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.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Saturday, July 28, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
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.
That's all for tonight. I'll keep you updated, my loves.
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.
Friday, July 20, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, June 11, 2012
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.
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:
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
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"
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"
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