it was the end of 2010

It was the eve of 2011, the end of 2010.  The lights up and down Newbury St were shining a soft white glow onto the trampled snow. The chill in the air biting at heels crammed in platforms and spiked wedges.

I watched waves of people come in looking frazzled and trying hard to cling onto the end of a year almost behind us. The looks on their faces merely mirroring their thoughts of regret, and goals left unfulfilled. They hid it, after all the hair spray and makeup was plastered onto them, they hid it well. Walking out the door knowing they were going to make the best of the last night of the year. Knowing, they had to.

I waited for her last client and climbed into her chair after closing time. She curled my short hair, only scalding my ear slightly in her hurry. After all, she had a new year to bring and an old year to say goodbye to as well.

We locked up all 5 floors and left out the front door. Wishing well and happy thoughts for the new year.

I made my way through lines thick with people. Trains filled with 2010 plastered across eyes and held on by bridges of noses. Hats with 20 on one antennae and 10 on the next. Bobbling back and forth as they swayed with the train as it stopped, and continued onward to it’s next destination. It didn’t care for new years, new days, or new stops. It had one destination to get to.

I made the 20 minute walk home in 15. Just another way of counting down the minutes. Watching time fly by, without my permission.

She came to my door while I was still getting ready. Perfectly dressed and handsome like every time my eyes set upon her.

I made her wait as I rushed from bedroom, to bathroom, to kitchen. Fussing with my stockings, then my shoes, then my dress. In her haste she had forgotten to schedule a cab. It was hopeless, we started to walk.

Arm in arm we fumbled. My wedges eating at the backs of my ankles, all the while the air biting at them. Raw, I could feel the blisters already waiting to form at the surface.

We got near the subway station, our reservation at the restaurant well under way, without our bodies in the warm seats. I took her arm fiercely in mine and turned a corner.

We entered a sushi restaurant, with all but one other patron in it. Close to 10pm, we were alone. I stared at her from across the table. This was my new years. I was starting it with her.

My previous new years erased in but a single swipe of her hand towards her beer glass. I forgot everything else. All the other times of disappointment and lost hopes of new beginnings. I was with her. What else could matter?

We laughed, and ate until we were full. She left a piece of sushi behind, like a calling card of some macabre sushi slaughterer. There is only one left alive..

We crossed the street and got onto the subway. What felt like minutes, we were at her house.

She gave me a pair of pajamas, for in our haste we hadn’t remembered I didn’t have any clothes at her house.

I put them on and we crawled into her cold bed. Foreign and strange to me, I loved it because it was hers. I imagined her laying in it late at night, watching tv or thinking of me. We laid close and kissed at midnight. The sheets warming around us. By 12:05, we were asleep.

wouldn't it be nice

I have this younger brother.

He’s the only sibling I have.

In my older years, I’ve learned to put differences aside, although we have very little, and I’ve grown quite close to him.

He asked to borrow $500, I gave it to him without batting an eyelash.

He asked for tickets to come visit my girl friend and I, I paid for him and his girlfriend.

Let me dissect it a little further.

My brother is 3 years and 4 days younger than me.

When I moved back home after I dropped out of college, my mom tried to get me to pay rent even though I had a full time job I was trying to save up to move to Boston with.

My grandma bought, and paid my cell phone bill when I left for said college.

My mom made me get my first job when I was 15, over summer vacation.

I bought my computer with my own money from working and saving.

Now, on the other hand. My brother’s first job came when he was 20ish, and it was for less than 4 months over his summer vacation in college. He quit because he didn’t like dealing with people.

They never asked him to pay for rent while he lived at home and went to college. With no job.

He has a car that’s under my moms name and insurance.

He has a cell phone my mom pays for every month.

My mom just bought him a computer for graduating college.

He again, tried to have another job but quit as they wouldn’t cater to him only wanting 12 hours a week.

I listen to my mom bitch about my brother for hours on the phone, and I listen to my brother bitch about my mother on the phone for hours. I nod my head in agreement with both of them and never utter my opinion.

I was the first-born, I went through the ring of fire and know the wrath of my mother not wanting a daughter, and not wanting children to begin with. I’ve experienced first hand what it’s like to have a mother whose maternal instincts never kicked in. I’ve sat screaming at the kitchen table when no one would help me with my math homework. I’ve taken my own slides for portfolio review and admittance into college.

Every day I delve a bit deeper into the psych that  is understanding  my mother and her thin as a thread link with me.

She’ll tell my brother her communication with me has never been strong. And with me won’t say a word. Or the words she does say are thick with sarcasm and general animosity.

It’s so magnificent to me how truly obvious she is in her maternal neglect to even a grown child.

To this day I still call her a distant older sister rather than a mother.

I digress.

How do you form the words to tell your brother the real world is going to cock slack him when he wakes up to it one day? You can’t always have everything handed to you.

it is but once a year

Christmas. It’s come, and it’s gone just as quickly. I’m often amazed at how fast time seems to be going by. I barely have enough time to get my head situated on my own shoulders, let alone grasp if it’s a Monday or a Thursday.

It’s been two, maybe three years since I’ve been home for the Holidays. I truly haven’t decided if this upsets me or if I’m just ok with it.

My mom has never been one for Christmas spirit, or for any kind of joyous feelings in general. Over the years, little by little she’s weeded away any festive decoration in the house and eventually stopped all together. The last Christmas I was home I remember seeing a foot tall wooden stick with random sticks branching out from it, taking on some odd shaped Christmas tree. Small wooden ornaments barely the size of my thumb hung from the branches.

It tugged on my heartstrings, and made me ache for a different kind of holiday. A holiday with a family, or with a person who cares.

My grandma always stressed out about the holidays. Giving empty threats and guilt trips when my mom didn’t want to travel down to her house. Which is a 10 minute car ride, even in bad weather.

No one likes to be bothered in my family, especially not for the sake of family. They do things out of obligation or to complain about them later.

I got my Chihuahua in 2006, shortly before Christmas. I wasn’t able to come home on public transportation so my mom and her boyfriend drove out to get me, as well as the person I was dating.

The drive is a total of 4 ½ hours, maybe 5 if you aren’t hustling. This was the first time since I moved to Boston that my mother bothered to come visit. She didn’t even come into my apartment.

That Christmas we fought, like most of our Christmas’ over a present. She’s the type of person that always needs to make sure everyone knows the sacrifices and hardships she’s gone through. Even if it’s just to give you a present.

They drove us home the day after Christmas in complete silence and left in silence.

That was when traveling home for Christmas lost all joy.

It’s always boiled down to how much money she’s spent, or how much she hates the holidays. Her kids are grown, but that doesn’t mean we want to hear all the awful things she has to say.

The worst of which is her “don’t ever have kids, kids just suck the life out of you, having kids is stupid “ speech. I think she often forgets we are her kids, even if we are grown.

For the first time in my life I’ve had someone that makes the holidays bearable. All the way from Kh’s friends inviting me to join their holiday gift giving traditions, to spending this Christmas at her families house.

I’m starting to build up my own holiday traditions with someone that knows me so very well. I look forward to buying her presents and seeing her reaction, because I love making her happy and proving just how well I know her and what she wants.

I hate consumerism. I’m really not all for it. But I just can’t stop myself from wanting to make her happy and watch her open gifts. I’d do it every day all year if I had the money for it.

I remember past Christmas’ and they all turn into a blur. A hazy memory of things that weren’t quite perfect.

Now. Now they are. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Without my little family.

when they're gone

I woke up this morning with a voice that's just louder than a whisper, after a night of screaming in my dreams. I was looking for Sophia, she was just beyond my grasp and no matter how much I yelled for her, she looked the other way. I went to bed with thoughts of loss and can only attribute this to the email I received prior to bed time.

Over the summer we had a small miniature pinscher stay with us several times. One of which was a rather long stint, just shy of 2 weeks. We grew attached to the little guy, which is often the case with me and animals. He was a tiny ball of goof. On many occasions he wasn't quite sure of how to pee, throwing his leg up in the air in some strange  yoga pose and would just start peeing. Hitting his front legs, and even my dogs head in the process. When he laid down he looked like a frog, and needed to be cuddled before bed. His owners moved back to LA after the Summer came to a close.

I checked my email before bed to find an email with the title of his name and a sad face. Instantly I knew. I knew what waited for me and I still read it. He passed away during a teeth cleaning procedure. Cardiac arrest. He originally had been put under to have a cyst removed and all went fine with it, but during the teeth cleaning he died. Just like that. His owner went on to talk about how still and quiet his eyes were. He always had large wet eyes that saw everything. I’m not sure how much of what he saw he understood, but he saw it.

Days earlier I had seen an old picture of him I had taken during one of his stays. I remember his meat-head tiny football player body and how he’d throw himself around. I knew after his move I’d never see him again, but I took solace knowing he’d be on the other side of the country peeing on himself and snuggling up in all the blankets he could find.

Now he’s gone. His owner said she can barely look at his things anymore, thinking he’s going to come rushing after a toy or pop out from under a blanket. My heart breaks for her. I’m holding my little ones extra close today. Death is a natural cycle in life, but it doesn’t change the pain we feel until it numbs over.

RIP little man.

the elevator lady

I got in the elevator and pushed "G".

I stood against the back wall waiting for the doors to open. Unexpectedly they slowly creaked open on floor 4.

In walks a woman wearing a gray sweater and black leggings that are barely tucked into her heeled boots. Short, ankle high boots. She has a yellow dog, that's nothing but fluff, who refuses to do anything but stand on his hind legs.

She says a few commands to him that he eagerly dismisses.

Choosing instead to jump on my leg.

The elevator reaches the ground floor and I let her leave first.

The dog reluctantly starts out the now open doors and heads to the front of the building. I watch her walk away.

My eyes move from the bottom of her ankles, slowly up her thighs. Round thighs that barely touch at the top. Her leggings are tight, so tight they cup each one of her butt cheeks perfectly. I'm lost in a gaze.

At the top of her leggings a gold zipper darts down two inches from the top band. I wonder if I was to unzip it, would I see the beginning of her butt? I imagine the weight of the zipper in my right hand while my left cups her perfectly perky cheek. Squeezing it, kissing where the zipper exposes skin.

She continues to walk away while I'm still holding onto her skin in my mind.

moments of guilt

It's raining outside. Well, more like misting. I have a leash wrapped tightly around my right arm, attached to it is a 50lb mut of a dog. My left arm has a boston terrier and a papillon fighting over who gets to walk first. I'm stopped at an intersection getting ready to take a right and cross the street. A black nondescript car comes to the intersection. Without so much as yielding the car full of people takes a right and cuts me off. I take a step backwards and shake my head, so much for pedestrian right away. I watch the two smug business men in the front not even skip a beat in their conversation. "Assholes" I think to myself.

I catch a glimpse of a woman sitting in the backseat. Her hair pulled back in a ponytail, or maybe a bun I can't tell. She looks young, her face isn't worn. As she passes in the car, I watch as she mouths the words "I'm sorry." I can see the guilt in her eyes for what the assholes up front had done.

I often have moments like this. Times where I wish I could rewind just two seconds of time and take back the smallest of actions to alleviate guilt that I know is going to weigh on my chest.

Yesterday I was standing on the lawn of one of my clients. I had just set the meatball of a pug down when I saw a silver car pull up to the fence. A woman leans out the window and asks if I've seen a loose german shepard. I tell her no, unfortunately. She says thank you and to keep my eyes open, then drives away. I take the meatball back into the house and think on how awful it is to worry about a missing pet.

I leave a note for my client, set the security alarm, and lock the door behind me. I get into my car and start the engine. The metal cd I was listening to blasts in my face and I turn it down just in time to see a large furry creature moving to my left. I give a start and shut off the car. It's the german shepard.

I get out of my car and join in with a young barefooted woman that's in pursuit of the dog. The dog speeds up, so leaving the barefooted woman behind (a friendly neighbor who doesn't want to see the dog get lost) I speed up and follow the dog. I'm not a jogger. My throat starts to burn, I'm sweating and my shins are killing me. My worn in pumas aren't the best support for this sort of thing. I lose the dog at a fork in the road.

I turn around reluctantly and start the over 5 minute walk back to my car. Heeving and hoing. I run into the barefooted woman. She's in her red suv now, still determined to be in persuit. I tell her where I last saw the dog, in between panting breathes. I get back to my car and have a moment of internal dialogue. Should I go after the dog or not? I choose not to, and drive off.

I've felt guilty for the past day and a half over not returning to the dog hunt.  

Today.

I'm stopped at a red light. It's a 3 lane highway and I'm in the 4th lane, it's a left turn only lane.

There's a green arrow blaring in the traffic light. The silver car in front of me won't move. I honk, it inches forward. I draw my attention to the far left. Over the other 3 lanes of traffic on the other side I see what's keeping the car from moving.

A funeral procession is ignoring all traffic lights and forging onwards. It's prevented the woman from taking the left. Our green arrow turns to yellow, then a red light. I put my car in reverse and back up, giving the woman in the silver car room to back up as well. I want to get out and tell the woman I'm sorry, that I take my honk back.

I feel awfully guilty.

it's just death knocking

I've been thinking about death a lot recently.

My route for work has me passing by no less than 4 funeral homes. The past week I've seen 3 funeral processions alone.

Car after car, parking on the side of the street with orange flags on the antennae.  

FUNERAL in black bold font across the seemingly harmless orange. As if it were shouting at you to look at the faces of those inside.

Find the grief written on them, can you see it? Is it in the lines on their faces? The smiles as they greet those they know?

Where is their guilt? Their heavy hearts should be sinking inside their chests, forming a black hole to engulf their world.

Everyone processes loss differently and at their own speed. Maybe laughing and smiling is what gets us through the hard parts, until we're ready for them.

I've been lucky enough in my life to experience very little personal loss. I have a grandmother that died when I was around 12, and that is my only experience with true loss of someone close to your heart.

She used to teach me out to craft. She'd get a small bowl and put cloves in it, give me an unpeeled orange, and a small metal object with a point on one end. I'd stare at her, not knowing what she wanted me to do. She'd show me the steps, and soon we had an air freshener. 

She was a magician to my small eyes and even smaller world.

When I got the news she had died, we all knew it was a matter of time. Cancer was eating her alive. Once so strong she withered away. I watched her hands become skeletal and her face lose it's plump liveliness.

She gave me an angel figurine weeks before she died. I still have her. I keep her where my eyes can always see her.

I shrugged off the loss. I cried it out, and never processed it. Death is something natural, it's going through a closed door onto another adventure.

I can't say what I believe in, or what I know for certain that this life is all about. I'm working that out every day.

How can you measure the worth of your own life? Everyone says this life is a short one, so make every day count. But count to who? You? Myself? Is there a book I haven't read yet that gives me a scale of moments that you can then tally up?

I often feel like a failure. I'm a professional quitter. I have moments where I do it all, and moments where I don't do anything. Ups, and downs. Others have run cricles around me in life, leaving me to look at their tracks and wonder what I'm doing wrong. Or if I'm doing it wrong.

I want to wake up tomorrow and not feel indifferent about walking down a path. I want to have the passion that others have in one subject long enough to let me chase it.

But I don't know if I ever will.

Maybe a little soul searching is in order, to see if I even have one.

oh needy people

I walked up the 2 flights of stairs to my clients apartment.

Number 35.

It had just started to drizzle. Misty rain. The annoying kind that sticks to you everywhere but won't just commit to soaking you.

I unlock the deadbolt. By this time the (at least 65lb) yellow lab on the otherside is crying and barking.

I unlock the door handle.

The dog bounds and leaps towards me with a duck in his mouth. A stuffed dog, missing it's head and feet. A good indication of the dogs general attitude.

"Oh buddy, it's a duck day?"

He whines and jumps around.

The alarm to my left is beeping. I turn, enter the 4 digit code, and it falls silent.

But the dog hasn't. He's still whimpering and crying.

I know, he's excited.

I see a note on the table. I know it's not mine from the day before as she usually throws them away.

I lean over and read it quickly.

In short, it says.

"Hi, can you put my dinner in the fridge? It's on the counter next to the fridge. If not that's ok."

I turn my head to one side and try not to shake it. My head, that is.

I put the dogs leash on him, walk to the fridge, and pick up the small package. Salmon, reads the label.

I let myself shake my head now. I open the fridge as I do this and put it on the first shelf I see.

I enter the code into the security system, and leave the apartment. Locking the door behind me. Walking down the stairs I can't help but chuckle. It's amazing to me the things people will ask for, to see what they can get away with. And it's even more amazing the irritation they feel when you have the audacity to tell them no.

This isn't the first occasion she's asked numerous "favors" from me. I mean, why not, I'm there and she won't have to pay me extra.

Oh, people.

and it's only Monday

I get the first moments peace since Wednesday night. A 6 year old lab has been tearing up my apartment, and generally making me unable to take a deep breathe in days.

I hand him over to his owner. Walk up the flight of stairs to my apartment and throw on shoes that don't smell like rain water that's dried. I head towards my neighborhood liquor store.

The guy behind the counter smiles and asks "How're you today?"

They stopped carding me years ago. Two? Maybe longer.

They gave up asking me if I needed a pack of cigarettes in just as much time. They know I quit.

Is it sad or reassuring that your neighborhood liquor store owners know you?

I like it.

I put down the large bottle of white wine and tell the man I need a pack of Marlboro lights. He gives me a suspicious look and says "Marb lights?"

"Yep."
"Ok."

I shove everything back into my pockets and walk the 2 minutes back home.

I sit down, contemplating if I should light up a cigarette. My phone rings, it's my friend that now lives in California.

I know why he's calling. 5 minutes prior I saw someone we both knew had died. Facebook is good for one thing.

He tells me what happened. How sudden it was. How he had just spoken to him 2 days before he died. He has a bit of a laugh in his voice, I can tell he's holding back. He lets it slip that he's sick of people he knows dying. It's the second this year, that I know of, that he was close to.

I don't know what to say. I tell him I'm sorry. Bret was a fighter, and I'm shocked.

I made up my mind.

I open up the pack of cigarettes and light one.

awkward life moments

I like to think of my life as just a series of awkward moments sewn together to form a cohesive story. The awkward moments range from embarrassing to just plain strange.

My favorite awkward moment this week happened at a new client consultation. The consultation was scheduled for 6:30pm on a Wednesday. I don't like leaving the house around that time, as traffic can be murderous. I put the address in my google maps on my phone and saw it would take me 29 minutes to get there. It didn't seem right, that's not in my territory, but I got ready and headed out.

The woman I work for was around 15minutes late, which is pretty normal for when I have to meet up with her. I stood against a stone wall on a busy street staring at my phone wishing someone, anyone really, would post a new update on facebook or a new photo on instagram. I hear the dog barking in the house behind me.

I get a few texts from the woman mildly panicking that it's not my area so I won't even be taking on this client. I figured that much out, but I couldn't just leave. She arrives and we head up to the house.

A young woman (can't be much older than I) with dark blonde, maybe even light brunette hair meets us. She's about my height, and appears to be fairly fit. Although you wouldn't be able to tell, she's swimming in her clothes. Her pants are hanging off from her, showing glimpses of her pink toenails and tan feet. A butterfly tattoo on her left foot, I laugh inside. Her shirt has sequins misplaced to one corner and hangs well past her waist, a cardigan thrown over it. I see the hint of a badge that must be attached to her pants. "MD" is all I can read.

Her dog, Diego, is a puggle that takes immediate interest in smelling the woman I came with. We always smell like dogs. I smile politely and mostly just stand there wanting it to be overwith. These can get awkward in themselves, and to add the fact I won't be her walker is extra awkward.

Within three minutes of being in the house, the woman starts blurting out that her dogs butt smells really bad. I'm chalking this up to the fact that she was probably incredibly insecure about it and wanted to get it out in the open, to clear the air if you will, just encase her new guests smell something. Sure, I get it.

This is where it gets awkward.

She continues to talk about how her dogs butt smells really bad and how she noticed it the other day while he was laying next to her on the couch. She came to the conclusion that it's his anal glands and shes going to get them suppressed at the vet in the following week.

She'd do it herself but not the first time, she's nervous about it.

She can't believe how bad his butt smells.

"I'm a Doctor, so I could do it myself but not the first time." She exclaims.

Ok, within 3 minutes of us being here you've already put it in our faces that you're a Doctor, I'm glad you snuck that in.

"You know, since I'm a Doctor, what I think his butt smells like is when a woman is in the stirrups and her vagina is in your face. It smells kind of yeasty, you know?"

Wait. Did you just compare your dogs anal glands to a woman's vagina?

I think you did.

I stare at her a little dumbfounded. I smile and shake my head.

I only hope I never have my vagina in her face, she'll be thinking about her dogs anal glands the whole time.

On being happy.

Walking around today, I started noticing the last traces of Summer fading into the background.

I walked through a park near my house. The fields once so green now have small patches of brown grass dotting them like bad spots on an apple. A public pool sits unused. The water turning green and catching leaves that have already begun to fall.

Last night the air smelt like Halloween and clean laundry. Memories flooded my senses and filled me with content. This time of year makes me yearn for change; change and self improvement.

I never really aspired to be some high title holding professional in my life. A doctor? No thanks. A lawyer? Zzzzz. The only thing I ever wanted to be in life was happy. I wanted to strive to be happy, doing what it is in life that makes me feel most like myself. I never wanted to adhere to anothers rules or guidelines to the way I should be living. The problem with that? As an individual my views, feelings, and general tastes in life are ever evolving and ever changing. It's not easy standing on your own two feet. You come up against constant criticism, and input from others. Input that isn't always the nicest, people can be down right mean at times.

I'm a firm believer that most of the time, others don't want to see you happy. Their jealousy and envy comes out in the form of a big ole monster that gnaws away at them. Making them unable to even be the slightest bit happy for you.

From the time I was in high school I can remember the way everyone said life should play out. You graduate from high school and get into a good college. If it's not a good college you won't get very far in life. A tech school? Forget about it! That's just for lowly individuals that can't keep their grades up. There was even a bulletin board right across from the main office when I was in high school where they put down what every single senior was doing after high school. What college they were going to, and even if they weren't going to college. It was humiliating. Once you get into a good college, work hard and graduate. Do a lot of extracurricular activities to make sure you look good on paper. Graduate, meet someone nice, get married and land a good job. Pop out a bunch of kids and don't worry about that degree.

That's just about how life was supposed to play out according to adults. Newsflash. Life so very rarely plays out like that. It has taken me years to realize that everyone's life heads in the direction best suited for that individual. Or, sadly, some people stay on the path others have chosen for them and end up just being miserable all their lives.

That's not me. It's so very far from me, I want to run screaming away from even typing it out. I've quit relationships, I've quit jobs, I've even quit entire states that were making me miserable. Some times it was a short term solution, others more of a long term solution, but they all had the same goal in mind. Be Happy!

I'm finally at a place in my life where I can assess everything around me, and even reassess myself, so I know which direction I should be heading in. That's my goal for this year. Get my mini-goals in order and start focusing on the big picture. I'm happy. Now I want to start bringing other things into my life to make that happiness 20x better.

Did I ever think this was where I'd be at 26 when I was 15? Of course not! Would I change a single thing that's gotten me to this point? Absolutely not. I don't live with regrets, I use each moment as a lesson to learn and grow from. I wouldn't be me if it was any other way.

Housework, I hate it

I found a cardio bootcamp workout dvd hidden among my collection of 80's horror movies and David Lynch films.

I thought "Hrm, maybe it's a sign, lets do this!"

With my black workout leggings still on from work, I cleared the coffee table away to make room for my movements. I don't have a yoga mat, but who needs that when you have an area rug right?

I put the dvd in the playstation, because who needs a dvd player when you have that, right?

I push play all, and get it started.

Less than 30 minutes later I lose my tank top and throw it to the side. The sweat is beading and running off me. My forehead is soaked, saturating my bangs that I slick back with my hand inbetween jump backs.

My sports bra catching all that it can.

We hit a slow point. Catch your breathe and lay your forehead on the mat, childs pose.

I lay my head on the area rug that I think is just as good as a mat.

I sit up, with a now furry forehead. I wipe away the dog hair that has now plastered itself to my face.

Ok, dvd's moving again. Have to keep up, keep it going.

Planks. Downward dog. Squats. Jumpback, GO!

I grab my tank top to wipe off the sweat and dog hair I've missed. One swoop, and my face is coated in another layer of dog hair mixed with sweat. Damn it.

I look down to my black leggings that are now turning gray. My skins developed a layer of white hair, should come in handy during the winter months.

I end the dvd early.

I knew I should have vacuumed before I started my workout.

A letter to my 15 year old self

Dear Fifteen Year Old Me,

It’s been 11 years since I’ve seen you. If we were to meet face to face, eyes to eyes, would you recognize me? Would you know it was you by the hurt buried deep inside me?

There are so many things I want to say to you. Fears I want to stamp out, and confidence I want to instill in you. Advice I want to plant inside of you, to grow from a seed into a tree more solid than any foundation you could create on your own. Holding you up and keeping you ever moving towards the sky.

Anyone you are putting your efforts and time into, stop. The man you’ve been seeing will continue to bring you heartache and more pain than you should have to bear. Heartache is what’s going to shape you into the person you become, me. He will feed you lies until the only thing you can feel is the cold numbing sensation as if your limbs were always asleep, trying to wake up from a dream. You will save yourself hours of crying, and feeling worthless if you end things now, before they get to toxic. While you are at it, pick up that phone and call the authorities.

Don’t worry about those that can’t muster up a kind word toward you, or make you feel inferior. It’s just High School, and that’s how others feeling the same way you do act out. In 10 years, oh wait, 5 years most of them will have gained 50lbs and had 3 children.

You are beautiful. Look inward for the strength you need to get through the obstacles that will come toward you in this life. Realize your self worth before you knock your self-esteem so low you’ll look for attention in those that aren’t worth yours.

Snatch up the opportunity for every adventure that lays itself at your feet, but do not sell yourself short. For oh what adventures you will have! Look at every turn as a chance to explore, learn, and grow into who you are and who you will become.

Never stop being strong, independent, and fearless. There are people in this world that will try to take that away from you. With their words, their actions, they’ll try to strip all that makes you stand tall, and stand out away. Don’t put away those fishnets for anyone.

Paint, draw and sketch until your fingers bleed. Don’t be afraid of mistakes, or what others will say. You have a creative storm inside you, don’t you dare try to calm it when the waters get rough.

Read your heart out. And when your heart is out, swallow it and read some more.

I know it’s hard. Every day you feel the hole inside your chest growing, and you can’t find answers to who you are or what you want to do with what’s ahead of you. You may never lose that unsure feeling, but love yourself and trust in what you know to be real.

When no one else will give you the support you need, remember this seed inside of you, grow towards the sky. Ever upwards.

Much love,

Your 26 year old self

Another one down

It's getting colder out these past couple of days. We slowly stepped in to September. Dusting off all traces of August and with it pulled a shroud of Autumn over our shoulders without even feeling it's weight. 

It rained all of Tuesday. I didn't notice until I was lacing up my shoes and knew it just wouldn't work for today. I put on different pants. Tighter ones, more form fitting and less likely to get soaked from walking through puddles. I put on a pair of socks and pulled my boots on, knowing in an hour I'd be sweating from it being too muggy.

I had Monday unexpectedly off. Aside from a few pet sitting visits, which were all over with by 9am, I hadn't put much thought into my day. What do you do when all of a sudden your possibilities are open?

I'll tell you what I did.

I made myself eggs for breakfast. Wrote in my blog. Edited a few photos. And continued to be a complete space cadet. After the first couple of hours I realized I had no intention of doing anything spectacular. I then proceeded to eat cheese and crackers the rest of the day.

Once Kris got home from work I made a small attempt at dinner. And by small, I mean we had salads.

It's always quiet here when she's not home. I wander back and forth from the kitchen to the living room staring blankly, wondering what I should be doing next.

Some days I nap.

Some days I paint.

Some days I watch movies.

Some days I cook.

Today, I napped.

Late nights in a quiet neighborhood

I heard yelling last night through my open windows. I knew it couldn't have been coming from my apartment, for I was standing right in front of Kris and my puppies aren't prone to yelling.

I honed in my selective hearing and listened. It had gone quiet.

Thinking nothing more of it, perhaps it was a heated phone conversation or someone yelling at their roommate to not forget groceries in the car, I headed into my living room to drink the individual container of orange juice we had just purchased at the grocery store. Leaving Kris in the kitchen to finish dinner preparations.

I leaned over a small end table next to the couch to lower the blinds and caught a glimpse of arms flailing about. Instantly, I honed into what was happening across the street from my house.

I watched through the blind slits as two girls stared at each other over a silver and black scooter. Their lips moving, like in a silent film, only their bodies giving any indication of the emotions felt by each women.

The girl to the right, a young girl in her early 20's wearing gym shorts and an over sized t-shirt, her hair in a pony tail and dark blonde under the porch light that washed over them in an orange haze, had her hands raised and pushed them forward every time she spoke. Almost as if she was punctuating the air with each fist. Her feet, were bare.

The girl to the left seemed indifferent in her jeans and blue blouse. A purse slung over her right shoulder, her hair much darker than the women on the right, but not quite black, even in the night.

"You come into my house, take $406 from my wallet, throw keys at me and just leave me?" Screams the barefooted girl.
The indifferent girl crosses her arms and stares at her.
"You are such a slut! I knew I shouldn't have gotten in a relationship with you." Belts out the barefooted girl.
"You hit me! You scratched my arm!" Retaliates the indifferent girl.
Pulling up her shirt to make a show, the barefooted girl points to a spot where the indifferent girl must have punch her back.

Their conversation is muted when not in harsh screams. I've slowly moved onto my front porch, that's enclosed and very easy to hide in. I've crouched down and propped my head up on the windowsill. Quietly, calling on all my skills I've picked up in pilates, balance myself there, watching.

The indifferent girl in jeans opens up the seat of the scooter and removes a white helmet. She puts it in her left hand, as the barefooted girl stays on a constant loop.

"I want you out! I want you gone, how could you fucking do this to me?" She throws in there.

The indifferent girl takes a step backwards while putting on her helmet, as the barefooted girl comes forward and slaps her. Almost as if she is spring to life, the indifferent girl grabs the barefoot girl by the throat and in a muffled raised voice I hear her choke out words, almost as if spitting in the barefooted girls face she says..

"You think you can do that to me and I won't react? Don't you fucking touch me again!" Squeezing at her throat, the indifference lost.

The barefooted girl swings back and has her throat in her own hand. They move backwards like this, stuck in a deadly tango. Neither one letting go. It goes on for what feels like hours, but was merely seconds. Until they both let go and move back to their original corners.

The dialogue doesn't change. I watch on for 10, maybe 15 minutes. The same story on repeat. A few punches thrown, and even more curse words uttered.

I take a deep breathe when I watch the barefooted girl walk away, she gets to the top of 6 steps leading to the side door of the house, finally it's over with and I breathe out. She opens the door and takes a step inside as the girl holds onto the scooter and puts her purse down.

I wait for the scooter to start. It doesn't. The barefooted girl comes tearing back down the stairs just to get one final slap in, one final statement. A statement she's been repeating all night.

"You came into my house while I was sleeping, took $406 out of my wallet, throw my keys at me and leave? Give me the money back and get out of here. I don't want to see you again! I want you moved out!"

The indifferent girl meets her with silence. She pushes the scooter towards the street as the barefooted girl climbs the stairs once more. She slams the door and is finally inside.

In one last act of defiance the indifferent girl yells "Fuck your keys!" as she starts up the scooter and heads down the street.

It's quiet now. I can see the tv show the neighbors are watching across the street. My landlords dog barks below me. I stand and feel an ache in my knees and stretch out, then head back inside.

I run into the kitchen to tell Kris what I've seen. We hear yelling again.

The barefooted girl has put on flip flops and is now yelling on her cell phone walking down the block. I watch her dart across the busy street that starts at the end of ours, and slam her fits onto a car.

She yells - "Pull over! Get the fuck out of the car!" 

I watch her open the passenger door and climb inside. I can't see the driver, there aren't many street lights in this neighborhood.

I watch them drive away, as I shake my head. I wonder if she's going to get her $406 back.

It's only the tilt of the world

Early morning, I throw on the closest pair of pants to me and a shirt. Or maybe a skirt and a tank top. Or maybe that dress I left laying on the floor the night before. I don't pay attention to my hair, or how my face looks. I rummage around looking for my flip flops, while the girls scramble around me unable to hide their excitement. They know we're going out.

I put their leashes on and 2 doggy bags in my pocket. Hoping that's all I'll need.
I put my sunglasses on, to hide my sleep drenched eyes. Hoping no one will see.

We walk around the block, in our usual path. I look down to adjust the hole that's formed on my jeans. I reminisce about how long I've had these jeans and what ever paint splatter on them means. I get lost at the red streak down my left thigh when I hear a mans voice. I look up jolted to see a face smiling at me from a bike in his driveway.

"Mister", I wanted to say, "Don't you know it's rude to interrupt a lady when she's contemplating where her life has been."

But I just smile instead. Sophia starts whining, wanting to get closer to him.

I pull them onward.

We get around the corner when I realize it feels like Autumn. It doesn't just feel like Autumn, it smells like Autumn. Every inch of my body is screaming "HOLY FUCK IT'S ALMOST AUTUMN!"

I breathe it in. I think of walking down aisles picking out pencils and what backpack I want that year. I still have my hot pink side sling of a bag from High School years passed.

I remember the weight of all my belongings getting packed into my white Mazda, and driving far from Boston with my windows down and the air sneaking into every corner of my car. I remember driving down long highways that seemed to go on for days in North Dakota, and hiding in the cool air nights of Alabama. The Gulf Shore keeping it's sand cold and glowing beneath my feet, like a secret just for me.

I hear a dog bark and remember I'm in Medford. I'm not sitting in a car driving for days, or just meeting the day in a hotel room in a town I don't know.

Autumn makes me feel alive.

I'm sitting on my back porch trying to savor that Autumn feeling. But the sun is shining so directly on me it feels as though I'm sitting on a beach with no water in sight. I've started to sweat and I feel my skin tanning. I say tanning because it's passed the point of burning. When naked, I give off the appearance of wearing a body suit, all white on the bottom, pasty, ivory even. The top? Long brown sleeves with a brown turtle neck. It's a sight, that's for sure.

I've finished my first cup of coffee, and no longer able to read the screen, or hide from the heat, I'm heading inside. To contemplate days ahead and days passed.

I want to pause this one moment. With the sound of the plane in the sky, the birds in the tree ahead of me, and the football couch barking orders in the distance. Pause it all, mix it in my coffee and drink it up.

Some days I can't savor life enough.

I'll wake up, some day

When you turn on the shower in my apartment, even when the knob is turned all the way to steaming hot, it takes a while for the water to warm up. I often step in to my shower stall, with my head hanging I let the freezing cold water hit the back of my head. It forces (what little) hair I have to hang towards the ground. Slowly it starts to warm up, just before my neck gets numb from the cold.

I stand there, shivering, watching the water spill over the tile as goosebumps raise on my skin.

I do a lot of thinking in these brief moments. When I keep the bathroom light off the fan won't turn on like a jet engine taking off, I enjoy the silence. Some days from the moment I wake up I'm bombarded with sounds. I just want to turn them off and sit in silence until my head starts making sense.

Let me be honest here. I have another blog floating around the never ending labyrinth of the internet. I started it almost a year ago thinking it would be a great outlet to begin writing again. Very slowly it became something that neither reflected who I am, nor was the outlet I was looking to create. I shied away from being myself. From talking about things that matter to me, or even just saying "fuck."

But fuck it.

I can't stop grinding my teeth. I clench my jaw, wiggling my back molars together until I feel a sensation travel down my jaw. It's not so much a feeling of pain, but more like pressure. Pressure from two points forcibly meeting. I'm waiting for the moment my teeth snap. My fillings pop out and what teeth I have crumble in to tiny pieces.

At least I'm not having the dreams where my teeth fall out. Yet.

Every day I feel as if I'm in a constant state of waiting. A hiatus. Nothing around me is real and everything is moving with the fluidity of being underwater. I'm waiting for that all defining "Ah-ha!" moment where I look in front of me and realize which direction I want to take. How I'm feeling. What I want to do. Today, tomorrow, or for the rest of this eternity I have in my hand. Who am I?

Maybe a little silence is all I need.