3/5/08 1129 am
i want to create something.
i want to build something with my hands. i want to take an imageideathoughtfeeling in my brain and see it in the physical world. i want colors. i want shape. i want to feel it in my hands.
sometimes this feeling is overwhelming. most of the time it's fleeting, this urge. this need. sometimes the image in my head is a building. other times it's a painting or a book. i need to take this something that lives in my imagination and see it under the sun.
i woke up with a headache today. dreams of surf reports and incoming tides and grocery stores. i've been dreaming of grocery shopping a lot lately. did i tell you about the one where i went to the grocery store in my socks? i had to get eggs. the only eggs that were available were the big 36 egg packs. when i opened a box, all these little baby chicks flowed out of it. i tried catching them in my hands. they kept coming out of the box. little yellow blops of fur with tiny feet flowed out of the box. their fluff hanging in the air, their little feathers suspended as they rolled out of the box like a wave. and then i didn't want anything to do with scrambled eggs or omelets or any of that anymore.
what was i saying?
oh.
dreams of surf reports. i slept through my alarm clock. woke up to the surf report. got to work late. parking lot is atrocious. really. big F2355s taking up three parking spots. other cars not pulling in all the way, making me drive serpentine through this obstacle course.
oh yeah.
oh, so bad mood today. i'm tired of thinking of protein and fiber. i'm tired of drinking 8 glasses of water a day. i went to the gym on monday and tuesday. a few observations:
gyms STINK. they smell like sweat. old socks. sweaty towels. B.O. and crotch.
it's funny seeing all these people (myself included) runningwalkingsweating soooo fast--to nowhere. soooo fast. rows and rows of treadmills and ellipticals. men and women running up stairs that go nowhere.
we live in san diego. san diego, people. and we're crammed into a gym running ourselves silly watching tv.
yep.
hamsters in wheels. instead of calling it a hamster wheel, i decided to call it a ferris wheel. i ran the ferris wheel yesterday. sounds mo' bettah than a stinky gym next to stinky people (or is me stinky?) running stinkily toward the news and shows on tnt.
where was i going with this?
creation. i'm not talking babies or anything. a project. hmmm.... i have a few ideas for sketches. some ideas for painting. some framing ideas. some sewing ideas. quilts. my mom had a sewing room. she used to make sunday dresses for me and my sister. every sunday we had a new dress. lace. buttons. puffed sleeves. ribbons. flowers. beautiful dresses. her sewing room was yellow. piles and piles of fabric were all over the place. sometimes i would wake up to the sound of the machine. i fell asleep to it. we'd pick out colors. we'd go shopping for patterns. we would stand in that room and she would press patterns to our bodies, getting measurements. oh, the measurements! arm measurements, length, waist, stand still, hold this. i can feel her hands holding that thin, wrinkly brown paper to my back, smoothing it over my shoulders. i can hear her voice, muffled from holding pins between her lips. i can see all the sewing projects in different stages of completion. draped over chairs, over themselves, over the ironing board, hanging on the closet knobs. the carpet is full of pieces of trimmed fabric. little whisps. vivaldi plays in the background.
oh, mom.
nurse nell was just here. i hope she doesn't mind me posting about this. her family suffered a loss recently. i remember that feeling. those feelings. i remember wanting to be out of it. or at least to know when the grief would stop choking me in the middle of the night. when i would be able to breathe without feeling like i was drowning. i wanted to know when. six weeks? six months? when would i not miss him so sharply.
there's no time limit. i thought i saw him at a bus stop in claremont a few months ago. right across the street from where i was getting my car washed. the car wash i took his car to many years ago. i had forgotten to turn the radio off, so the antennae was left up. it went through the swish swishing brushes and soap. the antennae never went down without a fight after that. it was always a little crooked. i don't remember if i told him about it. ("dad, i'm the one that broke the antennae." i loved it when he drove. i always felt so safe. like a rockstar.) so i thought i saw him sitting at a bus stop. i sat on the bench across the street and watched him. i knew it wasn't him. i let myself pretend for a minute. wouldn't that be funny. my dad's afterlife and he's taking bus rides through claremont. he was wearing what he usually wore... a polo shirt, cargo shorts, a good pair of running shoes. sunglasses.
face to case.
crap. this wasn't going to be this kind of post.
there should be a book. "grieving for dummies". i suggested it to nurse nell. maybe we can start a book club on it.
what was i saying? oh... creation. yes.
****
post script: i googled "grieving for dummies"
Showing posts with label center. Show all posts
Showing posts with label center. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Saturday, March 1, 2008
eat, pray, love review
***spoiler alert*** i don't talk much details about the book, just my feelings about it. i'm not going to ruin it for you and tell you that the book ends on an island with the survivors of oceanic 815. woooops!
this is my first book review ever, so be gentle. the classy ladies book club chose eat, pray, love for the month of february. we were supposed to join domestically challenged on feb 28th, but i didn't get my act together soon enough. check out her living room and the cake she started to make! so inviting.
okay, so.... here goes.
Let me just preface this whole entire review by saying I have never said so many good things or taken so much from one book as I have from this book. And I am normally not such a freak about books.
I envy her, that she was able to leave her humdrum life and expand her soul so greatly. And as much as I envy her, I thank her.
A meal. Really and truly. A good, satisfying meal with good people and hard to have conversations and introspections. That’s always the way I will classify this book.
Before I read this book, I read about it. I read reviews of this book, in the general term, glancing, not paying much attention, for the past couple of years. Eat,pray,love? A book about a woman traveling the world writing down recipes? Tasty tea, but not my cup.
And then I found myself wandering in a book store. With two books in either hand…. Stephen King’s latest? Or this one? This one was cheaper, Stephen was sure to scare. Cheaper…. To be scared. I opened the cheaper one toward the beginning…. To the page where she left Giovanni at her doorstep and pressed her forehead to the floor and prayed. Not a prayer of dear father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name… one of truth, of now, of something begging, hoping, something I would pray. And I identified.
So I turned to the first page. And I was hooked. The me a few years ago looking for answers, leaving a long term relationship identified with the first paragraph. I thought of my friends who are in various stages of relationships, and I identified for them, with them. In that first page. And from reading the passage about praying, and reading the short paragraph of love lost, I had to have it.
So I grabbed it. I grabbed it and devoured it with a pen and I dog-eared pages as I read, as I soaked it in. As I let her drag me (willingly) throughItaly India Indonesia
It’s a deeply personal journey. A friend of mine gave me the novel writer’s handbook for Christmas in 2006. I knew it held the key to writing a book. She has been pushing me forEVER to write a book. I knew that the second I cracked open this book that I would grab all pens, paper, and computers within reach and bleed myself dry. I wasn’t ready to do that yet, though. So I flipped through the book, aching to start the next great American novel, and put it down, meaning to get back to it.
Such is this book. If you let it. It’s so beautifully perfect, in all its flaws. Most of us won’t be able to spend a year traveling the globe. But her basic message is simple….eat, pray, and love.
Some of my favorite passages:
When she talks about happiness and beauty: “When you sense a faint potentiality for happiness after such dark times you must grab onto the ankles of that happiness and not let go until it drags you face-first out of the dirt…find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight.”
God loves to feel things through our hands.
There was something aboutRome
You should never give yourself a chance to fall apart because when you do, it becomes a tendency and it happens over and over again.
The magnification of one life—is indeed an act of worth in this world.
..the universe is generous..
And most favorite, the last line in the book: “maybe it’s wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.”
My most favorite part of the entire book is when she sits on top of the roof inIndia
I hope one day I am strong enough for that.
I had my first yoga class today. On my way home, I called my aunt, my dad’s sister. Sister of the famous uncle john. She’s been doing yoga for over 30 years. I told her, and she told me she loved it, that she’s done it forever. I remember her when I was five or six… she was staying with us, visiting. I woke up one morning and she was sitting in our living room. it all looked funny to me. She looked cold. So I took my favorite blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. She didn’t move. Was she sleeping? Was she sick? My mom explained that she was meditating. Whatever that was.
S
this is my first book review ever, so be gentle. the classy ladies book club chose eat, pray, love for the month of february. we were supposed to join domestically challenged on feb 28th, but i didn't get my act together soon enough. check out her living room and the cake she started to make! so inviting.
okay, so.... here goes.
Let me just preface this whole entire review by saying I have never said so many good things or taken so much from one book as I have from this book. And I am normally not such a freak about books.
I envy her, that she was able to leave her humdrum life and expand her soul so greatly. And as much as I envy her, I thank her.
A meal. Really and truly. A good, satisfying meal with good people and hard to have conversations and introspections. That’s always the way I will classify this book.
Before I read this book, I read about it. I read reviews of this book, in the general term, glancing, not paying much attention, for the past couple of years. Eat,pray,love? A book about a woman traveling the world writing down recipes? Tasty tea, but not my cup.
And then I found myself wandering in a book store. With two books in either hand…. Stephen King’s latest? Or this one? This one was cheaper, Stephen was sure to scare. Cheaper…. To be scared. I opened the cheaper one toward the beginning…. To the page where she left Giovanni at her doorstep and pressed her forehead to the floor and prayed. Not a prayer of dear father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name… one of truth, of now, of something begging, hoping, something I would pray. And I identified.
So I turned to the first page. And I was hooked. The me a few years ago looking for answers, leaving a long term relationship identified with the first paragraph. I thought of my friends who are in various stages of relationships, and I identified for them, with them. In that first page. And from reading the passage about praying, and reading the short paragraph of love lost, I had to have it.
So I grabbed it. I grabbed it and devoured it with a pen and I dog-eared pages as I read, as I soaked it in. As I let her drag me (willingly) through
It’s a deeply personal journey. A friend of mine gave me the novel writer’s handbook for Christmas in 2006. I knew it held the key to writing a book. She has been pushing me forEVER to write a book. I knew that the second I cracked open this book that I would grab all pens, paper, and computers within reach and bleed myself dry. I wasn’t ready to do that yet, though. So I flipped through the book, aching to start the next great American novel, and put it down, meaning to get back to it.
Such is this book. If you let it. It’s so beautifully perfect, in all its flaws. Most of us won’t be able to spend a year traveling the globe. But her basic message is simple….eat, pray, and love.
Some of my favorite passages:
When she talks about happiness and beauty: “When you sense a faint potentiality for happiness after such dark times you must grab onto the ankles of that happiness and not let go until it drags you face-first out of the dirt…find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight.”
God loves to feel things through our hands.
There was something about
You should never give yourself a chance to fall apart because when you do, it becomes a tendency and it happens over and over again.
The magnification of one life—is indeed an act of worth in this world.
..the universe is generous..
And most favorite, the last line in the book: “maybe it’s wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.”
My most favorite part of the entire book is when she sits on top of the roof in
I hope one day I am strong enough for that.
I had my first yoga class today. On my way home, I called my aunt, my dad’s sister. Sister of the famous uncle john. She’s been doing yoga for over 30 years. I told her, and she told me she loved it, that she’s done it forever. I remember her when I was five or six… she was staying with us, visiting. I woke up one morning and she was sitting in our living room. it all looked funny to me. She looked cold. So I took my favorite blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. She didn’t move. Was she sleeping? Was she sick? My mom explained that she was meditating. Whatever that was.
S
Sunday, February 3, 2008
dreams are funny stuff
i was at a restaurant. ben, mom, ginger, nancy, chela, wanda, millie, melva, leroy, shirley, anetta, greg, gena were being seated. i sat down with them. more chairs had to be added. but there weren't enough place settings for all of us. so i kept scooting over, moving my chair, and then my chair was taken away, and i was standing up next to the table. and then the table got smaller. i watched them flip and fold the table up and tuck chairs under the table so there would be no room for me.
and then i was the odd person out, standing by the table that was obviously big enough for all of us, but somehow shrank.
i wasn't hurt or even mad. i thought to myself "how fucking rude. there's obviously enough room for everyone. they have no manners." i put my hand on my hip and stared at them not looking at me. "fucking rude."
i was embarassed for them and their rudeness. grown adults, unable to be polite to someone they used to know. unable to be civil. unable to be decent human beings. rude. like ill-behaved toddlers hoarding all the crayons.
=====
the other night i woke up from a dream. my nose tickled. i was dreaming my dad was kissing my nose while i slept.
=====
phill says i have salvador dali dreams. the kinds of dreams with arms and legs showing up where there shouldn't be, and clocks dripping off cliffs or castles floating in skies.
i have dreams about clouds. i used to be afraid of clouds, i blame "the nothing" in the never ending story for that. i was scared of the big fluffy clouds. like, i would run inside if i saw one coming for me.
i've had dreams of flying, but the underlying feeling in those dreams was fear of falling. i like my parachuting dreams the most.
in my first parachuting dream i was parachuting through clouds. thick clouds that slowed down my parachuting team (i don't know who was with me, i just remember being with several people). one particular layer of clouds was so thick, we stopped and wobbled there like standing on a waterbed. we had to claw our way through the clouds, to rip through them. the cloud layer was like that layer of carpet padding. but in a beautiful way. we ripped through, and parachuted safely to the ground.
my last parachuting dream.... i was parachuting through hundreds of other parachuters. their parachutes were red and white. from my perch above them, they looked like red and white m&ms. they were all around me. above me, next to me, under me, it was a sea of parachuters. and they were all phill. and then the one phill caught up to me and we laughed at how there were all these parachuters (parachutists?) around us. the sun was setting. the ponds and lakes below were reflecting the sunset. we were falling from the sky, into the sky. i was surrounded by love, having this great time, floating through love.
how sweetly disgusting is that?
=====
anyone who's known me for at least five minutes lately, you know i'm reading eat love pray. i'm in bali with liz now. she's spending time with the medicine man, sharing her adventures with him, learning of his healing powers and meditation techniques.
seriously, i cannot tell you how much i love this book. the medicine man is simple and complex. he told her to "Worry about your craziness only--make you in peace."
this is what i told my sister, paula slovakia, when she was going through her divorce. "you can't understand crazy. to understand crazy, you have to go into a crazy place. you are not crazy, you are sane. you will never understand this level of crazy." i learned that so completely in the spring and summer of 2005. a lot was going on during that time. i was trying to wrap my head around such craziness; actions from people who were not supposed to ever say or do the things they said and did. i had to let it go. as much as it hurt to try and let her go (i still have a few issues to work out), holding onto it, examining it, taking pictures of it (metaphorically speaking) and showing it to people was doing more harm than good.
so i like what this medicine man said. and it took reading it in someone else's book, in someone else's words, under someone else's copywrite (eek) to remind myself that i have enough crazy (quirky?) of my own. and i'm letting voldemort go. for now. i'm letting all of that go. all of that bad energy, all of those words back and forth. i'm letting it go.
easier said than done. but it's on my list of things to do before i turn (gasp!) 31. oh. my. 31.
=====
another thing i'm holding onto from this book is the four brothers meditation. i have trouble sleeping. getting to sleep, and staying to sleep. i wake up 20 minutes after i fall asleep. i swear it's been hours and my alarm clock should go off any minute. nope. only 20 minutes. i miss phill, and i do not like being alone. yep. there, i said it. i don't like being alone. i'll leave the tv on, i'll stay up late, so i'll fall immediately to sleep with no tossing or turning. but basically, i miss my boyfriend and i don't like being alone.
so back to this thing i'm holding onto. without giving much of it away (you have to read this book), you pray to these four brothers everyone was born with. they're there to protect you. before you go to sleep (please please let me know if you're going to sue me for infringement or plagiarism or whatever), you call on them before you go to sleep, saying "I am sleeping now, so you must stay awake and protect me." the brothers will shield you through the night, stop demons and nightmares.
my heart did a funny thing when i read this. it held its tired sad head in its hands and felt relief. then i read it again. and i underlined it. and i marked the page. and i wrote it on the inside front cover. and i read it again.
so this talisman, i'm taking to bed with me. i am taking inner peace and my protectors.
goodnight to you all, and peace.
and then i was the odd person out, standing by the table that was obviously big enough for all of us, but somehow shrank.
i wasn't hurt or even mad. i thought to myself "how fucking rude. there's obviously enough room for everyone. they have no manners." i put my hand on my hip and stared at them not looking at me. "fucking rude."
i was embarassed for them and their rudeness. grown adults, unable to be polite to someone they used to know. unable to be civil. unable to be decent human beings. rude. like ill-behaved toddlers hoarding all the crayons.
=====
the other night i woke up from a dream. my nose tickled. i was dreaming my dad was kissing my nose while i slept.
=====
phill says i have salvador dali dreams. the kinds of dreams with arms and legs showing up where there shouldn't be, and clocks dripping off cliffs or castles floating in skies.
i have dreams about clouds. i used to be afraid of clouds, i blame "the nothing" in the never ending story for that. i was scared of the big fluffy clouds. like, i would run inside if i saw one coming for me.
i've had dreams of flying, but the underlying feeling in those dreams was fear of falling. i like my parachuting dreams the most.
in my first parachuting dream i was parachuting through clouds. thick clouds that slowed down my parachuting team (i don't know who was with me, i just remember being with several people). one particular layer of clouds was so thick, we stopped and wobbled there like standing on a waterbed. we had to claw our way through the clouds, to rip through them. the cloud layer was like that layer of carpet padding. but in a beautiful way. we ripped through, and parachuted safely to the ground.
my last parachuting dream.... i was parachuting through hundreds of other parachuters. their parachutes were red and white. from my perch above them, they looked like red and white m&ms. they were all around me. above me, next to me, under me, it was a sea of parachuters. and they were all phill. and then the one phill caught up to me and we laughed at how there were all these parachuters (parachutists?) around us. the sun was setting. the ponds and lakes below were reflecting the sunset. we were falling from the sky, into the sky. i was surrounded by love, having this great time, floating through love.
how sweetly disgusting is that?
=====
anyone who's known me for at least five minutes lately, you know i'm reading eat love pray. i'm in bali with liz now. she's spending time with the medicine man, sharing her adventures with him, learning of his healing powers and meditation techniques.
seriously, i cannot tell you how much i love this book. the medicine man is simple and complex. he told her to "Worry about your craziness only--make you in peace."
this is what i told my sister, paula slovakia, when she was going through her divorce. "you can't understand crazy. to understand crazy, you have to go into a crazy place. you are not crazy, you are sane. you will never understand this level of crazy." i learned that so completely in the spring and summer of 2005. a lot was going on during that time. i was trying to wrap my head around such craziness; actions from people who were not supposed to ever say or do the things they said and did. i had to let it go. as much as it hurt to try and let her go (i still have a few issues to work out), holding onto it, examining it, taking pictures of it (metaphorically speaking) and showing it to people was doing more harm than good.
so i like what this medicine man said. and it took reading it in someone else's book, in someone else's words, under someone else's copywrite (eek) to remind myself that i have enough crazy (quirky?) of my own. and i'm letting voldemort go. for now. i'm letting all of that go. all of that bad energy, all of those words back and forth. i'm letting it go.
easier said than done. but it's on my list of things to do before i turn (gasp!) 31. oh. my. 31.
=====
another thing i'm holding onto from this book is the four brothers meditation. i have trouble sleeping. getting to sleep, and staying to sleep. i wake up 20 minutes after i fall asleep. i swear it's been hours and my alarm clock should go off any minute. nope. only 20 minutes. i miss phill, and i do not like being alone. yep. there, i said it. i don't like being alone. i'll leave the tv on, i'll stay up late, so i'll fall immediately to sleep with no tossing or turning. but basically, i miss my boyfriend and i don't like being alone.
so back to this thing i'm holding onto. without giving much of it away (you have to read this book), you pray to these four brothers everyone was born with. they're there to protect you. before you go to sleep (please please let me know if you're going to sue me for infringement or plagiarism or whatever), you call on them before you go to sleep, saying "I am sleeping now, so you must stay awake and protect me." the brothers will shield you through the night, stop demons and nightmares.
my heart did a funny thing when i read this. it held its tired sad head in its hands and felt relief. then i read it again. and i underlined it. and i marked the page. and i wrote it on the inside front cover. and i read it again.
so this talisman, i'm taking to bed with me. i am taking inner peace and my protectors.
goodnight to you all, and peace.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
the sky is a firey pink
billows of gray clouds swirl, dipping and diving.
i need to feel that there are much larger things in the universe than getting my tooth pulled tomorrow (the coundown on the right is wrong). and there are. but maybe those things aren't helpful in calming my nerves. i feel like tilda swinton's character at the very end of michael clayton. i feel like my face could start shaking at any moment and i could drop dramatically to the ground. i wouldn't be nominated for an oscar for it, though. can i just have a little mini break down?
it's not just the tooth. but i don't think the tooth is really helping any. my boyfriend is a million miles away, there are staff meetings, business travel, health insurance, global warming, software training, the world without us (read it), logins, oil change, carbon emissions, brake check, voldemort, who i've been ignoring. worse, i've let her come between me and my nephews, dispite my promises to be an adult about it. i haven't seen the boys since before christmas. and i missed a birthday. then there are the ever present nurdles.
i haven't found a dentist to install the titanium screw into my jaw, the $2,500 screw that will hold the $1,500 fake molar. scratch that. i have found a dentist, but i found a cheaper dentist, then i called the more expensive dentist and told him i found a cheaper dentist, then i drove by the cheap dentist's office and i have realized that more money=a higher sense of security. duh. but i guess i had to figure it out myself. would you rather have a titanium screw drilled into your mouth while sitting in an overpriced fancy dentist's office with a view of trees and grass? or in what looks like an old house in the middle of downtown santa ana? you'd save $600, but you'd be sitting in what used to be grandma's bathroom getting a stainless steel tooth drilled into your mouth with something bought at sears. dramatic? me? no. so.... i gotta find a way to tell dr. expensive that i love him and don't want to ever live without him and please drill a titanium screw in my jaw.
here's how i'm seeing tomorrow go. i wake up at 5:30 am. can't fall back asleep. drift off to sleep around 7:45, only to have my alarm go off 15 minutes later. take my nice little blue pill--valium, not viagra. sister picks me up late. i whimper to myself all the way to the dentist office, and collapse in a tilda swinton heap in the lobby. what if i'm so wound up i make myself nervous? what if i choke on my wommit while he's pulling? what if he tells a joke and tries to be funny and i laugh and the shiny tool slips and slices my mouth open?? what if i got my dates mixed up and i'm worked up for a detraction that's happening on tuesday instead of tomorrow? wow, holy lord almighty. i can't even keep typing this i'm already freaking out. okay. soo.... onto other things.
perfectly and sweetly. and perfectly again... i do not worry about my relationship with phill. we are happily committed, truly and completely. he and i, with six, make three. i have my sisters. the one i was born with, and the ones i have adopted, and the ones that have adopted me. i have such great friends, and the warm boobely bosom of my family. nurdles be damned. life is fucking good. but still, there's that tooth.
this, this post being my 100th post. here are my guts.
i heard that the national delurking (already calming down now) day was a little while ago. i'm gonna tell you a little secret:
i love mom blogs.
they are SO hilarious and touching and true. osmosister got me into them. not that she said, here you have to read these. i found ohthejoys through osmosister. i think i found bossy through a comment she left on ohthejoys. i might have found greek tragedy through nytimes.com? i think i found sweet salty through finding zen. wow, i really sound like a stalker. i hope i'm not pissing anyone off by posting your blogs here. and i hope i'm not scaring any of you. please let me know. i should also tell you that i get my daily fix through google reader. so i probably hardly ever show up in your sitemeter, but i chuckle daily with my cup o' joe. and i forward some posts to a few friends as well. i don't personally know any of you. and i really feel like a stalker with this delurking thing. i don't usually comment, but i read 99% of all of your work. can one delurk through their own blog? i'm jealous of your high comment count, by the way. i admire all of you and your willingness and ability to bare your souls so sweetly and heartwrenchingly on a nearly daily basis. i swear i'm not a stalker. but yes, i am.
i recently found this blog...wow, i don't even know where. i don't google these blogs. i click on them through other blogs. you're an awesome writer, clink. congrats to you and the ring.
i subscribe to two dad blogs. laid off dad (nytimes link, i think) and dad gone mad. have you two ever met? one of you yahoos mentioned bossy in one of your posts. it was like i was looking in a mirror looking at itself, looking a a blog. or something.
it takes balls to write about all the things you write about. all of you. i admire you for that. there are a few posts here that i'm proud of. but my soul hasn't hung out in front of you nekked or anything. not very often.
another confession: i follow stepmom blogs. since i'm in the research and planning phase of being a stepmom (the career girl's guide to becoming a stepmom is on my nightstand), these blogs offer insight, tangles, truths, dirty feelings, clean shiny feelings, relationship highs and lows, and... shock of all shocks... some stepmoms and biomos are friends. totally weird.
i googled stepmom blogs and hit the jackpot. she has a forum, a monthly stepmom profile, and has seen stepparenting from both a child and stepmom's perspective. i especially like this post, which describes the stepkid shuffle. stepmoms are talking about it in her forum. i got a taste of this confusing behavior when phill and i had his daughter, six, over the christmas holiday. six asked me "did you know my mommy kissed my daddy? A LOT?" "yes, six. i know that. everyone knows that." she looked at me, incredulous "how does everyone know that?" why would she be telling me this? a few days prior, we had officially come out to her as being together. but what's her motive? why is she telling me that her dad, my boyfriend, has kissed someone else? i mean, i KNOW he's kissed someone else. but man, it's a punch in the gut coming from his daughter. i keep telling myself she's six. she's just six. she and i continued coloring and watching iCarly. but still.... man. that sucked. i am the adult, i am the adult. i know it's going to happen again, she's just six.
she was watching me put mousse in my hair one morning. "why are you putting that in your hair?"
"because it makes my curly hair not so frizzy."
"my mom likes frizzy hair."
"that's cool. that's nice. this keeps it from being reeeally big and huge."
"my mom has really big and huge hair. and she likes it."
"that's nice, that's cool." i mean, what do you say to that?
i found simplicity who is the stepmom to lori's kids and they are friends. kathy and jill are doing the stepmom/biomom friendship and blog thing over at the doughtie houses exchange. i read the wicked stepmom and the evil stepmother (who are neither wicked or evil). i haven't found any biomom blogs. i mean, besides the biomom blogs that get along with the stepmom. i've found the stepmom blogs that bash the biomom, but no biomom blogs that bash the stepmom. hence, stepmothers are perfect. the. end.
of course, smelly and miller and workwife and osmosister you can find in the links to the right as upstanding members of my crew. smelly and miller, you gotsta step up.
and because mother earth is a woman, i introduce you to eco-chick herself. i found her through bossy? seriously, i can't remember how i found all of you.
i need to feel my hair take root in the earth between blades of grass. i need to watch the clouds swirl, i need to feel small underneath them. i need to feel the earth rotate on its axis and watch the stars stand still; to dig my hands into the roots of this planet as we all spin through the universe together.
the sketch i did, it all makes sense now. the face is a calm center in the eye of the hurricane. i want to be that face, to feel everything swirling around me, to be that calm center.
a glass of wine while distracting myself with a post with the promise of a valium in a few hours hasn't hurt either.
i need to feel that there are much larger things in the universe than getting my tooth pulled tomorrow (the coundown on the right is wrong). and there are. but maybe those things aren't helpful in calming my nerves. i feel like tilda swinton's character at the very end of michael clayton. i feel like my face could start shaking at any moment and i could drop dramatically to the ground. i wouldn't be nominated for an oscar for it, though. can i just have a little mini break down?
it's not just the tooth. but i don't think the tooth is really helping any. my boyfriend is a million miles away, there are staff meetings, business travel, health insurance, global warming, software training, the world without us (read it), logins, oil change, carbon emissions, brake check, voldemort, who i've been ignoring. worse, i've let her come between me and my nephews, dispite my promises to be an adult about it. i haven't seen the boys since before christmas. and i missed a birthday. then there are the ever present nurdles.
i haven't found a dentist to install the titanium screw into my jaw, the $2,500 screw that will hold the $1,500 fake molar. scratch that. i have found a dentist, but i found a cheaper dentist, then i called the more expensive dentist and told him i found a cheaper dentist, then i drove by the cheap dentist's office and i have realized that more money=a higher sense of security. duh. but i guess i had to figure it out myself. would you rather have a titanium screw drilled into your mouth while sitting in an overpriced fancy dentist's office with a view of trees and grass? or in what looks like an old house in the middle of downtown santa ana? you'd save $600, but you'd be sitting in what used to be grandma's bathroom getting a stainless steel tooth drilled into your mouth with something bought at sears. dramatic? me? no. so.... i gotta find a way to tell dr. expensive that i love him and don't want to ever live without him and please drill a titanium screw in my jaw.
here's how i'm seeing tomorrow go. i wake up at 5:30 am. can't fall back asleep. drift off to sleep around 7:45, only to have my alarm go off 15 minutes later. take my nice little blue pill--valium, not viagra. sister picks me up late. i whimper to myself all the way to the dentist office, and collapse in a tilda swinton heap in the lobby. what if i'm so wound up i make myself nervous? what if i choke on my wommit while he's pulling? what if he tells a joke and tries to be funny and i laugh and the shiny tool slips and slices my mouth open?? what if i got my dates mixed up and i'm worked up for a detraction that's happening on tuesday instead of tomorrow? wow, holy lord almighty. i can't even keep typing this i'm already freaking out. okay. soo.... onto other things.
perfectly and sweetly. and perfectly again... i do not worry about my relationship with phill. we are happily committed, truly and completely. he and i, with six, make three. i have my sisters. the one i was born with, and the ones i have adopted, and the ones that have adopted me. i have such great friends, and the warm boobely bosom of my family. nurdles be damned. life is fucking good. but still, there's that tooth.
this, this post being my 100th post. here are my guts.
i heard that the national delurking (already calming down now) day was a little while ago. i'm gonna tell you a little secret:
i love mom blogs.
they are SO hilarious and touching and true. osmosister got me into them. not that she said, here you have to read these. i found ohthejoys through osmosister. i think i found bossy through a comment she left on ohthejoys. i might have found greek tragedy through nytimes.com? i think i found sweet salty through finding zen. wow, i really sound like a stalker. i hope i'm not pissing anyone off by posting your blogs here. and i hope i'm not scaring any of you. please let me know. i should also tell you that i get my daily fix through google reader. so i probably hardly ever show up in your sitemeter, but i chuckle daily with my cup o' joe. and i forward some posts to a few friends as well. i don't personally know any of you. and i really feel like a stalker with this delurking thing. i don't usually comment, but i read 99% of all of your work. can one delurk through their own blog? i'm jealous of your high comment count, by the way. i admire all of you and your willingness and ability to bare your souls so sweetly and heartwrenchingly on a nearly daily basis. i swear i'm not a stalker. but yes, i am.
i recently found this blog...wow, i don't even know where. i don't google these blogs. i click on them through other blogs. you're an awesome writer, clink. congrats to you and the ring.
i subscribe to two dad blogs. laid off dad (nytimes link, i think) and dad gone mad. have you two ever met? one of you yahoos mentioned bossy in one of your posts. it was like i was looking in a mirror looking at itself, looking a a blog. or something.
it takes balls to write about all the things you write about. all of you. i admire you for that. there are a few posts here that i'm proud of. but my soul hasn't hung out in front of you nekked or anything. not very often.
another confession: i follow stepmom blogs. since i'm in the research and planning phase of being a stepmom (the career girl's guide to becoming a stepmom is on my nightstand), these blogs offer insight, tangles, truths, dirty feelings, clean shiny feelings, relationship highs and lows, and... shock of all shocks... some stepmoms and biomos are friends. totally weird.
i googled stepmom blogs and hit the jackpot. she has a forum, a monthly stepmom profile, and has seen stepparenting from both a child and stepmom's perspective. i especially like this post, which describes the stepkid shuffle. stepmoms are talking about it in her forum. i got a taste of this confusing behavior when phill and i had his daughter, six, over the christmas holiday. six asked me "did you know my mommy kissed my daddy? A LOT?" "yes, six. i know that. everyone knows that." she looked at me, incredulous "how does everyone know that?" why would she be telling me this? a few days prior, we had officially come out to her as being together. but what's her motive? why is she telling me that her dad, my boyfriend, has kissed someone else? i mean, i KNOW he's kissed someone else. but man, it's a punch in the gut coming from his daughter. i keep telling myself she's six. she's just six. she and i continued coloring and watching iCarly. but still.... man. that sucked. i am the adult, i am the adult. i know it's going to happen again, she's just six.
she was watching me put mousse in my hair one morning. "why are you putting that in your hair?"
"because it makes my curly hair not so frizzy."
"my mom likes frizzy hair."
"that's cool. that's nice. this keeps it from being reeeally big and huge."
"my mom has really big and huge hair. and she likes it."
"that's nice, that's cool." i mean, what do you say to that?
i found simplicity who is the stepmom to lori's kids and they are friends. kathy and jill are doing the stepmom/biomom friendship and blog thing over at the doughtie houses exchange. i read the wicked stepmom and the evil stepmother (who are neither wicked or evil). i haven't found any biomom blogs. i mean, besides the biomom blogs that get along with the stepmom. i've found the stepmom blogs that bash the biomom, but no biomom blogs that bash the stepmom. hence, stepmothers are perfect. the. end.
of course, smelly and miller and workwife and osmosister you can find in the links to the right as upstanding members of my crew. smelly and miller, you gotsta step up.
and because mother earth is a woman, i introduce you to eco-chick herself. i found her through bossy? seriously, i can't remember how i found all of you.
i need to feel my hair take root in the earth between blades of grass. i need to watch the clouds swirl, i need to feel small underneath them. i need to feel the earth rotate on its axis and watch the stars stand still; to dig my hands into the roots of this planet as we all spin through the universe together.
the sketch i did, it all makes sense now. the face is a calm center in the eye of the hurricane. i want to be that face, to feel everything swirling around me, to be that calm center.
a glass of wine while distracting myself with a post with the promise of a valium in a few hours hasn't hurt either.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
i have my mom's hands
- she was a bad driver
- she never used her blinkers
- she loved us. oh how she loved us
- she sang to us
- crazy silly songs about catalina matalina oopsy daisy donna wanna okopokoloko was her name.
- she sewed
- quilts
- sunday dresses
- for me and my sister
- every sunday
- she fixed everything with an ice cube or a popsicle
- she loved us
- she was a lady
- she taught us manners
- every part of me that is a lady is from her
- she protected us
- you didn't mess with her
- she never knew how much i admired her
- but she does
- every part of me that is strong is from her
- she typed fast
- she taught me how to make tortillas
- she taught me what family was
- she was so funny
- she was so patient
- she had a favorite
- and that is fine
- because she's my favorite, too
- she had this way about her...this way of speaking. she had this way of putting so much emotion into one word. she could say my name and i would know instantly that i should stop pulling my sister's hair, or that she was proud of me, or that she wasn't kidding when she counted to 3.
- her hands soothed so much. her touch on my forehead, the way she brushed my hair, how she tucked me in at night. i have that touch with those i love. i feel the way they love that touch, how much they feel my love from my touch, and i learned it from her.
- she loved the opera
- and ballet
- and classical music
- i used to hate it
- i miss her sewing room, so full of light and so many fabrics, always with the classical music
- she wore opium
- i see the bottle, but i can't smell it
- if i were to smell it right now, the memories would bring me to my knees
- she loved my dad
- so much
- i never heard her call him by his name
- he was always dad or honey, never ever gilbert
- she made his lunch every morning
- i remember so many mornings waking up next to her
- the sheets so warm
- we would just lay there, feet tangled, morning breaking
- she was so safe
- so safe
- she made popsicles
- she gave me so many things to pass down
- one day, after a hard day of school, i cried into her shoulder. she told me then, "friends will come and go, but your sister will always be there."
- i didn't believe her then.
- but that is the strongest, truest thing she has ever taught me
- she didn't teach me to speak spanish
- she called my history teacher a "fuck hole" after they had an argument about an assignment of mine when i was 16
- i was never so proud to have her in my corner
- she loved her sister and her family
- she left us with that, our blanket
- she married young
- she protected her family
- everything ballsy i have ever done or ever will do, is from her strength
- she gave me my fair lady, brigadoon, the quiet man
- oh, and she gave me my love of books
- she read and read and read to us
- she would ground us by taking away our books. while our friends were getting their phone taken away, their nights out with their friends, she would crush us by taking away our books
- she was funny
- she had her own living room, with the "special" furniture and glass table
- and we didn't cross that line
- only to take pictures in our sunday dresses
- she called me lally. i will always be hers. other people in my family call me that, but it's never the same
- i miss her so much
- she broke my heart
- i still love her
- forever
- she taught me how to tie my shoes
- she gave me an infinite amount of memories that i can't even think of right now, but that have shaped me into the woman i am today.
- i was a surprise
- at the ripe old age of 38
- she stopped for a milkshake on the way to the hospital before delivering me
- i will think of a thousand different things to tell you about her after i post this
- i love her so
- i would give anything to see her, just to see her, not even to say anything to her. just to see her reading a book in the sun.
- i pretend to have conversations with her over the phone
- i catch glimpses of her at the grocery store, i think of her when i hear someone whistling south pacific
- oh, she could whistle so sweetly
- she gave me my sister so i wouldn't be lonely growing up
- my sister has proven quite a valuable plaything/cohort/partner in crime
- my mom was right about so many things
- oh, how i love her
- "if a a boy tells you he doesn't deserve you, he is right."
- "also believe him if he tells you he is an asshole."
- she thought i was funny
- and was always in my corner
- i don't know what i would say to her if i saw her
- i would say nothing
- i would hold her
- i would thank her
- and that would be enough for me
- i smell her perfum now
- oh, and i want to hold her
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
2 and 3
3 told 1 and 2. 3 told 2. 2 emailed boy. 3 pleased. 2 told 1. 1 emailed boy. 1 told 2 about email. 2 frantic. 2 not pleased. 2 tried reaching 3. 2 texted boy. boy told 3. 3 called 2. 2 told 3 what 1 did. crisis averted.
2 emailed 1 to defend 3. 3 called 1. 1 said busy, asked to call back later. 3 said no. point made.
1 emailed 2 back. 2 crushed by 1. 2 blogged. 2 felt a little better.
3 emailed 1 asking for copy of email to boy. 1 did not respond. 2 and 3 discuss 1 over lunch. 2 and 3 decide, after years and years of this behavior, that 1 can not be reasoned with. 3 decides to send an email to 1 anyway, knowing the possible consequences.
1 emailed 3 saying email to boy was admittedly "really bad" and 1 would not send to 3. 1 said "tell him I am the crazy sister that you have no control over and that I am prone to psychotic outbursts."
3 wrote, 3 described, 3 stood her ground, stood up for herself to her own sister. she stood up for me so perfectly and beautifully.
2 is pleased and protected.
2 emailed 1 to defend 3. 3 called 1. 1 said busy, asked to call back later. 3 said no. point made.
1 emailed 2 back. 2 crushed by 1. 2 blogged. 2 felt a little better.
3 emailed 1 asking for copy of email to boy. 1 did not respond. 2 and 3 discuss 1 over lunch. 2 and 3 decide, after years and years of this behavior, that 1 can not be reasoned with. 3 decides to send an email to 1 anyway, knowing the possible consequences.
1 emailed 3 saying email to boy was admittedly "really bad" and 1 would not send to 3. 1 said "tell him I am the crazy sister that you have no control over and that I am prone to psychotic outbursts."
3 wrote, 3 described, 3 stood her ground, stood up for herself to her own sister. she stood up for me so perfectly and beautifully.
2 is pleased and protected.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
thursday 4/26/07 1:58 pm
I was in a hospital room. In a chair at a round table. Surrounded by curtains and beeping machines. Curtains all over. Yellow ones. I could see feet where the curtains didn't reach the ground. Feet and scrubs. I don't know why I was there. They were doing ekgs. They got an ekg back from Barron. I heard the lab tech say to calibrate the machine. Barron’s ekg was all pink instead of yellow. They thought the ekg was off. I looked over. I was waiting for medical records. I didn't think I'd actually see him. My dad was laying in a hospital bed. In his blue bathrobe. That bathrobe with the red trim. They got the paddles out. He was writhing in pain. I didn’t want to go over there because I knew he wouldn’t want me to see him that way. His eyes were closed. Maybe he wouldn’t even know I was there. I walked over scared. I couldn't breathe. This is what we waited for, what we needed, what we were looking for all that time, what our mother would never give us. I reached and held his hand to try and calm him. He fought it. I told him it was me and fought him back. I told him I was there. His writhing calmed.
He opened his eyes and tried to focus. Who?
Me, Yolanda.
You have to talk slower.
Yo land a, I whispered.
Nand?
He held my face and kissed me.
stay asleep
He kept having heart attacks. One every few minutes. The doctor gave him pills. We left the hospital. As long as he had those pills and as long as I was asleep, this little world existed.
how much time do i have
We stood in front of a garage door. He pressed a button on a key fob. The garage door opened. He pressed another button, the car beeped and the doors unlocked. He stole mom’s car from the garage. A car I never sat in, from a garage I never walked through. We hopped in, he told her we were going to the store. She was yelling at him to get back in bed, or to take his pills. Whatever she was saying, she was pissed at me. He was wearing a red polo shirt and cargo shorts. One of many similar outfits. His glass case rested in his chest pocket. "Face to case," he always said.
We drove through this little hillside town. Full of bouganvilla vines and cobblestones (interesting, it was the same kind of roads as the dream I had with him in the white waiting room that June). He laidthe seat back. He was driving. Wouldn’t let me drive. For some reason. I didn’t insist, for some reason. He kept taking pills. Kept wincing in pain. Kept driving.
stay asleep
I don’t remember what else we did. We talked. I told him I loved him. I had to tell him I loved him so he would know before this little world dissolved. He looked me in the eye. I saw that smile. That smile I knew so well growing up. The one I could always coax out of him with a joke. That laugh. Oh god, his laugh. I knew I had to say goodbye. I wanted to say goodbye before my alarm went off, before he died again. I didn’t want to say goodbye yet.
i want more time
He was out of pills. He grabbed his chest and pulled over. He needed water. Cold water.
not now
I ran into the house we stopped in front of. He followed behind me. It was an Asian family. They didn’t speak English and were scared. I tried to tell them it was okay, I just needed water. We were strangers in their house. Of course they were scared. I didn't care. They grabbed the phone. I ran into the kitchen. My dad needed cold water. Cold, it has to be cold. I saw a water cooler. Got a glass of cold water. He drank it and it was better. The mom was on the phone talking, yelling, pointing and waving at us. I said we were leaving and thanked them.
We were back in the car. Then we were walking in the cobblestone street. Hand in hand. The change in his cargo shorts jingled like always. No words. All words. Peace. Ticking clock. Mom’s voice. Someone's voice. Inner voice? Said it was time.
i know
We were down the hill from the Asian family’s house. I put my hand on his shoulder and said I wanted to talk to him. He was happy. He said yes. We walked up the stairs.
it’s okay
We walked up a flight of stone stairs to the Asian family's backyard. There was a party, trays of food, tables and red table cloths, candles, silverware, fireworks. It was late afternoon, before dusk. They were glad to see us. They were celebrating. We were at a party. I was at a party. Phill was there. I hugged him. I tucked the top of my head into the crook of his chest and chin and smelled him.
My dad’s here.
Where?
I looked over. He was gone.
He’s not here.
That weight of grief hit my chest again, like it always does.
He gave you to me.
i woke up exhausted, drained, gasping for air, filled with grief all over again. these dreams are like reliving his death all over again. these dreams are different than any other dreams i've ever had. i both welcome them and dread them. i wonder every time if this dream is the last dream.
i'd rather relive the grief than say goodbye.
I was in a hospital room. In a chair at a round table. Surrounded by curtains and beeping machines. Curtains all over. Yellow ones. I could see feet where the curtains didn't reach the ground. Feet and scrubs. I don't know why I was there. They were doing ekgs. They got an ekg back from Barron. I heard the lab tech say to calibrate the machine. Barron’s ekg was all pink instead of yellow. They thought the ekg was off. I looked over. I was waiting for medical records. I didn't think I'd actually see him. My dad was laying in a hospital bed. In his blue bathrobe. That bathrobe with the red trim. They got the paddles out. He was writhing in pain. I didn’t want to go over there because I knew he wouldn’t want me to see him that way. His eyes were closed. Maybe he wouldn’t even know I was there. I walked over scared. I couldn't breathe. This is what we waited for, what we needed, what we were looking for all that time, what our mother would never give us. I reached and held his hand to try and calm him. He fought it. I told him it was me and fought him back. I told him I was there. His writhing calmed.
He opened his eyes and tried to focus. Who?
Me, Yolanda.
You have to talk slower.
Yo land a, I whispered.
Nand?
He held my face and kissed me.
stay asleep
He kept having heart attacks. One every few minutes. The doctor gave him pills. We left the hospital. As long as he had those pills and as long as I was asleep, this little world existed.
how much time do i have
We stood in front of a garage door. He pressed a button on a key fob. The garage door opened. He pressed another button, the car beeped and the doors unlocked. He stole mom’s car from the garage. A car I never sat in, from a garage I never walked through. We hopped in, he told her we were going to the store. She was yelling at him to get back in bed, or to take his pills. Whatever she was saying, she was pissed at me. He was wearing a red polo shirt and cargo shorts. One of many similar outfits. His glass case rested in his chest pocket. "Face to case," he always said.
We drove through this little hillside town. Full of bouganvilla vines and cobblestones (interesting, it was the same kind of roads as the dream I had with him in the white waiting room that June). He laidthe seat back. He was driving. Wouldn’t let me drive. For some reason. I didn’t insist, for some reason. He kept taking pills. Kept wincing in pain. Kept driving.
stay asleep
I don’t remember what else we did. We talked. I told him I loved him. I had to tell him I loved him so he would know before this little world dissolved. He looked me in the eye. I saw that smile. That smile I knew so well growing up. The one I could always coax out of him with a joke. That laugh. Oh god, his laugh. I knew I had to say goodbye. I wanted to say goodbye before my alarm went off, before he died again. I didn’t want to say goodbye yet.
i want more time
He was out of pills. He grabbed his chest and pulled over. He needed water. Cold water.
not now
I ran into the house we stopped in front of. He followed behind me. It was an Asian family. They didn’t speak English and were scared. I tried to tell them it was okay, I just needed water. We were strangers in their house. Of course they were scared. I didn't care. They grabbed the phone. I ran into the kitchen. My dad needed cold water. Cold, it has to be cold. I saw a water cooler. Got a glass of cold water. He drank it and it was better. The mom was on the phone talking, yelling, pointing and waving at us. I said we were leaving and thanked them.
We were back in the car. Then we were walking in the cobblestone street. Hand in hand. The change in his cargo shorts jingled like always. No words. All words. Peace. Ticking clock. Mom’s voice. Someone's voice. Inner voice? Said it was time.
i know
We were down the hill from the Asian family’s house. I put my hand on his shoulder and said I wanted to talk to him. He was happy. He said yes. We walked up the stairs.
it’s okay
We walked up a flight of stone stairs to the Asian family's backyard. There was a party, trays of food, tables and red table cloths, candles, silverware, fireworks. It was late afternoon, before dusk. They were glad to see us. They were celebrating. We were at a party. I was at a party. Phill was there. I hugged him. I tucked the top of my head into the crook of his chest and chin and smelled him.
My dad’s here.
Where?
I looked over. He was gone.
He’s not here.
That weight of grief hit my chest again, like it always does.
He gave you to me.
i woke up exhausted, drained, gasping for air, filled with grief all over again. these dreams are like reliving his death all over again. these dreams are different than any other dreams i've ever had. i both welcome them and dread them. i wonder every time if this dream is the last dream.
i'd rather relive the grief than say goodbye.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
my dad liked donuts.
my dad liked donuts.
what dad doesn't like donuts?
i stood there in the cafeteria this morning. holding my cup of scrambled eggs, sprinkle of cheese, and salsa. and i fought back tears.
that lump they said, those feelings they said, that pain they said would hit you in the oddest moments. it always does.
it hit me.
in the cafeteria today.
while i tried to talk gia out of getting donuts for breakfast. after, actually.
i couldn't remember what his favorite kind was.
i looked at darcie. trying to decide between coffee and orange juice. i looked at that guy with the pleasant face and scrubs. smiled at me.
my dad liked donuts.
oh.
oh god.
not here.
look, potato chips.
dad.
shhhh.
choke it back.
don't lose it here.
coffee?
no.
cranberry juice?
stop.
i wanted it to go away. this basketball in my throat that choked me every day after i read that letter. after i got that voicemail. after months and months of looking, of asking, of begging, of sending, of writing. that firepaingiantpunchtothegutcan'tbreatheveragainiamdrowningsuffocation of grief. i knew it would go away. i knew i wouldn't always gasp for breath while gassing up mycar or brushing my teeth. i wanted to be through it. i wanted to stay in it. i wanted to fuse to the couch and live as blue velvet.
he tied my shoes.
he liked donuts.
he taught me how to catch a baseball.
he bandaged my knees.
he said i was strong.
he took off my training wheels and ran next to my bike with his hand on my back.
it never goes away. it evolves. it changes you.and it sucker punches you in the cafeteria.
chocolate. with peanuts.
what dad doesn't like donuts?
i stood there in the cafeteria this morning. holding my cup of scrambled eggs, sprinkle of cheese, and salsa. and i fought back tears.
that lump they said, those feelings they said, that pain they said would hit you in the oddest moments. it always does.
it hit me.
in the cafeteria today.
while i tried to talk gia out of getting donuts for breakfast. after, actually.
i couldn't remember what his favorite kind was.
i looked at darcie. trying to decide between coffee and orange juice. i looked at that guy with the pleasant face and scrubs. smiled at me.
my dad liked donuts.
oh.
oh god.
not here.
look, potato chips.
dad.
shhhh.
choke it back.
don't lose it here.
coffee?
no.
cranberry juice?
stop.
i wanted it to go away. this basketball in my throat that choked me every day after i read that letter. after i got that voicemail. after months and months of looking, of asking, of begging, of sending, of writing. that firepaingiantpunchtothegutcan'tbreatheveragainiamdrowningsuffocation of grief. i knew it would go away. i knew i wouldn't always gasp for breath while gassing up mycar or brushing my teeth. i wanted to be through it. i wanted to stay in it. i wanted to fuse to the couch and live as blue velvet.
he tied my shoes.
he liked donuts.
he taught me how to catch a baseball.
he bandaged my knees.
he said i was strong.
he took off my training wheels and ran next to my bike with his hand on my back.
it never goes away. it evolves. it changes you.and it sucker punches you in the cafeteria.
chocolate. with peanuts.
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