Megan

Megan

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(no subject)	[Dec. 13th, 2009\|09:44 pm]
Outside the rain is tapping on the leaves. To me, it sounds like they’re applauding us--the quiet love we’ve made. Will I always feel this way? So empty, so estranged? It is pouring. I am watching steam rise from the streets as droplets make tiny ripples on the asphalt. wondering how the clouds can hold so much in. Wondering when they decide to release it all, and if they ever run out of rain. It all reminds me of us--how much we cleave to, and how heavy, full, and thick it makes us feel inside. The smell just before the clouds crack open and spill out reminds me of the moments when we feel everything ten-fold & we can sense the breaking point near. We know ourselves and the clouds know when they’ve had enough. Secretly they know--we know--that there is no such thing as holding on forever. So the clouds loosen their grip. All at once, a dam breaks in the sky and the whole world feels it. They have held on too long, those clouds. Sometimes the world calls us to relent. I am watching all of this from behind a glass door, enclosed by four walls. I am battling the urge to burst through them and get my hair wet. I want to wade in the puddles, to stare up at the clouds and feel their surrender beat against my face. I want to thank them for it, for letting me know that it is okay spill out. It is all too much. It can't fit inside. It has been such a long year. Such a long, long year. And I am ready for it to end. This time here has left me older in the face and in the soul--much more worn. I am harder and softer than I was 12 months ago. More and more, I wonder at this crazy world, and what it’s made of. The connectedness that we all feel between each other, and the inequities of man, and how both can exist at once. Doesn’t one cancel out the other? Doesn’t innate compassion defeat invented hate? Benevolence conquer greed? Maybe only in my dreams. I think this year has called upon my humanity. It has awoken something inside me that says, “go beyond what you see.” I am trying hard to listen. Crown and anchor me Or let me sail away.
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(no subject)	[Nov. 21st, 2009\|03:11 pm]
I`m perfectly lonely `Cause I don`t belong to anyone And nobody belongs to me.
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I could drink a case of you.	[Nov. 9th, 2009\|11:04 am]
I remember the time you told me, You said, "Love is touching souls," Surely you've touched mine. Because part of you pours out of me In these lines from time to time. I've been listening to Joni Mitchell a lot. Her voice resonates with me. She's special. I miss San Francisco. I miss that enormous red bridge, and how it revealed itself to us for a special while, just before the fog rolled in and it got lost. I miss the sound of the sparking cables overhead, and the fact that no one litters. I miss good breakfasts and the sailboats along the marina and all the bicycle commuting. I miss the way that every home is different--a different color, a different shape, open windows. I miss the throbbing in my feet after an entire day of foot-travel around the giant city. I miss cheap liquor and drunken strolls near the bay, beneath a giant dim-lit rotunda. I miss hopping into bed with two people that I love, that know how to love me back. Mostly, I miss the anonymity. For a few days, I got to exist somewhere as just another person, among thousands of other people. I got to throw my baggage into the Pacific, and exist without a name tag that reads, "crappy friend," or "lousy daughter," or "shitty student" or "sister", or "good friend" or "wonderful daughter," or "significant other", or "babe." I was another body. True, I went to San Francisco with my story, we all travel with our stories. They burn like a fire inside. And perhaps it's about uncovering them a little, letting the smoke out. Maybe letting that fire breathe is better. Maybe love extinguishes it a bit, so that it does not rage and thrash and we do not self-destruct. Maybe I am so nostalgic now, counting down the days until another escape because this name tag is back. My anonymity is gone and there are ten thousand pairs of shoes to fill. I have this fear of sinking. I think this fear is what drives me so far away and clear of love. It is what sets off the mechanism inside that renders me unreachable--or so I think. I still do not know if this is the best way. If treating romantics like the ships in that ocean--distant and at bay--is right. I wonder if I will ever be able to hear anything but lies when someone confesses to me their love. I wonder if I will ever be able to look deep into the eyes of a man and see the truth. But we all wonder if the choices we make will carry us to where we want to go. Most of us still wonder where that is. I know that letting go is okay and right. I know that sometimes it is easier to believe in holding on. The "when" is the hard part. It is a sea-saw, an incredibly sensitive game of teetering between too much and not enough. And it seems that it is time to step off of the sea-saw and walk away. Sometimes that hurts. And sometimes it feels like a deep breath. I wish I were in a car headed North back to that bay, beneath the Rotunda, stumbling through the streets in a serenely, divinely, painfully aware bliss. But I am here and that is there. And I see, now, how much waits for me when I am ready for it. You're in my blood like holy wine You taste so bitter and so sweet Oh, I could drink a case of you And I would still be on my feet.
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You are the only exception.

[Sep. 29th, 2009|04:38 pm]

[	Current Mood	\|	rushed	]
[	Current Music	\|	Paramore of course.	]

And my momma swore that
She would never let herself forget
And that was the day I promised
Id never sing of love
If it does not exist

I am thinking about what Sabrina Ward Harrison says (how many times have I started a sentence like that?). About how she feels that inside her, there is this surge to love, but she can't reach it, she can't find it. This is exactly how I feel: unreachable. Isolated by these stupid fucking walls. How strange to think that I have gone years in construction mode, and never realized what I was building and why. Until now.

I was so convinced that if I kept it far away, that if I built a little moat around my fortress, then I could sleep at night. I could wake without a broken heart. If etched into my eyelids were the words "everyone leaves," then nothing could knock the wind out of me. There would be no broken pieces to fix at the end. Nothing would break. I am a brick wall. Good plan.

Not so much. I guess my biggest fear is that, in deflecting all of the bad shit that can bring such pain, I have succeeded in repelling so much good. Is there a medium? Do they have super-powered detectors that distinguish what will hurt in the end, and what will last? I know this is a concept I've dreamt up in my idiot head. And it's sustained me and kept my soul intact. I was so safe. But now I can't breathe. Now I am left in this safe little hole that I've dug, and I feel so inaccessible. Solitary confinement. It is a catacomb. I am buried deep inside of myself. It is lonely here. And that loneliness is foreign.

So today, I take my surge to love and I crawl out of this hole, if only inch by inch. I take with me my weakness and my strength, and I get the fuck out of this giant cavity in the earth and at the bottom of my soul. There is nothing here for me. Everything I need is outside, waiting.

Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul
That love never lasts
And we've got to find other ways
To make it alone
Or keep a straight face
And I've always lived like this
Keeping a comfortable distance
Up until now I had sworn to myself
That I was content with loneliness.

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wish we had booze.	[Aug. 9th, 2009\|08:42 pm]
My brain suffocates me. There are 36 thousand things going on inside, and there is hardly room for oxygen. Blah! There is money. Always, always money worry. It seems so petty in my vision of all other things. Though, it is more than dollar signs and debt. It is about the feelings of inadequacy--the dream that I will someday be free from this worry, and the reality that dreams are just dreams. Everything in this world comes with a price tag. I fantasize that there will come a time when I will be able to look at the tiny balance in my bank account and go on my merry way, because everything will matter so much more. I am an idealist this way. Still, I wont let go of this fantasy. Why should I? I refuse to believe in anything less. There is school worry. I am taking the steps, trying with everything that I have to trust that the answers will reveal themselves when they are ready for me, and I for them. S.W.Harrison asks, "When do we know we have found our true North?" When? Where? My heart tugs me in a certain direction. I am supposed to help people. I am. I feel it thick in my bone marrow, beneath my skin. It pulsates in my veins and wells up into my eyes. I just know. But how, why? Where? Here, now? What does any of this even mean? My soul is filled with passion for people. And the little things seem to get in the way. Am I intelligent enough for this? What University will I transfer to? Does it matter? Should it? There is family worry. Mom worry. Worry for my car. Worry for time. Body worry. Mirror worry. Dog worry. Scar worry. Friend worry. Worry worry worry. And there is someone new. He is kind, and warm, and just as lost as I am. Annnnd so it begins. I wonder why the hell we are attracted to anyone anyway. I seem to fall for people who need me. People who acknowledge my longing to care and comfort and understand. "These wounds are self-inflicted." But why? Why must I be needed to feel right? What am I trying to give myself? What is my soul lacking and why the fuck am I looking outward and not in? Why do I long to give this to anyone but myself? Still, he is so kind and gentle. And somewhere deep inside he has the capacity to love. I see it in his hands. They are nice hands, I trust them. But he is still human, and we are flawed. He will hurt me. He'll leave. And I can't seem to let the love in. I want to be brave and love in spite of whatever loss comes. But do I have this in me? The energy to be vulnerable? Again? The time and the nurturing that relationships take? Do I have the guts for this? Is it time to let go? How do we know? I know--the deep kind of "know"--that most things are worth it in the end. But sometimes all the knowing in the world cannot coax the heart into battle. It cannot stop our sewing-shut. This cowardice, the running--it is not me. Am I broken? I am reminded of Melanie and her bravery. I often feel justified for my retreat, my urge to cut my losses and bail before everything is gone. Melanie would understand. And then she would tell me to breathe and let go. She would remind me that we are meant to feel it all, the butterfly flutter in our stomachs, the soft, slow opening of the chest and the real, insatiable passion. But also, the loss & the deep, deep ache at the end. Because it ends, it all does. Jess would tell me that the end matters least in love, that the means will always justify what is left. We need it to live. Sabrina would look me in the eyes and tell me to smile, that I am worth this and that I deserve the happiness. Melissa would remind me of where I come from, that I am born from the greatest love there is. Mama would tell me all about how much there is to learn, how much good there is waiting for me. All of these things are true and right. But what do I say? How do I begin? Will these question marks ever transform into something more sturdy, somewhere I can find a balance, a peaceful place to lay this head of mine? I hope. *WE WERE MADE TO BE LOVERS, BOLD IN BROKEN PLACES. POURING OURSELVES OUT AGAIN AND AGAIN UNTIL WE ARE CALLED HOME.*
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Chilladas.	[Jul. 25th, 2009\|12:14 am]
I am remembering this evening, and my heart is happy. Granted, there was booze involved. And I thank the Lord for it. Really, I am replaying my silly little life over in my head, and my heart is still so happy. Happy happy, the kind of happy that isn't fleeting, that is stuck to my insides like glue. The kind that has spackled the cracks, that has filled the gaps. Big giant gaps, the deepest trenches and tiny hairline fractures in my being that are self inflicted, some that aren't. Sometimes it is so ugly, is it not? I stare out at this life I've been given and i feel the shards of glass pierce my broken, broken heart. And it takes all that I have to hold together my cracking ribcage, so that all that is inside me does not spill out. And I weep for all of the things that I've seen, and all of the hurt that I've felt. Still feel, every minute of every day. All of the shit that awaits. If I let it seep in, it can take my breath away. And sometimes, rather than looking out at it, I look into my life and the beautiful, conditionless love waves a friendly hello, as if she's returning from a long trip, as if she's been awaiting an invitation back. As if it has been in my hands all this time. And I feel foolish for having forgotten her. Tonight we sat around our patio table playing Black Jack, chain smoking and sipping our liquid happy. And it awed me. All of the hurt and pain was still real, still existed. Still jagged and stinging and persistent. But we laughed and danced and dripped sweat and spilled wine and sang Frank Sinatra. And I was reminded, so gracefully that the love is still there too. Just as jagged and stinging. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I forget that Michael is brilliant and that Matthew is the funniest boy alive. And that my mother has a heart of gold. I forget how much they love me and each other. I forget how much I love them. And tonight, I remember. I felt it in my bones and in my fingertips. It pressed against my chest and ran down my cheeks in salty beads. I wish I could have captured it in a bottle, or on a reel of film to play for myself, when I forget again. I will. I am so afraid, and I forget that it's okay to be. Love terrifies me. Loss terrifies me. Forgetting terrifies me. I am a little girl, and I should have been this way at 8 years old. But life happens. Death happens. People leave. They will always leave. And I will always be afraid. So I write this down tonight with the foresight of anguish. And the knowledge that all that could possibly go wrong in this life undoubtedly will. So that on nights when I feel the world break my heart and break my soul, I can look back and remember that the love doesn't have to disappear. I can save it here, tonight. When everything in the world is right where it is. Perhaps not where it should be, how it should be. But if I am lucky enough, gracious enough, it will be. I want ice cream :)
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(no subject)	[Jul. 8th, 2009\|01:20 am]
I am colorblind Coffee black and egg white Pull me out from inside I am ready, I am ready I am ready, I am Taffy stuck and tongue tied Stutter-shook and uptight Pull me out from inside I am ready, I am ready I am ready, I am fine. I am covered in skin No one gets to come in Pull me out from inside I am folded and unfolded and unfolding I am colorblind Coffee black and egg white Pull me out from inside I am ready, I am ready I am ready, I am fine I am fine, I am fine. It's cold out tonight.
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Pooppppppppp	[Jun. 28th, 2009\|12:32 am]
Tonight I cannot help but be kept awake by the aching, antagonizing realization of how tiny my life is. My hands are feeling awfully small against the big picture of everything, of the world and of all that it needs from me, all that it deserves. My life is trivial. I am reading stories of children dying before their lives have begun, their bodies ridden with some cruel, relentless disease. Babies dying one after the other. One in eight children go hungry, so so many homeless, love-less and alone. And I flip on the Entertainment Tonight and hear stories of newly constructed mansions, the actor's multi-million dollar salary, the new thousand-dollar handbag trend. The rock-star and their expensive drug habit, the basketball players and their endorsements, and I wonder how it becomes so easy to shut our eyes to the ache and pain that surrounds us, the growing need, the things that claim so many innocent lives while the rest of us drown out their cries with our own. How do we do it? It is that the world has created an environment that makes “success” possible only at the expense of someone else? Is it because we are a product of a society that perpetuates and necessitates this indifference? Is it because our nature is a selfish one? There are bills to pay , television to watch, friends to call and books to read, love to make. There is suicide and there is cancer, and poverty and world hunger. And depression, and Parkinson’s disease, and Progeria and cerebral palsy and PTSD and Postpartum depression and Autism and homelessness, so many trees to plant and so much love to give. How do I do it all? How do any of us? Are the little things a part of the bigger things? Do the little things stop mattering when the big things are at the top of our list, where they belong? I keep looking at these insignificant hands of mine, begging for some answer to appear in the palms. I want to say that if the answer was there, that I would do all that I can. But I think the universal truth is that the answer IS there. It is nested somewhere inside us all. It is just buried by years decades and lifetimes of distractions and mistaken destinies, and selfish, selfish dreams. I want to join the damn Peace Corps. Wine, you ruin me so.
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(no subject)	[Jun. 24th, 2009\|11:41 pm]
Change is always waiting around the corner of our lives. Is that how life is revealed to us? The unexpected left turns? And the faith in the turn? Cheers to that, Miss Sabrina Ward Harrison. And cheers to these moments and these words that make me feel like this life is right. And while it is impossible to trust tomorrow, to believe that all the love and fight we put into our plans will truly make them happen, I trust that I will be okay when they don't. I know the future will always disappoint, for there is always more pain to be felt, more of the heart to break, more things to lose. And I know that we are bigger than these plans. We are brave, and we are resilient. Not all heartbreak needs a reason, and the only meaning that ever arises from pain is the meaning we force out, pry and uncover from the ugly depths of it all. There is no other way to live, it seems. "It wasn't simply joy that I felt in each of these moments. Rather, it was a sense that everything I was doing, every touch and breath and word, carried the full weight of my life; that a circle was beginning to close, so that I might finally recognize myself as I was, here, now, in one place." Barrack Obama.
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mushies.

[Jun. 4th, 2009|08:28 pm]

[	Current Mood	\|	contemplative	]
[	Current Music	\|	Straylight Run	]

Sing me something soft
Sad and delicate
Or loud and out of key
Sing me anything.

When did everything become so complicated? The love of a boy and his dog. Bare feet in the grass. Roller coasters and fresh-squeezed lemonade. Swimming pools and sharing straws and food fights. Fireplaces in a warm home, with a warm family. Family. When love was simple and real and felt good. When did it become such an exhausting calculation, a matter of not enough giving, too much giving, cowardly retreat and messy, messy pasts? Has it always been this way? Have we just been lucky enough to be blinded by our youth? When did love come at such high a cost? And at what point does the word home reverberate in the ear like a stranger?

How do we let the love slip through the cracks?

I am feeling so cynical. The things I see infuriate me. When she isn’t looking, I watch my mother work herself to the bone, into weariness. And I wonder when life will ever cut her a break. I wonder how much a woman’s hands have to bleed, and her heart has to break until her dues are paid. “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming,” they say. “The waves will let up soon enough.” But how long can we really tread water, how much does one have to lose before rescue comes? Or before we give into the ocean and sink?

Pessimism is ugly, I know. And sometimes the simple things return and surprise me. Sometimes there are good days. And I climb a mountain with a few friends and I feel the wind on my face. And I know that this, too, shall pass. I know that it isn’t supposed to be easy. Nothing beautiful ever is. But it’s about bravery. And crying a little. And laughing a little more. It is about the love of a boy and his dog, and vegetable gardens and iced tea. Good conversation. Coffee and cigarettes before the sun is up, the wrinkles on my mother’s hands. All of these beautiful things that scream for me to keep swimming. Because the promise of rescue awaits, somewhere. Good days come, they really do. If not today, then tomorrow.

We're glad with what we've got
Done with what we've lost
Our whole lives laid out right in front of us.

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(no subject)

[May. 23rd, 2009|10:49 pm]

[

Current Music

Death Cab for Cutie

]

Squeaky swings and tall grass
The longest shadows ever cast
The water's warm and children swim
And we frolicked about in our summer skin

Dare I say that Summer is off to a beautiful start? I dare. I am excited for warm breezes and sandy feet. For sunburns and memories and old love and good company. As I'm writing this, I find myself catching my fingers before they can jump too far ahead. I don't want to jinx anything. While it is glorious in its own way, summer always seems to come with a specific heartache. Like most good things, the end is inevitable. When August rolls around, it is abrupt and snaps us back into an inescapable reality. But I suppose it is the best way.

Mr. Rogaki--the husband of one of our oldest patients, the one who comes every day--was so cheerful today. He always is, but maybe today I let it hit me more than usual. He amazes me constantly. I walk around the facility and spot him reading to his wife on the patio. His voice is so kind. And he is so gentle with her hands. It seems his love never skips a beat. Can we all be this lucky? Or is it only in the cards of the few that are so blessed? What keeps this love breathing? What makes it easier to hop on a bus and walk 10 blocks on a hot summer day? What makes forever possible? Is it patience? Is it faith--a believe in something bigger than us, than our exhaustion, weariness, our defeat? Do we tend to all love the way we tend to eachother's hands? Treat it like fragile, tired bones, tend to it as if it could shatter with the slip of a wrist, or the slip of a heart? Is it as simple as calling it true love? Does it take all of these things and more? I don't know, but it is beautiful. Oh, life.

And I knew your heart I couldn't win
'Cause the season's change was a conduit
And we left our love in our summer skin.

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(no subject)	[Apr. 21st, 2009\|11:11 pm]
I wouldn't swap the pain For never knowing you I wouldn't swap the pain 'Cause it was worth it for the view Jess shared this beautiful new song with me. And I think it is just what I needed. I'm sitting in my backyard on what feels like a cool summer night, sipping red wine because alcohol thins the blood, and makes love flow so much more easily from me. Blood that pumps through my heart, in and out of my organs, all the way to my fingertips, spilling onto these pages that don't mean much to anyone but me. Sometimes I really wonder if I want to have children. I wonder if I am delicate enough not to ruin them. Children are sponges. And they are not selective. They soak up every ounce of what you pour into their worlds. And if you are not careful, if you are not conscious of all that you do, they will sop up the spills, absorb your messes, and you will stain them with all of your silly, selfish mistakes. And then we spend the entirety of our adolescence trying to make sense of the stains. We bleach and scrub, and tend to the motherfuckers as if we ever had a fighting chance against them. And we swear to ourselves that we will never be so careless with the ones that we love. We will never be so selfish, leaving gaping holes in the hearts of the innocent. I could sing the sob story forever. I know it. I've seen it in the faces of those that I love. It is reflected in my eyes when I am corageous enough to look into them. And I don't know that it ever really gets better. But I know that it gets bearable. I know that we can be bigger than it. We can rise above it, and be more than the things that have happened to us. We can stop crying over our stories, pick up the pen, pull out a fresh sheet of paper and write something new. We can cry into the laps of those that understand. We can synchronize our heavy heartbeats, take comfort in eachothers tragic beginnings and find a means to a less tragic end. We can laugh through the pain, and lighten the load for one another. Because it is too much to take on alone. Because love is more productive than hate. And forgiveness wears much more beautifully than anger. "Make them wonder why you're still smiling."
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(no subject)

[Apr. 17th, 2009|10:12 am]

"If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new characther, would you slow down? Or speed up?"

Food for thought.

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Let all fall away that's not crucial now.

[Apr. 5th, 2009|09:47 pm]

[	Current Mood	\|	curious	]
[	Current Music	\|	Jewel	]

Kiss the flame
Let's run with the hunted, the untamed
Kiss the flame
Embrace the faceless, the unnamed

Is it strange that the sound of my mother's noisy sleep inspires so much thought? Maybe. But it's the real deal. If I'm being perfectly honest, I've been full of thoughts today. They've been tangling, reproducing, and spilling out from my brain for quite some time now. But words fail me, words fail us all. And sometimes words are all that keep me sane when things are messy. They work so hard to translate the madness that goes on in this mind. They bare the weight of such yuck. And there is plenty of it, lately. I have this reputation for being the most sensitive person in the world. Crayons excite me, I cry during Rice Krispy commercials. I suffer from eternal PMS. And that is okay. Because as exhausting as it all is, you certainly can't miss much if your heart is a giant sponge. And whatever isn't beautiful and happy can--in some way or another--be laughed off. Because life is ridiculous. And ridiculous is funny. And funny is easier than sad. But when something awful happens--something lasting, a something that changes everything--I am a stone. My feelings huddle together and decide as a team that they will take a spur-of-the-moment vacation and leave only the rational part of my brain to deal. I am faced with this pile of rubble, and when all I want to do is cry and mourn, and love, I can't. When I got the phone call at work about Auntie Anna, I don't even remember feeling a thing. I just remember my brain going, "Shit.' Who says that? And the only time I've cried about this terrible thing is when I made a phone call to my Grandmother that night. And still, I didn't cry for Auntie Anna, for how much I love her, for the beautiful person that she was and for this terrible disease that ate away at her body for so much of her life. But I cried for my grandmother. Because she lost her only sister. And I could feel the weight of her loss through a telephone, across an entire state. How do you lose a sister? How do you look in the mirror and into yourself, this proof that you are very much alive, and they are not? How does that make sense?

And then there is my mother. My Kittie Cat, Mama. The best part of every day that I am alive. The foundation upon which everything I have is built. The heart of all good in my world. The blood in these veins, the warmth in my soul. The clarity in every thought. We fight and scream and yell. And we are vicious with one another. And she makes me laugh so hard; that breathless, shameless, I-could-die-right-now-and-be-happy laughter. And she makes me cry because she hurts me and we hurt each other. Because she knows me so well. Because she knows that I am stronger than I believe, that I deserve honesty. Because sometimes I deserve to be hurt. And she hugs me when I hurt. And she brushes the hair from my face and kisses me when I cry. She tells me that pain is inevitable, and that all that is awful surely fades. And she teaches me, without words, that the terrible things that happen to us can be warn like badges of honor, testaments to all that we are capable of when we least expect to be. I do not know how you suffer the brute force of a world so blatantly against you, and spit back in its face by being as wonderful as my mother is. How do you lose the people you love and forge on? How do you survive when your husband, your partner, the person you have given everything for, is taken from this world, your world? How do you care for three children all alone on a fast-sinking ship? How do you not only pick up the pieces of an already broken life, but face mending the mess that awaits? “You just do.” This is always her answer, when I gather up enough courage to ask these questions. “When you have children, there is no choice. There is no other way. You just do it.” It sounds logical, but for me, it is a lie. There is always a choice. Always. And it isn’t so much about what she did, but how she managed to do it all with such love in her heart, shattered as it must have been.

I think of my mother this way every day. I think of how unfair the world is. I stare at her dark, wrinkled hands, and the way she strains her eyes when she reads. I think of the 14 hours of hard work she puts into every day. I think of how exhausting this all is. And I cry for her. Because it amazes me. Because someone has to. And because our hearts break for the ones that we love. I worry about losing her one day. I worry about forgetting the wrinkles in her hands and the sound of her voice. And I worry that the world will be its terrible safe on one terrible day, and I will lose her. I will never be as strong as she is. I will not know how to forge on in the face of such massive emptiness.

I don’t know why I entertain such pessimistic thoughts. But I think the reality of loss becomes part of loving someone deeply, permanently. It is part of the deal.

Where for art thou Romeo?
Where have all the brave men gone?
Show me one man who knows his own heart
To him I shall belong

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The broken clock is comfort.

[Mar. 17th, 2009|11:31 pm]

[	Current Mood	\|	distressed	]
[	Current Music	\|	Damien Rice.	]

So few come and all go.

There is so much going on . I feel like I'm stuck in a snow globe. The world is staring in on me, waiting for something majestic to spring forth, as if I'm capable. It gives me a shake, poking and prodding me until I do its' little dance. But I don't want to dance. I want to set up fort in the Redwoods with piles of books and pot to boil water for endless cups of coffee. I want to go for a hike before breakfast, just after sunrise. I want to carve away at some random walking stick for no reason at all. I want splinters. I want one set of utensils, and to eat by candlelight. I want to lie on my stomach with my legs crossed, reading Sabrina Ward Harrison barefoot in the afternoon. I want a mind full of questions that need no definitive answers. I want to write everything down. I want callouses. I want to scrape my knees scaling a mountainside. I want to cook a meal in the middle of the forest. I want an empty wallet and a full heart. I want all that is broken to evaporate into steam and float on by. I want to eat artichokes the way I did when I was a little girl. I want to wash my face in a noisy stream, among careless creatures. Swim North. I want to swim. I want a sore arm from skipping rocks. I want to make quiet ripples in a body of water. I want to splatter paper with melted crayons and walk my dog before sunset. I want to destroy every clock I own. I want to burn the calendars of the world and live for the moment. I want to immerse myself in each day. I want to believe that loving bravely--purely, without expectation--will bring me to where I need to be. I want to cook pancakes for the smell. I want to share a bottle of wine and a sleeping bag beneath the stars.

Why did you sing hallelujah
If it means nothing to you?
Why did you sing with me at all?

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(no subject)	[Mar. 7th, 2009\|10:36 pm]
And the road finally gave me back, But I don't think I'll unpack, 'Cause I'm not sure if I live here anymore. I'll die before I stay here another 6 months. I really will. fuck.
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aaaah	[Mar. 2nd, 2009\|10:34 am]
My head is spinnng! Monday: -Finish all laundry -Shower -Change tires -Drive -Work until 8 Tuesday -Seven hours of school -Survive math -Drive some more Wednesday -Get things for wedding -Grocery shopping -Drive some more -Work Thursday -Drive some more -School for 7 hours -Survive math -Watch Marky's hockey game -Make sure my week-late philosophy assignment is turned in -Read about Christianity. Blah. -Find time to see Matthew (?) Friday -I have no idea -Ron Pope concert in Hollywood Saturday -work, work, work. Sunday -work, work, work. REPEAT. Oh my life. I feel like I will never survive this week. Ever, ever. I am a drama queen. When I'm at home, I feel so far from my happiness. And when I'm not home, I feel so far from where I'm supposed to be. Oy vey. There are bigger problems in the world. I'm just overwhelmed. If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames,but have not love, I gain nothing Amidst all of the nonsense that is my life, I have found the time to read some inspiring things in the past couple of days. I just love words. Words, words, words. I have been thinking so much about love. It is all around me, every single second of every day. At work, 85 year old women come to read the Sunday paper to their dying husbands. Sons of old men hold their fathers' hands while they watch a nurse spoon-feed them their dinner. I love you's exchanged over the telephone in quick games of catch-up. The feeling I get when I space off in math class and realize I miss my mother so much, even if I saw her off as she left for work in the morning. The kind of love that surpasses words. I think our greatest struggle in life is truly believing that we deserve love; this glorious, unyielding, helpless feeling that makes everything sparkle like new. I think we are healthiest when we feel worthy of it. And it sounds so simple. It isn't. Not one bit. We struggle with it always. Our doubts and insecurities breed mistrust, fear of being left, all the things that defeat the purpose of that love. And if we could just shrink the space between here and there, between loneliness and embrace, if we could just get to that place where we deserve this wonderful thing, I think we would be okay.
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If everything could ever feel this real forever

[Feb. 27th, 2009|08:25 am]

[

Current Music

The Golden Girls Theme Song

]

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe until their dying breath

I'm bordering poverty, with $70 dollars to my name. I have yet to complete a gigantic Philosophy assignment that was due yesterday. I am almost sure that I failed my math exam. My laundry isn't finished. The coffee I made this morning is much too weak. My aunt desperately needs a letter from me; I know she won't make it another year. Shadow needs a bath. My car needs new tires. Cat needs food. Hair needs trimming. Hands need lotion. Floor needs vaccuuming. Bags need packing.

And for some mysterious reason, I feel very excited to be alive today. Everything seems very beautiful. The world seems "...apparelled in celestial light." Oh Wordsworth, I love you.

No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
Then try and love the things you took
And you stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And, walking arm in arm,
You hope it don't get harmed
And even if it does
You'll just do it all again.

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I've seen more spine in a jelly fish.	[Feb. 24th, 2009\|11:11 pm]
Stop reading the weather charts Stop counting the playing cards There's no system-- There's no guarantee That the love you feel you carry inside Can be passed. You know you're in trouble when you've lost the will to feel. Staring into the eyes of a drug addict is the most sobering experience there is. Ironic, really. One moment they are the beautiful, hysterical, alive person that you love without question. And the next they are so absent and ugly, it knocks the wind right out of you. We are such amazing creatures. At a certain point, when we have heard our fill of the lies, when the faith we place in someone is mercilessly preyed upon, a warning light flashes red and we enter this state of self-defense. Somehow we just shut down, disengaging ourselves from the fucking disaster that awaits. Subconscious immunization. A bulletproof sheet of glass rises and we become impenetrable. It is the saddest sight to see--sandbags stacked miles high because anyone who has been in this place, anyone who has seen this disease change people, knows that when it rains, it fucking pours. I don't know. I just know that sometimes feeling it all is so damn tiring. It weathers our sympathy until there is none left to give. It gradually callouses our hearts, leaving behind scar tissue and only the remnants of a love without conditions.The entire process comes at the expense of compassion. It is ugly and I am shamed by it all. I feel hardened. I know I should try harder, and I know this is not the person that I am. But it is an endless cycle, and I am just so fucking tired. It is unpredictable and inevitable all at once. Some things are just too much to bear. So we don't. We turn off the lights, pull the covers over our heads, close our eyes and pray that we wake up in any world but this one. I should be shaking Michael by the shoulders, telling him how much I love him. But all I want to do is run. I wish Matty were here. the end.
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Melissa & LDS love.

[Feb. 23rd, 2009|12:01 am]

[

Current Music

On the Radio-REGINA SPEKTOR

]

I haven't written anything for a while. I feel inspired to write every day, but I seem to be fresh out of words.

If thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
(D&C 122:7)

Melissa shared this with me a few days ago, from The Doctrines and Covenants. And it is one of the most beautiful things in the whole world. I find myself fighting the urge to get it tattooed across my forehead. I want to write about all of the thoughts that are dancing around my messy brain. But something inside is telling me to shut up and listen to life, for a change. I'll come back to it.

Matthew will be home in a couple of weeks. I love him.

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