yourself that you only have two options. Find the cheese or miss the cheese. You ignore that you can just walk away. Screw the rug and the bag and the cheese and the maze. Walk away." A few moments of silence pass between us and for a split second I contemplate the amount of time I've enjoyed his company compared to the amount of time I've wanted to physically maim him. It's about fifty-fifty. He glances back at the trail in front of him then to me. "Come on. Keep running."

I know that we've hit the three mile marker at least, the trail will be over soon, I will be far far away from my prison but I don't move. I am looking at him curiously, an expression of intense concentration and consideration on my face until finally I open my mouth.

"No." He blinks but otherwise is still, waiting for some continuation of defiance. "I don't want to run anymore." This thing where my mouth knows my emotions before I do is stressing. My whole body contracts around the confession and I feel a weight lifted off my heart, replaced immediately by another, but different one. "I don't want to run away from the maze. I want the cheese."

"There's more cheese other places outside the maze. Better cheese, exotic cheese." He's taunting me, coaxing something from me. I can see the judicious look in his eye.

"I want this cheese. I know this cheese. It's good cheese." There is a moments pause and I wiggle my fingers at my side. "I think."

"What if it's bad cheese?"

"There's bad cheese outside the maze, too." And suddenly he is smiling at me. He is smiling AT me, not in my direction. All at once I understand. "There is no maze." The silliness of my metaphor is irrelavent. He just nods at me once.

"There is no maze."

A moment passes, a breeze whispers it's way through the tree's around us and I close my eyes as it ripples my shirt and soothes my skin. The balm seems to slip right down to the etheral ache that had encased my spirit.

"Keep running." I shake my head and glance back the way we had come and he motions me forward. "It's just a little bit longer." I deliberate, enjoying the ease of this decision and then move towards him. We are running again. He falls in stride next to me and in a matter of meters I see the exit. It's different than the entrance. It's shaded, and cooler. I don't even mind that I have to keep running away a little further to get to where I need to be. There is no maze. I had created this impossibly difficult scenario of two choices that meant life or death when there are an infinite amount of choices. The decisions I come upon here are no different than those I would make anywhere else. No more or less dangerous. There are millions of choices, infinite possibility. Chaos. Even though it doesn't make what I have to do easier, and even though it doesn't make it hurt any less I feel minutely better. Even if I choose wrong, even if I fall flat on my face I don't want to run anymore. Because somewhere between me being profane and him being obnoxiously passive I realized that I do want to make a choice. Because knowing is better than wondering, waking is better than sleeping, and even the biggest failure, even the worst, beats the hell out of never trying at all.

He beckons me towards his car and pulls out a first aid kit and I'm unsurprised to find that I have a blister that is bleeding on my heel. He smiles as he patches it up and offers me a ride home but I shake my head, give him a wave and walk back the way we had come, taking awe in this new clarity. No closer to making a choice, but with renewed faith that this will not be the last I ever make.

Hell.

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 19:16:04 GMT

This is what i just spewed out to one of my best friends via aim. For those of you wondering... here is the whole truth.

Grant came in and I had adored him from the start. He's funny and insightful and doesn't expect anything but honesty from anyone and I love it.

And then we became friends

And I met Danny and Danny was funny and talented but he was just this guy who I thought was cute. Who was impossibly gifted

And Grant... silly Grant let me watch him dance. I'd disappear to the studio with him in the dead of night. We'd bring sparkling cider or something and just listen to music and he'd dance, and he'd teach me and then.. we'd dance and sometimes we'd just lay on the floor watching the ceiling

Then one day, he asks me if I'd like to go to the symphony.

So we go to the symphony. I put on a nice outfit and high heels and Grant shows up in slacks and a button up and a vest and a tie and then we take a walk in the night air afterwards and we laugh, and we talk about how beautiful the music was and he walks me home and he smiles at me with those brown eyes that look a little sad

And he kisses me. He just leaned in, so slow and I could feel him shaking with nerves and he kisses me so softly and when he pulls away his eyes are different. They're a little scared, a little sad, confused... maybe a little angry and he tells me goodnight and walks down the front steps without coming up. He always comes up.

three days later he's on a plane to New Zealand, and I didn't know about it until I called him in the middle of packing. And then he was gone and I was left feeling like I had done something terrible.

Then Danny was in my life more and we spent time together and Danny got close to me, and he was nudging me, always nudging me and pushing. I had fun with him, and I opened up a little to him but not like I had to Grant. there are still things about me that Danny doesnt know that Grant has known for months..

And He played on the fact that i was upset about Grant. Even though he knew. He knew why Grant left but he acted like he didn't and he acted like Grant had done this horrible thing by leaving and treating me like he had. And maybe Grant had done something wrong by doing it but it wasn't for the reasons I thought it was. It wasn't and he knew it but he let me believe it.

And he pretended to be patient with me, and Grant returned and then things between me and Grant were different. I thought... I thought that they were different because Grant had made a decision on that doorstep. The decision that we were better off as friends and should just forget the silliness of any kind of romance.

Maybe he had made that decision... he's made it now for the rest of his life. But I was so self centered I thought it was just me... the decision was just about me. I was so stupid. So blind.

And then Danny... Danny kept nudging, kept pushing a little and Grant and I got back to being good friends, great friends. Better friends than before. It was like this piece of my heart that had wandered away and gotten lost had found it's way back and nuzzled right back into its spot and I hadn't even realized that it was gone until I learned what it felt like to have it back.

I told myself there was no sexual tension. That I didn't see him like that, we were just comfortable. That when Danny touched my arm I felt that thrill of electricity and nerves and when Grant touched my arm I felt that soothing warmth of comfort, that rush of affection that almost hurts somewhere in the part of you that has a person shaped hole that only one can fill.

I told myself it was just friends. good friends. Grant had made his choice and so we went on with our lives and Danny and I finally got together even though I was terrified and even though I didn't feel like I was ready.

Grant and i stayed friends. We got even closer and closer as time went by. Danny and i did too in a way. I found out about Grants diagnosis after seeing the most beautiful piece of my life and then things started falling into place but it didn't all make sense until now.

And then that night he kissed me again and it scared me. And he apologized and him and Danny talked it out, Daniel dismissed it like it was nothing and I thought that was weird. What kind of man just shrugs his shoulders when his best friend kisses his girlfriend? And I saw it in Danny's eyes that something was off. He was scared and I couldn't understand why. Like maybe I had realized something when our lips had touched but I hadn't. I hadn't realized anything beyond the fact that life, occassionally, offers curveballs. I've grown to roll with the punches so I just let it be and moved on.

And Danny kept nudging more and more. He wanted me in LA, he wanted me around, and Grant offered only soothing words. He said to be patient with Daniel and to understand he was doing it out of love. But how can you say that you love someone when you keep pushing and pushing when you know that they aren't ready?

And then Danny told me he loved me and I freaked out. And when Grant found out he gave me this look... this look like he had been struck in the face and I just assumed... I assumed that it was because he hadn't expected his friend to behave like that. Then again maybe he hadn't expected him to... just not in the way I had assumed.

And weeks went by and Grant and i got closer and closer. Danny wasn't around so Grant would come to family dinners, my family loves him. And then this... this ring nonesense.

Grant knew I wasn't ready, he told Daniel that I wasnt and that buying a ring was unfair. He understood. He understood that I just... I can't. I can't commit to someone for life because I barely know who I am when I look in the mirror.

But Daniel did it anyway and then when I didn't respond the way he would have wanted he got upset. He got angry and I got angry and we fought and then i came home and Grant was just Grant. He was wonderful and understanding and he tried to get me to see both sides.

And then weeks later he comes over for dinner and there is a baby... and he holds her and I can see the wonder in his eyes. The amazement in this tiny little life and he holds her so tenderly, just gazing at the beauty of human creation.

I've never seen him look like that before. Like I could see infinity in his face. Like he was looking into the eyes of god and seeing the world for the first time. He was a new person, holding this little spirit.

And then we were alone and he was walking in front of me by a few paces and he just paused and I thought for a second that he had seen something in the dark sky, but his shoulders shook and all at once he was turning to me and he was falling to his knees crying.

His face was full of fear and pain and sadness and i rushed forward and wrapped my arms around him and his hands... his hands gripped onto my shirt, my arm, my hip, anything he could, bringing himself closer and burying his agony and his tears into me. Agony because he'd never be able to have a child of his own without knowingly signing it's death certificate before it was even born.

He couldn't have a child without knowing that it is the disease that runs through his veins, the poison inside him, that would kill them. And kill him, far before his time. What kind of father could do that... what kind of man would do that... he said it over and over again.

so I stayed with him for a week and I looked after him... and something was different. Something had changed like we were seeing eachother for the first time again. Like we were transported back a year and he hadn't just disappeared after that first kiss. Like he had told me why he was leaving and we were getting a second chance. I didn't realize it until later, but that's what it was like. A second chance.

So we went out of town that weekend and then we came back and we left again and Portland was like heaven. Not because we were out on an adventure but because it was just me and him without the whispers. Without the rumors or the people looking at us weird. We were free and we were together.

and then that last night... that last night when we were laying in bed, so comfortably like we have so many times before and we were talking and then his arms were around me and he was shaking again, so much like that first time on my doorstep. and then he was kissing me. Kissing me like time would stop and lay down for us if we would just take this moment.

His voice was so soft... so scared and sad when I pulled away, and i could feel it. Something small... some floodgate inside me broke when he uttered those words. "Don't make me stop..." and then his lips were on mine again. Briefly, tenderly. One last kiss and all of the walls I had built were tumbling down without a sound, without a fight.

So I am here. Sad, confused. Broken. Terrified that I'll choose wrong and lose everything I have gained. Wondering what to trust, where to go. What I can believe of me and Danny, what I can forgive of me and Grant. Terrified that it may be hell that meets me, anywhere I lay my head.

Dear Life...

Fri, 30 Jan 2009 11:10:22 GMT

You smell like feet.

the end.

The Prayer of the Mosquito

Sat, 13 Sep 2008 08:19:51 GMT

I am showering.

The kind of shower that melts away every ache from the day, and strips me of all of my stress and tension. The water is hot to the point that my skin is turning red and I can't be more pleased or at peace than I am now. The smell of the shampoo mixed in with the warm steam from the water on my body only furthers my relaxation, like some glorious aroma therapy customized to suit my exact senses.

I am not thinking.

I am not worrying.

I am not contemplating.

I just am...

Until I open my eyes.

The shampoo is out of my hair, and as my lids lift I find myself startled by the sudden evidence that I am not alone. Furthering my perplexion, is the company in which I am with. There, just to the right of the wall mounted temperature knob, is a Mosquito. This startles me because I am both very allergic to Mosquitos, and rather frightened by flying bugs in general. As the initial fear ebbs, I find myself unable to take my eyes off of this creature. When, to my mixed horror and dismay, I see that its two backmost legs are stuck to the moisture of the shower wall. At this point I have conditioner in my hands, and for some utterly selfish reason I cannot stop my shower to save this life. Perhaps it is because I feel I am better than this mosquito... or perhaps because I am nearly certain that this creature followed me into this shower with the firm intent of drinking my blood and subsiquently making whatever area it bites, puff up about seven times it's nature intended size.

There is a fleeting moment in which the good person in me chides me for being so selfish. I stamp it out with excessive application of conditioner and move to wash my face. However, by the time I have rinsed all soapy residue away from my eyes, I am met with a new and more depressing sight. The mosquito is now plastered by it's wings to the wet wall, and for the first time I feel a true wave of sadness, knowing that she is probably terrified, and wondering if she knows that she will never fly again. I see her only two remaining unstuck legs waving in the misty air in utter futility and I wish that I could offer her some comfort. She lowers her legs and is still for a long time. I stare, and wait, but she does not move. I think she is dead, and try to move on to the rest of my shower.

Just as I put my soapy loufa to my arm, I see her raise her slender legs again, each joint trembling against the air current made by the water. I watch, waiting for her to resume her terrible dance for salvation... but she doesn't. Instead, she moves her legs towards one another and, very slowly and deliberately, she touches them together. Only the very tips of them, as if putting her palms together, outstretched towards the ceiling, up towards the sky, and heaven, and true salvation. She looks as though she is praying.

I am suddenly burdened with a multitude of questions that had never plagued me before. Does she regret anything? Is she praying for forgiveness? For a family? Will she be missed? And perhaps most importantly... do mosquito's have a god?

This final question seems to blow the brain inside my skull to bits. Do mosquito's have a god?

I have a god.

The idea that this small creature could possibly believe in a higher power floors me... and humbles me. Who am I to put myself above another sentient being? One who lives, who prays. Why have I never considered this possibility before? Am I truly that arrogant? Why can't mosquito's have a god? For that matter, why can't anything else? Dogs? Cows? Spiders? What other enlightened beings have I disrespected so callously simply for my own warped peace of mind? Perhaps I have deulded myself to make it easier to dismiss them. Bumblebee's, honey bee's, live their lives following the movement of the sun, much in the same way many of us are guided by the word and teachings of our higher powers. Why can't that be a god? Why can't a mosquito have one? Who am I to deny her?

It is within a split second that all of this thought takes place, and the mosquito's limbs flex feebly as she continues her pose. Disturbed, humbled, and filled with new doubts and realizations, I rinse the conditioner from my hair and slowly turn off the waters flow. I stand dripping, staring at the little being that is so terribly plastered to my wall and I wish that I could save her without maiming her beyond repair. Slowly, she parts her legs and relaxes them. I continue to watch her, feeling a new and altogether unexpected connection and afinity for this creature. I am filled with the need to save her, but I know it is too late. Her legs twitch convulsively and I know she is actively dying.

I wonder to myself if her tiny insect heart feels pain in this moment.

Insect. Ha! As though that gives it less meaning than my own.

I turn my eyes away from her shaking body and slide the shower door open. I cannot help her. I know I can end her suffering but that would mean ending her life; and knowing what I know now, I cannot do it.

I step out of the steamy shower and will myself not to look back. Instead, I close my eyes, bring my palms together as she had; and pray. I pray for the safe passage of that mosquito, and pray for forgiveness for not saving her. I pray that she does not suffer so terribly in her next life, and finally, I apologize to her aloud.

I lower my hands and take a deep breath, then continue along with my evening.

My shower ends much the same as it had begun:

I am not thinking.

I am not worrying.

I am not contemplating.

I just am...

Though not the same as I had been before.

All for the prayer of the mosquito.

Men's guide to Women (Or: How To Disarm A Bomb)

Mon, 07 Jan 2008 20:43:50 GMT

Or: I Told You, But You Didn't Listen

Or: You Should Have Known Better

Or: It's Really Not That Hard

Or probably most appropriately (and honestly): How I am Singlehandedly Helping Woman Kind, One Idiot at A Time.

PREFACE:

Let's face it men: Everyone needs help from time to time. I know, I know, that whole hunter-gatherer "I am man, hear me roar" ego tells you that you can't ask for directions let alone, advice on women. Well there's good news and bad news: Good news is, you don't have to struggle and fail anymore, bad news is: you have to read as there aren't many pictures (though possibly a few for humor and educations sake).

Now, you may be thinking this guide is essentially a list of complaints written down by some bitter, shattered spinster trying to get her two bits in on the inhumanities of the XY chromosome holders*. Or that you don't really need this guide, because you are the perfect love child of Don Juan and Casanova. Well, that is just simply not true*. Whether it is the first date, the first anniversary, or the first baby, you always have something to learn, and hey, there is no better time than the present.

From hygeine, to gifts, to sex, this is a step-by-step, chapter-by-chapter guide to meeting, attracting, snagging and keeping your woman. So saddle-up, strap-in, hang on, and get your learning hat in place.

______________________________________________

*For the record, that is completely incorrect, I'm neither bitter, shattered, nor a spinster. Happily engaged to the love of my life.
*Not to mention, if you really were so perfect, you probably wouldn't have been directed to this guide.