Love sustains.

I thought back on this year, thinking about doing some kind of yearly wrap up like I tend to do, and all I could really think was how thankful I am for the life I have.

It was a rough year, there was no denying it. I was hospitalized and had drawn out complications. I've been on a back-road financial potholed road now for almost the entire year. School while working full time. Being a CASA volunteer.

But at the end of it, every situation has given my more to be thankful for. Neighbors who I barely knew stood by me when I was ill, took care of my dogs, and helped me haul laundry when I came home because I couldn't carry it down the stairs by myself. My boss and coworkers with their tireless support. My family, ever vigilant and loving, sending me random cards or small care packages to help lighten the load and remind me that I am so completely and thoroughly loved.

I try to feel grateful every day, and this year has given me endless moments to look back on and be comforted. The human spirit is a remarkable thing, and I am fully aware that I am surrounded by shining examples of the best.

I wish you could see how big my heart is for you. How deeply I am grateful for your love. Thank you is a shallow offering, but know that I mean it as deep as my soul goes.

Thank you for loving me and letting me love you back. Everything I accomplish, I do so because you sustain me.

Wrapped.

"We really need to talk about something important, okay?"

My youth looks at me, blue eyes open and earnest, and I consider what I'm about to say. I wonder if it'll come off as bitterness accumulated from disappointments, wisdom from a rough road traveled, or just pretentious bullshit. So, I cut out all the extra that I had planned on saying and told her simply:

"We've talked about your plans, and I'm so happy you have them, and that they're different and changing and shifting. They SHOULD be. You're 17. But they're all dependent on the presence of another person, and I just want you to know something that has helped me get through life: Ultimately, the only person you can depend on is yourself."

She nodded, and I saw in her eyes that she understood. She explained that she knew that, but everyone around her doesn't practice it (except me), and she felt weird being so independent.

"Everything is weird in high school. It's a foul, evil, shitty stage of life. A lot of important stuff happens in the next ten years, so pay attention to it. Remember who you are, and who you want to be. Stay strong. The rest will fall into place."

She got teary and hugged me, and as we walked into the store to go snow globe hunting, she held on tightly, wrapped around my ribs and making me feel like a lioness with her cub.

I've had such a weird week. I got a gnarly head cold, wasn't able to move to where I'd planned, and my dog got sick. I dreamt that I murdered my mom's abusive boyfriend from my childhood one night, and that I got proposed to at a Mumford and Sons concert the next. During "After the Storm" even, my favorite song. Which leads me to an interesting seque...

I had a weird dream two weeks ago where I saw, clear as day, that I was a nurse in an ER and a widowed architect with a young daughter who thought she could fly from trees came in. Wham bam, date, proposal, the whole thing. And the only reason this makes me quirk an eyebrow at all is because I've pretty fully accepted my singlehood in the recent months. Not hoping, not looking, not interested. And then my subconscious wants to what...bitch slap me? Remind me that I'm a few years shy of 30 and extremely childless? I'm not thrilled.

I'm watching Love Actually and got a Charlie Brown Christmas tree tonight. That's pretty much the extent of my holiday spirit, two days before the holiday. More importantly, 6 days from now I'll be home, and that's the true gift of the season.

Hey. If you're reading this, there's a high chance I love you, so here's looking at you kid.

Grinchmas.

It takes so much to write nowadays. I'm really disappointed in myself, but when I take a step back and look at what I'm doing with my life, I'm alright with it.

I have a job that is laying the foundation for my future career, I'm mentoring a bright and intelligent teenager, I'm making scarves for homeless people in my community, donating food to shelters, cuddling with my dogs at night, and going to school. When I write, it's in these bright moments of joy when I look around and marvel at the people I am so so LUCKY to have in my life.

I'm rolling around a new story in my head. It's about a woman who's a matchmaker, and a soupmaker. Depending on what her client needs, she makes a soup to match it, and turns it into a man. I thought if the woman did something scandalous, like lie to him, he'd turn back into soup and she's unknowingly eat him. I thought that was a quite Grimm-fairytale-esque ending.

I am facing an odd type of homelessness myself. I can't stand staying where I am any longer; I'm surrounded by mold and it is negatively effecting my health, and since that's one of the few things I have going for me, I really can't sacrifice it all willy nilly. The place I had all set up fell through this morning, and the alternative is maybe moving back in with my friend I couch surfed with when I first moved here, but it would be way more expensive than what I'm paying now. And really, I can't take more financial hits.

I feel like I'm a stone sinking into a lake. I'm still kicking, but it feels like the pressure is starting to crack me like an egg.

In 10 days, I'll be home. I'll be in warmth and surrounded by my friends and family who love me, and that's a priceless feeling. I can't wait to hug them and gush over them and let them know how much I miss them and adore them and want to be near them again.

I can withstand anything for 10 days. Especially when I felt good enough to write this:

"So many smiles
My face ripples open
Dahlias springing from my mouth
For you to brush against your cheek and know this love"...

10 days ago. And when I'm overwhelmed by that sinking feeling, I listen to music, and it helps. This is one of my recent favorites. 



Put your dreams away for now
I won't see you for some time
I am lost in my mind
I get lost in my mind

Momma once told me
You're already home where you feel loved
I am lost in my mind
I get lost in my mind

Oh my brother
Your wisdom is older than me
Oh my brother
Don't you worry 'bout me

Don't you worry
Don't you worry, don't worry about me

How's that bricklayin' comin'?
How's your engine runnin'?
Is that bridge gettin' built?
Are your hands gettin' filled?
Won't you tell me, my brother?

'Cause there are stars
Up above

We can start
Moving forward

How's that bricklayin' comin'?
How's your engine runnin'?
Is that bridge gettin' built?
Are your hands gettin' filled?
Won't you tell me, my brother?

'Cause there are stars
Up above

We can start
Moving forward

Lost in my mind
Lost in my mind
Oh I get lost in my mind
Lost, I get lost

I get lost in my mind
Lost in my mind
Yes I get lost in my mind,
Lost, I get lost
I get lost

Oh I get lost

Oh I get...

Merry Grinchmas.

It's been awhile.

Because I'm the busiest fucking person on earth, it feels like.

And really, right now this blog needs to serve one purpose, and that is: emotional outlet.

My 4 month relationship, or whatever the hell it was, with T just ended. And we've been on again/off again a few times in our relationship, but I think this one is permanent. We're burning bridges left and right. And it's hard, because I love her, and I told her that long after I knew we were ending. Because even though I knew it wasn't reciprocated, I felt like she had to know that someone she (at least once) respected felt that strongly for her.

And it was ala Steve all over again. FUCK THIS SHIT.

She's still visiting Crescent City from down south, and after our very calm and civil ending yesterday morning after the disgusting fight on Tuesday night, she tells me today that she has kidney stones and wants some info on my hospital in case she has to go there. I love her, so naturally I'm not a cunt and give her the info I can, check in to make sure she's okay, tell her to call me if she ends up coming in, yadda yadda.

Later, naturally, it declines into communication breakdown, as it always does. Because I say things as I see them, and she disintegrates into a surly teenager that can't be empathetic to my position in the slightest because she's never actually been an emotionally developed adult. Then, at a complete lapse of what to actually say, she resorts to this quasi-counselor passive agressive talk she learns in therapy, like, "It is what you say it is." So, this is my ending statement.

Dear T,

Should you ever come to the conclusion later on in therapy or from a drunk epiphany that you fucked up one of the best relationships that could've developed, I want you to remember this: don't contact me, admitting what a gihugous asshole you were and that you have regrets about your behavior. Because I already know.

That's part of why I fell in love with you, you know? Because I saw all this potential of who and what you could be, and then as you progressively gave up on yourself and when I tried to stay positive for both of us, I got my head bit off for being Pollyanna.

And in the nature of all fools in love, I tried to look at the big picture and make it work through this ridiculously hard, bullshit short term so we could develop into this badass partnership I knew we could be.

But unlike a fool, I'm a grown ass woman, and there's only so much shit I will shovel until I look at my shredded emotional self and wonder,  "What the fuck am I doing dragging us forward when I'm the only one trying, and you're kicking and screaming the whole way?"

So, to salvage my self-respect, I put a kaboosh and all our emotional madness, cried a good long time for the last time, and said good-bye to you.

In writing this, which you may one day see (or not, I refuse to give two shits once I hit 'publish') I am giving you a gift. The gift of knowing these irrefutable facts "as I see them": that I loved you and might always have a piece of me that does; that I saw your potential, and the only person who destroyed it was you; that maybe a majority of your exes have cheated on you because of the fundamental thing that you denied me, and that was any sense that I was important to you at all.

I wish we could've worked. But I think that's what everyone thinks when a relationship ends, and they think back to the beginning when it was beautiful and rosy and full of promise.

And that, dear reader, is the exact emotional release I needed so I can sleep. I'll catch you up on the rest of my life, sans emotional drama, very soon.

Losing will.

I've lost my will to write.

I think of poems and they leak around my teeth like water in the shower.

I think of stories and as soon ad a relationship is creative and strung together, I forget it, and it is unraveled.

I'm 27 now. I feel like nothing has changed in the years I've graduated college. I've moved geographically, and I left a job that made me suicidal, but still I'm just a paper pusher. My job is a far cry from a career, and my boss is offended I think so.

I try to think as my life beginning anew daily, but the wonder is fading. I'm too tired. I thought moving up here would be better for my writing...I thought I'd have written a novel by now, in these 10 months...but no. I've very little to show for it.

I'll work on it, but I'm not expecting much. Classes start September 24th, so I'll be working 7am-3:30pm Monday through Friday, going to classes from 6-10pm Monday through Thursday, working my second job Friday afternoon and over the weekend, and seeing my CASA during the weekend also. Along with studying. And trying to not neglect my dogs. And maintain a healthy emotional place. And not die.

Let's see it how it goes, shall we?

Wish me luck.

Remembering the perks.

Moving to the Crescent has bestowed upon me unspeakable gifts. I've learned tolerance, strengthened my work ethic, honed my nagging skills, et cetera. I know what it's like to smell the Pacific just blocks away every day, and see rivers, untamed and wild, rushing into the ocean. There is a unique sadness to living such a solitary life, but occasionally being alone in my apartment with the windows open has let me be privy to things I didn't notice down south.

When I wrote this, it was one of those times.

Whistler

I can hear someone whistling in the dark

outside my window. 

A warm breeze carries it upward

to my music barren ears,

and I smile in my unlit apartment.

Looking through the moon soaked blinds

eyes crinkle upwards at each lilt in the tune,

sharing an unknown smile with my

whistler in the dark.

Harbinger of the stars,

cloak of evening bringing forth the ever present lullaby:

crashing surf, barking seals,

a lilting four-note tune beneath the street lamps.

A kid at the skate park echoes the sound

mirroring the evening whistler

and soon they are crooning to each other

songbirds, blocks and generations away.

In the dusk, nothing separates them

not time nor distance

speaking a musical language older than words

giving this gift to us listeners in the dark.

Godbabies and Clapping.

My third goddaughter was born yesterday morning. She's beautiful, and already a light in my life. My three girls are the cherry on top of the sundae of people I want my successes to benefit.

I want to read them poetry and books I wrote just for them and play the ukelele and tickle them and kiss their cheeks off 'til they giggle hysterically. That's my job as a godmother, you know.

I was able to tuck my insecurities away where they belong after talking to Traci about them. Already I feel more solid, and life is better. I woke up today with my pain in moderate control, and I felt like the worst of this ordeal is over. I'm climbing over the hill. Life is good.

My hair is thick and curling again. The stress from Enterprise has fully faded away in this pursuit of happiness that I've been on, so I think I'll let it grow longer again. We'll see how long it'll last, of course, and my "long" is most people's "short", but we'll see what happens.

I get to go home in a month. I'm so thrilled. I miss my family and friends so much, and I need to hold my two newest godbabies and let them feel my love cocoon them.

As I've been counting the pages of the charts I've been copying all day, this song kept running through my head. I was humming it as I walked down the hall, and an elderly man stopped me and asked, "How on earth does a young thing like you know that song?" I smiled and said I knew what good music was, and he laughed and patted me on the shoulder.

Life is good. It's full of love and shining moments and struggles to show you all of the above.

Insecurities.

I never feel more insecure then when I'm falling for someone. It's terrible, for a lot of reasons.

1) It's been validated, time and time again. For a few of my most meaningful exes, I simply was "not enough". That's a terrible feeling, and one that takes awhile to process and get over.

2) When you feel like you're tumbling into love, all of that armor that protects you on a daily basis comes off with each bump as you go further and further into the ravine. By the time you've landed in the rapids below, your arm floaties are dead, your innertube was the first thing to go, and you're lucky if your bathing suit hasn't been torn to shreds.

3) All relationships are golden and new in the beginning, and when that begins to fade, the real nature of what could be comes out. Is it a partnership, are there flavors of co-dependence, is one way more needy than the other? I'm normally the more reserved one, but in this particular circumstance, I feel like my heart isn't on my sleeve, it's in my mouth, and every word I speak is more of this deepening affection spewing out like gems from a dead woman's mouth. I want to sew it up and stop the words from coming unwarranted and constantly, but every time I try, something jams the needle and I end up feeling foolish for trying.

4) Maybe I should know better. I unflailingly trust my gut, and if this doesn't work out, I'll be optimistic and find the lesson I was supposed to learn, but I don't know if I could prevent my heart from becoming bitter. I don't know how I find people so uncomfortable with voicing how they feel, but I do, and so I never know what they're feeling, and that's where my gut leads me: to people different from me, so I can learn, but I've tasted this fruit too many times and am starting to get nothing but rind.

5) I wish I was with my friends, so we could sit in my car in the dark and talk about all these deep feelings and purge them away. It's different on the phone or in text. I need them near me. Being so far from home is especially terrible when you're swimming in dark waters of pain, recovery, and new hopes.

I'm going to go try and distract myself. Goodnight, you.

Family = me.

So much stress this week. I returned back to work, and as soon as I did, my dogs found a way to weasel out of the yard and run amok downtown. Talk about awesome.

But as soon as I talk to T, things get better. I smile. My heart calms and skips beats at the same time. My natural penchant for optimism is just getting extra fuel from her unflagging support, along with the love from my family and friends.

I am so thankful for my parents. Not only did they financially bail me out this week, they're helping a good friend of mine who got evicted 2 weeks after moving into a new place because of her crazy ass roommate. Even though it's not really something done in our family, they're opening their home and letting her stay there for a month or so until she can get back on her feet...just solo this time. I'm so honored to know I come from them, even though sometimes it's really confusing their mix made me.

Also, my Ma Linda has been calling me every night, sending me cards and books, everything to let me know she's supporting me from afar. My foster mom has been calling too, which is rare, since it's always been our dynamic that I call her and she says she's been thinking of me. My Aunt ZZ called me a few days before I was discharged from the hospital, when things took a sudden downturn for the worst, and said whatever it took, if I needed her there she would leave immediately. Same thing with my Ma. When I think of what my family is willing to do for me, I tear up. How can one person be so blessed? How can I ever pay that much love forward in one life?

I'm not really sure, but I'm definitely trying. 

This is a little diddy I wrote about six weeks ago. I didn't realize then that it was a prayer being sent out to the universe, and as always, it responded with exactly who I'd been secretly hoping for.

"If I were to pass

From this world into the next

I would want it to be

With your name on my lips.

Let it echo deeply

Into the core of my being

Reverberating on the corners

Of unspoken hopes."

That's all for tonight. I'll keep you updated, my loves. 

Wisdom from The Great Bambino.

It's Friday. I was released from the hospital on Tuesday, after being admitted the Saturday before for abdominal pain that we all knew was my gallbladder but couldn't diagnostically prove enough for surgery. Then, the surgeon looked at the CT scan I had done at the end of February when I went in for the same pain, and it turns out I had early appendicitis THEN, and that part of the consistent pain I've been in since then have been attributed to a faulty gallbladder AND appendicitis.

Needless to say, I was very disappointed with my organs.

Even then, a surgical two-fer wouldn't constitute a 10-day hospital stay. But the resulting hematoma, blood loss, 4 unit blood transfusion, pleural effusion in my right lung and consequent "pneumonia", did.

In summation, I was in really bad shape, and my doctor, who I am blessed to say is a good friend of mine, held my hand and called me dear and told me he wouldn't let anything terrible happen. And he kept his promise. I'm home and safe, and while sore, I am whole.

To add insult to injury, the old debt from Toyota put a lein on my bank account while I was hospitalized, laying claim to every penny I own. When I discharged, I had nothing but the small balances on my credit cards, the Safeway gift card given to me for being Employee of the Month for April, and a $20 bill.

Still, I am moving forward. It could be so much worse, as recent circumstances had just proven. And while I naturally felt overwhelmed, I couldn't help but remember what Babe Ruth said: "It's hard to beat someone who never gives up."

 I have had golden adventures in the last 2 months that I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to share with you, dear Reader. The Oyster Festival in Arcata with my friends Kelly and Lauraine (who came to visit me in the hospital, brought me crepes, and made me a mohawk beanie: I love you) was one of the most glorious days since I'd been up here. We were at the ribbon-cutting for a remarkable green building that was senior living/public kitchen/studio space, ate oysters and shrimp tacos, rainier cherries from the farmers market, laughed at the dancing cops and swung our hips with them, ate home-churned ice cream in a giraffe glider.

I went to Eugene, and visited my loving family there. I drove to Sisters to hug my cousins so recently back from their adventures over the last year in Jerusalem, and place my hands on Tamara's swollen belly and silently welcome the newest member of our family to the craziness. I got lost on the way back, winding through an empty mountain pass just opened a week earlier. It was just me, Mt. Washington, the expansive lava beds, and outcroppings of resistant snow, which I didn't hesitate to pull over and play in. Who gets to roll around in snow in June? THIS GIRL, that's who. Fresh berries by the handful from the garden, juicy laughter, long hours with Mackenzie and Iris and movies enough to sate my hunger.

I spent the 4th of July in Crescent City, re-meeting T, someone I met at RPYA a decade ago and is suddenly back in my life as a much-needed presence. We spent the afternoon and evening together, our immediate bond strengthening with every hour, and when she left to go back to Riverside the next day, I felt like a limb was leaving me with her. Suddenly, I considered that maybe all of these failed relationships with men and the deep dissatisfaction I always feel after trying with something new was because my real partner had yet to re-enter my life, and she just had.

Three days later, I was hospitalized.

And now, here we are.

Throughout those 10 days, I was surrounded in a loving coccoon of support from my co-workers, family, friends, and even people who had just seen me in the halls and were worried for me. I was hugged constantly, my hair was petted, my hand was held, and I couldn't have asked for better care.

In conclusion:

I am truly blessed. And I won't ever give up.

Remembering to dance.

That moment when your body remembers a long ago art of movement despite years of disuse and is just as fluid and synchronized as when you first perfected dancing just so.

It's a saffron shaded five minutes of bliss.

Just like that, I remember how beautiful my body can be. How I can move, in a modest tribal outfit or nothing at all. I soak it in, relishing that when I am aware of this form I'm in for my lifetime, it's in admiration.

I don't have time for self-loathing.

When my left hip rolls out, my arm mimics it in a symmetrical arc, my hand structures in a perfect flourette, and I tell you this: the body is the greatest instrument you will ever own. To make beauty, to defend yourself, to type out thoughts as they beat against the side of your head to get out.

Even when it's broken, and damaged, and weakened, it is still the greatest. Appreciate it, since it's closer to you than any lover will be. After all, isn't part of what makes us so bonded to our children is that they came from our BODY, our wombs, and are therefore precious and irreplaceable.

When I'm standing under a clear sky and can hear the ocean, I can't wait for the day I'll be beyond it. As useful and lovely as it can be, my body is a barrier between me and the swirling stardust of the universe, and I do not fear the day when it's time to return to that original home.

My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, but my mind holds the key. Arcade Fire had it right. And also inspires me to dance.

God is a redwood forest.

I remember places I've never been and things I've never done.

I was walking today with some friends through the ancient growth redwood forests, where trees are growing from trees, cavernous roots exposed, bark twisting around the trunk like it was being spun as it grew.

Surrounded by ferns and loamy ground and trees so majestic I was saturated in my own insignificance, I felt deeply at peace. Monumentally calm. Returning, finally, to a home I'd never occupied, laughing with souls who've never stood there with me.

I thought, suddenly, of a guy I went on a date with another lifetime ago. We were discussing meditation and, while I knew of its benefits and uses, I didn't think it was a proactive way to change the world. He fought viciously with me about it, saying Buddhist monks must have had it wrong all these centuries, etc etc. I simply said that we could agree to disagree. Now I understand more fully what I meant, something I couldn't fully express then because I hadn't experienced it yet, but knew it was the way for me.

Being surrounded by true greatness and consequently being humbled by your own mortality, insignificance, grand purpose, is true meditation. At least by my standards. I breathed deeply. I moved intentionally. I felt a welcome wholeness that shored up my inner reserve and it said boldly to continue onward, dear one.

God is a redwood forest. It's my goddaughter asking for me in a far-off desert. It is my parents praying for my happiness before a meal. It is my best friend reading two years worth of blogs and telling me that he loves me, feels closer to me, and is thankful we belong to each other.

That's what love is, you know. At the end of the day, love means that a bit of you belongs to them and that a little part of them fills up that equal space in you. When I'm feeling lost and scattered to the winds, I remember that...my soul is a patchwork quilt of the people who have loved me in this wild, brilliant, terrifying life, and because of their bits, I'll always go bravely forward.

We're all just different views of the whole.

I re-discovered this poem I wrote a few years ago last night as I was editing my collection thus far. It's about one of the first children I was ever a nanny to. Her mom went crazy and abandoned her, then eventually came back, but only on the condition that I would never be allowed to see her again. Her dad was so sad and conflicted, but I made it easier for him, saying simply that she is her mother. It was my first loss of a child I loved, and it devastated me for a long time afterward, and made me scared of loving any of my other friends' children the same.

Still, she carries a piece of me in her love-quilt.

My Secret Keeper

There are kiss-off competitions
in the front room.
They ensue for hours before dreaded bedtime.
Zoe holds my face prone
her shocked expression, where's the camera?
while she kisses the corners of my mouth.
I can hear the victory chortling in her lungs
seconds before the outburst spills forth.
On the evening of her sixth birthday,
she is the epitome of childhood perfection.
I wonder if she'll remember this clandestine utopia,
years from now, as a defense to self-loathing.
Her hair is the soft curling of branches
loving each other, swirling in sisterly dance.
The indent above her lip makes me believe
in the story Bogey told:

it is an indentation of the angel's finger,
pressed to your lips to keep your vast knowledge secret.

My secret keeper; her mouth is shut,
but the hidden treasures her soul knows
flow over from her eyes.
Hidden in that star-swirling: the nature of God.
In my dreams, God is a child,
holding my protesting mouth closed while she kisses me,
laughing triumphantly.

Hold on to what we are.

So, here's the thing: I've been really sad this weekend.

And as of this morning, my gut is in complete rebellion.

With my best friend Kathleen's words echoing in my head, "Work is gonna blow no matter where you are until you're doing a job you love. Hang in there babe," and my mother's quiet reassurances that I can deal with anything until I can't deal anymore and then come home, and Milla's proud speech at her bon voyage breakfast where I got to hug her one last time before she leaves for Africa about how she was so amazed and happy that I up and went on an adventure all by my lonesome have led me to one conclusion:

My sadness is being purged from my body via my butt. It's the only explanation. So I should be right as rain tomorrow.

Really, I tend to get over most funks quickly. The issue is that home is not a place, and never has been for me. Home is a people, MY people, and they are many and glorious and golden and 800 miles south of me. I have always felt emboldened by them to stand straighter and more loudly proclaim who I am and my opinions because I know their love.

And I left them. Because I needed to know I could still stand straight without them 10 minutes away to crumble against when things got terrible. And I think I've proved that to myself, for the most part, which is why missing Kathleen's baby shower and not being able to feel her daughter kick or hug my Evey G and nuzzle my Lottie Loo make weekends like this that follow hard weeks even harder to stand.

I also think this is due, in part, to not being creative lately. I haven't written in months, ever since I started school, and the absence of that is one more thing chipping away at my identity.

I imitate my dad at work, and the doctors think it's hilarious. They've all come to call me Erin-poo, just like my papa does. It's nice, because speaking like him makes me feel closer to him, but it makes me miss him so much too, and my mom.

So, as much as I love it here, I think if I can at least get the pre-req's for nursing done while living here, I'm going to do that and then move home to go to a BSN/MSN program. There's none up here, and I really don't want an associates. A bachelor's or above gives you infinitely more possibilities, and what am I if not a girl who keeps her options open?

I'll keep my eyes open, to who I am, what I can do, and who I love so much. And maybe I can't do it all on my own, but where's the shame in that?

"So hold on,
Hold on to what we are,
Hold on to your heart." - Of Monsters and Men, "Your Bones"

There's a ghost in my mouth and it talks in my sleep.

It says your name.

And my heart aches for you. Physically aches. I feel like I get punched in the chest whenever I think of you, so I've tried to lessen how frequently I do it. But when I'm sleeping, I wake up to myself saying your name, and my cheeks are wet, and I feel more lonely than I ever have in my life.

And you don't call. And when you do, you tell me you're unhappy, and lonely, and that yeah, sure, you miss me too. But it's not like I miss you, and I'm trying to accept it.

I hoped that leaving would make you realize that I was an island you passed by and shouldn't have. That I was worth exploring. Right after I did, you dated a girl that you said reminded you of me, because of how alone my absence made you feel...and still, you're not steering your boat around.

What should I do when everything that should make me happy makes me stretch my hand out, knowing you should be there to hold it? And then it's there like a slap that you're not, and don't ever intend to be. What do you do when the person who knows your past and your present and your hopes and all the light and the darkness in you doesn't see the simplest and truest thing?

When I say I love you, I mean it. All the way, forever, my one and only, and everyone in the past four years has been stopgaps until you woke up.

Being busy helps me forget. Push away the thoughts that you see and don't want to, that you feel it too but are too scared, that all of this is one-sided and you miss me the way you'd miss any co-patriot of years who moved. Why else would I work two jobs, go to school full-time, and volunteer as much as I do?

"I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart
'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn."

Wow.

This weekend was wonderful, but that same ol' realization rose up and kicked me in the gut.

My life is full, and fast, and I'm intensely driven.

In the six months I've lived here in the Crescent, I haven't met anyone. I didn't have intentions to, but I hoped there might be prospects. Alas, nay.

Even if I was one of those awesome dames that didn't meet anyone worth marrying until I was in my forties, I wouldn't have kids.

There's an 80% chance I won't bear fruit from my loins.

Even though, like I said, it's the same old realization at a different time, my sister and best friend being pregnant and my other best friend having her second daughter, I am suddenly sad.

Tearing up, actually.

This is one of those rare moments where I wish I could bond so wholly with someone, love it unconditionally, know that no one could ever have the power to separate that child from me.

As sure as it's hit, it'll pass.

Types of Rain.

I feel awash in rain, as I'm sure Inuits do in snow. As I was thinking this, I remembered how (allegedly) they had a hundred names for snow...which is false, by the way. They have the rough equivalent as English does for names of snow, whereas the Sami people of Europe, a tribal people of Finland, Norway, parts of Russia..you know, the fuckin' cold parts, now THEY had hundreds of words for snow.

SO. You're welcome for that useless piece of knowledge. And on to my point: I was thinking how in the six months (yowzers, six months in a few weeks since I've left home!) I've observed more weather changes, types of rain, size and intensity of hail and gusts than in all of my 26 years spent in southern California.

Currently, we've been storming on and off for almost a month. The off's have lasted about a day, with the rain lasting an average of 5-8 days without breaking. Last night, the hail was so intense that I worried it would break my windshield. When I awoke, it was still so cold outside that the hail had survived the following onslaught of rain and was still present in piles along the corner of my back porch steps.

I walked to my car in a heavy, gentle rain. I want to name this type George. It was the consistency of what we in the south called a "sprinkle" but with fat, loaded drops. Not a drencher, to be sure. Not like the insistent, odd mist-like rain that, when sighted from a window seems relatively harmless, but you step into and are immediately soaked. Usually accompanied by wind, so that if you had the foolish inclination to label yourself a townie and use an umbrella, it would be useless anyway. I would name that rain Snookie for it's vileness.

I'm sure you're bored about reading my thoughts on weather. Too bad. If you are, skedaddle. Because now I'm on to telling you about my latest adventures, which is the good part (theoretically), so if you WERE bored and already left, you resilient ones get to hear the good stuff.

I went home recently to witness the birth of my second goddaughter. Unfortunately, she's a stubborn little mermaid and didn't want to come out while I was there, but did 2 weeks later :D Charlotte Faith (my choice, I know..it's lovely) was born a healthy 7 lbs 2 oz and her sister, my Evey, is a smitten kitten with her. Life for my little Arizona family is good..or will be once Jessica gets the damage done to her by the car accident fully understood and treated.

I was home with my parents for a few days after Phoenix, and I spent as much time with them as I could. I visited with my Italians, said toodles to my Aunt and Uncle before they vamanosed it to their retirement villa in Arizona (that damn state sucks up all of my people!), and saw Matt, Melanie, Sharky, Tarah, Kathleen and my Thompson family, and a few others <3 My heart aches the most whenever I leave my Mattie though, as silly as it sounds, and I think it's probably because in all the years of our friendship we've never spent significant time away from each other. Sharky and I survived her crappy relationship, Mel and I are all about phones ANYWAY, Kathleen ditched me for Africa for years, and my Milla and I are often apart but always soul-connected. Me and Matt though...it hurts to be far from him, and I don't like it. Whenever I consider moving back, it's usually because I miss him and my *many* parents the most.

I proposed to Matt for the umpteenth time, which he refused. Someday though, that sucker is going to accept!

While I was getting Lucy's shots updated and her microchipped at the Humane Society on Saturday, a nice couple from Muscoy (I know, when do those two phrases go together?) were looking for a home for a small puppy they had found in their neighborhood. Found in a litter of 3, they'd procured homes for the other two but were unsuccessful with her. There were interested parties, but the couple was worried they wanted to fight her (she's going to be huge). I told them that if they didn't find someone else to take her by the time I left, I would, and sure enough, there she was when I walked out. I named her Ethel. She's 11 weeks old now, and was determined by my vet to be a Rottweiler mix. She's a joy, and so smart, that when I get over my frustration all I feel at having Lucy and Ethel here in Crescent City with me is happiness and joy and thankfulness. They fill up the cup that was so easily one of loneliness.

I volunteered on Sunday at the Marine Mammal Center. They save local seals that have been abandoned by the mother or moved by onlookers or attacked. Yeah, attacked. By PEOPLE. Apparently, since this area has a lot of fisherman and crabbers, they hate seals for the competition they pose and if they see pups on the beach, will often let their dogs attack them, etc. It's pretty gnarly. I helped feed and bathe two 10-day old Harbor seal pups and hope to continue the practice whenever I'm in town on Sundays. I love the volunteering spirit that's so prevalent here. Everyone seems to contribute to the whole in some way...except for the meth addicts and moochers, of course, but you never count them.

I should be meeting my CASA kid this week. He seems like a really awesome guy from what's written about him on paper, so I'm really excited to help him plan his future in any way I can. If I can be a factor that facilitates him taking steps to success, then I'll feel like I'm paying back a part of this weightless, sacred debt that I'm carrying.

You know the one. Give back what you were given. Pay it forward. Do something that leaves people with a good taste in their mouth. Be as divine as your soul allows.

Check.

The odd things you learn in a small town...

1. Everyone has a gun. EVERYONE. They may not talk about them, you may never see them, but trust me: everyone has the power to kill you with a firearm in 15 seconds flat like you're a buck and it's huntin' season.

2. Walt, the RN triaging me last week, advised me to always park with my car facing east. If the horns that croon to me every night start blaring consistently and not in short blares, I need to be able to drive away from the shore (i.e. due east) because a tsunami is coming. 26 sq blocks was wiped out in 68' (I think?) and it was the biggest thing that's ever happened to this town.

3. There are often bears sighted in people's backyards. And people shoot them. And then make bear sausage. No, I am not joking.

4. I have only seen two black people in this city. In four months of living here.

5. Most women here are grandmothers by 40. It's eerie. Women in their mid-50's are great grandmother's. I've seen four generations having a casual lunch in the hospital cafeteria like it was nothing. I couldn't even conceive of having over 3 generations in one picture for most of my life, and here, 5 is standard. 6 if granny is hardy.

6. Crabbing is huge here. Almost everyone knows someone who has a boat and brings them a weekly haul of crab; they then have a "crab bake" and invite the whole family and do nothing but EAT for an entire Sunday.

7. No one uses umbrellas. The wind is so powerful, it would blow that pretty little rain shield inside-out in a minute. Hoods, hats, gloves=locals. Umbrellas=townies.

8. Feed stores are a poor man's pharmacy. I knew this from my fish amoxicillin days when my mom had a tooth abscess and needed antibiotics, but horse liniment works for sore joints and arthritis too. Huh.

9. People get married shortly after high school. Period. If they're 28 and single, they're divorced with an average of 3 children.

10. Everything in my apartment was given to me. There is an innate level of community and generosity in this tiny town than anywhere I've ever experienced.

Realizations.

I've been holed up in my apartment all weekend due to a dual knee injury. It sucks. Thursday morning I gracefully fell out of my bed and twisted both knees; it kept me from work on Friday because I could barely walk and I committed to bed rest all weekend so I could go back on Monday.

But as I lie here though, I realize that I'm in a truly scary place. There's no one here to notice if I eat shit on my steps and break my neck (which I've almost done twice). I'm now the person who, if someone called the cops to do a welfare check on me, would only be noticed gone by my co-workers. Not even my sweet surfing hippie Christian neighbors would notice, since they see me so irregularly already.

It's difficult. The thought of having to climb into the shower, into clothes, down my precarious stairs, into the car and into the store for necessary groceries and a second knee brace was so daunting it took me hours to build up to it. I don't have my mom, other ma, brother, friends to call and help me out so I can avoid all the strain and drama.

Most people without the incredibly strong spiderweb of familial and friend connections as I do resort to the next best thing: a romantic relationship. Who better to ask, "Babe, could you grab me a knee brace and possibly a shamrock shake?" then your boo? But alas, since I don't want to be barefoot and pregnant OR a bro ho, I am pleasantly single.

Shit man. I am totally isolated.

Which makes me think of Joy Division's "Isolation"...


Conclusion: I need to bring Lucy asap to bark at my injured broken body should I wipe out at the bottom of the stairs to alert the neighbors, Lassie-status.

Happy Weekend, mon chers.

Love on.

I got sworn in as a CASA today. It's a big deal to me, and I had really internalized the process to reflecting a lot of personal goals: I'm giving back, I'm investing in my community, in youth, in someone who is perpetually at a crossroads and could be so much like me, where one act of graciousness and empathy can stick with you forever and affect so many future decisions in the best kind of way.

I like to give of myself. I do it in friendships, but now I'm so far away from them. I don't have romantic relationships (and really, even in those, I rarely give more than I clearly discern). Giving some guidance to kids seems really the best route.

I've been thinking about my youth. They ask some really deep questions throughout the screening and interview process of this. What are your best and worst memories of your childhood? The best and worst things about your mom? Dad? Who influenced you the most? Who disappointed you the most and why?

I remember so many nights of screaming and fighting and loud thumps against walls in the dark, never knowing if it was a fist or a head or a vase being thrown. Sleeping in my clothes when they started early, knowing I'd have to call the cops and run to Jacque's before they got to the house and would threaten to call CPS and have me removed. Being taken by my aunt, who didn't understand the bond between a single child and their mother in an abusive house; that criticizing her in
front of me did nothing but evoke a deeply defensive response and made me resent anyone attacking her, physically or otherwise. It was hard for all of us, but we made it work, because we're family, and that's what you do when you're a unit.

I remember Jacque and Dale, Daddy Dick and Gram, Audrey, the Poons. A woman with a fake well in her front yard who always gave me an ice cream sandwich when she saw me sitting on my bike by her house. My grandmothers soft arms when she hugged me. My cousin Danny always letting me watch movies with him. My cousin Naomi reading Grimm's Fairy Tales to me. Kites in fields with my Aunt ZZ and Uncle Mike, every holiday nestled in their home.

I have been blessed. The negative I learned from. The positive I enshrined. There are few things I would rather do in life that didn't revolve around those two principles: absorb and cherish.

Be grateful.

So many things could've gone differently. One less person could've altered everything, forever changing the course of my life. The ability to be the stone that ripples a pond is a calling, a burden-less debt, that I have witnessed in hundreds of people and try to emulate every day.

My life is a gift, and I want to make it reflect the investment of so much love and time.

Love on.

Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea.

The last week has been non-stop rain. I'm sure it'll get exhausting, but as of right now, it's just a nuisance and interesting to watch.

The rain is combined with rain in excess of 40 mph, and up to 60 by the shore. The water is usually falling at a 45 degree angle...it's so intense. I've never seen anything like it. No one here uses umbrellas, because they'll just get blown inside out and, really, how do you protect your ribs from water?

At night, I wake up to a slight sway. Instinctively, I think that it's an earthquake (previously living so close to the San Andreas fault and all). Then, I realize it's the wind pushing my old church side to side. Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea, house of mine. And please don't crumble around me.

I started going to the gym again this week. I'm pretty happy with my fitness level; I'm not as atrophied as I thought I'd be after a year of no concentrated training. A side perk is that there's a Biggest Loser competition at work that I'd love to win, but just losing these last 20 lbs would be a monumental success for me. It's going to span three months, so hopefully I'll be able to gain the speed and get it done.

I'm exhausted today. I barely slept last night; one of my best friend's, Jessica, who's pregnant with my goddaughter in Phoenix, was t-boned at an intersection last night when someone decided to not notice the red light. Her and Evey are okay, thank God, but it induced contractions and they had to rush her to an OB Trauma hospital downtown to make sure she was okay. I was so freaked and stressed, and still am. It's glaringly staring me in the face that I went from being 4 hours away to 16 hours away, and I'm so scared that I won't be able to be there for the birth or to support her before she has to undergo whatever comes.

I'm emotionally exhausted and physically drained. I'm going to watch a movie and sleep.

We'll catch up again soon. If I'm not flooded out of my house.

So this is life change.

I've been caught up in the minutae of my everyday life, and I'm not gonna lie: It's pretty blissful.

I moved out on my own at the beginning of the New Year. Talk about a fresh start. A gorgeous studio apartment above a church built in 1892 with . . . nothing in it. Luckily, this is a small town and I work with amazingly wonderful people who contributed to the "Let's Not Make Erin Live Like A BUM" project, and have furnished my apartment. My loveseat, coffee table, chairs, sewing table, my bed: all have been generously gifted to me and I'm looking forward to writing thank you notes this weekend.

After house-sitting for my Director for a week (who is an amazing woman and boss), I was ready to sleep in my own bed. They came and visited my place the morning after they came back and oh-so-elusively told me to come by later to pick up a gift. Por qua? So off I go, thinking it's a cool keychain or the like, but no. They outclass me by a mile.

It's a ukelele. A legit, for realsies, real-wood-this-ain't-the-plastic-one-in-sushi-bars tenor ukelele. To say I basically died is an understatement. I still can't get over my excitement. I practice my chords a little every night and can't wait till I'm good enough to strum a little tune to my godchildren. All three of them. That's right, THREE!

Jessica is due for her second daughter, and I got to name her! I suggested Charlotte and they agreed. I get a baby Charlie for St. Patty's Day! Woot. And Kathleen, my dear sweet world-traveling love, is due for her first. We don't know if it's a girl or boy yet, but she's due in July, and man oh man am I thrilled.

I get to work in place of rent. It's shaping up to be harder than I anticipated it would be, but I think it's because I'm not in the groove yet. Once I get there, I figure it'll be a dance just like everything else.

My hospital job is fantastic. I still marvel sometimes that I had the guts to uproot my entire life for a per diem job in the middle of nowhere, but I'll tell you what: BEST LIFE DECISION I COULD'VE MADE. I work with wonderful, REAL people doing a job that actually means something. It's a marvelous life, my friends, my loves. And I'm perpetually happy I've chosen it.

I just need to write more. That's where I'm epically failing. But that's life, I've learned. You always something to improve upon.

It's late. I just wanted to update you. The sum of the story is:

I am happy.