no matter how you slice it, a sandwich is as a sandwich does

this morning ...manure manicured finger sandwiches are being constructed as we speak in my kitchen.

can't hide and can't deodorize their stink.

gotta dig quickly and deeply into mommy-roots and pull up the strongest ones

and wrap those suckers around my head until the words of positivity and strength and self idealization emerge,

encrusted and slimy and damp and ugly

almost forgotten

almost buried treasure, unexplored.

family trees are the hardest to see through.

the forest may run for miles and be transparent as the lace worn on my wedding day

not THE tree

ghosts of unknown relatives line branches, adding weight

separated, thin saplings reach out for extra light and the girth widens

difficult to prune

impossibly unmanageable

connections and origins and budding confusion

dry and cracked, brittle by years of wind storms and lightening strikes, and fallen beneath the forest's canopy

 farther away from belonging and hope,

remembrance and pride,

respect and delight;

or hang precariously and alone 

awaiting the boy to visit and randomly choose his newest fishing implement.

Read below an earlier post, written years ago, when I opened my heart, opened my soul, and shit sandwiches were served on platters to the ones I loved.  I'm perfecting my recipe, just in case you want it...

can barely see through the tears

must write to feel

must write to sort and think and see through

reality tears

acceptance of what i declared

and what responses followed

will follow

more to come

sure thing

reality

admitting purpose has price

to pay

in real time

with real people

real feelings to hurt

real intentions make real consequences

rather throw this keyboard through that window

rather hide

i'm good at it

hiding from reality

and bites

incompatibility of self with you

fit into one and not the other

help and hurt together

wishing i learned this already

might be easier

might not

reality bites

hard

"my heart can't wait to meet you on the other side"~mmj

to have and to hold

I'm not gonna stand and wait

I'm nothing on my own

~Coldplay

what feels right,
right here,
next to, in front, and around every corner
the one who knows,
knows
who I am
why I am here
what I need to work on
and working
together

talk and tell and teach,

feel what I feel 

listen, learn, like me

best

not when I'm holding the conch shell

not when I'm falling asleep while you read

not the minute I walk in the door

you understand

you just forgot

so did I

happenstance has changed our plans...






we share
we hear
we feel
we know
we are together

everlasting

everything

confidence cracked

you know what pisses me off?  friends who don't act like friends.  friends who tell you they always make time for their friends and don't.  friends who ignore you.  friends who are happy to see you until they realize you don't fit into their life.  friends who don't reply to your email, not even one word.  friends who comment on everyone else's wall except yours.  friends who encourage you to open your heart and subsequently crush said heart.

you know what also pisses me off?  how angry i am with my friend and how important this friendship is for me...why are my eyes welling with tears now?  how did i get here?  once hopeful and energized by friend and now frustrated and regretful.  rejected again.  rejected by an old friend, one whom i never thought i would talk to again.  one who reminded me of happy me, pre-depressed me, innocent me.  one with whom i share common interests.  or so i thought.

damned if i do...be myself, tell my truth, feel appreciated.
fuck this world and the horse it rode in on.
too tired to climb the emotional ladder
tired of looking through rose colored fun house mirrors
distortion persuading my heart to peek
look, just a little, maybe this time will be ok
persuading my soul to unlock prayers
and go to bed before I wake
again i fail, fall, frustrate my forward progression

what happened?
no answer
was it something I said?
no answer
one too many emails?
no answer
intrusion of public privacy?
no answer
expectation higher than yours?
no answer
will you please contact me and explain?
nothing
i hear you loud and clear.

i hear gentle crackings, like the iced lake removing itself from the warming shore
that's my confidence
that's why I'm pissed
at myself

How did I get here?

I am the face of depression. 

I am the face of mental illness.

I am the face of mental health.

I am the face of recovery.

I am the face of emotion.

I am the face of misunderstanding.

I am the face of change.

I am the face of passion.

I am the face of humanity.
I am the face of generosity.

I am the face of frustration.

I am the face of negativity.

I am the face of a wife.

I am the face of a mother.

I am the face of a sister.

I am the face of a daughter.

I am the face of family.

I am the face of your friend.

I am the face of creativity.

I am the face of a nurse.

I am the face of reality.

No longer can I hide. 

No longer may I crawl away.

I started writing here two years ago, when I felt like I found buried treasure.  My writing voice tucked away and safely stored.  My passion, masked by the veil I so proudly learned to cover my inadequacies.  My feeling, my soul, my longing for more, all gradually reappeared as I looked inside myself, as I honestly asked, and stubbornly demanded answers.  I have some now.  I will hear more soon.  I’m on the path of redemption.  I am serving penance for my missing years.  Years began a lifetime ago this month.  Years I was granted by God and years I lived unconsciously, mind and soul split into pieces, like torn paper floating downstream.  I was lost and now I’m found.  Or something equally dramatic and less prophetic.  How did I get here?

my so called lifeline

October 4, 2010

My doubt, self doubt, grows exponentially with my silence.  When I tell him that I don’t think I can satisfy him, what am I really saying? Am I asking him for help or asking him to bail?  He’s heard this over and over and it’s ingrained in his thoughts of me.  He says he needs me to tell him what I want. Now.  He needs me to tell him that I want him or that I don’t want him.  That I want to fight for this relationship or that I won’t fight for it.  He wants and needs to hear me include myself in the fixing of this partnership. Or he needs to hear the alternative.  He wants to stick.  God tells him to.  

I am confused.  I am hurt.  I am sad. I want so many experiences and I don’t feel close to my partner.  Did we ever feel close?  When did we think the same and dream the same dreams?  When did we share our desires?

I know I am growing and exploring who I never got to be.  I have consistently been the work-on-it gal.  But maybe my work hasn’t been for the good of closeness.  Have I been working toward strengthening our togetherness or our separateness?  What are my goals now?  What do I have the capability of working on?  Toward?  What do I want to work on?

Testing my limits by going to school and listening to him doubt that I made the right choice without him.  
Testing my mental health by submitting to illogical expectations of a psychotic boss and resigning before she canned me.  
Testing my self confidence and if he is right about my nursing ability.
Getting blindsided by my own confidence.
Feeling like a fool at the mercy of strangers.  
Falling into similar traps at a job without foundation.  
Exhausting myself to please and push for more and to fit in.
Ignoring the signals of security as I watch the walls crumble around me.
Running away before the explosion begins, setting myself up for self implosion instead.

How did I get here?  Where did I come from?  Why do I think this way?  Where is God?

I have felt lost in the last year or two, crying because I was hurt when he didn’t think well of me.  I recall the times he told me that my way of thinking is wrong, that my way of expressing my thoughts is wrong and inefficient and is not worth his time.  So I shut up.  I stopped expressing myself to him.  I stopped trying to explain myself and where I was coming from and how I felt and what I wanted.  I gave up.  After all, I did not want to hear that the man I loved thought negatively about me.  I did not need him to reinforce my self doubt.  Why put myself in a position where I knew I would hurt?

Our conflicts became broken records of despair and futility.  One negative word or head shake or rolling of the eyes or fuck you,  and I’m gone.  Out the door.  Out of the house.  Out of the city.  Out of my mind. Out of reality.  Out of myself.  This is the truth.  I’ve been living outside of myself.

Depressed enough to give up my license.  Depressed enough to say I’ll work for minimum wage.  Embarrassed enough to tell him he was right about me being a nurse.  Frightened enough to lie to myself and hide from the truth.  Until the sunshine blinded my insecurities for a brief moment of clarity and WTF-ness.

I didn’t want to be Rainey anymore.  Rainey is not taken seriously.  Rainey is a baby and frail and frustrated and fragile.  Rainey doesn’t know how to stand up for herself and speak her thoughts and commit to decisions or make and pursue goals.  I want to grow up and be L.  I want to make my own decisions and speak my mind and joke in public and cheer loudly at the games and talk about passionate subjects and tell my family what I really mean and not take their shit anymore.  That includes him.  No more shit sandwiches.  No more crybaby.  No more sulking in the corner.  No more caring what they think.

And I landed softly.  I landed safely.  I carefully caress my nursing career in the home of mental health.  And I feel confidence anew.  I am a nurse.  I am helping and learning and teaching and growing.  And God is with me.  The dance of life continues in the next room.  Please join us.  Please take off your shoes and get comfortable for this ride.  We welcome you back.  We missed you. Now get to work.

What I believe is truth in this room are lies inside the other room.  How I perform here is different than what I perform there. The train tracks switch in between and my mind does not always follow.  Which way do I turn?  Which way do you want me to turn?

I’m taking my meds.  I’m writing and sorting and releasing stress my way.  My way may be the wrong way.  Wrong for this family.  Wrong for these kids.  Wrong for my parents and his.  

He tells me the way I should do this.  Live.  Relate.  Speak my mind.  Listen.  Form goals and work toward them.  Parent.  Partner.
He suggests and helps when he notices my confusion and frustration.  He advises me to do what he does, because it works for him, has worked since he was a kid, 12 or 13 or 14 years old.  Good for him to be confident in his habits and confident in his patterns and with his goals reached and processes of getting there.  Good for him to rely on consistency.  Good for him to keep him afloat through the dark ages.

When I was 12, 13, 14, I was watching my parents split up for some unknown reason and placing me in the arms of a stranger without skills to know how to relate with him.  Placing me in a different world, switching scenes without telling me I had to follow.  Changing the expectations and allowances of my pre-adolescent hormonally developing mind and soul and heart.

Choices stripped.  Opinions banned.  Extraction from comfortable and forward momentum.  Forced into unknown and unsupported.  Doubted and divided.  Slapped and insulted.  Stifled and censored.  Ignored and injured.  Where am I going?  Where are you taking me?  What am I supposed to do now?  Who is leading me?  Where am I?

And I ran.  Toward acceptance of the negative sort.  From strangers who barely knew me and who I didn’t have to reveal myself. I didn’t have to hold back my passion.  And I flew.  Into trouble and insecurity of the adolescent kind.  The trouble of who do I like and how do I deal and what if I’m rejected?  Trouble of trying to ignore my home life long enough to feel like I could be happy otherwise.  Pretend to like yourself or don’t and pretend others do.  Release and reject.  Revive sanity temporarily.  Act two roles.  Isn’t that what I was taught?  Be someone you’re not in order to survive?  Be what they want you to be in order to be accepted?  In order not to get hit or hurt or doubt yourself more?  
Don’t ask questions. Don’t lead with ideas.  

 
August 8, 2011  (10 months later)

Full circle.  Right back where I started.  I’m at it again.  The last paragraph is my story.  The only one.  The missing link in my lifetime of sorrow.  No rusted links, only shiny like new, strong as ever sharp, cold metal connections, from my ten year old happy-go-lucky fourth grader to my presently fucked up self.  Breaking hearts and taking names by accident.  The accidental tourist of my own life.  45 years take away ten real good ones and 35 links later, I’m the expert avoider.  Just call me super sucka!

Therapist on board.  Not holding back from the fears thrown at me.  I’m taking strikes until my bat makes contact, until I feel the spark of energy, the mass of force pushing me through the motion by the release of weight off my shoulders.  When I watch the homerun ball soar above us all, it’s arch predetermined by my positioning, and see the open sky smiling, I will know. I will know.

And since I have no idea how that Babe Ruth-esque moment will feel, or when clarification will arrive, I’m grounded in my garden dugout, watching weeds pop up out of nowhere and wishing a giant hand will reach down to pull me up too.  

lesson

Advice from a friend
Gift of empowerment
The way in.

Truth or dare?

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.7

cue Johnny Cash...

I thought about this keyboard all day.  Thoughts positive and light, waiting to be pieced together and shared.  Here goes…

Been kinda’ down the last few months for whatever reason or sense of something missing.  Been searching, yearning, reaching…for something undefined and needed.  Overanalyzed everything.  Pushed people’s buttons til they walked away.  Hid from others because they could not see.  Blah, blah…the same old story I tell with every breath I take.  Evolution of L.  Sad saga.  Life goes on.  And WTF!

Pullin up those proverbial bootstraps and beginning again.  I fired and rehired myself.  Not sure when the metamorphosis ensued, or the event that triggered.  Not gonna’ over think this one, just gonna describe the feelings.  Hands inside the car, seatbelts fastened, tray tables set for lunch…I’m feeling better.  I feel good.  Smiling.  Positive.  My thoughts are turning toward the sun and my shoulders feel looser.  Cluttered cobwebs be gone!

So what?  So let’s enjoy, shall we?

I was called to give advice to a friend whom I’m just beginning to know.  The subject matter was only familiar because the problem involved a female, which I sometimes play on TV.  My friend is a man and I have no experience giving this kind of advice to a man. Long story shorter, I found my perspective intelligent and fair and I came away feeling strong and straight and alive.  Although my friend’s situation is heartbreaking for him, a door has opened within my soul and I feel the fresh air circulating in my brain.  Placing myself in another woman’s shoes in order to fulfill his answers, in order to create temporary solace, with hope that he can see the bigger picture before his cliff rises to meet his doubts and fears, wishing I could make sense of the unknown in order for his heart to continue beating…I listened for hours and I played my part.  He claims I helped him.  He thanked me for caring.  He continues to battle against his broken dreams.  And I pat myself on my back.

Something’s shifted.  Energy movement from him to me?  Chakra, karma, ying, yang?  Insert a profound quote.  Re-tweet from Buddha or to write love on her arms (TWLOHA).  Read a paragraph from my nurse’s notes in a resident’s chart.  Clicking. Jiving.  Dancing.  Mentally moving to the beat of another part of myself.  My confident self.  Shit I feel good typing these words.  Thinking this way, claiming this land as my own.  By myself, using my learned skills and practiced talents.  I work my earth to produce more.  More me.  More of my mind.  More to share with you.  If you’ll have me.

I have a garden metaphor pertaining to my growth.  I’ve sprinkled my garden throughout one or two blog entries, hoed and tilled and fertilized over time.  Ignored it too. Today the muddy path and tangled roots are clearing.  My seedlings are planted and  sheltered from the wind and snow that will fall again.  Spring will come, says my French class friend.  From afar I watch his moves.  Learning what he began teaching me last year.  To live today and love today.  To be grateful for who I am and who surrounds me.  Tragedy lurks and fate occurs and only God knows what time schedule we fly by.  No use to worry or ask why.  Create, elate, celebrate! 

Jb, you opened my eyes and pointed my gaze inward.  You encouraged me to bust open my soul’s windows, to enter cautiously into the dark depths of myself, kept hidden and cold.  You reminded me of a lifetime where my heart was clean and fresh and trusting.  You represent a part of myself, of my life, that was forgotten and left for dead.  You revived me without intention.  You assured me by proxy.  You did what I remember of you three decades ago:  shared kindness.  I didn’t realize how lost I was until you helped me find my passions, my dreams, my unanswered questions.  You lit the spark inside of me that I had no idea was dying.  I had no inkling of its existence, of the flames preparing to ignite. 

FIRE!!!!

So I ran.  I ran into my fire.  I’m a slow learner, a procrastinator, distracted and unstructured.  I’ve been running through my fire for months, fanning flames with beer and chocolate, throwing on logs made of restlessness and doubt, walking over hot coals instead of walking with God.  The warmth engulfs me and I become complacent and charred.  Such is life.  Life worth fighting for.  Life lived once on earth and life of grace to live later.  No matter how fast I run, or how hot my soul’s fire, life will lead.  I am life’s follower.  I am part of the massive picture, the one I cannot begin to see unless I believe.  Unless I allow my talents to emerge positively.  Unless I allow others inside, even when I doubt they will understand.  Unless I turn my face to the sun especially during the dark of night.  Unless I forgive myself for my past.  Unless I open my perspective to possibility I fear.  Unless I slow down enough to hear your soul’s song.  Unless I tend my garden and share my laborious fruits.  Unless I look around the blinders and stretch my head out of the sand.  Unless I ask and unless I answer. 

Peace
Hugs
Light
Love
~L

round 2

I awake to find no peace of mind...

my boys yell at each other.  grown men with grown bodies and deep voices and posturing.  wild animals prey here.

look at the way we live.  which way do i turn?  where do I hide from the spinning and the fog?  the instinctual cowering, the flashback of sound, the loneliness of out-of-control...

(they can't touch you...they're just spies)

guitar picks over the remains of the day

the cymbals behind you sweetly keep time

promises no more

to look out and look over you

say anything.

retreat, huddle alone

I know I let you down

I know I held you back

unconsciously.

I hear the harmony enter

I hear that other voice 

in my other ear...

singing surprises

sweetness 

solitude

serenity

somebody else's now

the stars go on shining the universe

the moon wanes and the sun flashes

and people feel the truth or the lies

no matter

choice making

and shit stomping

now is today and yesterday

festers inside

that is why I cry a puddle

while standing the lone quarterback in my huddle

push em back! push em back!

cheering sidelines scream up the stairs

through the walls

over the dining table

I know, I know.

the warm sticky oozes through my throat

renders speech null

and fills voids darker than yesterdays

put a bushel over it

put that light out

light a new candle with star sparks

let go and let

the universe and God collide 

while you and yours crescendo toward

unanswers

value added can be removed

the flash of anger ignites and multiplies demons

singers and dancers and guitar pickers are not enough to distract

the wallflower continues her stance

spider sews webs inside your head

everything's not lost...until

paralyzed 

stuck to this chair

wires slam shut my ears

ignoring you and you

wishing and praying you stop

living in fear of myself

and what wake I leave

and the future I am obliged to save

if I can't figure out now then wtf?

if then, then this

life doesn't fit into formulas

the world doesn't spin by your theorem

children die

killers kill

assholes kick unconscious men where they lay bleeding

insanity karate chops skyscrapers and scrambles karma

friends suffer

family leave

homeless squat

diseased drivel up

government embarrasses

ministers make messes

darlings do drugs

teachers touch

players pretend

parents pose

children cheat and lie and hide

the cycle spins on

spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning

peace, love, understanding ~L

Thank you Lord for understanding women.

Women hear me.  Women know what I'll say before I say it.  Women move closer when they see tears.  Women touch, distract, remember, realize, and touch again.  Women in my life are special and I hope I treat them as such.

Lately I have not felt like myself, like I should, like I expect to.  The cobwebs are accumulating and cross stitching inside my mind.  No room for additional thought patterns, no open runways to land on.  Clouds hover over my damaged wing.  The wing I repaired over the year is still weak.  Still hurting.  My new feathers wilting under the typhoon of sound.  The carousel's lights flash and I'm blinded temporarily.  All the horses and tigers smile as they circle past.  No open seats for this rider.  The queue for you.

Exit, reads the sign.  Purge and push open that steel door.  Walk slowly down the dark alley.  Don't look over your shoulder.  Keep your eyes on the blue light, gradually enlarging to the rhythm of your steps.  Feel the faint breeze on your cheek, smell the rain and the possibility.  Breathe.  Breathe deeper.  Almost there.  You're so close.  You're going to make it.  Concentrate and keep moving.  Let your soul sense direction and your body follow.  Stop questioning.  Stop wondering.  Embrace the warmth of anticipation manifested within.

walk out into the sunburst street sing your heart out sing my heart out I found grace inside a sound I found grace that's all that I found and I can breathe breathe now breathe (U2)

part of the story

(originally written to French class friend prior to the birth of this blog 10/2009)

Forty three years ago…my day is approaching. Unconscious reflection consistently appears this time of year. I remember some horrible horrible birthdays. Sad, cautious, mean birthdays. In my adulthood. The best b-days were the ones in Wheeling. Mom combined brother's with mine cause his is November, and we themed it Halloween. All the kids wearing costumes and bobbing for apples in our basement and a long picnic table inside with party hats, cake and balloons. A world ago. Another lifetime…my first lifetime.

My lifetime before the move and divorce a couple years later. Before I was forced to stand under dad’s umbrella of confusion and guilt. When Mom asked us who we wanted to live with and she gave us to Dad anyway.

…Before we visited Mom at her little condo apartment down the road and had sleep overs with the strange furniture and strange expectations. Before Mom moved in with that guy with a long ponytail, at his house. Where did he come from? And where’s Morton Grove? Too far apparently to see Mom often. Good thing I was almost outta there…5 hour drive away to the next lifetime.

1976: Step right up folks, see the brand new home built in the sticks, away from everything familiar and everyone I know in my whole life of ten years old. Bigger house, better home? Mom works sporadically, Dad develops his home office. Why is he staying overnight so often at his apartment in Chicago? Doesn’t he work here? Oh the weather and the games and the nightlife…disco lessons and foreign friends. Huh??

Then the long secret, closed-door discussions Mom and Dad would have in the basement office. We’d sit upstairs watching TV and listening for arguing…none heard. Don’t think it’s bad, cause they’re not hurting each other as far as we can tell. No explanation for a year or so. Then mom takes me into her room to fold laundry with her, one quiet evening. Dad’s in the city, bro and sis somewhere else in the house…The laundry folding talk will always be remembered.

The main points: Your Dad and I are divorcing. Who would you like to live with, if you could choose? Well, sorry, Dad said he would take us all to court and fight for custody so I’m letting him have you. I don’t want that court experience to hurt you. He’ll keep you here, same house, same routine, same friends. You can stay home from school tomorrow and Dad’s coming home so we can talk as a family.

My thoughts: Where did this come from? I didn’t even see you argue or hear yelling from the basement. Why would I want to live with Dad, he’s never around, he and I don’t do anything together, and he’s no fun. Are you joking? I need my mother. So dad’s got more money and knows people who can screw you? I get it, dad’s in the mafia or something and he wants our life to suck. See why I don’t want to live with him? Are you joking? When is this happening to me? What do I tell my friends? Nothing’s the same. Where’s my Mom gonna be when I need her? When will I wake up from this dream? What is happening????

The new lifetime begins. How many is that now?

And the journaling begins. And so does the lifetime of depression. The lifetime began is replaced with the unknown eggshell walk of teen angst and risky behavior and self disrespect and craving love and wishing for change and fighting the forces of unreasonable expectations. Bye bye childhood lifetime. I’ll remember you fondly and pretend I’m still there with you. You, me, child innocence, growth began, wonderment explored, hopes raised, comfort creepin in…I mourn you all. And never see you again.

Finality hurts, no matter the reason.

Loss is mourned, no matter the subject.

No matter who you are

Who you want to be

Losing lifetime is unfair…

For a child.

Find the cost of Freedom…CSNY sings to me now. The costs are high and I’m not done paying. Mother Earth will swallow you, lay your body down. Wish it was that simple. Not my choice to end God’s lifetime. Must live on until He says I’m done. My lifetimes may be molded though.

in a rut

I'm pissed off and out of steam. don't want to talk about how we talk.  stop trying to explain yourself calmly now when you already told me what you really think of me saturday night.  great date, by the way.  I enjoyed every minute together laughing with our friends and your friends and their friends...until you told me why you weren't.  why the fuck do you let me go on for hours if you think I'm embarrassing you?  why don't you sulk or something so I get the hint and shut up?  I wasn't even drinking, you were the one who encouraged she add rum to my diet coke.  what did you expect, hotter sex?  ding, ding, ding, what did he win instead?  a mean bitch who jokes and barbs at his expense.  whata' catch!

did you bring your compound bow, cuz you may need to go postal on her ass when her mouth starts opening.

twenty years ago I was oblivious.  twenty years later I'm surprised.  did we just wake up from a twenty year dream?  are we still fresh college grads, groping each other in front of joe public and not giving a shit who knows we are, oops, pregnant? Or was I too blind to pick up on the doubts you garnered after your parents warned you about my ulterior motives?  oh yeah, I had motives...I motivated myself to be strong and brave while our first child grew inside of me.  I motivated my way to my parents' homes to tell them I fucked up and was moving on.  I motivated my tears to hide and my dreams to be put on hold.  Motivated to find my way in dimly lit reality.  After all, we had each other and we were in love.  cliches can be useful when telling oneself everything will be OK. 

So impressions are important now.  Like every Christmas we stuffed into your childhood home, chasing toddlers away from accidents waiting to happen, sleeping on a soggy mattress in an unheated room, fielding canned beer from the basement for the men, posing for photos with crabby babies and crabbier adults, pretending to like the gifts we opened and pretending to know who we received from, attempting conversation without giving away family secrets, fielding career questions and parenting tips from those who wanted us to know better.  Impressed?  not likely.  Confused?  me too.  Why do you hold me accountable for who I am when you know exactly what I'm made of?

another cliche:  buyer beware.  I know who you are and I adjust.  I live with the good and move around the unpleasant.  I expect no perfection, no platitudes.  I'm over that, under that, been there, done that.  Why do you seem to suffer so at the foundation of our differences, now, twenty years past the I do's and I don't know how?   I sit in our kitchen at 2:46 am, typing while you sleep because I'm gonna burst if I don't get this out.  Purging.  Releasing.  Silently shouting at myself as my head hangs in shame.  My insecurities have flared and the fire grows with each fuck up.  How many is that now?  since 1989...burn, baby, burn.

calm before the storm?

brown speckled seagull
fighting warm wind
dancing with the water
in the sunshine's heat
visitors parked at peninsula's tip
fishing poles plopped into the drink
quietly queued sailboats
sunburst sand dunes
protect, reflect, return to home
changing scenery
people come and people go
shadows rotate the horizon
light piercing a hole through my shades
climbing into my mind's eye
winching wider
searching for the light at the end of this tunnel
looking for who I'll be in a few hours
left holding my bag of tricks
talented tricks used only for good
quickly breathe before you bobble
no bobbling allowed
no emotion or opinion
we have all been here before
wait a minute...I get it
boundaries and fences surviving through each blizzard
patterns of building blocks interpreted with care
I may be making this up, self fulfilling prophecy
the brown speckled seagull still sits to my left
returning from sky romping and fish finding
sustainability simplified
securely sound on that faded yellow line
every time the same line, the same curb, the same stance
predictable yet likeable
symbolism sucks.

the more things change, the more they....well, you know.

Here's an older post, from january, a few months ago. My words are rough and my emotion is raw...that's me at my best and my worst. I put this one on the back burner, hidden from readers, saved for future use...apparently my family can't absorb the strength of my soul and when some read of my trouble, I received phone calls and "talks" about my sanity. Didn't y'all know I was crazy? I thought that was a given!
Today I require a revisit and review of this scene. Introspection running rampant in my mind begs for answers to similar questions. I'll fill you in later. Life is calling.
~L

Honesty is the best policy.

So here's the truth. I wanted to run away last night. I drove two hours, stopped to look for a hotel to sleep overnight, and turned around toward home. I'm glad I changed my mind. All I needed was time to think, and sleep. Which I did when I arrived home at 2:30 am.

No one knew I had escaped. My son called me to tell me he was home at curfew and we exchanged I love you's. My husband was in the basement when I left, and when I returned. They still have no clue. Irrational? A little. Necessary? You betcha'.

It's not my first attempt at escaping my reality by automobile. I can drive the four hours to my extended family in my sleep, been traveling that road for over 20 years. Usually I head in their direction. Usually I am guaranteed a soft place to land with one of my clan. This time I wanted to avoid them at all costs. Really, I needed to avoid confrontation. Confrontation put me in my car and pushed me out of town. No, I needed and wanted a reprieve. A respite. I was looking for peace.

Here I sit, 24 hours after my great escape, wondering where I am. I cannot see the forest from the trees. I'm squinting through leaves, standing on my tip toes, craning my neck to look around twisted branches. Too bad the sun isn't shining, I could use more light. Here I sit, 24 hours later, sorting through the underbrush. Shall I gather sticks and start a fire? I may have to stay here for a while. What will I use for cover if it begins to snow? I'm on my own, so I best begin. Begin again. Again.

Lay me down in the cool grass and let me do my stuff (Fleetwood Mac).

My husband and I have been married for 20 years. Well, officially shy by two months, which in the grand scheme of two decades of matrimony, means nothing. My husband and I confronted our demons last night...again. The unwelcome demons that linger here. I hate these demons. I hate them. Hate them. Hate. These fears that paralyze us. The feelings that haunt us. The misunderstandings and miss-communications that fuel our fire. The past precedents of confrontation eat at us, even after we promise them away for good. They tear at our hearts and reveal our weaknesses to each other. The ugly truth rears its head and we talk and emote and engage and stop listening. My husband and I own a pattern and cycle of dysfunctional cooperation. We are not partners. We know this.

We struggle to get along. To like each other. To expect less and receive more. To be content with each other and comfortable together. For twenty years we try. Our history is colorful and checkered. Checkered with choices of circumstance and change. Checkered with unexpected tragedy and unfinished trials. Checkered by the dissimilar expectations we brought with us. Last night I saw, heard, and felt my husband's pent up frustration and anger. Last night was another reminder of our separate lives desperately trying to fit together. I told him my truth and he told me his.

We have all been here before...(CSNY)

Each day I keep my depression in check and my life takes on meaning which he does not understand. I am misunderstood by my life partner and I feel sad. I feel sad because he tells me that I misunderstand him. I feel hollow inside when I see his eyes tear and his voice crack when he tells me that he doesn't know how much more he can take, or give. I empathize. I do. I feel exactly the same honey.

Still we live on. Forging what must be the shape of a married couple's life. Following the bread crumbs we find and praying we found the ones that lead us somewhere...and not back where we started. Last night we came back around, again. We walked onto the path of destruction and started running toward our familiar. Histrionic emotions exited by mouth and entered our storm. Hurt thundered around our heads. Regret gained velocity and pushed the demons closer. And I ran.

going underground

I've made a decision and it includes YOU. 

I'm privatizing my blog, inviting only, sharing my innermost bullshit with those who choose to accept.  If YOU want to be included, please comment to this entry.  I'll leave it up for one week and then I'm closing the public shop and sending out secret handshakes.  

Yea, I may be copping out, but I'm doing it my way.  My way to play is too honest for some.  My way of communicating seems to muddle friendships and mess relationships.  Not my intention all those 9 or 10 months ago.  Delicate beginnings beg to be reborn. Once bitten, twice shy.

Advice and ideas are always welcome.

Negativity is not.

I'm building a positive playhouse.  I need a respite to call my own.  I'm sorry for YOU who are offended by my deepest honesty.  I am sorry for YOU who must question my emotions against yours.  I'm sorry that YOU did not appreciate my creativity for creativity's sake.  I am sorry that YOU may not allow yourself to know the real me.  I will see you on the flipside, calm, cool and collected.  Non controversial as agreed.

until I hear from YOU again...for whatever reason,

PEACE,

~L

tell it to me tuesday on wednesday

Tell it to me Tuesday, a little late.  It's a 10 minute free write so here I go:

Listen to yourself.
Truth or dare?
who's truth?
not for you or me to claim.
I know mine and you know yours.
Let it be.
let go and let God.
That's what you preach so let's put your money where your mouth is.
Yes, you know who I'm talking to.
You.
Me.
everyone.
because I have words and feelings and truth to share also.
and have I been negative about your ideas?
never.
have I hurt you...
despite your interpretation of hurt, like lack of laughter
whatever you search for I hope you find
your heart is large
your mind is open
your humor is...humorous
I like you but.

Hello L
I like you too.
your truth is refreshing
you are using your gifts as you should
as God wants
love everyone
love yourself
love life
laugh and live

my world is alive
thank you for joining me
thank you for your opinions
thank you for letting me know what you think
you don't really know me
unfortunate for you
too bad, so sad

how's that for funny?

reread, rewrite, reuse

~today I felt a bit veklempt (anyone watch SNL in the 80's?)...thinking about friends fighting illnesses and unexpected challenge, a blogger who has to hide her honesty, and how to face my self-doubt and forge ahead anyway...thus I look over my shoulder at my own words, written here several months ago, removed and revamped.  Old words, new thoughts, former feelings, fresh anticipation, cathartic writing serves its purpose twice.  And honors my hopeful honesty.  Food for thought.  

Writing helps center me, whether I’m read or not. Put myself out there in private as a trial run and then approach life with thoughts in order and behaviors tested. I shoulda’ coulda’ woulda’ this technique with past experiences. May have run smoother, may not have. Moving forward is the only direction now. Must I announce this beginning, the new journey I’m traveling? Must others know the details or just give it to them and let them explore with me? I like the latter with one exception…the questions.  The answers don’t come quick. Hell, I don’t even have them yet. I am still unstructured.

Shaped and formed and tweaked and molded to suit my spirit. A friend helps this process and I can’t get enough. I’m set in overdrive…what’s the rush? One day at a time. No one can take this away from you. Your writing, your thoughts, your feelings about everything. But I want more anyway. More of the good stuff, the stuff that gets me high on living. Whatever force lives inside my body right now and has me physically electrified. It’s a new lifetime forming, being born.

Expectations run rampant in my world. I’m still unwrapping the pieces and fitting them together into my puzzle. Let’s start with mine. What’s on that list again? Kindness, service, loyalty, fear of God. OK, sounds reasonable. Is that list the same as my husband’s list for me? Probably. My kids’ list? Maybe. My patients, coworkers, neighbors, friends? Sounds good. So what’s the conundrum?

How is the question. How I think through my choices, how I combat my challenges and question my emotions. How others' perceive me. How I see myself. How I’ve been taught and how I’ve taught others. How my actions affect your actions and feelings and expectations of me…more circles goin round and round and round. I’m dizzy, and that is not a new fact. We have all been here before…

Do you know the impulsive, inconsiderate, selfish part of me who forgets to breathe before I pounce?  The truth is…that’s my truth. The pattern is obvious by the journeys of my past, the turns I’ve taken at each sharp fork have given me the craving for better and the speed to run toward whatever pulls me closer to my truth. Pulls me closer to what I am and not what I should be for others. Pulls me out of one circle and into another. Magnets. Magnets are people too.

 

Made in America

 

(NPR's photo)

living on credit and courage
broken dreams

brown pelicans wearing oil

big corporations watching the dow instead of the drill

the little people

big money

the Man

God's creatures

tar balls

threatened livelihoods

dead fish and drowned hopes

tired efforts

swimming in sad

pushing against potential

Spike Lee and Anderson Cooper

Presidents past and present

volunteers wiping blades of grass and foul feathers

fishing industry waits

families wonder why

I ache and cry

write and ache

read and watch

share shots 

aware of our fragility

futility

falliability

hiding

can barely see through the tears

must write to feel

must write to sort and think and see through

reality tears

acceptance of what i declared

and what responses followed

will follow

more to come

sure thing

reality

admitting purpose has price

to pay

in real time

with real people

real feelings to hurt

real intentions make real consequences

rather throw this keyboard through that window

rather hide

i'm good at it

hiding from reality

and bites

incompatibility of self with you

fit into one and not the other

help and hurt together

wishing i learned this already

might be easier

might not

reality bites

hard

my heart can't wait to meet you on the other side~mmj

mellow music repeated

one song

one sound

one circle closing

all things comin back round

upside down

beginning to ending

end to begin

possible?

ready?

really?

supporters in place?

very needy

very moody

very scary

help please.